POOHEAD189

Dogs of War: Old World Mercenaries

Amal was one of the poorer horsemen of Araby, prefering to leap and duck and swing and run than ride (at least on horses). However, that still made him quite good by northmen standards, and the stallion they rode whipped wildly in the wind as they moved further south, going at least a half a dozen miles before they halted long enough for Amal to haul Emmaline up and right her on the saddle so she could hold on to his midsection. Up ahead, the two moons shined brightly, and Amal navigated by their light as they made good time over the next few hours. As the night progressed, the mountains began to open, though that did little to make the two intrepid theives feel better, due to the opening now taking on the appearance of the vast maw of jagged, razor sharp teeth that they desperately tried to ride out of.

Thankfully, past midnight, they made it out of the pass and Amal slowed the stallion down, setting the beast as a canter as they traversed over a few scattered creeks amid the ubiquitously placed trees of some wooded area Amal couldn't even guess. After the third stream, they followed it, not knowing if it lead east or west, but continued down a path Amal spotted until the horse was likely too tired to continue.

"Keep your hands and feet atop the horse until the beast makes a complete stop, please," Amal joked wryly, glancing back at his girlfriend. Her chin was pressed onto his sunbaked shoulder, and he rolled his muscled shoulder gently to cause her to stir. He smiled. It was a strange feeling, two promiscuous people shacking up and suddenly being monogamous, at least until one of them was dead. If it was a cruel joke, Amal didn't find the cruel part of it. He was interested in her as the day he found her wandering the streets of Al-Hiekk.

"Let us stretch our legs a bit, and if your bottom is still sore, I'll carry you." He told her. The thief was no stranger to wishing for comforts, but he could carry heavy loads like a mule, and for Emmaline, he was always ready. He hopped off and helped the horse to the stream so it could have some well earned water, stroking the beast's mane, before he helped Emmaline to the ground.

A Chartered Course: Medieval Trading League RP

Alfrik wasn't a fighter, but he wasn't a coward either. Once Inez had pushed him out of the way and proceeded to give chase to the would-be assassin, he gathered his wits and steeled himself, going over to grab his staff before bursting out into the hallway. He saw the tail end of Inez pursuing the man up the stairs, and so he followed, making it topside just in time to see the Captain shove and then pull his blade out of the man's back before kicking him into the timber. The lanterns had been lit, and there was still a bit of red from the sun in the distance across the sea.

Inez had done her job admirably. He was lucky she was assigned to him, though he could have gone without the demonstration. Alfrik had luckily not pissed himself, so he supposed he was braver than he had initially thought. Approaching, the Captain gave him a nod, now sliding his clean blade into his scabbard. Alkrik knelt down and helped his bodyguard to her feet, though the stench of the corpse was overwhelming, and the bloodied body was a bit much for him. The man had also likely shat himself at the end, which just caused his wave of nasea to hit harder.

"Excuse me," he said, hurrying to the side of the ship and throwing his head over, losing his lunch and much of the brandy he had supped over the side, tears in his eyes as his body pushed out whatever contents had made him feel sick, not knowing it was the sheer psychological shock of the violence. He had seen public hangings before, but suffocation and neck breaking was a bit more tame than a messy death from the bellyful of blood pooling onto the deck.

"You alright, sir?" One of the crewmen asked. A scruffy, weasely fellow with a kind voice. He approached and patted Alfrik's back as he finished his unceremonious vomiting. Despite the lack of dignity in it, he regained his composure quickly, to his credit. The trasefarer brushed his hair out of his eyes and cleared his throat, blinking away the tears from his red eyes. The entire crew watched him like dogs watching their master walk by. That was better than being judgemental, at least.

"I am, thank you." He said, pulling at his coat to straighten it as he approached the captain. Alfrik looked at the corpse again, feeling a bit less disgusted now. He hoped this mission didn't make him too comfortable with bodies, but something told him this wouldn't be the last corpse he would be near on this venture. "Captain, do you know this man? I recognize him."

"Aye, he was one of my new crewmen." The fellow admitted, his voice like grating stone. Alfrik could imagine he would be frightening when angered. "Aulden, if memory serves. He joined a fortnight ago at Argethafen."

"Did anyone else join with him?" Alfrik inquired, glancing at the other crew.

"Aye, he and two other lads by the name of Jahn and Horden joined around the same time. They're over there," Ingvar said, motioning to his right with his bearded head. Alfrik did not have to guess who the men were, because he could see their faces going white when both men gazed at them. The two deckhands hands went up, one dropping the broom he had. They seemed good sized men with workman's calluses, one had a straw colored beard and the other had a lazy eye.

