"Hold it still, ye oaf!" the young girl said, shifting a heavy stone onto the corner of a large sheet of parchment. "Can't be damned t'find good help 'round these parts 'cept me own two hands, seems."

From behind her curtain of red curls and the wide brim of a pointed leather hat, Malleigh glanced up towards the lantern on the windowsill. The rain pounded against the window like a smith's hammer against steel, a sign that travel would hardly be a welcome prospect this evening, but for the aspiring witchling at the tavern table, the allure of treasure and fortune was far too great to worry about getting a little wet and muddy. She scrawled another mark on the map in blotchy, clumsy script. "Crypt Door" it read, though hardly any man alive could have made out the words with all the other inkstains and tatters on the parchment.

The rest of The Thirsty Hound was abuzz with the noise of travellers and regulars alike. Most sat at low tables with their feet mounted up next to their beers jawing about what was new in their lives or what the crop was going to look like in a month's time. Most of them paid no heed to the excited girl by the window except to glance up whenever she shouted "Aha!" or some other sound of surprise. They'd just laugh to themselves and take a deep swig of their drinks. Malleigh didn't mind. They were all friendly enough, and Heinrik was a kind enough soul to buy her a plate of mutton in exchange for a rousing tale of her latest adventure. He said he was saving them all to write into a book, but Malleigh didn't believe him. "Da always said t'be wary o' lyin' folk like yerself, sir. Don't you try t'fool a Duffy. No, sir!" she'd say.

Tonight, though, was different. Tonight she had climbed the hills out west and found the entrance to an old tomb that seemed untouched. At least, she hoped it was untouched. If the families of these poor saps had buried them with anything near as nice as Da said they might, she'd be sleeping in a real bed instead of out in the stables again. The only problem was that the road between town and the crypt was notorious for bandits and highwaymen, and a young girl like herself would be vulnerable, regardless of her true nature. Malleigh reminded herself that it was only a matter of time before she came into her heritage and could fight off any puny human with gnashing teeth and billowing flames.

A few patrons glanced up to see a teenaged girl making roaring noises at her reflection in the window before taking another drink and going back to their uproarious laughter.

"Malleigh, girl, ye have coin for a bed tonight?" Stafan asked her. He was the keeper of the inn above The Thirsty Hound, and he mostly just hung around the bar and drank and spun yarns about how he lost his right arm. Each week was some new story about the fierce creature he fought off or the child he rescued from certain death by moving a boulder the size of a cow with his bare hands— he lost the arm because it had apparently been crushed in the incident.

"No, sir," Malleigh said honestly. She fumbled around in her pouches, looking for valuables to trade, but all she pulled out were flower petals and leather scraps. She gave a deep yawn as she looked back up at the man with disappointment.

"Lass, ye better find a good way to earn a living wage soon. Can't be givin' ye my spare room every other night, y'know."

"Yes, sir."

Stafan patted her shoulder with his one remaining hand and said, "If ye can't find a place tonight, ask me if I've got a spare room at closing, and we can work out yer payment then. Maybe I'll just ask ye t'sweep the inn floor again, eh?" And he went back to his drink, laughing and smiling.

Malleigh just shook her head. She had bigger plans. She had her map.

The 'knight' stomped into the tavern loudly, but the sound of his boots scuffling along the floor was likely muffled by the chatter of the patrons. Some might have turned to look at the newcomer entering the building, but Gavin did his best to mind his business. He didn't need trouble, didn't intentionally search for it. So long as he just mingled and blended with the crowd, he'd be fine. Gavin could nimble on some grub with hopes of finding a dull evening -- he yearned to stray from conflict, wished to avoid any need of confrontation. He was a noble man, after all; getting into a tavern brawl just simply wouldn't be ideal. No, no! Adorned in his standard attire, which looked similar to a knight's get-up, Gavin moved to sit at a table, eyes aiming to avoid any other gaze -- cause if they locked, he wasn't sure if it'd be a friendly stare. Drunk people were... unpredictable.

Sitting down at a table near the 'commotion', Gavin rested his sword along the table, finding himself rather naked without it clasped to his side. Rubbing the nape of his neck, he sighed softly, feeling relieved to take even a moment's rest. And, well, this place didn't seem too bad. He just figured it'd be best to go unnoticed. Stretching briefly, a tavern girl approached him and asked what wanted to eat and drink, to which he politely muttered, "Your stew, please. Thank you," before he removed his gloves and finally took time to survey his surroundings. The crowd surrounding the man seemed to be laughing at a little girl? Strange. Head tilting to the side in curiosity, Gavin wondered what a child was doing within this tavern. He often found it peculiar to see any child in a place so rowdy, but sometimes it couldn't be helped, he supposed. Just... what exactly were they laughing about? He gazed at the child who in turn glanced into the window near her, discovering her gestures. She was roaring? A small smile adorning his lips, Gavin tried to suppress a chuckle, merely wondering what the child was imagining. Well, that could truthfully be anything... a child's mind was never a dull one, that was for sure.

