Crows Murder

[23:33:17] αяѕυѕ (daimos.baarer): Arsus sits alone by the campfire, listening to the quiet crackle of the burning wood. The camp is still empty; no other Assassin has returned yet. After a while, he rises from his place and makes his way toward his tent. Inside, he retrieves the last of the beans he had brought with him and stored there. Carrying them back to the fire, he settles down and begins preparing the blackwine. He first crushes the beans, grinding them down until they are coarse and fragrant. He then places the crushed beans into a clean cloth. The preparation requires hot water, so Arsus rises once more and walks over to the separate fire pit where the water kettles are kept. He checks the water, now properly heated, and carefully lifts the kettle. Returning to his place by the campfire, he slowly pours the hot water over the cloth filled with the crushed beans. The dark liquid begins to drip through, its rich aroma rising into the cool camp air. Arsus waits patiently, allowing the blackwine to steep until it has reached the strength he desires. Once it is ready, he pours the fresh blackwine into two cups. His own he prepares with Bisk milk and a little sugar, stirring it slowly until the milk blends into the dark drink. The second cup, however, he leaves completely black. No milk. No sugar. Just strong, dark blackwine—the way his old friend Crow prefers it. Crow is nowhere to be seen yet. Arsus sets the untouched cup beside him and takes his own in hand. Perhaps Crow will appear before the fire burns low. And if he does, at least Arsus will already have a cup waiting for him.

[23:44:05] Crow (melchior.wardell) had kept to the shadows longer than he had intended, moving through the camp without announcing his presence. The quiet suited him. His steps were measured, almost soundless, until the familiar scent of blackwine reached him through the cool night air. A faint curl of amusement touched his features as he spotted Arsus beside the fire, and more importantly, the second cup waiting untouched beside him. Crow approached at an unhurried pace, his gaze briefly settling upon the cup before shifting toward his old friend. “Either you have grown remarkably patient, Arsus…” he murmured, his voice carrying just enough to announce his arrival, “…or you knew I would eventually find my way back.” He lowered himself beside the fire and reached for the waiting cup, lifting it to examine the dark liquid before taking a slow drink. Strong. Bitter. Completely black. Exactly as he preferred it. Crow let the warmth settle before looking toward Arsus again. “You remembered.” There was no elaborate praise in the words. From Crow, there rarely needed to be. The small nod that followed said considerably more as he settled comfortably near the fire, allowing the silence of the camp to return around them. ((unfortunately working 😦 ))

[00:00:22] αяѕυѕ (daimos.baarer): He had noticed Crow, even though he was quiet. As he began to speak, he listened. “Patience,” he then repeated Crow’s words, “a trait we’ve been working on for a long time.” His eyes settled on the second cup as Crow reached for it. He watched as Crow lifted the cup, briefly examining the dark liquid before bringing it to his lips. Arsus remained still, his own cup resting loosely in his hand, while he observed Crow take that first slow drink. There was something familiar in the sight of it—the strong, bitter black wine disappearing from the cup exactly as Crow preferred it. No milk, no sugar, nothing to soften its sharpness. A faint smile touched the corner of Arsus’ mouth as he watched Crow lower the cup again. He did not need to ask whether it was prepared properly. Crow’s expression, and the simple way he settled beside the fire with the cup in hand, told him enough. Arsus finally lifted his own cup and took a quiet sip of his blackwine, his gaze lingering on Crow for another moment before returning to the flames. ““I rarely forget.” Three words that perhaps meant more than they seemed. “I’d hoped you’d show up here before the fire went out and the black wine got cold.” He turned his head slightly toward Crow and noticed his short hair. “Did you have a date with a forest girl?” he teased.

[00:09:12] Crow (melchior.wardell) took another slow drink from the cup, letting Arsus’ words settle before the faintest smirk appeared upon his face. His fingers remained loosely curled around the warm cup as his gaze followed Arsus’ toward the flames. “Then it seems I arrived in time,” he said quietly. “Though I suspect you would have sat here until old and grey rather than admit you were waiting for me.” At the mention of his hair, his hand briefly rose to the shortened strands, as though only now remembering the change. His eyes returned toward Arsus, amusement flickering within them. “A forest girl?” He gave a low, almost humorless chuckle. “No. Nothing quite so pleasant.” He leaned back slightly, stretching his legs toward the warmth of the fire. “Let’s just say someone decided that my hair had grown too comfortable.” His gaze narrowed playfully. “And apparently they possessed the courage to do something about it.” Crow took another sip of the bitter blackwine, then looked sideways toward Arsus. “But if you prefer, I can tell you I was ambushed by a beautiful forest woman with a knife.” A pause. “Though you would probably ask why I let her get close enough to cut it.” he quipped. “And I am sure their preference to the kind of haircut would have given that away.”