"We didn't know him," one of the men said. "We just joined the same time, is all! Honest, sir."

The captain called for the body to be taken away as Alfrik looked at the two men, watching them with a heavy glare as he considered what to do. The merchant stroked his fine chin. "I won't punish men who have done nothing amiss," Alfrik said at last, causing them to breathe a bit easier. "But if you would, captain, keep these men under watch for the current voyage, if that's at all possible." He spoke up next to speak to the two men. "If you're innocent, you'll have nothing to worry about."

"I can't spare many men, particularly because I just killed one." The captain declared. "But the crew will be a bit more wary now. After all, if you're dead, we lose our contract."

Alfrik looked at the captain with a comically raised brow, but the man didn't seem to notice as he barked for his men to get back to work.

Maverick Malediction

"Wait! How do I..." He yelled, before his eyes going wide, realizing he was still in someone else house, expansive though it was. His next words were quieter but no less incredulous. "...pick a place...without you...around to be told..."

Does that mean she was watching him twenty four, seven? Would she see when he changed himself? What if he was cold? No, she probably just divined where he was at a certain time and found him, so she would probably do the same later. Though they hadn't set a time, either. Obviously it would be tomorrow night, but she didn't seem like the kind of woman to be kept waiting, so he should probably make it an early dinner. Well, if he was going to convince her to not kill him (and maybe get lucky) he was going to need to look really good. But where was he going to get a suit?

Neil turned his head slowly to the closet, recalling he was in an extravagant manor likely with at least a dozen closets full of brilliantly tailored suits to wear for just such an occasion. "Oh yeah, that works out." He said to himself, moving over to open it up. He yawned, realizing just how tired he still was. Well, she did just rip you out of bed in the middle of the night he thought. Neil decided to head back to sleep and get to things first thing in the morning.

---

18 hours later...

Kalx'molaris was a large city, with stone walls surrounding every corner except the river docks and walls of the Moribund Mountains. The city was a marvel of masonry. Every stone was tiled or set purposefully, every work of art a true work of art, and some of the greatest alchemical and mechanical guilds were located in the vast bosom of the city. The nobles were some of the richest people in the land, which helped them fund their vendettas and syndicates. Such expensive building programs and expansive structures made it hard to find something that would stand out or impress, so Neil chose a nice bistro he had found last winter; a great quality establishment with a penchant for appetizers, blood pudding, venison, and steak, and their cocktails were very good. Though Neil enjoyed the plain Dwarven rum unless he was feeling festive.

The sun hadn't fully lowered, but he stood in the shadow of one of the Cathedrals, just a few meters away from the Grim & Gallant, a warm, open door restaurant, with patio seating he thought she might enjoy as it overlooked the river. G&G wasn't very well known by the city's elite, but it was a favorite for well-to-do tourists and middle class merchants wanting to splurge their successful transactions with a stylish dinner.

Neil, surprisingly, had only taken a few items from the manor's closet. The polished shoes, the leather belt, and the trousers. He had paid for the short sleeved jerkin, and he had stolen the frock he wore over it. He called it 'fancy casual.' Just extravagant enough to accentuate his manliness, yet casual enough to highlight his devil-may-care charm. At least, he hoped that was the reaction. Either way, she was going to get a paid meal from the continent's most eligible bachelor, and after (or before) she was going to kill him. Least he could do was make her regret it, if she carried it out.

Dogs of War: Old World Mercenaries

She could feel Amal's sizeable 'dagger' stirring beneath her, and the thief briefly considered kicking the fire out so they could keep one another warm in the blackening night of Blackfire Pass. He reached to grab her head, strong fingers curled around her golden tresses, so much akin to spun gold. "I'll follow your lead, little troublemaker," He told her, and then kissed her. Lips brushed and opened, tongues rolling out to enjoy one another. Their bodies pressed and the fire felt very nice as they effectively made out with gusto, perhaps fit to take it further...

There was a gunshot.

It was loud, and close enough for the smell of the powder to flow over upon the them not seconds later. Reluctantly they pulled back from one another, Emmaline wide eyed and Amal blandly annoyed as they both turned to look northwest of their position. In the firelight, one of the merchant stumbled amongst dark figures and wagons, and fell to the ground heavily, dead. The other merchants looked up from their conversation and meals, and a cry was heard from at least two dozen men; the newcomers from the arriving caravan. Steel rang as they drew blades and more gunshots were heard over the din of shouting. Amal's eyes widened like Emmaline's. Not out of fear, but rather at how impressed he was at the foolhardiness of the bandits! They must have been disenfranchised mercenaries. Amal had only known four men in his life, himself included, who might have a go at such dangerous targets.

