(1312-02-08) If You're Looking for Trouble, Part 2
Summary: Trouble at and about the Kraken's Den continues…
RL Date: Sun Feb 08, 2020
Related: Continues from here.
aedhwyn andrei jeanne tancred 

The Kraken's Den — Port of Marsilikos

A tall-tottering inn with a variety of rooms to let on the upper floors, from three fine suites just above the main floor to a collection of ramshackle one-cot rooms that sway with the harder gusts of wind in off of the sea in the upper levels. It has seen its share of fires and renovations, and every time it falls in ashes it seems to rise higher in the aftermath. Outside, proudly burnt-carved signage displays a huge black-tentacled kraken winding its limbs about in repetitive knotwork patterns. It hangs from a post on four links of bronze chain, and creaks when the wind hits it.

The main floor is part restaurant, part lobby, with a warm hearth next to a counter at which guests in the rooms above can pay their bills or ask after vacancies, many fine chairs and some a little less fine to fill out the number. Small tables amid all the seating provide room just enough to have a tea or a beverage and maybe play a game of cards with your mates. A low bannister-fence separates off the dining area from the lobby, to keep some semblance of order among the diners and to keep out the riff-raff.

Riff-raff, of course, is welcome to make its way downstairs, or else to descend into the alleyway behind the tavern and find the rear entrance into the half-basement, where a bar slings some of the hardest-scorching liquor known in Port Marsilikos, and attracts some of the roughest elements of society. It's dimly lit, with rough stonework walls and flooring and sturdy oaken furniture which must have been built in order to best resist any effort to shatter said furniture over someone's head. Fights are the nightly norm here, black eyes and sopping intoxication, and for those without the coin to attract the contract of a proper courtesan, some affable ladies are usually present in the evenings in case any gentleman wants to buy one a drink.


It had been a noisy evening so far, at the Kraken's Den. When a lot of sailors and other folk have sought refuge from the cold outside in the warm common room of the harbor tavern, a place that is filled with chatter, scents pleasant and unpleasant, and that also provides a never ending supply of ale, delivered in heavy tankards by the few barmaids of the place.

The evening hadn't been quite eventful so far, until a wave of fresh arrivals had brought with them a foreign looking sailor, who was pursued by an angry local stablehand. The stablehand had been apparently shoved by the sailor outside, and now the d'Angeline commoner had pushed for some sort of confrontation… which eventually did not happen, as local city guard Gal is escorting the sailor out, while Andrei (a foreigner) has persuaded Bernard the stablehand to sit down and have a stiff drink. With thatdeescalation successful at least, there had been a disturbing sound from upstairs, apparently, of splintering wood, when someone crashed through a door. That someone is Tancred, and he is currently in one of the upper rooms, cursing, as he stands by the open window. Jeanne hasn't entered the room yet, but she stands at the doorframe, looking into the chamber with wide dark eyes. The reason? On the floor, resting on his stomach with his face turned towards the open window, lays a man in a pool of blood that slowly is growing in diameter.

<FS3> Jeanne rolls Composure: Success. (5 2 6 3 6 6 8)

Tancred is indeed there, in fairly everyday wear and with his sword in hand. There's not a spot of blood on him or on the blade, though, which given the timeframe at which Jeanne arrives can be telling. The large Skaldi is peering out the window before he sheathes his weapon and starts to try and climb through, gauging how long the fall is first in case it looks to be difficult passage.

Aedhwyn arrives bringing a blast of cold air with her. She is a slight figure in a fur-lined cloak with a glint of gold around her neck. It is obvious she is at least somewhat foreign considering the woad that dots across her cheeks and the bridge of her nose and the line of brilliant blue down the center of her chin. Her hair has been partially braided and upon her hip there is a handaxe weighted and balanced for fighting. Surely she is an easy mark but at least one or two give pause at the large Alban man with her, his face and arms covered in tattoos and woad designs.

