Chapters "Look, all I'm sayin' is that it helps.... like a lot."
Soft Touch rolled her eyes as she trotted along with the group of mercenaries as they passed the gates into town. The troupe had been pretty decent as far as paid killers went but, when your company is a group of 'ruin explorers', you tended to take most things with a grain of salt.
As it was, two unicorns, a gem gnoll and a trio of dwarves had been her company for the last two weeks as they cleared a trade road of bandits and rescued a village from a swarm of faceless evil rabbits. The seven, despite their differences, had managed to work together and, if she were honest with herself, she wouldn't be entirely against working with them again.
Well, except for the gnoll... he smelled bad and only got worse when he bathed.
"And all I'm saying is that magic is for magic people. You don't see cats using wands or fish needing spells to swim. If it ain't broke, don't screw it up with magic!" Soft snarked out as she flipped open a pouch on her saddle pack and pulled out a flask of brandy.
"Soft, look, I get it; you're freaked out by magi-" the taller of her two unicorn companions started before stumbling over a cobblestone and landing in a heap.
Soft Touch stopped and looked back while the second unicorn paused to look up from his spellbook to glance back at the noise. With a snort, he lit his horn and picked his compatriot off the road.
"Thanks Bright... but as I was sayin', anyone can learn magic... you don't have to be scared of it or anything. It's, like, everywhere!"
Bright Way rolled his eyes as a quick spell dusted off his friend before he returned his attention to his book and turned to wander off. Soft Touch simply shook her head as she smirked at the three dwarves standing behind the younger unicorn.
Dorgoth, Grault, and Huzon, for their own part, were silently miming a number of ways to shut the young sorcerer up. Dorgoth, the shortest of the group, was pretending to dig a pit and push the unicorn in. Grault, the muscle, mimed knocking him out, but seemed undecided on if the war hammer or the shield would be most effective. Huzon, the heaviest of the group as a whole, was trying to hold back laughter as he simply tied a cloak around his neck, much to Soft's confusion... until he pulled out a fork and knife and grinned widely with mirth in his eyes.
Mortar, their guide and resident gem gnoll, drooled. He wasn't really the most clever of characters, but he had his uses.
"Look. I'm not saying you shouldn't do magic... you're a unicorn, and that's great and all, but I'm not keeping any of that weird crap you keep going on about. If someone wants it, I'm selling it first chance I get."
"Soft! You can't! Those gems are so hard to come by! Look, I'll take them and you can just forget you ever even had them, alright?"
"So, you'll buy them then?"
The unicorn flinched. "Um, how much did you want for them, Soft?"
She looked up, raising a hoof to her lips as she'd seen a number of merchants do in the past. "Well, I suppose I could let them go for.... oh, let's say 5000."
The sick look on his face was enough to tell her she'd guessed right... poor bastard wanted them enough that he'd pay top coin for them. Magic folk were just so damn predictable. If they couldn't afford it, they wanted it with everything they had. If they had it though, they'd sell it all in an instant if there was something they couldn't afford that was magic.
She smiled as she watched his face flit through expression after expression. She knew that look... it was the 'internal debate' look that they always got when they were trying to figure out a solution before they'd be forced to pay market price... and weren't coming up with an answer that they liked.
"I..." he sighed, "can't afford that." She watched his ears wilt, feeling just a little guilt about messing with him. "But look, Soft, can you just hold onto them for me until I can make it? Please? One professional to another?" He looked up with pleading eyes as the dwarves behind him gave various expressions of nausea.
Mortar passed gas that made the dwarves somehow look even more nauseous.
"Ug... fine. Here, I know you'll just keep giving me those looks if I didn't give 'em to you anyway, Dawn, but by the Queen, let's move before Mortar's gotten us kicked out of town."
With a quick flip of her head, Soft tossed a small pouch of gems to the unicorn before trotting off in the direction of the nearest bar.
-~oOo~-
The Cracked Barrel wasn't a fancy tavern with lots of windows. It wasn't a showy inn with paintings of landscapes. It wasn't even a dark and creepy place to find unsavory characters. No... the Cracked Barrel was a well lit, albeit dingy, hole in the wall type bar. Nestled uncomfortably between a smithy and a stonewright, the little place had just enough space for a handful of tables and a central fire pit, courtesy of the smithy's cast offs.
No one would fight in the Cracked Barrel... it just wasn't done. The proprietor was a massive Phoenix Wolf who had taken it upon himself to start a 'respectbil' business at the end of his 'avenchurin' days. The fights here would, invariably, find their way outside before any strikes were exchanged on the premise.... no one wanted to see the old wolf wading through drunkards again, and the rumors stopped most who hadn't seen it themselves.
Thankfully, that left it as a close, but relatively safe, place to relax after a long job killing bandits and liberating villages from rambunctious rodents.
"Long night featherduster?" came the rolling voice of the proprietor as Soft lifted her head from the table to look at him.
"Something like that, mutt."
Despite her words, neither of the pair had a drop of animosity to their voices. Soft Touch lolled her head as she turned to look the old wolf over. For his own part, Conflagration padded over and pushed her nearly off her seat in a friendly shove.
"Then you should get out before you do something stupid. Go on, you. Move that flank out to the road and get yourself a place to pass out before you try to make a bed of my table." He smirked with a huff. "I'm sure half the lumps here would even pay for a room for you, but that ain't your style."
With a groan and a shove, Soft Touch levered herself up from the table and staggered to her hooves, turning to drop a number of coins for her drinks. "Fine fine... I'm moving out, Torch. Keep me a few pints next time you get some of that fairy water stuff. You know the drill."
With a smirk, the phoenix wolf shook his head but collected the coins and watched the pegasus stumble out into the night.
-~oOo~-
The trio of thugs had come out of nowhere as she stumbled down one of the less traveled alleys on her way to ... probably an inn. One had stepped out in front of her, smiling slightly as he casually tossed a small club from hand to hand. Another had dropped in behind her, cutting off her easiest route back to open spaces. The third... he threw a net from above, choosing to remain at a distance on the roof.
Of the three, Soft was most frustrated with the idiot on the roof.
"Alright miss, we're tarebly sorry to trouble you, but it seems you musta taken my bags all accidental like. If you'd be so kind as to be jus given'em back now, we'll be on our ways."
Soft Touch rolled her neck, setting her eyes on the speaker in front of her as she began to work the net slowly off.
"Aye! Don't be doing that, missus. It'd be right unfortunate if you were to get tangled in that net there," came the taunting response from the mugger guarding her escape back to the road.
"Look, boys, I just got back from a long job and I just want to get some sleep on a soft bed... so could we please just not do this tonight?" She glanced up to the roofs as the last of the net slipped off her back, mussing her coat and feathers in an unpleasant fashion.
"Naw. 'M Sorry miss, but we can't let you go be stealin' our bags," the thug before her pulled his club in towards his chest, straightening up with an almost comical leer. "Itwood be uncivlized and such. You understand."
Soft rolled her eyes, and quickly regretted it as the world seemed to sway for a few seconds. "We're seriously going to do this? Right now?"
Once again, the thug before her smiled, "'fraid so miss, so why doncha go and make it be easy on ya and just give over m'bags hmmm?"
Soft muttered something under her breath before pulling one of the laces loose on her right hoof guard, and glancing back to the thug who had been speaking before pulling loose the same lace of her left. The thug raised a bushy eyebrow and looked to his compatriots in confusion, but received only shrugs in response.
"Now missus, not to be pushin' or nof, but we'd be right grateful would you jus be handin' our bags over an' all. No need to be droppin' yer clothes, see?"
