Post by Caliban (Pyrin) on Jul 15, 2024 21:08:31 GMT
He’d purposefully taken his seat in the booth before the barkeep had come back from the cellar. With any luck, it meant that he wouldn’t be noticed- or that the barkeep had more important things to focus on. Slipping the angled mirror into the page of his journal, Pyrin’s eye kept focused on the reflection shown: that of the entrance of the tavern.
Investigative work could be dull to some. Not Pyrin. It was like a thrill of the chase: albeit slower paced, and the actual chasing only happening around 1/10th’s of the time. A slower, more tense chase perhaps.
Quite a few patrons came in. It was late, so mostly all just people who’d rented rooms and were returning for the night. Half-Orc, Human, Human, Human, Dwarf, Tiefling, Half-Elf, Human, Human, Human…
Pyrin gave the tavern window a glance. Night had well and truly fallen, and Pyrin quietly huffed to himself. His mind tried to peel through events of prior days. The Horned High-Priestess, Skaragos, Von Walds, Di Silva… and that jumped up Bard. Who the fuck did he think he wa-
Pyrin stopped that train of thought before it got out of hand. Now was the time for relevant thoughts, not irrelevant topics. He heard the door swing once more and his eyes flickered to his mirror. A black haired individual, who quickly made their way to the counter. Curious. They spoke with the Barkeep, who’d stopped polishing mugs and diverted all attention to this person. They’d seemed quite jovial when Pyrin had first met them, but the colour seemed to have faded from their face when this person arrived. She slowly set the tankard down and begun to pull out a large text: a ledger perhaps, opening to a page from which she read something. Her eyes flickered back to the individual. Of course, with eyes only on the back of their head, he couldn’t read them very well, besides their move to drop a purse of coin, and then make their way to leave.
Pyrin smiled to himself. A lead. Almost as soon as the door had closed; Pyrin snapped his journal shut and emerged from the booth, making his way to the door. He looked to the barkeep, his smile slightly fading as he saw the worried expression on her face remain as she looked at him, mouth slightly open as though she wanted to say something- before closing in silence.
Stepping through the door to outside the Tavern, Pyrin took in the night air before surveying the road. To the left: no one. To the right: the black-haired visitor. Bingo. His wings spread, Pyrin took a brief running start before he gave two flaps and he was airborne. And then set down upon the roof of the buildings upon the road. A target looking high was always a risk, but realistically if one were to be tailed, they’d expect to be tailed on foot.
Pyrin kept himself low as he went from roof to roof, getting a Birds Eye view of his mysterious, likely Hekrati, benefactor. They turned erratically, difficult to trail from road to road. Where were they headed? Graveside? The Dawnmarket? It had been nearly 20 minutes, and Pyrin was glad it was late- not many to see an avian figure dart between rooftops.
Finally, the figure turned one last time. Pyrin had lost his exact bearings- but the person’s pace seemed to determine that they were approaching a destination of sorts. An alleyway, one with a door of sorts concealed somewhere, Pyrin had to guess.
A hand held on his rapier, Pyrin watched the figure stop, and pause. His eyes narrowed. It was time.
His wings unfolded to slow his quick descent as he reached the ground, and his talons gently scratched the cobblestone. He drew his rapier and cleared his throat.
“I’m touched you’d go out of your way to pay my dues, but I’m more than comfortable paying them by myself- without the money of the Hekrati. I’ve no interest in killing you: but I need answers."
The figure turned around. Slowly. His smile was almost audible under the blank mask he wore. “Come now, Detective. You don’t really think we wouldn’t expect something like this from you? And while I understand your curiosity: there’s only one question that need be asked today.”
Pyrin tilted the Rapier, holding it higher and aimed at the man’s chin. “And what would that be?” The man’s tone shifted into one of mocking concern. “What manner of thing could have happened to you?”
A shuffle of footsteps, behind him. Pyrin made to spin about, and adjusted his stance, Rapier brought back ready to lunge when- a striking blow slammed into his ribs, followed by four more to his arms and wings in short succession. He fell to the side of the alley, gaining a glance at his attackers. Five others, all draped in cloaks and robes. He’d usually now start remembering faces, but he remembered the pain of their clubs instead. With a loud cry, he flapped his wings out, bringing them to pause as they made to step forwards.
