Logs:Pseudo Sailors
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| RL Date: 25 September, 2012 |
| Who: Ali, E'ten, N'rov |
| Involves: Fort Weyr |
| Type: Log |
| What: Ali summons E'ten and N'rov to infiltrate a ship linked to the missing Bollian tithes. |
| Where: Igen Coast |
| When: Day 17, Month 11, Turn 29 (Interval 10) |
| Sometime in the late afternoon, Adiulth and Vhaeryth receive a quick flash from Isyath. It's simple, straightforward, less a demand and more a command: « Come. » There's an image of the Igen coast, a port town filled with a bunch of ships. There isn't much in the town itself; obvious it's primarily a fishing town and a stop for ships' crew to drink at the local bar. Isyath is perched some way out of town, far enough not to be seen, and the visual she gives allows for a low-angled landing. Ali's wrapped in her fur cloak, hair braided tightly against her head, leaning against the queen's flank as she waits for the other Fortians to arrive. "I overheard some of the sailors in the bar- I'm not sure, but I think they were talking about Boll and the tithe train. I followed them down to the ship down there-" she gestures towards the docks, the largest ship there. It's flying the colors of Nerat, but then such things are easy enough to fake. "They're sailing out tonight, but maybe you can sneak on board, find out something before they get away- this might be our only chance." Unlike her queen, the dark-haired Fortian doesn't order, but asks, looking from one to the other. No argument from Vhaeryth, the younger bronze poised to /move/, for all that he couldn't have known precisely where or when or for that matter what: this is as least as good as any, and better than most. Better, too, given its timing, set after other duties are done. And if he's initially clearly not thrilled with having to restrain his usual flamboyance, within moments that's its own excitement: they are on a /mission/ and it has to be /subtle/ and with this much, this landing, he can be compliant. His rider's quicker and even quieter in joining the others, and now he follows Ali's gesture with a sharp, squinted glance towards the docks. "Convenient, that bar. We should hang out in them more often. Got an angle in mind, or is it more along the lines of 'So sorry, wrong ship, thought this was mine?'" There's so many questions that E'ten could ask once Adiulth and he emerge into the Igen skies and facing the coast rather than coming in over the water. Wisely not knowing what they're going to come across, it's the bronzerider who finally understands the reasoning of the larger - compounded by the all too clear and unspoken words. Their earlier trip months ago might be bearing fruit. Well, there's no 'might' about it as he turns his head towards the direction of the ships. "We might be able to get on board for a moment or two. Unless we really want to be caught swimming back to shore and ship out with the crew." Convenient? There's a distinct sort of flush from Ali that suggests she wasn't here by /convenience/, but no time to talk about that, now, thankfully. "I don't know- you're the sailors." Pseudo-sailors? Granted, the goldrider's been present at a enough of the 'lessons' to learn to pick up what she needs, but still. "It's- depends whether you think it's better to sneak on, or talk your way on. But I- don't think these are the sort of people you negotiate with." There's a little shudder, as much to do with the colder weather down this way than the discussion at hand, turning head to study Isyath a moment. "I- I need to get changed. I won't be far, if- if you need me." N'rov presses his mouth together. "Much as I could use a bath," he says to E'ten, his gaze shifting briefly to Ali partway through as he makes to sniff his armpit, "I'd just as soon skip doing it in the middle of the ocean. I suppose we could use the 'heard you need an extra hand' thing. Or one of us gets one of their men stinking drunk so the other one gets collared to replace him. So far as sneaking goes, they're bound to have a guard whether they're up to no good or not... suppose we could play it by ear, because /that/ always works well, but what do you think?" "Last time we did this, I was the responsible one," E'ten remarks with the slightest hint of a smirk to cross his lips to detract from the other fact that Ali might have been here scouting ahead of them. And /that/ isn't a pleasant thought as he looks to the goldrider and then back to N'rov with a shrug. "I dress too well to be a drunken sort. We could be the hired extra hands. We're not going to be shipping out with them. Just grab some barrels