Post by dominica on Apr 15, 2008 19:12:13 GMT -5
The heels of Captain Dominica Nightthorn's dress boots sank into the mud as she tromped down the road. The rain was cold, running right down her neck. Her cloak had come up missing at the inn that morning, as had most everything else. Her fortunes had not gone well since pirates had sacked The Legacy and left her stranded.
She'd gone for a walk from the house of healing, walked straight through a fog, and ended up on this long and unfamiliar road.
Something one of the women tending her had said had cut through the mire of her hallucinations. Something about the poison, something about how the poison itself was expensive...odd for a pirate just attacking a standard enforcement vessel.
She supposed she should stop thinking of herself as "Captain" anything: her boat was in shards.
There were a few candidates for who might want to see her dead, but expensive poisons truly narrowed the field. She was sure a Gohithica noble was behind it, and not pirates. Of the three names that came to her mind as suspects, one was her own father. The second was her estranged husband, who had spurned her in public for some other noblewoman in a political maneuver she had neither understood nor cared about, then had her outlawed for kidnapping her daughter, Nedley, away from him when the writing on the wall became clear.
So was it her father, Baron Von Ross et Reverie of the Noble House Reverie of Gohithica, of which she'd once been Dominica Audri Reverie?
Or was it her ex-husband, Baron De Laney d'Image of the Noble House Image of Gohithica, of which she'd once been Lady Dominica Audri Reverie?
It had been an arranged marriage to begin with, and she'd spent most of her time at sea. As long as her father left her The Legacy, she'd had all she needed. That, the Baron had given her after she took her child, and for the most part she'd been left alone.
Or was it some other, third enemy of which she had no ken?
A grim, bitter expression crossed her lips.
The smells of food drew her to an inn. She slipped inside, knocking mud off her dress boots. She scanned the crowd, hearing the accents of Eryndor. At first, she didn't see anyone she knew. A few eyes flicked her way -- clad in expensive clothes, towering over the crowd. She stood out, as she always did, just because of her typically aloof and commanding bearing, but she saw no signs of recognition.
Then again she looked different -- she'd come out of the sickness with hair that had been cut short, either because her tenders had done it for hygiene or because someone had hacked it off with their sword during the battle, she didn't recall. The lack of practice while she'd recovered in full had left her plump. It was a never ending battle. If she stayed in full shape she was fine, but childbirth and age had left her with the tendency to hold on to weight if she let her practices lapse in the slightest. That would need to be remedied.
She would have given much to know if her daughter was still well and in hiding.
She paid her coin and slipped into the food line, settling down at the hearth next to a black clad singer who was softly practicing her performance for the evening. She ate in silence, with people looking her over, and dismissing her. She was starting to get warm, and dry, and for now this was enough to soothe her mood. Problems like lost swords, cloaks, ships, and prowess could all be solved in due time. For now it was enough to no longer be shivering.
Finishing her food, she stood to go see about a room, only for the heel on her boot to snap. It had already been looking dubious when she'd put it on, but now it gave way at last. She tumbled to the floor, biting back a loud curse, only to see the flash of an assassin's knife where her body had been. The fall saved her life.
She _had_ been recognized.
The floor was hard, and now everyone was looking, but she couldn't find anyone who might have been the assassin. Then a hand was jutting toward her like a port in the storm, and a quiet, wry voice said, "Graceful as always, Dominica."
She followed the hand up to the face that owned it, frowning. At first she didn't recognize it. The last she'd seen of her brother he'd still had baby fat. Now he looked lean and dangerous. He still smirked every time he talked. Her first thought was that he was the only one who might have recognized her, differences or not. But Jarred only remained on her suspect list for a short time.
The bastard of the family had gotten fed up years ago and left for parts unknown, much to her quiet dismay. They had reunited again 5 years ago, when he had, of all things, tried to stow away on her boat. They'd gone on a series of adventures together only to part ways again within the year.
The "graceful as always," came from just before he'd run away from home. She'd been a gawky teenager with coltish limbs that took to weapons with ease but seemed to knock over everything else in vicinity when not so occupied, or over sized feet which had tripped over everything else.
She'd always simply seen her brother, not a bastard, but she'd never been the most vocal of children. He may not have realized it.
She wasn't the most vocal _now_, she realized. She hadn't said one word. She took the hand and said, "Well met, Jarred." Was there anything else to say?
His smirk grew as he pulled her to her feet. She grabbed him in an embrace and he poured her an ale.
"I'll guard your back," he said, and she began feeling more confident in her decision. "The singer's in some sort of trouble too, as," here he started laughing. "Am I. So we will watch each other this evening."
For awhile he pointed out friends of his from Eryndor. Then he asked her for her story. When he got it, he grimaced.
"I and my party shall have to return to Eryndor in the morning," he said. "But I can help you procure a steed, and a sword at least. My suggestion is you stay here, in Mittelmarch. There are good people here. They'll have you up to speed in no time and you can find a place, some coin, rebuild a little bit, and find some people to watch your back if you're going to keep have things being stabbed at it. In time more information about what has happened may come to light, but I wouldn't make but the shortest of trips back to Eryndor for now."
