0 comments/ 14538 views/ 5 favorites Dinner with a Rogue By: MarcusJonathen The leaves whorled restlessly in the autumn winds, tornadoes of seasonal decay that evinced an image of ghastly black birds scritching their way across cobbles in a morbid procession. The stoic trunks climbed to astonishing heights in all directions save for the dingy brown scar of a road that wound its way through the brush and trees. Their barren branched fingers knitted together with neighbors ceaselessly, as if the crackling motions pondered a grisly fate. Behind a thick wall of brush, upon a fallen dead hollow sat two figures. Armed and clad in hidden armor under garish costume, they waited in silence, arms and legs crossed in contemplation. Roland glared intently at his gold pocket watch before stuffing it back into his coat. "Any time now," he said to his companion. "What you ain't sell that pretty piece of git for?" Bugg asked him. "Time," Roland started, "is a very valuable tool in our trade, Bugg. I would have thought even you would have absorbed that bit of knowledge by now," he chided. "S'a clock tower inna village tells time straight enough, isn' there?" Bugg asked. "Even tolls the hours fer ya, pretty as a pint," he smiled. "True, but, we're hardly in a way to look at, or hear that tower right now are we?" he asked, "and what's more, were we to try and make our way out here by a certain bell, to perhaps intercept a certain carriage that a certain fat lord will be hauling a certain dowry in, well, we'd be fortunate enough at all to find some of his horse's dung without the time in our pocket." "So the lardly Lord is trying to marry off Pelafina again is he?" Bugg asked. Roland nodded, staring straight ahead. "He's bound for the western coast. I hear he's even set his sights as low as the fisher Lords," the man chuckled inwardly, picturing a frumpy Lady Lostorot scaling a giant fish with a cloudy eye. He shook his head as the image faded. "How is it you know the man and his offspring will be down this way?" Bugg asked. "Investments my dear man! In information, in ale for loose lipped guards, in time well spent with a few giggling maidens," he sighed, "lots of investments." Roland said, "so that perhaps a missive might come my way when an interesting carriage may be scheduled to leave the grounds. That chest of gold must be getting awfully big by now..." he deduced, an avaricious glint in his eyes. "Aye," said Bugg, "Why you suppose he can't marry this one off? The tales are that she's only got one eye, and it's uglier 'nna pigs." "What does that matter? All that's important is that we're going to relieve him of that burden and be on our merry way in," another furtive glance at his watch, "well, a quarter bell or so. Then it's all the ale houses and brothels we can hit on our way back to the northern guild house for a timely holiday," he concluded by clapping the huge ogre of a man on the shoulder. "I like my job. I don't like no holiday," Bugg said, feeling rather down at the idea of time off. "Bugg, your job is to break bones at my behest, I would hope that you love it dearly, for it is very often that I require your services in a pinch, but as it stands, if I don't get out of the southlands soon, my eyes may melt from boredom!" Roland exclaimed, his gloved fingers working slow circles at his temples. As his words were stifled dead in the bushes before him, he cocked his head to the side at a very faint, but unmistakable, sound that issued from far along the road. The marauder stood and hunkered down, pulling a small crossbow up from between his legs and cocking a quarrel in the catch. That done, he drew his duelists sabre and waited patiently for the sounds of the carriage to draw close enough. Bugg knelt beside him, needing only to tighten the leather gauntlets that adorned his ham hock fists. "Same as always," Roland whispered, "you spook the horses, I'll pin the guard, throw the driver down. Not too rough now, we don't need a murderer's bounty on us as well!" The horses clopped steadily along the road, urged on by a dim looking gray bearded man, who looked wholly out of place in a driver's vestments. At his side was a wary guard, formidable in physique, but green in the eyes and face, and the way he sat himself; tense and coiled like a scared kitten. There was a cumbersome crossbow between his legs, probably set so long as to remove any amount of damage it might inflict. The carriage itself was a fashionable color of maroon that befit the sorts that cared about the fashionable colors of carriages at the time. Smart bronze gleamed along the edges and rails. Loud shouts issued from inside the padded walls, that could only be the Lord Lostorot going on about his daughter's failings. Roland edged closer to the road, then patted Bugg on the back two