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 Posted: Thu Nov 24, 2011 4:43 pm
$$$
:: table of contents
$$$
Vade Mecum :: Billy Collins
I want the scissors to be sharp
and the table to be perfectly level
when you cut me out of my life
and paste me into that book you always carry.
...........................[solo] i. cloak and dagger
...........................[prp]. ii. all in the wrist
...........................[orp]. iii. be still
...........................[solo] iv. the infamous thief of Imisus
...........................[prp]. v. rules of the road
...........................[prp]. vi. little black book
...........................[solo] vii. thresholds
...........................[solo] viii. lockpick gavotte
...........................[prp]. ix. breaking and entering
...........................[solo] x. a crow's contract
...........................[mrp].xi. merchants of death
...........................[solo] xii. masque of ghosts
...........................[solo] xiii. to every light, a shadow
navy =orp, red = meta, purple = mission?
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Posted: Thu Nov 24, 2011 6:52 pm
:: i. cloak and dagger [solo] IN WHICH
Artemis Kalends' FAITHFUL SATCHEL GIVES HIM PAUSE
AND OUR THIEF MAKES A BUSINESS ARRANGEMENT
__________________________________
$ accomplices :: Harkeet Maldeve
$ scene of the crime :: Imisus: Edgecrest. Market District
$$$ Fingers dusted with soot clasped the strap of the bag, fingering it perhaps not lovingly, but with a closeness, a familiarity that wasn't normal to their motions. His hand's movements were precise, emotionless, trained to perfection in his subtle arts, and had the nonsense fidgeting slapped out of them long ago.
It wasn't a caress. That would be a stretch, even for his preferential treatment of the satchel. It must be understood that emotion, while hooded at best, was never shown to inanimate objects-- his sense of practicality would never allow it. Ultimately, the satchel was still a tool and it had performed its function well.
So not a caress, but an appreciation, he decided, fingers sliding over the tooled leather as he slid the bag over his head and fastened his cloak around himself. It was with an appreciation of the decay of objects over time that he tucked the clasps in and buckled it, and an acknowledgment that, even after years went by and quality rotted away with them, some things would still function as perfectly as the day he obtained them. It was the silent nod of a good well done.
The lockpicks were in his hand without a thought; they were indistinct,if not for fact that he'd held them when the incident occurred, he would have forgotten them entirely. Reaching back to the satchel to drop them inside as always and reach for the door, he recoiled as though something had bitten him.
Betrayal had been a familiar flavor to him all his life, like the iron tang of blood from a busted lip, but this was different. He laughed, but stopped it short, uncorking a fine vintage and then stoppering it again, sounding hollow and cold. Betrayed by an item? By a bag that would no longer hold goods? He'd be a fool to keep it.
But a mocking little voice whispered that he'd been a fool for treating the satchel differently in the first place.
It was, at its heart, still a tool.
$$$
Harkeet Maldeve paced along the confines of the back-alley, each step deepening his feeling of dread. This was not the place that the young merchant was accustomed to frequent; he was far more comfortable in the jostling fury of voices and bodies in the Market District, colorful with new wares coming in from the docks daily and the fanfare of merchants anxious to sell them. Even though his arms ached from waving over potential customers and his voice wore out around closing time, he savored the hustle and company of people. He was like many of the merchants in the city, always eager for a competitive advantage.
Maybe, he thought as he worried his lip, he'd been a little too eager.
Harkeet stood alone in the alleyway, save for the drunks and destitute beggars lining the walls, the latter mumbling blessings to their benefactors and the former humming and hiccuping in their sleep. Harkeet was an honest man by nature, or at least he told himself. A transaction like this went far beyond his normal sphere of business. Sure, he saw the advantages. His stall would have more exotic goods than many others in the marketplace, but he would also be associating with...well, a less than sterling member of the city.
Harkeet steeled himself, bristling at his own thoughts of backing down. No, he would see this through to the end. He was more than a good enough businessman to handle it. And besides, how badly could this go? He had the advantage, after all.
Not long after that, the man Harkeet was waiting for slipped into sight. Harkeet wouldn't have been able to spot him in the thinning crowd, for he looked like any other of Eldecrest's inhabitants, but as he turned swiftly down the alleyway, small things stood out: his walk-- still fluid and elegant despite the seedy section of the district he'd entered, how the hood of his cloak hid his eyes, and the quick way the beggar who reached out for the hem of his garments recoiled when the man aimed a quick kick at him.
No conscience, no reservation, no mercy. Harket swallowed, several unpleasant scenarios running through his head. Yes, there was no mistaking it. This was him.
"Hail, good sir." Harkeet smiled, inclining his head slightly in greeting, but not enough to reveal the fragile skin on the nape of his neck. "Well met."
The mouth under the hood curled into a mocking smile. Harkeet swallowed, but to his credit kept his facade of calm.
"You may be adequate for the commercial dealings of that out there, but unless you learn caution, I assure you that you will not last long in my employ. We had a signal. Did you use it? Of course not. I have my enemies and soon, if you do not continue to disappoint me, they will become yours as well. And they will not hesitate to remove you for your carelessness." The man's hood moved a fraction to the left and then to the right, as though checking for something, and then, once satisfied, a gloved hand came up and pushed back the hood.
