Harborfest

[BlackAndBlueEyes]

Closed to The International. Sorry it took me a hot minute to get this posted. Judge's note: This thread picks up a whopping ten minutes after Fight with the Drunken Master (http://www.althanas.com/world/showthread.php?t=18416)

The image of Teric 'Bloodrose' Barton's corpse was still fresh in my mind, liters of blood pouring out of the terrible wound in his arm from where I tore out my dagger. The fallen form of the down-on-his-luck Dajas Pagoda Grandmaster was something that I'd likely never forget. I mean, sure, the parallels that can be drawn between Teric's apparent breakdown and my own probably have some sort of cosmic meaning, but I'll leave the musing of the gods alone. I can't be bothered with such symbolic bullshit at the moment.

The fight, which I had just gotten out of, had left me feeling empty inside. Teric hadn't given it his all; only leaving me with a cracked jawbone and a torn corset. The monks here at Radasanth's mighty Citadel fixed up my jaw and the cut that tore my makeshift armor no problem, but the frayed edges of the vlince and leather where the geezer's rapier had passed across it had remained. Sigh. No matter. I could probably take care of that once I returned home.

I sat hunched over on the polished stone steps that led to the Citadel's massive doors. My mind and heart should've been racing after the thrill of a battle, but I wasn't feeling much. It was as if I hadn't even set foot out of my bookstore. Nothing. Nada. Zip. Zilch.

A group of children were gathered in a noisy circle on the cobblestone street below. Dirty little urchins in patchwork clothing entertaining themselves with nothing more than a stick and a few tin cans. Their mother, chubby and missing three teeth, leaned out of a doorway and called them in for supper. The little brats continued to scream as they pushed and shoved each other out of their way as they headed back in.

My stomach growled too, letting me know that I should probably find something to eat, lest I waste away even further.

I slowly stood up, raising my hands high in the air and stretching in the mid-afternoon sun. I wandered down the road a little bit, stopping off at one of the city's numerous taverns for a bit of chicken and potatoes, washing it all down with a glass of cold milk.

(Yesterday morning, after waking up from a particularly nasty hangover, I vowed to myself never to drink again... again. Given my predisposition towards anything of the sort, I probably won't last another two days.)

After finishing off my plate and leaving a single copper as an insult tip for my terrible waitress, I set back out towards the Citadel. I set out earlier to have a fight, dammit, and I wasn't going back home until I got the ever-lovin' shit kicked out of me by some fierce warrior! It had been three years since I felt death; I was long overdue for a taste of mortality.

Not ten minutes later, I was back at the doors of the hallowed battle hall. The monk who greeted me earlier was there again. "Welcome back, ma'am," he spoke in a deep, monotone manner.

"I was not satisfied by this establishment's service, and I demand to speak to whoever is in charge of assigning battles."

The monk searched my eyes, then began to laugh in an almost mechanical manner, thinking that I was busting his chops like I had before fighting Teric. I pushed past him in a huff, forcing my way through the door. I scanned the door-riddled interior, making my way to the nearest monk. "Are you in charge here," I asked him rather harshly.

The monk looked at me with empty, pale blue eyes. "Is there something I can help you with?"

I grabbed him by the neck of his dirt brown robe and dragged him across the floor to a random door. "Is this room empty?"

As the monk opened his mouth to respond, I felt a force literally pick me up off the ground and hurl me a good twenty feet away. I landed on the smooth marble floor on my ass with a heavy thud and slid about another seven. It didn't hurt much; I guess you could say it was like being slapped in the face when you overstep your boundaries a bit. Bad Madison, no Bloody Mary.

"We'd appreciate it if you didn't mistreat our employees, ma'am." I looked up through messy bangs at the source of the voice. It was another monk (surprise, surprise!). This one had a simplistic design woven in golden thread on the edges of his robe, signifying that he was probably one of the upper management of this place. Gesturing with an open hand, he spoke with a calm, high voice that betrayed his gruff manliness. "Please apologize."

I rose to my feet, smoothing out my black shirt and gathering up one of the daggers that had slid out of its sheathe during my short flying lesson. "Sorry," I muttered.

"Thank you. Now, how can we help you?"

I stood in silence for a few seconds before responding with as much calmness as I could muster. "I was just here about half an hour or so ago. I engaged in a rather disappointing battle with someone who should've been able to eat me for breakfast. I just want another fight with someone more... with it, so to speak."

The more important monk cocked his head slightly, in that passively annoying way that people seem to like doing when they need things spelled out for them. I was beginning to get tired of dealing with these folks. "Nevermind, I'll show myself in. Just make sure my opponent isn't a total idiot." I reached over towards the nearest door and gave the handle a quick tug to reveal the inky blackness of the portal within.

