The rain had been pouring non-stop for several days now. He might have loved the rain. It was the one time that the always separate beings of sky and earth were connected. He might have, had be been anyone but who he was. Had he been a poet or a politician, he might have waxed poetic about the rain as it pounded steadily against the windows, making the world outside a wash of grey, more so than usual for the blond staring out the window. Had anyone asked him what color the ground was out there, he couldn’t say. Nor could he tell the shade of the eyes of the pretty bar maid that passed him by with another tankard of ale for someone at a far off table. A maiden who made wide birth around him, as most other did.

Flynn sometimes wished he had a better way to get his far too small meals. There was no contact in this place. The residual emotions of drunkards and tavern wenches wasn’t ever truly enough to sate his hungers. To truly have a worthy meal, he would need to forge out into the rain and don the black mask and tri-corner hat that was displayed in quite an unflattering fashion upon a very ugly rendition of the poster of Highwayman that hung in the rogues gallery, waiting for a bounty man to take it up.

20,000...A paltry sum. He was worth far more than that. But the blasted rain had kept him from going out and returning his sum into five digits again. The blasted rain and the poor quality of prey on the roads these days. He did loathe to pick up and find a new stretch of the King’s Highways. It meant finding all the escape routes and learning all the ambush points all over again. It was an effort that Flynn did not want to make while getting soaked to the bone.

But he couldn’t just sit around here and do nothing. If too much time passed between his nighttime outings, someone else might crop up claiming to be him. An amusement to be sure, until the idiot started shooting people, something Flynn never did. Sighing, his pretty face pinched into a scowl as he glared at the continuing rain. It seemed it was going to be another long night sitting in the tavern, trying to get a serving girl close enough to him so that he could order himself a drink.

Akim Vadimavitch was the son of the Estansa of the Azov tribe and was thus a Jaran Prince, yet as the Azov tribe lacked both history and wealth his position was nothing to brag about and his title was more of a novelty than anything else. His traveling companion was the Count Hustaart whose family was one of the oldest in Meria and thus a man whose standing was most impressive indeed. The Imperial Countly act had just been decreed in Hayholt, which had bestowed the title of Count on all the squirely families. This had been done in response to the recent Van der Mehk rebellion. It was meant to please the Merian aristocrats without giving them too much power. So far it had seemed a great success.

The two men were leading a very large procession which had left from Hayholt only a few days ago. The train made up the baggage trains and entourage of a very important person who was on her way to White Palace to be received by the King and Queen-Empress. The count was her honorary Avant-Guard and Akim was his Adjutant.

Unfortunatly, on reaching the Esto Gazian plain, a large part of the baggage train had gotten seperated from the main procession. The Count Hustaart had made the decision for main entourage to enter the city while the Vanguards looked for the other carriages.

The city was wet and rainy which disguised the group of travelers. The large berlin was obviously the focal point of the train. Though it implied a sumptuous and spacious interior, the exterior was rather plain, perhaps as a deterrent to any marauders on the path between the Northern and Southern capitals.

Scouts had already been sent ahead to warn the innkeepers of the arrival of their important guest yet everyone in the inn was taken aback by the sheer amount of Jaran horsemen and white guardsmen that accompanied the four carriages and three cars to the front of the inn.

Akim entered first and the Innkeeper greeted him. The two talked in quiet whispers. Hustaart entered and even more quiet conversations went on.

When he was done, Huustart left. Outside the inn, servants rushed to and from the carriages, helping out a half dozen ladies from different rigs. They held huge umbrellas and carried their aristocrat charges over the muddy streets to the inn. The ladies all wore huge traveling cloaks of expensive satins and velvets and brocades. They entered like silent wraiths and were immediately shown to a private room. Servants carrying trunks filled with silverware and china entered this room too and guardsmen took up position at the doors.

Though initially this cause a great deal of excitement among the patrons, after some ten minutes, the whole crowed went back to their previous activities, only glancing occasionally up at the guards.

Akim, who had been completely ignored after his initial service was left to his own employment. Sliding up to the bar he ordered an ale. It was brought to him and he laid down a few coins. Taking a first large gulp, he began to cough, and made a face.

Looking around for company, he saw a man seated by himself. He laughed loudly to get the mans attention and raised his glass.

“They don’t water it down much, do they?” he said amiably.

