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Post by orby on Mar 20, 2019 6:11:04 GMT
Waterdeep was huge.
The size of it was more than he could process. Even on the approach, Caim had been nearly gaping with awe at what looked like miles and miles of wall, countless rooftops painted shades of red and orange under the setting sun. From within, it seemed to stretch out forever in every direction and he could almost forget there was anything outside it at all.
Or that might be just wishful thinking. It would be so much easier if there was nothing outside the city walls, no one to run from and nothing to feel such shame over leaving.
He kept his hood up. Out on the road, and at that isolated crossroads inn he'd managed to procure a night's stay at, it had garnered a few odd looks -- suspicious, probably, hiding under a hood like a thief when there wasn't so much as a cloud in the sky or a cool breeze to justify it--
(An unpleasant voice at the back of his mind reminded him that he was, in fact, a thief. At least technically. Intent to at some point return what he'd taken probably didn't cancel that out.)
--Here, though, it seemed possible to just disappear into the crowd. On a street bustling with busy folk all preoccupied going about their own business, a cagey stranger didn't seem to attract so much attention. It was a blessed relief to slide down off the back of the cart, stretching legs sore from hours sitting curled up as unobtrusively as possible, and find no eyes lingering on him for more than a passing glance. He doubted he'd manage to be so inconspicuous without the cover of the plain traveling cloak hiding his horns and coppery-colored skin. Silently, he spared a grateful, apologetic thought to Brother Aren for it -- grateful to have the cloak, and apologetic for having taken it without asking.
The guilt made the pouch of equally ill-gotten gold stashed in his bag feel heavy, and with a grimace Caim turned towards the front of the cart where the middle-aged couple that owned it were disembarking themselves, speaking to each other in low voices. They'd seemed wary and uncomfortable when he'd asked for a ride from the inn that morning. Not wary enough, perhaps, to turn down the offer of payment, but he was sorry to discomfort them all the same. He'd attempted a few words of conversation on the trip, but even that bit of interaction had seemed so unwelcome that he'd soon hushed up and left them alone. He was lucky enough to avoid another long day of walking, surely. His feet still hurt from the previous day.
Digging the coin pouch out, Caim took a tentative few steps towards the couple, who broke off their conversation as he approached. Perhaps they expected him to take off the moment they'd stopped. He'd paid them up front, after all. But their obvious unease weighed heavily on him, and he pulled a few extra gold coins from the purse. The husbands eyes had gleamed when he saw the handful Caim handed him that morning. Maybe a few more could make up for the inconvenience of his presence.
"Here," he blurted out, offering the coin up. The raised eyebrows and disbelieving frowns he was met with didn't ease his sense that he was still somehow screwing this up, but he powered on. "I appreciate the help, really, so--"
He was interrupted, abruptly, by the impact of a body barreling almost headlong into his from the side. Caimed yelped, stumbling, as the person pushed right on past, and it was only after they were already taking off sprinting that he registered the full purse having been snagged from his bewildered loose grip.
Oh.
"W-wait!" He glanced towards the couple just briefly, who awkwardly avoided his gaze, before turning to give chase. The gold that had been knocked from his hand was abandoned where it fell, his thoughts overwhelmed by the much greater loss. All I have, it's not even mine, so much pilfered from the temple's coffers and immediately lost...
"Stop!" Useless as it probably was, he still shouted after the pickpocket as he pushed far less gracefully into the crowd after them.
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Post by pastels on Mar 20, 2019 15:16:30 GMT
Eldath, the Mother Guardian of Groves, was an enigmatic deity. She was among the quietest of the numerous deities, and so many of them paid her no heed. Her influence was not only restricted to groves, watersheds, and glades, although all of which were sacred sites to her clergy; She expressed Her favor by providing healing to the sick and comfort to the dying. Her presence, too, was felt wherever there was calm. Granted, calm was not quite the word to describe Faerun these days. That was part of the reason why Rosemary Fairloom left her quaint hamlet of Eldhearth to step onto the “bigger” world.
Waterdeep, in particular, was not calm.
That much was startlingly clear to poor Rosemary as her caravan descended from the approach. Her eyes widened in barely concealed horror at the sheer size of it. How could there be so many buildings in one city!? … Would she ever find Adair in such a labyrinth? Beside her, Arran and Beth stirred in excitement, hands wresting the thick canvas from its ties so that they could better appreciate the view. The girl immediately locked on the majestic castles bracing the Sea Ward, but the boy? He shielded his eyes from the sun and then, suddenly, yelled and pointed at the skies, “Take a look at that! Wow! Look, Rosie! Griffiths!”
