Colts, Bullets, and Oats

[Saxon]

(Molotov is jumping in on this one as well)

Walking alongside the mutant who accompanied him to the bazaar, Saxon mulled the idea over and over in his head. Tsep had served him well since his time on Althanas, but the weird wasn't going to be in a place where he could rely on nightfall to give him safe passage to where he wanted to go. Azure eyes probed the stalls and shops as the soft glow of twilight simmered overhead.

The eldritch followed quickly after Molotov as he looked around and saw merchants beginning to close up shop and patrons of every walk of life were beginning to dissipate as the selection became less and less abundant. He had argued with the leader of the Brotherhood on the way over about how much was going to be spent and for that, but slowly felt his stance beginning to waver. In the distance, Saxon could see the top of the shingled stable that sat just a few yards away.

" You sure this is a good idea? I'm not even sure I can ride one of these," The eldritch muttered as he fixed his gaze upon one of the beasts of burden that stood gated behind the large, wooden fencing. For once in his life, he didn't feel embarassed for not acquiring this sort of skill in his long, pensive existence. But, that didn't mean he wasn't going to regret it.

[Molotov]

"It's always a good idea to lead an army without knowing what you're doing," Molotov replied. "I bloody won the Gisela doing that a while back, and I'd own an island if it wasn't for those sodding tournament officials."

He knew that the weird would know better than to correct him, even if it was the case that Saxon knew that the official records had him placed in second. "Thing is, you'll learn, and without a horse, you're going to be in a bloody bunch of trouble unless you know what you're doing..."

He looked around now, trying to find the merchant who ran the stall. There were a few farmhands, but they mostly seemed capable of feeding the beasts and nothing more. The mutant didn't care much for the bazaar, but considering it was necessary for the tournament, he was going to be happy to pay.

[Sighter Tnailog]

"It's a damned shame, treating animals like this!"

"Listen, lady, they're kept fed and get their wattuh, what else d'ya expect? They've got good blankets in winnuh, and I cannut do much better than I yam now wut with the wars and all --"

"Well, I'm afraid I'll have to report this to the newspapers...W. J. Pullhearst will have a thing or two to say about this!"

A man and a woman were approaching where Molotov and the eldritch stood, and it was clear that the man was tiring quickly of her company. She spoke with a snappy voice and with far too many exclamation points. Continuing, she said, "Althanians for the Ethical Treatment of Animals will have to discuss this at our next meeting, these animals are kept in stalls at least three inches under regulation width! Good day, sir!"

Sighing and rolling his eyes, the man turned his gaze on the pair before him. With a pained expression, he said, "I hope yose two are customuhs, and not some creeps from another animal house. If yose are, then tell me which one yose like and I'll give it to ya, fair price, or tell ya which animal might be bettuh for ya. If yose aint customuhs, then get the blaze outta the horse market!"

[Saxon]

Saxon narrowed his eyes as he watched the woman storm past the trio and was about to turn to say something when the farmhand gave a tired sigh and said his piece. It hadn't occured to the eldritch that he'd have to select what sort've horse it was that he chose to ride, but since Molotov had insisted on paying for it, he saw no reason to become shrewd about the manner.

Whatever the case, he didn't know the first thing about horses other than that in some form or another millions of people across the entire face of Althanas rode them daily. It can't be that hard, the eldritch thought confidantly. Beating the mutant to the punch, he nodded towards the stables and looked the farmhand full in the face before saying nonchalantly," Got any colts?"

As far as Saxon could figure it, if the name worked for the guns, than the creature that shared its title with couldn't have been that far off.

[Sighter Tnailog]

"Colts? Wut ya be wannin them for?"

The proprietor of the place looked quite bemused. He walked over to a stall, and continued, "These here are the colts, but theyse all less than four years, untried, small. Sum're downright scrawny. Colts be the youngbloods, before gelding or anything like that. But, ifn ya want one, we have a few broke in...those'll run you around 600 GP, times are tight ya know, and none of those great Ryeyeruhns have come in since the troubles began. But ifn ya want one that hasn't been broke yet, you could save half of that cost cuz of labor. Yeh'll have to break him yourself, ya know...but with a firm hand on the reins it shouldn't be too hard, if yose know what yer doin'."

[Molotov]

Molotov was content to let Saxon take care of finding the right horse, it was going to be more important that the beast had an affinity with the eldritch than it did with him. What the mutnat had been paying attention to was the person who had raised concerns about the state of the animals' living condition.

"If the prices aren't reasonable I'll have a way of bringing them down," Molotov thought observantly as he, under the pretext of looking at colts, began to examine the conditions in which they were kept.