There is a moment of hesitation. Of course. Before such one as the common seamstress dares to enter the crime scene. Jeanne looks towards Tancred, before she turns her gaze to the man laying there in his blood. She approaches the man from the side of where his head is closest, and she kneels down, touching her hand to his cheek. "Monsieur," she addresses him. The fact Tancred elects to climb out of the window is a detail she notes, her senses surprisingly calm, were it not for the flutter of adrenaline, rushing through her veins.

Now, this arrival is bound to draw the eyes and attention. Many of the people present cannot help but stare at the foreign woman, and the wealth she obviously wears with such ease, even in these surroundings. There is a murmur, and then people fall quiet. While a few of them get to their feet and move towards the stairs, lured by the noises from before. One of the tavern wenches steps forward to show Aedhwyn to a table that has just been vacated. "Good evening, Ma'm," she greets. "We have ale and some hot stew, if you like."

<FS3> Tancred rolls Perception: Good Success. (7 5 3 8 8 2 4)
<FS3> Tancred rolls Reaction+Reaction: Success. (2 6 3 2 3 8)

Anghelescu breathes a very quiet sigh of relief that Barn Boy Bernard decides to take his smarting legs and follow the very sound advice of sit down and shut up; in part because the lean foreigner probably wouldn't win a more physical argument. He glances up the stairs pentively but eventually common sense wins out; if there's going to be a brawl up there, he's only going to get in the big Skaldi's way. He settles — within walking stick reach of poor Bernard — noting the great Alban with the woad marks with a glance and largely just remaining observant. This is a time to play hero, no doubt, but he's the wrong man for the job.

Below the window, there are some bushes, and it is about 12 feet to the ground, from where Tancred looks down at the moment. Beyond the bushes, there is a back alley, and the Skaldi may be able to hear the hurried footfall of someone running away, in the direction of the narrower alleys of the harbor. It is dark, but there is a half moon on a clear sky shedding some light at least. If Tancred elects to, he can jump down and land in the bushes. Or climb down the vines at the outer side of the wall, which may take a bit longer.

The man on the floor in the room appears to be dead. At least he is not able to give a reply to Jeanne. His eyes, even as they are open, have that characteristic empty stare of someone who has suddenly met their end.

"He's getting away," Tancred yells, half-through the window after his look down, something Jeanne would hear. At least both his hands are free now. Espying the fall then remembering how heavy his enormous Skaldi self is, he elects to clamber down the vines partway and drop down in the middle. He loses a few seconds doing so, and tries to make up for it by sprinting down towards the alleyway.

Those downstairs will hear a man yelling upstairs, a voice of clearly Skaldi accent.

Aedhwyn smiles at the barmaid and gives a little nod of her head. She follows along though there is a pause at the sound of some commotion. "Hot stew and uisghe if it is available, ale if it is not." She speaks flawless d'Angeline but her accent is just the slightest bit off to native ears, watered down as if learned second or third hand though to foriegn ears she sounds fairly close to native. "For my companion as well." The larger man doesn't seem to respond one way or another, instead taking stock of the room. Perhaps he doesn't speak d'Angeline?

Jeanne nods to Tancred. She is kneeling before the man in the pool of blood, and her hands reach now for his shoulders to turn him around, to get a better look at him. After which she will try to examine the damage and gauge his state, with the poor medical knowledge she has.

<FS3> Jeanne rolls Medicine: Success. (2 7 4 4 5)

The pale-haired fellow who attracts attention largely for being a bit too well dressed for the place and just having rapped an angry patron hard with a silver-tipped walking stick, getting him to sit down and feel sorry for himself, perks up and looks up at the ceiling. "Oh dear. Guess that doesn't sound too good." He too speaks with an accent, more pronounced than Aedhwyn's — north-eastern of some kind.

"He is dead!", Jeanne calls after Tancred, stating the obvious, but at least confirming it somewhat.

