The Highwayman's Footsteps.

[Leo]

The Highwayman by Alfred Noyes

<sub>"    THE wind was a torrent of darkness among the gusty trees, 
    The moon was a ghostly galleon tossed upon cloudy seas, 
    The road was a ribbon of moonlight over the purple moor, 
    And the highwayman came riding— 
                      Riding—riding— 
    The highwayman came riding, up to the old inn-door.

    He'd a French cocked-hat on his forehead, a bunch of lace at his chin, 
    A coat of the claret velvet, and breeches of brown doe-skin; 
    They fitted with never a wrinkle: his boots were up to the thigh! 
    And he rode with a jewelled twinkle, 
                      His pistol butts a-twinkle, 
    His rapier hilt a-twinkle, under the jewelled sky.

    Over the cobbles he clattered and clashed in the dark inn-yard, 
    And he tapped with his whip on the shutters, but all was locked and barred; 
    He whistled a tune to the window, and who should be waiting there 
    But the landlord's black-eyed daughter, 
                      Bess, the landlord's daughter, 
    Plaiting a dark red love-knot into her long black hair.

    And dark in the dark old inn-yard a stable-wicket creaked 
    Where Tim the ostler listened; his face was white and peaked; 
    His eyes were hollows of madness, his hair like mouldy hay, 
    But he loved the landlord's daughter, 
                      The landlord's red-lipped daughter, 
    Dumb as a dog he listened, and he heard the robber say—

    "One kiss, my bonny sweetheart, I'm after a prize to-night, 
    But I shall be back with the yellow gold before the morning light; 
    Yet, if they press me sharply, and harry me through the day, 
    Then look for me by moonlight, 
                      Watch for me by moonlight, 
    I'll come to thee by moonlight, though hell should bar the way."

    He rose upright in the stirrups; he scarce could reach her hand, 
    But she loosened her hair i' the casement! His face burnt like a brand 
    As the black cascade of perfume came tumbling over his breast; 
    And he kissed its waves in the moonlight, 
                      (Oh, sweet, black waves in the moonlight!) 
    Then he tugged at his rein in the moonliglt, and galloped away to the West.

    He did not come in the dawning; he did not come at noon; 
    And out o' the tawny sunset, before the rise o' the moon, 
    When the road was a gypsy's ribbon, looping the purple moor, 
    A red-coat troop came marching— 
                      Marching—marching— 
    King George's men came matching, up to the old inn-door.

    They said no word to the landlord, they drank his ale instead, 
    But they gagged his daughter and bound her to the foot of her narrow bed; 
    Two of them knelt at her casement, with muskets at their side! 
    There was death at every window; 
                      And hell at one dark window; 
    For Bess could see, through her casement, the road that he would ride.

    They had tied her up to attention, with many a sniggering jest; 
    They had bound a musket beside her, with the barrel beneath her breast! 
    "Now, keep good watch!" and they kissed her. 
                      She heard the dead man say— 
    Look for me by moonlight; 
                      Watch for me by moonlight; 
    I'll come to thee by moonlight, though hell should bar the way!

    She twisted her hands behind her; but all the knots held good! 
    She writhed her hands till her fingers were wet with sweat or blood! 
    They stretched and strained in the darkness, and the hours crawled by like years, 
    Till, now, on the stroke of midnight, 
                      Cold, on the stroke of midnight, 
    The tip of one finger touched it! The trigger at least was hers!

    The tip of one finger touched it; she strove no more for the rest! 
    Up, she stood up to attention, with the barrel beneath her breast, 
    She would not risk their hearing; she would not strive again; 
    For the road lay bare in the moonlight; 
                      Blank and bare in the moonlight; 
    And the blood of her veins in the moonlight throbbed to her love's refrain.

        Tlot-tlot; tlot-tlot! Had they heard it? The horse-hoofs ringing clear; 
    Tlot-tlot, tlot-tlot, in the distance? Were they deaf that they did not hear? 
    Down the ribbon of moonlight, over the brow of the hill, 
    The highwayman came riding, 
                      Riding, riding! 
    The red-coats looked to their priming! She stood up, straight and still!

