[IC] Dogs of War: Old World Mercenaries

[POOHEAD189]

The next day...

If Amal had told his family back home about all of his adventures, they wouldn't have believed him. And not just because he didn't have a family or a home. Mostly it was because he couldn't believe the situations he found himself in after finding the love of his life, and he wished to tell someone who'd never experienced them with him. He didn't know which God to pray to or if Allah was listening, but he did wish Sir Brenly the best on his adventure. He would have stayed, but holy quests weren't his style. Plus, as much as he loved danger in his life, and Emmaline did as well to his delight, he knew she needed a break. Perhaps it would be nice to stay somewhere for a short while, eat well and make love until they tired themselves to sleep.

Speaking of which, Amal nudged his companion awake. Her arms draped around his midsection and her head pressed to his shoulder, having fallen asleep as the carpet flew over the Albion channel towards the land Amal knew to be called 'The Empire.' He'd call it a pretentious name, but Araby had no shortage of them so he supposed he couldn't judge. Men were men, and he guessed they were pretty much the same everywhere.

As the sun rose over the hilly land below them, he still couldn't quite understand just how green the land could be. Hills gave way to forests, and he even saw various settlements far below intermingling with the river systems that served as the veins of the countries. He almost envied this country for such plentiful water. The only reason Arabyans really only lived in the six great cities was the water sources, but here they snaked across the ground and brought green wherever they went.

"My beautiful love, hello?" He whispered in his native tongue to stir her awake. They were just now gliding lower to the ground, having passed the tree line to a massive forest that covered the land as far as one could see. He nudged her and even nibbled on her ear a bit lovely, hot breath spilling over her neck. "You must wake, my love. We just about to land." He chuckled, and if that didn't waken her, the sudden dip the carpet made would have.

Picking up speed, they twirled faster and faster until Amal cling to Emmaline to keep her from flying off. The trees about them spun as the world did until the carpet merely hovered above a small forest path just outside of a major settlement. Amal had no real idea where they had ended up, but they would both soon find out they were in Middenland, in the town of Delbertz.
@Penny

[Penny]

Emmaline felt as though she were waking from a long dream as the carpet seemed to set them to the ground. It wasn’t quite audible but she felt more than heard a sigh of exhaustion as the enchanted object coiled itself into its customary roll. After years as a slave and months adventuring with Amal to be standing among the green fields and surrounded by the foreboding forests of the Empire seemed too incredible to believe. The moment was somewhat ruined by the pounding in her head from where the late and, as far as Emmaline was concerned, unlamented Gerald had clouted her. She rubbed the bruised area irritably with her fingers as she gazed at the town before them.

“Do you know where we are?” Amal asked, gazing around him at what must have appeared to him very strange sights indeed. Emmaline did not, having slept until they were well inland. Even if she were awake it was far from certain that she would be able to locate them. Emmaline was from Altdorf and though she had traveled a little in Riekland she had never been to any of the other provinces. The town ahead of them was surrounded by a palisade wall though she could see a tower flanked gate that was open. The wooden tower was surmounted by a banner that depicted a white wolf on a blue shield backgrounded in red. Emmaline certainly wouldn’t have recognised every province's banner but the mark of Ulric was clear enough.

“We are in Middenland Spring of my Heart,” Emmaline replied in Arabyian. The use of a guttural Riekspiel name in the middle of the the flowing tongue of Araby was deeply dissonant and Emmaline blushed slightly in embarrassment.

“Is that in your Empire?” he asked, smiling at her blush. She nodded, while she had told him alot about her homeland it had never run to discussions of political organisation.

“It is one of the Electoral States…” she paused and simplified the explanation, “like a kingdom which has sworn its allegiance to the Emperor Karl Franz.” Amal nodded, he was a clever man but Emmaline didn’t imagine a detailed breakdown of Electoral politics was going to be useful.

“Are we near Marienburg then?” he enquired.

“Nowhere near,” Emmaline replied cheerfully, “but at least we are on the right continent.”

They weren’t challenged by the guards as they passed through the gate and onto the paved streets of the town. Emmaline had lost track of the seasons somewhat during their travels but judging by the fact they weren’t being buried by several feet of snow and the trees had yet to change color, it couldn’t be too far past midsummer. The town seemed prosperous, filled with houses of the familiar stone and half timber construction with steep pitched roofs of tarred shingles or, less frequently, thatched hay. Wagon’s rumbled over the uneven paving stones and street vendors cried the virtues of their wares. Men and women bustled about their tasks or lounged about as was their wont. There were a few soldiers, or at least town guardsmen wandering the streets, though no one paid them much mind.

“What in Sigmar’s name are you two,” a matronly woman gasped as she saw the pair of strangers walking up the boulevard. The woman was covering the eyes of a child of perhaps eight years of age and glaring sideyed at her husband who was doing his best not to stare at the blond newcomer. Emmaline looked down and was reminded that she was still clad in nothing more than the stolen silk shirt. She cursed her own foolishness for not thinking of it.

“You can’t walk around here dressed like that!” the woman snapped in outrage.

“We were attacked by beastmen on the road,” Emmaline lied quickly, turning her bruised head to show the woman.

