Mercenary, Loyal to Nairn, Assassin, Stalker, Jack of all Trades
Played by: Bach
Supporting
The Hanged Man was its usual mess—a smoky haze lingering in the air, the tang of stale ale and cheap wine clinging to the walls. The chatter of patrons ebbed and flowed like the tide, punctuated by the occasional shout or crash of a mug hitting the floor. Danny strode in, his boots scuffing against the sticky wood planks as he made his way to the table he’d marked out earlier, near the back corner where the light barely reached.
His coat hung open, a battered thing that had seen better days, and his eyes scanned the room like a hawk looking for its next meal. He wasn’t here for the ambiance. He wasn’t here for the swill they passed off as ale. He was here for business.
Danny dropped into his chair with a casual arrogance, leaning back as he stretched his legs out in front of him. He drummed his fingers on the table, his expression a mix of disinterest and irritation as he waited. His contact was already late, and he wasn’t in the mood for excuses. Not tonight.
A barmaid approached, hesitated under his sharp gaze, and then slid a mug onto the table without a word. Danny offered a nod, more to send her away than as a thanks, and took a long swig. It was piss water, but it’d do for now.
Just as he was about to lose his patience, the door creaked open, and a figure stepped in, their silhouette sharp against the dim light of the street. Danny didn’t bother sitting up. Instead, he tilted his head slightly, watching as they navigated the room toward him. When they reached the table, he gestured lazily to the chair opposite him.
Took you bloody long enough, he drawled, his tone sharp enough to cut. Hope you’re worth the wait, sunshine. Time’s money, and I don’t waste either without a damn good reason.
He leaned forward then, resting his arms on the table, his eyes gleaming with a mix of curiosity and barely restrained menace.
So, let’s hear it. What’ve you got that’s so bloody important I had to drag myself to this cesspit to meet you? He and the man began to speak, low voices, easily lost over the din of the crowd, he thought everything was going to plan, but little did he know.
Siora had been in the Hanged Man for a while, long enough now to grow accustomed to its peculiar rhythm. Earlier, the barkeep had insisted she take a room upstairs to rest for a bit. You look like you need it, he'd said, gesturing to the faint lines under her eyes. She hadn’t argued, grateful for the reprieve since she’d been tavern hopping to test how her music went down. By the time she came back to the main area, refreshed but still a little weary, the bar was even rowdier than before.
Sharp eyes swept the room, instinctively picking out familiar faces from her usual haunts, but one figure near the back caught her attention. Danny sat alone, his coat frayed at the edges and his posture radiating a mix of impatience and danger. She didn’t need to see the subtle drumming of his fingers to know he was growing more frustrated. Siora debated approaching him, but it was clear from his watchful gaze that he was expecting someone specific. Best not to interfere, not yet.
Instead, she let her lute slide into her hands, the familiar weight of it soothing. Making her way to the fireplace, she settled onto a stool and began to play, fingers moving instinctively over the strings. The first song was light, something to match the chaotic energy of the room, and the patrons responded with cheers and laughter.
But during her playing her voice faltered—just for a fraction of a second—when the door creaked open. Siora’s eyes flicked to the figure entering, and her stomach twisted. Him. The man who’d just walked in wasn’t a stranger. She remembered his face from a conversation she’d overheard in another tavern a few nights ago. He’d been speaking in hushed tones about a deal, something that had sounded shady even by Kirkwall’s standards. Now, here he was, striding toward Danny’s table with a confidence that set her on edge.
Her song shifted. Without missing a beat, she transitioned into one of her favorite ballads, a haunting tune about trust misplaced and deals gone awry. The melody hung in the air like a warning, subtle but deliberate. She didn’t know if Danny would catch on, but she had to warn him.
Sliding off the stool, Siora began to meander through the crowd, her lute still cradled against her. She kept singing, her voice light but firm, her words weaving the tale of betrayal and woe. With each step, she moved closer to Danny’s table, careful not to draw attention. She stopped occasionally to strum a flourish or share a smile with a patron, every motion calculated to keep her approach casual.