    Tlot-tlot, in the frosty silence! Tlot-tlot, in the echoing night! 
    Nearer he came and nearer! Her face was like a light! 
    Her eyes grew wide for a moment; she drew one last deep breath, 
    Then her finger moved in the moonlight, 
                      Her musket shattered the moonlight, 
    Shattered her breast in the moonlight and warned him—with her death.

    He turned; he spurred to the West; he did not know who stood 
    Bowed, with her head o'er the musket, drenched with her own red blood! 
    Not till the dawn he heard it, his face grew grey to hear 
    How Bess, the landlord's daughter, 
                      The landlord's black-eyed daughter, 
    Had watched for her love in the moonlight, and died in the darkness there.

    Back, he spurred like a madman, shrieking a curse to the sky, 
    With the white road smoking behind him and his rapier brandished high! 
    Blood-red were his spurs i' the golden noon; wine-red was his velvet coat, 
    When they shot him down on the highway, 
                      Down like a dog on the highway, 
    And he lay in his blood on the highway, with the bunch of lace at his throat.

                  *           *           *           *           *           *

    And still of a winter's night, they say, when the wind is in the trees, 
    When the moon is a ghostly galleon tossed upon cloudy seas, 
    When the road is a ribbon of moonlight over the purple moor, 
    A highwayman comes riding— 
                      Riding—riding— 
    A highwayman comes riding, up to the old inn-door.

    Over the cobbles he clatters and clangs in the dark inn-yard; 
    He taps with his whip on the shutters, but all is locked and barred; 
    He whistles a tune to the window, and who should be waiting there 
    But the landlord's black-eyed daughter, 
                      Bess, the landlord's daughter, 
    Plaiting a dark red love-knot into her long black hair."</sub>
                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                              

[Leo]

For information about this role play, you will find the information page in the Role-Play Information board, as you will find the joining page there as well.

[Leo]

<sub>Lou Howell's long dark hair fell down her back, a conservative dress hanging from her shoulders, the skirt hitting her ankles. Her riding boots were tugged up on her calves underneath the fabric, as she had needed them. She rode her steed up to the small cottage her father had bought before Lou's was born, and had owned until his brutal death; swinging off and leading her mare to the barn behind the structure. Her gloved hands worked diligently with the girth, unfastening the leather. Sweat had formed on both girl and horse, Lou's wiping above her brow to get rid of some of the grimy, salty extract. They had had a long ride, spending the purse Lou had stolen from a wealthy man to buy fresh bread and cheese from the town square.

Her story was an interesting one; she was born to a highwayman and his lover. Her grandfather, however, was disgusted of the idea that his young daughter, Lou's mother, had affairs with such a "disgrace" that was Lou's father. The young girl despised her grandfather; when she was born, he had cast her to a servant because he would not have the daughter of a highwayman under his roof. The servant had given little baby Lou to someone who knew her father well, and who brought her to him. Sadly, Lou remembered little of her mother, as when she was three, her mother refused Lou to be brought to her as she didn't want to put her baby girl in danger of Lou's grandpa. But she'd heard stories of her mother's beauty from her father.

Lou's father had actually been very admired by the people who knew of him and his tale; he only stole from the wealthy, since they would never miss it and would easily fill the little hole back in, and gave what he didn't need to the poor. He'd been respected and honored, his death a sad one. Lou had willingly followed in his footsteps to live out his legacy, as many of the ones who knew of her father had expected. She was smart, dressing up as a boy when she robbed so that she seemed more intimidating and was harder to recognize; when she went to the square however to buy food or clothes, she went dressed as a girl, so she seemed more innocent and casual. Only the people who truly knew her, knew her real identity - Lou, daughter of a famous highwayman.