“I was bathing in a stream when it happened and we escaped with only the clothes on our backs!” she went on, warming to the subject. It didn’t exactly explain why Amal was carrying a rolled up carpet but by the way the woman’s eyes widened at the mention of beastmen, that wasn’t where her mind was going.

“Beastmen! Joachim, go find the watch and warn them!” the woman declared turning her husband away from Emmaline and giving him a shove in the general direction of the gate. Amal grabbed Emmaline by the arm and pulled her into a cramped alley that was nearly completely blocked off from the sun by the overhanging roofs. He might be in a strange land but he knew his way around cities and the arts of a thief. When the woman turned around they were gone, having apparently vanished into thin air. Amal was a stranger here but ‘go get the watch’ wasn’t a phrase he much liked in any language.

“Well she does have a point,” Emmaline admitted, “we should find a pawn shop or a money changer and get some new clothes.” She giggled suddenly as they exited the alley onto a small square.

"I wonder how the exchange rate on lizardman sqigglies is," she snickered thinking of the strange variety of coins in their modest hoard.

Merchants were selling goods from hand carts pushed up against the walls of buildings with colorful awnings of fabric stretched over them. A few of the permanent shops had the look of pawn brokers and their were several tavern along the northern side of the square. A man, standing atop a large fake sausage that must have been made of painted timber, was shouting about the best sausage in Delbertz, which at least gave them a name for the town.

@POOHEAD189

[POOHEAD189]

Finding a money lender was difficult in the relatively modest town. Finding a few merchants among the various sellers upon the central road willing to give ludicrous sums of money for the golden trinkets and strange foreign coins they had accumulated. Of course they bought clothing first, eagerly provided by a traveling Ostlander merchant. He'd only been able to provide men's clothes, but it led them to both sport fine breeches and loose work-tops one could roll their sleeves up for. Their shoes were made well and sturdy as well.

By the time they were done, they had a small fortune in gold schillings, and they only kept a few of the items to keep as reminders and souvenirs. The gold they had was placed in a special leather bag they had bought, zipped up and unlockable only with a key that had been provided for them. The man who sold it to them seemed a sullen, dark sort. But that only led Amal to think he really knew what he was selling, plus the thief could simply pick the lock to get in if it truly came down to it himself.

Finally after an hour of bartering, the two weary travelers were pointed to the Great Oak Inn; a large three stories structure mastered by the Murmann family. It sported a huge imperial oak arbored to the front of the place, hence its name. Inside, Amal and Emmaline looked far less conspicuous, but Amal did stick out a bit for his skin tone, and Emmaline her beauty.

"Dev Murmann, how can I help you."

Amal hadn't known where to go, but at Emmaline's insistence he found the front desk, where a middle aged man, hairy on the arms, made it back from running some errand to speak to them. The booth he stood behind was well made with a display of charging horses carved just under the desk-top. Behind Amal and Emmaline, the common room was moderately full and with customers from all across the empire (at least it was evident to Emmaline). The town itself seemed a waystation for traveling merchants and people looking to flee the attentions of the Drakwald.

"Hello yes er...I would like your largest room. With your very best wine and a two course dinner."

Dev Murmann blinked, eyeing Amal and then glancing back at Emmaline. "You one of those southern merchants herr...?"

"My hair is my busines-"

Emmaline slapped her palm on the oaken desk. "Yes! Yes he is, and I am here to assist him! He's very rich and demands only the finest as you can well see." She slipped between Amal and he, clearing her throat. "We hear your wine is particularly good and he wishes your best bottle to taste. Only the best for Ali Baba!"

"Yes, I am Ali Baba!" Amal said, crossing his arms to make his already impressive biceps larger. "I am very rich! And handsome too, just ask my assistant."

Emmaline blushed furiously, and tried to laugh it off. "Yes, pardon him. How much would that be?" She pinched Amal when she saw his eyes focused on the ornate brass bracelet Dev had on his thick wrist. Amal cleared his throat, pounding his chest with his fist. "Oh and silk sheets with many pillows."
@Penny

[Penny]

Herr Murmann gave Amal a skeptical look. A crossroads Delbertz might be but the appearance of a strange looking merchant from an unknown land was still an unusual thing. The Innkeeper reached up and stroked his mustache, a wary look in his eye suggesting that he feared some scam or trick.

“Very well Herr Baba, we do have such a room upstairs, the Graf Von Boflinger and his entourage patronize my inn you know,” he said puffing up proudly. The effort was wasted on Amal who didn’t know what a Graf was and his lack of reaction seemed to irritate Murmann who no doubt expected the eminence of his tavern to impress.

“I must warn you that it isn’t cheap, ten silver pieces a night,” he smirked, clearly intending to take the foreigner and his bimbo down a peg. Ten silver was an outrageous price for a room even in the very best of coaching inns.

“That includes food and wine I assume,” Emmaline replied, allowing the bright enthusiasm in her voice to cool several degrees. Murmann grinned.

“All the food and drink you require frauline,” the innkeeper said patronizingly, “now I can offer you a cheaper room…”

Emmaline pulled a pair of gold pieces from her pouch and slapped them down on the bar. Murmann’s mouth worked for a moment and he looked suddenly crestfallen, either because his plan to put an uppity foreigner in his place had failed or because he hadn’t thought to try go gull them for more money.

