Thistle_icon.gif Bethany_icon.gif Marianna_icon.gif Violet_icon.gif Taril_icon.gif

Scene Title Nobles and Knife-Ears
Synopsis A pair of nobles accost a city elf in Lowtown
Location Northern Lowtown
Date June 17, 2016
Watch For So many shenanigans
Logger Taril

Taril is on his way out of the market. Even Dalish elves need to make coin if they're going to live in the city for any amount of time. Hunting and gathering he can do, he CAN'T make beads, work metal, or weave cloth. Now that he's done, it's the time to get away from the market because a crowd full of sweat-smelly shems and dwarves. No. Just no.

Thistle is seated outside the Hanged Man tower. A massive shield propped against his leg as he pounds on it with a mallet. It is hard to tell whether he's beating dents into or out of the makeshift bulwark. His axe is in two parts, both axe and stave sitting nearby as he turns the shield over to keep beating the shape out of it.

Marianna is picking her way slowly from stall to stall, no apparent pattern to her browsing, criss-crossing from merchant to merchant, pausing longer at some stalls than others, but generally going about her business in extremely unhurried fashion.

OH LOOK. It's that big guy from… whenever Taril ran into him. "So… are you fixing it or trying to turn it into a bowl?" He glances over the shield again and shakes his head. "You may be better off having it remade." Pause. "Not that I know anything about shields, except that shooting at them is pretty useless." Without waiting for invitation, he perches nearby on a crate that was probably used to deliver alcohol- or what passes for it- to the bar and pulls out three leather cords to begin braiding them together. "You didn't give the healer any trouble, did you?"

Thistle looks up and about, "Bowl?" He looks back down at the sheild, "That'd be a big meal. I'm keeping it functional till I can get a new one. They don't make them my size often." He turns it back over and beats down a corner of one of the four kite sheilds joined to the wooden frame. "Though I'm pleased to hear archer's don't like shooting at shields. Anders, though, he's fine as far as I know."

Bethany has come wandering into the northern section of lowtown, looking to pick up some supplies needed by her and her family. There's a bag hung by a well worn leather strap over her shoulder. The Ferelden girl stops in front of one of the shops, looking over various poultices, herbs, and other healer's assortments for sale from Lady Elegant today. Her hand comes up to rest on her chin as she observes, more inspecting for competing quality than to actually buy. It was cheeper to make her own for when Carver came back from work bruised. The clanging of thistle working on his sheild draws her attention, and she regrds the Qunari carefully for a moment… but he wasn't trying to murder Taril… so that's a good sign.

Marianna stops at a stall selling fabrics of all sorts. She reaches out to start running her fingers over some of the better bits when the vendor rather calls out to her not to paw at the merchandise. She takes back her hand and looks at the merchant, giving him a cold, hard stare for a long few moments, then turns abruptly and walks away, wandering in the general direction of the Hanged Man up the street, a grin replacing her previous flinty expression.

"You're a big guy," Taril points out before giving Bethany a grin. He's used to those 'is the elf getting himself killed?' glances. Seriously. "Try the metalsmiths down by the foundries. I imagine you could get one for a pretty good price. Tell 'em it's a challenge." Then there's Marianna getting yelled at but people get yelled at down here all the time.

Thistle nods, "Got the name of a guy to try, Dwarf on the north end of Lowtown." He taps his chest, "Though I'm after some decent armor first. I don't use the shield all the time, but I'm always in armor…unless I'm on a boat or something." He chuckles, "Though if you come across one that wants to make a go of it, let me know."

Bethany watches the exchange between Marianna and the merchant, a look of sympathy crossing her features as she turns from the healer's stall and moves to fall in step beside Marianna, taking her up the street towards the Hanged Man. "I wonder what has him so grumpy today." she says to the Marcenary, the ever present reassuring smile on her face.

Marianna turns her head at sensing someone falling into step beside her, her left hand moving to rest on the pommel of her dagger. One she sees who it is, she removes her head, a smile splitting her face. "Oh! Hello, Bethany," she greets the other woman. "Haven't the foggiest," she says, glancing back over her shoulder and the now-distant stall. "Guess I didn't look moneied enogh," she states with a warm laugh. "So, what are you up to? Foraging?"

