A bard in time saves...

[Lanya Caliope]

By the healer's request, Lanya sat on the settee - though inwardly she bristled at being told to settle down. She had a right to be upset, it was true, but she was also very good at hiding the scope of her anger. If she'd let her rage flow while she spoke, the elf's ears would be blistered.

Flame peeped directly into her ear canal, making the woman jump a bit and turn her head to give him a smirk. He knew how to distract her from a dark or angry mood; she knew that she had him to thank for her continued spirit. She remembered his small wooden corpse pierced through with the knife; she remembered how she'd felt something within her die at the sight of her most precious companion stabbed through and dead. His rebirth had been the happiest moment of her life. She had seen the robin in her hands and thought the fates must hate her very much, but when he'd opened his little beak and sang...

She leaned her head to the side, gently nuzzling him. Her thoughts quieted as Metarie pulled forth and scanned a book, mentioning creating protections. Lanya's mind snapped to attention and she straightened.

"What sort of things?"

Her emotions warred with her reason. The healer who stood before her had provided more aid than she'd had in days; the elf who stood before her may want to enchant an object to grant her protection. It was too similar to the dryad's intentions, and Lanya couldn't help the suspicious twinge of fear that the idea caused. But she also reasoned that even though she might not fully appreciate magic, it had its uses, and a protective charm had never hurt anything.

Except a little girl.

Again Flame peeped into her ear, but she only made a small "hm" to indicate she'd noticed. The bird gave up trying to distract her with noise and instead rolled down her arms to start playing on her palms and within her fingers. The bard couldn't help a smile at his antics.

[Alibi of Tyrants]

Everett was sincerely hoping, to the gods, that a buxom and disease-free vixen would sashay through the door and request a private audience with him. Ah, he could see it now: The woman would be dark-headed and fair, wearing clothes that do more for her curvaceous form than outright nudity ever could. Her problem would be something simple, yet something that she'd be eternally indebted to him for---perhaps a lost comb (always a valuable heirloom) or even a purse. After applying his amazing deductive skills and solving the case straightaway, monies would not be the only thing exchanged. Maybe a couple of honeyed words, a little bit of flirting, a little bit of booze, and maybe...just maybe...

His dreams were shattered when the door opened all the way. Everett barely managed to suppress the urge to slap one of his palms over his disappointed face. Sometimes, it sucked to have an overactive imagination.

Instead of a maiden, he got a frumpy and large-assed woman decked out in what appeared to be a maid's finery. She wore a drab, ho-hum blue dress that spilled ungraciously to her ankles. The dress fit her like a balloon, over-exaggerating her weight. Her reddish hair was naturally curly, so much so that it seemed like a electrical wire had been plugged into some socket at the back of her skull. The woman's eyes were a light, sky blue. A teeming splatter of freckles seemed to pepper her cheeks and dimples like blemishes. Her face wasn't too bad---it was cute, in that plain Jane sort of way (though it really didn't do much to redeem the rest of her person, however).

The first thing his client did was gape slightly at him---primarily, at his left arm, where his metal hand was jutting out of the sleeve of his robe like a sore thumb. Everett's grown accustomed to the attentions given to his prosthetic limb. Not many people have seen Gnomish technology grafted on some poor schmuck, after all.

"Come in, come in," Everett said, trying to sound as welcoming as he can. He gestured slightly with his prosthetic arm, the machinery humming softly in accordance to his nervous system's commands.

The woman nodded a little bit (a bit flabbergasted at the greeting she got) and stepped inside. Watson shut the door behind her and, in true gentleman's fashion, graciously took her by the elbow. The Gnome led her over to the gigantic chair that sat behind the coffee table (careful not to guide her into the dastardly Plank). The lady then smoothed out her dress (as if that would help) and placed herself on the chair, murmuring her thanks to Watson.

"Have a seat, stay awhile, mi casa es su casa--- you know, all that stuff." Everett smiled and leaned forward, leaving the comfort of the Furry Turd's lounging mass somewhat. "Watson, can you fetch us some drinks...?"

[Metarie]

"Can you tell me more about this mage? What things did he do? Did he walk in or did he appear suddenly? The details are important. Knowing his capabilities may give us an opportunity to fight back. And, if he is an assassin, then we need to get preparations done sooner than later."

Once things got past the bedside manner for healing, Metarie's social skills began to deteriorate. She was at a loss, and so, over-compensated by trying to focus on solving problems. Other ideas crossed Metarie's mind, but then she remembered something she had been told before: ask, don't tell.

