Private Tales The Viper of Vestia

A private roleplay only for those invited by the first writer
The travel wasn't great. They were supposed to be sneaky, but given that those who would care would only be from Vestia, Farrell failed to understand why they had to refrain from horses. However, even considering that, the land of Campania was much more friendly to travel than that Alliria, or so he had read in a book or two. Plus, Gild was very isolated from other greater powers, and thus didn't have the type of economy that was good for expansion. All this to say that it was small enough to be a bit quicker of a trek.

If Farrell's geography didn't fail him, he saw a river and guessed they had arrived at the Sakin, a border river. Night by now, and the burbling of the river provided a pleasant backdrop for whatever would go down tonight. It wasn't quite the most pleasant place to gather, granted, but all the stories he had ever read set such a site as realistic. "Almost like we're in an adventure book." he mused a little bit. He guessed that given the setup so far, the Vestians would stay on their side of the river and they to theirs until agreements were made.

Just then he heard the loading of a crossbow and turned, already sure of who it was. He waited for Jerick to attempt to talk Castulo down before tossing in his own two cents, unsure exactly what the mercenary had planned. "Keep it away, Castulo. Loaded but away, like on your belt or something. No great diplomacy ever started with an arrow in the other party's face." he said, realizing that though what he said made sense, it was a bit weaker in this scenario.

They had, of course, begun their day negotiating peacefully with a man who had just been punched in the face by the very same mercenary now planning to threaten the Viper's right hand with a weapon.
 
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"I know," said Castulo, "which is why I'm making sure we don't get any arrows in our faces."

Jerick faced the Gildans and, coming to agree with Farrell, said impatiently, "No one's getting shot in the face. We've got the cover of darkness on our side, and plenty of forest around here. We'd see and hear any mounted patrols long before they even knew about us, if there even are any about. And most importantly, I don't get paid if this deal doesn't work out, so I'm inclined to get you there nice and safe."

Castulo glanced over to Farrell and, giving way to a compromise, said, "I'll keep it low. Low and relaxed." And he did so, holding the crossbow down by his waist at a downward angle, his hand off the trigger mechanism.

Jerick pointed up the river then. "I reckon we just have to go a little more north from here. We can stick close to the river. Even in the dark I know what I'm looking for, where we turn east. Bit of a hidden path in the brush."

"So we cross here?"

"Yeah, we cross here. I know my side of the river more than this side."

Castulo groaned. "Wet boots. I hate wet boots."

Quaestor Farrell Leguin
 
Farrell sighed in relief at the fact that Jerick had at least slightly joined his side of things. It wasn't as though the boy failed to understand Castulo's concern, but his thought process was that if they were in any danger, this all felt like a nice little waste of time. He couldn't imagine someone like the Viper would randomly pick a Gildan or two to kill, what with how he already had one nation on his trail. Of course, that hinged on the idea that they would be graceful guests, a fact that seemed more obvious to him than his companion.

"Fine. Thank you, Castulo." he said, turning back to face the road. As far as mercenaries went, he was willing to bet Castulo was one of the nicer ones. In truth, it wasn't as if he would have been able to do anything if he had just refused. Quieting down, he looked at Jerick's upraised finger and then at the river they were soon to be crossing. He silently nodded at Castulo's expressed disgust, also loathing the idea of a discussion where they had to stand in wet shoes.

"Right then. Let's get this over with, shall we?" he asked Jerick, extending his hand out to indicate "lead the way".

Rogue Castulo Arnal
 
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"Yeah, the sooner we slosh across this river, the sooner my precious little feetsies can get dry again."

"Don't let some cold water scare you away from big money, Gildie," said Jerick.

"Ha, ha, fuck you, Vestie."

And then down to the river's edge they went. Jerick led the way and Castulo followed. Hardly was the River Sakin any true obstacle, not like the River Sulh which ran through the city of Gild, for the Sakin at its deepest only reached to one's knees, or slightly above. Gently did the water run, and if the ears didn't provide enough testimony of this, then surely one's legs in the fording did so. A wide river, the Sakin, but little else proved imposing about it.

Out on the other side, Castulo gave either leg a good shaking. Jerick looked back to him and said, "See, that wasn't so bad."

