I am no one.
Group
Faceless Man
Posts
52
Alliance / Loyalty
House of Black and White || House Stark
Played By
Ata
Status
Offline
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Post by Atalya Snow on Jul 12, 2016 15:13:08 GMT
[googlefont="Oswald"][googlefont="Allura"][googlefont="Abel"] CLEVER GOT ME THIS FAR then tricky got me in Leaping down the last four steps, she stumbled a bit. Her feet catching on the ends of her dress. Angry shouts came from behind her. Daring to look back at them, they were already closing in as they too made their way down the Great Sept’s stairs with more grace then she had used. "Shit, shit, shit," she muttered as she quickly pulled herself up. How was she suppose to know a mob of angry zealots was waiting for her? It’s not like she was a Red Priestess and gaze into the future. No, she walked into this trap completely blind like a bloody idiot. Earlier that day… She had dressed the part. The usual boring face of a normal, mousy girl. Her clothing one that didn’t denote rank or anything that might give way that she was more then she appeared. No, she was the perfect vision of a drab, dull girl from King’s Landing. A face that would disappear into the crowd. It was one of her better disguises and had served her well thus far. She’d keep it for the time being. Today, she had another meeting. One she wasn’t sure of. Maybe because she was wary that she was becoming so popular, and that could be a dangerous game. One she didn’t want to be caught playing especially not here in Westeros where the faceless were not as well accepted. Partially because of their trade, but mainly because of their own religious beliefs or lack there of as it were to those that followed the seven. It didn’t help that the meeting was within the Great Sept itself. It would be her second meeting there and hopefully the last. She would finish the handful of jobs she had here and hopefully be on her way north before anyone even realized what she had done. Like a whisper, she moved down the dark hallways. The dim candlelight not offering much light in the bowels of the massive temple. Her client had wanted to meet far in the underbelly because it was ‘safer’. Safer for whom? She wondered as she glanced up at the stone above her head. She was prepared for anything though. There was always poison and other things somewhere on her person. Today was no different. She had finally arrived at the meeting spot. Not bothering to knock, she pushed into the room. A heavy layer of dust had settled over everything, but it was obvious she wasn’t the first to arrive. The layer of grey and white had already been disturbed and bits of it hung in the air. Shifting her gaze, she scanned the room searching till it landed on the man in the back corner. His face cloaked with shadows. “Are you the faceless?” he asked to which she simply nodded and closed the door. “God,” he said with a nervous laugh. “I, uh, I had a request. I was told the faceless can make it happen,” he spoke softly. His hands rubbing together as he looked around the room. Anywhere but her. The way the man acted was suspicious enough, but the shadowed room left her feeling open, vulnerable. Not something she often felt. She was already moving to put her hand back on the door when a man leaped out at her. “Die you heathen,” he said triumphantly as if he had already won. A dagger was already in her hand as she swiped at him with a deft hand. Of course, she had swept blindly, but the warm wash of blood over her meant she had hit him, somewhere, she didn’t care to stay and find out. She was already throwing open the door and racing back down the hallway. The thunderous sounds of footsteps coming behind her told her it had been meant as a trap. No doubt some religious fanatics who hated the House of Black and White and everything they stood for. Now she was scrambling down the alleyway just outside the Great Sept. She was a trained assassin not a true fighter. She could probably hold her own against one person, maybe two untrained people, but this was at least four men. Maybe three now depending on where he had hit the man from before and if her poison was going to kick in fast enough. She hadn’t come out unscathed either. He had hit her as well, but she wasn’t going to die from it. Maybe. Reaching beneath the neckline of her dress, she began to peel off the face and toss it somewhere she could find it later. She hadn’t been looking, or even paying attention to what was around her when she ran right into something. No, not something, someone. With a soft whoosh of air escaping her lungs, she fell backwards onto her ass. Her wide eyed gaze going up to the man. She must have been a sight. A cut on her face, hair in disarray from being freed from her previous mask, and her cheeks stained red from exertion. ”My apologies. I, I was in a hurry,” she said a bit out of breath already looking back behind her to where the men were just rounding the bend. Shit. If she had been faster, she might have gotten away and disappeared into the crowd, but no such luck. "I, I need to go," she said a little breathlessly already struggling to get to her feet.
