Exploring the Bandit Camps [Cyril]

Westcliffe was embarrassing to look at. Once upon a time it was totally a shit hole, but a Hero had come along and dropped a few gold into an entrepreneur's hand and made the town flourish. Of course once that man disappeared it fell into disrepair again. The new homes and buildings remained but they were in terrible condition, windows broken and boarded up, doors hanging off of hinges and the stones of the steps cracked and uneven.

Icarus sat on a rock a few meters from the front gates of the town, if you could call it that. Her legs were crossed and her wrists rested on her knees, looking as if she were meditating. Her hair curled beneath her cheeks, falling long behind her shoulders and down her back. Today she was a little more armed than she was at the Sandgoose a few days ago. She was dressed in her Will User's robes, the hood adorning her head and hiding her long hair from view. She didn't carry her traveling goods with her today, but instead bore her two butterfly kitana, and a crossbow was strapped to her back. Her hands glowed as she meditated, concentrating her Will for what she knew would be a violent interrogation.

She thought back on her visit to Eva Bane at the newly rebuilt Guild. She had told Icarus that the bandits were part of Sparrow's small army, something she had been working on. Their best bet was to start at Westcliffe, the bandit-run town, and find out from there where the army's camp was. At that point, they could find out what Sparrow had in mind, or even ask the evil Hero herself.

Now Icarus waited patiently for Cyril, as she had sent for him not even a day after she'd spoken to Eva Bane.

Cyril walked into Westcliffe, frowning at it's state before he spotted Icarus. He walked over to Icarus and looked down at her for a moment before saying, "So whats the plan?" He said this casually, but also curiously. He was adorned by his light, but protective leather armor, with his cleaver at his side. He was glad to be once again with Icarus, a few lonely days in the Sandgoose without her reminded him how nice her company was, and he began to miss it quickly, so he was eager to get working with her again. He just hoped he didn't look or seem eager, that might be embarrassing...

She opened one eye as she heard Cyril approaching, turning to him and smiling. "Ah, good to see you again." She unfolded herself and stepped off of the rock, standing a few inches shorter than Cyril. "Well the plan is to snoop around Westcliffe for a bit, and see if we can find any bandits who know about Sparrow's Camp. From there, we can find the camp and we'll go from there." She shrugged a bit. It wasn't a painfully complex plan, in fact, it was quite vague, but it would work. Hopefully.

"Come on then," she began to walk down the path into the main town. The cobblestone roads were uneven and broken, making Icarus wobble a bit as she walked by. "I suppose we could split up? Unless you think staying together would be safer. I think the bar would be a good place to start."

"That sounds like a rather simple plan, but also effective." Cyril commented on Icarus' plan, it really was just as simple as it needed to be, no listening points or anything really, which is why it was effective. He followed Icarus, and when she asked if they should split up, Cyril responded, "I think, if we're going to the pub, if one of us sits at one end of the pub and the other sits at the opposite end, then we should have full scope over the entire pub, or maybe one of us goes upstairs and listens while the other stays downstairs and listens." Cyril sounded rather confident about the idea, but he wasn't entirely sure about it. He wanted Icarus' input, she was so far the person taking the most initiative in this entire thing, to do with Sparrow. Then again, he barely even knows who Sparrow is. He looked about as he followed Icarus, examining the rather pitiful people living here. Run down families, likely being extorted by bandits. It was slightly disappointing, but Cyril couldn't help but think how much money the bandits must be making...

She shrugged a bit as she passed through the gates, ignoring the stares from the bandits that controlled it, though feeling the prickling of goosebumps rising on her neck. "It doesn't need much complexity," she replied, stopping for a moment to examine the town a bit closer, "I mean. They're bandits after all. I'm sure even after a few beers they'll tell us their life story. Not like I'd care to know it though...Ah-Ha!"

