Polo and Dreameh's Medieval RP.

This Roleplay is based in medieval times. Details to be RPed.


My Character:

Name: Derek Argyle, son of the Nobleman, Sir Isaac Argyle.
Age: 24
Current Personality Traits: Sullen, Bitter, Sarcastic, Finicky, Controlling, Edgy, Perfectionist, Neurotic, Surly, Quarrelsome, Bossy, Arrogant, Reliable, Cultured, Dutiful.

Appearance:
Derek is a tall man with a strong, defined build from his years of combat training in his father’s mansion. He was always a beautiful boy, his bright green eyes ringed with hazel, and often changing with the light. They were eyes soft with kindness, and seemed to look right into a person’s soul. Of course, that was back when Derek was young and untainted by the cruelties of life. His hair is the rich, dark brown of cocoa beans, often slightly gilded by sunlight. He usually keeps it gelled smoothly back from his face, as is befitting for one of his stature, but when loose, his hair falls in untidy tresses – subtly curled - to frame his angular face and brush off the tops of his eyebrows and the nape of his neck.

As a child he had a friendly face with a soft mouth, and the slack jaw of one who has never known the need for defiance. With handsome high cheekbones and a subtle dimple in his chin, he truly did have the face of an angel. He had the smile of one, too – a heart warming curve of his gentle lips which always reached right to his eyes, and brought a friendly dimple to his left cheek.

In adulthood, however, Derek’s lovely appearance was to change rather drastically. Through a series of unfortunate events, he lost the kindness in his eyes, and with a jaw set in stone, that wonderful smile of his was lost in a memory, dead and buried to those who had known it. A white mask, perfectly crafted to fit, always covers the left side of his face. It is far from elegant, but it serves to hide the scarring on his face, which is considered unbefitting for the public eye. This mask has become a permanent part of his identity, and ever since the ordeal that caused his scars, Derek is never seen without it.

“Catch me if you can!” Derek shouted playfully, shooting a grin over his shoulder at his young red-haired friend, who smirked deviously as he shot back, “Oh, you can count on it!”
Derek’s cheek dimpled as he laughed, and he spun around to sprint on through the village, leaping over a cabbage merchant’s cart, and dodging a squawking chicken as he raced on down the cobbled street, his friend not far behind.
For hours the two laughed and ran, playing happily around the village, until at last they stopped to rest on a hill beside the Argyle mansion, overlooking the sea.
“Hey, Will.” Derek said, turning to his friend with that sweet smile of his, “I’m really glad we’re friends.” Glancing toward him, William rolled his eyes and teased, “Don’t go all sappy on me now, Derek. Man up!”
Derek pretended to flinch when William punched him playfully in the arm, and he just stuck out his tongue in response.
“I mean it!” He insisted, “I would be so bored without you around… All father ever talks about is training, and marriage!” Derek pulled a face, and shuddered repulsively, “I never want to get married. Girls are gross!”
“Speak for yourself.” William retorted, “I wouldn’t mind a nice wife.”
“Liar.” Derek challenged, “You’d hate it.”
“Would not.”
“Would too!”
“Says who?”
“Says me!”
“Well, you’re wrong.”
With that, William folded his arms, obviously convinced that he’d made his point, but Derek’s eyes narrowed impishly as he challenged, “I’m not wrong?”
“Oh yeah?” Will asked, raising an eyebrow coolly, “Prove it.”
“Maybe I will.”
“Then do it.”
“I will.”
“Then show m-“
William broke off there, because suddenly, Derek’s lips were against his. For one magical moment, the two boys kissed – all youth and innocence – and when they broke apart, their frightened rabbit-hearts raced as one.
They started wide-eyed at each other for a moment, and then Derek smiled again as he whispered breathlessly, “See? I told you so.”
Will blinked up at him, shocked, then slowly managed a shy smile as he replied, “Yes… I guess you did.”

With that moment hanging in the air between them, the pair parted, exchanging fond waves as they each walked back to their homes.
Derek dreamed sweetly that night, but when morning came, he was rudely awoken by a pair of rough hands about his throat.
“Wha-“ He gasped, scrabbling madly at the strong, choking fingers in his groggy state.
“Demon child!” A male voice cried, “Sinful, blasphemous spawn of evil!”
“Dad-“
“Don’t you call me that!”
Derek’s father released his throat, but grabbed him by the hair instead, and pulled him out of bed. He ignored his son’s pained howl, and glared furiously at Derek the moment the boy stood before him.
“No son of mine would have the filth that’s in your mind!” He snarled, “You have disgraced me, boy! You’ve disgraced your family, your village, and your lord! You’ll go to hell for that!”
Derek, eyes wide and glistening with frightened tears now, cowered away from his angry father, and whimpered timidly, “D-Dad… What… I don’t understand.”
“I saw you.” Sir Isaac growled simply, “Yesterday, with your little beggar friend.”
“Will’s not-“
“I DON’T WANT TO HEAR IT!”
A huge hand slapped Derek roughly across the cheek, and he fell across the bed, wincing painfully. Within a moment, he was in tears.
For minutes more his father raged at him. Cursing and damning him, shunning and loathing him, until at last the red-faced man snarled, “I’ll have that William’s head for this, I’ll tell you that. Devil-spawn, tainting my own pure son…”
Sir Isaac’s angry face softened, and as he reached out a gentle hand to his son’s cheek, Derek flinched violently away, only to find those rough fingers caressing his cheek kindly once more.
He knew in that moment that, if he let Will take the blame, his father would forgive him, and life would go back to being as it was. He would be declared a victim, and Will would be burned for his sins… But Derek chose a different route.
“It wasn’t his fault, Father.” Derek whispered haltingly, “The blame rests with me.” He looked up at his father, meeting the man’s eyes with defiance for the first time in his life.
“I kissed him. Spare William, and allow me to atone for my sin instead.”
Isaac hissed, pulling back as though burnt, and struck Derek across the face again. This time, the blow was so hard that the boy did not stir for hours.

