A ribbon shared a thread made
[03:27:46] Crow stepped onto the docks of Selnar with the unmistakable air of a man who had slept too little and had even less patience to spare. The journey had done little to improve his mood, and the set of his jaw suggested that whoever decided to test it would be doing so at their own risk. His gaze swept across the docks, taking in the vessels, the people, the exits, and the shadows between them. Even tired, the Master Assassin missed little. He carried his weapons as he always did, the familiar weight of steel distributed across his person. Daggers concealed, blade secured, and the means to defend himself close at hand, he made no effort to appear harmless. Nor did he seem particularly interested in attracting attention. He simply moved with the quiet, measured confidence of a man accustomed to assessing danger before danger had the chance to introduce itself.
[03:42:31] Volusian was deep in thought about a bookmark. It was proving harder to get since there was a particular Scribe who wanted to lopp his head off. He was day dreaming about how he might get said bookmark, that he wasn’t paying much attention to all those coming and going, instead his focus was on the water in front of him. The very scarred flesh of the fighting slave’s torso obvious, and all that hung from his belt was a lantern for the tunnels as well as his trip back to his owner’s home, and a coin pouch. Finally, he let out a frustrated sigh and turned to look around the docks taking in all the sights of those around. His eyes eventually falling on that of a man that moved along them and he watched him with interest, the confident gait of the man vaguely familiar but nothing jumping out at him to remember who presently, so for now he watched, silently, trying to blend into the darkness. Which was hard given he was a large Northern thrall that was half naked.
[03:47:39] Crow continued along the docks, his pace unhurried despite the fatigue that weighed upon him. The familiar distribution of steel at his belt offered a reassuring counterweight to his foul mood, though it did little to improve it. His attention to his immediate surroundings as ever careful and watchful as to what needed to be addressed. One of them stood out. A heavily scarred Northern thrall. Not for his lack of clothing, but for the particular stillness with which he watched the world around him. Crow’s gaze passed over the man once, then returned briefly. He had noticed the attention, though he gave no immediate indication of it. Perhaps the fellow was merely curious; perhaps he recognized something in the way Crow carried himself. Either way, there was no reason to make an issue of it just yet. He slowed near enough to offer a measured inclination of his head, his expression giving little away. “Tal,” he greeted “You look as though the water has disappointed you. Or is there something more interesting on these docks that I have yet to discover?”
[03:58:09] Volusian brow lifted some as the man’s attention soon came to fall on Volusian, and the Northern thrall grew slightly concerned when he slowed by enough to stop to talk to him. When he replied, his voice was hoarse, with that thick Northern accent, the bruising around his neck now fading but it was clear at some recent point he had certainly been strangled well. “Tal Master”, he said, then glanced back to the fountain behind him, and then towards the man himself, a slight tilt of his head that he’d noticed the way he’d been looking at him. “Not the water Master. Just.. acquiring something that should be easy if I were a Free man, but is much harder than it should be”. All for the sake of a bookmark. His gaze fell on the emblem on the shoulder of the man, and he studied it noting the gold dagger. He was convinced this man was likely a Killer purely on that, but there was nothing else to indicate that he was other than his dark attire. He glanced in the directions of the tunnels. “Do you require a light to the
tunnels Master?”, he asked him, assuming that he had some sort of shady business dealing with all those that were associated with the tunnels. For a moment he went quiet and then he stepped closer, like he was trying to get a better look of the man, “Forgive me Master, you are familiar to me. But I am not sure why”. Volusian was polite, and he spoke in a way that indicated he had been a slave for a long time in the South, it was likely why he wore gold necklaces around his neck and not heavy chains.
[04:04:06] Crow ‘s gaze settled on the Northern as he spoke, taking in the fading bruises around his throat without allowing his expression to change. Whatever had caused them was not his concern unless the man chose to make it so. The mention of the tunnels drew a faint, almost amused lift at the corner of his mouth. “I can find my own way through the dark, but I appreciate the offer.” His tone was dry, touched by the fatigue that had followed him all the way to Selnar. He hoped the smell of the livestock hadn´t traveled with him. At the man’s admission that he seemed familiar, Crow studied him more closely. “Perhaps we have crossed paths before,” he allowed, making no effort to confirm or deny the possibility. “Though I confess, I have had a long journey and little sleep. My memory is not at its most charitable tonight.” His eyes that had seen his share of murder flicked briefly towards the water before returning to Volusian. “As for this thing you seek, is it worth the trouble it seems to be causing you? You have the look of a man who has been denied something rather trivial with rather considerable enthusiasm.”
