Of Sword Thieves and Wolf Thrones

Vamen appreciated the Judicator's concern but was impatient nonetheless. The fact that he knew where and when to meet that man, not to mention the fact that he had identified himself as a Fang, should have been enough to cement who he was. No man of the Impereich would ever identify themselves falsely as a kings agent. The punishment was nothing short of a quick trip to the noose. And rightly so. If men could not trust when a Fang claimed he was a Fang it would make their rare displays of authority would hardly be as effective. Still, there were additional forms of identification that ensured their identity would never be questioned. He began to reach for the first item now, a wolfs head medallion forged out of black iron from the Black Mountains.

"There were only two items of identification, the mark of the Fang," he spoke as pulled the medallion from his jerkin, "And the words of trust, "No wolf walk alone."

He paused for a moment before continuing, "And so I ask again. What is your business here?"

Rommel exhaled slowly, eyes scanning the crowd at the pair of them shuffling caused something of a noticeable ruckus, after all, what he was wearing alone probably cost more then all of their worldly possessions combined. Of course making a scene was at least half of his plan...

"Not here," he says simply, "When we arrive, you will be brought up to speed, but not in the open."

He leaves it at that, turning to regard Vamen, giving him another once over, "So was there any particular reason you saw fit to lie blatantly to my face earlier... or is that just the fang's method of operation?"

Vamen shrugged his shoulders and looked Rommel right in the eye.

“I appreciate the work you do Judicator but let us be clear. You are here solely on the whims of the Wolf Throne. And as an agent of the king I will act as I damn well please. And as Judicator, you are the last person who needs to be questioning my methods. Your “methods” are the only reason I have to be here in the first place.”

With that Vamen turned around and began walking the short distance to the Coiled Riverside. The tavern was a respectable institution meant for travelling merchants and successful local tradesmen. Vamen, in his current attire, would fit right in. The Judicator would not fit in anywhere the grizzled Fang took him. And while Vamen would have felt more comfortable in an establishment meant for sailors, he had decided early on that he preferred to start off their journey in an area where the Tryvoldian wouldn’t go berserk at the first sign of a shady dealing.

"You assume much, and actually know very little... this is going to be difficult," gravels Rommel, walking with Vamen, "But let us be clear, I serve only justice, and High King if he be just, with or without your King's approval I would still be here, informing you that I was coming was merely my way of being polite."

"And, further more, given the nature of this... debacle, it would not be inappropriate for me to say 'you're' welcome at this point," he said very little after that, eying the passerbys on the street speculatively, before one of them met his eye, and then abruptly scurried off.

For whatever reason that brought a smile to the Judicator's face, a grim, probably thoroughly terrifying amalgamation of the normal jovial expression, but a smile all the same.

Vamen chose to ignore the man’s comment as they came upon the Coiled Riverside, a two story building with a distinctly Eadhalion design. Timber was cheap in the forested Impereich and so Vamen was not surprised to see that it departed from the more traditional Eadhalion stone. But the wide open windows and ornate door marked its plains kingdom make.

Vamen scowled. He had heard that individuals were pandering to foreigners in the name of trade but Vamen still remembered the tavern that had existed there before it had been burnt down. It pained him to see Eadhalion make replacing that of the tribesman. But it was not his job to worry about things like that and he pushed the thought to the back of his mind as he entered the establishment.

A comely lass greeted them the door, her hair done up with pins. She gave a practiced smile as he entered but her face quickly faltered at the sight of the armored Tryvoldian and Vamen’s own hardened expression.

Vamen spoke first before she could collect herself, “I’ll require drink, soup and bread for my companion as well as our privacy thereafter. We have business to discuss.”

With that Vamen moved past the woman and toward the back of the room. It was well past noon and so the tavern was hardly packed. But those few individuals who did reside there were all staring at the armored Tryvoldian with interest and surprise. It was not everyday a Judicator like Rommel walked into a place like the Coiled Riverside.

Quickly seating himself at table far from any prying ears, Vamen waited from the woman to bring them their food before handing her a silver coin from a pouch at his waist and reminding her again not to disturb them for the rest of their stay.

Once the waitress was a respectable distance away, he finally leaned in.

“So what is this about?”

Sen simply could not believe it.
This was a city. Why were there no people!?

