Private Tales Another Day, Another Dream

[Emmeline Hildebrandt]

Clad in a simple green tunic and dark leather pants as opposed to her armor, Emmeline strolled through the city, her verdant gaze moving to and fro among the people there. She wore a satchel that crossed her torso from one shoulder, and inside it, she had stolen cases--something she could get in a lot of trouble with her captain for having. But she had to know about her parents, she had to find out why they were killed. Her hand rose over her left breast, pressing against the scar hidden by her shirt.

Her destination was any tavern she could find that looked uncrowded. She didn't want to deal with people and their questions; she simply wished to divulge herself in a glass of whiskey or two while she reviewed the pages. It wasn't long before she found a fitting place, and she there she slid into a booth and lifted the satchel to the table. When a barmaid came, she made the order for whiskey, then began going through the pages. They'd been stolen once before, and they were water damaged from an incident in another bar.

A soft sigh left her lips, probably relief from being on her feet most of the night. She was lucky enough to not have to work this night. She pondered, attention drifting away from the files briefly. The woman thought about the man that rescued her and William, as she often did. With a sip of the whiskey when it arrived, she finally turned back to the parchment in front of her. She tried to make out the now illegible parts of the pages, cursing herself silently for allowing it to get ruined.

Emmeline furrowed a brow slightly, something she always did when she concentrated. One hand remained on the pages, flipping through them, while the other continued to touch the fabric above her scar. She'd been so close to death. Her brother, a blacksmith, was gone at the moment, off learning from some master of the craft.

A lot of things flowed through her mind besides her parents and her brother, particularly the fact that she would likely never find a better profession. She failed to get her saviour's attention, his rebuff a minor pain to the woman. It was alright though. Things always turned out alright. At least, they did if she had a hand in it. She was a hard worker, but she grew bored with walking the streets, she needed to be able to research everything, maybe avenge her parents... she had to do something.

Emmeline took another sip of her whiskey and flipped another page.

Syr Guernot

 

[Syr Guernot]

Just one table over, a burly kivren was hunched over his own reading material, peering over the pages of a book with studious intensity. If one peeked at the cover, they would see that he was reading the third installment of The Tales of Princess Piriyin - Lost in the Dark Wood. Lowbrow literature with a rakish line of romance that would make more refined ladies blush. Unfortunately Guernot was neither a lady nor refined, and he had little shame to boot.

When the barmaid walked by to greet a newcomer, he flagged her down. "Miss, what's it take for a man to get a drink around here?" Guernot asked.

"For a man, not much, but mine eyes are seeing a fish in front of me."

"Alright," Guernot said with a roll of his red eyes, giving up the fight rather quickly. "What's it take for a fish?"

"Five coppers."

"I'm being robbed in plain daylight," he said flatly, but was already reaching into his pocket to take out the coin. Alliria was a big place and he didn't particularly feel like walking around until he found a seedier, more affordable bar. Besides, this establishment had a good amount of light for reading, which was hard to come by. He tossed the coins on the tabletop as evidence that he had them, and the barmaid went on her way. Then there was nothing getting the way of his sightline of the person who had come in and sat down in a booth across from him.

"Hullo there. You seem rather competent to be in here so early in the day," Guernot said to the young woman, setting his own reading material down a moment. "Not like the rest of these mopey bastards." He leaned sideways in his seat to peer at the papers in her hand, looking down his flat nose at them. "Whatcha reading?"

Guernot was not in armor, though he had his sword belted at his waist. He was wearing black trousers and a black linen shirt, and draped across his shoulders was a blue cloak with a chrysanthemum dyed into its fibers, the many petals of the stylized flower giving the cloak a scaled pattern. It was recognizable as the seal of the Knights of Anathaeum. Few knew of the knight's order this far west, though their reputation had grown some since their recent role in defending the city against a roving warband.

Emmeline Hildebrandt

 

[Emmeline Hildebrandt]

Emmeline took the last mouthful of whiskey from her glass, swirling its dregs thoughtfully. Her gaze lifted, verdant eyes searching for the barmaid's whereabouts. It's during that moment of staring around that the guard woman spotted the kivren. Taken aback for a moment, she set her glass down and fixed Guernot with a curious, probing stare.

She'd heard of his kind, but she couldn't remember seeing one in person before. Kivren weren't that common, and those that did live on land were certainly odd to encounter. She worked nights usually, and in fact, she had not yet gone to sleep. It was visible in the bags that darkened the skin beneath her eyes. Her lips pressed together tightly as she thought, but none of her surprise made it to her face. Maybe a small glimmer in her eyes, but that could just be the beginning signs of inebriation.

Her gaze was on his cloak, for the most part. The Knights of Anatheum, if she recalled her briefings correctly, was an order of individuals that served a greater good. Something she'd dreamt of being a part of, though it would take her away from the city where she'd yet to uncover her family's murders.

Finally, the barmaid returned to see if Emmeline wanted more to drink, her lips twitched barely into a thoughtful frown, the fleeting expression easy to miss. She raised her glass to see if she could get any last droplets out of it. That failed, so she gave the barmaid the empty glass and the woman floated away with it, gone again into the vacant chairs. No, not many people drank this early, but for Emmeline, it was nearing bedtime. Not that she ever slept any good in the first place.

When Guernot addressed her, it nearly startled her out of her fixed stare, which might be seen as more of a glare. The barmaid returned with her drink, and quietly she thanked the woman before addressing the kivren. With a quick flick of her arm, she gathered the papers into a semi-decent stack. He'd catch a glimpse of its title if he tried. They were from the archives, perhaps copied, likely stolen.

“Work stuff,” she half-lied. It was work related. “Perhaps, I'm welcome at most of the bars, guess they think having an off-duty guard in the room will lower the risk of a brawl.” Emmeline took her new glass and brought it to her lips, a burning, sweetness that warmed her as she drank.

“Can't say I've met a lot of your kind…” she attempted to carry the conversation past her papers, into something forgettable.

Syr Guernot

 

[Syr Guernot]

He didn't need to see what was written on the the papers - how the woman shuffled them away so furtively was enough to tell him what he wanted to know. They were important, and maybe not something a guard ought to be reaching in broad daylight. Maybe a guard ought to not be reading them at all, but well, that wasn't his business.

He was only looking for conversation. And the woman, while glum and a bit dark in gaze, was responsive enough.

Guernot chuckled as she trailed off with her last comment, his eyes flashing with fiery mirth. "You've not met many knights?" He asked with an air of innocence, willfully ignoring what she'd meant by your kind. "I find that hard to believe, thought guards worked with the gentry fairly often."

The barmaid came by then, forcing a pause in his talk. She put a wooden mug of something that smelled liked beer in front of Guernot, and he took it in one blocky blue hand, frowning down at the liquid.

Emmeline Hildebrandt