Retrieving Honour

((This will be going a bit fast as UncleVanya is going away on Monday and won't be back for a long while so it has to be quick.))

"Now as you know," Zevran started as he stood at the gates to the back of the palace, "This is a delicate mission and you don't want to let our little hostage to be hurt now. The drop is at a warehouse on the other side of Denerim so I hope you all went potty before getting in ze cart."

He smirked for a moment, "Now, you return after you get the guy who wants our healer and come on back. It shouldn't take that long. You know your jobs so I won't repeat what you are to do. Good luck."

Sitting in the cart, Rakot was calmly staring to the front, trying his best to ignore Tendir who was sitting with his head down, silently in the furthest corner he could fit himself. The top of berserker's face was covered by a hood of black fabric, the shroud he wore enveloping a set of heavy armor underneath.

Heavy armor....its too tight and constricting....why couldn't they give me a set of chainmail like I asked them? Sod it....I'll make do.

Resting his maul on his lap, Rakot turned his face slightly to the left, towards Ostef who was cloaked in a similar shroud.

"So...why did you decide to come along? I thought the Commander was giving you a choice."

The young mercenary lifted up his eyes.

"Well...I'd like to see this one through to whatever end. I don't like these Wardens...but, if I stick around maybe it can still benefit me. This Lorek fellow, and the Tevinter should be carrying some valuable loot, I don't think anyone would mind too terribly if I nicked it."

"Heh, chasing after treasure is a fine way to get yourself killed, I thought you'd have learned that considering recent events."

"Screw danger, I got mouths to feed."

"You might turn out well after all, with some proper training you might even learn how to wield that sword of yours."

"I've killed men before, I have skill."

"You're a peasant, and you've killed other peasants, that's not skill. The elven Warden took you down and you couldn't as much as put up a one second fight. This is the big leagues, kid, no excuses for inexperience."

"I survived that and I'll survive this."

"You're determined, this is good, if foolish....if you survive through this, I might even teach you a thing or two about combat. Determination is a valuable thing to waste."

"Heh, what do you know about fighting with a sword and a shield anyhow? You use a maul."

"Oh, a lot more than you, I've killed many men who used the same weapons as you, I know the weaknesses, and the strengths. My maul is not my entire weapon, my body is, my maul is but a part of my body. Fists, feet, elbows, knees, teeth, the forehead, all can be just as lethal if used properly. I once even killed a man with my pinkie...but regardless, we can postpone this conversation till after this is over."

"Sounds good, I am not one to turn down free tutelage."

The slim cloaked figure huddled into a somewhat safe spot in the cart, hands and feet tied but unseeable by anyone outside of the cart. Dark eyes watched the men for some time and then the feminine voice came from the cloak, slightly perturbed, "You just don't like the Grey Wardens because they stopped you." The voice announced.

"It sounds like you enjoy killing people. Is it just a game to you or is there actual reason behind the deaths besides it being a job?" Dark eyes stared up at Rakot in an unusual manner, a glint of disdain in the eyes, "By the stone, you're as crude as if you were a nug sucker."

Ostef was going to say something but Rakot lifted his hand in a stopping gesture. He then looked at the cloaked figure.

"Heh, oh no, I am much cruder, its all part of my charm. I kill for a purpose, if you must know, a job, as self-defense, or cause some sodding idiot at a tavern got a mouth too big for his own good, all valid reasons. You disagree? You think I am immoral? Give me a reason why I should care about your sodding opinion?"

A grin which twisted up her cheek caused eyes to sparkle with amusement and the slight form turned enough to glance at Ostef then back to Rakot, "No reason you should care, as there is no reason I should when it comes to you."

Tender hands came up wiggling thin fingers at Rakot, "Oh. You might want to learn how to tie a sodding knot. You might not get a chance to see what hit you if you don't."

The eyes narrowed and the smile turned into a not so pleasing one, "Just a bit of advice."

Truth was that the knots had been just fine but the eyes said it was a joke but not between friends.

The owl hoots and clucks a few times and then falls silent.
After a minute Dartmoor turns to talk to the owl once more and instead sees a lithe elf girl crouched beside him. He is so shocked he loses his balance and begins to fall to the sound of a childish laugh.

"Pfft...you're just teasing."

Rakot grinned at the cloaked figure, then lifted his head up and yelled.

"Are we gonna get a move on any time soon?! Lorek is still breathing, and having this sodding bag of shit in the corner there..."

He motioned in the direction of Tendir.

"...is starting to get on my nerves! I would also like to remind everyone that berserkers tend to sometimes berserk at random, and are not bystander-friendly in an enclosed space such this fine cart right here! So lets get going already!...."

Rakot was interrupted by a sound of a body dropping from a considerable height.

"...And we also don't like being interrupted during our rants! Rant time is sacred!"