[00:32:12] αяѕυѕ (daimos.baarer): Arsus listened. Arsus always listened. He stood up and tossed another log into the fire. It was cool this morning; the weather would likely turn colder over the next few days and months. Summer was drawing to a close. The seasons change, as do so many things in the life of a Gorean. One thing hadn’t changed, despite his long absence: his deep friendship with Crow. He raised his mug to his lips again and took another sip. Yes, he had expected and hoped that Crow would show up. He probably would have burned through the entire forest and kept warming his mug over and over. “The fire wouldn’t have gone out before you arrived.” He looked back into the fire, and then the cries of some birds drew his gaze to the trees where they had gathered. Perhaps to set out together on a journey to where it would be warmer over the next few moons. “No forest girl, hmmmm. Too bad—it would certainly have been interesting.” Arsus had had quite a few encounters with forest girls, both good and not-so-good. Some ended in bloodshed, some in the furs. He had never told those stories. There hadn’t been a reason to yet. “It looks unusual,” he remarked, “I’ll get used to it.” It really did look unusual; in the darkness, Arsus probably wouldn’t have recognized Crow. At least not by his hair. Arsus enjoyed the crackling of the fire, occasionally glancing over at Crow. He would take another sip. “I’ve missed” and he took a long pause “you” he then added.

[00:45:45] Crow (melchior.wardell) fell quiet at those final words. For a moment, the teasing expression faded, replaced by something far less guarded. He looked down into the dark surface of his blackwine, watching the firelight tremble across it. Arsus had always been one of the few men who could say such things without making Crow feel the need to turn them into something lighter. He took another drink before answering. “I know.” Two simple words, spoken quietly. Crow lowered the cup and looked toward Arsus, his gaze steady across the fire. “I missed you too.” There was no hesitation this time. No joke to hide behind, no clever remark to soften it. His eyes drifted toward the birds gathering in the trees, and for a moment he watched them in silence. “Strange, isn’t it? We disappear into different corners of Gor, chase shadows, survive things we probably shouldn’t…” A faint smile touched his mouth. “And somehow, when we finally sit beside the same fire again, it feels as though very little has changed.” He shifted slightly, holding the cup between both hands as he absorbed its warmth. “Perhaps that’s why I came here.” His gaze returned to Arsus. “Not because I knew there would be black wine waiting.” A brief pause. “Because I knew you would be.” he now turned to see. “But I see you without your bond. I hope you haven’t dropped her from your tarn ?” he now teased.

[01:13:03] αяѕυѕ (daimos.baarer): Arsus nodded. No more, no less. The birds had stopped chirping. Silence settled over the camp, broken only by the crackling of the fire. Two assassins who, despite all their toughness, felt something like a bond with one another—a rarity in this caste. “I know,” he replied, almost in a whisper. He watched the flames dance in the wind as if they were performing a dance. If there were a song to go with it, he would probably call it “Two Friends.” Arsus let the words linger for a moment, his gaze fixed calmly on the flames, before turning it back to Crow. A faint, knowing smile flitted across his face. “Perhaps time isn’t as powerful as we believe,” he said softly. “It may carry us far apart and leave years between one meeting and the next… but there are some things it simply cannot break.” His eyes lingered on his old friend for just a moment longer. “Some bonds endure. No matter how long the journey is or how far it takes us from the fire we once shared together.” He leaned forward again to toss another log into the fire. “My Tarn,” he said thoughtfully, “my Tarn is still missing. I’m searching for him. I believe he’s hoping I’ll find him.” Arsus had a bond with his Tarn that was almost impossible to describe in words. His “tarn” had never let him down. Arsus had returned from the mountains alone; his first stop had been Holmesk. His Bond had been waiting. She had rebuilt the Court. All by herself. His gold had helped her survive. The city of Holmesk was coming back to life. “My girl is in Holmesk, waiting for my return. She’s preparing for another trip to Besnit. Trade relations seem to have stalled; Holmesk still owes Besnit a few goods. I must smooth things over before they turn into a storm.” The person responsible for making these agreements was currently nowhere to be found; perhaps he had perished when Holmesk was destroyed by a landslide. Arsus had to ensure that relations between the two cities did not escalate into war.