“They’re griffons.” Beth huffed when she tore her eyes off the sights and followed her brother’s finger. Three silhouettes darted across the rippling lilac-orange clouds. After a graceful loop—which gained enthusiastic “oohs” and “aahs” from the children—the avian figures headed for the castle, fading into specks in the distance. With their distraction gone, the two settled on bickering once more.
“It’s just the same!”
“No, they’re not! Ma told me!”
Rosemary let the canvas fall back in place, shutting out the sunlit chaos that was about to come. The growing pandemonium from every side began to replace the serenity of her Goddess. What an odd, unpleasant situation. She extended her hands out, placating, and glanced at the siblings with wan eyes. The cleric’s voice was low and gentle when she said, “Hush… Your mother is sleeping. Do you want to wake her up…?”
Elroy, the children’s father, gave her a grateful, if not bleary-eyed look from the opposite end of the cart when the young ones dutifully shook their head. His wife continued resting against his broad shoulder—her complexion was still pale, but it was a welcome improvement. Good. She had been caught in a bear trap while searching for Arran in a forest they passed half a week ago. She had lost so much blood, nearly everyone in their caravan thought she would die come the night, which did nothing to stop the children from bawling… Rosemary was so grateful Eldath lent Her power to bring the woman back from the brink of death.
Eventually, though, the dwindling peace afforded by the crowded approach was whittled to nothingness. When the caravan finally stopped at the entry streets of the city, Rosemary was the last of her cart to descend, even after helping Elroy and his wounded missus get down. She winced at the barrage of sound which greeted her—it came from everywhere, all at once! Who could survive this? She couldn’t even hear the wind anymore!
The cleric turned towards the family, feeling overwhelmed at… everything, when a cloaked figure rammed into her side. Usually she was sturdy enough to hold fast against such a sudden hit, but the fatigue of the past few days… It sank its talons deep into her bones. Rosemary spun on one heel and steadied herself, holding her head still.
“Thief!” Someone called out ahead.
Oh?
Suddenly struck by paranoia, Rosemary began to pat down her belongings. Backpack, check. Weapons, check. Rations, check. Her hand flew to her chest, where her most important possession by far was displayed—it was gone. Her holy pendant. The symbol of The Green One, of waterfalls falling onto a gathering of ferns. A realization hit her. Oh, no! “Is this what they call a scam!?” She gasped and covered her mouth.
(Not quite, Rosie. Not quite.)
“Come… Come back here!” Rosemary yelled and tore after Caim. Despite her sincere attempt and the shift in her behavior, the cleric’s voice really, truly just sounded like a teacher gently chastising a student. None of the passersby in front of her so much as tried to step out of her way. It had the effect one would get from batting a wall with a flower, or a wet mound of paper. She tried again. “Hooded person! Give it back!”
She briefly expressed her frustration by slapping both hands on her knees. “Oh, goodness… I can’t believe I’m going to run in my armor…!” The negativity was short-lived, however; the girl bolted after her quarry once she got her bearings, deaf to the familiar calls from behind.
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Post by orby on Mar 20, 2019 15:58:57 GMT
In the busy street, Caim bumped shoulders with more than one person as he desperately tried to keep eyes on the fleeing figure. It was only a deeply embedded sense of politeness that had him automatically stammering apologies as he ran, too focused on the immediate issue to even spare a glance towards the unfortunate bystanders he ran into.
And more than one of said bystanders shouted something after him. Most of it was likely unpleasant, but he was distracted enough at least to pay them no mind -- small mercies. So he didn't stop as he clipped an armored figure. He barely registered the brief pain of the impact against solid metal, let alone the specifics of what the person yelled after him. Even his own hasty apology, just a quick mumbled sorry, was thoughtlessly tossed out without concern over whether he was clear enough or if he'd been heard at all. All thought had narrowed to the figure of the pickpocket pulling farther and farther away, so much quicker than him and far more accustomed to navigating such a crowd. It was all he could do to just keep track of them between the mess of bodies, focusing more on that darting movement between the more sedate passerby than any recognizable features.
The pickpocket swerved from the bulk of the chaos towards the edge of the street where the crowd thinned, picking up speed in that empty space along the line of building faces. Failing to notice the sound of clanking armor hurrying after him over the pounding of his own heart in his ears, Caim angled towards the side of the road and pushed through, breaking from the crowd with a stumbling step as he followed after. But the thief was so far ahead, this wasn't working--
He cast his eyes up ahead of the pickpocket, scrambling for ideas and latching onto one in a desperate rush. He flung a hand out ahead of him, murmuring a word of a simple cantrip, and all ahead of him in an unfocused wave doors and windows flung open along the crowded line of storefronts and row houses.