Awaiting his bowl of stew, Gavin resumed to observe the on-goings of the bar. Should any approach, he'd be willing to humor them -- well, so long as it remained peaceful, he supposed.

Adela, serving girl for The Thirsty Hound and- unbeknownst to most- leatherworker extraordinaire, returned with the stew for Gavin. "That's Malleigh," she said, watching the girl by the window with some amusement. Malleigh was wringing out her sleeve into the inkpot for the third time tonight, the edges of the tattered tunic stained various dark colors. "She comes in most nights to work on her map. Nice girl, if a bit knocked in the head. Old Stafan's got a soft spot and lets her stay in one of the empty rooms if he's got one." Setting the stew on the table and drawing a spoon from her apron, she smiled at the newcomer. "Best keep a low profile. She likes to talk to new faces, and I haven't seen you around before."

The knocking of glasses and the sounds of another uproarious cheer meant it was time to serve another round of drinks, and Adela excused herself politely. Of course, as soon as she left, the imaginative girl by the window was gone from sight, her map left abandoned on the table. A napkin stained with ink sat over the center portion reading in nigh-incomprehensible script, "Do not move!"

With another stormy boom from outside, she appeared beside Gavin, eyes ablaze with eager excitement. Despite her demeanor, it was obvious that she was swiftly becoming a fledgling woman. Her hair was tied back in a dirty ponytail with a bit of fraying string, somehow devoid of ink even though her face had obviously been exposed several times tonight. How any one person could get so much ink in so many different places must have been downright baffling.

"Oh, lookit what th'First Moon dragged in! Yer a right big feller, aren't ya?" Behind the inkstains, a smile stretched skin over cheekbones that, given a few healthy meals and quite a few more baths, might be proper for a court lady. "Got a big sword, too! Ye must be a guardsman! Or wait... don't tell me... yer a man'o'coin, wieldin' sword and helm in exchange fer payment! I knew it! It was obvious from yer big sword. Y'know, if I had a sword that size, Da willin', I'd be ready t'find me fortune what lies beyond th'hills west-like."

As she spoke, her hand found its way onto his shoulder, resting on the leather in a comfortable expression of familiarity, but likely unbeknownst to Gavin and probably also Malleigh herself, another hand was feeling around the base of the chair for a coinpurse to nab. Every man carried a fair bit of coin, her Da said, and every man could be helped to give to charity. It was a Duffy's civic duty to help people be charitable!

The serving girl must have known, must have realized the armor-clad male had his bemused attention fixated on the girl by the windowsill. Her name was Malleigh or so the server said; he had no reason to doubt the waitress. Back and forth his glance moved from the female speaking to the messy child covered in ink, a faint glimmer of curiosity within those chocolate-orbs. "She has no place to stay? No home to return to? An orphan?" It struck a pity nerve in the lad, mainly because he related, if that was the case. He never really knew his parents, but he found home within the orphanage at three-forks -- he was fortunate enough. Despite the fact that she didn't have a place to stay, the mention of a map had his interest piqued. "What's the map for?" His questions likely went unanswered, given Adela excused herself to attend to the other patrons in the Thirsty Hound. Something warned him, beckoned Gavin to heed her words... but keeping a low profile because of a child? Sure, maybe this Malleigh girl was talkative, but was there something else to worry about? Thanking the woman, he was about to settle in his chair comfortably and enjoy the stew, until an interruption halted his advances to chow down.

His gaze left the young girl as he focused on the meal, only to jump as he looked up to see the aforementioned child beside him. Admittedly, he whispered underneath his breath, "Bless the Makers..." His chestnut oculars scanned the child, slightly widened at first by the shock, but along with his figure, they were calming, relaxing into a softer expression. Adela wasn't kidding, that was certain. An arch of his brow, a puzzled look about his visage, he wondered what Malleigh wanted, awaiting some sort of introduction to conversation.

A right big feller? "I suppose." He said, rubbing the nape of his neck with his left hand. That was one way to put his physique and stature. It was hard to take the child seriously with her ink-stains, but Gavin could admit that she was at least friendly. He offered a small smile in return, chuckling as she mentioned his occupation. A man of coin? That was a laugh. "Nah, I don't serve for coin much, lass." He didn't want to outright say her name, lest she introduced herself. "I serve the people -- I travel around the countryside in the name of the Makers." Hopefully that would hint at his lack of funds, at times. He wasn't a wealthy man by any means, although his outfit and weaponry might have alluded to such. Though, he did become a little suspicious when he felt a hand at his shoulder, thinking it was a little too forward, even for a child -- children usually had some sort of trust issue with strangers. He had the utmost faith in people, but even Gavin wasn't a fool; especially after his traumatic events. Gaze trailing the length of her frame, he was a little perturbed to find the other hand wandering down by his pants, specifically along the chair. Most of his money clanked within the pockets of his pants. "Um... What are you doing?" His brow remained arched, trying to shrug off the hand at his shoulder, frame shifting to face her. W-was she trying to rob him? Not wanting to throw out the accusation, he watched and awaited a response, his guard steadily rising.

