Challenge Submission The Singing Sparrow

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Challenge Submission The Singing Sparrow

PhiaSerein

Fade Walker
Local time
Today 10:19 AM
Messages
42
Age
30
Location
Toronto, Ontario
The Singing Sparrow, a paltry tavern just this side of Addenburrow Bay, was abuzz with patrons of all manner. As was the norm 'round supper time. The Ale'Port and Shipyard saw that it had its fair share of sailors, of course, but Addenburrow was home to a great many people. Traders, Armorers, merchants of many wares and stock —both magical and mundane. All with lots of coin and quite the penchant for drink. In fact, The Singing Sparrow was just one of many inns and taverns across the sizeable village, and the only reason it had any business at all —considering its less than accommodating size— was because it was the choice locale for the dealings of the less…savoury folk it saw drifting in and out of its time-worn wooden halls. Dealings of a decidedly less than legal nature. See, the tavern was located a mere stone's throw from the docks, and was backed against a natural rock face that not only covered its rear, but also created a kind of alcove surrounding the establishment. Part of it seemed to even be built into the cliffside itself, the walls becoming stone rather than plank the deeper one ventured within. And being so far removed from the rest of the village, it made for an excellent place to lay low and blend in. More over, it was ideal for abrupt departures… Thieves, mercenaries, pirates, adventurers, bounty hunters and assassins alike all frequented the tavern that smelled distinctly of salt, ash, and iron. That is, until the scent of fresh bread or poultry stew occasionally permeated the air instead.

Its number one draw and commodity, however, was not its food or ale, but information —courtesy of the Sparrow himself. For while he did not sing in the manner of bards, for the right price he would impart a cleverly coded tidbit of profitable information. Trade routes, incriminating paperwork on various persons of note —excellent if one was inclined to blackmail nobility—, locations of value, consigned contracts for those willing to take on more "hands-on" and perhaps messier tasks from those less inclined to dirty their own hands. Sparrow was the underground's middleman. The cog that turned the wheels. People who wanted to get things done came to him, and he found people to get it done. He was not a vile man, nor a particularly good one for that matter, but Sparrow was neutral. And reliable, for the right price. So it was not with malintent that the party of three now entered his tavern. It just so happened he had recently come to possess a particularly sensitive document, a book the three were tasked to retrieve using rather unorthodox methods. For this book was without monetary value, one that in the wrong hands could bend the knees of the entire realm, greater than even kings. No, Sparrow was smart enough to not willingly part with it. The three knew as much and together devised a plan to steal it from right beneath his nose.

Of course, such a task in itself would be difficult considering a man of Sparrow's caliber, not counting the tavern being filled to the brim with multiple unscrupulous individuals who would undoubtedly interfere. But… that was precisely what Aramis was counting on. Aramis, a tall and stocky warrior whom most had the sense to give a wide berth, even when entering the crowded den of criminals —last among his companions as they'd previously discussed and planned. The man lowered the hood of his navy woolen cloak, appearing to be somewhere perhaps in his thirties with unruly dark hair and stubble to match. Storm grey eyes searched the room laden with smoke in some areas and utterly concealed by shadows in others. They wandered across uninterestedly until spotting a table to the left corner surrounded by fire and torch light from the hearth adjacent and the sconces upon the walls behind it. A table filled with boisterous drunken men, occasionally loud enough to break the din of the rest of the room, and one strange elderly man who seemed so inebriated that it was likely he was either sleeping open-eyed or he was awake by sheer will alone.

Aramis moved toward them, his leather and chain armour clinking with each step of his heavy boots. He retrieved his coin pouch on the way —his buy-in for the game the men seemed engaged in— and seemed to absently toss a few coins into the hat of the bard who busied herself playing a merry tune on an intricate viol —though not busy enough to escape her notice as she threw a wink at him in thanks. They were not strangers to each other, no —though it seemed that way, as was intended.

