In the dim light of a tavern on the outskirts of Ansburg, the air was thick with the scent of spiced ale and the murmur of hushed conversations. Colton lounged in the corner, a toothpick idly rolling between his lips as he watched the flicker of candlelight dance across the wooden beams overhead. The tavern had seen its share of characters, but tonight’s assembly was particularly motley.
Colt’s presence wasn’t surprising; he was the reliable one, content to keep to the back of the group, his hands deftly checking his collection of lockpicks, ensuring their edges were sharp and ready. He had never been one for the spotlight, preferring the shadows where he could plan his next move without notice. Locks were a particular skill set, master locksmiths, even rarer and the Coterie reaped in the benefits of his craft digits. Only one figure had remained a constant in this ragtag group – Jock, the man who had orchestrated the whole operation and one of Colt’s old mentors.
Two others had come and gone, their jobs done after the dwarf, with his stout frame and the ever-present axe slung over his back, had joined them a few minutes later. Colt had pegged him as the muscle, reliable for when things needed a bit of a brawl, but he’d no idea of the one sitting across from him. They'd been quieter than Chantry mice since sitting.
Colt leaned against the chair’s back, eyes closing for a moment as his mind drifted. His attire was plain, designed to blend into the darkness – black leather with hidden pockets and blades sewn in discreetly. At the waist, a belt carried a few pouches and twin daggers, their scabbards strapped securely to his thighs, ready for any close encounters.
He rocked his chair back and forth, eyeing Jock, a smirk playing at the corners of his mouth. We need another? he asked casually, raising an eyebrow. We’ve got Smithy here, and I’m handy enough if things get hairy.
He wasn’t about to get tangled up in anything that would see him dangling at the end of a rope. Like the last shitshow he’d bailed on. Stupid fuckers had picked a foolish target in the Chantry Tithe house. Mercifully, Jock wasn’t so eager to lose a hand… or worse for that matter.
"That's Abe and he'll do fine," Jock muttered, moving to stand. "One more round and we'll go, the lad guarding the stables will be switched out by the time we sink the last pint."
He had been quiet since his arrival, wordlessly placing his bow on the table in front of him to sit back a little more comfortably in his chair. From his position, he had let his gaze sweep over the others, judgmental as he took them in. He was getting used to working in a group, so used to going off and doing things on his own, but it wasn't his first time. However, it was the first time he was working with this particular group, and he didn't quite know what he thought about them all just yet.
Jock seemed to trust him, at least, just enough to let him in on the job in the first place. A quieter edge was needed on this particular job lest they all wanted to end up hanging from the neck. While going in loud and cutting down anyone in their path might make it go slower, sometimes, a quick blade and a silent arrow through the neck was a far better approach. And when that was needed, he was more than happy to provide. Just so long as the pay was right, which he had been assured it would be, so long as everything went smoothly.
From under the hood lifted over his head, he tilted his head as his presence was questioned, though didn't utter any word of his own as Jock spoke on his behalf. Instead, Abelen simply kept his gaze on the person opposite level, one hand idly spinning a small throwing knife between his fingers under the dirty old table. While he would rather just get this whole thing over and done with, he supposed if they had an easier entry point, then they might as well stick to it. Though, admittedly, he was looking forward to showing the others exactly was he was here.
As Jock stood to move, talking about getting another pint, Abelen just huffed, silently sliding the throwing knife back into his belt with the others. He'd rather stay completely sober if it was all the same to everyone else. While the rest of the were team focused on getting buzzed, he decided to do one last check of his equipment, making one last check of how many knives and arrows he had. While he was sure it was enough to deal with whoever they did happen to come across, it was good to have the number in his head. Just in case.
Suit yourself, Colt offered with a shrug, Me and the lads will just get acquainted. He continued to balance on the chairs' two legs while Jock’s head shook with a laugh and he hobbled over to the bar.
The old coot was sound by Nairn standards and Colt had spent a good six months back in the day learning to tinker and tease open all matter of mechanisms. If Old man Jock needed his help then it must be some fickle lock, Colt surmised. Rolling the toothpick to one side caused a intake of breath to rasp out and gesturing with his chin, Colt settled the chair back on all fours. Arms folded under him as he leaned onto the table top.
So, Smithy? a finger pointed to the dwarf, who’d nod. “Worked with yi before, Legs.” Colt snapped his fingers grin lopsided, Thoughts so. Couldn’t quite ‘member if it was you or the other dwarf I had to chuck over… well, glad it wasn’t you. Be awkward as fuck. He was sure it was some unwritten rule that folks weren’t really supposed to launch the stout folk.
Colt swung his head around to ‘Abe’ as Jock called the lad, at least Colt thought so giving the hood. You good Abe? Not one for a quick pint before a job? Ach no worries there, A’ promise between me and Jock it’ll run fine. Good… 85 certainty of it. Even if the job was still a mystery to him, Colt had confidence in the two tinkerers figuring it out. His gaze drifted over to Jock returning with a tray of drinks, passing one to Smithy, then Colt before taking his seat with his own as Colt finished up, You and Smithy might get to catch a nap. You never know.
“No-one’s nappin’. There’s two vaults and it’ll be quicker to split into two teams when we get there. You two whippets,” Jock gestured to Colt and then Abe, “will take upstairs and we’ll take downstairs. I’m too old to be leaping out second story windows if we set off some magic shit. Window hoppin’ is for you young’uns I’m past that shit.”
Draining their pints, Jock soon called time and the party of four would begin meandering along from the tavern to the stables. Jock urged the lads to hang back while he spoke to the contact, keys were exchanged for a small pouch of coin and then they were off again.
His fingers carefully counted through the quiver, making extra sure he knew the exact amount of arrows held within. One of the worst things was going to reach for an arrow in the middle of a busy fight and your fingers finding nothing. Which was why he tried to make a conscious effort to remember how many arrows he had burned through, and always made sure to retrieve any he'd gone and left in any corpses. After all, there was no rule against reusing them and certainly saved on resources.
Pausing what he was doing as he was addressed, Abelen looked up, back across the table. His lips pressed into a line for a moment before a short huff pressed its way between his lips. A whole 85 percent? Well, I'm certainly reassured. While he would prefer if it were with 100% certainty this job wasn't going to end up being a complete disaster, he knew this sort of percentage with normal.
There were always risks involved with his line of work, and no one could ever tell him that a job was 100% foolproof without lying through their damn teeth about it. Or maybe they truly believed that, in which case they were fools. So, he supposed he was grateful that he wasn't just being lied to, or maybe this one was just more self-aware than others in the field.
As Jock sat back and went over the job, Abelen once more sent a glance across the table at the man he was being paired up with. Though, the gaze was accompanied by a small snort, Window hopping should preferably be avoided. If everything went in their favor, it should be a quick in and out without alerting any guards or tripping any security. That was the dream, anyhow.
Once the drinks were done, they were on their way, Abelen standing and slinging his bow back over his shoulder with his quiver as he left behind the others. He was already itching just to get things started, one hand absently tapping against his thigh as they walked. How far is this place? Hopefully it wouldn't require too much of a trek, he really couldn't be bothered for a nightly stroll right now.
