Private Tales A Servant to Our Grief

[Monroe]

The mistake had been accepting the invitation in the first place.

Blinded by nostalgia and the need to return to the sea, Monroe had no true thought that went into the scars left behind between herself and the home her family founded. Cathmore had a vivid history, where raiding and piracy had been the way of life for so long, the seafaring never left. It was now where ships were made, servicing to Alliria and now made an honest living for those that stilled dwelled there.

Monroe had been eager to see home again, for she had a reason the drag her back.

A wedding, one between the only family left that she cared about truly. Her cousin had finally argued her way into getting a proposal from her long term sweetheart, and it was an event Monroe would not miss.

Except the scars were still there.

She was to not sport a weapon of any kind, nor was she to stay in her family home that was left to her. Monroe had wanted it to be used for the orphanage, and they accepted, but only took up the annex of the seaside estate. To not stay in her own home was ludicrous, a fact she argued in her return letter, and was then given permission to resume accomodations there.

And yet, her cousin's soon to be husband was admant on her to not bring any weapons on her person, for she will be searched upon entering the town.

She had thought it wise to not argue the point, to say she herself was a weapon made... but weapons were only deadly when used.

There was always another way. She learned this growing up in Atlia Keep, that there was never one path towards something.

Not wanting to bother her brothers or sisters amongst the Noct Yaegir, Monroe had put out a call in Alliria to any mercenaries and sellswords to accompany her as a guard. She would reject anyone that looked sloppy with their stances, that seemed to quiver at her eternal grumpy expression, or those that thought to argue back at her simply because they thought her a damsel.

If this man seated before her says the wrong thing, there was a highly likely chance Monroe would swing her tankard right into his face.

 

[Vandor Colton]

Spoiler: Inevitable Tavern Music

He was a sellsword. A mercenary, in other words, and his armor was grey and plain as day. He wore a black cloak over it, hood lowered. No need to keep from being seen. Neither was the sword sheathed at his side, hand resting on the hilt for no other reason. He sported a pack on his back beside a shield with no heraldry. Just a symbol of a golden lightning bolt on a field of black. There was a reason for that.

A mug of ale in his other hand, Vandor Colton took a sip and just listened to the music with his back to the bar. Live musicians of drums and violins. He searched throughout the crowd, looking at no one in particular, just casually watching others laughing and talking. Some were drunk, some not enough, some too much. Sat at a table on her lonesome nearby was some young woman with a pretty face. That meant nothing really except for the ugly man that sat down in front of her just then.

“Hear you’re looking for a bodyguard, eh?” The man’s voice was noisy enough over the environment as he wiped what might be a mixture of wine and greased beef from his lips with the back of his hand. “You’re a grumpy one, all right, a pretty little thing, but don’t you worry, sweets, Rory the Gory sat before you will protect a damsel in distress, heh.”

There was an audible -crack!- just then as the horrible man left the table in a bit of a stumble. Bodyguard, is it? Ale slid down the sellsword’s throat. I must have missed the memo. At that, Vandor turned to drop coins on the counter and, mug in hand, took his turn as he sat down before the woman offering work.

Fingers wrapped around his drink, the sellsword took a moment to look between the lady’s eyes, noting their golden irises, before speaking.

“Hear you’re looking for a bodyguard,” he said simply. “I’m in the business.” He took another sip, licked his lips, but wasn’t lecherous. “If you even need one, that is.”

Monroe

 

[Monroe]

Hells, she had lost a third of her ale doing that, but the stunned face before her tankard hit jaw had been worth it. Like a feline, Monroe had licked the ale that trickled down from her hand and wrist before wiping the rest on her breeches. "Fucking arsehole..." She muttered darkly, setting her drink down onto the table and began to lose herself to her inner monologue about how useless people were these days, until another warm body replaced the vacant spot before her.

Instantly, the Yaegir scowled. Calm rage still simmered inside her, and the words that came out from the male only irritated her further.

