Gyrfalcon

Daryl shook his head, partially to clear the last of the disorientation from his sudden change between human and fox-man, but mostly because of how strange this human was. The werefox noticed Katzaniel talking quietly to Kasmandre on the other side of the fire, but most of his attention was fixed on this strange human who called himself John. The human didn’t notice Daryl’s gaze, too intent on the first real food he had had in a few days. The man gnawed tenaciously at the tough meat, favoring one of his hands heavily. Daryl sighed and shook his head, then went and found his backpack. Towards the bottom, he found a roll of bandages he had thrown in as he was packing for the journey. He had considered leaving the roll behind, as he had little need for the things himself. However, he realized his companions might need them, and had brought the bandages along anyway. Returning to where John sat finishing the meat, Daryl knelt beside him. John immediately turned away from Daryl to protect his food, and the werefox growled in annoyance. “Look, I need to bandage your hand before it gets infected.” John glared at Daryl and tried to growl back. “You can’t have it, it’s mine!” he said, apparently still stuck on the thought that Daryl wanted his food. Daryl grabbed John’s head and turned it until they looked eye to eye. “I. Don’t. Want. The. Damned. Food.” Daryl said slowly and precisely, baring his sharp white fangs with each word. Strangely, John calmed down. “Oh, why didn’t you say so in the first place?” he asked. “I did.” Daryl replied as he took John’s hand and efficiently bandaged it to the tune of John’s whimpers of pain. “That hurt!” John said after Daryl tied the last knot. “Not as much as having your hand chopped off and cauterized at the wrist because it became infected.” Daryl said practically. “Oh.” John said, before returning to his meal. Daryl just shook his head as he returned the smaller roll of bandages to his bag before rolling up in his cloak and returning to sleep.

On the fifth day of Christmas, my wolf-friend gave to me: five insane yet happy grins four mossy boulders (yet so comfy!) three purple fuzzies fuzzing two wolves a-bouncing and a phoenix in an oak tree!

On the fourth day of Christmas my wolf-friend gave to me: four mossy boulders (yet so comfy!) three purple fuzzies fuzzing two wolves a-bouncing and a phoenix in an oak tree!

On the third day of Christmas my wolf-friend gave to me: three purple fuzzies fuzzing, two wolves a-bouncing and a phoenix in an oak tree!

On the second day of Christmas, my wolf-friend gave to me: two wolves a-bouncing, and a phoenix in an oak tree!

The Big Pointy One posted, Gyrfalcon25 posted, Daryl had been on his fee when Katzaniel came crashing through the brush, though not because of any lack of grace on the tigertaur’s part, but more his burden bouncing off of the bushes. Rubbing the sleep from his eyes, Daryl eyed the unconscious man Katzaniel had thrown into the center of the camp, near the fire. Something about the man’s dress tugged at Daryl’s memory. “I think I’ve seen him before... somewhere around the Pen, I think.” Daryl said, running a hand through his hair. Katzaniel, who had observed the man moving, remembered a bit more. “It was right after the guards- when Kasmandre dropped in on us.” he smiled a bit at his literal statement before the tigertaur continued. “This guy came running past, talking to himself or something. A few moments later, we had to run from the guards again.” Daryl nodded, remembering the incident now. “Oh yeah... him.” Daryl regarded the uniform and snickered. “I do have to admit, the costume suits him well...” Daryl scratched his head. “Well... what do we do with him?” he asked the others around the fire.

Heh, one day, Canid and I were talking on ICQ. Somewhere in that chat, we ended up making a parody of sorts of 'The Twelve Days of Christmas'. So sit back and enjoy. ;P *Gyrfalcon clears his throat* On the first day of Christmas, my wolf-friend gave to me: A Phoenix in an oak tree...

