ANGLES & SAXONS Agnes Smith, part III London, 801 A.D. ..... Aethelbad puts you to work, as promised, as well as arranging for you to have a smaller residence, at the edge of town, for your very own. The haste with which he is able to produce a private dwelling for you to live in surprises you, but over time, you come to realize that as Peter warned you, Aethelbad is far more than he seems. He deals with merchants, street vendors, talks to beggars and traveling peddlers, and on several occasions, you see thegns and low-class ruffains alike approach him, with noticable deference. You know that King Cenwulf is king of Mercia, which claims London as being within the Mercian border, but Aethelbad seems to have a lot more hidden influence in this city than the king, from his throne to the north. You become adept at counting, and figuring numbers on paper, and writing down how many bales of cloth, how many swords and shields, how much floss and parchment and grain and other commodities, passes through Aethelbad's warehouses. None of which, you learn, are owned directly by him. Mortals nominally control all the business that Aethelbad conducts, but his network of merchants and shipowners and buyers in London and from neighboring cities, even from other kingdoms, all answers to him....sometimes through several intermediaries, and you become one. As "Agnes Smith", you become known as a widow whose wealthy husband had no other kin to leave his inheritance to, and thus you become that rare phenomenon, a woman of independent means. Consequently, you soon find yourself with no shortage of suitors. Merchants, sailors, and even a few Gesiths court you, some with more civility than others, but none with the gentleness and compassion that Kai showed you. No, these men all see you as merely a supplement to their income, whose attractive appearance sweetens the bargain. A year passes, and Peter does not return. After two years, you know he will not. Viking raids have abated. There are occasional forays to the north, and Aethelbad hears that they are running rampant in Ireland, and engaging in frequent piracy between Britain and the continent, not to mention ravaging the rest of Europe, but England for the moment is spared the worst of their fury. Aethelbad seems certain this will not last, and reveals that he is already making plans to leave London, for the first time in centuries. In the summer of 801, you are inventorying a valuable shipload of silver and gold that somehow made it past the Vikings, and absent-mindedly fending off the advances of the ship's captain, who's trying to impress you with stories of having seen Charlemagne's court with his own eyes (highly unlikely), when you suddenly feel a sinking sensation in the pit of your stomach, and a shiver up your spine. Aethelbad's Presence has become familiar to you....not as familiar and comforting as Peter's was, but at this sudden warning of an Immortal's presence, you realize that there is a distinct quality to Aethelbad's proximity that is lacking here. <><><><><> [Agnes] The months have gone by as Agnes settled herself into her role of a widow of independent means. She had been lucky, and she knew it: to have had the likes of Peter and Aethelbad to help her the next time she 'died' was not something she could rely upon. Consequently, she had hidden a small cache in the out-house in her garden, and had invested in some silver bangles to wear on her upper arm under her blouse. Her time so far - just working on the edge of Aethelbad's financial transactions - had opened her eyes to the true value of money. Only a few years before and she would have thought of money as just a means of carrying out extended barter. Now she knew better. Money could make money, and a lot of it was a source of power. Aethelbad was living proof of what could be done with money, and starting a new life naked and penniless was as bad a start as she could possibly have made. It was a start she was taking precautions against having to repeat. She was a widow of means. She was allowed to have some eccentricities. She had learned from that moment of fear as she had approached Aethelbad those years ago - so she wore a sword. "I have no husband. I have to be able to look after myself." would be her stock response to those querying the sword, and "Thank you, but I'm actually quite good at looking after myself." would be the one to those that offered to take on that responsibility. She had no intention of becoming some man's chattel, giving away ownership of everything she had. The sinking feeling in the pit of her stomach is a surprise, and not a surprise. "Just a moment, captain." she says, holding up a hand. She looks out at any ship approaching the dock, and then along the dockside, looking for the other immortal. **It'll be Hygar.** she thinks to herself, as she looks for someone looking like Peter's description. "I thought that I heard someone call my name." she continues to the man beside her, but her attention is no longer on him, nor the tally but on the crowd in which an immortal was hidden. <><><><><> [GM] The sea captain's voice trails off, his face looking a bit disgruntled as he ceases to be the center of your attention. The mortals on the dock almost seem to part to make way for the man who captivates your attention, though it's probably only your imagination. It's not Aethelbad, nor Peter, but a young man with a slightly bent nose, features a bit homely in their plainness, and a clenched jaw. His eyes meet yours immediately, and you see nothing friendly there. Beneath a wool cap, his hair is black and straight. He has broad shoulders, and you see a shield slung over his back. He wears a mail shirt, and his hand already rests on the hilt of the sword sheathed at his hip. He is very clearly of Anglo-Saxon stock, not a Norseman. Nonetheless, you sense nothing but dread at the sight of him. His eyes widen slightly in surprise, then his wary scowl straightens into a thin, tight smile. You can almost see the thought forming in his head- a woman....! <><><><><> [Agnes] Agnes