"Are you useless as shit or are you somewhat adequate with swordcraft?" She asked without missing a beat. Her gaze was darker within the interior of this pub, one that she had to climb two sets of stairs to reach but it had a nice view of the docks on the Epressa side of Alliria. "And even so, what makes you right for this job? I've seen near two dozen shitheads today." Her eyes appraised him, as if determining whether or not he'd make the count.

 

[Vandor Colton]

Spoiler: Music change because that's just how this game is played

Those eyes were unwavering. Molten. Golden. They looked into his own as if his gaze may break at any moment. Maybe if he was drunk enough but this was his first cup in this pub. So he just stared back. His own eyes were black. It probably did not matter. Except for the fact that they never wavered.

“I guess that depends on the perspective of my opponent,” came Vandor's answer. “If they take my head then maybe I was of some use with my blade but apparently not enough.” He debated whether to take another sip but that alone may have broken his gaze.

“If I take their head?” Violins and drums resounded around him amid conversations. However, some in the midst of these patrons had since taken an interest in this particular conversation. Courtesy of a misplaced tankard, no doubt. “The latter has happened before more than once but the former…” He shrugged in indifference. “Not just yet.” Let her be the judge if it was arrogance.

Vandor's potential employer could take his claims any way she saw fit but, if she wanted to sip his words then she’d probably need to order another tankard. Perfect. His fingers gestured to a server passing by.

“Buy you a drink?” He offered. “Call it a replacement even if this just ends up as a conversation with no contract.” The sellsword sipped his ale at that. “Like I said, the cup to the face makes me question what business you need with hiring an escort to begin with but that is indeed your business,” he assured. “Selling my sword is mine.”

Monroe

 

[Monroe]

Doubt and spite were her favourite weapons to wield, but the man seated before her certainly proved to have an altogether different demeanour than those that previously sat there as she interrogated them. This one was amongst one of the younger sorts to inquire, and perhaps that alone helped his case of patience conversing with her.

He would see that he had piqued her interest when her scowl lessened in it's hardness of her expression, but the mention of a drink to be bought only chiselled the disapproval back into her facial features.

"All you need to know is that I made a promise to go somewhere and not be armed. However, they did not stipulate that I could not provide someone else that is armed." Monroe leaned back in her seat, the wood groaning and creaking as she stared at the man before her.

"I guess you don't look like an immediate threat. That could win me points of favour..." Better than taking a bulking mountain of has been mercenary. "Are you a fast runner? Can you swim at least?"

 

[Vandor Colton]

Spoiler: It's the same music

Vandor would remember her demeanor, whatever the reason for his offer of a replacement tankard. Her expressions had no hesitation. Quick to shift as the wind. For his part, given her disposition, the sellsword and bodyguard was already expecting this to be a pretty interesting contract—if he got the job, of course.

So, she could not be armed where she was going. She made a promise. So did so many others. Was she honest? All he needed to know, though, was that she was able to see through an agreement and find a loophole. If this woman hired the man sat across the table then he had better prove to be just as bold.

“Running comes easy enough,” Vandor said as he sat back, relaxed, more in talk and less in having already gotten the job. “One can do cartwheels in full plate given its distribution.” He tapped his armor, eyes peeled on her. “But, unless you’re being chased, I’d prefer to walk all the same.”

Her other question made him cock a brow. The tavern was no less quiet, just as loud, but from the corner of his eye Vandor caught others watching the conversation—if for no other reason than to see whether he got a tankard to his noggin.

“I can swim if the occasion calls for it,” the sellsword offered a nod in acknowledgement. No more or less. “Though this same plate has some weight to it and I’ll need a reason to ditch it and keep my garments or be naked so I don’t sink.” He sipped his drink.

“Run. Swim.” Both brows crossed now. “What’s the mission? Pirate ship? Private island?” Less sarcastic, more curious. “Somewhere is fine, limited information is your right, but having a destination in mind helps me be better prepared, if you care to share.”

Monroe

 

[Monroe]

If she told him, it would be because he was successful when others had not been. Then again, he was already say there for over a minute and not one thing he had uttered had made her want to throttle him or mutilate his face in a way to keep them from even speaking or looking at her.

This man truly held curiosity for the job.

Her brows softened their furrowing slightly.

