birdofkirkwall

And if it came right down to it, there were plenty of worse places to be making money hunting down people for the guards. The sewers, for one thing. Darktown, another.

"At least out here we're out in the fresh air," Varric mutters. "How close are we to our lead, now?"

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"It's a stroll in the garden, to be sure," says Fenris wryly. "We cannot find them soon enough for me." He raises his head to look farther down their path.

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"We have to get our exercise somehow," Hawke says, straightening from her crouched position at the side of the poor mercenary that had tried to get the better of them. "May as well get paid doing it."

The few things she's lifted from their unfortunate adversary disappear into various hidden pockets, and a map comes out. She takes a moment to unfold it, and gauges their position in relation to where Aveline had marked.

"Shouldn't be too much further, just over the next crest."

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"In that case-"

There's a creaking sound or two as Varric makes a few preparations.

"Bianca just loves surprises. Handing them out, mostly. I'm ready when you are."

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"Excellent." In one smooth motion, Fenris unsheathes his longsword from back scabbard and settles into a ready stance. "Let them come."

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Bethany chimes in with her readiness, flames already flickering around her hands as Hawke unsheathes her daggers and moves forward, ducked low as to better creep up on their prey.

The come up the rise and to a sudden ledge, the slavers visible below them. Well, Aveline was right, there was something going on here, that's for sure.

With one last grin over her shoulders at her three companions, Hawke cheerfully throws herself from the ledge, only to land neatly on the shoulders of an unsuspecting slaver, quickly bringing her dagger down for a killing blow.

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She's good at that. Varric can't deny that fact. He himself prefers a less... mmm, stabby... approach.

THOQQ.

Score one for Bianca; that slaver's going to have a very hard time using that arm ever again no matter *how* much magic he gets used on it.

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Fenris counts ten slavers still living; indeed, this will be a stroll in the garden for he and his friends.

With a crack of muted thunder, streams of liquid silver begin to flow over Fenris's body. He rushes into battle and quickly takes down the nearest foe with a swift slice upward from ribcage to collar bone. "Bring me another!" he calls.

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And another he gets, as a well-placed spell from Bethany sends a few slavers flying towards him.

Hawke, as per her usual, is anywhere and everywhere on the battlefield, dancing away from a blade one moment, only to slide behind her foe the next, felling them with a well placed blade to the vitals.

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The slavers aren't standing there gaping, of course. They're rounding on their enemies and fighting back with everything they've got. Not that it's likely to do them much good...

"Don't say I never gave you anything!" Varric answers, and lets off a shot from his crossbow that pins one of Bethany's spell-slung slavers' feet to the ground.

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"A welcome gift," Fenris growls. He spins to face the pinned slaver and swings his heavy sword in a low arc that cuts both her legs off below the knees. She falls to the ground screaming, and the last thing she sees is Fenris's triumphant snarl as he smashes his blade down to cleave her skull in two.

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The quartet is nothing if not efficient, and despite the resistance the four systematically work their way through the remaining slavers until none are left standing. Sheathing her blades, Hawke nudges one with her boot.

"I hope Aveline didn't want us to bring any of these fine people in alive."

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Fenris's lip curls up in a cynical grin. "If she likes, we can bring her the heads."

He wipes his blade on the gambeson of one of the fallen slavers, and sheathes it across his back.

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"We could put on a puppet show if we did that," says Varric. "I think she'll be satisfied as it stands, though. Just a hunch."

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"Good hunch," she quips. "Somehow, I don't think puppet theatre in the guard's barracks would go over well."

Absently, she nudges one of the dead slavers with her boot and cants her head towards the cave in the cliff face.

"Why don't we go see what this bunch had stored in there?"

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"Let me guess," Fenris says with a snort. "A dozen poisonous spiders, a rage demon and a pair of torn trousers." He grins mirthlessly. "I can hardly stand the excitement."

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"They're welcome to the trousers," mutters Varric. "Let's go have a look."

He starts forward with Bianca at the ready. If anything in that cave so much as twitches oddly, it's going to be pinned to the wall.

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"You know by now anything that we can scrounge up can go towards the expedition," she says over her shoulder to Fenris as she steps into stride next to Varric. "Some idiot will buy the trousers, and we'll be that much closer to the goal."

Shaking her head, Bethany follows the group into the cave, fireball held aloft as a light source.

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"This treasure hoard of your brother's had best be worth it, dwarf," Fenris grouses. "Are you sure we can trust him?"

He stays in step behind them and half a step to the right so when the inevitable happens he can step up and protect these two lunatic rogues.

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"Even my brother can only carry off so much by himself," says Varric. "We'll be set, believe me."

He strides forward confidently, but stops at the sound of something moving in the shadows within.

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Hawke freezes as well, but not for long. She creeps forward slowly, squinting through the dark to make out faint shapes. She breathes her sisters name as a prompt, and the light in the cave grows exponentially.

