[ Both rider and warhorse burst from the trees in full stride, Alix with her spear poised, the tip seeking her first target like the tail of a scorpion. Whether it's the shock of an armed noblewoman suddenly being in their midst or not, she capitalizes in the lull of battle to skewer one of the men in his motley livery straight through the chest with a meaty 'thwack'.
She's going to regret not wearing armor later, but there's no time to be double guessing herself now. A businesslike flick of her arm translates down the length of her polearm and tosses the stricken guardsman to choke his last minutes into the grass, leaning hard on the contemptuous arrogance of an aristocrat to inflame the better judgement of his surviving comrades.
Hopefully Eskel can pick up on the plan: handle the beast first while she keeps the rabble busy. Divide and conquer is taught in Witcher schools too, yes? ]
Come on then, you sorry whoresons! [ Jeering, Alix leads her horse in a mocking, prancing semicircle behind the group of enraged men, splitting their attention away from both Eskel and the wounded draconid. ] Who's next to die?
[ If worst comes to worst she'll have only drawn off most of them, but between the deadly Witcher and deadlier basilisk, it's starting to look like she's the softest target. ]
[Eskel doesn't even pause to question what she's doing, to reproach her for her recklessness. His first duty is to bring down the basilisk before it hurts anyone apart from the targets Alix had intended it for. He'd brought it here, he had to clean up his mess. He staggers away from the tangle of humans and after the basilisk.
Bereft of his magic for the moment, it takes some effort to land the thing with just crossbow bolts and then to find an angle to clamber on top of the thing to bury his silver sword in the back of the vaguely avian head, separating the head from the neck.
By the time Alix catches back up with the witcher, he'll be sitting slumped against the side of the dead basilisk, catching his breath.]
[ She's not in much better shape, but catching the odd slash to the arm or side doesn't stick as much when you don't feel the pain. Several of the dead scattered between the sprawled bulk of the basilisk and their starting point made the fatal mistake of relaxing after landing a strike, and caught a spearhead in the gut or neck for it. ...she's got something that looks suspiciously like a broken dagger lodged in her thigh, but that can be dealt with later. After all, the battle high still sings pure and sweet in her veins, elevating her usual dour outlook into something closer to morbid satisfaction.
Not a bad fight.
Alix spots the dead basilisk first, sliding off her horse (pristine coat now sadly dirtied by the melee) and crosses the remaining distance in a hurried jog, getting increasingly concerned about the state he's in the closer she gets. Gods above, how long was he fighting them off? Had she been that late? ]
Eskel? [ He might not like her much, but Alix still sets a hand on his shoulder anyway both as support and to get a gauge of his condition. ] You can't die yet. I still owe you that drink.
[He laughs, a rusty sound that rasps out from between his torn, scarred lips. He lifts his head to look at her and his already rough face has an added layer of horror in the black veins just beneath his weathered skin.]
Ah, hell, I'm fine. Potion's wearing off is all.
[His muscles are cramping and he feels tired and a little dizzy, but these are all very fleeting side effects of the heavy dose of Rook he'd taken to bolster his already tired, aching body.
He squints up at her.]
You make out alright? Not gonna lie, I sorta assumed they wouldn't be able to hurt you much.
[His working theory is that she's some manner of construct, though he's never met one so independent or refined in either its intellect or appearance.]
[ Since they have nowhere to be in particular and it looks like he'll be here a little while yet, Alix shifts over a companionable distance away and settles on the grass - taking the opportunity to remove the snapped blade from her leg and inspect it between two gloved fingers. ]
There's that Witcher confidence again.
[ The broken blade thumps into the grass as she flicks it off towards one of the bodies for a scavenger to find and leans back against the basilisk in imitation of his posture. Are you capable of pain is phrased more politely, but that's the gist of it. From anyone else she'd think the question innocuous; from the career monster hunter, it sounds more like dancing around a tangentially related subject.
