For someone whose job description until now has largely entailed locating, chasing and retrieving, Simon is not making himself terribly useful here. His much-vaunted tracking skills work fine on people, particularly when those people are flinging magic around, but inanimate objects don't have the same habit of leaving convenient trails behind.
"At this rate, it'd be quicker to make our own damned supplies than find caches," he grouses. "Maker's breath, we'd be home sooner if we planted wheat and waited for it to grow than if we stuck around trying to find where the rebels hid their food."
V -- Miscellaneous
Simon hasn't paid much mind to the notices and pamphlets hung around the tavern. The one he keeps seeing copies of is for an archery tournament, and he couldn't hit the broad side of a dragon if it landed right next to him. But this one, small and cheerful and placed right at eye level as he sits at his usual table, is another matter.
"Sing-quisition?" Maybe the name leaves a little to be desired, but that's a minor concern. And the songs are all a bit secular for his taste, but he can learn whatever heathenish ballads they want with a good will, as long as he gets to sing. He takes down the contact details and downs the last of his ale, and ventures forth in search of the choirmaster.
Simon Ashlock | Native AU (Templar)
For someone whose job description until now has largely entailed locating, chasing and retrieving, Simon is not making himself terribly useful here. His much-vaunted tracking skills work fine on people, particularly when those people are flinging magic around, but inanimate objects don't have the same habit of leaving convenient trails behind.
"At this rate, it'd be quicker to make our own damned supplies than find caches," he grouses. "Maker's breath, we'd be home sooner if we planted wheat and waited for it to grow than if we stuck around trying to find where the rebels hid their food."
V -- Miscellaneous
Simon hasn't paid much mind to the notices and pamphlets hung around the tavern. The one he keeps seeing copies of is for an archery tournament, and he couldn't hit the broad side of a dragon if it landed right next to him. But this one, small and cheerful and placed right at eye level as he sits at his usual table, is another matter.
"Sing-quisition?" Maybe the name leaves a little to be desired, but that's a minor concern. And the songs are all a bit secular for his taste, but he can learn whatever heathenish ballads they want with a good will, as long as he gets to sing. He takes down the contact details and downs the last of his ale, and ventures forth in search of the choirmaster.