[Saxon]

" I'm gonna need a horse that can work with me," Saxon said aloud, more to himself than to everybody else," One that doesn't get... how does one say it.. 'spooked' easily?"

The weird saw the blank look upon Molotov's face as he looked to be inspecting the surroundings, but the farmhand didn't look all that pleased with the eldritch's lack of ingenuity. What else was he suppose to do? Paint the guy a picture? He needed a horse that could carry him, that he could stand to keep around, and wasn't a nuisance. Other than that, he really didn't care.

But, it was better that he found what he was looking for and not be at the hands of a somebody more interested in coin than his personal well being. Moving forward into the stables, he side-stepped piles of horse shit and looked at what the hand had to offer him. Shifting his gaze from either side and catching docile, long faces in plain view, the eldritch didn't like what he saw.

A creature with a broken will and followed somebody obediently to the ends of the world could just as easily have been construed as something that could get him killed. He needed a horse and it had to have a mind or will of its own, and Saxon was willing to overlook disobedience if the thing he had rode into battle with could watch over them both. Moving further and further into the stable, the eldritch saw the selection become more and more dim and he suspected that whatever these horses were being fed was brainwashing them.

He stopped.

Turning on his heel, Saxon looked into the dark, brown eyes of a powdered black creature that followed his gaze and held its attention unlike the others. Peering at it closely, the weird noticed it hadn't a single mark on it and looked to be rather new, more like the breed he had seen fallienites ride into the sandy horrors that often doubled as a desert.

After awhile the horse snorted at him and looked away, no longer interested in the curious stranger that had captivated its gaze. Turning back towards the farmhand that looked to have been watching the mutant with a bit more care than what was needed, the weird piped up," This one looks rather new and imported, hows it take to people?"

[Sighter Tnailog]

He really did love these animals. He tried to feed them as best he could, sneaking them apples when the owner of the stable wasn't looking, taking good care of those that had some spark of life in them. He half agreed with the lady who had stormed out; they should be treated better. But even as things were, they were treated better than most, and worse than only a few, and as horses went they were as cheap and as high quality as you'd get in times of war, when all the best foals were snapped up for chargers and messenger-steeds.

"Now listen, thisun here, thisun's a good horse, named 'im Barney outta love for an old friend o' mine, ya know? But ya dun hafta keep the name ifn ya dun like it, yer choice sirrah. One of my favorites, thisun, hasn't been broke in yet, so it'll come cheaper, and the first few times ya ride 'im 'ee might throw ya good, so just be warned."

"Yer a wee fellow, could get hurt breakin' even a colt this size, so I'll cut ya a deal. 250 GP and 'ee's yers, I'll pay the boss the rest outta me own wages. But you gotta treat 'im right, ya hear?"

[Molotov]

Molotov was somewhat surprised by that reaction. He had only been half paying attention, but when the suggestion had been made that the man was going to subsidize the cost of the horse out of his own wages, the mutant was almost flabbergasted. He considered kindness to be relatively uncommon in Althanas in and of itself, but the fact that it was shown at a stable, of all places, was practically mind numbing.

"Bloody hell... that's something there now isn't it?" the mutant thought. Now, he really hoped that Saxon would take the deal.

"A couple throws's nothing," Molotov chimed in. "You're tough enough to get back up a couple times, aren't you Saxon?"

[Saxon]

Saxon winced at the thought but nodded and turned back to the mutant who grinned at him," Sure thing," he replied. The price sounded fairly cheap for a horse, or so the eldritch thought, but he wasn't about to look a gift horse in the mouth. There was a sort've kinship the weird could see between him and the the animal he was about to take on a fierce campaign in the name of the Brotherhood, and he was sure it'd only become stronger.

The more he thought about it, the more the idea of a horse grew on Saxon. He couldn't keep leaping to and fro forever, and it would probably be a welcomed changed compared to the degree of gut wrenching uncertainty that the eldritch waded through on a daily basis. Looking back on the farmhand, he saw the young man in a different light, and was geniuinely surprised by the man's geneorsity.

" Pay the man, Molotov," he said with a toothy grin as he looked at 'Barney' once again and began to think of what exactly he was going to name the young colt.

[Sighter Tnailog]

The stablehand smiled broadly, and said, "Thankee, sirrahs, thankee! He's all yers...Mr. Mollatoff, was it? Here, ya can give me yer gold here, and take the colt away right now. Treat Barney well!"

((Sorry, didn't feel like stretching this out. Transaction approved, 250 GP deducted from Molotov's account.

Colt: a young horse, about as small as a pony, but inclined to grow with care and proper feeding. Will need some training, but once accustomed to the eldritch Saxon should be able to ride well enough even once the colt starts to grow. You might want to consider gelding him at some point soon to prevent the chance of him becoming too hard to handle.))