The hand quickly darted back from the coinpurse. "Oh, I saw a strap was loose, an' I thought I'd tie it up fer ye. Ye look like a dependable feller after all." Malleigh grinned, waggling on the balls of her feet as she reached up and wiped her nose on a well-worn sleeve. Oddly enough, she wasn't wearing her trademark hat. The soft, velvet hat sat on a stool by her map, studded with stars and a shifting, shimmering array of deep blues and purples. She did, however, have on a similar cloak marked with constellations and stars from the sky. Where her tunic and knee-length skirt were a drab brown and littered with stains and burgeoning holes, the cloak was spotless.

Of course, Malleigh herself was still rambling on. "The Makers, eh? Them some heavenly beings what crafted the sun an' moon an' stars? Me da told me not to take stock in divine beings on account o' they're rarely interferin' with the lives o' mortal men like yerself." She plopped into a seat at the table next to him and continued to rattle off her diatribe while Gavin ate. "Now, if I were a god of any sane mind, I'd be showin' me power off to any man what would listen. After all, if ye show 'em yer powerful, they'll come t'fear ye an' do what ye say. S'like the auld drakes, y'know? Now, them's more akin t'gods than any Maker I ever heard of."

She smiled broadly, showing a set of pearly white teeth despite her vagabond lifestyle. "Not that I think yer wastin' yer time, I mean. I wouldn't want ye t'think ye'd gone and learned all these things about people what don't exist. Jus' I never saw no Maker put gold in any man's pocket, an' I hear a lot about men comin' by their goddamned gold." Malleigh laughed, a tittering rodent's laugh. It was one that suggested she didn't take a lot of the world seriously. Then again, abruptly, her mood turned on its head and she stared at him stone-faced. "Ye don't think I'm mockin' ye, do ye? Da says I got a habit o' openin' me mouth and lettin' tripe flow free. 'E says it ain't proper for his girl t'be makin' unnecessary enemies."

His eyes squinted a bit, as if sizing Malleigh up; did she play him for a fool? Tilting his head, he hadn't muttered a word, ears honed on her 'explanation'. It was a nice try, ultimately, but usually someone wasn't 'kind' enough to fix a strap to a coin-purse, assuming that he carried one; alas, he liked storing most of his valuables in his pocket -- not that he possessed many noteworthy items. The only two he recognized as valuable was his sword and shield. Though, he did appreciate the compliment of being dependable -- it was ultimately a feat he strove for, but in the name of his Makers.

His guard remained, even as he began to indulge his taste-buds with the savory stew. Gavin listened, not insulted in the slightest by the girl's opinions of the Gods and Goddesses above: everyone had their own belief -- he wasn't the type to force his own onto others; however, he found himself stating, "Well, how do you know a God or Goddess doesn't show their will? Many make blessings of prosperity with crops and beg for a good quantity of rain; some think, depending on their success with the harvests, that the Gods are either smiting or praising them for their blessings." He paused, pondering in regards to her comment about drakes, before inquiring, "Have you ever seen a drake or their manifestation of power, young lass?" While she was growing, he felt it was proper to refer to her as aforementioned. But, even as she hinted of irritation, Gavin assured that he was fine, finding this soup to be quite delectable. "No, no. You're not offending me at all. It's just that we have different perceptions of the world. No foul done."

A small smile found its way on his lips, returning her stoic and stoned-expression with friendliness; his way of reassuring her that all was well within their small circle -- or, in this case, the table in which they both sat. "Of course I don't. But, maybe you'd like to introduce yourself? I'm Gavin. Gavin Roxburgh." His chocolate eyes landed on her visage, awaiting for her introduction. His hands didn't leave his bowl of soup, so he offered her no handshake, instead retaining that warm, gentle smile -- this didn't mean Malleigh was off the hook, oh no. He was watching her, guard nigh!

The grin on Malleigh's face widened considerably, were that possible. "Malleigh Duffy, naysayer of God-borne works an' drakeling extraordinaire! I gots drake blood runnin' through me veins, Da says. A fireling born of ash and cinder and great hungerin' lizards though still yet to find her own wings." She gestured towards her map by the window. "Fer now I'm just huntin' fer treasure. A man's grave can hold many a treasure if ye know where t'look, an' I know a big score. Me Da told me of auld Queen Leathrix of the Western Hills who was buried here in a battle campaign. He said he who would find her tomb would be a very rich man indeed, an' I've found it. I know it!"

A small frown took over where the smile had been. "But since I'm still growin' strong, a feisty fleshy fatlouse with a sword might gut me quick, an' I'm loathe t'be spendin' much time fendin' off bandits o' their ilk. Boy, what I wouldn't give fer a sword in the hand of a man o' his honor an' word! I'd be up t'me neck in riches an' finally buy me Da's freedom." Proud sticking out her chest, Malleigh jabbed a thumb at an embroiderment on her cloak. It was a black wolf head devouring a lamb's legbone, and a dragon's tail lazily curled around to frame the scene. "But I got a secret too. Watch."