Soft, normally, would have rolled her eyes, but fought down the urge as she recalled the world tumbling and swaying from a moment ago. Instead she merely took a slow breath to calm her shaky senses and pull the ends of both laces into her mouth. No doubt her assailants were preparing to rush her, knock her out and steal her bags, her money, and perhaps her gear. They'd likely been scouting the roads and gates, looking for travelers with money and goods, weary from the road and strangers to the town. In all likelihood, theirs was a practice that was frowned upon, but tacitly encouraged by the citizenry for the simple fact that it drew more money into the purses of those who ran the businesses.
Such things meant little to the average townie... they weren't the ones to lose money or livelihoods. It wouldn't make sense. For a small town, everyone would run across one another at some point, everyone would eventually have to work with, train, seek the help of, or sell to everyone else. When crimes were committed in such a place, you either weren't caught or you didn't target those who you would have to live with.
So... visitors and guests were the marks. They wouldn't know names and often enough wouldn't be able to recall enough information from such a 'frightful' encounter until pursuing justice was simply too much of a hassle. And, for most passerby, a mugging would be more than intimidating enough to relinquish their meager possessions.
Unfortunately for her 'friends', Soft Touch was no simple traveler.
Tying the laces together in her mouth would be about as easy as walking, holding back her dinner when she realized she had probably stepped in something, less so, but a moment later, she looked up and spit on the ground.
"Alright boys, I'm letting you know, I'm not really feeling all that cheerful right now... last chance and we can call it a misunderstanding."
To their credit, the thugs seemed to consider for a moment before breaking out into laughter.
"'ell, can't be sayin' we didn't offer," the leader smiled before leaping at her with his club already swinging towards her head.
Soft swallowed back the sudden urge to vomit as he seemed to blur in the air, but closed her eyes and leapt backwards, slamming her back into the thug behind her and cocking her legs for a kick while lifting her front hooves above her head.
The sharp yelp from behind, coupled with the satisfying crunch as her rear hooves planted firmly into their airborne leader, was almost enough to send the three tumbling back out into the street behind. When she dropped her tied hooves down and pushed off the thug behind her acted as a cushion when the force of the kick sent them back another few feet.
Their leader, caught by the laces behind his head and kicked with the crushing force of a small horse, went sailing into a pile of something while spinning... likely with a horrible case of whiplash.
Opening her eyes, Soft belched softly before rolling off the stunned assailant and finding her hooves.
"That's why you take the easy way out," she muttered before turning to step back into the street, shaking the knot in her bracers loose in the process.
Above her, forgotten for the moment, the third thug watched with curiosity as a patently drunk pegasus systematically took apart what should have been an easy hit, only to stumble off and puke into a nearby planter.
"Funny..." he muttered from the roof, "thought she'd be grease by now."
And with a slight chuckle, he slipped from the roof, looted the unconscious members of the gang, and strolled from the alley a few minutes later to find himself a drink... perhaps some of that dirt horse swill on a night like this.
-~oOo~-
Soft woke to the gentle ministrations of the god of hangovers drumming all 12 of his mallets upon the inside of her skull.
Though, perhaps 'waking' was too liberal a term for the groaning lump of pegasus that tried desperately, and failed, to find the right combination of muscles to pull the pillow over her head.
Pain was, of course, the end result of a night of drinking, a lack of water, and barely any food to soak it up with. It hadn't helped that she had apparently found her place of slumber by stumbling into every wall along the way, if the aches in her muzzle were anything to go by. Still, on the whole, she didn't feel anything broken, so there was that.
"So, Soft, about those gems?"
Why the hell was Dawn in her room?
"Soft? Hey, Soft, you alright? You look a little beaten up."
The sound that escaped her lips was something like the bastard offspring of a groan and a curse.
"Oh! You are awake! Here, let me just get the window then."
It took Soft's brain precious seconds to process that comment, and when neuron A finally got the message to neuron B, the mental equivalent of a fog horn was already engaging in parts of her anatomy that were not normally used for thought. Instincts and years of training worked together, teaming with the single goal of stopping the oncoming agony that her brain was just now beginning to figure out.
Fortunately for Dawn, Soft's brain was still in control of such advanced concepts as 'coordination,' making her attempt at strangling him completely ineffective. Unfortunately for Soft, that same lack of coordination combined with the aforementioned reflexes to place her head firmly into the side table with unhealthy speed.
The crashing thump was enough to cause the unicorn to turn, albeit as he opened the shutters and stabbed her eyes with the blazing glory of the sun.
"Um, Soft?" was all he managed to say before a deft kick brought him to the floor as well.
-~oOo~-
The sun was up, the windows opened, the scummy crap that always got stuck in her hooves had been scrubbed out, and Soft Touch was in the process of slowly nursing a hangover back from the edge of agony towards something that only approached crippling. Dawn was busy checking over his meal, making sure he hadn't forgotten anything when he'd nicked it earlier. Long grain honey bread sat alongside a small bowl of currants, a bottle of some kind of juice, and a lumpy bag of mulled prairie seeds. Next to Soft, a twist of smoked fish rounded things out.
And between them, a pitcher of ice was slowly melting, making soft clicks and pops every once in a while as the charm that kept it cool slowly bled off its power.
All in all, it was a lovely breakfast that Soft could simply not enjoy.
"So.... you got mugged last night?"
Soft cracked her eyes open an inch, letting them settle as the blazing hammers of sobriety tried unsuccessfully to convince her that alcohol was a naughty thing. Dawn was sitting there, across the table from her, looking uncomfortable but determined.
Huh.... odd combination for the guy.
"Nah. Got into a few fights with the local architecture on the way home." At his raised eyebrow, she added, "I didn't lose a thing to those thugs."
The unicorn turned his head, looking for all the world like he was chewing on a sentence he just couldn't quite get out. Soft watched him for a few moments before closing her eyes again and muttering "Damnit, Dawn, just say it and get it over with. I ain't drunk enough to deal with this crap right now."
The ice popped again before the stallion took a breath and responded. "You know, Soft, I get that you don't like it, but getting drunk and getting mugged really should kind of be a hint that you're making yourself too obvious."
Soft raised an eyebrow... this coming from the bloody little thief that somehow snuck into her room while she was wandering drunk in the city?
"Dawn..."
"No, no.... wait. I'm serious here Soft. I get it. I do. It's not normal for you. You don't like the stuff that doesn't add up in your head. I get it. But, jeez... for someone who works as hard as you do, you gotta know it starts to attract attention from folks like us."
Soft frowned and cracked her eye open again, shooting the blue sorcerer a glare. "Like.... us?"
"Yheah, like us. I mean, I know you and Bright kind of keep it on the up and up, but when you think about it... really think about it, we're just a bunch of thieves." Hes gestured to the table with the meal spread between them. "And seeing a single mare strolling around drunk, at night, with a big ol' bag of noisy treasure and a heavier sack of gold... well, it kind of begs for a bit of the criminal element."
Soft stared at him for a few more seconds, the unicorn's uneasy smile dropping when she didn't respond.
"I'm just saying, Soft, that as much as you hate the stuff, there are some things that magic is actually good for. Even for you, maybe."
He really was trying to help... she knew that, but at the moment she really wanted to just club him upside the head and sleep for a few more hours.
"Dawn," she started, raising a hoof to rub his face as she spoke, "I'm going to be unusually polite and not even strangle you right now, 'cuz I know you're trying to help or something, but if you say another damned word about me using magic, I'm going to shove that pitcher up your plothole so far that your dinner will be cold from that charm."
When she lowered her hoof and looked at him, his expression was one she hadn't expected at all: pity.