nods at the other man, and then returns her attention to the captain. "I am sorry, captain, where were we?" And with that she returns to the matter in hand with him. She keeps her mind on the presence of the other immortal, trying to judge if he approaches or recedes. For the captain it is a lucky break. She isn't in the mood to haggle, and he gets a good deal. Politely, her actions make it plain that she is impatient to get on, but she doesn't let him take too much financial advantage of her. At the completion of business, she checks the dockside for the other immortal. If he is absent she will hurry to Aethelbad. If he is she will wait to see what he does. <><><><><> [GM] London, 801 A.D. The strange Immortal seems to be waiting for you. His stare continues to send icy shivers up your spine. Not only does he appear to be sizing you up as another Immortal, but the way his gaze travels up and down your body, it's clear he's also sizing you up as a woman. There isn't much way for you to get around him, since he's standing on the dock by the end of the small pier. Trying to remember everything Peter taught you, especially about not appearing vulnerable, you stride towards him. ("Remember that when you meet another of our kind, there is no way of knowing at first, how old the other is," Peter told you. "Only a fool will immediately engage an unknown Immortal in a fight, without trying to ascertain how formidable the other might be first. Though you're a woman, anyone who's been around a while knows that there are a *few* formidable Immortal women. For all a stranger may know when he first meets you, you might be older than Christendom, and not someone to challenge lightly, no matter how inoffensive you appear. Take advantage of that. Show fear, or vulnerability, and the bluff is gone, and you're dead.") (Of course, Aethelbad's advice is blunter, cruder, and from a certain perspective, maybe more pragmatic: "You can always try to barter for your life with your feminine wiles. And maybe get a chance to slip a knife between his ribs and then finish him off at an opportune moment. Nothing in the Rules against *that*." And seeing your look of revulsion, he added "Or, make sure you're always surrounded by men who will protect you.") Of which there are quite a few here on the docks. You've become well- known, and the fact that you have rebuked all propositions while still remaining friendly, for the most part, with would-be suitors, makes you popular. It's an unexpected fringe benefit of remaining chaste and seemingly still available; as long as every man can *dream* that he might be able to win you, they are all willing to do quite a bit to please you, without your ever having to lead anyone on or otherwise engage in deliberate manipulations. So, if you were to start screaming that this stranger was threatening you, you could expect a number of large, aggressive sailors and dock workers to come running. Of course, he'd really have to be a fool to attack you in public anyway. Up close, his face is not completely unappealing, but that bent nose gives him a definite sinister appearance. And his eyes are even colder and more hostile face to face. "I am Gerald of Cornwall," he says. He glances around, alertly but not with too much concern, checking for the proximity of mortals before continuing, "I understood there to be another of our kind....a man, who lived in London. Do you know aught of him?" His voice is flat and uncompromising, as is his expression. He speaks as if he accepts it as a given that you will answer his questions. <><><><><> [Agnes] Agnes fought down the panic that welled up inside her as she realised that he is waiting for her. All Peter's and Aethelbad's good advice spilled out of her memory: re-running the scenes in her mind's eye as she walked across the ship towards the gang-plank. Despite all their teaching and coaching, nothing could truly have prepared her for her first encounter with an unknown immortal. The sword on her hip and knife in her boot somehow offered little comfort. ***Perhaps, something about the way I wear the sword will give away my inexperience - but I adjust it now I will declare my nervousness.*** is but one of the thoughts that raced through her mind. She reached the gang-plank and set off down it. At any other of the many time she had done such a thing, it had been a pleasure - returning to _her_ harbour, with its sea of faces, almost all of whom she knew by sight, and most by name. This time it was different. The sea of faces were unknowns at the perifery of her vision. There was but one person that she paid any heed. She held the look of the stanger, telling herself that _he_ was the newcomer, _he_ was the one at a disadvantage. This was _her_ place. She waits for him to start the conversation - for she doesn't really know what to say to him ... >>"I am Gerald of Cornwall... ...Do you know aught of him?"<< "I am Agnes Smith." she replies with neither emotion nor expression, having taken her lead from him. "You will have to be more specific, Gerald. There have been many of our kind that lived in London, since its founding even. Some I encountered, some I didn't. Who are you seeking, and when did he live here?" <><><><><> [GM] Gerald's eyes flicker over your sword, before he brings his gaze back up to meet yours. "Odd, I don't remember you the last time I was here," he says. "The man I seek is a fat Gaul. But running into you first is certainly a pleasant surprise." His smile is predatory. <><><><><> [Agnes] "And I don't remember you. So your visits must have been whilst I was away on business." >>But running into you first is certainly a pleasant surprise.