Including one door just a step ahead of the thief, which slammed open directly into their path. The resulting thud of a body into magically-propelled wood made Caim wince. But it'd halted the figure, who stagged backwards before falling on their ass in a daze, and Caim's hurried pace finally slowed as he approached, breath gasping and labored with the fading adrenaline.
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Post by pastels on Mar 21, 2019 16:31:30 GMT
Oh, mercies upon mercies, but was the stranger fast! She would have giggled if breathing wasn’t a top priority at the moment. It was just like watching ol’ Three-Warts Barlin running to the pond after Aifre “accidentally” got his coattails on fire! Except there was infinitely far less shouting and cursing.
Thankfully, the significant noise created by metal clanging against more metal and stone was enough alert most citizens of the armored cleric charging through their streets; those that were deaf to the warning were scared out of their breeches when she did pass them by. If Rosemary wasn’t so used to her fair share of hard work, she would have given up and trudged back to the caravan—but no! Whoever this was nicked her holy pendant, the symbol of her sacred connection to Eldath… and that transgression could not be left unanswered!
How, exactly, it was to be answered should she catch the thief remained a mystery. Rosemary abhorred violence; she couldn’t imagine hurting anyone over pilfering a possession of hers. She supposed she could deal with that once the situation occurred.
Soon, though, the opportunity to devise an appropriate admonishment slipped when her steady pace yielded rewards: just a couple of yards away, the figure was slowing down, limbs heaving up and down with fatigue. There. There was her chance!
Rosemary forced herself to go faster, ignoring the blunt mace beating insistently against her thigh hard enough to bruise, or the backpack hitting her back with decisive, you’ll-be-sore-tonight thuds—then half-embraced, half-tackled Caim to the side.
The full weight of her ensemble, along with the force of her momentum, threw Rosemary off-balance, and for a moment the two of them looked like the oddest pair of dance partners in Waterdeep. But Rosie kept her hold firm, the pressure constricting but not painful.
"Mmmghfprgh!" Her cry was muffled against the cloak of the much taller stranger. She turned her head away. "Please return my pendant! I'm--I'm calling the guards if you don't!"
She tried so very hard to sound stern, but how hard it was to do so with a honeyed, whisper-like voice!
(Grapple?)
Grapple Check: sGrv2Q6t1d20+21d20+2
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Post by orby on Mar 22, 2019 3:14:32 GMT
((Auto-failing!))
So fixated on the downed pickpocket, Caim squawked in surprise as he was suddenly tackled bodily to the side into a wall. The impact of armor and stone knock the wind out of him and for a moment he just groaned and tried to make sense of what had just hit him.
And there it was, a woman in armor holding onto him, the top of her head only just coming up to his chin but her grip firm as he confusedly tried to pull away. What? What?
Tuning in belatedly, he only just caught her words, but they did nothing to clear anything up for him. Again, what?
"I-I'm sorry, I don't--" Distracted and at a loss for words, he looked from the blonde head just under his face to where the thief had fallen. Gods, dammit. "I don't know what you're talking about but please, I have to..."
He could feel a few stares at the scene being made, some curious and others judgemental. But others just carried on past without more than a glance, disinterested. Was this sort of thing commonplace here? It was an odd stray thought, as accustomed as he was to the quiet peace of the temple. In that brief moment, he had a sense that maybe he'd made a mistake to leave at all. Was this really better, this casual chaos where he could lose everything and people could walk right on by?
Meanwhile the pickpocket, still clearly dazed, was waving off the attention of a concerned passerby and staggering to their feet. The panic swelled up in Caim afresh, and he struggled against the woman's grip on him with renewed desperation.
"Please, I just...I need to..." He fumbled for the words to get her to let him go, at least just for a minute or so. What could he even say to convince her he had no idea what she was talking about?
He glanced between the armored woman and the thief, throat tight with unease, but then the thief was standing and unsteadily beginning to move forward again, and Caim's jaw set as he made a decision. One problem before the other. He breathed a word of a spell, and suddenly vanished from under the woman's hands in a swirling of smoke tinged with the smell of sulfur.