"Fine, Touch. I'm just trying to look out for you." He shook his head slightly and pushed away from the table. "Enjoy your breakfast. I'll be catching up with Bright and the others. Meet us at the board in an hour or so if you feel like it. We'll be heading out tonight either way."
He turned to leave, and she could almost swear he looked sad for a moment before pushing his way out into the hallway of whatever inn she'd ended up in and closing the door. His hoofsteps grew fainter as he walked off, leaving her with a meal that could have fed the both of them and a little pouch she hadn't noticed until just then.
Curiosity peaked, she reached out a hoof and knocked the little bag over, raising an eyebrow as a rather large pile of thick coins spilled out.
"The hell?" she muttered before noticing the heavy printing on a number of the marks indicating a rather respectable sum. It was a few more moments before her eyes widened and she spread the coins out to count, inadvertently knocking over the bowl of currants.
"Five thousand. The little shit actually got together five thousand marks to pay me back," she leaned back, running a hoof through her mane as she considered just what it meant for a thief to pay top dollar for something, and to leave that kind of money just laying around.
"Shit," she muttered again as she swept the coins back into the pouch, shoved as much of the food as she could into her overfull saddle pack, and glared balefully at the spilled currants that littered the floor. Shame, that; currants were a favorite of hers, but picking them all up would take forever.
With a sigh, she left the mess, pulled on her gear, and trotted to the door, ready to find out what scummy little hole she'd spent the night in...
... and, maybe to find out why the little blue freak was playing on the level with her.
Definitely not like she cared or anything.
-~oOo~-
Trekking across town on a sunny day with a 12 mallet hangover was never something Soft Touch considered doing lightly. It was painful enough to wake up in a dark room, mouth full of the taste of something better left forgotten, but to add bright sunlight to the generally friendly dispositions of townsfolk just seemed to be asking for fate to use your skull as the anvil on which suffering is forged.
In short, Soft was not known for her cheerful disposition after drinking... and even less for running around early the next morning.
Stumbling into the shade of one of the mercenary hall's many awnings, Soft groaned as she squinted at the warrant board, hoping for a clue as to where Dawn and Bright might have wandered off to. Sure, they would be moving out that night but that wouldn't help her find that blasted thief that had probably just sold half his toys to buy her gems.
Freaking casters and their magic addictions. Soft frowned again, looking over the board and weighing the offers.
Bandits... when were there not? A little coin and unknown risks... Not very likely.
Mugger... medium height, medium build, normal skin color, no noticeable markings or distinguishing features. Nah... that's just an alibi.
Vall Kree... Half-demon hellspawn. Wanted for the corruption and slaughter of 4 villages and the population of at least... Nope. Not enough gold in the world.
Cream Pegasus, slate mane/tail, blue eyes... Public Intoxication, Disorderly Conduct, Assault and Battery of two locals...yheah.... just pull that one down and burn it before anyone reads it.
...
"So, you showed up after all," the rich voice of Bright Way came from her side. Turning, Soft saw the unicorn, spellbook hovering nearby, as he regarded her with eyes that should really have gotten him a girl years ago. As it was, Soft only frowned a moment before glancing around for the rest of the group.
"Yheah.... Dawn broke in and tried to buy those gems from yesterday. You seen him?"
Bright glanced at his book again before gesturing back towards the street. "Breaking into a room... not really shocking. But yes, he said something about the Third'sday market being in town. I'm, not entirely sure what that even means, but he said he'd be by the Southshale well stalls if you came looking for him."
"The hell's he doing there?" Soft grumbled. While the town wasn't exactly poor, there were certain qualities and services which would never be popular in the financial system that was known as bartering. That the town could support markets was a miracle in and of itself, but the markets near the Southshale well were well known for their rather pricey wares. Wares that Dawn had no business being around.
While Dawn was decent enough when taken as a whole, in parts... he was a rather shady individual. Being equal parts open and sneaky, Dawn tended to gather attention at the best of times and ire at the worst. His demeanor would not be strange within a traveling fair, but his dealings would most certainly gather the wrong kind of attention if something caught his eye.
And, while being a mercenary tended to afford people like himself a certain degree of legal flexibility, if he wasn't actively on the job, hunting some miscreant or monster, his antics tended to fall outside the law.
The issue, of course, was that the markets near the Sothshale well tended to be both well populated and filled with the sorts of merchants that counted their coins after each sale; the kind of merchants that placed wards upon the most trivial of trinkets. Their prices ranged from high to higher and their quality could fill ledgers with the finest inks. In other words, they had shiny stuff and knew it was worth a pretty sum of money.
They were also known for their rather strict handling of thieves.
With another groan as she left the shade, Soft Touch started a bit of a sprint before taking off into the sky, determined to catch her idiot partner before he got caught doing whatever it was he planned...
...and damned be the hangover that tried to stop her.
-~oOo~-
It didn't take long to locate the market. Brightly dyed shades fluttered in the breeze, crisscrossing the bizarre maze of stalls that wound through an otherwise open section of the town. Carts and tables, crates and doorways littered the clearing, making snaking paths that changed by the hour as vendors arrived or departed. The voices of the merchants barking out tantalizing 'deals' or simply hawking their wares filled the air almost as surely as the number of winged carriers darting in and out of the sky to restock or deliver the purchases from below. The aroma of dozens of exotic foods, potions, cook fires, and the subtle stench of a hundred or more unwashed sweaty beings wafted through the sky as the sun blazed down adding to the mix. It was a chaotic dance of motion and sound, bright colors and pungent smells, that assaulted the senses all while attempting to seem reasonable enough to forestall complaint from the residents.
In short, hangover fuel.
Soft moaned faintly as she searched through the tangled mess of sensory agony, tracing paths and scouring the teeming mass of flesh below while simultaneously trying to keep down her meager breakfast.
There was the well, its simple form easily identifiable by the enforced space of nearly ten feet in every direction. There were the town guards, poorly armed but dedicated and well trained, wading in and out of the throng. And, of course, there was the sweat cart, already loaded down with two would-be thieves, resting in an unshaded stretch of the market, and receiving the glares of every vendor within eyesight.
Soft felt a bit bad for those two... yes, stealing was against the law, but the towns method of deterring it was, in her eyes, at least as wrong.
After all, in other places you'd end up in lockup or on the treadmill until you paid your debt to society. A few places might scar or brand you for more costly thefts. One town would work you until the weight of the goods had been sweated off. But here? No.... here they had a more creative solution.
Gelding or red irons on the first offense. Hobbling on the second.
Thieves, generally, didn't make a third appearance at the Third'sday market.
Soft growled out softly as she finally spotted him, threading his way between lanes like a veteran while simultaneously drawing every eye with his cheerful demeanor.
She could already see one of the townies following behind him carefully, watching for him to wander off without paying for some random trinket. And all around, the merchants were grinning widely, offering their services or wares, while signaling the guard the moment he passed by.
In short, Dawn was about to be jumped and taken, whether he had done anything yet or not.
But of course, that wouldn't stop an angry merchant from making an 'innocent mistake' and having him charged and punished before finding out (or caring) if he was guilty or not. The Third'sday market was not a place to worry about such trivialities as that.
-~oOo~-
Dawn wove through the throng with the grace of a lifelong dancer, nimbly sliding past vendor and customer alike. His was the motion of the sky... gliding along on subtle winds but never quite touching the obstructions that he came up against. It was a reaction, an instinct, honed over years of irreputable dealings and dozens of brawls. It was almost poetic, watching his body move.
Soft couldn't care less as she twisted mid-air and corkscrewed into a dive.
