Poison Pals Part One 0109.23

They told you go out. You looked outside and the new-fallen snow, how the wind lifted it and blew it about, and your heart sank, body beginning to shiver before you'd even left. But they told you to go out. They had a job for you. Lotti was a large man with a large purse, who had a trader caravan that usually passed through the city this time of year, selling goods to hungry, cold people found along the way. He did his best business in cities, and had just recently left Wustshire, a rather thriving city. They knew his purse would be especially full, and it was up to you to relieve Lotti of it. You were woefully underdressed for the frigid temperatures, so kept moving constantly to keep yourself warm, and it wasn't long for you to find the trail left in the snow of hooves and wagon wheels. Following it, you found Lotti's caravan. You knew with it moving, you'd have no chance to overtake him, so you crept up along behind it, and as you scuttled alongside the left wagon wheel, you popped its bolt loose and shot back to your hiding place. Not long after, the wheel fell off, just as you intended.

The wagon lurches suddenly, dropping to one side with a loud crash and clatter of glass and metal, sending Lotti out of the driver's seat to land his fat self in the snow. "Ooof!" Now's your chance, it seems. But one thing you didn't count on and your gang of "friends" didn't bother telling you, was Lotti had made plans for such an occasion, and before you could get terribly close, two men jumped out the back of the caravan, each one wielding a fine sword, ready to cut you down. Lotti, the fat bastard, was already rolling his poly self to a sitting position, grinning winsomely like a man who knows the game is over in his favor. "So, elf. Decided to give old Lotti a bit of sport, did you?", he says in a mocking tone. Uh-oh. As then men approach on you, ready to show you why you should never even have been born, another figure, pushing his way out through the forest, wanders along. Tall, lithe, snow-white skin and raven black hair. He's got a heavy fur coat on keeping him warm, but his sword can be seen jutting from under the fur. What does he have to do with all of this? The depends on you.

Crowe freezes at first, partially from the cold, then mostly from the gut churning fear of know THIS TIME he is toast. This guy Lotti will probably EAT him once his cronies have killed him. And who is this other guy? The snarl from the cronies as they advance on him brings him back around, and taking in a lung searing breath of the cold air, Malachite Crowe draws his sword, and swing wildly with it at the two attackers. His wild flailing style confuses them at first, they obviously thought that MAYBE he at least knew how to fight! When he trips in the snow as he advances, they laugh, instead of killing him outright, and watch him flail in the snowdrift.

Ythrien has been watching this spectacle for awhile now, arms folding as he shakes his head. He sighs and then starts to walk forward, coming into view of the two guards as Lotti is being hauled up off his fat ass to stand. "Shame on you, picking on a poor elf like that. Can't you see he's retarded? He can't help being as stupid as he is.", he calls out, stopping to stand in the snow with a wide, challenging stance. Lotti smirks and says, "_He_ was the one who picked on _me_, trying to rob me." Ythrien spits to one side, narrowing his eyes boredly. "Well what can you expect? He's poor, hungry, cold. You're fat and rich. Surely there's enough meat on you to feed a small village. I don't blame him, though I doubt your flesh is sweet enough for my taste. But good enough for a dog, I suppose." This only serves to anger Lotti, who points at Ythrien and yells, "Kill him, men! And then kill his stupid companion!"

Crowe is still flailing around in the snow, and just manages to right himself, when the first of the goons uses him for a step stone to get to the bold challenger. "Compan??? ....Oy!" he yells as he is stomped into the snow. The clatter of engaging steel rings in the chilled hallow of the woods, and Lotti's fat thick laughter rings out as he watches the battle with glee. Crowe swipes the snow from his face just in time to see the other guard leaping over him. Either to land on him, or get to the other invader he is not sure, so with a quick move, he hoist his cutlass up into the air and holds onto it with all his might, hoping if the asshole is going to jump on him, this will hurt. A mild bit of luck comes his way as he guard was jumping OVER him, and did not expect a sword to be raised like a yardarm from the snow. His leap is high but not quite high enough, and the upper three inches of the sword slice through the crotch of his pants, fabric, skin and all.

Ythrien let the guard get close, not once drawing for his sword. As the man gets in closer, he taunts, "What's a matter, pointy-ears? Too afraid to fight me?" Ythrien shrugs, putting his hands on his hips. He then says in a smug, bored tone, "No. I just don't like to waste good black powder on a miss." He then quickly slips his hand into his coat and pulls out his pistol, cocking it and firing! The ball neatly penetrates the guard's head above his eyes, off-center, and he falls back. Ythrien frowns, mumbling, "I'm off. Have to work on that.", before turning to the fellow attacking you. He cocks his pistol one more time, ready to fire on this one as well, but waiting for a clear shot.

