Embers in the Wind

[Crispy]

((This is part of a series. Click here for a prologue.))

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The day was coming to a close in Cear's busy north end. A charge was in the air with the slightest hint of rain touching the lips of those who hurried back and forth on their errands, the greying skies coalescing overhead and conspiring to release a relentless downpour.

Zahur had just come back into the city from a brief journey to Aucklorn Mill, an arduous trip made necessary due to the remote outpost being the region's sole supplier of several rare spell components. Quite unlike the boy who knew nothing more than planting seeds, drawing milk for the morning's sup and tugging at his mother's sleeves, he thought. Now he was off chasing down highly prized ingredients in dangerous territories, pretending to be some important wizard.

As he made his way through the city gates' typical crowds, his thoughts wandered back toward his goal at hand of checking in with the Guild to report on activities within the Maw and along the roads through the bandit-infested hills. He was eager to relay his findings, for he had thought it odd the way was so clear this time. He could not imagine the meaning behind the eerie stillness that was encountered nearly all the way along his route; normally it was impossible to gain even several hundred yards without some enemy coming into sight in those areas. Sirius would certainly be interested.

Zahur spotted his friend and confidante, Allarick, over near Ealden's forge, obviously bartering with the smith over some new instrument of war or other. He decided to make a quick detour to speak with him.

"Allarick, you look well. Have you been been bothering Ealden here all day?"

Ealden grimaced and rolled his eyes, never relinquishing his grip on a fine blade that Allarick apparently had only a passing interest in.

Allarick didn't appear as if he'd heard. A look of frustration flashed across his face as if he'd become dissatisfied with the smith's work. He kicked the smocked man in the shins and exclaimed, "Ealden, you old goat. You never have anything good in stock." Ealden just gave him a worn look of apology and turned back to his fires, continuing to work the steel with his hammer as if he could transform it into anything he wanted.

Allarick turned and faced Zahur, unaware of the constable's presence behind him. A stern look was etched on the Fleetman's features as he locked his gaze on the smiling Allarick and began to approach him with purpose. All thoughts of pleasant conversation between the two friends now disappeared like the sun behind the roiling clouds. "Something is wrong. I believe you have attracted the Fleet's attention," Zahur said. Allarick stopped and turned to face the oncoming figure.

"Sir Allarick, apologize to Ealden immediately for your actions. Your assault on him was not unnoticed."

In return, a mixture of mild surprise and easy calmness on Allarick's part did little to please the armored constable. Whatever the perceived threat, it was clear that the constable's idea of an assault differed more than a little from that of the others involved. Zahur noticed Ealden nervously looking over his shoulder, the kind of man who would rather not get involved in any messy business with the newly-formed Imperial Fleet. He had a business to run, after all.

"Just a moment. My friend did not 'assault' anyone. He was merely giving a playful kick to a long-known fellow citizen and good friend. Ealden knows him quite well indeed, don't you Ealden?"

The sooted man just turned back to his forge.

By now, two more members of the Fleet had sauntered up, idly fingering the pommels of their prominently-worn weapons. Allarick and Zahur both eyed them curiously, somewhat taken aback by this undue show of force.

The two newcomers gestured to their fellow Fleetman. "Is there a problem here?"

A light rain began to fall and the wind picked up a little, sending a chill down Zahur's back. On the inside, however, he felt a familiar sensation, slowly stirring like an ember being coaxed aglow.

Zahur looked to his friend and waited to see what would happen next.

[Adam Kenholme]

The Constable drew himself to his full height, folding both hands behind him in a standard military posture, albeit a casual one. His bright blues eyes took in Zahur, taking note of the man's clothing, and recognizing his appearance from a communication he read between the Commodore and the First Captain. He returned his attention to Allarick, his countenance as placid and stony as ever—a mask of professionalism, offset by the serious intent of seeing one's duty to completion.