"What do you think we should do?" Metarie turned to look at Lanya. Her expression suddenly softened then and she reached out a hand, gently touching her fingertips to the back of Lanya's hand. "I'm sorry these things have happened to you. You are probably angry and scared, but we must focus on surviving here and now before we address issues of past days."

[Lanya Caliope]

"The assassin manipulated the shadows when he attacked me. He threw a weapon at me - that is what cut my hand."

She raised her newly-healed hand to show Metarie the palm.

"I never saw it."

Lanya had told the captain a version of this information before, and was merely repeating herself. But now the healer had asked for further information and even collaborative advice. The bard stood to begin a slow pace across the floor and crossed her arms lightly over her chest as she considered.

"He also takes unnecessary risks. When he tackled me in the street he came from above - he must've jumped from higher up. A roof?"

She was half-speaking to herself, hardly aware of Metarie's presence as her thoughts spanned before her. She remembered the cold blue eyes above her, wielding a deadly knife. She remembered his smirk in the tavern - and the fact that he'd been speaking with the guards at all. Even more, their captain.

"I'd say he was arrogant."

Now she remembered the attack in the road. When the assassin had realized he might be cornered, he had offered to spare her life for helping him. She'd had no bargaining chip and the offer had failed, but she was only concerned with the act itself.

"During the attack, there came a moment where he thought he would have no options and offered me my life to help him. I couldn't accept it - but he offered nonetheless. Now my death will only serve to cover his only known loose end. But I do not think he would care otherwise. I don't think he has an agenda against me, but I don't believe he would be open to a deal without a bargaining chip in our favor."

Though he might now that I've not been killed. She sighed at this thought but didn't voice the concern. She looked at the elf now, to see if the woman had any questions or contributions thus far. It struck her that the only true way was an act of cleverness; a trick of some sort. If only the captain would return. Perhaps he would have suggestions...but he wasn't here and she focused on the help she'd been offered instead.

"We must try to visit the tavern at some point. If the guitar is there I must have it back. It's dangerous."

[Metarie]

Metarie watched as Lanya paced across the room. She gave the woman her full attention, listening to anything that might help them. She understood the woman's desire to reclaim her things...

"I think we have a better chance of being clever here. He has a magical weapon that is unseen. He steps from shadows. His trade probably has given him excellent knowledge in hand to hand - something in which my skills are poor. I do have magics, though, and I have arrows and a bow. What if... what if we set up a trap? It seems as if our only chance, if he comes for you here, is to best him quickly. The guitar would be useful... if only because it would protect you from him were it near you. I am guessing it was not when he attacked the previous times."

Metarie fell silent, pondering. "In any case, the longer we talk; the less time we have to prepare... I have an idea... I can go get your things. If you can wear my clothes, I can wear yours. With my armor underneath, I will not seem so slight. Meanwhile, you could stay here. Although there are many windows in my home, this was once more fortified. We could shut off the rooms and secure you in the hallway while I am gone.

Night moss in all the corners would dispel the shadows. The hallway is narrow enough to minimize physical actions. We could leave shadows by the back door to bring him in where we expect him. Knowing from where he will strike is the first key in defending you. We must force him into the open; take away his element of surprise and fear.

If he enters from shadow, his eyes will be accustomed to them. A sudden bright light would be unexpected and hopefully delay him enough to disable him with arrows. These could be set up with a trigger string or wire across the areas he would have to move to get to you. Kona would be your second line of defense. Slowing the man down could give you enough time to escape through the front to seek safety with the Captain. If I return and nothing has happened, Kona will know I am the one who knocks."

Another aspect of masquerading as Lanya would be setting herself as bait, drawing the man away from Lanya - hopefully - but this was not something Metarie mentioned. By helping Lanya, Metarie was helping someone against whom Moryldar had set himself. Any action she took would probably result in her death. If the assassin worked for the Judges as a battlemage, he would have a certain autonomy; either the man would kill her or the Judges would. Or, gods willing she would survive, the Judges would kill her for killing a battlemage.

Metarie could not turn her back on the situation, though common-sense said that she should. The irony is that Camulous would probably be the one to arrest her even though it was his decision to bring Lanya to her in the first place. A wry smile curved Metarie's lip as she looked at Lanya.

"What do you think?"