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And mine are long and sharp, my Lord. As long and sharp as yours.
Group
Knight
Posts
8
Alliance / Loyalty
House Reyne
Played By
Ser Marxos
Status
Offline
|
Post by Kosm Reyne on Jul 13, 2016 17:01:34 GMT
The streets of Kings Landing came in all shapes and sizes; From the curiously narrow nooks and dark alleys leading to perilous dead-ends of Flea Bottom, up towards the base of the great hills of Rhaenys, Aegon and Visenya where the streets opened up in breadth. The main arteries through the city were quite large enough to fit four horses abreast or perhaps a palanquin or carriage comfily. On most days however it was the commons aught fill the main roads and , moving in tides one way or another depending on the time of day, the weather, and thousands more milled about in the tributaries and secretive side paths living a thousand lives and spinning twicefold the tales. It was a literal hive of activity, Kings Landing, a gigantic living organism composed of many. If one were to peer at it from high up, a great distance above would they all not look like bees in their comb or ants about their nests?
A man stopped amidst the bustle at a baker's stall and ordered himself a small loaf of bread but not before paying the old crone a compliment or two , told her how beautifully her eyes twinkled in the sunlight - despite the fact that the right had gone milky with cateract and the left gazed off senselessly in any other direction than the one he was standing. He wore a plain black tunic, trimmed in inconspicuous hints of silver and red, leather breeches and a fine pair of riding shoes. Muddy blonde hair of a trim length was slicked back deftly from his striking face and his beard flecked with a few grey hairs seemed freshly unkempt. It did nothing to hide the ghost of a smile tugging at his lips and shining within the man's hazel eyes. On his back was a longsword, a fine piece of steel for any knight albeit fairly plain. The man tossed the crone a couple coppers and started again on his mission up slow incline of the hill. He considered the bread for a moment, brown and the outer crust coated with honey and oats, cold but that was hardly any matter as he dug in and tore off a great chunk with his teeth and noted it was a little stale but it tasted well enough. Not many paid mind to him, just another face in the crowd.
But he was no ordinary man. His name was Kosm Reyne (well Kosm Hill by birth) the sole living heir to the ancient seat of House Reyne and after ten years abroad out east he had finally come back to Westeros.
The Great Sept of Baelor's seven towers loomed ahead larger with every step, each ivory pillar thrust into the sky's belly in some vain attempt to pierce the realm of the gods. Gossip ran thick through the streets if you knew where to look for it and that which Kosm was sniffing about for was something of a dreadful sort. The Faith Militant had returned in force and by all accounts it seemed as though they ruled the streets now. It was hard to deny for he had seem naught a trace of the City Watch wandering in pairs as they were like to do on their beats. In their place were ragged packs of gaunt, sallow-eyed Poor Fellows, each clad in identical brown roughspun, grimly grasping wooden cudgels. Even more gruesome were the seven-pointed stars carved into each of their foreheads. Kosm could only marvel nervously at their presence and the way they glowered with blind accusation as he passed. The lot of them were young men with fresh, strong bodies and with their hearths and homes in the reputable state they were these days they each bore a chip on their shoulder for the wars needlessly waged and the games carelessly played by the Highborn. 'These are the eyes of ones without a single thing to lose. They've lost families, friends and homes and the only thing holding their sorry lives together is the weight of their anger tethered by their faith.'
So Kosm avoided eye contact and brooded on the final stretch up the Great Sept and munching without really thinking about it on his loaf of bread. He reflected on all he had heard in the pot shops, brothels and dockside pubs about the decline of the Crown, the warring to the North. House Lannister at it's weakest in hundreds of years and not one but TWO boy pretender kings to sit atop the Iron Throne. The Faith had seized the city when it's guard had been comfortably low and much to his chagrin Kosm knew that this posed far more of a problem to the state of everything to let the Faith run amok unchecked. 'A castle can be rebuilt in time, but a Kingdom? Not so easy.'
Needless to say he was not a religious man. Spending years abroad had a habit of opening one's mind. When you see hundreds and thousands of peoples praying to hundreds of thousands of gods, goddesses, beasts, and natural landmarks alike you tend to question the dogma. 'Except the Warrior,' he thought morosely. 'Ser Gharret always made sure I said my prayers so that my sword swung true and my shield stayed strong.. The blasted old fool.'
