Rachel Mstovarelli's Story

One thing, Lady Mstovarelli always had time for, was to go out and walk among the common folk of the towns and villages. This way she could always held the hand at the very pulse of society, knowing the latest rumors and what-not from the first hand rather than her spies. Sometimes she would do it in disguise, so nobody would know it was her - one of the most mightiest persons of kingdom, while other times she didn't try to hide her persona.

Rachel was wearing her usual everyday outfit. Simple, but effective leather armor with rapier on her belt. Even if she had accompanied few guards, they were nowhere to be seen. So she could very well be alone as well.

Reliquitia was that kind of towns that she liked most. Small, quite and important at the same time, located at the strategic point of the Kingdom. It was easier to hold everything under control in such places but it had its own drawbacks as well. For example, the townsfolk that knew each other very well and acted as one in times of need. This could interfere with one of her beloved tactics of "Divide et Impera" (Divide and Rule).

Visiting Farah's shop was first destination of today. Rachel knew the talented shopkeeper and her charming sister very well, as it wasn't the first time she would stop to refill the stocks of some potions and herbs. Farah was so kind in fact that revealed few simple recipes to her, though nothing like her most precious secrets of course. Rachel even winked at Rhyannon once, stating jokingly that "Only person still holding secrets from her was her sister"

The inn was next where Rachel would want to go, especially now, when one of her boy-scouts brought the news of the new face arriving in town.

First thing she said stepping the foot inside the building was that her horse needs some attending. Immediately few young boys appeared out of the nowhere and she threw a gold coin to one of them. "Clean it and give some food" she said. At the first glance, she chose the boy randomly from 4 or 5 likewise individuals, but in fact the choice was pragmatic. One boy had horse-manure on his boots and some straw sticked to his cloths. He was also tanned more, from working in the field and had crooked legs, like riders have. It was clear that while other boys were simple townsfolk, this one had worked on a farm and would be the best choice to give horse to him. All these took couple of seconds for her to realize. Another 3 seconds went on observing the room and counting the number of all customers. 5 more seconds for spotting the upcoming tension between newcomer and hired-blade she very well knew already.

Crispin Grey may never met Lady Mstovarelli, but she knew quite a lot about his deeds. For example she already knew that he have dealt with an outlaws who were quite a headache for outskirt farmers and traders.

Other man was typical southerner, obviously had seen more than his share of battles and by all signs was suitable for the job, she was seeking the mercenary for. Because of that she didn't want the fight to occur, as one of the useful recourses could be damaged, or even killed off, but nevertheless she decided to wait and see what would happen.

Coming at the bar one of the townsfolk jumped up and offered her the chair he was sitting on previously. Rachel gifted the man with her half-baked smile and sat down, putting the coin on the bar. "The best of yours Meredith"

"The service. That's what I like in your place Meredith" Rachel told the maid after she brought the bottle of finest wine to her. "And I won't even ask about the wine" Taking a sip, she baked the smile and put the cup on the bar. "Perfect"

Observing the southerner, studying him through and through, Rachel was ready to interfere, if the actual fight would occur between Crispin and him. Though it was visible that fight could be ended swiftly, despite both sides looking equally menacing and able. Scarred man was flirtatious and clearly in a good mood, while Crispin looked serious and to the point.

Rachel took another sip from the cup, hearing how southerner said: “It seems I’ll be spending some time in this town of yours. A room will be needed, name your price. If it means waking to your grace then I shall pay plenty.”

Meanwhile, one of the customers was playing with his rotten apple, which he turned into fresh one with a help of an acorn and some handful of magic skills. She took a note of this person as well, but her attention was back to the sell-sword soon enough.

Rachel drained the cup in one last gulp and stood up, stood up and went through the door. After about a minute, kid approached scarred man with a piece of paper and little sack of coins, enough to pay for the week of living at the inn.

"Milady Rachel Mstovarelli sends her regards kind sir" Little boy said, little bit scared of the southerner's brute appearance. "She told me give you this"

The letter contained only the address (though it wasn't really necessary, as everyone in town knew, where the residence of Lady Rachel is) and couple of words: "Be my guest. Sooner - better. Best regards. Lady Rachel"

At first it appeared the man was preparing to fight, and though Crispin's body language was rather nonchalant he had been prepared as well. His fingers were meticulous as they left the hilt of the dagger as if not wanting to stab the air to hard. He allowed his focus to balance itself out once more and nodded in respect to the man for dropping his violent approach. He had the feeling it would have been a harsh squabble, and by the looks of this man he would have had to rely on his agility and speed rather than his build. He turned away lifting a hand politely to cover his mouth as he yawned. Then went back to his mug of ale, gulping it down thoughtfully. It warmed his very blood and thus made him tired. The place had picked up and was somewhat of an oddity today, mysterious people slinking about.