When he finally came to, it was to find his hands bound together, and tied to the saddle of a horse, mounted by Sir Isaac himself.
Derek began scrambling around trying to free himself, but somewhere overhead a familiar voice called, “You atone now for your sins, Derek Argyle! May the punishment cleanse your damned soul!”
Then there was a crack of a whip, and Derek began to scream in agony as the horse galloped down the rugged road, dragging him over sharp rocks that cut like daggers.
Derek screamed all the while as his father dragged him through every street in the town, humiliating him in front of every one of the townsfolk. His clothes were torn to rags, and along the entire left side of his body, his skin was mutilated, ripped apart by rocks and stones, and the sheer speed of his father’s mount. The pain was so utterly mindnumbing that the only thing left for Derek to do when they finally stopped, was to pass out on the spot, and pray to a god that had condemned him that, somehow, he would manage to survive that plight.

Twelve years from that fateful day, twenty four year old Derek awoke with a start, gasping as he sat up, drenched in cold sweat from the nightmare he’d suffered through every night since he was twelve. He sat up, and shivered as he wiped the sweat from his forehead, pausing when his fingers touched against the porcelain of the mask that covered the left side of his face.
“It was just a dream.” He scolded himself quietly, pushing back his hair into its usual neat style as he stood, “Just a dream…”
Pushing aside the frightening images in his head, Derek stood and walked to the bathroom of his room in the inn. He had travelled to a neighbouring town to go to the harbour, so he could board a ship that was to take him to meet his future wife.
With a sigh, he headed outdoors, and paused to smell the fresh sea air, then he set off walking down to the docks. It was before dawn, and with the fisherman asleep, the docks were still deserted.
Keen to explore, Derek pushed his hands into the pockets of his long coat, and strode down to the very end of the docks, where the industrial section of the town began. He stared up at the factories and storehouses, fascinated by their ugly designs, and the foul stench that lingered about them. Somehow, it appealed to him more than the constant, shallow beauty back home.
‘Home’… Ha, that was a laugh. That place had not been ‘home’ to him since the day Will had left.

Name (old): William Danforth
Name (new): Archer ((Recognise anything? ))
Aged 23
Looks: Dark red hair cut messily, most likely by himself, just short enough to stick out in all directions. Until he was twelve years old he kept it fairly long, at lest long enough to dangle passed his ears. But the events of that year (not only the incident with his best friend, Derek) meant he had to change his appearance, and his name. He has also faint stubble that hints a moustache and an oncoming beard. He has an athletic build for climbing and unnecessary gymnastics, fairly tall, and well fed, thanks to constant thievery on his part. He may not need all the clothes he wears – long chaps, a dark cloak and a green hooded jumper, with several thin scarves around his neck and fashionable bandages bound loosely around his arms. He carries little besides, only a saddle bag and a sword attached to a strap around his shoulder.
(A reference would be Robert Kazinsky ==> http://www.itusozluk.com/image/robert-kazinsky_46882.jpg )

His horse is, naturally, a stolen one; a dun, stocky Highland Pony that is no taller than 15.2 hands. It has a dark muzzle and a small, white snip. He refers to it only as 'Little Brother'.

Archer is arrogant, cocky, and very proud of himself. This is no secret. He also flirts with anyone and everyone, or so it seems, but he would only ever act on this towards women. He is a wanted man in some parts, and it is rumoured that he had an affair with the Duchess of York, unknown to her husband.

Archer has just returned from travelling the country in search for goods worth stealing, and this is the first time he has arrived back in his home town after a long absence.

History: He lived with his mother and father as a poor family. He kept the incident with Derek to himself, but when he heard the young boy's screams for the punishment he ran away from home for several days in terror, too scared to talk to anyone after what had happened to his best friend. Hunger led him back home, and two weeks later his father was discovered to be a leper, and was claimed ungodly and condemned by the church, then banished to the woods. He hasn't been seen since.
Realising this may be his fault, young William hesitantly told his mother what had happened between he and Derek, and in her grieving state, she beat him and accused him of Satanism, then threw him out in the gutter with nothing on him but the clothes on his back. He hasn't spoken to her.

Archer pulled away from the blonde dame's moist lips, glancing over her shoulder as her father stormed in. He was a cloth worker, according to the blonde - her name was Sarah, he could vaguely recall - and he had just managed to unclasp the silver necklace around her elegant neck, just as a sword swung his way. Archer jumped back, nearly tripping on the wooden step by his heel. He pocketed the necklace quickly.
"My daughter?" The father roared furiously, pointing his blade at Archer's throat. "I'll kill you."
"No offense," Archer replied, raising his hands in surrender. "I don't wish to fight with you, sir."
"Too bad, I do."
Shrugging, Archer reached over his shoulder and retrieved his sword, ducking as the father's sword swung at him again. He ran backwards up the stairs of the small factory, blocking each attack skilfully with a quick jerk of his sword. Between attacks he pinched his fingers between his lips and whistled sharply once, twice, then dropped his hand again. In a few moments his Little Brother would come.
He hoped.
Otherwise, he'd have a problem on his hands.
Unnerved by this, he scrambled to the top of the steps and staggered backwards, feeling the cloth worker advancing threateningly on him. A few steps backwards and he would be on the balcony. A few steps after that and he would fall to his death right in the middle of the town square. That would be unfortunate.
His eyes flicked to the blonde girl, who was watching with flushed cheeks as her father and new lover fought before her eyes, not jumping in to save either side, twirling a golden lock around one of her fingers. Archer hoped to God that her jewellery was worth all this bother. The minute he met eyes with her, he realised his mistake. With a twist of the opposing blade, Archer's arm was yanked to the side, twisting his entire body unnaturally, and it took all his might not to drop his weapon. A cold blade pressed right against his throat.
"Okay, sir, sir..." He glanced behind himself, noting how small the world looked from an extra few meters high, and glanced back at the small, dark-haired man before him. "You have me. Allow me one final request."
The older man sneered. "What's that?"
"One last kiss."
Before the cloth worker had the chance to frown, Archer threw a fist in his face and kicked him aside, so hard that he fell sideways onto the other side of the balcony, and Sarah came running to him. Like an arrogant hero, he snaked a hand around her waist and pulled her into the wettest kiss he'd ever given. Then, urging her away, he straightened up and stared at the sky.
Time stood still for a moment. He felt the wind whistle in his ears.
Then, he fall back. His body flipped skilfully in the air, his feet facing the sky and his head the floor, then he used gravity to push his body back to it's previous position, and he landed coolly on his feet right in the middle of the town square.
Above him, the father swore. "He can't do that! He can't- He can't do that!"
Archer shook his head in amusement, then whistled his steed again, who came cantering heavily towards him. He grasped the saddle and vaulted onto the stallion, blowing a kiss to the woman who had just bought him his breakfast, thanks to her 'contribution'.