“A deal then,” she said brightly. Murmann sighed and swept up the two gold pieces.

“Yes a deal, we have a beef stew with wild vegetables in the pot and ale,” he made a gesture towards the casks behind him.

“Do you have any dwarven ale?” Emmaline asked eagerly. Murmann’s mouth worked sourly for a moment.

“I’m afraid not frauline, this isn’t Altdorf afterall,” he groused. In truth it would be a rare inn even in Altdorf that could boast of the rare and expensive Dwarven Ale, but hope did spring eternal.

“Wine then, two bottles of your best, and fetch us a roast chicken and some bread,” she commanded. The innkeeper flushed, clearly regretting his offer to provide them with all the food and drink they wanted for the scandalous fee. Emmaline suspected he would still make a tidy profit from the transaction but it certainly wasn’t going to be the near robbery he had intended.

“Fine, Greta!” he yelled. A tall somewhat lanky woman in a grease spotted smock and cream colored dress appeared from the pantry behind the bar. She looked to be in her early twenties, a daughter or niece rather than a wife, although one never knew.

“Take these fine folks up to their room, the Graf’s room if you will,” he called to her and then produced a brass key from beneath the bar. He passed the key to Amal though Emmaline doubted it opened any lock that the thief couldn’t have sprung himself in less time than it took to fumble a key.

“Yes Dev, right this way Herr…”

“Baba, Ali Baba,” Amal provided, picking up on the nuances of the language quickly now that he had more direct exposure to it than Emmaline’s occasional tutorials. The followed Greta up the dark wood stairs at the rear of the taproom and down a long hallway lined with doors. The Graf’s suite was at the end of the hallway set off from the rest of the inn by a large and sturdy looking door of polished oak. A brass lock was fitted into the door, but it apparently wasn’t routinely locked because Greta pushed it open with a theatrical flourish. Emmaline and Amal stepped inside. It was a nice room with a large window with glass panes looking out over the square beyond. In one corner stood a large four poster bed hung with silks in the Brettonian fashion. Artworks, oil paintings of unknown figures and a few landscapes hung from the walls. There was a table and an upholstered settee and several mirrors of polished silver.

“Thank you this will do nicely,” Emmaline told the serving girl. Greta like Dev seemed a little nonplused by the lack of response. To her it doubtlessly seemed a very grand thing, but both Emmaline and Amal had seen the splendor of Araybian palaces. This was a very nice room for the Empire but it couldn’t compete with the opulence of the rich south.

“Do you have any baggage?” Greta asked after a moment, more for something to say than any actual concern.

“No,” Emmaline and Amal answered at once. Greta blinked in confusion but covered it quickly with a smile.

“Well I will bring your food up to you in a few moments if you want to get settled in!” she declared brightly before vanishing to leave the two strangers alone. @POOHEAD189

[POOHEAD189]

Amal watched Greta leave, though she gave the room one last look before closing the door behind her as if she expected mischief. 'She had no idea' was the phrase that came to mind, though Amal had nothing truly planned at the moment. Rather he merely wished to enjoy the moment. By the time the door closed, the next second the carpet was draped over the settee and Emmaline had already been scooped off her feet. She squeaked and Amal chuckled, holding her close in his arms.

"Well, we took a scenic route northwards. But we made it, Spring of my Heart." He declared. Even after all of their travels, he felt as if they had just began seeing one another. They kissed for a lingering moment, before he marched over to the mirror with her still in his arms. He smiled when she saw their reflection, clear delight on her face. "So, shall we stay here a few weeks? I don't know the country, but as long as no one tries to force us into servitude and we don't get hands chopped off for minor things, I think it is a fine vacation spot."

Emmaline's snake slithered off of her leg, having curled up around her thigh for the journey. It grooved off of her and nestled close to the unlit fireplace, gilding itself once more. It likely sensed Emmaline and Amal were once again getting rather physical with one another. But there was a knock on the door, and after two quick moments Greta waltzed in with the wine and their hearty stews. She found Emmaline on the settee, hair somewhat wavy and wild from Amal's quick movements whereas the 'Arabyan Merchant' seemed to be admiring himself in the mirror.

"The Oaks very finest!" She said, presenting the food only to have an incredulous look planted on her face a moment later. "Er, well..." She decided not to press the point, nor did she ask about the new snake circlet on the ground next to Amal's feet. "I hope you both enjoy. Where did you come from, again?"

"A long way away-" Amal said.

"Carroburg!" Emmaline piped in at the same time.

Greta blinked, but decided they had no reason to lie. "That is quite a ways! You must tell me of your travels tomorrow once you're rested. Ok so enjoy, and do let us know if you need anything ok? Oh! V-Very well I'll see you both later." Amal had already begun ushering her out, the smell of food causing his stomach to rumble like Settra's wrath.