Just a feeling. I know you're not human. You don't even seem really...alive. You're cold, you don't breathe. Which is good, since you're sittin' at the business end of the basilisk there. I did my best to take the head off without nicking the venom sacks but still, gotta be careful.
[He closes his eyes, mind seeming to slip away from his tired body as he thinks out loud.]
I don't know what you are, but it's something real strange, I reckon. Something I've never seen before.
[ For someone with a jumble of pieces that just don't fit together in any recognizable pattern, he's got most of the major things already figured out. It's a little alarming to have that kind of microscope turned on you. The break in conversation turns pensive for a while, Alix turning the nature of her affliction over in her head, Eskel resting, it's a comfortable quiet. ]
I'm not sure what I am either. [ The knight finally decides. It's not wholly surprising, but that doesn't stop her from being a little frustrated about it. ] 'Incredibly unlucky' is my usual go-to.
[His next thought is a curse. That would explain why she didn't fit neatly into any established category: curses were purpose-built things, transforming their victims in mysterious and unique ways.]
Unless you mean losing coin on every hand I bet on, then no. I remember what it was like before becoming... whatever I am.
[ It's an easy admission to make and one Alix gives freely, but she plainly doesn't see where he's going with the question. The puzzled look she gives him says as much, brows slightly furrowed. ]
Matter? I dunno. But it does possibly change my understanding.
[While victims of a curse-- like some werewolves or spotted wights-- can be dangerous, it's still a distinctly different approach from an ordinary monster. And Alix is very different from a person made monstrous by a curse: she seems in full possession of her senses and despite the skill with which she had just dispatched his attackers, she doesn't seem wantonly dangerous.]
[ JUST SAYING... it's fine working with a Witcher when they're on the same side, but she's understandably a bit leery of handing out dossiers like candy after seeing what he's capable of. Don't get her wrong. Alix likes Eskel well enough - it's the rest of his order getting hands on the same information that she's more concerned about. ]
Can't promise the answers will be good or that I can even answer in the first place, but you can try if you want. We have time.
[The expression on his face suggests that he doesn't particularly make a distinction between the two. As one might not if one had been in the care and training of the order since the age of four or five, if the life of a witcher is all one has ever known.]
If I think of somethin', I'll ask. But I imagine there's only so much you can tell me anyway? That seems to be part of the enchantment, if I remember from before.
[He heaves himself to his feet and begins the unpleasant business of pulling apart the basilisk corpse for useful elements. Some are for his own purposes, like the venom glands, claws and teeth (used in the potions which enhance his already superhuman abilities), while other parts he intends to sell to mages the next time he gets to a decent city. He thrusts his bloody fingers into his mouth and whistles, an enormous black charger barreling out of a nearby stand of alder trees to have its saddlebags burdened with his macabre takings.]
Do you reckon there's anybody to pay me for the head off this thing? Is that... unethical? I brought it here, after all. And it still had time to kill two people before I brought it down again.
[ Alix wisely elects to relocate elsewhere before her torn wardrobe gets into a bloodier condition than it already is. ]
The terms and involved parties are off limits no matter how it's phrased. Get too close and the geas locks you up - like the words are still there, but you can't force it out.
[ Three guesses how she knows that. While he deals with dismantling his kill and getting the interesting bits ready for transport, Alix crosses over to one of the thug corpses, seemingly frozen in the final act of propping himself up, held upright by the spear lodged though his side and back out again with the blade buried in the sod. Retrieving it requires planting a foot on the corpse (with apologies to the recently departed) and some creative heaving for the weapon to come free, but come free it does.
Where did she put that cleaning rag? ]
Mourn the sheep if you want something to feel bad about. This lot gambled, lost, and paid the price, so what's unethical about it? [ Alix arguably isn't the best person to ask about ethical graverobbing with her questionably grey morality tbh... ] They could've found their end in a mercenary camp or a highway raid gone wrong just as easily anyway, so I fail to see the difference.
[ Not exactly an ideal outcome that's she's all that pleased about, but it's out of their hands and in the past now. Dwelling on it changes nothing. ]
Sure, but the basilisk could have hurt someone else. Just lucky it went for the sheep and not the village.