"How many?"
He was stood before a blacksmith, dangling the necklace from his fingers. The blacksmith looked bored. "Two gold coins."
Archer shook his head in irritation. "That's not enough. I tell you, this metal is pure. I say it's worth five." Only because two won't buy me breakfast.
The blacksmith waved a hand dismissively at him. "I have no use for such a small object. Go find someone else."
"But-"
"Leave." The blacksmith lifted his wooden mallet threateningly, and Archer backed away, his hands raised in surrender. He'd have to find something else worth selling if he wanted any food yet. He wasn't stupid enough to try and steal food in such a dense area, anyway.

He wandered sulkily across the sea line for a long while, weighing out his options. He'd not eaten since yesterday at noon, and although that had been half a chicken breast, his stomach still grumbled.
Ahead from him, a giant ship was floating towards the shore. Probably carrying snobs from all over the land. Archer grinned to himself.
If he did this right, he'd be eating more than a mouldy roll of bread come midday.
A male wandered quietly in front of him. He was tall, rather grand-looking. Definitely a rich man. Archer considered him for a moment, then glanced questioningly around the street. All was quiet.
He pulled his hood up to shadow his face, and approached the figure from behind, his eyes blazing with excitement. He jogged soundlessly forward and in one swift movement, slipped a hand into the gentleman's pocket and pulled out it's contents. A bag of coins was clutched in his palm. He had to bite his lip to keep from gasping in exhilaration.
But he wasn't done yet.
"A penny for your thoughts, young sir?" He asked the stranger cheekily, admiring the velvet bag of coins. Probably the cost of a long voyage. Or a hundred turkey legs. Take your pick. "Or keep your thoughts, and I'll take the money."
When the individual turned around, Archer didn't take the time to study his face at all. He saw a white mask, and expensive clothes. Nothing more.
"You like the theatre?" he nodded towards the mask, looking vaguely interested for a moment, then he shrugged and retrieved his sword. "Now, now, don't try anything. This is how it works:" He pointed his sword limply and halfheartedly towards the individual, although it was evident he would only actually try anything if his life was in danger. The effort so far seemed too great. "Your money or your life. How about it, squire?" He raised an eyebrow questioningly.

Derek heard the man approaching from behind. His breathing was quiet, and his footsteps were of such a carefully placed nature that Derek knew even before the man reached him what he intended to do. Even so, he did nothing to defend himself when the stranger snatched his coin purse from his pocket. Instead, he just turned slowly, considering the young thief as he taunted, "A penny for your thoughts, young sir? Or keep your thoughts, and I'll take the money."
He did not grace this with a response, merely folded his arms in a stern fashion, and listened with exaggerated patience as the cocky thief continued to bait him. Foolish man...
His gaze dropped to the limply held sword as his opposition chirped a casual threat, before finishing at last, "Your money or your life. How about it, squire?"
"You talk too much." Derek said when the pickpocket had finally fallen silent, "You're overconfident, too. It's unsightly."
He considered the man before him - a handsome chap for sure, but tiresome in his cocky attitude. The expression on his face was annoying, to say the least.
"Return my money." Derek said patiently, holding out one hand, and lifting his coat with the other to reveal a short sword hidden in a scabbard by his belt, "You don't want to cross blades with me, squire." He advised quietly, "Now hand back that money like a good chap, and maybe I'll spare a few coins. If you say please."
Yes, you can take my money, sir... But touch my pride, and I'll see to it that you regret it dearly.
"Go on then." He twitched his fingers impatiently, "I don't have all day."

The two stood in silence for a while, until the rich man decided to speak. He didn't look pleased. "You talk too much." He growled. "You're overconfident, too. It's unsightly."
Thank you, Archer thought sarcastically, his smile wavering. Of course he was used to people openly offending him, it came withthe package of being a 'street rat' as most people called it, but still...
The rich man opened out his hand expectantly, and Archer just scrunched his face in disgust at the open palm before him as if it were covered in manure. "Return my money. You don't want to cross blades with me, squire."
Archer laughed outloud. Was that a challenge?
"Now hand back that money like a good chap, and maybe I'll spare a few coins. If you say please."
He urged him again for the last time, and by this point, Archer was bored out of his head. He wasn't there to have a conversation, and although he wasn't expecting the squire to tremble in fear at the sight of him, he expected at least some cooperation.
Besides which, he did not surrender to snobs who stuck their noses up at him.
"Let's get one thing straight, here." He took a step back, straightening his sword and firming his grip. "I'm a taker, not a giver." He tossed the bag in the air with his free hand, catching it easily again with a muffled clink.
"You want this," He waved the bag again, raising a challenging eyebrow. "Come get it."

"You're a fool is what you are!" Derek spat, temper flaring up instantly when he did not get his way. He liked to be in control, and when people did not follow his orders, it irked him beyond belief.
He pulled his sword from his scabbard, taking up an expert stance and watching the man before him with blazing eyes. "If you cross blades with me," He snarled arrogantly, "It'll likely be the last thing you ever do, Filth!" He took a threatening step forward. His guard was flawless, not offering so much as a tiny opening. As for his opponent, well... The man's form was laughable. Still, it would not do to let his guard down. He knew better than anybody that sometimes people could be surprising.
Derek's eyes fell upon the bag of money in the man's hand, and a burning desire rose up in him. He didn't give two hoots about the money, but to him that stolen bag represented his pride, and he would sooner die than let somebody take that away. Because he had so little of it to cherish, pride was everything to Derek.
With a dangerous flare of fury in his eyes, Derek struck. His opponent parried, and two danced along the dock with flashes of steel, and series of clanging blows. At first Derek took it easy, but then he began to push his opponent, gaining ground and edging the man back toward the edge of the dock.
"Surrender!" He snarled as he parried a blow, knocking the man's sword aside, "Drop the money now, and I'll let you leave with your life." He took up his stance again, flaunting the perfect defense.

