Highwayman

[Bloodrose]

Closed to Duffy Bracken and/or any of his alts.

The stretch of road in front of him was well beaten dirt - wide enough for a single cart to travel easily, but too narrow for two carts to pass each other comfortably. Travel south and the road eventual led a wandering soul to Underwood; the enclave at the center of Concordia forest. Travel north by north-east and the road emptied like a tributary into the larger, cobbled South Road that served as the main thoroughfare in these parts. Farmers, craftsmen, and laymen from the surrounding area were known to frequent this road, as it made traversing the rough country south of the Comb Mountains and north of Concordia much easier. In this sense - the fact that the locals relied heavily on it - the road was important. Unfortunately for those same locals, however, this nameless stretch of road wasn't so important that the Rangers paid much attention to patrolling it...

Teric poked at the smoldering embers of his small fire absently, his gaze lazily following the brown, hard packed surface of the road as it trailed off into the distance. There was a slight breeze, and it wafted wisps of grey smoke into the mercenary's eyes, and so the older man spent his time alternating between shielding his eyes from the smoke and shielding his eyes from the harsh noon-time sun overhead. Briefly, Teric contemplated shifting his position to the shade of one of the oak trees growing away from the road, but was forced to dismiss the notion for the third time since the sun had peaked out from behind the clouds. None of the trees were close enough to the road to offer a clear vantage point in both directions, and if the aging mercenary were to sit and relax in the shade on a day like today, odds were good that he would drift off to sleep.

Forgetting the orange, dying embers for a moment, Teric adjusted the black bandana tied over the lower half of his face. Since it covered his nose and mouth, the garment was stifling, and so the mercenary pulled the lower corner up out of the collar of his shirt so cooler air could waft up between the cloth and his chest. The relief was almost immediate, as that first breath of fresh air tasted of smoke and dry summer grass as opposed to sweat and damp, dirty bandana.

I suppose I could take this thing off. The veteran grumbled silently, his eyes again following the road to its vanishing point in either direction. With no one on the road, it didn't make much sense to be constantly wearing the thing, but a mercenary's luck dictated that as soon as he took it off, Teric would see someone approaching; meaning he would just have to put the bandana back on. And the reason that he was wearing the bandana in the first place, of course, was that Teric was keen on robbing anyone with the misfortune to travel this particular road today.

Three farmers and a logger heading south had already emptied their pockets at the mercenary's feet today, and if he was lucky, Teric would see more people as the day wore on. All and all his haul wasn't impressive (as one might have anticipated judging by his choice in prey), but the couple dozen Coronian marks, chincy bronze pocket watch, and steel hunting knife piled unceremoniously at the old man's feet were more than just loot to Teric; they were trophies of sorts.

Money wasn't the end game of today's criminal enterprise, as nearly any other road in Corone would have likely yield fatter, richer targets than the simple folk who lived in this area. The point of today's activities also wasn't to harm people for no reason, as Teric liked to think of himself as being above the maladjusted sort of individual who derived a sick sort of pleasure from randomly harming others. One might be forced to ask then, why would a veteran mercenary loiter on a long stretch of back road and rob people?

The answer, as it turned out, was simple vanity.

Imagine a lone dog picking needless fights with other dogs just to prove its own alpha status to itself, and you've just imagined Teric in this situation. Outwardly the mercenary was a stalwart rock of self-confidence, as one might expect to be if one is as strong and limber as Teric is at his age. Secretly, however, ever since his hair had started to grey, the veteran was nagged by this little voice in the back of his head that whispered dark things to him at night. The voice liked to tell him that younger people didn't take him seriously anymore - that despite his vastly superior physical abilities, the mercenary was somehow losing his edge...

Parting people with their worldly possessions through brute intimidation alone was Teric's way of getting that voice to shut up for a little while.

I knew it! The mercenary snorted as his gaze scanned the road yet again. As if summoned by his thought of taking off the bandana, the shadowy silhouette of a traveler in the distance had come into view. At this range it was too far to tell what sort of individual this was - be he farmer, laymen, or other - but Teric didn't really care in the least. Whoever it was, they were about to have a much less pleasant day than they'd probably woken up expecting, and the veteran wasn't going to waste any time lazing about for them to come to him.

