The Hamlet Streets

[rosallora]

[Ezekiel]

Well, they certainly knew each other, that much was clear. And there was far more going on here than he was equipped to handle. He moves away from her slowly when she bids him to leave, nodding his head with respect. Her touch left behind what looked like perhaps a bit of frost on the corner of his shield - or maybe it was a trick of the light. It disappeared soon after, the warmth of the rising sun dismissing any sort of superstitious woes he had.

He watches the man with the jeweled eye with a measure of caution. He'd been the one to ask him to take the fine miss to the sanitarium. And now he asked her to do something again. But... it was none of his business. He was a solider and a traveler, and it'd do him no good to get mixed up in problems that weren't his.

"Fair day then to you, Miss," he says. The man settles his shield back to its resting position, his arm grateful for the reprieve. "Take good care of her son," he quips to Elohim, before turning and starting on his way elsewhere. He didn't know this town- far from it. But he's sure that he'd find something interesting enough to hold his attention. A rest was in order, maybe a breakfast. Or maybe he'd gander at what opportunities there were for gold, as he was woefully short on it. In any case - he was gone, tossed from their sights like leaves on the wind.

The man makes his way through the streets, wandering into the dawn. The sun was fully above the horizon, and he has to shade his eyes a bit. The slush on the streets was melting into water that ran through the cobbles, and he feels that it's likely time to find a place to rest. He looks at a man - clad in bandit's ware, cleaning his weapon. Ezekiel tilts his head, then clears his throat.

"If you were a part of that raid, you've chosen the wrong place to rest, lad."

[relentless]

-Gandry-

[[Near the Bridge leading out of the Hamlet]]

The ex-bandit wouldn't spare a look up, his cloth was wet with blood as he wiped it slowly down the side of his shortsword, before flicking it off. He'd do this a number of times, and a couple after the man spoke, before he flicked the bloody rag in the direction of the mans boot. Pausing, he sighs, turning his blade around as Gandry continues his maintenance.

"I'm not an idiot."
Gandry remarks as he cleans the other side of the blade, though after the first motion was done, he'd look up, helmet arcing upward toward the man slightly.
"Watch your mouth, stranger..." The ex bandit coos with a soft, gritty undertone, helmet arcing back down with a loud sniffle, continuing to wipe down his blade.

"What do you want."
Direct, and straight to the point, the hooded fellow questions the man before him with a neutral tone, though there was a sense of impatience as he spoke those words whilst sat upon the small cobblestone wall.

[rosallora]

[Ezekiel]

He scoffs a laugh - young men and their idle threats. Or, he glances to the sword, not so idle. "Just passin' right by. This place's a mystery to me. Just arrived, and it's under attack - good thing I showed up when I did!" He clangs a proud forearm across his chest with a bellied chuckle, whiskers moving with the flow of his laughter. "Was heading somesuch way to somesuch place - you know how it is. Wandering and the like." He comes up along the wall, settling a hand against the stone near where Gandry was perched.

"If you're not a bandit, which I am very much hoping you're not, then surely you'll be heading back into town?" The man at arms stifles too far of a smile. He'd seen plenty of soldiers not unlike the man - gritty and dirty from the labor of fighting. Needing of a drink! And rest. "If you're cleaning blood off your blade then surely you've earned a drink from the work!"

[rosallora]

[Toustain]

It's a good day. She thinks it's a good day, at least, or it could be a good day, or there was probably a good chance of it being a good day.

Every day is a good day after a bad night where you almost lose half your leg. And the days that had followed that event had been varied, but Toustain would be lying if she didn't feel like she had a bit of a new lease on life. Though she was hobbling around a bit, bothered by residual pain and a general stiffness, she was alive. There was little more you could ask for. She was out and about for the first time since the raid - she'd kept to the abbey, favoring the safety of the haunt over anything else - and there was something to be said about fresh air and a bright sun above. She takes another deep breath.

The snow had melted away and flowed over the cobblestones. Green shoots were sticking out of the ground, hopeful things that she hoped wouldn't get crushed too quickly.

And speaking of hopefuls - well. Here comes the stagecoach.

[Kidney]

Darrio eyed the flyer suspiciously. There had been times when the man behind the silken scarf had had doubts before, though never once had he doubted himself. More, what mattered was the validity of the information. Regionally confirmed, issued by the 'Heir', so on and so forth. Darrio payed good attention to the paper's quality, papyrus? No. Such was the nature of life in the west, things seemingly made to last a few weeks before expiring prematurely at the first sign of wear. Darrio didn't mind it. 