A couple of steps later found me at a busy port. I was standing on one of four piers. To the left and right of me, medium-sized ships were docked, people swarming about as they were loading and unloading cargo crates and barrels of varying sizes. Seagulls were drifting about in the air above, their incessant squawking adding to the cacophony of noise. A cool breeze came in off the ocean, blowing my hair across my face.

I walked over to a crate that nobody seemed to be paying attention to and sat down. Next to me stood an open barrel filled to the brim with apples. I helped myself to one as I began to play the waiting game.

[The International]

The following takes place almost immediately after Stress Releif (http://www.althanas.com/world/showthread.php?t=18968).

“My word! ‘Tis as if his whole being has changed. This is no illusionary magic. Touch his person.” Vespasian felt pressure on his cheek prompting him to turn his head in rejection. He could only assume he was in one of the Citadel’s recovery rooms, and the men speaking were the resident monks. Before the young spy fell he was in deep pain due to injuries in his last battle with a pink headed archer. Now, as he was roused back to consciousness he felt no such pain, but he didn’t want to rise. He felt like he often did on Saturday mornings at sea with his family, when he would happily allow the hours to pass as he slept in.

“Ouvrez vos yeux, cher frère. Je veux voir votre sourire.” A familiar voice massaged his ear in a broken code language of the Villeneuve family. His eyes cracked open and he turned his head towards the voice. It was that of his sister, Ludivine Villeneuve. She spoke in Common now, it was only necessary to hide the fact that they were siblings, but since the monks already witnessed Vespasian transform (and were about to witness Ludivine transform as well) there was no point in trying to hide it. “It worked. In order to heal combatants of fatal wounds in a timely manor, the monks must put them in a deep sleep.”

Deep sleep was a critical ingredient in the Villeneuves’ ability to transform. When Vespasian chose to become a covert operative, his mother presented him with a sketchbook with three of her drawings in it. One was of an Aleraran Elf of olive complexion, dark eyes, and black hair. The other was of a Raiaeran Elf of pale complexion, bright blue eyes, and golden hair. The third was a drawing of him. Before falling asleep Vespasian could look upon one of these drawings, and when he woke he will have transformed into that respective race, but he needed to enter a state of deep sleep at least once for it to happen. Such a thing usually took two to six hours, but the Citadel monks sedated, healed, and awoke their combatants in a much shorter time, which meant his transformation took a much shorter time. Vespasian was now an Aleraran Elf.

Vespasian finally turned to look at his sister. “Was this your first time like me?”

“Yes.” She said as they lay side by side in adjacent recovery beds. She kept a completely straight face as she spoke in jest. “Before today we were Citadel virgins.”

Instead of laughing Vespasian kept the joke going, for the monks scurrying about them found humor in the statement. “Was yours as awkward as mine?”

“Much more awkward. There were six of us.” Ludivine said, with a straight face still. The statement warranted an outburst of laughter from the monks working around the two of them. She looked at Vespasian and sent him a scowl. When that signature scowl, where Ludivine poked her chin up, scrunched the left side of her mouth, and raised one eyebrow, was sent to anyone else it was almost like a death sentence. But for her baby brother it was a silent declaration of love, and it comforted him. He wouldn’t want to be on her bad side.

Ludivine had a deceptively innocent image to her name. Even though she was two years older than Vespasian, she looked much younger than him. Her face was a smooth crème with perfectly placed beauty marks, her nose was like a button fit for an infant, and her orchard hair fell straight to her lithe frame like flowing silk. Her eyes were the only indication, if any, of her true nature. The jade irises were dark hooks for one’s soul, and no one could deny their predatory gaze. Vespasian didn’t believe in good and evil as such a belief was counterproductive in his profession, but if he did, there would be no one capable of greater evil than Ludivine. She’d killed and used sex as a weapon of espionage more than the other Villeneuve family members combined, and their parents had a twenty year head start. For those she kept alive, she would destroy their livelihood until they wish she had killed them. Some of them killed themselves. If she had a high profile assignment she would almost always leave scandal befitting a stage tragedy in her wake. And she did this all with pleasure. The only thing she liked more was doing it all on her favorite family member’s behalf. However, Vespasian decided to keep her tame for this mission.