She turned as she plummeted, keeping her head facing her target, flitting out a few inches of wing here or flaring her tail just a bit there to guide herself in. She squinted as she whipped by ropes and shades, yards of wooden poles and market banners, each coming withing a hooves breadth of clipping her. She didn't care. As the seconds stretched on, she flared her wings before pumping with an athlete's stamina, forcing herself to go faster.
And then, she flipped her tail to the side, spun her body almost completely around, and bore down with sudden violence upon the armored back of the guard who had been leveling a crossbow at Dawn.
The two went down in a symphony of metal and hooves.
Of course, rapid takedowns were something of a specialty of hers, almost a requirement in her field of work, but given the circumstances, she'd foregone the customary application of stealth. Rolling herself back to her hooves, she blinked as no fewer than four spears and a crossbow leveled at her face.
"Attacking the Guard's a month in the cells, lil missy. Hope it were worth it to ya," growled one of the spearmen.
Frowning, Soft rolled her eyes. "And impeding a Guilded Merc without reason is a fine if you're lucky," she spat back.
Unimpressed, one of the Guard started to reach towards her when a faint glow surrounded his gauntleted hand.
"I would really rather you didn't touch her," came the oddly cheerful voice of Dawn as he sidled up to Soft, a similar glow coming from his horn.
The Guards, still brandishing weapons, glared for a few moments longer before the one who had started to reach pulled his hand back and snarled back. "Reports of thievery, pickpocketing, witnesses to a unicorn matching your description stealing goods from the stalls -"
Dawn interrupted, "which I assume you have the paperwork for and alerted the respective authorities before taking action... perhaps attempting to apprehend or, I don't know, verify your information before leveling weapons?"
Soft continued to stand, though she was losing her initial fire. It was one thing to take out a single target. It was another to stare down a patrol... weapons drawn. Internally, she was counting off seconds, guessing at tactics, playing the odds against escaping with so many pointy objects within striking range... and she wasn't liking the outcomes.
One of the merchants shouted "It's them damn horses what make this place a sty! I seen 'at one pocket a watch from my own table! Ain't an honorable drop in 'is body!"
The Guard smiled, "Sounds like we have a witness."
At which point every one of their weapons jerked violently skywards and spun to face downwards again, wreathed in a bright yellow glow.
"And," a rich male voice cut through the crowd, "it would seem, you are as ignorant as that slime is idiotic."
Soft grinned along with Dawn as Bright Way politely edged through the crowd, trailed by three heavily armed and armored dwarves... and a slightly damp gem gnoll.
"I feel it important to note that neither of those two have upon them said timepiece, nor the 'pocket' of which this charlatan professes witness to. I feel it, likewise, important to recognize that without proof of a crime, you conspired to bare a weapon against not one, but two guilded mercenaries. I feel it further important to acknowledge the only crime witnessed here was one of which that can be seen as protecting the innocent against a corrupt guard who benefits from said mercenary activity." Bright Way tilted his head slightly, "Please, do stop me if I am, in any way, mistaken."
The guards looked between one another, but stilled as their speaker raised a hand. "You're playing a dangerous game, horse. We don't take threats lightly."
Bright, head still tiled in mock confusion, raised an eyebrow. "Oh? That's good. The guard doesn't take threats lightly." He straightened himself up as his spellbook floated into view. "Then I shall have to make this overly clear then... If you attempt to harm any of the guild, without cause, proper claim, evidence, and paperwork in the future, I shall visit upon you the contents of the first thirty pages of my spellbook." He smiled slightly, "I should also advise against threatening mercenaries... especially the ones that handle the problems of your city."
With a flick of his head, the collection of floating weapons plunged into the ground at the feet of the guards.
The two groups stared at each other in silence for a few moments before Dawn cheerfully chirped in "Thanks for the save Bright! Come on Soft, let's go."
And just as he stepped past the ring of guards, Bright's voice broke the silence once more. "Search him... her too."
Dawn froze, eyes widening as he felt a strong pair of hands grab him by the shoulders and force him to his knees. Rough gloves pulled and pried at his coat, sought out his saddle pack and even emptied his coin purse of its meager sum. Despite their rough handling, he was standing again within a minute.
Bright Way watched the entire time, eyes expressionless as his spellbook hovered nearby. Whispers rippled through the crowd as merchants and others watched. Even the dwarves seemed suddenly uncomfortable as they watched two of their friends be stripped down at the order of another.
Finally, the Guards stepped away from Dawn, pushing him roughly, though not violently towards Bright.
He stumbled, found his footing, and then looked down at the other unicorn before shaking his head. "That wasn't right."
Bright Way looked him over a few seconds before whispering "you brought it on yourself."
With a snort, Bright turned and began to pass back through the crowd when Soft's voice snapped Dawn's head back around.
"HEY! YOU GIVE THAT BACK YOU FILTHY THIEVING LITTLE CUSS!"
Clasped in the hand of of one the guard, held triumphantly up like the spoils of war, was a small pouch that clinked heavily with coins.
Dawn felt his heart clench. He would bet his life there would be five thousand marks inside.
-~oOo~-
Soft Touch ground her teeth in frustration as that haughty bastard just kept walking back and forth in front of the sweat cart, tossing her purse of coins idly as he 'guarded' the prisoners.
Namely, herself and the two actual crooks in the cart with her.
The first was a skinny guy with rags tied to his feet. He was grungy and lanky, probably out more than a few meals, and just a bit deaf if his jumping whenever something moved on his left was anything to go by. The other was a slimeball that had been caught after the kid he'd paid to pinch stuff had given him up. Seeing her company, Soft could almost understand the first, if not for being warned by one of the less pushy guards that he'd been caught when his fingers had become stuck to the bodice of one of the vendors... a spell of some sort, that wouldn't release him.
Food was one thing; something that Soft could understand taking if one was starving. But, no matter how she looked at it, no amount of bread would have sated the hunger he had been trying to feed.
When she'd been shoved in, both had shuffled to the far end of the cart though, apparently after seeing her plow through the one guard they had decided that the guard would likely be a better gamble than the angry pegasus.
And Soft ~was~ angry. Not only had she come to save Dawn, but she'd even been directed to him by Bright in the first place. That she'd put herself in direct danger, without any promise of pay and no backup.... that was just the icing on the cake. That she'd only come tearing out of the inn with a hangover because Dawn had actually decided to PAY her for those gems.... that was frustrating. But the thing, the real pinnacle of angst, that made everything go from a pain in the flank to an absolutely new level of horse-fuckery.... that would be that the whole damn thing was just so Dawn could get those blasted rocks to make magic crap with.
Soft's ears flicked back and forth, tracking the little scumbag with her money... and in her mind, there was no longer any question... it WAS her money now. And when she got out, she knew she'd be visiting the guild for the requisite eighteen minutes before seeking remunerations.
She'd planned the most efficient use of her 8 minutes of retribution, starting with bucking him behind the knee when he wasn't looking.
Threaten to 'geld' her?!? She'd make his unborn grandchildren flinch with the kick she had planned.
And out there, looking both desperate and worried, was Dawn... fiddling with his bags as he tried to figure out how to help.
Bright Way stood nearby, impassive, though she could tell he hadn't planned on this outcome. His left ear would twitch whenever he saw her looking his way.
Oh, she'd figured out his ploy a minute in. Play the big stallion. Waltz in and take control. Make a big show about throwing around the guild's charter and then stick Dawn with a little bit of public humiliation to cut down on his thievery. Yheah... great plan, if there was any chance of it getting through his happy little skull. But, no... Bright hadn't thought it through. He couldn't just say "search that one"... he'd have looked like a patsy, and the merchants would just mark it up to another pony covering for their partner in crime. Damn be the facts of the matter... she knew how these things worked.
Humans were scum.
