Completed As the Day You Were Born

[Mathis Majister Mejeure]

'Twas a splendid day. Gorgeous, in fact. Why, the sun was out and the Reach was in the beautiful bloom of vibrant green and the blue of the sky and of the stream matched perfectly. And, oh yes, another raid pulled off to perfection. Well, so long as one plays loosely with the strictness of the terms constituting "perfection." Did Majister and his band walk away with the loot? Why yes. Were there no deaths among his band or the people he was negotiating with? Why yes, not a one. Clean escape? Why yes, insofar as Majister knew.

Well. Seemed one had to play loosely with the words "perfection" and "clean" now. For while it was undeniably a stellar raid on a woefully ill-defended caravan, Majister did...perhaps get into something of a fistfight. And being the upstanding gentleman that he was, he indulged the overzealous caravan hand. They'd gone to the ground, rolled about in the dirt for a spell, before Majister had finally gotten the better of him. It served to cow the rest of the caravan hands and the merchants they protected, but oh how lovely it was that Darla had an extra healing potion on hand--certainly not one of Majister's most charming moments, after the fight was done. A veritable ruffian, he'd looked like.

Which brought him to the stream now. Lovely afternoon, and high time that he wash the dirt from his clothes as well as the sweat and grime and blood from his body. Majister's clothes and weapons were by the bank of the stream, the former laid out to absorb the drying rays of the sun.

Majister himself, meanwhile, had found a cozy spot to lounge and relax in the stream, soaked up to his neck. A quiet hour or two, spent away from the company of his fellow raiders as they divvied up the loot from yesterday, where he could ponder his next move. Ah, and he was an ambitious man, was he not? He had the Bammaram in his possession--a great victory in and of itself--but what was next? His raider band was growing steadily in size and boldness, and soon simple little raids like the one yesterday would not be enough. Forgoing his nobility in Elbion and turning to outlawry had been quite the exquisite challenge, and soon enough his aspirations would swell beyond the easy and the petty. Onto great things he would go!

Majister stood up, naked as the day he was born and with water dripping off of him and back down to the gentle stream, and stretched his arms straight up toward the sky. Cracked his neck by turning it left and right.

And it was then that he felt the point of a weapon in his back. Sword? Spear? Claw? Who knew.

Majister froze for a moment. Kept his arms stretched up high, but slowly shifted their orientation to a gesture of surrender. He didn't turn around.

"Well then," Majister said. "What can I say? You've got me." He smirked a little. Keeping his head and eyes forward, wondering just who it was that had sneaked so effectively up to him.

"Shall you permit me to clothe myself? Or shall we conduct our business as we are now?"

He awaited the reply. Curious, as to what the person wanted.

 

[Rob Cooke]

Things had been going less than well for Rob today. Or for the past couple of days really. He had managed to hitch a ride on a caravan for his trip. He couldn’t say it was particularly comfortable, but that he didn’t really mind. No, it was the incessant ramblings of the merchant he was stuck with.

He felt almost a little happy when the bandits showed up. However, that threw him in a predicament. He could probably hitch a ride on another caravan. But, after having barely scraped past the bandits, there was one other issue.

The damned lockbox. The whole reason he was out here. He’d be screwed if he left it behind. So, he hatched a plan. He had time to stalk these bandits, the lock on the thing was going to take them quite a time, if they could at all, to open it. He was sure of that, he had spent quite the effort on that lock.

So, he stalked, he watched as their apparent leader got into a scuffle. He watched as their apparent leader wandered off alone to the stream and began to bathe. Therein lied an opportunity.

So this brought him to now, holding the poor bastard up with his own sword.

"Well then," Majister said. "What can I say? You've got me." He smirked a little. Keeping his head and eyes forward, wondering just who it was that had sneaked so effectively up to him.

"Shall you permit me to clothe myself? Or shall we conduct our business as we are now?"