"Thank you, and have a tip!" He called to her, flipping a full gold peice her way. She squealed and tried to catch it. Whether or not she did was lost on Amal as he'd already closed the door. "That smells almost as good as you look."
@Penny

[Penny]

“You don’t look half bad yourself,” Emmaline replied with a lascivious wink. She wondered if Greta were listening at the door but decided she didn’t much care. A rumble from her midsection reminded her that it had been several days since she had eaten. In fact now that she thought about it, the last time had been on the Dark Elf corsair. She tore a chunk from the nearest loaf of bread and dunked it in her stew, wolfing it down without hesitation before taking a spoonful of the soup directly. It was hot and salty and wonderful and the both attacked the meal with vigour. The wine was excellent and chilled, probably in a cellar beneath the tavern though having drunk her share of palm wine and other less identifiable potable Emmaline found that her palate had expanded considerably.

“Vacation…” she said around a mouthful of bread after they had slaked the worst of the hunger pangs. The idea had never really crossed her mind for so long her priority had been to go somewhere and do something, escape from the harem, find the city in the desert, deal with the endless series of maritime calamity, that they might every reach a place of safety and what they might do if they did had never really occurred to her. Now that she was thinking about it though it sounded wonderful. They had enough gold to live and live well for quite a while, months even at the exorbitant prices this place was charging and Emmaline was certain they could get about the same for much less if they looked around a little. Maybe they could even rent a villa if they tired of the city, once she found out how safe the area was at least.

“I like the sound of that,” Emmaline murmured, lounging back on the settee and enjoying the feeling of food, drink and Amal’s company.

[POOHEAD189]

Amal practically inhaled the broth and bread, filling his stomach to his content. The Arabyan looked particularly dark and exotic wearing the white linen shirt he had bought. Rolled up sleeves, if she hadn't known him he would have looked like a foreign sailor having traveled inland to spend what wealth he had. He couldn't hide the small scars or the roving thief eyes, however. Even in their relative prosperity, he still thought of nabbing what he could. Old habits.

Amal cleaned his chin with one of the cloths Greta had brought, and released it onto the table. Casually, he spun and gently laid his head on Emmaline's lap, legs hanging over the side of the settee. He wondered about the big cities of the Empire and where their vaults were held. Perhaps once they ran out of sums they could go to one of these capitals and steal from under the head northerner or whomever there was. But that was just his imagination. For now, they should enjoy where they were. "I like it as well. Of course, I'm sure danger will follow. I think we have that quality about us." He said wistfully, playing with her hair that now draped beside him. He still marveled at just how smitten he was with her. "It's sexy on you though, don't worry."

He grinned viciously, the same grin he had before he made love to Emmaline or slashed the throat of someone who had wronged him. The former was far more likely, though someone could burst in at any moment he supposed and ruin their moment.

[Penny]

Emmaline smiled a little self consciously. The need had been to find clothing before they attracted too much attention, in the Empire with Witch Hunters and Sigmar bothering priests that could have been a problem, but the stout workman’s clothes did feel a bit like wearing a sack. Well in the morning she could take the time to look up a dress maker or a seamstress, or perhaps a pawn broker who already had such clothing from the wardrobe of some down on her luck burgess.

“I certainly can’t say life has been boring since I met you,” she agreed, running her fingers through his dark hair. It seemed easier to imagine it all as an adventure in retrospect, now that the immediate threat of being sold back into slavery by murderous elves, or burned alive by skaven fire throwers seemed to have abated. Something tickled her from the half remembered time they had spent in the tomb city, like words that somehow evoked a long ago reading of a forgotten tome. Whatever else happened she didn’t think they were likely to live out their days in idle luxury. A grin stole across Emmaline’s face, breaking her sudden pensiveness like a sunrise burning away an albion fog. That didn’t mean she didn’t intend to try!

Leaning down over amal so that her bosom strained against the coarse over shit she kissed him on the lips. Amal arched an eyebrow though he didn’t seem willing to break the spell by speaking.

“I was just thinking that I have been poor many times and rich only once, so I plan to make the most of it!”
@POOHEAD189

[POOHEAD189]

Amal smiled brightly, eyes glinting. "Yes, exactly!" He said, and shifted a bit on the settee. "Why can we not be rich? We deserve it more than those entitled fools..." He recalled just how cutthroat he was and cleared his throat. "Well, you do at least. I think I deserve it more than some. I might stab a man but I will not throw him into servitude." He realized he was thinking aloud rather than actually conversing. Perhaps it was a bit of both.

Amal placed his strong hands behind his back and sat up, his thick hair a bit wild. He stretched, his strong arms prominently sculpted as he did so. Amal felt much better, after having eaten particularly. "But yes, we are rich, as weird as it is to say." He remarked, thinking back to his days in Al-Hiekk. Never in his life did he think he would have been in any such place as this as the owner (or renter). "There were times I would sneak into the palace and pretend I was rich. Forgetting for a moment who I was..."

He shook the thoughts away. Instead, he turned and grinned, reaching for Emmaline and sliding her on his lap. She giggled and the thief slid her hair to the left so his chin could rest to the right of her neck. "But it doesn't matter. Now we are rich, yes?" His arms held her by her waist, though not before he grabbed one of the bottles of wine. Judging by the merchant's rumor, the wine made in Delberz was very good indeed. He uncorked it with a dexterous movement of his thumb, smooth as silk. He took a swig of the bottle, feeling the sweetness of the liquid on his tongue and feeling the tingle of it sliding down his throat. The thief thought it was actually quite good, handing it to Emmaline next to enjoy. Pulling her closer, he kissed her neck. "What would the wealthy Emmaline like to do?" He asked, and kissed her neck once more. "We could go and see the town below...see what it has to offer...or perhaps we could make use of those silk sheets? I simply wish to be with you, my troublemaker." His pet name for her did not sound too out of place in Riekspiel.
@Penny

[Penny]

“You have no right to hold us!” Emmaline blustered as the guards seized her. Vandershute made a show of examining his fingernails before responding in a bored tone.