"Uhm ... we have been moving and we are here." The dark figure pointed out and put up the lithe hands, "You might want to retie these up. You are such a funny berserker." A giggle issued from the cloak but it was nowhere near sweet.

Rakot raised an eyebrow.

"Oh sodding piss...we are? Well...I have been dropped on the head repeatedly in the last few days...or maybe I am just not as sharp as used to be....ah alright, I'll retie the ropes, don't sodding complain about there being no blood flow to your hands."

Rakot reached for the bonds wrapped around her hands.

"Don't worry. You won't hear a peep from me for now on." The voice softened and the big brown eyes welled up with a soft glow, making the woman look fearful and sad. One would almost believe that this dark elven vision was terrified enough to fall over and cry but was holding it in trying to be brave, just as she had been the other day.

As Dartmoor moved closer to the girl she growled low in her throat and inched further away.
When she had reached a safe distance she looked at him curously and replied "Wouldna let ya fall. Name's Kassina. Wha'cha doin' up here? What'r slavers?

Death grimaced at the games being played. They simply could not stay quiet, could they? And if someone were to be listening? The entire mission might've already been blown to hell; they could all be strutting into a massive trap, all thanks to their giant, stupid mouths.

But these thoughts were not Griffinhart's; or, if they were, they were not voiced. He was not responsible for their stupidity, only for keeping the hostage alive and her would-be captors dead. If they wanted to make his task more difficult, so be it. He would take the challenge in stride, as he did everything else.

So the warrior sat at the driver's bench of the cart, and listened to the world around him, cloaked and hooded - it was not his regular black attire, for that would have attracted attention; instead, it was a mottled brown-green affair, something one of the women (he presumed women, but it was just as likely a male's relic) had whipped together. So Griffinhart sat at the driver's bench, posing as the driver.

As Rakot and his "hostage", the swordsman gave the berserker a nod - both a warning and an assurance: Griffinhart would be watching.

"Let's get to work"

Rakot put on a heavy helmet, that covered his entire face, and put the hood on top of that. He then took his maul and tied it behind his back underneath the cloak, so only the tip of the handle could be seen rising above his neck. He then grabbed Jezarine and put her on his shoulder, then turned to Ostef.

"Alright, you remember your lines?"

"Yes, I do."

"Good, cause I won't be doing any of the talking. The Tevinter mage is going to arrive first, with Lorek close behind him. The mage comes in, you take him to the room in the far end to discuss the sale. I'll be hiding near the entrance to the building, I'll cut Lorek off from the front door once he is inside. If Lorek gets alerted before entering the building I'll chase off after him, so you're on your own, so if you don't hear any noise, just keep talking. Hopefully our tin can friend, can help us in cutting off his escape should the situation develop as such. Both will be bringing bodyguards, so I hope it will get messy. Let's go."

Carrying the elven healer, Rakot entered the warehouse and placed her inside the room in the far end that he described. He then found a hiding spot by the building entrance door, while Ostef remained standing in the main hall, waiting for the first 'client' to arrive.

Kassina looks extremely confused, but thinks about what he said while watching the scene below.
"Trouble?" She asks, trying to comprehend. "Bad humans hurt good smell girl?" She looks thoughtful for a minute more and then turns to Dartmoor, "I hurt first! Save good smell girl. You help?"
Kassina grins like a cat that has just spotted an unwary mouse.

Something... stank.

Griffinhart looked around surreptitiously, beneath his hood, giving no outward sign that he had... felt something. Something was wrong. He thought back - a person had fallen. They - the hostage party - had not deviated course because it was not their responsibility. Was that a watchman? If it had been, perhaps he - she? - had slipped in their hurry to report back.

Had they been made?

Rakot was too far ahead. Griffinhart could not call out to him without ruining everything.

So be it.

The disguised swordsman thought for a moment - less than a second - and took an inventory. Yes. The blades were unlocked. What comes, will come. The killing knife sat tight in its sheathe, he knew; but it would draw smooth, for truly close encounters. The warrior's face stayed impassive, even underneath his hood, even behind his faceless helmet, simply because he knew he was being watched.

The spell sat in his mind, ready - no. Too loud. Something else. Speed.

The cart turned, away from the warehouse. He was a simple driver, and had been paid to cart some passengers here. That's all he was, if anyone asked.

And if anyone attacked, they would regret the storm of steel to follow.

The cart turned away, and moved on a long, wandering path from the warehouse - and would double back around the building, as Griffinhart stayed wary. He had a mission besides this, the main mission - observe the warehouse. Come in killing when there was killing to be done. And there would be, if the berserker had his way.

Kassina considered his words as she watched the cart begin to pull away.
"Kassina follow Dartmoor. Distract. Attack. Be Careful. Be Quiet. Be Hidden."
And with that she transformed back into the owl he had first spotted and began circling lazily toward the slowly retreating cart.