She winked and held her fingers to her mouth like a trumpet. With a steady inhale, she summoned within her the power of ancestors long since forgotten by mortal men. Their lineage and legacy beating with her heart with every gush of life. Da used to tell her stories of her kind: leather wings flapping through the skies and trumpeting roars telling all to flee to their homes. The old dragons were alive and well. Malleigh could feel them deep inside her yearning to break free. All of a sudden, she spat a chute of flame into the air above her a solid 6 inches. It was just a puff, but that she did it at all caught the attention of Stafan.

"Oi, Malleigh, don't be startin' with yer matchwork tonight. If ye want the room, ye'll be on yer best behavior, missy," he said.

Malleigh looked back at Gavin for a moment, a look of bashfulness scored into her face. Then it lit up with raucous, tittering laughter. "I tell ye, mate. They're all fools, they are. Think it's just matches an' a bit o' pine grass, but I'm the real deal, sir. A real drakeling."

She ran a finger through the wood grain on the table then. "Oh, aye, I know what ye'll say too. 'Drakes aren't real, Malleigh.' Just like them fat oafs at the church. S'why I stopped even takin' their silly coats an' washin' 'em in berry juice. The scoldin' wasn't worth it. Well, what d'they know 'nyway?"

Truthfully, he didn't think her smile could grow any larger! At least, Gavin didn't expect the grin to widen; perhaps he just found it lingering for far too long? Still, it was always a good thing for a child to be optimistic and joyful about life, no? Seemed Malleigh was right up that alley -- though he couldn't help but find her... 'eccentric'... 'different'... 'strange'...? But, it was her own belief of dragons and drakes, who was Gavin to deny their existence? He assumed at one point those large, nasty predators, all scaly and fiery, did exist and thrive; just not presently... he hoped. "Pleasure to make your acquaintance, Malleigh." He resumed carrying the soft smile upon his lips, eyes averting from her figure to the table by the windowsill after the girl mentioned and gestured in that direction. But, as she mentioned potentially robbing a grave, his smile quickly and abruptly subsided. "Uh... that's not a good thing to do... You're not serious, are you?"

Gavin thought of the girl as a prankster, surely she wasn't dead-set on actually looting from a tomb filled of dead corpses? He looked at her in disbelief, realizing that she was pretty intent on taking from a crypt; for her to comment about being killed by a bandit and thug, she had to be. "Wait... your Dad's freedom? Is he enslaved? A criminal?" Gavin rubbed the nape of his neck with his free hand, the other resting with the spoon inside his bowl of stew. And, well, he gripped the spoon tightly when she demonstrated the power residing within her: she spat out fire. Gavin had seen many interesting sights before, this hadn't surprised him, but warned him -- was she a mage with an affinity to fire? He had a paranoia of those within the Order after his traumatic experience. He was a troubled man and the worry was undoubtedly present on his now ghastly-looking visage. The hand at the nape of his neck tug at his hairline, as if to keep himself in the present via pain receptors -- he tried to suppress the PTSD, he didn't want to relive the memory now.

Clenching his jaw, Gavin was thankful to snap back to reality because of Stafan's 'interference'. He shook his head, shrugging his expression off, noticing Malleigh's glance now lingered upon his frame. Hopefully she didn't notice that. He found himself a tad unsettled by her laughter, though. "Well, I'm sure they exist... I just haven't seen one... nor anyone I've encountered in this lifetime so far. But... maybe that might change?" He found himself full, mainly because of his uneasiness, instead wondering what the girl was about to say and do. Hopefully she wasn't thinking of actually heading to that tomb.

"An' I've never seen a god's fat ugly arse before neither, but that don't make 'em not real, eh?" She smiled at Gavin more fondly now, her tone jovial but markedly more calm. "I may not put much faith in the works of divine bein's, but I know a man who walks with a holy symbol on his heart when I see 'im. Yer a good lad, Gavin Roxburgh, I'll reckon. Mayhaps a bit on the stiff side, but if we was all loose folk like meself, buildin's and kingdoms wouldn't stand up straight!" Again, she made her chittering laugh. Her hand wrapped around the edge of the table, nails digging into the wood, or rather, what nails were left. The ends were chewed a bit, all too often the sign of worry and concern and many sleepless nights.

Malleigh glanced around as if someone might overhear and do some terrible thing to her for her words. "An' well... y'asked about me Da. 'E's locked up inna cell some cold, dark place 'neath tall castle walls far from 'ere. Ran the Blackfoot Hares where I grew up, 'e did." Oh, how she swelled with pride! "We was called Blackfoot since most of us grew up 'round the smith's district. Right sooty sod we walked on. Course, not a man alive woulda said a thing about it. He'd have his hide strung up on the tavern walls fer it. An'... well..." Her joviality gave way to wistfulness.

"I s'pose they'll have gotten a dif'rent name now. Buncha ugly bastards. Da was jailed fer the fire that started in me own house. I was practicin' me flame-breath in me room, an' I..." And now the smile was gone, replaced with a quivering lower lip and a furrowed brow. She stared into Gavin's eyes fiercely, a ravenous hunger, a powerful thirst for retribution smouldering in her own green irises. "It wasn't 'is fault the fire started. I did it. 'E just took the fall fer me. Lord of Caer Avon said I wasn't old enough t'be tried fer burnin' down half the town, an' Da told me t'leave."

