Cassafras Personal

It came as no surprise to Fenris that Hawke still had dealings with Athenril. The mage spoke highly of the smuggler; of course she would though, this contact had helped secure the funds for her family to start their lives in Kirkwall.

Fenris eyed her as they made their way through the Vinmark Mountains for the arranged meeting, though not as harshly as he had before. Corrine was willing to put her family name on the line and herself, an apostate refugee, at risk to secure his way into this tournament. Though grateful, he was exceptionally cautious of things given too freely and his partner sidestepping his questions had not helped her case.

He wondered to himself if maybe her dealings with the smuggler were why she was so insistent on taking charge and in pushing him to not press her on the details; however, it seemed just about as illegitimate as the rest of their dealing in Kirkwall. At the very least, the mage had made good on her promise to make proper arrangements. She had provided Leandra a distraction and had already secured his equipment and a strong courser for the upcoming tournament. There was one final piece unaccounted for: a proper squire that also knew how to be discreet regarding his knight’s identity.

They knew their contact was close when they rounded the corner and could smell smoke and roasted game. They made their way to the meeting spot - the underpass below a sturdy bridge. It was out of the way, hidden by some dry brush.

“Hawke,” the brunette elf in light armor beckoned as she saw the two. Athenril had a small makeshift camp and had been tending to a small crackling fire, sitting atop some furs outside her tent. Behind her was the black warhorse she had promised them. He was hitched to a rock formation protruding from the mountainside and more concerned over his feed bag than the approaching adventurers. As Corrine approached, she noticed Athenril’s crooked, begrudging smile and the emptiness of her camp. Something was amiss.

“So, about the squire…” the smuggler trailed off uncomfortably. She spoke in a hushed tone to Corrine that Fenris barely heard, until his ears perked at her change of tone mid-conversation.

‘‘You charged me ten whole sovereigns!” Corrine scolded. She could feel Fenris’ eyes boring into the both of them as she reluctantly returned.

“I’m not surprise you got swindled,” Fenris frowned as he crossed arms. “That was a small fortune for this plan of yours.” It was more than some peasants saw in a lifetime and would have been enough for a former slave to start a new life.

“Not swindled,” Corrine tutted. “I’ve worked with Athenril many times before and wanted to ensure we’d have everything we need for the tournament and look legitimate.”

“To conceal your knife-eared knight from the nobles, you mean,” Fenris said dryly.

“I’m an apostate, remember? I’ll also be incognito in this tourney,” she pointed out. She had no doubt there would be templars posted. It would be a powder keg of a tournament ready to blow if they made one wrong move. Despite this, she gave him a reassuring smile. “We’re in this together and I know how to be discreet.”

It wasn’t very comforting. Things seemed to always happen around her - wine spills, falling objects and other mishaps. The grinning mage robed in purple was the eye of an always circling storm. It wasn’t exactly clumsiness but more that a strange luck seemed to follow her. What did he expect from a force mage that also dealt with entropy and frenzy though?

Her voice derailed his train of thought. “You’re getting a brow crease from all that glowering. Try not to worry so much.” He was met with a grin as he refocused and narrowed his eyes at her.

“If I have one, it likely got worse after meeting you.” He threw back at her. Shaking his head, he got back on topic. “Hawke, this is a lot of cost and risk you’re taking for my sake.”

Corrine noticed the tinge of concern in his voice and reassured him. “Worth it though if we can secure the mansion and knock Danarius down a peg, right?” Again, she was focusing on his dilemmas. His brow knit in frustration; at this rate, he’d never be able to repay the debt.

“Perhaps,” He conceded. Satisfied, Corrine turned to the smuggler, unaware that his eyes continued to followed her with conflicted gratitude.

Corrine put her hands together as she eyed Athenril with a smile, ready to compromise only for the smuggler to throw up her hands.

“Look, that money is long gone but I did as you asked. You have the horse and all the gear I promised. It’s just the boy that’s been…misplaced,” Athenril winced as the last word left her thin lips. She wrung her hands together as she told the two of how the boy had been grabbed on route. She had tracked him to a camp further down the base of the mountain as she pointed to a small line of smoke rising above ridges of rock.

“I’m no fighter, I just make the arrangements. Besides, you’re in good company.” The waifish elf’s forest-green eyes looked up and down the length of the sword on Fenris’ back as she gave an impressed whistle. She approached and offered her hand to her fellow elf. “Fenris, right? Hawke speaks highly of you.”