Caught up in his thoughts, Kosm had barely noticed that he had rounded a corner and had come unto the broad plaza that stood at the foot of the stairs to the Great Sept of Baelor. Up close it was even more gaudily huge, dwarfing all in it's shadow building and being alike. He could not help but think that for a faith that preached so much modesty their gods were housed in meaningless splendour. Kosm was caught up studying the wisened face of the statue of Baelor himself, hailed as the Blessed and the Septon-King and standing sentinel to his creation. So engrossed in this place was the man he had not noticed the young woman that he come pelting out from an alley to the side of the sept before she crashed into his chest, near winding him in the chaos of it and fell upon her backside to the cobble. She looked up at him, her hair like burnished copper and a scar upon her doe-like face - there was fear in her wide eyes as well. Kosm gazed down at her, loaf of bread in hand and was about to wind up some bawdy insult for the sake of her startling him so when he heard the slap of many sandals and the gruff, angry utterances as four men came stumbling like a herd of aurochs out of the same alley. They set eyes at the girl at his feet and advanced and all at once his annoyance left him and his brow knotted into a frown. Still the phantom smile on his lips never left.
Kosm did not wait for the woman to stand up, he took one step and strode over her, placing himself between her and the men and they advanced. He made no reach for his sword just threw his arms akimbo in an amiable manner . "My fine gentlefolk, is there something I can do for you?" he boomed.
A stout fellow pushed to the front, his cheek was cut from the corner of his mouth up to his ear and the skin hung in an odd flap raggedly weeping a steady flow of crimson. There was murder in his eyes, and other things less savoury. "Aye you can give us the heathen whore and begone. This is bis'ness.. Godly bis'ness now step aside."
The lord-to-be's face remained impassive and yet ever antagonizing with that sneer that seemed so ready to spring onto his features. He calmly shook his head, still holding his palms non-threateningly to the vengeful pack. "I apologize, but I am afraid I cannot do that."
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I am no one.
Group
Faceless Man
Posts
52
Alliance / Loyalty
House of Black and White || House Stark
Played By
Ata
Status
Offline
|
Post by Atalya Snow on Jul 13, 2016 20:20:16 GMT
[googlefont="Oswald"][googlefont="Allura"][googlefont="Abel"] CLEVER GOT ME THIS FAR then tricky got me in The man she had run into was tall. Well, everyone was tall in comparison to her, and her angle from the ground didn't help much. What she could tell from where she was that he was handsome with a swath of slicked back, muddy blonde hair. She let her eyes travel down noting the sword at his hip. A knight? A sellsword? He could have easily been either, but his clothing said sellsword though she wasn't quick to judge. Outward appearance was often deceiving. Something she had quickly learned from her years of being a faceless. Even a prince could dress like a commoner and disappear into the crowd just as easily as a peasant could dress the part of a prince. No, she wouldn't give him some baseless label right away. Glancing over her shoulder, she noted the men behind her. Their breaths a bit ragged. No doubt they weren't use to running around full speed. Finding her with someone must have surprised them, that or her magical change into another face. Either way, they had stopped for a moment. If she had made it to the main streets, she would have already disappeared by now. No such luck. Before she had time to scramble to her feet, the man she had run into was stepping over her. His large frame shadowing her svelte one. Was he going to protect her? She tried to keep the shock from her face, but failed. It had been a long time since anyone had stepped in to help her. Of course, it had been a long time since she had been in a predicament that might cost her, her life. That, plus she didn't have anyone to call a friend or even really an acquaintance. She was no one. Her life was as fluid as her face that day. While the men spoke, she pulled herself off the cobbled stones and onto her feet. The alleyway was more narrow then she thought or perhaps the man in front of her just had a more commanding presence then she had realized. His shoulders seemed to fill the whole breadth of it. With his arms raised, she could just see beneath them to the men on the other side. Despite the man's attempt to try and soothe the frayed emotions more angered shouts came from the collection of men. "Give us the filthy faceless heathen! We shall cleanse her in the name of the Seven!!" A voice somewhere in the back was brave hidden behind the bodies of his cohorts. Atalya now had a bit of a dilemma. She could easily flee, but the religious fanatics had seen her face. Her real face. That meant that even if she fled now they could track her down and King's Landing would no longer be a safe haven. She could, of course, wait for the man in front of her to cut them down, but he seemed unwilling to make the first move. He was clearly waiting for them to leave. Although, she