Her eyes flicked back over to her map on the far side of the tavern room. "Oh, aye, Gavin Roxburgh. I am serious about raidin' them tombs what holds me Da's freedom in gold and jewels, an' I'll kill the man that stands in me way if need be. I'll burn 'is body t'cinders."

And then she sat there in silence for a bit, simmering. Then, finally... "Yer gods got a problem with that, sir?"

[Sorry for the delay!]

Although stiff, her comment produced a small, soft chuckle from Gavin's lips, which then curved into a gentle smile. She sure had a way with words! Gavin had yet to meet a girl like her, until now of course! Perhaps it was fortunate, maybe unlucky; a man of his religious background was often superstitious of signs. Now, he couldn't determine if she was some sign, but he was thankful she thought of him highly, in a sense. "I strive to make the world a better place... There's a lot of evil and harm, people should have some sort of protection. Thank you for those words, Malleigh." His chestnut oculars trailed her grazing appendages along the wood, noting the nails digging along the surface of the table -- thankfully the background noise muffled any sort of screech it might have produced, lest she wanted him to wince. Still, he noted that she was definitely a biter!

It was a natural gesture; Gavin found himself leaning forward as she whispered, ears honed to intercept the transmission, eyes faintly glimmering with curiosity. "Ah..." It was all he could say; the ferocity of her gaze, the dead-serious expression and tone, it troubled him. It was unfortunate how life was for some people. Truthfully, Gavin grew up in an orphanage, his parents killed when he was a mere babe. While he wasn't at the age to remember his parents, he couldn't fathom the pain of being pried from someone close; although he had his own demons to worry about. He had to say, gaze locked onto hers, "He sounds like a brave and honorable man, lass."

Soon, her attention wavered back to the map and task at hand. Gavin rubbed the nape of his neck yet again. He felt conflicted about the situation. It was wrong to disturb the dead, but, he also now worried for her safety. "Blast it all..." He muttered softly to himself, but the girl was in earshot to pick up his whispered words. "There has to be other ways to obtain that gold, Malleigh..." He paused, pondering about his religion and morality. This was of both spectrums of bad and good -- maybe if his intentions were good? Theft was against the law though... "I-I don't know. It's difficult to say..."

Malleigh snorted. "Brave? Mayhaps. Honorable? Well, I s'pose in 'is own way. Nuthin' honorable 'bout breakin' a man's fingers 'cause he didn't save th'good side o' lamb fer a buncha thugs..." She grinned at her companion at the table. "But me Da's me Da. Can't change family. 'E looked out fer me and fer his Hares, 'e did, an' not a blighter more in the whole wide world. Mayhaps that's wrongtalk. Mayhaps 'e shoulda been teachin' me t'talk upper class lady-like an' dress like one o' them court girls what would improve our standin' someday."

She hopped down from her chair, stamping back over to her map to fetch a small metal can. It sluiced and sloshed in her arm as she walked back over, a spot of murky water splashing out and onto her shirt. She took a long sip from it. "It'd be another way t'get the gold what buys me Da's freedom, mayhaps. Yer gods might appreciate it, eh?" She smiled and took another drink of her water, likely pooled from the previous day's rain.

"What's yer mind on it, sir? Church'd say don't go diggin' up a dead man's bones. It's unnatural. It's unholy." Malleigh fingered a rut dug into the table in front of her, tracing a symbol of Gladjande, whose stories delighted her as a child and even now took root in her heart. She didn't trust the First Moon to save her if trouble came knocking. Oh, she could do that herself, but it was the spirit of the goddess's adventurousness that found a kindred feeling in Malleigh. More smiles. "But ye know what? It's more fun than sweepin' up after dirty drunks."

[Sorry for the delay... again!]

Maybe honorable or brave weren't the right descriptive words, but Gavin knew one thing: "Sounds like he cares for you, though; which is always good with a parent -- looking out for you, least he was." He outwardly laughed as she mentioned learning proper manners, not in a way to insult the young girl, but only because he couldn't contain it -- curse his lack of politeness at this moment! She didn't seem the type to fancy that sort of thing, anyway. "Now... would you really want to dedicate your life to that?." Whether or not Malleigh realized it, that question was entirely rhetorical.

The question arose again -- not a specific question, but topic, rather. That topic regarded if Gavin was to aid Malleigh in her grave-robbing. "Well, your father is a good man, but he was involved with a group of mercs? I guess it'd depend on the type of crimes they committed, but I'm sure my Gods appreciate the good in him, sure." He rubbed his chin now, firm, semi-calloused hand running along the stubble against his jawline. "But, you're endangering yourself, I can't sit back and let you get injured... On the other hand..." Gavin was weighing the pros and cons out heavily. "I'm helping you steal..." Grunting, he finally came to terms with the reality. "I'd say death is worse than stealing though -- the least I can do is offer you protection and maybe dissuade you from taking loot along the way." He rested his arms now along the table, muttering. "I'm in... only for your safety and the good, of course." He had some regret to accept this challenge and quest, but there was still hope that maybe things could be better and not take a turn for the worse: like Gavin protecting the girl from any bandit trying to harm her. That was merit enough in the eyes of the Makers... right?