and get them on board, saying we're temp hands. Can't be that bad." Ali can't help it; the gesture from N'rov makes her laugh. "At least you'll fit in?" she suggests, smiling, though it doesn't last long. "However you do it, do it quick. I think the sun's going down soon," she adds, shading her eyes briefly to look upwards, a flash of red and gold from beneath her cloak, before she drops her arm. "Issy will be- listening. Be careful," she adds sternly, to the pair of them, as she straightens, reaching to climb up onto Isyath's neckridges. "Just grab a barrel, the man says." N'rov lets that hang in the air, as though some lightning bolt will slam down announcing, 'No, no, bad idea!' But it doesn't, and it's not as though he has a better one. He shrugs, his glance twitching at that flash much as it might have done at Isyath's, earlier. "Not every drunk is poor. But all right, down we go. Just wish I'd worn my walking boots instead of my riding boots." Though he is, or rather, boots with soles suitable for a ship's deck, much as he isn't actually sweaty despite the stains worn into his sailor-shirt past washing. He glances at Isyath, glances at Vhaeryth for considerably longer, and then turns to E'ten to follow his comrade down. E'ten thinks on his feet. It's the best and quickest idea that comes to mind as he turns towards the path to fall into a lazy step behind N'rov with both arms lifting to fold behind his head. "We won't take any unnecessary risks," he remarks to Ali, going as far as tilting his head in her direction for a fleeting glance and noting the color of red and gold. A question for later, even if the same almost surfaces in his eyes. Later. Another reminder to himself, Adiulth settles in by lowering himself even closer to the ground with both eyes turned towards the coast. He'll serve as sentry while the human people are down in the thick of things. "You know... we probably give them too much credit," he murmurs under his breath as they draw closer to the coast. It's only when the pair move away that Isyath pushes upward with a parting farewell to the bronzes, disappearing a bare few feet off the ground. Apparently Ali's taking this 'stealth' thing pretty seriously. There's plenty of activity down at the docks, sailors calling out to each other; light and noise spilling out from the nearby bar. The ship in question has a couple of people standing on the deck, watching as deckhands ferry supplies (beer barrels?) onto the ship. It looks like it'd be relatively easy to slip in amongst the people present. So that's what N'rov seeks to do, without even complaining about his feet much: head onto that dock like he knows what he's doing, like maybe he's late even, and get his share of a barrel to balance another sailor's. Maybe it'll be that much harder to see his face when he's holding the thing up, even, though he's not doing the 'Sneaky, I'm so sneaky!' routine that Vhaeryth favors. Barrels. It's not the right time to say 'I told you so' but it doesn't keep E'ten from finishing the last cuff of his sleeves before falling into step behind N'rov to pick up one of the beer barrels to balance it onto one shoulder and make his way toward the ship. Gradual at first, until the balance even its self out, of course. Certain and steady. Not to mention keeping his ears open for anything that might be spoken in passing while they're on 'errand'. There's a couple of wary looks from the other dockhands, probably because they're not familiar faces. A portly man standing at the end of the dock, however, waves them over with a sharp snap, with the expectation of being obeyed: "What are you doing?" He takes a step towards them, waving his hands as if shooing them to hurry up. "Get moving you lazy lot, or there'll be evening watch and no beer!" N'rov takes those wary looks in stride, like he's used to it, and maybe he is. He's also not unused to hurrying up the ramp the way he has to do now, though not without a deliberately accidental teeter that might convince the man not to flail at them /too/ much, and also not without a grumble about the prospective lack of beer. If he looks behind him to see how E'ten's doing, it's ostensibly just to make sure nobody steps on the back of his feet. Glances. He doesn't seem to be phased by it either, quickening his steps at the wave and the order to hurry up. Maybe, just maybe N'rov and E'ten are showing the other dockhands up by getting the work out. But the man's demeanor doesn't indicate if he cares or not. There's work to be done, footsteps thudding solidly against the plank the chance gives him an opportunity to glance around. More to