To Catch A Bandit ( with Laughingstok)

[Yidhra]

((Very uncreative title, I know XD Don't worry about trying to mirror its length~ ))​

The foolish and unwary frequently claimed that crime, chaos and ruin were shackled to the night; spreading the seeds of panic and disorder while shrouded by the cover of darkness. However, the truth of the matter was simply that trouble waited for no one; neither confined to a country's borders, nor chained by the hands of time.

Insects frantically swarmed and soared overhead in their desperate attempts to escape from not only panicked, squawking birds, but a thick, heavy blanket of smoke as well. Chipmunks and squirrels, rabbits, rats and mice, deer, coyotes and foxes; even the odd goblin band and group of kobolds had been driven into a frenzy. Yowling and shrieking voices rose in terror and agony as they collectively dashed and thundered across the heated expanse of the grassland during the early afternoon, desperately careening in their mad dash toward what they believed was safety; predator and prey crashing side-by-side through the lush, verdant, smouldering plantlife.

The common enemy that all beasts shared had come calling: fire.

Though they were incapable of comprehending whether it was a wildfire ignited by nature or through other means, the only thing the creatures knew was that they needed to escape the blaze. Any and all casualties claimed would be scattered haphazardly across the plain; senseless tragedies claimed by either the ravenous, swiftly-spreading flame's touch, or simply and accidentally being trampled underfoot by larger animals and monsters.

Situated alongside the long, well-traveled, winding, dark grey cobbled roadway that stretched between the town of Port Lenna and the frequently-visited overgrown orchard known as Vallyn's Grove, the two-story, previously yellow-painted wooden shop known as "Desma" was ablaze. Thick, acrid, foul-smelling plumes of near-black smoke tainted the early-morning air; tongues of crimson and topaz flames devouring the wooden walls and shingled roof; causing the paint to bubble, blister and peel; reducing the dry timber to little more than blackened ruin; a mere skeleton of what had once been. The grasses, ferns and flowers charred to ash and cinder, a horrific reminder of how voracious and all-consuming something like fire could be.

Perhaps Lady Luck, or even Fate itself, had graced the shopowners with a small mercy: they had been visiting family in one of the neighboring villages when their residence and place of business had been visited by devistation. Though their losses had been immense and it would take a considerable amount of time before they would be able to recover, their lives had not been lost.

That had been the third and most recent attack that the Nylis Barony had sustained in a week. The little fishing hamlet of Selvar had been the first to fall; followed several days later by the farm that had been owned by the Jennery family. While there were commonalities between all three that would have made it impossible to write the incidents off as mere happenstance -all three locations had evidently been robbed and intentionally set ablaze- the town of Port Lenna had dispatched several of their guards to investigate, but they had been unsuccessful at apprehending the culprit.

The afternoon sunlight caught and glittered on something that twikled and shimmered just off the main roadway. A single long, dangling earring, set with small yellow gemstones.​

---

Low-pitched, devilishly mirthful laughter rode along the currents of the morning breeze; the sound creaking like the rusty rattle of a gallow's chain; accompanied by the sound of swiftly-beating, feathered wings. Flying between the thick, gnarled, black-barked branches and ivory-hued leaves of the fruit trees that grew in Vallyn's Grove, the winged traveler banked sharply to the right, narrowly avoiding impact with one of the large, serpentine vines that hung amid the branches.

Wing and shoulder muscles beginning to ache and grow tired from flight that had been sustained for too great a distance. Sides heaving like a blacksmith's bellows, breath hitching and rasping irregularly as the individual flew deeper into the grove, through lazily-drifting clouds of pollen and dust that the sunlight had ignited into ethereal particles of molten gold, the bandit would not be able to push onward any further; not without stopping at least long enough to catch her breath.

Still too far away from her meager little camp situated within the heart of the grove for her liking, she allowed herself to plummet downward resignedly; birdlike toes closing around one of the lower-hanging branches of a fruit tree; the gnarled and twisted limb creaking and groaning under her weight. Wings folded loosely against her back, one clawed hand resting against the tree trunk to give herself an additional measure of balance, her other hand clutched a stained and threadbare cloth sack; which currently held the spoils from her most recent heist.

