RP:The First Flewminati Attack
This is a Bard's Guild RP.
Part of the Vakmatharas' Jar Arc
Summary: Someone tries to rough the Headmistress of the Bard’s Guild up and steal any gold she had on her. But Reinhardt in not having any of that mess in his city.
Red Ogre Inn
You are surprised to say the least when you enter this room. From the outside, the Inn looked friendly, but a bit run down and certainly nothing like this. A marble counter is at the opposite end of the room, behind it a middle aged, cheerful looking man stands. He has a guest book, bound in red leather in front of him, and a peacock quill in his hand. A giant stands next to the counter, most likely to carry your bags and to dispose of any troublemakers. Lavish red carpets furnish the marble floor, and gleaming white pillars support the roof. Lining every wall are long luxurious couches with expensive looking polished metal armrests. Scattered all around the inn are small circular tables with marble tabletops around which are well-crafted wooden chairs. These tables have been placed at a decent distance from others allowing a comfortable sense of privacy for those sitting and conversing at them. Some of the chairs are empty but many are filled with patrons of the inn and a few locals who have popped in for a drink or meal. A few potted plants are placed around to add a bit more color. To the east, through two large mahogany doors, is the paved road.
Reinhardt Devereux can be seen sitting at a nearby table by himself, a tankard of ale in front of him as he seems lost in his own thoughts for the moment. The tavern is rather packed, with a particular group of locals gathered around a rather large man named Boris, who has them all enthralled with tales of their plight. Witches. Nobles. The King and Queen even, all are to blame for the woes that befall them. The knight, having seemingly gone unnoticed for now, sits back and tries to ignore the very flagrant discontent and disrespect to the crown that's on public display here and now. Time will tell if he plans to intervene, but for now he seems to not give a damn, as he drinks his ale, trying to find some measure of peace as the fat man continues his rampant ramblings with such thunderous vigor.
Brennia enters in after a group of people carrying various instruments and she -would- go unnoticed if it weren’t for her six foot two height and then some given the large onyx wings behind her. In her kind she’s pretty average for height and her posture with the tattoos would scream royalty even if her kind demeanor argues with it. Liberty blue eyes spot the bartender and she waves at him from across the crowded room to which he points at cleared away corner. Beaming a smile at him which shows perfect pearly white teeth and poking dimples in her cheeks, she gives him a thumbs up. While the bards that are with her set up their equipment she notices the volume level diminish as they are stealing attention because they have been here before and they got quite the response. Brennia takes this time glancing around at familiar faces, but one she stuck on for a few seconds as she couldn’t place where she’s seen him before. Some whispers might be heard of ‘that’s the headmistress’ and ‘she usually doesn’t perform with them’ as it seems they are in for somewhat of a treat. A patron even tells Boris to ‘can it!’ once they see the bards are done setting up and about to start. Once they start their music would be all that is heard while Brennia’s voice leads the way lyrically. Every twist and turn of the song touches on the senses just enough, but not too much with ‘electric’ and ‘fire’ or ‘flames’. The song isn’t overly long and for some reason the bard made sure to keep her eyes closed during her parts, but once her solo is over she would peel away in order to find a seat at the bar and order a whisky.
Reinhardt is at least happy that Boris' ramblings were stopped, even though a live performance , however enjoyable, didn't help the increasingly potent headache the knight was having. As the bards close out one gig, and the lead singer moves to the bar, it seems any chance the man has of getting his own drink refilled at his table is lost. All the troubles the common folk were just rallying about Boris to complain about, highborn being a primary one, seem washed away in the avian, and the band members, presence. Many flock around the avian, and some the other bards, asking a million questions and favors for songs, autographs and just the general clingy nature of common folk to those they deem famous. Using this attention the avian seems to gather, Reinhardt squeezes in next to her, as it seems the barkeep has become enthralled by her and hasn't moved from his spot for anyone else. "Come on Samus, you've still got a business to run, and I need a refill." In a not meant to be rude manner, the knight, a noble and now Lord, doesn't know who these people are and thus seems less impressed with her presence than the others, even though he happens to be right next to her now. As crowded as it is, they even rub shoulders, and he swore he got smacked by one of those wings. You know how crowded bars can be with lives bands playing, it's that kinda crowded.
