The Meeting

Out of Character:

Closed to Wynken.

As the early morning light washed down upon the countless trees of the Concordia Forest, soft footfalls could be heard racing through the undergrowth. A soft smile on her features, Aislynn could barely resist the urge to close her eyes as she ran to her destination, pacing herself slower than usual in order to enjoy the surroundings. She took in a deep breath, inhaling the clean air from all the plant life around her and reveling in the soothing sounds of a slight breeze tugging at the leaves and small branches around her.

The sound of wings beating somewhere to her left cut through the quiet scenery. She turned towards it, smiling as the form of a small silver hawk swooped in and out of the branches beside her, his vibrant plumage glowing every time a small dash of sunlight managed to penetrate the dark canopy of the forest. Aislynn sighed, returning her attention to navigating the seemingly never-ending labyrinth of trees.

‘Where was it that he wanted to meet again?’ she thought, hopping lightly over a particularly large root that was blocking her path, ‘it was a place not far from Underwood, I’m sure.’ Yukito gave a shrill cry from beside her and dove down, perching gently atop her shoulder.

“I still think you’re being foolish with this…” the small familiar muttered, ruffling his feathers, “Not that you ever listen to me anyway.” Aislynn silently cast her eyes to the heavens, heaving a sigh of exasperation. Ever since the evening a week ago when she had drank with that strange man, Yukito had spared no thought in voicing his disapproval. “Brainless,” and “Foolish,” being a few of the words he used to describe her behavior.

“Please tell me you don’t believe that he isn’t going to rob you blind?” He had hissed the moment they were a safe distance from that small tavern, “He’s a bad person to get mixed up with Aislynn, even I can see that and I’m just a familiar.” Aislynn had just closed her eyes for a moment and ducked into the safety of a nearby tree. She looked around to check if there was anyone in the vicinity before opening her bag and allowing Yukito out. The silver snake had glared at her for a moment, shifting his form into that of a dog before sitting back on his haunches expectantly.

“Of course I could tell he was a crook,” she retorted, her voice low in case anyone happened to pass by, “I think everyone in that tavern could tell he was.” Yukito had just given her a disbelieving look at that. “You could tell huh?” he asked, his tone dripping with sarcasm, "Well... that explains why you were seconds away from striking a deal with him.” His young mistress shot him a warning look, “Stop acting like you’re the one in charge. I’m the master here, not you.” Yukito shrugged, not at all fazed by the rebuke.

“Please don’t start that old argument again…” she groaned, quickening her pace now that she was certain she would not leave Yukito behind, “I’m fed up of listening to your complaints. I’m going through with it and that’s final.” The silver hawk nipped her ear spitefully as a retort but fell silent.

The young woman slowed down upon reaching the area Wynken had suggested they meet and peered tentatively through the trees. “Is he even there?” scoffed Yukito from his perch as Aislynn's bright yellow eyes scoured the area for the dark individual.

Long shadows darkened the wood as the mighty trees of the Concordia stood in opposition to the rising sun. Wynken had awoken hours before, desiring to leave the city of Underwood in the stillness of night. 'One can never be too cautious', he often said, though his concept of forethought bordered more on paranoia. His routines had become so instinctual, so much a way of life, that Wynken operated as a known fugitive even in new lands.

He watched from concealment as Aislynn entered the small clearing. Even as she hesitantly scanned the dense forest beyond, she seemed at home in the natural setting. She wore a smile that rivaled the radiant sunlight which fell in beams through the canopy of leaves and danced like fire upon her auburn tresses. Wynken noted that she smiled despite a heated conversation that was held seemingly with the hawk perched upon her shoulder. He squinted his eyes attempting to discern the color of those belonging to the silver animal, but the distance proved too great. He could guess well enough that they were one blue and the other green.

Unassuming, Wynken stalked slowly from his place of hiding and into the clearing as though he had only just arrived. "I trust that you haven't waited long", he said dryly, gracefully picking his way through the thicket to stand a short distance from Aislynn. He was not overly fond of the terrain, being more adapted to the atmosphere within the city limits. He considered again how different Aislynn was, though he was once again intrigued by her sense of adventure and willingness to assume risk.

"I must say that I'm impressed. You surprise me." Though he spoke to Aislynn, Wynken's eyes locked with the bird perched at her side confirming his suspicion that the hawk before him was indeed the same entity as the snake in the woman's care a week previous. "If memory serves, I'm still awaiting a list".

