Goshawk-blooded

[[ Cyril Beaumont. 29. Arrivee from another world.Indie OC linked with @rorikkoon as part of their animal-blooded concept universe. ]]

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[ It had just started raining outside, and Cyril just happened to choose Miles’ bar to escape the downpour. He certainly looked out of place in his well-made travelling fashion, large pack strapped to his back. The markings around his eyes were quite distinctive as well.

He guessed the place he’d wandered into for some kind of public house and let his sharp eyes run over it for a long moment before he moved to a table. If no one came up to serve him, he’d venture near the counter. Hopefully he could convince them his coins were good-- places like this should be more used to travellers, he hoped. ]

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[ He was trying to figure out how he was supposed to find Rorik in all this mess. Had found a bench and had one of the lavender-coloured fruits he’d brought with him out, cutting it into segments. Something between a pear and a mandarin. He’d tried purchasing some food from a stall, but they hadn’t accepted his coins, saying they didn’t recognise them and asked if he was in costume, and if so then this wasn’t funny when they were trying to run a business. So he’d quickly excused himself and left. ]

Great Spirits, if there’s a way to find that blessed raccoon, please show me the way.

[ He wasn’t usually a praying man, but desperate times and all that. He really should have asked that dragon-blood for a tracking spell... ]

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[ He had gotten spooked by the cars moving through the streets, and he’d also felt the vibrations of something underground, which was Worrying. But he just... withdrew into himself and kept his gaze firmly forward while he walked. Once or twice, he saw people point... small boxes at him.

He caught site of a fur collar going around a corner-- the closest thing to clothing he was used to he’d seen since he arrived-- and hastily set off in pursuit. ]

Halloo-- sorry, my good sir-- but... might I trouble you for a moment?

[ He figured it was best to be overpolite. He didn’t know whether he was a noble, some sort of military figure, or some such else. ]

I’m looking for a money changer.

[ Cyril’s accent was strange. Clear and well-spoken, but with odd tones and weights on syllables. Maybe enough to assume he was from somewhere in Western Europe. ]

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He was lost. Well, more lost than just being in an entirely unfamiliar world. He’d seen a sign that had seemed to indicate a rest house, but hadn’t been able to figure out which of the multi-storied (so tall!) buildings it had been in. And since he had already seen he stuck out terribly with what passed for clothing here, he wanted to get somewhere soon.

So now he was sitting in a cold, empty park, in an open structure, picking through what he’d brought. His sword he decided to bundle up in his camping pack, since no one else had been carrying them and he didn’t want to invite trouble.

He’d have to find some shelter before he found Rorik, if the raccoon-blood was still alive. Which he had to believe was true, otherwise this would have been a huge mistake and he wasn’t about to start thinking like that.

Hopefully they’d still take his coins and jewels here. They were good quality, unclipped.

Cyril sighed. He really should have thought this through more.

[goshdammittohawk-blog]

Earth-Coming

After Rorik had disappeared, Cyril had been distraught. He’d checked prisons, pauper’s graves, gutters, brothels, and slave auctions. Anywhere the raccoon-blood could have found misadventure.

Nothing.

Until he’d gotten word of a pissed off dragon-blood who’d apparently thrown him through a portal to some other world.

Which had triggered an instinctive desire to try and fight them and demand they bring Rorik back. No one touched his raccoon-blooded thief and companion and got out unscathed. But that was a fool’s errand and he knew it.

Instead, he’d forced himself to calm down, and waited a few weeks before cautiously approaching them. And explained the situation, apologise for Rorik’s offence, and had actually gotten down on his knees and begged for him to be brought back.

It couldn’t be done, he’d been told, though whether it was a limitation on the dragon-blood’s magic or just not something they were willing to do he was unsure. So he’d left, then come back with treasures to offer in exchange, but even that wasn’t enough.

Eventually, he’d packed up what he could carry with him, including coin and jewels, his sword, and basic survival gear for both of them. He had no clue what sort of world Rorik had been thrust into.

The dragon-blood had been most surprised when his next request had been to follow Rorik, but perhaps they knew goshawks’ reputations for being unrelenting, and knew he’d come back every day for a year if need be.

And so that was how he’d found himself thrust into a world of overwhelming light and sound and impossible crowds of people all living together. And he had to find Rorik in all of this?