[01:37:37] Crow (melchior.wardell) listened without interrupting, his eyes following the flames as Arsus spoke of his Tarn, of Holmesk, and of the fragile line between trade and war. The words carried more weight than a simple report of what had happened. He knew what it meant to return to a place and find that everything had changed while certain bonds somehow remained untouched. He turned the cup slowly between his fingers, the black wine nearly forgotten for a moment. “A Tarn like that is not simply lost,” he said quietly. “As for Holmesk…” he took another drink, considering his next words. “A city trying to rebuild while owing goods to another city is already standing on uncertain ground. If the man who made those agreements is gone, someone has to become the voice that remains.” He looked back toward Arsus. “You.” A faint smirk appeared. “You always did have a talent for walking into problems that sensible men would avoid.” The smirk faded as quickly as it came. “But you shouldn’t have to walk into this one alone.” he settled back beside the fire, his shoulder relaxing slightly. “When you leave for Besnit, if you need another set of eyes, another blade, or simply someone who knows when a negotiation is about to become an ambush…” He raised his cup slightly toward Arsus. “Come find me.”

[01:58:52] αяѕυѕ (daimos.baarer): Arsus was silent for quite a while. His black wine was empty; he set the cup down on the floor beside him. He listened to his friend’s words, and when he thought about it, he was right—both regarding the Tarn and the troubles he kept getting himself into. Sometimes he saw himself not only as an assassin but also as someone who tried to uphold the Gorean order in ways other than just with a knife. He was no ambassador—at least not in the sense that others would understand an ambassador. Arsus wouldn’t necessarily call it unreasonable; rather, he’d call it different. He smiled at his own thoughts. “War doesn’t solve problems; it only creates new ones,” he replied quietly. “I’m going to meet with the head of the merchants again; there’s more to discuss than just this issue—an issue I can’t talk about yet. I’ll fill you in once trust has been established. Fortunately, she hasn’t spread the word yet that Holmesk still owes a few goods. I think I can sort it out through ‘official channels’ somehow.” Arsus was grateful to Crow for the offered help, and he would certainly take him up on it. He thought for a moment about whether he should take him along. It was quite possible that Crow knew the lady. He decided against it. “As soon as I notice anything strange, I’ll let you know. My slave will come with me and wait for me at the market. If I don’t show up again, she’ll be instructed to let you know. I have to go there alone for now; trust is still very fragile at the moment.” Trust sometimes took a long time to build, and Arsus needed the trust of this woman, who indeed knew how to choose her words very carefully.

[02:25:09] Crow (melchior.wardell) listened quietly, his expression becoming more thoughtful as Arsus explained. He did not question the things his friend was unwilling to speak of yet. There were secrets that were better kept until the moment was right, and he understood that better than most. “Then alone it is,” he said simply. He turned his empty cup in his hand before setting it down beside him. “Trust is a blade with two edges. Push too hard and you cut yourself. Move too quickly and the other person wonders what you’re trying to hide.” His gaze remained on the fire. “If she has chosen her words carefully, then she is measuring you just as carefully. Let her. Give her the time to decide that you are someone she can speak freely with.” Crow glanced toward Arsus. “And your slave waiting at the market is a wise precaution. If you do not return, I’ll know something has gone wrong.” A faint, knowing smile appeared. “Merchants rarely survive by being careless.” He leaned back, stretching one leg toward the warmth of the fire. “As for the official channels…” he chuckled. “I suppose it is comforting to know that even assassins occasionally have to deal with paperwork.” His eyes returned to Arsus, the amusement fading into something more serious. “You don’t need to tell me what you cannot tell me yet. When the time comes, I’ll listen.” He paused. “And if the meeting turns sour, you already know where to find me.” Crow reached for the empty cup, studying it for a moment before looking back toward the flames. “Just make sure you come back to finish the conversation.”

[02:54:08] αяѕυѕ (daimos.baarer): Arsus noticed Crow set the cup down on the floor. It was empty, just like his own. “Perhaps trust really is a blade,” I replied softly. “But you don’t fear a blade just because it’s sharp. You learn to wield it.” My gaze drifted back to the flames. “I’ll give her time. If her words are cautious, then I’ll choose mine carefully as well. And if one day she speaks freely to me, then I’ll know she’s doing it of her own free will.” Arsus ran his hand over his tunic as he spoke—perhaps he just wanted to smooth it out a little. He got ready to set out; it was going to be a long day, especially since the journey to Besnit wouldn’t exactly be a short one. He hoped Kedja had already finished packing. “I’ll talk to you about it when the time is right, Crow.” He knew Crow would understand. Sometimes it’s better to keep something to yourself when the time isn’t right—and, if necessary, take it with you to the realm of dust—so as not to endanger others. Arsus would come back and finish the conversation; at least, that was his plan, and Arsus was known for carrying out his plans. “I know where to find you.” Arsus would stand up. “I have to go now, old friend,” he’d say, then pause for a long moment. “And I’ll be back.” He might place his hand on Crow’s shoulder as a farewell.

