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harry monmouth

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It's a thoughtful Harry Monmouth who lingers over his meal today, though he may not look it, doodling idly on a piece of paper. Eventually he looks at the scribbles, laughs to himself, adds a few details and scratches out a few lines of writing, before sauntering over to the message board and pinning it up.

In search of One Dragon, Ogre, or other such Beast, possessed of a fine Hoard, readily to be slain by a Prince.

There's a sinuous, winged, ink-blotty form beneath, that's probably a dragon if you squint.

Harry isn't really looking for a small fortune, but...he's not not looking.

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Ysalwen, on her way past, stops to read what notice her favorite formerly-drunken nobleman is putting up.

Her eyebrows hit her hairline.

"Are you -- um. Are you serious? About this notice?"

Has he even met an ogre?

Liranan, meanwhile, wags his tail and pants cheerfully. He has no idea why Ysa is concerned, but she'll fix whatever problem there is. Hi, Hal! Hello!

He raises his eyebrows back at her, then bends to greet the Faithful Hound. "Lady, I might be."

He's honestly not sure himself. Is he? "Have you an ogre or dragon on hand, one with a fine great heap of gold?"

"Ogres are right out," Ysalwen says. "They don't have any gold, for one, and for another, dead or no I think you probably don't want to risk contracting the Taint."

It does not bear thinking on.

"But dragons, drakes, and wyverns -- those I've got, and to spare. Not High Dragons, which have the richest hoards, but the others are nothing to sneeze at. Except maybe the wyverns, but their parts bring in a great deal of money on the market, so. What do you want it for?"

"I have my own uses," he answers easily, ruffling the thick fur at Liranan's neck. "Has anyone ever said, O! I would I had no gold!--and meant it?" Even among monks, he has his doubts. "But tell me more of your dragons, your drakes, your assorted wyrms."

"The ones that do mean it generally tend to give their gold away, so -- no, no one has ever said it, still had gold, and meant it."

Shocking.

"Do you think we can sit for this conversation?"

He's startled into a laugh and an apologetic bow. "Forgive me! Ay, let us sit, let us sit. Will you take a glass of wine?"

Ysalwen grins at him, bright and a little crooked.

"I think I shall, if you'll promise not to order me swill."

"I'll be drinking it myself." So no, no swill. Hal pauses at the Bar on the way back to his table, and orders a small bottle of red, and two glasses. "What call you 'nothing to sneeze at,' in the way of hoards? A man who killed him a dragon or a drake, what might he buy? House and land?"

Ysalwen taps her fingertips against her mouth, thinking about the beasts she has faced in the past.

"A house and land, and doubtless more besides. Usually it's gold, a few gems and such, and then the arms and armor of everyone else the thing has killed. It can get quite fancy, if you find one that's been alive long enough. Or been troublesome and stealing cattle and children long enough."

Harry is thinking too, over his glass of wine. "But a half-share or a third part, that would not stretch so far... It would be most discourteous, did I ask you to show me a dragon and then refuse you your portion of glory in killing it."

Ysalwen hums a little under her breath, like someone who is considering something carefully.

Then --

"Leave me the scales and teeth and blood, if you would. They make fine arms and armor, and mine could certainly use some improvements."

Not to mention Meraad's, if she's going to go out into the wider world as a mercenary.

"From head to tail, the beast is yours; and your pick of any arms and armor found. But what is the extent--from head to tail--of these your dragons? And what arms and armor must one bring?"

He should...probably find out things like this before signing on.

"I've done it with four companions before. Myself, my husband, my dog, and a warrior friend, so there's that."

Her smile is wry, and maybe a little sharp.

"I'll get you some diagrams of their size? Perhaps two draft horses long and two again as tall? On the whole. If we catch them underground in their caverns, the wings aren't quite as much a problem. And drakes, of course, don't have wings, so."

It's something!

"As for arms and armor -- a sword and shield would be ideal, as would heavy armor that you can still move in. I'll ask a friend to enchant it for you to protect against fire, as that -- tends to be a problem. Or I can lend you a ring that's proof against fire, as well?"

Edited 2017-05-22 16:07 (UTC)

Two draft horses long and two again as tall. Harry nods. It's a little more than he was hoping for--but much less than he was fearing to hear. The mention of enchantment and rings makes him frown, though, uneasily. "I mislike the notion of echantment--well. Like or mislike, 'tis new to me; I have never fought under any spell but hope and prayer."

He's not saying no; but he's not sure what to make of it. "--sword have I, and shield, and some pieces of armor but no full suit. I may ask Bar for the loan of it."

"She's probably got something, though you'll likely have to leave a deposit. Bringing it back enchanted might count as repayment."

The corner of Ysalwen's mouth quirks up.

"You'll be fighting under my spells, if you come with me. My husband's daggers will likely be coming, too."

Hal shakes his head impatiently. "I mind not the aid, from you or your husband; but 'twill be new for me to fight as anything but plain soldier and plain Christian. --But now that I say it, I wonder." He laughs under his breath. "I never asked what charms my good Welshmen may have carried with them to war."

"I suppose you could test your faith and risk being burned alive if you really want to."

Her expression suggests what she thinks of this plan.

"But no, I -- I suppose I don't exactly understand, because my world is full of magic, but -- I can imagine what it might be like if it were not."

Sort of. If she squints.

He bites back a response to the smugness of "test your faith." Don't quarrel with the person doing you a favor, Hal. And anyway--Ysalwen half apologizes, and it's not a topic Hal especially wants to go into deeply with her.

"Then I am tasked with the finding of armor, and you with the finding of a dragon?"

Ysalwen doesn't really believe in gods. People, yes. Gods . . . no.

It shows.

"It seems like an equitable division of labor. Or maybe a little less than that, as I actually happen to be sitting on several reports of a dragon being sighted in the Frostbacks. The exact location I need to find, but -- not the rumors."

Harry Monmouth doesn't care in the slightest about Ysalwen's relationship with religion; his own is his own, and complicated enough that he doesn't care to share. He's happy to talk about dragons instead!

"Well, if Mistress Bar will not grant me the loan of some pieces of armor, my task will all come to naught! But I think she will do me this kindness. She knows she'll have me back again, one way or another, within three days or so."

"It seems likely, honestly. She's always behaved very generously in the past."

So there's that.

"Shall I leave a note once I've found the dragon? Or -- "

"Ay, just so." He laughs, with a sudden smile. "I promise you'll find me at home; I stray hardly at all these days."

He's probably the best-behaved he's ever been. Dammit.

Edited 2017-05-24 11:55 (UTC)

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