He was a young man, Harkeet noticed. Still barely of age. Harkeet had imagined someone scarred, bloodied, pieces of flesh missing from card games and gambles turned sour. None of that-- the man was clean-shaven, mostly well-kept, even. But all Harkeet had to do was to meet the young man's eyes and he had no doubts that all the rumors about him were true.
"I can almost swear to you in blood that there will be impostors," Artemis Kalends said, "ones who will walk almost like me, dress like me, and will not wait for you to make your pathetic pleas before they slit your throat when they find out that you are my entry to the marketplace. I thought that our mutual acquaintance was quite clear about this when he outlined the arrangement to you."
Harkeet struggled to re-establish himself. "Oh no, I mean," he swallowed again, his throat mysteriously dry, "I will be more careful in the future."
"See to it." Kalends' eyes has a feral gleam. "If I find you are not, and believe me I will, remember that it need not be an impostor that seeks you out. I don't tolerate mistakes."
The shiver was something that Harkeet could not repress. He kept repeating to himself that the money was worth it, the money was worth it, kept replaying the images of him and his wife, and their small daughter outfitted in noblemen's frocks, the dream of his daughter marrying well with the bountiful dowry he would be able to provide through this deal. It was perhaps the only thing that kept him going, made him stick his hand out and fight the urge to tremble as he shook on it with the thief.
Kalends' grip, in contrast, was sure and firm. The merchant could feel a line of scar tissue running up the palm and was anxious to break the contact.
The thief sighed inwardly at his choice of a broker. Sure, he knew Harkeet was a cunning man, or so he'd been promised. Goods through his store would be difficult to trace back to their origins, though if their owners had the eyes of a hawk his modest stall would not escape their notice. Still, since leaving the Guild, it was a risk that Kalends had had to take. While he could pinch shillings from the pockets of passersby all day long, getting paid for his nighttime exploits would be far more rewarding. The merchant could have done with more backbone, though, rather than treat Kalends as the incarnation of evil.
"This is my face." Kalends said and Harkeet jumped. Rolling his eyes, the thief held back another exasperated sigh and continued. "Commit it to your memory. I will not always present myself so plainly before you. I hope," he arched a brow at the man, "that you at least possess some weapon?"
Harkeet mumbled something that sounded vaguely like a yes.
Kalends narrowed his eyes. He doubted it. Even if the merchant did have any weapon on him, he wouldn't be proficient enough to defend himself.
"To business, then." The thief reached for the clasp of the satchel around his shoulders, but then stopped, as though catching himself in a bad habit. Harkeet had noticed, so Kalends smoothed the anger out of his hand and instead made to brush off the dust on his cloak.
Then, he redirected his hand into the folds of his robes and pulled out an oddly shaped package, covered with a dirty fabric. Gingerly, he unwrapped a corner for Harkeet to peek in.
A silver candelabra glimmered back at the merchant with garnets inset into the base and fine carvings worked around the sides. It had been a blacksmith's finest work, a gift from a noble lord to his granddaughter on her wedding. She'd treasured it, boasted of it to her society friends, and dared thieves to brave her husband's guardsmen to steal it. Like so many before her, she had been careless.
"As a gesture of good faith, here is the first payment for your services." This time, Kalends remembered himself and did not go for the satchel but instead fished in a pocket briefly and held out a small scrap of paper for the merchant to take. The motion revealed the hilt of a dagger strapped to the thief's belt. "And here is the location of the drop point. As discussed, you will leave receipts of your sales here and the proceeds of my items will go towards credit at your shop. Occasionally, there may be a list of items to be purchased left at the point or a request for a certain amount of money. You will buy them and deposit them at the drop point and then take the money used out of my credit. Understood?"
A good merchant haggled a little, beat the opposing party down, made the deal a little sweeter for himself. Kalends knew this.
But Artemis Kalends also had a certain effect on people.
And despite being a fairly good merchant, Harkeet just accepted the candelabra with palms so sweaty that it nearly fell to the ground and nodded.
Kalends flashed him a grin, the manic tilt of his smile flickering in his eyes. He enjoyed having this effect, riding on the terror of his reputation more than the meat of the business itself. "I'll be watching."
Harkeet's mouth was still open as the thief disappeared back into the alleyway again, his dark grey cloak swirling about him. He did not notice the small form of a orphan girl reaching out to the man pleadingly as he was about to turn back onto the street, and nor did he see the waif cry out and scuttle back as the thief passed.
The man had a reputation. One did not ask for help of Artemis Kalends, both because the man would never give it and because the form that help might take would probably be more sinister than the original problem.
"Business as usual, then." Harkeet muttered, trying to shake off his chills as began the long walk back to his stall. What had he gotten himself into?
Somewhere else, in the writhing froth of city streets, another man was asking himself the same question.
$$$
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Posted: Sat Feb 04, 2012 12:28 pm
:: ii. all in the wrist [prp] IN WHICH
Artemis Kalends DIVULGES HIS PICKPOCKETING SECRETS
- in progress -__________________________________ $ accomplices :: Toshua Green
$ scene of the crime :: Imisus: Edgecrest[ all in the wrist ]$$$
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Posted: Sat Feb 04, 2012 12:50 pm
:: iii. be still [orp] IN WHICH
Artemis Kalends AGREES TO A MYSTERIOUS MEETING,
IS DRUGGED AND KIDNAPPED, ALMOST LOSES HIS SATCHEL,
AND THEN INSULTS A MERCENARY ON THE WAY OUT__________________________________ $ accomplices :: Maeve la Chance, hints of Kalyan Umesh.