This time, it was jewelry that she had managed to pilfer. While the young harpy didn't have an eye for things such as craftsmanship or quality -and definitely couldn't tell the difference between counterfeit and genuine gemstones- enchanted or ensorcelled pieces, or ones that looked appealing, could normally attract a decent price when hoisted off to a fence that operated in Port Lenna's black market.

Unfortunately, though, it seemed like the notion of resting just a little while longer, of daydreaming about making a profit, would have to wait- at least for the time being. She would most likely need to lay low for a little while; during the last trek she'd made to Port Lenna, she had heard that someone had been inquiring about the most recentl string of burglaries she'd committed, the fires she had ignited; a member of the local Monster Hunters' Guild, if what her sources had been adamant about were believable at all.​

Toes reflexively clenching more tightly around the branch she perched on, wing feathers ruffling as she leaned forward in an attempt to get a better look at what she thought she had briefly caught a glimpse of, she may have needed to be on the move again. Unless her eyes and the mist that drifted along the grove's floor were playing tricks on her, she no longer believed she was alone.

 

[Laughingstok]

Morgan had spent the better part of two days hunting cockatrice in the foothills of the barony's bordered mountains. It was the first job he'd taken since moving to Port Lenna, and a rather casual one at that. He barely had a scratch on his leather armor as he returned. There was no triumphant or boastful look on his bearded face as he dragged his three kills through the streets on a sled. The thing had clearly been constructed in the field to return his prizes with him to town, by it's rough construction and vine-woven reigns. Those reigns were being pulled by the hunter himself in true exercise in stoicism.

Only the slightest strain crossed his face as he dragged the three massive raptors behind. They were piled, dead, and causing the saplings of the sled to creek with each step. Little more than giant roosters these monsters were, but anyone who knows anything about birds should know how vicious such a creature would be. One was beheaded, denoting how it was killed cleanly due to the lack of other wounds on it's body. The other two seemed to have put up more of a fight, one having a split wing and deep gash into the side of it's neck. Separately, one of the avian horrors had a chunk chewed out of it. Denoting the man may have had to fight off a stray wolf along his path to protect his kill.

A few of the townspeople looked on with curiosity, having heard a new monster hunter had set up shop in Lenna. They seemed satisfied with this display of his work mostly, but didn't marvel at him. He appreciated his anonymity silently in this moment, and finally stopped in front of the apothecary. The bell hanging above the door rang out as he entered, and an old woman greeted him without rising from her rocking chair.

"How may I help you, young man?" She asked politely in an age-worn voice. Morgan gave a small smile and pushed some of his long, curly, sweaty hair out of his face. It had been a little bit since he'd been called a young man.

"I'm wondering how much you would give me for some Cockatrice feathers. At least four buckets full? I'd like to keep some of the meat but you can have the rest of you like. If not it's going to the butcher," Morgan rubbed his shoulder, attempting to ease the fatigue his little ordeal had caused him.

"Two gold a bucket," said the old lady. Her tone had not changed from a grandmotherly coo, but her speed in replying was as fierce as any sharp tongued negotiator he had ever met.

"Two gold?!" Spat Morgan with a scoff, "Five," he said, dropping his own nice guy act. He recognized immediately this was no defenseless hag. He was about to argue with a great wolf in grandma's clothes.

"Oh, bah!" She smiled gingerly and clicked her tongue, "I have grandchildren sir, I'd like to get them something nice, I'm saving money, surely you can empathize?" Morgan rolled his eyes, and deflated internally. Surely he COULD empathize. He grumbled and laughed to himself, shaking his head.

"Two a piece and you're plucking them yourself, you can have most of the meat, for the kids," he said, smiling back at her with a look that screamed 'go fuck yourself.' She gave him a sheepish grin and began digging in her coin purse. He felt this would be a good first impression on the community, and didn't care for chicken all that much anyway.

"Oh!! What a noble soul you are!" She said with all genuine praise in her voice. Once he was payed he went outside and began hacking away at the thigh of one of the cockatrice with his hatchet. He had already cleaned and oiled his great sword, Voltund, the night before as he camped. He would never dare blood his blade again for no reason. The thing had become his prize possession quickly. It had defended him against situations he would have been otherwise unprepared for several times since he bought it. He wasn't a totally sentimental person, and this was the first weapon he had ever owned he had cared to name. It had belonged to a war-priest before he acquired it secondhand, and the blessing spoke to it's originator.