As she neared their table, her heart quickened. She tilted her head slightly, letting her long hair hide part of her face as her gaze flicked between Danny and the man across from him. The tension between them was palpable, and Siora knew she was walking a fine line. Still, if what she’d overheard before was true, Danny might be stepping into something dangerous.
She played on pausing to lean against a beam across from the table, her voice soft but laced with warning. Beware the smile that cuts like glass, the silver tongue that hides the snare. Trust is fragile, and shadows grow, where secrets whispered linger there.
Mercenary, Loyal to Nairn, Assassin, Stalker, Jack of all Trades
Played by: Bach
Supporting
Danny’s jaw ticked, the faintest clench that spoke volumes. He hadn’t missed the shift in the room’s energy—subtle, but enough to make his instincts prickle. His eyes flicked to Siora as she lingered nearby, the haunting melody curling around him like smoke. It wasn’t the kind of tune you played just for the crowd; it was a bloody message.
His contact, a wiry man with a slick grin that looked like it’d been plastered on with too much practice, didn’t seem to notice. The man was mid-sentence, spinning a yarn about a deal that “couldn’t fail” and “would make them both rich beyond imagination.” Danny had heard better sales pitches from snake oil peddlers. His eyes, though, kept darting past the man’s shoulder to Siora.
The lyrics clawed at the edges of his attention. Her voice—sweet as honey but with an edge like a razor—wrapped around his thoughts. It wasn’t just a warning. It was bloody specific.
Danny shifted in his chair, leaning back again like he couldn’t give less of a toss about the pitch in front of him. But he was watching, his eyes cold and calculating.
Sounds like a fairytale to me, mate, he drawled, his accent thickening as it always did when he was feeling particularly unimpressed. He let the silence stretch just long enough to make the man sweat before continuing. Fairytales don’t pay the rent, and they sure as hell don’t cover my bloody time. So, how’s about you tell me what’s *really* on the table?
The slick grin faltered, just for a moment, and Danny caught it. A crack in the mask. There it was.
Behind him, the melody shifted again—sharp, deliberate, like a blade slicing through the tension. Danny’s lips twitched into the ghost of a smirk. Siora wasn’t just trying to warn him; she was bloody spelling it out.
He reached for his mug, keeping his movements slow, deliberate. Y’know, he said, his voice carrying just enough menace to make the man’s hands twitch on the table, I’ve got a rule about working with people I don’t trust. And right now, sunshine, you’re about as trustworthy as a bloody viper in a crib.
The man’s face darkened, his confidence slipping. You’ve got the wrong idea—
Do I? Danny cut in, his voice dropping low, deadly. He leaned forward, the weight of his stare enough to pin the man to his seat. Because I’m getting the idea you’re about to spin me into something I’m gonna regret. And I don’t do regrets, mate. They’re bloody expensive.
Siora’s voice rose again, a crescendo that silenced the crowd for a heartbeat. Danny’s hand, still resting on the table, shifted just slightly—close enough to the knife hidden under his coat to make his intentions clear.
Last chance. Speak plain, or piss off. But either way, if this goes sideways, I’ll make sure you don’t bloody walk out of here.
The man’s composure cracked, his eyes darting to the door like he was weighing his odds of escape. Danny’s smirk widened. He didn’t need to turn around to know the door was covered. Siora’s song was making sure of that.
The man swallowed hard, then leaned in, his voice barely above a whisper. Alright, alright. There’s… more to the job than I said. It’s risky, yeah, but the payout—
Danny held up a hand, cutting him off again. Don’t care about the payout. Tell me who’s involved. Now.
As the man hesitated, Danny’s fingers flexed, the muscles in his arm tightening like a coiled spring. He wasn’t bluffing, and the room bloody well knew it.
And from across the tavern, Siora’s song hung in the air—a warning, a promise, and a challenge all wrapped into one.
