The Wanderers

[Fingerprint]

There were three things on Beau's mind: ammunition, alcohol and women. He decided to tackle them in what was in his mind the order of importance they deserved.

As he entered the walls of the town and stood in the impressive shadow of the gates he surveyed the scene before him. There were crowded streets full of tradesmen, beggars, soldiers, aristocrats and still more on top of that. With his rifle shouldered and with some coin in his pocket he walked towards the throng of people.

"Give us a coin will ya?" The voice came from Beau's right; he knew it was just another beggar and paid no real attention to the heap of crumpled rags by the allyway.

Presently he came across a public house called The Three Buttons, it was a shady looking building that seemed to be ignored by most. Beau opened the door and strode casually to the bar. When the barman asked what it was that Beau wanted the reply was short, curt and to the point, "I'll have a bottle of whiskey and a lass." No sooner than the coins were laid on the bar than a bottle of Amber Fire and an attractive blonde girl calling herself Elizabeth were his, at least for a short time.

A few hours later and with two out of three things on his to do list checked off he went in search of some ammunition. It didn't take long to find what he was looking for, though it would have been a lot sooner if only Beau had been in the mood to talk at length with the guards at the barracks.

"How much ammo you'd-a have for a Martini-Henry rifle?" Beau asked the slight-of-frame man behind the makeshift counter.
"Probably more than you can afford." the man answered caustically.
"I would be surprised if that were true." said Beau with a dangerous look in his eyes.
"Well," replied the man seeing the look in the burly soldier's eyes, "in that case I have as much as you need," and after a slight pause he continued, "...and I may also have something else you might be interested in."
Half raising his left eyebrow Beau allowed the man to go into the backroom. "There's your .45 rounds," said the man placing several boxes on the counter, "now, you think you still got enough hard currency to let me show you the other items I have?"
With a slight grin Beau nodded, and with that the man squatted down and when he stood erect again he was holding what looked to be a modified version of his own rifle. At first glance the modifications looked to be purely aesthetic but upon closer inspection Beau saw that the loading and firing mechanisms had been altered. As Beau was scrutinizing the weapon in his hands the slight man was telling him about the weapon, "...it's made to hold an extra 5 rounds and the rate of fire is greatly increased-," the man was cut short there,
"So what's the catch then? there's no way th'ick gun will be working full an' proper like if 'ee's been made to fire faster."
The man winced a little at this remark, "Well...," there was a definite pause, as if the man was working out the best way to deal with the situation, "it does have the tendancy to jam more frequently than the standard rifle but," he added quickly, "trust me, with that gun in your hands everything will be dead before it jams. Do you want to try it out?"
Beau nodded.

Together they walked through a side door that due to the lack of sufficient lighting Beau hadn't prevously noticed. The door led downstairs into a rough shooting range. The gun took the same .45 caliber rounds and to Beau's considerable surprise the accuracy wasn't badly compromised. The gun did jam as the man had said but the blockage was soon delt with by Beau. It was now only a matter of bargaining the price down and within thirty minutes Beau was walking out of the shop with a different rifle slung on his shoulder.

"Now, what was the name of th'ick place Smith had mentioned?" He muttered to himself.

Spoiler: OOC

Sorry for not posting this last week, my work stops me posting during the week and last weekend was simply too busy for me to get near a computer.

 

[Sparrow]

As Smith left, Emerson and Anselm decided to split their seperate ways for the time being. The two of them seperated outside of the building, walking in completely opposite directions.

Emerson found himself wandering across the city, in completely random directions. He'd managed to wind up in a whore house at one point, swiftly leaving when he realised the state of the women they'd labeled "whores". In the end, he'd settled down in a pub. He'd actually spotted Conner inside, but it seemed he'd not spotted him.

By the time he'd finished his non-alcoholic drink, to which the bartender found quite amusing, he decided to leave. However, as he rose to get up, he was instantly pushed back down onto his stool by a blonde haired woman. He'd not spotted her before, and the way she'd appeared from seemingly thin air took him off guard.

"Looking for a good time?", she laughed.

"No thanks. I've got a thing against blondes."

"Shame.", she sniggered.

As the woman walked off, Emerson noticed something appeared to be missing from his belt. The blade Smith had given him was still there, as well as his own blade. His bag of coins was there too. He couldn't place what he was missing, until he checked the right hip side of his belt.

Crap, the chalice!

The woman smirked at Emerson as he left, raising the chalice up in her left hand as she did so. Almost as if to taunt him. Emerson instantly gave chase, spinting away from his stool without paying. By the time he'd managed to exit the pub, the woman was already half way down the street.

