Tales of the Roving - City on Wheels

[Legolas]

"So it seems we have a moment."

The words are spoken, but sound no louder than a whisper.

"Madness indeed, this life you live. Now how did that happen?"

The hooded figure lounging near the cage continues to look casually away, as though to keep even the glint of its eyes a mystery. A strange, airy amusement carries with the words.

"Shipped from one torture to the other. Doubt me they care for answers."

Tapping the cart bed idly, the visitor considers, then laughs lightly in a fair disturbing manner.

"Let me give you an answer instead."

And at those words, the visitor falls silent.

[dplax]

His head lifts maybe a full inch as he raises it from the floor of his cage to glance at the strange hooded figure. He coughs at first as he tries to speak and it takes a couple of seconds to order his tortured muscles to stop and allow him to reply.

"They don't even care for questions," he replies in a soft, but cold voice, "and even if they cared they have preconceived answers."

He chuckles softly, the laughter simply seeming absurd in his current situation.

"As to how I got here...if you know I'm being shipped from one torture to another then you already know the answer to that. Strange, isn't it, that madness is the only thing that can give my life meaning?" He doesn't add that the clear moments are only suffering caged as he is. He doesn't add his wishes for murder should he be freed either. Some things are best left unspoken. Even to the friendliest person he has met in years. Someone who hasn't cursed or struck him within five minutes of first meeting him.

"So tell me, what answer do you have?"

[Legolas]

Again comes the laughter, free of malice but hinting at an unhealthy degree of insanity which lends a chilling cheer to the visitor's words.

"And is that truly what you'd have me answer? I expect better than that."

[dplax]

The prisoner can't help but grin himself, but whether it is a grin at the current situation or a facial expression inspired by insanity is hard to tell.

"All right. A question that interests me rather more in my current situation then. Does your being here have anything to do with a possible future escape by yours truly?"

[Legolas]

"Oh," and the volume drops to less than a whisper, felt almost more than heard.

"But you cannot escape. Madness thrives inside you. With the hounds baying in your mind, chasing after your thoughts, growling at your reason, what hope is there for you?"

A luxuriously gloved hand brushes gently down one of the vertical bars.

"And yet... Can you know more freedom than this?"

After a moment's contemplation, the creature's hood bobs down and up in a decisive nod.

"You are free already, you are hunted already. You are caught already. Why am I here? Because you called for me.
Never mind about these bars. Never mind about.. them."

The gesture towards distant guards turns the prisoner's eye, and as if to answer the glance one of his tormentors just swings his own head around.
The silence is broken by a relieved sigh from the cart at shedding excess weight.
The night grows slowly colder.

[dplax]

Free? Hunted? Caught? Confusing terms for one who is grasping and rattling a loose iron bar with all his strength. He is told never to mind about the bars. But the rattling sound calmed him. It also earns him a very hard rap on the knuckles when the sentry arrives next to the bars. That stops the rattling, but not the confusing thoughts.

Free. Hunted. Caught. Hounds baying. Madness thriving.

Is he really mad? Is he really free? Or is the shadowy figure just fooling with him?

Sleep does not come and the guards pokes only bring discomfort and not sudden waking. His thoughts are churning, his mind does not stop thinking about what he has been told. Already free. Could that mean...?

Two hands grab a loose iron bar. Two hands pull with all their strength. The metal strains, but does not snap. The hands pull, pull and pull, but all in vain. At least the guards see nothing.

Questions. He has hundreds of questions. The shadowy figure did not bring answers, but questions. Questions with no easily available answers.

A sigh leaves his lips. But he now has hope. He pulls the loose bar with all his strength once again, this time planting his feet on adjacent bars and putting even all of his back muscles in the effort.

[DrowArchmage]

Rohan smiled slowly, his eyes shining in the dim light.

Me? A man out of a ballad? Ha. I am just a man.

He tried to sound happy, but it came out in his usual tone. He swiftly dismounted and moved the hand not on his sword up to his face, from which he removed his hood. His hair was pulled back in a ponytail, and his silver earings shone brightly. He slowly rode toward the fellow, and smiled. There was a lady on his horse so he wasnt going to attack, but even so he kept his right hand free in case he need to draw.

You wouldnt happen to know of healers would you? Im afraid that I may have an infection in this cut here on my leg, i was trying to find one myself before i disturbed anyone. Guess that didnt go as planned.




ooc: imagine his voice being like Vin Desiel. Thats how i hear it in my heaad.

[Legolas]

Placed before her lord, sitting side saddle upon the too tall horse, the curly-haired lady reaches for a perfumed kerchief. 'tis a gasp that's called for and a gasp she gives, as the conversation of the men turns to injury and infection.
Boldly, she glances down. The horse is tall indeed. Best not to faint..


It is on the far side of the village that a man and his mule are found, forever marked by the strong odours of the many herbs they carry and deal in. His colleague and rival is nowhere in sight, possibly practising healing arts elsewhere in the caravan or village. Possibly but resting. But here before the tinker's wagon works one of the few physicians with a care for the poor whilst a concerned father paces nearby.

But that is nowhere near those wanderers within our focus.


For all the straining of ill-fed and worse treated man's muscle, he manages no more than to set his cart ashaking. A squeak of the axle sounds like a banshee's moaning in the night, but 'tis a spirit being long caught in traffic if it only delivers its death warning now.
One of the guards rises, grumbling, and slams the cage twice before wandering off.


"You two!" An angry snarl from the darkness, and the figure marching behind the words leaves no doubt he just addressed the two mounted men.
"Take your bloody business elsewhere, you're upsetting the prison-"

Doubt.

"Pardons my lords, lady. Go where you please, of course."

The guard retreats several steps. Best not to offend any nobleborn. At attention then. A fine dame. Try not to stare.

[DrowArchmage]

Rohan's head snapped toward the man and his stare was cold. Quickly he rememberd himself and relaxed a little.

Hmph. You A gaurd? No of course you are, what other kind of fool would adress two armed men as if we were incompetent punks that would cut off our own toe with a blade.

He moved down from his horse swiftly and silently, though appearing to favor his left leg to land on. His dark green cloak seemed to blend in here and there, making it hard to distinguish where he was as a whole. He moved to the man slowly enough, his eyes shining in the light, a cold grey.

What's your name merc?

[Calaethis Dragonsbane]

Such insolence! How dare this fool place himself in the same category as our hero?! Who did he think he was, comparing him to our hero? Such presumption! It could not go unpunished! What sort of word was 'punk'? Wicked, vile heathen tongue!

Our hero was aghast with righteous anger; cold fury brimming through his veins. And this cloak - what mystical device was this? Could it be that this 'dark hero' was no 'hero' at all, but rather... some evil spirit? Our hero had a lady to protect!

No, it had to be done. No mere mortal could possibly blend in like that with the shadows unless he was bewitched... or worse, some foul enchanter... a warlock! Our hero could not stand for it, and squeezing his lady gently, a touch all but hidden by the darkness (and by the fact the 'dark hero' was at the wrong angle to see it, and our hero was concealed by his own black sable cloak, his movement so slight it barely showed, thus being all but invisible to all but the most powerful of uber mary-sues - or someone watching from the right angle), he charged his horse towards the 'dark hero' using just his knees. He would ride him down; as he did so, he drew his sword. The foul villain would not escape this! No evil spirit could be allowed to exist!

Of course, if he really was an evil spirit, he would pre-empt this and move out of the way, thus proving he was evil. If he was only mortal, the horse would connect with him, and our hero may consider sparing him the blade. Trampled by a horse would be punishment enough for insulting the innocent speaker the 'dark hero' had so unjustly addressed as 'merc'...