The Meeting

[Wynken]

clear...

Wynken occupied the darkest corner of the well-lit Promenade, his goblet of red wine resting daintily in the palm of his upturned hand. Before every sip he would stir the glass until centripetal force threatened to spill the liquid over its edge. The table and the drink had both become customary during his stay, and it was the only corner which conveniently afforded a full view of the establishment. It was evening, and, not wanting to miss his intended party, Wynken had spent the entire day in or around the tavern. The barkeep eyed him with incredulity. He was more curious than concerned, as Wynken showed no sign of ill intent.

Patrons came and went. A handful of local folks and other regular guests had begun to linger, but it was shaping up to be a slow night for the sleepy logging town. Under normal circumstances, Wynken would have avoided the place, enjoying the concealment of a noisy and crowded room. As it was, even private conversations rang out with clarity and all but the most discreet actions could be discerned through even passive observation. However, Wynken ignored the dealings of others and rather glowered at the doorway, seeking only his intended prey.

“Can I refill your glass”, a barmaid called from a few tables away. Unaware that she was speaking to him, Wynken ignored the request. The woman stepped closer eliciting a sneer as Wynken realized she had addressed him. She was a young and attractive woman, supple and curvy to the extent that she appeared out of place in the woodsman’s village. Wynken felt as if she belonged somewhere or to someone more refined. He lit a cigarette and traced the shape of her legs, exposed under a moderately short kirtle. “I can find my own way to the bar”, came his reply; loud enough that the nearest table turned to regard the scene. Confident they had reached an understanding, Wynken turned his attention once more to the now silent room.

At that moment, the door swung open and two more guests bounded in to the Promenade: Benson’s acquaintances. They entered one after another, and the first through the door noticed Wynken peering at them almost immediately. He pulled up to an abrupt stop, his comrade bumping him from behind. “What are you doing”, the man bellowed before maneuvering around to survey the bar for himself. “Oh”.

[Wynken]

Having recovered from their initial surprise, the two smirked; shared a knowing glance; and made their way to the far corner of the room. As they approached, Wynken took the opportunity to more fully observe the pair who had been sitting throughout their first encounter. The man to his left was lithe and notably shorter than the other. A dagger was sheathed at his left hip and another hung at arm’s length upon his right thigh. Both wore light clothing suitable for traveling and showing signs of heavy use. The other man was larger, yet their initial exchange had convinced Wynken that he was a subordinate.

Awash in anger, disbelief, and insecurity; the young barmaid remained, still taken aback by the stranger's tactlessness. Wynken paid her no heed, heightening the emotions which welled within her to form unwanted tears behind her eyes. No man, or woman for that matter, had ever spoken to her with such brash forthcoming. Her cheeks burned red with embarrassment. She opened her mouth as if to assault the man with a volley of rebuttals, but it issued forth only silence. Crushed, she retreated behind the bar and disappeared through the door to a back room.

The two men had worked their way across the tavern, weaving between the many place settings that separated them from the corner table. Once there, they wasted no time in taking seats opposite to each other, flanking Wynken as he sat with his back to the wall. As they took their places, Wynken adjusted his weight within his chair, coming forward and wedging his feet upon the baseboard. The three stared hard at one another in silent, prideful determination until the stillness was broken by the larger of the two men. “Don’t think we’ve forgotten you from the other night”, he hissed as anger and resentment enshrouded his features. “We would have handled you then if we hadn’t business the next morning. Don’t you be thinking that stunt you pulled had us running scared.” He came forward in his chair, perhaps to draw attention away from his cohort who had drawn the dagger from its place on his thigh.

Sensing the movement, and severely disadvantaged within the corner, Wynken used the wall as a springboard and leapt out of his seat and over the table. Arms outstretched, he twisted his torso mid-flight so as to face the ceiling. Having timed it perfectly, he felt the chair opposite his own upon his fingertips and grabbed on. Using the chair to slow the momentum in his upper body, he completed his rotation by aligning his hips with his shoulders. The chair tipped back onto its rear legs, and Wynken bent at the waist to land gracefully on his feet with the two men before him. Continuing the movement, and employing his remaining inertia, Wynken hoisted the chair from its resting place and handily spun it three hundred degrees where it smashed against his assailant. The man barely had time to raise his arm in a pitiful defense, which quickly fell away as the oaken chair exploded under the force of the blow. Showered in a hail of spindles, he collapsed into the corner of the tavern.

Having completed his final circuit, Wynken drew his weapons and faced the remaining foe. The man produced a dangerous looking mace, but, caught between immobilizing fear and volatile rage, he hesitated to form an offensive. Wynken took the opportunity to observe the tavern in his peripheral and noted that a group had made a move for the door. It wouldn’t be long before the guards were informed.