Brennia makes sure to keep her velvety onyx wings hugged tightly to her curvaceous frame and she did notice the man suddenly next to her, “do accept my apology,” meaning the buffeting with the wings, “sir.” That sultry alto timbre seems to swim silkily from between plump lips and she was still smiling. If she caught his attention at this he might understand a little better of why there were so many people crowding. I mean yeah she’s gorgeous, but she acts like that doesn't matter and seems to make all around her feel like an equal. Aside from the intricate tattoo pattern seemingly covering all of her dewy caramel skin (which is causing a rather obvious distraction with the more tipsy men), she smelled amazing, but that was due to that famous Avian trait where they smell like anyone’s most favorite scent. “Allow me to get your next few drinks for my rudeness,” striking blue eyes look him up and down casually as she can tell he doesn’t need free drinks, “as my apology.” Those plump lips slowly spread into a smirk and pokes only one dimple in her cheeks this time. She obviously didn’t have to charming, but something about her made it seem natural.
Reinhardt isn't a stranger to beautiful women, but there are not many Avian women wandering the land, let alone one with such a captivating complexion. Add it tats and whatever amazing perfume she has on, and well he can easily see why many in the room, male and female, are just smitten. But it is perhaps the jaded nature of nobles, or maybe his experience in the military somehow chipping away at what little bit of a soul he has that the man is able to bask in the ambiance of this woman's presence and not become enthralled by her very existence. She was right, he didn't need her help for drinks, truth be told the Devereuxs actually had sway with this establishment, having paid for many repairs after the quakes and backing the tavern with their own gold while he recovered. Always good to help the local business, especially if it means you end up with a share later on. But, this man isn't just a veteran of battle, he is a man who is able to navigate the dangerous, and often treacherous, waters of dealing with women. He accepts her offer as not to be a rude ass, while saying in reply to her apology about the bump. "Happens, not your fault at all. You draw in quite the crowd... um, I believe the called you... headmistress?" He smirks, smoothing back his fine black hair to better reveal his own handsome and chiseled features. His beard was a little less kept up than usual, but still nicely down. His bangs sway back to reveal eyes of a brilliant shade that seem to change colors from a green, grey and blue depending on the mood. A faded scar runsfrom right next to his right temple to just below his eye, but somehow this seems to add the right bit of ruggedness to his otherwise fine and well bred features. His smile is a weapon in most cases, but he does not use it in such a manner here, for this dance isn't the usual one for him. She seems nice. Thats rare. most women want something as much as any man, but this encounter is just two people that seem comfortable in each other's presence without the need or desires of the tiresome games usually played. "What brings you and your troupe to Larket, if I may ask? If you ask a local, you may find that here a witch could curse you at any moment." A jest about the local's insatiable desire to blame everything bad on the witches, and a chance to strike up a conversation for the woman who is now buying him drinks. This is refreshing.
Brennia perks up at the mention of Headmistress, proud, but not cocky, “that is usually for students or guild members. Headmistress Smyth, but since you are not a student of mine or a fellow member my name is Brennia,” she would pick up a pitcher of ale and help pour the tankards next to her, including his, before extending a hand to him for the nobleman to either shake or kiss. She seemed to not care which while she answers his question, “just on a small tour. Trying to get the guild members some recognition.” They continue to play over in the corner of which all are pretty relaxing songs like the one she performed and this slowly starts to thin out the crowd around them. A smirk at the witch comment, “I think I could take care of myself… Have you ever properly met a bard? Some can control the elements,” with her smile and timbre it wouldn’t take much persuasion just by being herself. “I do always try the easy way before having to reach between my wings,” this comment is left as is, but if he pressed the issue she would be perfectly honest about what she has hidden there. Upon further inspection of his close proximity he would notice her own scars of two different sets of vampire bites, naga fangs on the opposite side, lycan marks on her left traps, feline scratches down her biceps, and lastly what seems to be dragon teeth enveloping her right shoulder. They weren’t horribly noticeable as it is obvious this woman spends a great deal closer to the sun than most and the scars seem to sort of disappear into the endlessly black ink adorning nearly every inch of her. This woman was either a great fighter or adventurous lover, but at the moment one or the other may be hard to determine. “And you are?”