"My lord, please… I'm just…" A frail, feminine voice carries through the market, a shy looking elven woman coming down the steps from Hightown.

"What's wrong?" Says a very obviously drunk nobleman, leaning upon a friend of his, smiling like this is the Best Day Ever, "I'm just trying to give you a compliment…"

The woman, however, distinctly does NOT look like this is the best day ever. Making herself small, she darts out of the way as the nobleman reaches for her, though he manages to catch her hair ribbon, it unwinds and lets light auburn hair loose, causing her to blush.

Taril was JUST about to reply to Thistle, but no. Nope, this shit had to happen. "The more money they have, the more entitled to other people they feel," he sighs, but it sounds more like a route lesson than a complaint. He tucks the braided leather back into its pouch and stands on the crate- Elves aren't tall, ok?- before lifting his head to get a look at the noble. "Hey Shem, come on over. I'll let you see mine." It takes him a few seconds for him to hold up the braid in question, leaving it up to the nobleman to figure out just what he meant.

Thistle looks up at Taril, "Ehh, what?" He takes a look around, then another, then a third, and then on the fourth pass it registers that there's something involving someone. "Huh." He sets his shield down and picks up his axe, feeding it through the straps on his back. Then he picks up his staff and taps it on the ground a few times. "You're an entertaining fellow to be near…" He remains seated, watching things unfold.

"Looking around, getting some air, maybe checking out the competition." Bethany replies to marianna, making sure to be out of Lady Elegant's earshot. Polite conversation would continue, but then there's the distinct sound of someone being an ass. Bethany fixes the nobleman with a hard glare, more hash than one might think the usually kind and gentle girl could muster. She stops and turns slightly to look a the situation, seeing the elven woman sidestep she starts to make her way over, a nod and a questioning look to Marianna to see if she'll come along, or at least pick up what bethany is putting down. Harasment goes poorly when the target isn't alone after all.

Marianna stops in her tracks as the woman's voice carries over the usual din of the street. She turns, searching for the source, hands still at her sides. One eyebrow raises briefly and she nods and shrugs, a little, marginal gesture, as she takesin what's going on. Unlike some others on the street, she makes no move to interfere, though she does make sure all of what Bethany has set down is in a single pile immediately at Marianna's feet. There is some movement in the crowd, and then Marianna's dagger is out in a flash. The opportunistic urchin looking to make an easy grab at Bethany's things retreats and disappears.

The nobleman does not seem dissuaded, pushing away from his friend to reach again for the elven woman. She yelps, jumping away, though he manages to grab at her skirt. His friend, though, looks up to the call across the market. "You have something to say about it, hm, knife ear?" He calls over to Taril with a drunken smirk.

The urchin that got bright ideas with Marianna seems to reconsider them… Swiftly.

Thistle reaches up and fingers his sharply pointed ears, "Hmm?"

Oh NO he did NOT just use the racial slur on Taril. To Thistle he grins. "Just wait a few seconds, you'll find out I'm a riot." His bow is unsling and crooks a finger at the man. "Come find out, Shem. Have a sense of adventure, I'll make you scream." But LOOK. He hasn't shot at anyone yet. He's got the arrow out, he'll nock it as soon as he's done speaking, but it's all casual, right? He gives a glance toward Marianna and Bethany, but he can't spare more than a second to find out where they are.

Thistle flicks his ear once or twice more and lets out a rumble, "What's he got against my ears?" The big Vashoth plants his staff and uses it to pull himself up to his feet. He picks up his shield, setting the bottom of it a few feet forward so he can lean on the top and look over it at the nobles, "I like my ears."

Bethany stops a few yards from the nobleman, thankful for him being distracted by Taril, but also well aware that means taril might be about to shoot him. "Come here, dear." She offers to the elven woman, kindly and carefully, she is also a Shem after all. "You look like you could use a drink and some food." And to get away from this sorry bastard.