[04:08:53] zCS # [Roll] Volusian Resident rolled 28 (100).
[04:13:30] Volusian couldn’t place the man presently, nor was he likely going to guess in a hurry. Ever since Rilyn had smashed his head into the ground, there had been a number of things he had forgotten, or blanks in his memory. And it seemed that this man was also not about to recall if Volusian was familiar to him. The thrall had lived in many lands, so the chances of crossing paths were likely high but he did notice the amused look the man had about the tunnels. And Volusian was relieved he didn’t need a light to go there, since that was where he had been strangled. “I won’t tell you to be careful Master”, his gaze looked over the man’s weapons, “You look like you can handle yourself”, he grinned before he considered his question. “If I acquire it, I think it will make my friend very happy. He reads a lot, and he does not appreciate the turned corners of a page to be done on a book”. Apparently that had been a crime Volusian had committed, not that the thrall had been reading, he’d just been trying to help the other
thrall not lose his place in the book! “I offended tens of generations of Scribes by trying to seek one at the Hall”, he said with a slightly amused look on his face. He did however now have tasks to do, just to get the bookmark.
[04:19:54] Crow llistened to the explanation, a faint smirk settling upon his features at the thought of an entire Hall of Scribes taking offense over a turned page. “Tens of generations? That is quite an achievement for a man seeking a simple bookmark.” His tone carried a dry amusement, though he made no judgment on the matter. There were certainly worse crimes than attempting to preserve a friend’s place in a book. His fingers briefly touched the purple ribbon he wore, drawing it free with a measured motion. For a moment, his eyes rested upon the length of fabric, and something unreadable passed across his features. Whatever memory it carried had served its purpose. He no longer needed to keep it. He held the ribbon out towards Volusian. “Perhaps this will save you from a second war with the Scribes.” A slight tilt of his head accompanied the offering. “It should serve well enough between the pages, provided your friend does not consider purple an offense against literature as well.” The story of the ribbon slowly fading as he had found a new spring in his winter.
[04:29:41] Volusian tried not to laugh at the smirk the man gave him regarding the tens of generations and he nodded slowly. “So much so, that I soon found a blade at my throat over the question”, he said. It had happened rather quickly, and Volusian was normally not afraid of men, since most tended to ignore his existence but this particular Scribe had wanted to remove his head in an instant. “And the woman who has said she will help, well.. I have just found out she is his Companion”, so now he was concerned he was about to risk not only his life, but her neck. He watched the way the man’s hand moved to the ribbon on his wrist and he furrowed his brow, trying to understand it’s meaning. Something that was meaningful, he could see that. But what? He was unsure about. And then suddenly Crow was handing it over towards him, and his jaw almost dropped open, taken back at the fact a Free was actually trying to help him without wanting something in return. “……”. He was speechless, for quite sometime as he stared at the
offering of the ribbon and then he moved to where Crow was, dropping to one knee to take it from the man. “My thanks Master”, he said quietly, “I suspect he will not be offended on the color, just over the fact I asked at the Scribes like it was a market”, he mused. He imagined John was going to scold him a great deal over that. “Will you tell me the story of it, it will mean a lot”.