[03:10:05] Crow (melchior.wardell) remained seated as Arsus rose, his gaze following his old friend. He listened to those final words without interruption. And I’ll be back. His eyes lifted to meet his. “I know.” When Arsus’ hand settled briefly upon his shoulder, He placed his own hand over it for a moment. There was no need for ceremony between them. No elaborate farewell. The gesture carried enough weight on its own. “Go, then. Do what you came to do.” He released Arsus’ shoulder and leaned back slightly, watching him prepare to leave. “And Arsus…” A pause. “And if you don’t return quickly enough, I’ll come looking for you. You know me well enough to know I won’t be particularly polite about it.” His expression softened again as he looked toward his friend. “Walk carefully, old friend. Let the merchant have her secrets. Let her measure you. And remember…” He glanced briefly toward the empty cup that had once held the black wine Arsus had prepared for him. “Some fires are worth returning to.” He gave a small nod. “Until then.”

[03:19:46] αяѕυѕ (daimos.baarer): “I know,” Arsus replied quietly. Then he set off. He moved quietly away from the campfire; not even the birds in the trees were startled. Crow would be looking for him. He nodded to himself. Nothing had changed. Trust, despite the long time they hadn’t seen each other.

[04:14:26] Crow (melchior.wardell) was doing his round. Just to check up on things as he did once in a while. Perhaps in idle hope to find his tharlarion. It was quiet and he enjoyed that moment of not running into those that needed him for some reason. As he passed the back of the Inn after getting a black wine inside he noted the Innkeeper. “Ah … over thinking your sins?” his voice dark and with that natural authority.

[04:17:53] пαмıκα тσʟαп (dinara.braveheart) dozes off, still holding the book in her hand. Apparently, it was so boring that her eyes had closed. The sound of the waves, however, wasn’t exactly helping her stay awake either. When a deep voice rings out, she jumps, causing the book to slip to the floor. “By the gods,” she mutters, and her first instinct is to reach for her skirt before she’s awake enough to look around. She blinks briefly and checks the fit of her veil with her right hand as she looks at the assassin. “Do you always have to sneak up like that?” she mutters before sitting up properly.

[04:21:23] Crow (melchior.wardell) watches her as she is trying to process him sneaking up on her. It pulled his lips into that smile of amusement. Surely at her expense. “I don’t have to. But I hardly enjoy wearing bells and stuff.” he replied dryly. “And for some reason I think I might be out of business if everyone would hear me coming.” he added. It was of course very true. “Those that are startled often have something to hide. So what is it ? ” as he tipped his head towards the book she was ‘reading’.

[04:26:13] пαмıκα тσʟαп (dinara.braveheart) snorts softly and wraps the scarf a little tighter around her hair and shoulders. “I actually find the idea of bells on your shoes quite appealing,” she says, tucking in the end of the scarf and bending down to pick up the book. It was still that boring biography of the even more boring writer from Ko-ro-ba. “Or maybe he just fell asleep without meaning to,” she replies to his suggestion that she has something to hide. She places the book next to her on the swing seat. “What brings you to the inn?”

[04:29:24] Crow (melchior.wardell) studied the way she was trying to keep herself covered. As if the mere view on something that she tried to hide would turn him in stone or have him overrun by desire. While he was quite certain neither would be the case. But he wouldn’t speak of such matters. That was hers and only hers. If she did not trust him, he did not feel the need to win it. Perhaps there had been a moment where he had tried, but not now. “Nothing in particular. Does there need to be a reason?” he counters.

[04:35:10] пαмıκα тσʟαп (dinara.braveheart) shrugs her shoulders for a moment. “In my experience, men like you rarely do anything without a reason.” He won’t be able to guess that her meticulous care to cover as much of herself as possible has nothing to do with him, and it didn’t matter anyway. It was her way of navigating this society, and there will hardly be a situation in which she deviates from it. Many men may think of her as prudish, snobby, high-maintenance, or something similar. She accepts this without setting the record straight, because setting the record straight would be far worse than the reputation she’s earned through her behavior.

[04:38:48] Crow (melchior.wardell) nodded thoughtful “Rarely.” he replied. “So not never.” he stated as to use her own words. “I like to think we are hard to predict.” he would look over the water and turned more. “So what are you reading?” he asks again tipping his head to the book. Perhaps she might be surprised by his interest in books. He had a disguise for a long time in which scribe work was part of it. He had truly enjoyed learning the trade and reading. It gave him a lot of insights in the Gorean Society.

