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Rebellion has swept the Territory in the south as Glacia dominates the north. Landen and Blood join forces to spread a message of equality with any method possible while Glacia works to infuse the land with power and the people with their Dark Beliefs. The Rebellion, led by a Council of Eight, is not always in agreement but none can resist the power, and the danger, the movement has generated.
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Author Topic: The Mask in the Market  (Read 22 times)

Description: tag: Rhysati

Offline Malcolm Kinnaird

  • Character Account
    • green2red
    • wp
    • Role

      Sellsword

    • Territory

      Nharkava

    • Character Sheet

      [Link]

    • OOC

      Bowie

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      4

    • Have Sword, Will Travel

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The Mask in the Market
« on: May 17, 17, 11:54:23 AM »
It was a day without training, and he sought to make the absolute most out of that fact. It was hard to scout when exhausted from the beatings he took and gave. Aarush was a talented teacher, and he instructed him well in the arts of katti samu, mardani khel and katti varase, and had taught him for the better part of six months. It was grueling, as always, but it was rewarding, as always. Even now, he felt bruised and battered from the training.

But he knew there was not wildly more for him to learn, as the forms were ones that were not too wildly far apart from the very first forms he learned - the forms he learned before even Chaillotan fencing - which made him suspicious of shared ancestry, but he did little to bother the man about it. No, he only cared to learn, and mastery was his primary goal.

But Nharkava was not a place he came to try to master another style or three of swordfighting. No, he had come here to find a Glacian who might need a bodyguard for their return to Glacia. Rumors had it that the northern pass into Dea al Mon was easier tred, and he had been rebuffed in his attempts to take the southern pass already. It had been years, and loose lips whispered that envoys were daring out, and that meant he needed to find a way to Glacia, a welcomed way, to find his way to then protect or bribe an elf back to their home with him in tow. It would be difficult, but there were only two societies where battle began in childhood: the Eyriens and the Elves. And without wings, there was painfully little for him to learn other than how to defend against Eyrien attacks. But those of Dea al Mon had so many secrets he could only dream of learning.

Knowing his training here was nearly done, he had begun to step up the rotation of his scouting, and today, it took him through the markets of the capitol. This would not be a quick thing, and could not be done with cold opens, so he waited for a moment and an opportunity; and that meant he was very patient and relaxed as he traveled from one stall to the next, inspecting wares and buying tchotchkes and chocolates and more, enjoying the scent and taste of spices and the feel of the fine fabrics he came upon.

Hours wore on, and he enjoyed a nice bhapaa aloo, popping the potatoes into his mouth out of the wicker bowl he had been given to enjoy it in while walking. Hanging from his elbow was a cloth bag he carried, and it was burdened with some of his more impulsive purchases that he considered to celebrate the craftsmanship of their makers. As he finished his bowl, scooping two fingers through to gather dregs, he licked his fingers clean when he spotted someone moving through the maze, and he vanished the bowl with a dismissive flick before he lunged out. “Mora?!” he called after, but she did not seem to respond.

But her entire body seemed to respond when he grabbed for her arm presumptively. “Mora?” he asked, again, turning his body and craning his neck to try to catch her face, to see if he was right. How could she even be here? What purpose could this mercenary have in Nharkava, of all places?

Offline Rhysati Stone

  • Character Account
    • yellow2ss
    • witch
    • Role

      Spy

    • Territory

      Dharo

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      Jamie

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Re: The Mask in the Market
« Reply #1 on: May 17, 17, 12:29:37 PM »
Well shit. Rhysati Stone thought to herself as a name she did not want to hear echoed through the market.

Mora Summers was a Sceltic Mercenary who dressed in leathers or warm Sceltic garb, and who never would have left the comfort (and profitibility) of Scelt. It was a role that Rhysati had taken on over six years ago during her travels through Kaeleer on behalf of the Queen of Dharo's Spy organization. Rhysati was not much of a fighter, though she'd had some training, and the role of Mercenary hadn't been the easiest one to wear. But she'd had many successful missions in Scelt which had earned her a reputation among some of the Mercenary companies in the island Territory.