Tancred was at least able to discern the general direction into which the frame is heading. And even with a few seconds lost, his joints and limbs will be grateful for the Skaldi's wisdom in choosing the safe way down.

Aedhwyn furrows her brow at hearing pronouncement from upstairs, her gaze cast upwards for a moment before Andrei's words catch her attention. "I don't suppose you know what is going on? I would prefer not to be blamed for something having only just arrived."

"A local man and a sailor decided to have a go at each other, my lady," Anghelescu replies in a tone that suggests a familiarity with that concern; the d'Angeline are a hospitable people — to an extent. "There was a bit of confusion, and a big Skaldi fellow rushed upstairs. I'm going to venture a guess from that shout just now that the squabble down here was a distraction of some kind." He glances at Barn Boy Bernard, the 'local' man in the equation and then towards the stairs — and towards the door. Somebody is trying to discern where exactly things are in fact happening, and whether he should act further upon them.

Tancred spends 1 luck points on Body&reaction roll.
<FS3> Tancred rolls Body+Reaction+5: Good Success. (4 7 8 5 2 5 3 1 2 4 3 6)
<FS3> Eisheth rolls 6: Failure. (6 2 5 3 4 4)

No wasting his breath talking or yelling, now. At least without anyone to call out to trip the damned guy (or girl?). Tancred zooms down the alleyways, plodding on heavy boots, glad that today he hadn't been forced to make a foot chase in proper mail. His sword bounces at his hip, smacking at his thigh. It'd be annoying if he didn't have higher priorities like trying to catch a murderer.

<FS3> Jeanne rolls Perception: Good Success. (4 2 4 4 4 1 8 6 2 8 4 5)

Jeanne moves to stand and lets her gaze drift, before she makes her way downstairs, slipping through the few people that arrive on the scene. She shakes her head and looks suddenly very pale, managing to make her way to the stairs and then proceed down to the common room.

Jeanne, in her quick visual survey of the room, has noted only a few things. A sword in scabbard, leaning against the wall close to the bed. A few blank sheets of parchment on the desk, beside a stoppered inkwell and a quill. The dead man wore commoner clothes, worn, and so are his leather boots, showing good wear, even if they are well-kept.

Aedhwyn mms, another small not of her head. "Confusions don't generally end with people calling out about someone either being dead or abed. It was a little muffled through the walls." She angles her chair to have a better view of the room trying to place herself in such a way to maintain easy conversation with Andrei. Before she ever sits, her hand comes down upon the table, her head lowering just a bit. Her voice seems to take on nearly an echo with itself. "Twisting, turning, the fog obscuring….red in the stain upon her heart."

Anghelescu glances at the stairs at the young seamstress descending. "I take it not all is well upstairs, Mademoiselle?"

Tancred's physical skill appears to be his great advantage. With his mind set to catch up of the fleeing frame, he manages finally, due to luck or the fact that the surroundings may not be that familiar to the one in question. At a dark junction of alleys, the cloaked figure turns and brings out a thin dagger that glints, menacing in the moon light. "Stand back," a female voice hisses. "This is none of your business."

"It is not," Jeanne tells Andrei softly as she slumps onto a vacant chair beside him. A faint glare is given Bernard, who for now seems to be happy with his stiff drink. "A man. Dead. Upstairs in one of the rooms. Monsieur Tancred climbed out of the window, to run after someone, I think."

Aedhwyn continues to speak though it does not seem as she does so to anyone in particular. "Dark as night, raven's flight." Even as she starts to lift her head, her companion raises the deepset hood to shadow her face.

Anghelescu glances at the other foreign woman, not quite certain what to make of her murmurings; something in her tone seems to imply that she's not simply drunk. He looks back to Jeanne. "Perhaps we should pursue in case he needs somebody to fetch the guards while he sits on the murderer, then. I am no soldier, but sending one man out alone is never wise." He gets to his feet again and heads doorwards, somewhat to Bernard's relief.

