[Valtoria, memory] Mountebank mugging

[Thomas]

22nd of Searing, Year 4618

Since joining up with Prancing Prattlers, coin had not been scarce, nor had company. Time, however, was another matter. Between breaking down camp, setting up his pavilion, readying his props, and doing his contractually required bit to help the others in the troupe, Thomas had little opportunity to do anything that was solely to his benefit. At last, here in Valtoria, they had a moment. Their little tent village situated just outside Alistian was minting money. Some combination of contented common folk and well-off people looking for a new diversion had resulted in the fairgrounds being packed the first two nights, such that Magnus had extended their stay.

That fine morning, Thomas had found himself at loose ends. Altair didn't open for business until the afternoon so that people could get some drinks and dancing into them first, and he'd gotten good enough at set up and break down that it no longer took that much time or effort. It was time to go hunting for suitable reagents for the next batch of nostrums. He'd seen some plants that looked to be similar to some from Grisic, with pretty orange flowers that could hopefully be used to create a bit of color to a remedy. An otherwise unremarkable potion sold much faster when it was an outlandish color, in his experience, and this bright blood orange would be just perfect.

After about an hour or two of harvesting flowers from the river back, he was sweaty and tired, but satisfied. There was no part of making medicines he didn't like, other than occasionally being chased out of town by irate customers.

When he felt the unwelcome intrusion of a knifepoint in his back, he realized he had to amend that to two things. He also hated being beat up by thugs.

"Give us all you got," came a rough, low voice from behind him. Presumably, he was the one holding the knife because the demand was punctuated by a little jab hard enough to make Thomas gasp.

"I'm afraid all I have are these flowers, Sir. I don't bring much with me when I'm collecting plants other than a bag, and a water skin, which you are of course welcome to."

"Well then," came another voice, "we got a little problem don't we."

"I don't think we have to," Thomas replied. "We could just clear up this little misunderstanding and we could all be on our merry way. I have no reason to talk to anyone about this. In fact, I don't think anything at all happened to me."

"Yeah," said the guy holding him at knife point. "Or we could stab you."

That was the other unfortunate option. Thomas knew they were just hoping he'd capitulate and admit he had something on him, but it really was true: he knew better than to carry around valuables while traipsing around far from the road. Hopefully, these men would be reasonable and let him go in search of other prey.

[Asphodel Avarice]

On top of being more comfortable for someone like Asphodel, it was exceedingly safer to camp outside the city. For a lot of people this really wouldn't be the case. All manner of dangerous things lived outside of town! Asphodel was one of them. Proudly so. She was neither aggressive nor particularly malignant, but she'd also grown up in the Badlands which meant she wasn't exactly out of practice when it came to giving a robber a run for their money. Inn rooms were all well and good and she was sure they were perfectly safe, but they'd never been her speed. She was by all accounts a wild little thing. Almost more fox than she was person at times. Why would she stay in the city where she had to trot around pretending to be human when she could hunker down in her true form outside of town. Not to mention, water! So much water, she wasn't used to it. Not one bit. That was the real rub for anything looking to pick a fight with her, now wasn't it? What, pray tell, was going to win a fight against an expert risen next to a river?

She'd spent a good amount of time the day before scoping out the area in her faunis form. It was so much easier to slip around unnoticed when she was on four paws, and as startlingly jarringly white as her coat was, by nature of her childhood she'd learned a lot about stealth. It was peaceful and most importantly it was so much quieter. Of course, it wasn't entirely peaceful.

Asphodel had saw them early. She'd heard them for Bel's sake. They were particularly quiet, at least, not to her. As dangerous as it was to be a fox her hearing was sharp, anything coming she'd hear far in advance. These bandits were no exception. She could have just avoided them. Although, that'd just mean they'd target someone else, and she admitted she was curious. How much did the bandits here measure up to her typical marks? It's funny. It took all of five minutes for her to already consider them prey. She wasn't malignant, but, she really didn't like people who took advantage of those who were weaker than them. So prey they'd become.

The next day she'd woken up early and began her 'hunt'. In her true form, of course. She walked barefoot through the forest that morning, the bandits completely unaware of her the entire time. It was almost laughable!

Then they finally found their own target. At first she didn't fully recognize the man. She'd didn't know his name, she hadn't gotten it. She wasn't even sure if she'd gotten his stage name, because she highly doubted he'd been using his real name two days ago. It wasn't till the wind shifted slightly, blowing the scent towards her, that it finally clicked. While in her human form, obviously her nose was about as strong as any regular human's. She couldn't pick up on scents with precise quality. So she didn't know his scent. What she did remember was the scent of the incense. So strong and unique, it was only faint but it managed to carry itself over the scent of the three men. Well, she was already going to save him, but now she supposed she had even more reason to.

Carefully and slowly she stalked around the group to the flank, pulling her cloak a little closer to hide the glare of her hair. She supposed the one thing she was grateful to her human form for was the less descript black hair as opposed to the stunning white that matched her fur. Picking up a small rock she tested its weight, tossing it up and down in her hand for a moment. Rearing back her arm, taking aim, she threw the rock with all her strength at the man's knife. It wasn't perfect, but it was close enough. The rock glanced off the side of the blade with a sharp noise. Not enough to knock the knife from the man's hand, but enough to probably startle and knock it a little ways away from the fortune teller. Depending on how quickly he recovered (and how smart he was) it might be enough of an opening to start making some distance.

With that, she drew her blade, let her hood fall from her head to show the ears which she'd pinned back aggressively, and released a noticeably inhuman growl.