Kenholme had seen Allarick kick Ealden in the shins, albeit not in a seriously manner indicating any lethal grievance—but such an act was a disturbance of the peace, and it encouraged further such behaviour; it had to be addressed, and carefully. He had been seeing similar actions, and it was time to step-up enforcement of such infringements.

He turned to the newly arrived Fleet-men, Constable Argo and Sub-Constable Fist. He served with one on the E.M.S. Ardent, and the other served under Commodore Lamond on the E.M.S. Resolute.

He nodded to both men, and spoke, "Sir Allarick here kicked Ealden the Smith in the shins during conversation. I have instructed him to apologize for his actions."

He arched a curious brow as he considered those words. An apology would suffice, and he'd let the gentleman go. Enough to let the populace know that the Fleet is watching.

He turned his attention to Allarick, his iron-clad blue gaze unyielding in its attention. He carefully noted Zahur in his peripheral vision, before regarding the older gentlemen more closely.

Order must be maintained.

[blackheart]

Allarick scowled, looking the constable up and down. "Ealdon and I are old friends, constable, there is no matter here."

Privately he wondered where exactly the constable was going with this. Really, it didn't seem like any of the man's business. "I do not care," retorted the Constable Kenholme, "When I see an offense take place, I demand that you make reparations. You think he needs to press charges for me to pursue them?"

A crowd instantly formed around the two men.

Allarick shot a glance over to Ealdon, perplexed and misunderstanding the Constable’s words, "Oh, is he pressing charges then?"

Ealdon looked down into the dirt, fearing to meet the constable's cold-edged gaze. Shaking his head at Ealdon's cowardice in not speaking out on his behalf, Allarick looked around the assembled crowd and spoke out, "Well, I hear no accusation from Ealdon." Challenging, "Did anyone else see anything even bordering on a violation of the law?"

The crowd shifted, subtlety dividing itself into two camps. A handful of known spies, informers, and a motley assortment of newcomers huddled around the guards. Allarick narrowed his eyes at one wormtongued toady who claimed to have witnessed some sort of dramatic assault, related in colorful hyperbole.

He shot a glance among his own acquaintances. He knew many of the gathered, hardened adventurers with whom he had stood back-to-back in truly dire situations many times past. It was a comfort to know they would come to his aid if necessary, but he did not wish harm to come to them. Take it easy friends, his glance seemed to say, there is no need for you to be drawn into this too.

An anonymous figure huddled close to the guards suddenly began to mutter and incant. Not knowing if he was about to be assaulted by some hopeful vigilante, Allarick stepped forward a looked the man in the eye, "Sir, if you continue to cast spells, there WILL be a problem here."

The man desisted.

"Is there a problem here?" asked Constable Argo, suddenly happening upon the scene.

"Aye," responded Allarick, nodding and indicating Constable Kenholme, "Johnny Law here seems to have taken a dislike to me."

Allarick folded his arms and began to tap one foot in annoyance while the two men conferred, "Look, I appreciate the job you guys do here, but you can't just go around accusing prominent citizens of random acts."

Kenholme was unsympathetic, "Mister Allarick, you are under arrest for violations under Article 1 of the Notable Laws of the Empire. You will come with me."

Allarick sized up the scene. In the lawless lands beyond the city gates he might respond to such a confrontation with swift violence; here, however, he had a reputation to protect. Moreover, it had never been his intention to cause trouble. Trouble had come to him, and in a cerulean blue uniform.

Allarick actually felt bad for Kenholme. The man seemed to be an honorable sort. Nonetheless, there was no way he could back down now without undermining the authority of the fleet, which he clearly had no intention of doing. It seemed a shame to be locked into a single course of action with no freedom to choose otherwise. The guard’s uniform is as good as a prisoner’s stripes, he thought to himself. It was a reflection that suddenly invoked the tragic spectre of his woodsister Myriah, sucked back into a situation that had seemed to make her so unhappy.

