Enemies and Backalley Discoveries
Sept 12, 2021 20:59:59 GMT
Ian (Menace) and Merla, the Daughter of Summer like this
Post by Wren Lunaboult on Sept 12, 2021 20:59:59 GMT
They thought they had this tonight. Wren had tracked down who managed this particular warehouse of interesting goods through overheard conversations and little tip offs here and there, and especially what time they liked to turn up to work. And well, Ishmael the warehouse foreman certainly managed the place loudly, barking orders to underlings this way and that. Wren’s spot on a closeby roof meant they could hear things very well, it seemed information wouldn’t be hard to gain this time.
What they hadn’t anticipated was the arrival of a certain red skinned tiefling to oversee today’s work, and Wren has a perfect view as the short man in an old, grey cloak began to direct the workers with easy confidence.
But whether it's the slippery tiles, or Wren’s surprise, their foot suddenly slips on the roof they’re perched on and though the sound isn’t extremely loud, it’s enough to catch the attention of someone. The last person Wren wants really.
Mace and Wren lock eyes, black pits to gold glow behind a black mask. There’s a look of recognition on Mace's face, how many people out there have glowing eyes and badger’s strapped to their back really. But he blinks and the figure on the roof is gone. The red tiefling grinds his jaws and then forces a smile onto his lips...
The person or group you are tailing notices you, taking note of your appearance and marking you down as a potential threat. You manage to slip away but now have a new Enemy. You gain no information.
What they hadn’t anticipated was the arrival of a certain red skinned tiefling to oversee today’s work, and Wren has a perfect view as the short man in an old, grey cloak began to direct the workers with easy confidence.
But whether it's the slippery tiles, or Wren’s surprise, their foot suddenly slips on the roof they’re perched on and though the sound isn’t extremely loud, it’s enough to catch the attention of someone. The last person Wren wants really.
Mace and Wren lock eyes, black pits to gold glow behind a black mask. There’s a look of recognition on Mace's face, how many people out there have glowing eyes and badger’s strapped to their back really. But he blinks and the figure on the roof is gone. The red tiefling grinds his jaws and then forces a smile onto his lips...
The person or group you are tailing notices you, taking note of your appearance and marking you down as a potential threat. You manage to slip away but now have a new Enemy. You gain no information.
~~
A week or so later
A few rooms over, Mace shifts another parchment from the ‘to do’ to the ‘outbox’ pile. “That’s all for tonight, Carl...” he says, pushing back from the desk, draping the grey cloak-of-many-pockets over his shoulders, “...I think I will do another inspection of the warehouse tonight. You take the night off. I will see you tomorrow.”
Wren takes the now very familiar route out across the rooftops of Port Ffirst, feet nimble as they leap from roof to roof, the darkness hopefully obscuring their travels to those below in the streets…
...as a red-skinned Tiefling flits through back alleys on the ground, masterfully dodging carts, barrels, crates and turds.
With the darkness hugging them close, Wren settles down on a rooftop near the warehouse, a different one to where they met eye to eye with Mace before. Two different sets of eyes begin to peer out, pinpricks of light in the dark looking at the best way to gain entry to their prize. If you listen closely you might even hear the sniffing of a shiny obsessed badger…
...noting the guards are sticking to their schedule and haven't made their rounds to this side, Wren leaps forward like from a springboard, their momentum allowing them to just catch the lip of the warehouse’s roof. Slipping in through small window on the top floor, combat roll deathly quiet, Wren scans the interior of the warehouse; nothing uncommon - the ground floor is a wide-open space, filled with neat stacks of crates and barrels, with enough room for walkways and a larger central alley for the animal carts to be loaded with the waiting cargo; large double doors providing the only visible entrance or exit at the far wall. The top floor seems to have a few office rooms, but most notably a mezzanine walkway that rounds the entire warehouse. They pause for a brief moment as they consider their best next move, Stripes impatiently wiggling on Wren’s back.
There! A shadow leaping across the alley, roof to roof. Almost invisible in the darkness of night. But nothing escapes Menace’s black orbs. “I see you, little thief. Now the game is on. And I hope you are ready to play…” he whispers to the heavy skull-shaped mace at his belt.
Light footsteps quickly take them up to the mezzanine floor where they pause and crouch down at each office doorway, they listen and watch for any keen late night workers in the darkened rooms but hear nothing thankfully. More importantly they’re looking for what stands out as the head honcho’s office, the grander chair, largest desk, space all to themselves...Right there. Happy with their find they set down Stripes on the floor with a quietly uttered command, “Find shinies”, the badger quietly but excitedly gets to work, scoring the office from his lowered point of view. Wren turns a slow practiced eye to the desk drawers and shelves that stand behind it, thieves’ tools already in hand.