Thistle is leaning on his massive sheild looking over it at several noblemen who are harrasing a young elven women. Taril has attained the high ground, not morally of course, but he is raining insults and readying arrows. Bethany has stepped forward to offer the elven girl shelter, or possibly to get her drunk and take advantage, predicting the future and intentions of others is impossible. Marianna has just sent a poor urchin running for fear of its young life, the sea creature having traveled this far from the ocean only to be turned back by the feirceness with which Marianna defends a pile of goods set down by Bethany.

Marianna looks away from the scene playing out with the nobleman and the elf, keeping her attention on where the urchn melted back into the crowd. She keeps her dagger our for a few moments more, slowly turning in a circle, giving the crowd a look that says she's not to be messed with. Finally, having completeed her slow rotation, the dagger returns to its sheathe and she resumes her observation of the scene. Not liking that Bethany is inserting herself directly into the dispute, Mari eases the crossbow off her back, dropping the front end to the ground, then working the mechanism until the string slips into the rigger with an audible click. She then quickly lifts the bow, placing a bolt, crossbow pointing generall down towards the ground, the stock tucked up into her shoulder.

"Oh, I think she needs a right sight more than that." The first nobleman says, pulling the elf to him by her skirt. "But what do you know of it, Ferelden bitch?" This guy really needed to learn some fucking manner. The elf blushes terribly, trembling a moment, but then turning to slap the noble across the face. It rings, reddens immediately, though the snarl he gives her when he grabs her wrist doesn't bode well at all.

The other noble, however, is laughing at Taril. "Put that down, knife ear. You'll get yourself into all sorts of trouble." He slurs over, though he does glance to the Qunari rising. Well… That… He hadn't quite signed up for that, and takes a step backward. It seems his surprise, and his friend's inappropriate lusting have distracted them from the addition of a crossbow being readied.

"He's not talking about your ears, Thistle. He's talking about mine. That's what people like that call elves." To the nobles, Taril grins. "Why don't you find a willing one. I hear the Rose is filled with them. Unless you don't pay the whores enough to not talk about the size of your cock. Is that it? If it is, I've got a shaft for, it should help." Look, he is readying the arrow, but thank every creator EVER that Thistle has been noticed because the LAST thing he needs is both noble humans and Qunari looking for him.

Bethany glares at the nobleman again, "This 'Ferelden bitch' knows when a small man is trying to look bigger than he ought to. Do you really think you're more intimidating than a darkspanw?" She spits out with /venom/ at the nobleman. What ever happened to kind, gentle Bethany? Kind and gentle Bethany is out to lunch. Then the girl is slapping the man across the face and while, in the long run that's a /really/ bad thing, she can't help but kinda smile.

Violet rounds the corner, a large burlap sack over her narrow shoulder. When she sees the altercation, she presses against the wall, trying to make herself small and unobtrusive. She takes a deep breath, pulling magic from the fade, readying it in case things go terribly south. Hopefully it won't go there. Hopefully it won't get there. Her small hands tremble and she sets the sack down softly for fear of dropping it and attracting attention.

Thistle looks around, "Yeah?" He looks towards the second noble man. "Hey!" He calls out, voice dropping into a full voiced bellow. "You, there." He lifts his staff pointing the iron bound end at the flinching noble, "You, the smart looking one. You got something against my ears?"

Marianna mutters a soft curse under her breath, not liking the potential angles at all. She reluctantly moves several steps to the side, opening up a much better shot at the noble closest to Bethany. She glances over at the goods Bathany's left on the ground, then, giving an irritated shake of the head, ignores them to concentrate on who she deems the more stupid of the pair of noblemen.

The nobleman laughs then, attention turning to Bethany as he holds the now struggling elf by her wrists. "Careful, refugee, there aren't that many places in this city that'll take your kind anymore." He says, practically hissing at her. Well, it seems this guy has pull with real estate, or at least thinks he does.

His friend, it seems, is the brains of this operation. Because really, he didn't sign up for a Qunari. "Tomas, we should go…"

Taril REALLY wants to shoot this guy, but the consequences here are different. "You should listen to your friend. You have the look of a man with only enough balls to accost a woman who won't stand up to him. You're not up among the mansions now, and Darktown isn't that far away." Which is more a warning than a threat. Bodies are dumped down there all the time.