Castulo grinned. "Bitchin's fine, that's fun to do, but being a bitch isn't. So don't get too bundled up about me and my complaining—it's like giving myself a massage with words."

"Sure, just—" Jerick stubbed his toe on a rock nestled in the ground, and he yelped sharply and hobbled for a moment and hissed, "Ah shit, fuck, damn the luck!"

Castulo snickered and then whapped Farrell's shoulder with the back of his hand and then pointed to the spectacle of Jerick. "See that? He's getting it. A massage with words."

Quaestor Farrell Leguin
 
Farrell simply laughed dryly at the two of them. "You fellas sure are something. I would call you two a married couple, but it's worse." he stated with a smile. It was fun to see that his compatriots in this potentially deadly endeavor were as relaxed as one reasonably could be. The boy was also buoyed himself by the thought of future "big money", a motivation that while shallow was likely common. Jerick led the way and Farrell followed behind Castulo. It was actually a rather relaxing experience to walk through the water, the calm rush-bubble of the river Sakin doing wonders for the nerves.

Farrell busied himself while Jerick and Castulo furthered their bromance with shaking water out of his own shoes, listening as Castulo gave a speech about how he liked to complain. Well, everyone had their own way of relaxing, Farrell supposed. It seemed that the intended effect was supposed to be that of screaming off a cliff and all that. Jerick appeared to have comment, but never got the chance. He seemingly hit a rock and began hopping around for a moment, causing the boy to cringe in sympathy.

He had done something similar but it had been a table leg, and the sheer amount of pain from such a weak hit could only be described as momentarily excruciating. However, his sympathy was soon overtaken by a slightly too loud laughter. He barely registered Castulo's slap on the back and manage to stifle his giggles. "Not....Funny. Sorry. That's not fun to go through. It's just, you were rhyming so enthusiastically." he attempted to explain, forcing back any hint of humor that could appear on his face.

Rogue Castulo Arnal
 
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"You're right. It's not funny. It's hilarious," Castulo said.

Jerick sucked in air and gave his foot a few test steps and said, "Yeah, yeah, pleasure to be your amusement for the evening."

"You'll be fine. I'm the husband in this marriage, and I say so," Castulo said, harkening back to Farrell's earlier comment.

Jerick flicked a dismissive hand back at the two Gildans and started on his way, leading them onward.

The going was easy at first, much like the approach from the Gildan side to the River Sakin. But soon enough into their northward journey the ground rose up above the river's level, undulated, now with gentle slopes, now with steep inclines or descents. The bush became thicker, with the forest unmanaged, and the wild growths complicated their path. Castulo had to give it to Jerick—at least he wasn't lying about knowing his way, as he strode through it all with an easy confidence despite the gloom of night.

At last they came to a certain point. A small cliffside was nearby on their left, a short drop of some twenty or twenty-five feet back down to the River Sakin, but off to their right a low tree, curved and bent with age and with moss draped like a curtain over it, seemed like a portal into lands unexplored.

"Watch your heads," Jerick said, as he, and Castulo and Farrell as well, had to stoop low to get under the tree and enter onto the hidden path.

Down they descended into the cut in the land, earthen walls to their left and right, close enough at times that outstretched arms could touch both. Trees and bush loomed overhead, and all that vegetation above stifled the sky and stars overhead, making the night seem blacker than before.

But ahead, the quiet glow of a modest fire, caged within a secluded dell of the land, could now be seen.

"You boys ready to make some money?" said Jerick.

"That, and settling down my curiosity, I'll admit."

Quaestor Farrell Leguin
 
Jerick glanced to Farrell, held it for a second after the younger man shrugged, and then figured he hadn't come all this way to back out now. He jerked his head toward the glow of the fire, and then started walking.

"Anything happens," said Castulo lowly to Farrell, "you know what to do." This, he said, as though something had been discussed between the rogue and the Quaestor, when no such thing was ever talked about or planned in the slightest; and, furthermore, Castulo thought very little now of the possibility of this being some kind of Vestian deception. But it did feel sharp to say that—and Castulo wasn't above saying shit just to say it.

And so down to the secluded dell they went, until at last those earthen walls opened up, widening into the small and circular basin in which the campfire was set. Jerick and Castulo and Farrell entered into the orange glow from one side.