doubted they would. They were bent on her demise or at least forcing her to bend to the will of their religion and gods. Plus, she had the issue now that this man knew she was a faceless and had also seen her real face. Unlike the others though, he was at least trying to help her rather then shame her for believing in something else. Atalya also wasn't a senseless killer. She only killed when there was a contract or if her life was at stake. The men began to slowly move down the alley. Were they really going to try their hand at taking on a man wielding a sword? Of course, with the narrow alleyway didn't leave much room for him to swing with any kind of force. That put him at a disadvantage. If they could draw them back to a larger pathway, it wouldn't be too hard, but she had no idea the skill of this man. The sword could merely be a decoration. There was no time to plot. She could see the glint of their blades as they pulled from from the confines of their billowing sleeves still creeping forward with hesitant steps. "The wounded one," she said in a hushed whisper having to draw herself onto her toes to speak softly to him. "Won't last much longer." Having been poisoned, it would already be circulating through his system and no doubt sped up by the adrenaline pumping through his veins thanks to their little jog. As they crept closer, she could see his face was pallor and covered in a thin sheen of sweat. No, he really wouldn't last much longer. "They aren't going to let me go without a fight," she breathed with a sigh. She didn't want to have to kill them, but she saw no other choice. It was either her life or theirs. That means she would be in debt to the Many Faced God and the nameless man still towering in front of her. Atalya was already drawing a throwing knife from on her person. It was small. No longer then her pointer finger. Deadly if used correctly and much like her dagger it was also coated in poison. She hadn't used it in a long time. It was usually her last resort weapon because it was messy and left traces that she had been there. She liked to leave nothing behind beyond the body and the whisper of the House of Black and White. "I'm going to throw something at the man on the far right. They will no doubt attack after. I'm sorry to have to drag you into this," and she meant it. No one needed to wade into danger because of her or even kill for her. Her life wasn't worth it in the end, but he now stood between her and the men that wished to skin her of her being and turn her into a pious woman. She didn't wait for him to respond. Instead, she bent down to look through the window between his body and the wall to take aim. The murderous looks from the men all turned to her, but it was too late. The blade was already sailing through the air. It hit with pin point accuracy. A wet thump, and the burble of liquid could be heard as he attempted to wheeze in air but only filled his lungs with blood. She could see the widening of his eyes as his hand came to his throat. The calloused fingers quickly coating in his own blood before he stumbled into the wall and slid down along it. Dead. It made the men hesitate. They had clearly forgotten that she was not just from the House of Black and White but a trained assassin. Up close, she was a meek and frail as a new born kitten, but from far away she was dangerous and even more so when hidden in the shadows. They had thought they had gotten to her when they had cornered her in the Great Sept. It was like they knew that with numbers they could have easily beaten her. The fools. It was now the man's turn as the now three men turned their attention back to them. She only hoped he was good with that sword or they both might be dead.
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And mine are long and sharp, my Lord. As long and sharp as yours.
Group
Knight
Posts
8
Alliance / Loyalty
House Reyne
Played By
Ser Marxos
Status
Offline
|
Post by Kosm Reyne on Jul 18, 2016 22:06:46 GMT
There would be no appeasing these men that much was plain to see from the savage glint in their eyes. Their blood was up, their hands flexing impatiently for hidden weapons. Kosm had seen such a look before in the eyes of hungry street mutts just before they lunged, and they resembled such curs to a great degree the way they waited nervously slavering, hesitant to approach their intended prey but stupid enough to try something once one of them gathered up the courage. Mob mentality was a curiously dangerous thing - it's what builds armies and fuels petty rebellions. Look around at the scourge of the Faith Militant and you get but a taste of the capacity it had to topple Kingdoms or turn good, honourable men to mindless acts of savagery.
Kosm's eyes deftly flicked between the four but he could not help but focus on the man with the gashed face, clearly the leader of this sorry pack, and wondered if this flighty little doe behind him had been the one to do it. If his fury had anything to tell about it, the thought was not that far removed from possibility. After all, Ser Reyne had known many a maiden to carry small blades on their person and he did not blame them. His mother had been such a maiden, but she had not been fast enough to her dagger... Kosm had been however.