Sure, half the wayfront's inhabitants were tradesmen, but they had bodyguards, and the Dwarfs and Ogres and what human mercenaries there were rose up in force. The Dwarfs laughed madly and one gave a warcry to his fatalistic mohawk god, waving two large axes about and running straight at the foes. A bullet hit him in the stomach, but that didn't even slow the crazed dwarf down, hacking at the gunman and splitting him down the middle with a mighty stroke of his axe, Amal losing sight of him behind the men and gunsmoke. Meanwhile, the Ogres were overjoyed at this newfound excuse to eat, and they laughed a bit more heartily as they ran into the fray, along with the hardened mercs that had traveled with Amal and Emmaline, running with stern eyes and wielding swords and pistols.

Whatever the outcome, this was going to be bloody. It was also a good time to steal and take advantage of some goods, but Emmaline's soft form atop him made him think twice. If he was alone, yes. But he was not going to risk his love getting hit by a stray bullet for some chump change. Instead, they had another opportunity to get away as he heard some horses whinny, bandit cavalry ridding in from behind the throng to aid their fellows. Amal untangled himself from Emmaline, doing his best to calm his 'lower self' down as he stood to his full height.

"Stay behind the ruins," he told her.

"What? What are you doing?" She asked, gathering the blanket up protectively.

"Just trust me, Em." He said with a wink, gathering up some rope he had procured the week previously for just such an occasion.

Well, it was supposed to be used for the bedroom, but this worked too. He unrolled it with small movements of his arm, the roiling muscle visible in the firelight. With a subtle twist, he had it tied in a noose, and the deft theif began to spin the cord around, preparing himself for some maneuver with it. 'Taal's Blood!' someone screamed in the fray, and one of the horsemen had whipped about and ran around the furious melee, pistol in hand now that he had lost his spear. The look on his face brought a smile to Amal's when a circle of rope fell around his midsection, squeezing his arm and causing his gun to discharge in a wild direction. Violently, he was ripped from his now very confused mount, the beast kicking the ground and unsure of where to go during the brawl now that his master was gone.

Amal mounted it with an impressive spring, landing on the saddle and doing his best to calm it down. Amal was vaguely aware one the ogres swung an arm, but he didn't think on the consequences until the body of a broken man flew straight at him like a sailing rock thrown from a mangonel!

"Hya!" He cried, sending the horse forward, narrowing dodging the missile. Amal laughed, kicking his mount over to where Emmaline hid, extending his hand for her to grab. "Let us find some nice beds instead of the ground, yes?"

Maverick Malediction

Neil likely should have taken spellcasters into account, but this had been his one chance to rest in a bed before he had fled the city, though truth be told, he actually hadn't planned on leaving the city for a good week or two. He was carefree to a fault, sometimes. Now he felt like it was going to get him killed. However, despite the rude awakening and the manhandling by an animated gargoyle, the assassin that was going to finish the job was easy on the eyes, to say the least. He certainly could have been killed by someone far less pleasant, even if there was nothing truly pleasant about her now that he looked at her plainly. She was classically, hauntingly beautiful, but there was a viciousness and a maddening lust for what he could only guess was power in her eyes. Somehow, he felt if she laughed, her face would have grown contorted and have shadows cast along her cheekbones to look positively evil. Oddly enough, that just made him more interested. The corset helped marvelously as well.

"What a fucking pair..." He whispered, more to himself than the woman in question. Luckily he said it so quietly during his struggle, it sounded like something nonsensical. He swallowed and cleared his throat, blinking. Her question caught him off guard, and he felt it was because she was entirely confident he couldn't escape. Maybe he couldn't, but he hadn't exactly tried everything. He always got out of situations like this. However, he began to follow the line of thinking her question brought. If he was about to die, what did he want? His belly was full, he had pissed off a lot of people, and now he was looking at what had to be a dark sorceress...

"Yeah, uh, can I take you out to dinner?" He asked her nonchalantly, as if the whole situation except her was blasé. His hair was disheveled from his rest and the following scuffle, but he fixed it in the most awkward way imaginable, one arm going over the arm of the gargoyle around his neck, whilst his other hand had to snake around its entire midsection.