ensure that he's not bumping into anyone or being stared at too intently. The pair on the deck are talking quietly, though they fall silent as the two 'dockhands' come on board. One grunts, "Down in the hold. Hurry up," gesturing towards the open space and stairs leading downwards. There isn't much light on the way down, so it's a tricky navigation to make while carrying a heavy barrel- though it's nothing for a rider used to throwing around bags of firestone. Down below, the cargo hold is already cramped with boxes, though a sharp eye might be able to pick out a door leading through into another section of the ship. Door. What a fascinating door. N'rov's cautious as he descends, and for all that he's got that firestone practice, no doubt he's also inwardly grateful for that time spent regaining his sea legs. Even if they /are/ only docked. Quick glances scope out what's about him, that door definitely an attention-grabber, that and any labels visible on the crates... so after the man ahead of him moves past and he gets his own barrel squared away, he says gruffly, "Here, I'll stack." There's a nudge for E'ten: check that out, why don't you? and he'll try to block the view. Hurry, he says. It's not an easy task to carry a barrel into a ship's hold. Much more when the footing is anything but sure - to the uncertain. It's a different situation for him, already used to hours upon hours on the small sailboat that seems to be a luxury right about now. Following N'rov into the hold, E'ten takes a look at the crates idly but not stopping until the offer of being divested of the barrel is spoken outloud to be overheard. "Sure. Make sure it's secure. We don't want them coming back and saying we did a poor stacking job," he says, already turning to look at some of those labels while they're not intruded upon. Yet. Hurry, he says. It's not an easy task to carry a barrel into a ship's hold. Much more when the footing is anything but sure - to the uncertain. It's a different situation for him, already used to hours upon hours on the small sailboat that seems to be a luxury right about now. Following N'rov into the hold, E'ten takes a look at the crates idly but not stopping until the offer of being divested of the barrel is spoken outloud to be overheard. "Sure. Make sure it's secure. We don't want them coming back and saying we did a poor stacking job," he says, already turning to look at some of those labels while they're not intruded upon. Yet. And that's when N'rov aims for a more pointed poke: the door. Over there. Try it. Or he'll have to. No one's coming down, at least not immediately, though voices can be heard distantly above. Most of the labels on the items in the cargo hold look legitimate- in that they seen to be Neratian stamped, at a first glance. The door (when he goes to look) appears to lead into a corridor, with rooms leading off the side- probably the crew's quarters. A careful listen will reveal no one else nearby. While it's not the labels that will tell E'ten everything that he needs to know - they look legit. It's the other nudge that causes him to look towards and see the door that can be occasionally missed thanks to the increase of cargo. As it's noted, both brows go higher with a silent bob of his head. No need to let people know what they're up to, right? Slipping towards the direction of the door, the lack of sound is a good thing as his hand moves to open the next point of entry carefully. No creaks. Hopefully. No people clearly. The initial glance towards some of the rooms is going to be his first course of action. If he still hears no signs of life beyond himself and the fellow bronzerider. Meanwhile, N'rov's looking back and forth, quickly: sure, someone keeping watch is probably a good thing, but /he/ /wants/ /to/ /know/. Waiting just doesn't seem to be enough. Answer? Mess with the barrels near where they'd come in, far enough out of sight of E'ten's door as much as possible, so if someone comes through it'll be far too easy for that someone to knock down all accidental-like. Which could make a mess, and /that/ could take time. The first room E'ten looks into appears to be a set of bunk beds, all neatly made- whoever the Captain may be, it appears they run a tight ship. Further up, on the left, the sign on the door helpfully indicates it's the Captain's quarters. The door is partially ajar, and it doesn't look like there's any occupants. Still quiet from above- for now. Although as N'rov starts to move the barrels around, he accidentally scrapes on. The legitimate-looking label of Nerat half spills off with little inclination, showing what looks to