"I need to travel to the coast and because of where I made my allegiances to, I ended up having to hunt a man down and in doing so, he was arrested. That man's brother is marrying my only remaining relative, and it is for her sake that I will be a pillar of peace on this trip." Monroe set aside her tankard, the need for a drink no longer of interest to her. She clasped her hands together and leaned onto her elbows as she waited a moment before continuing. "I am being compliant to ridiculous rules, but I am not going back there unarmed. Tell you what, I'll hire you and give you the benefit of doubt but I need to see an inventory of weapons before we are to make leave in two days."

 

[Vandor Colton]

Spoiler: Yes

Over a minute? Perhaps two to three minutes, even, which meant the music had since shifted as of the last second. More important than percussion, wind or string instruments, however, were words. They were harder than hammers and sharper than swords, not for the way they could cut, but in their precision.

Vandor knew that if he spoke the wrong thing then he might just get an empty tankard to his cheekbone. Though, there were plenty of other contracts out there who needed contractors like him and, if nothing else, at least he got a conversation out of this experience amid a drink and music as well.

So, the coast was her destination. Swimming made more sense. Running? That’s where hunting and getting arrested came in. Taking the drama all in, the sellsword leaned back and listened, not even taking a sip with his own tankard in his grip. Other arm resting over the nearby chair, he just sat and stared.

“Wise decision,” the not-quite-a-knight complimented. Was it a compliment? More like an observation. “Given what you just said, not taking a sword with you might be its own form of ridiculous.” Words not spoken in a tone of judgment so much as matter-of-fact though. Fortunately for her, hiring him as a blade meant she had covered her bases.

“Fine by me,” he responded compliantly. At that, Vandor took another swig, licked his lips and drummed his fingers on the tabletop to the drums. “I’ll just need to know what the pay is before we leave in two days,” the sellsword responded in nonchalance. "Then we can see about your inventory. Agreed?"

Monroe

 

[Monroe]

Monroe arched a brow at him.

Her lips half pursed as the corners stretched into a straight smile, an expression that was half debate and half appreciating.

To the point he was...

"Fifty gold for the journey, although there is a chance I may sweeten the deal and throw a few more on top of that depending on the job you do. Is that enough incentive for you, mate?"

She did not pay attention to the stares they garnered, as she knew they would still be the same ugly mugs she saw when she first took up station at this table. She did not pay attention to the music either, for Monroe was only focused on achieving her one goal that day.

Leaning back in her chair, Monroe reached a hand into the leather bag that hung from her seat. The unmistakable clink of coins sounded as she produced the bag of gold coins and placed it on the table between them. Oh, she knew that melody was sweeter than the song being played, and that many heads would turn their way if they already had not been.

"I am good for the money. I work hard to earn it after all." Her hand disappeared beneath her leather vest and linen tunic, pulling at a string that was hidden and upon it, a pendant. A medallion, one that showed the Order she belonged to.

She was a Noct Yaegir, a far cry from the damsel Rory the Gory believed her to be.

 

[Vandor Colton]

Spoiler: Music IC (Recurring)

Fifty gold for the journey was indeed sweet enough for this man who sold his blade to remain in this conversation. Given the way that bag of coins was dropped on the table, however, he figured there must have been another purpose to the gesture. In this business, incentive was what it was for a sellsword, but only a sorcerer debated physics.

Just as Vandor was about to speak his piece, the woman who sat before him, indeed his would-be employer, reached into her garments. It was a gesture that Rory the Gory might have offered an argument as to whether her intentions were for a different incentive. They weren’t.

At that moment, the mercenary just sat back as he was, quite like her, and shifted his vision from the pendant in her grip to her eyes. If he recognized the symbol of silver flame amid circle, the sigil of the Night Hunters, well he intended to not give this away in his gaze.

“We shall see,” he said simply. “Forward to the inventory, I believe.” Right. She needed someone who could carry weapons which meant she didn’t need a weaponsmith so much as a revelation of the weapons within.