$ scene of the crime :: Helios[ be still ]$$$
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Posted: Sat Feb 04, 2012 2:56 pm
:: iv. the infamous thief of Imisus [solo] IN WHICH
Artemis Kalends LEAPS FROM THE FRYING PAN INTO THE FIRE,
DECLINES AN IRONIC ESCORT OUT OF A STRANGE CITY,
AND OPTS INSTEAD FOR A FAST EXIT STAGE LEFT
__________________________________
$ accomplices :: none
$ scene of the crime :: Imisus: Chestering
$$$ When he woke up after the teleportation, Artemis Kalends had surmised that he would be in Edgecrest again, perhaps in a cell, perhaps stowed discreetly in an alleyway and left to his own devices. What he had not expected, though, was to find himself and his satchel (at last returned to him) in a strange building with windows that overlooked a city that he did not know.
As a thief, he did not travel much. The port city where he had grown up in had provided more than enough adventure and mystery to tempt him with; when he was younger, ships from all nations of Profugus had docked at Edgecrest to barter and unload their goods for trade, and he'd been mesmerized by the strange treasures, foods, and clothing that he saw being unloaded by the grumbling sailors. However, that was a long time ago. Panymium's ports had been closed to foreign trade and long before that, Kalends had ceased paying attention to the comings and goings of ships, instead focusing on his training. His mentor had told him that there might come a time when Kalends might find it prudent to leave the city and let unwanted attention fade, and while he agreed with the sentiment, Kalends hadn't expected to be out of Edgecrest so soon.
Now his lack of travel was startlingly apparent. He felt like a creature from another world, some denizen summoned up from its hell to do its master's bidding in a city that was as populated as his but wasn't. One look outside confirmed that the Guard's presence in this city was something to be reckoned with. He laughed to himself, half out of a feeling of what-in-hell-do-I-do-now and half predatory. Someday, when he was feeling up for a supreme challenge, he come back and see what name he could make for himself here.
As it was now, he needed to be about his way. Groggily shaking off the last traces of the spell-- and realizing in himself a sudden distaste for magic -- Kalends asked one of the scientists where he was and was shocked at the answer.
Chestering.
Sure, he'd known about it. Chestering was the closest headquarters of a large number of Guardsmen to Edgecrest. He swallowed. Had he been double-crossed after all? What had that silver man called him-- the "infamous thief of Imisus" or something? It certainly sounded like people were starting to hear of him.
Pulse quickening, he nodded at the man and proceeded to the door. If he had truly been a captive, he would have been chained, at the very least. Well, Kalends would have recommended that he be chained. And watched, too. His lockpicks, ferreted away up one of his bracers, were a comforting presence. Perhaps these scientists had never attempted to hold a thief before. Maybe they were new at this still. He had been tricked once already into thinking that safe passage meant that he would be free from the prying eyes of the Guard, and he would not be fooled again so easily, not in a city like this.
His hand was about to open the door when he looked out the window into the street before the building. A coach was waiting there, replete with a collection of Guardsmen making idle conversation.
Kalends nearly had a conniption. His gloved hand slipped off the door handle like it had bitten him. What was this? Was this to be his transportation to a prison?
At once, he rounded on the scientist who had shown him the exit, his eyes dark and calculating like a cornered animal. Guardsmen might be too much for him, but a single man trained only in academia? Probably not.
However, before Kalends could so much as reach for his dagger, the scientist cheerfully explained that the carriage outside was for him, Artemis Kalends, and should he choose to accept it, would provide him with passage to Edgecrest.
Kalends snorted. Passage to Edgecrest, his a**. While he would have loved to have ridden (escorted by the Guard, no less!) in a carriage back to his city in glory, the practicality of the situation won out. Surely there would be one or more of those Guardsmen who would know him, and if they didn't, someone in Edgecrest was bound to point out their mistake if they didn't realize it along the road. No, he decided, that escort was waiting for someone else, not him.
Kalends instead asked if there were a back door which he might leave by, citing his reason as a desire to explore the city. The scientist nodded, gestured to a door to the side, and pressed a bag into Kalends' hands, and the thief was off.
He realized belatedly that the bag was the purse of fifty shillings that he had been promised at the beginning of this mess. With his fee and satchel still in tow, Kalends set off to the marketplace to purchase supplies. He ruefully admitted that it would be foolish to try and make off with anything here with the staggering presence of military around, and so bought a map of Panymium, a water flask, a few loaves of bread, some flint and tinder, a few apples, a spare dagger, and a warmer cloak.
He traced the path on his map from Chestering to Edgecrest. It looked like quite the trek, but Kalends figured that he could barter for rides from farmers as he got closer to the city. He fell in with fellow travelers at the city gates, only too glad to be making his exit.