He follows across the rooftop chasm - jump! - wiggles through the open window (“well chosen, little thief. Respect…”) and rises to his feet, leans over the guardrail and catches Ishmael’s eye; there are no words spoken - hand gestures are enough to send the foreman and Bald Joe up the staircase, approaching the main office from both sides. Quiet as cats; steady as a ship; certain as death...
Wren is behind the desk when the first of Mace’s group step towards the main door into the office, Stripes back in the sling after a successful sniff out of any valuables present. Their movements cease instantly and they crouch even lower to access the situation. How many pairs of creeping footsteps are there? One? Two? Two it seems. Perhaps if I feint towards one exit I can make a break for the other and just run, it won’t be pretty but it’s better than getting stuck here with a bunch of pissed off thugs.
So they do just that, leaping over the desk and sprinting towards the door leading to the other offices, seeing that it’s drawn the foreman in their direction they feint at the last minute towards the gap behind them to get to the balcony. Once through the door they sprint onwards….straight into Mace.
The dark metal skull of the bruteish weapon crunches into the thief’s mouth, leaving them to stumble back a step.
Wren’s expression is hidden behind their mask which they readjust into place, but the hesitant half step back from Mace is still apparent. Is it something about his words? The grin? Whatever it is, something fearful and unpleasant is clawing at Wren’s mind but they shake it off the only way they know how. By giving Mace a double flip off with the words, “Your customer service sucks.” And then they leap off of the balcony to the warehouse floor below, using a stack of crates to break their fall and to not land on Stripes. From there it’s a full on sprint to the main doors, checking over their shoulder at the last moment they see…
…Menace leaning over the railing, waving vigorously goodbye. "Come back soon, valued customer! Next time I might interest you in the business end of my crossbow instead - it is positively spewing forth bloody good deals! I promise they are to die for..."
Wren has already run off out the door and into the embrace of night before Mace has a chance to finish his sentence, and it’s not till they’re back in through their bedroom window that they really stop. They pull off the mask still smeared with blood and get Stripes out from their spot in the sling on their back and pat him down to check for any injuries. Seeing none they sign deeply and slump against the wall. “Well, that could have gone better. You find anything else before that bastard turned up?” Stripes gives the expression of a badger who did not find the shinies he hoped for, Wren just gives a sad chuckle. “Next time then. Cause there will be a next time Stripes, mark my words. I’ve got that business and warehouse of his in my sights.”
Menace gives instructions to the workers, dresses down Ishmael for the lax security and heads back to the Seashank through quiet back alleys. The confident smile he kept on for his henchmen is dropped as soon as he melds with the shadows, hiding the frown that the encounter left him with. That thief got close. Too close for comfort. He had been taking great care to ensure his operations would remain undisturbed from the eyes and desires of common riffraff, but clearly, this was no ordinary burglar.
Spring hasn’t fully hit Port Ffirst yet, and its absence is certainly felt tonight as the icy cold winds of the ocean seep through the darkened alleyways. In Wren’s small room at the Cavernous Seashank they’re already dressed in their usual heist gear, an ensemble of black clothing and badger sling, with the usual dark wood mask to top it all off. They make their way to their preferred route via the rooftops out the room’s window, Stripes securely attached as they climb upwards…
A few rooms over, Mace shifts another parchment from the ‘to do’ to the ‘outbox’ pile. “That’s all for tonight, Carl...” he says, pushing back from the desk, draping the grey cloak-of-many-pockets over his shoulders, “...I think I will do another inspection of the warehouse tonight. You take the night off. I will see you tomorrow.”
Wren takes the now very familiar route out across the rooftops of Port Ffirst, feet nimble as they leap from roof to roof, the darkness hopefully obscuring their travels to those below in the streets…
...as a red-skinned Tiefling flits through back alleys on the ground, masterfully dodging carts, barrels, crates and turds.
With the darkness hugging them close, Wren settles down on a rooftop near the warehouse, a different one to where they met eye to eye with Mace before. Two different sets of eyes begin to peer out, pinpricks of light in the dark looking at the best way to gain entry to their prize. If you listen closely you might even hear the sniffing of a shiny obsessed badger…
...and Menace, cloaked in gloom and his trusty old coat, ascends to the adjacent rooftop, swiftly taking cover behind a chimney. He leans slightly forward to scan the broken terrain of slanted shingle roofs and black smoke-belching chimneys. Everything is quiet. Too quiet...
...noting the guards are sticking to their schedule and haven't made their rounds to this side, Wren leaps forward like from a springboard, their momentum allowing them to just catch the lip of the warehouse’s roof. Slipping in through small window on the top floor, combat roll deathly quiet, Wren scans the interior of the warehouse; nothing uncommon - the ground floor is a wide-open space, filled with neat stacks of crates and barrels, with enough room for walkways and a larger central alley for the animal carts to be loaded with the waiting cargo; large double doors providing the only visible entrance or exit at the far wall. The top floor seems to have a few office rooms, but most notably a mezzanine walkway that rounds the entire warehouse. They pause for a brief moment as they consider their best next move, Stripes impatiently wiggling on Wren’s back.
