Private Tales A Place of Safety

[Noiraeve Talastra]

Only half an hour had passed from the time Noiraeve Talastra had passed the tiny town -- barely more than a handful of buildings around a crossroads -- that she decided to turn her horse back and head back for it. She hated to stop, hated even more to double back, for her business in Vel Anir was urgent, but the rain that had been a drizzle had become a sheet, and her dark cloaks were now as stone. Worse, the road had become sloppy, and the palfrey she rode had nearly thrown her after getting her foot caught in a muddy hole. Noiraeve had the power to mitigate some of the weather, but the energy it would take to do anything useful would swamp her entirely.

So they turned back, Noiraeve and her palfrey Loria, back towards the tiny town whose name she did not even recall.

What had taken half an hour took twice as long to retrace, such that by the time she reached the town and tied her horse to the post outside the larger building with a swinging sign reading 'Rose & Crown' with a stylized version of each carved into it. There was music coming from inside it, and fire glowed from the glass of the windows. She stopped on the small covered porch and opened herself up to the Power. Loria whinnied softly, eyeing Noiraeve with some measure of suspicion and discomfort as the woman harnessed the Power, weaving a whirl of heated air around her, seeking to dry out her sopping cloak.

The results were middling, but slightly better than if she had wrung her clothes out with her bare hands. She daren't have done more, not without knowing who else was around her and what their feelings on magic were. Satisfied, she pulled her saddlebag from Loria and pushed the door open into the tavern. The conversation halted as heads turned towards the door. Noiraeve got the distinct impression that everyone they all knew was already present at the inn, so whoever was coming in now must have been a stranger.

A safe bet.

Once it was apparent that the person entering was just a traveling woman and not a brigand of some extraction, they all turned back to their meads and ales and ciders. Noiraeve approached the bar and caught the eye of the woman behind it who approached, polishing a tankard. "Get something for you?" Noiraeve couldn't quite place the accent.

"A room for the night," said Noiraeve, raising a questioning eyebrow. "Food, clean linens, a fire. And," she gestured vaguely over her left shoulder towards the door, "a stable for my horse." She produced a few golden coins and placed them on the bar.

The barkeep glanced at the coins, then nodded. "'Course. Got a beef roast on. Can do fish or pheasant if you'd rather."

Noiraeve's stomach rumbled and she offered a weak smile. "Beef will do nicely. I'd like to change out of these wet things."

After reaching below the bar, the barkeep placed a brass key on the counter. "Up the stairs, end of the hall. Best room. Send dinner up?"

"No" said Noiraeve, palming the key. "I'll take it down here once I've changed. If you don't mind."

The barkeep grunted in what Noiraeve chose to take as acceptance. "Something to drink with it?"

"Oh... perhaps a light cider." The barkeeper nodded and without further discussion she turned and started calling orders into the room behind the bar. Noiraeve gave one last look around the tavern before mounting the stairs. She went to the room at the end of the hall and unlocked the door. She was somewhat dubious of the description of it as the best room, but it was large and cozy. No sooner had she set her saddlebag down did a boy appearing to be in his teens come racing up the hallway.

"Fire," he announced. Noiraeve stepped out of the doorway so he could come in. He skidded to a halt in front of the large fireplace opposite the door and pulled logs from the top of the stack of wood next to the fireplace. The boy stacked the logs carefully but swiftly and, using flint he produced from his pockets, sparked a fire in the grate. "Pretty horse," he said as he turned and raced for the door. Over his shoulder he called: "I'll see her settled! Good night!"

Noiraeve smiled faintly to herself and shut the door, bolting it behind her. pulled her cloak off and, after pulling the singular chair over to stand in front of the fire, she hung it over the chair to dry. She shucked her clothes and pulled a dry set from the oiled leather of her saddlebag before hanging her wet things on the pegs over the mantle. A quick rinse in the basin and a brief finger-combing of her hair later and she looked nearly human.

Human enough, anyway, to dine in a small town tavern.

