Skandra Tyullis (roll_the_bones) wrote in adusta, @ 2008-12-23 13:05:00 |
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Entry tags: | aeotha easaahae, merc, skandra tyullis |
a treasure to pierce your heart (aeotha)
"Chivalry is dead!" the barker screamed into the street like a storm, hands flashing above his head. "Welcome to the age, my friends! A blade of every stripe awaits but who's the time to learn? Behold, then, the work of the great master smith Galdi from the Fire Mountains! Behold a treasure to pierce your heart, your very soul, with its beauty and its ferocity! For the..."
On and on and on.
Here in the foothills of the Central Mountains were a thousand minor cities, or more, each of them propped up by farmers and various other country folk who couldn't resist being taken in by a barker of this magnitude. They'd seen his like before. Hell, they'd probably seen this particular barker before. Not that the fellow would ever admit to such a thing. It was a measure of Skandra's annoyance and impatience that he was even listening to such drivel. Apparently the great master smith Galdi, whose skill was legendary among kings and queens according to the salesman, had forged one additional repeating crossbow and then given it to a filthy human from the slums of Simanel - if Skandra placed the fellow's accent correctly - to sell in a farming village somewhere in the shadow of the Central Mountains. That such a tale was ridiculous was without question. That the country folk were more intrigued because they wanted to prove him wrong, not knowing that he would have an answer for literally everything, made them easier marks. It was the same thing Skandra had done as a child. He supposed the only real difference was that in Trone, the silver and gold chains had come from the jeweler Raethathi at Ceranarad. A question of geography. After all, if the chains came from a smith in the city, why buy from some street urchin? Or a dirty man hawking crossbows?
"My friend, you look the sort to..."
"Shut up," Skandra growled pre-emptively.
"But sir, if I may..."
Now the peddler turned conman was walking along the edge of his makeshift stage in the middle of a cobbled street, offering the crossbow up for Skandra's inspection. Persistent little bugger. As the crowd parted for his horse Skandra tried to urge it faster. Horses didn't like such instructions. Horses, Skandra was convinced, liked nothing if it had at all to do with Skandra Tyullis. This barker was on the verge of knocking Skandra from his saddle for the sake of a trinket that no one could love. Grimacing sourly Skandra continued to fend him off with one hand. That wasn't enough, eventually, and the barker's words reached his ears a second time.
"Yeah, I know how to handle one," Skandra pulled his horse up short. "Mind if I try it?"
"Not at all!" and he fairly crowed. "Behold, ladies and gentlemen, a master using the craft of a master! Behold its gentle sweeping curves, how it adheres perfectly to his shoulder, how iiiiiiieeeeaaaaaugh!"
As the man collapsed, a bolt as thick as a tree trunk stabbed through the top of his foot, Skandra tossed the repeating crossbow down on top of him. Shrieking did not abate, so Skandra didn't bother saying something funny. As the crowd applauded politely he simply turned his horse away from the stage and set about catching up with Aeotha. She hadn't waited for the spectacle. Maybe she wasn't interested in trying out crossbows. Since their conversation of two nights ago Skandra hadn't convinced her to say anything other than the requisite phrases. Yes, she'd like a drink of water. Yes, some salted pork sounds wonderful. Yes, the sun rose a touch early today. Not that he minded polite conversation. It was just... and no, he didn't know what it just was, did he? Somehow Skandra was convinced that none of this would ever make any sense until he'd considered it further. Long after Aeotha was gone he'd finally feel something like remorse. Wouldn't he? Only Skandra didn't feel remorse, and didn't want to. She was a coward. Leaning on a man she claimed to hate because she was too afraid of death. So why was he letting her lean on him? Why not give her a little bit of tough love?
Because he didn't want to see her hurt.
The very height of foolishness.
In little villages like this one you could generally find at least one inn. If there were two the owners found themselves locked in a bitter blood-feud. Hm. Maybe he'd misjudged that shrieking peddler. That crossbow might be just the thing. Well, there was no more ringing endorsement than the sight of a blood-drenched foot wreathed in fletching and hideous wood splinters. A gaping wound as testimony and he'd sell three. Even if Galdi the mad master smith had only given him one. Skandra snorted under his breath as they came to a stop in front of the lone inn. The Black Valve. There was a blacksmith attached to this one, as well, which made him think of the bruises that drenched his body. Including his neck and face. Dropping into the mud was never a more satisfying feeling; as he handed the reins of his horse to the very young stableboy Skandra wondered how long it could go on like this. He took his saddlebags, and Aeotha's, and looped them over one arm as they were removed by the young man. How long, indeed, could it go on like this?
By this, of course, he meant her. The horses were gone. It was just the two of them, now.
"After you, m'lady," he murmured with a smile and a bow at the waist; one sweeping arm gestured to the steps of the inn with a flourish of the wrist.