[Lanya Caliope]

Despite the woman's silence, Lanya clenched her jaw at the idea. She understood what the elf was doing - offering herself in Lanya's own place. A walking target for the assassin to attack should he see her. If all went well, there would be no issue. Metarie would return soon, hopefully with staff and guitar in tow.

But if the assassin found her, it could be another death weighing upon the bard's shoulders.

Even more, the bard warred with her immediate instinct to fight against the elf's idea of setting traps for the assassin to kill him with ease. Intellectually she understood that this was a logical thing to do - that the assassin would kill her without mercy or remorse should he get the chance. But this reason did not negate her personal unwillingness to harm another.

Still, she kept her silence. She would just hope quietly that nothing would happen in the elf's absence. She considered this a reasonable hope since the assassin did not know where she was. Unless of course he'd watched the captain bring her here and was biding his time. It seemed unlikely but she wouldn't eliminate this as a possibility.

"We'll need to be careful with the traps. The captain may send someone to check on us."

Now another facet clicked into place, and the bard rubbed her eyes as the thought formed. Such a simple thing...

"I have no clothes beyond what was given to me by the healer from before...and yourself."

She looked at the elf.

"Everything else I own would be at that tavern, if the owner hasn't sold it all."

They were of a height, and the woman's armour might help with the bulk. Lanya's eyes now flicked to the woman's straight auburn hair.

"I assume you'll use some sort of charm for your appearance?"

Her voice lit with mild amusement as she drew her braided hair forward, examining the strands she held.

"I'm afraid it's a rather distinct color."

[Metarie]

Metarie nodded, feeling as if things had been decided. "A spell? No. In this case it is more an understanding of interactions between varied herbs." Metarie stood and moved into the kitchen. Here herbs hung down, drying before the window. Metarie moved to a cabinet and withdrew three or four small boxes that looked like small treasure chests. At least three pestles and mortars were also produced and placed upon the counter. From another set of cabinets lower to the ground, jars of pastes, oils, and other liquids were neatly stored and labeled. Metarie's fingers drifted over the lables. She then produced four different bottles. Her next step was to open a drawer and produce wooden cups; each of a different width and height. Metarie surveyed her supply of items. She then reached quickly pulling from this box and that bottle, mixing them in the pestle. The herbs were ground together with a thick liquid. A sharp scent arose from the mixing, but Metarie's fingers dipped into another box. A fine power sprinkled into the mixture suddenly made the scent palatable. As she mixed, the mixture became thicker and took on a vibrant red hue simliar to that of Lanya's hair.

As she mixed, she asked. "Would you like to help?" Metarie gave Lanya a smile. "You can go through the house and pull down the storm shades. They are metal, secured from inside, and said to have been made to withstand gale force winds."

Metarie looked around. A kitchen towel was caught up. Each thing was then sat in its place. "Here goes..." she said.

Leaning over the sink, Metarie began to carefully paint her hair with the mixture tinted fire-red. Wrapping cheescloth around her hair, Metarie then washed her hands thoroughly to make sure the dye would not stain her skin or drip elsewhere.

The process would take a little time, but not as long as one might think. Metarie's hair was already red, albeit a darker shade mixed in within brunette. While her hair color wsa changed, Metarie began to shutdown the windows as well. By the time the women were done, her hair would be ready to have the excess washed from it. Then, she could put on her armor.

[Lanya Caliope]

Curious, the bard walked towards the kitchen and paused to watch what Metarie was doing. She'd never seen someone change the color of their hair, by spell or dye, and wanted to know how it was done. It wasn't purely academic interest; she considered that it might be beneficial for her to change the color of her own hair as well.

"Can you make any color?"

The bard pulled her braid forward again to more closely examine the tint. She wasn't sure what sort of color would blend with her own since her natural shade was so vibrant, but it was worth a try.

"Perhaps I should change the color of my own hair as well? It couldn't hurt to take the precaution."

She deferred the choice to the elf, leaving to follow instructions and close the storm shutters. She slid each shut with caution, wincing against the noise and taking care not to slam them down. As she moved, she considered the healer's advice. She wasn't as positive as Metarie that they needed a plan just yet; she didn't feel that she was being hunted at the moment. Likely the assassin wouldn't find out about her "escape" until later this day or the next, if not longer. He hadn't been inside of the building before - she was certain that she would be dead if he had been.

Which meant they had time. Not much, but enough to formulate a true plan beyond "set trap place bait." But she felt at a loss. She was tired again. And though her knee was healed, the odd twinge disconcerted her. But more than that, it reminded her that the wound was permanent. She'd seen men with dislocated kneecaps before; she knew that the injury would always hurt in one way or another, and when she was older she would be lucky to even bend the knee.