Ioh, a curvaceous and cunning thing that moved with the lithe grace of a dancer and spoke with the voice of a would-be siren. Like him, she was human, but instead her hair was copper fire and hung just long enough to brush the tops of her shoulder blades. She'd been here for hours now, entertaining and building up the spirits of all occupants, whilst of course also encouraging them to in indulge in more spirits. Song, drink, and dance were a match made by the Gods themselves, so it was without question that Sparrow would jump at the chance to allow any entertainer to perform in his establishment. Merriment breeds merriment, after all, and that means more drinks, and for Sparrow it meant more coin. The man liked his coin.

Aramis passed her casually, without a second glance and trusted from her wink alone that these men and women from all walks of life were suitably intoxicated. Trusting as well that purses were appropriately lightened and "rearranged" if their plans were to be on track. Ioh was, after all, not only a talented performer, but a highly skilled thief and alchemist, too. The warrior grabbed a wooden chair mid-stride, dragging it authoritatively to the table between the old man and a stout Dwarven fellow who looked of the North with charcoal coloured woad across cloudy blue eyes and the runic beads woven into his sandy hair and long braided beard as any indication. Aramis says nothing at first, merely dropping his coin pouch upon the tacky and sour smelling wooden table. Someone had most definitely spilled a pint or two here today… perhaps yesterday even. He paid it no mind however, eyeing all the men as he sat down, leaned back and laced his fingers together over his lap. "Wicked Fate, anyone?" He offered the men. The old man, suddenly alive with energy, hoots with wicked laughter, claiming his time had come and that the surrounding men were all doomed now… or something to that effect as his words were rather indiscernible. Sheer will alone it was then. Aramis, stifling a chuckle, wondered just how much more it might take to put him under the table. He'd bet his final copper the elderly man would be out before finishing even just one more mug of mead.

And so began the following two hours of dishonest gambling. The only honour among thieves, as he always liked to point out, being in knowing that no one is honourable. Anyone who didn't expect to be cheated was a fool. No one played fair. And so it really became a game of who was the better cheater —who could do it without being caught. Ioh, the clever minx, danced around with her jovial strings and innocent song, all the while slipping Aramis coded hints now and then as to the occupants' hands; who was bluffing and who was not, for example, and Aramis would "adjust" his hand accordingly when necessary. In a room filled with drunkards, and none so bright so far as he had seen, it was doubtful at best that anyone might decode her song, let alone be paying much attention to the lyrics at all by this point.

By the time the back door swung open and shut to let pass a lone waif-like figure, Aramis was sweeping, the old man had long-since passed out, and the Drawf —Bjarnus as he'd come to learn— was grumbling behind his dwindling stack of coins. The warrior's eyes flickered above his hand to eye the figure weaving quickly through the crowd, an elven woman that reeked of magic even from across the room with silken hair the colour of warm moonlight and eyes as bright and blue as lightning. Her normally well-coifed hair was tousled, and hung free to disappear well beyond the void-black cloak she was now almost hastily pulling more tightly around her. From beneath it he could tell she clutched something closely to her chest, her head low and lips pulled inward as though somewhat nervous and fighting a smile. Aramis straightened in his seat.
Lyreniel.

If there was one thing Sparrow liked more than coin, it was beautiful women, and judging by the mirthful expression bubbling beneath this particular woman's features it was clear she had exploited that weakness expertly. The man subtly shook his head, greatly amused at the comparison his mind drew of her to that of a child getting away with thieving a warm pastry from their neighbour's windowsill. The elven woman had jumped at the chance to play the part of seductress, finding great amusement herself in manipulating a man as notorious as the Sparrow. She glides through, weaving through the crowded room as deftly as possible, although it is no simple task, and nods to Aramis as she makes for the door with raised brows and a jerk of her chin in indication.

The man is about to announce his departure from the table when the back door suddenly bursts open again, this time with a deafening slam so loud he wonders if the wood of the door splintered upon the stone behind it.