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Posted: Mon Feb 06, 2012 8:21 pm
:: v. rules of the road [prp] IN WHICH
A WINDING WAY LEADS Artemis Kalends TO MEET A CURIOUS MAN
AND HIS FINE MAGPIE COMPANION__________________________________ $ accomplices :: Reynard Irving
$ scene of the crime :: Imisus: plains near Persea & Montburg[ rules of the road ]$$$
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Posted: Tue Feb 07, 2012 1:13 pm
:: vi. little black book [prp] IN WHICH
A ROAD-WEARY Artemis Kalends ACTS LIKE A DRUNK
AND STEALS ANOTHER MAN'S LITTLE BLACK BOOK__________________________________ $ accomplices :: Drustan Carmody
$ scene of the crime :: Imisus: Prybridge. Warehouses.[ little black book ]$$$
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Posted: Tue Feb 07, 2012 1:14 pm
:: vii. thresholds [solo] IN WHICH
Artemis Kalends CARAVANS WEST TO EDGECREST
AND STEELS HIMSELF FOR A ROUGH HOMECOMING
__________________________________
$ accomplices :: a few traders
$ scene of the crime :: caravan: Prybridge -> Edgecrest
$$$ A cooler wind wound through the forests that linked the two cities than Kalends was used to, and he pulled his much-abused traveling cloak close.
Finally, he would be going back to Edgecrest. His almost ached to see his city again, the city that he had learnt like a map or a lesson inscribed by a tutor on a slate. He would have thought a few days ago that his excitement would be more pronounced than this, that he'd want to urge the horses of the caravan to move faster and get him where he belonged as soon as possible.
Instead, Kalends was apprehensive. Since leaving Edgecrest, several things had made themselves clear to him. One was that someone seemed to think that he was in possession of a Plague, foolish notion that that was. Another was that great changes seemed to be sweeping across the country, courtesy of an ever more unstable ruling power. If he truly had been a Grimm, he would have been worried. Still another thing was the fact that Kalends' time away from his home hadn't exactly been as unbearable as he had thought that it would have been. He'd met a mercenary, a self-proclaimed wanderer, and a merchant. But even more than that, the thief had (except for a brief scare in Chestering) not been chased. He had exercised his usual level of caution and been able to move freely, without looking over his shoulder for unfriendly followers from the Thieves' Guild or lesser thieves wishing to take his place.
For a short while, Artemis Kalends had been anonymous, no more than just another name in a sea of names across Panymium.
He bit his lip, thinking. He's arranged for a safe house in Prybridge, the closest city, reachable either by foot, caravan, or ship, provided that the ports were open. He had more options now, an ally (of sorts, should he choose to masquerade as a Grimm again), and he'd gotten away from his pursuers. Now that the distance was closing between him and the city again, the old fear was creeping back. He would again become the thief that was known not only for his skill with a lockpick, but also for his rashness in quitting one of the city's most venerable guilds. He would be an object of distrust and fascination, the same as he had always been, a careless subject of conversation before business hours between shopkeepers wondering if he had died yet. Surely being gone for so long would have raised some questions. After all, he had been very clearly meandering through Edgecrest's vegetable market when he had been approached by that Scientist; to those who knew of him, it must have seemed like the thief had vanished into thin air.
Maybe, he thought, he would pass it off as that. His mentor, after all, had warned him that there may come a time when leaving Edgecrest would be more profitable than staying in it. Kalends hadn't been able to see how. His reputation depended on his presence-- a phantom of a thief frightened no one. Even now, he might be seen as weak, people might think that he had gotten scared and gone into hiding.
But he had gained something as well.
Well, maybe kept would have been the better word. Kalends glanced at his satchel, his hand subconsciously touching one of its buckles to double-check that it was truly there. He had more information. If he had stolen something plagued, something that he could not get out of his satchel no matter how hard he tried to open it, then he would need to be able to disappear and re-appear at will.
He'd learnt that he would go to great lengths to protect it, a bag that he ascribed a value to despite its inability to be of use to him anymore. If it were broken lockpicks, a tattered cloak, or chipped blades, he would have gotten rid of them a long time ago. Kalends snickered to himself. What a fool he was. He was just like the rest of them, those idiots he stole from who cherished things worth nothing in the market place like old kettles and rusted tools, their utility faded with time.
Precious items that were otherwise useless. He targeted them and yet he seemed to have formed an attachment of his own.
Artemis Kalends narrowed his eyes, already scanning the skyline for Edgecrest's spires. A good thief was ruthless and did not let emotion get in the way of his decisions. He would not be like the rest of them. But if his choice was as easy as that, why the hell was he so reluctant to give the satchel up? He didn't know. For once, he didn't know.
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Posted: Tue Feb 07, 2012 1:15 pm
:: viii. lockpick gavotte [solo] IN WHICH
Artemis Kalends IS PURSUED BY THIEVES
AND EXPRESSES HIS FEELINGS WITH LOCKPICKS
__________________________________
$ accomplices :: none
$ scene of the crime :: Imisus: Edgecrest.
$$$ The cold stone of the rooftop spread out beneath him like an ocean, an earthly mirror of the sea the moon ruled in the sky above him. His movements were quick, easy, dancing over roof tiles, his body as lithe as a cat's leaping from building to building, landing softly and hiding in the shadows of chimneys where he could.