Okay there were people. But there were no crowds. Any large grouping of people seemed to just melt away at the sight of an oncoming tide of banditry (were they called bandits when they were in a city? He would call them bandits if they jumped him on the road, but he never heard about bandits in the city). Sure, reasonable he supposed but Sen found it slightly inconveniencing as he could really use a place to hide. Like say a crowd.

He glanced back. Were there more of them now? Less? It might be easier if he'd had any real idea of how many were trying to run him down to start with. A plan. He needed a plan. Right. Think. Thinkthinkthinkthinkthinkthink. Water! Bandits couldn't swim right? Okay probably wrong. Bad idea. No wait. Water = Docks = Ships = Trade = People = Crowds!

Now if only he wasn't running in exactly the wrong direction.
...
...
...
Okay this was a fantastically bad idea but....

He slammed on the brakes, skidding to a stop and turning about his axis. Now that he was facing them they didn't seem quite so many.
Still too many.

He breathed heavily, half crouched over, his knees bent as he watched them approach. In turn they slowed as the drew close, spreading out around him, a loose circle with him at the center. This was either going to hurt or be hilarious.
The circle parted. The leader(maybe? He was large and enraged.) stepped forward. And Sen moved. Unarmed combat isn't simple, if you're doing it right. So much of it is about angles, areas of coverage, depths of effectiveness. It's easy to mess up, and more or less end up flailing uselessly. In turn, if you know what you're doing, even if you can't dodge you can soften a blow by moving into it. You just have to go against every instinct you have.

So when Sen stepped into the gut punch, denying it the build up of momentum, forcing it to strike a less vulnerable area, and impacting at a poor angle he merely grunted with pain, instead of having all of the wind knocked out of him.

And then motion. It was tricky, and honestly he didn't get it right. But he got it right enough. A grab on the offending arm, and the neck, a twist and then the burly man wasn't quite flying, but it was enough of a throw to entangle him in the legs of those between Sen and the river and he was off again.

Shouting behind him as they tried to climb to their feet and found a man with a probably-dislocated shoulder impeding this. He got some breathing distance, down down, downhill, jink left onto a sidestreet, breath coming in short, ragged gasps. He'd broken line of sight he was sure, but only for a few seconds at most. They'd seen the steet he'd turned into. Few crowds, not enough to offset his foreign clothing, but not running in panic yet either. He looked around. Perfect. A Tavern. He could catch his breath in there for a few minutes, and hope they passed him by.

She had almost arrived, almost. Just a straight shot down this wide street (full of people) and a left, and she would be at her destination. Aeliana wrenched her body hard to the left pulling Fluffy's neck that way and turning into a power-slide through a rapidly parting crowd. It was just a straight-shot to the Inn she was supposed to arrive at when she saw him.

Suddenly it all clicked in her head. The abused puppies, where Fluffy had first run to... Fluffy had returned to the bad man's puppy mill, where his cronies had seen her as just a bonus. She knew now what she had to do.

"Charge Fluffy! Faster faster!" and so he did. Fluffy reached full speed and leapt through the man trying to duck away in the inn to continue his nefarious deeds, shattering the doorframe and the windows on either side as it went through before skidding to a dead halt.

Aeliana flew out from Fluffy's mouth and into the air, a spiral of canine spittle flinging off her quickly rotating form. A tall strong woman in worn armor snatches her out out of the air with a quickness. Aeliana looks up into her savior's eyes, but frowns when she doesn't see the smile she was hoping for.

===============

Gwynlyn had been waiting patiently, and most everyone in the inn could tell. She had even been sent a drink by a man who had incorrectly assumed she was waiting for a suitor. She periodically checked the street to see if her young mistress had arrived. It was pure luck that she noticed Aeliana being carried from her scruff by... by a... Dog. Her eyes flashed with anger and disgust for a moment that was overshadowed by the concern that the dog was much larger than it seemed, and not slowing down.

Catching her mistress was not difficult, this was not the first time they had performed such a thing, but Gwynlyn was left with only shock when she felt Aeliana. Absolutely soaked to the bone in that foul mongrel's fluids.

"You... What in the world have you been doing?!"

"I... I was just keeping the doggy away from the bad man with the puppy-breeding ring."