Reinhardt has a good many scar littering his body, most in places best not to be exposing in public. Mainly because he has always found just the right kind of trouble to nearly get himself killed, yet has the skill to remain just a hairs reach from death's grasp. Her scars are noted, but not overly stared at due to them being quite the norm for him. he knows each has a tale, and now he knows she is a bard, a leader of other bards, then he is sure the story would be quite something. He shakes her hand, he has always hated kissing people's hands, as it's offered and replies. "Reinhardt Devereux, Lord now.. I guess I need to start adding that in there, right?" he hated politics just as much, but due to his father's death, r.i.p, he was a lord and thus duty bound to partake in such nonsense. " A pleasure then, I am glad you found the road to Larket safe, and witch-free." Another jest, indicating he cares little for the theme of blame a witch for everything. But, he knows too that soon words will not be able to sate their desires to "make right" what the witches they blame have done to them, and as a sworn defender of Larket, it makes the man think of how these jovial people could turn ravenous mob out for blood very easily. He has, after all, seen it happen before. Either way, he takes up the tankard of ale and takes a sip of the honey infused drink and is thankful the witches haven't ruin that at least!
Brennia returned the shake and he would find her skin silky, but not without subtle callouses where she would pluck strings to a harp or string instrument. A subtle shrug at his question of name formalities, “well…. I hate my official title, Countess Brennia Smyth de Vere.” She rolled her eyes playfully before letting out a short and soft raspy giggle, “a bit of a mouthful to say all of the time and since I’ve renounced my homeland I don’t have the right.” She sips her whisky slowly, but still makes a sort of scowl after a sigh at the strength of the liquor and clearing her throat she attempts his name, “Lord Reinhardt Devereux.” The name seems to swim around her gilded tongue and twist it up in something that sounds taboo or perverse, but an odd sensation to hear such a name mixed with her subtle Veretian (French) accent could possibly ensue. This seems to go unnoticed by her as it is not on purpose. She seems to relax just a little more and takes a seat at a nearby barstool while the crowd continues to pile over by the corner where the band is still entertaining. “A lord in here drinking ale? You don’t want anything a little more pricey?” She holds her tumbler up which is filled halfway with whiskey.
Reinhardt smirks at her comment about hating titles, raising his tankard of ale in salute as to say he too hates titles, only to cement this fact by saying. "They bestow these grand titles upon us, not informing you of all the duties required by them." He shakes his head ever so slightly as he adds. "What if I just want to drink and fu--" He is bumped by a passing fan of the countess, who tries his best at singing her a love ballad in the worst flat toned drunken slur one could imagine, hiccups and the like included. Back on topic though, the oh so noble knight replies now to her last inquiry. "I like the people, believe it or not. I try to be as "normal" as possible, to downplay a slowly growing tide of discontent towards highborns. After the quake, witches are the target of their ire, but some still hold grudges against those of a higher station." He smirks, and takes a sip of his ale once more, adding in. "Like it's my fault I was born into this. I've spent my life serving them, and the act as if I walk over them for my own enjoyment or something." An exhale of breath is how he ends that comment, trying to return to a more casual conversation. "But, life is anything but easy, and I shan't complain about benefits offered to my station, even though I work damn hard to earn them."
Brennia listens and nods along, yes even to the point of ‘drinking and fu--’. Once upon a time she didn't do anything but that at The Hanging Corpse. She acts flattered by the man singing to her, but is obviously relieved when he moves on and sips some more on her hard liquor, another slight grimace at it’s strength. His complains of duties hits home and as if they've been best friends for the longest time, her hand reaches out to gently hold his bicep with a chuckle, “right? Like just because I'm the oldest does not mean I need this crap!” Her hand returned to her own lap and she catches her own words, “look at us spoiled brats complaining about our problems.” Like a couple of stuck up rich kids, but her groom to leadership back on her home island was not luxurious in the least. Her father was quite corrupt and her mother was a brainwashed vessel while she was constantly watched all the time. “I've found comfort in leading something else… Instead of a whole island.” Again she's downing some more liquor to no avail of it getting easier because she was more of a wine drinker.