It was not unusual for him to take to climbing roofs on nights like this.
The last time he'd been in Edgecrest he'd been innocently contemplating a cabbage (or at least as innocently as Artemis Kalends could ever do anything) and had been foolish enough to agree to a meeting for the promise of fifty shillings and information. He'd nearly lost his most prized possession, useless though it had become to him, and then gotten lost on his way back to his city. He'd enjoyed being able to revel as a thief again in Prybridge, but now that he was back in the city where he had learnt, a city that was as much as part of him as his right hand or his grace, Kalends was truly in his element.
His shoulders twitched, with the feral slant of an animal that knows that it's being watched.
But it hadn't all been thieving and celebrations. Others had noticed with interest the disappearance and return of Artemis Kalends. Tonight, Kalends had already had three different tails that he'd had to shake off, two of which he was certain were envoys from the Thieves' Guild, meant to glean information from him about his whereabouts for the past few weeks. The last one he wasn't sure about. And that was what worried him most.
He was good enough to shake them off, but only that. They would be back again and follow him until he managed to hide or run away. Kalends swore in an exhalation of breath, the white cloud forming and dissipating quickly in the cold air. His absence had only seemed to make the Guild more desperate to get to him now that a sighting of him had been confirmed. Feeling along the edge of the roof, he gingerly lowered himself to a window, slid one of his lockpicks between the crack in the sill, and undid the latch.
The room was quiet. From what Kalends had been able to glean, it was a rarely used attic space of a middling household. There was nothing in it that captured his interest as an object of value, but the building had faced away from the light of the moon and was mostly in darkness, affording him the cover that he needed to remain out of sight of the people who would soon be following him again. Being a thief carried with it the caveat of constant paranoia or death. It was something that he had learned to live with given the other option, but not something that he wanted to rule him. Although right now, he would be wrong to think that he could let his guard down for a moment.
What Kalends was looking for was pushed up against one of the back walls, coated with dust. Ordinarily, he wouldn't bother with something as obvious as this, but since the family rarely came up here, he reasoned that the dust would probably have time to re-accumulate before they next visited this spot. If not, then they would hardly be able to provide an explanation.
The trunk was made out of wood and brass fastenings, but this was not what interested the thief. It was the lock that clamped down on its front that Kalends knelt in front of, sliding his twin lockpicks out from their sheaths in his bracers, and began to work at it. The contents of the trunk weren't important to him: it was the lock he had come for, the lock that was his goal.
Gently, Kalends slid the lockpick in his right hand into the lock and held it steady, feeling the gears shift around in the metal chasing like he was picking up a familiar game piece, or testing out a pair of dice that he hadn't used in a while. Then, he maneuvered the other flat piece of metal into the lock, slowly testing for give in different directions, careful not to push too hard to break anything.
That was the key, not being too rough. At least, that was what his mentor had said before he died. The man had been one of Edgecrest's best locksmiths after his age would no longer allow him to be a capable thief. Still, he hadn't let it bother him too much. More important than what sort of task you do is being the best you can at it. Kalends mouthed his old mentor's words to himself as he plied the lock. The man had passed his training onto Kalends and had been pleased to see his student grow into a an equally capable vandal.
And now..."How the mighty have fallen." Kalends whispered, turning both lockpicks carefully, then with a bit more force. He felt one of the picks tremble in his hands and stopped, taking them out. The lock seemed unhurt. Had he been shaking? Him?
He took a deep breath, letting the anxiety slide off in waves, like a dark ocean mimicking the one outside at the docks.
My locks are the very best. You think you're good at cracking into strongboxes, ready to move on from pinching pocketbooks? You're not. Not until you can pick one of my locks. Until that day, Artemis my boy, you'll just be another orphan child with basic survival skills in this place. Edgecrest is competitive, I've told you that thousands of times. Why, until then, I wouldn't even call you a thief.
The first time he'd done it, it had felt like a magic spell had just come unwoven in his hands, or like he'd just found out something deeply personal about himself, a side he'd never seen before. Kalends had never been one for emotion, but that instant he had felt a rush that he had never experienced before-- not from having good food before him, not even from his brief encounters with women in the seedier bars that lined the docks. Romance wasn't something that interested him, but it found him anyway-- not in comforts or in another's waiting arms, but in accomplishing things: stealing a handkerchief from a fastidious woman, then returning it to her with a cocksure grin, his first time leaping from one roof to another, entering a house with its sleeping occupants being unaware of his presence.
When the lock came apart in his hands that time, Kalends lost the capacity to think. His heart was pounding, palms sweaty, and his ears rung with dizziness. He had done it. He had completed the final challenge. He was a thief.
His master had surprised him a moment later and had laughed when he saw how red the young boy's face was, flushed from embarrassment or accomplishment or both. It was probably the first time that Kalends had heard the man so happy; his mentor had always been a stoic sort. And a week later, the man had just as proudly presented Kalends with his satchel.
Swallowing, Kalends looked at the lock again and wiped the wrapped handles of his lockpicks off on the folds of his cloak. He could still do this. He might be being followed more closely, but he would not lose this. Not when he had traveled so far, escaped guards, and made it back to city. He would not allow this to slip away from him.