Worse, there were too many here who would lend their own blades to his cause if it came to blows. This would be unfortunate. It would be interpreted as an act of revolt and eventually lead to a confrontation with the Talon. Allarick had simply been minding his own business this day, and had no intent of bringing such harm upon himself or upon those to whom he owed allegiance. Just about the worse thing he could imagine was getting his friends killed.

At the same time he had a clear picture in his mind’s eye of the shaft of his arrow passing through the orb of the man’s eye and out the back of his skull; it was as good as done now that he had seen it so. Still he stayed his hand, knowing that consequences were too great.

"Friends, citizens," Allarick addressed the crowd, spreading his arms to demonstrate again he was unarmed and unthreatening. "Here I stand here all by my lonesome," he glared at the man who had cast the spell earlier, "with random persons threatening magicks; a Varanite citizen who has committed no crime; son of a prominent Cordanian family, respected merchants and purveyors of the finest horseflesh to the Imperial Army. I have neither brandished a weapon nor broken any other law. And while I stand confronted by Cear's finest for no crime, honest citizens are being pickpocketed and sold into slavery, while moonshiners, heretics, and abductors of young women run unchecked."

There were murmurs among the crowd. Zahur interposed himself between Allarick and the constables "I will stand by Allarick. For his reputation stands firm."

"Great guy," quipped the diminutive Prophet of Lochwar, Lotan Salamar, "Its not like it hurt him, I'll kick myself in the shin to prove it."

Allarick crossed his arms again and waited.

Constable Argo sighed and unslung his warmace, "You are changing the subject here, Allarick. This is about aggressive actions towards Ealden and nothing else."

Allarick shook his head in disbelief. He knew where this was going, but he was not about to tuck tail. That the fleet ruled the town with an iron first was well known and accepted; by Allarick and most others save the truly lawless. Still there was an expectation on the part of the citizenry that the fleet’s powers be used to enforce order, not to fuel their own self-importance.

"You may forward your complaints to First Captain Lamond, he is my direct superior," Kenholme stated firmly. "You may then direct it to Commodore Lamond."

"What semblance of order is this?" Allarick continued, not really believing his own words, nonetheless speaking with outward conviction, "The day an honest Varanite citizen can arbitrarily be found guilty of a crime, truly, we have descended into..." he paused for emphasis, "chaos."

As if in response to Allarick's comments about lawlessness elsewhere, at that moment a drunken sailor with a certain piratical look about him blundered right into the midst of the encounter. He was clearly three sheets to the wind and was brandishing some sort of foreign-looking, curved daggers. Constable Argo stopped the man and the exchanged words.

"You may as well comply, Allarick,” counseled Zahur, “Obviously this new constable is quite jubilantly displaying his newfound authority.”

Allarick nodded, patiently waiting for Constable Argo to resolve his dispute with the drunken sailor. While his attention was focused elsewhere, the pommel of a town guard’s bastard sword cracked him over the head.

Every thought fled as his vision went black.

[Adam Kenholme]

"...with random persons threatening magicks; a Varanite citizen who has committed no crime; son of a prominent Cordanian family..."

Kenholme narrowed his eyes. The man was drawing this out far more than he need to. Kenholme was irritated; Allarick could have easily resolved this issue by mumbling an apology to Ealden. Now he had adopted an arguemantative tone, was acting in a manner that mocked His Imperial Majesty's Armed Forces, and was bordering on fomenting civil unrest.

The situation had spiraled out of control, and all he had asked for was the man to come with him.

"...respected merchants and purveyors of the finest horseflesh to the Imperial Army. I have neither brandished a weapon nor broken any other law. And while..."

Adam Kenholme interrupted with a loud, stern voice, "I have asked you on three separate occassions to come with me, Mister Allarick. You are not complying. This is my last warning. You will follow me to the Goal."

Apparently the man did not hear. He continued to prattle on.