Siora felt a knot of relief unwind in her chest as Danny’s words cut through the din of the tavern like a blade. He’d caught on. Good. She hadn’t doubted his sharpness—Danny wasn’t the sort to miss a trap—but the man sitting across from him reeked of desperation, and desperation could be unpredictable. The shift in Danny’s tone, the casual menace, told her he wasn’t buying what the viper was selling.
She let the melody soften, shifting into something slower but no less pointed. Her fingers danced over the strings, her voice a murmur against the growing tension at their table. She’d done what she could to tip Danny off. Now, it was a matter of seeing how the game played out.
From her perch at the edge of the room, Siora kept a careful eye on them both. Danny’s posture was relaxed, almost too casual, but she caught the subtle readiness in his movements. He was poised for action, the threat unspoken but clear. The other man, by contrast, was starting to fray at the edges, his nerves showing in the way his hand fidgeted with his mug, his eyes darting to the exit. Siora’s lips quirked in a faint smile. Danny had him cornered, and the man knew it.
She was about to shift her position, circling closer to catch more of their low conversation, when a loud voice broke through her focus.
”Oy, lass!” The shout came from a burly patron near the bar, his cheeks flushed with drink. ”Play us something proper cheerful, eh? All this gloomy business is givin’ me the creeps!”
Siora blinked, forcing her expression into something pleasant as she turned toward him. Sorry, love, she called back lightly. But I play what the room needs, not just what you fancy. Her words drew a round of laughter from the surrounding tables, and the burly man snorted, muttering something under his breath before turning back to his drink.
Still, the interruption had drawn eyes her way, and she had to tamp down the flicker of annoyance. The last thing she needed was to become the center of attention. Not now, when Danny was locked in his dangerous dance with the snake across the table. She strummed a few light notes on her lute, weaving them into the edges of her previous tune, and let her voice rise again.
This time, the song shifted into something more ambiguous—neither cheerful nor somber but carrying an undercurrent of tension, as if the melody itself was holding its breath. It was enough to keep the crowd from getting restless while still leaving the room’s focus diffuse.
From her vantage, Siora could see the contact leaning closer to Danny, his mouth moving quickly, his words hurried. Danny’s expression hadn’t changed, but his jaw was tight, the muscle flexing with barely restrained irritation. Whatever the man was saying, it wasn’t good enough.
Siora’s fingers tightened on the lute strings. She shifted her weight subtly, her stance casual but ready to move. If things went sideways, she’d have to act fast, though what exactly she’d do was still an open question. Gods, she better not need to smack him with the instrument. For now, she kept to the edges, her song threading through the air like a whisper, letting Danny know she was still watching, still ready.
Mercenary, Loyal to Nairn, Assassin, Stalker, Jack of all Trades
Played by: Bach
Supporting
Danny tilted his head, an expression caught somewhere between curiosity and disdain as he listened to the contact’s rapid-fire excuses. His patience was wearing thinner than the cheap leather of his coat, and it showed. Still, he didn’t interrupt, letting the man talk himself into knots while Danny’s hand toyed lazily with the rim of his mug.
Behind him, the soft, sharp notes of Siora’s melody threaded through the room like a warning bell, and Danny couldn’t help the faint smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth. The lass had guts, he’d give her that. Clever, too. She’d pegged this worm for what he was without so much as a word exchanged.
Alright, alright, Danny said at last, cutting through the man’s rambling. He leaned forward again, his voice low and biting. Enough of the bloody tap-dance. You’re wasting my time, and trust me, mate, that’s a bloody expensive mistake.
The man recoiled slightly, his confidence faltering as Danny’s words hit like a hammer. Look, I didn’t mean—
Didn’t mean? Danny’s tone sharpened, and his hand stopped its lazy circle on the mug. Didn’t bloody mean what? To try and con me? To pull me into some cocked-up scheme that’s gonna leave me neck-deep in someone else’s shite? Nah, sunshine. You meant every bloody word. Now get to the bloody point before I lose my temper.