[Thomas]

Thomas was not a fighter; never had been. While he was a lover, and a reasonably good one by all accounts, he wouldn't say that was his primary reaction, either. By his own admission, Thomas was a runner. If a situation turned violent, he turned tail. If a lover got too attached, or a situation got too intense, or too many people started asking him for proof his latest cures were as effective as claimed, he had found the best defense was to be halfway to the next town. So when he saw something out of his peripheral vision sail in an arc and heard it hit the knife with a dull clank, he was already primed to do show these bandits what he could do.

The moment the knife was no longer jabbed into his back, he flung his collecting basket over his head, showering his would-be assailants in a hail of blossoms. Perhaps it would distract them, and every second counted. By the time he heard hue and cry behind him, he was already halfway across the stream, a tributary of the Alisten's main river, hopping from stone to stone with an agility that would be surprising if his talent for running from others wasn't so often tested and so frequently deployed. Typically, he wouldn't have even looked over his shoulder, but someone or something had saved him, and he was curious how that had come about. Once he was safely on the opposite bank, he whirled, grabbing a stone of his own. It wasn't much of a weapon and he wasn't much of a shot, but it was better than nothing.

It had only been two assailants, both of medium builds, but the man who had been prepared to stab him was a bit shorter and stubbier than the other. They were facing off with a slight young woman who seemed familiar, for some reason. She moved with a grace that demonstrated she was well-trained, and even though she wasn't wearing shoes and looked a bit feral, he gave long odds to the two patsies who had tried to shank him. Also, she looked like she knew how to use the weapon she was wielding.

While they were distracted by the feral lady with the shining blade, he wound up and threw the stone as hard as he could at the guy holding the knife. He knew better than to aim for the head or the hands; too easy to miss the target. Besides, he was looking to distract and give her a bit of an in, as thanks for saving his life. It wasn't much, but it was what he could do.

[Asphodel Avarice]

What was a fight to someone with skill but merely a type of dance?

At least, that was what she'd figured out growing up. Not a showy kind of dance, there were many ways to use a sword that'd do little more than get you killed depending on your foe. There was a kind of grace though. A fluidity to the movements and a need to throw off any kind of pattern that could be used to trace your next attack. It was something requiring testaments of not only skill but tact and foresight. In social situations it'd be a lie to say Asphodel was well versed in looking where she was leaping. It wasn't far outside the realm of possibility for her to throw herself into a situation without well and truly thinking if it meant she was helping somebody else. But oh, a battlefield? That was a different thing entirely!

While the shorter and stouter of the two men was still processing the distraction that was a second rock hitting his square in a gut, Asphodel took the aggressive. Darting forward, she pounced on the opportunity to send her broad sword right into the man's flank. It was lucky for her that he was so terribly off his guard now because it took relatively little effort to land the hit. One deep stab right into the side. Likely lethal if he didn't turn tail and flee immediately, but not quite debilitating if he had his wits about him and was disciplined enough to handle the pain.

His companion retaliated in turn, quickly pulling out an old and old half cared for blade. Talk about an insult. It was immediately obvious that between the two neither knew fully how to keep a blade in proper working conditions. In fact, the shorter one didn't have a sword at all, just the dinky knife with which he'd intended to try and rob the fortune teller. And well, what good was a blade if it wasn't properly cared for? Little more than dead weight if you asked her.

The man brought his sword up in the offensive, but she was quick to counter, all the while carefully keeping the man with the knife in the corner of her vision in case he recovered from his wound and tried to come at her with the knife.

[Thomas]

He was tempted to just run off. The woman clearly didn't need any help rousting the two idiots who had tried to take him for all he had, and this was not a situation that called for his skillset. There were a few issues with that, though. The first was that the easiest way back to the campsite would be back the way he'd came, or his shoes would get wet, leaving him in Altair's odd little sandals until they dried out. The second and larger problem was that his basket was back there, and while many of the flowers had gone flying, some of the blooms were still recoverable. Now that he was no longer in imminent danger, it would be nice to recoup some of his lost investment.

So he didn't run. Instead, he picked up a larger rock from the stream, big enough that he had to hold it with two hands. If one of the men wasn't lying prone on the ground, this would have a zero percent chance of success, but since he seemed very consumed with holding his hands to his stab wound and groaning, there was no reason not to try it. With a grunt of effort, Thomas heaved the rock as hard as he could.

He missed, but not by too much. He'd meant to aim for the man's torso, but slightly undershot, and it landed on his arm instead. It made him scream, but likely more from surprise than pain. That scream, though, distracted the man with the sword. The woman seemed too seasoned to be rattled by it, fortunately. Unsure of what else to do, Thomas waited by the river bank, watching the fight. He was no expert, but this is around the part where he would run away if he were a bandit. Although to be fair, he'd never become one to begin with. There were better ways to make money, there always were.

[Salen]

Asphodel

Lores

Loot:
Injuries: N/A

Points: 8

Comments:

Thomas

Lores
[*]Running: Getting a Head Start
[*]Running: Being Ready to Run
[*]Running: Distracting Pursuers While in Motion
[*]Running: Tracking Pursuers While Running
[*]Apothecary: Gathering Medicinal Materials
[*]Apothecary: Spotting Botanicals for Medical Use
[*]Thrown Weapon: Basic Improvised Projectiles
[*]Thrown Weapon: Aim for the Torso

Loot:
Injuries: N/A

Points: 8

Comments: Shame this wasn't finished, great thread. If you have any questions about your rewards let me know.

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