Daryl carefully stepped into Gyrfalcon’s tower on noiseless feet, careful to make sure that the door behind him closes all but silently. If the half-elf was about, Daryl didn’t particularly want to see him until the very moment he left. After all, it’s harder to stop someone if they’ve got a head start, instead of having to pack for the road. Daryl quietly slipped up into his quarters and quickly began to pack, his task made simpler by the fact that he stored his travel clothes and his most useful items in a backpack rather than in dressers. This was not an indication that he felt a lack of welcome at the Pen, but rather a habit grown too strong to break from years of traveling, never setting down roots, along with having grown up as a thief. Riffling through the folded traveling clothes and a thick cloak that also served as a blanket already packed in the backpack, Daryl found most of the other items he might need in his travels already inside the backpack. A set of lock picks, a small ‘burglar’s lantern’, a metal canister of oil for the lantern, a striker, and a few, as Daryl would call them, ‘surprises’ rounded out the inventory. Daryl made a mental note to stop by the kitchen and pick up some food and water as he quickly changed into another set of traveling clothes and strapped his belt around his waist, a few more pouches hanging on it containing items he might need quickly at hand- a pair of silvered daggers (which he didn’t really need, but served as warning to those who thought a lack of a visible weapon meant that the person was unarmed), a collapsible grappling hook and fifty feet of elven-woven silk cord, extremely thin yet as strong as a much thicker rope. Finally, Daryl drew the cloak around his shoulders and picked up the backpack before turning towards the door. Gyrfalcon stood there with an amused twist to his mouth. “I take from your sudden departure that you were involved in that scuffle down at the inn last night... and assaulting the town guards, as well.” Gyrfalcon said dryly. “I couldn’t do much about the inn, Gyr- an assassin was about to kill the guy sitting next to me. I really, really didn’t want to get splashed with blood, you know?” Daryl said quickly. “Heh, plus it helped you work of that foul mood you had last night, right?” Gyrfalcon said, stepping back from the door to let Daryl leave his room. “Er... yeah, sort of.” Daryl said with an embarrassed chuckle, leaving the room and starting towards the kitchen. “So, what about the guardsmen?” Gyrfalcon said as he fell in step beside his werefox companion. “Well, I didn’t particularly want to be questioned by the guards- you know how they are, and I didn’t need to go through the endless repetition of ‘It was you, wasn’t it?” with variations on “You did it, didn’t you?” or “We know you did it, confess and save yourself some trouble.” Gyrfalcon laughed and then sighed. “Yeah, people usually admit their guilt after a while... then ask what they’re guilty of, since that’s never stated before the questioning. Peredhil’s planning to reform how the guards operate soon... it’s only the fifty-seventh thing on his list to do.” Daryl chuckled. “Anyway, so I left the inn. That was all fine and good, but a small cat followed me. Turns out she... or he? He, she, whatever... changes gender with at least one form. Anyway, the cat turned out to be a tigertaur named Katzaniel. So were talking a few streets over from the bar when along comes a patrol. They immediately order us to surrender. It didn’t help that I was hybrid at that point, of course. I told them ‘no’, one of them tried to shoot me with a crossbow. Things went downhill from there.” Gyrfalcon frowned. “I think they’re getting way too intolerant. The Pen’s an open community to all who choose to come here, regardless of their race. To try to kill someone rather then subdue them is a problem.” “You’re telling me?” Daryl said dryly. Gyrfalcon smiled. “Point well taken. So, are you planning to head anywhere specific?” Daryl nodded. “I’m going off with the guy who the assassin tried to kill. Apparently, his lover is in danger, and we’re riding off to save her from an evil wizard and whatnot.” Gyrfalcon laughed. “Anywhere but here, no one would think riding straight into danger was a vacation. Well, you should probably take a few healing potions- magic weapons have a tendency to cause problems for you, and the wizard might have had time to enchant some of the weapons his people will use.” Gyrfalcon bustled off to retrieve a few potions from the storeroom, leaving Daryl to finish placing rations in his backpack and hanging a pair of full water skins off the sides. Returning, Gyrfalcon handed Daryl a few of the expected healing potions, and also two others. “The grey one is a Stoneskin potion- it’ll help if you find something big and physical. The other suppresses magic in your personal area- it’ll help if you think you’re facing off against a wizard within a few minutes.” “Thanks, Gyr. I’ll see if I can find you a few toys along the way.” Daryl said with a grin as he placed the potions in several of his belt pouches. Gyrfalcon grinned. “Don’t go overboard- I’d rather not have ‘Wulfhelm the Barbarian of One Drunken Brain Cell’ trying to destroy the Pen because you stole his favorite enchanted axe.” Daryl grinned and gave Gyrfalcon the most innocent look possible “Who, me?” he said. “Yes, you. Now get off with you!” Gyrfalcon said with a laugh. Daryl grinned and gave Gyrfalcon a minimal bow before departing, moving quickly through the minimal shadows of the morning towards the stables. Quickly, he secured a mount, whose eyes widened as it caught the scent of a large predator, perched on its back. Daryl leaned forward and whispered in its ear. “This can be done two ways- the easy way or the hard way. I think you should choose the easy way, because the hard way doesn’t involve you.” He delivered the statement in a tone of cold malice. What the horse didn’t know was that the hard way involved a lot of walking on Daryl’s part while the horse remained in the stable. The gelding considered the words, and contented himself with bucking once before settling down, though his nervous whickers and the way his ears turned this way and that showed that he wasn’t too happy with the situation. Daryl patted the horse’s neck. “Thanks.” He gently booted the animal in the sides, and the horse trotted forward, towards their meeting with the rest of the party.

