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WHO: Kingfisher and anyone she wakes up
WHAT: Delivery!
WHEN: 2am morning of Solas 25
WHERE: The Gallows
NOTES: Noisiness. Can probably just be a pile on in one thread.
WHAT: Delivery!
WHEN: 2am morning of Solas 25
WHERE: The Gallows
NOTES: Noisiness. Can probably just be a pile on in one thread.
Despite the frequent storms that have plagued Kirkwall, it's been a quiet, calm night. Lucky, in some ways, as if it had been raining Kingfisher would likely have had to part with a few more coin to persuade the boatman across to the fortress. As it is her coin purse is already lighter for the trouble than she'd like, and really, who sets up some kind of elite emergency army out in the harbour and then doesn't put on a night ferry?
That impression doesn't improve much on finding no guards or staff to greet her. She'd almost consider the place empty, except she knows what abandoned places feel like, and the quiet here is softer than that kind of coldness. Still, the lack of the kind of late night motions she'd expect in a place like this has her wondering why her delivery here was impressed as being so urgent. It didn't look like anyone was going to get anything done with it any time soon. But she doesn't question her clients. She'd have a lot less of them if she started doing that.
She'd have less of them if she failed in delivering anything as promised, too. But in the absence of any noticeable staff or guards to point her in the right direction, she isn't going to be able to find the recipient quickly. And there's no way she's walking the whole fortress banging on doors.
There are weapons racks visible in the courtyard. Taking a moment to peruse the options, she picks out a nice domed shield, unbuckling her scabbard so as to be able to heft her smallsword by the sheathed blade. There's a singular, ringing clang as she tests out the combination, nodding to herself in satisfaction at the way the sound echoes off the walls around her.
The next wave of clangs comes in threes, louder now for the shield and sword hilt being struck together in the air above her head. CLANG. CLANG. CLANG. Then a pause, where she inhales deep and does her best town crier, bellowing "Commander of Riftwatch!" before striking her improvised bell again.
CLANG. CLANG. CLANG.
She's an archer. It'll take a while for her arms to get tired.
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She's about to turn her sword off her knees to ward off the approaching mage when there's the sound of yet another grumpy bloke coming to join the party. Kingfisher knows better than to get her hopes up, at this point, but it's an effort to stop herself rolling her eyes.
"Let me guess," she says, gesturing at the new arrival with the pommel of her sword for emphasis. "Also not Commander Flint."
STEALTH