“Rights? What rights do you think you have frauline… did we get your name?” he enquired, the politeness of his words and face clashing with the wild light in his eyes. It was as though the eyes of a Sigmarite zealot had somehow been transplanted into a marble statue. The effect was very off putting.

“I am Emmaline Von Morganstern, and I am a citizen of Reikland,” she told him sharply, seeing no particular reason to lie. When she used the term ‘Von’ the grip of the guards relaxed marginally and something in Vandershute’s expression sharpened. Von was a title that at least hinted at nobility, though its derivation was that of a previous age and in many cases, such as Emmaline’s own, the title was much diluted. Emmaline’s mother had been a seamstress and her father was anyone’s guess but she highly doubted whoever it was had been of the noble classes.

“Well Frauline Von Morganstern, Riekland is a very long way from here and I would prefer that you and your… foreign friend, not wander off before morning. We don’t want to miss the chance to fix the location of the first beastmen to have troubled this region in almost six months.”

Emmaline had no idea what game the sheriff thought he was playing. She doubted that the statement ‘there are no beastmen within 100 miles’ could have been uttered from the Cathedral of Sigmar in Altdorf and been truthful. Whatever his motivations though, she was certain that she didn’t want to be caught up in it.

“We merely wish to return to our rooms, we will give you our word not to attempt to leave town and…” she cast a side long glance at the guards.

“I’m certain you can post men to watch if you doubt our word.”

[POOHEAD189]

"Your word isn't nearly enough, particularly when the safety of my humble town is at stake. However, the guards will have to suffice. You've done nothing wrong so far, and it would not do to have people arrested who might be telling a form of truth." Vandershute remarked, looking as if he was about to case them out of the town with but a wave of his hand, despite the words. "Do get good rest tonight. In the morning we will take a long walk, and guilt of lying will only lead to a day of imprisonment...as long as you tell us the truth once caught. Chaos lovers will find no sanctuary here, mark my words."

With that he snapped thrice, his fingers like whips. Amal wasn't one to be intimidated, and as the fellow dismissed them, he blinked. "You're going to let us go back to our rooms?" He laughed just as Adolf Vandershute turned. "Then why even bother to pull us out? You could have come there yourself rather than interrupt our meal." He was about to say 'interrupt our love making' but he knew northerners were slightly more prudish than the people of his country.

The guards looked bewildered anyone would dare speak like that to the mayor, and Vandershute had a similar reaction. He turned and glared at Amal, who stood there smug, arms crossed and an easy smile on his face.

"Don't test me, heathen. One more word and you will find what I am like when I am truly unamused." The man clipped in warning. Amal didn't answer back. Not because he was scared, but because he wanted to have another night of comfort with Emmaline. If they were jailed tonight, they couldn't exactly share a bed or make love again, knowing they'd be in separate cells likely. That, and he knew the people of the town would 'confiscate' their riches.

As guards were assigned to follow them back, Amal scooped up Emmaline right on the front step of the mayor's office. "I think that went rather well," He said in his most posh reikspeil. "Now, what's say we go back and have a nice rest."
@Penny

[Penny]

Emmaline snickered at Amal's attempt at an upperclass Reikland accent as she through her arms around his neck. Her trepidation was begining to fade, if all the Sheriff wanted was for them to show them where they had been attacked, she could just point to the nearest section of disturbed looking earth and the guardsmen could enjoy themselves scouring the woods, whatever Vandershute wanted to believe, this was Middenland and the Drakwald was filled with beastmen and any number of other things she could claim had attacked them. Part of her wondered if perhaps they shouldn't just try to rouse the carpet and fly away, but the enchanted being was certainly exhausted from the long flight from Albion, magical circle or no.

"Well, I am certain we will find plenty of time to... rest," she replied with a grin, "but seeing as we have these stout fellows for an escort, perhaps we should explore the town a little..."

The guards were less than amused that Emmaline insisted on stopping in at a dozen different establishments on the way back to the inn. She visited a dress maker, a vintner, a leather-worker, a blacksmith and several different taverns along the way. Forcing their reluctant escort to follow and moving on the moment they appeared to grow comfortable. When the guards objected Emmaline reasonably pointed out that Vandershute had told them to keep an eye on them and that if they wanted to go back and ask for clarification they were welcome to. The guards might have pressed the issue except for the fact that they had just purchased a pair of very fine pistols from a gunsmith and neither of them felt it was worth the risk of challenging Amal. Surreptitiously she asked about the Sheriff at each of the places they stopped. The locals seemed to be both in awe of and afraid of the man in equal measure. He was ruthless in his application of the law, but the tale that there were no beastmen since he had taken over the garrison was repeated often enough that people must at least believe it was true. Emmaline did not see how that could be so, but it was hardly the most unbelievable thing she had seen in the past few months so she let it go.