Of course, he would pay for dinner. It was only fair considering she halted her job for his sake, but goddamn he wanted to go out with someone as interesting as her, even if magic sort of freaked him out. He was willing to try anything once, after all.

Dogs of War: Old World Mercenaries

As Heisenbach left, Amal took another sip of the waterskin. He could tell the fellow liked Emmaline, as many men did. But he never did get jealous, even if he portrayed himself as territorial at times. He wiped the last bit of red juice from his mouth, a small droplet sliding down his neck into his colorful vest and top. The fellow was right, it would likely be cold that night, and so Amal pulled at a thick blanket he had procured on the road, letting his strong back rest against his pack.

"Let's warm up, yes?" He asked, pulling Emmaline towards him to sit on his lap, the two now getting comfortable and snuggling close together, her backside on his pelvis and legs lovingly entwined, their faces just beside one another. Emmaline felt his strong arms slither around her, the sounds of the camp a low murmur in the background as the sun's light began to fade and grow as black as a necromancer's heart.

"We will be in the Border Kingdoms tomorrow, if we make good time." He told her, watching her with a smile to see if she had a plan in mind or anything to say.

Amal had grown up in a country full of sin and debauchery, not the least of which was an unhealthy dose of misogyny. Had he been raised 'properly' or had been a man of means, he might have been lured into that line of thinking. Allah knows even men as poor as he treated women like prized objects at best and exposable commodities per the norm. But he did not think so, having a strange sense of chivalry in his own, bizarre way. Plus, Emmaline and he seemed kindred spirits. They both lied and cheated, just in different ways, and never did they cheat one another. He respected her as much as he respected any man, even if they did treat one another like objects at the proper times.

"I hear it a land full of opportunity, where one can carve out their own homes and even kingdoms. I do not think that is entirely true, but if it lives up to even a bit of its reputation, it sounds..." He tried to think of the next word, still trying to master riekspiel's more complicated words. "Loo-...?"

"Lucrative?" Emmaline asked.

"Yes," he said with a pleased expression, before switching to Arabyan, leaning in as his smile grew more sly. "I'm getting pretty good, right?" He slowly, gently bit under her chin, and then kissed her neck, adding the barest hint of tongue. "Maybe not as good as I am in other areas, but..."

Dogs of War: Old World Mercenaries

"We should probably pay for it this time..." Emmaline reluctantly suggested, rubbing her bottom.

Amal would have rather been on a waterfront, with a plethora of business men to steal from and imported meats and fruits to take and the cool breeze of the ocean to meet the hot arabyan sun. Somehow, with no sea or river in sight, the heat here was humid. Not entirely unwelcome either, but it boggled his mind how there was so much green with the only flowing water source miles away. His dark eyes swept over the hillfort and he did spy a well, which would do for water. But as for food, he desperately wanted to steal, and Emmaline could see it in his eyes. But there was barely three dozen inhabitants at the trading station, including the mercenaries that had come with the caravan. Call it prejudice, but even if Amal pulled off a theft like the master thief he was, the scrutiny would still likely fall on him. The northern merchants and mercenaries were a group apart, the ogres were too clumsy for it, and the Dwarfs were too bound by honor.

So Amal gritted his teeth and took her look to heart, deciding they would pay for food, as much as he loathed it. So Amal decided to add a bit of fun to the whole scenario. He gave her a bow fit for an Emir, almost abasing himself. "Your wish is my command, high priestess. I live only to serve Asaph's Chosen."

"Thank you," she mouthed to him, but her eyes and mouth went wide when he bent down, placed his shoulder under her belly and grabbed her legs, lifting her up to where her sore rump was sticking up, her hip pressed to his cheek and her top half gazing behind him as he trudged up the hill to the small settlement. "Think nothing of it, as I live to serve."

She playfully pummeled his back with her fists, but there was no vitriol in it. Amal knew it was far better for her than walking up hill, she could stretch her legs once they reached the crest of the incline. What took some of the fun out of Amal's little stunt were the two ogres just behind them, with iron gutplates and scimitars the size of the greastsword. The leftmost one, a tanned beast with an eyepatch on his right eye, bore his remaining eye into Emmaline's face when he said "We should find some food too."

"Sounds good to me," the other agreed, smiling his too-wide mouth her way. Amal heard the exchange and turned, swinging Emmaline around and squaring up with the large brutes, raising an eyebrow.

"This one is mine," Amal said challengingly, patting Emmaline's expansive behind for good effect. "Go find your own blonde woman!"

"But she's got some good meat on her." One of the ogres said, indicating her with a shrug of his shoulder and a lazy heft of its heavy weapon. "What if we were to pay?"

