RP:A Curious Encounter

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Kelay Way

Krice ventured up into Kelay Way from the east, dressed in his typical black attire with the sleeves rolled to his elbows, collar open, and his katana sheathed against his back. Soundlessly, almost too soundlessly to be human, the silver-haired man moved off the road to Milous and came onto Kelay Way, turning west to proceed deeper into the town.

Samwell's heels pressed lightly into the well-traveled road, his gait easy and buoyant in the late afternoon air. Satchel slung over his shoulder, mandolin clutched in his hands, the Poet noticed he was not alone in his travels, and seldom was it when he denied himself the pleasure of meeting new folk in this new land. So, approach them he did. He noticed first the intimidating man, a dark presence about him, and yet Samwell was drawn to him like an insect to a light. His steps never wavering from their happy pace, he approaches the stranger. "Ho! Dark clad and traveling, a story for a lad? What adventures lies therein, within your mind that I may win?" One would notice this poet was a peculiar sight indeed, charismatic of speech, a young man of noticeable attraction with his fiery burst of hair atop his head, deep blue eyes alight with excitement, and the fashion of an ambitious young man. Most noticeable, though, was the steady flow of words that came from his mouth, "To speak plainly, sir, what takes you to travel this road? I suppose it is simple enough to travel, but come, tell a likewise wayward soul of your travels. You seem to have experienced much, correct me if I am wrong."

Krice 's eyes shifted sideways and his focus landed upon the face of Samwell, whose words and jovial nature were undoubtedly the cause of that moon-purpled stare. Krice slowed, though not to converse with Samwell. Rather, his only comment was another question, spoken coolly and without emotional inferrence one way or the other. " You're a stranger. What makes you think I'm going to tell you my business?" A shake of the head precipitated a matter-of-fact, " The people in this land, I swear."

Samwell, not easily deterred, stayed his course, more words quick to come to his "more-often-than-not" open mouth. "A stranger, indeed, and you a stranger to me. I'm not sure I care to know your business, your figure deters me from the desire to know that so incessantly tugs at my curious nature, though, no, I wish not to know your business, only a story or two, perhaps?" Azure eyes remain solid, fixated on the other, his stance assumed a more defensive position, the figure before him appearing more daunting by the second. "Travel is a wearying experience, come light a fire and tell a younger soul of some tales of a more seasoned individual. I suppose you needn't tell me a thing this day, though I'm certain it does you know harm to get a bite to eat on this beaten road and a fire to stay warm. Evening is fast approaching, stranger." The Poet motions to his collection of items, light leathers only guard his wrists and he is garbed in simple linen and cotton clothes. No weapon at his disposal save for his wit, "Come now, stranger so reserved, grant me a story to be heard. Harmless am I, it has been said I couldn't hurt a fly. What does a man such as yourself, have to worry about a book worm off the shelf? I am a collector of words, and only want to be heard."

Astrid wandered down the road, her trajectory turned east as if she held intentions to travel outside of Kelay's district. "He's rather the strong, silent type. It'll take a bit of effort to actually get him to spill any information what so ever." That was the extent of her introduction as she stopped just shy of Krice, a warm smile etched across her mouth.

Krice listened to Samwell's words with a seemingly inhuman amount of patience, though his left brow twitched downward at the bard's insistent requests for a story. He was just about to speak when something westward caught his eye. A flash of blonde under the light of the moons illuminated his mind to the presence of a familiar person, whose features were recognizable to him even before she'd be sure that he was -him-. He slowed as she walked toward him - and the bard - until, ultimately, they were both paused facing each other with just under an arm's length between them. His features softened as he regarded the woman, but a sideways glance reminded him of the bard, who earned himself a narrow-eyed stare.

Samwell is unaware of the focus it took Krice to tolerate his efforts, his hands remain wrapped tightly around his instrument, a smile seemingly plastered on his face. The Poet smiles gently as the other approaches, nodding in greeting. How wonderful! They were acquaintances! He notes this with curiosity. Ever one to speak his mind, he does so, "Ah! You two know one another? Perhaps she will be more agreeable? M'Lady, your friend here is reluctant, and as you said 'strong and silent' particularly silent, and I merely ask for a story to meditate on as I carry on my way later this evening. Give a poet some words to study in this time of lonely wandering."

