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The footsteps had faded, and soon she was only running only to the beat of her own footsteps. People had no doubt already noticed the noise in the more residential areas, as quiet as her boots were on cobblestone, but she didn't care at that point. Trinan was still unarmed, by choice. The shovel clipped to the bag behind her back and the knife tied around her left boot's ankle. Neither would be necessary but that said she was far gone enough to think she was starting the fight if there wasn't one when she got there. Where 'there' was was, for the most part a mystery, as she worked her way around the area where her quarry's footsteps had died away. Someone was cleaning up the mess and it wasn't her. If it came to it, she supposed she could have gone back and talked it out if the guard even asked her questions. Of course they would, and it would mean her way into the palace being jeopardized. Residential buildings, merchant stalls, and a lone warehouse were the contents of the lane if she was cutting her zones right. The only time she'd had to look over a map of ever-growing Mullen was aboard the Roumont at the times when she wasn't over a rail seasick. Stopping a movement short of running her hand through her wine soaked hair, she strode up to the door of the warehouse and knocked, a drawn out, slow three raps upon the door. For a moment, presenting her badge seemed like a good idea, but the voice that told her to pursue in the first place was then suggesting that it remain a problem between two bar patrons.
Unperturbed and incredibly perturbed, Maria Trinan shoved open the wooden doors of the Crossroads immediately after her target. She wanted her answers and after the business with the Order was quickly growing fed up with the locals. As she barged out into the street, she was just in time to witness the murder, and subsequent disposal of the bodies of two members of the regular guard, bearing their rust colored brigandine and all. Whoever she was looking at had caused more deaths in the city than the previous two days of uninterrupted incident in approximately ten minutes. She rubbed her wine soaked face in frustration and walked up to the dark alley that the stranger had since departed from. Blood spilled, going to be put on her hands. It was over, the time for restraint was done. As an Arcarti Scout she couldn't stand bystander to bloodshed, and as someone desperately trying to stay low key she couldn't let some anonymous thug get away with playing hood games in the middle of her operation. Whoever it was had just butchered two trained guardsmen, but that acknowledged, she'd just got done staring down half of the Order of the Thistle. Trinan sprinted off into the night, following the slight glimpses of the killer she could catch, and the sound of footsteps on the cobblestone in the dead of night. Investigator was becoming a cumbersome title, she was supposed to be finding out why Maria Trinan had been reported dead, not stopping backstreet crime.
The investigator's cold, evaluating glare remained unchanged as the hoodlum before her produced a knife. She busied herself running down the list of possible explanations. Not many people would be so confrontational unless they were inebriated or involved in the same kind of business she was, only without the desire of existing under the radar. Through calm deduction she found the answer she was looking for: she didn't care what his motivations were. However, standing there with a knife to her throat and staring at the man holding it was a good way of keeping her distracted from the situation. She did not recall verbally promising to Thomas Morgan that she would not spill blood in his country, but it would be wrong of an executor of the peace to bring her company to foreign lands unannounced and begin killing people in the streets. Additionally, the promise had always been to herself, she did not want to give in to bloodshed anymore. The man's response was measured, in a way, at least in the sense that she agreed with his logic. Maria Trinan probably looked like a drunk, belligerent girl too addled to recognize danger, in his situation Maria would have probably grabbed a knife too. She smiled faintly, and after a silent moment, replied, "I'm sleeping here, I don't like having the constabulary close by." She wondered what Mullenites actually called the guard, but it wasn't as if she didn't radiate foreigner to begin with. After another pause, she resumed, "Put your knife down, I'm not fighting you. One more time, as a soldier, I want to know why people are dying where I'm staying." She spoke slowly, evenly, waiting for even the slightest flinch from the man. In her estimation, he wasn't about to ruin his chances by attacking another person, but at the same time she didn't exactly want him walking away because then all the trouble would be on her hands. What an unfortunate choice of inn.
Trinan ran over the situation in her head, willfully ignoring the recklessness of trying to erase an incident this far gone when the easiest thing to do would be to hide her face and disappear. Lily probably would have been perfect for that, someone ready and willing to play cover knowingly or not, and here she was. That was right, she was now covered in wine, so here she was, and besides, she kind of wanted answers for why two men were dead. Before she could reach them, her two targets broke away and it was a quick decision on which to follow when the thug was heading straight towards her. Maria was dumbfounded when the man made to push past her, but she went with it. The man had the right idea, outside was better. Shoved out of the way, she came back forward, throwing her left hand out and making a grab at his shoulder as she followed him towards the door. "Stop yourself," She demanded, voice raised slightly in spite of the roar of the tavern. "You're about to explain why I'm not currently checking into this tavern in peace."