[04:43:03] пαмıκα тσʟαп (dinara.braveheart) can’t help but roll her eyes, a rare occurrence, as he nitpicks her words, and smiles for a moment: “Rare enough that no one would expect you to do it.” She turns her gaze to the book and takes a deep breath: “I promised a friend I’d read this book. It’s a biography of a Scribe who thinks he’s very important. She’s fascinated by the man, while I find him deadly boring.” Her pen pal gushes about this man, and she’s let herself be talked into reading the book so she can discuss it with her. And she regretted it after just the first four pages.
[04:47:10] Crow (melchior.wardell) didn’t see the eye roll and yet could still hear it in her voice. But he wouldn’t dive into it. He wasn’t here to woo her, win her heart or have her move to his natural charm. “Hmm… ” he replied. “Strange … there are some new merchants in Valaris. Book merchants. One is now imprisoned due to a theft.” he shared. “They had books that were quite hilarious. About this writer that feels himself an expert on so many levels. I am trying to remember the name of the writer. But I am quite sure it is of Ar.” he mused. “So who is this writer and man that thinks himself so important?” it was his ‘odd’ way to keep the conversation going.

[05:07:37] пαмıκα тσʟαп (dinara.braveheart) raises her eyebrows when he mentions the booksellers in Valaris. “For theft? What did he steal, anyway? Words?” A bad joke, admittedly. She picks up the book and holds it out to him. Perhaps in the hope that he’ll take it and thus spare her the task of having to read it. That way, at least she’d have an excuse for her pen pal—after all, who would dare contradict an assassin if he simply claimed a book as his own? Well, Namika, perhaps—if it weren’t for the fact that it’s THIS book. The fact that he doesn’t want to win her heart is probably the best thing that could happen to both of them. “I didn’t know him before. He calls himself Writeous Wright.” She can barely hide a broad grin.

[05:14:39] Crow (melchior.wardell) shrugged “I am unsure as to what happened with these book salesmen.” he replied. “I guess there will be a trail.” he reasons. “I haven’t truly invested much in the events as other business kept me from it. But I am sure Vesper might be able to tell more.” as she offered the book he would approach and take it. His hand over the cover as if to feel the words before he would open it and started to read. A faint lift of one brow betraying his amusement at her joke. “Words are often more dangerous than steel,” he replied. His finger would move along one of the sentences in the book. “Oh boy … ‘I do not write for those who merely read; I write for the rare minds capable of understanding why I was destined to be remembered.’ … The man is truly full of himself.” as he moved further in the book and read ‘Others put words upon parchment. I put immortality between its lines.’ He shook his head “I understand why you fell asleep while reading. If that is what I just saw a moment ago?”

[05:18:51] пαмıκα тσʟαп (dinara.braveheart) leans back slightly as he actually takes the book from her and smiles faintly as he begins to read individual sentences from the masterpiece: “I’d say, we’re all doomed if this man gains even a shred of power in any city.” She struggles to suppress a giggle. “He’ll throw feathers at us if we fall asleep every time he gives a speech.” At his last sentence, she raises her gloved hands as if surrendering. “I refuse to testify. In the end, the scribe finds out about it and uses it against me.”

[06:33:03] Crow (melchior.wardell) would stare at the page for a moment longer, his expression becoming increasingly blank as each sentence was read. Eventually he would slowly lower the book, looking at Namika with the solemnity of a man considering an exceptionally serious matter. “Feathers.” His gaze would return to the book. “Apparently, we are dealing with a man who has discovered the most terrifying weapon known to civilization.” He would turn another page, his mouth twitching faintly. “The written word.” At her declaration of refusing to testify, he would give a quiet snort. “Wise. I have no intention of becoming involved in a conspiracy against a man armed with feathers and a scribe.” He would close the book and offer it back to her. “Keep it. Clearly, it is dangerous contraband.” A brief pause, his eyes narrowing with amusement. “And should Writeous Wright ever acquire power in a city I must hunt, I shall deny ever having met you.”

[06:38:44] пαмıκα тσʟαп (dinara.braveheart) moves her upper body so she can watch him as he examines the pages of the book. As he speaks, she struggles to maintain a serious expression. Every now and then, an amused chuckle can be heard, which only dies down when he hands the book back to her. Reluctantly, her hand reaches out, while the veil moves slightly as she exhales. “Damn, and I thought I was rid of it.” She had seriously considered burning it, but she probably would have had a hard time explaining that. The excuse with the assassin would have been much more believable. “Can we hire those booksellers to steal it?” She probably isn’t really serious about that question, but she fears she’ll come down with sleeping sickness if she’s forced to keep reading this trash.