"I suppose I'm lucky I'm not looking for a place to live." Bethany retorts, unpahesed by the threat. If the debt collectors, coterie and Maker knows what else hadn't taken the 'house' from Gamlet yet, nothing would, let alone this pissant. "You should listen to your friend, Messere."

Thistle squints towards the second one, brow lowering over already dark eyes. "Huh." He puts his staff away, pushing it through the loops un his back. "I'll ask the Arishok, which one was Tomas? I should probably tell him which nobles are insulting Qunari in the streets."

From her spot in the shadows, Violet creeps closer, pulling her hood up and hiding among the boxes and barrels. She casts a Glyph of Paralysis under the man who is manhandling the elf, heart in her throat, hoping the girl will run or the others will get her out of there.

Marianna remains standing where she is, a god 20 feet or so from the altercation, crossbow at the ready, covering Bethany, should either of the two nobleman do something that would qualify as 'stupid' in Mari's judgement.

So there's this thing about magic… Sometimes, it likes to be really fussy. Like… Impossibly fussy. Like… The spell starts in your hand then just goes nowhere fussy. Today is not Violet's day. But, hey, at least the failure doesn't draw attention. Take two?

"Oh, stop worrying." The first nobleman, Tomas, spits back to his friend. "You always were a coward." It seems arguing with his friend has distracted him from brave Fereldens, angry elves, intimidating Qunari, unamused crossbowwomen, and hiding mages all at once.

"No… Tomas… I don't think you understand…" His friend says, taking another step backward toward the stairs.

Ok, look. Taril has wanted to shoot this guy since about a minute and a half into this. Which means it's altogether damn amazing that he's not taking aim at the guy's face. Instead, he'll aim toward the ground. If he's off or the wind blows, he'll get a foot and that's as good as a glyph, right? Right. So there we go.

Thistle looks about, then just leans on his shield and lets the next few moments play out.

Violet swears under her breath, crouching down lower and watching things unfold.

Taril, Taril, Taril… You and these arrows. First the Arishok in the arm… Then a nobleman in the… Actually, this guy is surprisingly nimble for a drunk. Pushing the elf away from him, she falls to the ground, he growls, turning toward Taril with a look that would kill if it could. He takes a step forward, before his arm is caught by his friend.

"No, Tomas, let's go…" He says, practically hauling his friend up the stairs. But not before Tomas gets another word in. "You'll pay for that knife ear! I'll set the guards on you!" But this is Lowtown, and the guards are not down here. Luckily.

Bethany takes three quick crisp strides towards the elven woman, bending to offer her hand so the girl can be pulled up and away from the men, and the potential of flying arrows. Bethany, apparently, not afraid of being shot herself. Maybe she trusts Taril more than that.

Taril grins at the nobleman. "They'll need to find me, Shem. Before I find you." See, it's his mouth. It's either his best asset, or his biggest curse. He gives a wave to the men as if they were friends leaving from a visit and then reslings his bow over his back and steps down from the crate to check on this woman. "Well, that was certainly a thing that happened. Everyone alright? The smell didn't rub off on you, did it?"

Thistle sits back down, taking up his hammer again and starting to pound on the edges of his shield, pushing down the bits of metal that have been turned up by deflecting sharp things. "Entertaining people." He comments.

Violet peeks out from behind a crate. She dusts herself off, heading back to grab the burlap sack she dropped. "Revolting men," she remarks, recognizing Taril and Thistle.

Thistle snuffs, "I'm not that bad…first the ears, then I'm revolting." He sniffs himself then repeats, "I'm not that bad."

Marianna does not lower her crossbow, nor remove the bolt, nor do anything to relax her stance, until she can no longer see the two noblemen. And even then, she takes a few moments before letting the tension loose on her bow and returning it to its former position on her back. She glances in Bethany's direction to make sure the other woman is fine, then she moves back to stand next to the pile of Bethany's belongings.

There are more horrible curses slung Taril's way, but it seems Tomas's friend is capable of dragging his drunk ass home.

The elf pulls herself to her feet with a huff. Brushing her skirt free from dust, she shakes her head. "I'm fine…" She says, quiet, not looking up from the ground, "I just want to go home…" It seems Taril's jokes won't work on this one.

