Theater Thief

The chill of the air has led many in the theater district quickly on their way home from whatever entertainments had them there in the first place. The sun is nearly set, its spill of color fading in the blue as the sky. So there are few performers on the streets now. Only those that need the coin more than they need warmth, or those that are truly driven to their work. Amid this quiet cold day there is the sound of music. A drawing music, surprisingly loud for all that none can tell where it is coming from. It fills the air with cheer that sets a discordant mood with the cold, and yet... It makes all those hurried feet stop now and again with the wonder of it. The perfect sound carrying across the cold district with the warmth and welcome of a fireplace.

Until suddenly with a discordant twang the sound stops. It is almost too loud the silence that follows, and then shouting can be heard from an alleyway. Also too loud. A man's voice carrying out of the alley and into the district. "Give it to me! Give it to me now!"

A young Aesir gentleman in the attire of a priest of Althea was walking along, clenching his blue cloak tightly against the cold with one hand, while the other grips his bill, its blade covered in a leather scabbard. At the sudden outburst, his gaze is drawn toward the alleyway, and soon his feet are taking him toward it, all thought of the cold forgotten as something more interesting has captured his attention.

"All He asks is that you see to your sense of adventure tempered with your sense of ethical obligation," says the just above three foot tall Gobber to a gnome. A clasp of shoulder and he turns, tilting his head to the music and making his way towards the alleyway. His hands are clasped behind the small of his back, pistol in a crossdraw holster tapping lightly against his hip as he moves to the edge of the alleyway.

As the edge of the alleyway is breached an unexpected and yet somehow expected sight is there. An elf with long blue hair dark at the top and lightening to white at the bottom which falls all the way to the ground, is holding a harp whilst a man tugs on it. The elf looks quite terrified, pale features twisted into something like pleading as the harp is pulled upon. Blue robes are dirtied as the accoster slams the elf into a nearby wall to try and dislodge the harp. There's a soft sound of air leaving the poor elf, and something close to triumph from the man as the harp begins finally to slip from long pale fingers.

There's a moment when the the man pulling on the harp hears footsteps at the end of the alleyway and he looks back to find that there is not one but two people investigating the commotion. Then he pulls out a knife from one sleeve and growls. "Go on then! Nothing to see here!"

Deak stops and takes a mere moment to process what he's seeing. He says, "Hold, sir! You are clearly not the harpist. I must insist that you return the instrument to the elf. Your knife doesn't scare me, but it shows me that you are desperate. If you have needs, perhaps the Compassionate One can help."

Azteg shifts his hands to his hips. He looks equal part annoyed and indignant. "Young human man. What do you believe you are doing. This is a man of honor, of music. Music made of the invention of the mind, of the invention of the soul. Music that can bring you to cry and to shake with laughter. And you terrify him with these words, with that blade? Set down your knife and apologize to this man and perhaps Reos himself will not look down upon you with disfavor on this day!" His accent - in Common, is that of the Hobgoblin city. His gaze is stern.

GAME: Azteg rolls intimidate+1: (7)+6+1: 14

In fact the elf doesn't look as afraid of the knife as one might think, as if the loss of the harp was more terrifying than the loss of life. The blue-haired silandanyar has gone very still however, eyes flickering between the man and those that have come to aid. Not a single word has left the lovely elf, not one from the moment of the accostment and nor does one leave those pale lips now.

Quite to the contrary the robber is twitchy with nervousness, slipping closer to the elf to kind of use the other's body as cover from the perceived danger which two individuals pose, and fear that they might attack him. "I won't go begging and pleading to some god... Just look." The man tugs on the harp once. "This one has plenty to spare. Nice clothes, nice harp. Just go on your way and there'll be no blood spilled yea?"

Deak smiles, "That confirms it, then. Give the minstrel his harp, and I will see that you are provided for." The priest may not be an elf supermodel, but he's handsome enough, and his friendly smile carries a natural sincerity. Besides, Altheans are widely known as sources of relief and charity. He walks toward the man without brandishing the polearm he uses as a walking stick.

Azteg falls quiet, letting the priest of Althea make his play first. He does take two easy steps to the right - to let him keep an eye on the other man and have a clear line of sight should he need it for some reason.

The elf's grip on the harp is so firm that the fingers are turning white, eyes the color of the lavender sunset which is falling in the sky is reflected here, and they watch Deak and Azteg with sharp intelligence.

"I don't trust you man!" The robber suddenly lets go of the harp so that he can brandish the knife. Toward the elf, toward Deak. Back again. "Get back!"

Deak raises his eyebrows at the latest development. He says, "It was wise of you to release the harp. Now, I understand your reluctance to trust, but you clearly see that although my armaments are superior, I have not threatened you with them. Perhaps that can be a beginning to a resolution?"

He glances at Shizin and gestures with his eyes to "Scram, get outta here." as best he can without losing his momentum with assailant.

Azteg gestures to Shizin with his left hand, a sort of 'c'mere' gesture. He shifts again, trying to avoid making any sort of sudden moves or sudden actions - he's otherwise silent, not wanting to antagonize the other man more than he had already.

Shizin sees the flick of the eyes and the gesture and immediately takes flight - or rather the elf certainly tries to, only to have blue hair viciously pulled upon by the assailant. One hand has wrapped around the very long locks and the man turns suddenly very afraid. "What are you doing? Where do you think you're going?" The knife is very firmly pointed at Shizin now who closes those lovely eyes for a moment before looking very pointedly at Deak and Azteg. "I tell you what mr... whoever you are. You give me all your money and I'll let this one go. How's that for charity?"