There! A shadow leaping across the alley, roof to roof. Almost invisible in the darkness of night. But nothing escapes Menace’s black orbs. “I see you, little thief. Now the game is on. And I hope you are ready to play…” he whispers to the heavy skull-shaped mace at his belt.
Light footsteps quickly take them up to the mezzanine floor where they pause and crouch down at each office doorway, they listen and watch for any keen late night workers in the darkened rooms but hear nothing thankfully. More importantly they’re looking for what stands out as the head honcho’s office, the grander chair, largest desk, space all to themselves...Right there. Happy with their find they set down Stripes on the floor with a quietly uttered command, “Find shinies”, the badger quietly but excitedly gets to work, scoring the office from his lowered point of view. Wren turns a slow practiced eye to the desk drawers and shelves that stand behind it, thieves’ tools already in hand.
He follows across the rooftop chasm - jump! - wiggles through the open window (“well chosen, little thief. Respect…”) and rises to his feet, leans over the guardrail and catches Ishmael’s eye; there are no words spoken - hand gestures are enough to send the foreman and Bald Joe up the staircase, approaching the main office from both sides. Quiet as cats; steady as a ship; certain as death...
Wren is behind the desk when the first of Mace’s group step towards the main door into the office, Stripes back in the sling after a successful sniff out of any valuables present. Their movements cease instantly and they crouch even lower to access the situation. How many pairs of creeping footsteps are there? One? Two? Two it seems. Perhaps if I feint towards one exit I can make a break for the other and just run, it won’t be pretty but it’s better than getting stuck here with a bunch of pissed off thugs.
So they do just that, leaping over the desk and sprinting towards the door leading to the other offices, seeing that it’s drawn the foreman in their direction they feint at the last minute towards the gap behind them to get to the balcony. Once through the door they sprint onwards….straight into Mace.
The dark metal skull of the bruteish weapon crunches into the thief’s mouth, leaving them to stumble back a step.
“Well, well, well, well, well; who have we here? A customer, at such a late hour? But we serve all wants and needs here, at the Emporium of Pre-Loved Wonders. What can I do for you, my little friend? Stay! Peruse! Let’s talk.” He pats the head of the skull-shaped weapon affectionately, smearing the blood from Wren’s nose across its surface, and breaks into a menacing grin. “What, you thought they call me ‘Mace’ because of how spicy I am?”
Wren’s expression is hidden behind their mask which they readjust into place, but the hesitant half step back from Mace is still apparent. Is it something about his words? The grin? Whatever it is, something fearful and unpleasant is clawing at Wren’s mind but they shake it off the only way they know how. By giving Mace a double flip off with the words, “Your customer service sucks.” And then they leap off of the balcony to the warehouse floor below, using a stack of crates to break their fall and to not land on Stripes. From there it’s a full on sprint to the main doors, checking over their shoulder at the last moment they see…
…Menace leaning over the railing, waving vigorously goodbye. "Come back soon, valued customer! Next time I might interest you in the business end of my crossbow instead - it is positively spewing forth bloody good deals! I promise they are to die for..."
Wren has already run off out the door and into the embrace of night before Mace has a chance to finish his sentence, and it’s not till they’re back in through their bedroom window that they really stop. They pull off the mask still smeared with blood and get Stripes out from their spot in the sling on their back and pat him down to check for any injuries. Seeing none they sign deeply and slump against the wall. “Well, that could have gone better. You find anything else before that bastard turned up?” Stripes gives the expression of a badger who did not find the shinies he hoped for, Wren just gives a sad chuckle. “Next time then. Cause there will be a next time Stripes, mark my words. I’ve got that business and warehouse of his in my sights.”
Menace gives instructions to the workers, dresses down Ishmael for the lax security and heads back to the Seashank through quiet back alleys. The confident smile he kept on for his henchmen is dropped as soon as he melds with the shadows, hiding the frown that the encounter left him with. That thief got close. Too close for comfort. He had been taking great care to ensure his operations would remain undisturbed from the eyes and desires of common riffraff, but clearly, this was no ordinary burglar.
The moon emerges from the cloud cover it had been hiding behind, casting the streets in hues of milky grey. Like water, light has a way and finds every nook and crevice. And so would he. The wolfish smile reemerges, as the tiefling stands alone among the refuse of Old Town, bathing in the moonlight.
Next time, he will be ready. Next time, he will seal the deal.
Written with the friendliest foe Ian (Menace)
Written with the friendliest foe Ian (Menace)