Fire and weapons forgotten behind him, Teric strolled off down the road in the direction of the approaching traveler.

[Duffy]

The moon lit a wave as it broke into the evening and Duffy smiled, looking up at the sky to the celestial bodies beyond. He felt a pull, and presumed it the magic of the intangible night sky which threatened to appear at any moment, of the cyclical romance between day and night. It was as if time was pulling him along the old dusty road, towards what, or whom, he could not know, but he didn’t care; it felt right to be doing it. He had these hunches from time to time, and was forgetting which were born of his own paranoia, and which were sung in The Aria at the back of his mind – the struggle between sanity, conviction and faith was a fickle little creature.

As night turned to day, and day fell away to the halcyon noon, Duffy considered all that he knew, and all that he would oneday come to understand.

“It just ain’t enough,” he told himself as he hopped over a fallen tree-trunk, and carried on along the road as it became more rugged, more less discovered and believed.

“Nothing will ever be enough...”

Sometimes, when he began these little flights of fancies, he swore there was something following him, popping it’s head over distant rocks and around rotting tree trunks that depicted a scene of aeging beauty across his vision – this road less travelled by men or beasts came alive, as if it were trying to reject him, turn him back from whence he came. He was half in the mind to listen to it for once, to turn his heel and scuff away the leaves of autumnal hue which fell behind his advance, to stare back at the sun and the spring chill. But he would not be defeated, he would not be surpassed by feelings of inadequacy, not anymore.

So when Duffy came around a bend and walked onto a dusty and widening part of the path, the last person he expected to find alone, cold, and walking somewhat firmly towards him, was Teric; an old ‘acquaintance’ he’d encountered once before when he’d been a little younger, a little less mature, and certainly, a little less prepared for such...he thought carefully about his choice of words, posturing. If this was fate’s idea of a nice little joke, then he didn’t find it very funny. His muscles ached and tore into his concentration, and his baggy trousers, usually spicy and gleeful amidst a drab and monotone world were dust stained and bedraggled.

“You will forgive me,” he shouted across, cupping his hand over his mouth to increase the velocity and pitch behind his words like a bugel horn, “if I am somewhat surprised to see you here old man!”

A flash of pain bore down on his advance, a wall of fire flickered in the halcyon of the afternoon, and he remembered the last words that had been spoken to him on the convergence of their mutual deaths.

“But when you spoke to me of the glory of battle and of learned experience, I would’ve assumed you’d know that this road is befallen with the scrupious few and the deadlier nightshade of the criminal variety? So wreckless,” he padded closer, enjoyed, no, relishing the irony in their meeting, not realising what was to beguile him, what was to descend on him like a nihilistic vulture; without goal or hunger.

“Are you in need of assistance, perhaps to cross the road?” He grinned, propped a foot on a rock and folded his arms to try and make himself appear more muscley than he obviously wasn’t.

[Bloodrose]

Considering the backwater nature of the road he had chosen, and taking into account the random nature of his urge to rob people, Teric had not even considered the possibility that he would run into someone he knew on this day. In fact, the appearance of a lanky young man with whom he'd shared an interesting battle in the Citadel was so unexpected that the mercenary was forced to halt his forward advance, one eyebrow rising into an arch as his brain tried to process his almost cosmic misfortune.

Of all the roads in all of Corone, he just has to show up on mine? Teric pondered, visibly irritated. Since he'd already been recognized, the veteran yanked off the now useless bandana covering his face and threw the sweaty rag into the dirt.

"You're not the only one who is surprised." Teric muttered - half in response to what the young man was saying, but speaking more to himself than anyone in particular. It wouldn't have really mattered if he'd been responding anyways, as the young man on the road simply continued prattling on about 'befallen' something’s and 'nightshade' whatever’s.

He certainly hasn't lost any of his theatrical flair since our last meeting.