[He shakes his head.]
Hopefully everybody just thinks the damn thing escaped and not that I released it on purpose to cause problems and collect a reward. My reputation is hard enough to maintain as it is.
[Still, he takes the head of the basilisk and hangs it from a hook on his saddle that seems specific to the purpose. Someone will pay him something for it, hopefully.]
Doubt anyone will think that unless you were fool enough to show it off like a prize pony, Eskel. Give the worrying a rest.
[ Already mounted with her spear clean and holstered, Alix interrupts her admiring of his horse just long enough to shoot an amused glance his way. For such an intimidating individual, it's interesting to see endearing traits peek through the stoic professionalism from time to time. Less like a caricature built on rumor and suspicion and more like the person he is underneath. ]
Well then. If you're done being a fusspot, I still want that drink. You coming?
[He swings himself up on the back of the black charger, he refrains from mentioning that the cart with the shrieking basilisk driven by a scar-faced mutant wasn't exactly easy to miss. He steers the horse to follow her, leaving behind the remains of the basilisk for the local peasants to regard as a morbid curiosity.]
[ She spurs her horse into a brisk trot without further prompting, leading them at an angle across the woods and back to the main thoroughfare on a winding, purling path for some distance before they enter the village proper. It's not quite a squat hamlet that barely ekes out a living, but not quite a mercantile hub either, plainly hosting passing trade on a regular basis. With the petty lord dead and his authority gone with him there's still a handful of people with the political heft to negotiate for Eskel's grisly cargo. ]
Headsman's down by the tailor on the corner if you want to see what he's willing to pay you. [ Both Witcher and basilisk head have drawn the attention of the townsfolk by now. They mill about uncertainly and whisper amongst themselves, scurrying past like mice. ] I'll see what tables are open at the Hart's Head by the south gate.
[ Alix has elected to get a head start in his absence - already a drink deep and working on a second, alternating between watching the other patrons go about their business with an unreadable expression on her face and taking deep draughts of her lager. It's not half bad for some local swill! A bit hoppy, but as long as it's not more boot polish than beverage she won't complain.
Ah. There he is.
Eskel's greeted with a mock salute with her mostly empty cup and a chair she kicks out from the other side of the table with her boot. ]
Your table, milord. I trust it suits your fancy.
[ If not, too bad goes unsaid. The other three corners were already occupied by bawdy locals anyway and she sure as hell isn't dealing with that. ¯\_(ツ)_/¯ ]
Apparently so. Haven't heard anything back yet, but gods know that kind of peace never lasts long.
[ She downs the last of her current drink and flags down the barmaid with two fingers, doubling up on the next round. Whether they're to share or entirely for her remains to be seen. In the meantime, her chair creaks noisily in protest as she rocks back on the two legs with an arm resting along the backing rail, scratching idly at her jaw with a fingertip. Remembering to breathe is a bit of a nuisance in social gatherings like this - it keeps comes out stilted, like she can't quite get the natural rhythm right.
In, one-two, out, three-four... ]
Price for bath and boarding is reasonable here if you're still wanting to freshen up, by the by. I'll add extra to your pay to compensate.
[ Consider it a "sorry you nearly got ganked" apology. ]
[He won't say no to a bath, certainly. And he's pretty sure he could fall asleep standing up if left alone for long enough. Babysitting a basilisk for a couple of days had left him tired.
The fact that this opportunity won't lighten his purse any only sweetens the prospect.]
Sure folk would prefer I wasn't hanging around smelling like blood and sheep shit.
[ Hey, she wasn't gonna bring it up if he didn't. The next round arrives and Alix drops payment in the barmaid's palm, waiting for her to cross over to the boisterous men several tables over before sliding something across to table to Eskel. It's the pin from before. Still in surprisingly good shape too, for all the jostling it's taken. ]
Didn't get a chance to ask before you took off to get knocked around, but does this look familiar? Any ideas where it was made?