The spell popped him back out with the same burst of smoke several yards closer to his target. He stumbled a little, still unfamiliar with the new magic, but fell quickly into a jog to cover the last bit of distance and lunged at them before they could get moving properly again. It was a graceless move and so abrupt, the thief still shaky on their feet, that it took them both to the ground again in a flailing mess of limbs and fabric, the thief yelping in their surprise at being dropped a second time in as many minutes.
There was a throb of pain in Caim's knee as he hit the ground, but the winded grunt from beneath him suggested the pickpocket had taken the brunt of the fall. Whoops. "Stop," Caim managed between heavy breaths, latching onto one of their arms while they were still too stunned to slip away. "I'm sorry, but you can't...you can't just take it, please..."
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Post by pastels on Mar 29, 2019 3:15:17 GMT
One moment Rosemary had the slippery thief in place, and in the next there was nothing occupying the space before her, save for a tart, taunting odor. “Whoa! Hey!” She was not well-acquainted with reagents, but it reminded her so very much of Eldhearth’s self-proclaimed alchemist—Faenya. A wild-eyed girl with a belt laden with bottles half-full with strange liquids, jiggling with every skip. That memory called forth a sense of dread, of wary tolerance at trouble afoot, and Rosemary stepped backwards, her pale eyes flashing from side to side.
When nothing spontaneously combusted, the cleric relaxed. Her heart still hammered a thousand beats against her armor, and for a moment she felt unsettled—an emotion so thick like molasses, clinging against the lining of her stomach. Unlike Adair, she didn’t have a way with words. All she knew was that it was different from the discomfort as they descended into the city, more… something. The faces here were unfamiliar as well; passersby moved on from the scene as if it was a daily occurrence, if they weren’t scoffing or looking on in disdain as they gave them a wide berth. It was so strange! She couldn’t ever imagine reacting like that to, well, anything!
Well. There was nothing for it now.
She took a deep breath to steel herself against the deafening noise coming from everywhere. Rosemary jogged after her target who, oddly enough, was squirming on the ground. Wait… She slowed down, eyes narrowed, and watched. There were two of them now? Oh, Eldath. Would that this type of chaos pass her by the next time… Thank goodness it seemed to be coming to an end. Rosie brushed her hair back and approached, her hands fidgeting over her thin overshirt. Once she was close enough, looming over the fatigued duo, the cleric said, “Stop. Both of you.” She sighed and her posture drooped—really, what was going on? She felt like she was missing so many clues! Rosemary continued, voice pleading and insistent, “What… What’s going on here? I just want my pendant back!”
Others would be quick to separate the two by force—and she would, although with great hesitation, if given reason—but Rosemary loathed putting her hands on strangers. Especially on one that absconded with her holy symbol. Plus, they could behave themselves, right? “And n-no funny business, please. I’m serious!”
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Post by orby on Mar 29, 2019 11:44:35 GMT
The sound of clanking metal was harder to miss this time. Still catching his breath, Caim looked up from the captured pickpocket to that same armored young woman and his jaw tightened uneasily, eyebrows knitting together over solid gold eyes.
(Belatedly, as he looked up at her without an edge of fabric hanging in his eyes, he realized his hood had slipped back a bit in the scuffle. He hastily tugged it lower again, and truthfully it only accentuated the vague shape of his horns under the taut fabric, but that thin bit of cover was all he had. Under his robes, his tail curled unhappily around his ankle like it'd lash at the air in agitation without something to cling to.)
There was a moment in which he just feared she would interfere again and let the pickpocket escape. But all that came was a pleading he still had no answer to and a subsequent absurd sense of shame. He wilted a little under her lecturing tone, as if she was some kind of figure of authority that he'd disappointed. Was she? He certainly wouldn't know. The feeling that he'd done something wrong persisted either way.
Beneath him, the actual thief wriggled uncomfortably, more frustration than threat in their voice as they hissed up at him, "Get off." Scolded on both fronts, Caim shuffled backwards on his knees off the pickpocket so they could prop themself up. His grip held firm on their arm, though, reluctant to let them escape yet again. They turned over to sit properly, leaning back heavily on their hands, and the revealed face was that of a scruffy young man with a nose that looked broken, blood dripping liberally from nostrils to chin.
Yeah. Whoops.
"Sorry," he said rather automatically, grimacing sympathetically at the sight of the blood, before turning his attention back up to the young woman. "I'm sorry," he began again, a bit stronger this time, "But I don't know anything about your...pendant? He stole something from me."
A glance back down to the thief in question, and Caim frowned, adding pointedly and firmly, "And I need it back."