"As you say, brother," Dominica replied, her eyes casting about the room. He'd neglected to note the assassin who had found her right here, right now, but -- she'd worry with that if it came to it again.
She'd gone for a walk from the house of healing, walked straight through a fog, and ended up on this long and unfamiliar road.
Something one of the women tending her had said had cut through the mire of her hallucinations. Something about the poison, something about how the poison itself was expensive...odd for a pirate just attacking a standard enforcement vessel.
She supposed she should stop thinking of herself as "Captain" anything: her boat was in shards.
There were a few candidates for who might want to see her dead, but expensive poisons truly narrowed the field. She was sure a Gohithica noble was behind it, and not pirates. Of the three names that came to her mind as suspects, one was her own father. The second was her estranged husband, who had spurned her in public for some other noblewoman in a political maneuver she had neither understood nor cared about, then had her outlawed for kidnapping her daughter, Nedley, away from him when the writing on the wall became clear.
So was it her father, Baron Von Ross et Reverie of the Noble House Reverie of Gohithica, of which she'd once been Dominica Audri Reverie?
Or was it her ex-husband, Baron De Laney d'Image of the Noble House Image of Gohithica, of which she'd once been Lady Dominica Audri Reverie?
It had been an arranged marriage to begin with, and she'd spent most of her time at sea. As long as her father left her The Legacy, she'd had all she needed. That, the Baron had given her after she took her child, and for the most part she'd been left alone.
Or was it some other, third enemy of which she had no ken?
A grim, bitter expression crossed her lips.
The smells of food drew her to an inn. She slipped inside, knocking mud off her dress boots. She scanned the crowd, hearing the accents of Eryndor. At first, she didn't see anyone she knew. A few eyes flicked her way -- clad in expensive clothes, towering over the crowd. She stood out, as she always did, just because of her typically aloof and commanding bearing, but she saw no signs of recognition.
Then again she looked different -- she'd come out of the sickness with hair that had been cut short, either because her tenders had done it for hygiene or because someone had hacked it off with their sword during the battle, she didn't recall. The lack of practice while she'd recovered in full had left her plump. It was a never ending battle. If she stayed in full shape she was fine, but childbirth and age had left her with the tendency to hold on to weight if she let her practices lapse in the slightest. That would need to be remedied.
She would have given much to know if her daughter was still well and in hiding.
She paid her coin and slipped into the food line, settling down at the hearth next to a black clad singer who was softly practicing her performance for the evening. She ate in silence, with people looking her over, and dismissing her. She was starting to get warm, and dry, and for now this was enough to soothe her mood. Problems like lost swords, cloaks, ships, and prowess could all be solved in due time. For now it was enough to no longer be shivering.
Finishing her food, she stood to go see about a room, only for the heel on her boot to snap. It had already been looking dubious when she'd put it on, but now it gave way at last. She tumbled to the floor, biting back a loud curse, only to see the flash of an assassin's knife where her body had been. The fall saved her life.
She _had_ been recognized.
The floor was hard, and now everyone was looking, but she couldn't find anyone who might have been the assassin. Then a hand was jutting toward her like a port in the storm, and a quiet, wry voice said, "Graceful as always, Dominica."
She followed the hand up to the face that owned it, frowning. At first she didn't recognize it. The last she'd seen of her brother he'd still had baby fat. Now he looked lean and dangerous. He still smirked every time he talked. Her first thought was that he was the only one who might have recognized her, differences or not. But Jarred only remained on her suspect list for a short time.
The bastard of the family had gotten fed up years ago and left for parts unknown, much to her quiet dismay. They had reunited again 5 years ago, when he had, of all things, tried to stow away on her boat. They'd gone on a series of adventures together only to part ways again within the year.
The "graceful as always," came from just before he'd run away from home. She'd been a gawky teenager with coltish limbs that took to weapons with ease but seemed to knock over everything else in vicinity when not so occupied, or over sized feet which had tripped over everything else.
She'd always simply seen her brother, not a bastard, but she'd never been the most vocal of children. He may not have realized it.
She wasn't the most vocal _now_, she realized. She hadn't said one word. She took the hand and said, "Well met, Jarred." Was there anything else to say?
His smirk grew as he pulled her to her feet. She grabbed him in an embrace and he poured her an ale.
"I'll guard your back," he said, and she began feeling more confident in her decision. "The singer's in some sort of trouble too, as," here he started laughing. "Am I. So we will watch each other this evening."
For awhile he pointed out friends of his from Eryndor. Then he asked her for her story. When he got it, he grimaced.
"I and my party shall have to return to Eryndor in the morning," he said. "But I can help you procure a steed, and a sword at least. My suggestion is you stay here, in Mittelmarch. There are good people here. They'll have you up to speed in no time and you can find a place, some coin, rebuild a little bit, and find some people to watch your back if you're going to keep have things being stabbed at it. In time more information about what has happened may come to light, but I wouldn't make but the shortest of trips back to Eryndor for now."
"As you say, brother," Dominica replied, her eyes casting about the room. He'd neglected to note the assassin who had found her right here, right now, but -- she'd worry with that if it came to it again.