[He picks it up carefully, and his medallion hums as he rolls it into his palm.]
Never seen anything like it. But that's not unusual, artifacts aren't really my forté.
[Still, his curiosity has him studying it carefully up close, thinking of how he had seen her use it.]
It...kinda reminds me of artifacts mages use to imprison certain entities or even the spirit of a person. A sorcerer would be a better person to ask, but good luck finding one outside of a major city that's feeling chatty.
That so? Damn pity, I figured you and your kin would be the best people to ask.
[ Her chair thumps back down on all four legs so she can lean in a bit, voice pitched low enough to be less easily picked up on by any of the curious yokels. While it's doubtful any average peasant would have the slightest clue what they're talking about, but it's always better to be miserly with trade secrets, especially if subject to gossip. A muscle in her jaw tightens as she stares at the pin perched in his hand like it personally offended her honor. ]
I won't bore you with the details, but that thing's the sole reason why I didn't catch the guy the first time around if you can believe it. [ Alix snorts. ] Took a year to figure out why.
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She's going to regret not wearing armor later, but there's no time to be double guessing herself now. A businesslike flick of her arm translates down the length of her polearm and tosses the stricken guardsman to choke his last minutes into the grass, leaning hard on the contemptuous arrogance of an aristocrat to inflame the better judgement of his surviving comrades.
Hopefully Eskel can pick up on the plan: handle the beast first while she keeps the rabble busy. Divide and conquer is taught in Witcher schools too, yes? ]
Come on then, you sorry whoresons! [ Jeering, Alix leads her horse in a mocking, prancing semicircle behind the group of enraged men, splitting their attention away from both Eskel and the wounded draconid. ] Who's next to die?
[ If worst comes to worst she'll have only drawn off most of them, but between the deadly Witcher and deadlier basilisk, it's starting to look like she's the softest target. ]
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Bereft of his magic for the moment, it takes some effort to land the thing with just crossbow bolts and then to find an angle to clamber on top of the thing to bury his silver sword in the back of the vaguely avian head, separating the head from the neck.
By the time Alix catches back up with the witcher, he'll be sitting slumped against the side of the dead basilisk, catching his breath.]
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...she's got something that looks suspiciously like a broken dagger lodged in her thigh, but that can be dealt with later. After all, the battle high still sings pure and sweet in her veins, elevating her usual dour outlook into something closer to morbid satisfaction.
Not a bad fight.
Alix spots the dead basilisk first, sliding off her horse (pristine coat now sadly dirtied by the melee) and crosses the remaining distance in a hurried jog, getting increasingly concerned about the state he's in the closer she gets. Gods above, how long was he fighting them off? Had she been that late? ]
Eskel? [ He might not like her much, but Alix still sets a hand on his shoulder anyway both as support and to get a gauge of his condition. ] You can't die yet. I still owe you that drink.
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Ah, hell, I'm fine. Potion's wearing off is all.
[His muscles are cramping and he feels tired and a little dizzy, but these are all very fleeting side effects of the heavy dose of Rook he'd taken to bolster his already tired, aching body.
He squints up at her.]
You make out alright? Not gonna lie, I sorta assumed they wouldn't be able to hurt you much.
[His working theory is that she's some manner of construct, though he's never met one so independent or refined in either its intellect or appearance.]
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There's that Witcher confidence again.
[ The broken blade thumps into the grass as she flicks it off towards one of the bodies for a scavenger to find and leans back against the basilisk in imitation of his posture.
Are you capable of pain is phrased more politely, but that's the gist of it. From anyone else she'd think the question innocuous; from the career monster hunter, it sounds more like dancing around a tangentially related subject.
Eskel gets a knowing sidelong look. ]
And why would you think that?
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[He closes his eyes, mind seeming to slip away from his tired body as he thinks out loud.]
I don't know what you are, but it's something real strange, I reckon. Something I've never seen before.
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Ah, well... never claimed to be a good liar.