times, which was the signal to go. Bugg rumbled onto the road, screaming a horrid low pitched battle cry that could moisten even a hardened soldier's underclothes. The horses reared, completely terrified, eyes four sides white. As the driver struggled with the reins, Roland darted to the side of the carriage, "Ey!" he shouted at the guard, who instinctively turned to face him. With practiced precision, Roland loosed the quarrel into the man's shoulder from twenty paces and closed fast with his sabre. The guard pitched sideways but surprisingly didn't tumble, instead drawing a two-handed broadsword and, leaping down from the carriage, attempting to engage the thief with one good arm. "Don't make this mistake, laddy!" Roland taunted, closing lightning fast, whirling his sabre in a dizzying dance. As he reached striking distance, he began a lunge that he expertly halted as the man dropped his sword and raised his good arm in surrender. "Wise decision!" Roland exclaimed, drawing close the man then ostentatiously kissing him on the cheek before throwing a hard hay maker punch that knocked the man out cold. A sudden sharp pain splintered through his fist and he dropped his sword and crossbow as he spun slowly in a circle clutching his wounded mitt. He quickly regained his sabre and composure as a heavy latch on the door was worked loose. The carriage door was thrown open and a jowly voice demanded to know what was happening from inside. "My Lord, tis the renowned thief, Roland D'Arsle and his companion, the fierce Bugg," Bugg beamed at his name as he sat on the driver's rear, keeping him pinned to the dirt, "here to relieve you of a certain cache of gold coinage that we know travels somewhere upon your vast person!" The watery voice boomed from within the carriage, the man obviously too saddled with weight to so much as lean out the door. "The bumbling ponce and his dim sidekick? I've truly been bested by them?" he jeered from inside, "I have it on good authority that the blue silk clad duo of you and he were seen to suck each other's cocks while bathing in a river!" he taunted, breaking into a flabby roll of a cackle that ended in a coughing fit. "That ain't true seein' as I don't bathe!" Bugg called back. Roland burned with rage and embarrassment at the insult. "Sir, if you think I don't threaten your life today-" he began. "You don't," the lord loudly interrupted, "you would not strike me down, you haven't the nerve! You're a simpleton thief who has trifled with powers far beyond him this day. If you think your neck won't be stretched in a week's time, you're sadly misguided!" he finished his tirade by spitting out the door toward the thief. Feeling his first wave of doubt, he went about the rest of his plan, cutting three horses loose and putting the driver and wounded guard on the last, telling them to ride or die. With that bit of business finished, he approached the carriage door, sabre first and laid it upon the fatty neck of Lord Lostorot, slightly dazed as he again requested the gold. "As you can see, I have won the day, sir, I believe you find yourself with no choice but to give up the coins-" Lostorot smugly interrupted again, "The coins are here, boy, under the bench upon which I sit, and I shall not be moving for you or your sticker, so either kill me and take them, or leave me be on my way. Soon a hundred men will be arriving on swift mounts to hunt you down!" he finished, smiling wide with greasy lips. Bewildered for a second, Roland weighed the options in his mind, knowing that it would be next to impossible to move this mountainous man fast enough without at least gravely injuring him in the process. He licked his lips and pondered a hasty disassembling of the carriage, which proved a fruitless idea. Suddenly, a new approach occurred to him. "Your daughter then!" he demanded in a confident voice, "She rides with this infamous duo to a secret safe house where we shall keep her under arrest until you make a gold payment befitting her status!" Lostorot was cackling from within before Roland even finished his decree, "You would take my daughter? Leave me my dowry and take this worthless wench from me?! Oh Gods above," he bellowed in mock prayer, "what have I done to earn thy favor this day?!" he broke into a laughing fit again. "Oh you'll be receiving payment for this one, for sure, to keep her!" There was a rustling in the cab, and a protesting woman's voice, growing louder with each passing second until she was shrieking in fury. Roland had to disengage his sword from Lostort's neck as the lithe form of a woman dressed in yellow silks was ejected from the carriage into the dirt road. Roland bent to help her up, but she quickly yanked her arm back from his grip, and turned back toward the carriage to kick at the laughing man