So Lou grew up with her father in the small cottage, and she was taught many of his ways from him. By seven years old, she could shoot a gun, catch prey, and ride a horse. When she was the ripe age of eleven her father was shot by a redcoat, one of the many reasons she was disgusted by them. Her mother died of heartbreak a year after, and Lou was looked after by a mutual friend of her parents, who died not but a year prior to right now.

Lou was not the ideal woman, she had dark, tampered skin that held many battle scars unlike the pale, soft, pure skin of a housewife, due to her days spent outdoors. Her hands were rough and her muscles defined, but she was still beautiful. She was skilled like a man and smart like a woman, both beneficial and essential for her life style. After all, she was a highwayman, following the footsteps of her noble father.</sub>

[stellaluna]

sorry this took so long, so lazy and procrastinate everything even rping hahah.

Elayne was many things. She was poor, for one. She wasn't very nice, for another. She didn't have many friends. She was secretive. She hardly ever spoke about herself. She was striking, maybe, but not pretty. Yes, Elayne was many things, but she was not a deserter. Okay, so she did what she had to. She stole things, but only to make it by. Her older brother signed up to fight. He told her just a few short months prior, promised her, even, that he wouldn't do such a thing. Wouldn't leave her. Not after her father, who had finally been caught about a year back. He had been a thief and had lied his way around, but he had been a good father. Or so she thought. Her mother told her that he had only stolen once or twice, and that he had meant to pay them back once he found the money. But that's not what they said before they shot him.

Who could she trust? No one. Not even herself, because how was she any better? Stealing, and not for someone else, not for a family member or even close friend. She stole to get herself by. Many would consider Elly a deserter, but who was there to desert? Her brother left, her father dead, her mother just another person who had deceived her many times in her life. She didn't consider herself a deserter, and there wasn't anyone left in the world who's opinion she valued.

So as Elly tucked another stolen parcel into her cloak, she didn't feel regret in the slightest. It had been hard the first few times, but only because she feared getting caught. She didn't want to end up like her father. Or worse. In her mind, there were worse ways to go than a bullet. At least that was quick, easy even. She'd heard stories that it was as quick and easy as falling asleep. Well, almost, anyways. Now that she'd figured it out, stealing was no problem. A piece of cake.

She walked briskly, but not too fast, as that might appear suspicious, to her mount. A bay stallion, with four white pasterns and a star that thinned to a snip. He was a bit stocky, but still athletic all the same; perhaps a thoroughbred and draft cross. And valuable, too. He, however, was not stolen. He'd been won by her father, shortly before... Well. Maybe the deal wasn't all that honest, but it didn't matter anymore. He was hers and there was no proof that he wasn't. She touched her pale hand to his neck, giving it a gentle pat. "Good boy," Elly murmured, her voice low and quiet. It wasn't manly, but not really all that feminine either. Perhaps a result of being around her brother too much, or maybe just because she'd never had a chance to really act like a girl. Elly stood there for a moment, not all that eager to get on with her business. It wasn't hard, really, but it was tiring, always being on the run.

At first glance she was just another harmless peasant girl, with dirtied clothes and hands, her stringy hair that once had been a nice shade of dark blonde knotted and discolored to a muddy blondish-brown, perhaps by dirt or something of the sort. It was her mother's hair, and she also inherited the fair skin that burned so easily, but that was their only resemblance. Unlike her mother, her hair was thick, and her eyes dark, both traits of her father. Though she didn't want to admit it, she had a lot in common with her father. They had the same instinct of survival at all costs, the same speed and quickness, the same way of thinking. She even sounded like him at times, quick to anger but good with words. Sometimes Elly couldn't help but wonder if she would go as far to share the same fate as him. But she preferred not to think like that if she couldn't help it.

Her greatest weakness and perhaps her greatest strength was her build. She was small; just barely a couple inches over five feet. Though she was skinny and her muscles tight, it was physically impossible for her to be all that strong. If ever faced in hand-to-hand combat, where strength was one's greatest skill, she was likely to fail. She was fast, yes, but small and skinny and malnourished, not much of a match for someone of greater size.

[stellaluna]

hi