The alley leading up to the warehouse suddenly filled with a thick, white mist. A few minutes later a group of men emerged out of it, and in front of the warehouse door. There was five of them in total, all cloaked and hooded. If one were to look at their faces they'd see the complete lack of facial hair, same blue eye color that all the men shared, and a somewhat inhuman expression, detached from any emotion. Non of them carried any weapons that one could see, nor did they differentiate from each other in their outward appearance, they were all of similar height and width. However one did wear a ring of some sort of dark metal on his right index finger, signifying him as the leader. The ringed man opened the door, and walked inside, others followed behind him. As soon as the door slammed shut, the mist vanished as spontaneously as it appeared.

Inside Ostef was greeting the new arrivals.

"Ah, you must be the Tevinter mages, I am Ostef, pleasure doing business."

He extended his hand for a handshake but received no return, instead the mages took down their hoods, and stared at him eyes wide open, their piercing gaze devoid of expression. The ringed man spoke in a soft monotone.

"The product, do you have her?"

The way they looked at Ostef was unnerving to the young mercenary, it was as if they were looking through him. He retracted his hand and stepped to the side.

"Yes...yes, of course. If you could follow me to that room at the end of the hall, and around the corner....we can get this transaction underway. I assume you brought the money?"

The mage leader took a second to react.

"Yes, we have compensation. Lead us to the product."

Ostef turned around and walked down the hall, the mages followed him. He opened the door and walked into the room there Jez laid tied up on the floor. The mages followed him inside, and gathered around the elf healer. The mage leader knelt over her and ran his hand over her head, plucking a single hair. He held the hair with two fingers in front of his face and looked at it, then brought it to his nose and sniffed it, then put it on his tongue. Finally, with the same blank expression he let it fall to the ground, and looked into the healer's eyes. After a few minutes he rose up from his knees and turned to Ostef.

"We must do more tests on the product, to confirm authenticity."

"As you wish, as long as you have my money I don't care what you do with her."

"Yes, we have compensation. We require no interruptions, please wait outside."

"Eh...fine, just don't harm her until you pay me."

Ostef stepped outside and closed the door behind himself. His heart was racing, he didn't much care for the pretend hostage, but the very presence of the Tevinters unsettled him. It was as if they were not human, but something else, wearing human bodies like masks.

Rakot...you better sodding be ready to put these things down then the time comes.

Squirming seemed to be all the healer could do at the moment as those big eyes watched the Tevinter mages move around and do some minor tests which were supposed to show her authenticity. No one knew anything different from her being Jezarine and if anyone guessed then it wasn't too bad a situation except where these mages came in. They were distracting but all she did was look at them with fear in her eyes.

Whatever they were about to do could make a huge difference in this mission and it made their captive wary.

An owl? Griffinhart was not familiar with the avian wildlife of Ferelden. Were owls a common sight at this time of day? He cursed his lack of knowledge of Ferelden's flora and faun-

A bird call. Not a recognizable one and, more importantly, not from the owl. Inwardly, he grimaced. He was being tailed by, at minimum, two people. Undoubtedly the owl overhead was not a normal creature; too plain to be a pure Fade-wrought being, so it had to either be a real bird, compelled with nature magic - elven magic - or a shapeshifter.

Wait. What if that call wasn't for him? Or for the bird that flew overhead? What if it was a signal of a different sort? The swordsman had snapped into motion even as he sat on the driver's bench, calm and sedate. Every muscle was tensed, his mind a wire waiting to snap. All he needed was a trigger, something to go wrong, to go out of place...

The cart circled the building. He noted all possible conventional exits - windows, doors. Mostly windows; the building had no noticeable secondary exits. It irritated him, that he could not tap the walls to examine their stability - hidden doors, or a simply weak wall that could be turned into an impromptu exit...

He needed a place to hide the cart, especially from the owl - had it gone yet? Responded to the alien bird-call? Griffinhart could not look up to make a visual confirmation. But there - a dim, dark, dirty alleyway, long and - most importantly - hidden from above by eaves and overhanging cloth. He stopped the cart in this alley and dismounted. Now to trace his way back. It was not a long distance by foot - narrow paths were now available - but he had to be wary. He could be watched. In fact, he was being watched, for all he knew.

The plan could have gone belly-up, for all he knew; and so the storm moved with silent alacrity, as graceful as a line and undeviating. Their "hostage" was in the target building, presumably with the intended targets; no sounds of violence were audible, but that meant nothing; it was a trivial thing, to kill silently. Rakot could still harbor betrayal. Or be dead.

Griffinhart was unsure which outcome was worse.