<< "I'm charmed, I'm sure." she replies flatly. "There is a _large_ man currently living in London; I feel his presence on the odd occasion. Are you looking up an old friend? Or an old enemy? <><><><><> [GM] Gerald laughs. "How could two of our kind live in the same city and not feel one another's presence?" Any charm in his demeanor evaporates- he stares you down malevolently. "Now," he growls, "tell me where I can find him....or I'll take your head first." <><><><><> [Agnes] Agnes watches his demeanour change. Her legs feel like they have turned to jelly, (or is it lead?). She 'hears' Peter cursing her for being weak, and telling her that if she carries on like this she will die. After what must seem a long pause, during which she stares into his eyes as she suffers internal torment, she replies, "You seem very confident of yourself, considering we have only just this moment met. However, I am more cautious than you, so I will give your offer a miss for the time being." She racks her brain for the appropriate place. "The man you seek is likely to be in the Frog and Firkin, off the fleshmarket." Like all good lies, Agnes knew it had to have sufficient truth in it to be plausible. Aethelbad did frequent that establishment, but not usually at this time of day. She would have time to get word to him about Gerald's arrival. <><><><><> [GM] "You'll see how confident I am soon enough," Gerald leers at you. His hand reaches up and pinches your breast. Then he's stepping back, eyes daring you to draw your sword, or call out and make a scene. [assuming you don't- he disappears into the crowd, and his Presence fades.] <><><><><> [Agnes] Agnes stood, open-mouthed at the affrontary of the man, and still hadn't made up her mind about what to do, about that action nor about his subsequent 'dare-you' look, when he turned and left. She watched him as he melted into the crowd, and she felt his presence fade. Bringing herself back to her senses, she looked about for and called over an errand boy she had used before. "Here is a farthing. Seek out Aethelbad. Tell him I sent you, and that Gerald is looking for him. If you tell him all of that he will give you a bonus payment. Of course you'll have to find him before I do, or there will be no bonus." Having told the boy some likely places to start, Agnes watched him hurry off, and then ran off herself. The gambling and drinking hall was the most likely place to find him, followed by some of his other usual haunts. She approached the door of the 'establishment' trying to feel for Aethelbad's presence. She knew if she felt it she would have to go in and call out for him. She had seen a lot more of city life that that wouldn't be as bad as the first time she had gone into such a place with Peter: but it still wouldn't be pleasant. <><><><><> [GM] You only have to walk past a few of the seedy establishments that you loathe so much, before you sense an Immortal presence approaching. For a moment your heart flutters and your hand moves to your sword hilt- not far off is a shadowy back alley which would be an excellent place for cutthroats, or another Immortal, to lurk in ambush. But you see Aethelbad's massive bulk moving ponderously down the street towards you. His boots squish loudly as his great weight plunges his feet deep into the muddy street with every step. "Aaarrhh, there ye be," he rumbles. "Now what's this then, Agnes? Some pup came runnin' to me on about a Gerald what's after me, and expectin' a coin which I 'ad to give 'im. Who's this Gerald? T'another one of us in town?" <><><><><> [Agnes] Relaxing when she sees it's Aethelbad that is approahing, she waits until he gets up to her. "Yes Aethelbad, it's another of us: 'Gerald of Cornwall' he called himself. He looked fairly hostile, and was arrogant and cocksure, despite having had no chance to get my measure. He is lookiing 'the fat gaul' as he put it, and implied he was seeking heads." She slows herself down a bit, "I thought it best to warn you that he's here." She looks at him expectantly, "What are you going to do?" <><><><><> [GM] "Gerald of Cornwall....." Aethelbad scratches his beard. "Never 'eard of 'im. But it'd be easy enough for 'im to've eard've me. What's he look like?" After your description, he shakes his head. "Nope....don't think I've ever met this pup. Sounds like a pup, 'e does, like lots'a young ones, not prop'rly trained, figures he'll go lookin' for the nearest head. Maybe 'e got lucky in 'is first encounter wit' another Immortal, and now he's drunk on t' Quickening, lookin' for another taste of it....that happens. Bent nose....hmmm, must'a had it broken 'fore he became Immortal." The fat Gaul grins. "What'll I do, lass? Ah, wait for'm to show up and then deal wit' 'im.....ye don' think I been here in London long's I 'ave and never had some pup come lookin' for MY head afore, d'ye?" Despite the fact that you've never seen Aethelbad even carry a sword, he seems not at all nervous. <><><><><> [Agnes] "I'm sorry if you think I have over-reacted Aethelbad." says Agnes, looking slightly embarassed, and looking at the mud on her boots. "I hope I haven't disturbed your work." She looks at him and smiles. "I suppose I ought to be getting back to mine." She turns to go, stops and looks back. "Aethelbad - take care." <><><><><> [GM] "I din't say ye over-reacted, lass," Aethelbad replies. "'Tis wise to be on guard. An' ye should be particular' on guard, as this Gerald may 'ave come lookin' fer me, but now as he's seen ye, he may change his mind about who he's huntin' first, aye?" He folds his arms over his expansive, bulging chest. "Damned if some pup is goin' to walk into MY city without a by-your-leave and start huntin' for heads free as you please. I'd just as soon have you stay close by me until he makes his move, girl, and then we'll have a word with this Cornwaller, we will." <><><><><> [Agnes] "I will stay with you then." she replies, and walks back to him. Looking up at him she asks, "What do you suggest, Aethelbad, that we should go looking for him, or wait for him to come looking for us?" "Standing here in a muddy street is not the place I would choose, after all he might not be in a hurry." <><><><><> [GM] "Why should we go looking for him? He'll find us soon enough, may as well make him do the work." Aethelbad turns and plods back down the street. "Aye, let's go look at some imported dyes then, lass, I know how little ye love ale-houses. Got some nice fabrics