#thread 014

The air, as always, holds still-- the saturation of expected turmoil hanging above them all. The water is still, too, barely bobbing at the shore. Nana’s boots are slick with midnight dew as she approaches her destination. With Ikki 60 meters ahead of her, Nana is reluctant to let him out of her sight. The gun at her hip is holstered high, easily placed for a quick draw. There are two knives tucked away inside either boot, as well as one strapped to the inside of her sleeve. If she needs to, she’ll rip apart her own safety net she’s created to get Ikki out of harm’s way.

But life is funny that way-- The crackle of gun fire starts and before Nana can scramble towards Ikki, he’s lost to the darkness. “Fuck,” Nana hisses, obedient to the way her feet propel her forward. 

There’s a small dip, a fence blocking her way to the icy water. She can feel its wrath as she squeezes in between the layers of iron, peeled back years, if not centuries ago with no real fix set in place. Nana hears another round of gunshots and she slips down the gravel to the bank. Water splashes up at her knees and she grabs desperately onto the ground to hold her upright.

Using the stone as a balancing beam, Nana inwardly gags as the smell of the river curls around her nose. Pressing her nose into her sleeve as she finally gains purchase on level ground, the sound of a key turning over makes her shrink into the shadows. There’s light from the boat, and though she can barely make out their features, there’s recognition that flashes across her own face. 

It was surprising how easy it was to slip into the role of a mercenary. He had taken odd jobs for quick coin, all throughout his flight southward-- his sword had saved his life in more ways than one on that long journey. In Kirkwall, he had sometimes taken jobs-- when coin was short and Hawke did not need him.

He found that he was taking more jobs since arriving in Pyli than he had ever taken before. Partly it was to earn coin and hone his lost skills--but, if he was honest with himself, he took jobs more and more out of a sense of boredom.

Running for his life had never left Fenris with much free time. In Kirkwall, he could always manage to help Hawke with something, and he had played cards often with Varric and Isabela and Donnic. Here-- well, the closest thing he had to a friend was an apostate extremist who should, by all rights, be dead. He was, by all accounts, quite bored.

So, Fenris found himself once at the jobs board, looking for work. There was only one job left today, a single piece of paper advertising work. He pulled it off the board.

It took him a moment to read the writing--  handwriting still tripped him up on occasion-- but he managed to make out the gist. Bandits, encamped outside of Estaria, attacking caravans.