Reinhardt once more raises his tankard in salute to her reply. "Damn straight! As a knight -I- earned my place, I started as a lowly soldier, and my skill with a blade and cunning and prowess got me to where I am now, not a name." He scoffs at the idea of names giving worth to a person over another. "My dear mother wished to have me be a good boy, marry the right woman. By right, I mean her choice to increase our station, love be damned!" He chuckles again, thinking of how many nights he spent with many a woman that his mother would consider too lowly. Little did she know that those "lowly" women were by far more experienced in things "ladies" of the courts couldn't even ponder doing. And the fun they had! Drinking, -talking-. No need for formalities and edicate. Just real conversation. Real fun. Real passion, even if it were only for a night, or two. Either way, the knight knew duty to be his life. And when his father passed and he became Lord, he knew such was soon to be beyond him. Though, he did dare venture out to mingle and try to retain his sense of self, as he is now. He raises his tankard once more, and toasts. "To our beloved parents, and their beloved titles and duties! May they learn to live with the stick shoved up their asses!"
Brennia had not thought about such things in a long time and her large blue eyes fell on the intricate tattoo pattern upon her arm. She remembers being thirteen, joyless and robotic and always responding to nothing but riddles. Languages pounded into her memory and the day she fled to Lithrydel from Vere. Her usual sultry timbre became a bit dry and quiet while lost in such thoughts, “yeah… Who needs love when you can better a nation.” She was a coward and ran, but she had no idea the man she was intended to marry had planned to murder her whole family bloodline. A few years on the run made her paranoid for the longest time and, as it a knee jerk reaction, she glanced over her shoulder and between those large onyx wings. She was thinking on much higher stakes and once those blue eyes looked back to him and his toast she sort of snapped out of it. A rare, short and light raspy giggle emitted from her while trying to clank her tumbler to his tankard while repeating, “yeah, a stick up their ass.” The glass broke against her hand and pieces fell to the countertop. She’s quick to stand up and maybe accidentally buffeting him with a wing once more, “I am… Going to get some air. If you will excuse me Lord Reinhardt.” An awful attempt at humor. If he allowed her to find her way out of the tavern alone she would soar off and probably not the smartest choice, drunk flying and all, but if the Lord followed she’d hang back for a moment as she was still not meaning to be rude.
Reinhardt can see the not so subtle shift in her mood, nor the nervous glance followed by a panicked escape. Of course he follows, knight after all. Through the crowd that seems ever larger is waded through easily enough, and he'd reach the door just as she had exited. He follows, only to calmly ask her. "You alright? You got very spooked back there." A mix of work related habit and casual interest and concern flow through his voice. As a knight of Larket, he hoped she felt no threat in this kingdom. As a man, well, no woman should be scared like she was.
Brennia was looking up and breathed in the crisp night hair just before she enjoyed the silence of the barren street. She loves music, how could she not, but she was happy for some peace. Soft leather boots pace slowly along the path of the tavern wall and her arms crossed under her bust, but not defensively for it was almost as if she were comforting herself. She forces a smile, but she’s done it for so long now that it would be hard to detect it was a farce, “oh? Me? I’ll be good. I’m nearly a hundred and thirty, you’d think the past would be a distant point in time.” A sort of scoff escapes her, “it’s foolish really. I’ve gotten my family killed by my cowardice for leadership to only fall into the same roles… That’s got to be irony.” Those large blue eyes reflect the waning moons above when she looked up at them. She said something that caused the ink pattern upon her caramel skin to sort of slither, “only one of them deserved their demise…” Her shoulders had raised in uncertainty and the slithering of her ink stopped, but it could just be the lighting? The booze? The headache? It’s late, “I apologize Reinhardt.” A chuckle of self deprivation, “I just met you and you are learning far too much about me.” Her eyes drop to her soft leather boots as she idly kicks at some grass.
Reinhardt can understand. It was after all, an unspoken opinion that he could have prevented his father's death. You know, if he wasn't "slumming" it with women that night below his station. He exhales again, seeming to get this woman, though he could only imagine the guilt one must carry for believing you're responsible for the murder of your own family. He offers a small bit of possible comfort by saying. "I've had people blame me for my father's death. I've played over the scenario time and time again, trying to make sense to the claim that my presence there would have changed anything, or if it would have been two dead Devereuxs found that night." He adds his point. "You are alive, and -someone- murdered your family for reasons outside your own control. Living with a survivor's guilt will only cripple what may be a very long life for you, Lady Brennia." He offers a small, apologetic, smile as he adds. "Do not let them control your life now, as you try to make a new life out of the shambles of the past. As much letting go I assume it takes to fly, find the same freedom in letting go of the past so that your own life may soar as high and free as you do in your travels." Damn, is that the ale talking?