Back to reality, the woman was near his ear now whispering in a voice inaudible to all but him. The way her warm breath caressed his earlobe caused a bright shiver to jolt up his spine and his attention was now undivided on the situation at hand. 'The wounded one, he won't last much longer,' she breathed. How curious. That confirmed his suspicions on the man with his cheek flapping about like a slab of badly cut meat. And then.. 'They won't let me go without a fight.'
Kosm grunted. The men advanced a few steps more. He muttered out of the corner of his mouth. "Your wounded man can die on his own volition then. I on the other hand do not intend to anger the Faith any more than you apparently have." Friendly as he seemed on the outside, his voice from within grated like gravel. His heart was already beating faster and his instincts set his thoughts into a strange sort of focus. Many men felt it on the battlefield, a sort of tunnel vision where the only thing that existed in your world is the enemy before you and the blood pumping hot lava through your veins and your movements became muscle memory. "Now step ba-.." he started but she had already pulled a dagger from nowhere. Something about throwing it. He had no time to respond before the pretty little thing - could not have been larger than a lady's hair pin - whipped past him cutting a musical whine as it slice the very air itself. Almost too fast for the eye to see, it buried itself up to it's elegant little hilt in the man on the far right's throat. His hands came up and he gurgled senselessly, blood pooling up and over his lips, drenching the front of his tunic in deep crimson he collapsed to his knees.
'You little shit!' cursed the man mentally. There was no turning back now and his right hand flew for the sword on his back, unsheathing it in one fluid motion that made the steel ring through the air. His calculations came then: Three men left, one with one foot in the grave already and they were an alley, away from prying eyes for now but the narrow bearings made effective kill-swings all but a distant dream. As Kosm's blade came forth he held it loosely in front of him. They were hesitating but they were not fleeing. Their mistake.
Normally he wielded his longsword with a single hand but an old trick sprang to his mind and he grasped the thing with two and held it at a strange angle, almost as if it were a mace or battle-axe and advanced a couple steps at the men with their puny blades bristling at him like the world's most pitiful spear-wall. One of the healthy ones sprang towards him just as he had hoped. Perhaps the man thought he could stick that blade betwixt his ribs a few times before his sword made any serious contact. They were the last thoughts to run through his mind however as Kosm brought his sword back over his own head and sent the flat of the blade, not the edge, hammering down on the back of the man's skull. They crumbled, unconscious but still alive.
The other two had already started forward, instinctively urged by the flurry of motion of their compatriot. What they charged into was nothing short of controlled chaos. For even though Kosm had landed his downward blow he readily adjusted his grip, channelled his swing sideways to the left and slightly upwards like a child using a stick to bat a stone from the air. Again the flat of his blade connected with a meaty smack to the side of the other healthy man's face but with such force that it drove his head soundly against the pristine white stone of alley wall and he too fell like a swatted fly. All that remained was old cut-face to his right and Kosm swung towards him but the blade hummed through the air catching nothing as cut-face stumbled over the body of the dead one with the blade in his throat. He had fallen to Kosm's feet and was looking up, his eyes welling with fear. "I..I..I never meant.." started the blabbering. Kosm silenced this one with a savage kick.
Panting he sheathed his sword, did not even take the time to assess the state of the men littered dead and unconscious all around him and turned on his heel to the strange fiery girl still standing at the mouth of the alley. He strode to her, hazel eyes like flint and grasped her firmly by the arm and quickly urged her away from the alley, away from the Sept. "With me," he grated. "Before you concoct another way to get the both of us killed."
He realized his harshness and loosened his grip but still steered her through the milling, unknowing crowds. "I've a place. Just keep with me if you value your life in this adder's nest, Faceless." He let go of her then. Let's just call it trust.
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OOC - Kosm is leading Atalya to where he's been staying. My next couple of posts will be shorter walking and talking sequences on the way. :3
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I am no one.