The poultry thigh was as long and heavy as a Warhammer as he let it hand down by his side. That's when he noticed the heavy smell of smoke, and looked upward at the slight haze in the sky. The fire was far away, clearly, but no doubt something large had caught ablaze. Just like those other two instances these past weeks. Morgan's lined face turned into an angry grimace, thinking about those poor people who's livelihoods were destroyed. What sort of heartless thief robs a fishery and a farm, rather than some gems or weapons? So many more targets that wouldn't put a family out on the street.

Morgan knew what it was like to be out of cash to the point of thievery, but to torch the land for no reason was sadistic in his opinion. So with a twist in the pit of his stomach and a slightly elevated heart rate, he headed up the road towards the smell of smoke.

______________________________________________

It hadn't taken long for Morgan to question the shopkeep. When the pro monster slayer finished his querying, there were hardly any more details. The M.O. was still obviously the same. At least he didn't have more worrying in his mind for a gem-trader. The man would be fine, not like those other citizens. Sure Desma wasn't exactly thrilled when a sweaty, dirty huntsman showed up with a giant clawed bit of meat in his grip attempting to help. Still, the guard didn't seem to be solving these crimes so he didn't see the point in turning Morgan down. Morgan seemed polite enough, at least, and clever enough not to be killed after nearly a decade of monster hunting.

The only extra clue Morgan found was the shimmering ear ring. Desma denied it was some of his product, and thus it may have belonged to the culprit. He continually stared at it, placed it in and out of his pocket, and fiddled with it in general as he solemnly marched up the eastern highway. He barely noticed the growing mists as he ruminated over it's meaning. A female, perhaps. With some sort of winged mount? The reports of claw marks in the first case were what confused him the most.

When he made his way into the strangely colored forest the grove made up, he savored the tranquil site. This was his favorite part of being a traveler of the wilds. He doubted anyone had frequented these fruit trees in some time, and took in the overgrown nature of the vines and roots. He was so enamored with the unique terrain of tones, he didn't notice Alenia far ahead in the canopy. Her silhouette was barely within the distance of his sight.

 

[Yidhra]

While it was extremely unlikely that most of the people who inhabited the barony would understand, all three of those attacks had been carefully orchestrated and planned. The harpy was absolutely not of an altruisic nature by any stretch of the imagination; while her attack against both the fishery and farm had allowed her to eat very well (by her standards, at least) for several days -and she still had at least four more days' worth of stolen, preserved salmon, trout and goat meat back at camp- both settlements had been torched as a means to keep Port Lenna's guards off her trail. As she had no love for the farmers or fishermen, she'd had no remorse for demolishing their places of business; it had been nothing more than collateral damage- sacrifices had to be made and if those people were unable to recuperate from their losses, she had no reason to care in the first place. They hadn't safeguarded or otherwise defended their property, so it was only natural that everything had been taken from them.​

When it came to old man Desma's shop, she had been scouting it for a few days before she had decided to fly in through one of the second-story windows she had smashed with her maul, fill her sack with as much of the jeweler's goods as she'd been able to grab out of their displays, then depart once more. In the process of departing, she had ended up cutting her left side on some jagged broken glass that had remained in the windowframe; a simple mistake that could have ben avoided, had she not been in a hurry. His property had been burnt for the same reason as the farm and fishery- plus, it had been easy to see that Desma had been quite wealthy and could easily stand to lose a considerable amount of gold.

If the people of the barony ended up suffering in the aftermath, then so be it. They collectively had more than enough to go around; if they ended up struggling, or if a few meaningless lives ended up being lost in the aftermath of the havock she had wreaked, then those people clearly hadn't been strong enough to survive in the first place. As far as Alenia was concerned, it was nothing to be concerned with in any way. Life continued regardless of who or what ended up being lost; there was nothing and no one worth mourning over, for any reason.

It would seem as though the tired, bruised and battered harpy had been correct in thinking she had seen someone on the ground. Forehead furrowed and mismatched eyes narrowed as she attempted to identify the newcomer, the sunlight that streamed through the canopy, paired with the mist and the distance that stretched between them made it impossible for her to make out most of the details; though it was apparent that this person was not wearing the bulky half-plate that Port Lenna's guard wore and could have easily been human, or of nearly any variety of demi-human descent.