Archer raised his eyebrows at his opponent's sudden outburst of anger, then frowned. This man was more angry about a voyage bill than anyone should be, and a man like him would definitely have backup at home. It wasn't like he was losing much.
"If you cross blades with me, it'll likely be the last thing you ever do, Filth!"
Archer flinched at this, more than the advancing figure before him. He hated the way people spat things like that in his face. Even when he was a boy, people had looked down on him like a spot of manure on their shoes. Part of him wanted to rip the mask from his opposition's face just do he could look him properly in the eye, and force that look of disgust from his face.
However, he didn't have time to act before the tall man was threatening him, and Archer could tell he was skilled immediately. More skilled than the old man he'd just been fighting for that damned necklace, more skilled than anyone he'd ever challenged.
The smirk sank from his face.
Just then, the rich man struck the first blow, and the two fought recklessly down the street, smashing swords in front of faces, skimming limbs and abdomens. Archer had to have his wits about him, fore this was the first time in a while that he had to stop seeing this as a game.
He found himself being pushed backwards towards the dock edge, and before he knew it, the heel of his boot lost the ground beneath him, and he scrabbled forwards in a panic for firm ground. This distraction cost him his sword, and he watched it topple loudly to the cobbled ground. He watched it with an alarmed gaze, then he finally glanced up at the masked stranger, glaring at him coldly.
This was it. Surrender or die.
"Drop the money now, and I'll let you leave with your life."
He raised his chin defiantly, inhaling a long breath. No amount of money was worth his life.
But causing a man - who looked down on him so selfishly - bother, was.
"I don't answer to anyone, squire." He growled, raising the bag of coins threateningly towards the sea. "Especially not some stuck up rich boy like yourself. You can try and kill me," He stepped back towards the edge, his eyes blazing. "But you're not getting your money back. Not from me," He smirked again. "Not from the stomachs of the fish." He hooked a finger through the string binding the bag together, letting it dangle in the air, millimetres from being dropped in the sea.

"I don't answer to anyone, squire." The thief growled, and Derek's eyes darted sharply to the bag of money in the man's hand as he dangled it over the sea. He went deadly still. "Especially not some stuck up rich boy like yourself. You can try and kill me," The man took a step back, and Derek stepped with him, "But you're not getting your money back. Not from me, not from the stomachs of the fish."
"My god, you're a stubborn fool!" Derek snapped, his eyes blazing with frustration. He didn't understand why he couldn't control this man! People were supposed to obey him. People were always supposed to obey him! He just didn't know how to react when they didn't.
"What the hell is wrong with you?" Derek demanded, dropping his sword and grabbing the man by the collar, nearly lifting him off the ground with the strength of his grip, "What sort of man risks his life over a few petty coins?" His grip tightened, and his eyes flashed dangerously as he felt the thief's pulse straining at his fingers.
"You'll regret ever crossing blades with me, chum!" He inched forward, and in that moment, the slick sole of his shoe slipped on the wet ground. Derek cursed as he lost his balance, and as he toppled forward into his opponent, he felt the other man's balance also give way, sending them both splashing down into the sea below.
Derek took in a gasp of breath as he slammed into the cold water, instinctively slapping a hand to the mask on his face to ensure that it did not budge.
The force of the water winded him, but after a moment, Derek swam up and broke surface, taking in a shuddering gulp of air. The sea was rough, and it buffeted him back and forth as his eyes scanned the deep blue water for the other man. A moment later he saw him, and - all thoughts of their fight forgotten - Derek pulled him above surface by the scruff of his neck.
"Can you swim?" He asked, shouting over the roar of the sea as he trod water to keep afloat. The drop from the dock was too far, and the wall too smooth for them to climb back up. Luckily, Derek had spied a jetty not far away during his wanderings. If they could swim there before the current gripped them, then they would be able to get out alive...

Archer instinctively grabbed for his sword, but when he realised it wasn't there his eyes widened. Ruddy rich boy. Why was he putting himself through this? Suddenly a mouldy roll of bread seemed much more appealing than having a beef with this man.
He'd have to choose his opponents more wisely next time.
"What the hell is wrong with you?" The masked man was demanding, his breath wafting into Archer's face. "What sort of man risks his life over a few petty coins?"
One who knows what it's like to have nothing, he wanted to growl, but the stranger wasn't finished. With another angry roar, the masked man lurched forward, although he wasn't supposed to, and Archer found himself being dragged over the edge and into the air. He prepared himself for the blow of the water, and the minute his body plummeted under water he reacted, twisting his body round and breast-stroking the water until his head was almost above water.
Before he could concentrate on swimming back to safety, a hand clasped around the back of his neck, and he bit back a cry in pain as he was yanked up to catch his breath. He lashed out at the masked man, trying to loosen his grip, then gave up and resorted to treading water to look for safe ground.
"Can you swim?" The man asked.
Archer scowled at him. "Not with you holding me like that, no." He shoved the man's hand away and paddled backwards so he was at a safe distance, when he felt something in his hand. Frowning, he lifted his hand above water and, long behold, the bag was still there, the string now wrapped tightly around his index finger. Grinning to himself he glanced back at the man, shot him a defiant look, then started slowly paddling out to see where they could get out.
"You got a plan?" He asked, spitting out a mouthful of sea water. "Or do you fall in the sea often?"

"Smartarse." Derek snarled in response, shooting the other man a glare when he pulled away. "You got a plan?" The thief asked defiantly, "Or do you fall in the sea often?"
"Yes, for your information, I do have a plan." He snapped chidingly, "So if you want my help, shut up and listen."
He underlined his words by snatching his coin purse back, and he shoved it into his soaked pocket before pointing to a point where the harbour wall turned a corner, seemingly vanishing from sight.
"There's a jetty down there." He said, "If you paid more attention to your surroundings and less to petty thievery, perhaps you'd know that. In any case," He huffed an irritable sigh, "Follow me."
With that, Derek began to swim, settling into an easy sidestroke as he pulled himself through the water.
It didn't take long for the jetty to come into sight, and when it did, Derek quickened his swimming to reach it. He pulled himself out, then turned to offer a hand to the drenched thief about to climb out of the water beside him.
Wordlessly, he took the man's hand, and tugged him out of the water.
Folding his arms, he considered him a moment, then sighed and tossed the little bag of gold at him.
"Here." He said, "Have your precious coins, and go buy yourself some dry clothes. Next time, don't go taking people's things." His eyes narrowed, "Especially mine."