He positioned the picks in the lock again, feeling for the correct position, shifting a little when he realized he wasn't holding the lock stationary the right way. He closed his eyes, keeping his breath even, as he let the lock dictate where he needed to turn. Steeling himself one final time, he turned both blades of the lockpicks at once, feeling the hook and the weight of the lock shift with the turn as the lock clicked open softly.
Kalends fell back, kneeling on the floor. Before him, the chest was open, revealing the innards of the sprung lock and a pile of fine linens and formal clothing. A bulge under one of the sleeves would no doubt reveal a necklace or brooch, something meant to remain hidden. He gathered his thoughts, then retrieved his lock picks and slid them back up his greaves before shutting the trunk's lid softly, so as not to wake the people sleeping downstairs. He took nothing.
He already had what he came for.
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Posted: Tue Feb 07, 2012 1:17 pm
:: ix. breaking and entering [prp] IN WHICH
OUR THIEF FINDS SANCTUARY IN AN UNLIKELY PLACE
AS Drustan Carmody LEARNS SOME TRICKS OF THE TRADE
AND Artemis Kalends HIMSELF MEETS A FIERCE NEW FOE
- in progress -__________________________________ $ accomplices :: Drustan Carmody, Mrs. Grint.
$ scene of the crime :: Imisus: Prybridge. Carmody townhouse.[ breaking and entering ]$$$
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Posted: Tue Apr 03, 2012 2:45 pm
:: x. a crow's contract [solo] IN WHICH
Artemis Kalends RECEIVES A MESSAGE BY CROW
AND IS MADE AN OFFER HE CANNOT REFUSE
__________________________________
$ accomplices :: a message crow
$ scene of the crime :: Imisus: Edgecrest.
$$$ crow message Kalends... It has come to the attention of The House that you are a man in danger. Your skills, elaborate job history, and recent retirement from your previous employers have led to a price being put upon your head. Obscuvos values all who are faithful and Obscuvians are cared for and protected under his wing; it is through Truths that his will is achieved and he has very little regard for remnants. However, sometimes our Lord finds particular interest in individuals who may be of use to his will, even those who may not even be aware of the truth or carry the word of Obscuvos in their heart. We believe you could be one of these people and we feel as though a mutually beneficial relationship could be formed if you were to allow Obscuvos into your heart. Whilst you are in need of the protection that Obscuvos can provide for you, we are equally in need of a man with your kind of connections and skills. As you may or may not be aware there has been an influx of interest in Plagues within the more... 'private' markets of Panymium. The House has been somewhat involved in this secretive and lucrative market for tainted objects: some rich fools will pay handsomely for something that they believe will protect them from the plague's wrath. Of course, we value every Plague that comes into our family and we only deal with carefully constructed fakes. We need you to aid in our operation - with an Obscuvian plague to help increase your claim to credibility when dealing with more sceptical costumers - and sell a few batches of fake putesco in Edgecrest so that we can evaluate whether or not to pursue a full scale operation within the city.
So it had come to this. It seemed like these days he would take any offer, even if it meant aligning himself with a power that he might have in the past found distasteful. If he wasn't so on edge, Kalends surely would have laughed at himself. As it was, he was already having to restrain himself, reign in his finely honed senses so that he wouldn't hop at each noise a cat made in the alley as it scoured the gutters for scraps, or misinterpret the drunken howlings of patrons outside bars as death threats from enemies.
There was only so much that he could take, only so long that he could keep this up. Kalends lived in a state of high awareness, but was not used to operating at this level constantly. He could feel the exhaustion tugging at him, making him want to rest even as his mind urged him to keep going, to keep checking the house thoroughly for traps.
The locksmith shop was not somewhere entirely unknown to him; he didn't tend to visit it very often, didn't tend to get sentimental about these things. Everything was a curious degree of utility-- and always, always, everything had a purpose. Even now, when an outsider might view him as receding into himself, cooping himself up while envoys from the Thieves' Guild sought him out, Kalends was thinking out strategies, planning his next move.
He wasn't often preoccupied with matters of the mind; Kalends' forte was in sleight of hand, in willing himself to attain skills and better his abilities.
Still, he thought, as he tied the cords and cloth together that would make his bed for the night and perhaps the night after, this was not a way that he would want to keep living. Since his night out lockpicking, he hadn't been through Edgecrest since. His reputation, he felt, was already starting to tarnish slightly, become less the imposing statement that it had been before. Kalends secured the hammock to some of the ceiling rafters, made sure that the bed was tight enough, well gripped onto the wooden planks so that it wouldn't fall down while he was sleeping. He had been forced to abandon his apartment in hopes that it would keep that place safe and now was reduced to sleeping in the rafters in order to buy himself a few more seconds should an invader figure out where he kept himself.
The thief bit his lip, worked his way into the hammock, ran his fingers over the sheet of parchment once, twice.
Sometimes, to get out of hell, you had to be prepared to do something desperate. But was he desperate enough to put himself at the mercy of a larger organization again?
Kalends snorted and turned his face into the hammock, starting at the sound of a pair of footsteps crunching past. He growled at himself. What choice did he have?
