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Logs

Unwelcome visitors

Tags: Gidon,  Bartle,  Cleaver

Short Summary: Gidon is alone when some unwanted company comes calling
Date (real-life): 2010-07-17
Scene Location: Bree: The Chetwood
Date (in-game): June 3050
Time of Day: Night
The Chetwood

The forest here seems darker and fouler, and the trees seem to grow crookedly at strange angles. There is a small stream through the forest here that runs east-west. To the east, the stream plunges down into the rank Midgewater Marshes, its clean water mixing in with the brown muck and mire of the swamps. There are several paths here that lead away into all directions, but the most well-worn of them leads to the west.

A small hut has been built into the woods; an anvil sits in front of the door.

Obvious exits:
West

================================== Bree Time ==================================
Real time: Sat Jul 17 15:16:23 2010
Bree time: Before Dawn <05:49:09> on Trewsday of Summer - June 14,1450
Moon Phase: First Quarter Moon

Breelands Weather
The before dawn summer air is very hot and dry around you. The sky is near black and studded with hundreds of stars.
===============================================================================

[Nob(#16122)] It is very early in the morning, and all is still and quiet. The little house sits as if deserted underneath an incredible glory of stars. Inside, Gidon is fast asleep, sprawled across the single bed. It is too warm for covers. Too warm for much of anything, and the boy is naked, save for a sort of splint and bandage arrangement around one arm. His clothes are piled on the floor by the bed, easy to hand.

Outside, there is a rustle, then stealthy footsteps. And two men come unexpectedly into the opening and pause. "Lookit there," whispers one. "Just what we was needing, ain't it? Place t'hole up; nobody'll find us here."

Gidon is, unfortunately, quite alone. Brev went off on some errand of his own last night - he's been doing that more frequently as Gidon's arm improves, without stating the where or the why - and has not returned.

The second man, a stocky fellow with a brown beard and a scar cutting across one cheek, looks back at the first. "Tole you, didn't I? 'Cept there's that runt in the way. The hunter's lad. What d'you reckon?" He draws one hand meaningfully across his throat, the other shifting to the axe at his belt.

[Nob(#16122)] The first man ponders, then shakes his head. "Not yet," he says. "He c'n do stuff for us. I don't know about you, but I'm sure enough tired of eating my own cooking! Get some work out of him b'fore we off him, I sez." He doesn't have an axe, but thrust into his belt is a large and very sharp-looking dagger. He pulls it out, holding it ready in his hand.

The second fellow, who generally goes by the name of 'Cleaver' (his birth name having been lost somewhere along the road to outlawry), grunts in disappointment. "Pity," he mutters, beard quivering, but then shrugs prosaically. "Guess you're right. Little git probably knows a good few more hidey holes. If we handle this right ..." He slides the axe-haft into his broad palm with the ease of familiarity.

He steps up to the door, quietly for such a broad man, and sets his hand to the latch. It lifts. "Ready?" he mouths to his companion, and then shoves it wide.

[Nob(#16122)] The first man, Bartle, grins, showing a mouthful of broken and missing teeth; and jumps through the doorway. The faint light of moon and stars shows the small room well enough to men whose eyes are adjusted to the darkness from walking under the shadow of the trees all night - and Bartle has no trouble finding Gidon, who is sitting up and staring sleepily at the intruder. "Brev?" he says. "Is that..." His voice cuts off, and he lunges for his knife, which is sitting on top his clothing; but he is too late. Bartle has his knee across the boy's stomach, and his dagger at his throat.

The bearded fellow, Cleaver, blinks at the name, and mutters grumpily under his breath, "Should've killed him too." Not the most friendly of types, him. Whilst his companion is setting the knife to Gidon's throat he moves quickly round the room, making sure there's noone else hiding in the shadows. He kicks, hard, at the pile of clothes lying by Gidon's bed, sending the knife skittering well out of reach.

"Wakey, wakey," he tells the boy, grinning widely through stained teeth. "Now, we can do this the easy way, or we can do this the hard way. Keep still and noone gets hurt.

[Nob(#16122)] Gidon can hardly do anything other than keep still. He is still skinny from growing, and with the full weight of a burly man atop him and a knife point digging into his throat, trying to struggle would be committing suicide. His eyes roll sideways, trying to track the knife's progress, then return to Bartle's face. "I .. ain't got ... no money," he says, carefully.

[Nob(#16122)] Bartle turns his head towards his cohort. "Get a rope," he says. "We'll tie 'im up. That'll keep 'im out of trouble, an' you an' I can get a bit of sleep." Then he pauses, remembering. "Who's this 'Brev'? He likely to be comin' causing trouble?"

A rumbling chuckle comes from Cleaver at that point. "Who's said anythin' about money?" he asks Gidon. "All in good time. Now, this here place is ours. Got that? Every last crooked board of it, an' everything in it. That includes you."

At Bartle's order he scowls. "Thought /you/ were bringing the rope," he mutters defensively and starts pawing through the hut's contents to see if he can find one. If not, there's always the lad's clothing in a pinch ... At the question he starts to shake his head, then remembers subtlety and looks to Gidon for an answer.