[06:43:14] Crow (melchior.wardell) would watch the reluctant hand reclaim the book, the faintest smirk touching his mouth at her apparent disappointment. “Hire the booksellers to steal a book?” he would ask, as though genuinely considering the proposal. He would fold his arms and give the matter a thoughtful look. “An elegant plan. Though I suspect they would charge you twice. Once for stealing it…” His eyes would settle on the book. “…and again for the trauma of having to look at it.” He would lean slightly closer, lowering his voice as if offering a serious piece of professional advice. “Alternatively, leave it somewhere unattended. Surely there is at least one illiterate man in Gor or the Inn with sufficiently poor judgment to take it.” A brief pause. “Then you can honestly tell your pen pal that it was stolen.” His expression would remain perfectly straight, though the amusement in his eyes would betray him. “And if anyone asks, I know nothing about feathers, although my name might tell you otherwise.”

[06:50:33] пαмıκα тσʟαп (dinara.braveheart) furrows her brow as he speaks. In fact, she’s seriously considering his suggestion. Her eyes drop to the book, which she finally sets down beside her and lets go of, as if she’d burned her fingers on it. “Hopefully, that illiterate guy will never find anyone to read it to him.” When he brings up the feathers and his name, the look in her eyes changes for a few heartbeats. She had never thought about it before. Feather. Crow. Why had this never occurred to her? She lets out a short, desperate laugh from her throat and then shakes her head. To clear her thoughts, she turns her upper body back so she can look out over the water. She can only hope that he doesn’t even begin to suspect the double meaning behind his words. “I think I need to have a serious talk with my pen pal. And strongly advise her to develop a better taste in books.”

[06:56:02] Crow (melchior.wardell) would notice the brief change in her eyes, though he would not immediately give it meaning. His gaze would linger on her for a heartbeat before returning to the water, allowing the moment to pass without pressing her. “A wise course of action,” he would say, settling back. “Though I suspect your pen pal’s taste may already be beyond saving.” A faint smirk would appear. “As for the book, I would recommend you keep it far away from any open flame. Not because of the book itself, but because if it catches fire, someone might assume the writing is flammable.” He would let the silence linger for a moment before adding, almost casually, “And if she refuses your advice, you can always send her a better book.” His eyes would shift briefly toward Namika. “Preferably one without feathers.”

[07:06:02] пαмıκα тσʟαп (dinara.braveheart) Despite her thoughts about feathers and crows, she can’t help but laugh, and her shoulders relax for a moment. “I’ll do my best to convince her that other works are more readable than this garbage.” She desperately needs to get away from this topic. Her past has suddenly become far too present—more than she’d like. “If you find out what the bookseller stole or his name, I’d appreciate it if you’d pass that information along to me. Maybe I know him.” In fact, that possibility isn’t entirely far-fetched; after all, she, too, buys her books from various dealers, and so far she’s considered them all reasonably trustworthy.

[07:12:27] Crow (melchior.wardell) would give a small nod, accepting the request without much ceremony. “If I learn his name, you will be the first to know.” He would glance once toward the discarded book, then back toward the water. “Though if you recognize him, I would advise against asking whether he still has the book. We have already established that its contents may be hazardous.” A faint smirk would return. “As for what the thief stole…” He would shrug slightly. “That is something I would like to know myself. A bookseller who steals ought to have a particularly interesting reason for doing so.” His gaze would settle briefly on her, observant but not pressing. “And if you happen to discover something about him through your own dealers, you can always tell me. Consider it an exchange of information.” He would pause, then add dryly, “A much more useful exchange than feathers.” now a far more sharper glance was given. Crow was to old to not pick up small signals. But it mattered little to which past she held. He himself had one too, which could very much be held against him.

[07:18:30] пαмıκα тσʟαп (dinara.braveheart) was able to handle the exchange of information. That was something she’d probably done many times before. Just as much as keeping quiet about the clients here in the Inn. She gathers information and passes it on when necessary; otherwise, she keeps quiet about it. When he uses the term “feathers” again, her fingers tense briefly before she turns her gaze to him on her right. “I’m expecting another merchant for parchment and books soon. I’ll see if anything is known in his circles.” Rumors would likely start circulating as soon as word got out that one of her merchants had been arrested for theft. And she was grateful for the distraction from her thoughts. The forest was close by, her past even closer, and none of it should really make her nervous. Yet it did. Her only luck was that her darkest past remained where she had buried it emotionally—far, far away