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Posted: Sun Apr 08, 2012 7:22 pm
:: xi. merchants of death [mrp] IN WHICH
AN ALLIANCE IS FORMED BETWEEN CROWS
AS Claudia AND Artemis Kalends
TRY THEIR HAND AT THE BLACK MARKET__________________________________ $ accomplices :: Claudia, the Flower Plague
$ scene of the crime :: Imisus: Edgecrest. Market District.[ merchants of death ]$$$
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Posted: Sun Apr 08, 2012 7:23 pm
:: xii. masque of ghosts [solo] IN WHICH
Artemis Kalends RETURNS TO A LOCKSMITH'S SHOP
AND ENTERTAINS HIS GHOSTS BY CANDLELIGHT
__________________________________
$ accomplices :: none
$ scene of the crime :: Imisus: Edgecrest.
$$$ He didn't believe in ghosts.
Kalends had his superstitions, especially where magpies and other omens of ill fortune were involved, but ghosts and hauntings were not one of them. His hands moved adroitly over the bread that he'd snuck out of the marketplace after his meeting with Claudia, the dagger slicing off a neat piece that the thief caught. He placed the remainder of the loaf on one of the tables in the dimly lit room, the single candle's slight light seeming almost like it too was muffled by the room's silence. Night had fallen outside and sensible businessmen would be in their shops, shops not unlike this one, while the lower denizens of Edgecrest scalloped through the streets, picking at the unfortunate for their own dinners.
The thief leaned back in his chair in the empty room. Along the walls were the remnants of the locksmith's shop, the tables too large to move, the bits of metal too abstruse or oblong to attract looters. Kalends wasn't overly sentimental when it came to places like this. Perhaps it was because his mentor had scrubbed the feeling out of him, stressing that all things were temporal, that this shop would sometime become only a memory. The man had been even more morbid when he was dying, Kalends mused, remembering the way his old mentor had repeated over and over that all would come to dust.
All deeds of men will be forgotten. Will you remember this for me, Artemis? Promise it.
Kalends stood up. He really had no use for religion, for the white-washed lies people who felt sorry for themselves told each other to make the threat of death not hurt so much. His mentor certainly hadn't, and while Kalends didn't believe everything that the old man had said on his deathbed, the young thief believed enough of those ramblings to know that what awaited anyone at the end wasn't a paradise, or even a hell. After his mentor's death, all their promises had dissolved. He broken all of them: the ones to take care of the shop, the ones to stay out of trouble, to stay solo, many promises were gone, nullified by death. All but one.
He wondered what the old man would say to him now, if he could see his one apprentice, prize student, in his current state. The candle flickered on the table, like a portent or a sign. Kalends scowled at it. Well then, what of it? He'd gotten himself into a rough spot, boxed himself in, and now he had to get out. It wasn't as though he was about to be swayed by men in crow's robes chanting about the afterlife, whatever glory or punishment was promised there. Kalends was made of sterner stuff, not unafraid to go into death knowing that there would be no reflecting afterward, no more feeling, no more anything.
Death, after all, was only as much of a motivator as one made it. Those saps that he and Claudia had sold those fake putescos to, for instance-- they feared it, they would do anything to lessen the chokehold it had on their day-to-day consciousness. Perhaps even Claudia feared it, too, so anxious as she was to please her god. Drustan, too, Kalends added, after a thought. What was faith if not an excuse to forget logic for a moment? The Emperor, no doubt, feared it. What of Maeve la Chance and Reynard Irving? Perhaps, but Kalends was less sure. For them, death seemed to push them to do other things, to survive against all odds rather than appease it.
He would survive, he told the ghosts that were not ghosts that danced in the firelight along the walls. He too could wear a mask, any bit as convincing as those that could be found in Drustan Carmody's study. That he was certain of. If nothing else, Artemis Kalends would continue to rely on himself as he always had. Survival was not a game that he had lost yet.
He was not particularly bothered by the fact that his well-being had come at the sacrifice of someone else's hard-earned coin, or that he had left a large man sacred out of his mind. Everything was a means to an end. His safety was worth a rather large amount of coins to him, and Kalends would not hesitate to complete what had been a fairly easy task in exchange for... in exchange for what?
The memory of racing through Prybridge's streets to get to Drustan's home fluttered back through his mind. He had truly been worried then. Of death? Perhaps, perhaps. Kalends felt his nails bite into his palms before he registered clenching his fists. He would never allow that to happen to him again, that helplessness....
Shadows moved and his eyes wandered to the mess of cloaks and belongings that crowded the table, one in particular standing out. The satchel leaned convivially against his cloak and a sack of clothes he'd brought for the night, almost like it were listening in. Kalends rolled his eyes. He really should just get rid of it. It was starting to get more than a little ridiculous, after all; the bag had not been able to hold anything for months now, for whatever reason (perhaps he should have asked Reynard to check it for curses when they had eaten together) and it wasn't a condition that Kalends figured could be remedied. He could just as easily go out into the market and buy a leather bag that was its equal from any decent tanner.
But still, he didn't.
Something in the way that the leather was shadowed made it look like it was laughing. Kalends quickly moved over to the bag, righted it so that the suggestion of a face was gone. Honestly. He was being stupid. He finished the last of his waterskin and sighed.
He did not believe in ghosts, Kalends reminded himself.