He drew his scarf down from his face, and took a deep breath, folding the paper in his hand thrice before stuffing it into his collar, against his breast. Such was the nature of tradition, to hold what leads you to your desires as close as one could. The smells that pervaded the gentle space the Stagecoach provided were herbal in nature, and eerily foreign. Roots and Licorice, handmade and hand-smoked from a device placed in the center of the floor. Darrio spied it, its strange, eldritch opulence oozing as bluish fog escaped the hole in its front. It seemed as if the fog would smother the dark-skinned man from places far, but Darrio chose to bring his head closer to it, a natural tolerance gifting him a bit of speed, and a bit of delightful energy.

He needed it. 

He placed his scarf back over his face when he felt the horses halt, and the Caretaker above speaking some intelligible dialect of  English, nevertheless, Darrio was well aware of his surroundings, and without much private foresight, he stood, grasped The Device from the floor, and wafted the fog so that it would not flow so ceaselessly from its metal innards. A pleasant, pleasing stream of it now drifted into the sky as the door creaked open seemingly on its own. Darrio exited with flair, gesturing gently with one hand, as if by the Will of God he had pushed the door open with the air alone. His first steps into the Hamlet were marred by a curious look, like a baby out of a well...Stagecoach window. He stifled his less-than-elegant impulses to eye every possible sight in the area, and ogled instead the area around himself. 

The first person he spotted, he waved courteously to, and approached, chin held high. 

There was a curious rattle to Darrio's walk, as he approached Toustain, gourds and empty coin-purses clanking together, though overall came the everpresent sound of his owl-eccentric robes and cloak, which rubbed against one another vigorously. Toustain, in all fairness, likely couldn't tell if this really was a man, so presentary and so...extravagant. Gaudy and Opulent, though opulence in a different form then copper of silver, instead, this one was delicately cloaked in wonders of far-off lands. A traveled individual, though well-placed in the strange lands surrounding and making up the Hamlet, and by proxy, The Darkest Dungeon. 

"Good evening Madam." Came first, a sultry voice of places far gone, with a strange roll of the tongue that seemed so silvery and sly that she couldn't quite place where in his sentence he had used it. He mimed the opening of a book with his chained and ringed hands, small bronze links that rung against one another and dances between his callused but ostentatious digits. "Is this...hmm..." He paused, and brought his hands close to himself, making sure to not drag one with the bronze chains of another while he reached and pulled forth the paper from within his robes. He extended the rapidly unfolding page to Toustain, smile almost evident, even behind the silken scarf, and the raven-black hair that at points flowed from around it, spilling onto his chest.

It was a flyer, to join the ranks of the foolhardy and the brave, to delve into dangerous places, and pull forth gold and glory, for the betterment of the land. "The...Hamlet, I've heard so much about?" Darriossir paused, "And by the way, I like the outfit." He chimed, bringing his fingertips together, the flyer taken and pinned between them all. 

[rosallora]

She was not ready for what stepped down from the carriage.

Were they-? Andy's presence had muddied some previously clear waters, and she finds herself at once a bit anxious about trying to assert a ma'am or sir upon the person who steps closer. Oh no. Goddess please give her a bit more of an outward indication. All of the charms and gourds and the jangle of jewelry told her that this must be some sort of well-dressed and exotic woman, but the voice that issued forth was, to her ears, decidedly like a man. She looks at the flyer that he brings forward from within a cascade of silk, and nods, mutely. Yes. He had found his way to this place.

He smelled so good.

Was that because he was coming from Elsewhere, meaning not the Hamlet, and therefore smelled good? Or was it because he was from somewhere Far Away, and it was that place in particular that smelled good? Did this mean that she, by comparison, smelled bad? Did she just smell bad in general? Oh Goddess. Did she smell?

Toast. Does not try to sniff herself.

"Yes!" She finally blurts, absolutely terrified at the volume of her voice. Oh no. "I mean - yes, if you were intending to find the Hamlet, you've certainly - thank you - found it - than you I mean about my dress, these are my robes. I'm a vestal - a sister. Toustain."

Oh no.

[Kidney]

Darrio's face grew salacious. For Toustain, or for The Hamlet, she could not know, but as the man reached to grasp his silken scarf, and pull it down from his face, his smile could have been seen from space. Big and wide, white teeth, some seemingly cast in Silver. His thoughts swirled. A quaint place, a quaint woman. He let the scarf remain tucked under his chin, and drew his hood down from his head, bordered and wrapped like a gift in that soft, wavy black hair. His nose was a bit hawkish, and as such was how he looked, like a predator staring at prey. Though, again, not sure if it was Toustain who was social prey, or if he was looking through her, to the earth, and what horrors and wonders lay buried deep within.  "Good." He said, simple, targeted, long, like a serpent's form. There was a bite to the end, ending like a T, like the snap of a cobra.