Finally tying her cloth sack's rope laces so it hung from her belt at her right hip, Alenia reached up to pluck one of the large, almost over-ripe, grey-skinned fruit from the branch that hung just over her head, biting into it as she finally managed to catch her breath, thin trails of scarlet juice down her chin as she ate the potently sweet, slightly spicy fruit while she observed the newcomer for a few more moments.

The short-haired young woman wasn't particularly concerned about the road dust, dirt and sweat that clung to her; sure, she'd have to bathe in the fairly deep river that was within walking distance from her camp before she decided to head back to Port Lenna again to sell those jewels, but that meant she needed to get back to her camp in the first place. Which was what she was intending to do.

Though she couldn't see what seemed to have caught the newcomer's attention, Alenia couldn't hear anything crashing through the undergrowth below; which was a good thing, as far as she could tell. Unfortunately -or fortunately, depending on how one looked at it- the deep, throbbing ache in her wings and back had yet to subside; she likely wouldn't be able to fly again until sometime tomorrow. While the distance between her current perch and camp didn't seem too far while in flight, on foot, it would take roughly an hour to reach her destination.

Carelessly dropping the fruit's core to the ground, she relinquished her tree-branch perch; wings spread as she jumped from the branch and glided toward the ground. Though her knees were bent and braced as she made impact with the ground, her landing was still louder than she would have liked; clawed feet leaving imprints in the damp dirt and moss. A few dozen yards up ahead, the harpy turned left down one of the muddy, frequently-used deer trails; doubling back twice or thrice before setting off in earnest. Though she couldn't recall having seen anyone in the densely-forested grove, especially not in recent times, old habits died hard and she would do her damndest to make sure her trail was as confusing and misleading as possible.​

All she had to do in order to reach her camp was go right at the next fork in the trail, then left once she made her way over the first hill and she would be at the location that she called home.

 

[Laughingstok]

While taking in the sights, Morgan naturally noted details about the terrain. Mostly flat, with some hills and unevenness. The trees were spaced similarly to how they had been when the orchard has been operable. That is to say, not too densely. This eased his fear of being ambushed, or surrounded. Casually he let his head dip left and right, peering into the mists to stay vigilant. Finally, he passed by the fruit core. Any herbivore in the area would have definitely eaten the entire thing, maybe leaving some crumbs. This was unmistakably the sign of a person. He made no motion towards it and simply passed it by with these notes on his mind.

Ahead, quite shortly after, were the impressions in the mud. With all the clues freshly on his brain, he quickly matched them to the memory of the first arson at the farm.

"The indentations in the dirt before seemed to denote a larger creature to me, but this seems like a sure-footed landing by something nimble. Definitely not a mount, a humanoid. Or at least a huge bird of prey," Morgan's facial expression seemed both annoyed and amused by his lot in life, "I guess it's more chicken on the menu," he said, shouldering the big leather bag he had stashed the cockatrice meat in.
He quickly became less amused and more annoyed at the winding trail the thing left him to follow.

"ACGH, another sharp turn?" He spat, dismissing any idea his prey was not intelligent. This was definitely a thief. Any good thief would take three times as long to track as a deer, on account of intentional misdirection. This wasn't just misdirection, however, this was paranoia. Several times the tall grasses and shrubbery covered the target's tracks. Anyone less experienced in following literal trails would have found themselves backtracking by now on account of losing it. Morgan followed a combination of logic and instinct, however. Filling in the gaps in the footprints with mindset, imagining where he would dash next if he were being followed. Unfortunately for his prey, he was as obsessed as they were paranoid. He wasn't going to let up on this search anytime soon.

 

[Yidhra]

Though she'd called the grove home for some time now, it seemed as though it still hadn't revealed the entirety of its beauty to her; which was one of the reasons she'd been relieved to find that few people ever ventured within- and that she'd had yet to see anyone travel anywhere near where her belongings were located. Though she wasn't one to quietly admire her surroundings, she was at least appreciative of them; it was quite easy to see movement between the trees, to vanish into the mist and fog, especially during the early-morning hours; or the expansive shadows at night. Though some wildlife inhabited the orchard -namely rodents, deer, the odd bugbear on rare occasions, maybe a traveling orc or ogre during the summer, perhaps even those strange, foul-tasting hares with the mushroom-like growths that she'd heard people in Port Lenna call "mycena"- sound tended to travel fairly clearly.