The contact swallowed hard, his slick grin replaced by a nervous grimace. He darted a glance over his shoulder, and Danny’s smirk widened.
You looking for someone, mate? he asked, his voice a lazy drawl that only made the tension worse. Go on, then. Call ‘em over. Might save you the trouble of pissin’ yourself when I get bored.
Siora’s song shifted again, subtle and haunting, the rhythm tightening like a noose. Danny let it hang there for a moment, the weight of her melody pressing down on the room like a storm cloud. He could feel her watching, the threads of her song woven into the edges of his thoughts. She was good—too good to be playing dives like this.
The man finally broke, his voice dropping to a whisper. It’s not just me. There’s… there’s others involved. People who don’t take kindly to questions.
Danny barked a laugh, sharp and humorless. People who don’t take kindly to questions? Bloody hell, mate, you’ve just described half of Kirkwall. Try again. His eyes narrowed, the casual menace in his tone hardening into something colder. Who are they? Names. Now.
The man hesitated, his mouth opening and closing like a fish gasping for air. Danny’s hand moved, slow and deliberate, brushing aside the edge of his coat just enough to reveal the knife at his hip. Don’t make me ask again, he said, his voice a low growl.
The man caved, his voice trembling as he rattled off a name—a name Danny recognized all too well. His smirk vanished, replaced by a cold, dangerous stillness.
Well, now, he said, his voice soft but deadly. That’s a name that comes with strings, mate. Big ones. You’re either braver than you look or twice as stupid. Care to enlighten me which it is?
The man stammered, but Danny didn’t wait for an answer. He leaned back, his expression dark as his mind raced through the implications. If this bastard was telling the truth, the job wasn’t just risky—it was a bloody minefield. And if he was lying? Well, Danny didn’t need much excuse to deal with liars.
From across the room, Siora’s song shifted again, the haunting melody twisting into something darker, more urgent. Danny’s eyes flicked to her, catching the subtle tilt of her head as she leaned against the beam, her gaze sharp and knowing. She was warning him again, though whether it was about the man in front of him or something else entirely, he couldn’t be sure.
Alright, mate, Danny said at last, his voice cutting through the man’s nervous muttering. You’ve given me a lot to think about. But here’s the thing: I don’t like surprises. And I don’t like half-truths. So, you’re gonna stay right here while I have a little chat with my mate over there.
He pushed back his chair with a screech of wood against wood, the sound slicing through the din of the tavern like a blade. The man started to protest, but Danny silenced him with a glare. Don’t move, he said, his voice a low growl. I won’t be long.
As he stood, his eyes locked on Siora, her song trailing off as she met his gaze. There was no mistaking the tension in her posture, the way her fingers lingered on the strings as if ready to strike a final, decisive note. Danny gave her a slow nod, his smirk returning as he made his way toward her.
Nice tune, lass, he said as he reached her, his voice low enough that only she could hear. But I reckon you’ve got more to say than what’s in the lyrics. Care to enlighten me?
Siora’s shoulders eased as Danny approached, the tension in her frame softening now that he’d put some distance between himself and the shifty contact. Her fingers danced over the lute strings, coaxing a lighter, more playful tune that threaded through the tavern, lifting the mood just a touch. She met Danny’s smirk with a faint smile of her own, one brow arched in amusement.
She let the smile linger as she tilted her head, the melody shifting beneath her touch into something lilting but edged with a sly undercurrent. Well now, aren’t you sharp, she replied lightly, her tone teasing. Didn’t expect you to miss the obvious, but I’m glad to see my efforts weren’t wasted. You’ve got a live one there, Danny. Slick, but he’s swimming in waters deeper than he’ll admit.
Her eyes flicked toward the table Danny had left, the contact now hunched in on himself, nervously twisting a coin between his fingers. I don’t know who he’s dancing with, she continued, lowering her voice just enough to keep it private, but his mates from the Crooked Quail were loud enough last week to catch my ear. Lots of big talk. Too much, honestly. They were throwing names around that don’t belong in dives like that—or here, for that matter.