inside. "Bastard!" she yelled as Roland secured her by both elbows and began to pull her to where he and Bugg had hobbled their horses for the escape. As he spun her around to survey her she spit on his blue overcoat in a decidedly ignoble gesture of contempt. "You're a Lord's daughter?" he asked incredulously, as he drank deep her beauty with his eyes; naturally curled locks the color of a summer sunset that dangled here and there, popping off the pale canvas of her creamy skin. Her eyes were blazing jade as she contorted her face in disgust at her situation, though nonetheless heart stopping. Her pouty pink lips were curled in a sneer as she looked the two of them up and down. "You're thieves!? Pardon, renowned thieves at that," she jeered, "my father will have you both dead before the sunset. And hopefully I can have him follow you through the gates later this evening. The slimy prick," she spat again, this time at nobody in particular. "We have no plans of being dead tonight, so you can either ride peacefully with me, or knocked senseless over Bugg's shoulder, it's your choice m'lady," he said as he offered his hand to her. She stared over at Bugg for a long lingering moment, weighing the choice he had given her for an insultingly long time before agreeing to ride peacefully with him, displaying a supernatural grace with a mocking curtsy as she accepted his hand and then slung herself with practiced ease into the saddle. Roland mounted in front of her and kicked the horse into a gallop quickly, which had the surprised woman reaching around to hold tight despite herself. He grinned to himself as they began a long looping path with many false backtracks on the way to their hide out. "Where in the world are we going?!" she yelled from behind. "The infamous thieves den itself! Excited?" he asked. "Nauseated," she called back, "You kidnap me from my father's coach and expect me to be up for an adventure?!" "Kidnap? You were flung from his person like rubbish, my dear," he joked. Regretting the words at her silence, detecting a slight recoil, if only in some unfathomable way. He felt her turn her head to rest the side of her face flat against his shoulder, perhaps trying to at least enjoy the scenery if not the company. Several miles stretched on in silence. Bugg rode stoically, eyes squinted in concentration, mouth agape as always. Dutifully swallowing whatever may crash land in his gob. Roland chuckled to himself as he remembered that was how the man had come to earn his nickname. At long last in a far tucked away patch of nowhere in particular, a slightly concealed dirt path jutted from the main road, zigzagging into a copse of trees. The thieves angled their horses along it and rode hard for hidden den in the distance. They crashed over some young brush and clopped heavily into moist turf strewn with mosses and scree. In the center of the thicket was a large house neatly sunk halfway into the ravenous earth. As the three dismounted, Pelafina began to laugh. "Pike's Bog? That's the amazingly secret location of the most glorious thieves den!? The Bog Bastard's sunken house!?" she roared in laughter again, "My father's hunting grounds are three leagues from here! Oh would he just wobble with rage if he knew..." she said, reveling in the image of her patriarch's impotent anger at her smirking revelation. Roland was doing his best Bugg-at-the-horse impression, closing his mouth as she smiled inwardly, trying to get his bearings back. "Well since you're so familiar with the place, I suppose we can dispense with the formalities," he drew his sabre and pointed it directly at her, "Pelafina Lostorot, you are hereby prisoner of Roland D'Arsle until such a time that your father, the Lord Lostorot, pays a sum of gold numbering an amount that I am in, err, approval of," he concluded, sweat beading on his brow as she defiantly placed her hands on her hips and glared at him. Her eyes were bright and piercing despite the gloom of the drying bog and its thick growth. "Am I to quiver and plead now for my freedom?" she asked sarcastically. Roland's sword wavered, and then sunk to the earth in defeat. He sheathed it once more and steeled himself again, "No, that won't be necessary of course. We're going to become very chummy the next few days as the ransom instructions are delivered to your father, so if you play nice, then you won't be bound and tossed into a dark wine cellar-" She cut him off, "Cellar? I think that's where the parlor is..." "Regardless! The poor masonry and foundation work of the Pike estate is not of concern at the moment! Never mind the extremely bad choice in location. What is of concern however is your solemn pledge as a noble maiden to recognize your status as a prisoner and not attempt any type of conduct that would have me harm