She began walking again, this time with a set destination. The pub wasn't even a complete building; the first story was more like the area beneath the second story, held up by pillars with no walls to keep out the blistering winds. The barstools and tables sat on dirt, which was moist from spilled drinks, urine and blood. The stench was overwhelming, not to mention mixed with the signature fragrance of bandits: body odor. Nodding in the direction of the stairs, she made her way to them. "You can stay down here and eavesdrop on what you can. I'll go up. That way if anything goes wrong, I can run down here to you and we can hold our own." With that she turned on her heel and trodded up to the second floor of the bar, watching Cyril's head disappear beneath the floor boards.

The upstairs bar wasn't in much better condition. She slid into a stool on the end, gesturing for the bartender to bring her a pint. Her eyes scanned the room. Only a few bandits were up here, smoking and drinking, spitting on the floor and scratching their privates freely. Revolted, she held her tongue, thankful to drown it in the piss water they called ale.

Cyril sighed as Icarus went up the stairs, looking around the more populated lower floor for a moment before seating himself at an empty table. He didn't get a drink, he would prefer to stay sober if anything bad happened during this. He stared down at the table and listened quietly for anything suspicious. His index finger tracing circles on the rough surface of the table. He looked up at Icarus momentarily to see if she was settled in her position. After he confirmed this he looked back down at the table and continued to trace circles on the table. The stench of the room was clawing at his nose, but he continued to sit and listen, regardless.

The ale was just as Icarus expected. It tasted terrible and didn't make up for it in alcohol content. The pint was empty in minutes and if anything, it made her feel MORE sober than she already was, which was 100%. Making a face, she pushed the empty glass to the bartender, letting him know he could pick it up and dispose of it properly.

Raucous laughter caught Icarus' attention, and she, like the other patrons, turned to see the source. She had heard a man starting a story as she walked up, but didn't take notice. But as the booze swam through his system his volume rose, and soon he was all but shouting to the bar.

"And then, these bastards have the great idea of lighting the barn on fire!" Evidently, this line was hilarious, because the table surrounding the man burst into hoots and howls, knee slapping and table thumping laughter. Icarus nodding to herself. He did have a point. If someone were going to steal, the last thing you'd do was light the barn on fire to draw attention to yourse-

Wait.

Nonchalantly, Icarus slid from the bar and onto a table, close to the rail that peered over the edge to the downstairs. She leaned over, spotting Cyril and giving him a thumbs up, hoping he was having the same luck she was. Then again, if this man got any louder Cyril would hear the same thing.

"So I tells him when he comes back, tail between his legs, he's got to report to Sparrow. The blood drains from this bloke's face, and he looks like he's seen a ghost!" The man paused, perhaps for effect, as the bandits around him laughed at their companion's cowardice and lack of a backbone. "And-honest to Avo-have NOT seen him since!"

Punchline. Frankly Icarus didn't find the story hilarious at all, but the pain and agony of others was the humor of bandits, so they were on the floor laughing. Just wanting to know what happened to their buddy, who has yet to be seen from diving into Sparrow's lair. But clearly, this guy had some sort of link to not only the camp, but to Sparrow herself. Jackpot.

Cyril noticed Icarus giving him the thumbs up and continued to list to the bar quietly afterwards, he could faintly hear the rather loud man telling his story. He hadn't heard anything from the lower end, it was just mostly bandit gamemasters and shouting at cheats. He did overhear the name Sparrow from upstairs though, which he knew was the person Icarus was looking for. He waited quietly for Icarus to come down, or give a second signal of some kind. Drumming his fingers on the table quietly.