[07:25:30] Crow (melchior.wardell) would notice the brief tension in her fingers this time, though his expression would remain unchanged. He would not comment on it. Instead, he would simply nod, accepting the information as readily as he would any other piece of intelligence. “Then listen carefully when your merchant arrives,” he would say. “Merchants hear more than they realize. Especially when something unusual happens in their trade.” His gaze would drift toward the forest for a moment before returning to the water. “If there is a name attached to the theft, or a reason for it, pass it along. Rumors are rarely useless. They simply need to be separated from the truth.” A faint, almost knowing smile would touch his lips. “And I promise not to mention feathers again.” He would pause. “For at least a few minutes.” The quiet amusement in his voice would make it clear he had noticed her reaction, but he would leave it there, giving her the courtesy of not asking questions she clearly did not wish to answer.

[07:37:56] пαмıκα тσʟαп (dinara.braveheart) leans her back against the backrest of the swing while he speaks. Every now and then she nods slightly. “Of course,” she replies to his remark that she should pass on the information. When he promises not to mention feathers for a few moments, a slightly annoyed and exasperated groan escapes her: “Are you always so… unpleasant?,” she mutters quietly. Of course, she had noticed the amusement in his tone, and she wasn’t exactly thrilled to be adding to it. Her arms cross over her chest, as if she were using them as a shield to protect herself. An unconscious movement. And if she were watching herself from the outside, she’d probably shake her head at it.

[07:42:49] Crow (melchior.wardell) would glance at her crossed arms, then back to her face. For once, the amusement in his expression would soften rather than sharpen. “Only when people make it so easy,” he would answer, entirely without apology. He would settle back, leaving a comfortable amount of distance between them. His eyes would briefly move toward the water before returning to her. “But no. Not always.” A beat of silence. “Sometimes I am considerably worse.” The corner of his mouth would lift, just enough to make it clear he was deliberately provoking her. Yet he would not pursue the matter further. He had noticed the defensive gesture, and unlike some, he had no need to expose every weakness simply because he had seen it. “Besides,” he would add more quietly, “if I intended to be unpleasant, you would not have to wonder whether I was being so. Some suggests it comes with the trade.”

[07:49:54] пαмıκα тσʟαп (dinara.braveheart) takes a deep breath. “That’s what I was afraid of,” she replies dryly to his remark that he’s sometimes even worse. Her arms relax and her hands rest loosely in her lap. “Your profession makes you uncomfortably inscrutable.” Her gaze fixes on his face. “But I’m glad I’m amusing you.” Her voice now takes on a noticeably more relaxed tone, as if she isn’t taking herself too seriously right now. “I’m slowly realizing why you aren’t allowed to have companions. You’d drive them all crazy.” Laugh lines now form around her eyes—the ones that always appear when she grins behind her veil. Of course, she knows the real reason for the restriction, but even she sometimes feels the need to tease someone. In this case, him and his caste.

[07:59:00] Crow (melchior.wardell) would give a quiet, almost amused exhale at that, his gaze remaining steadily on her. “Inscrutable is useful,” he would say. “Especially when people insist on trying to discover what lies underneath.” At her remark about companions, one eyebrow would rise. “Drive them all crazy?” He would consider that for a moment, apparently giving the accusation far more thought than it deserved. “Perhaps. But that would suggest they stayed long enough to find out.” The faint smile would return. “And you seem remarkably comfortable teasing an assassin about his lack of companions.” His eyes would narrow slightly with playful warning. “Either you are very brave, Innkeeper… or you have finally developed poor judgment.” He would let the silence sit for a heartbeat before adding dryly, “I once had a companion. Before all this black. Now I am sure she was at times pushed to that fine line of insanity. But I doubt it was my undoing.”he jested.

[08:06:39] пαмıκα тσʟαп (dinara.braveheart) Now she really has to laugh. For real. Spontaneously: “People have said both of those things about me. Depending on who you ask, some would say I’m braver than is good for me, while others would surely swear I have the worst judgment of character on this planet.” Her laughter slowly dies down before she shakes her head. “Even if most men deny it, without us women, you’d all be lost,” she grins broadly from behind her veil. In fact, she probably doesn’t mean just the companions, or free women in general. Her past has also taught her that most men would wander through the world hopelessly confused without their slaves. “So I’d guess she didn’t push you into the darkness. She was probably more like one of those who held the light.”

[08:12:21] Crow (melchior.wardell) ‘s expression would grow quieter at that last observation, the teasing ease fading just slightly. He would study her for a moment before looking back toward the water. “Perhaps,” he would say simply. “Some people do not push you into darkness. They simply stand close enough to it that you remember there is still a choice.” He would pause, then glance toward her again. “And perhaps that is why they are harder to forget.” A faint smirk would return, rescuing the moment from becoming too serious. “As for women keeping men from becoming hopelessly lost…” His brow would rise. “I have met enough men to know you may have a point.” He would incline his head toward her. “But I would be careful saying that too loudly. Some men have fragile reputations to maintain.”