“My sword.” The sellsword withdrew steel from his scabbard as it scraped against wood and leather and laid his sword on the table. He no longer cared about onlookers. “As you can see, it is kept clean and pristine.” Some cuts and bumps along the edges, yes, yet what could one expect of a traveling swordsman who used this weapon for more than sport?

“My knife.” He unsheathed his next instrument and laid it beside the longer blade. Unlike the former, its build was more simple but the dagger served its purpose and, as one might expect, its blade was shorter than the sword.

“And that’s that.”

He didn’t consider the shield at his back to be a weapon unless it was needed for a shield-bash. Ultimately, the sellsword had a sword to sell and a dagger for close encounters. Hopefully this lady did not expect an army in his arsenal as well. It just didn't make sense for his travels.

Monroe

 

[Monroe]

Monroe stared at him after presenting two items of his inventory.

Perhaps she was spoiled with skill as a Yaegir, for on her person, she held more weapons than he presented.

"I suppose it is better than nothing." She said aloud, perhaps in order to convince herself. "And you said you knew how to swim... so that should..." Monroe cleared her throat, leaning in her seat until it groaned before her arms crossed over her chest. "Forgive me. I never really learned how to be content with trusting others."

She always preferred working alone. A detriment on her part, of course, for Monroe was never someone for idle conversation or friendly banter. The Warden had even told her to lighten up in the form of partnering her up with other Yaegirs all over Arethil. Monroe learned that everyone else was not the same, and that some were more sensitive than others. In the end, it all was too much to cater to, and Monroe declared she would not sugarcoat herself.

If she was too much, then others can go find less.

 

[Vandor Colton]

Spoiler: Music IC - Recurring

Better than nothing indeed, in his opinion. A sellsword wasn’t much if he had no sword to sell. Or an axe, for that matter, but such were semantics and it was just as well that the added weight was not a burden to his back amid his shield and pack. Discomfort, though, might have been remedied in this lady’s throat had she not spilled her tankard some moments ago.

On that note, Vandor took another sip from his and dismissed her forgiveness with a wave of his hand. “Unnecessary. You’re speaking to a mercenary, miss. Trust comes, not from words, not even from actions…” He trailed off for a moment, taking her eyes into his unless she failed to stare back. “...It just doesn’t come.” He shrugged.

“Payment, however, does come in my experience before or after the job is done.” He stroked a lone finger down the center of his sword still stretched upon the tabletop; the fuller, to be specific. “I know how to run, swim and use a weapon yet you won’t be shown this unless I have to prove it.”

He turned it over as if to inspect the inscriptions; a language distinct from most eyes but perhaps she might recognize it as elvish. Or was it dwarvish? Orcish, even? Glyphs were graven in the blade, at least, and no understatement.

“Someone who needs ten or twenty weapons on their person intends to swing and miss or expects the extra weight to not take them.” He wrapped his fingers around the hilt; leathered grip above the steel.

“Maybe they trained night and day to have the skill for their equipment but you can’t plan for every attack. This sword?” He tapped the pommel. “It’s filled with chronicles and needs two good hands to wield it. The rest is left to chance and the shield at my back."

Though maybe the sellsword hadn’t shown his employer every blade on his person in the end. A hidden weapon wasn’t hidden if it was naked. What did they say about trust again?

“As for fifty gold…” He relaxed into his seat again, as oblivious to the music and the audience as the sea would be to twenty good men dressed in plate with ten weapons worth their weight.

“...I’ll take twenty-five pieces up front, if you’d please.” His gaze never wavered from her face as he waited for an answer.

Monroe

 

[Monroe]

It took every impulse to be fought for her to not roll her eyes at this man.

Certainly was not the first time she had felt this way all evening.

"Fine. Take your... half fee." Odd. Was it odd enough to warrant the look of doubt that sprang to her face? Perhaps not, but still, she regarded him with true expression. Monroe opened the bag and began to slowly place a gold coin each onto the table, counting it out in her head. When twenty five pieces were there, Monroe fastened the bag and placed it back into her pack.

"Right. I will meet you back here in two days time." She declared. Pushing out her seat, feet flat and firm to stand on, Monroe leaned down on one hand on the table, meeting his unwavering gaze. "Maybe I will show you the advantages of carrying various weapons on your person. You forgot to mention there is the type of person that fights monsters."