A few seconds later an owl winged silently out of the night and landed gracefully at Dartmoor's side. She fluffled her feathers carefully into place and then suddenly there was the elf girl again where the owl had been.
"See smoke" she said softly, moving closer to him than was obviously comfortable for her, her body tense and ready to flee. But she needed to be close to speak quietly and stay in the shadows. "Good smell girl in box. More bad smell men in box now.Cart man come back, walk now. Now what?"

Kassina watched Dartmoor's show of how to open the latch, then simply nodded in acknowledgement. She obviously seemed relieved to have a plan, and an excuse to get out of close proximity with him. He had a smell that was elf, but not quite, and it made her nervous.

She quickly shifted into the form of a dark brown forest rabbit and hopped across to the hole he had indicated. Once inside she froze and slowly surveyed the room with sight and smell to ensure it was empty before once again morphing to elf form and unlatching the window. Feeling unsafe and vulnerable she automatically switched to her most comfortable form and became a sleek timber wolf and sat to wait for Dartmoor to join her. She also took in the smells with her now much more sensitive smells and began to put a picture of the building interior together in her mind.

They had passed each other in the gloom of the dirty alleyway, the stink of human filth permeating the air as Death, given Anders form, passed by a righteous do-gooder. They had made each other, but had made no move. This was fine by Griffinhart; the watchman (for that was what he had to be) had made no aggressive moves, had not chosen to impede the swordsman's path. And so the warrior gave him what little mercy he could, and made as if he had never noticed the elven - elven by the ears - man.

There had been little change around the warehouse. Not enough time had passed for Griffinhart to dare rush in - he carefully recounted the passing of time. No, something had not gone wrong. Yet. And so Death stood watch a short distance from the warehouse in question, standing in the gloom of the gray skies, his form ready to disappear into the Fade - ready to burst from its position in a furious storm that would reach across the Veil, at the drop of a pin. For the moment, the plan was up to Rakot - assuming he had not betrayed them all.

The warrior surreptitiously unsheathed his knife from underneath his cloak and readied himself mentally, waiting for one of two signals - one for a fight beginning, one for a betrayal. Rakot was, hopefully, only aware of the former. Hopefully the Warden-Commander hadn't told the berserker about the other signal. She didn't seem to be that arrogant.

Still, there was always the chance. But it was not something Griffinhart could be sure of, sure in, and so he betrayed himself and trusted in the Commander, and in the berserker, and in the hostage.

And so Death awaited the next move in the game.

Two armored carriages rode down the alley and stopped in front of the warehouse. A man, wearing black leather armor jumped down from the driver's sit, and opened the door to the coach. Out came four men, three in similar leather armor, and the other one was Lorek, wearing a purple robe of fine make. Six more human body guards poured out of the other carriage, and one of the mercenaries opened the warehouse door and walked through it. Lorek, surrounded by his bodyguards followed him inside, leaving two men outside by the door to keep watch.

Rakot watched from his hiding spot behind some crates as the new arrivals walked into the lobby. The trap was set and ready to go off. Rakot jumped out from behind cover, maul in hand, and placed himself in between the door and Lorek's men.

"Lorek! You lied to me! And now you will pay! RAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAARGGGHHHHHHHHHHH!!!!!!!!"

Rakot roared, as his rage took over, and his maul began its dance of death.

-----------------------------------------------

In the corner room, the mages were standing in a circle around Jezarine, palms of their hands pointed at her they stood in a trance. Finally their leader opened his eyes and looked at the hostage.

"You are not the product we've come here to obtain."

He spoke in the same emotionless monotone as before.

"We have been betrayed, brothers. Cleanse this place."

The timber wolf's ears suddenly perked up, and she lowered into a crouch, a growl rumbling low in her throat. She desperately wanted to convey the new information her nose and ears were picking up to the not-quite elf beside her, but was afraid to shift and leave herself vulnerable. While she was decent with a knife she was much more dangerous with fangs and claws. But worry for the prisoner overcame fear and she quickly shifted, still in a crouch and still growling slightly.
"Many more bad men come." She whispered in between growls. "I distract, Dartmoor get good-smell girl, run. I follow and find." And she tapped her nose to indicate she would follow their scent.
Suddenly they heard the noise of a fight beginning. She hesitated very briefly and listened. "More here to save girl? Dartmoor be careful! New bad men smell real real bad!"
And with that she shifted into the most distractive form she could think of. Quickly the girl was replaced with a giant shaggy Bison who began stampeding through the building, stomping her giant hooves, swining her horned head back and forth and bellowing in rage.

"That's right." The girl said as she began to grow and change, "I am not your product and neither was Jez in the first place."

Then what stood before the Tevinter was a dragon which kicked out with one hind leg, tearing into the mage behind while his tail swung into another, barbs in the clubbed tail ripping and tearing as it did so. His head came up and he blasted at the other three with an icy stream of ice to ensnare his victims with a roar.