“I think we’ll have to wait a moment. For I wish to propose a deal.” He prodded him slightly, not enough to break the skin, with the sword to add to the point. “I’m sure you know very well why I’m here. I don’t particularly care about the rest of the goods, but there’s a lockbox in there that’s mine, and is rather important.” He left the bandit a moment to think before continuing, “This deal is, assuming you accept, that I first, won’t run you through, and secondly,” He waved the pair of pants he had picked up with the sword, “I’ll let you put on some pants. In exchange, all I ask for is my box and the guarantee you and your boys won’t try to rob or kill me the second I leave or turn my back. That sound fair?”

 

[Mathis Majister Mejeure]

Majister grunted quietly when he was prodded with the weapon. Didn't turn around or look back or drop his hands. Oh, this was the sort of situation no one wished to find themselves in, wasn't it? The jewels of the family dangling exposed, cheeky backside diverting some portion the afternoon breeze, completely vulnerable as one had been when cradled in the arms of their mother.

He actually didn't know why the man (judging by his voice) was here. Not immediately. It became apparent once goods where mentioned, and specified to the particular raid yesterday when the lockbox was spoken of. That's right, the lockbox. The one Darla was very likely still fiddling with. She liked the regular fare of loot well enough--who didn't--but she fancied mysterious things like maps and lockboxes and what not even more so.

It was an awfully generous deal--Majister even got to put on his pants for a shred of decorum and decency. Darla might not like it, but she could appeased through other means. As for the others, they might have their opinions, certainly, but they need only be shown who is the master. Their success under Majister's leadership need only be underscored, and further still, an even greater act of ambition to rise the tide of everyone's fortune would make them hastily forget this little incident.

Also, it might do well to institute a--as Hillby might call it--"buddy system." Surely no one would be too keen to look upon another's nethers (obvious exception for eyes upon Darla, yet she would be rightfully reluctant to show them off), but such a system would do well to prevent things like this from happening whensoever a fellow raider had to relieve him or herself in the woods or take a refreshing dip in a nearby stream or lake.

Majister slowly took the pair of pants. Started putting them on. Said, "Fair as fair can be, my covert friend. Surely you've been informed before of your exemplary magnanimity!"

He secured his pants about his waist and said, "We'll have to face about and head back through the forest...oh, some five minutes' worth of walking or so. You needn't be alarmed: my fine assortment of fellows will be persuaded by your terms. All except one, naturally, who has taken a curious liking to your lockbox. But never fear! I've these sorts of exchanges with her quite regularly, and I'll have you know that I'm rather adept at dismantling her arguments and assuaging her concerns."

Majister started shuffling around, doing so with his hands held up in surrender to the level of his shoulders and keeping his back to the man. Necessary, of course, to orient himself in the direction of the camp.

He started walking at the pace the man would set for them. Said in a genial manner, "Since true names are obviously off the table, how shall we refer to one another? Please, by all means, present a suitable pair of pseudonyms for us to utilize! Why, you've an admirable streak of creativity within you, my fine fellow, I'm sure of it!"

Rob Cooke

 

[Rob Cooke]

Rob felt like grinning as the bandit took the pants. He rather liked this fellow’s attitude. Still, he was careful to not let his guard down, and still kept the sword raised as they put on their pants.

He carefully listened to the man as he talked about how to get to his camp. Soon, they began walking.

"Since true names are obviously off the table, how shall we refer to one another? Please, by all means, present a suitable pair of pseudonyms for us to utilize! Why, you've an admirable streak of creativity within you, my fine fellow, I'm sure of it!"

“You can just call me Rob.” His name seemed fine enough, the bandit wouldn’t much if he tried to do any digging. Plus, considering the context, he’d probably figure it’s a pseudonym anyways. “I’d personally like to put forward swordless for you, but that seems a little mean-spirited, so if you have a different proposal I’d be happy to hear it.”

 

[Mathis Majister Mejeure]

Rob. So it would be then.

"Ah, swordless, you say. 'Tis true in the most literal sense of the term and indeed very apropos in that regard. My, mean-spirited in the more figurative sense perhaps, if there was not ample evidence to the contrary! Ha, ha!"

Majister kept going along, careful of where he stepped with his bare feet. The forest floor was a veritable menagerie of painful pitfalls for the tender feet of a man. Well, maybe some of those more tribal orcs had it right: go without shoes. Keep those feet rough and hardy.