Crowe hears two sounds that make his ears ring, the scream of the man he has just maimed, and the BANG of a black powder gun going off at close range. "Aiiiieee!!" he screams, dropping the cutlass, and covering his ringing ears. << I hate that SOUND!>> he screams in his mind, and after laying there for a beat, he flops around in the snow, rolling over to see what is happening now. Slowly he lifts his head up from the snow pit he has created, and stares at the tall elf with the gun, and the second guard, swearing up a storm as he grips his groin with one hand, still holding his sword in the other.

Lotti is now quite distressed, reaching into his tipped caravan to pull out his own sword. Pitifully, however, he can barely wield it with an proficiency, and Ythrien merely loads and cocks his gun, shooting the heavy blade from Lotti's hand. The guard who was menacing you gets a stern stare from Ythrien as he raises the gun to load another ball. "Wanna play?", he asks in a wicked tone. The guard decides against it and takes off as best he can, hobbling down the road! Ythrien loads the pistol and cocks it once more, aiming it straight at Lotti now. "Undress, fat bastard." Lotti looks on in horror, mouth falling agape. "What did you just tell me?" Ythrien smirks, closing one eye to peer down the sight of the gun. "I said undress." Seeing how serious the elf is, Lotti begins to undress. Ythrien then says to you aside, "Get up, idiot. Get up and get behind me."

Crowe seeing the other guard flee, and that you seem to be handling things well with your gun and all, has gotten to his feet by now, and collected his sword. He CAN'T loose that, Bullet would skin him alive if he did, he was about to make tracks and escape, but then the tall one barks a command at him. "Idiot?" he mutters to himself, and turns, giving the rude bastard as mean a glare as he can muster. "I am NOT an idiot!" he proclaims, then just to prove that, he takes an angry chop at the fallen wagon with his sword. He gives it a fair blow, embedding the sharp blade in the heavy wood. "Ah! What?" he yelps, then has to use both hands to free the stuck weapon. He of course over pulls, and when the blade pulls free, he goes sailing backwards, landing conveniently behind the tall guy with the gun. Yeah, he meant to do that.

Ythrien can't help but snicker, but tries to keep a straight face. As Lotti finishes undressing, Ythrien commands him, "Now turn and _walk_." Lotti is shocked further still, his disgusting fatness flapping nakedly in the chill breeze. "You can't expect me to.." Just then, another shot rings out at the fat man's feet, blowing snow up onto him. "Right! Which direction?", he now whimpers, trying to look accommodating. Ythrien motions with his gun, "That way.", signaling off toward the nearest town, Alinaria. "You won't take too long. Though you might make it faster if you just _roll_ yourself toward the town than try to walk." Lotti scowls at this, but as Ythrien goes to load his pistol one more time, the fat ex-caravan owner starts to march, and Ythrien keeps his gun trained on him until he's out of sight. When he feels sure, he holsters his pistol once more and turns to you, offering you a hand up. "C'mon, you.", he says gruffly. "Let's go."

Crowe looks up at you with a scowl, and slaps your offered hand away. "I can do it myself..." he growls, and with a great amount of struggle, he manages to right himself from the snow, and brush most of it off. "I don't need your help!" he says in a high pitched voice, shaking and tremulous with the cold and the fright he has just gotten. He turns from you, and begins to rummage through the van, tossing out things into the snow looking for the money, or maybe even something to eat or wear, not that he would get to keep it, but he is not thinking of that right now.

Ythrien now stands, weight shifted onto one leg, and crosses his arms, a cold fog drifting from his mouth as he breathes in and out slowly. "So why is a scrawny elf like yourself going after Lotti? Surely you knew his wagon would be guarded?" He watches you, looking you over. Yup. You're not fed well, not clothed well, an urchin. Great.

Crowe pauses in his rummaging, << Great, he isn't going to rob me, just nag me to death.>> he grumbles internally. Yeah, of course he should have known the caravan would be guarded, but BULLET had told him it wouldn't be. Bastard. "Yeah, I knew that.... " he growls, still digging, <<OOOH! That's nice!>> he thinks as he begins stuffing items into his belt pockets and inside his shabby jerkin. He pauses, and turns, tossing a small bag of coin to the Guy with the Gun, and says, "Here, thanks..." then resumes digging deeper into the van, looking for valuables.

Ythrien catches the bag and looks at it, smirking. "Naw.", he says, tossing it back to you. "You need it more than me. You could buy yourself some wits while you get some clothes." By now, night is starting to fall and it's getting colder, even Ythrien in his fur coat drawing it about himself more securely. "It gets pretty cold out here at night. You might wanna think about heading to whatever hole you call home." Then, from behind you feel something very warm and soft fall over your shoulders. When you look, it's that rude elf's coat. He's turned his back to you and is walking away, arms wrapped about his middle to keep himself warm. "Don't say I never helped, kid." It's a long way back to town, and in this weather, your feet will get frostbite before you can make it home. But at least you have a warm coat, yeah?

