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Paytience · Adventurer Joined: 13 Apr 2010 Posts: 65

Paytience tucked a wisp of jet black hair beneath her cap. The bowl haircut allowed that motion much easier than when her parent's had forced her to keep it long and brushed daily. They were lucky at this point if she brushed it at all. Silently she berated herself for even thinking of them. They were so concerned with their prospective spouses they didn't give a damn about her. And it was time she did the same.

The houses in this part of the valley were large and loomed over the snow like mountains of riches. Just like.. “Don't say it,” she told herself silently. “You're just doing this because they have it and they can afford to give up their extra.” Wrapping the cloak she had gotten at a five finger discount from a man in Umbra, she padded up the marble steps and past the snowman. Turning to the side she was headed for the window when she lost her balance slipping on a patch of ice. Thankfully she managed to catch herself and hoped the thud from her hands hitting marble hadn't woken anyone up.

Quietly she looked around. “Alright so there are doors. You shouldn't try them, try the windows.” Shaking her head she rethought that. “If they're open, you can go in that way.” Cussing she went ahead and tried the door. To her surprise it popped open. Watching behind her and glancing ahead momentarily she crossed the room, passed the enormous globe and headed for the 3 armoire's on the right hand side. With her left hand she yanked on the wooden door.

Sylvan Sherwood · Journeyman Joined: 14 Nov 2008 Posts: 107

Weeks had passed since Sylvan's return to the mountain house. She remained a gaunt, angry looking figure as the short days and long nights slipped by; eating little and sleeping even less combined to create her generally dour mood into something that was almost tangible in its presentation. Still, she had no contact from her child or his father, and this served only to increase the dangerous angst that dwelt within her.

Sitting up, half dozing, before the fountain, a sound that did not belong met her ears and brought her to an instant state of hyper-awareness. So much time had she spent here alone in these terrible weeks, Sylvan no longer heard the howl of the wind, or the crunch of feet or hooves passing nearby through the crusted snow, or for that matter the tinkling sound of the water in the fountain not three feet in front of her.

When she'd returned from her failed journey, even Jasmine, the gypsy chef, had been gone; it was a simple assumption that she had left with Arahim. After all, she was not one of 'them', and they took care of their own. The new woman, Kathleen, didn't sing and hum and prove a joyful addition to the house. Kathleen went through her time with a businesslike and perfunctory way. Kathleen even refused to stay full time at the house. She did her work and left. Usually without a greeting or departing word. These things only served to add to the quietude of Sylvan's solitary days and nights.

Fearing nothing at this point, with even less to lose, Sylvan stood and made her way to the formal entry doors before the fountain. Barefoot, she padded down the frozen marble stairs; the cold registered but not in a bothersome way. A cruel smile formed at the edges of her mouth as she peered through the window and saw the black-haired girl taking a visual stock of the wooden armoire that contained several of her most coveted shields. So entranced was the intruder that she gave the appearance of one unconcerned with being found out, and this caused a surge of violent anger to consume Sylvan like an inner fire.

Sylvan skirted around the ever present patch of ice before that set of doors and in silence walked up behind the girl, who had apparently been too stupid to close them behind herself. With a few quick movements indicative of someone who learned to fight on the streets, the fingers of Sylvan's right hand entwined themselves cruelly into the short raven hair as her left arm snaked around the girl's neck.

With a harsh jerk, Sylvan's right hand pulled the girl's head back. Having several good inches in height over her, Sylvan was able to seek out this unanticipated enemy's gaze.

Through gritted teeth, her voice lacking any human emotion whatsoever, Sylvan asked her question quietly.

"Now then. Just who the hell are you?"

Sylvan Sherwood · Journeyman Joined: 14 Nov 2008 Posts: 107

The intruder's insolence momentarily amused Sylvan. The black-haired girl's sense of entitlement was something incomprehensible to Sylvan's mind; all she had, she'd earned, and most of it the hard way. Bemusement turned to dangerous anger as the girl's comments, eye rolling, and body language reached unacceptable proportions.

Despite her attempts at self control, Sylvan lost what little of it she had. When a head-rocking slap failed to gain the girl's respect of the gravity of the situation she faced, Sylvan delivered a blow to the side of her head that left the girl unconscious. With an almost frightening detachment, Sylvan checked to make sure the thief was breathing. Satisfied that for the moment there would be no body to dispose of, Sylvan picked up the satchel that was stuffed with her own belongings, pilfered from the beautifully oiled wooden armoire.

Distractedly, she tossed her possessions back into the armoire. At the bottom of the satchel, her eye caught something that made her knees feel as if they were made of water. Was this yet another stolen item? Was this a messenger's service gone awry? There were, quite simply, too many unanswered questions for Sylvan to bear.