He stole a glance over his shoulder. Odd women to the likes he'd never seen before watching with peculiar interest all that was about the inn. And some melodramatic man with strange hair at the piano. Already he was distraught with the loudness and boisterous natures of the patrons today. Their shaded natures that had him on edge. And the interest that had him disturbed as she looked at this Garth fellow.

With measured grace he stood, taking one last drink of his mug and nodding to Meredith before exiting the inn. Staring side long at that strange lady before pushing out the door.
The fresh air felt rejuvenating kissing gently at his skin, filling his lungs in ways the musty air of the crowded inn had abused. Silently he reflected on the faces, running his fingers through his naturally on end, dark hair. A damp sickly sweat had formed on his temples, and he felt ill suddenly, falling back into the wall for support.

That strange group of folks that had formed to witness the fight dissipated. The cloaked figured chugged down the contents its mug then departed. Leaving behind only curiosity, and secrets. The Well-Spoken Stranger stumbled from the bar looking less for wear. Garth’s heaved a sigh. He’d almost fought the man to death, over manners. If he was someting to find it then he’d have to act with more tact. A thought crossed Garth’s wandering thoughts, he chuckled at the notion. “Here we were, ready to slay each other over a name, and I don’t even his. Its the little things, it really is.” He snatched his mug from the counter and pressed to his lips. It was empty. Something that could be easily rectified.

Garth turned to find Meredith. Instead he found a frightened child starting up at him. Clutched tightly in the boys sweaty palms was a slip of paper, and small pouch. “You smell of horseshit, stable boy,” Garth said. The Southerner let his smile curl up in delight as he watched. The boy’s eyes widened in shock. No doubt wondering what southern form of dark magic the scarred man had cast. Truthfully the boy simply reeked of horseshit. With a gulp the boy shoved the paper, and pouch, forward at Garth. With an ever growing smirk at the sight of the boy, who looked ready to piss himself, Garth snatched both the paper and pouch. The boy scampered off. “Children these days, no manners,” Garth muttered to no one in particular. Upon closer inspection the paper was letter. A letter for him. He tore it upon viciously. The Sellsword’s eyes swept over the few lines of text. As he read his eyebrows shot up. “I enter town for a few hours, and I’ve already garnered a secret admirer.” He squeezed the pouch, feeling the coins within. “A rich secret admirer. The best kind really.”

Garth slipped his hand into the coin pouch. He pulled out seven silver coins. With coins in hand he strapped the coin pouch to his side. Garth held the letter up again. Reading its contents once more. “Perhaps, I should divulge this to lady Meredith. Inform her of her competition. Though it would be wrong of me to inspire jealousy.” Garth held the letter over one of the many candles that lit the Inn. It took only a few seconds for the letter to begin burning. Garth pulled the letter from the flames. He rose from his seat, and marched across the inn. As he marched the flames of the letter began to lick at his fingers. He abruptly turned, and shoved the burning letter in the drink of a sitting dwarf. The Dwarf leapt from its seat. Its grubby hands reaching for its axe. Garth unceremoniously tossed the silver coins the tables. “That’s five more drinks on me dear friend.” Garth spoke with his same jovial tone. As if he’d done the Dwarf a favor. The Dwarf looked at the coins on the table, then up at Garth’s wide grin. With a dissatisfied huff the dwarf tooks seat. “Its nice to we could come to an agreement.” With his thanks given, and the letter destroyed, Garth made his way toward the door of the Inn. The sooner the better the letter had claimed. He bid the dwarf a good day then departed from the Inn. Who was he to keep a lady waiting.

Msotavrelli's residence was not as big as King's palace or town's most infamous trader's mansions, but it was strongest building in town, strategically placed in such a part of the town that it had quick access to all the major buildings, while itself not standing at any of the main streets. Possible invaders would be busy ransacking other buildings first, before approaching this one.

It was 3 store structure, built next to the town-wall, in one of it's strongest and biggest points. Small stone bridge was connecting second floor of the structure to the wall, so Lady Rachel could approach the wall anytime and observe the surroundings easily.

It had large basement, partly used as an armory, wine-house and storehouse, while at the other hand there was the main dot in which three secret passages were connecting. Two of the secret underground tunnels were leading outside the town. One to the north, in the woods, and second to the south, at lake-side. Third secret passage was leading to town's dungeon where the most feared and important criminals were held.

