Cliffside Retreat

[Yari Rafanas]

Negotiating.

Diplomats and politicians use mostly words during the process; at times, a drop of poison after a peaceful meal. There were certain rules, methods, even budgets that these men and women lived by when practicing the art and lashing out at their enemies with their silver tongues. They changed nations—built empires. Due to this, it was a skill required of men in power, kings, lords, and their trusted ambassadors. It was also a skill that the young King of Thieves lacked.

That is not to say that Yari Rafanas did not have his means to persuade. He did what he could with what he had. He was no stranger to the fact that his skill and strengths as a warrior granted him the ability to influence others through force and threats, but muscle could only take a bandit leader so far. If he were to add to his ranks and develop a bond with the newer, unfamiliar faces of the Bandit Brotherhood, then he would need to put aside the brawler and the child at heart and embrace the responsibilities of his charge as leader of these men and women.

But what to do with her?

The bandit tilted his head at his new companion as the pair stopped at the edge of a clearing in the great forest. The trees were still thick, so their destination still remain to be revealed, but it was obvious the pair were on their way to a place of importance. Yari only stopped now because he was still without words.

She was foreign, of that much he knew. Her eyes still took in Althanas as if unaware of its wonders, but they were not virgin to wars, conflict, or the bizarre. Her inexperience with Corone or Concordia concerned him, but not nearly as much as his horrible bargaining posture. He had robbed this woman of her peculiar pictures and her weapon of choice, and now he expected her to join him on his crusade to build an army of brigands and freedom fighters the likes of Corone had never seen. She had followed him this far in his scheme, but what would the foreigner think when Rafanas revealed to her his home and sanctuary? Would its walls be a suitable offer in exchange for loyalty to the Brotherhood? Many questions remained unanswered, and Yari still found himself without a proper introduction even after their long walk through the woods, no further along than when he started.

He put on a smug grin, as he usually did, and pushed his worries to the back of his mind. “So, wanna see it?” he asked.

[Relt PeltFelter]

Relt PeltFelter still was not quite sure what to make of this dashing rogue. As regards hand-to-hand combat, he was clearly the superior, amplified by some bizarre force as he was. He was charismatic, and had a streak of anti-authority that appealed to the little girl whose voice Relt never quite stopped hearing; the one that threw frogs at her mother and stomped on dresses with muddy feet until daddy finally stopped buying the blasted frilly things. But this charming bandit was no leader.

"If I had a shilling for every time a young gent has asked me that, I'd be able to hire someone to say 'no' for me. Although I suspect you have something rather different in mind," she said with a wink. The wink hurt. The pilot touched her bruised eye gingerly, wishing that she had an ice-cold steak to put over it. And then eat, as her stomach was beginning to make some very unhappy sounds. Despite these drawbacks, her mood was actually fairly chipper.

She took a moment to examine her surroundings, finding that this area seemed little different compared to the areas of the forest she had visited hitherto this point. It was a puzzler, then, why the young man seemed to be nervous enough to affect such an unconvincingly self-satisfied grin. "Alright, whatever it is, let's see it," she said, "Provided you don't actually mean your tonker, in which case we've both made a grave misjudgment."

Relt shrugged off her jacket, the heat of the morning like a pair of sweaty hands on her shoulders, and looked around with just the right level of calculated disinterest.

[Yari Rafanas]

“Not quite,” he joked in reply.

The pair stepped out and away from the dense treeline, escaping the cool shade of Concordia and into the hot sun. The wind would alert the foreign woman that they were at a much higher altitude than the dense forest would lead one to believe, and it would take only a moment after that realization for her to notice that they were now walking at a slight incline towards the edge of a cliff. Should a tactician stare down on the precipice with a bird's perspective he would notice immediately the strategic advantages offered by the natural formation of rock. Its distinct arrow-shape jutted from the forest, escaping the dense foliage and tall trees and offering only stone daggers and moss-covered teeth to those visiting it. Nestled within these native defenses and extending to the very lip of the cliff was Yari's home and sanctuary to his brothers.

“It's much bigger,” he continued, looking back at Relt for only a moment before turning once more towards his home—a makeshift cliffside fortress.

The fortress walls were crafted out of the most-readily available material for defense: dense wood retaining most of its bark, tied neatly and tightly together and erected vertically while facing the forest. Smaller branches and logs stemmed from the base of these walls, pointed and sharp—ready to catch any battalion foolish enough to press its weight against them. Though the precipice's surface was mostly mossy rock near its edge, there was enough soil nearer to the forest to dig the poles deeper into the earth, granting a sturdy base for the most important line of defense. The same went with the handful of towers, crafted of the same resources, which rested just on the other side of the wall. Of course, in the center of this crude barricade rested a wooden gate with iron reinforcement—which both Yari and Relt had now reached. The sentries posted at the towers had already shouted their friendly greeting to their leader and simply awaited his signal to open the doors to let him in, but he had stopped.

“When we met, I told you of a sanctuary for those seeking freedom from rule—a place where unique souls gathered to escape corrupt politicians and their tyranny, united by this and their simple desires and wants. Some want safety, others a family. Most just want money.[i] It doesn't matter exactly, but this is where we gather to help one another get just what they crave.” The young King of Thieves laughed at his description and scratched his neck. “Not much of a [i]sanctuary, but you know. We like it. Come in, and we'll figure out if you're gonna stay.”

[Relt PeltFelter]

Don't worry everybody, bunnying has been cleared. Do I even need to note this anymore, isn't it just assumed if the individual doing it isn't brand new? Eh, better safe than sorry.

The bandit leader snapped his fingers, and sentries immediately went to work cranking the gate open. For some reason, Relt had been picturing a sort of...Robin Hood scenario. This was a much starker sort of medieval scene; the pilot half-expected William Wallace to charge out of a stinking tent and run her through with a claymore. Still, for such a military encampment, it was rather a relaxed atmosphere. Children scampering about unsupervised, beer flowing freely from hut to hut. It lacked almost any semblance of discipline, which left Relt cheering internally.

"Ye-es, well. Sanctuary. It's a start, I suppose." Arms behind her back, Relt strutted into the hurly-burly of the camp. There was a sort of pit in the rough center of the area, almost like the remnant of an enormous cooking fire, but upon closer inspection it seemed to lead into the enormous granite cliff, as a sort of cave or cavern. "The coordinates are satisfactory, as the high altitude precludes a mustard gas attack, and makes artillery fire from lower emplacements highly impractical. Conversely, a well-manned artillery unit atop this cliff would rain merry hell down upon any opposing force. Of course, these are based on the threats I have had to face."

Relt stopped, surveying the sapphire skies above, framed by the rude stockade of the fortress. Virgin, unplowed skies...that was something a pilot could only dream of, in her most secret moments. She turned to her erstwhile-attacker-turned-benefactor. "You lot are thieves. Brigands. Hoodlums. The need for security is inherent, I understand, in that the authorities you spoke of earlier would surely wish to put an end to your operations. These fortifications, however...they speak to something a bit more threatening. Tell me, what walks the forest that makes the bandits quake?"

Relt thought it was rather a good line. Poetic turns of phrase were not always her ouevre, but 'make the bandits quake' seemed to have a certain panache to it.