A few moments later, the High Sorceress descended the stairs and settled at the small booth to which the barkeeper directed her. A slice of beef -- crusty on the outsides with char and herbs, but bloody on the inside -- sat on a bed of multi-colored vegetables. Accompanying the whole thing was a crusty loaf of bread and some creamy golden butter and a pitcher of cider with a tankard. It was a lot of food, Noiraeve thought, but then again as her stomach rumbled again she thought that it looked like just enough.

 

[Theobrand]

"Hells." Barely a whisper uttered beneath the cowl of a heavy hood. It wasn't that he really believed in such a place but old habits died hard. The rain had been voluminous, the man's clothes doing little to stave off the chill and the leather from chafing his legs. Had he taken just a little less time getting through the Falwood he might have already completed his commission. Better safe than sorry, he thought to himself as if that would somehow make this suffering the smallest bit less arduous.

Beneath the lanky man thundered the hooves of jet black courser, a brilliant slash of white cut across its muzzle. It too shuddered as a blast of cold wind sent its mane slapping against it's wide neck. Fast, agile, and normally covering twice as much ground in as much time but tonight traveling at those speeds was strenuous. Mud caked the horse's legs and spattered across much of the man's boots and trousers - what wasn't immediately showered free by the near horizontal rainfall. "You've got this Pike, just a little further now." Tightening his grip on the reins with one hand, Theobrand brushed loose hair back from his face. It can't be much farther now. Having traveled the road for several years he'd grown somewhat familiar with the most expedient routes from one place to another but even so the road could be tricky. Some were maintained better than others, some had signage but you had to be careful which ones you trusted. There was just as likely to be a town in that direction as a roving band of thieves and malcontents.

Ahead a diminutive shimmer caught Brand's eye, his hands gently tugging back on the reins as they slowed to a halt. Squinting, the light flickered, the familiar sight of an amber flame barely managing to cut through the downpour. "That'll be it then." Brand gave the courser a light pat on its neck and they began to trudge forward again. As they closed the distance several shadows began to form - buildings ahead. The lamp almost flickered out completely as it swung in the wind but somehow it managed to stay lit. Guiding Pike towards it, Brand looked longingly at what appeared to be an inn or tavern of some sort. An internal struggle made itself known, the desire to press on dwindling as he weighed the pro's and cons of delaying his travel further. "Well, I guess we're not really making good progress are we Pike? Can't hurt to stop at least till this storm lets up."

Brand had grown used to talking to his horse though, it had garnered him some strange looks from time to time. Such was the road, it could truly be a lonely place. Trotting around to the rear of the building he set sights on what appeared to be a small stable - if you could call it that. Little more than a roof with wood slats nailed to the beams, subtle sounds of horses could be heard just over the torrential rain. Hopefully they had a stall. Coming to a stop just beside the shed, a loud noise and the glow of another lamp appeared. "Oy, you lookin' for a stall? You'll just have the last one" A bent over figure lifted the lamp higher, gravely voice raised as Brand drew back his hood. "That would be excellent, Sir. I'll see him fed and watered as well - despite the circumstances." Swinging his leg back and over the saddle he nimbly hopped to the ground, water sloshing into his boots. Reaching to a pouch on his belt he made as if to hand the man some form of payment but he was interrupted. "Nae, pay the lass inside." Before Brand could respond, the man retrieved Pike's reins and set to work. Nothing left but to do, Brand trod towards the nearest door, thankful for the small awning above it. A momentary respite.

-

Though unknown to Brand, his reception had been much the same as Noiraeve Talastra 's. He however, had not been nearly as graceful. Standing for several seconds as he surveyed the room, his thoughts had been interrupted by a belligerent shout. "Coming or going?!" He blinked. "Are you coming or going? Shut the damn door already!" Oh. Swinging the door shut behind him the patrons slowly turned back to their comestibles. Making his own way towards the small bartop he retrieved his pouch and after a short discussion paid for a pint of house ale and a hearty chunk of sourdough. He hadn't needed a room - merely a short reprieve from nature's onslaught. Making his way towards the roaring fireplace at the opposite side of the room Brand retrieved a stool upon which he laid his cloak before pushing it closer to the mouth of the chimney. He too scooted close, content to feel the warmth of the fire as feeling slowly came back to his fingers.