First floor held quarters for the servants and guards, which were not too many. Second floor had big hall and dinning room as well as few smaller rooms for guests with as much comfort as Lady Rachel's not so demanding taste would afford. There was also a cabinet, where Rachel kept her large library and where she was hosting her guests for business conversations or military planning. There was a small bar with finest wines, big table with Kingdom's and world maps and few other, usable items. The third floor was basically just a tower and had one room, which was always locked for anyone but Rachel and her most close butler. There she had kept most of her secret documents and conducting her alchemical experiments when she had time.

Lady Rachel's taste was simple. Maybe even too simple for noble woman. Interior of her residence was never striking with lavishness as in Merchant's mansions or never meant to surprise you with servants wearing expensive cloths and guards having all kind of unnecessary equipment sticked to them just to underline the importance of their Master. No, everything here was strictly to the point, grim at some points and fitting the Master's character very well. She never cared for comfort too much, spending most of her teen years in the field of wars or at the back of the enemies, ready to stab them there any time. Once she had to hide for 4 days among the pile of rotting dead bodies, just to be able to wait for the right moment to take out her noble victim. One could imagine after that, that silky clothes and jewelries were not her primary interest.

"We have a guest today Gerard" She told to her butler, while sitting in her cabinet at the small table of chess, playing with mechanical, wooden player (constructed by great Master as a gift for her). "As soon as he arrives, let him in. He has big scar on his face, you'll recognize him. No other visitors for today"

"Yes Milady" - The butler said and went away.

The Stables were as a quite as they’d been for hours. The Stablemaster had gone home to his wife. The Stable boys on the other hand had cuddled up in a bale of hay. The smell of horse manure filled their noses as they drifted off to sleep. They slumbered to deeply to hear the horse’s stamp their hooves in fright. Too tired to hear a certain Sell Sword from the South sneaking about. A stable door opened, Garth slipped inside. “Boy,” He whispered. “Wake up or I’ll gut you like a fish.” The Stable hand remained sleeping. Garth rolled his eyes. With a bit of venomn in his swing, he smacked the back of his sword against the boy’s head. That woke him up. The Boy swung his hands out wildly. It was rather amusing to witness. “W-who’s there.?” The boy’s question was answered in the form of a sword tip against his jugular. “You still smell of horseshit boy.” Even in the dark Garth could see the boy’s eyes expanded in fear. “Garth Brumear at your service, now then, why did she send you?” With his question posed Garth let the tip of the blade dig into the boy’s throat. A small bit of blood slid down the stable hand’s throat.

“I don’t know.” The fear in the boy’s voice was near palpable. It was too dark to be sure but Garth could smell the piss in the Stable hands pants. The Sellsword’s smile swelled. “No jest intended boy, but horseshit you don’t know. Why give you the letter, what did she look like?” Garth pulled his sword away of the boy’s throat. The boy gasped for air. Garth just gave a low chuckle. Swung his sword, and left a gash on the boy’s left cheek. “C-cloak. She wore a cloak.” Garth stepped back into the shadows of stable stall. The boy raised a trembling hand to his cheek. He could feel the blood slowly running down his flesh. “What color was the cloak?” The boy’s eyes peered into the shadows trying to see the Sellsword. “Grayish.” Silence followed the boy’s answer. The silence was broken by another low chuckle. “Who’d have thought, a spy so close to me. Sitting right there. Could have sliced her damned head off. This is what I get for going drinking. Is it them, can’t be. Best deal with the boy then.” Garth’s voice vanished. The boy opened his mouth to scream. Before he could utter a sound a sword slipped into throat. Instead of screaming the boy made a gurgling noise. The sword slipped from his throat. The sound of a stable door opening, then closing filled the stall. The boy’s blood spilled onto the pile of hay. Dyeing it a hideous crimson. It was going to be a long night.

Garth eyed the winding road with disgust. He still wore his smile, though it threatened to become a scowl at any moment. It had taken hours to find the stables. Only for the brat of a messenger to offer nothing on Garth’s host. He was walking into a trap. This Lady Mstovarelli, was a strange creature indeed. Using stable hands to deliver her messages. The boy hadn’t even put up something resembling a fight. Garth reached the end of the street. The Mansion wasn’t horrendously large. Still it reeked of wealth. A smell Garth Brumear could become used to. “And here I am having left my invitation at home. Didn’t even dress up.” Garth rolled his shoulders and began the march toward. Step after step, behind him the sun began to rise over the mountains. Casting its warm lights over the town. Scampering around town in armor hadn’t been his grandest idea. He tapped on the door. It swung open, and the Sellsword was greeted by a strange man. Thin, grey of hair, attired in fine clothes. Their was as subservient aura to the man. “I take it you would be the ladies guest.” The man stepped aside, guestering for Garth to enter. “Garth Brumear, at your service, where is my host.”

