One of Fitcher's long hands come up from the sandy ground a finger at a time, palm offered up like a badge of honor as it moves in patient parallel to her own belt. There's a little clip on the pouch with the magebane on the garrote which might be easily undone with a flick of the wrist. Her hand moves instead to address the belt's smalled paired buckles.
The weather is still decent. If any Tevinter agents mean to land on the beach below, then it won't be for a few hours yet. They're a long way from Kirkwall. And she knows where she's going after this in the sense that it isn't Ostwick. It would be shame to waste all that.
"I could make a joke about prophetic dreams if you like."
(Two scoundrels in an imagined Antiva City walkup, respective knives summarily shucked.)
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jk swapping to prose because I refuse to continue typing html on mobile
Date: 2022-07-22 10:00 pm (UTC)The weather is still decent. If any Tevinter agents mean to land on the beach below, then it won't be for a few hours yet. They're a long way from Kirkwall. And she knows where she's going after this in the sense that it isn't Ostwick. It would be shame to waste all that.
"I could make a joke about prophetic dreams if you like."
(Two scoundrels in an imagined Antiva City walkup, respective knives summarily shucked.)