Resentment getting the better of him, the man finally burst forward with a vicious swipe of his bludgeon. Wynken ducked beneath the weapon and spun away, pivoting on his rear heel, barely avoiding a swift backswing. In his flight, he awkwardly backed against another table and the man pressed in again. Realizing that his dagger was no match for the force behind the weighty mace, Wynken brought his long sword across to intercept the blow. He spun away again, this time putting more distance between himself and that deadly cudgel.

Unrelenting, and now fully taken by rage, the man rushed forward with a side-long swipe. It came at chest level and, based on the man’s position, Wynken anticipated it to be slightly over compensated. He would be hard pressed to duck or to fall away with any but marginal success. Instead, Wynken stepped quickly in to the blow, accepting a vicious strike from the man’s fist. Taking swift advantage of the close quarters, and ignoring the pain in his left shoulder, Wynken jabbed forward with his dagger. Had the man been wearing more than a tunic, the feeble strike would have done little to deter him. Instead, aided by the man’s own rambling forward progress, the awkward parrying dagger slipped between the man’s ribs and bit hard upon the flesh behind.

Surveying the room once more, Wynken laid his attacker brusquely upon the floor where he sat and sputtered still clinging desperately to life. He quickly searched one man and then the other for evidence of their timely travels, and he settled for two small pouches and two scrolled parchments. Looking to the door, Wynken expected Underwood’s officials to burst through at any moment, and he didn’t like the prospects that they would see this as a permissible act of self defense. He sprinted from the corner along the tavern wall and up the stairs to the second floor. There he was greeted by a long corridor with private rooms to either side. A window could be seen across the way, and Wynken could hear that the guards had entered below and begun collecting information. Continuing his sprint, Wynken drew his cowl about his face and lept, shoulder first, through the small pane. Tucking his head in a summersault, he underestimated the distance and landed a little harder across the back of his shoulders than he had hoped. In an off-balanced roll, he came up to his feet and paused to fully assess the extent of his injuries.

Wynken turned to look back at the Promenade and to relish the evening’s accomplishments, and, as he spun, he was met with a fist which flattened his nose against his face. “Dammit”, he cried involuntarily as he staggered back a step. Finding his focus, Wynken could make out the face of the beautiful young barmaid in the gloom of the evening.

[Wynken]

Wynken licked a drop of blood from his lip, and, with his sleeve, wiped the remainder from his nose. Even such slight rotation in his bruised shoulder was accompanied by waves of discomfort. His adrenaline was waning and his body becoming increasingly aware of pain. Still he chuckled as the girl cocked her fist in preparation for round two. He had scarcely seen such a splendid and ironic display of ugly hatred and immense physical beauty.

Further angered by his condescension, the woman shrieked and let her fist fly. With his good arm, Wynken intercepted it mid flight and held her by the wrist in a firm yet painless grasp. She struggled unavailingly to loose herself, thumping Wynken’s leather-clad chest with her free hand as a child in a tantrum. Finally exhausted, she looked up into his eyes and scanned his face as if lost or confused. “How innocent to be so wounded over something so trifle”, Wynken thought as he sensed her desperation. As if her world would be shattered if she were to receive no restitution.

Her hand, which moments previous had pounded Wynken’s leather vest, now playfully traced the etching there; leading him to make a mental correction. “How vain”, came his new assessment. “She seeks approval rather than an apology, and simply cannot accept that not all in this realm would treat her as a goddess.” No sooner had he made the realization then the girl tugged the back of his neck, pushing their lips together in a forceful kiss. Hers were sweet as a ripened fruit and warm as the sun that would nourish it on the vine, but the embrace ended as quickly and as unexpectedly as it had begun. Now with both hands free, she held Wynken’s face at arm’s length and searched it again for some sign of affirmation. A smirk was all she found there and she watched as his eyes slowly and deliberately moved from her own to a location in the distance. Hesitantly she turned toward the tavern to see the silhouette of a town watchman in the shattered frame of the second story window. He pointed and yelled, “There they are”.

One word hung in her thoughts and forced them down a thousand roads, each ending in blackness. “They”, she mouthed quizzically before frantically turning back to Wynken. “Come on then”, he said offhandedly as he reached for her. His steady voice calmed her slightly, but even had it not she was left with little option as he took her hand and led her into the darkening streets of Underwood.

[Wynken]

Darkness rode on a cool breeze as they poured in through the open window. The curtains fluttered, their thin layers failing to contain the remorse that now welled in her throat. She felt exposed and peered through the portal as if expecting to see an audience gathered beyond. She blamed the cold as she pulled the coverlet tight around her naked body. Wynken offered her a cigarette before lighting his own and leaning back upon his bed at the Fettered Fawn. “What’s your name, child?”, he remarked dispassionately. She sat up on her elbows, fixed him with a glare, and complained, “I’m no younger than yourself”.