It was a letter, with her name on it, in a familiar hand. Seeing Arahim's writing felt like a physical blow. Sylvan exhaled and bent forward as a wave of dizziness took hold. When it passed, she read the letter quickly, then again more slowly. She cast a cruel gaze on the still form of the thief sullying her property, and with a gesture that held no compassion whatsoever gave the girl a kick.

"Wake up!" demanded Sylvan. When this failed to rouse her unwanted guest, she pocketed the letter and strode to the downstairs fountains. Forming a scoop with both hands, Sylvan threw the cold water onto the girl; sputtering, the brat sat up and looked around with a confused expression.

"Start talking, and make it good. Give me a reason to let you walk out of here on your own steam," she demanded.

Paytience · Adventurer Joined: 13 Apr 2010 Posts: 65

The cold burst of water on her face immediately roused the girl from her unconcious haze. She tried to shake her head to remove the excess and found herself quickly putting a hand to her hand in a futile effort to calm the throbbing. The woman's accent was thick and Paytience was having a hard time understanding a word she said. She managed to understand the word tongue. Slowly the woman repeated herself. Gesturing to the letter in her hand the dark haired woman asked once more where Paytience had gotten it.

"The mailbox. It's not my fault you don't pull your crap out," Paytience snapped back.

"Did Arahim give you this?" Her eyes were questioning and liquid ice behind a face mixed with rage and uncomprehensible pain.

"Arawho?" She didn't know who the hell this Arahim person was. But once more she repeated herself that the letter had been in the mailbox. When the woman did not seem to believe her and asked her motives Paytience couldn't help but bite back. "I was stealing. You went through my crap. You already know that much."

Paytience watched as the dark haired lady rubbed her forhead as if coming down with a massive headache. Her words must have been sinking in because she believed her and walked her over to the couch closer to the middle of the room. Minor questions followed suit and Paytience, rather than be knocked out again by the woman, answered honestly.

"I'm not going to kill you and I will tell you why." The voice was less confrontational now and the edge had receeded some. "You are a good fighter and you could make something of yourself. Plus you are obviously one of them. I married one and I recognize it when I see it."

"One of who?" Without a word the woman got up and walked at an easy pace out of the room. In less than ten minutes she had returned with a blaxing blue shield, a necklace and a sack of gold.

"Here. You take these and train yourself up. Don't become a stereotype. You can be better than that."

Paytience had no clue what to say. She was being nice to her even after she had broken into this woman's house and ransacked her things, she was being nice. Stunned into silence she nodded dazedly and walked out.

Sylvan Sherwood · Journeyman Joined: 14 Nov 2008 Posts: 107

Paytience, the girl called herself.

After coming around from the land of unconsciousness, this young woman seemed to have reacquainted herself with truth and a modicum of manners.

Throughout the whole episode of finding the intruder, who even then Sylvan could visually identify as being of gypsy blood, that fact did not stop her from reacting to the situation in the manner she had. But finding the letter from Arahim brought too much to the forefront. As she paced the once again empty house, she wondered more and more if Paytience had somehow found her way to the house via one of Arahim's relatives. Perhaps the truth was the letter was in the mailbox--she'd not checked it in time out of mind. There was really no need, it seemed to her.

But the fact that it was in the girl's satchel in the first place brought forth too many other possibilities. Maybe Arahim had given it to her to bring to the house, and the contents--the very presentation--of the home were too tempting for someone probably raised in poverty. It never did cease to amaze Sylvan that so many of Arahim's people had the views of wealth that they did. Even during Patience's eye rolling, huffy, behavior she'd said something to the effect that Sylvan had more than a person needed, that she'd have never missed the things she'd stolen. The very thought of intentionally murdering someone close to Arahim or any of the relatives he was close to, was not something Sylvan wanted to own.

Despite the anger and indignation at discovering the intrusion, Sylvan's heart--not her mind--made the decision to try to help teach Paytience something, even at the cost of having beaten the girl silly. Sylvan knew all too well that, sometimes, all a person needed was a little kindness and a chance. Paytience had claimed to be a budding fencer; hopefully, the bank check would be honored when Paytience claimed it, and the shield would assist in her training. But more than these things, she hoped that the Ankh pendant would give her something to meditate on. The pendants seemed popular among the gypsies she'd met, along with other arcane symbols often forged of silver.

Standing before the fountain she'd been so recently dozing in front of, she stood listening to the chill winds of the mountains rattling at the windows, her hand rubbing her forehead as the merciless pain inched closer. She wondered if she'd been played a fool; after all, despite everything, there was still the possibility that the gypsy link was no more than mere coincidence.

A chance. She'd just been thinking about people being given chances.

That was exactly what the letter from Arahim offered her, and she decided to take it.

She also realized, with a jolt of pain and horror, that she'd claimed to have married a gypsy. That moment was all it took for the headache to disable Sylvan. She staggered to her bedroom and sank onto the bed and begged silently for relief from the pain.