[04:36:49] Crow watched the large Northern kneel to accept the ribbon, his expression settling into its usual composure. He made no comment on the gesture, though a slight inclination of his head acknowledged the thanks. “Then perhaps you have learned something useful from the experience. A Hall of Scribes is not a market, and a Scribe is rarely improved by being treated as a merchant.” The faintest trace of amusement returned to his gaze. “Though I will concede that threatening to remove a man’s head over a bookmark seems a rather excessive defense of literature.” At the question, his gaze lowered briefly to the ribbon now in Volusian’s possession. For a moment, the humor faded, replaced by a quiet stillness. “It belonged to a memory I once considered worth keeping close,” he answered at last, his voice even, without bitterness. “A reminder of someone, and of a time when that reminder mattered.” He looked back to the slave. “But memories are not always meant to be carried forever. Sometimes they have served their purpose, and keeping them becomes habit rather than need.” A small shrug followed “The ribbon was once a gift. Perhaps now it can mean something to your friend instead.” His mouth curved faintly. “Try not to get yourself beheaded before you deliver it. Although I thought true scribes never carried steel, as their pencils were sharp enough. But still, I would hate for my contribution to the preservation of literature to end in another dispute with the Scribes.”
[04:50:39] Volusian grinned a little as he heard Crow and he considered what he said, “I think I learned a lot, very quickly Master”, he mused, though he was fearful of the Scribe and likely would do all he could to avoid the man in future. “I will make sure to not treat the Scribes Hall as a Merchants shop, I just thought they’d have book marks lying about…”, he said with a sheepish glance to the man. Sometimes he was certainly a large himbo about things. He listened as Crow spoke on the memory and he could see that memory was something that was close to the man’s heart. “It is the worlds greatest tragedy, Master. Souls who are not remembered”, his fingers wrapping about the ribbon as he looked at it within his large, calloused hand. “I think he will genuinely treasure it Master. He is.. “, he paused, unsure how to explain the Slave that was very much a scholar. “Intelligent?”. Nope that didn’t sound right. He snorted softly about the Scribe and the steel he drew, nodding in agreement. “I thought the same Master. It was very unexpected”, he said quietly. “And the man.. he is bigger than me”, which added to the theatrics of it all. “Thank you again Master. If you ever need something while you are here in Port, you are welcome to send for me. I am the Captain’s First thrall, Volusian. You can usually find me around the barracks in the City”. He paused, “And watch the bakery. I and some others were recently drugged with food that was laced with kanda”, he added, still sore over that whole incident.
[05:01:14] Crow listened without interruption. It was one of the things he learned early on. To truly hear what was said and shared. The corner of his mouth lifting at the explanation. “A reasonable assumption.” His gaze held a quiet glint of amusement. At the mention of the bakery, the humor faded. He regarded the thrall more attentively, filing the warning away. “Kanda in food served to unsuspecting people? That is not a prank, nor an inconvenience.” His voice remained void of anger, but there was a colder precision beneath it now. “Do you know whether anyone discovered who was responsible, or whether the bakery itself was merely the means? I appreciate the warning. I have little interest in surrendering my judgment to whatever happens to be in my muffins.” He adjusted the weapons at his belt, then looked back to Volusian. “If I need to find you, I shall ask for the Captain’s First Thrall. And if your friend treasures the ribbon, then it has found a better use than hanging from my wrist.” A faint, dry smile returned. “Now go deliver your peace offering before the Scribes decide that the next suitable bookmark is your tongue.”
[05:08:51] Renee: pardon me Sir, do you have a moment to spare?
[05:12:36] Volusian still could not think how he might know the man, his memory failing him completely in the night. Perhaps over night with some deep thought, or a discussion with John might help. He tended to ask the right questions that triggered Volusian’s memories. “I was very unsuspecting, as were the other slaves and a Free woman of High Caste”, he said quietly, “The investigation is still pending but the Bakery owner was arrested. Apparently a misunderstanding…”, he said, entirely unconvinced that was the case. He paused, then glanced in the direction of the tunnels, as he considered Idris for a moment. “There is a new Kanda den in the tunnels. The Taharian man that owns it, he grew angry when he found his friend.. the baker was arrested”, a gesture to his own throat. “I would not be surprised if he has something to do with it”, his voice was low, and said in a voice so that only Crow might hear. He nodded to the man when he dismissed him, and he smiled as he tightened his grip around the ribbon. “Thank you Master, I am sure it will have”, he said to him as he pushed up to his full height then paled slightly at what the man said. “I hope not Master, but he certainly seemed the type that would do that”, a sheepish smile offered. “Safe paths”, he said dipping his head towards him, pausing only briefly before he’d go on his way.