“Youth isn’t overcome through the passage of time but rather through experience”, Wynken said, his voice trailing slightly. “And I assure you that I’ve seen plenty”. Unimpressed and simply too tired to take up the fight, the woman laid back down with a huff and stared at the ceiling. “Emmalyn”, she replied at length, “my name is Emmalyn”. She rolled her eyes and blushed at the open acknowledgment that she didn’t even know the man beside her. Both went unnoticed. “So”, she said turning to face him once more. Wynken returned the stare but offered no response. Sensing none forthcoming, she spoke in an exaggerated tone saying, “What’s your name?”

“Vanaril” he lied, choosing to give his surname. “The shadow stalker”. He had fabricated the title but he figured it was true enough, and enjoyed the way it rolled off his tongue. Wynken licked his fingers and used them to smother the embers of his smoke before settling in to his pillows. He had propped the Mirror Root next to the bed and now silently pulled it to his side under the covers. “Get some sleep”, she heard him say, though Emmalyn could no longer see him in the darkness.

She woke to a beam of sunlight, as if a single ray had purposefully pricked her eye. Hoping it were all a dream, she turned to find that she was indeed alone; though still in the unfamiliar room of the trapper’s tavern. “Should have known” she stated, throwing on her gown from the previous day. A note rest on the room’s solitary table, two leather pouches weighing it down against the draft which still issued from the open window.

I have urgent business elsewhere. If it be your desire you may await my return, upon which I will check back at this room. The gold I’ve left will more than cover your expenses.

If you would rather not, fare well. I’m certain the watchman would not have identified you at such a distance, but please accept the gold just the same.

I will suspect betrayal, and I warn you that it will not be dealt with lightly.

- The shadow stalker

The light of dawn glistened upon the leaves of the Concordia as Wynken observed the scrolls he had pilfered the night before. Unrolling them, he found them to be shipping records, and he recalled what Benson had said. He looked north in the direction of Radasanth before picking his way silently through the underbrush.

[Wynken]

Requested Spoils:

Two sets of shipping records, obviously.

The skill, Kinematics – Wynken has developed a keen understanding of humanoid kinesiology in addition to knowledge regarding the classical mechanics of motion. He can, with slightly greater than average ease and accuracy, make predictions of range and projection angle and make judgments according to an entity’s center of gravity and weight distribution. Defensively, this affords him a greater opportunity to parry or evade immediate or successive melee attacks as well as ranged attacks from greater than 25 (or as deemed appropriate) yards. It also grants him the ability to out maneuver opponents of average agility in armed combat, and provides a moderate increase to range and accuracy when wielding missile weapons.

[Revenant]

Full rubric, full commentary requested.

STORY

Continuity (3) – Though you mention that this story has a background, you don’t mention exactly what it was. For someone who didn’t read the previous story, assuming there was one, this left only a sense that I was missing something. In the end I’m left unsure why this thread took place, and what the real outcome of it was.

Setting (5) – Forest and tavern. There was little involvement with the forest, but some nice things that came from your stint in the Peaceful Promenade.

Pacing (3) – Slow, jerky pacing between both of you at the beginning, though it settled into a much more fluid pace once Wynken moved onto a solo.

CHARACTER

Dialogue (3) – Wynken comes off as uninspired throughout the thread, and I felt like I could almost quote what he would say before he said it. That isn’t to say the dialogue was bad, but rather that it was very bland. It felt like the character didn’t really have a voice of his own.

Action (3) – Similar to the dialogue, the actions in this thread, both character and NPC, came off as emotionless. It was all very mechanical, action A happens and then action B happens and then action C happens. I don’t get any sense of frantic life-or-death combat in the fight scenes and it feels like everyone is just standing around watching how deadly precise and in control Wynken is while waiting for their turn. We write our characters as awesome, and there’s nothing wrong with that, but you need to make it interesting at the same time.

Persona (3) – Mistress shows some passion in her posts, but even though Wynken writes that his character loathes himself and is a hateful guy, I never get that feeling from him. Rather, the only thing I get off of Wynken throughout the entire thread is boredom.

WRITING STYLE

Technique (2) – Nothing really reached out and grabbed me about this thread, and no real feeling of emotion to it that stirred me. I am really grateful that Mistress decided to drop the color scheme after the first post as it made no sense whatsoever and really, really broke up the writing. As a note, you can go back to previous threads and edit things like the color changes out if you decide not to continue using them, and I suggest that you do.

Mechanics (7) – Mechanically, a pretty well-written thread with little errors.

Clarity (4) – Pretty clear for the most part, but there were several times that I had to stop reading to process the writing to ensure I had it correct. The two major ones were the fight at the inn and Wynken’s internal dialogue at the end while he was assessing the waitress’ motivations. Some smaller bits here and there with word choice and phrasing, but those two were the biggest points.

WILD CARD

Wild Card (6)

TOTAL: 39

Mistress of the Maze receives 208 exp and 45 gp.
Wynken receives 364 exp and 130 gp.

Spoils:
Two sets of shipping records granted.

Kinematics not granted at this time, though they may be added at level up pending RoG approval.

[Taskmienster]

Exp and GP added.