Just then, two bandits decided to seat themselves across from Cyril. Both had rather devious smirks painted across their faces. One was wearing a busted up top hat and a loose vest, stained with blood in some spots. The other wore a bandanna on his bald head, and had a slightly intimidating mustache, and big arms to boot, although unlike as big around as Cyril's. "You don't look like anyone we know, and we know everyone in the pub." Said the top-hatted one, very gruffly but slightly slurred, like he's had a bit to drink. "Yeah, everyone." Said the bigger one, clearly not the brains of this duo, he didn't slur though. "Well, new compatriots to the bar never hurts, does it?" Said Cyril confidently, not at all shaken by these smelly men. The bandits looked between eachother, and then back at Cyril. Simultaneously they asked dumbly "Compatri-whats?" Cyril rolled his eyes, in which the larger bandit sat down across from Cyril. The top-hatted one then said, "How about an arm-wrestle. If you win, we leave you alone. If we win, we get all your money." Cyril couldn't really turn this down, so he nodded and placed his elbow on the table. The large bandit did so as well, and they clasped hands. The top-hatted bandit then started counting down from three. "T'ree...two....one!" Cyril then started pushing his hand against the large bandit's, unfortunately he underestimated the width of this bandit's arms. They struggled to gain any lead on each other. Fortunately Cyril had more stamina than the large bandit. The large bandit's hand touched the table and he cursed. The top-hatted bandit smacked the large bandit over the head in response, before pulling out a pistol and aiming it at Cyril. He let a greasy, toothy grin loose. The large bandit standing up and cracking his knuckles.

Cyril was in shit now.

The story that Icarus has been listening to so intently had begun to get drab. Just more talk about beer, women and pillaging. She heaving a sigh and leaned over the balcony, eying Cyril as he was talking to two wayward looking men, greasy and unbathed, like every other soul in this bar. That's when she felt a finger tap on her hand, and she turned her head to find the primary storyteller from earlier, the man who supposedly knew much about Sparrow and her whereabouts, and raised her eyes to his, trying not to show a face of visible repulsion.

"'Oy lady," he spat, Icarus already regretting not fleeing right away, as she found she would be showered in saliva and alcohol, "I 'aven't seen you 'round these parts. You new hired girl?" Her face fell. Oh. She looked like a prostitute, evidently. She subconsciously looked down at her outfit. She didn't LOOK whorish. Maybe she was one of the only girls this man had seen in Westcliffe and automatically assumed.

"Just passing through," she murmured around the new pint that she had brought to her lips, finding the taste of the bitter beer better than this man's taste already. His hand curled around her forearm, and though he didn't use force yet, she felt and knew he was getting into a ready position. "Say, let me give ye a grand tour of the place," he leaned down, whispering to her, his stubbly chin scratching her ear.

The sound of a gun cocking downstairs suddenly brought alarm to Icarus' face. She stood up almost immediately, crooking her arm, as she wouldn't be able to get his hand loose. "Let's!" she accepted in mock excitement, more desperate to get downstairs, with a feeling that Cyril was the butt end of the trouble. Nearly dragging the man downstairs with her, she arrived at the scene to find a bandit pointing a gun at Cyril's head, and another bandit, seemingly unconscious but untouched by Cyril, laying on the table. She didn't quite understand the scene but knew what she had to do. Twisting free of the bandit's grasp, Icarus grabbed a stool, surprisingly light, and flung it across the bar. One of the legs tapped the bandit wielding the pistol in the head, knocking him back, and it crashed into the crowd that had gathered.

As all dirty, mangy, bandits are prone to do, a bar fight promptly broke out. "What's goin' on here..." the man who had clung to Icarus asked, but he had no time to ponder, as he found a crossbow pressed into his midsection, the fiery eyes of the Will user glaring up at him. She smiled devilishly, unfazed by the fighting around her. "We've got some questions for you." She gestured for Cyril to follow as she turned the man and pointed the bow into his back, leading him out of the bar.

[LOOK I POSTED D:]

Cyril watched the scene with a quiet grin, and then stood as Icarus motioned to him, watching the fight quietly. He was sure to record this in his book. He followed Icarus after managing to maneuver around the fights and flying mugs and stools. He stumbled out of the bar, quickly spotting Icarus with the crossbow and the greasy story teller. He then caught up, "Thanks for savin' me there." He said to Icarus, examining the man with a subtle scowl.

(Only took you like two months)