Group
Faceless Man
Posts
52
Alliance / Loyalty
House of Black and White || House Stark
Played By
Ata
Status
Offline
|
Post by Atalya Snow on Jul 21, 2016 3:11:17 GMT
[googlefont="Oswald"][googlefont="Allura"][googlefont="Abel"] CLEVER GOT ME THIS FAR then tricky got me in Angering the faith was something she had already done the day of her birth. Being a northern born, she had grown up believing in the old gods. Then once she was in Braavos, she had switched her tune to follow those of the many faced god. That alone was enough to turn the Great Sept against her. Couple that with the fact that she took lives for a living, well, she might as well bury herself six feet under where she stood. She didn't need to comment on what he said. No, there was no backing down from this. It would have been easier for the man to just shove her at the coming men, but he didn't even as she stepped forward to throw the blade drawing him into her fight. Watching the fray, she mused that he wasn't terrible at this. The way he fought was clever. The narrow alleyway a perfect choke point to funnel the remaining men into a single line. She took a few steps back away to give them room. He didn't really need it though. She had been expecting him to run them through like a human kabob but when he didn't, she was left a little speechless. He was knocking them out. Why? They had seen their faces. That was enough to send the Sept after them. The pious had already begun to take control of the city. Clearly, they were taking advantage of the boy king and his lack of skills a leadership. Before she could even question his decision, she was being grabbed and hauled down the other way. Her feet nearly dangling off the ground as his large, calloused hand twisted around her arm. She felt like a rag doll for a moment being dragged along. His grip was one of the few things keeping her upright at this point, and when his hand loosened she was able to walk normally again, or somewhat normally. "You left them alive," was the first thing that left her mouth. She was miffed about him treating her like an errant child, but she was more perturbed by the fact he was just going to leave them alive like that. "They know my face They need to be killed," she muttered yanking her arm back when he let it go. Her fingers gently massaging the red marks on her arms that would be bruises tomorrow. Atlaya knew she was now acting exactly like the errant child he was treating her as. She should have been thanking him for even helping her. He could have just as easily given her over to the pious fools. He hadn't though. Drawing in a breath, she sighed through her nose. It would be easy for her to go back and find them later to deal with them in her own way. It wouldn't be too hard to take them down once they were unsuspecting. "Thank you," she said finally having restored her sense of calm. The near brush with death had put her a little on edge. It was a good reminder that she wasn't perfect yet at what she did and one wrong move could easily lead to her death. A reminder she clearly needed. Still rubbing the offended arm, she had to jog to keep up with his long stride. "Why even bother helping me?" She couldn't deny that she wasn't a bit curious. She'd known lesser men to sell a child out if it saved their skins or earned them a bit of coin. It wasn't often you found someone so willing to risk their life for another or perhaps she had been dealing with the wrong people for too long.
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And mine are long and sharp, my Lord. As long and sharp as yours.
Group
Knight
Posts
8
Alliance / Loyalty
House Reyne
Played By
Ser Marxos
Status
Offline
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Post by Kosm Reyne on Jul 24, 2016 5:06:45 GMT
There was an ugly, red pressure bruise on the woman's arm when he let go, Kosm realized in heated dismay. The blood was still roiling in his veins from the encounter and he had forgotten himself and his strength completely, as if having confused her willowy limb for the grip of his sword. A hot wash of shame went over him.
He opened his mouth to apologize but she cut him off otherwise. 'You left them alive!' she announced in a hiss, her large eyes glaring up at him in defiance. 'They saw my face, they need to be killed.'
Kosm could not hide the twinkle of surprise in his own eyes, he had expected her to reprimand him of his manhandling, not over concerns of the men they had left behind. Quite the little savage he had on his case it seemed. But she was Faceless afterall eh? Her posture, despite such lithe stature emulated absolute indignation over the scenario. It took him a moment to realize that he had been gaping at her like a fish, not saying much of anything - let alone an apology - and that they had stopped moving. The adrenaline was finally working it's way out of his system and things were in a far clearer light now. Smallfolk were going about their business all around. A few feet away a child was playfully dangling a stick with a feather on it and a street cat danced to catch it. The boy's genuine laughter filled the street.
Not saying anything yet, Kosm nodded to her, jerking his head to the side to tell her to follow. He lead her down a smaller main street and the people around thinned as they went, turning sharply into a narrow alleyway that twisted and turned in strange ways. They were deep within and quite alone when Kosm finally stopped and after all of that silence an exaggerated sigh left his lips and he pressed his back against the wall and his shoulder sagged. He readied himself to speak, to explain and yet the woman was already ahead of him once more. Her words genuinely surprised him now. 'Thank you..' a pause. 'Why would you save me?'