your fair person," he said, breathing heavily after such a meandering rant. She was smiling again, the look in her eyes one of naked contempt for her captors, "And if I should break that pledge?" she said, starting to walk backward toward the path, "and take a nice, brisk walk down the road, to the guard outpost I know is in the east," she continued turning around and walking away, calling over her shoulder, "what would you do?" she finished. No sooner than the words left her lips than a crossbow quarrel sang out in the still air and hooked her long flowing skirt, sticking it fast into the earth until she tangled up and fell, crying out in shock. "Nice shootin', m'lord," Bugg said quietly. "I was aiming for her leg..." Roland reflected sadly. As he helped her up from the ground she tried to batter at his chest until he locked her wrists behind her back, "I won't be anyone's pawn anymore!" she yelled. Roland was holding her against himself until her struggles finally ceased. In more familiar territory now, he smiled broadly at her, "My Lady, we have prepared for this event," he lied, "so, consider this time to come a holiday from your loathsome father with a handsome blade of a thief. Tonight we feast. Bugg is an excellent cook, you'll see," he lied again, recalling instances of sickness too numerous to count. At her wit's end, she relented, relaxing her tense pose and letting Roland guide her by the waist toward the second story window of the Pike estate, which served as an entrance, oddly enough. Makeshift steps brought them level with the floor, which was slightly below the earth. They made their way down a long hall towards a spacious study which had been converted into a dining area, with a long table that spanned nearly the length of the room flanked on either side by shelves of books. Roland pulled a chair out for her and waited behind it. Taking the cue, she sat down and let the man seat her eloquently. That accomplished, he then pulled the chair across from her out and plopped heavily down onto it, putting his feet up on the table and sighing deeply as he took his gloves off and tossed them over the back of the chair, knitting his fingers together on his stomach as he stared at her. There seemed no end to the silence as they stared. Finally she turned her gaze aside, "you seem to have done some interesting things with this abandoned wreck," she commented. "Necessity and all that," he replied, with a dismissing wave of his hand, "the upper floor is more than adequate for living space. The first floor is rather dreary and damp in its current state. Good place to keep prisoners, lots of manacles and chains and whatnot. Hopefully you won't have to see it... unless you want to?" he grinned, winking at her. She felt a flush come on, but not one of complete anger. He was a bit of a blade at that. Dressed in stylish blue on boiled leather black armor. He had a close shave and neatly cropped coif of midnight black hair. It was his eyes that did it though; two glassy oceans of blue, almost too pure to be believed. "So tell me," he began, "how is it that a noble born maiden of one of the richest Lords in the land, in possession of staggering beauty and wit, is not married to some blue blooded powdered ponce by now?" She grunted at his flattery, rolling her eyes to the ceiling and sighing, "The process can be a bit complicated at times," she said. "Are you the complicated part my lady?" he fired back. She smiled wryly, "Perhaps. Perhaps I am at that. I just reject the idea that I'm too be taken to the home and bed of whatever watered down noble's son accepts me," she said, stiffening her posture up a bit, "I'm able to choose who I bed with, I think. I have enough times before anyway..." she finished, not getting the shock she expected from the thief across the table. Behind his fixed mask of interested delight, however, his heart raced at her candid confession. As a bumbling flirt of a line began to trickle past Roland's well-tied tongue, Bugg arrived with a carafe of wine and two glasses. He filled both and left the rest. The two stared at each other for a bit, and then together they reached for their drinks, taking healthy gulps in unison to diffuse some of the tension. Roland swallowed another mouthful greedily then sighed appreciation, "If nothing else, the Bog's Bastard knew how to stock good vintage," he raised his glass in salute, which she returned, feeling a bit light headed as she took another long sip. They chatted peaceably together for several more minutes, about the land, about the life of a thief, about the life of a noble woman. At one point Roland pulled a coin from his pocket as she spoke. He flitted the coin across his fingers as he listened intently. So organic was the gesture that she thought he may not have realized he was even doing it at the moment. She became entranced with the coin, and his deft, skilled fingers. Slim, long, graceful, flipping the coin back and forth with ghostly precision. 