"Wait! Come back!"

Emerson tried his best to run after her, but she was fast. The best he could do was match her pace.

"Please don't make me shoot you!"

 

[Jedoro]

"Alright, before we start," Conner began, pointing up the ladder with both hands, "is she going to live, and if so, can I still get some time with her?"

"Yes," the man on the far left answered, "to both. It's been some time since you left New Carthage, child." Only Morgan would dare call me "child," Conner thought, finding himself glaring at Morgan. "Tell us, why did you abandon your contract to go on this little adventure?"

"You must know it's looked down upon to change your mind about a contract, assassin," the man on the far right declared. More respectful of my earned place... Lucius?

"Looked down upon, but not forbidden," Conner replied. "In fact, nothing is forbidden, given that we're shadow dwellers and assassins. If you gentlemen mean to condemn my actions and sentence me somehow, I recommend that you choose a more permanent approach. Otherwise, please enlighten me as to why I have been summoned here."

"We seek to understand those we work with," the man beside Morgan piped in. "Our eyes informed us of this unusual action you took, and we merely wish to know the reason. Also," Oh Jeremiah, always asking too many damn questions, "why have you begun killing again? You earned your title of 'assassin' years ago and then stopped taking lives, yet out of the blue you begin gunning people down again." Sighing, Conner leaned against the wall behind him and put his hands over his face.

"Have you no explanation for your actions?" the man beside Lucius asked. "You've usually had good reasons for what you've done, or is this the reason I came to expect from you for most of your choices?" Edward knows the most about my past, since he trained me. Must be him.

"You mean my instincts, teacher?" Conner suggested. "Yes, it was they who brought me out here. I heard my leader's offer, and it felt like a calling, so I followed. Without hesitation or remorse, or even regard to my past methods. I've yet remained an assassin, but I don't know if I can be considered a shadow dweller due to my actions in a group and in the open." Before any of the four could speak, the center man cleared his throat, and all four turned their heads to him. Hmm, never heard the middle man say anything. This is either a good sign, or...

...I'm dead.

 

[Fraught]

Leaving the building, Anselm changed his mind. He didn't want anyone to accompany him in buying supplies, like he did before Emerson was initiated. Stepping out, the bright rays of the blue sky cut through his cornea, and tickled his optic nerve. He had to shield them with the best natural way: his eyelids.

As he opened them once again, he noticed Emerson farther than he was before. It seemed he wasn't intent on staying together, too.
Well, what a coincidence, he thought.
Turning to the left, the opposite side of Emerson, he walked and walked. The city he had been in before, the marvels of engineering at every corner. Cars pressing microscopic tracks into the road - a road which would be eroded over time. The dust stirring up, as a lone, old woman with a twisted back came into view, intent on cleaning the streets with her old broom, the handle of wood, with a ****** of sticks on the bottom.

All in all, the city was peaceful. It had been undisturbed by enemy forces for a long time. None who wanted to attack the city and obtain its riches were organized enough to gather an army. It was complete chaos outside, but a glimmer of hope for a civilization remained here. The city tried to expand its borders slowly, piece by piece. If a new civilization arose, it wouldn't industrialize, it would start from that point.
Machinery was used everywhere. The population wasn't something to boast about, and not only here, but all over Africa. Machines could create more, and faster.

As Anselm was tangled in his thoughts, a car beep pierced his ears. He was nudged by something hard, and the impact was nothing to joke of. His legs felt weak, as they had been hit. He fell onto his knees, rubbing them, and slowly standing up. It was a car.
A car had hit him. A car dangerously near the edge of the road. A car with bullet holes in its left side. A car with the driver with the face of a gorilla. The man didn't look friendly. His eyes were burning with anxiety, anger, and a bit of fear. His hands were wiggling around his waist, unseen by Anselm.
He wasn't about to wait and see what he did, though. In the blink of an eye, he was on his feet, his hands on his waist, too. He grabbed a sword. A one-handed sword, thought the longest one hand of a man could carry. Its length proved the removal from its sheath long. It felt like an eternity.

As the tip passed the leather edge, he turned it around, along with his hand. The guard was a mixture of silver and green, a color just like emerald. The blade of a clean silver color, the fuller straight as an arrow of mythical craftsmanship. The sword having text written in a strange language written on it, in blood. Anselm knew what it was, it was his blood after all. Though no one knew. The sword was his secret. How he got it a mystery. People rarely asked him of its origin, and if they did, intimidation helped him out of those situations. But one thing he told them - this sword was not always his, and it had not always been in Africa.