"Thief!!!" A man cries, appearing in the portal with a finger pointed in their general direction. His shirt is loose, as if only seconds ago he'd thrown it on and remains entirely unbuttoned. The man clutches at his belt-less trousers and stands there barefooted as the roar of the room hushes into silence, the strings of the viol's tune screeching to a halt at the abrupt interruption. The room looks to Sparrow. Then all the heads turn to follow his finger to the cloaked figure in the middle of the room. After a moment of visible deliberation and overcoming her nerves, she does the same, looking toward the gambling table, and rather unexpectedly suddenly whips down her hood and mimics Sparrow's pointing. This time directing it at him —Aramis. The warrior gapes for a moment.

"T-thief! Cheater!" Lyreniel begins to proclaim dramatically. "How DARE you steal from these… these noble patrons?" Ioh chokes on her drink as she hears this, but otherwise abstains from interfering just yet. Lyre's tone is righteous and she ventures nearer to the gambling men, taking on an air of haughtiness that could only be achieved by the elves. She comes to an accusatory stand across the table from him. The crowd falls for it and all eyes are on the warrior. Even Sparrow himself is at a momentary loss for what was unfolding now.
Aramis is struggling between comic-annoyance and true incredulity —shocked and dumbfounded all at once. He begins to try and defend himself. This wasn't exactly going as planned.

"Y-you are mistaken, m'lady, I would nev—"

"I KNEW it!" Interrupts the burly and perturbed Bjarnus, snatching his arm which results in cards tumbling in a mess upon the table from beneath his leather vambrace. Aramis stands, feigning horror and surprise.

He bumbles, "I have never! Those —t-those are NOT mine!"

By this point Ioh has subtly made her way behind the now fully-standing crowd and is just one person away from Bjarnus. Rolling her eyes, the bard finally takes things into her own hands. Without any obvious effort, Ioh takes out a gangly man's knee and shoves him straight into Bjarnus who whirls on him in a sudden drunken rage —all four feet of him.

"You! Whadya—" He's all pointing fingers and loud shouting until he spots a familiar horn hooked over the other man's belt just behind his back. "Oi, that there drinking horn be mine! I'd know it anywhere!" Bjarnus is arguing loudly with the man, slurring his words and throwing his weight around. From behind them another couple of men start up and Lyreniel looks around to find Ioh casually swigging from her tankard as she fluidly snags an item from one belt and drops it into another's pocket before again causing the two to collide in a similar fashion —made more simple in the crowded den. She picks up her viol from a table and moves on to repeat it thrice more until the arguments have all become one loud and irate crowd of drunken persons.

Sparrow, shirt now half-buttoned, tries muscling his way through the crowd, his booming voice no longer relevant to any of them as they push and shove like angry waves of an ocean that he quickly finds difficult to navigate.

Aramis gathers what coin he can before stepping over the sleeping elder with a jerk of his chin to Lyre toward the door and quietly maneuvering 'round Bjarnus who is giving an obstinate and crude gangly man the third-degree until the man insults his size and the dwarf proceeds to turn and flip the table. Cards, drink, and coin all go flying. All manner of people now dive for the scattered money or start throwing punches alongside the other pairs of misled thieves and victims in order to snag a free few silvers —or golds, if they were so lucky. Before the coins even stop clinking across the wooden boards, Bjarnus turns to slam his fist straight into the gangly man's groin. The man doubles over in pain, his face now level with the dwarf's.

"Aye, how's it feel down here? I can make ya shorter if y'like?" And he uppercuts the poor sod beneath his jaw, sending him tumbling backward into a quickly departing crowd and onto a table that collapses beneath the force of his weight. More people are angry now; their drinks and meals spoiled upon the already slick and dirty floor. The barmaids are sequestered behind the counter, standard protocol for an event they were likely used to.

Chaos is now in full swing. Lyreniel is struggling to withhold a wide smile or outright laugh as Aramis grabs hold of her wrist to drag her to the door, ducking various flying objects along the way, and in one moment even a whole person. He fends off a few strays now and then, throwing punches and clearing a path for them as they go.

