To Snare a Hawk

[Midnight]

Fall, a time of change for much of the world. as the temperatures dropped the animals went into their hiding places to hibernate... well, some of them at least. It also signalled the end of a busy season for most everyone. The harvest had begun, bandit attacks were on a decline and mercenaries were scrambling to get at whatever job is left. The Talons had just returned from a long campaign in the south, and were once again heading into the mountainous regions where it was safe. The summer is an eventful time after all.

Three figures walked through the browning grass, a light snowfal had blanketed the land in white. The three men walked shoulder by shoulder, two men flanking a man in the middle. The cloaked men strode confidently, a stride that instantly broadcasted who thery were. They were mercenaries of the Talon Company, one of the more famous companies in the area. Hawk looked to his left, at the shorter man as they strode towards a colomn of smoke that marked the presence of a village hidden in the great pines.

Hawk made this trip once, when his weapons were beginning to become dull or break. Weapon upkeep was important, and since Talon Company didn't have a blacksmith it was completely nescessary. He had made a deal not to bring his entire company into the village, even though he did send men to purchase large quantities of alcahol and food for them, at least they didn't invade pubs and steal women like some other bands of mercenaries. Then again the leader had a reason not to steal women aside from Chivalry.

All three men wore the same cloak outside their clothing, the uniform for the band. The cloak had armored shoulders and an insignia of a bird of prey in flight.

In the middle strode Hawk, the leader of the band, a tall man of around twenty-five years old and a ,aster archer. He wore his hood down, and his insignia had a star on it, showing his rank. He was lean and athletic, incredibly handsome with short golden hair and liquid gold eyes. He was legendary in the area as a man who could kill several men with a single arrow. Next to him were a taller man and a shorter man, the taller man wore his hood up and wore a cloth mask that covered almost everything but his eyes. THe shorter was a younger man with a young face, easily Hawk's sibling.

Hawk smiled as he approached the village, his two men trailing behind him as he entered the village, smiling towards one of the villagers as he entered the Village. The leader of the group had a bundle of five swords on their backs and a large bow made of Ebony, a legendary material. The taller man, Vincent carried another bundle of swords, and the younger man carried more than the others, including his own weapons. The men were heading towards one of the largest housed in the village, the Swordsmith.

Hawk nodded to his comrades and stepped forward, opening the wooden door of the sweordsmith's shack and stepping inside of the building. Every year he did the same thing, he would bring his weapons into town and give them to the smith as well as a good amount of gold as payment for all the work, it helped the town's economy and generally got the mercenaries a good welcome whenever thery arrived "Greeting's master swordsmith" The mercenary lowered his hood, exposing those beautiful golden eyes "I have some weapons I would like you to repair, they held up wonderfully since last year, no breakages this time" The merccenary parted his cloak to reach for the bundle of blades on his back, leaving his bow hitched to his costume, the black bow never broke.

 

[Confrazzled]

The steady clanging of Mastersmith Brahmâ??s hammer striking to anvil permeated the yard, resounded loudly from the forge room and clear beyond the back yard, where his second daughter was drawing up water from their limestone well. It provided an unconsciously-perceived beat for her actions as she passed each hand before the other, drawing up the slick linked chain. Never could understand why chickens need so much bloody water, she seethed though she kept the words to herself. The feather-brained birds ever seemed to be knocking their pails over or strewing them with grain and straw, or else defecating in them. Infuriating tufts of still-clucking lard rolled in feathers. And with spearheads in the place of mouths. Clearly some sort of divine joke, reflected the young woman.

She plunked the bucket upon the packed earth beside the well, resting her well-toned arms some as she swept a few loosened jet locks away from her grey eyes. Let herself rest more to avoid the petty birds a few moments more than to leaven the strain upon her muscles, for she was far from fragile. Had she not forged half of the links of the wellâ??s chain herself?