As he spoke, Wynken felt an awkward sensation in the base of his neck. It was a nagging tightness that he hadn't felt before, though it was accompanied by the familiar gesture often imparted by the magical blade on his left hip. A warmth spread quickly through his body, but there was an urgency there rather than its typical comforting and methodical intimation.

As Wynken processed the communication to be one of alarm, he heard the resonance of a bowstring sound at his back. He shifted slightly, turning sideways as the arrow cut a bright red line through the fabric and flesh on his left arm and breezed through Aislynn's hair which framed her delicate face. Without a word, he moved in the direction implied by the angle of its flight, drawing his sword and a throwing blade as he went.

Out of Character:

I've decided to be a little thief again and copy you in dropping all the colors. They're tedious and not a little annoying to look at once the post is up.

Yukito eyed Wynken distrustfully as the man stepped forward from his hiding place, his clothing still as dark and slightly worn as it was a week ago. Aislynn inclined her head in greeting when she spotted him, feeling a brief wave of relief at the fact that she had not lingered in the woodland too long on the way there.

“I’ve only just arrived myself,” she replied, her lips twitching with amusement at the glimmer of distaste on the mercenary’s features as he walked towards her. He clearly did not hold the woodlands in as high a regard as she did. ‘A city lover,’ she thought as he stopped before her, ‘perhaps it’s easier for his kind to operate in such a place.’ She chuckled inwardly at the notion. A city had its merits for those who had less than honest plans in mind but the forest offered more protection. She knew very well that many bandits and other less than savoury individuals also inhabited the woodlands she called home.

"I must say that I'm impressed.” He spoke, his eyes fixing briefly on Aislynn before focusing on a point at her left, his eyes full of recognition and curiosity, “you surprise me.” She glanced down at her shoulder, following Wynken’s gaze to small creature that was still perched there and still very much a bird.

‘He knows!’ She took a deep brief, quelling the instant panic that welled up at having forgotten to remind her familiar to stay hidden. ‘It’s too late to shove Yukito into a bag now,’ she told her self as the tall man inquired about the list she had drawn out, leaning over her bag to remove it while watching Wynken through the corner of her eye. ‘Lets just hope he’s not so interested as to forget about our deal.’

Wynken tensed suddenly, causing her to raise an eyebrow in question. She straightened up, the list clutched in his fingers and her mouth open to question him. Aislynn froze as Yukito leapt up from her shoulder, crying out loudly as a sudden feeling of wind brushed past her face, just catching the feathered end of an arrow narrowly skim her cheek. Wide, shocked eyes snapped towards Wynken as he whirled around sharply, unsheathing that odd blade as he did so.

Shaking the surprise away and swallowing any questions that arose at the sudden attack, Aislynn drew her own blades and turned towards the threat, her stance becoming defensive. Her eyes snapped back to the mercenary as he walked forward, the grass beneath his feet muffling any sound his steps could make as he advanced towards the edge of the thicket, his eyes watchful and alert.

She followed, twitching as small leaves rustled quietly beneath her boots and feeling at little envious of Wynken’s ease at making no sound as he walked. A sudden bout of movement turned her attention towards a large growth of foliage as a man burst forth. She looked at him with vague recognition as he bolted; one of the men who had shown interest in the pair at The Peaceful Promenade.

Aislynn paused indecisively, her eyes on the man’s back as he ran before replacing one of her blades into its leather holder. She darted forward, careful to watch her footing as she effortlessly caught up to the man, her free hand closing on the back of his tunic, halting his escape.

Wynken was unsurprised to see the man abandon his hiding place behind the thick copse of underbrush. He had determined the arrow's path by evaluating his left shoulder and Aislynn's left cheek as if two points on a graph. Now, their assailant's hand had been played, and he had obvious little desire to face the pair in fair and open combat.

Adrenaline coursed through his veins, suppressing the pain of the tear in his tensed muscle as Wynken held his throwing blade, poised and ready, between his thumb and index fingers. However, as the man fled, he was obscured by the dense trees swiftly cutting a path between them and forcing Wynken to stay his hand. Wynken hastily followed, attempting to guess the man's movements and provide himself an opening to his target.

It was Aislynn who proved the faster, quickly overtaking Wynken from behind and gaining ground on their fleeing attacker. She moved as a hind, easily navigating the broken terrain as if to be nimbly away from a hunter. Wynken watched in amusement the role reversal as the graceful Aislynn became the pursuer rather than the victim.