Looking back from the brief glance to the sword, he noticed the man's hands pulling themselves up. Swiftly, he crouched behind the primitive 'hood' of the car. A bullet whisked by, barely missing his hat. A ragged hat it was, though, but dear he held it. After a short moment of rational thought, he was filled with rage. He walked to the right, moving as fast as a leopard. His sword thrusting through the window of the door, which was the perfect place to use to complete the attack.
The next moment, the man's head spurted out blood. Anselm looked around, noticing the surprised crowd around him. He looked down, intent on sheathing his sword, when his eye caught glimpse of another problem.
"Oh, thank God," he said, screaming out the word 'God'. "Heh, it's just my left shoulder. Just my left shoulder," he said, his peripheral vision diminishing for a brief time.
He regained his stance fast, already knowing what he shall do. Or, rather, what he shall not do. Whatever the chances, the bullet was to stay. He was not about to risk taking it out. His left hand hanged numb, as he awkwardly tried to sheath his sword, the sheath being on the right side of his hip.

"I've got business to attend to," he said, pushing the man over. A bag of gold he found. "A thief? Could he be?" he asked himself, as he heard footsteps coming from afar.
As he stepped out, and raised his head, he saw men in uniforms. The uniform of the Local Security Reinforcement Troops (LSRT). Locroops, as they were called.
"Oh, brother. If this wasn't the city that hosted the Guild of Adventurers, I'd leave to avoid trouble," he said, pushing the man further, who seemed to show faint signs of life.
"Well, you're a tough cookie, aren't ya?" Anselm asked, already scouring for items of any fight-related value, as he waited for a response.
"F.." the man said, slowly crawling nearer to the car door.
"Hmm, what?"
"F..fuck you, mate."
"My, rude you are. Especially considering you have Locroops after you. A thief, are you not?"
But the man didn't respond.

What he found was little. A item he found though he considered curious. A small gun, the appearance of which Anselm liked. It was extremely well-made, with dark, dark blue and black color covering it. Made of the sturdiest-feeling metal Anselm had ever touched.
"Hmm, I wonder where he got this from," he said, quickly putting it in the pocket of his coat.

He stepped out, holding the bag of gold in his hands, his hand stretched out.
"Here, mates," he said, trying to leave off as friendly of an impression as he could. "He attacked me, it was mere self-defense."
"No, no, it's okay, he's a dirty, bloody thief anyway," one of them replied, with a strong British accent.
"Okay, but I guess I won't be troubling you again, then," he said, ready to turn around and go shop for supplies, but holding his stance until their attention shifted. And luckily, it did. They turned around, walking towards the car, which had hit the corner of a building shortly before nearing Anselm.

And then, he disappeared. The man was gone, only a faint shadow in an alley hinting where he went.
Woah, what? Anselm thought. He knew the two men would be incompetent enough to catch him, even though he was limping.
Well, surely he'll wither and die somewhere of his wounds either way, Anselm thought smiling, already having gone behind the corner of a house, hiding from all the commotion.
"Darn, both of them gone," one of the men said, the other one, with an accent Anselm could not identificate.
"Well, the driver of this car is our only target, I'd say."
"Right, right. Still, we could've asked that other man questions."
Hah, they have no idea I'm a member of the Guild of Adventurers. I guess there is an advantage to not letting everyone in, he said, walking towards the nearest street he knew, running across the yards, and jumping over the fences of peoples' houses.

As he reached the street, he turned to the left. The pub was what he wanted to give a visit to. One of his friends were there. Maybe he could even relax a bit, in ways more than drinking.
As the sound of his whistle flew through the air, with some few peasants looking at him, he walked towards the pub, knowing the place he could get supplies was a place he'd have to pass anyway.
"I knew people'd like this melody," he said to himself, with a satisfied smile on his face, patting the small gun in the huge pocket of his coat.
"I'll have to examine that thing later."

Spoiler: OOC

Phew, I got a bit carried away, didn't I?
Anyway, Combi, I hope you forgive one of my urges to give some backstory to an RP, backstory that I make up by myself, specifically the Locroops (Law-crewps). I thought that just regular 'police' would be too...similar to our world.

I hope you don't mind, do you? [http://static.reelmovienews.com/images/gallery/puss-in-boots.jpg]

Spoiler: Oh yeah...and another thing!

My so-called "Steampunk Item of Utter Annihilation! Choice" is that pistol. I didn't reveal much about it right now, but my character'll find out soon.