"Wasn't. It is now." And so Tancred draws his sword with the dull rasp of blade against wooden scabbard and bronze fittings; the sort of noise that gets the hairs at the back of one's neck tingling. He raises the point towards the mystery assailant. "Now make your choice," he mutters, mindful of the still-present avenues of escape.

The woman laughs. "Fool." With a quick motion, she sheathes her dagger, and draws a sword. "You're dead."

Aedhwyn turns to look towards Anghelescu, though it does not truly seem as if she is seeing him, her eyes showing white. "Burning, smoking across the seas, darkness fuming, all consuming."

The Carpathian blinks once or twice in the doorway; that woman with the accent, she had — well, not eyes like that a moment ago, did she? The word hoanghina passes through his mind and he wavers on the doorstep, faced with a choice. With a glance towards Jeanne he eventually murmurs, "Find out what she's talking about? I need to make sure that the Skaldi doesn't run into an ambush alone." And he's off into the darkness, listening for the sounds of violence (or the sounds of some unfortunate sucker taking a giant Skaldi to the face).

"I see." Tancred, his only protection the padding in his jacket, raises his weapon to meet the woman's challenge. Though outwardly calm, his itch for a fight might just get scratched today. He stances himself and it's on.

Jeanne looks up, startled, at Aedhwyn, the foreign woman with the cloak. The words do sound odd, but the young seamstress tries to memorize them, probably realizing they might be some sort of prophecy.

The woman in the dark cloak shakes her head, and he may be able to hear the exhale through her nose in the moment before she launches her attack.

<COMBAT> Orsa attacks Tancred with Broadsword - Moderate wound to Neck.
<COMBAT> Tancred attacks Orsa with Greatsword - Light wound to Left Arm (Reduced by Armor).

The woman seems intent to go directly for Tancred's neck, as she swings the sword in an angle that could easily make him lose his head, if he is not careful. The swing leaves her left side without protection, so she takes a hit from the Skaldi sword. Perhaps her vision had been hampered by the hood of the cloak, and she she draws it off, to sway chances in her favor.

Aedhwyn is swept up into her companion's arm, carrying her as he might a child so his other hand is left free should the need to fight arise. Still though she speaks, "We must find the pearl of Alexandria." Her hand rises as if she is touching something only she can see. "Why must we find you, what secrets do you hold? Did the raven sail upon you or does she wait for you still."

Tancred mistimes his parry, or else he would have been safely out of measure. At the least his deflection saves him enough that the woman's blade merely gashes open his neck. Were it less bulky, it might have easily been a mortal wound and he'd be gasping like a broken instrument through the new and gaping extra breathing hole. With a step he turns his sword in the bind to cut at her arm, stumbling backwards to put his reach back into play.

<COMBAT> Orsa attacks Tancred with Broadsword - Serious wound to Abdomen (Reduced by Armor).
<COMBAT> Tancred attacks Orsa with Greatsword but Orsa DODGES!

Anghelescu follows his warrior instinct and more importantly, the sounds of steel ringing against steel and echoing along the alleys. He does not know his way around here very well but some noises are not hard to follow — and soon enough, he spots the admittedly quite sizeable Skaldi figure, and the smaller one. Pausing to catch his breath and evaluate the situation he leans one hand against a wall; somebody may have been a soldier in times past but now somebody is a man who really shouldn't be running in a winter night.

<COMBAT> Tancred attacks Orsa with Greatsword - Light wound to Right Hand (Reduced by Armor).
<COMBAT> Orsa attacks Tancred with Broadsword but Tancred DODGES!

