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[ A group of bandits have set up camp around a bridge on one of the roads between Ostwick and Kirkwall. They've been successfully shaking down every merchant caravan that attempts to cross. Agitated with the loss of profit, the merchants have collectively appealed to Riftwatch for help. Clear out the bandits from around the bridge, and keep all these merchants happy. ]

They're not in Forces -

Alright, so Lazar was, and fuck if they don't look the part; and that's gotta be how it came to this: Freezing his nuts off at the end of a bridge, trying to make nice with Danny Five-Fingers as the guy just gets louder and louder.

(Who knew a dwarf could holler like that? Who knew five fingers was worth a title? No accounting for Carta taste.)

"Look - I'm just the messenger," Hands spread, wide from his knife; palms empty. Easy. They're all friends here. "Her and me, we're doing you a solid here. No reason this has to get bloody,"

An arrow whizzes past his face, buries itself in the ravine edge. Lazar looks to Astrid, as if for permission -

- Doesn't wait for an answer before he plants a boot in Danny's chest, and shoves hard. The howl as he crashes down is satisfying. The brush of drawn steel behind them?

"Shit," Lazar murmurs. "You got this, right?"

Edited 2024-01-16 05:05 (UTC)

[He is looking for her, after that conversation on the crystal, and while he is not wearing a shirt, he is wearing a cloak and covers his shoulders and most of his torso. So.

He knows that his past makes her unsure, which is to say, he's doing a little bit of extra work to hide some of it. He has a jug of wine with him.]

I brought a gift with me.

[He holds the bottle up, and he looks-

-he's smiling, he looks charming.]

Astrid?

[ distracted. not audibly alarmed. ]

Gotta ask a favour.

[ (his accent's out in force) ]

Two questions: are you hunting later this week? And are you camping out with the rest, these days, or holed up elsewhere?

[ ooc: we can suss out how their first co-hunting excursion went or determine that something came up (and then EVERYTHING happened); totally up to you! just lemme know. ]

Astrid? It's Abella.
( There's a pause, where she's going to ask one thing, and pivots to something else. )

How are you?

( following this: )

Slipped onto Astrid's desk, among the week's papers, is the torn piece of a map. It seems to be the Gallows, though sketched a bit poorly, and marked with a black X over the library. The paper's of decent quality — must have only been used for this — and the back of it is stamped with two neat moons.

Huh.

It's a big library. Moreso, if you don't read. But chance, dedication, or assistance, turn up a false book tucked among the steamy Avvar romances. The spine of A Noble Register of Town Fools (marked with two moons, and never before appearing in Riftwatch's collection) knocks hollow; pulling it from shelf reveals it to be a simply-disguised box. It opens onto a cheap sheet of polished tin, vaguely reflecting the viewer, and a second piece of the map.

To the dungeons. One of the cells is locked, with two moons painted on its walls. There's a jar of loose junk on an adjacent bench, and somewhere within that there's a key. Of course, there's plenty to pick with, instead. A pungent packet of dried shark — local Orlesians unclear on hákarl — inside holds down the final piece of map.

If followed to the Eyrie, the griffons will descend upon a fishy smell. Distracting them long enough allows one to snatch the new leather case attached to Potato's harness.

It holds a small, collapsible spyglass. Nothing on the quality that a ship might require, and almost certainly secondhand; close inspection of some chipped-away, Tevene marks reveals it for a likely war prize. But turning the glass about the Gallows proves it serviceable enough. If Astrid happens to look to the Smithy she might even spot:

HAPPY SATINALIA

Painted on the roof. Don't ask how he got up there.

Edited 2024-10-26 21:31 (UTC)

He is, Fen'harel'enaste, not the worst off of their little cohort. The Venatori may have worked harder on him because elf, but the Warden gave them more trouble, so she bore the brunt of their more dire tortures. His injuries have been tended to by magic as best Riftwatch was able, with time and his own body left to complete the rest of the job. He walks tall back to his shared room, bearing new scars and bruises and rage but not cowed in the least.

He's missed some check-ins. Fen'harel will be concerned, if not for him personally then for his efforts inside the Riftwatch. Talin will have to get a message to the Wolf, relay what happened. He'd barely gotten settled before that assignment went to shit, he needs to start over. He needs to find something new to work on. He needs...

To sleep, he finds, collapsing into his bed as soon as he's reached the room. It's a fitful rest, made more so by the unfamiliar sounds and the oppressive nature of these stone walls. His mind will not relax enough to fully surrender to the Beyond, and when he hears the door creak open, he's wide awake in an instant, knife in hand and leveled at Astrid's throat.

Miss Runasdotten — [ some things just never sound quite right in an orlesian accent ] — Does your Hold ever contract its services?

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