Bethany withdraws, seeing the woman doesn't want or need her help. Which is fine. "I hope you make it back safely." Bethany offers, but that's all she really says on the matter. She turns and walks back to Marianna, stooping to pick up her things. "Thank you. And thank you for having my back."

Violet glances over at Thistle. "I wasn't calling /you/ disgusting…" she says, almost apologetically. She hefts her sack and walks back over.

Marianna gives Bethany a little shrug. "Not something that was very wise getting in the middle of," she comments, tone slightly neutral. "But once you did, well, can't have people I know getting knifed." She lets out a little breath, then ventures a smile. "Besides, 'Lexi would likely be cross with me if something happened to you and she found out I did nothing." She looks down at Bathany's goods. "Nothing missing, I hope?"

Look, he can't please everyone, alright? Sheesh. Taril gives a hint of a bow to the woman. "Ir abelas. Please, by all means. I think they're gone." To Thistle, he grins. "Thistle, my friend. No one was referring to you. I stood next to you and can attest that you neither stink nor are revolting. Big. You're very big. I think you intimidated them, and I'm a little envious of that." Bethany and Miranna are given a friendly nod but then he looks over at Violet. "Violet. That was interesting… laundry tossing." Magery. He means magery.

Thistle shrugs, rattling his iron, "Still, my feelings are hurt…I might never recover. Especially parched as I am…dry and parched." He sighs and gives his shield a few more thunks with the hammer.

The elven woman is still blushing. At Taril, she glances for a moment, seeming a little more at ease with another elf. Though, when she speaks, it is directed to a number of people, Bethany, Taril, Thistle, Marianna even… The nobles may have missed the crossbow, she didn't. "Thank you." She says, and then moves away, heading down toward the Alienage.

Bethany chuckles, "Dog lords have never professed to be wise." She jokes. Hey, if 'Ferelden bitch' was getting thrown around why not run with it? She picks up the bag and looks through it. "No, it all seems to be here. Thank you for looking after it." Bethany says to Marianna with a smile. "And, somehow I don't think Alexia would hold choosing to not shoot a noble against you."

Marianna lets out a little snort. "Noble! That one was about as high-ranking as what I leave after visiting the jacks!" she says derisively. "He may have riches, might even be some sort of low nobility, but I wouldn't worry too much about him." She pauses, then purses her lips. "Unless he's some highborn's son…" She laughs, then and winks. "Oh well, nothing for it now."

Violet cants her head innocently at Taril. "I have no idea what you're talking about," she drawls. She glances at Thistle with a small, shy grin, but does not approach the massive Qunari. She shrugs at Marianna. "If he's some highborn's son, he's got his head so far up his arse that he thinks all folk look the same. I wouldn't worry overmuch."

Taril grins. "Of course you don't," he agrees. "Thistle," he flips one of the coins he's collected through his time in the market in the Qunari's direction. "If I had the time to go in with you, I would. The next time I'm there, I'll buy you one personally." Marianna and Bethany earn a chuckle. "As noble as my ears are round." He shrugs and glances toward the market.

Bethany shrugs, "If he's some highborn's son there's naught much we can do but pray and hope he's too drunk to remember anything." Bethany agrees. "I should go though, I promised I'd get all this back home." She says, shouldering her bag again. She turns, flashing Taril and Thistle a bright smile over her shoulder before heading along Lowtown's twisting streets to her home.

Thistle has a big shield in one hand, and a hammer in the other, and funds for a beer in coming. He tosses the hammer up, pushes the shield to standing balanced, catch the coin, catches the hammer, and misses the catch on rebalancing the shield. It strikes the ground with a WHUMP. He sighs then says, "Thank you." A rocking motion then he's on his feet and opens the door to the Hanged Man, gives a short, sharp whistle and calls out, "BEER!" Then he lets the door swing shut and moves to reclaim his shield and start working again.

Violet glances around. "I should… um… get this home," she says finally. "Before it gets dark. I'll probably be by for drinks later." The girl heads down an alley and rounds a corner, quickly heading out of sight.

"I'll buy you one, then, Not-a-Mage-Violet," Taril assures before heading off in his own direction. Thistle earns a laugh and a shake of his head before he's gone.

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