She strummed a few quick notes, the tune changing yet again to something more upbeat, a contrast to the heaviness settling between them. She wasn’t about to let the storm hit full force, not yet.
Be careful, Danny Boy, she said, her lips curling into a cheeky grin as her voice dipped into something more playful. I’d hate to see a favorite of mine—and a sound pair of hands—end up cold before getting to know their warmth. Siora’s grin widened as she leaned back against the beam, her fingers never stilling on the strings. The melody danced between them now, lighter, more fluid—a nod to the fact that he’d heard her warning loud and clear.
Don’t worry, she replied, her voice light but firm. I’ll be right here. Someone’s got to keep the tempo while you’re out stirring trouble. She didn’t trust the man, and she trusted whoever he was working for even less. But for now, she’d done her part. The rest was up to Danny.
Mercenary, Loyal to Nairn, Assassin, Stalker, Jack of all Trades
Played by: Bach
Supporting
Danny barely had time to shoot back a quip before the shift in the room hit him like a gut punch. It was subtle at first—the way the laughter near the bar quieted a fraction too soon, the way a handful of patrons stiffened, their gazes darting toward the entrance. Even the barmaid, a woman too hardened by years of dealing with drunkards to spook easy, suddenly found something very interesting to clean on the far side of the room.
Danny didn’t turn right away. Instead, he let his fingers brush against the hilt of the knife at his belt, a casual motion that belied the tension coiling in his gut. He knew a bloody setup when he saw one.
The door hadn’t even finished swinging shut when the newcomers stepped through. Three of them. No, four—the last one lingered just outside the threshold, a shadow among shadows, waiting. The first three, though? They walked in like they owned the place, all confident strides and barely concealed malice.
The leader—a thick-set bastard with a face like a smashed anvil—scanned the tavern, his gaze landing on Danny with the kind of recognition that made his smirk twitch wider.
Well, well, the man drawled, his voice rough as gravel. Ain’t this a right fuckin’ coincidence?
Danny let out a slow breath through his nose, rolling his shoulders like he hadn’t a care in the world. That so? Funny, mate, ‘cause I don’t believe in coincidences.
The man chuckled, a low, humorless sound. His hand rested on his belt—too close to a blade for Danny’s liking. The other two with him spread out just enough to make their intentions clear. Not an ambush, not yet, but a warning.
Behind Danny, he could still hear Siora’s fingers on the lute, the notes lighter now, a contrast to the slow-burning fuse about to blow in the middle of the tavern.
You’ve been askin’ the wrong kind of questions, laddie, the man continued, taking a step closer. See, that’s a real problem. ‘Cause when a man starts pokin’ his nose where it don’t belong, people start thinkin’ he needs teachin’ some proper manners.
Danny exhaled through his teeth, shaking his head. Bloody hell, mate. You lot really do love the sound of your own voices, don’t you? Lemme guess—you gonna stand here flappin’ your gums all night, or we skippin’ to the part where I make you regret walkin’ through that door?
The tension snapped.
The leader lunged, fast for a man his size, but Danny was already moving. His chair scraped back, one boot planting hard against the floor as he twisted out of the way. The bastard’s knife whistled past his ribs, catching nothing but air.
Danny’s fist caught him in the side of the head, a solid crack that sent him stumbling sideways into a nearby table. Ale splashed, chairs toppled, and just like that, the Hanged Man erupted into chaos.
The second thug came in swinging, but Danny was faster—he ducked low, driving an elbow into the bastard’s gut before ripping his knife free. The blade flashed in the dim light, and when the man straightened, clutching his bleeding forearm, Danny just grinned.
Oh, you picked the wrong bloody night for this, lads.
More movement—more threats, more shifting shadows—but Danny was already sizing up the next hit. He had to make this fast. The real trouble hadn’t even stepped inside yet.