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Posted: Tue May 08, 2012 3:38 pm
:: xiii. to every light, a shadow [solo] IN WHICH
Artemis Kalends SETS A PERILOUS WHEEL INTO MOTION
__________________________________
$ accomplices :: Diana "Misty" Ides
$ scene of the crime :: Imisus: Edgecrest: backalleys.
$$$ He walked down the same alleyway that he had interviewed Harkeet in so many months ago, the one where he had sold the artifacts in with Claudia a few weeks past. Kalends was calmer, slowly returning to his old self. As promised, the aid from the House had come; he'd watched his night followers drop off like cougars dissuaded from a well-protected deer. Kalends was even had a bit of his old cockiness back-- his eyes roving over crowds, searching for a challenging enough target. The alleyways he read like a fortune teller read cards, knew each crease and fold like his own skin, could pluck the meaning out of them at a single glance.
Not much had changed, Kalends thought. It had gotten warmer, perhaps. He and Harket were doing well in the market; after his absence from the late night burglary scene, Harkeet had started to worry, but the man was placated when Kalends left him a note, several plates, and a list of items to fetch. Things slowly seemed to be falling back into place in his life, and the thief could not be more pleased. Maybe he'd had to strike a bargain and rope himself into another alliance, but this one seemed like it might work out a little better. At least, he figured that if the House had people he pegged as moderately clever to cunning, like Drustan and Claudia, he figured that he wouldn't have too many issues fitting in. After all, for a religious organization they had had little trouble accepting a thief.
Kalends kept his features controlled in public as a rule, but inside he was crowing. At last, things were getting back to the way they should be. He'd hit up a tough house last night and already the whispers were kicking back up about his name. Yes, things were good.
He passed by a somewhat familiar-looking lump of rags, his dark eyes landing on it briefly before moving on, unintrigued. It was just when he had the cloth pile behind him that he got the feeling that something was wrong, perhaps heard something rattle in the street that shouldn't. His instinct was not something that was tangible. If asked, Kalends would have said that it was the scrape of cloth or the assailant's shoe hitting the cobblestones, but in reality it was less of that and more practice and trained response. Kalends had been forced to grow accustomed to thinking on his feet, even and especially in triumph.
So, when he whirled around, dagger gleaming in his hand, he wasn't surprised to see a wild-eyed girl lunging at him with a cheap blade. He sighed, grabbed her wrist deftly, and rolled his eyes to himself.
"After all this, do you really think that I'd let myself be caught so easily?" He twisted the girl's wrist expertly back, causing her to yelp and drop the knife. Kalends observed the neat c***k that the paving stones took out of the blade. Very cheap. The girl was probably the new property of some guild or rancorous merchant, trying to rattle him. "The game's up, so out with it. Who sent you?"
The girl scowled back at him, the fury in her eyes matching the deadness in his own. Kalends raised an eyebrow, twisted her wrist a fraction more.
"Aaaugh, stop!" She tried batting away at him, but her movements were too hasty, too untrained. It was clear that she was untrained, one more street urchin trying the impossible target. "No one! I just, it's just...!" She winced, trying to win a degree of sympathy from him, but on this front Kalends was unshakable. This was a matter of reputation, after all.
"Any of them will give kids like us shelter for a week and food enough if we can come back with a sliver of your blood." She stuck her tongue out, then sniffed as though trying to be haughty. "But I don't work for them. I was actually, uh," she tried to keep her gamin's face, reveal nothing, but Kalends was an old pro at this game and he could see her mask slip, her true purpose seeping through. "I mean, I know you don't take apprentices, but I figured if I could get the drop on you, maybe you couldn't say no."
Kalends dropped her hand, causing the girl to topple from the sudden release. He saw that she picked herself up quickly; her dexterity wasn't poor, but it certainly wasn't enough to catch him offguard. "Quit now," Kalends said after a pause, "and I will make every effort not to think of you as a greater fool than you really are."
Flinching at his remarks, the girl nonetheless stood up. Kalends finally recognized her as the same girl that he had seen when he had made his deal with Harkeet, the one who had shivered when he had passed. He had been thinking about leading her to one of the orphanages, but business had gotten in the way. Now it seemed out of the question. After having had a weapon raised against him, Kalends felt he owed her no kindness; she was not worth the risk of saving. No, she had shown him clearly with her attempt, futile as it had been, that she would make efforts to take care of herself.
Still, she seemed expectant. "Well, come on. I'll bet we can be great partners-- Artemis Kalends and M--"
She never got to finish.
Kalends may not have been the most adept at hand-to-hand combat or possessed the strength to take on a heavy fighter and win, but he was very fast. His hand seized the girl's other wrist and pinned it behind her painfully. She broke off the sentence before even getting to her own name, too distracted by the sudden pain. "The answer was 'no.' But I will leave you with one lesson: respect," Kalends said slowly, "is a greater currency among thieves than you can imagine. When you have your dagger at my throat, perhaps then you'll have earned the right to address me by my first name."
He let her go, walked away, dissolving into the swirl of cloaks and the press of bodies that made up the mid-day market as easily as a bird lighting on a rooftop. But still the girl looked after him, her eyes red with rage and tears.
"You'll see." She whispered. "You'll see."
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