Only a few minutes had passed but Brand had drained half his tankard and gnawed off a substantial amount of his bread - a healthy buzz between his ears pushing back the bone aching wetness of his rain soaked clothing. In fact, the tips of his boots were almost dry already. He was staring deep into the flames when he felt a tingle at the nape of his neck. Careful not to react too quickly, he drained the remaining ale and set the cup down before taking a peek around the room. Most looked like locals, chatting each to their own little cadre but off to one side had arrived another - a woman who looked oddly familiar. Reaching into his tunic, he procured a small rough drawn sketch. It too had been soaked with rain but the ink resisted smear. No doubt about that, now is there. Taking a deep breath and one last longing gaze at the warmth of the fire he stood carefully, the floor shifting slightly beneath his feet. Or at least, it felt like it.

Slowly making his way across the room Brand took care to tread lightly, approaching from the woman's back. In retrospect, he'd later shake his head. Such was not a smart way to approach someone, especially a High Sorceress. Stepping beside her table, he cleared his throat quietly. "And here I thought for sure I'd never catch up with you." Again, in retrospect he'd muse, probably not the best way to address someone whom you'd never met - especially a High Sorceress. Though, it did make for a good story.

 

[Noiraeve Talastra]

Noiraeve was tucked into her roast when she sensed -- something. Not that someone was watching her, necessarily, but that she had caught someone's attention. More than just because she was a stranger, a decent-looking woman traveling alone. Setting down her knife and fork, she frowned and covertly glanced around the tavern, but by the time she heard the footsteps it was nearly too late. Subtly she harnessed a weave, preparing to unleash a blast of air, but before she could loose it, the presence made itself known in the form of a man.

She relaxed. The weave weakened but did not dissipate. She raised an eyebrow at the man after he spoke.

"Sit," said Noiraeve, nodding towards the bench booth opposite her. She glanced around the room, observing casually. No one seemed to notice or care. She put her effort to good use, creating an invisible, sound-damping curtain between her visitor and the villagers. "You caught up with me," she observed. Her eyes traced over him, looking for some sign of his identity, Arethiin links were not readily apparent on his person anywhere, but that wasn't necessarily dispositive.

"They say some people know the price of everything," said Noiraeve conversationally as she lifted her tankard. She took a sip, waiting for the countersign, then proceeded. "Now that I know who you are... who are you? What do you need from me?"

Theobrand

 

[Theobrand]

"Thank you." Brand said with a nod, scooting onto the bench opposite the woman. Reaching into his cloak he retrieved a wrapped leather pouch and presented it to her. "And the value of nothing." A sly smile crept across his features. "You'll have to pardon the rain, didn't much care whether I was carrying paper or wax." Making a motion to his side, he quickly indicated his want for a fresh pint, the hostess leaving them again to themselves. "Oh yes, introductions. Theobrand, at your service. On assignment from you know who to deliver you don't know what." Brand nodded towards the rain soaked leather on the table between them.

A moment later the hostess returned, a fresh mug of ale slapped down on the table in front of him. She stood expectantly, hand on hip. " 'ere you are then, thanks be to ya." Brand slid a few coins into the woman's hand and she headed back to wait on the other patrons. After a swig from his mug, Brand paused suddenly and looked across the table questioningly. "Well, aren't you going to read it?" Strictly speaking it was well beyond his bounds to be reading the messages he was carrying for the Order but there wasn't anything saying he couldn't ask about their contents.

The Order of course would want him to return, though whatever it was he'd been tasked to deliver it had come with a decree that he was not to return until such a time as a response was given by the recipient - one Noiraeve Talastra. A Mage. Had Brand's knowledge been limited he might have been afraid, fear of being turned into a newt or a toad hanging over his head. Thankfully, he knew enough that he wasn't convinced he'd be in any real danger. It was his understanding the mages kept their power for their real enemies, not a little sass or quirk here and there. "I'm supposed to wait for a reply and then return - but I wouldn't mind staying till the storm breaks. Not exactly pleasant traveling weather, eh?"

 

[Noiraeve Talastra]

Well, he gave the countersignal well enough. The hairs on the back of Noiraeve's neck stood down a little.