The thief scowled. "Fuck off," he grunted, and tugged at his arm in Caim's grasp, but it was a weak attempt. Either he was still a bit dazed, or simply distracted -- the latter seemed more likely as his deep-set eyes flicked around uneasily, from the tiefling nearly in his lap to the armored woman looming over them to the street as if expecting city guards to come out of the crowd at any moment. There was a sort of uncertainty in his mild struggling, like he wasn't sure whether being pursued further by these two was better or worse a predicament than possible arrest.
Caim's eyes narrowed a little at the vulgar brush-off, but his stern expression held steady for only a few moments before softening somewhat. Perhaps it was pity for that clear distress. Or perhaps it was just guilt, eyes dropping a bit remorsefully to the blood and the rapid bruising developing in the bridge of the young man's nose.
Just a beat of a pause, and then Caim sighed a soft breath and lifted a hand to the man's face. His nails were clawlike, but his touch was delicate as he murmured a healing spell, the damaged bone and cartilage and broken blood vessels repairing themselves under a soft golden glow. It was quick work, and when he pulled his hand away the bruising was vanished. The drying blood remained, but, well...he could only do so much. Prestidigitation wasn't one of his talents.
"I'm sorry," he said yet again, gentler this time. "But please."
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Post by pastels on Apr 2, 2019 4:03:56 GMT
There were rarely any thieves in the Featherdale. Why would there be? They got everything they could ever need from the lowlands, the fields. If you were hankering for more exotic delights, you could bother one of the river men until they agreed to trade the leftovers of their last voyage. In Eldhearth, those that got caught got off with a smack upside the head and a good long talk with the elders, maybe even a walk of shame around the hamlet and a visit to Eldath’s glade if they were really bad. Oh wait! Well, there was one, once—a stocky man with great hanging jowls attempted to pilfer one of Maylen’s cheese wheels as they were loading it up the keel boats in Feather Falls. Rosemary wasn’t exactly there—she was kind of occupied keeping Adair from wooing a milkmaid who looked suspiciously similar to his last interest—but she heard a cry and saw the man lumbering away, a small crowd pelting him with curses and, well, anything they could get their hands on.
“Your momma ain’t never taught you nothin’ good, huh, you ear-blasted rascal!?” Maylen screeched from the fore of the group as she charged past, a battered slipper in hand. Ah. Fond memories. She still had to chase after them and make sure nobody got slipper-slapped to oblivion, though, but it ended well! The thief eventually tripped halfway through the village and Maylen had a lot of time to rant while Rosemary was healing his wounds.
‘Course, it was easier when you knew that they did what they did.
Rosemary’s nervous gaze flitted from the hooded figure to the young man under him, and her eyes widened in shock when she noticed Caim’s features. She took a moment to recover from the downright strange sight she saw—horns? Who had those!? She knew elves, there were a lot of them in Cormanthor and most of the Dalefolk interacted with their kind. Maylen was a halfling, so that was that. Sometimes they would meet dwarves or gnomes during the market day in Feather Falls. But yellow people with horns!?
Eldath’s crown of flowers, it’s a big world out here.
Rosemary snapped out of her reverie and stared down at the apparent (first?) thief. She reached back for her braid and began to fiddle with the end of it, fingers anxiously picking out petals and strands of wan golden hair. The odd one was apologizing. He said he didn’t know anything about her pendant, and she had a feeling he wasn’t lying. Why would he?
“Is that true?” She ventured softly, and the thief gave her what seemed to be an irritated glance. Whatever sharp reply the man was going to share was cut off when Caim, despite their past scuffle, healed him.
And despite herself, too, Rosemary brightened up and smiled at the strange fellow. “Oh, that’s nice of you!”
“Yeah, sure, real fuckin’ generous,” their third party grumbled under his breath after a pause, his voice somewhat curt and angry—it sounded like someone had their pride injured. Rosie could tell.
“Is that really how you’re going to thank someone for helping you?” Rosemary exclaimed with a sudden rush of dismay, hands falling from her braid and forming two fists on her waist. Her voice was still pleasant, but now it was loud enough to carry over the din. “And stay down, please. Nobody’s leavin’ ‘til we find out who stole what-now.” She pointed at him then slowly turned to Caim. Now, she still wasn’t sure what he was, specifically, and a part of her was kind of unnerved by that strong-fire smell from earlier… But that mattered little when she saw he was tired and (maybe) injured, too. He hit the wall pretty badly earlier, despite her attempt to shield him from the impact. She wasn’t a very good cleric of Eldath…
Rosemary flinched inwardly at the thought of asking her goddess for help when she had managed to lose her pendant within a minute in Waterdeep, but she did, and an answering warmth spread through the hand she extended towards Caim. When she glanced at her palm, it was glowing with a vibrant leaf-green energy, the color of life and the rolling fields of home. Rosie sighed in relief, and her expression mellowed to one of reassurance as she looked at the hooded one. “Here, hold my hand. Don’t worry, I won’t hurt you.”