The Big Pointy One posted, Gyrfalcon25 posted, Daryl, once more in his human form, frowned. “I think it’d be best for me if I left town for a while. No offense to you, but I was involved in a bar fight with that guy you beat the crap out of. Then on top of that, I evaded the police a few times, assaulted a few policemen, and they have descriptions of two of my three forms. While I’m not all that worried about the police, I think I’d rather avoid another lecture from Gyrfalcon about what he terms my ‘bad habits’. So if you don’t mind, I think I’ll tag along behind you for a while.” Kasmandre looked at the human, wondering about the comment ‘two of my three forms.’ Shaking his head, he returned to the business at hand. “This journey is likely to be somewhat dangerous.” he warned Daryl. Daryl smiled and shrugged “Good, then I won’t get too bored, will I?” Kasmandre suspected that Daryl didn’t know what he was getting himself into, and tried again. “Our opponents aren’t likely to all be unarmored assassins that you have the drop on, you know.” Daryl’s smile widened into a grin. “Good, I’d still get a bit bored if there wasn’t some variety.” Kasmandre looked hard at Daryl, then shrugged and shook his head. “It’s your funeral.” Daryl chuckled. “Or the funeral of whoever gets in my way.” he responded confidently.

Daryl scratched behind one ear. “Well, Usagi is an anthropomorphic rabbit, but you saw that. Gyrfalcon hasn’t said much about him- I get the sense they struck sparks when they had to work together. He did say that Usagi is fairly good with his swords and had a number of throwing weapons on him. He also said that Usagi is trustworthy and honorable, and all that heroic stuff.” Daryl made a face. “Gyrfalcon is a half-elven ranger. He’s sort of famous in some places, I guess. He goes out and does good deeds, mostly because they need to be done. However, I think I’d rather avoid him for a week or two. I’m sure when those policemen wake up, one of them will mention you and I. Unfortunately, I’m the only werefox in town, and I’d rather not be questioned about *why* I beat up a few police officers. He’ll probably forget about asking me in a few weeks, though.” “So you want to follow Usagi?” Katzaniel asked, and Daryl nodded. “It’s preferable to the alternative.” he said dryly. Standing, he took a few steps back to give himself enough room for a running start, then charged forward and leapt up onto the tower. Katzaniel shimmered into a great leopard before crouching and leaping, landing lightly beside Daryl. “I know where Usagi probably went, follow me.” Daryl whispered quietly. The two set off along the walls, silent shadows in the night. Finding the stairs down from the walls, the two slipped down into a large courtyard, though it seemed tiny indeed compared to the great tree that grew in the center of it. The tree’s limbs spread over the courtyard and created areas of deeper shadows, though the warm light coming from various windows in the dim shape of a house nestled among the branches of the tree helped to dispel some of the darkness. Daryl quickly found the free-hanging vine and deduced that it probably served some purpose, as the tree was by and large free of vines, and with no others hanging free like this. Giving the vine a light tug, Daryl and Katzaniel jumped back in surprise as a cunningly constructed staircase wove down to them. The two silently walked up the stairs and stepped onto the outer balcony, to find Usagi fast asleep on a long chair, though his long ears twitched uneasily as he smelled the scents of two predators nearby. “Usagi.” Daryl said in a moderate tone, and the lapine warrior rolled off the chair and to his feet instantly. He relaxed a little as he saw his two visitors, and looked curious. “What brings you here?” he asked cautiously. “This and that.” Daryl provided in an offhand manner before growing more serious. “I think Gyr’d disapprove of my thumping those policemen’s heads, and I need a place to stay tonight where I won’t have to deal with the police. I suspect that Katzaniel is in the same boat. Would you mind letting us stay here tonight?” Daryl paused, then admitted “I’d also like a long talk with that man you rescued.”

The Big Pointy One posted, Gyrfalcon25 posted, Daryl and Katzaniel exchanged glances, assimilating what had happened in a few short moments. Just as Usagi had taken the lead away from where he and Katzaniel had disabled the patrol, a strange, gibbering thug had run by. If that wasn’t enough, a moment later Ren had dropped from the rooftops, and caught sight of the trio. His face had assumed a look of almost bemused horror before his eyes rolled up and he slumped forward. At a loss, Usagi had grabbed Ren and agilely clambered up to a roof. From where the crazy thug had come from, Katzaniel and Daryl could hear the jingling of armor and the heavy breathing of running guards. “What say we follow the rabbit.” Daryl said before leaping most of the way up the building and showing that his claws were for more then fighting by latching on to the wooden wall, then climbing to the roof in a few quick motions. Katzaniel meanwhile ran up an irregularly stacked set of wooden crates, leaping the last ten feet in a single spring. Once on the roofs, the pair followed Usagi, running silently to avoid alarming those below them or alerting the police to their presence. Eventually, Usagi led them to the Pen, and they paused at the walls to assess what they should do. “Well, we have a couple options- we can wait here, go to Gyrfalcon’s quarters, or follow Usagi. Any preferences?” Daryl asked Katzaniel, who had returned to his tigertaur form.