"Not for all the gold in the world." The Arabyan declared, which was surprisingly sweet considering how high his gold lust was. It nearly matched Emmaline's own.

"Don't listen to these cows." One of the Dwarf slayers said, the first of the small troupe to reach them as the rest trekked up the hill behind them. Their bodies were squat and powerful, but their legs made them end up perpetually at the back of the line. He glanced at the ogres. "Plenty of livestock up top to eat."

"Bandits in the hills too!" The next slayer said, his eyes gleaming with a vicious light at the merest hint of the promise of violence. At that, the Ogres grinned like dogs. Amal had dealt with ogres once or twice before, and they liked nothing more than finding loopholes in the laws of men where some men were less frowned upon to eat, like criminals. Satisfied they weren't going to try anything, Amal swung Emmaline back around and marched up the hill and past the plain, short wall. The dwarfs had likely smelled the livestock, before they weren't wrong. Goats and cows chewed on bales of straw as the merchants did their business inside their shantytown lean-tos and some stone ruins with makeshift repairs on them.

Amal set Emmaline down gently, spotting a black-bearded man placing some watermelons into a carriage. They looked good to him, and within two minutes they had found a nice place to sit while Amal carved the watermelon open so they could dig in.

A Chartered Course: Medieval Trading League RP

Now that the little scare was over with, Alrik took that drink. He tried not to show it, but he smiled. At least she had a sense of humor, he had been afraid his bodyguard would be a walking brick. Then again, he hadn't imagined it would have been a woman, either. He raised the glass to his lips, and spoke before he took his sip. "That would be counter productive to my mission." He glibbed. The whiskey burned on the way down. That was how he could tell it was good, he had been told when he was younger.

"On a darker note, poison will be a problem, likely. But in the courts of Yhesra, and you needn't worry about that, you're just here for physical guarding. Though now that I think of it, I should have a taste tester..."

The conclusion reached him very visually, his face transitioning from self assured to what could only be described as 'uh oh.' He noticed she was looking at him, and he gave a shrug, brushing it off. He was smart, capable, and handsome, but he was still a somewhat sheltered young man. This woman might not have his education, or even his status as a merchant of the league, but he had no doubt she had seen more of the world than he had. He had only been on the sea once, when he had been shipped from his childhood home to begin his apprenticeship. "How many times have you been at sea?" He was about to ask, and he got most of it out of his mouth when the door, half closed by Inez's half-hearted push was kicked open.

It took only a moment for the two of them to spin and see the figure before they struck. It was one of the crew, the one with the snaggletooth and rat-like eyes. In his hands was a crossbow, one made for scouting and reconnaissance instead of warfare, but it could still cut through the hide of a bull elk. At his hip was a heavy-bladed falchion, and in his eyes were murder. But not hatred. Alfrik could tell immediately it was out of self interest, but he hadn't the time or inclination to voice that thought when he lowered his crossbow and fired right at Alfrik's midsection.

Corsairs of Fortune: A Sword & Sorcery RP

Rayth Garek

---

What to do for fun? He was a bit taken aback at the question. Rayth had been fully prepared to be her host of the city, take her anywhere she wanted just to see her smile. It was...strange. He was very good at flirting, but he had never been so readily accommodating. And now that she turned the question on him, he didn't exactly know what to do, and it showed. If he was going to have fun, he would go thieving or drinking, maybe bet on some knife throwing or a game of cards. But...there was a lady present. And then he got that look in his eye. The promise of something fun.

"Are you hungry?" He asked.

He was reluctant to have her get up again as soon as they had sat down, but she had asked...

Half an hour later, Rayth took her by the hand as they stepped up the steep stairway, crowds of people flowing around them like water passing rock. The concert was about to start, a group of the city's best musicians gathered and played a concert every fortnight as a public service. The best way to woo a woman, he decided. Murmurs and chatter rose and fell as waiters called for food available, waving drinks and sausages in soft buns of bread. Rayth and Akilah made it to the 3rd row from the top, finding their seats. Unfortunately, a portly merchant had decided to take residence there with his three children. When Rayth told him to move, the man scoffed and did not. Rayth raised an eyebrow, looked at Akilah, and then back at the heavy set fellow.

Rayth took the sausage he had procured from one of the waiting staff, turned to the merchant who had jowels like a whale, and he slapped the man straight in the face with it, sauce and all. As the man was staggered and dazed from the blow, he struck him again. And again. And again until the man and his children fled their seats.