"The pearl of Alexandria…?" Jeanne repeats those words, breathlessly. "What does this mean?" Moving to stand she reaches for the arm of the strange woman (Aedhwyn), touching her lightly, if her bodyguard allows. "The raven sailing upon… who? Please… I don't understand…"

<FS3> Aedhwyn rolls Politics-2: Good Success. (1 6 7 7 5 4 3)

<FS3> Eisheth rolls 6 (Perception Orsa): Success. (8 4 5 2 3 4)

The woman cackles, as she deals Tancred a nasty blow to his abdomen. "Hah. Got you." She moves swiftly, even if the broadsword does not appear her weapon of choice. "I'll finish you… I will. Now that you've seen my face." And apparently, some heavy breathing close by has not gone unnoticed, as the female assassin turns to shoot Andrei a glance. "And you too."

Having a mere few layers of linen and wool to protect against a properly-sharpened sword isn't the best of options, but one cannot always be in their mail. Tancred may later rue his choice as the woman's sword strikes true and slices through the layers and into his side — but at least not deep enough to gut him. But he does end up missing. He hastily backsteps, sniping at the woman's vulnerable hand to land a shallow cut on her hand that bleeds her fingers but managing to avoid her response. As she glances at Andrei, he goes for a thrust.

While the other woman is permitted to approach, touch is another matter entirely with the rather imposing Alban man making a sound that is obviously a bit of a warning. Aedhwyn turns towards Jeanne, nothing but the whites of her eyes showing. "Genoa….have you come or gone from there raven one?" Her head turns sharply, "Where are you you? Do you still run, twisting, turning, ever hiding?"

"Genoa." Jeanne nods her head, memorizing what Aedhwyn tells her, twitching a little at the menacing grunt of Aedhwyn's guard, but not really pressing on further. SHe lets her gaze drift over the common room, and seeing others looking in their general direction, she lowers her voice to a whisper. "Listen… My lady. This is not the time and place… Perhaps… perhaps, you could sit down, and tell me more?"

The woman with the blade is quite unimpressed by her opponent so far. "You are big. You are slow," she taunts in that low hiss of hers. "And you are dead. In a bit."

<COMBAT> Andrei attacks Orsa with Dagger and MISSES!
<COMBAT> Orsa attacks Tancred with Broadsword - Light wound to Right Arm (Reduced by Armor).
<COMBAT> Tancred attacks Orsa with Greatsword - Light wound to Neck.

"I've been a dead man walking for three years," Anghelescu murmurs, looking unimpressed. "You want to do the honours of finishing me off? Fine by me." He lounges with his dagger, misses, and, finding his feet, seems to have every intention of giving it another shot. This man moves with the casual confidence of someone who gives not a single fig if he lives or dies.

<COMBAT> Orsa attacks Tancred with Broadsword - Moderate wound to Abdomen (Reduced by Armor).
<COMBAT> Andrei attacks Orsa with Dagger - Serious wound to Chest (Reduced by Armor).
<COMBAT> Tancred attacks Orsa with Greatsword - ARMOR on Chest stops the attack!
<COMBAT> Tancred has been KO'd!
<COMBAT> Tancred spends a luck point to keep fighting!

There is no response from the petite woman, at least petite by Alban standards though her guard makes another sound as he starts to carry Aedhwyn out of the bar. Jeanne might just be right, this is not the place. If he understood a single word said is unclear. It is even more unclear if Aedhwyn has even heard you but either way, they are heading outside. There is a single word spoken by the man with a heavy accent, "Follow."

They are leaving? Jeanne looks baffled for a moment, before she decides to follow in the wake of Aedhwyn and her guard. Slipping her hood over her head as she moves through the door into the chill outside.

"I've not lost - " Tancred's declaration is immediately interrupted by a cut at his arm, slicing into part of the meat of his bicep through the sleeve. He twists away with a wince. As an ally steps in to intervene in the form of Andrei's unhealthy self, he tries to buy a moment for recovery and takes yet another cut to the body for his trouble. Breathing heavily, he struggles to keep on his feet. " - to a woman yet." The stubborn barbarian remains on his feet, not immediately able to act upon the opening Andrei creates for him.