Shortly after she'd taken the sharp, righthand turn where the trail had forked sharply, Alenia veered into the dandelions, weeds and grass that grew alongside it; coming to a stop and cocking her head, listening. The first time she'd heard it hadn't been all that long ago; though she'd been mistaken, that perhaps between the sound of the humming, droning cicadas and other insects, the hushed murmurr of the breeze blowing through the leaves overhead, what she'd thought might have been a muffled voice could easily have been anything else. This time though, it sounded much closer than it had been; louder and more clear. It seemed as though a rather frustrated-sounding man was somewhere nearby; either he was alone, or with an extremely soft-spoken traveling companion, as she didn't hear anyone's response. No baying, barking hounds or the sound of hoofbeats either, which meant he wasn't likely to be a member of Port Lenna's guards.

Things had certainly taken an interesting turn; continuing toward her camp certainly didn't seem like an option any longer- at least not until she could determine whether the newcomer was just some poor, hapless fool she could rob and incapacitate, or something else entirely.

"Are you still there? Can you hear me?" She called out; her smoky, gravely voice laced with a measure of falsified sweetness as she drew a deep breath and set off once more; this time crossing the trail she'd been following, darting into the weeds, shrubbery and underbrush; her voice rising once again, a teasing note creeping into her words: "Did you forget something? Lose something? You'd better hope you find it before they find you... they're in the mist... they're close; I can hear them breathing, can you?" That was nothing more than a blatant lie; though she'd heard the rumors about the orchard being haunted, the harpy had not encountered anything of a more phantasmal nature- and though she could have been mistaken, she had yet to hear of or see any beast that stalked people through the mist.

Heading down a slight incline that led to something of a clearing, she paused once again before yelling over her shoulder, unsure of whether she'd be heard or not, "Don't forget to find me!" Before plunging onward again; at that point, she had slowed to a moderately swift jog as she made her way into the clearing. While it wasn't where she had initially intended on heading, the ground was mostly level there; the nearby trees providing shade- and though it was further away from her camp than the trail she'd been following, the distance wasn't all that great.​

Here, the tired thief would continue into the clearing, crouching low to the ground amid the tall grass, weeds and berry brambles; waiting to see if she'd been followed and intending to launch an ambush if she had.

​

 

[Laughingstok]

Morgan stopped in his tracks, or rather her tracks, when Alenia called out to him. He waited, and listened intently to the traits of the voice. Under all that performative spookiness there was the unmistakable hint of amusement. Female without a doubt. One can never be positive about a bluff in a survival situation, but Morgan was more willing to take risks than most. He quickened his pace towards the sound before his target had even finished their first sentence. No longer did he have a leisurely stroll but rather a determined march. What might come as a surprise is that Morgan was quieter than before. Not only did he refuse to call back to his mist-veiled tormentor, he had begun pursuing in haste. He knew by the apple core he was no more than hours behind his opponent but not that he had heard them the game had truly begun.

Every step even through his thick leather boots was no louder than a deer. Pressing into their toes, he turned the edges of their rough souls into spikes that took up little surface area on the steps, by putting all of the pressure into the balls of his feet. He didn't dare draw his blade as even this would be too loud. Luckily his thick leather gauntlets could catch the bite of a mountain lion without being pierced, so he readied his fists for an ambush just in case. Finally he made it far enough up the path he was sure he would be closing in on the last place he heard a noise from. Just some scuffling and branches shaking to give it away, but enough to draw him near a certain portion of the path.

He stood motionless finally, sure that if he kept walking he would pass them by. Positive of it. And yet, with no proof to back up his suspicions, he second guessed his instincts. He had gone to such great lengths to conceal his presence while keeping up with the thief that it pained him to take a step back in his strategy. Still, he had to make another gamble and play their game instead.

"No need to tease, I can play nice," Morgan sang out in an equally playful tone. Hoping he would be close enough in proximity to surprise the unknown caller with his voice. Even werewolves have been caught off guard by his light tracking, and so he had a fair chance of getting closer than most prey would expect. Answering back now came down to mind games as he abandoned stealth. Could he throw this creature of evasion off it's game and draw it out to chat? Morgan fished in his pocket a moment and brought out the earring he'd found at Desma.