Happy Thanksgiving, everyone.

Daryl scratched behind one ear, making certain he had taken in the entire statement. As far as he could discern, the creature before him was composed of two souls inhabiting one body, which for whatever reason was capable of shifting through many different shapes. “A very interesting way to exist.” Daryl said in wry understatement. “If I may ask- what was your name again?” Katzaniel blinked and then extended his hand. “I am Katzaniel.” Daryl took the tigertaur’s hand in his own furred hand. “As I said before, I am Daryl.” he responded. The werefox considered Katzaniel’s last question and shrugged. “Given the way he threw me and those bouncers without even a word or gesture, I’d say he can take care of himself. Still, this probably isn’t the best place to have a discussion- perhaps we should head back towards the Pen Keep?” Daryl suggested. His expression changed as he looked over Katzaniel’s shoulder, going from confusion to wry humor. “On the other hand, I could be wrong. I think I just saw Ren run by with a few officers after him.” Daryl said in an amazed tone. Unfortunately, the sound of his voice attracted the attention of the next band of officers, and five of them turned down the road. They stopped short as they considered the two furred figures. Then one of them made the mistake of drawing his sword. “Surrender!” he shouted at Katzaniel and Daryl. The werefox sighed. “Excuse me for a moment.” He said politely to Katzaniel before stepping around the tigertaur and walking slowly towards the policemen. “Stop and drop to the ground!” One of them shouted, aiming a crossbow at Daryl. “I believe arresting us because of what we look like is called discrimination, humans. Whoever you’re chasing after, I doubt he has fur, so please go away.” Daryl said calmly. Behind him, Katzaniel and turned around and subtly moved forward as Daryl kept the police’s attention on himself. “Drop!” Came the predictable barked command. Daryl’s mouth thinned as he reviewed his options and came to the conclusion he wasn’t obeying these idiots. Daryl had never developed any respect for the police, as those he had met have always been corrupt, greedy, cruel, and stupid. These five hadn’t done anything to dispel that illusion. “No.” Daryl said, stepping forward again at an implacable pace. The rest of the police had drawn swords now. The officer with the crossbow didn’t bother with another warning, but instead fired at Daryl. Daryl blurred as he leapt into the air, the bolt striking sparks against the stone wall where Daryl had stood moments before. Daryl rolled once in midair and came down on his feet in the middle of the surprised police. Before they could bring their swords around to defend against their sudden opponent, Daryl struck. Daryl punched and kicked, striking the police officers with amazing force. Unlike the assassin he had fought earlier this evening, the officers wore chainmail armor. If it made any difference to the unnaturally strong werefox, he didn’t show it, quickly rendering three of the policemen unconscious. The fourth man with a sword dropped it and circled behind the werefox, planning to stab him in the back with his silver-washed dagger. What little lore he knew suggested that he could do some serious damage with his otherwise largely ornamental dagger. Before he could raise his dagger and strike however, a hand tapped his shoulder. “Eh?” was the last thing the guard said as he partially turned, only to receive the iron-hard wooden shaft of the spear Katzaniel held across his face, knocking the policeman unconscious. The last man frantically struggled to reload his crossbow, sweat dripping into his eyes as he watched the two monsters beat his friends senseless without breaking a sweat. Fumbling a crossbow bolt into place, he started to raise his crossbow, then stopped and swallowed as the razor edge of the tigertaur’s spear blade touched his throat. Before the man could contemplate heroics, Daryl took the crossbow from him. The werefox nodded, and the spear was withdrawn. Before the man could consider this, Daryl smashed him across the back of the head with the stock of his own crossbow, dropping the man into comforting unconsciousness. “This place is really getting to be a bad place to stay. Why don’t we leave?” Daryl suggested, warily scenting the air, his ears turning this way or that to confirm that there were no observers of their recent scuffle with the law.