Her grin was nothing assuring or innocent. Perhaps it looked wrong, not quite her demeanour. The Yaegir shouldered her pack, glanced around the interiors and frowned as many faces turned away quickly and try not to be caught staring.

"Midday. Get your own horse, Sunflower doesn't do well with strangers."

 

[Vandor Colton]

Spoiler: Music

He watched her, spotted that she wanted to roll her eyes if not toss that tankard at him altogether, but she did not. Instead, she obliged and, when you occupied a position like his, that’s all that mattered.

Was it a test on his part? A jest? Questions and answers weren’t for the bodyguard except whether she asked him to run, jump, swim or swing his sword. Either or would depend on the situation but he had his up-front payment.

Half fee, she claimed it. Happily, he’d taken it. She didn’t have to like him. He was no knight to be liked. She just had to oblige him and, if he played his cards right as her bodyguard, they might both survive.

The grumpy lady rose from her seat in the tavern, if Rory the Gory had anything to say about her, but damsel in distress certainly wasn’t it. She who fights monsters. It was all the sellsword could do to think and watch, however, without offering a response before she walked. He didn't even nod.

However, after she spoke her piece, mentioned weapons and the advantages of carrying various, Vandor lifted his tankard to her. “Midday,” he agreed. “Sunflower sounds swell.” He grinned and finished his drink. Then asked for another.

Two days passed and the mercenary had spent his days and nights in town. It had much and more to offer beside taverns and whores. There was an inn of which to rest his head. Morning was met with breakfast of bacon and eggs.

Back to the The Cold Promise, as promised, as bright light reached the sky at midday’s time. Black cloak over his armor, garments underneath fit for the weather and, if not, a change of clothes in his pack, the bodyguard rode his horse up to the tavern and parked it at a post.

Just in time, it seemed, as he arrived beside his employer. Right. She had mentioned weapons and their variety days earlier. Perhaps she could spot the saddle beside her mercenary with the woodcutter’s axe not much different from a bardiche, the warhammer which served another purpose as a spear, and a crossbow perfect for hunting dear.

“Killjoy,” he said as he rested his horse’s reins. He was black of mane but brown of hide, fine of build if not too high to climb. “A bit different from Sunflower, I admit, but so go names and such is the hour.” Securing his steed, he turned to her.

“Vandor, by the way." Sure, names were just names, but it would be helpful for the sellsword to address the lady who hired him if only to cry out for her to duck down. “My name is Vandor Colton.” His brown eyes met her golden.

Monroe

 

[Monroe]

Monroe was dressed in leather armour, dyed black and near black red. There were more abundantly clear notions of her loyalty to the Yaegir, for the sigil of the Order had been branded into the back of her leather bracers, subtle against the belts attached to it to fasten into place on her arms.

She was packed and ready, and the moment she spotted her hired sword, she turned to her horse. "I know you don't really listen to me, but try to keep from biting his horse. If our journey delays, you're not getting your sweet treats."

It was a courtesy, of course. Monroe didn't want to have to deal with the fallout of bitterness from getting bitten by a horse. She had dealt with that many a time on her own jobs.

Her hired blade introduced his horse, and all she could do was snort. Then came his own introduction.

"Monroe of Atlia." The name was quick on her tongue, practiced by the many times she had to say it. Atlia was where Monroe did her training and reported to as a Yaegir, a few weeks travel out into the Anirian Reach. It had been a great town in it's day, and now was the town overlooked by the ruins known now as the Keep was being rebuilt in order to give home and community to orphans such as she was. "Right. Well. Best be on our way."

If Vandor knew her well, he would spy her anxieties, but Monroe kept a well guarded front before all her walls and defenses. She looked annoyed, impatient, as if the sun in the sky had come late and rendered them behind schedule already.

"First night we make camp at a crossroads inn. Then we ride for the coastal cliffs, and from there, we will be properly camping out for the journey that will take a fortnight until we reach the sea." Had she mentioned to him where they were off to? Probably not. She held an aversion of saying the name that was also her nameright.