And, there it was.... when they couldn't get Dawn, they'd just convinced themselves that ponies couldn't have money. They'd made up their minds and decided that she'd stolen it... forget the fact that NO ONE was missing money. Hells, forget the fact that Dawn had probably SOLD HIS CRAP to these bastards to get that money in the first place.
Oh no... when she got out, that guard was not the only one who was going to be needing a few days off.
She glared at Bright Way... and from that ear of his, she knew he got the message.
*****
Bribery, By (Any Other) Name
Sometime during the hottest part of the day, Soft had dozed off. Between the persistent headache, the heat, the brain searing sun and burning through all of her breakfast by pacing angrily in the sweat cart, she had simply gotten too weary and, predictably, passed out.
Normally, this turn of events wouldn't have been a problem. Between having food and water, shelter, and freedom, she could have trotted over to some shade, had a bit of water, or even trusted her companions to look out for her - then again, normally she would not have been locked up in a cage with no shade or water in the first place.
So, when she was roughly jostled awake, finding her legs hobbled and her wings bound, her first response was panic. Throwing her head back, trying to leap into the air and fight off her assailants all at the same time, she only managed to topple herself over, bashing her own head into the cage, and knocking herself silly.
Being dragged out by her hobbles had done her no favors, but by that point, she had been in little position to argue.
Some hours later, having recovered a bit in a cool cell, Soft found herself waking up again, aching all over, and craving water to a degree that she idly wondered if she'd lower herself to drinking from a trough if given half the chance.
All of that, however, changed the moment she realized she was still hobbled, chained, and now sported a bit between her teeth that was keeping the muzzle strapped to her head.
A few moments struggling with her hooves served only to prove that, despite her adventure stories, jailers really did use things that worked to keep people from escaping easily.
Who knew?
With a snort of frustration, she glanced around the cell. Three walls, all of some kind of cream colored daub, a set of bars that ringed the whole place, and a wooden arch that helped divide the room before ceding territory to a stairwell. Two small openings in one wall served to let in light, though even from here she could see that they, too, were metal lined and barred. A series of notches in the walls held tapers, probably to a small oil trough located somewhere off in the building, which gave off a feeble glow from their tiny flames. Otherwise, the room was bare, only sporting a wooden bucket half filled with water, near the front of her cell.
Oh... and the anchor loop in the floor and ceiling which were currently being used as extra precautions, chaining her to the physical structure of the building itself.
In short, she was screwed.
With another snort, Soft glanced back and found her saddle pack was, predictably, missing. In fact, they seemed to have taken everything, down to the nails from her shoes. Idiots or not, she at least had to admit they had been thorough; a skilled thief could, after all, fashion a lockpick from just about anything... she'd seen Dawn do it.
Grumbling to herself, she paused and frowned even harder. With the bit in her mouth, she couldn't even understand her own muttering.
When she got out, and she promised herself that she would, she was going to make very sure that that prick in the market understood exactly how pissed she was.
And then, after a quick glance to make sure no one was watching, she staggered to the front of her cell and slopped up what water she could from the bucket..... like some dumb animal.
*****
"TWO DAYS! It took you TWO DAYS to get me out!?" Soft shouted at Bright Way. "First you think it's a great idea to set up Dawn, then you decide you USE ME in your plot, THEN... THEN you screw us BOTH over with your shit and THEN, on top of everything else, you dick around for TWO FRAKKING DAYS to get me out!?"
Bright way, despite normally being the calm center of the group, had taken to flinching slightly under Soft's verbal barrage. Admittedly, she was currently nearly upright with her front hooves pinning him to the cell wall, but the fact of the matter was that he still outweighed her by a good eighty pounds and stood a bit taller as well. It might have had something to do with the nearly murderous glares she had started giving him the moment he came down with one of the guards, or the fact that she looked like she hadn't bathed, or even tried to groom herself in days, or perhaps it was the fact that pegassi really didn't do too well in enclosed spaces for long periods of time... but whatever it was, Bright Way knew the instant she had been unlocked, that he was in more trouble than he had thought.
"Soft Touch, please calm down. You're free now and there's no -" Bright started, only to feel his head bounce firmly off the wall behind him, courtesy of a sharp shove from his pegasus ... friend.
"Calm down? Seriously? That's what you're going to say to me after that crap?" Seeing him starting to open his mouth again, Soft gave one more quick shove and stalked to the stairwell. "Bright, There ain't a Queen's damned thing you can say to excuse this. You KNOW I hate these places. You KNOW I was innocent. And you damn well know that not a single freaking thing better be damaged or I'll have your head right after that bastard, goat fucking, merchant sleaze bag!"
The guard, who had been standing off to the side through the entire exchange, took a step forward and placed a guantletted hand upon Soft's withers, only to yank it back as she spun and snapped her teeth where his fingers had been a moment ago.
"Now miss, there's no need for that kind of behavior," he said, though his other hand slid towards his club.
"I'll tell you something there, mister guard," Soft's voice dropped to a hiss, "I have every right to be beyond pissed. I have every right to take out my alloted 8 minutes of vengeance, and I have every right to knock that idiot's head into the wall until he sees two of me. And you," she punctuated the statement with an angry stomp, "have got some nerve touching me after this whole thing."
After a moment, the guard nodded slowly but didn't remove his hand from the slip of his club. "Aye, but I can't be letting you go if you're standing here spitting threats against the good people of the town."
Soft's muzzle scrunched up into a silent snarl before she snorted and glared at Bright Way once more. "Get my stuff, mister guard. I'm not making threats, I'm reminding the local law enforcement of the laws they're supposed to be following." She looked back over to the guard once more, a calmer, though no less upset frown on her face. "And just to clear things up, that merchant... the 'good person' you're worried about me threatening... he wanted me to be spayed for 'stealing' his crap when I hadn't even been in town long enough to recover from a hangover and the MUGGING I went through the night before."
The guard cleared his throat to speak but was cut off again as Soft just shook her head and started up the stairs. "Just.... get my stuff, mister guard. I shouldn't have been here in the first place and I'm not going to stay here longer just to argue about it."
Bright Way and the guard both watched in silence as Soft stormed up the steps with the soft clattering of unshod hooves.
"You know, this isn't going to be a very nice day for you, right?" the guard asked as Bright started up the steps as well.
Bright paused for a moment, to look back at the guard. "No... no it is not. And it truly is a shame that it was an innocent that got caught up in your town's prejudices."
Whatever small amount of understanding the guard had for the unicorn evaporated almost instantly. "Right... because we make your kind crooks," he muttered.
Bright Way pretended not to hear as he simply slipped off up the stairs.
*****
Soft Touch was livid.
Not only had she been stuck in a cell for two days for some trumped up charge by a slimy merchant, not only had one of her team set the events in motion that had led to it, not only had it only happened because the most prominent thief in their group had decided to go legit for some reason, but those greasy fingered sleazeballs they called 'guards' had gone through her stuff.
There was also the threat of being spayed, and the fact that that particular thought only occurred at the end of her internal rant made her pause for a moment.
Extreme personal harm against indignity and violation of privacy. Hmmm.... priorities.
Nope, at the moment, she was okay with her list. She could always freak out more about it later.
But right now, Soft Touch was just a hair's breadth away from flying over the chest high counter, bucking the clerk, and then throttling every last one of them.
She might have also been desperately craving a bottle of something alcoholic to take the edge off, but that was beside the point.
"Look, I just want my stuff back. I've been locked up for two days and they just let me out... I just want to get my stuff and get out of this crap hole," Soft explained.... for the third time.