Malleigh snorted. "Good man? Oh, I dunno 'bout that, Gavin Roxburgh. I know 'e'd laugh at 'is one an' only daughter traipsin' about in skirts an' 'eels, I do. We wasn't mercenaries, though. No sense talkin' like Hares was men with big swords and a hunger fer gold an' warfare. They're thugs, plain an' simple. Break yer mum's arm if it meant ye'd pay 'em off. Rough up yer shop if it meant ye'd give 'em bargain prices." She regarded him seriously, eyes flashing darkly. "An' me Da raised me t'be a Blackfoot Hare, sir."

She sat for a moment, staring him down in stony silence, gauging his reaction and what he must think of her. This was a godly man, a man of conservative ideals and honor. He probably thought she was helpless in a fight. He probably thought her little flame breath was a parlor trick, nothing more. He probably thought she didn't carry a knife in her boot that had seen a man's throat more times than she had fingers to count. Well, he might be surprised.

And then, the silence cracked. That gleeful smile burst forth again, and Malleigh hopped up from her chair. "But if ye say yer in, I'll be sure yer rewarded handsomely! Oh, aye, Gavin Roxburgh, stealin' from the dead might be unpleasant in the eyes of the gods, but they ain't takin' it wherever they go, are they? Let me get me map."

She spent a moment packing her things, map rolled up and packed carefully into a tough, leather tube so it wouldn't crease and crack, a long fang planted in the table now tied around her neck by a leather strap. She looked at it wistfully for a moment, dreaming of the day the world would know her lineage and stop treating her like some helpless waif. Oh, that day would come soon.

Once everything was in order, she returned to Gavin. "I'll go talk Stafan into givin' me 'is spare tonight, an' we'll set off west at sunrise. We'll be in bandit lands by high noon, an' then it's just a quick jaunt t'the Leathrix crypts."

Mercenaries and thugs, Gavin didn't think there was much of a difference between the two. Both had their negatives, more-so than the positive, and most were greedy... oh so greedy. For Malleigh to mention her father's group breaking a defenseless person's arm to get what they wanted, Gavin wasn't surprised. He clearly saw Malleigh's point, though; there was no change for her now! The influence of her upbringing was far too strong! Well, at least regarding being really feminine and proper.

He might have thought her as somewhat defenseless, in a sense, but Gavin was aware that, given her upbringing, that she probably had some tricks up her sleeve -- her dad wouldn't leave his child unable to fend for herself, now, would he? He wasn't blind or ignorant; Gavin wasn't one to be taken lightly or deceived -- his past events haunted him to be cautious. He didn't suspect that the child was doing this to mug him, but he also didn't think that she was incapable of fighting. She had to have some sort of trump card, after all. But, this thought process made him realize that he had to be careful -- and by the makers, how he'd loath dealing with the Gifted. She couldn't be playing him, right? The smile seemed genuine, unless it was trained to swindle?

"Eh, rewarded? I don't think that'd be appropriate for me..." He sheepishly laughed, but as soon as he muttered that, the girl bounced off to reclaim the map, causing him to pay his tab to the barmaid walking by. He began to gather his own things, strapping his shield along his back and sword along his hip. When she fluttered over, Gavin stood, nodding when she mentioned talking to Stafan first. Oh, just what was he getting himself into?

Something he'd soon come to regret, sure enough.

Thea had been wandering the streets of the city on horseback, utterly lost since dawn. She eventually found her way toward the taverns and inns, and while she hated the lot of them, they were her one chance at livelihood -- she had a deer across the back of her mount that was soon to waste, and she couldn't eat it all. Stories passed down from hunters through the years spoke of taverns and inns buying them off before the old ones would take notice, and the shame was a decent price to pay for ensuring the creature's life would not go to waste. She travelled the streets slowly, looking for anything that didn't seem too...crowded, though she didn't know the best way to go about that -- she'd need one with a paddock, that was for sure, as the last time she'd tried to stall her horse, both were forcibly removed from the premise before it came down in the clamor of hooves on wood.

That was not in the capital, though, but in some country inn enroute. Very few places catered to Thea's kind, as they tended to be unintentionally difficult. As she ruminated, she nearly passed her destination in the setting sunlight, the etched markings of the image she'd come to associate with 'inn' very nearly lost to shadows. The girl paused, drawing the horse to a halt, and surveyed the area; it would have to do, she surmised, and clucked once, signalling the need to go on further. Gingerly, she guided the horse into the associated paddock, murmuring softly to keep him calm (he, too, recalled the last time). Stomach growling from the scents on the air, she dismounted and removed her cloak, draping the latter over the saddle whilst gracefully stepping around her canine companion as it made to leap upon the back of the horse -- a most perfect anti-theft device if there ever was one, as the wolf-like beast would prevent anyone from even approaching the valuables within the saddlebags -- her blade and bow.

