The following is from Kaven's meeting with RW. It is a mail-thread copied unto the board, so bear that in mind as you read it. I keep each mail in a seperate post (in order to keep RW and Kaven separated and help avoid confusion), other than that I have altered nothing.
Kaven splashed water on his face and looked into the polished steel mirror. Dressed as he where in ragged peasants clothes he felt rather certain that few who did not know him personally would be able to point him out on the streets. Gone was the long golden locks that had been the envy of many a lady in the courts of Anuire, and stubble now shadowing his cheeks and giving him a rather gaunt expression, it was a somewhat different man that looked back at him.
He had been in Ilien for a bit more than a week now, experiencing first hand the mixed sensations of the populace under siege and under oppression. Most where desolate in one way or another. Resigned to whatever fate would befall them. Outside their walls was a foe who plundered and raided freely. Kaven tried to put it out of his mind that his men where amongst those that had been know to raid. But inside the city, the very soldiers that should be protecting the populace from that outside threat where busying themselves with keeping their own special brand of peace. Rape, Kaven had heard, had happened on more than one occasion as troopers, drunk on power and alcohol both, had asserted their rights over some tavern maid or helpless girl in the streets. Those few who had attempted to oppose the brutal methods of the military had more often than not found themselves accused of various crimes, most of them false Kaven imagined but that mattered little when a man holding a sword and thus ultimately the law in the city at present, decided you where opposing the the will of the Countess or, even worse, aiding the enemy.
The baron-in-hiding ran a hand through his close-cropped hair, as much to comb it into some semblance of order as to remove the dust and sweat from his last trip outside his little sanctuary. The sun had been baking down on the city with little remorse after that day of wild rain, which did little to ease the minds of the population. He had been planning to ask a peddler on the street about the Speaker and this temple of the one true god earlier that day, but had come to other thoughts as a patrol of soldiers rounded the corner, and marched down the street. Instead he had bought a poorly mended pot, at an overprice as well and he had no real use for it, but at least the armsmen hadn't glanced twice in his direction, seeing the peasant instead of the High Priest of the RCS. Hardly surprising, Kaven thought to himself. It had been days since he had last bathed or scrubbed at the grime and dust that was settling on him as surely as on every other commoner in Ilien. It wasn't a disguise in the sense you heard of in the tales of rogues and assassins who could don another persona as a set of spare clothes, he simply stank as them, sweated as them and toiled as them.
He let a finger trace one of the many scars he carried. He wasn't comely in the sense he one had been - a pretty youth with fair skin from the courts of Diemed. The wars and struggles had dragged that out of him. He knew many still considered him handsome, but it was a more rugged handsomeness now. His skin had been weathered by constant exposure to the elements, his hands callused by extensive use of sword and axe. Without the clothes and perfumes of nobility he was not all that different from the common man. His body was perhaps more toned, he was slightly higher as well - the results of a good breed with proper meals, but if he hunkered a bit and kept the baggy clothes that would not be all that noticeable. And in any case his stink would keep people from getting close enough to notice.
His eyes, however. Kaven found himself staring at his own eyes till they began to water. There was no hiding those blue eyes, sparking with defiance. The same eyes his uncle had, he knew. A rare enough trait on the south coast in itself, where most men had dark eyes, but he knew that when he looked at folk, more often than not it was them who glanced away first. He'd have to work to keep that in check.
Well, a lowly poor stinking peasant would more likely than not stare at the ground more than at the faces of people. Keep his gaze lowered, and he should be able to get by. As long as people did not suspect his presence, he would be able to manage.
Taking a deep breath he managed to tear himself away from his reflection and stood up straight to glance outside. The sun was setting he could see. The shadows growing longer by the minute. That meant that Janosh would be home soon, bringing what dinner he managed to scrape together. Kaven guessed that some kind of broth with stale bread on the side would be on the menu. He sighed. He missed the meals at court, that much he would readily admit. He had given what coin he had to the priest, knowing full well that someone would question the man he was trying to masquerade as, if he ran around with that much coin on him.
He snorted with amusement. "Much"... it was nothing really, but it could get a man far on second-hand bread and basic meals for some time at least. The siege had meant an increase in the price of even the most basic materials, and even though Janosh the meek RCS priest had given all he had freely when Kaven had shown up at his door, hiding from the Ilienese military. Since the temples had been closed and congregations forbidden, the priest had had more than enough to do, walking from house to house, ministering to the ruornites in their family. It made Kaven strangely proud. A silent act of defiance. If the priest could not speak to the masses, they would speak to the individual. It was arduous work, and Janosh showed obvious signs of weariness when he came back to the cottage each evening.
He had held his promise to the High Priest, and told no one of his presence in the city, nor how Kaven had hammered him up in the early hours of the morning, drenched in blood and sweat. Kaven had resorted to help the man as best he could, to repay this man for his kindness, and help him even as he helped the oppressed populace. He had cooked for the man, something that had almost horrified Janosh - to be waited on by the High Priest of his faith was unthinkable - but Kaven had pressed his will and gotten his way and had served food such as he had been used to on his campaigns. Stews mostly. And broth, hard cheese and bread to sop up the remains so as little as possible was left in the bowl.
Perhaps tomorrow he would go to the small chapel dedicated to Saint Egris, or venture a bit closer to the castle. He was still concerned about the fate of those that had not followed him out. Ser Estevan, a drunken braggart as he may be Kaven still idolized the man for his skill and dedication to his own agenda and cause. Orthien Tane, the Guildmaster, whom he had come to respect if nothing else, in spite of his questionable methods. The man was a patriot if nothing else. And Duke Hierele... where had he gone? Had he escaped the city?
Hearing the latch on the door click, as Janosh slid in his key and turned, Kaven gave up his brooding and turned to prepare the meals and engage in one of their many whispered conversations about the conditions of the faithful in Ilien, and their future...