Astrid regarded Krice with a near grin before turning to Samwell. "Well, I'm not the best of story tellers, to be truthful. And I don't know many stories on top of that, either." She didn't know any stories beside those that resided in her romance novels, but she certainly didn't intend to entertain the poet with those. "Where do you plan on wandering to?" A pause ensued long enough for Astrid to regard Krice and his arms with a questioning stare.

Krice listened to the bard with that left eye slightly narrowed in portrayal of... well, 'a lack of agreeability', for wont of a more apt phrase. In lieu of Samwell redirecting his request to Astrid, Krice diverted his attention to the woman and appraised her features with slow attentiveness. It was that questioning look - and the glance she shot his arms - that inspired the warrior to answer with a coy, " Why don't you tell him about those stories you read? I'm sure he'll get a kick out o'those."

Samwell shrugs, "I only care to get to know the many curious individuals of this land, that's all. I don't need a legendary story to alight in my ears, though how pleasing that would be, indeed!" He advances towards the pair a few careful steps, not sure of their relationship and not wanting to encroach on that, "Be fair, I'm new in these lands and hardly know a soul at all. Let me start, I'm Samwell, just Samwell, a man who fancies words and how they fit together. I can sing when it pleases, and play a few instruments where coin can provide me incentive. I long for stories to think on and to inspire my words as I endeavor upon adventures of my own. I come from a land in the distant south, previously a young man escaping the duty of a noble house, though now renewed here in this amazing, new land. Curious as ever to learn its secrets and those of the people within. I too have my own secrets should anyone care to listen, though grant me something in return. You know much of me, more than most, now. Return the favor, I plead!"

Astrid was thoroughly amused by the poet's words, and after shaking her head and loosing a breath of laughter, she turned completely toward Samwell. "I'm Astrid, and this is Krice." She took it upon herself to introduce the stoic warrior with a wave of her hand. "I'm not the best of singers, but I can play the violin quite well. And I won't bother you with the books I read." She punctuated her words with a glare shot toward the silver-haired youth beside her. "Why don't -you- tell him about all the adventures -you- have. They are so much more interesting than mere books."

Krice glanced sideways, without a glare or hard stare this time, at Samwell once Astrid introduced him to the bard, a simple half-nod precipitating his attention returning to the blonde. Her glare inspired amusement in him, enough that the left corner of his mouth curled upward slightly in portrayal of this. Her words thereafter caused the warrior to shrug, aloof. " I fought a lycan a couple of nights back. Aggressive bastard, that one." A beat. He pocketed his hands. " Not really sure why it attacked me. I guess it was hungry." Shooting a look at Samwell, the warrior said, " There's your story. Stop asking, now."

Samwell || Krice's irritation was noticeable, but more so was the poet's happiness in finally receiving word of some sort of exciting topic. The young man turns to his satchel, producing from it parchment, ink and quill. He would have to make due with very little details, though he was excellent at embellishment. "Astrid, and Krice..." He mutters to himself. Sam looks between them, scraping his quill lightly across his tongue idly as he ponders how to adequately scribe his story. "You're not doing yourself a service by dismissing me so, though I warrant I have gathered enough to be on my way for the night. I only wish you were less reluctant to speak." Sam shrugs in his typical manner, his optimism hard pressed to abandon him now, "Perhaps our paths shall cross again and you are in a better humor! I look forward to that day, Krice. Ill-tempered though clearly well equipped to handle many dangers, such as lycans. Dark-clad, though not afraid of that which inhabits the dark of night. Interesting..." He scribbles something hastily before packing up his things as quickly as they had manifested out of his pouch, "I warrant I shall see you again, both of you. I hope we can get beyond being strangers in this future I anticipate. I apologize for bothering your travels, though, I am happy for your story, however reluctant." A grin, a nod and the bard continues on his way, content with his success. Measuring such things in a very different way.

Astrid reached over to poke Krice's shoulder with a single finger. "Quit being such a brute." She reprimanded before turning a warm smile onto Samwell, "Don't let him put you off. He doesn't talk much. I've known him for a few years now, and it's still hard to get him to talk to me at times. I'm sure if you give me time to think, I'll be able to produce a story for you. Not tonight, however, because I would feel just awful at making you wait an hour or so for me to think up something interesting." With the poet's intended departure, Astrid looked onto his book with curiosity before shifting her attention back to his face. "It was a pleasure meeting you, Samwell. I look forward to seeing you again!"