Crowe only partially listens to you, ignoring the taunts, hell he has heard much worse many times before. Then the coat drops onto his shoulders, and he whips his head around to look at you, ropes of his wet hair stinging his face where it strikes like a whip. "Huh?" he calls out after you, his voice sounding small and weak in the dead air of the snow covered landscape. He looks up at the dying light of the sky, and then around the nearby area. Which way WAS the back to town??? Back along the track of the caravan he guessed, but damn, it would be dark soon. He stood there knee deep in the snow, trying to force his mind to think. What to do, what to do? But he was suddenly so sleepy. He closed his eyes for just a second and wiped a coat covered arm over his eyes, trying to dry the freezing moisture out of them. Just then, his stomach gave an enormous rumble, and the cold and hunger overwhelmed him. His eyes rolled up into his head, and he fainted, falling into a heap in the snow next to the crippled van.

Ythrien hears the flumph and turns, cursing. "Oh shard it!" He then runs back over toward the caravan, leaping one-legged through the snow like a gazelle. Reaching you, he kneels down and slaps your face, calling out, "Hey! Hey don't do this! C'mon, stupid. Wake up!" Getting no response he growls once again and cups his arms up under you, coat and all, and lifts you, grunting. You're not heavy, but it's awkward to carry you in deep snow. He then makes the awkward trek back to his cabin, but not without ensuring the booty you grabbed is also with you both.

Snowy Forest

The trees are thick here, snow heavy laden on their branches. Tiny footprints are seen, signs of wildlife, and some of the trees have scratch marks from deer rubbing their antlers. The air is crisp and clean, the winds cold when they blow, and at night, hoot owls can be heard, with the occasional howl of a lone wolf. Every other day it seems a fresh coat of snow falls, and sometimes, blizzards rage, but most of the time it's peaceful, beautiful, if frigid. In the distance through an opening in the trees, one can see a clearing, in in the middle of that clearing, a cabin.

Snowy Clearing

The snow is crisp and even on the ground but for any wildlife tracks or whatnot. The only larger footprints lead toward a cabin in the middle, the building looking cozy and sturdy, a chimney rising from it, occasional plumes of smoke drifting lazily from it. It looks inhabited and well-kept. Off a ways to the left is a small lake, usually iced over. It's a quite place, very relaxing despite the cold.

Crowe can do little but breathe at this point, he moans a bit as you strike him, and even in his semi unconscious state, he turns to try to avoid the hits. He mutters something like, "No..." but is more asleep than awake, the cold sapping what little energy his frail body possesses. His body rides limply in your strong grasp, much like a wet rag doll.

Ythrien continues on, stepping up to his cabin door. There's no way around it, so he suddenly gives you a light toss, hefting you over his shoulder so he can dig for his key. He then unlocks his door and brings you into the warmth.

Ythrien opens the cabin door and steps in.

Cabin - Snowy Clearing

The inside of the cabin is indeed cozy, the walls carefully chinked with mud to help keep out drafts, and large animal skins hung along as well, to help further keep the warmth in. The furniture is simple, handmade wood, and it's all one room. There's a fireplace along the side wall, large enough for a cozy fire and to cook over it, and nearby is a wash basin on a stand for washing up. A large pot and tea kettle rest beside the fire for cooking or heating water. In the corner is a large washing tin for bathing. The bed is a double bed, large enough for one to sprawl comfortably, and the bed covers are all luxurious furs, warm and soft, pillows covered in mismatched fabrics and stuffed with goose down. Shelves line the walls with various things needed for the rough life out here in the cold, for there's also a small fife sitting on the mantle above the fire, someone obviously taking good care of its dark, burnished wood. It's a homey kind of place, though it can get cold during the harsher storms known in this region, and whoever lives here keeps it comfortable and safe.

Crowe makes a soft groan as he is hoisted over your shoulder like a bag of grain, and lies there limply as you find your key, and open the door. He feels the change of temperature as he is brought inside, and slowly his eyes flutter open, the ice on his eyelids melting, and he looks around his new surroundings. When he realizes where he is, and how he is being carried, he decides, wisely, to play possum, until he forms his next clever plan.