Forged. Something at the forge felt oddâ??the hammer had stilled, and silence rang out. And thenâ??

Kathlirraâ??s breath caught in her throat as she heard that voice, that soulful laugh. For all that she had not heard it nigh on a year, though she had often conjured its warm tones, though calling out softer, verily murmuring into the velvety contours of her creamy ears. She could conjure the honeyed eyes set into the handsome face, framed by short locks of burnished gold hair, like ripened, waving wheat in the sunlight. He was here.

He was here and she smelled like chicken shit.

Abandoning her bucket entirely, and grinning ear to ear like a madwoman, she hastened to the cottage half of the forge, to freshen her mussed hair, and swap her apron. Pinch her cheeks a brighter red, though there was nothing to be done for her silver-gray eyes, for they already glittered and danced like stars.

â??Now, lemme se â??as I ken do,â? she could hear the old swordsmith saying, thorough the mortared wall. Could practically picture him, humming and guffawing, grizzled hair fanning madly about his shoulders though one could not tell if it were black streaked with silver or silver streaked upon black. â??â??T looks as if youâ??ve been oiling â??er up but good. Keepinâ?? er sheathed. But whose skullâ??ve ye been bashing with â??er, Hawk?â? He tched, a soft sound barely permeating through the wall.

The race then, for Kathlirra, had commenced. She unbound her locks from their little-girlâ??s braid, raked her comb through the thick but subtle waves, from the ends upwards. Splashed water from the jug over her face, to clear away smudges of dirt, peering at her reflection in the little circle of water. Bertrand, no doubt, was collecting up the other armsâ??and the telltale clanking told her it was so, garnering a smirk. She had a bare few moments yet, then . . . Her apron she tossed on top of her quilt and dug out another, this one embroidered with painstaking flowers at the pockets, and barely tied it on before she flew out of the front door. Snatching up a basket of course, for some kind of excuse.

Her stroll was far more sedate as she wended her way to arrive at the forge entrance, however, just as she calculated Hawk and his entourage would be stepping out, leaving her father to his work. And as he worked, Hawk would be trapped in their little town all day . . . and perhaps for all of the next, as well. And what better time was there to snare a Hawk? For she had made herself just such a promise, a year ago. And Kathlirra would do all that she could to untz it along, starting with this instant, as she 'accidentally' blundered, pressing her full bust into him, but righting herself well before she tumbled to the ground. She would not wish to muss her dress, after all. â??Oof! Ah, Hawk, why I . . . why what a surprise!â? she stammered adorably, irresistibly even, fluttering eyelashes about her dewy gray eyes. â??Has it been a year yet? You have not changed a wit.â? Though perhaps he would see that she had. Surely he could not overlook her now, nor resist her entreaties of entertainment for the day, for all that his two tag-a-long accomplices would damper events some.

 

[Midnight]

Hawk laughed lightly as the old forgemaster approached him and began taking the weapons from him and his companions "Welll, I havn't been doing much bashing recently" Hawk prefered use of the black bow on his back. "But, they are extra worn this year, lots of training going down, but besides that, Ogres, the bastards have been acting up lately." Hawk wrapped his arm around the younger man on his left "Roan here is my little brother. He decided to follow my footsteps." The younger man retreated from his brother "This is his first year, he even survived a battle or two"

Hawk chuckled, finishing his work in handing over the weapons before begining got turn away from the man. He did not get far however, when the swordsmith's daughter ran straight into him. The mercenary barely moved when the female pressed her busom into him, he did however blink in suprise. Hawk's expression read indifference. Hawk's eyes focus ed on the female, a smirk rising to his lips. He had seen this girl on previous truips to the swordsmith's cottage, he had always assumed that she was related to him somehow, perhaps a daughter or neice. Villagers tend to live close to one another and many childeren lose their parents at early ages due to the unforgiving conditions.

