Stranger in a Strange Land (open)

Li's horse reared up in angst as the slowed from a gallop to a halt outside The Inn of Ill Omen. Rain lashed at Li's hood and clothes in the darkness and the inn's sign swang round and round its pole with a shrill creak. She lead her horse into the stables and petted it nose in reassurance but the beast only snorted and turned its tail toward it's new rider. Li knew that it would take more that a couple hours riding to become properly aquatinted with this horse. She left the animal and stepped back into the rain, passing a hooded figure, like her self, leading their horse into the stables.

Li was met with a warm glow of candles as she entered the Inn. It was scarcely populated but the residence seemed docile, all staring into their tall glasses of mead or hosting their own private conversations in hushed voices. Li enquired at the bar for a single room for a single night and paid up the appropriate funds. Once she had paid she felt it safe to remove her hood and in doing so she roused the attention of the other patrons standing by the bar. After looking daggers at each one in tern Li spoke matter-of-factly to the barman.

"I'm a traveling trader from China, I'm not here to cause trouble." Her fair asian features were illuminated by a nearby flickering candle. They were clenched in a stern frown.

"I thought you 'ad an funny accent." Rich, Li thought, coming from the thick talking barman. "What'r'you tradin' exactly?" He enquired.

"Spices and tea." She informed him quite innocently. "A little gunpowder for those who need it." She shot him a quick glance and his stomach knotted. If you know of anyone interested in trade sent them to my room." And with that she turned to accend the stares to the private quarters. She hadn't noticed the two hooded figures that had recently entered the Inn. They watched from a darkened corner as she climbed the stairs.

ooc: open to a character of any description interested in developing this story in any particular way.

Roger watched as the stranger came into the inn. She was not just a stranger, but an exotic one as well. He noted as she talked with the bar man, but could not hear what they discussed. Where ever she was from, it was from very far away. He watched her go up the stairs and almost went back to his supper.

The reason he did not was because he noticed the two hooded men head up the stairs, after her, without talking to the bar man first. They were likely up to no good. Roger stood quickly and checked his belt for his sword. He quietly and quickly slipped up the stairs, following the two hooded figures, after nodding to his friend, Reg, the bar man. "Gonna see what those two are up to Reg."

Roger was a caravan guard, who had just returned from guarding a caravan headed to the Holy Land. He stood six feet tall and had a handsome, weathered face, with a Roman nose and deep blue eyes. This was his home village. He was here for a week before the next caravan left; enough time to check on his parents, fix their leaking roof, and prepare to head back out on the road again.

The stairs creaked under his tall, muscular frame, despite his best efforts. When he made it to the long hallway, the hooded figures were crouched by a door, gleaming daggers in their hands. Roger drew his sword and charged at them, his long blonde hair flying. One headed through the door, which he must have picked the lock on, and the other one whirled on him, falling into a strangely animalistic fighting stance.

He could see one of the hooded figures now, Asian like the girl, with an angry red scar. The men held two knives of a foot of cold steel each, and moved them around in some sort of complex dance. Roger, unimpressed, threw himself forward and swung his sword at the man's neck. The man ducked, and moved in for a counter attack, which went through Roger's leather coat like a knife through butter, scoring a nasty wound on his chest.

Roger stomped on the man's foot, and managed to hit him in the shoulder with the pommel of his sword. What followed was a short and unglamorous battle, which ended up with the hooded man's neck snapped. Roger hated killing, but he was good at his trade. He crashed through the open door, afraid that the foreign woman would already be dead.

Li was removing her cloak when the hooded attacker entered her room. She felt the change in air pressure as the door opened behind her but her hands were lost in the damp, dark green fabric of the cloak as she folded it. Spinning on her heel allowed her to catch sight of her attacker who had lunged towards her. Reflexes caused her to throw the cloak and it covered the mans face as he swung for her body. The sharp dagger he brandished entered under her arm and drew a deep gash down her body, under her breast and along her stomach. Li was staggered and flinched in pain. The attacker had pulled the cloak from his face and was back on the offensive in a heartbeat. With two hands upon his dagger he raised it and lurched forward, aiming for Li's heart. This was a mistake.

The lone candle that illuminated the entire room flickered heavily and was almost extinguished. After it had stabilised the attacker was spread unconscious on the floor before Li, breathing difficultly due to his severely damaged windpipe. Li had seized the opportunity he had created by raising his dagger with both hands and, as he advanced, her body turned, her leg extended and she landed a savage kick against his neck. In the moment Li's foot hand been level with her shoulders and the force of the blow hand lifted the attacker off his feet before gravity dropped him to the wooden floor.

Now Roger stood in the doorway. He had observed the conclusion of the fight and his eyes were upon Li. She moved swiftly and silently over the body, standing with feet either side of his chest. A small bamboo tube, about three inches long, one end covered completely apart from a small hole in the centre and the other sealed with paper, was produced from a minuet pouch on her belt along with a short match. She struck the match against a roughened side of the tube and it ignited into a deep red flame. Li inserted it through the hole in the the upward facing end of the bamboo and instantaneously a peppering of metal shrapnel followed a loud burst from within the tube. The shrapnel peppered the face of the attacker leaving it mutilated and bleeding heavily. Li discarded the tube, which was now blackened and charred at one end.

Her green eyes were now upon Roger. She spotted the second attacker laying dead in the corridor and, looking at Roger's sheathed sword, assumed he wasn't a threat. They stood in silence for a short moment, mystery surrounding the attentions of both parties.