Deak says, "I'm sorry, but I'll not haggle over the safety of a person. You'll have to release him before I can provide any help." He *might* seems slightly less confident to an observant person, but he is a skilled negotiator, and knows well the risks of showing an opponent one's anxiety during a negotiation. Perhaps his grip on the shaft of the bill is slightly tighter.

"My apologies, Father Priest," says Azteg to the much taller Deak, dipping his head before he turns to the human man holding Shizin hostage. His hand drops to the pistol grip at his left hip, crossdraw. "Are you familiar, young human, with the wonder, the mastery of the firearm? Powder, powder that explodes most gloriously when exposed to fire. A barrel, so finely honed that it will use that fire to create force that shoves a half inch round steel ball through the barrel faster than any bird in flight. A ball that will enter - and explode outwards, leaving a hole the size of any winter melon. Now consider this, consider the works of Reos, AND LET THAT MAN GO NOW!"

The man takes a step back from Deak, tugging Shizin with him. It seems as though he's decided not to give in. Then, Azteg speaks and certain terror envelops the man. His eyes widen like a horse about to bolt. His hand holding the knife shakes. He grasps Shizin not with the intent to threaten but like a child might hold close a favored blanket against the night. He lets out a little moan, clearly feeling the effects of a spell meant to terrorize him. "You... you wouldn't dare... you might hit... I mean..." There are tears in the man's eyes.

There's a grim look stealing over Shizin's features, a sort of calmness. Shizin lifts a hand and makes a small motion with it, a 'come hither' motion not unlike the one that Azteg made before. It suggests that if Azteg intends to shoot, that Shizin is okay with being in the crossfire. All that with a single hand gesture.

"Fate brought you to this alleyway on this day, my young human friend," growls the tiny Gobber. "I am ready to pronounce judgement as His Fist, His Pistol, His Righteous Right Hand. Do you stand ready to accept this judgement? Or, perhaps, do you wish to step aside and beg forgiveness? Once the pistol has cleared leather, the die is cast. A judgement shouted cannot be undone." The pistol scrapes a half inch out of the leather holster, to added effect.

The sudden increase in the man's tension elicits a sense of paternal pity from the younger priest, like when a parent sees the fear in a chile that is about to be punished. He says, "Release the elf. I promise that this bold goblin's wrath will be more than you bargained for when you assaulted this maker of beautiful music. If you will choose to let him go, I will see to your needs. Now isn't that better than being dealt with as a robber?"

It's the fear that the man gives into, dropping his knife and taking a step toward Deak. "Don't let him shoot me. Please. I'm sorry."

Freed Shizin takes several cautious steps away from the man, backing toward Azteg until the man could not reach out and grab the elf. Long fingers are soothing over the harp still being held, as though trying to undo the violence set upon the instrument.

"Step behind me, elf. You are safe," says the Gobber in his growl accent. He'll turn to keep the elf behind him and his small three foot body between the elf and the once-attacker, his eyes on him and his hand still on his pistol, although he hasn't drawn the pistol out at all, anymore.

GAME: Deak casts Mending. Caster Level: 6 DC: 14

Deak smiles and takes a deep breath. Then he casts a spell, repairing the harp. Finally he tells the man, "You chose wisely, after a bit of convincing. Now, let me escort you to the temple and we'll get you fed, bathed, clothed and whatever else you need." He smiles at the others and says to all present, "I am Hearthguard Ragni Knutson, but my friends call me the Deacon, or 'Deak' for short."

"I am Enginebreaker Azteg, Protector of Artifice, Hunter of Heresy. It is a pleasure to meet you, Hearthguard Ragni. You are a kind and generous man and this young criminal has you to thank for his life. Perhaps this will allow him to find his own new path that does not include these sorts of acts." says Azteg with a bow of his head.

Obediently the elf slips behind the Azteg, silent save the soft swish of robes easily lost in Deak's words to the would-be thief. In truth the harp has no need of being mended, it is none the worse for being tugged about whatever Shizin's gentle hands have to say. Still Shizin bows toward Deak, and then again when offered greeting. Another is offered to Azteg at that greeting. Humbly, still half-bowed and eyes lowered the elf offers greetings as well. "I am Shizin Hinota." The words are clear and though soft have the strength to carry further than it seemed they should. The words suggest a masculinity that is somewhat belied by the long hair and robes which suggest neither gender at all. "And thank you."

Deak says, "Well met. And Master Shizin, if I may say so, your melody was deeply moving. You have a rare talent." To Azteg, "I like you, Azteg. I think we work well together. Imagine how effective a team we might make if we actually coordinated. Besides, I must say I find it refreshing to find such a noble heart in one of your race. It would honor me to accompany you in battle or in drinks." Then back to Shizin, "And I wonder if you wouldn't consider sharing your prodigious talents at the Soldiers Defense hospital from time to time. I believe the strains of your music could do much to sooth the sufferings of the patients."

Shizin flushes, clearly uneasy with the praise for the song just played, but when Deak makes the suggestion the elf ducks behind blue hair and offers a faint smile. "It would be a pleasure." Fingers twist around the harp, a sign of nervousness; but always gentle. The sildanyar tucks the harp away into safety, still cautious of the man hiding behind Deak. Lavender eyes look up and seeing Deaks face the blush on Shizin's face deepens.

Azteg is checking the elf to make sure he's OK when he happens to notice a passing gnome. "My apologies, friend Shizin; my work is never done. The heresy and heretics never end. I must go onto my task. Continue to play that pleasant music and practice your craft, yes?" he asks as he begins to hurry about the gnome. "You! Halt!" the gobber calls.

-End-