Daryl blinked at the strange creature before him as his mind struggled to process the question. It wasn’t the complexity of the relatively simple question that was giving him problems, but the sheer existence of the man/tiger before him. A lycanthrope himself, he was familiar with many types of shape changers and strange hybrids like the tigertaur before him. However, a shape change from female house cat to lioness to male tigertaur? That was truly strange. “Ah... that would take a while to explain. A demonstration might prove quicker.” Daryl said with a minimal bow, trying to decide how to address this strange person- sir? Madam? Tiger? Daryl straightened and closed his eyes, reaching inside of himself. Katzaniel watched curiously as the strange human twitched once, then growled in pain. The growl deepened into a low scream and Katzaniel took a step back as Daryl’s features bulged weirdly as they reshaped. Immersed in agony, Daryl forced himself through the change from man to a hybrid of man and fox, furred and fox-headed, tailed but walking upright. Straightening from his partial crouch, Daryl shook his head briskly and instinctively scented the night air. The smells of a city, both fair and foul were overwhelming for a moment, but then Daryl blocked them from his mind and caught other scents. The closest, strongest and most interesting came from the tigertaur he stood across from. Daryl smelled all at once tiger and human, lioness and house cat, panther and leopard and puma and cheetah... the creature across from him seemed to represent the potential to assume the form of any cat that had ever walked under the glimmering stars. Remembering his manners, Daryl bowed once again and held his arms out for inspection. “My scent, tigertaur? That would happen to be because I’m a werefox, and my scent is an combination of fox and human. As for not judging you? To be frank, I’ve met a lot stranger creatures then you over the past few years. By the Nine Hells, my room mate is an immortal half-elf who was once one of the most powerful magic users in the world! I’ve worked with vampires and met the daughter of a world that sits between two universes. A shape-shifting tigertaur is certainly interesting, but I have no reason to fear you because of what you are.” Daryl smiled slowly as an observation came to him. “I think people judge others because they don’t want to judge themselves, to look inside and see how irrational their fears and hatreds are. I have no reason to hate you and little to fear you unless you choose to attack me. And the fact you’ve decided to talk hints that you don’t want to fight.” Daryl finished with confidence. Daryl cocked his head curiously. “My name is Daryl. What would yours happen to be, tigertaur? And how are you able to shape shift like that? Most shape shifters like myself only have a few closely related forms that we can change to. You, however, have shown yourself capable of three disparate forms and of changing your gender.”

Gyrfalcon stood panting in the middle of a ring of unmoving bodies, the remains of many of the ghouls and a lich that hadn’t run away fast enough. Caught up in catching his breath, his only warning came from Dierden. “Half-elf, look out!” Gyrfalcon instinctively whirled, and as he did so his katana chimed as it deflected the claws of one of the strange mist-monsters. It made a strange sound, a combination of a moan and growl and tried again. Gyrfalcon’s katana darted to the left and blocked the first swipe, then slashed through the creature’s body, meeting a faint resistance before picking off the right claws. The mist-monster howled in surprised pain. While the katana didn’t seem to do a lot of damage to the monster, it still harmed it, evidenced by the faint divot along what passed as its chest. Gyrfalcon struck twice more, then stepped back as another mist-monster came up in front of the first. A third joined them and then a fourth, and it was all the half-elf could do to hold them back. The only thing that kept him alive was the fact that each mist-monster fought alone, as if the others did not exist. Because of this, their attacks continually interfered with each other’s, allowing Gyrfalcon to pick off multiple strikes with each parry. However, he was forced entirely into a defensive posture and was being steadily backed up, giving ground to escape with a whole skin. Gyrfalcon knew it was only a manner of time before he missed a parry or another mist-monster joined the four assaulting him, and then it would end. Gyrfalcon gritted his teeth and steeled himself for death... only to find a furred hand clamp down on his shoulder and yank him backwards. The half-elf passed through a glowing white barrier that tingled and left him feeling a little refreshed. He left behind the four mist-monsters, who howled their rage and beat at the glowing barrier as if it were a solid wall. Moments later, the mist-monsters fell back from one side of the wall with howls of pain as Dierden forced his way through with hard swings of his mace, Oblinich behind him, a painful looking welt marring his cheek. Gyrfalcon noted that Oblinich was shaking and his lips were slightly blue- proof that the touch of the mist-monsters was extremely cold. “So, we’re all in here and the monsters are all out there. Any ideas on how to make them go away?” Gyrfalcon said as he regained his breath.