His face grew less excited, more measured, though still ravenous. For adventure, or Toustain. Toustain, or adventure, Gold, or Purity? "You're very welcome, Toustain." He said, hands linked together, falling like a wide leaf, The Device in one's grip. "Something you...like?" He spoke, but did not let her answer, he cut himself off. "My name is Darriossir Mederec. Darrio, for short. Master, to those subservient to my charms, Treasure Hunter, to my employers...a tart, charming...thief to my enemies." He allowed himself to be pompous for a moment. But quickly, fell into gossip. "Do you know anything about this Heir, dear? Fancies? Mistresses?" He stopped one final time, thinking. "I'm trying to see if I can do my real business, or if I have to pick up something..." He pulled forth a single bronze coin from...nowhere, and rolled it over one hand, dodging the places rings sprouted chain. "New."

[rosallora]

"Darrio," she repeats, very thankful that she's managing her tongue around the syllables. " Darriossir Meferec. I... am Sister Toustain Royer. Of... Chauventry. Ah. Breadmaker? Soup... pourer, maybe? Candle-lighter." She wishes she sounded important but she feels much more like she's listing the chores she should be doing right now. She finds herself wishing that she had something to do with her hands, something to distract herself.

The way... ah. Oh. She'd seen that look before - she'd seen it on foul people who were not nearly as admittedly handsome as the man in front of her. Her eyebrows draw a bit nearer to each other, a slight feeling of protection, of understanding, settling on her shoulders like the guiding hands of a mother. She feels cold in the base of her spine, and there was a part of her that wanted to will herself to look around for some face she knew.

Still, she can't help the way she blinks owlishly at the way he dextrously flips coin over in his hands, like it was some kind of creature that obeyed his will. But her words are a bit more steady as she prepares to address him again, feeling quite lesser than him in her robes - hair hidden and hooded, the fabric soft but not nearly as lustrous or extravagant.

"I know little of him," she admits. "He has quite a problem with... well. An infestation of monsters around the Estate, they're terrible sort. And bandits, too."

[Kidney]

His face relaxes suddenly, and he seems...non-complacent. His tone shifts, and he adjusts himself, the coin falling back into his sleeve, where he seemingly kept it before. He notices her awe, but not lust in her eyes, and thus, retracts his peacock-ish actions, another time, another dame to dazzle. He knew when the going was gone, and such it was gone, it was somewhat boring when everyone got a handle on how Darrio acted. He did offer a word of advice. "Know him more." He says, smiling. "Knowledge is the basis of all that is...and will be." He adds, looking to a satchel on his chest. "You know not of all the contents of my packages, but you could."

He stops himself, and covers his mouth with his free hand. "Now, you said Monsters." His face is aglow with that predatory look again, "Monsters that...guard something?" His mind sought the answer to that question over all else. What riches lay within the dark woods around this place, beneath it? What caves could be shyly holding great hordes of wealth and bloody trinket? His eyes seemed vacant, though locked on the symbol of The Light on Toustain's head-wrappings. Darrio, seemingly at the same time, waited for her answer, pondered what monsters occupied this region, if there were monsters here at all and if he could accurately copy that symbol onto an open space on his robes. Good luck, from The Gods.

[rosallora]

She can't help but look at the satchel with intrigue. Yes... she could know. She could ask? Maybe she could.

"Monsters are correct," she says, and she rubs her fingers against one another, feeling a bit of a cold sweat at the back of her neck. "As far as guarding things, I wouldn't be able to say. There were a group of bandits that came through some nights ago, and they were quite keen on trying to steal from us, both life and gold. They even attacked the local caravan, though some of our men were able to beat them off." There's pride there, a warmth that spills out from her and a gleam in her eye. "The monsters... I don't really know." There's a look of genuine apology - she relaxes slightly, as his attitude seems to have shifted slightly.

"...If I may ask. Can I see what's in your satchel?"

[Kidney]

Darrio looked disappointed for a moment, but quickly it was drowned by a need to know. He would research, ask around, then form a party to launch themselves into the wild and find valuables. "I see. I will crack open that egg, soon, then." He was driven, but it was misplaced now, he was energized by drug and herbal remedy, not by real rest. He would need to sleep, or gamble, to truly feel rested and ready to do true investigative work. 