from the continent, bright colors, the sort ye wimminfolk like, maybe something'll strike yer fancy." You spend the rest of the day following Aethelbad from warehouse to ship to a stable in town that sells horses to local noblemen, and which you learn with little surprise that Aethelbad owns, again getting just a glimpse of his expansive financial interests (you're sure he's only shown you a fraction of his holdings.) It's comforting being near Aethelbad...whatever else you can say about the man, he's never made a lewd gesture towards you, and who would start trouble around a man whose arms are thicker than most men's bodies? But he's never been particularly warm towards you either; you've always felt that he simply tolerates you, out of a sense of obligation to Peter. It's almost nightfall, and the two of you are walking along the riverfront back towards your house, when you both look up, simultaneously feeling the presence of a third Immortal. A few people are in sight, but most sensible Londoners are moving indoors; only thugs and cutthroats roam the streets at night. With a squeak of leather and jingle of chainmail, Gerald comes striding towards the two of you, approaching from the center of town. He walks purposefully, with his hand poised near the hilt of his sword. <><><><><> [Agnes] It had been an interesting afternoon. She felt comfortable in the presence of Aethelbad. Having him with her meant that no-one bothered to make passes at her, so she didn't have to spend time politely fending them off. And Aethelbad himself was quite considerate - after all they had spend the afternoon looking at fabrics and dyes when he probably would rather have been off drinking and gambling. She had been enjoying the time off from her normal activities so much that she had quite forgotten why is was that she and Aethelbad were together in the first place. And then the was reminded ... As Agnes feels the presence of the other immortal, she shifts the bolt of new fabric that she has bought from under her right arm to under her left. She glances at Aethelbad, and then looks at Gerald. "Good evening, Gerald. You're still here then?" <><><><><> [GM] "Of course I'm still here," Gerald smirks. "I told you what I came for." "Aaah, yes," Aethelbad rumbles. "So, ye finally decided to show yerself eh?" The huge Gaul chuckles, causing his massive belly to quake. "Come for my head, have ye, boy?" Despite his bemused air, you notice his huge hands flexing, his fingers curling into claws, as if in preparation for serious work. "Not quite," Gerald says. He draws his sword- and points it at you. "I've come for HER head. I challenge YOU, Agnes." <><><><><> [Agnes] Agnes drops the bolt of cloth in fright. Fear written all over her face. Whereas before she had had time to mentally prepare herself, this time she hadn't. **This wasn't what he said!** her mind shouted, **He said he was after Aethelbad!** She stared at her challanger, half seeing his features in the gloom, half remembering them from earlier in the day. The Agnes of old was shouting at her to run away. The Peter-trained one was telling her to look at the opponent, guage his armour and weapon, and the effects they might have on any outcome. She looks to Aethelbad, "What if I refuse the challenge?", but starts to move to the side away from him 'knowing' what his response is likely to be, knowing she is likely to be on her own. **This _stupid_ honour thing!** She runs. But, it's a calculated run. Agnes knows the riverside on the way to her house. She knows when it turns, and where the sides are steep. She sets off along the top of the bank, listening for pursuit, and listening to hear whether Gerald draws his sword before setting off. She glances back, no doubt Gerald will pursue straight away. Once past the turn where the river is on three sides, she will stop, turn, draw her dagger and pause. She will do this at the point that would cause Gerald to stop at the corner, and when he does so she will sprint at him. She knows it's not a well thought out plan, but it is the only one she has had time to come up with. She would much rather the fight was in the river where Gerald's chainmail is a disadvantage: it would just be a matter of getting him into it. <><><><><> [GM] "Why ye cowardly little s***!" Aethelbad blurts out at Gerald. Then in reply to your question, says, "Well, uh....." Then he has no time to say anything more as you run away. As expected, Gerald comes running after you, laughing. His sword was already drawn. When he comes skidding to a halt at the bend by the river, he stares at your dagger disbelievingly. "You're going to fight me with that? At least draw your sw-" then you're running at him. He holds out his sword in a stop-thrust as you rush at him. Fortunately for you, it's not a thrusting sword, and the blunt point merely inflicts a painful bruise on the front of your hip. But he steps aside, moving nimbly despite his chainmail....and YOU go flying past, over the edge and into the river. The water is cold enough to be numbing. Gerald stands up on the bank, looking down at you with a surprised, irritated expression, as you break the surface, sputtering, still holding onto your dagger. <><><><><> [Agnes] Agnes beaks surface and coughs out the excess water. **Damn! neither got him in the water nor us into close combat - no too good a plan after all.** Looking through the gloom at Gerald, she calls out, "Come on in, Gerald. The water's lovely!" She treads water, allowing the current to take her. "You can be sure that with you on the bank, I won't be coming out - not on this side of the river anyway!" <><><><><> [GM] Gerald smirks. "You'd like me to go swimming in armor, wouldn't you? Very clever, woman." He begins walking along the river, keeping pace with you. "You can't run forever." <><><><><> [Agnes] "You may want the fight!" She shouts back, "but it doesn't mean you get to choose the ground too!" She starts making her way further away from the bank further out into the river. Quickly, Gerald is lost from view in the darkness. She can still feel his presence, but that is immaterial. She strikes out for the far bank: **It can only be 300 yards at the most** she thinks to herself, **and if I come upon a boat moored in the river, I'll stop at that.