Ioh moves to catch up, entirely unfazed in the least of the insanity she'd helped sew, her movements carefree. She's grabbing her things without hurry until a man approaches her claiming to have seen what she was up to. She is equally undeterred by him and would have ignored him if not for what he chose to do next. He snatches her viol from a top the table beside her, most likely to attempt in using it as leverage of some sort, but it was the wrong move.

"Not the viol!" The redhead comes alive and drops to the ground to sweep out his legs. He falls with a shout, the viol flying up into the air. Ioh is up again, satchel slung over-shoulder and catching her instrument before the man recovers. He might have rolled over a moment later had she not walked across his chest, winding him, on her way out to follow her companions. The viol cradled protectively to her chest all the while. "Toodles~" she calls sweetly to him from over her shoulder with a wave.

Ahead of her, Ioh spots Aramis and Lyreniel, their paths to the exit blocked by Sparrow as he'd somehow managed to stumble across the room ahead of them.

Lyre is arguing with him in defence of herself, loudly teasing from behind the barrier that is Aramis' arm. "Ah ah ah! You said that if I made you sing I could have anything I wanted. A deal's a deal, luv~" She sing-songs childishly, although there's a dark undertone to her deceptively innocent voice. Sorcerers and their deals. Ioh would have put an exasperated hand to her face in that moment were hands free.

The Sparrow lunges for Lyre, despite Aramis being right there, dagger in hand. Ioh knows they're unarmed, a rule of the place, and acts quick to grab a dart off a nearby table to fling at the blade with probably the luckiest precision she's ever exhibited. The dart makes contact with the flat of the dagger, knocking it from his hand and sending it skidding across the ground —instantly hidden by the mess of bodies stumbling about.

Aramis looks back at her with a horrified look that wordlessly asks her just how mad she is, to which she shrugs in answer, walking on. "You're welcome," she says with a smile as she weaves around them to the door.

Lyreniel had taken the disruption as an opportunity to stomp her heeled boot upon Sparrow's bare foot, an action that causes him to holler in pain and reach down to grasp at it. Bent over as he is, Aramis finishes the job as they finally move past, patting his head in silent apology before pushing him down and backward into the still-brawling crowd of angry, deadly, criminals.

"Sorry about the mess, pleasure doing business!" With that, Aramis is the last one out and shuts the door behind him, propping a barrel in front for good measure.

Outside, the wind is cool, the moon is out in full, and the water by the docks glitter in the pale light. The man turns to the other two women, his lips thin and expression dry as he says, "You two are raving mad. Brilliant, but mad." As he is talking, Ioh seems to ignore him as she fishes out a glass globe filled with orange and yellow gas, walks up to the window and lobs it inside. "And what the hell was that?" He asks her, retrieving their weapons from a very confused and jittery bellman. He tips him well as a show of good faith.

"That barrel won't do shite." Ioh starts, reasoning as she begins to explain somewhat. "But this… well, let's just make sure we camp upstream awhile." She puts a finger to her chin thoughtfully moving to follow Lyreniel to their boat. "And upwind."

The elven woman looks back at the pair impatiently waving them onward as she waves the other hand across the ties of their boat which respond by magically untying and coiling neatly within.
Aramis' confusion was apparent, and growing frustrated with the impending threat of being caught before setting out to the water, Lyreniel finally sighed. "Oh, for Gods' sake, Aramis! Laxative! It is a laxative. Now get over here before you smell it too or I swear I am leaving you behind to defecate with the rest of those poor souls. I will not be dealing with it on my boat."

The man blinks, adjusts his armful of gear, and hurries forward. "Uh, hi, yes, actually it's my boat! And, you are welcome."

As the trio sail off onto the sea, Aramis at the ship's wheel, Ioh counting their profits, and Lyreniel studying the book, the warrior distantly hears the cries of fighting turn to something a little more… panicked and urgent. His expression darkens with wry humour. To no one in particular, he muses aloud.

"Women are cruel beasts."
 
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