That dagger came unexpected. The woman cries out, even as she was about to laugh in triumph when she managed to slice into Tancred. "You are both dead," she announces coldly.

Anghelescu does indeed have no illusions of fighting prowess; he struggles to move and breathe simultaneously in such cold weather. What he does have, though, is enough experience to know that regardless of whether he can get another stab in or not, his presence means that the woman has to spread her focus out on two — which in turn should make things a little easier for the man present who isn't pretty useless in a fight. "Less talking, sweet cheeks. More bleeding."

<COMBAT> Orsa tries to attack but has no target!
<COMBAT> Tancred attacks Orsa with Greatsword - Serious wound to Left Arm (Reduced by Armor).
<COMBAT> Andrei attacks Orsa with Dagger and MISSES!
<COMBAT> Andrei attacks Orsa with Dagger but Orsa DODGES!
<COMBAT> Tancred attacks Orsa with Greatsword - Light wound to Chest (Reduced by Armor).
<COMBAT> Orsa attacks Tancred with Broadsword - Serious wound to Right Leg (Reduced by Armor).
<COMBAT> Orsa has been KO'd!

Apparently, the female assassin manages to evade Andrei's attacks easily. But they distract her, enough that she doesn't manage to evade Tancred's heavy greatsword. The heavy blade connects to her chest, sending her to her knees, when wounds gained mostly from the Skaldi but also from a man of the Chowat claim their toll. The blade slips from her hand and she falls forward, onto the dirt of the street.

Rather in favour of not ruining his fine boots with something as mundane as assassin blood, Anghelescu takes a step backward and glances up the street. "At a guess, there's going to be a number of guards here in little time. Let's see if we can keep her alive for them to ask a few questions."

<FS3> Tancred rolls Composure: Success. (3 2 7 2 4)

Tancred isn't using a true two-hander, thankfully. It might have worked against him in the confined alleyway — and given that he's taken yet another slice to the leg, might have spelt the end of him. He grunts with pain, lowering his sword slowly and wiping it on the woman's cloak before planting his boot on her back. Only then does he notice there's blood trickling down his foot. In fact, he feels oddly damp and numb in several places. The big Skaldi sways when he realizes he's wounded… but thankfully does not fall, because there's no way Andrei would have been able to keep him up. He drops to one knee. "Aye," he says, "You … you do the askin'." Unsurprisingly, the wounded Skaldi is in no talking mood. He tries to flip over the fallen woman and disarm her.

Words are spoken, flowing quickly in a mix of Cruithne and d'Angeline, Eoghan striding with purpose as he hears the sounds of combat and then deafening silence.

It is only about the time they arrive near now mostly dead, probably dead? questionably dead? woman that Aedhwyn seems to stop speaking slumping against the large Alban carrying her.

Anghelescu sheathes his dagger and steadies his breathing. For now, the woman is unconscious. He is more worried about the big Skaldi's injuries, eyeing him critically to see just how bad it actually is. He carries no field medic kit in one pocket, but a handkerchief to apply pressure until help arrives can definitely be done where required. "How badly did she get you?"

Arriving with the two Albans is Jeanne, the half-foreign looking seamstress. Seeing Tancred and Andrei there with the cloaked woman is enough for her to rush forward to their side. "What has happened? What are we to do? Who is she?"

"Few times," Tancred cryptically replies, pressing his right palm against the bigger gash in his jacket. The damage to the dark jack isn't so visible … the blood that's beginning to stain it is. There's another significant cut in the meat of his right thigh, slowly pooling underneath him. Suddenly the world is spinning and his balance becomes harder to maintain and he sinks to his arse, inching back from the fallen woman. No, it's not looking too good.

Tancred can easily manage to turn the woman onto her back and strip her of her dagger. Apart from that and the sword beside her on the ground she doesn't seem to have any weapons on her. She carries a leather pouch at her belt though, which had been concealed by the cloak. Below, she wears armor of studded leather.