One moment Daryl was helping to restrain the angry Ren, the next he was flying head over heels through the air. Hitting the wall hard, Daryl slid down to slump on the floor, muffling a cry of pain and waiting for his broken scapula to regenerate. A small tabby cat meowed at him and padded over, sniffing him curiously. Her back arched and her fur puffed out as she caught the strange scent of this seeming human, but then the cat consciously relaxed and meowed at him again. Daryl distractedly petted the cat with his good hand, somewhat surprised at her reaction- most cats wanted nothing to do with him. Rubbing carefully behind the cat’s ears, he managed to evoke a contented purr from the small cat, conscious of the fragments of his scapula shifting back into their proper arrangement and fusing. He tried to ignore the scream from outside. “So, what brings you here, little one?” he asked the cat, not really expecting an answer, before wincing as another scream echoed from outside. Somewhere nearby, a hand bell began ringing as one of the constables that served the town at the base of the Pen Keep called for backup. “It looks like someone is having his head handed to him... and given the way that man I helped was acting, I’d say it’s not Ren.” Daryl told the cat. She meowed and nuzzled his hand in response. “Hey, you all right?” One of the kinder patrons asked. Daryl looked up and waved his unoccupied hand without any pain “Yeah, I just got the wind knocked out of me when I hit the wall, and this cat here wanted some attention.” Daryl said with an easy smile. “That’s good. You’re luckier then those bouncers- half of ‘em are out cold. Damned mages- you can’t even lay hands on them because of all those damned spells.” The man said bitterly. Daryl shrugged. “Maybe, but that would-be assassin shows that mages can die as quickly as anyone else when they’re surprised.” The man brightened a bit and chuckled “Which is why so many tend to have fighters like yourself around them. It helps to prevent those sorts of incidents. Hey, if you need work, look me up- Dril Yarnaga- any of my caravans would do well with an extra fighter of your skill.” Daryl smiled and bowed his head. “I’ll remember to do so should I need work.” he promised. A few moments later, a burly police sergeant and several constables entered and started towards the bar. Daryl eyed their demeanor and judged it a good time to leave. He silently got to his feet and ducked into the dimmer portions of the room, making his way quickly to a hallway that led to the inn’s rooms. “Mew!” Daryl started and turned to see the tabby looking up at him. “Meow!” she said for emphasis, winding around his legs. Daryl quickly picked up the cat and perched her on his shoulder. Her claws latched onto his shirt as he made his way down the hallway. Behind him, he could hear the bartender and the sergeant talking. “The one that broke up the fight in here? He’s right over- hey, where’d he go? He didn’t pay his tab!” “Search the place!” Daryl judged it a good time to leave, and he quickly ducked out the window at the end of the hallway. He slid through the window adroitly and paused for a moment to secure a fishhook on a line to the inner handle. Once through, he gave the fishhook an expert jiggle, causing the window to shut itself. Another jiggle pulled the fishhook free and he pulled the hook out under the window, returning it to his possession. Moments later, Daryl hurried on into the growing gloom as night fell, safely away from official scrutiny and with a tabby cat perched on his shoulder. He reiterated softly “Today is not my day.” OOC: Any town will have its police force, and I think they’d frown on dueling in the street. It’s up to you if you manage to kill the assassin before they come, Kasmandre, and if you manage to evade capture or not. We’ll have to blunder into each other soon. Katzaniel- Sorry to hijack you like that, but it allows you to observe Daryl a bit.

Gyrfalcon doubles over laughing, not even able to applaud as he would wish to.