She would be fortunate to run again. Worse, she was accustomed to walking long distances on her own. She wondered how her injury would affect her mobility. Just walking about this house had already begun a steady twinge inside of the joint; walking along country roads or through the forests, up along hilltops and through an uncivilized plain...

Flame trilled into her ear and she gave him a sideways glance. Her mood didn't lift but she was at least distracted from her thoughts. She pulled down her own final storm shutter and paused, considering how dark the house now was. Her drowsiness struck her again, and she rubbed a hand against one of her eyes in an effort to clear the sleepiness away.

[City Guard]

A trio of bangs resounded through the house, the sound of a powerful fist hammering against the front door. Whoever it was was not impatient, but was definitely rude.

Idonir stood outside, one of the largest of the entirely human guardsmen at nearly seven feet tall. He was well known among his comrades, and indeed around any city circles who took notice of such things, as a brute who loved to fight. A violent man who could back up his attitude well enough to keep his job on that merit alone.

His armor barely managed to cover his heavy and muscled frame. In it he looked like a small giant. He was not attractive, and did not have a helmet to hide his dirty, uncut hair. Dark stubble covered a rounded jaw and chin that suggested he was not particularly cut under the armor either. A cruel looking mace dangled from his belt.

The guardsman said nothing, but soon hit the door three more times, waiting with a shit eating grin on his face. He knew who lived there, and he knew who Lanya was too.

[Metarie]

Metarie looked at Lanya.

“I was going to suggest we dye it a darker shade, but I wasn’t sure if you would think it a good idea. Although this is plant-based, it does take a few washes for it to come out. If I put a few drops of that…,” Metarie gestured to a small bottle, “in the mixture we could probably change your hair color to brown.”

Metarie was washing the dye from her hair while Lanya finished her rounds. The finished product did indeed make Metarie’s hair as red as Lanya’s. Her green and gold-flecked eyes emphasised now more than ever. Metarie quickly rubbed the towel over head, letting the towel catch the excess water. Somewhere between dry and damp, she stopped and moved to put on her armor. Many years had passed since she had actually worn her armor, but she had made sure to keep it up as she had been trained to do. Fingers fell into a never forgotten routine as she fastened buckles and tightened straps. When she was finished, Metarie stepped to her bow. Those same fingers reached out to stroke over the gentle curves. The bow was used every chance she had the opportunity. Losing her skills was not something Metarie could allow to happen. Fortunately, this meant the bow was strung and ready for use.

Kona’s ears pricked up. There were heavy footsteps coming toward the door. The dog stood and eyed the door as he gave a huff of a bark two times. On the heels of Kona’s first bark, the visitor pounded loudly. Kona moved to the door and sniffed around the edges. He sneezed twice and looked toward Metarie as froze, looking toward the door. More pounding nearly made a picture fall from the wall. Metarie’s hand fell to a long dagger that also sat upon the mantel. Slipping the dagger from its sheath, Metarie moved to the door. The sheath was dropped on the couch as she passed by it. With her left hand, she reached out to touch Kona’s head for a moment.

“Who is it?”

[Lanya Caliope]

"Yes, let's dye it. It couldn't hurt."

The bard looked down at the braid she'd pulled in front of her shoulder. If the color came out in a few washings, then it couldn't hurt to at least take the precaution and be thorough. It wouldn't do to have Metarie set up as bait when she was so obviously still herself.

She looked up to watch the elf strap on her body armour. Interest brightened her eyes and she stepped closer to watch the process. The elf's fingers were quite competent and skilled, and within minutes each piece was in place. The added bulk filled out the lithe woman's form more than enough, though the bow presented a worry Lanya hadn't considered. She could not use a weapon and so had never carried one.

She decided to say nothing. It would be worse for this woman to leave without proper defense; the bard wouldn't have it.

Kona's distraction went unnoticed by Lanya, but Flame perked up immediately when the large dog released two short barks at the door. The robin began fussing into Lanya's ear, twittering and fluffing his feathers in agitation. Lanya widened her eyes at the actual knock, but soon calmed as she realized the assassin likely wouldn't knock.

The captain had said he would send a guard to check on them at some point. This had to be said guard.