[ For someone with a jumble of pieces that just don't fit together in any recognizable pattern, he's got most of the major things already figured out. It's a little alarming to have that kind of microscope turned on you.
The break in conversation turns pensive for a while, Alix turning the nature of her affliction over in her head, Eskel resting, it's a comfortable quiet. ]
I'm not sure what I am either. [ The knight finally decides. It's not wholly surprising, but that doesn't stop her from being a little frustrated about it. ] 'Incredibly unlucky' is my usual go-to.
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[His next thought is a curse. That would explain why she didn't fit neatly into any established category: curses were purpose-built things, transforming their victims in mysterious and unique ways.]
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[ It's an easy admission to make and one Alix gives freely, but she plainly doesn't see where he's going with the question. The puzzled look she gives him says as much, brows slightly furrowed. ]
Does it matter?
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[While victims of a curse-- like some werewolves or spotted wights-- can be dangerous, it's still a distinctly different approach from an ordinary monster. And Alix is very different from a person made monstrous by a curse: she seems in full possession of her senses and despite the skill with which she had just dispatched his attackers, she doesn't seem wantonly dangerous.]
I ask mostly out of curiosity.
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[ JUST SAYING... it's fine working with a Witcher when they're on the same side, but she's understandably a bit leery of handing out dossiers like candy after seeing what he's capable of.
Don't get her wrong. Alix likes Eskel well enough - it's the rest of his order getting hands on the same information that she's more concerned about. ]
Can't promise the answers will be good or that I can even answer in the first place, but you can try if you want. We have time.
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If I think of somethin', I'll ask. But I imagine there's only so much you can tell me anyway? That seems to be part of the enchantment, if I remember from before.
[He heaves himself to his feet and begins the unpleasant business of pulling apart the basilisk corpse for useful elements. Some are for his own purposes, like the venom glands, claws and teeth (used in the potions which enhance his already superhuman abilities), while other parts he intends to sell to mages the next time he gets to a decent city. He thrusts his bloody fingers into his mouth and whistles, an enormous black charger barreling out of a nearby stand of alder trees to have its saddlebags burdened with his macabre takings.]
Do you reckon there's anybody to pay me for the head off this thing? Is that... unethical? I brought it here, after all. And it still had time to kill two people before I brought it down again.
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[ Alix wisely elects to relocate elsewhere before her torn wardrobe gets into a bloodier condition than it already is. ]
The terms and involved parties are off limits no matter how it's phrased. Get too close and the geas locks you up - like the words are still there, but you can't force it out.
[ Three guesses how she knows that.
While he deals with dismantling his kill and getting the interesting bits ready for transport, Alix crosses over to one of the thug corpses, seemingly frozen in the final act of propping himself up, held upright by the spear lodged though his side and back out again with the blade buried in the sod. Retrieving it requires planting a foot on the corpse (with apologies to the recently departed) and some creative heaving for the weapon to come free, but come free it does.
Where did she put that cleaning rag? ]
Mourn the sheep if you want something to feel bad about. This lot gambled, lost, and paid the price, so what's unethical about it? [ Alix arguably isn't the best person to ask about ethical graverobbing with her questionably grey morality tbh... ] They could've found their end in a mercenary camp or a highway raid gone wrong just as easily anyway, so I fail to see the difference.
[ Not exactly an ideal outcome that's she's all that pleased about, but it's out of their hands and in the past now. Dwelling on it changes nothing. ]
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[He shakes his head.]
Hopefully everybody just thinks the damn thing escaped and not that I released it on purpose to cause problems and collect a reward. My reputation is hard enough to maintain as it is.
[Still, he takes the head of the basilisk and hangs it from a hook on his saddle that seems specific to the purpose. Someone will pay him something for it, hopefully.]
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[ Already mounted with her spear clean and holstered, Alix interrupts her admiring of his horse just long enough to shoot an amused glance his way. For such an intimidating individual, it's interesting to see endearing traits peek through the stoic professionalism from time to time. Less like a caricature built on rumor and suspicion and more like the person he is underneath. ]
Well then. If you're done being a fusspot, I still want that drink. You coming?