Her head turned when the woman chimed in with a suggestion for alcohol. Ale wasn't really Maria's thing and she was about to say so but before she could open her mouth a frothing glass of ale was set on the counter before her, by the swiftly returning bartender. She was lucky, it was exactly the person she'd been trying to say. "Hey, Ba-" as she tried to hail the man, he'd already disappeared down the counter somewhere. The investigator took a long pull of her drink and sat back in the stool. The ale down south was alright, she'd decided. With her free hand, she accepted Lilian's handshake. "Lily it is. I'm Maria Trinan." And, the merchant wanted her story, of all the people to run into. Trinan was picking her words when a loud command issued across the room. Zaneth family, not the regulars, which meant it wasn't for her. It seemed everything was fine until the familiar sound of a bar room brawl erupted from behind her. Immediately, she figured the two were linked, and decided that whatever the cause for tonight's celebration was she didn't want to be around when some constable came. Maria stood up from the bar stool, taking the cloak from around her shoulders and laying it on the bar. The sheathes inside rattled ominously on the wood, but she wouldn't be using them. She looked over to Lily and spoke, calmly, "I'll tell you a story, so please hold on to this, I need to find some peace and quiet." At that, she turned and shoved her way into the crowd. Whoever the mercenaries entering the bar were, she needed them to be conducting their business elsewhere for the night. As she made her way through the crowd, carefully picking a route between the drunks and the people trying to get away, a flash of movement caught her eye and a bottle then broke over a nearby man's head. Immediately, she was showered by what she knew by taste to be wine. The pristine, white uniform shirt she wore slowly stained in red around her shoulders. Perturbed already, she then saw two of the gentlemen she was looking to talk to grab knives with their heads. Of course, someone wanted to make an even bigger scene. Traceable, unlike the bottle, her head turned to a cloaked man standing, talking to some thuggish type and locked. With a wild elbow, the investigator cut her way through the crowd and made straight for the pair, scowling and wine-covered.
Trinan walked up to the bar, ignoring the seating arrangements for the moment and craning her head to look for the bartender over the many other bodies gathered around the counter. Absent, apparently, most probably fetching something from the back room. She sighed, trying to tune out a question that came from beside her but soon realizing that there was no simply getting her room alongside a bottle of spirits and retiring. Slowly, her head turned to see the woman speaking to her. Behind a calm, evaluating glare she puzzled at the stranger's motivations and decided whether or not to answer. The woman at the bar's tone was kind. There were people to doubt in the world and she was content being bitter, but a tiny voice cautioned 'not now' and she reluctantly pulled up a seat and consigned herself to waiting for the bartender. "Not very," she said quietly, leaning forward and searching among the hung up bottles for something familiar. It was funny in a sad way that she didn't even know half of her homeland's brews, and it was becoming fast apparent that they didn't drink the same where she lived now. "What about you?" She asked, trying to turn the topic and not quite aware of how silly it was.
The guard returned in short order, with another three similarly masked and helmeted men following him in and departing from him to take positions at the far corners of the room. Through the halls, sections could be seen passing through the palace grounds, whatever had transpired seemed to put them on alert or at least afforded them a situation they could actually act on. The Order could be left to do whatever they pleased so long as there was an immediate threat to be dealt with. By all accounts present, that threat had long since left, but that only meant they needed to move more people to the walls. It was fortunate that the gates were down, it gave them less ground to cover. The original guard, if one was observant enough to tell the difference between the armored men, returned to the group now swearing vengeance on their mysterious attackers. They were still asking Sir Tyler questions, and he hung back to let the man speak before he would deliver his own news. Now that orders were in availability, it was wanted that the civilians be returned to their quarters or otherwise put out of the Great Hall, a room that demanded far too many men to cover for the few people sheltered within it.