She didn't respond to his jovial attempt at conversation at first, but she did provide her name in response to his. "Noiraeve." The mage said nothing further, not until she was sure they were alone again, with the barmaid retreating back behind the invisible curtain Noiraeve had conjured and thus safely out of earshot. She appeared to have gone selectively deaf when he quipped about whether she was going to read what he had brought, and instead, as she settled back against the banquette and picked up her knife and fork, said: "And how long have you been with... the family?"

She sawed a piece of beef off her roast and munched it happily, watching him and gauging his response. Then she set the knife and fork down and reached over to open the satchel. She took the orders bearing the seal of the Arethiin Order and worked her thumb under the seal, breaking it to tear open the letter. Her eyes scanned the writing on the page, frowned slightly, and re-folded it.

"You'll have an answer when I've had time to consider it," she told him casually, then took another bite of her roast. "The rain is the only reason you were able to catch me, but there is wisdom in the way the tapestry of life is woven. If I had reached Vel Anir without this," Noiraeve nodded at the letter, "I would have had a much more difficult time than was strictly necessary."

And she might have had to do more violence, but she let that part go unsaid.

With a grunt under her breath she took up the orders again, reading over the words contained therein. Something about what was written there made her eyebrows furrow, equal parts worry and irritation. "Do you have the gold to take a room?" she asked, unable to keep the note of impatience from her voice.

Theobrand

 

[Theobrand]

It struck him as odd for a moment, referring to the Order as a family but as he thought on it it did make sense. "Long enough I suppose. I was a boy - and to cut it off at the pass, to an extent probably still am." Brand grinned over the edge of his brew before returning to the very important task of quaffing. They sat in silence for a brief time as Noiraeve resumed eating the hearty fare. Leaning back in the small booth, Brand reached into a pouch at his waist and retrieved a small leather wrap. Laying it out on the table before him, he unrolled it gingerly and revealed its contents.

A small wooden pipe along with a wrapped bundle of shredded tobacco lay now exposed. The bowl of the pipe itself was a dark mahogany, intricate etching and carving adorning rim and body. Carefully Brand packed it, lit it, and began quietly puffing - careful to blow any excess smoke away from the table instead of across it. The aroma was a sweet one, hints of wine and lingonberries.

*Well, that's good at least. It was reassuring to feel useful.* he thought as she discussed the whims of the tapestry. It was also good to hear she wouldn't be dashing off just yet, it would give him a break from the cold and wet. Hopefully the storm would pass overnight. *Overnight.* He'd need a room. As if reading his mind, she spoke, prompting him as to his ability to take a room. He smiled. "That won't be necessary - I'll take up with Pike in the stable. You planning on leaving before dawn?" he asked out of curiosity. Until he had a response for the Order, he'd be obligated to follow the mage Noiraeve. To do otherwise would be to abandon his oath.. or one of them at least.

 

[Noiraeve Talastra]

Noiraeve chewed thoughtfully as she listened to the man's answer. Her fingers dexterously handled the knife and fork as she studied the tobacco and pipe that he was preparing to smoke. She liked the smell of tobacco; it was vaguely comforting, though she couldn't quite explain why.

She frowned as he mentioned sleeping in the stables with Pike, but she stopped herself from saying what first came to mind -- namely, how stupid it was to do so when he could sleep someplace warm with a bed. Different strokes for different folks, as the saying went. "Suit yourself," she said enigmatically. She took another bite of her roast, then set her knife and fork down.

"I don't mean to hold you up," she said casually. "Unfortunately I do need to consider this note before I answer. The Consul -- " Her voice fell away for a moment and she shook her head. Noiraeve was loathe to speak ill of the Consul to a relative stranger. It was a testament to her exhaustion that she had almost let something slip.

"As for when I leave, I guess it depends on the weather. If it's coming down like this, then I probably won't leave so early. But -- yes, I'll be up before the sun to be sure if I can travel that I will. I assume you'll need either a letter or to come along, yes?"