Or maybe not soon, but he will.

Eventually.

Maybe even soon, who knows.

Nope, not even I do.

 

[Fraught]

Spoiler: DUUUUUDES!

...why hasn't no one replied? C'mon...

 

[Jedoro]

Spoiler: Edited

with my update

The four men stepped back, fading into the shadows, and quietly left the room. I hate that I can never be sure with these guys on what they're doing, Conner thought. The remaining leader pointed behind him, so Conner turned around to see a chair now sitting there, which he slowly sat down in.

"Should I be worried?" he asked, feeling uncomfortable with the oddities of the meeting.

"No," the leader whispered. "I am known as Spectre, and it is rare that I actually speak to shadow dwellers, as you should be aware of. Why do you think you are here?"

"I have no idea, to be honest. The company I keep? My new methods? Did I make a pass at your wife by accident?" The tense silence that followed made him realize he probably shouldn't have said anything smart. "If you're going to kill me, just don't delay it."

"I have not decided yet. What do you seek in following Henry W. Smith?"

"I just wanted a change of pace. I can't really explain it, but my gut told me immediately that I should go with him."

"Then you go with my blessing."

"...what?" Conner stared, confused.

"He is an interesting character, so I trust your travels will be... enlightening, to say the least. You go because you follow your instincts, and this is what the shadow dwellers rely on in times of need. But remember, no matter how much time you spend in the light," every light in the basement went out, "you will always be a shadow dweller." Standing up, Conner moved the chair to the side and slowly moved to the ladder, climbing back up to his room. Once he was up there, he walked over to the bed and woke up his guest.

"Feeling alright, lass?" he asked as she sat up. She nodded, wiped the drowsiness from her eyes, and pulled him down onto the bed.

 

[Combined]

Spoiler: OOC and BUMP

Sorry guys, it's just a bit hectic at the moment. I'll update ASAP, but I really hope someone will be able to post. Sparrow might be, Greyfox too. If you know people in this RP and could nudge them slightly to go post, I would be thankful.

Thank you!

 

[Fingerprint]

Spoiler: OOC

This is just to let you know that with my (awesome) job I'm pretty much restricted to posting on the weekends - yes I know it's Wednesday today - but I'll try to keep up as best I can.

 

[Katherine Kerensky]

Rufus walked through the dusty streets, shaded by the buildings that stood upon both sides of the road. This place seemed somewhat a bit of a paradise in the desert to him. He had already wandered through the aristocracy district, marveling at the fine workmanship, some of which surpassed his own family's estate. Now he drifted through the mercantile district, looking for an appropriate place to deposit his share of the treasure.

Spoiler: Nanodesu (OOC)

Ach, my brain doesn't want to work. I'll either edit this post later, or make a follow-on post... Sorry I've been inactive, lack of ideas and such... crap excuse...

 

[Jedoro]

After spending a good amount of time in the bed, Conner found himself relaxing in the heated bath tub with his female companion in his arms. Smirking, he playfully splashed some water in her face, prompting her to move to the other side and splash back. The two laughed at how childish yet enjoyable the activity was as they continued splashing and spilling water onto the floor. Once they were done, he felt his smile fade, remembering where he was going and what he was doing once this day was over.

"Can I ask you something?" Jenny began, snapping him back to the present as he shrugged. "You've treated me more like your new wife than an object, which is what most men do when they seek out the services of women like me. Why?" Leaning back, he quickly wiped down his face.

"How do I put this?" he mused, running his hands through his hair. "I've thought of people as objects for several years, and it's done wonders for my career, but there's no real camaraderie in my line of work." He leaned his head back and thought to correct himself. "Well, there didn't used to be, but then I teamed up with a group of adventurers, and it's hard not to get close when you're saving each other's lives. But there's a difference between them and..."

"A woman?" Chuckling, he nodded. "Well, you can't get attached to a woman you'll only see once in your life," she lifted her foot out of the water and pointed it at him, "especially not when this is her job, you know."

"I know," he began rubbing the soft, small foot, "I know. But what happens when you and I get older and aren't suited for our jobs anymore? What then, when we have no one outside of our work?"

"Tell you what: if you return from your adventures and aren't missing anything important, you can come find me here when I'm starting to get wrinkles and can't get any more clients. That is, if you actually are attached to me by now and somehow remain so during your travels." She flicked a bit of water into his face with her toes.