"Let's dispense with the meager adjective and go with a proper fake name, shall we? Rico! Yes indeed, Rob my friend, I do believe Rico will suit our business purposes just fine. Mind that we don't get one another's pseudonyms mixed up! What with the 'R' sound at the beginning of both."

He'd used that particular fake name a few times before. Once with his delightful interaction with Myrra being the most notable. He could only hope that this business here concluded as cordially as that.

"Indulge me for a spell, my good man," Majister said. "Whatever could it be within that lockbox? Oh, don't worry so much about telling me the actual truth, why, I'll settle for a fanciful lie. I ask because I would simply adore hanging the potential of what my dear lady friend could have had over her head. You would not believe how enjoyable it is to tease her every now and again."

Rob Cooke

 

[Rob Cooke]

He listened to the idly chatter, he figured he'd rather enjoy this fellow's company had it been different circumstances. He winced slightly in empathy for the bare feet, but he wasn't about to give up his own shoes or double back for the bandit's par.

"Let's dispense with the meager adjective and go with a proper fake name, shall we? Rico! Yes indeed, Rob my friend, I do believe Rico will suit our business purposes just fine. Mind that we don't get one another's pseudonyms mixed up! What with the 'R' sound at the beginning of both."

It seemed rather agreeable to Rob, and he voiced this opinion. In the meantime, he thought. It was apparent by his mannerisms that he was no normal bandit, or at least he wasn't a random chump who got some of the local hooligans together. The sword itself was rather fancy as well, a rapier, if Rob remembered correctly. That's the sort of weapon nobles use. He'd have to think on it.

Soon, 'Rico' was questioning him on the contents of the box. Or at least something to tease one of his associates with. Well, Rob was always one for a touch of poking fun, and decided to indulge 'Rico' "A necklace, full of amazing and fanciful jewels, and older than some countries." He gave a slight wave of his none dominant hand, "My, if I had to put a price on it, it must be worth hundreds, maybe even thousands of coins, an old family heirloom."

 

[Mathis Majister Mejeure]

"Magnificent," Majister said. "Why, I'm here to tell you that I've already conceived of the perfect ploy. Picture this, my good man: I let my wonderful associate stew in the mystery of what could have been for several days, for in truth one's imagination is always more grand than the facts of the matter. Then I nonchalantly mention that you actually did tell me what was inside of the box at a time most critical, when she's eyeing something fancy in Alliria, say. And then, my good man, I hope you'll allow me to quote you precisely when I say: 'My, if I had to put a price on it, it must be worth hundreds, maybe even thousands of coins.'"

Majister almost looked back. Stopped himself. The time was right for a spot of eye contact and a grin, but the occasion, ah but of course, the occasion...was slightly off, wasn't it. Oh well. The grin would just have to be communicated by tone of voice.

"She's not what you might call 'an impassioned hitter.' You know the types," Majister said as he continued. Other voices could be heard now, and through the brush the tents of the campsite were just now coming into apparent view. "But she does make this darling, pouting face when she's terribly annoyed. Oh, you'll see."

A little bit further and they arrived, Majister and Rob, at the periphery of the camp. Hillby--the band's resident rural farmboy member--was the first to notice Majister's peculiar situation. The rest followed, all nine of them, stopping what they were doing around the camp and standing up and facing Majister and Rob and putting hands on their sheathed or laid down weapons.

"Now, now," Majister said to them, "You needn't allow the intrusion of myself and my newly acquired friend here to interrupt your lunch or your perusing of spoils. By all means, continue. I have merely a small matter of business to attend to...Ah! 'Jenna', there you are. Do come over here."

Darla (called out by her fake name Jenna) glanced to the rest of the raiders and they glanced at her. Padre frowned, Mack shrugged, and Hillby just looked like he'd been fooled by a sleight of hand card trick. But eventually the rest of the raiders--still with an air of apprehension--settled back down into their own business.

And Darla came over to Majister and Rob, her hands on the belt of her trousers. She eyed Rob warily on her approach. Said to him, "You're from..." She couldn't bring herself to say yesterday. "...what's with the mask?"

