All things considered, it wasn't giant spiders, so it could always be worse. Still, bears were no laughing matter when the Inquisition's Nevarran Princess was nowhere in sight. This is what Skinner got for trying to take a fucking shortcut.
She slid her daggers back into the sheathes at her back. Well, so far they hadn't noticed her as she made her way along the river. If she stayed quiet and no asshole showed up to make more sound and get their attention, her place downstream was pretty safe... so far, taking one careful step through the water at a time.
Of course, then the wind had to go and change direction on her. Of. Fucking. Course.
o3. Look, if Skinner took umbrage with every weird-ass cult the Chargers ran across, she'd never stop killing people.
Now, she did like killing people, and it was deeply important to love your job. That's how the adage went, right? Love your job and you'll never work a day in your life, but she liked the wine they had more.
Besides there were way too many here for her to handle on her own, let alone the rift shitting demons out back. She'd tell an Inquisition scout when she found one what was here and leave it at that. For now, when they all gave their little dead-brained "Praise the Maker!" she was perfectly happy to join in before sipping at her mug. She made sure there were a good number of cultists between her and where the rift was, it'd be fine. Tear through some of them first if it got all wiggly and give her enough time to get the hell out of dodge.
o4 Looting bodies, the gift that keeps on giving. Wait, no, that was poisoning your enemies.
Skinner had just finished slitting throats to make sure every one of the smuggling fuckers were well and dead and was now going through pockets, caches, anything that looked even slightly valuable. Some to sell later - thank you emerald necklace, someone will happily fork over a couple coins for you - others more of the sentimental variety.
Skinner found a dusty tome on one of the end tables. Worn with age, it let out a very sad sound when she opened it as carefully as possible. She knew how to handle delicate books, thank you very much.
She couldn't read the language the writing was in, but she recognized some of the art and let out a low whistle, eyes quickly scanning the waterstained pages.
"Think Dalish will like this." She said to her coworker of the moment, deciding to keep it for that very reason. It was important to give your friends nice things.
SKINNER | Dragon Age | (Starting in prose but if brackets are your jam I'll switch up)
All things considered, it wasn't giant spiders, so it could always be worse. Still, bears were no laughing matter when the Inquisition's Nevarran Princess was nowhere in sight. This is what Skinner got for trying to take a fucking shortcut.
She slid her daggers back into the sheathes at her back. Well, so far they hadn't noticed her as she made her way along the river. If she stayed quiet and no asshole showed up to make more sound and get their attention, her place downstream was pretty safe... so far, taking one careful step through the water at a time.
Of course, then the wind had to go and change direction on her. Of. Fucking. Course.
o3. Look, if Skinner took umbrage with every weird-ass cult the Chargers ran across, she'd never stop killing people.
Now, she did like killing people, and it was deeply important to love your job. That's how the adage went, right? Love your job and you'll never work a day in your life, but she liked the wine they had more.
Besides there were way too many here for her to handle on her own, let alone the rift shitting demons out back. She'd tell an Inquisition scout when she found one what was here and leave it at that. For now, when they all gave their little dead-brained "Praise the Maker!" she was perfectly happy to join in before sipping at her mug. She made sure there were a good number of cultists between her and where the rift was, it'd be fine. Tear through some of them first if it got all wiggly and give her enough time to get the hell out of dodge.
o4 Looting bodies, the gift that keeps on giving. Wait, no, that was poisoning your enemies.
Skinner had just finished slitting throats to make sure every one of the smuggling fuckers were well and dead and was now going through pockets, caches, anything that looked even slightly valuable. Some to sell later - thank you emerald necklace, someone will happily fork over a couple coins for you - others more of the sentimental variety.
Skinner found a dusty tome on one of the end tables. Worn with age, it let out a very sad sound when she opened it as carefully as possible. She knew how to handle delicate books, thank you very much.
She couldn't read the language the writing was in, but she recognized some of the art and let out a low whistle, eyes quickly scanning the waterstained pages.
"Think Dalish will like this." She said to her coworker of the moment, deciding to keep it for that very reason. It was important to give your friends nice things.