"And how does that explain the armfuls of clothing, young mistress?" Gwynlyn says in a voice far too sweet to not be holding back a torrent of anger.

Aeliana was caught, and she knew it, so she did the only reasonable thing: lied.

"The bad man tried to use them to entice me! I got away with Fluffy, but I thought they were pretty so..."

Gwynlyn just sighs and looks over the chaos now erupting in the inn. They might need to make a getaway, this was no time for an interrogation. That would come later.

Sen was face down on the ground. There were screams. There was crashing. There was something indescribably heavy and paw shaped on his back, and the back of his head was being liberally coated in saliva.

"Hello Wat. Did you have fun today? You did? That's nice. Off."
Climbing to his feet he glanced at Wat.
Yep. Sitting with a giant doggy grin in the middle of wooden and glass carnage, with his stumpy tail having swept clear an area of the floor, and practically bouncing up and down with excitement. That was Wat alright.
Presently Wat seemed to realize that while he was happy, Sen wasn't. Wat scooted closer and tried to offer his chest-sized paw in condolences. Sen responded by burying his face in his palm and groaning.

Okay. Recap. He'd had Wat stolen by a small, and presumably insane child, attempted to recover it, lost Zem somewhere in the interim, he'd have to get her back by wandering around the city whistling, or waiting till she returned to the stables for food, then he suffered an attempted...mugging was too light a word, escaped, been assaulted by his own...dog and...was that shouting he heard?

ohgodthethugs.
The thugs. They were still coming. And now there was a dog shaped hole in the tavern.

"Umm."
There was a door to the kitchens. It was a double door that looked like it would swing wide easily. He eyed Wat. There...would probably be a service door of some sort in the back.
And then he ran, right into the kitchens.

Unfortunately for Sen, just as he made to move into the kitchen, a rather portly kitchen worker, on his way out to check on the commotion, moved to walk out at virtually the same time.

The resulting, and unavoidable, collision sent both parties sprawling backwards and onto their respective asses, perhaps more then a little dazed. As the door swung shut, Sen on the 'I'm about to get beaten the crap up' side, another kitchen worker swiftly locked the door, no doubt wanting to wait out whatever rough business was going on, on the opposite side.

Rommel, who was now thinking Vamen very plainly lied about 'giant dog shenanigans' not being a common occurrence, rose from his seat before getting the chance to discuss the very sensitive topic he still needed to address.

"What in the name of Teresa is going-," he began, before the cursing and shouts from the angry mob traveling in Sen's wake cut him off...

He did so hate being cut off.

Standing now directly in their path Rommel turned to regard them as they rushed the dog shaped hole in the wall.

"STOP!" he called, standing his ground, hand going to his blade, as the group of... 15 he counted, quickly, but perhaps not surprisingly listened to the large imposing figure in full plate mail, gripping his blade quite menacingly, though they still looked like they were spoiling for quite the messy fight if Rommel had to guess.

"Thank you," offered Rommel in the ensuing silence, "Now I'll ask you to think on your next move," he said, advancing on them, showing an inch of cold steel from the hilt from his blade, "Think... hard."

They did, for a moment... before the leader spoke, a large man wielding a large bill hook for a weapon spoke, "Fuck that, and fuck you that one has a beating coming to him, fucking out landers learn a little respect," he curses, pointing at Sen accusingly.

"Boss, it's that's the girl what sicced her dog on Marv," called another nameless stooge pointing at Aeliana menacingly. The dog in question, off in the corner licking and chewing up chunks of food spilled from his rather chaotic arrival.

"Outsiders the lot of em boys, BEAT EM ALL AND SORT EM OUT LATER!"

A unanimous roaring grunt of approval issued from the mob at that, as they spilled into the Tavern, 4 going for Aeliana and Gwynlyn, 3 heading for Sen, and the rest split evenly between Rommel and Vamen.

Rommel for his part, merely sighed at the frivolity of all of this, before letting his sword sink back into his sheath. A Judicator could only shed blood if his life was in danger or in the midst of a trail. As it were, these thugs, though many, would probably only serve as a warm up, assuming the Fang had the fists to back up his lies.

There were civilians to consider, but they would have to fend for themselves until Rommel cleared the 'threats' facing him.

It was going to be one of those days, he reflect as the thugs fell upon them all.