The clerk, a sweaty, bearded, midget of a man, screwed up his face in a look of jaded frustration... or constipation... Soft never was terribly good at telling the difference on humans. "And I told you, you dumb dust mop, it ain't happening! Your possessions have been confiscated in relation to the aforementioned crime and will be returned if, AND ONLY IF, you are cleared of all charges." The little man huffed and lifted himself up just the tiniest bit as he placed his palms on the counter.
"And I told you THEY LET ME OUT YOU OBNOXIOUS RUNT! I DIDN'T DO ANYTHING SO THEY HAD TO LET ME GO!" Soft planted her front hooves on the counter, fully ready to pounce across at the toadstool of a man, when she felt a bit of cold steel rest across her shoulder.
"And I told you to behave, criminal," the voice of the guard from her cell caused her to grit her teeth.
The clerk's face broke into a smug grin as he settled back into his chair, folding his pudgy little hands across his waist and shrugging. "Like I said, there ain't nothing I can do about this turn of events Ma'am."
His greasy little pig eyes told Soft quite the different story.
Of course, having a sword resting across one's shoulders, held by a guard, while completely naked, tends to convey a particular sense of submission to most people. Most people, for example, stalwartly favor the safety of cities, numbers, and the known dangers of the world. Most people shy away from trouble. Most people only tempt fate with the most gentle of teasing.
Most people weren't bounty hunters, mercenaries, rogues, wizards, or acrobats; and while Soft Touch wasn't a wizard by any stretch of the imagination, she could technically fill most of those other titles.
"Take that sword off me this instant," she said slowly, " or I will begin my eight minutes of retribution starting with you."
The clerk, oddly enough, lost his smile. "Wait, you're a merc?"
"That, she is," came the rich voice of Bright Way, as he sidled up to the counter with a raised brow at the scene. "And I'm sure you understand that, as a mercenary under the employ of this village, she is entitled to a full guild backing if it is found she has been mishandled during any point of this.... " Bright pursed his lips for a few moments before continuing with a slightly sarcastic tone, "investigation."
The Clerk frowned slightly before looking passed Soft Touch and shaking his head ever so slightly.
When the blade didn't immediately move, Soft finally had had enough and simply rocketed her right hind leg directly backwards into the armored leg of the guard.
In retrospect, she thought, this was a bad idea. Kicking a guard was generally frowned upon. It tended to implicate one in any number of illicit activities (whether or not you were ever involved in the first place), angered the local populace, and would tend to remove a thin layer of safety that one experienced while in civilized places.
It also, much to Soft's chagrin, did things like cause the guard to fall down, the sword with him... and as swords tended to also be long knives at their most basic level, pulling a knife across one's shoulders and side tended to inflict a degree of injury upon oneself.
The resulting scene did little to dampen Soft's anger or engender sympathy from the guard. One moment, she was angrily preparing to sock the clerk and the next there was a loud ringing of armor, a spray of blood fur and feathers, and the shrieked curses of a very very angry pegasus.
*****
"And that, Soft, is why I told you to calm down," Bright Way sighed from a few feet away as he watched her lying on the hard clay floor of her cell..... again.
"Fuggin' corn head," was Soft's reply as she did her best to keep still.
"Yes, yes.... do blame me for getting you out of that lovely cell of yours. Had I known you enjoyed it so much, I wouldn't have gone to such trouble to have you released."
"Go buck yourself, Bright. You did shit and you know it," she hissed out as she twisted her head to glare at the unicorn who now shared her cell.
*****
They say that familiarity breeds content, contempt, or offspring... but at the moment, Soft Touch would have been happy with a cold bath, bandages, or a drink.
As it was, after her little 'outburst' with the clerk, the guard had seen fit to return her to the cell and gift her with the simply riveting company of Bright Way himself. She huffed again, no small amount of frustration behind the gesture, as she lay upon the hard clay of the cell floor, doing her best to ignore the gnawing hunger that was fighting for attention against the craving to throttle her company.
Sure, it wasn't technically Bright's fault that she was back in the cell, but he had set everything in motion and his 'help' so far had been dismissable at best.
Seriously, what self respecting merc would suggest to just 'sit down and enjoy the quiet' when they were unjustly imprisoned?
Snorting again, Soft turned back to the bucket of tepid water at the corner of their cell and slurped up a few mouthfuls to slack her thirst.
Unsanitary, to say the least, and unsatisfactory at the most generous.
Flopping down, she glanced over at Bright again, seeing the relaxed expression and calm form of him laying in the small pool of sunlight that came in from the barred hole of a window. Damn unicorn was content to just lay there, soaking up the light and waiting. Figures.... dumb corn-headed ponies thought they could just magic their way out of anything... and when they couldn't, they'd sit around and act like that wanted to be there.
Biting back the angry retort to her own thoughts, Soft gently extended her right wing and felt how the wound was knitting.
"A fine job you did there, little filly," she could almost hear Dorgoth's voice booming in the cell, "gone and got yerself a new scar! Ah Hey! Bet there's a stallion out there just looking for a fine little mare like you, eh? I hear the big ones like a little adventure in their lives... love the scars, them boys do!"
She gritted her teeth as the scabbing pulled just a bit too tight and retracted her wing with a fresh blossoming of red near her shoulder joint.
Oh... and Grault would just smirk and start counting off his own. Huzon, well, he'd probably smile and pat her head like a puppy... but then again, he did have more scars than the other two combined.
Mortar would probably start licking himself or rubbing his face on the wall... not too bright, Mortar.
Her thoughts were interrupted by the sound of a key being turned in the lock at the top of the stairs. Heavy metal clacked and pinged as the various sounds funneled down through the stairwell, followed by the thumping of one of the guards.
But Soft was shocked to see, not a member of the guild, but the old phoenix wolf from the Cracked Barrel pacing down behind him.
"You're sure you want to let these two trouble makers out there, Conflagration?" the guard asked before approaching the cell door.
"Yes, Anthony, I'm sure. And those two, for your information, are the reason you got to enjoy that last batch of jerky from Tourlene. They're the ones who cleared the trade routes and cleaned up that mess with the goblins. Ain't no troublemakers so much as easy targets for greedy lumps with too much money and not enough sense between 'em."
The guard shrugged and stepped up to the cell, slipping the key into the lock and sliding his opposite hand to the hilt of his sword.
Soft blinked, then chuckled quietly as she spotted the heavy dent in the armor of his left shin.
Bright Way, for his own part, simply opened his eyes and got to his hooves, shaking the dust from his back before stepping to the door.
The guard nodded perfunctorily to him before glancing over to the pegasus in the corner and frowning. "You know, if you hadn't kicked me, you would have been out of here last week, right?"
And just before Soft could snap off an acidic remark, Bright Way surprised her as he simply kicked the door open and glared. "And you know that the only reason you're not sitting in there right now - locked in there with her, is because we FOLLOW the laws, even when you misuse them."
Before anything else could be said, Conflagration simply snuffled, emitting a small cloud of smoke with smoldering embers, reminding everyone present that he did not enjoy being underground.
*****
It took Bright Way nearly six minutes to get to Soft and, when he did, he lightly cleared his throat before asking if anyone had thought to check the time.
While this might seem out of place in most situations, most situations did not involve the carefully codified set of agreements that allowed mercenaries and 'adventurers' the leeway to enact 'justice' when it could be shown that they had been wronged. As it was, in the particular town in which their guild hall resided, such laws prescribed a strictly controlled period of not less than seven and not greater than eight minutes in which anything short of permanent disfigurement or maiming was allowed. The premise, of course, was that if you were willing to bare false witness, you should be willing to risk the wrath of those you willfully wronged. The counter, likewise, was that if you made a simple mistake, the punishment for the crime your testimony assured would likely be easily paid, and thus, the anger of the wronged party would be just as easily sated.