Flynn felt his fingers starting to itch the moment the long carriage train started past the window from which he was looking out of. He felt a deep seated anger towards himself. Had only he been outside. Had only he been out there in the rain instead of him here and dry. That massive train…it was prime target for him. Surely, the travelers would have known this. And yet, as if a challenge to him, it had gone on his roads without a visit from him. The drivers had seen no black tri-cornered hat so far and they had made it entirely to the city completely unmolested by that most debonair but fearsome bandit. It was something that Flynn would have to remedy. But for now, it was too late. Now in town, there was no way he could don the black and ride out to waylay them. Though, what a great addition it would make to his monumental misdeeds as of late. After all, his antic grew bolder. Why not really be bold? Why not accost a caravan in the middle of a city, where capture was emanate about every corner. It was a thought to toy with while he awaited his drink and watched the lavish procession into the inn.

Sharp blue eyes locked upon each of the travelers as they entered. The women, he took little note of. He knew women could fight, but at the same time, these looked far too noble. To right to ever dirty their hands in such a vile manner. No. Those would be an easy target. A little smile. Perhaps some charm and their trinkets and baubles would add to his collection. It was the men he was concerned over. The horses looked swift. He didn’t know of his white steed would be able to outrun a Jaran horseman upon a Jaran horse. She was getting on in years after all. He wondered if perhaps he could stand for a new horse, one of younger years and of fleeter feet. Maybe he could take one as well. Though with the rain, he could not see a horse that called to his exacting nature. The Highwayman had to have a white horse. It was part of the mystique that surrounded the noble bandit.

He tried to keep his interest from being too keen, but decided against it. Let these people think him just another drunken patron, amazed by the finery and unable to look away. Besides, this gave him ample opportunity to figure out just how much he could take and just how hard it would be. A swarm of servants could overtake him like ants swarmed. He only had one shot in the chamber of his flintlock pistol. That was two shots before he had to reload. And the guards looked menacing, as guards tended to be. These seemed even more brutal to Flynn. A major deterrent to any would be brigand, but a relatively minor one to him. He doubted though that he could charm information about the travelers and their path from the stone faced guards.

Then who? One of the travelers had taken up a seat and seemed intent on enjoying his evening. A boy? Perhaps not a boy, but a man. Yet to Flynn’s ageless gaze, such a face from a drink made him think of the other as some comely youth. That or a pampered noble, unused to the stronger things in life. In the Highwayman’s mind, papered nobles were worse than children, though they did make for great targets. Very little resistance from those types after all.

He heard a loud laugh and noticed the raised glass. Raised towards him, he supposed. Perhaps this man did not know that he was a being to be shunned. It was an offer he would not refuse. Get the boy drunk enough and perhaps he’d learn all he needed about his newest target. Rain or not, the Highwayman would ride tomorrow and claim the contents of those carriages for himself.

Standing with the grace that seemed born into his race, Flynn carried his drink over to the man and took a seat and gave a pleasant smile. It was not yet time to turn the charm on. “It does appear so. Are they afraid that they might melt? But you are your companions certainly are brave? Have you not seen the posters floating around? There is a frightening bandit about.” He smiled again, in spite of himself. It was one of Flynn’s favorite pastimes. Talking about his nighttime persona as if it were a different person entirely. “Even a caravan so small as this one must have felt worried to travel these roads.”

Akim Azov smiled and laughed, although his laughter belied a bit of confusion. Serdians misunderstood Merian culture and among the subcultures of Meria, they misunderstood the Jaran the most of all. With all of their intricate forms of hierarchy and caste, they didn’t seem to understand the social mobility of the Merian aristocracy, nor did they understand the newness of it all. Until some twenty years previous, most of Meria had been under the clutches of the remnants of the Dark Lord. It had been a chaotic and violent place. Only since the ascension of Sabriel Novendot had peace and order been restored. The great families of Meria had, for some four hundred years, been exiles, milling about in their semi-protected safe havens tucked away from the ancient evils that had roamed that land.

The Jaran had been the worst off. While the Merian Sho had holed up in fortresses like Hayholt and the Rico River Valley, the Jaran had roamed the central plains, easy pickings for the necromancers and sorcerers who fought for petty territories. Before the fall of the Dark Lord, while the Merian Sho families were protected by the distaff line of the Dark Lord’s own House, the Jaran were hunted, like animals, nearly to extinction.

Thus, though Akim was percieved by many Serdians to be in the same class as the cosseted lordlings in Serdio and Ivendell, he was of a much different set.