Kosm lit up with a tired smile and allowed his body to slide against the wall until his bottom was on the ground. Now he sat below her, looking up. She could be a giant.
"Did I have much choice?" he croaked, settling his hands on his knees as he sat there. "I cannot fathom seeing a lady hurt." Though this was part of the truth, Kosm kept himself slightly aloof. But he was having a hard time, Atayla was staring down at him and suddenly he noticed the slim beauty in her face and her eyes.. her eyes. He broke himself away from her bi-colored gaze and looked down at his feet now. After a moment of considering he smirked. "I also have no love for the Faith, I'd rather see them burn. I've never witnessed a Faceless in their true flesh.. if this is even your true flesh."
He patted the spot beside him with his right hand, urging Atalya to sit with him on the ground in this silent place. Perhaps side by side in such an intimate manner they could speak without issue. There was no-one near to witness it. The lordling produced a wineskin from his belt and offered it up to the youthful Faceless. "It seems we have a lot to talk about.. Keep with me for a while...I could use your talents and..." Then he considered the alleyway as if someone might sneak in. No one did. . "I am sorry for hurting you.. But those men likely won't even remember their own names when they awake. Must they really die?"
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I am no one.
Group
Faceless Man
Posts
52
Alliance / Loyalty
House of Black and White || House Stark
Played By
Ata
Status
Offline
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Post by Atalya Snow on Jul 25, 2016 2:48:45 GMT
[googlefont="Oswald"][googlefont="Allura"][googlefont="Abel"] CLEVER GOT ME THIS FAR then tricky got me in Hyper aware of everything going on around them, she tried to focus on where he was leading her. Away from the crowd and the bustling streets, they filtered down into a small alley way much like the one they had met in. She looked both ways and then up each wall. The only windows on the buildings were small ones higher up. She didn't know King's Landing well enough to know where exactly they were or what sort of buildings they were now nestled between. It was safe to say she wasn't going to be speaking too loudly though. You could never be too careful. Ears and eyes were everywhere. Turning her attention back to him when he slid down the wall, she studied him. His face. His hair. The way he carried himself even slouched down as he was. She took note of every fine detail down to the color of his eyes. "There is always another choice," she said with a half shrug. He could have easily tossed her to those men. She was no one to him or at least no one of consequence. What was one woman compared to his own life? In truth, it wouldn't have been worth it to another man. "It would have been easier to pass me over to them. They would have taken me away, so you would not have seen me hurt." Echoing her thoughts. He was a noble man for not wanting to see a woman hurt though. That wasn't something that was as common anymore or maybe she was just jaded because of her profession. "Does it matter if this is my true face or not?" A faceless was a faceless. What they had once had was often forgotten or at least left behind. Even if this was her 'true' face, it was as temporary as the clothes on her back. However, leaving people alive that were trying to kill her with the knowledge of what she looked like was a dangerous game. One she didn't much feel like playing. "Glad to see you dislike the faith as much as I do," her voice no more then a low rumble of disgust. Although she believed in something, killed for something, she didn't force people to believe in her god. Those devote to the seven were often pushy and anyone found not truly devote to their ways would often be punished. She was a killer which was a punishable crime and worse yet she was a hired killer. When he motioned for her to sit beside him, she looked both ways again. Even if the alleyway was clear, it still felt unsafe. Not only because it was open on either side, but the top as well. Her eyes racked the towering walls before finally settling down beside him. Her calloused hands clasped together. The offered drink turned down with a shake of her head. She didn't drink. She preferred to keep her wits about her, and she knew that poison in a drink was the easiest way to kill someone. People became foolish the more they drank. All the more benefit to her in the end. "You are not the first and undoubtedly won't be the last to hurt me," her injured arm given no more then a cursory glance. It was only a bruise. It would heal. She didn't ask him about why he might be needing her talents. She was sure he would tell her in his own time. "Yes," she answered his last question without hesitation. "If they weren't trying to kill me, I wouldn't care, but they are trying to kill me. Plus, being pious men, I doubt they will give up their search to find me and make me an example." Atalya was watching him while she spoke. Her hands still folded in her lap. "Do you see now why they must die?"
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