"Ah, Hello Miss" Hawk chuckled, he didn't pay much attention to her name, though he usually saw her around once in a while, He had no problem talking to her, although her behavior did strike her as odd. When Hawk spoke to her, his eyes did not drift downward like most men would. "Yes, I came up here last year about a week ago" There was no change in his voice at all. The younger male stared at the two for a moment, probably trying to figure what the hell was happening and the Warlock standing nearby snickered.

"And I see you have grown quite a bit too" Hawk's eyes stayed steady. Liquid gold eyes and similarly colored hair were trademarks of men of his land far to the east and beyond the mountain ranges, some of the villagers even argued that Hawk was half elven, his looks and hair could easily lead to that conclusion, though his ears were of normal human size. Nobody really knew where he or his brother came from, it added mystery to their character. Vincent was even more of a mystery.

The tall mercenary gave a small small smile to the forgemaster, walking into the forge "I heard there is a new tavern in town" He said, effectivly brushing the female off. The new tavern was pretty much dedicated to the mercenaries, they brought business to the little village after all and were the biggest buyers. Hawk himself was notably favored worards whisky and wine. The tall mercenary brushed his hair back, waiting for ther old man to reply.

 

[Confrazzled]

Miss. The title was more than a little disparaging, though her heart lifted at his words, his notice of her growth. Even if they did not lower to investigate any swelling of certain endowments. What a gentleman! Such chivalry! What more proof did Kathlirra need to recommend her choice further? This was no beady-eyed swineherd, nor greedily groping bakerâ??s son. Perhaps . . . perhaps even yet he knew her name, but simply did not wish to appear too forwards, at least not in front of his ranking men. And if he did not, Kathlirra would soon ensure that he did.

And handsome. So very, very handsome, with all of that liquid gold sunlight pouring into her from the portals of his eyes. What was that legend that the Northern barbarians had? That once there had been a second sun in the sky, and that it had tumbled into the waves, the molten mass immediately shattering into the shards of honeyed amber that occasionally washed up on their distant shores. It seemed that some divine intervener had seen fit to set Hawk with two such sun-shards, trained just to melt Kathlirraâ??s heart. But not to turn it into the soup of molten lead, no, but the strength of red-hot steel, ready to be tempered to shape at the forge.

She half-marked the mageâ??s snicker. Mages often knew uncanny things, though perhaps this one, however odd he appearedâ??and Kathlirra had barely spared him more than the briefest of glancesâ??was a tad more ordinary. He like as not saw women flinging themselves at his commander all of the time. Obviously he just had never seen the one who would win him.

But she refused to miss a beat, to miss her chance, and snaked up to his side, not quite bold enough to seize his arm at the crook of his elbowâ??not yet, at leastâ??though the young woman felt sorely tempted. â??There certainly is a new tavern,â? she beamed up at him, â??if you would pause for a moment and allow me to escort you, my father was just saying how he had need of another pint of ale . . . I could guide you, most certainly, and it would not be the least scrap of trouble . . .â? Again, a sultry femininity laced through her tones, playing and insinuating without saying.

â??Youâ??d best be lookinâ?? out fer â??im, eh? Donâ??t let the lad near too many oâ?? them plains skirmishes, thoseâ??ns donâ??t fight fair. And donâ??t be lettinâ?? â??im play at any oâ?? yer heroics,â? the old bladesmith stated, wiping his grimy hands on his leather apron as he turned away from the glowing coals to regard the figures filling the doorway. Then his eyes lit on his headstrong daughter, not oblivious to the additional sparkle in her eyes and flush to her cheeks. Heâ??d marked her earlier words, too. She could to worse than Hawk, and he would be here for what, a day and a half? Hardly enough time to do much damage. â??Beinâ?? Autumnâ??n all, ainâ??t much work â??round fer my Kathlirra about the forge. She may as not take you tâ?? thâ?? tavern. Iâ??ll not â??ave it said that Swordsmith Brahm is a poor host,â? grinned the grizzled man.