The one stop she didn't make was to a bookseller, the city was too small to have vendor who dealt in magical paraphernalia, in truth such things were very rare outside Altdorf, Nuln, Marienburg and perhaps Middenheim itself, but she passed up the chance to visit even the local apothecary for now. Vadershute didn't know she was a wizard, and if she needed to make an escape she wanted to keep that to herself. It was growing very dark by the time they arrived back at the inn. Greta gaped at them like a fish as they entered, clearly not having expected to see them again.

"You are back," she stammered, "I thought... I mean..."

Emmaline arched an eyebrow at the girl who blushed furiously.

"Your rooms are as you left them Master Baba, I made up the bed with fresh linens and we.. you know.. did our best with the holes in the ceiling, nothing serious!"

[POOHEAD189]

Amal had spent their day out and about town with a sly grin, knowing just how bored or quarrelsome the guards were getting having to 'escort' them wherever they traveled to. Amal was fine following Emmaline wherever her heart desired, carrying whatever she wanted him to. He wouldn't let some upstart northern noble or his underlings take away their hard fought vacation. Her smile was as valuable as his weight in gold, and she also had a fine eye for items they would need. To his surprise, they found actual cheese and fresh fruit, something you could only really find dockside in Araby, or one of the richer areas.

After what was hours of shopping, they arrived back at the Inn to their patron's surprise. Amal gave a bow to Greta, who looked as if she had seen Settra the Imperishable herself.

"Thank you, fraulein" He said, showing off a bit of northern courtesy he had learned. "Do bring us up some fresh steaks when you're able, and knock three times in two successive knocks so we know it is you. Never can be too careful. Sometimes men burst in and wave guns in this town, apparently."

The soldiers looked at one another, and Greta looked nervous, as she didn't know whether to agree out of courtesy and face the soldier's anger or be discourteous to the very rich patron she had. Emmaline stifled a giggle as the girl decided what to say. "I see...erm, knock three times...twice? Yes?" She asked, moving a few strands of hair out of her eyes. "Would you like anything to drink, Master Baba?"

"Whiskey." He replied, after giving it a moment's thought.

With that, they dismissed themselves up into their room where Amal promptly slammed the door in the soldier's faces with a haughty nonchalance. Greta had not misled them, as the room did look quick clean save for a few small holes and markings that really didn't matter. Even if it rained it would have to pour cats and dogs to actually get any moisture within the room. Satisfied, Amal leaped on the bed back-first, like a boy just having been told his parents would be gone for a day. His hands behind his head and strong arms out wide, he sighed happily.

"So, what do you think, my love?" He asked her, not raising his voice over a normal tone. He'd sneaked past so many doors in his life, he knew just what volume to talk where no one outside would hear. "Shall we run away into the night or bullshit our way out of this?"
@Penny

[Penny]

Emmaline considered the problem as she settled into Amal's lap. Her natural instinct was to flee, the young wizard was a firm believer that most problems were soluble if one simple ran far enough and fast enough. Beyond that, something about the interaction with Vandershute was setting off alarm bells. That the sheriff was working some angle was obvious, but Emmaline couldn't guess at what it might be. Perhaps the would be noble had some political project that depended on him keeping the city safe from beastmen. She didn't doubt that she and Amal could slip out of the city, but this was their first night in anything close to civilization since they had left the pirate port in Lustria and she didn't want to rush out into the night. The issue was decided when a distinctive knock sounded at the door.

"Herr Baba?" Greta's voice came through the door, somewhat nervously. Emmaline stood and crossed to the door, opening the latch to reveal the girl carrying what looked to be a stone crock of whiskey. The guards outside glared at her as she proffered it to Emmaline who took the crock and pressed a coin into the girls palm, probably more than the whiskey was worth, but having to walk the gauntlet of guards was worth a little extra. Emmaline closed the door and threw the latch before returning via the side table and picking up a pair of mugs meant for serving ale. She poured a goodly measure into each and passed one to Amal.

"Well, I'd rather not run out into the Drakwald into the middle of the night," she admitted. Assurances of the lack of beastmen not withstanding, every citizen of the Empire knew that to travel the forest roads at night was to court worse than death.

"We are trying to go westward anyway, so I don't see that passing up a night in a bed is really worth an irritating escort."

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Amal took the mug she handed to him, and he indicated she sit on his lap again. She grinned and did so, and once there they 'clacked' mugs together and took deep gulps of the draught. Amal could get used to hearty northern alcohol, not that he wouldn't miss a good glass of Arabyan Arak, but judging by how rich they were (and how rich he planned on them getting) he could always order some from the very elusive city of Marienburg.

"True as always, spring of my heart." He agreed, still unconvinced of tomorrow going smoothly. He did not doubt the Drakweld or Drapwalk or wherever they were held many beastmen. But the entire town seemed to believe the Baron, and unless they were escorted by four guards or less, they might have some trouble fighting their way out if things turned south. "You know, you would make an excellent Queen were you born into it." He said sincerely. Granted his main experience with rulers were those wanting to enslave or execute him, but he was still certain she was smart enough for it.