** **And after that, I'll have to come up with a better plan for dealing with Gerald. I'll be damned if I'm going to fight him whilst he's wearing armour.** She chuckles to herself - she would indead be damned. <><><><><> [GM] It seems like a lot more than 300 yards before you finally hear water lapping on the shore ahead of you. You weren't fortunate enough to come up against a boat in the river, and had to continue all the way across. The memory of how unpleasant drowning is keeps you afloat, but when you finally stagger ashore, you nearly collapse, exhausted and shivering cold. It occurs to you that you haven't exercised regularly nearly as much as you did while Peter was training you. You're on the outskirts of town now. You know that near here is a collection of mildewed, decrepit huts where London's dispossessed have huddled, outside the city walls. Certainly not a place where a woman wants to be caught wandering alone at night. But, you know too well that there are worse predators stalking you than those you might find here. <><><><><> [Agnes] Agnes hauls herself up the riverbank, feeling rather the worse for wear. She considers the hovels along the bank, but discounts them as a place for refuge. Gerald will no doubt be making his way over to this side of the river soon enough, and he would find her quickly if she went there. She'd rather she was rested before meeting him again. She checks her clothing and equipment to ascertain whether anything has been lost in the river. Then, Agnes sets off South, away from the river, looking for a farm or a village where she can seek shelter for the night. Her story will be a simple one - and almost completely true. She decides that it will be that she fell into the river in the dark, struggled for a while to reach a bank (she's not sure which one) and walked until she came across somewhere inhabited. She'll offer to pay, off course. Given recent events, Agnes considers this plan of action to be no worse than any others she's had recently. <><><><><> [GM] The farmer who answers the door holds a large wooden club and looks ready to use it at the slightest provocation....not surprising, considering that this is not a time when people in the countryside are used to having unexpected visitors in the middle of the night. Especially with tales of marauding Vikings sweeping England from end to the other. He relaxes somewhat when he sees that you're a woman, but not entirely....especially when he sees your sword. However, your inoffensive guise- the same one that's such a detriment when dealing with Immortals like Gerald- works to your advantage here. The farmer accepts your story, and the offer of payment is even more persuasive. The corner they give you to sleep in is dusty and mildewed, and their humble farmhouse is chilly. You've gotten used to your bed and plentiful supply of firewood. But you manage to get some sleep, with no Quickening buzz waking you up. The farmer and his wife are up before dawn the next morning...the wife grudgingly offers you some of their porridge for breakfast. <><><><><> [Agnes] After breakfast Agnes thanks the farmer and his wife for their hospitality, and sets off back towards London. **Peter would be disappointed in me** she thinks. **I haven't kept myself at the peak of fitness, or even fit. And my first encounter with a strange immortal has been disappointing in his terms. But then, Peter _would_ think that. He would probably have fought Gerald on Gerald's terms rather than be seen to run away to try to choose a more even environment.** As she walks, she ponders where Gerald might be. **The ideal would be that he turned upon Aethelbad and lost, but that is rather unlikely. He's probably been searching all night, or has broken into my house and is waiting there.** Well, she would disappoint him by not going home to begin with. She determined that after walking back to London's bridge, she would go and buy some clean, warm clothes, and do half a day's work by the docks to see if Gerald turns up. If he hadn't, then she'll just drop hints to some 'admirers' that she's been pestered and would several (ie more than just one) of them care to escort her home. There was no need to face Gerald alone if she didn't have to, after all. She determined that at some point she ought to get some chain-mail made for when these sort of circumstances repeat themselves. But not until Gerald has gone. <><><><><> [GM] Naturally, there are plenty of big, strong men who eagerly offer their services, along with many graphic descriptions of what they'll do to the fellow who's bothering you. It's kind of amusing how a bunch of crude dockworkers and sailors and unemployed mercenaries can resemble eager puppies around a woman. Not that you dare forget what their true motives are. Before you're ready to leave, however, you sense the ominous buzz of another Immortal approaching. To your immense relief, it turns out to be Aethelbad, who comes plodding up the street and steps onto the pier where you are currently chatting with a young sailor from Northumbria, who it turns out was born in a village not far from yours. "A word with ye, lass?" Aethelbad rumbles, his face set in an unreadable frown. <><><><><> [Agnes] "Of course, Aethelbad. You wouldn't happen to know where Gerald is by any chance? Once I'd fallen in the river, I decided to pospone any confrontation with him until today." <><><><><> [GM] Aethelbad nods. "Actually, I told 'im 'e had until sundown to get out of London, or else he'd better be prepared to face ME. I wa'n't sure if ye'd kept runnin' or would come back. But be that as it may." He shrugs massively. "If'n ye want to try to hide until he leaves, I won' say another word about it....but, ye can't hide forever, lass. Gerald'll come back sooner or later, or another Immortal will. An' I can't protect ye all the