It didn't mean she could lack for caution, though. In response the Metarie's defensive posture and words, Lanya stepped to the side, moving backwards until she would be out of view of the door. She wouldn't be in immediate danger, but if someone attacked the healer she would be close enough to try and help. Despite her total inability to fight with any skill level or wield a weapon, she refused to abandon the elf to whatever was behind the door.

It didn't even occur to her to hide for her own safety.

[City Guard]

“Who is it?”

"Guardsman Idonir!" His was muffled by the door. He spoke in an unrefined manner, typical of the lower classes in Marnian social order. "Cam'lus' orders! Open up."

The man leaned around the doorway to see if he could get a look inside through one of the narrow windows. He couldn't see much, and couldn't hear what was going on inside. He doubted the door would stand up for very long if he tried kicking it in. Much like Camulous, he found the place overly decadent and frilly. He also wasn't particularly fond of elves, although he liked them for certain other, less honorable reasons.

[Metarie]

Metarie's free hand beckoned back to Lanya even as Lanya moved to hide. The women seemed to have the same thought albeit for different reasons.

Idonir… Metarie thought for a moment, wondering who the man might be. She could not place the name to the face, which means she didn’t know him well. But, she did not believe someone knew to act as a guardsman to get entrance.

The lock clicked as Metarie unlatched the door. She backed up and waited, ready to defend Lanya. She was not expecting a human nearly as big as a small giant. Metarie’s eyes widened as her gaze, which had started at her eye-level, moved upwards. The … behemoth… of a man barely fit into the armor he had been supplied, something which a part of her catalogued as shameful. The guardsmen should have armor that fit… He also, like nearly every other guardsman, did not bathe often. She could have been bested by his smell alone, but Metarie firmed her resolve and began to breathe through her mouth. .

Metarie’s gaze turned critical when it finally reached Idonir’s face. His head nearly brushed the top of the doorframe. Thankfully, the door was arched and not square or he would have had to crouch down. Metarie felt a little claustophobic all of a sudden. The man’s girth would fill the hallway, substantially. Her plan to have a central point of entry for a shadow-walker suddenly became moot. This big human would cast a long shadow. Where would she put him… and dear gods, what would he do to her bathroom?

Metarie clenched her fist around the dagger. “Hello, Idonir. Thank you for coming. Did the captain say how long it would be until he returned? Is there any news?”

[Lanya Caliope]

Why does that name sound familiar?

Lanya creased her brow as hazy memories surfaced at the man's name, but she couldn't place where she remembered the sound from. She was spared the aromatic distress Metarie endured, for her human nose wasn't as sensitive. And considering her background and lifestyle, it was doubtful she would have noticed anyway.

She watched the elf raise her gaze up, up, and up...and Lanya longed to step forward and see why. But she wasn't sure the man at the door was no threat. He hadn't attacked yet, but the bard recognized that Metarie was better able to immediately handle any threat he might pose. And standing out of view, she still had a mild element of surprise to her position.

Again the name was spoken and again Lanya felt hazy memories poking at her, trying to remind her of something. She had heard this name somewhere before, but it was lost in a fog of pain and confusion...

Ah. There it was. Her time in the infirmary, with the guardsmen. She was trying hard to forget that time, and decided to wait until she had no choice but to look at the man. She was at least sure he was a guardsman now.

She approached the assorted dyes and supplies within the kitchen and took up the small bottle Metarie had indicated before, tapping three drops into the red mixture and stirring with the mortar to see how the finished product would look. She remained actively interested in whatever the guard had to say, but she wouldn't step into the healer's way and interrupt. She had found over the years that maintaining one's silence often led to more information than an actual interrogation.

Besides, he didn't sound the least bit friendly, and she did not want to meet him just yet.

[City Guard]

Idonir invited himself in once the door was open. Right away the elf was asking about Camulous, and probably doing so because the frail little thing felt safer around that tight-ass. A lot of people liked Camulous better than Idonir, and having to always get such a reaction from people grated on him, even though he did little to change things. He also didn't like the fact that Camulous got all the authority. Another situation Idonir never did anything to change.

"He didn't say nothin'." He replied with some indignation. "I'm here until you're safe."

His walking through the house made the floorboards creak. He didn't take off his heavy boots, and lacked the courtesy to hold back on his job to preserve Metarie's privacy. Looking over her, he couldn't see Lanya.

"Where's the girl?"

He stuck his head into the first doorway he came across, glancing this way and that. As he did so, the pauldron covering his shoulder closest to the door put a big scratch in the wall. He didn't notice.