Guardian Angel Haruki
Birdboy
rush99999
Denalz
Necroes
Fetzen
tvfl22
Ohm
Nallore
KuroKalila's smile wavers slightly at Gerta's question, embarrassment creeping up her neck.
"A tailor?" Gerta asks, eyebrows raised. "Honey, with two gold pieces, you're lookin' at the smaller shops or the second-hand stores. A tailor-made outfit would cost ya a whole lot more than that." She waves a hand. "But don't you worry. Garrek here will take you to our trusted spots later. Get you sorted proper."
Gerta pauses, then snaps her fingers. "Oh! Before I forget." She reaches into her apron pocket and pulls out a small piece of paper, sliding it to Kalila. "Thornwick left this address with me before she left yesterday. Said there's a jeweler, an arcane collector, and that you should bring your pen-dant," she says it oddly, almost like "pen-dahnt," "for him to study it. Even if you don't want to sell it, she said he'd be interested."
Kalila takes the paper and tucks it into her dress pocket.
The conversation flows easily after that. The staff talk amongst themselves, their voices mixing into comfortable chatter. Kalila catches bits and pieces as she eats.
Isla mentions a shipment coming in late from the docks, complaining about unreliable merchants.
Petyr talks about fixing a loose board on the second floor before someone trips.
Mick mutters about a card game he lost last night to some sailors.
The hot tea in the center of the table steams, and someone passes Kalila a cup. It's sweet, with honey and something floral.
For a moment, everything feels almost normal. Almost peaceful.
Then there's a heavy knock at the door.
Everyone freezes.
Garrek frowns, setting down his bread. "That's not the right date. They've come too soon."
Gerta's jaw tightens. She stands, her voice calm but firm. "Garrek. Go open the door."
He hesitates for just a second, then nods and heads toward the back entrance.
Gerta moves quickly in the other direction, disappearing through a doorway. She returns moments later holding a small leather pouch, her face grim.
The door opens.
A figure steps inside.
He's tall and lean, dressed in dark leather armor with metal studs. His face is completely covered by a cloth mask. Only his eyes show, cold and hard. One arm has heavy spiked gauntlets with clawed fingers. His other hand rests on a dagger at his belt. A chain hangs coiled at his side, and more weapons hide beneath his coat.
He moves slowly, carefully. His boots barely make a sound on the floor. He doesn't greet anyone. Doesn't look at anyone.
He sits at the table.
The staff has gone completely silent. The easy warmth from moments ago has disappeared, replaced by thick tension.
He doesn't touch the food. Doesn't even look at it.
For a long moment, there's only silence.
Then he shouts, his voice sharp behind the mask.
"Where is the fucking money, Gerta!?"
He slams a gauntleted fist on the table. The plates rattle.
"Do you think I came here to hang out with you fuckers?"
What does Kalila do?
"A tailor?" Gerta asks, eyebrows raised. "Honey, with two gold pieces, you're lookin' at the smaller shops or the second-hand stores. A tailor-made outfit would cost ya a whole lot more than that." She waves a hand. "But don't you worry. Garrek here will take you to our trusted spots later. Get you sorted proper."
Gerta pauses, then snaps her fingers. "Oh! Before I forget." She reaches into her apron pocket and pulls out a small piece of paper, sliding it to Kalila. "Thornwick left this address with me before she left yesterday. Said there's a jeweler, an arcane collector, and that you should bring your pen-dant," she says it oddly, almost like "pen-dahnt," "for him to study it. Even if you don't want to sell it, she said he'd be interested."
Kalila takes the paper and tucks it into her dress pocket.
The conversation flows easily after that. The staff talk amongst themselves, their voices mixing into comfortable chatter. Kalila catches bits and pieces as she eats.
Isla mentions a shipment coming in late from the docks, complaining about unreliable merchants.
Petyr talks about fixing a loose board on the second floor before someone trips.
Mick mutters about a card game he lost last night to some sailors.
The hot tea in the center of the table steams, and someone passes Kalila a cup. It's sweet, with honey and something floral.
For a moment, everything feels almost normal. Almost peaceful.
Then there's a heavy knock at the door.
Everyone freezes.
Garrek frowns, setting down his bread. "That's not the right date. They've come too soon."
Gerta's jaw tightens. She stands, her voice calm but firm. "Garrek. Go open the door."
He hesitates for just a second, then nods and heads toward the back entrance.
Gerta moves quickly in the other direction, disappearing through a doorway. She returns moments later holding a small leather pouch, her face grim.
The door opens.
A figure steps inside.
He's tall and lean, dressed in dark leather armor with metal studs. His face is completely covered by a cloth mask. Only his eyes show, cold and hard. One arm has heavy spiked gauntlets with clawed fingers. His other hand rests on a dagger at his belt. A chain hangs coiled at his side, and more weapons hide beneath his coat.
He moves slowly, carefully. His boots barely make a sound on the floor. He doesn't greet anyone. Doesn't look at anyone.
He sits at the table.
The staff has gone completely silent. The easy warmth from moments ago has disappeared, replaced by thick tension.
He doesn't touch the food. Doesn't even look at it.
For a long moment, there's only silence.
Then he shouts, his voice sharp behind the mask.
"Where is the fucking money, Gerta!?"
He slams a gauntleted fist on the table. The plates rattle.
"Do you think I came here to hang out with you fuckers?"
What does Kalila do?
