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

[sarcophage]

Were they closer—or close at all, really—he might aim a playful swat at the elf's nearest limb, but in the here and now that seems like a poor idea, so he keeps his hands to himself.

Playfully defensive, "I'm not teasing! All right, I'm half teasing... mostly teasing. But it's a real question, it really is. I promise. Aside from the," a loose-wristed and looping hand gesture here, in place of the dreaded k-word.

[murderbaby]

"You are most certainly teasing. I would have thought it beneath you, serah." But there's almost something like a laugh in his voice. Leander is being so... convivial about it, Mhavos can't help but feel freer for it. He's never had someone to joke with.

Does he, now?

"He is very kind," Mhavos says, peeking one eye out between his fingers to glance over at Leander. "He is also very human." And the eye is covered once more. "A distinction not all consider, but I do."

[sarcophage]

"I had wondered. Not to be discouraging, mind you." Not on that account, at least. He carries no conscious bias against elves, himself, it's more that he doesn't care—but elves aren't special in that regard. "He's quite charming, isn't he, regardless of who you are. Has an elegance about him." Calming, now, into his own thoughts. "We were in the same Circle, you know—for a time."

[murderbaby]

He wants to say why are you telling me this, but that would be... rude? And he cares whether he's rude to this man, Mhavos realizes. Either because he's Mhavos' direct superior (technically...) or because he's a potential friend, he isn't sure.

So Mhavos gives himself a moment to regain his composure, though he's still blushing slightly. He chooses to use that time to flick the ledger book onto the ground, watching it spin and fall to pieces in the sand. That does improve his mood.

How petty.

"I'm glad to know he has friends, here." Carefully politic. "And that you are one of them." Carefully bland.

[sarcophage]

To the notably inoffensive response—and for the ledger's destruction, apropos of nothing—he smiles. "Mm. Shame he's involved with that healer." Offhand, a wistful hint of something one may assume he'd just as soon keep to himself, expertly placed; now they're even.

"Anyway, I suppose we ought to see how the others are getting along."

[murderbaby]

Mhavos tilts his head to the side, and can't help himself but say- "Oh? Good for him." Ilias, the healer (whoever), both. He's not the sort to want someone single if he has no designs on them. And Mhavos carefully makes sure he has no designs on anyone.

But, yes. Back to work. Mhavos carefully reorients himself with feigned clumsiness until his feet are back on the sand-swept deck.