If he took it, he would feel a rush of healing magic coursing through his veins, healing his scrapes and filling him with a soft serenity. If not, well… She offered. “Alright, let’s get to the bottom of this, then! Can someone tell me what happened first?” The cleric narrowed her eyes at the other man. “Better we solve this by ourselves than include some guards, huh.”
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Post by orby on Apr 4, 2019 23:46:28 GMT
Perhaps the wisest choice would have been caution where this lady who'd tackled him into a wall and accused him of theft was involved. But Caim could find no threat in her manner now, nothing more serious than a scolding manner that reminded him of mothers he'd seen lecturing their children for bad behavior after a service. When she offered him a hand, glowing softly in a way that was both familiar and not, he just blinked up at her for a moment before, unquestioningly, taking it.
And oh, yes, that was definitely a familiar feeling. There was something different in her magic as it neatly swept away the scrapes and soreness, a cooling freshness instead of soft heat. It was hardly a bad thing, though, and he breathed a quiet sigh of relief at the sensation as he let go again.
"...Thank you," he said, a little breathy between his surprise and the lingering windedness from all the running. He couldn't recall ever getting any kind of magic healing from anyone else before. There hadn't often been any need, of course, with him being a pretty passive, obedient child and not much danger lurking within the walls of the temple, but by the time he was old enough to remember he could take care of his own hurts. There'd never been any need from the few clerics there with a bit of magic of their own.
Warmed, perhaps by more than just the magic itself, some tension leaked out of him. His hand remained on the thief's arm, but it was likely more the armored young woman looming overhead than Caim's slackened grip.
The thief in question looked tempted to mouth off again, too. But the mention of guard involvement seemed to quench that urge, and he just scowled up at the woman before looking away, grumbling to himself -- fuckin' busybody nosy-ass something or other.
He made no attempt to clear things up himself, though, so after a few moments Caim shifted uneasily and spoke up.
"He ran into me and took my coinpurse," Going over the whole scene in his head again, he did remember colliding with at least a few people in his haste trying to catch the thief, and one impact that had been much harder than the rest. "I think...I may have bumped into you while chasing him? I'm sorry. But I promise I didn't take anything from you. I wouldn't."
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Post by pastels on Apr 7, 2019 8:10:15 GMT
“No problem at all!” Rosemary replied with a clap over her heart, as if she didn’t just, y’know, pursue him halfway across Waterdeep. She turned away and waited for the answers, a placid expression on her face even as the seconds ticked into an awkward silence. And as the quiet stretched, it really did seem that the woman was comfortable with letting it be and waiting out her two targets with the smooth, looping patience of eons, ignorant or deliberately blind to the odd scene they made in the street.
When, finally, someone cracked and shared their version of the events, Rosemary stirred in place—it was like watching the branches of a tree sway together at a strong breeze. She stared down at Caim with silver-water eyes for a moment, until she released a soft breath, sounding rather… disappointed. Well, if he didn’t have it, it was somewhere here. She would just have to retrace her steps and pray she found it on the way. “Aw, darn. I sound like a right fool, sayin’ this, but I believe you.” It was a gut feeling that grew stronger since she happened upon the two scuffling on the ground, and Rosie followed her heart. A lot. It was what led her to Waterdeep, and she refused to believe she had gone this far following the wrong directions. “Um, sorry too, for earlier,” she jerked a thumb back at a familiar wall, “I did try to absorb the impact.”
To her credit, Rosie sounded appropriately contrite as one would expect from someone who falsely accused another.
“But you!” The woman whirled on the thief, who reeled back—more out of surprise than fear, really, he was kind of in a daze—before staring up at her with a baleful, irked expression. “What d’you say for yourself, hm?”
“I didn’t take nothin’, lady,” he barked out, eyes darting from side to side—then settling on a distant point behind her form. Rosemary straightened up and followed his nervous stare, and she found herself staring at two uniformed individuals rounding the corner. The emblems matching with the banners strung across the city gates… These were members of the city watch! They were chatting with each other, and from the speed they walked it seemed that it would take some time before they reached the merry trio… But she got the hint.
