QUNARI
“ a bird, caught in the wires ”
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Post by jay on May 7, 2014 9:38:34 GMT
The small party had left the Imperial Highway after passing through Halamshiral, heading only just into the Heartlands before continuing on. The idea had been to circle around where their information told them the highwaymen would be waiting to strike on innocent passersby. The Flying Nugs were hoping to be able to take their targets by surprise. Of course, that’s assuming one can actually take anyone by surprise trudging through a forest when they have a handful of dwarves and a particularly chatty human by their side. The fact that it had recently rained was more a mixed bag than an outright disadvantage; it meant Danica had reason to tell them all to move slowly without Jay having to nudge them into caution. There would be no point in trying to get the upper hand by the element of surprise and higher ground if even one of them slipped and fell right into the middle of the camp. Aforementioned camp came into view from below, and the group separated to move down either side from the higher ground. The intention had clearly been to keep out of sight in the midst of the forest, but the highwaymen had left themselves three exits, which would ideally be a fatal mistake. Danica and Cliff would take the opening on the right, the other dwarf and elf of the party (new recruits) would take the other, and Jay was to go around the other way. With luck, this would be over quickly. freya bellamy (If you need me to tweak anything here please let me know) coded by electric of gangnam style |
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Post by freya bellamy on May 9, 2014 1:59:06 GMT
freya did not see the need to be scurrying about like a sneak-thief, not in the presence of sneak-thieves themselves. she had merely sought the company of two drunkards from a nearby tavern and asked for them to accompany her back to her camp. if the dullness of alcohol did not convince them, then a few orlesian folk songs certainly did.
needless to say, they are slaughtered quickly by the time that they reach the highwaymen's domain. for once, the bard is not the one who is doing the slaying.
freya does not feign innocence to herself. it would have been rather suspicious if a lone girl were to travel all the way out here at this hour without company; their sacrifices will certainly count for something.
freya is taken captive, and she is only too glad for that. at the tavern, the woman had kept her hand on freya's thigh for much longer than was absolutely necessary.
they decide not to strip her down -- an incredibly stupid move in hindsight. they miss the knives hidden in her clothes, and they have no one but themselves to blame. all they see is a travelling musician with a wooden flute. obviously these folk have never lived in val royeaux.
and that's how she ends up playing for a group of bandits who don't smell as if they have had a shower for weeks. freya is only after one life tonight, but it certainly wouldn't hurt if she created a drowsier audience for herself.
she hears the footsteps. she hears them, but to her credit, she does not interrupt her song. freya has yet to see the leader rear his head, the one who matches the physical description. perhaps he is not here. perhaps he is returning to camp right now.
notes: i am a piece of shit who can't decide on a consistent template. also i think it would be hilarious if one of the flying nugs resembled the description given by sheer coincidence CODED BY ELECTRIC OF GANGNAM STYLE |
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QUNARI
“ a bird, caught in the wires ”
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Post by jay on May 15, 2014 7:24:09 GMT
It was not that the highwaymen had targeted an elf, really. It was not even so much that they had targeted the wrong elf, not even so much as the wrong particular piece of property. The nobleman had insisted upon there having been no sentimental value for either the elf or missing cargo. No, this job was a matter of pride. The noble wanted to send a message. Kill them all, he had insisted. Well, he was certainly paying enough. It was Cliff who approached upfront, arms outstretched and bow still strapped to his back. He was relaxed, perhaps with practiced acting, perhaps with the knowledge that Danica was somewhere nearby, wrapped in shadow. “Jeremy!” his voice boomed out over the sound of the flute, “How has travel been treating you, you old lout?” Jay’s tension rose some as she approached, slower than she’d like. A warrior could only move so quietly, and the element of surprise relied on the human’s ability to draw the focus to himself, if only for a few precious moments. And any moment longer might turn out to be too much. Cliff had survived this type of work, in one form or another, perhaps longer than Jay had been alive, but she knew him. He did not wear armor, did not excel at hiding among shadow or even wielding daggers. Loathe as he may be to ever admit it, his forte lay outside of battle, either setting traps or, well, opening doors both physical and social. It was not just in Orlais, after all, that nobles preferred to deal with a human man than a group of dwarves or elves. Cliff was never their leader, was not their best fighter, but he was valuable to the group in more ways than Jay could list. She had not approved of this plan. freya bellamy notes: hands the token human background character to you on a silver platter, have fun!! coded by electric of gangnam style |
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Post by freya bellamy on May 18, 2014 11:21:14 GMT
freya looks up discreetly, but the melody does not stop. it has no reason to, aside from the quick rests that add weight to parts of her music. the bandits have a little more legroom. several of them turn to look at the newcomer in camp, and a few of them pause to scratch their heads a little at the newcomer. those were the freshmeat to the group of bandits, but freya would not have known that. their laxness is what the woman has bought with her music. their laxness is what she has bought with those victim's lives. freya has always counted upon getting what she's paid for. slowly, she allows her music to die down. no one notices, or if they did, they do not care. freya had played in a way that made the pause seem natural enough. as if it was scripted -- if only they knew how right they are. those precious few seconds are all that she needs to scurry over to the man's side. he matches the description well enough. superficially so, but the details of assignments usually were. freya has not been wrong yet. her passable luck is about to run out. freya takes out her prized orlesian dagger and holds it against the human's neck, pulling his head back with her other hand. the doozy bandits are still a little disoriented from the alcohol and music, but a few of them draw their weapons quickly with collective sounds of metal and wood. a tent flap opens - the one to the leader's camp. freya looks to the sudden sound, and realizes that her mark is right there. he fits the description much better. then who is the man who is at the mercy of her knife? maker's breath, she's been outplayed. who is the hostage, then? she does not know, but she also knows that this man is not her target. she is quick to shove him away from her, quickly. every death must be paid for. no one has offered any coin for his. CODED BY ELECTRIC OF GANGNAM STYLE |
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