As he tried to assess his situation: the individual he’d followed reminded Pyrin of their presence. Another strike to his head- this time with a far worse impact. Pyrin’s vision blurred, and all six figures closed in. In the final moments before he was beaten down, Pyrin drew on a last surge of energy. He’d spun about just before the remaining five were able to deliver their swings. The figure made to swing their baton again: a backhanded swing, leaving them briefly open.
Pyrin lunged, yelling from the bottom of his lungs and dropping his Rapier: he saw the eyes of the individual follow it; losing track of Pyrin- before Pyrin swung, hit, and dragged a talon through the individuals cloth mask. He remembered watching his visage change so drastically as they recoiled in pain, their blood marked on his talon. He remembered the thundering pain of Batons upon his beak. He remembered hitting the ground of the alley.
The batons continued hammering down for a good few moments, till their attention seemed drawn elsewhere. Their voices sounded more concerned, the voice of the individuals seemed to be in some pain and upset mood. They made to leave the alley, but not before a boot fell down upon Pyrin’s wing.
As soon as they had emerged: the group had vanished, leaving only a bruised, bloodied and beaten Aarakocra, as any testament to their presence.
“You’re really willing to do this, Miss…?”
“Oh hush, Mr. Branch. On the plus side, I probably won’t have to see that creepy ne’er’do’well ever again! Consider this my thank you.” The Tabaxi Barkeep finished with their bandaging, covering up several of the bruises, leaving Pyrin mended- save for a distinct crack of the beak. That would need more.
Pyrin’s brow raised. “Never again? How do you know that?” The Barkeep begun to pack away the healers kit and spoke to Pyrin, “They came back, about half an hour before you hobbled in. Said that they wouldn’t be coming by no more.”
Pyrin’s beak straightened, before he winced and it broke his thoughtful expression. His carelessness had just cost him a lead. What came next though, was worse.
“They, uh, also…”
“Hm?”
“Your tab, Mr. Branch. They’ve stopped paying it.”
“Fuck.”
Investigative work could be dull to some. Not Pyrin. It was like a thrill of the chase: albeit slower paced, and the actual chasing only happening around 1/10th’s of the time. A slower, more tense chase perhaps.
Quite a few patrons came in. It was late, so mostly all just people who’d rented rooms and were returning for the night. Half-Orc, Human, Human, Human, Dwarf, Tiefling, Half-Elf, Human, Human, Human…
Pyrin gave the tavern window a glance. Night had well and truly fallen, and Pyrin quietly huffed to himself. His mind tried to peel through events of prior days. The Horned High-Priestess, Skaragos, Von Walds, Di Silva… and that jumped up Bard. Who the fuck did he think he wa-
Pyrin stopped that train of thought before it got out of hand. Now was the time for relevant thoughts, not irrelevant topics. He heard the door swing once more and his eyes flickered to his mirror. A black haired individual, who quickly made their way to the counter. Curious. They spoke with the Barkeep, who’d stopped polishing mugs and diverted all attention to this person. They’d seemed quite jovial when Pyrin had first met them, but the colour seemed to have faded from their face when this person arrived. She slowly set the tankard down and begun to pull out a large text: a ledger perhaps, opening to a page from which she read something. Her eyes flickered back to the individual. Of course, with eyes only on the back of their head, he couldn’t read them very well, besides their move to drop a purse of coin, and then make their way to leave.
Pyrin smiled to himself. A lead. Almost as soon as the door had closed; Pyrin snapped his journal shut and emerged from the booth, making his way to the door. He looked to the barkeep, his smile slightly fading as he saw the worried expression on her face remain as she looked at him, mouth slightly open as though she wanted to say something- before closing in silence.