"I have something that belongs to you. Maybe not worth what you took, but a fair enough peace offering for a chat don't you think?"

 

[Yidhra]

Dammit, don't tell me you were just some sniveling drunkard! Alenia's thoughts had begun to take a more serious turn as her taunts had been met by silence. No longer had she been able to hear the occasional muted footfall or snapping twig-- had her plans at luring the newcomer into a trap and mugging him been thwarted by the sod simply tripping over his own feet and passing out? Could she have gone too far and spooked some superstitious fool into actually believing the orchard was haunted, that there were vicious spirits in the mist? While she found both possibilities to be entertaining, it was impossible to be certain- and likely far too early, as well. She had yet to unsheath her maul from across her back; though doing so would have been no louder than the noise her battered leather curiass had made when she'd positioned herself in the undergrowth, there had been the possibility that the movement might not have gone unnoticed if she wasn't as alone as she thought she was.

As the sky began to darken with bruise-like lashes of indigo, the formerly sedate, whispering breeze beginning to whistle and carry a hint of earthy ozone and petrichoir and the low, rumbling percussive rumble of thunder grumbling in the distance, it seemed as though the little jaunt through the orchard would be coming to a stop- and very soon; at least if she still wanted to bathe, start a fire and potentially boil water to make coffee with before the encroaching storm arrived. If the game hadn't ended, the rules had been altered yet again. Her patience seemed to have paid off, however; for it didn't take long before a playful voice reached her ears; seemingly in very close proximity. Taunting her, in much the same manner that she had employed not long ago. Catching her off-guard enough that she jerked reflexively and rose to her haunches before she realized exactly what she was doing, a disbelieving snort escaping her throat as he claimed to be willing to "play nice." At the moment, she found herself in the middle of something of a dilemma. One that was solved when he claimed to have something of hers.

Oh, fuck everything! How had it escaped her notice? It had been several hours since she'd felt the weight of her earring. Though she couldn't recall the precise moment when she'd lost it, that hardly mattered- she'd stolen it when she'd first arrived in the barony a few years back, which had given it a bit of "sentimental" value. Between the coming storm and the knowledge that she had to get it back, there was simply no way that she would bolt into the orchard again. Lady Luck was a fickle, capricious bitch indeed. The first, distant flash of heat lightning illuminated the clearing briefly as Alenia's left hand grasped her maul's shaft, freeing it from its sheath.

Slowly rising to her feet, idly swinging her maul, Alenia heaved a low sigh. "Fine... I suppose we can talk," That last word was heavy with suspicion and blatant distrust, "But not here... come with me and don't do anything stupid." The "offer" was more of a grumbled, world-weary order than an altruistic offer of hospitality; "It's not an overly long walk."

With that, she would begin setting off again; walking at a rather leisurely pace, heading roughly northwest along one of the numerous trails; it would take less than an hour to reach her little camp; during the trek, she would glance back over her shoulder every now and again to see whether or not she was being followed, but would remain mostly-silent. Her camp consisted of a clearly-stolen, medium-sized tent that had been repaired at least twice and a firepit flanked by a couple of dented copper pots and pans- the majority of her belongings were to be found inside the tent. Though the camp was drab and thoroughly unimpressive, the river -easily seen and heard; perhaps a few hundred feet from the edge of the camp- was an entirely different matter.​

 

[Laughingstok]

Morgan's eyebrows went up at the sight of Alenia. His suspicions were correct, but no less surprising for it. He had never met a harpy in person, and they didn't particularly care for humans from what he'd heard. Stick to their own mountain villages and whatnot. This made it doubly interesting that the first one he met wasn't immediately fleeing. She must have some amount of social skills then.

While she did look unique enough to retain the name of "monster," Morgan was struck by her nonetheless. The womanly parts of her were human enough for him, and the way her legs turned from avian to supple thigh kept drawing his eye to them. Her differently colored iris' also intrigued him in a strange way, so much so that he almost mourned her turning around. Almost, again there were those legs.

Even her wings were beautiful, every bit as black as a raven's. He followed quietly to appease her, not willing to ruin the progress he'd made. He still couldn't believe his bluff had worked, and she had given away her position. He knew she was the cautious type from the crime scenes, and the tracking thus far. He kept the earring securely in his pocket the whole way.