She quickly outpaced her prey, and Wynken's amusement shifted to disbelief as Aislynn sheathed one of her short swords and gripped the back of the man's jerkin. He spun hard, drawing a short sword of his own as he turned and knocked away Aislynn's hand with his left elbow. Her speed proved once again invaluable as she fell away from the viscous swipe and brought her own weapon defensively before her.

Wynken was there then, though the alignment of trees offered him no easy access to the man's flank. He instead slipped between them, pushing Aislynn safely from harm as he assumed her place in the foray. It was more an act of bloodlust than chivalry, though it may have been mistaken as such, for he exhibited no recklessness or rage holding his actions and emotions in complete control.

Wynken quickly found his footing and allowed his momentum and the man's surprise to carry him into a series of predictable offensive strikes. The man backed slowly, struggling to keep his balance in the bracken, and Wynken sent his long sword into a high feint. He grinned in recognition as the man chose to parry the blow rather than shift his weight to duck upon the broken undergrowth. With the flick of his wrist, Wynken released his throwing blade which buried itself deep into the man's well exposed thigh. At the same moment, Wynken allowed the man to easily push his blade high and away, readjusting the angle and dropping it down upon the man's weapon arm.

The battle took only moments, and, as Aislynn approached, the man's sword fell away. Blood flowed freely from his arm as he defensively nursed the gash, his pleading eyes seeking mercy in those of the victors.

Out of Character:

Sorry about how brief this one is ^.^; Been a little busy this last couple of days. I would have posted it last night but by the time it was done it was rather late heh.

Stumbling a little when Wynken pushed her none too gently aside, Aislynn frowned indignantly at the mercenary’s back. Chivalry or not, she didn’t appreciate being pushed aside like a helpless maiden. Watching the man in question, she saw that Wynken wasted no time in engaging the assailant in battle.

Within the first few moments of observing the fight, it became painfully obvious to the young woman that the odds were stack against his opponent. Wynken handled his blade with practiced ease, easily avoiding any of the attacks the other man sent his way, his face an unsettling mixture of amusement and bloodlust as he thwarted the other’s efforts.

Aislynn’s eyes followed the small dagger as it flew through the air, cringing at the howl of agony its target let rip as it plunged deep into his leg. A few seconds later and the man was completely unarmed, his eyes watering in pain as he cradled a weeping gash on his sword arm. He back-peddled as Aislynn and Wynken approached, his eyes wide with fear directed more towards Wynken than the young half breed.

’And is there any surprise in that?’ she thought, glancing towards Wynken’s cold and slightly cruel expression before looking back at the man whimpering on the floor, 'I don't think I'd like to be on his bad side.' A delicate breeze ruffled her hair, toying gently with a few of the strands that framed her faze, some shortened considerably after being in the path of that arrow. If it had flown even a millimeter or so to the right… She hardened her gaze resolutely, ‘If we didn’t get him, he would have got us.’ she reasoned. As if realizing that Aislynn was the lesser of the two evils, the man turned his gaze towards her.

“P…Please…” he whimpers, blood dripping over his fingers as he gripped his arm, a small crimson river trickling down it, “Please… have mercy…” Aislynn glances uncertainly towards Wynken, completely unused to someone pleading with her for his life. “Please,” he repeated, sensing the young woman’s weakness, “Don’t let him kill me!”

Wynken watched the exchange with a mixture of pride and disgust. He was pleased to command such reverence and to invoke fear in the heart of another, but found the man's dishonorable and contradictory appeal to be disappointing. 'So fickle. Minutes ago he would have put an arrow into my back and now he suddenly recalls the value of existence?' Wynken narrowed his stoic gray eyes as he considered the hypocrisy. He loathed his own existence as well as that of others, and considered hatred as the only emotion worthy of a true warrior.

He looked to Aislynn, the girl's moral judgment apparently conflicted by the man's appeal to pathos. Wynken could have pointed out the logical inconsistencies, could have screamed in the man's face rhetorical questions that would bring to light the fallacy and dishonesty in his pleas. It was another luxury owed to the wealth of his father. In addition to combat training, Wynken studied all manner of academia under some of the realm's finest (albeit slightly biased) scholars. "Don't be a fool", was all he offered as he stepped closer to the man who had retreated slightly.