Aedhwyn looks confused when her head lifts once more, bright green eyes showing. "What…." She looks around, trying to take things in and figure out just exactly what she is doing here. "Why do I know her and why is she lying in a pool of blood?"

<FS3> Jeanne rolls Medicine: Failure. (1 2 3 5 4)

Anghelescu decides to leave assassin be for now; the pool of blood spreading under Tancred is a far greater concern as far as he is concerned. "I'm going to need help here before he bleeds out," the Carpathian murmurs and attempts to use that handkerchief — monogrammed with an AA at that — as a torniquiet, stopping the flow of blood from Tancred's arm while eyeing the thigh wound. Too many holes in that man for it to be healthy.

<FS3> Andrei rolls Medicine: Failure. (1 4 4 1)

Aedhwyn is set down gently, a large hand so carefully making sure she is balanced before taking up a position once more in vigilance. She moves towards Tancred, opening a pouch to start chewing on some herbs.

Jeanne was looking to stabilize the woman for the time when guards will arrive. But her efforts are only half-hearted, not really managing to bring the assassin back to counsciousness. Aedhwyn's remark has the seamstress raise her gaze. "What do you mean? You know her? Who is she?"

<FS3> Aedhwyn rolls Medicine: Success. (6 3 3 7)

"Hurts," mutters Tancred. The massive Skaldi has enough presence of mind to try and put pressure on the more pertinent wounds cleaving into his side; the leg wound gets attended to by Andrei and company. There are a few other cuts on his arms and a seeping wound on his neck, but they seem more superficial.

Aedhwyn would answer but her mouth is full and well it really is impolite to speak with her mouth full. She is quick with her hands, using a very thin blade to cut several sections of Tancred's clothes for bandages. The herbs are spit out and packed into the worst of the cuts before she uses the cloth to slow and hopefully staunch the bleeding. "This will sting. It will help you know you are alive and you will likely see more than one of me before the night is done." Especially once she gives him a small flask with some uisghe.

Anghelescu breathes a quiet sigh of relief that clearly, he's not the closest thing to a field medic present. This bodes well for Tancred's continued survival because if there is one thing the Carpathian is not, it is indeed a healer. He'd probably suggest cautherising the wound with a hot musket barrel next.

As Jeanne kneels beside the woman, her dark eyes widen as she beholds the leather pouch at the woman's belt. Loosening the strap of the pouch she slides her fingers in to check for its contents.

Aedhwyn glances over at the woman, "I've seen her before but….I don't think I've ever met her. I'm not sure how I know her only that I do."

"Well…." Tancred's gaze gets hazy and unfocused, though his breathing remains steady. He's definitely still cogent enough not to groan when the stinging bandages are applied to the major cuts on his form. His head lazily tracks Aedhwyn. "Well… wouldn't mind seeing more of you, heh." Someone is a little delirious, it seems. "Who cut me?"

As Jeanne checks the pouch, she can empty its contents into her hand. The assassin moves faintly, with an almost inaudible groan, perhaps not very happy to see herself robbed of…

  • a fine necklace of gold, with a seahorse pendant, studded with valuable gems
  • a signet ring
  • a number of other valuables, golden bracelets and hair needles.

"Our little lady killer had a good hand with a blade," Anghelescu replies, tightening the handkerchief around the Skaldi's arm and letting the women work on the thigh wound. Probably best, he reflects, and makes a mental note — not for the first time — that he really should familiarise himself with how to keep blood -inside- bodies too.

And, finally.

The heavy footfall of city guards approaching brings hope and relief, as things will be taken over now, and literally from their hands, by the valiant men of the city watch.

Aedhwyn bites her bottom lip as she work on Tancred, tightening the bandage with just an extra little twist. Afterall it's supposed to keep the blood inside, nevermind that it's a little painful and should keep his mind off flirting. "There's plenty of time for that later. You'll nae be dying on this night though I think I will wish to leave sooner than the later."