"...by Cear's finest for no crime, honest citizens are being pickpocketed and sold into slavery, while moonshiners, heretics, and abductors..."

Kenholme noted with distaste that Zahur had stepped forward, drawing a wicked looking scimitar with a foul look in his eyes. Kenholme's eyes widened, and he knew the situation had reached a boiling point where the Law must act, and forcefully.

Argo spoke up, "Zahur, put that weapon away."

The robed gentleman complied, and just as Allarick was dropping to his knees to kneel, two Guardsman approached from behind. With a loud crack the non compliant man slumped forward into the grass, unconcscious.

Kenholme strode forward, along with Argo, shackles in hand. They began work on restraining the man. Sub-Constable Fist narrowed his eyes and scanned the crowd, ensuring the two Constables would be safe in the fulfillment of their duties.

[Minuvas]

Minuvas looked on from a distance just far enough to hear the commotion between the Fleetsmen and the Citizens.

He decided not to get involved, he's been scolded too many times by Greenhorns of this Fleet-Organization about what his duty is. Minuvas didn't seek to get into another argument with a Fleetsmen, barely wet under the collar, about how the Law and Culture of Caer worked.

In fact, the Priest worried greatly with concern of the Spiritual Well-Being of the Fleetsmen, especially being run by a man who insists on separation of Faith from Law (A most notorious, and silly concept - which any Varanite knows. Then again, the Commodore is a born Dasarian). Secularity is the way of Barbarians.

Either way, he listened at the man's protest of the Blue Uniforms and was rather amused by his ability to draw such Charisma from the crowd, despite opposing a supposed hard-handed unit of the Emperor. This was a man the crowd would rally behind, and if he could do this in the middle of the City of Caer - imagine how he could put these talents to work FOR the Empire.

He began scribing a small letter, which he gave to the Neophyte at his right.

"Deliver this to Father Willis.." He said, the short note in the hands of the Neophyte.

The Note Read only faintly,

'Brother Willis,
There is a gentleman who goes by the first name of Allarick, you shall find him in the City Gaols, or in the Fleets Temporary Guard Gaols - which ever they felt more necessary to send him. I will need to speak with him, furthermore, if his sentence in the Gaol is too long - I will pull some strings, have him released in time just enough so that it gives the Fleet a satisfying fulfillment of their duties, and enough time to do our own. There is an Order of Scales Priest who still owes me a favor for me getting him appointed to his position, and I think it might be time to call that in.

Go with Faith Brother.

Father Minuvas"

[blackheart]

Allarick awoke in a crumpled ball on the hard stone floor of the gaol. His wounds had not been tended to and his hair was matted with dried blood where the guard had struck him with the blunt end of his sword.

Outside the simple cell, an argument was well under way, “He's been accused of wearing the Lochwar's garments without being a member of the order,” said one faceless guard, “Since the armor has left the hands of the church and come into his possession, it's undergone many changes such as the removal of the Church Symbols and even repairs,” countered another.

As the conversation droned on and on, Allarick’s eyesight slowly returned. Realizing where he was, he instinctively slid into the darkest corner of the cell and began to take stock of his condition and possessions. How the hells did I get in here? he thought to himself, slowly reconstructing the events of the previous night.

His possessions did not seem to have been disturbed.

The Constable Kenholme suddenly turned to his companions, “I need to let Allarick out of his cell. Allarick,” he called, “wherever you are, you are free to go.”

With a turn of a key, the heavy jail door creaked open. “You've served your time,” said the Constable, “You are dismissed.”

Allarick tended to his wounds before groggily shuffling out of the cell. He glowered at the Constable as he dragged himself past the endlessly debating guardsmen, but was far too incoherent to comment and just happy to free again. City crazies, it’s best I spend more time in the wilds anyway.

Stepping through the doorway, he squinted into the daylight like a vampire confronted by the burning sun. Iaosia, my head hurts. Why is there never a good healer around when one needs one?