“Posters?” Akim inquired and then as if remembering himself he said: “Oh! Yes, yes yes! Posters... well. Ahem. We thought of him-” he said gesturing broadly to signify the Highwayman, “-when we first undertook to make this trip. And Huustart said that we ought’ta take the train because there’s no way anyone’s going to rob a train and we did to Alexandra but then she said that it wasn’t fitten for one of... her kind to arrive by train and then of course there was the debate as to whether or not they ought to ride by horse back or not but Huustart said that ladies here and in Hayholt, you know, don’t ride by horseback and then there was a row because she said that ladies in.... well......” Akim looked slightly abashed as if realizing that he had said to much. “There was a great deal of debate to decide whether or not they ought to be treated like Court ladies or like.... well, what they are. And it’s difficult you know because it’s hard to compromise between the Empress and them because the Empress is one of them but then she ain’t either and you know the whole Saqueloin business makes it very difficult to decide who should compromise with who. Anyway, they’re being treated like babies and she’s about ready to blow though I oughtn’t say anything.”

Flynn heard a slight sound of confusion in the other’s laugh. He could feel it in the air about the other man. He didn’t like the taste of confusion. There were far better emotions to feast on. He wasn’t so hungry as of yet as to soak in such a distasteful thing as that. Instead, he wondered why it was that the other was confused. It wasn’t like he knew anything about nobles and nobility. For as long as he’d lived, Flynn had made it a point to never bother with aspiring to nobility. Being a bandit was far more fun and fulfilling that sitting about on a throne all day listing to some sycophant or another blather on about a some insignificant decision that someone else could have made with less headache and bother.

Nor did he know much about the Merian peoples. For how old he was, he couldn’t say he had been very far from these cities and towns. In fact, when he decided to have his fill of thieving for a bit and went back to ground for a few centuries, he’d probably just stay right in this area, spending his hard won gold as he would until he ran out and had to start waylaying passersby once again. He didn’t bother to even attempt to keep up with politics. All he cared what that when things got bad, those on the roads grew more populated with travelers trying to flee with all they owned. It was a prime time for him to make a tidy sum.

He did however, frown when the other dismissed those awful posters. He had wanted to hear that they were rightly unflattering. Because they were. Whoever had commissioned them must have had a three month old blind puppy draw them. One day, Flynn swore he was going to stay around long enough to pose for a decent rendition of himself. It hurt the blond’s ego to see himself done up in such an ugly fashion. But that wasn’t the issue at hand. The issue was whether or not the caravan had thought of and prepared for the eventuality of being met with a brigand upon the roads. He nodded solemnly as the other started to ramble on about the train. Flynn rather hated trains. Soon enough tracks would blot out the countryside and no one would travel by coach anymore. He would be out of a profession then. The Highwayman could not become some ordinary train robber.

He raised an elegant eyebrow as the traveler spoke of the women who had passed by. He didn’t’ think they were at all questionable material. He had a way to find out of course. All he needed to do was go up those stairs and start knocking on doors. He could turn on that innate charm of his and he’d know right away which ladies were true nobles and which were of questionable, negotiable virtue. It was something he could do later on. Once he had the information he wanted from this fellow. A fellow who seemed all to chatty. Perfect.

“It sound, good friend, like much of a headache for all involved. It must be very hard to be the escort for such nobility. I’m sure though that your fellow escorts and the many many guards must make it better for you.” He fishing expedition was not over yet. It was just beginning. And as it was, he gestured for the serving wench to brig another round. “Especially when there is a woman with a temper like you say… I am glad I am but a simple man with no such worries upon my shoulders.”

Akim smiled as the second round was brought forth and eagerly took a gulp. “Nay, it’s a great honor rather. The Azov tribe is small and unimportant. To be escorting the Sakhalins....” he suddenly realized that perhaps he had said too much and took another sip.

“Even if I had to serve under a Sho* like Count Huustart, the ability to.....ta’fraternize with men of such rank... and of course as soon as they find the rest of their bags we’re going to White Palace and there we’ll see the Empress and the Emperor and the King and all of ‘em who you could ever want to meet.”

There was a pause while Akim took another few large gulps. He looked in his cup and then to his new friend. He smiled.

“well, ya see, she....... she is..... very important, ya see? Some say even more important than the Empress though only in Meria I suppose... “ he had, up to this point, been very careful to talk around the subject at hand. Then, regarding Flynn once more to try and discern any sort of malevolence, he began to pour our his thoughts:

“she’s not too bad, in fact, she’s not bad at all. She just knows... the way things oughta be and sometimes she knows things when the Empress doesn’t and of course the Sakhalin’s are older than the Novendots and some think that the Novendots have sold out. And so when the Empress sends word to Mother Sakhalin telling the Queen that she needs to come to court, our good Estansa isn’t too pleased. And then when she has to ride in a train and then in carriages, well, you know how they get when they can’t ride... so it’s a whole mess. But I suppose you ain’t too interested in any of that.”