Sheathing his sword, Wynken grabbed the man by the collar and dragged him roughly to his feet. "I remember you from the tavern", he said slowly in a tone rich with venom. "All of this over wounded pride, or did you truly find our affairs so interesting? I suppose that I should have been rid of you and your friends upon our first encounter. A mistake that I intend to soon rectify." Wynken pulled the man closer to himself, holding the man's gaze within his own. "Where are the others?"

The man looked to Aislynn once more and saw that she made no effort to intervene. Realizing the futility of his situation, he steeled his features in defiance. "I don't owe you a thing, and you'll kill me regardless."

"I assure you that my imagination is quite active, and lacks no creative ways to make you suffer", Wynken stated plainly. He grabbed the throwing dagger which still protruded from the man's leg, and he twisted it deeper into the wound before removing it. The man howled in anguish and would have buckled had Wynken not been supporting him with his left hand. "I'll ask again. Where are the others?"

There was a slight hesitation, a movement in his eyes, and a tightness in his lips as he began, "we...we had only met that evening, and we shared but a few drinks. I don't know who or where they are". In a swift and seamless movement, Wynken released the man's collar and hit him with a backswing smashing his mouth with the steel bracer on his left arm. His head lurched and slumped forward, blood draining from it as water in a trickling stream. He swallowed hard, pursed his lacerated lips, and spit out three teeth which disappeared into the undergrowth below.

There was a long moment of silence as the man regained his composure. The blood relented slightly and he finally raised his face, staring past Wynken to once again seek mercy in Aislynn's eyes.

Aislynn’s eyes by now were wide with shock and a small amount of disgust. She had never before witnessed torture and found that her stomach turned at the very thought of how easily Wynken was able to use it. Of all the times she had fought others, she had never had the need to cause pain for information, preferring to simply knock out her opponent and run. She gripped the side of her tunic, her hand shaking with the effort of staying put and not helping the man who was appealing to her with his eyes.

Wynken’s whispered words as he stepped forward woke her common sense enough for her to school her features into a look of indifference, the difficulty evident in the way her fingers clenched further. The mercenary was efficient as he demanded an answer to his questions, applying force at times whenever the man was proving uncooperative.

At the final blow, man’s eyes became dazed slightly as he turned towards her yet again in a desperate plea. Aislynn met his glance with narrowed eyes, finding it easier this time to bury her pity for his treatment before she did something foolish. She gestured with her own yellow irises towards Wynken. “Answer his questions and then we’ll see if you deserve pity.” Her voice trembled a little she noticed but was firm enough to get her point across.

The man’s eyes clouded over with despair mixed liberally with anger as he realized that she would not step forward. He spat out more of the blood that was welling up in mouth, somehow making the gesture seem insulting. “I’ve already told you all I know.” He hissed, his voiced slurred somewhat through the damage to his face, his expression once more set into defiance. “If you’re going to kill me get it over with.”

So, he has conjured some honor, Wynken mused, a smile broadening on his face in light of the man’s acceptance of death. Not too much I hope. Wynken had had seen the telltale signs and recognized that the man had been lying, an obvious cover for the men in his company the week before.

He had occupied a table with three others at the Peaceful Promenade, and they had, in their drunken impertinence, become derisive toward Wynken and Aislynn. Unamused by their flagrant condescension Wynken had called their bluff and issued them a silent challenge before the entire tavern. As he sat at their table, daring any of them to make a move against him, Wynken stared them each down until he had felt Aislynn had been afforded enough time to be safely away. At that point he simply left. As casually as he had come, he pushed his chair from the table and retreated to his room for the evening.

It was obvious that at least one of the men harbored resentment for the pair. Wynken had been hunted in the past, and he was none too pleased about being pursued again. “Why don’t you wait for me in the clearing”, Wynken asked Aislynn though he focused his attention upon the bloodied man. He understood well enough that his actions had unsettled her, and he desired to be the sole recipient of any pertinent information offered from the dying man’s lips. Aislynn nodded solemnly, attempting to stifle the display of relief as she walked back to their initial meeting place in the woods.

Once alone Wynken sneered at the man. “We both know you’re lying. I’m sure your friends appreciate it too, but unless you can accept payment in the underworld your favors are ill placed.” The man squirmed uncomfortably as Wynken shifted his throwing blade into his left hand. He had maintained a standing position, but Wynken could see that it now required great effort. The muscle in his leg had been torn and the gash in his arm had continued to bleed draining him of his strength. Wynken quoted the man with snide sarcasm, mocking him for his defiance saying, “I’ve already promised you that I will ‘get it over with’ once you tell me what I desire to know.” He took the man’s collar once again, forcing him to shift his weight to his wounded leg and eliciting a whimper from his previously pulverized mouth.