Rob Cooke

 

[Rob Cooke]

Rob couldn't suppress a laugh at the bandit's plan. "Rather brilliant, I'd say." A good joke, that it was. He carefully listened as he described his associate. Sounded interesting, but also potentially dangerous. Once they arrived, he took the time to carefully inspect the members of the camp as they walked in.

It probably wouldn't be a fun time if he got caught up in a fight. He looked with relief as they all returned to what they were doing. He quickly spotted the Jenna he called to, likely another false name.

"Yes, I am from the caravan. As for the mask, it isn't particularly important. Me and my friend here have hashed out a rather beneficial deal for both parties, and we are just seeing to it that it completed. I'm sure he can explain more."

 

[Mathis Majister Mejeure]

Darla perked an eyebrow. "A beneficial deal?"

"Absolutely, my dear," said Majister.

She eyed Rob and she eyed the sword (Majister's own, as it were) and then looked to Majister. "Alright. What's this have to do with me, then?"

"You remember that lockbox you picked out of the pile of spoils, yes?"

Darla blinked. Then frowned. Then thrust her hands onto her hips and took on an indignant look. "Why's it got to be my spoils? You got into this..." she flapped her hand toward Rob, "...problem! Seems like it's a you problem, not a me problem!"

And, before Majister could try further persuasion, Darla looked to Rob and said, "Why don't you take some of his stuff? Don't you like that sword?"

Rob Cooke

 

[Rob Cooke]

He carefully watched the back and forth. ‘Rico’ was right about this ‘Jenna’ they were going to be rather tricky. He’d rather hate if this ended in violence, but he’d have to be on his toes.

Jenna seemed very unsympathetic indeed. Rico had explained why he was here, but they didn’t seem willing to part with his lockbox.

“It’s a you problem because I’m here for the box. Besides, as much as this is a nice sword it isn’t really my style. No, it’s the box I require for sure. I’m sure you can be very empathetic for your comrades plight here. It wouldn’t do for things to get out of hand, and it is very much easier if you just hand it over.”

He widened his stance a little bit, moving the sword farther away from Rico in a preparation to move quickly and to give him a bit more leeway. This wasn’t exactly his weapon but it’s not the only tool he had.

 

[Mathis Majister Mejeure]

Darla/Jenna, seeing Rob widening his stance, grew visibly nervous. She held up her hands to the level of her chest, open palms to Rob, and said, "H-Hey, I'm..." then she glanced to Majister and said in a low and quick voice, "...this is your foul-up, M--!"

"--Maybe so," Majister said, quick to interrupt her as soon as he saw her lips forming an 'M' sound, "and I will of course see to it that you are given your due recompense for the negligence on my part. But our fine fellow here is quite right: the deal we struck is straightforward and fair for all parties involved."

Darla shifted her eyes between the two of them. Assured to a degree by Majister's lack of worry, even while being in the most precarious position. She said to him, "Alright. Promise."

"Would I lie to you, my dear?"

"Promise."

Majister smirked, and then placed his right hand over his heart and said, "I promise that you will be compensated for your sacrifice on my behalf. Doesn't that sound lovely?"

Darla made that pouty, lips-scrunched-to-one-side face of hers that Majister adored, then sighed and let her shoulders slouch and said to Rob, "Fine. Give me a moment to go and get it. I was having a hard enough time trying to open it anyway."

She turned and went back into the camp proper. Went inside her tent. In the meantime, Majister said to Rob, with a slight glance behind himself, "'Twas nothing personal, should you harbor any concerns of such. Merely business, as is our interaction here. We had the persuasive power to take your lockbox and likewise everything else so collected in our pile of spoils over there, and you had the cunning to take it back. Bravo, I must say, Rob--I heard not the snap of a twig nor the crunch of a leaf on your approach, well done. You've a remarkable talent for that."

Rob Cooke

 

[Rob Cooke]

Rob carefully watched the conversation go back and forth. No amount of convincing from him would do the trick, it was up to Rico. Of course, they did their side of the bargain wonderfully.

He dutifully noted the pouty face he had heard about from Rico. As she walked off, Rob stepped back, allowing Rico to turn around. He grabbed the blade of the sword, turning it around to him as he spoke.