"Disloyal men don't survive long in my line of work, whereas in yours," he grabbed her leg and pulled her close, "the whole point is to not get caught up on one man. So, the true issue is whether can I trust you to ever become attached to me." She leaned in and rubbed her nose against his.

"You see, all this talk is about the future, which we know nothing about. So, let's let it go how it desires while we worry about tonight, and how you still have me until tomorrow morning. Now, Conner was it?" He nodded, kissing her collarbone. "Mmm, good. Didn't want to risk calling out the wrong name."

Spoiler: Hey,

I write what comes to mind, okay? Don't judge me.

Or judge if you like, I'd understand.

 

[Combined]

Henry walked through the streets, very cheerful, even his skull mask sporting a wide, skeleton grin. He stopped in one smaller street, away from the main walkways of the city, watching as the Locroops fired into a crowd of poverty-stricken Citizens who had decided to take up arms against the government.

As the Locroops left, he stepped over the bodies. Carefully, avoiding the bullet-mangled corpses, he crossed the street and once more hid in the dark, shady areas of the many alleys and tiny streets of the city. Walking swiftly, his bag jingling and heavy with items and excess coins, he finally reached the "Old Town" district.

Hundreds of soldiers patrolled this gigantic area of the city, obviously brought here to stop the recent troubles the government had with the citizens. Drummers, a flag carrier and an officer lead large squads of, at least, 60 men. These were not ordinary soldiers. They were the elite Imperial Stormtroopers. They wore coal black uniforms, which were only slightly accented by gold buttons and gold coloured collars, their hands were clasped around their rifles, bayonets gleaming in the sun. They also wore an unusual helmet - a pre-cataclysm pickelhaube, the front of which was adorned with a golden skull with a crown.

He felt safer here. It was such a pleasant neighbourhood. Palms provided shade to most wide streets, which also were remarkably clean and tidy, compared to the slums before. Finally, he arrived at the very heart of the city, the Square of Pallenor Van Zundhoven, the legendary hero who beat back the massive desert dweller invasion years ago.

He took a moment to look into the eyes of this famous man and then entered the Fine Mist Wine Cellar, where he'd wait for his companions. He had already sorted out all the matters he needed to, now all that's left is to get a pint of beer before leaving.

Spoiler: As soon as...

As soon as everyone feels ready to continue, join Henry in the Fine Mist Wine Cellar.

 

[Jedoro]

Conner laid in the bed, fighting the urge to go to sleep while Jenny laid beside him. As soon as he was sure she was asleep, he slowly got up and dressed. Once he had all of his gear on, he quietly left after leaving a small bag of his treasure on the bedside table.

She may be a prostitute, he thought as he walked outside, but even she deserves better than an assassin who could get her killed if he had the wrong enemies. Thinking back to Henry's instructions, he headed towards the upscale part of town where he spotted a group of dead civilians. Approaching slowly, he smelled the gunpowder still in the air, which meant the bodies were recent. As he scanned their bodies for anything interesting, he spotted a nice shotgun.

It appeared to be an over-under, but closer inspection revealed that shells could be loaded into the bottom barrel from under the shotgun, where they would be loaded into the top barrel to be fired. Before anyone could object, he casually carried the second shotgun and quickly slipped into the alleys, making his way to the Fine Mist. Spotting the entrance to the establishment, he stopped and walked into the nearby gunsmith's shop.

"Excuse me, sir," Conner began, taking his double-barreled shotgun off his shoulder, "but could you shorten this weapon's barrels? I've recently acquired a better weapon, so I'd like this for very close encounters." Taking the sling off, he handed the weapon to the gunsmith and put the sling on his newer shotgun.

"Is that all?" the man asked, inspecting the plain weapon. "I suppose I can give you a holster for it as well, but shortening it won't be free, you know." Smiling, Conner pulled out a bit of treasure and set it on the counter. "Yes, that'll do nicely. Wait here a bit, shouldn't be long." Conner took a seat as he listened to the metal saw go for a minute, followed by a grinder. In what seemed like no time at all, the gunsmith returned with the dangerously short weapon and its new holder. "It's an adjustable strap, so you should be able to put it wherever you like."

"Thank you very much, sir." Conner put the sawn-off shotgun in a cross-draw on his chest, slinging his semi-auto shotgun and walking out to the entrance of the Fine Mist Wine Cellar. Once inside, he spotted the table where his employer was located, taking the available seat with the best view of the cellar's exit. "It's certainly been an... interesting visit."

Spoiler: Steampunk weapon

for me is basically a Benelli M4 [http://www.benelliusa.com/shotguns/benelli_m4.php] but, you know, steampunk-y. I can find something else if you like.