The servant, or butler, or whatever the old bastard was, lead Garth upward through the mansion. On occasion Garth would see a maid shuffling about. The Mansion lacked the grandeur he’d expected.They finally came to a large oaken door. “The Lady is inside awaiting your presence.” Garth smiled warmly at the wrinkled covered butler. “Piss of then you old bag of dust.” With his greetings given Garth entered the room. It was dark, annoyingly so. It took a few seconds but he could make out his host. “Lady Mstovarelli, I presume. I am Garth Brumear, I’ve killed your stable boy. The body has been hidden away. The letter you left me is disposed of. I was not followed here. With the trivial matters aside, why am I here exactly?”

The room was pitch dark, unnaturally so. It was like an abyss had been shoved into the room. A small window at one end of the room. Through which came the welcomed light of a new morning. The only other light was the withered flame that law atop a candle. The candle sat burning in the center of room. Illuminating the unamused face of Garth’s host. Lady Msotvarelli, hidden in shadows, and secrets. Garth had heard tales of her. None of them exceedingly pleasant. He stepped into the room, closing the massive oak door behind him. The Lady raised her eyebrows at his deleraction. It was clear in her voice that she found the action unnecessary. Unnecessary, and dangerous. Garth didn’t repeat himself. Instead he marched across the room. Taking a seat the table across from his host. On the table sat the slowly melting candle, and a chess set. He’d seen a few of them in his days. A game of stratagem of there ever was. Garth refused to play it simple due to the disgusting lack of a Sellsword piece.

He looked away from the board. Hoping to finally see this mysterious woman in the flickering candle light. He looked into her eyes. Goosebumps sprouted, a shiver ran down his spine, his smile widened, and his hairs stood at attention. They were a deep, damning, dark blue. Like the bottom of some watery grave. It was like starting down an ever encroaching glacier. Lady Msotvarelli reached out to press a button the side of the table. She commanded her servant to retrieve the body. Garth waved a hand, mouthing the word ‘later’. The distaste was clear in his Host’s voice. Garth began to unleash some witty retort. The icey blue eyes told him it would be an unwise course of action. Garth kept his trap shut. For his efforts he was offered a drink. The Sellsword was more than pleased to accept such an offer. Lady Msotvarelli took the time to unveil the entire reason for the visit.

What an unveiling it was. Firstly she introduced herself. Garth resisted laughing aloud. She had witnessed his fiasco in the Inn. After all, it was her in the cloak all along. It seemed she’d taken his idea of manners to heart. Then she gave her one rule. The smile withered on Garth’s face. No one ever hired a Sellsword for peaceful means. Still there was that clause of a necessary death. It would make things far more interesting. Msotvarelli began rambling on, and on. Speaking of conspiring against conspirator’s conspiracies. Murdering and backstabbing, two traits Garth had acquired the hard way. For his part Garth nodded when needed. Finally she handed out her payment. Laying a bag of coins on the table. Garth snatched the bag off the table. It was heavy, very heavy. If he played his cards right he’d walk away a richer man.

“You pay for my ale, pay for the whores who warm my lap, and I get to kill some high born lad. You know how to please a man, my lady. Who knows maybe by the end of this you’ll be the one warming my lap.” He vulgarly winked at his host. Her cold eyes simply stared back. “Consider this my official employment.” He rose from the chair with the bag in hand. He marched back across the dark expanse of the room. As he reached the door he turned around to glance back at Lady Msotvarelli. “As for the boy, I saw an old windmill to the south of town. I’ll move the body there.”

Garth exited the manor with a broad smile on his face, and a heavier coin purse. “She hired me. She should have been shoving a knife into my gut. Instead she hires. These Northern lasses are something else. Now then which was that stable. Three down, two over.” Garth moved his way through the slowly waking town. It wasn’t long before the stable was in sight. The southern moved faster. It wouldn’t due getting caught moving the body in the morning sunlight. “Ah, this is troublesome.” Garth pulled his sword from his sheath. The stable door was open. He’d closed it. This left three options. Either one of the living stablehands had to take a piss, a horse had snuck out for a piss, or someone had snooping around when they should be pissing off. Garth slipped inside the Stable. He could hear the voice. Two of them. One he recognized easily. The Innkeeper, meredith. At the sound of her voice he slipped into the shadows. Things were about to get complicated.