“Ah! Then you don’t mind if we stay awhile and ask those lovely folk?” Rosemary blurted out, all honey and sugar, and if was possible the man would’ve popped the nerve in his forehead already. At the mention of the guards, the stranger ducked his head and tensed. She waited with her hands folded over her chest.
After but a breath, the thief grumbled out something—she had to bend down a bit to hear his words. “Aight, fine. Godsdamned, nosy bitch, I’ll get skinned alive for this later—I took the fucking purse. Now what d’ya want?”
Ignoring the jab, Rosemary straightened up and gestured at Caim. “Why,” she spoke, a pleased warmth in her features, “return it, of course! And apologize.”
“You must be joking.”
“I’m a seamstress, lad, not a jester,” the cleric waved a hand, her face still bearing a smile. “Sayin’ a bad joke will get you pelted with potatoes, where I come from!”
With a long, drawn-out sigh—and a couple more curses—the young man began to rifle through his clothes, and it became heavily apparent that Caim hadn’t been his only mark for the day.
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Post by orby on Apr 17, 2019 9:21:16 GMT
There were a number of purses and other small trinkets being drawn out as the thief dug through his pockets. It was sort of impressive, honestly. Perhaps a savvier man would have claimed an extra purse or two for his trouble, or at least selected a fuller-looking one. Caim, however, waited patiently, hands kept to himself save for the fingers still loosely gripping the thief's arm just in case. There were a few tempting-looking pouches pulled out as the man tried to remember which was which, but Caim perked up only when a familiar coinpurse was finally drawn out.
"Yes, that one!" he said, shoulders sagging with visible relief. He held out his free hand, and it became obvious after a moment that he wasn't even grabbing for it. His hand hovered open expectantly, and it was a few seconds longer for the guards to inch closer before the thief scowled with open irritation.
"Preachy fucks," the young man muttered under his breath. He practically slammed the purse into Caim's palm himself, radiating fury and humiliation. Only when the coin was safely in hand again did Caim finally release the thief, and the man immediately snatched up the rest of his loot again, stashing it all away in various pockets and bags with the deft hands of one very used to snagging such things and hiding them away before anyone sees. The tiefling wasn't even back on his feet again before the thief was up and taking a step back, eyes flicking warily between the two healers and the approaching guards. "We're done here, now leave me th'fuck alone." He didn't wait for an answer before spinning on a heel and darting back into the busy street, moving like he half expected them to give chase again. He disappeared quickly.
Caim watched the man vanish between passing bodies, idly dusting himself off, before looking back to the armored woman. Standing again and no longer distracted by the chase, it struck him finally just how small she was. Gods, she hit like a brick wall for such a tiny thing.
"Thank you," he said again, sincerity clear in his voice. Even his solid gold eyes somehow conveyed it, eyebrows knitting together just slightly. He tucked his own purse back deep in his bag, far less graceful than the pickpocket. Her plight came back to him belatedly, and he frowned and glanced back in the direction the thief had disappeared in. "I suppose he didn't have your pendant?"
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Post by pastels on Apr 23, 2019 7:23:22 GMT
With an ageless patience that was becoming more and more characteristic to see, Rosemary waited for the exchange to reach its conclusion. “Gee, someone’s been real busy today,” she said with a raised eyebrow as the umpteenth pouch landed on the street. “You ever think of just settlin’ down and farming? It’ll be a lot better than this gimmick you got goin’, you know. Tymora’s favor don’t last forever.” A tiny part of her was itching to grab the boy by the collar and march him off to the guards, but… Well, he had already made off with the items. It was a lesson learned for those unfortunate owners, wherever they may be in this beast of a city.
“Thank you! And stay out of trouble now, you hear? Think about what I said about farming! We got a lotta land back in the Dales for folks who want a fresh start!” Rosie smiled and waved when the thief darted away. As if to rub salt on the wound, she cupped her hand around her mouth and added, “and try not to trip again!”
It was kind of made worse by the fact that it wasn’t a dig of some sort; Rosemary genuinely wished him well. On his way to rob more people. Maybe.
“Grumpy sort, wasn’t he?” The cleric turned back towards the hooded figure. Unlike the other one, he didn’t have sticky fingers and kept to his own purse. A good egg, this one! She stretched her hands out, flexing her fingers and shifting her weight from one foot to another, when the stranger once again offered his thanks. Rosemary tucked a stray lock of hair behind her ear and her eyes darted from one point to another as she fanned the air, as if warding off the praise. “Oh, goodness, really, don’t mention it!”