'Of course, the hands of a thief,' she thought, 'and an expert duelist... what else are they good at?' Bugg returned with a silver platter and lay it between them. On it were two large bowls of broth and a loaf of bread. "Sorry lord, s'all there is til' the 'morrow," Bugg apologized, his face slack with the shame of failing his beloved boss. Pelafina took another long sip of wine and jeered Roland, "Prepared for this event have you?" she smiled wide at his flustered look. Dinner with a Rogue "Believe me, my lady, a meaty broth and some fresh bread from the carts are all you'd want from this one anyway," he made a theatrical choking pantomime as Bugg left the room which set her to giggling. Somewhere inside she felt herself being swept off her feet, but the reality of her situation hadn't left the back of her mind. When Roland was distracted by a long inspection of his soup, she slid one of the bread knives into her sleeve. She felt strange about this ploy, like she was betraying something, a chance at a better life. Could she wound or kill Roland to escape? Escape to what? Back to her father's indifferent clutches? Chills crept down her spine at the thought of that. They ate the meager supper together, finishing off the wine and another carafe on top. The house was swept with darkness as night fell. Their friendly camaraderie concluded, like a cold, iron anchor falling back into the world as Roland remembered the finer details of their situation. He stood up fast, wobbling slightly, "Please accompany me, my lady, lets make this simple for both of us," he felt pained. She allowed him to escort her down the hall to a bedroom that was modestly furnished. A large, comfortable looking cotton mattress was against the far wall, it wasn't the scary dungeon he had mentioned before. She was grateful not to be spending the evening in there. Laying on the bed was a set of manacles. The sight was sobering, and Pelafina felt her heart race, her hand playing at the knife concealed in her sleeve. She saw the look of dismay and uncertainty on Roland's face as he worked one of the cuffs through an iron post at the head of the bed. When he was finished he gestured at the bed, and she sat demurely on the edge, placing her hands in her lap. "Do I have to do this?" Roland asked, her as much as himself it seemed, holding the other cuff in his hand up toward her for inspection. "That depends," she said, reaching inside for steel, or fire, something of substance, but she just wanted to reverse time, back to the charming dinner she had just had. "On whether or not you want to use me, like my father, like all those terrible suitors," she finished, staring straight ahead. Roland hesitated, then stepped close and grasped her shoulders, pushing her gingerly back onto the bed. She let out a soft cry of surprise as her head thumped lightly against the mattress. His hand moved to her wrist as if to place it in the cuff. She felt the moment had arrived, roiling with dread and adrenaline, she loosed the knife in her other hand and raised it behind his back, trembling. When his fingers locked neatly with hers, he pushed his lips against her mouth lightly, slowly adding more pressure until they were locked in a deep soul kiss. The jolt she had felt on initial contact faded into a warm buzz that separated her limbs from her body. After a moment of shock she pushed back against him, opening her mouth to greet him warmly. A metallic clattering startled them both from their kiss, she had dropped the knife onto the hardwood floor. Roland looked down at it, shock writ across his features. "No!" she exclaimed, grabbing his face in her hands and pulling it back to her mouth. He pulled away again, in disbelief, "You were going to stab me!?", he yelled out. "You were going to cuff me!" she fired back. "Oh, did I then?!" he retorted. Dazed by the exchange, she started to formulate another accusation, but before she could bother, he leaned in close, forcefully kissing her again. She locked her wrists behind his head and gave in sweetly, teasing his aggressive motions with delicate feminine grace. She rolled her head back as his mouth eagerly feasted upon her neck and collarbone, her hands digging and undressing at his armor and clothing as he went, in response, he leaned back between her legs and quickly undid a few buckles, tossing the whole ensemble aside. She gasped at his naked torso. It was toned nicely for a man of his age, and absent of hair, yet what made her react so vocally was the web-work of scarification. As he leaned back in, she pressed her hands against his shoulders to examine him briefly, tracing