Theobrand

 

[Theobrand]

Brand savored the respite, almost all the feeling had returned to his toes and surprisingly his clothing had dried considerably. Breathing in the aroma of the flavored leaf Brand couldn't help but let out a quiet sigh as he relaxed further into the back of his seat. The young man had been hard pressed over the previous days, hardly a moment to spare considering the urgency of his dispatch - or so he'd been impressed upon. When Noiraeve spoke it brought him back to the moment, his mind wandering for a second, a raised eyebrow as she stopped mid-sentence.

"You're in luck then, Pike an' me are early risers." Brand grinned. "As for a letter, my instructions are to remain until a response is rendered. However long that might take." he added for good measure. Propping his pipe up for a moment, his eyes widened as if he'd just remembered something. "Oh, I've almost forgotten." Scooting out from his place in the booth, he recovered his now-mostly-dry cloak and turned towards the door. "Just a second Noiraeve, I'll be just a moment." Then, with a few quick strides he slipped out the door he'd entered in through.

-

Abrupt though his exit had been, it was brief for a moment later he came sputtering through the door. This time only a few glances shot towards the door, the rest of the evening gathering either too tired or too deep in their cups to care. More the better for Brand, shaking the newest layer of rain from his cloak. Meeting eyes with Noiraeve he made his way back to the booth, hanging his cloak on a nearby hook before sliding back into the booth. "Here." Brand produced a small waxed bag and pushed it across the table. "Not real sure where home is for you else I'd have opted for a taste of home, but I picked this up a day or two back. The baker said you'd bought a few before hitting the road." Inside, Noiraeve would find a surprisingly well preserved pastry.

"When you travel a lot, sometimes a little morale boost makes all the difference - well, you know." Brand reached again for his pipe, realizing quickly that it had gone out. Shaking his head, he went to work relighting it, a fresh puff of light smoke revealing his success.

 

[Noiraeve Talastra]

Noiraeve's eyebrows furrowed when Theobrand slipped back into the booth opposite. She took the waxed bag and unfolded the top. She was surprised to find remarkably well-preserved pastry identical -- except, perhaps, for a slight flattening -- to the ones she had purchased on her way through the a town some day or two back. "A nice gesture, thank you," she said pleasantly, her glassy blue eyes narrowing slightly in thought. "But I think on my next trip through that town I'll give the good baker a reminder about discretion."

The High Sorceress folded the bag shut again and set it to one side.

The ritual of his lighting the pipe tugged a thought in her head, and she paused to watch him for a few moments before sitting up a little straighter. It would make sense that he was not a mage; the Order wasn't made entirely of mages, after all, and many that were under the Order's protection didn't have the gift. They had to do something. Many chose to become members of the military branch of the Order -- Bladesworn for those who could not or did not use magic and used weapons. Some even became Pactsworn, those bonded to a higher-ranking Mage through some arcane magic. The upshot was a deep connection between Mage and Sworn and various benefits to each from the bond.

Some, obviously, were employed as couriers. These, Noiraeve anticipated, were not without some level of martial skill, based on the danger of traveling Arethil's road and towns.

She jerked her chin towards the pipe. "Not a mage?" Noiraeve asked casually, her voice low even with the curtain surrounding him. "Or just keeping it all under wraps?"

Theobrand

 

[Theobrand]

That caused him a thin smile. "Woops." Brand shrugged. The baker would be fine - probably. Though, these mage types you never really knew. From the vibes Brand was getting however, he doubted she'd really go out of her way to trudge back just to teach him a lesson. For a few quiet moments he sat, content to look about the room and contemplate as little thoughtful puffs emanated from the carved wooden bowl of his pipe. An inquiry drew his attention back to Noiraeve,

"Me?" he asked, somewhat incredulously. "A mage?" An audible laugh escaped his lips and he set down his pipe. "Gods no, can you imagine?" He sat, amused for a moment before realizing his audience likely could not imagine as the two were fairly well unacquainted. "Suffice it to say, no - a mage I am not nor would I wish to be. Right spooky if you ask me, being..." He trailed off as he suddenly remembered who he was sitting in front of. "Well, no. I've had some mentoring in the sword, and riding, but nothing as spectacular as wizardry." Brand cringed inwardly, fumbling with the pipe in an attempt to move past the question.