"I will get you for this!" the merchant cried, gathering his food and drinks and fleeing with his family.

"I doubt it, I'll be gone tomorrow." Rayth whispered, waving goodbye with a faux smile. He sighed, and looked at his date with what looked to be reluctance. Stepping back, he motioned for her to take her seat, as if she were his princess and he her escort. "I'm sorry you had to see that side of me."

Maverick Malediction

Neil felt like he was in trouble.

Generally when he broke out of jail, it didn't involve someone from one of the Syndicates, and even past that, he usually had a better success rate. The charming ne'er-do-well was nestled in an alcove just beside a stone gargoyle, three stories off the ground. His teeth were clamped on a steel thread he'd procured, tying it at the base of one of the nails he had peeled off the boards from the one of the outerlying buildings by the prison. He breathed through his nose while he kept the thread steady, trying to pick the lock of the manacles on his wrists. These were harder to pick than the last locks he had to slip out of.

His thoughts drifted back to what led to this predicament...

Neil had spent his time as a courier, ever since his engineering degree was taken from him for 'endangering the populace.' The job sort of fell in his lap. He had boundless energy, great stamina, could slip through crowds and make it across urban centers quicker than anyone, and as long as he was paid well he could mostly keep his curiosity in check. Unfortunately, he got so good at it that one of the syndicates had hired him as a mule, which meant he was paid an above-average salary to deliver goods and letters to high valued customers and criminal partners, and at the end of his contract, he would be assassinated in order to keep his dealings quiet. The syndicate had figured he was too stupid to know that bit at the end, but Neil had been around the block. He had made sure not to complete his fifth and final delivery, and instead look at the contents of what happened to be a letter for one of the syndicate lieutenants, containing information on a new shipment of artifacts to be brought to the residence of the local magister to be studied or placed on display, or even to be used for state interests. Neil burned the letter after memorizing the contents and fled, though the syndicate did the smartest thing they could do, something Neil hadn't expected:

They called the city watch on him and locked him up for a 'destruction of property' charge, where the criminals could pick him off at their leisure with one of their prison contacts. Unfortunately for both Neil and the syndicate, neither knew Neil knew the whereabouts of the shipment and no one else in a hundred miles did, which meant not only was it lost to the syndicate, but Neil couldn't use that as leverage to keep himself alive. So, he waited to be attacked by one of the prisoners in the cells, and subsequently did the other 'law abiding' decision and tipped the guards off with a lie, that he and whomever was set to attack him would use it as a distraction to flee, citing himself as an unwilling participant. It worked, and as soon as the attack happened by a oft-broken nosed man with a hidden blade, Neil was watched closely enough for it to be broken up in no time. As they hauled away the would-be killer, Neil had used the opportunity to check the guard shifts and the cell mechanism on the lock, and the next night he broke out and shimmied up one of the manors in the city.

He laughed when he got the lock to unclasp his manacle, rubbing his wrists and grinning. The upside to the situation was no one knew where he was, it would take the syndicate another day to figure out he was even gone, unless there were others watching him in prison. And even if that were true, no one knew where he was now. They would need a wizard of some skill to divine his location, and he didn't think they thought him worth that.

Well, Neil wasn't a bad planner when he wanted to be, but he generally winged it regardless, so he decided he was going to spend the night in as comfortable as a place as he could...

In the abandoned wing of the manor he sat atop, so he got to his feet and found his way over to one of the balconies. It almost looked romantic were it not for the gothic horrors etched into the stone and the obsidian colored door he broke into. Opening it up, it wasn't so stuffy, but it was as empty as he had expected. But that didn't exactly satisfy him, even for one so carefree. He stepped into the large bedroom, letting his eyes get accustomed to the darkness. A queen sized bed and a foyer-like desk covered in finery, an a cupboard filled with what looked to be books and old relics were before his eyes, and a few curvaceous oil lamps placed in a set on a porcelain desk.

"Nice room..." he mused, continuing past into the corridor bedecked with paintings the contents of which he couldn't make out in the dark. Perhaps it wasn't just the wing that was no longer in use, but he wasn't going to take chances and passed by some expensive but rundown furniture, opening every door. He found long galleries, more bedrooms, drawing rooms, and even a library. It was large too. He wasn't exactly a scholar, but he read from time to time.

To cover his bases, he found the door leading into the greater estate and closed it, and then stacked as many chairs against it as possible, placing a candelabra on the hinges for good measure. He clapped his hands as if they were dusty, and went back to the original room to set down his things and eat some stolen bread.