“Alright”, the man said pitifully, “I’ll tell you what I know.

Out of Character:

It’s been a handful of weeks since MoM has posted, and, since I’m using this thread to develop some other plots, I figured I’d go ahead and hijack this. My last post has been edited in order to facilitate my continuing solo.

Not much time had passd before Wynken walked carelessly from the dense trees to the clearing, only to find it empty. He was neither surprised nor disappointed. He had disbelieved that Aislynn would be there the first time, as her character seemed so much opposed to his own. Wynken looked through the trees that marked the location from which she had first emerged. There was no reason to follow her and he was uncertain he could if there were. Although the trail would be fresh and likely hastily made, he was much more attuned to city streets and rooftops than brush and bramble.

Returning to the area where they had stood before the ambush, Wynken found Aislynn’s rucksack. The price list lay on the ground a short distance away, and the mark from Aislynn’s heavy boots scarred its fragile surface. Picking through the pack, Wynken scoffed silently at the small collection of finely carved wooden trinkets, it’s unlikely that I’ll be needing these now. As luck would have it, he had stumbled upon a much more appealing offer.

In his final moments, the man, Benson, had explained that his friends were due through Underwood any day. Of the four of them from the bar, he had been a local resident and one man was merely a random traveler. However, the other two were of great interest to Benson and had now become Wynken’s focus as well. They were from the mainland and Benson had seen them pass through on a fairly consistent schedule. Every three weeks, they came from the ferry in the south and lingered a day or two in Underwood before continuing north to Radasanth. A day would pass before they stopped again in Underwood, running their course in reverse.

Benson appeared to be telling the truth, and, having no reason to begrudge the man, Wynken had kept his word and killed him quickly and without pain. He looked again at Aislynn’s backpack. These could still be of some use, he considered, slinging the weighty baggage over his shoulders.

For most the hike back to Underwood would have been peaceful and serene. The sun had fully risen and, though it remained low on the horizon, scattered the remnants of dusk as morning broke. Birds sang sweetly as Wynken moved with hushed and deliberate footfalls. However, his mind was far from the tranquility of the splendid forest, and instead laid plans for the coming days.

It was still morning when Wynken had returned to Underwood. Wispy clouds streaked the otherwise pristine sky, and songbirds perched upon rooftops and awnings. They whistled and cooed to one another as they waited intently for the market to open. The townsfolk made ready as well, merchants and storeowners primped their tables and some residents had already gathered to consider their morning needs. They village was awakening.

Wynken, however, paid them no heed. He was aware of his surroundings but hardly conscious of them as he passed through the square on his way to the Fettered Fawn. The establishment was quaint and rustic, nestled amongst a small hunter’s district. Trappers, tanners, and various leatherworkers operated in the nearby shops, and the tavern often served as an outpost for traveling merchants or hunters drawn by the abundant wildlife (and therefore leather) of the Concordia. Having left the Peaceful Promenade, Wynken had occupied a room there for several days. He didn’t often spend two nights in the same room, and would change taverns with almost the same frequency.

Within the secrecy of his private quarters, Wynken’s attention shifted from the day’s events. His arm throbbed, disrupting his thoughts and pulling him from his planning. Reluctantly, he removed his black leather vest in order to better tend his wound, and he regarded it briefly as it lay atop his bedding.

The sleeveless piece of armor was truly two, front and back, laced and bound together by a lithe yet sturdy silver chain. The neck also contained a moderate ‘V’ which was similarly adorned with a silver cord. The front of the vest had been masterfully embossed with the depiction of a falcon. It appeared in mid flight such that the tips of its wings spread from one shoulder cap to the other, and its sharp talons were outstretched as if lusting after its prey. The leather was worked and fitted perfectly. Wynken often considered that it was fashioned for him alone, though he struggled to recall how he came to receive it.

His wound was deep but shallow enough to not require sutures. Wynken considered that his shirt was not so lucky as he fingered the tear in its sleeve. It would have to wait, he knew and he cleaned and bandaged his arm before replacing his armor. The door closed silently behind him as he left his room and the Fettered Fawn to seek Benson’s acquaintances at the Peaceful Promenade.