Mora Summers had remained in Scelt, where she belonged.

After a brief stop over in Dharo to debrief with the Spy Master and accept her latest mission and orders Rhysati had adopted another favorite persona - Kina Thorne.

Kina Thorne was a peddlar, trader and merchant who had free reign to wander through Kaeleer collecting goods and stories. It was a role she had played even longer than that of Mora Summers, and she had maintained contacts throughout the Realm.

It was the second shout of her other alias's name that caught her attention. Rhysati did not merely wear her alias but became them during her missions. It was often difficult for her to separate alias from self, and if the paths of any two aliases crossed it threw her completely. The reality of Kina Thorne's life as a peddlar was shattered at the second cry of "Mora!?".

Shaken Rhysati tried to regroup before the source of that shout caught up with her. She couldn't run from him and Kina sauntered more than ran. Mora would have strode with greater purpose and she found herself nearly frozen with indecision on how to continue in that moment.

Was she Kina? Or Mora?

You're Rhysati Stone, lass. A Spy for the Queen of Dharo. And a damn good one. The voice was sharp in her mind and came across in Rhysati's tone of voice with a hint of a Dharoan accent. Pull it together.

In nearly a decade of such work Rhysati had never found herself in such a situation. It was time to improvise. Immediately she straightened her posture and hardened her features. The bohemian look of Kina didn't quite fit the frame and body of Mora, but she embraced it never the less.

"Malcolm?" Surprise reached her face (that she didn't have to fake) and she glared at him, assessing the situation. The stare was deep and focused, as if she were determining if he were friend or foe.
   

Offline Malcolm Kinnaird

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    • green2red
    • wp
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      Bowie

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    • Have Sword, Will Travel

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Re: The Mask in the Market
« Reply #2 on: May 17, 17, 02:40:05 PM »
His hand let go of her a little belatedly, as he just looked at her with such abject confusion. Everything about her was new other than her height; she was less muscular than he last recalled (or perhaps she dressed around it, he decided), her hair fell differently and might have even been a new shade, her face was done up in a level of makeup which Mora would’ve objected to unhesitantly, and she wore the softest of fabrics, without a weapon visible anywhere upon her. She even walked differently, which at first he wondered if it was some new injury, but it wasn’t a stilted gait – she just had new steps. It was absolutely baffling, and the confusion delayed him in his release of her.

And when he finally did, he just continued to look perplexed, silence for far too long. He was clearly Malcolm, and offered little explanation for his presence. The man she knew was in every way the same; his wardrobe changed, but barely, and even included many of the same leather pieces she remembered before. It was like he was some sort of quilt, picking up some new patches and losing others as he went along. Even that was quintessentially who he was: his world-weary stories of adventure and foreign places, and even that slight Chaillotan accent, had all even helped to entice her to him, likely. He had no way of knowing that she might have been especially attracted to the wandering soul that they shared in ways, since she made it clear she was a Sceltic with no love for other lands.

“The right fuck you doing here?” he asked, gesturing broadly through the market, his eyes focused so very tightly on her, trying to deduce what the hell he was even looking at. She was not the same woman, but he knew her intimately, and was certain all the same it was her. The features beneath the changes were clearly the same, her voice rang out almost right in how she said his name, and she clearly knew him. It was a jarring juxtaposition, all told. Wrong place, wrong look, but it was supposedly the same person.

“Sorry, just stunned. You’ve changed your look… and just so you know, you’re in Nharkava.” Shaking his head, he tried to give her the benefit of the doubt – surely there was some sensible answer to the drastic changes – but it was taking some doing, even as he willed it away.

“Still a damned happy coincidence, if a shock. Been an age.”

 

 

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