The two siblings lying mortally wounded here in the Citadel recovery room was no accident. This was all a part of an elaborate operation in which Vespasian and Ludivine teamed up to perform. A pack of Rangers from the Concordia forest had sent a proposal of alliance directly to the Lady of Akashima. Since the founding of the Coronian Empire, the Ranger Resistance movement had sent several proposals to the semi independent kingdom, but this one seemed to be important enough for the new Empire to intercept. Perhaps it made an offer the Viceroy’s thought the Lady couldn’t refuse, so they intercepted the message in Radasanth. Vespasian and Ludivine were assigned to retrieve the message and make sure it was sent to Akashima by way of secret envoy. The two did so with ease, but for amusement they decided to frame the Empire goons who intercepted the message by planting evidence of treason and luring them into a trap at the Citadel. Once there the local city guard would apprehend them, but it was procedure to apprehend all parties involved, so the Villeneuve siblings hid in separate arenas and took to battle, which they did.

Now they were together again, but the city guard was still traversing the halls looking for them so they resorted to another measure. They would use the Villeneuve Transformation, enter one more battle, then leave as Dark Elves while the city guard continued their search for two Humans who called each other by several different names.

“I’ll see you at the rendezvous point.” Ludivine said as she pulled a small sketchbook out of her pouch. She turned several pages aside until she came across the image of an Aleraran Elf. She glanced at it, closed her eyes, and held it to her chest. “Go ahead of me. I’ll be fine.”

Vespasian stood up and watched as a stab wound in Ludivine’s lower abdomen became nothing more than a crimson scab. It was as if days were condensed into seconds as the clotted blood cells and dead skin hardened, and the monks only need peel it away like a banana. All the while her crème skin slowly changed hue to an ashen black. The transformation was beginning. One of the monks escorted Vespasian to his next arena.

A moment of awkward silence passed before the monk finally spoke up. “I have seen some of the strongest warriors scream in pain because of a wound similar to that young woman’s. Yet she seemed to feel nothing but glee. You must have noticed this? No faces of pain, no jumbled words.”

Vespasian nodded his head and flipped his long black hair. “I noticed as much.”

“What kind of love do the two of you possess? ‘Tis not romantic. I would have sensed as much.”

The two of them stopped in front of a dark archway, and Vespasian stared away in contemplation. He didn’t want to say that it was kindred love, love of one’s family, because that would be letting off too much information. He didn’t know what to tell the monk. “I don’t know what to tell you, honestly.”

The young spy walked under the dark archway and his senses tuned in to the arena one at a time. His body told him that the air here was cooler than that of the Citadel walls, which were made humid by the sweat, blood, and the breath of thousands of warriors by the day. His boots were no longer making contact with smooth marble, but with hollow wood. A breeze brought his attention to his white shirt and black pant. He hadn’t noticed that they too were once again in tact. The familiar chorus of busy city life came with an even more familiar accompaniment of ocean waves, and his sight confirmed that he was in a busy harbor.

An arena with spectators again? As a spy, Vespasian knew it wasn’t good to be seen this much. These people paid little attention to him for now, but once the fight started he would be the star of the show. At the moment all he could do was wait at the end of the pier where an open crate of pears sat and teased his nose. He picked one up and bit into it, allowing its juices to squeeze out and drip down his chin. Looking across to another pier Vespasian noticed a woman almost mirroring his actions, only with what looked to be an apple. He attempted to make eye contact by waving calmly.

Translations
Ludivine: Open your eyes, dear brother. I want to see your smile.”

[BlackAndBlueEyes]

Crunch, crunch, crunch.

I could barely hear myself eating over the cacophony of noise that suffocated the harbor. Sailors were laughing, trading stories of women and treasure and surviving intense storms while out at sea. Merchants were shouting obscenities at the hired hands who were haphazardly throwing down crates packed with valuable and fragile merchandise. The occasional mother weeping and fawning over her child, who was about to embark on an adventure over in some strange and distant land.

A little ways away, I caught a figure waving at me. He was an unremarkable-looking Aleraran; his dark skin nearly acting as camouflage against the water-beaten wooden hull of the ship behind him. Out of courtesy I nodded in reply before turning my attention back to my apple.

Crunch, crunch, crunch.

I had been waiting in this busy Citadel arena for the better part of twenty minutes now. My patience was beginning to wear thin--usually the monks are good about sending their customers suitable sparring partners in under three. Perhaps that one monk was trying to punish me a little more for getting out of line back in the main hall.

Oh well.

I had started to zone out when I felt a tap on my shoulder. I casually looked to my right to see a tall, dark man with a chest like a tree trunk, arms like battering rams, and a face that had a thick scar running up his left cheek. His eyes were ablaze, and a scowl crossed his wind-chapped lips.

My free hand slowly crept towards one of the daggers strapped around my waist. "Are you my opponent?" I asked rather blankly.