Brennia was picking out some tiny shards of glass from her hand during his very heartfelt lecture. She couldn’t help that same rare raspy giggle which bubbled up at his last sentence, but an apologetic pout followed, “please do excuse me. I am not adept at holding my whisky like I used to, but damn what they say about knights for that was pretty phuqing poetic.” An even further jest, “a man after my own heart.” A tall man in a black cloak quickly approached Brennia from behind and pressed himself behind her to trap her wings while he maneuvered his arm around her with dagger in hand. “Well iv it idn’t da ‘eadmistress! Gimme all yer gold,” but Brennia sort of rolls her eyes in a bored fashion as her muscle memory takes over. Both of her hands on the thief's forearm before she thrust him forward on his back and if you blink you’d miss when she pulled free the obsidian Sai daggers from their hidden area under her wings. A gentle press from her dagger to neck of the writhing man below her with his arms trapped under her shins causing his eyes to open in surprise… Her sultry timbre remained calm, almost menacing, when she lowered her face to his to ask, “what was it you wanted?” The thief mumbles something in a scared jumble of words.
Reinhardt listened to her words carefully, but seems to become lost in motion the moment the thief made his play. You see, where the bard is good enough to handle herself, her true mastery is with bardic knowledge and use. Reinhardt? His expertise lies in this exact kind of situation. He knows thieves do not travel alone, especially to make a move on such a public figure in a rather exposed locale. He knows a lookout is usually in place, and two to three men aid as backup in case situations, like this, arise. And so the knight erupts into motion, sweeping past the avian who seems to handle the man, while rearing the corner just as two more men make their way from the shadows. A taller, muscular man carries an axe, while a leaner, snake like man moves in with a wicked dagger. Yes, they planned to make good one way or another with this job. Maybe they even have been following her for some time, for none seem familiar to the knight, but no matter for now is the time of action, not words. The bigger of the two men is rushed right into, the colliding force of Reinhardt's dash catches the man as he turns the corner, the knight using him as a ram to smash into the smaller one, crushing him beneath his accomplices weight on a wall across the street. With the muddy road offering not real grip to stop such a motion, the pair crash and flop, leaving Reinhardt enough time to continue on with his assault on the next man. Thats right, the lookout, stationed atop the tavern roof takes aim upon Brennia with his shortbow. Reflexes honed from years of battle take hold, as the Devereux Lord tosses back the flowing cape that adorns his breastplate, to take hold of the whip resting upon his left hip. In one fluid motion the ranged weapon is brought to bare with an expert's precision and a true warrior's power and speed. The whip is drawn back its full length, to snap at just the right time to catch the bowmen's attention just as he drew a bead upon the avian. By then, it's too late, as the would be assassin tries to alter his aim to only be met by the whip wrapping itself about his ankle, to which Reinhardt yanks back viciously. With his footing already precarious atop a roof, the thief loses his footing and fall the ten-osh feet from atop the roof to crash beside Brennia and her own captive, the wind knocked out of him for a good few moments, maybe even a cracked rib. With a calculated flick of his wrist, Reinhardt recalls the whip as he turns back to the two men he tossed across the street. Who knows what they plan next, but it seems now things are at least even for the pair of bratty highborns versus these thugs.