"I'm quite capable of making my own way across the road, thanks." Teric called back as he resumed his forward stride. The gap between the two men closed only as quickly as the mercenary advanced, as... Dammit, what was his name again?, had stopped to posture himself like the gallant hero out of some bard's story. Had he ever made a habit out of needlessly ridiculing others, Teric might have taken the opportunity to tell the young man just how ridiculous he looked posed there, one foot up with arms crossed to try and puff out his lithe, skinny chest. Broad of shoulder and dense of muscle this man was not, and possibly another Teric - the one who liked to teach people how to be more intimidating - would have told the man to play to his strengths; or at least conceal his lack of them.

"What brings you out this way?" Teric asked, stopping several feet short of the young man. He crossed his arms to match, and without even so much as a knowing smile, flexed and puffed out his chest to show the younger man how it was done. While almost identical in height, the veteran estimated he had a good fifty pounds, or thereabouts, on the man standing opposite him. "Get lost?"

[Duffy]

With a little leap Duffy cleared his perch and felt a satisfying crunch of dirt underfoot. He was too pre-occupied with the dichotomy of etiquette and greeting to realise Teric was making fun of him; ignorance is bliss someone had once said.

“Heh, no, I ain’t lost, I’m lookin’ for a Ranger outpost that was round ‘ere but I thought I’d…” he wasn’t making a very good job of concealing the fact that he was indeed lost, “take a detour through this wonderful countryside.”

Now that he thought about it, he wasn’t sure at all why he was here, now. Fate wouldn’t be so fickle as to draw him once more into a painful encounter with a man who oozed such confidence in battle that he couldn’t possible defeat him – then again, Fate had dealt him bandy legs, flatulence after eating anything with apple in it and a sudden and inexplicable desire to sing at the top of his lungs at four in the morning. As Ruby could have told Teric quite happily, only dead men walking and ghosts can sing that high after her ballroom heels had delivered their vengeaful kick.

“Yeah…alright.” He glumly frowned and approached the man, careful to keep a good distance between them, just in case, “I’m lost – no good in tryin’ to ‘ide it, I expect you’re not as dumb as ya look.”

Whilst the road was indeed a spectacle and the countryside around them unanimously wondrous on all accounts, it was the little nuances in the battle-hardened veteran’s skin, face and expression that were universally more interesting to Duffy at that precise moment in time. He wasn’t the best at reading into the expectations and intentions of others, but he was sure there was something untoward about their meeting. Something perhaps malign, but certainly something Duffy wanted in on.

“You’ll forgive me for arskin’, but what ya doin’ out ‘ere in the middle a nowhere? You’re Teric, you’re an ‘ero in most of Scara Brae and people tremble in their boots at the sight of you on the roster in the Citadel! This backwater slum is no-place for ya, no place at ‘all!”

A fall from grace perhaps? Duffy commented to himsel as a mental note. He plucked the courage to step forward and hold out his hand as a more formal greeting than sarcasm and snide remark. If he played this right, he might come out with a nice healthy liver and all limbs intact, and maybe with one or two ‘trade secrets’ as well.

“Either way, the pleasure’s mine.”

[Bloodrose]

What's his name was a born rambler, and Teric found himself holding back a smile as the younger man droned on about fictional Ranger posts, not being lost, and then finally about being lost. The boy had a natural knack for having entire conversations with himself without so much as a syllable of input from the mercenary, and the veteran could almost admire that.

"I'd thank you for the compliment, but I'm not really the hero type." Teric finally edged into the conversation. While naturally verbose, Dud? Duddy? Mother of Creation! What's his damn name!?... was not a spectacular liar. Perhaps not as readable as a book, but That's it! Duffy!'s body language betrayed the fact that he wasn't particularly enjoying this star-crossed meeting of theirs. He was tense, kind of edgy, and almost shying away from the mercenary in a way that screamed 'Please don't hurt me!'

Teric unfolded his arms and let them drop back to his sides, his mind toying with options even as he turned his back to Duffy and started heading back towards his gear. Option number one was to take the boy's money and send him packing on his way as he'd planned to do with any travelers of the road, but there were a couple of problems. The largest and most obvious problem of course was that Duffy knew his identity - which conveniently led to option number two...

Kill Duffy.