Brand was no mage, nor was he even the slightest bit magically inclined so far as he knew. Memories of bruises and bumps gained during his stay with Ser Coyle. A once landed knight now retired to the wilds, several wayward boys had been boarded with the man by the Order. Presumably an orphanage of some kind used as a sort of induction to the Order, though what its exact purpose had been was more ambiguous. Brand had learned some basic swordsmanship along with other skills he'd found useful on the road - perhaps that was the experience's only purpose after all. Gods knew the Order's reach was far and the roads were long. Couriers were more reliable than pigeons. The memories faded, Brand's eyes watching the glowing ember of his pipe.

"I manage to be a half decent courier at least." he shrugged.

 

[Noiraeve Talastra]

Noiraeve allowed her eyes to narrow slightly as the man reacted to her question about being a mage. She would not take affront; after all, she was aware that there were mages in the Order that could be somewhat draconian in their application of magic. Her lips twitched up at the edges in a wan smile and she brushed her dark hair over one shoulder, brushing it lightly with her free hand. It was almost dry.

"I'd say that the stories about us aren't true, but I'm sure some of them are," said Noiraeve softly. "But I can assure you that we don't have our insides hollowed out and filled with -- whatever it was the rumors said. If you cut me, I will bleed just the same as anyone."

She didn't add that if she was cut and bled, she could conjure enough blood to keep herself alive, if she had her wits about her. Some people got wigged out about stuff like that.

"You are that," she affirmed his observation. "I'm afraid I'll need to speak to someone before I can respond. It's a bit of a ride but we may make it tomorrow, depending on weather."

 

[Theobrand]

A thoughtful wisp of smoke puffed from the bowl of Brand's pipe while Noiraeve spoke. Mages were shifty characters, cloaked in decorum and always seemed to have a down the nose demeanor - but so far Noiraeve hadn't fit that mold. At least, not largely. Thankfully he'd never had to test the truth of her statement, Brand thought to himself. With his luck he'd be turned into a newt before his sword even cleared its scabbard.

"Then ride we will." he replied. "Weather be damned. What's the route?"

Depending on the urgency, the weather, and the Mage's knowledge of the local area, their route could be one of several options. It'd be interesting to see what she had in mind. Restful sleep would be a requirement if they were to head out before the sun, perhaps bunking in the stable wasn't such a good idea. Brand let a contemplative sigh escape his lips. "Maybe I'll ask for lodging after all - if you're set on leaving before sunup. Doesn't sound like the rain is going to let up any time soon." He pointed towards the roof, tilting his head as he listened to the sound of the rain.

"The road might be rough for a few kilometers with this rain and the mud - but once we get past the populated areas it should open up into rockier terrain." he added.

 

[Noiraeve Talastra]

Noiraeve described the route she had tried to take before doubling back to the tavern. "Of course, as a courier, you might have a better route in mind. I'm open to suggestion, of course." When they had settled on the route, Noiraeve finished her roast and drained the rest of her drink. "Sleep where you will, but meet me in the stables four hours past midnight. We ride for Vel Anir."

The High Sorceress unwound the sound-stifling harness with a subtle gesture and gave her thanks to the innkeeper with a silver coin. She relayed her plans to travel early and the innkeeper said she would leave a bundle of cheese and sausage and bread for breakfast, as well as some black tea. Noiraeve took to the stairs and went to her room. She meditated for a short while, then turned in. She was pleased to fall asleep almost as soon as she laid down her head.

Three and a half hours past midnight, Noiraeve woke and bathed. This was a much simpler affair given her skills as a mage, for she could conjure hot water into the tub rather than ordering water and heating it by fire. She dressed and gathered the supplies, curling her finger in a gentle harness to heat the tea before drinking it in a few gulps. She left the flask there and gathered her things, packing them into her saddlebag, which she carried down the stairs and outside into the stable.

Noiraeve prepared her palfrey, strapped the saddle bags on, and looked down the long stable. "Theobrand?" she asked softly. "Are you ready to ride?" She was a few minutes early, perhaps, but she suspected the courier was not the kind to oversleep.