Hawke isn't sure what she expected to find, but certainly not this, and she swears softly under her breath as she sees the huddled forms of a handful of elven children. The children stare at them with wide, fearful eyes and Hawke's blades are sheathed quicker than she's ever done as she crouches low.

"Hey," she says, her voice soft. "It's okay, you're all safe now."

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Fenris lowers his sword and facepalms. "Maker," he groans. "We're doomed."

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"Should've brought a cart," says Varric. "It's a long walk back."

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Hawke makes a soft noise in agreement, moving forwards as her lock picking tools are spirited out of whichever pocket they were in. As a whole, the children shink back fearfully, and Hawke slowly crouches down to their level.

"It's alright," she soothes again, her voice quiet and lacking it's usual teasing tone. "We're going to get you out of here, and you'll all get to go home."

She turns back to her companions, her jaw setting in a hard line.

"Fenris, head back outside and clean up a bit (read: hide the bodies) and gather anything useful. There might be a cart around, too, they had to get the children here somehow. Bethany, come over here and give us some more light, please. Varric, help me with these."

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Fenris grumbles his way outside. There are dragging and clanking noises and a running commentary of Tevinter Arcanum curses. Hawke's name is in there once or twice too, and it doesn't sound as though Fenris is praising her singing voice.

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Varric blithely ignores the Tevinter vulgarities. He hears that kind of thing far too often to let it bother him. "Not a problem," he says. "All right, everybody. You're in good hand now, believe me. Let's see if we can't make things go a little more smoothly for you from here on out..."

He'll do what he can to get things rolling, and then he'll start telling the kids stories. If nothing else, they'll be too distracted and staring at him to cause trouble or wander off.

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"Don't mind Fenris," she soothes as she moves a little closer, picking open the locks on the chains and manacles. "He's just grumpy that he missed his nap."

The children are mostly quiet, watching the human and dwarf free them, and Hawke chatting easily the whole while. Eventually, the pair finish, and Hawke stoops to pick up one of the smaller children, Bethany moving to do the same.

"Right, let's go see what Mr. Grumpy-elf has managed to get together."

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Mr. Grumpy-elf has hidden several bodies behind a pile of rocks and debris. He's stripped them of whatever clothes they have that aren't too ripped up and covered with blood -- admittedly that makes for a small pile, but it should help. And he's found a decrepit two-wheel hay wagon that might not fall apart on the road.

He stands there with arms crossed and says to Bethany, "I hope you can do something substantial with that staff of yours and conjure up a horse, because I am not dragging this thing back to the city."

The child in Bethany's arms looks as though it might cry. Fenris sighs. "Stop squalling. You're safe now." His voice is not unkind, just fed-up.

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"Sorry," says Varric to a third child. "Nobody rides my back except Bianca. Let's try playing a game instead. It's called, 'who can spot a pack animal first'. Whoever can tell me where to find something to pull this wagon gets a prize when we get back to the city."

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Fenris gets a flat look from both Hawke sisters, and together they help the children into the wagon, making sure they're settled, comfortable and calm.

"I didn't see any tracks as we were coming up. We're going to have to move this the old fashioned way."

Beat.

"It might be a smart idea to head towards the Dalish camp," she continues.

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The Hawke sisters get an equally flat look from Fenris in return. He hid bodies, found a wagon, told a child it was safe, and was now about to allow himself to be used as a draft animal. Whatever their problem is, it isn't him.

So he turns to Varric and says, "Remind me again why we do all this for her."

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"I don't know about you," says Varric, "but I, for one, am easily entertained." He grins, then sobers. "Seriously, though- Hawke makes things happen. Usually things that ought to happen. Add that to the fact that it's a pretty profitable deal all around most of the time, and I for one don't mind a bit."

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Fenris sighs and takes a deep breath. "Slavers," he says quietly, as if reminding himself. Then he goes and starts picking children up and putting them in the cart.

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That, draws a bright smile from Hawke, and she pauses mid-motion to aim it in Fenris' direction before loading the child in her arms in alongside him.

"Thank you," she says softly.

Then, louder: "Between the four of us, I'm sure we can manage."

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Fenris quickly looks away from her.

One of the young boys in the cart tries to grasp the pommel of his sword. Fenris starts to growl, but instead bluntly says, "No." Whatever look is on his face is enough to make the child snatch his hands back and sit on them, eyes wide.

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"It's bad form to touch a man's weapon without permission," Varric agrees. "Just doesn't end well. One day, when you're older, you can get one of your own."

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"That's right," she says softly to the boy. "You'll pick out your very own, and you'll be the best you can with it."

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Fenris picks up the pile of clothes and cloaks. "You," he says to the oldest-looking girl on the cart, handing her the pile. "You're in charge. Take these and give them out to the rest of the children, and keep them from falling out of the cart. You," he says to the oldest boy, "get out. You're helping us pull. The rest of you, mind your elders and don't climb out, or we'll leave you here for the next gang of slavers."

He gives Hawke a blatant side-eye: No, of course I don't mean it.

That done, he looks around and says, "Are we done here? We should move on."

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