Fenris raised a brow as he gave her hand a firm shake. An amused grin spread across his lips as he saw the mage’s brow raise at the statement. “Does she now?”

“Well, of course,” Corrine said with a wave of a hand. “You’re a great fighter despite your demeanor and your constant questioning.” She earned a squint from her companion and a chuckle from Athenril as she took a few steps towards the ledge,  and eyed the rising smoke.

“What’s the boy’s name? We probably need that to launch a proper rescue,” the mage asked.

“Valentin. He’s a half-elf and a good lad,” Athenril answered. “If they meant to kill him, they already would have but I saw him dragged away instead. He should still be alive. This should be an easy smash and grab job for the two of you and we’re not too far from the tournament grounds.”

“Convenient,” Fenris muttered sarcastically. “So, what did these men look like? How many did you see?”

“Two men pulled him off the road. They didn’t have matching uniforms or armor so my guess is they’re mercenaries. ‘Could be more at their camp,” Athenril recounted.

Fenris took his place besides Corrine and pointed one metal claw towards the smoke. “If they’re truly mercenaries, we’ll need to know who paid them off and why.”

“Right,” she agreed with a nod. “No time to waste, then.”

-

Fenris and Corrine found the ramshackle camp by following the long plume of smoke wafting from the base of the mountain. Two dirty tents stood lit by a small bonfire between them along the river’s edge where a sizable wooden boat sat partially loaded.

Ears perking to the sound of guttural laughter, Fenris slipped behind a tree and gestured to the mage to crouch behind him as he drew his blade. With a nod, she followed his lead and readied her staff.

“You sure we can't take some of this to pawn for some added silver? Seems a waste,” a gruff older man with a long beard uttered as he emerged holding some personal effects.

Opposite of him sat a gaunt man wearing a coif tending to his crossbow. He sneered at the bearded man and answered with a hiss. “We got no time and most of that’s shit anyway. Leave no traces behind and focus on the delivery.”

The bearded man reluctantly threw a walking stick from the pile he had in his hands into the fire. “They don’t got scruples over the young and old huh?”

His partner shrugged as he got up from his seat with his crossbow in hand and looked towards the boat. “A body’s a body. I’m sure they’ll make do.” With a wave of his crossbow towards the boat, he barked an order over his shoulder. “Pile the new one on top of the others!”

At his behest, another man emerged from one of the tents, much wider than others with one trunk-like arm holding a bound and gagged boy over his shoulder while his other dragged a mandolin along the dirt before tossing the boy onto the boat. He was followed by a shorter, gangly accomplice with a short sword at his waist who took and threw the mandolin onto the burn pile.

The gaunt man walked over to his companions who were now guarding the boat and peered over at his cargo with a sick grin. The other man stood at the fire going through their ill-gotten gains, the mandolin the newest amongst them.

“I’ll get the last of these supplies for the trip. Bludgeon ‘em if they act up,” the gaunt man said as he headed towards the right-most tent.

“That might be our squire,” Corrine whispered. “And I guess he’s not the only one.” She waved a hand towards a closer, more secluded spot by the boat they could move to.

Fenris followed her lead but kept his narrowed eyes on the men as his grip tightened on the hilt of his blade. This was no longer a normal kidnapping but much more akin to something he had seen too often: trafficking.

“Slavers…” he hissed as his brands pulsed. He took one step forward with his blade ready.

“Wait,” Corrine said in a hushed tone as her eyes darted between Fenris and the slavers’ positions. “I can distract them and give you an opening.” She pointed at the bearded man by the fire. “Starting with that one…”

He paused for a moment before giving her an approving nod. “Get those two away from the boat.”

“On it,” she said as she snuck to get closer as Fenris stood ready.

The bearded man by the fire reached for the mandolin lazily with his arm dipping from the weight of the instrument. As he moved to swing it into the flames, a string suddenly snapped causing the man to yell and stumble. The mandolin fell to the side as he fell sideways into the fire. In seconds, the flames had spread to his arm and were quickly moving up his beard.

“Andraste’s TITS!” He screamed and frantically tried to put his face out. Lurking in the shadows, Corrine’s eyes lit up seeing the man’s face engulfed in flames; she had only needed a bit of force to snap the cord.