Jeanne hastily slides the valuables back into that pouch. She would hardly like to be caught as a thief she apparently is not. "Messieurs." She moves to stand, holding out her hands, palms turned upwards. "We need a healer. Monsieur Tancred is heavily wounded. And this woman here…" She looks towards the assassin, still warm on the ground. "She's done something very bad. She's a killer."

Anghelescu too looks up at the guards. "This man's very severely injured, indeed. And I believe that there is also a dead body back at the Kraken's Den, upstairs? Good to see you gentlemen." A very slight undertone of 'what the hell kept you', perhaps.

Aedhwyn looks between the three of you as she blinks and then back to Eoghan. With a single fluid motion she rises, "Genoa….she has something to do with Genoa."

Tancred is certainly hurting enough as is, so the pressure of the binds don't really change that. "Mmmfh." Trying to hit up Aedhwyn while half-conscious at least fades from his mind. He looks up a little glassily at the advancing guard, then down at his own longsword, bloodied. "My sword," he realizes, "Oh. Got in… in a fight." Now he remembers. Then he sees the guard. "… sad state I've been .. caught in."

<FS3> Andrei rolls Alertness: Success. (4 8 6 2)

"We were alerted by guardsman Gal," the man in charge declares. "We are already aware of what happened at the Kraken, the situation is under control there."

"Genoa? What is her name? And how do you know?", the guard addresses Aedhwyn when she speaks up.

Anghelescu murmurs gently, "You finished the fight standing, that's more than can be said for her." Then he glances towards the women, silently noting that the seamstress fiddles with the assassin's bag, and glances at Aedhwyn. "Genoa the city? Later — perhaps this is not the time and place." He nods at the guardsman and stands aside, returning the bloodied dagger in his hand to the boot sheath in which it usually resides.

"Gives us your names please. And then I must ask you to come with us to the citadel, to answer questions and to explain to us what happened." The sergeant pauses, and gestures for two of his guards to pick up the shape of the female assassin. "Take her along. Eisheth alone may know whether the healers can do anything for her."

The Carpathian sighs and resigns himself to not being able to avoid the Citadel this time. So much for discreet. "Andrei Anghelescu, traveller from the Chowat," he murmurs, leaving out anything else that might matter, at least for now.

Aedhwyn draws in a breath, "I don't know, it's perhaps her look." She looks to the guard, "Perhaps I could be questioned in my quarters instead? I would be more at ease there."

"Jeanne Mercier," the same gives her name to the guards. "I work at l'Aiguille Inspirée, the tailor at the Grand Plaza. I don't know the woman." At which she glances pointedly towards the female assassin. "But she was trying to flee. Had it not been for Monsieur Tancred, she would be gone by now."

"Tancred," he mutters, resting his left palm on his thigh. Unsurprisingly, the Skaldi seems to mislike law enforcement types. "Need that … healer at least as much as your criminal over there." He raises his left boot to try and drag his sword closer, grabbing it by the pommel so it doesn't get left behind.

"Please, give us your names," the guard insists towards Aedhwyn and her companion. "And we can question you at a later time, in your quarters, if that is what you'd prefer." To Tancred, he adds, "We will have a healer check on you, Monsieur."

"He probably needs that healer more," Anghelescu murmurs and reaches out to nudge the sword within reach of its owner. "If we are to answer questions, then perhaps at least somewhere that this fellow's injuries may be seen to in the interrim?"

Aedhwyn says, "Áedhwyn mab Mór Ríoghain and that is my companion Eógan Mac Arthmael." She lets out a small breath, "Thank you, it is most kind of you because I think I need rest now."

"To the Kraken, then," the sergeant decides. After all, it may be closer by than the citadel. "I shall ask the tavernkeep for a room, where your injuries can be tended to, and where you can give us a report of what happened."

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