It dawned on him, and he gave a low chuckle just beside her ear. Placing the mug down, he slid his long knife out of its sheath and presented the blade before her eyes. Back when they had first met, he remembered doing something similar to intimidate her, or at least make her wary that she should trust no one. Now, all of these months later a thousand miles to the north, he did it with her, knowing full well they trusted one another with their lives.

"You know...perhaps the Baron will come with us tomorrow. Maybe on the journey we do happen to run into beastmen." He whispered suggestively, grinning. "Perhaps we make it back, the both of us, alone to tell the town of the horrid news. Or-" He tossed the knife in the air with a deft flick of his fingers, catching it by the blade and flicking his wrist. The Knife embedded into the wall right below a brass making of the 'Hammer' many Sigmarite rooms had. "Perhaps I go tonight and kill him without anyone the wiser. In the morning they'll be too terror stricken to care about our small lie. Maybe I steal a bit of his wealth too? Coupled with ours, we could buy his mansion and live like royalty."

Amal looked sly as ever, gauging her reaction with his dark eyes and full lips curved into a smile. He wasn't dead set on any course of action, but if nothing else it was something to consider.
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It probably said something uncomfortable about Emmaline's moral state that she didn't immediately reject the idea of murdering the Sheriff. Even when her mind got around to rejecting the notion it wasn't because she felt the idea was somehow wrong but rather because the potential risks were too high.

"Much as I enjoy the idea, I'm afraid a few too many people saw his men drag us to his stupid audience this evening," she lamented, taking a sip of the whiskey and enjoying the burn of it down the back of her throat.

"Someone would be bound to point the finger at a mysterious forgiener such as yourself," she told him with a wink and a stroke of the cheek. Unfortunately Amal would be a natural suspect and neither of them would be exactly inconspicuous anywhere in the Empire if a hue and cry were raised against them.

"Annoying though it is, I think the best thing to do is have them come with us and then point out the first possible evidence of beastmen as the 'place where we were 'attacked' preferably near a stream or something so I can claim I was bathing, after the way I turned up half dressed," she went on with a slight snicker at the remembered afrontary of the townswomen.

"We are planning on heading south west anyway so even if we 'lose them' in the woods we won't be any worse of," Emmaline continued though she pursed her lips in disapproval at their much deserved rest being interrupted so soon.

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Amal nodded, his chin resting on her shoulder. The dangerous thief took another long gulp of whiskey before gasping satisfactorily a setting the cup down, the movement would have slid her off his lap had his other arm not held fast to her waist. "You're right, as always." He admitted. He wouldn't have lived long in Araby had he not a meticulous and cunning mind, but there was something about being outside of Araby that made him want to take some risks. Not that he was adverse to taking risks in general, thrilling him as it often did. "We'll probably be able to relax more when we reach Marienberg or whatever city lies further south. As strange as it is, we've been here a day and I'm already tired of it."

Not tired of the Empire, at least. He wished to explore more, and truth be told he liked seeing Emmaline in her element. She had always been so smooth or agile in elements where she was on off footing (albeit clumsily at times), watching her work here was interesting. "Not tired of this room, though." He admitted in Arabyan, turning her head to kiss her for a moment. "I guess in the morning we'll need to pack our things just in case. Wherever we go next, I'm sure there will be less to worry about."

He scooped her up from her legs and bottom, pulling her closer. He spoke again in his native tongue. "And if anyone tries to ruin what I have just said, I will kill them and bury there where even Settra may never find them. That is a promise, my desert flower."

As he looked at her, a thought crossed his mind. "Em, where did you live in this northern Empire? There are...proninces?" He said, failing at the word in Riekspiel. "Do you have family anywhere...or enemies? I know all about you but only a bit about how you grew up."

He did recall some anecdotes about a wizard teaching her a few things, and being lecherous towards her until she grew weary of him. But that was it. Amal wondered if he was going to be a problem.
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Emmaline snuggled into Amal's lap feeling the pleasurable warmth of the whiskey spreading through her body, tingling in her lips and fingertips. Concerns about the Sheriff and whatever game he was playing faded away in face of alcohol, a full belly and Amal's company. It was a strange sensation, having been hungry and on the run for so long that the simple normalcy of the moment was a little off putting.

"I'm from... I lived..." she began stumbling over the complicated subject.

"Well I was born in Morganstern, but I suppose I lived in Altdorf," she told him. Morganstern had once, long ago, been a village of its own, but over the years the Imperial capital had spread to engulf the hamlet as it had many others. Morganstern retained some of its original character as a poor borough of the great city. Emmaline's parents had been simple people, artisans, they had styled themselves as Von Morganstern's although that was an affectation, they had no noble blood that Emmaline knew of, but like many Altdorf natives, proximity to the center of Imperial power encouraged them to put airs. Like any minor townsmen who had been blessed with a pretty daughter whom they had raised with the intention of marrying to a rich burgher or perhaps a minor noble who didn't mind sluming it. Marrying a commoner was something of a scandal for a noble of course, though for widowers who already had sons set to inherit, the prospect wasn't unheard of. Their grandiose plans had been suddenly and completely derailed when her magical abilities had manifested and she had been packed of the College Magic with her first years dues and not so much as a good bye. The very least they could do and hold their heads high in Chapel.

"I suppose I still have family in Altdorf," she considered, "Though I don't really care to see them."