Daryl glared down into his mug of ale with a dissatisfied twist to his mouth. There wasn’t any specific thing he could pin his bad mood on- it was just the result of a day full of minor disappointments and aggravations with few good things to balance the list. Rather then take his bad mood out on Gyrfalcon, who graciously allowed the werefox to use an unoccupied room in his suite, Daryl had removed himself to the tavern to try to relax. He had been managing to do that fairly successfully, but suddenly... “I’m looking for a messenger!” a voice cried out, rising above the general din of the tavern. Daryl looked up to see who was asking, and noticed that many other people had as well. Most of them responded they were off duty, but one surly fellow a few seats down from Daryl growled out. “Unless your name's Ren Rasault Brightlance, I don't give a @#%$." He immediately returned to his drink, but the man in the door had heard him. He approached the messenger, and Daryl discreetly studied him. He was a little taller then Daryl, and was dressed in a flowing white shirt and light blue trousers. His hair was black, and was a bit disordered, as if he had rushed down to the tavern. He had a strange scare over his right eye, vaguely cross shaped. “And if it is?” the man, who seemed to be Ren, asked. "Then I got a letter for you," the messenger replied, his eyes assessing Ren a bit more carefully then was normal for his type. "You him?" "Yes, give me the letter." Ren said shortly, obviously eager to see the letter. The messenger reaches into his cloak and pulls out a letter. "That'll be ten geld," the man stated, the standard fee for messengers. Ren distractedly threw two dozen or so gold coins on the bar in front of the messenger and took the letter. By chance, the chair just to the left of Daryl was unoccupied, and Ren took it and immediately cracking open the letter. Daryl could see by the way the letter trembled that the man's hands were shaking. Daryl shook his head and his motion hitched as he saw the messenger stand. He had just taken a large payment, and most messengers celebrated that with more then a few drinks... Wary, Daryl lifted his cup and ducked his head, looking as if he was intent on his drink, and allowed his peripheral vision to register the man’s movements... as he drew a sword. Ducking his head a bit more, Daryl subtly tensed. “Her? But the messenger is a...” the man beside him said in a startled tone. He turned around and gasped in surprise as the sword arced towards his head. There was no way he could block the blow, and he knew that he was going to die... Daryl turned to the left and his arm short out, closing over the man’s wrist. The man’s momentum played out against Daryl’s corded muscles, the sword halted instantly, inches from Ren’s startled eyes. “I’ve had a bad day, swordsman. I’m willing to give you a worse one if you don’t go away now.” Daryl snapped in irritation. The last thing he wanted today was to have someone killed right next to him. Instead of trying to jerk his sword free as most people would have tried, the man jerked a dagger from his belt and lunged across his body, stepping closer to Daryl to try to sink his dagger into whoever was holding his sword away from its target. To his credit, the man executed the fairly difficult maneuver perfectly, stabbing Daryl straight in the stomach. Unfortunately for the assassin, his dagger was neither silver nor magical, and all it did was put a hole in Daryl’s shirt and give him a minor scratch. Daryl sighed and rolled his eyes up to the heavens. “Why do they always have to try to stab me?” he asked the uncaring gods as the fact that his target wasn’t bleeding washed across the erstwhile assassin’s mind. He struck again and again, further ruining Daryl’s shirt- and his mood. “That’s it” Daryl growled. His free hand snapped across and caught the man’s dagger hand as the werefox stood. With an almost contemptuous ease, he crossed the man’s arms, keeping either weapon from being brought into play. This also brought the man’s face close to Daryl’s own- which Daryl took advantage of by head butting him hard. The man’s head snapped back, and the assassin woozily tried to reel back, but Daryl’s grip prevented him from doing so, and allowed Daryl to snap his head forward again, smashing the man’s nose. The werefox released his grip and the man tried to bring his weapons around into a guard. All that netted him was a painful chop to the wrist, sending his sword flying. Desperately, the assassin slashed with his dagger, but missed. Daryl responded by driving his knee up hard, and the assassin’s breath left him in a great rush as his face drained of blood. He dropped his dagger, then curled up and whimpered. “What a day.” Daryl said with a sigh as the bouncers forced their way through the crowd. “What’s going on here?” The head bouncer, a burly dwarf holding a large club, asked in a deceptively quiet tone. OOC: A note on Daryl- right now, Kasmandre/Ren won’t know he’s a werefox, (though he might wonder why Daryl isn’t bleeding from multiple stab wounds...) since Daryl doesn’t advertise the fact and is currently in his human form. A description of Daryl can be found here: http://home.earthlink.net/~gyrfalcon/theae...e/darylbio.html So you know what your savior looks like. *smiles*

*chuckles* Been playing just a bit too much Everquest, Zadown. Still, a good poem all and all. The style is interesting, with the one word first line, and then the three lines of poetry below that. When skimming through, the first lines jump out, bringing to mind snippits of battle. (Which is where the person the poem focuses on is killed.)

Gyrfalcon watched with a slight smile as Kaleyra drifted away from the rest of the group with a rapt expression on her face. As she stood in the bow, Gyrfalcon noted the presence of several sailors nearby with some concern- until he saw Myth standing near their winged scholar. While Gyrfalcon knew the assassin didn’t particularly care if the rest of the party lived or died, a hostage situation would not be in her own best interests, and thus she would guard Kaleyra carefully. However, that brought the number of those near Y’Tren to answer his question down to two, and Timothy’s disinterested gaze meant that the decision rested firmly on Gyrfalcon. The half-elf looked the crew over and kept his face impassive, though the glares and hatred in the crew’s eyes spoke their feelings clearly enough. “I think we need some rest, Y’Tren, but I also think that this ship is no place to take it. Let’s get to the shore and up off the beach before we find a place to sleep. Hopefully there are few or no creatures on this island that might choose to attack us, and I think we’ll all sleep more easily without the knowledge that we are surrounded by a crew that wants to murder us.” Gyrfalcon said quietly, making sure that none of the crew was close enough to overhear his words. Y’Tren and Timothy likewise eyed the crew discreetly, not wanting a direct stare serve as a challenge that would reignite the battle that had ended the hour before. One crewmember in particular was glaring daggers at the half-elf’s back, and no doubt wishing he was using a real one. However, the loss of a large amount of blood and his hand kept the man too weak to do anything... yet. “He has a point.” Timothy admitted.