The dilemma of bandits skirted his interest, humans would always cause problems, but if they were thieves of life and liberty, likely they had nothing of their own to take for a profit. His eyes did shift to the sky for a moment, an action of contemplation, to think of men and women living off this thicket? Preposterous. But possible. Darrio aimed a look to Toustain with a...familiar salaciousness as she asked for the contents of his satchel to be healthily shown. He wasted no time, finally placing The Device upon the hook on his waist, he reached with two gold-woven hands to his satchel, and opened the drawstring top. He showed her its contents, seemingly...sand. 

"Sand." He began, thrusting hands within, to pull out...sandy gold. "Money." He continued, reaching deeper, pulling forth...a single wedding band. "The Wedding Band of Theodora. One of my old flames, a widow, by all accounts, dangerously Italian, of older stock, but a woman of culture." This of course, was a bold faced lie. 

[rosallora]

She is firstly surprised by the sand - then the gold - then the ring? She was peering over, unable to resist the urge to look and discover, and there were such strange things to behold. "A wedding band... what an awful thing to lose. But if it was freely given..." she settles back fully onto her foot, then shifts to the other, stifling a discomforted hiss behind her teeth. Her leg, damn it. She had gotten onto her tiptoes to peer just to remember that she was trying not to strain herself so much. Toustain regains her footing, wishing she had a walking stick of some kind. But now, she had questions to ask. And one in particular.

"Do you... have much experience with such interesting... works of metal?" Her mind wanders to an item that was in her possession - not on her person, of course, but one she technically owned. "Your censer... it's quite a beautiful thing. And with all your rings and chains..." but there was no sign that he'd be able to. Well.

He, she thinks, was certainly no man of the Light. Perhaps... she could just ask?

"...Do you.." her voice goes low, quiet, despite the fact the slightly whisper only made her look more suspect, "have any experience with magical things? Dangerous things?"

[Kidney]

Darriossir's body shook. He was shaking with anticipation, every word that left her beautiful...profitable face was one Darrio was intent on listening to. She was simply a walking box of intrigue, and as he settled his belongings back into their semi-sandy places, he slapped his hands together, sand clouding and spitting off of them. "I have seen...many things, Toustain. These eyes," He pointed them out, a thimble on his left pointer finger jangling as a bit of chain tapped against it. "have witnessed magic...only once." 

He drew closer to her, aiming to whisk her away from the middle of the square, and pull her towards a nearby alley, meaning to take away the spotlight from their interaction. Whether or not he could have, he was dangerously curious. "What perhaps, does a Vestal have in her possession, worthy of my attention?" He licked his lips, hungry for knowledge and for gratification. "Something...Dangerous...and Magical." He leaned back, and drew forth his Device, pulling it closer to her, glass revealing that it had indeed expended the herbs within, the bottom of the cylinder dusted with ash. "This...came from the stars. Did yours come from there too?"

[rosallora]

She stumbles along, limping as she attempts to keep pace with the man as he takes her away from prying eyes. It was strange - different - thrilling and exciting and also very scary as they went into the cool shade between a couple buildings. Toustain has the sense to pull her hood further over her face, as if fearing that someone truly would identify her. When he starts to explain, she watches, her back pressed against the stone wall of the shop's side. She wants to hide into her robes. Maybe this was a bad idea - she's really starting to feel in over her head, especially when he talks about how his censer came from the stars. There's a slight recoil when he shows her the contents, the air around it still smelling of strange herbs.

"I..." the breath in her chest was quick. "No, I - perhaps - forget I said anything at all, I am so sorry." She shakes her head rapidly, her fear overcoming her desire to be rid of the terrible, possessed thing. "I just - I don't know why I say things sometimes. I was just. Saying! Things. Because you're... you caught me off guard and I think I just let words fall out of my mouth. It was nothing."

[Kidney]

A scowl quickly carves deep wrinkles across a young Darrio's face. He wears it like a mask over his actual emotions that raged within. He knew she was hiding something. But nothing would force him to rob her off it, he could not commit crime at a time like this. He would get this from her, and he would make a profit. He recoiled for a moment, Darrio's face becoming something resembling disappointment. He clucked, looking away from Toustain. "I...see." He simply said, feigning boredom. "Well, then I am sorry for dragging you over here." He let the sentence fall from his mouth without dramatic flair, and he placed the censer on its hook once more. 

He did smirk, breaking character, before shooting a few looks around. He dropped the act quickly, patting her on the shoulder, "Oh, Toustain. You are a funny woman. Fit for the stage." He continued, gently escorting her away from the Alley. "I do hope you bring something to me soon, though. Something...real." He said, very particular with his words all of a sudden. "Something...tangible."