What such laws allowed, in practice, however was for unscrupulous individuals to mete out their own brand of 'justice'... often one that came at the cost of confused travelers, curious (but honest) visitors, and those that did not have a full understanding of the system. When a local could trump up a charge, point to witnesses, and have a clueless vagabond slapped into slavery to pay off an untracable debt, or simply executed to cow their compatriots, very few would risk upsetting the populace.
Merchants and traders they were, but strength in numbers and the solidarity to enforce their will had made a fair number of them overzealous in their accusations.
Of course, the 'accident' of an unfortunate misunderstanding had led to no few number of stories.
But, the guilds made such agreements possible in the first place. The locals, staunch and unified as they were, remained at their cores, little more than merchants and farmers. Uppity, pretentious, and confident in their own domain, even the most bold would cower outside the village walls at night.
The guilds allowed such laws, because without them, there would be no laws at all.
Which put Bright Way in a unique position as he surveyed the marketplace. Carts and stalls were toppled left and right, goods scattered and hanging shades pulled free to drift in the slight breeze. Sellers and buyers alike had skirted away, choosing to instead find shelter in doorways and the ends of alleys. Broken pottery and damaged trinkets flew with the fervor of a rampaging bear, and yet, through it all, only one individual could be seen darting amidst the wreckage.
A nearby clothier sighed as he watched the furious pegasus hurling jugs and scrolls, kicking baskets of grain and tearing through stall after stall as she chased a panicked and screaming merchant through his tiny, crumbling, empire.
"She's been here for about six minutes. Guards says we can't touch 'er and than Beatey's got the bill for the damages."
Bright Way looked over to the heavily tanned man and shook his head. "Two more minutes then. I certainly hope the esteemed Mister Beatey has enough wealth to cover the damages."
With a nod, the merchant recoiled slightly as he noticed Bright Way looking at him. "Ah... I'm quite sorry about that. Just a bit jumpy since she tore in here."
Bright nodded and glanced back as a series of heavy thumps alerted him to Soft's recent use of chamber pots as projectiles. The aroma would certainly continue to serve as a reminder of not 'hunting for sport' in the market.
"She's... she's not going to kill him, is she?" the clothier asked as he regained his composure.
Bright Way sighed as he surveyed the carnage. "No... but she is certainly going to make sure he understands that there's a price to pay for trying to cut out his pound of flesh, as it were." Bright paused at the man's puzzled expression, "you do know he wanted her rendered sterile for his amusement, don't you? He made up the charge... no mistake... just wanted to prove he could do it."
At the horrified look on the man's face, Bright nodded softly, "You're a better man than him."
At that moment, Bright stepped out, towards the mayhem of the wrecked market, and whistled shrilly.
Soft Touch froze, hoof half way across a stall and glanced back with a frown. "That's eight?"
Bright smirked as he glanced around. "Depends... are you feeling better yet?"
Soft's muzzle scrunched up before she lowered her hoof and snatched an intact wooden box from the counter. "This expensive?" she directed at the cowering merchant who looked more like a victim of riots than the bastard liar that nearly had her spayed. With a quick glance, he nodded.
She smiled and glanced back towards Bright with a nod. "Then, yheah, I'm good."
Bright way chuckled as he looked over the wreckage, "Then we're close enough that we'll call that eight minutes. Consider your debt paid, you scummy excuse for a worthwhile use of flesh." The merchant, covered in bruises, swallowed as he closed his eyes, apparently saying his prayers of thanks.
Soft smirked and opened the box she had claimed, her expression quickly turning to one of confusion. "You've got a bag in a box. The hell?"
Rolling her eyes at the idiocy of greedy humans, she simply tossed the box and slipped the bag onto her side, using the drawstring as an improvised cord. With a final glare in the merchant's direction, she turned to go, only to freeze as she drifted toward the ground.
Reaching out, she plucked up a remarkably mundane looking coin purse, tossed it twice, before chuckling and looking over the crowd. "There you go Dawn... found you coin."
Dawn, who had been watching from a nearby doorway, laughed as he gestured back to Soft. "Keep it, Soft. I paid you before those dicks stole it.... besides, you've earned it."
With a grin, Soft nodded and opened her new bag before tossing it in. Turning, she was just about to glide out of the market when a whistling sound started to rise in volume.
Confused people glanced around before Bright and Dawns eyes both widened at once.
"Get rid of-" Dawn shouted.
"Soft! Ditch the-!" Bright screamed.
And before Soft could even begin to respond, her new bag imploded, tearing a wagon sized hole in the universe... and taking her with it.
Soft Touch (aka. Featherduster, Mop, Bird Brain, etc.) - Pegasus, Female, NG (fighter)
Profession: Rainmaker. (Yes... she makes it rain)
Basic Description: Papyrus coat, cloudy blue mane, blue eyes.
Aversion to using or possessing overt magic, preferring direct, physical interaction. She's fine with traditionally pegasus magic.
Preferred weapon: Bard's Garrote and spiked gauntlets.
Secondary weapon: Warhammer named "Lockpick."
Fighting/engagement style: stealth or brawling. Will attempt non-lethal maneuvers if it seems likely to resolve the situation.
Equipment: Handy Haversack, Bard's Garrote, standard garrote, Warhammer named "Lockpick," Spiked Gauntlets, light bracers (laces can be used for an additional garrote), buckler, leather armor, destroyed bag of holding. Assorted gems, coins, 'treasure' she hasn't sold yet, and flasks of brandy/ale/booze in 'single serve' sizes (approximately 12-20 oz bottles).
Light armor (if any), and often equips a buckler (worn on shoulder when not actively using it).
Carries a decent sum of gold... simple tastes mean she sells most stuff and rarely buys much of anything. (1700+ GP)
Special note: Will actively pursue training her flight maneuvers and speed, focusing upon using it in combination with her garrote for a more active roll in combat. She's not a pushover... rough and tumble work for her better than a ranged engagement. Flight and Acrobatics maxed whenever possible. Also, rather fond of drinking... a bit to excess.
Bright Way (aka, Bright Flash) - Unicorn, male, CG (wizard)
Profession: Mercenary. (Murder Hobo)
Basic Description: Tawny Yellow coat, coffee mane, blue eyes.
Rather quiet, with a tendency to use cantrips for everyday activities. Loves to read his spellbook... could probably rewrite the thing from memory, even if he could only cast some of the spells at the moment.
Preferred weapon: none. Most things are flammable.
Secondary weapon: dagger, if he must.
Fighting/engagement style: Ranged whenever possible. He'll tend to take up a well defended position and charge up for the big booms, calling them out to compatriots... or not... as the mood strikes him.
Equipment: Two bags of holding, Spellbook, dagger, travelling hat, desert goggles, water skein, candles and oil lamp.
Light armor (if any).
Dawn (Dawn's Glow, Dawn's Light, Dawn's Introuble, etc) - Unicorn, male, NG (sorcerer/rogue)
Profession: Asset Transportation Specialist. (He's a bloody thief)
Basic Description: Light Blue coat, white/light gray mane, green eyes. Somewhat tall and lanky.
Gregarious, vocal, and generally cheerful, if a little on the clumsy side (he's often distracted, not just clumsy). Loves magic. Loves stuff. Very poor financial planning leaves him perpetually low on funds but with a collection of kitschy vendorables.
Preferred weapon: Sets of daggers. Lots of them... often with hooks or barbs in uncomfortable places.