Archer pulled a face at the stranger's orders, not really sure when he'd suddenly had to take orders from such a stuck up rich guy. His mouth opened to protest about the coins that were snatched away from him, but one look from the stranger and he shut up again. Wasn't worth it. The water was too cold, anyway.
"There's a jetty down there. If you paid more attention to your surroundings and less to petty thievery, perhaps you'd know that. In any case... Follow me."
Huffing irritably at the lack of choices, Archer hesitantly followed on after him until they reached the jetty. He hadn't noticed it, since he'd not planned on falling in the sea, but it didn't matter. The sea was dirty, but he'd been in worse. He'd lived in worse.
Once they arrived Archer struggled to pull himself up, since he was weighed down by the water. Without much of a choice, he accepted the stranger's hand and let him aid him onto dry ground, then he took a moment to catch his breath and adjust.
God... he was cold.
After a moment of gasping and coughing, the bag was thrown by his face. He frowned at it, wondering whether the man had dropped it, and pulled himself to his feet, scooping it up with his hand.
"Have your precious coins, and go buy yourself some dry clothes. Next time, don't go taking people's things. Especially mine."
Archer glared at him for a moment. Was this some sort of joke? But when he untied the string around the bag, he saw the coins and, in fact, they were just the same as before.
He glanced back up at the masked man with a deep frown on his face, then slipped the coins in his wet pocket. They'd both already decided he'd need them, anyway.
"Well, I'd like to say I'd promise you, squire..." He shrugged, his lips pulling into a little smirk. "But we both know I'd be lyin'. And I don't have owt to give you, but..." Then a thought occurred to him. He raised an eyebrow.
"Don't suppose you have a missus to get to?" He asked curiously, then reached in his other pocket and pulled out the cheap, silver chain he'd taken from that blonde girl, Sarah, not too long back. He tossed it unceremoniously at the masked man, looking rather proud of himself. He didn't have any use for it, especially now he was rich enough to buy himself a turkey. "I have a feeling I'll be seeing you again, squire." He winked, then tugged his wet hoodie over his plastered hair, looking utterly ridiculous.

Derek caught the silver chain that the stranger tossed him, and considered it distastefully. He supposed it would be fitting to present his fiance with a gift, and as a gentleman, there was no other choice for him, really. Still, even though he had yet to meet the woman, Derek had already come to resent her. He hated being out of control, and he didn't like being forced into anything, but his dutiful nature - not to mention his hard-willed father - had forced him to go along with the engagement, and now there was no backing out...
Clenching his jaw irritably, he shoved the necklace into his soaking pocket, and looked back at the man before him, water dripping down his porcelain mask.
"I have a feeling I'll be seeing you again, squire." The red-head told him, winking as he pulled a hood over his sopping hair.
"If I should be so unfortunate..." Derek snarled, obvious still annoyed at having been pickpocketed in the first place.
"But if you ever steal from me again, Sir, I'll kill you."
His blazing eyes made it obvious that he meant what he said. With that he turned away, intending to leave, but as it turned out, he was stuck walking beside the stranger for a while longer, since they both still needed to retrieve their swords.
He sighed heavily, and cast a half-curious glance in the stranger's direction.
"What's your name, anyway?" He asked, "I'll not let some stranger make off with my money and feel like I've been robbed. I'll have to delay my trip, thanks to you."
Thank you indeed, stranger... The longer the delay, the better.

Archer just grinned at his reply, glad that he'd caused trouble to yet another snob. It had become his life-long ambition, so it seemed.
"But if you ever steal from me again, Sir, I'll kill you."
"I'd like to see you try." He challenged cheekily, apparently having not learned anything about the last few minutes.
The stranger turned to walk again, and Archer looked around uncertainly for a moment, wondering how on Earth he was going to get back to where he was headed. The stranger turned back to him, seemingly annoyed, and seemed to realised they'd both left their swords quite a bit down the road. Archer bit back a sneer.
"What's your name, anyway? I'll not let some stranger make off with my money and feel like I've been robbed. I'll have to delay my trip, thanks to you."
You poor soul, Archer thought sarcastically.
He glanced at the man, raising an eyebrow. No one had ever asked his name. No one cared. Except the law-'n-orders, anyway.
"The name's Archer." He shrugged. "Just... Archer."
There was no point risking giving this stranger his real name, was there? The last thing he needed was his past demons chasing him in the present.
"How about you, mask man? Not that I care..." He slipped his hands in his pockets, feeling oddly bare without his sword, but glad he was at least armed with his money.

"Archer, huh...?" Derek mused as he picked up his sword, dusting off the blade in a finicky fashion before sliding it back into the scabbard. "How about you, mask man? Not that I care..." Archer asked aloofly. Derek shook his head, looking almost pitying, and replied sarcastically, "I wouldn't trouble you with the knowledge then, Archer. Just think on me as a man whom it would be most unwise to rob."
He tossed his wet coat back over his sword, hiding it from sight, and flinched when the wet material touched him. Derek had become particularly sensitive to odd sensations against his skin since that horrific day twelve years ago, and the damp feeling of his clothes was beginning to put him seriously on edge.
Without so much as a word of farewell, he turned his back on Archer, and began walking back to the inn, keen to change before he headed home to collect more traveling funds. His father had plenty to spare, so it did not worry him that he had given some to Archer. The man had needed it more than him, in any case, and Derek had always been a man with particularly strong morals. In fact, his caring nature was one trait that he seemed to have retained from his old personality, prior to 'the punishment'.