Tamaranis- You get a Weenie Award with a Second Cluster. (I believe Dr Evil has one such award. So next year, he'll be decorated three times.)

*applauds loudly* Excellent story. *looks at the Elders* I don't suppose that can suffice as her Weenie-B-Off post, can it? It doesn't have the word in the title, but... its quality!

Daryl peered around and craned his head to let his improvised lamp illuminate Canid’s den. “Mph-mmrr-mph!” he commented. Canid smiled at his comment. “Thank you Daryl- it is nice and cozy, and it isn’t subjected to the strange things that happen up above... at least, normally.” Prospero founds his favorite rug (from those few times Canid let him into her private sanctum) and stretched out on it with a luxurious sigh- no dust bunnies, no dust steaks, no strange little girls intent on dressing him up. As far as Prospero was concerned, this was the closest thing to heaven that he’s experienced in a long time. Daryl meanwhile trotted around the room, taking in the new scents and inspecting it thoroughly. Finally, he put the chunk of luminous moss down in an out of the way place, trotted over to Prospero, and crawled onto his back and started kneading himself a bed. Prospero turned his head and stared at Daryl. “What the heck are you doing?” he asked. Daryl just gave him a big foxy grin and curled up. “Taking a nap, now go to sleep.” The fox said before falling into a deep sleep, his tail tucked over his face. With a grumble, Prospero thought about shrugging the fox off of him, but decided to take a short nap first. Canid stared at her two sudden guests and wondered at their ability to fall asleep so quickly.

Prospero eyed Daryl in worry. The werefox was quite literally vibrating in place with pent up rage. Even the dust rabbits, who were normally fearless, had edged back a bit. Prospero was now hoping in a much greater way that the strange girl would come back soon, as he wasn’t sure whether the werefox would literally explode while trying to hold in his anger. “A bow. She tied a bow into my fur. And she put me in a jacket. She put Me Into A JACKET!” Daryl growled, ending in a scream. The dust bunnies drifted back a little more, and even Prospero edged away a little, hoping that he’d be hit with a little less blood when Daryl inevitably went critical. The girl choose that moment to bustle out and she stared at the wildly vibrating werefox with concern. “Is foxy-woxy sick?” she said, picking him up by the scruff of his neck. Daryl hung there in complete and abject humiliation, blurring slightly from his ever-increasing rage. “Poor foxy-woxy! I guess I’ll have to put you to bed.” The girl cooed. Putting Daryl to bed apparently involved taking the horrible coat off of him... and instead putting him in one of those old-fashioned one-piece baby suits. The little girl glanced at the baby rocker in worry often, as it vibrated constantly. Prospero whined softly and eyed any potential cover, but saw that the dust bunnies had monopolized it all and were glaring at him balefully from under cover. However, Prospero’s noise had reminded the girl that she had another guest. “Here’s dinner, doggy! Eat up now!” the girl said, beaming at Prospero as she set a plate down in front of him. A plate holding a dust steak. OOC: No, Daryl isn’t going to spontaneously combust or explode. But if the girl leaves the room again, he *is* going to go on a killing spree. *grins*

Daryl made to answer Prospero, but stopped. His eyes went wide and he stared at a point behind Prospero. Prospero looked at the fox carefully and considered his reputation for jokes. “Now, if I hadn’t made sure they were all dead, I’d say that they had just merged together into some supper dust bunny that was intent on payback, but I know that there isn’t... any... super dust... bunny.” A massive shadow had fallen over both the wolf and Daryl, who had reversed his body and was scrabbling for traction in the dust without ever turning his head. Prospero risked a peek over his shoulder, as this prank was just a little elaborate for Daryl. He came face to sternum with the biggest dust bunny he had ever seen. Even Prospero’s great courage and confidence quailed as he began to scrabble himself. Both pairs of feet found traction with instants of each other, and the two took off down the aisle, running as fast as they could, the fox actually managing to keep up with the wolf... or perhaps the wolf was managing to keep up with the fox. Behind them, the gigantic dust bunny blinked its eyes and then... hopped. THUMP. it landed in a blinding cloud of dust, both from itself and the ground. The dust was suddenly sucked into the dust bunny, allowing it to grow a little larger. It hopped again. THUMP., and the process repeated itself. The two normally intrepid Canidae ran for their lives.