When they entered the camp he looked at the river flow for a moment. He seemed to pay no mind to the meagre nature of the dwelling. As a matter of fact, he himself didn't seem to be carrying a tent. If he was, it was in a rather average size pack and wouldn't leave much room for any other supplies, so that was unlikely. Atop the pack was strapped a bedroll, with a blanket tightly wrapped around it. The pack was of decent craftsmanship, but looked to be of rather wild materials. Deer skin instead of bovine.

As Morgan stared at the inviting water he realized he hadn't bathed since getting back into town, and there was a storm approaching. If he weren't doing business, he would have headed straight for that crisp cool water. Maybe he could wrap this up and get one before the lightning got too close. This provoked him to begin speaking.

"Right, well. I'm here on account of those families who's livelihoods you burnt to the ground. Surely you made enough of a profit at Desma. Could I not have a couple of gems to bring back to them, so they can feed themselves until they're back on their feet?" It was a simple offer. A plea, if anything. A bold one considering he was talking to a thief. He knew that, but wanted to at least give this harpy a chance at showing her good side. Maybe then he wouldn't have to rough her up and take back those baubles by force, "in exchange for the earring?"

 

[Yidhra]

Alenia's eyes widened in momentary recognition once she realized who stood before her; finding it extremely difficult not to laugh at the irony. Shit! I didn't think I'd run into you again! If memory served her correctly, she recalled having seen him in Port Lenna a few times when she'd been browsing the black market; she was fairly certain that she'd just passed by and hadn't done anything more the first couple of times, but on the third -or had it been the fourth?- trek, she thought she'd probably purposely bumped into him in the streets, in a bored, attempted pickpocketing. Having been not entirely sober at the time, the memories were fairly hazy, especially concerning what might have happened afterward, but she wouldn't have forgoten someone she'd thought was distinctive and appealing.

Harpies were extremely uncommon in the barony, save for the mountain village they'd refused to leave even when the humans had made their first attempts at claiming the jagged spires as their own; most of the non-human residents tended to avoid the towns, villages, cities and other settlements that the humans had claimed- but she'd been born to a small group of bandits -a few harpies, a handful of orcs, a faun or two and a couple of humans- that weren't confined to a particular border. As far as she was aware, though everyone had eventually split off and either decided to operate alone or in pairs, some of them still prowled one of the highway-flanking coastal forests and she was almost certain she'd spotted one of the humans she'd recognized entering one of the beach caves.

When they had arrived at the camp, while she wanted nothing more than to remove her piecemeal leather armor, head down to the river and divest herself of the soot and grime, bloodstains and sweat she'd accumulated during her most recent string of crimes, it seemed as though that would have to wait. Hopefully she'd have the time to do so before the storm arrived; with luck, the tree sap that coated a few of her feathers wouldn't have dried before she got the chance.

Though she was far from a gracious hostess and didn't have a single altruistic bone to speak of, Alenia busied herself about the camp; lighting the fire, filling one of the battered copper pots with water from the clay vessel that had been situated with her cookware; adding fairly recently split and pulverized coffee beans to the water once it started boiling. When Morgan began to explain his purpose, she rolled her eyes and heaved a sigh; Why did I bother thinking you wouldn't be so damnably boring? I've heard it all before and it's always the same, pathetically dull drivel. "No." Her raspy, low-pitched voice was flat and cold as he pleaded his case. "I don't give a damn about what happens to the Desmas; let them die and rot in the streets- the rats and vultures won't go hungry if they do."

Though she had unsheathed her maul once again and had begun idly swinging it so its head bounced off the side of her greaved calf to punctuate every statement with a dull thud, eyes narrowing into appraising, scheming slits as she cocked her head in a thoroughly birdlike manner; "You're welcome to try and take them, though... something like that might even be fun."​

 

[Laughingstok]

"Not the Desmas! They're fucking jewelers, of course they'll be fine. I mean the serfs you robbed! Laborers and tradesman with nothing to their names but the things you burned!" Morgan wasn't shouting exactly, but he was snapping. His voice was scolding, but not quite fatherly. More like an older brother who's tired of explaining the same thing over and over. Then, Alenia got threatening. At her suggestion of a duel, Morgan openly rolled his eyes. Apparently he was quite confident in himself, because he didn't even move to draw his sword. Just crossed his arms and walked past her, towards the river.