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Lead the way?
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[ She spurs her horse into a brisk trot without further prompting, leading them at an angle across the woods and back to the main thoroughfare on a winding, purling path for some distance before they enter the village proper. It's not quite a squat hamlet that barely ekes out a living, but not quite a mercantile hub either, plainly hosting passing trade on a regular basis.
With the petty lord dead and his authority gone with him there's still a handful of people with the political heft to negotiate for Eskel's grisly cargo. ]
Headsman's down by the tailor on the corner if you want to see what he's willing to pay you. [ Both Witcher and basilisk head have drawn the attention of the townsfolk by now. They mill about uncertainly and whisper amongst themselves, scurrying past like mice. ] I'll see what tables are open at the Hart's Head by the south gate.
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{{Townsfolk give him a wide berth but it's hard to say if that's down to his stature and appearance or the severed bloody basilisk head he's carrying
When he returns, it's minus the head and with a significantly fatter coin purse.}}
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Ah. There he is.
Eskel's greeted with a mock salute with her mostly empty cup and a chair she kicks out from the other side of the table with her boot. ]
Your table, milord. I trust it suits your fancy.
[ If not, too bad goes unsaid. The other three corners were already occupied by bawdy locals anyway and she sure as hell isn't dealing with that. ¯\_(ツ)_/¯ ]
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Much obliged. Always feel better when nothing can get behind me. You look like you're making good time on that beer. Guess I better catch up.
[With that, he quaffs half his beer, wiping foam from his scarred lips.]
Job's done then? Your boss get what they wanted?
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[ She downs the last of her current drink and flags down the barmaid with two fingers, doubling up on the next round. Whether they're to share or entirely for her remains to be seen.
In the meantime, her chair creaks noisily in protest as she rocks back on the two legs with an arm resting along the backing rail, scratching idly at her jaw with a fingertip. Remembering to breathe is a bit of a nuisance in social gatherings like this - it keeps comes out stilted, like she can't quite get the natural rhythm right.
In, one-two, out, three-four... ]
Price for bath and boarding is reasonable here if you're still wanting to freshen up, by the by. I'll add extra to your pay to compensate.
[ Consider it a "sorry you nearly got ganked" apology. ]
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[He won't say no to a bath, certainly. And he's pretty sure he could fall asleep standing up if left alone for long enough. Babysitting a basilisk for a couple of days had left him tired.
The fact that this opportunity won't lighten his purse any only sweetens the prospect.]
Sure folk would prefer I wasn't hanging around smelling like blood and sheep shit.
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[ Hey, she wasn't gonna bring it up if he didn't.
The next round arrives and Alix drops payment in the barmaid's palm, waiting for her to cross over to the boisterous men several tables over before sliding something across to table to Eskel.
It's the pin from before. Still in surprisingly good shape too, for all the jostling it's taken. ]
Didn't get a chance to ask before you took off to get knocked around, but does this look familiar? Any ideas where it was made?
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Never seen anything like it. But that's not unusual, artifacts aren't really my forté.
[Still, his curiosity has him studying it carefully up close, thinking of how he had seen her use it.]
It...kinda reminds me of artifacts mages use to imprison certain entities or even the spirit of a person. A sorcerer would be a better person to ask, but good luck finding one outside of a major city that's feeling chatty.
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That so? Damn pity, I figured you and your kin would be the best people to ask.
[ Her chair thumps back down on all four legs so she can lean in a bit, voice pitched low enough to be less easily picked up on by any of the curious yokels. While it's doubtful any average peasant would have the slightest clue what they're talking about, but it's always better to be miserly with trade secrets, especially if subject to gossip.
A muscle in her jaw tightens as she stares at the pin perched in his hand like it personally offended her honor. ]
I won't bore you with the details, but that thing's the sole reason why I didn't catch the guy the first time around if you can believe it. [ Alix snorts. ] Took a year to figure out why.
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