[08:23:13] пαмıκα тσʟαп (dinara.braveheart) studies his face intently as his expression changes for a moment, before a smile returns to his lips. “Oh, don’t worry. I’ve certainly encountered fragile male egos before,” she says, also turning her gaze briefly to the water. “And men who think they have to give something up because it gets too close to them.” Her eyes flicker slightly as her brain plays a trick on her, and smoke seems to form on the water before her eyes. Her hand rises, wiping across her eyelids, before she looks back at the water, which is washing up onto the shore in calm waves WITHOUT any smoke. “Maybe that’s why I find the dark shadows so much more pleasant than life in a city.”

[08:26:58] Crow (melchior.wardell) would notice the movement of her hand and the momentary shift in her expression, but he would not immediately ask what she had seen. His gaze would remain on the water for several heartbeats, giving her the space to collect herself. “Cities are loud,” he would say eventually. “Too many eyes. Too many voices. Everyone wanting something from everyone else.” His arms would rest loosely against his sides. “The shadows ask for considerably less.” He would turn his head toward her, studying her calmly. “But they have their own price.” A faint, knowing smile would touch his lips. “People often think darkness means hiding. It doesn’t. Sometimes it simply means you can finally stop pretending to be something you’re not.” He would let that linger before looking back toward the water. “Much depends with whom you are in a city. Perhaps in time you might find someone that even brings calmness in your home when the city is a blaze.”

[08:34:20] пαмıκα тσʟαп (dinara.braveheart) nods as he describes life in the city. When he mentions the price of the shadows, she turns her head back toward him and looks at him silently for a moment before her voice breaks the silence: “Until now, the price has been affordable.” She would probably feel differently if she thought her life were in serious danger. But that hadn’t been the case here yet. “I don’t get the impression that there will ever be anyone again who could make life in a city bearable for me.” Her shoulders rise slightly. She’s probably too young to even consider wanting to stay alone for the rest of her life. But that’s actually her plan. At least for now.

[08:39:33] Crow (melchior.wardell) would study her quietly, his expression giving away little as he considers her words. There would be no immediate joke this time. “Affordable,” he would repeat softly. “That is usually how the price begins.” His gaze would return to the water. “Until one day you discover that you have been paying with things you never realized you possessed.” He would pause, then look back toward her. “As for there being no one capable of making a city bearable…” A faint shrug. “You cannot know that. You simply haven’t met that one yet.” There would be no attempt to convince her, only a simple statement. “People are remarkably good at appearing when you have stopped looking for them.” His mouth would curve into the slightest smile. “And if nobody does, then you have at least chosen your solitude rather than allowing someone else to choose it for you.” He would lean back, his attention settling once more on the calm water. “That is not the worst way to live.”

[08:46:27] пαмıκα тσʟαп (dinara.braveheart) ‘s eyes flicker for a moment when he mentions that the price usually starts that way. For a split second, her thoughts race—is there anything she should have kept in mind? But she still couldn’t quite put her finger on it. As he continues speaking, she waves her hand dismissively. “Well, then I have nothing to fear. I’ve stopped looking for it for far too long for anyone to show up now.” That was her way of dealing with the solitude she’d chosen for herself—with the disappointments of the past and the secrets that had grown out of them. She follows him and turns her gaze back to the water as well. “And if it gets too lonely, I’ll just talk to the Vulos,” she says with a slight smile. “They argue back, too, but I have the advantage of not understanding them.”

[08:49:49] Crow (melchior.wardell) would glance toward her at the mention of the Vulos, and for a moment his expression would remain perfectly serious. “An excellent arrangement,” he would say. “They argue. You don’t understand them. Therefore, you are always right.” The faintest smirk would appear. “I can see why you prefer them to people.” His gaze would drift back toward the water, though his voice would become slightly quieter. “And perhaps that is the advantage of speaking to creatures that cannot understand you. They cannot ask questions about the things you would rather leave buried.” He would let the thought settle before adding, dryly, “Although if one of them starts answering you in perfect Gorean, I recommend leaving immediately.” A pause. “Either you have finally lost your mind…” His eyes would flick toward her. “…or the Vulo has learned something you should be worried about.” with that he would dip his head “And on that note. I have to leave. Have a good day, Innkeeper. And be watcheful about those vulo’s.” he grinned there and headed off