her fingers across one long ugly gash that looked several years old. "You've been at this a very long time haven't you?" she asked. "Bedding women?" he grinned. "No... stealing, being a thief," she replied. "Coins, gold, valuables, hearts, I have stolen them all," he said, taking her hand in his and kissing it. "Am I your next target then?" she asked, suddenly grave in the passionate moment. "I don't think I have committed any crime here, my lady, this is a duel, not a robbery," he smiled deeply again. She returned it eagerly. "We'll see, I don't think you're quite the expert anymore, especially without your armor," she pinched him playfully as his hands worked at her dress. He found himself intoxicated with wine and desire, making him slightly incapable of the task at hand. "It's a bodice," she said, "you have to untie it-", but before she could finish, he grabbed the knife from the floor and expertly cut her loose from the contraption. She spilled free of it with a start. Giggling at the feel of the cold, dull side of the blade against her skin as he expertly disrobed her. "You're lucky the Bog's Bastard was so fond of shapely concubines! Though, I daren't say any as shapely as you perhaps," he said, squeezing her breasts in his soft hands and massaging them as she arched her back slightly, letting the rest of her clothes fall to the floor off her waist. She pulled him close once more, wrapping her bare legs around his waist and kissing him again. She opened her mouth to speak, to say something to his dazzling blue eyes, but at that moment, she felt him slowly enter her, locking perfectly into place, his hips flush against hers. He held fast and stared back into her own fiery emerald orbs. The way her lambent locks spread across the bed set his heart ablaze as he began a rhythmic pace that steadily increased with each wanton bite, and delirious claw across his back. She gripped him tight and rode the wave of pleasure until it subsided, not leaving her feeling sated, but hungry for more. She pulled him hard against herself and rolled him onto his back. Grinning down at him lasciviously as she climbed atop his hips. She leaned down to feast upon his mouth, his tongue, his neck, and over again, her hand reaching between her legs to guide his hard cock back inside of her. When she felt the head pierce her eager flesh, she pinned herself against him and began to grind hard, riding as deep and fast as her body would allow. His mouth found its way to her chest. He bit and sucked at her erect nipples, driving her over the edge once more. During the crashing wave of her climax, she yelled out as she felt him pulse and quicken inside. Their blazing point of contact becoming flush with warm liquids. Sated at last, she toppled over on him, her head swimming and buzzing, she felt him embrace her, his hands doing slow circles across the middle of her back. They slept as such, connected intimately in more ways than one. He woke to her head upon his shoulder, her fingers delicately tracing some of the scars that crossed his chest. She leaned up to kiss his jaw, needing no other greeting. After a long moment of idyllic silence, her curiosity got the better of her, "What's this one?" she asked, going over a jagged scar on his abdomen. "Axe. Right to the stomach. Luckily I had chain mail on. Most of it popped and the blade still bit me pretty good, but I didn't leak my guts out into the darkness," he said. "And this one?" she asked, her finger tracing against his sternum. "A scimitar, I barely escaped being cut in two. He got the worst of that exchange..." he said, taking her hand in his, and moving it to his other shoulder, "Got that one from a crossbow dart. You know who fired it? My best friend. There's no honor among thieves, Pelafina," he concluded sadly, "I need to get out of this game," he sighed. "What if I told you that I knew for certain where Lady Bremmerton and her famous ruby amulet would be on a certain day in the near future," she said wickedly, "and that house Lostorot is cordially invited to the affair," she teased, kissing at his neck. "I would say...," he replied, "that perhaps every thief has one more job in him..." he staggered through the sentence, thinking of what that amulet could fetch. "Do they now?" she asked, sliding her hand across his stomach and under the sheet across his waist, "maybe they do at that," she purred, "Where did this big one come from?" she giggled. "Oh, my mother, she was a saint, a true saint," he babbled, as she kissed down along his chest. "We're going to be fantastic partners," she muttered matter-of-factly. The enormity of her insinuation was too much to process however, he simply closed his eyes and saw a passionate shade of red, a mixture of Pelafina's hair and shining rubies strewn within it.