time. Runnin' is a bad habit to get into. It ain't just about honor, ye mark me? You decide how ye want to deal with Gerald this time....but I'm tellin' ye right now....London is not goin' to be yer sanctuary forever." His eyes bore into yours, with none of his usual light-hearted mirth; you're reminded of those times when Peter would suddenly give you a look that thoroughly unnerved you, years and ages past reflecting from his eyes. Centuries of survival and the marks they've left on him are etched on Aethelbad's face now, and he doesn't seem like a rustic, good-natured giant at all; he seems like someone who would be very, very dangerous to cross. It's easy to see why Gerald decided you would be a preferable opponent. <><><><><> [Agnes] Agnes matches Aethelbad's gaze for a while, until the shivers run down her spine. "Thank you, Aethelbad, I'll take your advice. I will prepare to leave London. Meanwhile, I suppose I'll go home and see if Gerald is there." Assuming Aethelbad has no more to say, Agnes returns to hger 'admirers' and with a sweet smile suggests that they might want to make sure she has no trouble getting home, by walking a ways behind an in front of her as she heads back that way. <><><><><> [GM] Aethelbad's look softens, slightly. "Ye don' have to leave right away, lass," he says gently. "I'm just tellin' ye, 'tis best to start thinkin' 'bout the future. Two of our kind, even what's on friendly terms, rarely feel....comf'table, livin' in close quarters fer long. We're a solitary race....s'nice to see old friends now an' then, but we needs our space. If'n ye don' feel that yet, ye will after a while. Yer very young...." The closest thing you've ever seen to a wistful expression goes across the big Gaul's face, then he shakes his head. "I'd recommend ye deal with Gerald now, 'cause I don't think he's too old either, an' ye might have a better chance of takin' him now a'fore he goes out and gets hisself a lot more experience. T'other hand, with his attitude he's as likely t'get hisself kilt bitin' off more'n he can chew, so mebbe ye want to hope fer that option. S'up to ye, lass." He shrugs, and leaves you. Your eager protectors accompany you home....and you do indeed sense the warning buzz as you near your house. You spot Gerald, leaning idly against the corner of your house, still in armor. He's chewing on a piece of meat. He looks at you, and your entourage, and smiles sardonically, then slips into the shadows of the alley between your house and that of your neighbor. <><><><><> [Agnes] "That's him!" She shouts, pointing out Gerald as he slips into the shadows. "That's the man who's been pestering me!" Agnes was momentarily thrown. The weakness of her planning showing up once more. She hadn't expected her opponent to be standing quite so brazenly outside her house, and hence see her assistance arrive with her. She continues walking towards her house, where Gerald was standing, trying to decide what to do: to chase after him or to wait for him. After too long a pause she heads for the alley, drawing her sword out of her scabbard as she goes. The sound of the sword running against the metal at the top of the scabbard sends shivers down her spine. **This is it!** she thinks, **Wish me luck, Peter.** Her pace quickens as she tries to keep the sense of Gerald's presence present. Her eyes dart about, searching the shadows ahead for signs of ambush, and desperately trying to remember Peter's teachings. <><><><><> [GM] Two sometimes-soldiers shout "Hey you!" and set off running in pursuit of Gerald. Another man, the owner of several ships and a regular seller to you, grabs your upper arm. "What are you doing, Agnes?" he asks, as you seem ready to follow. "Let them get the ruffain, or at least drive him away. Hmmm, he certainly was well-armed. Perhaps we should go speak to the local militia captain?" <><><><><> [Agnes] Agnes stops short as the man pulls on her arm. "Yes, you're right." she replies to him, torn between sorting out the problrem with Gerald the immortal way, or resting once more to the mortal way. But on reflection she decides that she hasn't prepared herself nearly well enough to leave at a moment's notice, that that is what she might have to do if she killed Gerald in front of witnesses. "Let's find the guard, shall we?" she says, looking at him properly for the first time in this incident. <><><><><> [GM] The militia captain listens to your story, while looking you up and down appraisingly, and particularly staring at your sword. "Why is this man harassing you?" he asks. "Part of some spoiled tryst?" After giving whatever explanations you see fit to give, the captain gathers a group of his men and go combing the streets around your house. A cry arises, when they find something. Brian Westland, the merchant captain who's been accompanying you, attempts to hold you back from joining the guards in investigating the source of commotion. <><><><><> [Agnes] Her story that this man Gerald had tried to rape her when she was in the North and as she had fled had shouted after her that 'he would have her eventually - or ensure that noone else ever did.' It was a threat she took seriously - so much so that she always wore a sword. The captain had seemed satisfied with that and the rest of the story: enough anyway that they were scouring the streets. There was commotion ahead, and as she went towards it, Brian Westland, held her back by the arm. She paused. She wasn't sure she could hear a fight. If there wasn't one that would mean .... "No, Brian, I have to see what it is." she said, attempting to gently disengage her arm from his hand and move towards the scene. She was beginning to fill with remorse. She knew that it wouldn't be Gerald: so it had to be one or more of the men _she_ sent after him. She had sent them to her deaths, because she was too afraid to fight her own fights! She pushed through past the others to confirm her fears. The sight of one body was enough. She turned away, condemming herself. "Please take me home, Brian." <><><><><> [GM] As you expected, it is one of your erstwhile protectors who lies dead in the alley.....decapitated. When you and Brian get back to your home, you find a message carved crudely into your door with the point of a sword: "Agnes Ill be bak" Brian frowns. "You know," he says. "Perhaps someone should....stay with you. For your own protection." He clears his throat. "Or....there is cabin space on my ship...you would certainly be safe there." <><><><><> [Agnes] Agnes stared at the careved words ... 