They both retrieved their swords from the dock, and the masked stranger considered Archer vaguely. When he asked for the man's name, however, the squire just shrugged him off like a speck of dust.
"I wouldn't trouble you with the knowledge then, Archer. Just think on me as a man whom it would be most unwise to rob."
Archer just snorted at this, slipping his sword back into the strap over his shoulder and glanced down at his wet, soaked self. "Thanks for the pre-warning," he shot sarcastically.
The man seemed to flinch uncomfortably for a moment, but it was soon masked when he turned away and began walking in the opposite direction. Archer watched him leave with a look of disgust. Was he seriously going to just leave without a farewell? Archer had given him a gift, after all.
Besides, the man hadn't told him his name, and although Archer didn't really intend to see him again, he didn't want strangers to owe him anything. Never mind the other way round.
Shaking his head, Archer turned his back on the stranger and began walking towards the road side. He whistled for his Little Brother, but the steed was nowhere to be seen. Rolling his eyes, he turned back to the masked stranger, and shouted, "Say... Do you know which is the way to Locksley Village?"
It was stupid that he couldn't remember his way home, but he had taken many intertwining routes in the last year or so, and he still have a bit to go before he reached recognisable territory.

"Locksley?" Derek repeated, turning back to glance at the man, then flinching irritably when his wet coat struck his left side. He shifted uncomfortably and said, "That's my hometown. It's just West of here." He pointed vaguely, indicating the direction of the village, "I'll be heading back today," His eyes narrowed, "Thanks to you."
With that he prepared to turn away, but though he longed to walk off and leave this nuisance behind, the lingering kindness in his heart would not allow it. Sighing heavily, he turned back and offered, "Do you want me to show you the way? I'll be leaving at noon. If you want to come along, then don't be late. We meet here," He gestured to where they stood, "And I'll not wait for you, understood? You've caused me enough trouble already."

With that, he turned away, and strode off back into the inn. He grumbled mutinously to himself all the while as he washed and changed, and by the time he had finished meticulously scrubbing himself, it was already late morning. Without wasting any time, he set to work packing his things, and he was standing ready and waiting beside the dock just as the clock struck twelve.
He pulled a pocketwatch from his pocket, checked it, and glanced around irritably for Archer. He would wait five minutes, and no more. After that, the man could find his own way.

Archer smirked at him. "Are you seriously offering to help a foolish thief such as myself? I hope you don't have any more money on you by then, I might try and steal it again." He teased, and heard heavy 'clip-clopping' feet as tge stocky Highland pony walked up behind him. He patted it's thick neck without turning round.
"Alright, squire. I'll be seeing you. but if you're late, I'll be setting off without you." With a touch of an imaginary hat he nodded in mock politeness, then turned on his heel and mounted the pony easily. He looked incredibly out of place, especially on a carriage horse when surrounded by a dozen fancy thoroughbreds. Not to mention the fact that he was soaking wet. He'd have to get that sorted.
With a click of his tongue and a few sharp kicks, he and his Little Brother trotted loudly down the roads towards the woods to make himself more 'presentable'. For an outlaw, anyway.

It took a good hour or so of hanging up his clothes and roasting them above a small fire to dry them just a little bit, and there was a reason why he hadn't taken the other man's advice and bought some new ones. Once he had gone too long nude, he pulled on his freezing, damp clothes and headed back into the town to buy himself a loaf of bread.
After breakfast he took his time to trot back to the meeting place - he'd run into Sarah on the way and earned himself a firm slap on the cheek, after an unfortunate slip of the tongue on his part - and found the squire waiting rather impatiently for him at the side of the road.
"Nice watch." He said immediately, his eyes shining in that dangerous way that warned he planned on stealing something.
"Your 'midday' seems to be a bit different to mine."

"Nice watch." A familiar voice said beside him, and Derek looked up sharply to see Archer watching him with that pesky glint in his eye. "Nice head." He retorted waspishly, "Take mine, and I'll take yours."
He twirled the watch elegantly in his fingers, then slipped it into his pocket and turned to face the man beside him.
"Your 'midday' seems to be a bit different to mine." Archer pointed out, clearly ignoring his threats. Derek rolled his eyes, and shot back, "Yes, mine is punctual. Now follow me, if you please, and we'll be off."
Slinging his pack over his shoulder, Derek began walking briskly down the cobbled street, moving in a dignified fashion befitting of a noble.

Most of the journey was covered in silence, for Derek had nothing to say to Archer, and no intention of listening to him, either. He was clearly still peeved about having been robbed in the first place - not, of course, because he had lost his money, but rather due to the insulting nature of the deed.
When they reached the outskirts of the village, Derek stopped, and turned to Archer.
"I'll leave you here." He said simply, "It wouldn't do for me to be seen with the likes of you in this village, no offense. Good day, sir. And if you steal from anybody here, believe me, I shall have your head."
He tipped his hat to Archer, then turned with a swish of his cloak, and strode on up the worn dirt road to enter the village through his own private gate, leading straight into his family's estate. He only hoped that he would beat his father home... Isaac was due to return from a trip to a neighbouring village that evening, and Derek did not feel like explaining how it was that he had come to lose his money.

Throughout the journey neither man said anything to another, and Archer's thoughts were left to his own devices. After a few hours of travelling the masked man stopped and turned, informing Archer that they were to part ways.
"It wouldn't do for me to be seen with the likes of you in this village, no offense. Good day, sir. And if you steal from anybody here, believe me, I shall have your head."
"Oh, I don't doubt it." He murmured, rolling his eyes. "Believe me, squire, I have no business stealing from anyone here. I may be a scoundrel but I have my limits, you know." He snapped, looking faintly offended for the first time.
The thing was, it was true. He stole to survive, yes, but he would never steal from his family or friends. He wasn't that immoral.
With a swish of his cloak the other man was off, leaving Archer and his Little Brother plodding down the soft, muddy road. rolling his eyes at the dramatic exit, Archer loosened his reins and strolled into the village, making sure his hood hid his face well.