"Enemies... well, it wasn't like I was important enough to have enemies," she continued. Her old master probably thought she was dead, as did the rest of the College if they even remembered her existence.

"My master probably wants several years worth of dues out of me," she sniggered. At least he would if she knew she was alive, which she rather doubted. Few were spared by the pirates that haunted the Arabyian coasts and those they took as slaves fared little better than the corpses they tossed into the sea. She didn't doubt that Albrecht the Magnificent had long since found another apprentice or assistant to help him with his various cons. That wouldn't stop him demanding his gold if she found out she was alive of course. It was his legal right and Albrecht would dig through a sewer if it meant recovering a few gold coins.

"The real enemy..." she began, deliberately quieting her voice, "are Witch Hunters." In Araby wizards were ... well maybe not tolerated but at least feared and respected. The Empire, with its vast forests and proximity to the Chaos Wastes took a much more lethal view. Emmaline could certainly prove she was an accredited wizard if she could convince someone to take her to the College but such exhaustive legal process was the exception rather than the rule. Only the mightiest and most obviously official wizards travelled openly at any distance from the capital.

"So long as I am careful though, it shouldn't be a problem."

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Amal watched her carefully. Truthfully, he loved watching her speak, his ears picking up every word. He grinned when she stated she wasn't important enough to have enemies. Amal had around a dozen powerful and personal enemies, and he was the most worthless man in Al-Hiekk, at least according to anyone who asked, particularly those that wanted him dead. Street Rat they called him. Not that he minded. It suited him nicely.

"I envy you." He said. "At least a little. If I found my mother again...I'm not sure what I would do, to her or to me. But your parents did try to sell you, as she sold me. I guess neither of us were wanted." The thief placed a hand on her cheek, the callused hand suitably soft for the moment.

At the mention of the Witch Hunters and her wizard mentor, he blinked as if awoken. She would see the excited glint in his eye, betraying his thoughts. This was the stuff of tales he heard of the North! Grim warriors and witches burnt at the stake as charlatans spat out useless doctrine to keep the peasants in line. True, it wasn't exactly cheery. But it did lead to opportunities of fabulous wealth if one played their cards right. Dystopian or corrupt governments always bred such occasions. An Arabyan would certainly know.

"Why not get you accredited then?" He said, his hand leaving her face only to intertwine within her fingers, his large palm overtaking hers easily. "I'm sure we could gain some leverage over your old master to get him to agree. A sniffing Witch Hunter maybe?" He grinned evilly and leaned in to kiss her again before there was a small rolling tumble of a noise. It was good he was such an experienced scoundrel, else he would have caught what was about to fall atop Emmaline.

Her snake familiar had decided to heat up in the cold northern night, seeking a source of heat. Rather than slithering over to the fire, it wished to be closer to its master and managed to sinuously make its way atop the timber-made dresser. In it's slitherings, the candle it wished to curl beside was bumped and fell. Amal caught it just before it bopped Emmaline on the head or set her locks on fire. The serpent perked its head up, and looked rather embarrassed without changing expressions.

Amal's hand was callused, but he still felt the candle wax. He swiftly blew it out and redirected its fall to the side, to land holder up atop the table, as if it was set there gently save for the few hard wobbles. Amal was fond of the familiar, but he couldn't quite hold himself back.

"Hey!" He said, blowing his stinging hand. "You sneaky little trouser snake! I know she's hot as a sun-baked dune but that's a little much." Amal made a gesture of shaking his fist, but found the humor in the situation after a second. He whispered to Emmaline with a clear intent to jest. "I think he's jealous of me. He's seen you charm my snake and can't handle it. Soon he'll be out of work on the street, shaking what Allah gave him."

The thief actually halted and put a finger on his chin. "He would make a good rat catcher, now that I think of it." The serpent had not been idle, taking the time to reach the couch from above, now perched atop the arm handle as its tail slowly followed. It seemed content to rest there, though it watched them curiously.

"I'm kidding, my friend." He said to her familiar, smirking. "But we both know the deal. She's yours in the daytime but mine at night. We shook hands on it, remember?"
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The snake lifted and lowered its head in an approximation of a nod, tongue flickering out of its mouth. Emmaline giggled in a very unwizardlike fashion. The magic behind the familiar was strange to her, as much she suspected, of Apsah as of the winds of magic as she understood them. Asp, as she had ironically named the cobra, certainly seemed to understand her and even obeyed commands when it suited the creature and it had saved her life on more than one occasion.

"Well I'm pleased that you two are getting along so well," Emmaline declared with slightly drunken solemnity. She took another sip of the whiskey from the stone mug, savoring the smoky flavor on her lips.

"As for snake charming," she said, slipping her hand into Amal's trousers to tease him with her fingertips, trailing the tips of her nails over him.

"Both of you have given me some trouble in that regard," she went on with a curve of her full lips. She cast an eye to the door and the guards beyond, though she didn't really care about the men. She had no doubt that between her own erratic sorcery and Amal's knives they could handle a half dozen local thugs. That might cause problems later, but it wasn't as though the pair hadn't run from far worse on many previous occasions. Perhaps she should have asked Greta to ply the men with ale, having his flunkies show up hung over would irk the sheriff. That irritation would be worth a few pieces of sliver at the very least.