'Ill be bak' She was in no doubt that he would be. When Brian made his embarrassed offer she didn't know what to say. Her first impulse was to accept, and go back to his ship, but then she remembered Aehtelbad's words. To do that would be to start down the path of running away. If she was to do that she would have been better taking up Peter's original offer of getting her into a convent. "Thank you Brian, but I will not be frightened out of staying in my own property. But I might take you up on the offer of cabin on your next voyage. I would quite like to see some of these exotic foreign ports you captains all go on about." She hesitates by the door... she has no doubt that he'd stay to protect her here, but she also knows that Gerald would kill him if he did so. "I'll be quite safe tonight Brian, I'll lock all the doors and bar the shutters as soon as you go, aand I'll come and visit you tomorrow to show all's well." She smiles her sweet smile, "What do you say?" <><><><><> [GM] Brian hesitates, then smiles and bows. "It would be my pleasure," he says, and takes your hand in his and kisses it, before releasing you. Despite your state of alertness, you sense no Quickening all night. When morning comes, you're tired, but go out to check the docks and see Brian as promised, nonetheless. Still no Quickening stirs you. You do learn that Gerald killed three men last night; the man you saw, the other man who initially ran after him, and a militiaman who also caught up to the Cornwaller. That unfortunate guardsman's spearhead was covered with blood, so he clearly inflicted a serious wound on Gerald before getting hacked through the ribs. The guards, of course, expected that finding a mortally-wounded man would involve little more than following the trail of blood. You, of course, were not surprised when they failed. By the end of the week, it seems that Gerald must have taken Aethelbad's threat seriously, and having met the immense Gaul-turned- "Saxon", apparently decided that was one opponent he wasn't ready to challenge yet. Neither you nor Aethelbad sense any other immortal in London. A week after that, Captain Westland is preparing to sail to Spain, and comes to take you up on your offer to accompany him. <><><><><> [Agnes] Agnes has spend the week regularising her affairs for a long-ish absence. She has hidden some money and jewelry in the outhouse, bought some rings and some warm clothes for the journey. She visited Aethelbad and told him that she was making her first gentle steps into the wide world. That she had to have porters carry trunk came as a bit of of a surprise, after all it had not been many years ago that her sole possession was her wedding ring - not even any clothes. But now, well there was her bible, her abacus, pens, inks, parchment, a ledger, not to mention several changes of clothes, sewing darning and weaving equipment and yarn ... She walks back with Brian to his ship, boarding it as she has many times before, but this time remaining on board when it sails. She watches back at London as it disappears quickly round a bend in the Thames, and then watches forward as a new world unfolds before her. <><><><><> [GM] 801 A.D. Oviedo ..... Though not as large as London, Oviedo, the major port city of the Kingdom of Asturia, has a greater impact on you when you first see it. Part of it is that you're coming from the sea, which lays much of the city before you as you approach, whereas your humble entrance to London by road only exposed you to a few streets at a time, and it wasn't until you reached the heart of the city that you really began to appreciate its size. Oviedo, however, is also *foreign*. Not wholly alien, as its people are still Christians, and some common cultural elements have spread throughout the European Christian world, largely facilitated by Charlemagne's empire to the north. But here on the northern coast of Spain, where the tiny kingdom of Asturia is the last bastion of Christianity on the Iberian peninsula, Latin and Gallic remnants merge with encroaching Islamic influence while trying to imitate some of the grandeur of the Carolingans, and the result is a medly of languages and fashions and architectural styles, smells and colors, plants and weather, that is all completely new to you. London was very different from your Northumbrian village, but Oviedo is a whole new world. Brian Westland stood on the deck with you, enjoying your anticipation and trepidation as you stare out at the approaching docks. Brian is a good man. He's not as gentle or as flirtatious as Kai, and doesn't have Kai's sense of humor, but he's respected the boundaries you've set, despite his obvious desire for you. And he has his crew under tight control; not one of the sailors has gotten out of hand, though nothing can prevent the appraising stares and whispered jokes that follow you everywhere. He's traveled up and down the European coastline, always during the "off-season" for Viking raids, though the danger of pirates is always present. He's even been farther south than Asturia, trading with the Emirate, but he's not venturing that far on this trip. You hang closely by Brian once you make land. He shows you the sights of the city, and, with greater patience than Aethelbad, accompanies you on a shopping trip through the markets, smiling while you choose bolts of fabric and some bits of jewelry and a nice Oriental tapestry at a price a fraction of what you know it would be sold in England. Brian complements your eye for quality, and buys some more of your selections in bulk. You meet another immortal in Oviedo. When