Board Thread:Roleplay/@comment-27550231-20200125011422/@comment-28358106-20200304054804

Somewhere in the deep forest, far from Harkon but closer than any would realize, a miniscule clearing held three figures. It was barely large enough to contain them; leaves brushed their backs as they stood almost too close to each other, and the shade from the crowded branches held them in dim light, even for midday.

One of them had an excuse for not having enough room. Rose was large and muscular, even for a Centauress. Her dappled gray haunch was a stark contrast to the darkness of her skin, betraying her steppe heritage; her leather armor draped about her torso and midriff, making her look as if a barbarian woman had decided to ride her horse by sitting on its head. Her silvery hair was the same color as her tail, and both were bound in the same way, to distracting effect.

The second was easier to see, despite her diminutive stature. The slender, delicate girl, Juno, stood still, her cloak over her head as she looked downward with blue eyes. She was clothed in embroidered finery that had seen better days, even though from a short distance it was difficult to tell so. Even still, the eyes were drawn back up to her face, with her striking gaze and slim mouth, both now in an expression of suppressed nerves. She clutched her lyre with both hands, a thumb tracing a tuning peg again and again out of anxiety.

There was no question as to the nature of the third. His dark baroque clothing might have marked him as a member of high society, but the sword at his harness and pistols in his sash spoke differently. His high collar cape and wide tribar hat hid most of his features, and what remained of that was now covered by a mask over his face. It was necessary, Dorian had discovered, before a job, lest the wagons have kobold guards who could smell your breath. It maintained order and authority. Nobody could see it, but his eyes glittered with anticipation, both of the wealth that would soon be theirs, and of the thrill in getting it.

Rose adjusted her harness and lifted her arbalest. It was massive, more suited to a siege than a robbery, but she hefted it with no sign of effort. Around her waist were small bundles, sheaves of fifteen flechette bolts each, each one meant to be a single round. One wouldn't have to guess what the effect of such a round might be.

Dorian was prepared. He always was. He had checked his kit before they even arrived at the staging spot. He now listened, his head turned, as he waited. Rose's ears perked. Moments later they heard the rustling as it was almost upon them, but she spoke anyway, her voice a low murmur.

"...It's Bailey."

All turned. A gray shadow prowled from the bushes and stood up. It was indeed Bailey. The huge Cu Sith was more wolf than woman, and looked comfortable on both four legs and two. Even covered in fur, her muscular frame showed. She now stood upright, coming close to them and looking to Dorian.

"Okay boss," she says. "Three. First two, two wheels.  Third one, four wheels.  Smelled something strong in the first and second." As if recalling the memory, she rubs her nose. "Drivers are all probably human. Whiffed an Elf in there somewhere, too."

"Three carts?" Rose hesitates. "Tha's a bloody caravan."

"Not guarded," Bailey says, shaking her head. "Didn't taste no sweaty metal, no oil, no horses. Just the mules pulling the carts.  And nobody else on the road, either."

"No passengers?" Juno looks hopeful.

"Mebbe, I unno," Bailey shrugs her furry shoulders. "Drivers smelled really nice, though. Like soap."

"What's their distance?"

Having absorbed every word, Dorian now speaks, his voice calm, almost light.

Bailey thinks a moment. "'Bout an hour 'till they get to the deep tracks."

"That's where the road is sunken."

Dorian pulled his gloves on. "They'll have no choice but to move forward or backward. Everyone stick to your role.  We move the cart onto the path as soon as we get there.  No theatrics, now.  Quick and easy, over and under, in and out, and tomorrow we dine behind velvet curtains."

His eyes glance at Juno. She smiles and looks down, despite herself.

"And for the gods' sake, control yourself this time, woman." His eyes shift back to Rose.

She sneers. "Fine. I'm ready." She slings her arbalest. "Let's git this over 'n done. I'm starvin'." She helps Juno onto her back, where the girl sits inexpertly, clinging to Rose's harness.

Wordlessly, Dorian turns to a nearby brush hedge and clicks his tongue. The shadows move and rise, and a sinuous quadruped reptile lumbers from the brush. The scaly, feathered creature, its hide striped and ridged, sits patiently as Dorian climbs onto its back and settles into the saddle and stirrups. It wriggles as he does so, its guttural breath huffing from between teeth the size of daggers. Bailey scowls.

"That thing still gives me shivers. I miss your other one."

Nobody responds as Rose turns and gallops off into the trees. Dorian spurs his mount and the creature grunts, loping off after her. After only a moment, keeping herself a reasonable distance behind, Bailey falls to all fours and leaps after them, her lithe body disappearing in the shadows of the forest.