Stepping through the door to outside the Tavern, Pyrin took in the night air before surveying the road. To the left: no one. To the right: the black-haired visitor. Bingo. His wings spread, Pyrin took a brief running start before he gave two flaps and he was airborne. And then set down upon the roof of the buildings upon the road. A target looking high was always a risk, but realistically if one were to be tailed, they’d expect to be tailed on foot.
Pyrin kept himself low as he went from roof to roof, getting a Birds Eye view of his mysterious, likely Hekrati, benefactor. They turned erratically, difficult to trail from road to road. Where were they headed? Graveside? The Dawnmarket? It had been nearly 20 minutes, and Pyrin was glad it was late- not many to see an avian figure dart between rooftops.
Finally, the figure turned one last time. Pyrin had lost his exact bearings- but the person’s pace seemed to determine that they were approaching a destination of sorts. An alleyway, one with a door of sorts concealed somewhere, Pyrin had to guess.
A hand held on his rapier, Pyrin watched the figure stop, and pause. His eyes narrowed. It was time.
His wings unfolded to slow his quick descent as he reached the ground, and his talons gently scratched the cobblestone. He drew his rapier and cleared his throat.
“I’m touched you’d go out of your way to pay my dues, but I’m more than comfortable paying them by myself- without the money of the Hekrati. I’ve no interest in killing you: but I need answers."
The figure turned around. Slowly. His smile was almost audible under the blank mask he wore. “Come now, Detective. You don’t really think we wouldn’t expect something like this from you? And while I understand your curiosity: there’s only one question that need be asked today.”
Pyrin tilted the Rapier, holding it higher and aimed at the man’s chin. “And what would that be?” The man’s tone shifted into one of mocking concern. “What manner of thing could have happened to you?”
A shuffle of footsteps, behind him. Pyrin made to spin about, and adjusted his stance, Rapier brought back ready to lunge when- a striking blow slammed into his ribs, followed by four more to his arms and wings in short succession. He fell to the side of the alley, gaining a glance at his attackers. Five others, all draped in cloaks and robes. He’d usually now start remembering faces, but he remembered the pain of their clubs instead. With a loud cry, he flapped his wings out, bringing them to pause as they made to step forwards.
As he tried to assess his situation: the individual he’d followed reminded Pyrin of their presence. Another strike to his head- this time with a far worse impact. Pyrin’s vision blurred, and all six figures closed in. In the final moments before he was beaten down, Pyrin drew on a last surge of energy. He’d spun about just before the remaining five were able to deliver their swings. The figure made to swing their baton again: a backhanded swing, leaving them briefly open.
Pyrin lunged, yelling from the bottom of his lungs and dropping his Rapier: he saw the eyes of the individual follow it; losing track of Pyrin- before Pyrin swung, hit, and dragged a talon through the individuals cloth mask. He remembered watching his visage change so drastically as they recoiled in pain, their blood marked on his talon. He remembered the thundering pain of Batons upon his beak. He remembered hitting the ground of the alley.
The batons continued hammering down for a good few moments, till their attention seemed drawn elsewhere. Their voices sounded more concerned, the voice of the individuals seemed to be in some pain and upset mood. They made to leave the alley, but not before a boot fell down upon Pyrin’s wing.
As soon as they had emerged: the group had vanished, leaving only a bruised, bloodied and beaten Aarakocra, as any testament to their presence.
“You’re really willing to do this, Miss…?”
“Oh hush, Mr. Branch. On the plus side, I probably won’t have to see that creepy ne’er’do’well ever again! Consider this my thank you.” The Tabaxi Barkeep finished with their bandaging, covering up several of the bruises, leaving Pyrin mended- save for a distinct crack of the beak. That would need more.
Pyrin’s brow raised. “Never again? How do you know that?” The Barkeep begun to pack away the healers kit and spoke to Pyrin, “They came back, about half an hour before you hobbled in. Said that they wouldn’t be coming by no more.”
Pyrin’s beak straightened, before he winced and it broke his thoughtful expression. His carelessness had just cost him a lead. What came next though, was worse.
“They, uh, also…”
“Hm?”
“Your tab, Mr. Branch. They’ve stopped paying it.”
“Fuck.”