be a worn marking of Fort Sea beneath it. The low curse at that accidental scrape turns into excitement of a different sort, and maybe it's because of that that, for once these days, has Vhaeryth gladly anticipating his rider's request: image for Isyath, special delivery. It's a start! If N'rov wonders whether they had now better bail, well, his dragon skips that part. After all, it could just be a re-used crate. Right? Normal. Normal. Wait, maybe the last isn't so normal. What captain would have left a door open? The smaller rooms are just that. Small. Nothing important. It's the Captain's quarters that the bronzeirder ducks into. But what is he looking for? That's the question, isn't it? She's surprised, is Isyath, or more accurately, her rider is. « Could it be that easy, she wonders? Is there any way to take one of the barrels? » Well- it's heavy, and the ones they recently brought in actually seem to be legimate- it's only the older barrels, towards the back as N'rov maneouvers them around- that have the covering. There's the sounds of footsteps, above, and a voice, grumbling, "What's taking them louts so long? /Landlubbers/." Yeesh. Silence, as E'ten ducks into the Captain's quarters. It, too, appears to be quite neat, everything tucked away or in a specific place, for sailing. On the desk, a map is spread out, held down at the edges by clamps. A closer inspection reveals it's an amazingly detailed map of the area surrounding Fort Sea- including the road running south to Boll and north to Fort. There's a few locations marked on the map- two south west of Fort Sea, and one north west. Unknowing of what's been planned or rather accomplished by N'rov and Vhae, E'ten steps more into the captain's quarters with a hand carefully resting against the handle and assuring himself that it's still clear. Approaching the desk, he focuses on the map to commit it to a short term memory with the intent to discuss later. The locations cause him to send a question to the bronze along with the sharing of images. They can't hold on to this information, sharing it with his younger clutchbrother and Fort's second queen dragon. Names. As long as he can read the names, he'll be content. Temporarily. « He, » /we/, « thinks they would notice, » Vhaeryth returns with some humor through his intentness: clearly he likes the idea. And, well, that's when N'rov does his best to peel a pair of those labels off, quick-like, to try and get the two intact and then stuff them down his boot.... given new incentive for speed by that grumbling. /Then/ he can ease at least one back into place and take a couple hasty steps towards E'ten... until, right. Dragons. Vhaeryth to Adiulth and Isyath, underlaid by the echo of those footsteps: « Time to go. Now. » Urgently, but more or less calmly on the surface at least, because this is important even while it's also all so /exciting/. Time to undo his would-be trap, but if those footsteps start sounding like they're heading for the ladder, he'll be all set for some faux-involuntary cursing, as though someone's just dropped something on his foot. There aren't any names on the map, at least not of the marked locations- just a rough sense of distance. The map isn't harper-quality but it's close enough to make some decent sort of guesses, especially someone that's had some harper training in the past. Isyath acknowledges Adiulth's words, along with a wordless query. Is there anything else? It's a good question, however, except that E'ten, too, can hear the stomping of feet overhead, the voices from the cargohold as one of the men from the deck stops down to peer at N'rov, if he can see him. "What are you- where's the other one?" he turns, as if to call up towards the deck, "Hey, Garrak?" It's like those classes that they had as Weyrlings - only this one is paying off in many ways as he sends the map image along to Adiulth to be shared. « It's not much but we need a map when we get back. » As to getting out of dodge? « He knows. He comes. » And it's in enough time for E'ten to hear the voices overhead, careful to put the captain's door right back in the same position that he found it in before quickly making his way back to the door that he entered through at a crouch and determined to stay to the edge. If N'rov's there. If he's betting right about who's where. The other bronzerider better be there, otherwise there's a plan B that he'll have to hastily come up with. And there's the cursing, that is warning enough. That initial cursing leads to a waving arm from N'rov, now well away from the crates whose labels he had ransacked, like he's /trying/ to get the man's