At the mention of her pendant, though, the cleric deflated. “Well, no. I didn’t see it. But that’s fine!” The last phrase was blurted out with a forced cheer. “I’ll just pray to my goddess and tell Her I’m sorry. Then I’ll carve myself a new one! Um,” Rosemary turned aside and mumbled to herself, “I hope She’s in a good mood…” Eldath was kind and lenient about most things; she should know, she did a whole load of praying for forgiveness on her path to entering the clergy. But losing a holy pendant so soon was a brand new low, even for her.
Rosie bit into her cheek. She realized she had stayed silent for the better part of a minute. Oh, right. She thrust one hand out towards Caim. “I’ll burn that bridge when I get there! I’m Rosemary Fairloom. Never saw one of your kind before, back in Featherdale. When Ol’ Tilde back at the jetty-shop said she saw a blue-skinned lady with ram horns we all thought she was back in the drink.” The girl blinked, her mind processing for a bit, and her cheeks flushed a bright pink. She nearly mangled her tongue in rushing over the words for the next bit. “But you’re a nice one—least, that’s how I see things from my side. So it don't matter! Um. That’s… that’s nice. I don't mean anything by it. Glad I helped you. Hello!”
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Post by orby on May 6, 2019 5:59:46 GMT
The young woman could certainly talk. Caim's eyebrows arched up slightly, fidgeting absently with his bag like he wasn't sure what to do with his hands while she babbled on. It wasn't as if any of it was bad, of course -- she seemed perfectly nice now that the confusion was dealt with, really -- but her manner was bright and blunt and he seemed just a little overwhelmed, unsure of where he should jump in or with what.
(Correcting her jumbled metaphors would probably be rude, though. He at least had enough tact to know that much.)
The hand suddenly extended his way was a comforting indication of how to respond, if nothing else. A hint of a smile tugged at his lips as she carried on about his kind -- and gods, that was sure a thing to think about -- and when she finally broke off from her tangent he took the offered hand with his own firewarm one, touch careful.
"I'm Caim," he answered simply. It wasn't like he had any additional names to give. "It's... It's fine, don't worry." He certainly wasn't offended by any of it. Should he have been? The thought was easily brushed off, and his smile grew a little bit sturdier. "I'm sure your goddess won't mind. It not your fault, after all..."
Well. Not that he really knew that for sure. Perhaps she'd really lost the thing out of her own negligence. But he was inclined to be comforting, and it seemed less likely that someone would be so careless with something that was clearly so important to them.
That sparked a different thought, and his smile slipped a bit as he pressed a knuckle pensively to his lips.
"It might have fallen when I bumped into you?" he suggested, all too ready to take the blame. "Maybe it's on the ground somewhere back there..."
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Post by pastels on May 12, 2019 11:38:44 GMT
Oooh, gods, his hand was warm.
“Oh dear,” Rosemary said with a start, her voice suddenly alarmed. “You’re… hot!” The young woman paused to stare at their linked hands before letting go. “Is this—is this normal? Are you alright?” She almost placed a hand over his forehead, as she would to check for fever with patients, but realized a bit late that it too forward a thing to do during introductions. Also, she already felt his temperature with that handshake! Please, Rosie. Think!
Caim seemed friendly enough, though, if facial expressions were anything to go by. But whew! You didn’t know just how odd a face could be until you took irises out and slathered on a whole bunch of colors. Not that it was bad. Just… unfamiliar.
“It’s a real pleasure to meet you, Caim! That sure is a nice name,” Rosemary replied with a bashful smile, only now recovering from her latest blunder. At his suggestion, she blinked and turned towards the street where she came from. All at once, her face registered worry and renewed stress. “Oh—oh. That’s… that’s certainly possible. Aw, darn. Why did my thoughts fly outta my ear....”
Now that the hope in her pendant’s survival was back, she had to… she had to retrace her steps and hope nobody crushed the pendant underfoot! Oh no!
“Thanks for the idea, Caim, and no worries about it! I've bothered you enough,” The cleric seemed to be buzzing with eagerness as she turned towards the tiefling once more, apparently bolstered by the slightest news about her precious item. “I gotta go look for it now! Um… I hope we run into each other in better times!” With a quick, choppy wave, Rosemary turned and clomped off back where she came from, her long braid swaying furiously as she disappeared into the distance.
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Post by pastels on May 17, 2019 2:09:05 GMT
((Wordcount, from good ol' MS Word: Rosie - 3,829. I'll take exp please!  Caim (currently) - 3,434)) |
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