"Ah will be if yeh' keep eatin' mah apples there, missy."

One of his sausage fingers pointed at the open barrel I was helping myself from. Putting the pieces together, I half-heartedly dug through my pockets for a coin or two and tossed it his way, hoping that he'd get the hint. The man grunted in acceptance before placing the top on his barrel and hoisting it up and hauling it off to a nearby gangplank.

By the gods, do I hope my opponent shows up soon.

[The International]

A covert operative had to play many roles, especially when working for a variety of clients like Vespasian did. Among many other things he had to be a warrior, a detective, and, his current favorite by far, an actor. Never had he come across a situation in which he only had to play one. Here he would have to start as a detective. He needed information on this arena, then he needed to find his opponent. In order to find his opponent he needed to be a sufficient actor. Then once he found his opponent he would have to fight. The battle itself was a small part of an elaborate getaway plan that demanded just as much of the young spy and his sister.

He crossed his right arm over his waist to bury his hand in the brilliant basket hilt of his International Rapier, keeping alert as he trotted towards the land with purpose. The first person to cross his path was a pale middle aged man somewhat shorter than he.

“Excuse me.” Tradespeak being the most common language in Althanas, Vespasian thought he'd take a stab at that language first. “Would you be so kind as to tell me where I am exactly?”

The middle aged man scanned Vespasian with his weary gray eyes, first and foremost catching sight of the spy's blade. Vespasian did this on purpose as to possibly expose himself to his opponent. In the real world, if the young spy just so happened to put himself in a situation like this, he most definitely would not have done this. He would have blended in, and taken his time to find his target, but this wasn't the real world. In the real world he was on the run, so he needed to get this play fight done quickly. The harbor man rolled his eyes.

“Let me guess,” The man said with a raspy voice of fatigue. “You're another one from the Citadel. The monks like to amuse themselves with a scenario like this. We don't find it much fun though.”

Aw son of a bitch. They're real! Vespasian said to himself with wide amber eyes of shock. If they were real, and Vespasian just so happened to find himself here again in the future, they could point him. This form of an Aleraran Elf was an important one. He had recently gained some influence in an Aleraran municipality. If it were any other form, even his original human form, he would simply burn that sketch never to take that form again, but he couldn't do that to the form of Vokali Vixil'nova, Burgraf in Waiting for the Municipality of Nair’Rei lu Tonash. I should have thought this through.

“Where am I?” Vespasian said with a new found voice of quiet urgency.

“No worries, young'n. At least you're still on Corone isle. We're on the west coast about half a mile South of the Mouth of Niema.” The middle aged man in earthen tone rags turned away to continue his daily business. “You're better than the last few that came through here. Hooping and hollering about!”

The spy had done most of his detective work. He gathered the critical information he needed about his surroundings, and he had enough of that information to take the next step, which was to weed out his opposition. The man stated that the other warriors that came from the Citadel acted obviously out of place. However, his current opposition was smart enough to blend in. Once again, had this been a real situation away from the monks' protection, the spy would have taken his time to find his enemy without being found himself. But they were obviously watching... and they were obviously amused. With their protection in mind, Vespasian could reveal himself, thus revealing his opponent, getting the battle underway and done with, and moving on to his larger mission at hand.

The best way to do it was to act out of place. He pondered for a moment as he continued to take in his surroundings. He took note of the ships; three schooners, a sloop, and a clipper. He couldn't help but envision his swashbuckling father swinging from the ropes of one of these ships like a monkey with a rapier. Esme Villeneuve would have a field day with this place. Then again both his parents would kill him and Ludivine for breaking a cardinal law of the family espionage business. They were never to go anywhere near the Citadel. In a trade where one's identity meant all the difference in the world, the Citadel was too popular of a warrior's mecca for a smart spy to be. One of these men Vespasian faced may be the body guard of his next target, or worse... his next target.

Never again. The spy thought as he took another bit into his sweet juicy pear. Suddenly Vespasian let his jaw drop, and the half chewed piece of fruit came sliding out. He was astonished at his own creativity.

Vespasian ran back to the crate of pears and stood by it as he scanned the crowd, and with his left hand he turned the green, juicy morsel into a slobbery projectile that exploded upon contact on the shoulder of a boy playing with his marbles in the distance. The next one made its mark on a fisherman dangling his feet of the edge of a pier, and the third one barreled towards a ghostly pale lady who reminded him of one of those depressed women in a Raiaeran tragedy. She needed some excitement in her life. Vespasian knew that after this, he would never take the form of a Dark Elf in Corone ever again.