“Careless piece of-!” The crossbow wielder sputtered as he rushed from the boat towards his flailing comrade with the wide man on the boat stumbling forward. The wide lummox noticed a faint blue glow from before Fenris’ blade cleaved into him. In one swift motion, Fenris turned and then plunged his broadsword into his gut. Despite his opponent's girth, Fenris’ sword cut through the other side before he swung wide, spilling gore onto the white sand.

The shorter swordsman choked out a cry in shock as he saw his friend fall and pulled out his sword, only for it to be knocked out of his hands by Fenris. Pure terror filled his body seeing the hatred in the elf’s eyes before he disappeared in a phase of blue. Almost instantaneously, the broadsword sliced through the man’s torso, spraying blood across the elf’s breastplate.

Next was the not-so-bearded burnt man by the fire. He had successfully put himself out and was struggling to stand up but not before Fenris kicked him square in the chest and plunged the sword through his skull.

Fenris turned and saw the gaunt man with the crossbow advancing. Suddenly, the man fell to his knees as a shackling hex worked its way up his legs. In desperation, he launched a bolt towards the elf only for it to deflect.

Corrine sighed in relief that she had pulled off her misdirection hex in time. Fenris quickly wiped and sheathed his sword, walked forward and grabbed the paralyzed man by the collar. His crossbow fell to his side as he choked in Fenris’ vice grip.

“Who paid you? Answer me!” Fenris demanded as his fingers tightened on the man’s collar. The man’s, body tightening from the hex, could only gibber from fright.

“W-we d-didn’t get a name! S-someone with a g-gold lapel pin on their cloak. I-I don’t know anything else! P-please have mercy!” the man sputtered. He was starting to slur as the shackling hex snaked up his neck.

Fenris’ response came cold and low as he eyed his now terrified target. “I’ll show you the same mercy you would your captives.”

There was a faint glow for less than a second before the gaunt mercenary’s face twisted in horror. One swift pull and the man’s wretched heart was torn from his chest and thrown to the ground. Fenris let the body fall and sneered in disgust as he flicked the remaining viscera from his gauntlet.

“Good work,” he said to the mage coming out of hiding. “Your magic worked disgustingly well.” He grimaced as he kicked over the gaunt man’s corpse, stiffened by the hex, and turned him on his back with his foot.

“Ungrateful to call it disgusting when I saved you a shot in the neck,” Corrine lightly scolded. “Lucky for you, I was in range.”

“It worked *surprisingly* well,” he gave a smirk as he corrected himself. “And I am grateful. It was a good opening and the boat is secured.”

“A genuine compliment from you’s the real surprise here.” She said with a grin. “My pleasure. Let’s check the boat.”

Corrine ran to the boat and found the boy among a few others bound. They looked at her with frantic hope as she leaned over and began cutting their bindings and pulling away their gags. Fenris was right behind her, though the sight of the bloodied elf made the captives flinch.

There were a couple younger elves and an elder with a badly bruised ankle who leaned on them for support. They repeated hushed words of gratitude despite being told it was unnecessary. Probably a force of habit on top of their nerves, Fenris thought as he spied the telltale marks left by shackles on their wrists and ankles.

“They’re gone. You’re safe now,” he reassured though he kept his distance to avoid adding to their fright.

“Don’t worry. We’re here to help,” Corrine reassured as she stepped forward and pulled the gag from the boy’s mouth. He was young and short, perhaps only fourteen years of age, with short mousey grey-brown hair and large, honey-colored eyes. “Are you Valentin?”

“Thank you, Messere! Yes, that’s me!” He stumbled to his feet, stretching his limbs before bowing before them. Spying the mandolin between them, the boy’s eyes lit up and he scrambled over to the instrument like it was a long, lost treasure. He fussed over it and pulled a wire from his pocket before working on restringing the instrument.

“Athenril sent you?” The boy called out without turning to look at them. “You my new employers?”

Fenris huffed before clarifying as he eyed the boy busy at work with his instrument. “Athenril lost you and we came to assist, more like. You don’t look like a squire though.” The boy’s spritely manner and the way he glued himself to his instrument was more reminiscent of a bard.

“And you don’t look like a knight but that’s where I come in, Ser!” Valentin responded without missing a beat, earning him a groan from Fenris. Yet another smart mouth along for this journey, he thought to himself. The mage chuckled and lightly patted his shoulder as she walked past him to join the boy in collecting and redistributing the items from the pile.