 

[Sparrow]

As Emerson broke into a light jog due to his lack of breath, the woman turned around and smirked at him once more. She winked as she slowly turned, and once again began to sprint away. Emerson pulled the small pistol off of his belt, the woman now in his sights.

Take a deep breath and shoot. She's a criminal, you're meant to shoot criminals.

However, Emerson couldn't force himself to pull the trigger. As much as he didn't want to admit it, he was too much of a gentleman, and an idiot, to shoot a woman. He sighed, holstering his pistol as the woman drew further and further away.

But just as Emerson had given up hope, he spotted Anselm in the distance, not too far away from where the thief was, eyeing up the chalice in her hand.

 

[Fraught]

Anselm walked with a relaxed pace, his legs swinging around in a big arc, his steps loud, and they tapped the ground with equal timing. Suddenly, the natural harmony of the city sounds was disturbed. A continous, quick row of taps by a pair of boots ringed in Anselm's ears. Looking down from the blue, spotless sky, Anselm saw what appeared to be a woman, running. There were different people around her, ones who just stared confusedly, and others, who ran to the side of the street in cowardice.
"What the?" Anselm said, as the woman hadn't still seen him, but he had seen her, and right behind her, though with hefty distance between the two, he saw Emerson. "Is this relevan-oh, shit!" Anselm said, quickly looking around, his mind hard at work to come up with a quick solution to the problem.

He saw a yard next to him, with the gate left open by the careless owner of the house next to the yard.
"Hmm, I could try to gather a crowd to stop the woman, but I don't have time, and I don't even believe it would succeed even if I had time. Or I could just create a dead-end for her, so she'd have to turn to this yard. But-what am I thinking? None of that will work. What to do, what to do?"
Sander tried to come up with a great way to help his friend, but shooting a woman was not something he'd do, no matter what she had done. Catching her was too dangerous. You never knew what people had with them these days, and what they would do.

Suddenly, Anselm rushed to the yard, finding a clothesline that was empty, and easily detachable. Leaving the yard, he saw a street lamp on the other side of the road. Acting lightning-fast, he tied it around the street lamp, not controlling to tighten it, as he knew that it would succeed decently enough to capture the thief.
"And now, ladies and gentlemen," Anselm said, sprinting across the street, as he held one end of the clothesline wire in his hand, and crouched, holding the wire near the ground. Anselm was lucky it was transparent, and not the thickest there was, so it was hard to spot.

As the sound of the steps grew in volume, Anselm became anxious. He was situated behind a corner, only relying on his sense of hearing to aid him.
But he succeeded. As the woman appeared, Anselm pulled the wire up right before she stepped onto them, tripping the escaper, as she hit the ground. Quickly Anselm ran to her, all the while he yelled with the full power of his lungs.
"Emersoooon!"
He grabbed the woman's arms, putting them behind her back, holding them tight with one of his hands, while grabbing the wire with the other, now happy that he had tied it pretty loosely, as it had already come loose.
"Come 'ere, you careless dog, you," he said, in anticipation of Emerson's arrival.

 

[Sparrow]

Now completely out of breath, Emerson jogged slowly toward Anselm before falling to his knees and beginning to gasp for air. He looked down at the thief, who was struggling to get free.

"The chalice.", he mumbled, still gasping for air, "She's got the chalice."

Before taking one more deep breath, he got up very slowly and took the chalice from the woman's belt. All the time, Anselm was holding her down, seeming very happy about the role he played in her capture.

"I thought you were just going to tackle her or something.", Emerson laughed.

 

[Fraught]

"Well, can't just tackle everything you see. And besides, it was much funner this way," Anselm replied, letting out a hearty laugh.
"I thought you'd be more careful with that thing."

 

[Sparrow]

"Yeah, well, I'm not going to let it out of my sight now. Apparently every prostitute in this town is a thief. Oh-- not that I'd know, of course. In fact, I'm not even sure if this girl is a prostitute."

Emerson dusted down his clothes and attached the chalice to his belt once more, this time making sure it was attached properly.

"Anyway, I'm going to go and find Smith. You coming?"

 

[world_of_dragons]

Spoiler

Say is it too late to join?[

 

[Fraught]

"You're going to go find him? Well, I was intent on getting a few things done here, but eh, I guess it's late enough as it is," Sander said, eyeing the chalice.
"Anyway, we were supposed to meet at the Fine Mist Wine Cellar. We should get goin'."