Brennia feels flattered, honestly, at the fuss these gentlemen went through for her. She was relieved to a point that she did not end up flying off and Reinhardt came out to see what was up because if it were her fellow guild members caught up in this she would have never been able to get over it. This situation seems to have taken off to something else entirely and in her light buzz she was still able to fall seamlessly into her training because a Countess had to always be prepared for assassination attempts. She was humming inaudibly and to her this acted like a sort of sonar and she felt every move within the area as if they were all underwater. Every move pushed on the particles of the air that her notes were occupying and to her it was as if time was slowing down. Releasing the first thief from her straddle after her bardic magic strikes fear paralysis within the archer’s (the one now next to her) bones with a simple, “stay.” The first thief scrambles to his feet and attempts to flee, but halts by the sudden sight of the Aivan dropping down before him after her wings lifted her into the air with a simple backflip. “I don’t remember excusing you,” she shown that stone heart melting and dimple inducing smile at him with a caress of his cheek before her hands lower to his throat. She was probably way out of her jurisdiction here, but she was soaring up into the cool air with the now whimpering thief, “you’re heavy… You’ll probably break less bones if you don’t flail.” She had dropped him with expert precision above (at least one of) the two other thugs in attempts to sort of kill two birds with one stone. (hah pun) The dropping thief does not listen and falls flailing which causes at least a broken arm, broken leg and some fractured ribs… Who knows what condition the thug who broke his fall ended up in. When Brennia allows herself to fall from the sky she lands her ample ass atop the archer to watch the ending of this show. This earns a groan from the archer, “Sh you.”
Reinhardt is poised and ready to fight the two men that he dealt with first with the expectation of having to try his damn best to not kill the fools. Law, after all, dictated they stand trial and not be killed outright. It seems his problem with restraint would be answered by out of flippin' nowhere comes a falling flailing man to literally handle the problem in an instant. The trio collide, and yelps of pain are drowned out by the sound of crashing bodies once Brennia is done. She could have killed him, but hey, you won't see the knight try to harass her for defending herself anytime soon. With all four men now incapacitated, it seems the city guard arrives. Always just that much late to any serious situation it seems. "Take these thugs into custody, and ensure they're isn't any fatal damage done before the hangman has his time with the lot." The guard, somewhat surprised to even see Reinhardt (he has been gone for a while, thus the slight pause), take a moment before they do as they are told by the Lord. Wrapping up his whip, the knight makes his way over to Brennia and asks. "One, are you alright." Just polite to ask, but then. "And what in the hell was that about? Any clue?" Thieves this bold, in the city, in the open? There was something more to this than a simple chance encounter some fools hoped would make them rich. "I'll do my best to keep this quiet, no need to frighten the townsfolk, or your troupe."
Brennia pulled herself up off the archer who let out another groan to which she responded down at him, “oh my ass is -not- that heavy.” Then again being six two and curvaceous, add the wings then she probably is a little heavy for a lithe archer. She did not seem shaken up in the least and since returned her daggers to their hidden sheath strapped between her wings. A nod, “yes. Thank you for aiding to my rescue.” Another short chuckle, “been some time since I’ve been damsel in distress.” She watches as the guard takes the limping men away while she thinks on his question, “we have been touring all over Lithrydel this summer trying to gain some recognition and yeah sometimes we get paid, but it is not much. I make sure to travel with the troupe for this reason and they even take defense courses at the college just as a precaution… I don’t think they could have handled all of them, though.” A hand placed gently on Reinhardt’s shoulder, “it was a lucky thing you followed me out because I was about to fly back home… I am grateful,” if anything she was a humble noble, Avian to boot, who always gave credit where credit is due and her smile was genuine this time.
Reinhardt watches as the city guard does what they should, and take the men into custody. Here, the knight is greeted by the kind words of the bard, even a shoulder pat to boot! A smirk is offered in return, as the Larketian Lord responds with. "Tipsy flying? Probably not the best call, especially if these thugs were about, there may be a bigger crew waiting to hear back from them, which means your troupe may be in a bit of danger themselves." The man knows tactics, studied and enforces law and order, thus he has a bit of knowledge about how filth like this operates. "Please, we have wonderful rooms here for your lot, and I can post a guard to make sure they remain safe until daylight, so you can have peace of mind, and time to sober the mind a bit, before you fly off into the sunset."
Brennia places her hands on her hips as she feels comfortable enough now to tease, “nice excuses to get me to stick around.” Her smirk proved she was only joking, “well it worked and if I'm going to be staying longer, I'm going to be getting myself some more of that awful whisky. Any drinks you have tonight are on me,” A wink and a saunter around the Larketian which caused one of those velvety wings to brush past him. If he followed and enjoyed more complaining about being nobles, great. If not that's fine too for she's obviously not the type that seems to need anyone and with that she pulled the door open to disappear inside.