One elegant golden eyebrow arched at the name. He might not know much about politics, but an escort meant that the value of the caravan had just tripled. Now, he had to do it. He had to find a way to get his hands on at least something. He didn’t really care what. It wasn’t often that he got to fleece men and women of such high standing and rank. Such pickings were harder to come by than most would expect. And his own brand of honor did not allow him to waylay travelers who were less than affluent. But this was remarkably different. He might never get an opportunity like this. Things like this only came once every few centuries at best.

“I see…it must be a stab to your pride to have to work under someone, especially a Sho… Not that he cared about race or creed or anything like that. Being what he was, it was pretty much a given that even the lowest of the low of the world, even the barbarians would shun him if they figured out just what he was. In fact, he’d probably catch more flack from being what he was than being who he was.

“The rest of their bags? You mean all that finery I saw parade though this simple little inn is only the tip? Interesting…Very interesting.” It was still pouring outside, but the idea that there was perhaps mountains of gold and silver and fine things out there, abandoned, just waiting for him was a siren’s call. He could feel the kleptomania boiling away in his blood. He could feel the huger inside of him surging. He wanted to go find it. Go, and put on the black and ride. Flynn barely held the temptation back. It would seem too obvious for him to suddenly up and run and then for the Highwayman to suddenly appear moments after his departure. He had to be patient, even if it drove him mad to wait.

He watched the man intently, and kept his look jovial and innocent. Perhaps he needed to add a little bit of that fabled charm his race was known for. Just a touch. A hint of trustworthiness to go with the frothy brew he was foisting off on the other male. No. He was just a curious town’s person. He was just some country bumpkin interested in the things he could never understand living in filth and squalor in a no name hole in the ground outside the city limits… Believe it…BELIEVE…

“Really. That high of a lady… But I think she sounds absolutely…” Flynn had to chose his next words carefully. The woman, whoever she was, sounded like just the sort of person he liked to sup on. Full of vigor and pep. Someone who knew they own mind and was not at all embarrassed to let others know. “Absolutely grand. A simple man like myself…I am jealous of you. Getting to escort such a fine lady. And I am sure with her being so high, there must be guards about all over the place. Other than yourself, the fine young gentleman guard that you are.” There it was. His final attack. He wanted to know just how many he would have to look out for. He didn’t like crowds. His one shot flintlocks did very little against an army of angry guards and his sword work was…rusty after centuries of little use.

laughed, lifted up his cup and drank deeply. He had no idea Serdians were so pleasant. He thought that after the Saqueloin scandal, the Van der Mehk rebellion and the whole Meran affair, Serdians would resent Merians... especially the Jaran. But this man seemed perfectly kind.

“Aw, Huustart ain’t that bad. And I don’t mind none that he’s a Sho. Plenty a’ high standing men and woman are shos... half human... half Jaran..... half...Pasvie... whatever it may be. And of course the Royals want all the aristocracy to mix and blend so that everyone's family and everyone’s related.”

He laughed again and drank deeply. “I wouldn’t be surprised iffen I ended up with a Serdian bride, though the Azov tribe isn’t that important and it ain’t like I’m going to end up Dyan so I don’t know who I’d end up marrin’”

He speech became slurred as he drank more. His slight accent become more pronounced the more he consumed.

“Grand? Ha!” he laughed “I’ve heard Elizavetta Sakhalin described as many things but not grand...” he took another swig. “I don’t quite remember how many guards are here and how many went back for the baggage though I know that quite a bit did...”

He looked at his glass with wide eyed innocence, went to take another sip and then set it down. Turning to the stranger who he had befriended, his expression changed. In his eyes was none of the half drunken naiveté of only a few moments before. With almost a knowing cynicism, clear as day without the slightest hint of ale, he said in a threatening whisper: “Although, sir, were I to even think about attacking, I’d be far more concerned with those ‘Grand’ ladies than I would ever with their escorts.”

And with that he turned back to his drink, took another swig and laughed heartily. “Even with all this ran, Esto Gaza’s still a mite warmer than back where I’m from! Jed’s is colder than a man’s mother in law,eh?” And he laughed again, taking another drink