the shivering in your spine alerted you, Brian turned to look at you in surprise and pleasure- because, you realized, you had suddenly seized his hand and squeezed it tightly. The sensation that had become so familiar to you while living in London had gradually become unfamiliar again on your trip across the sea. Thus it struck with renewed force here in this foreign city, generating almost as much dread as that first time on Lindesfarne. The man who surfaced from the crowds, with searching gaze, appeared to be a merchant, albeit the small curved sword at his side looked quite functional. His eyes followed you and Brian as you strolled away, probably trying to determine which of you was the immortal. He caught up with the pair of you at an inn, approaching casually and initiating friendly conversation with Brian, whom he identified as a fellow merchant. His name is Sancho Aristeles. He speaks only a few words of Anglo-Saxon, so you have to rely on Brian to translate. By carefully- worded questions and dropped hints, you and he are able to acknowledge one another while Brian remains ignorant of the subtext to this conversation. Sancho comments, while looking at you meaningfully, "I only carry a sword for self-protection....I've found this region is fairly safe, but you can never be too careful down in the Caliphate; some of those Moslems can be *very* aggressive. They'll cut off your head at the slightest provocation. I imagine there are probably some men in England the same way, eh?" Brian, missing the significance of course, laughs. "What's all this talk about violence, I'm sure Agnes doesn't want to listen to talk about cutting off heads!" Brian actually seems to become rather uneasy, maybe misreading the covert looks passing back and forth between you and Sancho, and suggests it's time to return to the ship. Sancho nods and waves and says something that you think might have been directed at you, but while Brian smiles and replies to the Spanish immortal, he declines to translate. Back on board Brian's ship that evening, you enjoy a candelit dinner with the captain. You enjoy talking about all your new experiences, and Brian tells some more anecdotes about his other journeys, and where you're going next; he plans to hug the coast on his way back, making several stops at ports on the edge of Charlemagne's Holy Roman Empire, before finally veering west to return to England. And then he asks you to marry him. <><><><><> [Agnes] Agnes walked round the town with a certain degree of wonderment, and a certain degree of relief. It wasn't that there was anything wrong with the ship, nor any tangable danger, it was just that once they had left the relative shelter of the Thames estuary she felt a little uncomfortable. Her discomfort had increased the further from short the ship went, and increased at night when she could no longer see the shore. She had said nothing to Brian, for she felt she knew the ultimate source of these feelings. Walking on dry land anywhere would have been a relief, but in such a city as this it had been a joy. Sancho Aristeles had been pleasant enough. She had repayed his warning about the caliphate by saying that vikings intermittantly terrorised England and the seas around it and they had a similar reputation, before allowing Brian to redirect the conversation. Actually she found herself almost understanding much of what Sancho said, especially with Brian's translations to confirm her guesses, as the language he spoke was not too far removed from Latin. It was a pity Brian hadn't translated the last bit - but he must have had a reason - for she didn't really understand 'Don't get too excited' as a parting quip: perhaps he used a colloquialism that didn't translate well. "May the grace of God go with you" she replied to him in Latin, as they left. Brian's proposal was inevitable really. She remembered the time with Peter on the boat from Lindesfarne, and realised that only now was she even beginning to understand the hurt her words must have caused. She takes Brains haands in her own and looks into his eyes. "Brian, many years back, a monk whom I trusted absolutely, told me that I will never bear children. I had no reason to doubt his knowledge then, nor have I now. I want you to think on that, for I would bear you no heirs." She rises and kisses his hands. "If you wish, ask me that question again in the morning, and I shall reply 'yes'. And should you not ask the question, I shall bear you no ill." <><><><><> [GM] There's no mistaking Brian's disappointed look when you tell him you can't bear him children. You think, when you go to bed, that he probably will not ask again tomorrow. But he does. Over breakfast, you both uncomfortably try to make small talk, and finally he sets his food down. "I'll be honest, I was hoping for some sons, to carry on after I'm gone, it's what any man hopes for," Brian says. "But.....I find I still want you as my wife, Agnes. It's a shame, if you're barren as that monk said, but he could be wrong. And even if he's not..." Brian shrugs. "Nothing is certain anyway. Some men have a dozen children, and see them all wiped out by a plague, or slaughtered by Viking raiders. Fate is a fickle thing...any sailor knows that. I'll take what God gives me. I'll take you, if you'll still say yes." <><><><><> [Agnes] Agnes sets aside her immortality, and the fact that other immortals will try to kill her: for she has been lonely all this time since Kai's death. "Of course, I'll marry you, Brian." she replies. <><><><><> [GM] Brian beams, and kisses your hand. Then he asks "Do you need time to prepare....or shall we go to the church in town tomorrow and tell the priest we'd like to arrange a wedding?" He hesitates. "If that's too soon for you, we *could* wait until we get back to London....." But you imagine Brian will be a very impatient man indeed on the voyage back! <><><><><> [Agnes] Agnes hugs him saying, "Lets go and find the priest now." and then its hard to tell who is the most eager as they head back into town towards the prominent church.