/ooc - thinking "Mice Rescue Carrington, et al - News at Eleven!"

Sort of making up for Ben and Willard and all those mice/rat horror movies...or "Questor and the Brain"

"Lo' Der Brain!" the rat clomped in.

 

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Albricht Whitethorne finally arrived at his new estate in Camelot....now vacated by his half-brother Carrington. He bowed to Benowyc deeply, and nodded to his attendants.


"I'm sorry I'm late, Lord." he said with a nod.


From the shadows, a pair of yellow, glowing eyes watched. They belonged to Basaia's, and after the property had been given to Albricht, as soon as he signed the parchment Benowyc was holding, they would have a center in Camelot to spread the word, and work their plans. He pulled the black cloak over his head, and watched.


"Albricht Whitethorne," Benowyc nodded and began, holding a parchment in his hand, "This parchment, after signed, will give you full rights to the Whtethorne estate, and it's land around Albion..."


Basaia grinned and watched the sneer fall over Albricht's face. Little did they know, two-hundred little eyes were watching the scene unfold.

 

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Behind Lord Benowyc, one of the Knight Commanders chortled, but stifled it. With some satisfaction, the group of them watched the Whitethorne greedily sign the document and then tossed the emaciated fellow a platinum coin.


"Pleasure doing business with you, Whitethorne. But answer me this... How is it that your father wrote me but you are the one to arrive and bear witness? I thought your father had passed away, although I have recently received this invitation marked with this signet."


It was time; the training had paid off. Although the arranged meeting had been delayed, it was only for the better. Now the mouse had his students with him, and if something went wrong they had it covered. At last, he could make his move.


Having crept unnoticed up Albricht's backside, the varmit dropped the father's signet ring to the floor as if it had rolled out of a pocket. Instantly, the mouse leapt free, back into the shadows.


"What's this?" Inquired the keep lord as he bent to retrieve the fallen ring. "The signet ring of your father, I see!. A very interesting find, Mr. Whitethorne."


Gesturing to his contigent of Knight Commanders, they drew blades and began to encircle Albricht.


"Impersonation of a landholder is a very serious offense, Mr. Whitethorne. I'm sorry to hear it, too, because I had just made a very profitable deal -- purchase of the Whitethorne estate for a mere 800 gold. Unfortunately, the courts will probably rule the puchase void, but we shall see. Perhaps I will be able to keep the land and see you in chains. Come with me now, or my men will have to get rough."


Without further word, the contigent took Albricht at sword point to the dungeons of Camelot.

The old man, with an air of dignity, walked from the shadows. He began to slouch over, showing his age quickly as he began to murmur a few obscure thoughts that none could understand. Giving Lord Benowyc a toothless smile, he patted the honourable general upon his shoulder with his old and weathered hand. The white-haried spectre's strong and youthful visage had returned to his previous form, the face and age of the eighty-two year old Avalonian. He reached for Albricht's arm for support, and began to speak.


"Ma'lard Bennie, s'abeen quite a time since wa' spo'kan, nary not?"


Basaia's age began to show, as his words made little if no sense. Lord Jeust Benowyc gave a polite smile and shook the old man's hand with care, knowing that his father's teacher, and his as well, was many years past his limits. He knew by the old man's composure that he more than likely would not live past this winter.


"Albie'sa good boy na', he much'a remind'd ma' of you wh'an yer juss a wee sproutlin'. Wa', I seem'ta rememb'ar a time wh'an yer whar spinnin' yer first live blade an ma' boy Ulfwych knocked ye flat 'an yer arse. Bah, tha were tha days when ye us'd ta'..."


Jeuste gave a slight chuckle, seeing that the old man was trying to reminece of old time. He had grown used to that, as did many of "old man Bas" students, as they liked to call him. Indeed, Basaia was still as Benowyc remembered him, a sweet old man, a man that would easily be mistaken for anyone's grandfather.


The conversation continued...

Benowyc nods politely at Basaia before leaving.

/ooc It's really not my turn yet! Help! I've already muddied the storyline, deflied my character and ALMOST got slapped by Moryan! (grin)

 

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"A letter from me.. promising ta do WHAT? Ta that farking elf named Jander? I dinna bleeding think so."


She turned to the men in the room, and boldly stated, "Whats stopping us from ransacking the wench's home and finding those letters afore they get out? Better yet.. we should send someone in ta just bloody burn the place down ta the bleeding ground."


"Those letters get out, ye know twill be hard ta refute them, cold hard e'idence in someone's hands is all the proof some need. And Hurbury has it out fer us already."


She growled, "I'm nae inta this politicin shyte folks, either we get those letters tanight, or we can watch the ground swinging aneath our toes in a few weeks time."

Carrington just grinned at his lover.


"I know a man." he said with a smirk, and kissed Mory softly, "He's the best."


And he went off to wake Drayton.

 

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Carrington gently rapped at the door of Drayton and Ravyin' Argente's estate. After a long while, Carrington finally saw a lit candle through the window, and the door creeked open. The shadowy figured squinted at the blonde cleric, then stepped outside.


Drayton, dressed in undergarmets and clutching a sword stood there, holding a candle in his other hands.


"What the fargin' hell do you want Whitethorne?" he asked, grinning at his old friend, who had recently risked everything he had to support his marriage with Ravyin, a noble lass, and Arguyle's niece.


Carrington smirked at him and lightly clapped him on the shoulder.


"A job." he said quietly, "ou still do jobs don't you?"


And Drayton smirked at him.


"Right this way." he said, stepping out of the doorway to let the cleric through.


After he stepped inside, he shut the door quietly behidn him, and Carrington casually took a seat on a sofa, and began munching on an apple. Drayton layed the sword down on the dining table, as well as the candle. He folded his arms and peered at his old friend.


"Carrington," he said seriously, oddly using his first name, which he hardly ever did, "I never did thank ye'."


Carrington smiled at him slightly, "Well, this can be your thanks." he continued with a smirk.


"It must be pretty important, ye' bloody wakin' me in the middle of the night, pas' midnight eh?" Drayton asked, "What's tha' job?"


And Carrington's smirk faded, and he nodded seriously, and told him of the plan.

 

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Drayton just started at the cleric after he had told him the plan. Then he smirked.


"Let m'get this straight..." Drayton began, a smug tone in his voice, "e' want me to penetrate the D'vena estate, one of the most highly-guarded fortresses in farkin' Albion, get through the courtyard full'o bloodhounds, passed the dining hall where servants constantly roam, and through the mindless labryinth of hallways of the bleedin' castle, which is constantly patrolled by farkin' guards?!"


Carrington smirked, "That's it."


"Oh," Carrington began again, "I forgot to mention you'll be needing to penetrate Lady D'Vena's private chamers, which are through her bedroom and behind a secret panel to obtain two forged documents which could mean the end of Moryan, myself, and Arguyle's lives....then get yourself out without being noticed." Carrington cleared his throat slightly.


An akward silence overtook the room.


"...When d'I start?" Drayton grinned, and went to fetch his armor.


Carrington smirked, "Now."

 

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