"Catch me if you can!" A young male voice squeaked, and before he knew it, a small group of boys were running past him, all unarmed but one, who was carrying a small, wooden sword. He was, in fact, the one being chased.
"Hand yourself in, sir, and we shall spare your life!" another one squeaked, who was carrying a wooden branch with a carved horse head on the end, pretending to ride it.
"Never!" The armed boy replied defiantly, circling around Little Brother as if he weren't there, his little legs blurred in the tall grass. His foot hit a tuffet of grass and he fell on his knees, then ended up rolling around with laughter. Archer smiled softly.
One of the boys noticed him, and jeered with a wide grin, "Mister Danforth, sir! I thought you was dead!"
Archer glared at them, flinching at the use of his real name. "Do I look dead, little Johnny?"
The boy poked him playfully. "You look pretty awful, sir." He giggled.
"Mind your tongue, boy." He scolded lightly, ruffling the boy's brown hair. Then, he fell onto one knee so he was the same height as the boy, and murmured, "And you stop calling me Danforth. My name's Archer, now."
"Archer?" The boy scrunched his face into a confused frown. "But if you're an archer, where's your bow?"
Archer rolled his eyes. "I haven't found one yet. Now..." He set the boy with a firm gaze. "Don't let anyone know I've returned, you hear?"
"Why, sir?" The entire flock of children were interested now.
"Because it's a secret. No one can know. Do I have your words?"
They all nodded.
"Good." He straightened up. "If you promise to keep it a secret, I'll let you sit on Little Brother's back." He jerked a thumb to the pony behind him, and they're little faces lit up. They said nothing. "Run along, Johnny."
"Yes, sir!" The boy jeered, and led his friends off so they could go back to their game. Archer watched them with a fond smile, then wandered towards the village once more.

His mother was singing. She'd done that the last time he'd visited.
Well, he had not 'visited', as such. More hidden in the background, behind a bush or something. He never truly showed his face in the village at all. At least, he never revealed his true self.
The bag of coins the squire had given him had been left in his mother's water bucket for when she next went to fill it, and it didn't take long of waiting for him to see her leave the mud house. She was thinner than before, although that had been a year ago, but at the same time she looked happy. Archer could only hope someone was looking after her in his absence.
She spotted the bag of coins and a hand covered her mouth. She looked like she was going to cry.
He grimaced.
Then she pulled out the small bag and checked it's contents, and a small whimper left her lips. She glanced around to find the culprit, but Archer was nowhere to be seen. He was dead to her, so there was no point showing his face.
I love you, mother, he thought to her, his heart aching, then he turned away and headed over to his horse.

Just then, a line of horses ran through the village. Four were mounted by knights, all protecting a certain man on a white thoroughbred. It didn't take brains to know who he was.
Archer's heart boiled at the sight of the man. The last time he'd seen him was a few days after the punishment of his best friend Derek, who had not been seen since the brutality. Archer's upper lip curled into a snarl.
Calm down, he warned himself. You can't afford to cause a scene.
That was true. So, with all the strength he had, he stood back and let the man pass, clenching his fists so hard they were trembling.

Isaac Argyle entered the village mounted on his white steed, which plodded along placidly while he swayed heavily from side to side on its back. He was not a strong rider, but his arrogance well made up for that, and he sat tall and proud in the saddle, looking down his nose at the villagers scattered around him. He had traveled only a short distance down the street when some village children darted out in front of his horse, laughing and swinging swords, and the big thoroughbred jerked to a stop, jumping slightly in fright.
Loose as he was in the saddle, Sir Isaac toppled to the side with a cry of surprise, striking the ground hard with his shoulder, and rolling over to lie on his back, winded. His large belly strained at his belt as he coughed dramatically, groaning with pain.
"Blasted child!" He raged, coughing again as his knights leaped off their mounts and rushed to his side.
"Sir Isaac!" They cried, "Are you hurt, Sir?"
"Well of course I'm hurt, you buffoons!" He exclaimed, throwing them aside and heaving himself to his feet, quickly brushing the dirt from his clothes.
"YOU CHILDREN!" He bellowed, causing the laughing children all to freeze and turn to him, eyes wide in fear.
"Have you any idea what you've done?!" He snarled, "I'll have your families thrown from their homes for this!"
There came a series of little shocked gasps, and one girl began to cry. Seeing this, the boy called Johnny stepped forward, and said timidly, "Please sir, we was just havin' some fun. We're real sorry."
"Sorry changes nothing!" Isaac snapped, his face turning red from anger, "How dare you children spook my horse? Somebody might have been badly hurt!" He grabbed little Johnny by the collar, lifting the boy clean off his feet in his fury. The knights all looked away, shifting their weight awkwardly. Sir Isaac's temper was well known... And with his pride hurt as it was, he was obviously going to blame somebody. It seemed that this time, little Johnny was to take the blame.
"I'll teach you to play in the streets!" Isaac shouted furiously, throwing the child to the ground. He yelped in pain, and instantly shielded his face as the huge man loomed over him, drawing back his foot to aim a harsh kick at the young boy's ribs.
"You've disgraced me, you filthy beggar!" He snarled, "I'll teach you a lesson, I will!"

Archer was about to force himself to turn away before he did something he'd regret, when a familiar chorused squeak of playful children caught his attention, and his ears pricked suddenly. He knew Issac had a tempter - Hell, everyone did - but he most certinly did not pity children. And when the sound of limbs toppling to the ground echoed through the village, Archer knew immediately what had happened.
He wheeled round, his eyes wide. Isaac was now being helped to his feet, and was screaming furiously at the children. Archer watched, frozen to the spot, as little Johnny stepped forward, his little face pale with fear.
No...
Johnny looked down, bringing up the best apology he could muster, but it wasn't enough.
No... No!
Isaac grabbed him by the collar and threw him to the ground. The words he spat were like a blow to Archer's stomach. How dare he offend such a small boy?!
Don't you dare!
Without having any memory of stepping forwards, Archer found himself standing beside the trembling little boy, and pulled him quickly aside, out of the way of the large man's blow. Then, straightening up with a defiant glare, Archer spoke. "The only one filthy around here, sir" He spat, feeling Johnny scramble to his feet behind him. "Is you."
He spat at the large man's feet, then urged the children away from the scene before they got caught up in any more drama.
"Trying to prove your power by beating up young boys? You're still as much of a coward as you've always been." He growled, his eyes narrowing.