[Nob(#16122)] "I ain't either," Gidon says, brave, if rash. But all his words mean absolutely nothing at the moment. Bartle asks about Brev and the lad pinches his lips together hard, glaring up, until the knife digs into his skin and a trickle of blood starts down his neck.

"Speak up, boy!" Bartle orders. "Who's Brev?"

"Friend of mine," Gidon says sulkily. "He..." He stops. "I don' know where he is. He comes by now and then."

Cleaver watches Gidon's reactions. "Friend?" he echoes, doubtfully as he turns back to his search. "Wouldn't count on it." Then he straightens triumphantly, a coil of rope in his hand. Alas for Gidon's well-stocked hut. "But that's all right. We /like/ friends." He smiles widely, sending foul breath wafting in the captive's direction as he looms closer.

"Turn him round, will you, Bart? Can't get at him."

And then, to Gidon, "Figure you might have some use after all."

[Nob(#16122)] Keeping the dagger point dug firmly into Gidon's throat, Bartle shifts his position, gripping the lad's shoulder with his other hand, and heaving himself over so that the unfortunate boy is now between the two men, with Bartle's weight pinning his legs to the bed. "Stick yer arms out," he orders.

Cleaver grunts approvingly at the order, and comes closer with rope in hand - also the axe, which he's not yet set down. "Get this one dealt with, then we can have a think," he tells his companion meaningfully as he reaches out, eager to loop the rope round Gidon's skinny wrists.

[Nob(#16122)] Gidon grunts as Bartle's knee digs into his stomach. When the man has moved and orders him to put his hands out, he glares at him and doesn't move. "Stubborn is yer?" Bartle asks. "We c'n get that out fast 'nough, no worries." He twists the knife and the captive sucks in a breath of pain. "Now. Get yer arms out." Reluctantly, Gidon obeys, still glaring.

Gidon is not given a second chance. As soon as the youth's arms are out, Cleaver drops the axe carelessly onto the bed and starts winding. The rope is pulled almost cruelly tight, and finished off with a knot - no easy chance of escape there. He's not used all of it; he picks up the axe momentarily to hack off the remainder, then repeats the process with Gidon's ankles.

He looks up at Bartle. "You can get off him now. Can't have you enjoying yerself too much." The wink that's given is no doubt intended to menace their naked captive further.

[Nob(#16122)] It is doubtful if the jest has its full intended measure of menace - Gidon just looks baffled. But his face and neck are dark in the dim light, chagrin, embarrassment, helpless fury, all mixing up together. Bartle leers down at Gidon, trussed up like a turkey for plucking, and crawls back to solid ground, setting his dagger down and dragging the lad off the bed and depositing him in a corner on the floor. "So, can we sleep, or do we got t'be watching for this Brev person?"

Cleaver grins suddenly, and retrieves his axe before moving over to murmur in his companion's ear - Gidon may or may not catch the gist of it. "Name he mentioned? It's that southron pal of Louse-ear's. Never did trust his lying face. If this 'un means something to the southron, could have a nice little hold on him. Figure that's worth losing a bit of sleep over."

The grin fades as he realizes that as things stand now he's going to be the one drawing first watch. "And if not," he shrugs philosophically, "there's still time to play with the runt a bit." He fingers the axe-haft hopefully.

[Nob(#16122)] Bartle nods, eyeing Gidon thoughtfully. Suddenly, he says, "Shove summat in his mouth. If this here Brev does come back, we don't want 'im shoutin' out t'warn 'im." He sits down on the edge of the bed, and bends over to take off his boots, dropping them carelessly on the floor, and lying down. "Wake me up," he says, closing his eyes. "After a bit..."

"Fine," grunts Cleaver, clearly displeased to be the one staying awake. He glances down at the discarded boots, then chuckles and reaches into one to pull out a dirty sock. "Here, you-" He tucks his axe back in his belt for now, crosses the floor to where Gidon has been dumped and reaches out for the lad's hair with a quick jerk. His other hand attempts to shove the balled sock into the captive's mouth.

[Nob(#16122)] Gidon tries to twist his face away, clenching his teeth together to keep his mouth shut, though tears of pain spring to his eyes at the yank on his hair.

Cleaver growls at the defiance. "Now then, laddie, he says meaningfully. "Wouldn't want to get hurt, would we?" And his booted foot aims a kick toward Gidon's exposed groin. Of course, he's ready to thrust the sock in the youth's mouth the instant it opens.

[Nob(#16122)] Gidon sees it at the last minute, and tries to turn his body, but he is unsuccessful. And in such circumstances, it is impossible to keep his mouth shut. The high short scream brings a grumble from the bed, "I'm SLEEPIN' over here!" but it is cut off by the sock.

Job done, Cleaver nods in satisfaction and drops Gidon's hair. "That wasn't so hard, was it?" The smile on his bearded face looks almost benign - except that even as he speaks, his hand is reaching again for his axe. He glances down at the suffering captive and turns away, moving to the door to watch and wait ...

Date added: 2010-07-19 05:57:49    Hits: 40
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