The Ravenscar'd grunted slightly as she transferred the stag off the rump of the horse and onto her shoulders, then again as she shifted it around until it reached a more manageable position; the legs were tied together in pairs, both fore and haunch, the snout fastened to the knees to prevent excessive rolling and breaking of the antlers, which were wrapped in an old leather cloth. Steeling herself, she trudged toward the main door in a slow, deliberate pace, careful to not shift too much in either direction -- she'd not be able to get the stag back onto her shoulders if it fell off, and no-one would care to buy a mud-laden beast, even if it did wash off, she thought. The stoop was the hardest, she thought, as the lowlanders were much longer in the leg than she, but she managed without completely dropping her ware.

If she had thought the stoop was hard, the door was harder; the poor girl had her arms hooked around the deer's knees and stifles to stabilize the beast, but that rendered her arms almost useless for anything but balancers. She couldn't quite reach the lever to lift the bar, and as she gently, slowly, stretched, the stag slid off in the opposing direction and hit the stoop with a resounding thud. The expletive that followed would surely catch the ear of those falling silent to listen for more crashing.

Natural // Frox // Secondary

Though she was just about to go and convince Stafan to give her lodgings for the night courtesy of a freshly picked coinpurse taken from a man who clearly no longer had need of it. He was far too drunk to even notice that Malleigh had relieved him of his money. When she handed a gold piece to Stafan, the man looked around at his patrons and sighed. He knew. Of course, it made little difference to him in the end. Whether it was their coin or hers, it still made its way into his pockets, so he gave her the room.

No sooner had old Stafan pocketed her coin and dropped a key into her hand that he was unlikely to see again the next morning when a crash at his door told him he probably needed a strong drink himself. "Fetch the newcomer, lass," he said, and Malleigh grinned. Happily bouncing over, she endeavored with far too little strength to wrench the door from its hinges. The heavy oak slab swung inward softly despite her efforts, and she saw, standing in the doorway, a girl actually shorter than herself and a sagging deer carcass.

"Well, if I've never seen a more silly sight in all me life..." she exclaimed, reaching out a hand and grabbing the newcomer's vigorously. "Ye come t'bring Stafan 'is meal, did ye? Well, 'e is the sort t'eat off th'ground like a wild beastie, ain't 'e?" She glanced over her shoulder at Stafan, who was frowning at the sight, clearly displeased at the unusual amount of passersby that were entering his tavern that night.

"Can I help ye with yer pet there? 'e seems like 'e's not up fer movin' right yet, aye?" Malleigh asked with a giggle. Again, she looked over her shoulder and called, "Mayhaps this is a job fer yer heroics, eh, Gavin Roxburgh?"

The burly man adorned in templar-ish armor was awaiting for Malleigh to return, oblivious to her thief-like antics at the moment, tapping his digits against the pommel of his sword. The pit of his stomach was aflutter, conflicted with his decision regarding this little adventure to the tombs. Was he doing the right thing? Was there even a right thing? Sighing softly, his opposing hand rubbed along the nape of his neck, digits passing through dirty-blonde locks. He hoped the Makers would forgive him for this...

Soon, the girl was bouncing around to the door, in which Gavin began to trail along sluggishly -- his steps and stride were longer, so he didn't need as much energy to match the child's pace. He wasn't aware that Stafan told her to fetch the person outside, so he was a bit alarmed at the thud against the door. For a moment, he was concerned for Malleigh's safety, only to be perplexed to find a woman standing at the doorway, barely grasping her ware, which happened to be a deer. This short female was a hunter, providing food to this establishment?

Although Malleigh was a little rude with her comment, Gavin did think Thea needed some aid in carrying the meat -- the expletive might have made him blush, but he kept his composure, for the most part. He was a man of mannerisms -- he avoided foul words, refrained as much as possible. Sure, he slipped, occasionally, but he often begged for forgiveness from the Gods. And that probably sounded crazy, but eh! "If the lady wills it, I'll take the meat off her hands." His muscular arms now outstretched, he offered to take the weight of the carcass off Thea. He offered a soft, genuine smile, one of the polite variety. Should she decline, he wouldn't be offended. He wouldn't mind his clothes getting dirty, but at the same time, didn't mind staying clean, either. Whatever worked!

Large eyes, slanted in anger, focused beyond the child who had opened the door (which was a fright in and of itself for Thea), on the towering man behind her as he opened his arms. The lock-on lasted only for a moment before the remainder of the stag lost its fight with gravity and started slipping forward, dragging the mountain-dweller down with it; Thea braced herself, grunting as she struggled to control it, swearing again as the boney elbow of the beast pressed itself into the warmth of her cheeks. As it began its trek over her face, her knees weakened, and with one final burst of adrenaline, the girl shot herself upward in a precarious series of steps to maintain her momentum.