attention. "Coming up! /Trying/ to come up." That's interpersed with language that's not only salty and unhappy but also casting aspersions on that other one's mother. And if he's in the way, in the aisle, in time for E'ten to catch up? That's no accident. Neither is the slowness or the pretense of a hurry with which he makes his way up and, hopefully, out. "Hurry up, you lout. We're shipping out before sundown. Where's your friend?" the man grumbles, a not-so-subtle nudge of his shoulder into N'rov's obviously intended as a bit of intimidation. Up on the deck, Garrak's come closer, eyeing N'rov suspiciously as he comes up. "Down here," is the voice that chimes in, eyes already shooting an accusing look towards N'rov as he attempts to straighten himself from behind the barrels that they had set into place. The door? Closed. Him? Seemingly present. "Trying to secure them as best as possible and thought he-" Meaning the other rider. "Was about to knock them over on top of me. We're done." The second added briskly, he's not waiting for the others to head back on deck as he stalks off with every part of playing the role of nearly squished by barrels. N'rov dodges the nudge too slowly, or maybe just slowly enough to take the impact, his own shoulders rounded and his chin out but sort of wobbly. "I'm /trying/," he complains, aiming to limp after E'ten and get /off/ the boat and /onto/ the pier and then to solid ground. Along the way, "If he waren't so much in a hurry, he wouldn't of needed to stow them again. He could of broke my foot, he could." There's a narrow-eyed stare from E'ten, as well, the larger man following the pair up onto the deck to watch them suspiciously until they make it- safely, it seems- off the ship itself. A moment later, from Isyath, tightly controlled concern, but concern none the less, « What's happening? Are your riders okay? We're coming! » As if /they/ could do something. So of course Vhaeryth has to share the image of his rider limping after Adiulth's rider, all in pain, manfully attempting to hide it. Right. « Just do not let them see you, » he notes, with the rather proud sense that Isyath might be very memorable indeed. For all the narrowed eyed stares in his direction, E'ten doesn't slow his pace as they get off the boat but it doesn't keep him from displaying a sour expression all the while. Maybe he's keeping up the pace so that the men on the boat will have to work to catch up with them. If they're inclined. With the suggestion of Isyath making herself seen, it's an agreement between Adiulth and his rider that has the former saying quickly as it's the dragon acting before the rider can get a word in edgewise. « Stay. He is fine. They are fine. » Broadcasting reassurance in those words, he's.. oh, so ever practical. « They do not need to know that we are here. » There's a grumbling reluctance from Isyath, though she appears on a low trajectory, well behind where the two bronzes are, soaring in low. They can sense her there, hovering, waiting, impatience radiating off her, but she does, at least, /stay/. While the two men on the boat watch them carefully, they don't seem inclined to follow- Garrak begins yelling out to the dockmaster to unsecure the ropes. And N'rov keeps up the grumbly limping walk even when they're out of sight of the boat or, for that matter, as long as they're still in sight of anyone but each other. Before they get too far, he even makes an obscene hand-gesture at E'ten's back: for verisimilitude, of course. It entertains Vhaeryth, anyway, whose own claws-curling impatience can probably be felt: when do /they/ get to have fun?! And here, E'ten was going to point towards the direction of the hillside where they can be out of sight once on the other side and their dragons can join them. While the rider doesn't have eyes in the back of his head, Adiulth might have forward facing ones. If he wasn't involved in knowing exactly where Isyath waits. Fun will come. It has to. Everything in its time and place though. "You know I'm just putting distance between them and us, N'rov," is the response once the grumbling really does persist and they're out of earshot of any evesdroppers. "Did you really get yourself hurt?" That, is the dragonhealer speaking as he looks over one shoulder at the other man. "Only my pride," N'rov says with a heavy, happy sigh. With the familiar image of Fort's star stones firmly in her mind, Isyath beckons them on; urges them home. Later- later, they can talk about everything they found, and what it means. For now, the safety of /home/ beckons them. |
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