[05:17:56] Crow glanced to the woman as she approached but watched her leave as quickly as she had come. He let her without giving her much thought. His attention lingered on Volusian a moment longer than courtesy required. A Captain’s First thrall, well placed within the city, willing to speak quietly about things others might overlook. There was value in that, particularly in a port where poison found its way into food and suspicion seemed to travel faster than truth. “I shall remember you. A man who notices things and is willing to speak of them can be useful company.” His tone remained casual, offering neither promise nor undue praise. “Perhaps our paths will cross again.” He had begun to turn when a final thought caught him. He glanced back, one brow lifting faintly. “One thing before you go. You mentioned the Scribe who threatened you, but I don’t believe you gave me his name.” His expression settled into mild curiosity, though the question was deliberate. “I would prefer to know whose blade I should avoid or whose temper I should take into account if I find myself near the Hall of Scribes.” A dry hint of amusement returned. “I have quite enough people trying to ..”he would let the sentence die there.
[05:32:50] Volusian would probably be strung up for talking to a Killer about such things, or talk to anyone about things, given the investigation was still open. But Volusian just knew that he knew this man, it was only a matter of figuring out how he had. Plus, Killers were rich. And even if the Captain did not accept the gold he had already earned from one, he could always make his own stash of coins, ready for the day he became a free man. Again. Maybe for the third time if he was lucky. He was well aware how Killers were in regards to their food and drink, his time in Ayr and being rented in the Tavern had been more the interesting and he’d become friends with many of the men’s girls. “I did not Master, you are right. He goes by the name of Marcus Macrinus Varro, his companion is called Proxima, of the Scribes. I believe he has a thirst for status and recognition”, he mused, recalling the words his own sister and companion had said. “He recently summoned his sister to join him as well, Aurelia”, he said, giving the man a little more information. He paused as the man said he had enough people trying to kill him and he chuckled a little, “Ah yes Master. I would hate to see the same fate of you, as the musician.. he lost his voice”, his words just a whisper for only Crow’s ears as he spoke.
[05:41:51] Crow ‘s expression remained largely unchanged as Volusian supplied the names, though each was quietly committed to memory. Names were useful; the connections between them, more so. A man hungry for status and recognition could be predictable, but he had lived long enough to know that ambition alone proved little. He would prefer to observe the man himself before drawing conclusions. “You have a generous memory for names. Or perhaps you have learned that remembering them is safer than forgetting them.” The faint curve at the corner of his mouth suggested he was not entirely serious. “I shall keep them in mind.” The whispered warning about the musician earned a more thoughtful look. Crow’s eyes narrowed slightly with the interest as he was handed another piece of a puzzle. He whispered soft enough so no other would hear “He lost his voice?” he repeated softly. “I appreciate the warning.” His gaze held Volusian’s for a moment as if he was about to speak of the past. With a slight inclination of his head, he finally let the thrall depart, while the names and the warning settled into the quiet corners of his mind.
[05:42:10] Sabrina limped along, her cane tapping on the stone as she continued to get to know the city better, her new digs. she was in a world of her own really in that moment. That was, until the visage of Crow sent her crashing back to reality. She froze momentarily before she pretended to look up to the sky, as if attempting to gauge the time of day and abruptly did an about face, looking like she’d suddenly remembered something she had forgotten to do…
[05:49:30] Volusian scratched at the whiskers on his face and a brief curl of the corners of his lips might be seen. “I have learned that learning them is safer than forgetting. It is a shame about faces though, that however indicates that one did not harm a certain Northern thrall”, he said. However if Crow had mentioned Pretty or Rasanah, that might have been an entirely different conversation. He nodded to him, “Lost.. sliced.. quite a story”, he said, a twinkle in his eyes. However the movement of the woman nearby, had him look quickly over, and he glanced towards the man and locked his eyes with his. It was in that, there was something that flashed in his memory. An Island, long ago, a place of many dark cloaked men and his brow lifted, nothing was said, only a “You have company Master”, before he turned and headed away, back to see which slave girl he could finish tormenting.
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