[center][img]https://fontmeme.com/permalink/230709/b2d64c98395f01e2c7cbdf98293c4c91.png[/img]

[color=saddlebrown][b]Time:[/b][/color] Evening
[color=saddlebrown][b]Location:[/b][/color] Village on the outskirts of Roshmi
[color=saddlebrown][b]Interactions:[/b][/color] Mari [@princess]
[color=saddlebrown][b]Mentions:[/b][/color] Thraash [@FunnyGuy]
[color=saddlebrown][b]Equipment:[/b][/color]
[hider]His travelling clothes - Dark, earthy shirt and coat, with trousers tucked into boots
A hooded, oilskin cloak
His bow, unstrung
A musket
Two pistols
Two hatchets
His travelling pack[/hider][/center]
[hr]
“Looks like we’ve visitors.”

The huntsman’s words were said nonchalantly, but the slight furrow in his brow and brief downward curl of his lips betrayed his unease. Scathael followed the man’s gaze, leaning as far back in his seat as he could and looking down the village’s main street. Despite being a visitor himself, he regarded both strangers with as much suspicion on his face as the blacksmith beside him. A village this small and this far off the beaten track might expect the odd wayfarer during the day, but at night? And two at the same time, at that? Either they were lost – their steps carried enough confidence to make that seem unlikely – or they were looking for something. Or someone. 

And there was also something about the pair that struck Scathael as familiar. He didn’t like that.

The blacksmith shrugged and returned his attention to more important things, such as the half-empty mug sitting on the table in front of him. “Eh, they don’t look like they’ll be trouble,” he said and brought it up to his lips. Just before he tipped it back, however, he lowered it and glanced at Vallana. The foxgirl sat on the bare ground, deep in concentration as she glued pre-cut feathers to prepared arrowshafts. Headless ones, of course; Scathael knew better than to let a child anywhere near sharpened arrowheads. “It’s a little late for me to mention, Sadras,” the blacksmith said, addressing the huntsman. “But are you absolutely certain that it’s alright for us to drink in front of Vallana?”

The huntsman shrugged. “I’m not fussed, if that’s what’s worrying you.”

“It’s not you that concerns me. It’s your [i]wife[/i]. I swore in front of your little girl the other day and I swear she would’ve torn my head off if Scathael wasn’t there.” The blacksmith glanced sideways as the dark elf with a grin. The gesture wasn’t returned, but Scathael did nod as if to confirm the story. 

Sadras chuckled. “Ah, she’s far too refined for the likes of us.” He smiled softly, and his voice turned warm as he went on to say, “Gods alone know why she agreed to come back to this shithole with me.”

“Love makes idiots of us all, as they say.” The blacksmith raised his mug and drank heavily from it. “Can’t say that they’re wrong.” He nudged Scathael with the mug. “What about you, Scathael? I don’t recall you mentioning anything about a lady in your life.”

Scathael gently, but firmly pushed the mug away. [color=saddlebrown]“There’s none to mention,”[/color] he said curtly. It was, at best, a half-truth and at worst, a quarter-lie. He didn’t care either way; he had no intention of sharing that part of his story or his life with the present company. Or anyone, for that matter. Clearing his throat, he carried on in a level voice, [color=saddlebrown]“If there was, I don’t think I’d be here right now.”[/color]

“Makes sense,” Sadras said with a nod. “I suppose you’re still young for an elf. Remember us when you’re finally old enough to think about putting down roots, eh?”

Whispers of painful memories drifted through Scathael’s mind, and he pursed his lips. Sadras was right on one thing – by Elvish standards, Scathael had only just begun his foray into adulthood – and wrong on the other – Scathael had considered a less-itinerant life many times over the decades. As much as he enjoyed the freedom a life on the road afforded, he wasn’t blind to the security and simplicity that would come with settling down. In many ways, he preferred the latter. It was just pure misfortune and a string of strange and terrible coincidences that kept him moving. That, and he also had a promise to keep. The sort which would be quite tricky to fulfil without travelling. 

Fortunately, Scathael didn’t have to spend too long dwelling on the matter, or even give Sadras a reply, for that matter.

[color=FFCB86]"SCATHAEL! HEY SCATHAEL!!! GET YOUR ASS OUT HERE, BOY!"[/color]

A thunderous shout echoed down the street, made all the louder by the prior quietness. The blacksmith let out a string of expletives, his colourful words and angry voice joining a chorus of similar voices and words thrown from open windows and doorways. “Gods above, Scathael. Did you piss off a banshee?” He said in a low grumble. “Haven’t heard a woman scream that loudly since Old Idrid dug up a dead deer in her back garden.”

“I think she was louder,” Sadras said wryly. He knelt on the ground, gently patting Vallana’s back. The poor girl was huddled on the ground, with hands over her ears. “But it looks like you’re wanted, Scathael.”

Scathael looked back at the strangers. Now that they were closer, and in better light, he could tell that they were a Light Elf and a Dragonborn. A strange pairing, if he ever saw one. Stranger still, however, was how familiar they seemed. Scathael was sure that he had seen them before; he just couldn’t quite put his finger on where and when. Perhaps they were past customers? They seemed to be adventurers, and Scathael had certainly done plenty of work for plenty of such travellers and wayfarers. It didn’t seem likely; he didn’t think that he would easily forget such a distinctive pair. 

Well, it didn’t matter. If they were looking for him, it could only be for one reason. Work was work. Scathael wasn’t in the habit of turning down work over personal misgivings. He would be a lot poorer and a lot less well-travelled if that were the case. 

[color=saddlebrown]“I'll call them over. Do you mind?”[/color] Scathael asked the blacksmith. Normally, he would have no problems with going over. But considering the manner in which the Light Elf had called for him, and the hour at which she had done it, he felt like making things just that little more difficult for her. 

“Go ahead,” he replied with a shrug and stood up. “Come on, Sadras. Let’s get Vallana inside.”

The foxgirl looked up at Scathael as her father helped her to her feet. “Are they friends?” She asked.

Scathael shook his head. [color=saddlebrown]“No. I don’t know them,”[/color] he said bluntly. [color=saddlebrown]“Now go inside.”[/color] He got off his seat and walked over to the open gate, brushing off the dirt and dust from his earlier work as he did so. There was no need to rush. More like than not, whatever work they had for him would have to wait until morning. Not that he had any issues with working in the dark, but because he was already done for the day. Working on his personal arms was always his very last activity before sleep. It was an age-old routine, and he wasn’t going to break it without a very good reason. 

[color=saddlebrown]"Be quiet, lady. It's too late for all that noise,"[/color] Scathael called back from the gate with arms folded. [color=saddlebrown]"I'm who you're looking for. Come over if you've got work for me. We can discuss. If you're looking for me for any other reason, turn around and leave. I won't be interested and you will be disappointed."[/color]