“It’s good to hear that, I spent a good few years getting good at it. Besides, I always cheat a little. Trade secret though, you understand. In the meantime, as we have a deal and you have been relatively trustworthy so far, I’ll return this to you. It was mostly just for appearances sake anyways.”

He glanced around the camp, soaking in the view. It was certainly a bandit camp. He thought back to his doubts that this fellow was of low-birth, and that he is most likely a noble.

“You remind me of some people I work with, how did you get in the trade?”

 

[Mathis Majister Mejeure]

What a promising development. The man Rob actually was offering Majister's sword back to him. Marvelous! Such came with a welcome reduction of the likelihood of being run through today. Ah, but some might ask--perhaps even some of his sterling colleagues gathered around the pile of spoils collected in the camp--why not opportunistically turn this whole debacle around on Rob? And wasn't the answer simple? Majister had on more than one occasion been accused of being a "black-hearted rogue," but a deal was--in fact--a deal.

Majister accepted the rapier and swung the point down to touch the dirt and rested his palm on the pommel, much like a cane.

You remind me of some people I work with, how did you get in the trade?

Majister grinned and said, "An intrepid spirit, my friend, that's how! And I'm here to tell you that there's much to be said about the sheer revivification of joy that comes with pursuing meaningful hardship in one's life! Ambrosia for the soul, my good man, and a potent feast it is! Oh, what dull drudgery of banal being takes place in the hallowed halls of the privileged! There is a languishing that comes as the necessary price of luxury, and 'Egads!' I hear you say, 'What terrible news!' Well, Rob, my fine fellow and infiltrator extraordinaire, consider yourself now duly informed, and brook nary a word to the contrary of this revelation you've just heard from yours truly."

Darla emerged from her tent (right on cue, my, he still had that impeccable sense of timing) and held in both her hands the sought after lockbox and she approached the two men, looking more directly at Majister and only sheepishly at Rob and the manner in which she held the lockbox took on the character of cradling a small kitten or puppy to her bosom.

"I just..." she said, to both men and to neither of them it seemed, "...I was just really curious."

"Remember your due compensation, Jenna," advised Majister. "And spend it wisely. Surely you'll happen upon another such prize that will steal your fancy."

Darla looked to the ground for a moment and then to Rob and approached him and, after a second's worth of reluctance, extended out her arms and offered up the lockbox to him.

Rob Cooke

 

[Rob Cooke]

Unseen eyes peered at Rico as he grabbed the sword. There was of course, the risk that ran with returning it. However, Rob figured that this man considered himself rather much a dashing rouge. Besides, as Rob had said, his having the sword was more for show than much else.

He listened to Rico’s talking about intentionally putting hardship within ones life. After a second of deliberation and mentally sifting through what he said, Rob figured that Rico was rather much a thrill seeker.

Before he could comment on the fact or continue the chat, ‘Jenna’ re-appeared.

Even old cold hearted Rob felt a pang of guilt at the expression on their face. Still, a deal was a deal and he needed the box. He gingerly retrieved the box from their hands as he spoke.

“Terribly sorry about the hassle. If it makes you feel better there are many a strange lockbox in the world. Hell, maybe a while down the line if I’m feeling ballsy and I run into this group again I’ll tell you what’s in here.”

Perhaps a little mean, especially considering Rico’s plan. But there was nothing wrong with a good taunt now and again, and he wasn’t really lying.

“Well, I wouldn’t want to keep any of you any longer, unless you need anything from me I should be on my way, hopefully to a less raid-able caravan.”

 

[Mathis Majister Mejeure]

Darla made a motion to say something, but seemed to think better of it. She stowed away her curiosity into some deep compartment in her mind and tried more so to focus on the recompense she was offered, vague wonderings born of unrestrained imagination serving to assuage the loss of the current lockbox and the mystery therein.

Majister made a small twirling motion with his free hand, ending with his palm turned to Rob. "Fare you well, my good man. Yes, I am quite pleased that we could reach an amicable solution to our little conundrum here. And I do believe such a caravan ought carry you along to your destination well--perish the thought of another misfortune befalling you and your earned lockbox!"

Majister grinned.

"'Til fate and fortune conspire to join us together yet again, my friend."

Rob Cooke