When Archer appeared before him, Sir Isaac raised his chin, puffing out his burly chest arrogantly, and opened his mouth to speak. To his deep displeasure, the man before him spoke before he had the chance. "The only one filthy around here, sir, is you." He man spat at his feet, and Isaac recoiled in disgust, just as his knights drew their swords threateningly beside him.
"Just WHO," He snarled furiously, "Do you think you-"
"Trying to prove your power by beating up young boys? You're still as much of a coward as you've always been." The stranger snarled, and Sir Isaac's face contorted with fury, "Why you-!" He broke off, then, staring into the man's eyes. Recognition fluttered in his gaze, and then his own eyes began to narrow. "You!"
His lips pulled back in disgust to reveal snarling teeth, and he snapped authoritatively, "Sir, you are under arrest for threatening the duke of Locksley. I hereby sentence you to death."
Without another word, he turned his back, and walked back to his horse. Everything remained silent, the knights glancing at one another in confusion, trying to figure out when Sir Isaac had been threatened...
"Well?" He snapped as he reached his horse, "Don't just STAND there, you buffoons! Apprehend the criminal!"
The knights jumped, and hurried to obey, one of them muttered a quiet apology to Archer as they quickly bound his hands.
"Take him to the gallows!" Isaac snarled, "He shall be sentenced today!" He waved off three of his knights, and turned to the remaining two, "Accompany me to the mansion!" He snapped, "And hold my horse!"
They hurried to obey, and soon enough, the two processions were marching off in opposite directions.

Much to Derek's displeasure, his father arrived home before he had a chance to leave, but luckily, the man was in too foul a mood to remember that he was supposed to be out of town. "You're shirking your responsibilities, Derek!" Isaac raged as soon as he saw him, "The day's executions are beginning shortly, and you know you're needed there. Begone from my sight!"
Rolling his eyes, Derek hastened to obey. He knew better than to argue with his father when he was in such a mood, and besides, he was keen to get out of the house.
He hurried down to the gallows, trepidation rapidly growing in his heart. As often as he did this, he still loathed watching people be put to death. Most of them were bad people, true, and probably deserved to be hung, but Derek was more softhearted than he appeared, and the execution still troubled him.
He arrived at the gallows, and took his usual spot beside the guillotine, standing there with chart and quill to tick off names. It was about halfway through the evening when he found himself calling a name that seemed vaguely familiar...
"Archer!"
He looked up to see the hangman escorting his companion from earlier to the gallows. Derek frowned, glancing down at the man's crime, scrawled untidily on the parchment before him.
"You have been sentenced to death on charges of..." Derek paused, frowning in disgust, "...Threatening the Duke of Locksley?"
Good for you, mate.
"How do you plead?"

Archer was expecting a furious reply, but when Isaac looked up at him again -properly, this time - Archer realised his idiocy. The rest of the village might forget the face of a beggar child, but the duke did not.
He wanted to think up a clever reply but nothing came to mind. Archer was too busy panicking over the situation he'd stupidly put himself in. If the duke recognised him, word might get round... His mother would find out... the church-
"Sir, you are under arrest for threatening the duke of Locksley. I hereby sentence you to death."
"What?" He stared at the large man in disbelief, utterly bewildered by this sentence. First of all he couldn't remember when he'd threatened this an, and secondly, why was he rushing so quickly to have him killed?
Then he remembered, and his heart sank.
The duke would kill him, because it was an excuse to get rid of an ungodly man who supposedly 'diseased' his son. Of course, killing Derek hadn't been enough for him, had it?
The minute he felt hands wrapping around his arms and wrestling his hands behind his back, Archer was growling furiously at the large man, who had wandered back to his poor horse without another work.
Meanwhile Archer shook his head in disbelief. How had things turned for the worst so damned quickly?

They wasted no time sending him to the hanging post, even though the allegations against him were false. Still, no one was stupid enough to question it, and soon enough, Archer heard his charged being read back to him, but the voice was familiar...
He glanced up, and the familiar face caught his attention.
Squire, you work for the Duke?
Realising he hadn't answered the question he murmured, "Not guilty." Then added quietly to himself, "Not that it matters." He was still going to hang, something many people had threatened him of many times throughout the past year. He'd even heart it in Celtic.
Well, if these were going to be his last words... He was going to make sure they were good ones.
"Listen, I can't die without a proper audience, okay? This isn't how I work. I'm a showman, a performer, if you will."
The noose is so close.
"Come on, squire, reconsider."

"Not guilty." The quiet voice responded, and Derek cast a thoughtful glance at the man, Archer. Guilty or not, threatening the Duke was not due cause for a man's death. Even so, Derek believed Archer's plea. The man was many things, but he did not seem a liar. "Listen, I can't die without a proper audience, okay?" Archer objected confidently, and Derek raised an eyebrow. The man had spunk, he'd give him that... "This isn't how I work. I'm a showman, a performer, if you will. Come on, squire, reconsider."
"I don't reconsider." Derek replied coolly, straightening the parchment before him. "My decision is final."
With those words, the hangman stepped forward, and helped Archer onto an upturned bucket, then reached to tighten the noose.
"What are you doing, Frederick?" Derek asked quietly. "Sir?" The hangman grunted, glancing questioningly at Derek.
"I've yet to give my ruling." Derek explained, "This man is innocent. Release him."
A gasp rose up from the crowd, then escalated to a hum as doubtful murmurs rippled around.
"But sir," The hangman objected timidly, "Sir Isaac-"
"Is Sir Isaac in charge of this execution?" Derek asked sharply, "Or am I?"
"You sir, but-"
"Do you doubt my authority, Frederick?"
"No sir, but-"
"Have I ever ruled unfairly before?" Derek's voice rose, and he lifted his chin defiantly as he addressed both the hangman and the crowd, "My loyalty to this village has always been absolute!" He snapped, slashing his arm sideways with a swish of his cape, "If my ruling is false, then take my head instead."
Another shocked gasp rose from the crowd, and after a moment of silence, the hangman humbly loosened Archer's noose, and slipped it from around his neck.
"I take my leave." Derek said, stepping down from his post, and brushing past Archer and Frederick on the way.
"God be with you, sir." The hangman murmured quietly, and Derek just nodded mutely. Of course there would be trouble if his father found out about this, but that did not matter. He was leaving on the morrow, in any case.