Leaving the grounds had been made simple enough, but she was leaving empty handed. So was everyone else, apparently, although a few names on the list had been at least freed. As always, they were all doing their own thing. The investigator walked the dark streets of Mullen alone, her head on a slow, perpetual turn over the dark alleys and cobbled roads. Perhaps she was a bit nervous, but more than anything she was homesick tourist enchanted by the familiar sights of a southwestern city. The last time she'd similar masonry, she'd still been running around in the uniform of the Abbey. Trading religious habits for a soldier's uniform had been the smallest change, though. She sighed, seeing the city was fun but she had a job to do. A job that started with lots of getting ready, and there was only one place to sit down and prep for people in her line of work. Abruptly, the wandering girl turned and strode into the first tavern she saw. The Cross-something, she didn't look up, and didn't spare the patrons any more of a courtesy before finding her way to the bar. Her plan was simple, check into a room and become someone else for a little while. After a drink.
The cells were just as he remembered them, although it had been at least a decade since Wallace Canti last ventured down to Castle Mullen's dungeons for observations. He'd been unheard of in this country at that point, and now here they were bickering like real professionals. He smiled in his cell, pressing his hand against the metal door of the stone room and feeling the cold steel under his hand. A smooth texture that spoke to the metallurgical skill of its creators. A well made part that created a whole less than the sum of his parts. That was a hard pill to swallow, but the acceptance of the idea that no matter the quality of one part the rest of the machine could be faulty was one of the core concepts of his life. A proper amount of time had passed, he didn't count on them coming so soon but he had to be ready and sitting with his face next to the door wasn't going to end well. Dragging his hand along the surface of the door, Canti stood up and backed away from the door to stand in the center of the room, waiting to see who would make their move first.
Leaving the grounds had been made simple enough, but she was leaving empty handed. So was everyone else, apparently, although a few names on the list had been at least freed. As always, they were all doing their own thing. The investigator walked the dark streets of Mullen alone, her head on a slow, perpetual turn over the dark alleys and cobbled roads. Perhaps she was a bit nervous, but more than anything she was homesick tourist enchanted by the familiar sights of a southwestern city. The last time she'd similar masonry, she'd still been running around in the uniform of the Abbey. Trading religious habits for a soldier's uniform had been the smallest change, though. She sighed, seeing the city was fun but she had a job to do. A job that started with lots of getting ready, and there was only one place to sit down and prep for people in her line of work. Abruptly, the wandering girl turned and strode into the first tavern she saw. The Cross-something, she didn't look up, and didn't spare the patrons any more of a courtesy before finding her way to the bar. Her plan was simple, check into a room and become someone else for a little while. After a drink.
The cells were just as he remembered them, although it had been at least a decade since Wallace Canti last ventured down to Castle Mullen's dungeons for observations. He'd been unheard of in this country at that point, and now here they were bickering like real professionals. He smiled in his cell, pressing his hand against the metal door of the stone room and feeling the cold steel under his hand. A smooth texture that spoke to the metallurgical skill of its creators. A well made part that created a whole less than the sum of his parts. That was a hard pill to swallow, but the acceptance of the idea that no matter the quality of one part the rest of the machine could be faulty was one of the core concepts of his life. A proper amount of time had passed, he didn't count on them coming so soon but he had to be ready and sitting with his face next to the door wasn't going to end well. Dragging his hand along the surface of the door, Canti stood up and backed away from the door to stand in the center of the room, waiting to see who would make their move first.
Yeah, never anything wrong with the humans.
I like the details given and the character itself, but Orcs don't really fit the current setting, or are at least not native to Estovet. If that's something you're willing to revise or talk on then I'd be glad to accept the rest of the bio immediately.
The guard listened to Sophia's account of the night with a small measure of disappointment to go with the slowly receding nervousness brought on by acknowledging the attack. It wasn't much to go on, as far as identifying their attacker, but anyone dressed like that would stand out like a sore thumb just about anywhere. He'd been ready to assure them that something would be done and leave to find a corporal or section leader but then entered a grizzled looking knight that he vaguely remembered the face of from among the Order. His story was even more harrowing, partly because it sounded like the ramblings of a madman and he was suddenly leery about leaving the trio unattended in his presence, but also because if what he said was true then some kind of abomination was loose in Mullen. The section needed to know. "I have to tell the others. Take care, all of you, please don't leave the Hall just yet," there wasn't any point in asking the Order to comply after what they'd done that night, but if the quartet of roughed up survivors in front of him were right they had better things to worry about than politics, and maybe a token nicety would retain him better than an order. With that, the guard sped off, stopping briefly by his two fellows to tell them something that caused them to stiffen and look towards the doors, before sprinting off into the palace halls to find someone.
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