Ythrien is grumbling the whole while, yet he carries you somewhat carefully, not swinging you around as rudely as he could. He then marches over to his bed and pulls back the fur covers, tipping you down and laying you gently, far more gently than you'd expect, into his bed. He then covers you with his furs and goes over to the fireplace, filling his pot with water from his basin and hanging it on the cooking rod, pushing it over the fire with a poker. He then turns back to look at you, murmuring, "Great. Like I need someone to have to baby-sit." He then sighs and starts to dig in his own clothes, looking through his trunk.

Crowe winces as you lay him down in the bed. Sure it is comfy and warm and NICE. But, being laid down on his sword is not pleasant, he is in the middle of contemplating this when you look over at him, and catch him looking at you. He quickly blinks his eyes shut again, just like a child trying to fool a parent. When he hears your complaint about having to baby-sit him, he opens his mouth to protests, but only a weak croak comes out. He closes his mouth and coughs instead, pulling the furs over his head to hide from you, the world, and the utter misery that is his life.

Ythrien wrinkles his brow looking at you, trying to figure you out. He then murmurs to himself, "Poor bastard. Probably has no real home. Kicking him for fun doesn't make him any better." So he resigns, albeit with annoyance, to at least stop picking on you. As the water comes to a boil, he pulls out a glass jar with herbs in it and sprinkles them in in a good amount, then stirs the water around a bit. When ready, he swings the cooking arm back out carefully and using a pot holder, tips the handle so it leans and pours into a mug he grabbed. Filling it with what looks and smells like a comforting tea, he steps over to his bed where you lay, and says in a slightly gentler gruff, "Hey you. Stu.. I mean.. Well.. Wake up. I've got some tea for you. It's good and will warm you up."

There is movement under the covers, but he does not reemerge from the safety of the darkness. "Don' wan' it..." he says in a voice that definitely sounds shaky and perhaps holding back sobs. He doesn't trust himself to say anything else so he doesn't. Even though is brain is now warm, no real clever plans are coming to him. You are bigger, stronger, and damn good with a pistol, so that is right out. His stomach growls, painfully so, and he gets dizzy again. Hunger and a lack of fresh air will tend to do that to you, and reactively, his arm flips the heavy cover back, revealing him red eyed, and gasping for fresh air.

Ythrien sighs and sets the mug of tea down on the bedside table. "Fine. Just.. _whatever_. I don't have _time_ for this." He then pokes toward the tea. "_There's_ your _mug_." Points toward the pot over the fire. "_There's_ some _stew_.", and then points to the fur rug on the floor. "And _there's_ where _I'm_ going to _sleep_ tonight. So don't wake me up, _got_it_?" He's so gruff in tone, yet you can see he's given up his bed for you. He just turns and takes down one of the wall furs, the fur quite cold from its proximity to the wall, and curls up on the rug, shivering. It'll warm with the heat of the fire in time. Looking sour, put out, and just general annoyed, he closes his eyes, attempting some sleep, be damned whatever _you_ do.

Crowe slowly sits up on the edge of the bed watching you with wide eyes. He looks at the mug, and the pot, then you as you lay on the floor near the fire. <<Ha ha! You Bastard! You ain't gonna trick me! I know how this works...>> and well he does, this is the sort of game Bullet and the rest play on him. He crosses his arms on his scrawny chest, and harumphs indignantly. "Fine." is all he says. Then waits. Time passes, it gets pitch black outside, making the fire seem all the more bright now. He waits, and when your snores sound like the real thing, he waits some more. An hour or so passes, then, perhaps... he might just try the tea... After slipping out of his ill fitting boots, he creeps to the mug, and lifts it up. The first sip while cold now, is ambrosia, and he slurps the rest down in two swallows. He sets the mug down, and looks to the pot of stew next. He creeps in front of where you sleep, and looks at you cautiously, poised like a nervous cat as he watches to see if you will wake up.

Ythrien doesn't move, laying uncomfortably on his fur-covered wooden floor. The stew is beginning to simmer down, the water boiling off. There seems plenty enough for one very hungry person to enjoy while it's still good, and surprisingly, it _is_ good, though not _amazing_.

Crowe manages to convince himself that he will be able to pilfer the stew, of course he has to steal it, you couldn't be serious. Quietly turning, he uses the mitts to take it down and set it on the hearth while he removes the lid and sets about eating it with the spoon used for stirring. His mouth waters at the first delightful bite, <<Oh my GODDESS!!>> he swoons in his mind, then another follows and another. He eats with the fast efficiency of a starved dog, scraping the pot until nothing remains but iron, the uses his fingers to get every bit of the stew. Only when it is all gone, does he drop the spoon on the hearth, and sigh. Sleepiness overwhelms him now, and he rubs his eyes, as a yawn so big almost dislocates his jaw. He turns to the side, and lays down in front of the fire, his back against your front, and closes his eyes. "Just lay here a minute..." he yawns. Yeah right.