OTHER PEOPLE'S PROBLEMS.

[murderbaby]

WHO: Fitcher, Mhavos Dalat, Lino Nieri, Derrica, Leander, Laura Kint.
WHAT: Some rich dicks got dicked around.
WHEN: Early Kingsway.
WHERE: The Wounded Coast.
NOTES: Violence, probably. Will update if More Happens.

To Review,

• Mhavos recieves word from former employers, the wealthy d'Antret family, that their ship to Kirkwall has run ground on the wounded coast.
• He's stopped from throwing the letter in the fire by Fitcher, who bullies convinces him to assemble a search party.
• Lino Nieri, Derrica, Laura Kint and Leander end up volunteering.
• When the wreck is found, it's not all that wrecked; the ship is largely intact, just beached. The wealthy nobles are nowhere to be found.
• However, there are some supplies of tea, coffee and sugar, only lightly damaged. There's also a ledger indicating a d'Antret heirloom (a Dalish amulet) should be on the ship, but can't be found.
• Everyone outvotes Mhavos, and the party decides to try and find the missing nobles.
• They track them to a cave filled with bandits, planning to ransom the nobles back to Orlais for a lot of cash.
• The bandits aren't too difficult to defeat, and the nobles are... moderately grateful. And not giving up their amulet or any of the stuff still on the ship.
• ...Unless you feel like stealing it / cajoling them more? Only Time Will Tell.

Please feel free to make top levels at various points in the mission for maximum versatility.

Comments

ay

[unshut]

A week ago, standing anywhere near the great hearths and their fires would have been a distinctly unpleasant prospect. Today, plagued as it is by the season's end of spectacular downpours, there are worse places to be.

If her dripping state if any indication, Fitcher Fitcher has recently been to at least one of them. Her cloak has been hung on a hook and even now she is rubbing the matted braid of her dark hair with a cloth as her boots dry. Her outing must have been a pleasant one though or she is good at pretending otherwise, as she seems cheerful enough in her interception as Mhavos approaches.

"Why serah, now there is a face fit for gloomy weather. Surely the morning's work hasn't been so grim as all that."

[murderbaby]

"Bad news." He says, nodding pleasantly at Fitcher's arrival, and the puddle she brings along with her. Not a day goes by he isn't glad not to be a maidservant.

He still has the letter in his hand, still crumpling it. He sidesteps her slightly. "I hope your day has fared better."

And he could throw the paper from here and easily make it, but something stops him. Restraint? He's heard of it. So he hesitates.

[unshut]

Is she in his way? She can hardly tell. She certainly doesn't move to block him exactly, but there is a shift in the line of her arm and elbow as she pats her hair dry that suggests it regardless.

"It's been lovely. The rain makes everything Kirkwall smell less like everything in Kirkwall." A flashing smile. She tips her face, and somehow that curving expression becomes a little imploring without gentling whatsoever. "Not bad news of the personal sort, I hope?"

[murderbaby]

Accidental, surely. Mhavos stares more at the paper in his hand, anyway, as though it's growing in weight by the moment. "Worse," he grumbles, dramatic. "Impersonal."

He looks up to see her leaning in, and is reminded unexpectedly of a hawk. He can't for the life of him reason why.

[unshut]

"Ah," she says in knowing tones. "An imposition."

With a last pat and twist, Fitcher unwinds the damp cloth from her hair and lays it plainly over her shoulder. "That's the trouble with signing on to outfits like this one. The moment rumor of it passes into certain quarters, every forgotten acquaintance suddenly finds some business in need of your attention."

The line of her arm has fallen. She says, practically as an afterthought, "I'm glad to hear it's nothing of value."

[murderbaby]

Mhavos wants to say a whole host of things, chielfly among them, they think I am of no value, so I shall return the favor. But that is something characters in novels say, and he's had too much spare time lately, and spent it reading. In reality... well, they are in reality.

He finishes crumpling the paper, and throws it in the direction of the nearest blaze.

"It really isn't."