"Back," she all but growled from the exertion, warning the two to get out of her way if they hadn't already; while she hadn't answered the man's request outright (the falling stag had rendered incapable of doing so at the moment), she would not be against his taking up the other end before the flooring of the tavern soiled it further. Once she made it through the threshold, the weight was too much, and, with one final, muttered oath, she came to a stop, painfully aware of all eyes on her. Panting silently, nostrils flaring, she sought the gaze of the innkeeper, the one the girl had called Stafan. "Old ones willed it here," she said slowly, anxiety masked by the labored way in which she spoke, "Do you accept their offering?"

Natural // Frox // Secondary

[Sorry for the delay.]

Stafan sighed. Another loony in his little bar? "Old ones or no, yer load'll do me no good collectin' dirt from the floor." The man heaved his bulk from his chair and brushed stale bread crumbs from his apron. He crossed the room with big, lumbering steps to take the young woman's "offering" from her. The carcass seemed like a small child in his arms, easily lifted and taken into some backroom to be put in an icebox until morning when he could carve its flesh from its bones. His face wore an annoyed grimace the entire time.

Malleigh, on the other hand, just rocked on her heels and grinned as Stafan went about his job. She hadn't actually moved in response to Thea's order. "Don't mind him. Not a fan of nonsense in his "very professional eatery"."

One of the men from back near the bar chimed in to add to her joke, "Aye, professional like a dog too long without a bath." As if for emphasis, he ran a gloved finger along the bar's wood and cleared a gouge in some thin layer of grease. "So that's what color the bar really is!" he said, elbowing one of his comrades. "Coulda sworn it was blacker than dog's droppin's." All the men broke out into uproarious laughter.

Malleigh looked from Gavin to Thea. "Aye, welcome t'The Thirsty Hound, most well-traveled bar this side o' th' wastes!" She bundled up her cloak and adjusted her hat, both of which, in this light, seemed like they'd seen better days and brighter dyes. The fading purple in both suggested they were once expensive and high-class. Of course, now they were nothing more than a child's costume, armor for a burgeoning drakeling.

"Malleigh Duffy, professional adventurer an' growing dragon, at your service," she said, sticking out a bony hand once Thea's were free of her charge. "An' the big one's Gavin Roxburgh, good with a sword an' even better with a holy verse. I've already recruited him fer me next venture t'the doors of Queen Leathrix's crypt. It's on me map an' everythin'!"

[I'm also sorry for the delay!]

His expression changed. One of those thick, but seemingly well-kept brows arched as he realized the woman he offered to help was angrily gazing at him. Odd. But, the woman was independent, he supposed: she didn't want the beast she slayed to slay her with its weight, in a sense. Yet, she stumbled and fumbled, which caused Gavin to fidget and flail in her direction -- as if to catch either the girl or the carcass -- but withdraw once noticing that she stood upright with a few mighty steps.

Her warning didn't fall upon deaf ears. Gavin then gave her enough space to proceed with her travel. Noticing, however, that the flank of the beast was close to dragging along the floor, Gavin decided to carry the other half, lessening the weight upon Thea's short frame. He holstered the creature's backside upon his shoulder while his arms stabilized its position, taking up majority of the stag's bulk of mass. It wasn't an issue for him, anyway. He moved to Thea's pace until she came to an abrupt halt, with Stafan nearby. Quietly, he listened, wondering if she worshiped some god regarding the hunt -- the way in which she spoke made it seem so?

Once the stag was taken by Stafan, Gavin dusted himself off before one of his hands returned to his neck, rubbing the nape softly. He didn't laugh when the crowd roared, remaining calm and quiet, observing the conversation between Malleigh and the newcomer; those his chestnut eyes were known to wander, occasionally. The girl handled his introduction, to which he offered a small, quick smile. He spoke, "Well, I can't say I'm fond or excited to go." He went to offer his free hand to shake Thea's, but wouldn't be offended if she rejected. She didn't seem like the type who really followed pleasantries, but it wasn't as if Gavin knew her well, either.

"I thankee, Gavin Rox...burgh, for your assistance with the offering," Thea said slowly at length, once the introductions had come to a close and the majority of the attention was no longer on her, and the stag was safely removed from her grasp. "And you, young one." She couldn't hope to pronounce the girl's name quite yet. She allowed her hands to be shaken, though her grip was unsure and soiled with the textures of death, and she did not offer her name in return -- one of those nuances she was ignorant of, unfortunately, but she would have gladly given her name if asked.

The Ravenscar'd took time to look her pseudosaviors over, exhaustion slowly creeping into her eyes as her body sagged slightly; the stag had been heavy, and the gratitude which she felt towards Gavin allowed her to relax. "It is a...pleasant tavern," she added, glancing toward Malleigh as she spoke of her plans. The child's mood was infectious, and while tired, Thea felt the burdens of her day ease away and smiled faintly. She recalled childhood.

"You are not fond of Death, Gavin Roxburgh?" Her smile widened at this, in an attempt to be playful, to break the ice.

Natural // Frox // Secondary

[The Deal]

As it has been over three weeks since this thread has been posted in, it is now closed.

Points allocated as follows:

Malleigh: 9 + 3QP (12)

Gavin: 9 + 2QP (11)

Thea: 3

QP added for overall effort and content.