Theobrand

 

[Theobrand]

The remainder of Brand's evening consisted of a few further tankards of ale and another healthy serving of stew. By the time he'd finished his clothes were almost dry and so with one last pass by the fireplace, the man departed towards the stables and his stalwart steed.

"There boy, not bad eh?" Brand gently rest his hand on Pike's shoulder. The courser had nestled comfortably in a batch of padded hay, a quiet nicker audible as Brand settled in beside. Matting down his own little nest he dragged his cloak over top himself and in moments drifted off to the sound of falling rain.

-

"No, just a few more minutes.." Brand muttered, the muzzle in his side rousing him from his sleep. "Oh come off it Pike, fine I'll get up." With a sigh the courier blinked open his eyes before realizing he was face to face with his horse. An expression of amusement stretched across his lips and he pushed himself up from the ground. It was early, a few hours past midnight if he'd had to guess. It was still dark out. Well, she did say before dawn.

Brand took only a few moments to gather his wits, his belongings were few, then prepared and saddled his horse. Securing the last of the straps and giving his stowage the tug test, he quietly opened the small gate into Pike's stall and stepped out into the center of the stable, catching a glimpse of a shadow at the other end. A second later, Noiraeve's voice reached his ears. A silent wave in reply and he headed over towards where she stood.

"Ready when you are - You're all square with the minder?" He motioned towards the small inn towards the front. For his part, Brand had left a small leather pouch with a few coins hanging on the hook by the stall they'd occupied.

 

[Noiraeve Talastra]

Noiraeve checked her saddlebags once and once more, then put a hand on the pommel and a foot in a stirrup and heaved herself into the saddle. She eschewed riding habits for simple trousers and a tunic under her cloak, which allowed her to straddle the saddle with relative ease.

Theobrand's question caught her somewhat offguard. Combined with the question he had raised the night before, it gave her some idea of a reputation held by the mages of her Order. Perhaps mages of any extraction. The High Sorceress smirked and steadied her palfrey, stroking its fine neck lovingly as it shifted in its stall. "No," she told him. "I typically stiff the locals, in case they have not yet been given reason enough to be wary of the Order and mystics."

In truth, she had left a pouch of gold to cover the room, the linens, the breakfast, and a sovereign more for the trouble. She inclined her head briefly and then at the sound of raindrops pitter-pattering on the thatch above them, she pulled her hood up to cover her head.

"Let's get started," she said plainly, and turned her palfrey towards the wide door of the stable, edging out into the rain. Her gloved hands guided the reins and she was soon paddling up the dirt road out of town. "If we make good time we could meet my contact by midday. Provided we avoid any entanglements with brigands."

Theobrand

 

[Theobrand]

Brand winced inwardly as sheer snark emanated from the woman, he forced a smile. The implications of what was said hadn't fully hit him till just then. If Brand had any aspirations of not being turned into a newt, it would do him well to be a smidge more selective with his words, he mused. "Ah, good. We'll be off then", he said, more to himself. Giving Pike a gentle pat on the neck Brand followed in the mage's wake - out into the rain. The torrential downfall of the previous evening had done its worst, turning the ground into a muck of mud and clay.

Now, the rain had dissipated into a light spattering of inconsistent showers followed by a heavy drizzle. The part about brigands caused him a veiled grimace. Brand cast a quick glance at the equipment strapped to Pike's saddle. Wrapped up inside a bedroll the hilt of a weathered sword protruded, a pair of saddle bags resting just behind. "Let's hope." he uttered. Looks could often be deceiving - the weathered hilt was weathered not from his use of the thing but rather the mere age of the tool. Brand was no sword master. What little training he had was borne not of desire but of necessity and he'd never quite managed to put all the steps together. The footwork. The positioning. The timing.

With a sigh he put it from his mind, instead lifting his foot into a stirrup and hoisting himself into the saddle. As the pair began their journey Brand embraced the near silence. The gentle breathing of the horses beneath them, the soft squelching of the road beneath their hooves. Even the quiet patter of the rain against the leaves of the trees. Any other day he might have observed the landscape, seeking out squirrels or other local fauna but today it seemed they knew something he did not for the fauna remained in their burrows.