From the other, seeming to emerge from the very night itself, came a man clothed in dark leathers, with a hood and a mask and dark paint on what little skin of his face his attire revealed, and the whites of his eyes stood out most. He moved silently, that much was for certain, and very much he seemed a man more at home with the night than under the sun's glare; yet he stood with a certainly stately posture, his hands held before him calmly, his stance easy but ready for action nonetheless, like a veteran soldier facing down some daunting peril. He appeared unarmed, but those dark leathers, despite the fire's radiance, could hide many a secret item.

"Jerick," he said to the Vestian among the trio. And then to Farrell and Castulo, "Greetings, Gildans. I am the man whom you may know as 'The Viper'."

Castulo blinked rapidly and his head rocked back slightly as his shoulders, surprised as he was that the actual man himself (and it was a man!) had shown and so casually introduced himself.

With a kind of wonder he murmured, "Fuck me."

Quaestor Farrell Leguin
 
He wasn't sure what exactly Jerick had to doubt him about, but he nodded in some kind of attempt at appeasement to their guide. Jerick appeared to come to an adequate conclusion to the same effect and continued walking, Farrell following behind silently.

When Castulo next spoke to him the boy raised an eyebrow and then sighed, nodding. Partially wanting to confuse his new friend and aware that their only option in the event of a trap was to fight, he chose to follow the mercenary's instructions. However, just as he saw no reason for Jerick to be suspicious of him, he had no reason to suspect any sort of treachery.

Farrell's skin started to get goosebumps in a silent expression of his anticipation. The Viper, despite the relatively short length of their vigilante activities, was already a legend in Campanian news. He, on the other hand, was well aware he was just some guy who had chanced upon this meeting. If anyone was going to screw this up, it would be him.

Standing in the orange glow of the fire, Farrell watched as a man in black clothes stepped out from the darkness and stood in front of them for a moment before introducing himself as the Viper with an air of controlled invincibility. Even if the two of them were obviously threats, Farrell suspected this introduction would have gone the same way. If the nobles of Vestia were anything like they were described, this man and how he carried himself denoted him as someone far out of their league. In his posture was a kind of grace carried by elder senators or battle-leading praetors, a feeling that only further confirmed the boy's theory.

A quick look over to Castulo and quite the suprising sight: The mercenary seemed a bit shocked. Well, that was certainly quite the sign. In a moment that even he could not have guessed would happen, Farrell stepped forward and bowed his head a bit in greeting. "Hello then, Viper. My name is Farrell. I have the feeling you're anything but scared of us. Thus, I figure we might be best served not cowering in a corner before you. Neither of us are here to cause trouble and hope to serve your cause well." He explained while meeting the man's gaze, his attempt at hiding apprehension going remarkably well given the circumstances.

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The Viper looked to Farrell, and his eyes were those of a man who focused keenly upon his interlocutors, a vast intellect and breadth of attention narrowed to nearly a singular point. He took in what Farrell had to say, and said in turn, "I am glad to hear it. But as I shall soon explain, my cause beyond this night will be subject to fortune far outside my grasp."

And when the Viper looked to Castulo, he would say his own name, yeah, but he had a mind for a question whose chance for an answer was slim. "Castulo. You got a name you were born with, yeah? Or are we just going to keep calling you 'Viper'?"

Slim indeed, but the Viper was polite about it. "If hope unlooked-for is mine, and I am allowed by heaven to continue this battle upon Arethil, then it would be best if names which have perished to stay buried in the ground."

"Fair enough." Castulo figured that, for a man like the Viper, the fewer tongues which knew his actual name, the better. Just good business. "So you have us, then. Two Gildans. Now what could the most infamous Vestian in all of Campania want with two Gildans?"

The Viper looked between Farrell and Castulo with a heavy pall of solemnity, and the pause before he spoke carried a gravity to it that Castulo wasn't expecting. No mere job, this, that much seemed for sure—if the payout wasn't evidence enough, anyway.

At last the Viper spoke: "I shall come right to it. Gildans, I wish for you to help me rescue my sister, who has been taken captive by the Vestian authority, and has before her now nothing but a life of misery, agony, and woe while she remains in their hands. Help me, Gildans, to spare her from this."

Quaestor Farrell Leguin
 
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