Secondary weapon: The 'spellbook' he doesn't need, or use... it's mithril and bladed... and he's proficient in melee with it. (heavy buckler, bladed enhancement, piercing, slash, bludgeoning, displacement enchantment)
Fighting/engagement style: Dawn is a sorcerer, and he makes people well aware of it... vocally. He's a much better rogue, and he knows it. He'll stay back with the ranged allies, slinging minor spells while actually watching for flanking manuevers and deep strikes against his teammates... which he will actively engage with extreme prejudice... in melee... with sharp pointy bits.
Equipment: Dimensional coin purse, minor pouch of holding, 'Spellbook' (Bladed, displacement, mithril), daggers (lots... not even worth counting), bottles of acid, bottles of oil, lockpicks, smoke bombs, flash pellets, rope, personal portable palace, pocket tower, pocket wall, pocket pit, belt of dimensional displacements displacement, personal portal rings (3 inch diameter), tinder twigs, rations, pocket lint, someone else's pocket lint, seomeone else's pockets, etc. etc. etc.
Light to medium armor (fast release for agi increase).
Dorgoth, Grault, & Huzon - Dwarves. Male (brothers), NG (rogue, fighter, fighter/tank)
Profession: Distillery Liquidators with multiple degrees in mercenary murder hobo-itry.
Basic Description: Dorgoth is short, Grault, is built, and Huzon is a brick, freakin', house. All have well tanned skin with rosy highlights, red/brown hair/beards of prodigious caliber, and dark brown eyes.
The trio acts almost as a peanut gallery or the muses of old. They are destructively effective with a long standing teamwork and are comfortable working with just about anyone they come across. Despite rumors to the contrary, Huzon (the 'fat' one) does not eat his victims... though he might play up the role a bit with humor.
Preferred weapon: Axe... as if they needed a reason.
Secondary weapon: More axe, except for Grault who will wield a war hammer and shield with equal fervor.
Fighting/engagement style: Charge in, beat the hell out of things, use teamwork, add copious amounts of laughter, taunting, and banter while carving a path of bodies through just about anything.
Equipment: Large bags/rucksacks (which they will drop or have carted when possible), one or more weapons racks, casks of ale/beer/lager/'shine/paint stripper, mugs/steines. spare armor, spare weapons, dimensional trunk (for treasure/booze), cart, pack mule, backup booze, reserve booze, relief booze, private booze, Dwarven Delve Dinners (magically preserved, instant meals), drums, pipes, horns, food to feed random strangers, 'welcome-ing dinners', 'welmet dinners', preserved meats and jerkies, hammers, nails, tarps, tents, rope, shovels, spikes, pitons, poles, wood, a portable stove, kettles, pots, a saw, and emergency booze. Also, they might have old, tindertwigs, lanterns, and torches wedged in with spare weapons in the racks. Pretty much, if you need something mundane, they might have it.
Medium and heavy armor, depending upon the occasion. Heavy for battle, medium for social encounters like masquerade balls and dances.
Mortar - Gem Gnoll, CN (brawler, ranger)
Profession: Guide and professional gastric erudation master (he drools and farts.... a lot)
Basic Description: A mottled tan pelt with blotchy darker patches. Dark brown/black mane and tufts on his elbows and knees, with dull Yellow eyes. Despite his scrubby, unwashed appearance, his teeth are in wonderful condition and appear quite bright.
Mortar is the butt of just about every joke, rude comment, and slur. He smells bad, looks bad, and only gets worse if you try to clean him up. He normally looks vacant, staring blindly unless addressed, and even then he'll normally only turn his head to face the sound, eyes drifting slowly off to other things. He slouches, farts like a tuba, and doesn't care for social graces, often leaving a puddle of drool. But, despite his appearance, Mortar is a capable ranger and deceptively dangerous brawler, utilizing his animalistic nature to his advantage with tooth, claw, body blows, and the frequent and overwhelming use of flatulence and body fluids to incapacitate foes. He's also got a pretty scary memory... though he speaks only exceptionally rarely... and even then in short sentences.
Preferred Weapon: none. Tooth and Claw with added chemical and biological elements (farts, drool, snot, piss, shit, blood, the stuff on the ground, etc.)
Secondary Weapon: Same as above. He's an animal with a shameless tactical mind and absolutely no sense of social image.
Tertiary Weapon: Longbow. He's... actually a deadly shot. When he decides to pull the damn thing out rather than slobbering all over the enemy in melee.
Fighting/engagement style: Run at things. Bite them. Claw them. Fart, piss, drool, shit, bleed, and smear stuff on them. Make them hurt, puke, turn away in disgust, and continue. Repeat until things stop moving. Occasionally stand still, as if clueless or unaware, and maul things as they run by. Occasionally disgust teammates... they could feel left out after all.
Equipment: Cart. Bag. Stuff he picked up along the way. Stuff people threw out along the way. Dead stuff. Treasure. The pack mule.... it might end up in the cart or on his shoulders... might even be a 'weapon' in a fight. Longbow with 9 favored enemy enchantments (Abberation, Animal, Fey, Humanoid, Magical Beast, Monstrous Humanoid, Outsider, Undead, Vermin)... yes... he actually has a bow that does all of that.
Light or no armor. Mortar is tough as nails and heals very fast. He's effectively immune to poisons and can eat just about anything... that jerky/trail ration he offered folks? That might have been some of his old, gnawed on, armor.
Conflagration (aka. Mutt, Torch, Tinder) - Phoenix Wolf, NG (Fighter/Elementalist)
Profession: Bartender, Former Mercenary/Adventurer
Basic Description: A simple massive phoenix wolf with a veritable maze of scars, yet no lasting injuries. A coat of rudy gray with roots of coppery orange, a soot-black mane and ridge down his back with bright orange/gold eyes. Standing nearly a head again taller than most phoenix wolves, Conflagration looks the part of a dangerous beast, yet tempers that with articulate (though artificially accented) speech and a supreme command of both weaponry and battle tactics. In short, he doesn't walk or stroll, he prowls through a room with lethal intent.
Conflagration runs and owns the "Cracked Barrel" bar, a little hole in the wall establishment between a smithy and stonewright. Despite its locale, the bar is clean and relatively safe; no regulars want to risk a fight and most 'visitors' figure it out at the first glare from the smoldering barkeep. Cordial and genial, unless riled up, Conflagration is the very image of an inhuman host: friendly, talkative, attentive and deeply invested in whatever his patrons happen to find important at the moment... as long as they're buying. He, likewise, is the definition of decisive, should threats or danger arrive, being a veteran adventurer and mercenary himself with decades of experience and the willful labor of maintaining his skills and physique.
Preferred Weapon: Pretty much anything he can get his paws or muzzle on, though he favors mauls and spears.
Secondary Weapon: When all else fails, Conflagration has no issue with falling back upon nature... tooth, claw, and fire.
Fighting/Engagement style: Conflagration is a thinker first, and a devastating force of destruction second. He will usually take the first few seconds to observe the scene, offer a peaceful alternative (or at least request to get out of his bar), and let the aggressor act before he unleashes himself. Strikes tend to be swift, precision deals with critical, though non lethal results on the first attack. If that doesn't deter or stop it, then he will engage with a vengeance. He's not a 'problem' citizen so much as a citizen with 'short lived problems' that chose that outcome. If pressed, he will use his elemental nature, breathing flames, leaving smoldering injuries, or even consuming limbs of those who seem incapable of other ends.
Equipment: Normally, nothing. When working, he has the contents of his bar to use, which includes a number of his previous adventuring weapons. Swords, lashes, chains, flails, maces, mauls, hammers, and picks are on display. Other, more exotic, items are less obvious, but range from tanglefoot bags to concentrated transmugenic elixirs (which we certainly hope will never contact flesh).
No armor to Heavy armor, depending on if he was aware of the conflict in advance. Bar brawls rarely call ahead.