"Thank you." She was curt in her appreciation. The cloak had been swept from under the body of her victim sending a small cloud of grey, powdery residue into the air. She flung it over her shoulders. "I'll leave. This sort of thing isn't safe for anybody and I promised I wouldn't cause trouble." A hefty bag of coin sprung from inside her cloak and Roger caught it. "Please leave this with the barman." She intended to exit the inn through the window. Showing her self to the public below seemed dangerous now.

Roger stared after the woman, as she vanished into the darkness of the night. What was it all about? Who had those men been and why had they attacked her? He searched the bodies, but found little clue as to their identity. They both had a strange symbol tattooed on their inner right wrist, which he could only imagine was writing of some sort. They had a few coins, which he took, along with their strange foreign daggers. After all, they would not be needing them any more.

Heading back down to the Inn's public room, he handed the bag of coins to the barkeep, explaining in hushed tones what had happened. He was old friends with the barkeep. He helped him move the bodies, after the Inn's public room closed for the evening. They dug a hole in the ground of the stables and buried them, by lantern light. They could have called the guards, but they were more trouble than they were worth. Often they required a bribe for just showing up, and shook down anyone who did not pay up.

It was late when Roger started back home, now sweaty and covered with blood from the bodies. His parents lived on a small farm on the outskirts of town. They had a few acres, a stone barn and a thatched covered cottage. He stripped in the courtyard and washed himself down at the well. He took the spare pair of clothing from his pack and changed into it. The dirty clothing he soaked with the cold well water, spitting on the worst spots to keep the blood from setting. He could ask his mother to wash the valuable outfit in the morning. It was valuable in that it was the only other clothing he owned, not that it was expensively made.

He stored his hardened leather armor and pack in the barn, and then stretched out on the hay, prepared to get some sleep. He did not want to disturb his parents until they were up with the morning cock. His father was now fifty five, and old man by the standards of the day, and his mother was five years his junior. They still worked their farm, with his sister Gertrude's help. She was a spinster, and ten years his senior.

His old farm dog Methuselah, who was fourteen years old, and still remembered him despite his year long absence, curled up next to him, providing much needed warmth. The Fall days were growing longer, and despite the days still being warm, the nights were growing quite chilly.

OCC: I apologize for the mistakes in my first post. It was written on a cell phone and auto correct messed me up. I fixed the mistakes that I could find.

Li moved on foot and stuck to the outskirts of the village. There were nobody on the roads for the most part but the occasional far off glow of a patrol party's torches would force her into neighbouring hedges and fields. As the guards past loudly, bottle's of mead in hand and red blotched faces, she would crouch in the shadows with bated breath and dagger drawn. She had learnt from many unfortunate experiences that guards could be savager than criminals. Power corrupts the strongest men and the average villager turned soldier probably possessed a lesser will power than most. She had been robbed, raped and imprisoned by several nations authorities in her younger, more naive years and this had bred a caution in her that forced her to act like an outlaw. The guards wandered on a safe distance away, Li emerged and spat at their boot prints.

Light rain began to fall as she approached a quiet farmhouse. The wound she had received from her attackers ached dully under the cloak and she wanted respite. Brief reconnaissance around the parameter of the farmhouse told her everyone was inside, probably asleep. An old dog skulked around slowly between naps. He wasn't a problem for Li, the wind was louder than her movements and her scent was so foreign in these parts that the dog would pay scarce attention. She entered the grounds and stopped at a well. Her cloak slipped from her shoulders and she looked around. She was alone. Her blouse was slashed where the dagger had penetrated and it's edges had stained red with her blood. She pulled it over her head.

The wind was a welcomed feeling across her bare body. It soothed the ache of her wound and caused goosebumps to rise on her skin. Her breasts were perky, tanned and firm, seemly weightless for their size. The soft rain spattered them and the glistened in the light of the moon. She reached for the bucket of water and scoped some of the chilled liquid with her palm. The heat of her wound was quelled temporarily by the icy water, like forged iron plunged into a bucket. She repeated the process but received no lasting relief. Upon inspecting the wound with one arm raised behind her head she noticed the swollen, sensitive skin surrounding the cut. Her heart sank as she speculated an infection. The attackers blade's must of been treated with a mild poison. She was lucky it wasn't puncture wound but she had been effected all the same. Li fingered her ribs and they twinged painfully.

Li dressed as she thought of a plan. The blouse slipped over her nipples, hardened in the cool breeze, and she wrapped her cloak back around her shoulders. Common healing plants were bound to grow in the area and the farmers would recognise them if she described them to her. In the morning she would approach their door as a wanderer in need of assistance. For now she needed to rest. She could heal on the road once she had her medicine but for now she was only getting weaker. The barn was open and she made a nest for herself in the rafters. Experience had taught her that sleeping high up and out of sight was always a safe bet where possible. The increasing pain that spread across her chest kept her awake enough to hear someone enter the barn. She turned swiftly to observe, immediately on the defensive. It was the man that had helped her at the bar. He was disrobed to degree and acting in a way that suggested he was welcome and familiar to the farmhouse, laying in the hay with the dog.

Li was confidant he would help her immediately and she was relieved by the prospect of healing her uncomfortable and degenerating body. She descended and approach him, the dog startling awake and began barking loudly. He woke and hushed the animal once her recognised her. Li explained her situation and removed her cloak to expose her blood stained blouse.

"I'd be in your debt if you could help me find these plants before sunrise." Her proposition was a valuable one considering her mysterious aurora and the unusual materials in her possession.