When he turned back, he was grinning ever so slightly.

"I don't think we're going to agree on much, here, are we?" He said, taking a couple of steps towards her, so that he was within striking range. "and look at the two of us. A couple of dirty travelers arguing over someone else's things. I think both of us need a bath, to cool off, before things get even more heated," was Morgan thinking with his dick? Absolutely. However, he knew that if this woman really wanted to fight she would have done it back there on the path. Sure, they might technically be enemies but there was a reason she brought him back to her camp, and didn't simply run away again, "Ill keep the earring on me. If you still can't be reasoned with afterwards, I'll leave. I'm willing to bet you're just cranky because you're all covered in mud and blood,"

He then turned back towards the water and took a chance. He began undoing his armor, and before his last sentence was through he had completely disrobed his top. Underneath he was incredibly muscular. Not necessarily because he was gifted, or trained harder than other warriors, but because he ate almost exclusively meat. Monster meat, to be exact, which is even denser in nutrients than beef. He started doing the same with his thigh guards, and looked back at her with his eyebrows raised, to see if she was still looking.

 

[Yidhra]

Things seemed to be taking an interesting turn; rather than the typical, pompous, self-righteous guards that were little more than yapping dogs in service to the Baron and Baronet, or another dull, pedantic mercenary, she'd encountered a... bleeding-heart altruist of some sort? I wouldn't be surprised if you've got a stick up your ass that you call "honor," too. The fact that he was scolding her- and had managed to come across sounding more exhausted and frustrated than anything else- was downright laughable. "Sure, it's adorable that you think I'd give a fuck," A mockingly playful contempt colored those sneered words; feathered ear-crests tilting forward and wings ruffling like an avian putting on a display meant to be intimidating (but probably was not in the slightest.) "Why are you trying to help them, when it's pointless?"

Resting her free hand on her hip, rising to her full hight, she began to stalk closer as she continued to spit vitriol; cocky, arrogant, challening and refusing to back down: "So why don't you either prove I'm full of shit- or quit your bitching?" It was unfortunate that Morgan hadn't accepted her suggestion for a duel; her maul and claws against his rather eye-catching sword would have been quite fun; perhaps it would have been an easy way to solve their dispute, as well- if she had been bested, she would have handed over a few of those already-requested jewels in acceptance of her defeat. Her "people" had handled numerous in-camp issues that way (though it had always been something of a spectacle, with wagers being made and rotgut free-flowing) before they'd mutually decided it was more profitable to separate.

She shrugged and sighed, but ultimately didn't push the issue any further. As Morgan turned away, she'd aim a quick elbow at his side; if it connected, she wasn't intending the blow to do more than sting a bit- it was a wordless way to convey the message: "You're an ass," rather than anything else. A bit immature, probably, but that hardly mattered. The thunder seemed to be a bit louder than it had been earlier; the lightning flashing more frequently- though the storm was still a considerable distance away, she decided to accompany him toward the river.

"Not unless you pull your head out of your ass," A bit of her flippancy had returned with that comment, a bit of a lazy, challenging smirk as he got within striking range- and she'd move forward, going toe-to-toe with him, "I know the good market's opening after nightfall- like hell will they let either of us in, the way we are now. Maybe, maybe not, we'll see. You might loosen up once you get rid of the dirt, too."

Alenia was thinking rather clearly. She was fairly sure that if he'd been serious about taking her jewels, he would have done so already- and if this man had meant to kill her, there'd been plenty of opportunities that he could have taken advantage of already. "Keep it, sell it, pitch it off a cliff-- I'll get another one eventually, easy enough." No, she would most certainly not be able to replace the memento from her first heist, but she wasn't about to let him know it was more than just a simple trinket; not if she could keep from doing so. Having already seen a valuable-looking target, she just had to make sure she knew where it was before she tried to take it- and she wasn't at all above using herself as bait to get what she wanted.

She'd already divested herself of her chained cloth neckguard, boiled leather pauldrons and greaves; had unlaced her curiass and allowed it to hang open; she'd just begun removing the pouches from her belt when their eyes met; smirking and arching an eyebrow, shamelessly indicative that not only had she been, but still was watching- and that she liked what she saw.