The fact that he would win a fight between the two of them, armed or unarmed, wasn't even really a question in Teric's mind. The veteran had enough confidence in both his strength and skill set to feel unassailably certain of victory should their encounter turn violent - but it was the possible costs of victory that made option number two less attractive. When they had met in the Citadel, Duffy had demonstrated enough tricks that Teric - while certain of victory - could not assure himself that he would escape a fight unharmed. He very vividly remembered the methods by which the lithe, verbally exhausting youth had set him aflame, and the possibility of being burned and injured this far into the wilderness was not very comforting.

So if he couldn't rob the boy, nor kill him, Teric was left with a third option: let him go unharmed. In a way, through his body language and obvious aversion to picking a fight, Duffy had already provided Teric with what he was really after anyways. The mercenary was only robbing people so that he could feel like he was in control; throwing his weight around a little just to make people fear him despite his age. While Duffy's creative and subtle ass-kissing might have just been a ploy to save his own skin, it fulfilled the same purpose. It let Teric feel like his was feared - like he commanded respect - and that was all he wanted.

"Get lost." Teric waved Duffy on, encouraging the young man to head down the road. At this point the mercenary was half pondering how long it would be before the next traveler came along, but his chance encounter with the young man from the Citadel had another part of the veteran considering packing up for the day.

[Duffy]

The ad homonym waving away of dreams, hopes and ideals, and of course, corsair opportunity, was not something Duffy had expected. In the city, kicking and licking another’s arse was all part of the cycle of life. You either doled it out, or made sure that they knew you were very much aware they could hurt you. Nobody ever turned the former down. The chill air crept up on the young lad, tapped him on the shoulder, and sent a tingle down his spine as the old man turned to leave, the sound of his boots scrunching his death knell as he went.

His arms flopped down by his sides and a dumbstruck blankness hit the usually extroverted youth, all the words in the multiversity leaving him in unison. His potential ally or at least tutor slowly disappeared, and it wasn’t until Duffy found he was very much alone in the pine and granite wonderland that it produced the desired reaction. Even though he’d suffered a somewhat painful end to Teric’s blade in the Citadel and even though all his instincts told him to walk the other way…Duffy’s feet carried him in the direction the mercenary travelled.

“Nobody tells me to ‘get lost!’” He mumbled to himself. With each step he grew increasingly uncomfortable with the idea that he was following a very dangerous individual. Greed had that funny property about it, it made you do stupid things in the pursuit of power – you needn’t possess brute force or strength of will to acquire things if you were desperate enough. The lanky frame beneath the faded olive green travel cloak and the blunted steel daggers tucked into his belt certainly gave the impression of a very desperate man.

The flickering fires of what Duffy assumed to be Teric’s camp appeared, and he slowed his advance to a creeping, languishing death. That little nagging doubt you got in your mind popped up, like an uncertain child tempted to the cookie jar with ham fists and a devilish grin. There was sporadic open ground in the trees, and the open road behind him, which was a good sign should conflict arise. The tree line wasn’t too far away for him to make his getaway, should he avoid the snarling whiplash of the venerable hound he was about to goad.

Creeping forwards, Duffy waited for the old man to be in earshot and threw caution to the wind. “I would be most ‘appy to ‘get lost,’ Teric, but, there’s a good’un problem there. One,” he mock counted on his hand, a sign of nerves more than well-adjusted dramaturgy. “I’m already really, really, really, bloody lost.”

No doubt about that, he’d left when the sun had risen and now, in the afternoon as it plummeted back beyond the mountainous veil, he was unaware of his location, or if he’d be home for supper.

“Two, Fate has brought us together for the second time, and we should relish in the opportunity. Or at least,” he cocked a smile and unstrapped the simple writing book on his waist, “let me at least get your autograph?” He held it open and a quill appeared from the end of his sleeve, like a snake’s tongue flicking into existence, barbed and rhetorically charged.

Duffy knew the old man was old, and probably not too keen to be pestered, but an actor’s menagerie was never quite, menagerary enough; he had to learn, he had to consume, he had to engage – even if it meant putting his head in a rather hungry lion’s mouth.

“So, I ask ya once mor guvnor, allow me teh luxury of a few rounds with ya, so much to teach, and a willing pupil – what do I gotta do, beg?”