The Forest is a Dangerous Place(Luck/Lolth)
 

Mishka shifted on her perch for what felt like the tenth time that evening. As much as she loved the hunt, it got boring and a bit painful to the bottom. Every sound of her shifting sounded like thunder to her sensitive ears which made her think a string of curses. She was taught to get comfortable in the first place, but she couldn't damn well bring a pillow with her on the job.

It didn't take her long to resettle, but resettling at the wrong time could mean life or death. Or simply not getting to eat for a few days. She sighed silently and scanned the scenery again. Her tree was more on the outskirts of the forest, but it was still the forest. She could see the river Gantt to the south, no more than a quarter mile away, and the small village of Usholl nearly spitting distance to the west.

The party she had word of was supposed to be coming in from the west along the nice, clear wagon trail that split through the forest like a scar. The good thing about going after a group was that they tended to be noisy and made things like shifting in her hiding spot a little easier. Though still not the safest. She was mostly camouflaged but was far more considerably sized than any bird.

She'd been waiting several turns past sunset now. It was likely no more than a breath past midnight, but she didn't feel like looking up to get a more accurate time. As the night had gone on, she was finding that she was looking away from the target's supposed location less and less.

With another inaudible sigh, she continued to wait...

Kristoff's teal eyes studied the group he was traveling with. They were your normal ramble of mercenaries, loud and rowdy. Kristoff didn't like them much, they far too much noise for his liking. However, there was safety in numbers so he continued to follow along with them, suffering in silence.

"Hey Kristoff, old boy, are we nearly there?" One of the older members of the group asked. They were ready for rest in a tarvern with a lots of good mead to go through their brainless heads. Kristoff didn't answer for a moment, his seething hatard for these men growing ever so stronger.

"Nearly. Keep moving and try to keep quiet lest you want to be meal to some creature." Kristoff responded in a cold stony voice. These men weren't his friends, nor were they allies he cared much for. They merely served a purpose for now and once they reached te tarvern, they would split ways. Kristoff detested these types of men, rude and vile they were. He had to hire them mainly to stop them from abusing the women in the previous town.

Just as her eyes were beginning to blur for want to blink, Mishka saw the party. The movement amongst the trees was too dense and slow to be a wolf. The echo of voices was not animal at all, and the loudness made her worry considerably less about any noise she'd be making. With a quick flitting of hands, she checked her person for the usual tools in place and secure. Satisfied, she began her stealthy descent down the large tree, keeping the trunk between her victims and her body. She landed on the ground as soft as a cat and paused to listen again. The group was still at least a hundred yards off. She had been quite high up the tree.

Mishka moved quickly to close the considerable distance of where she was to where the party was due to be. The voices were gradually growing louder but it was deep ingrained into her to pad softly toward her prize. Her heart was thudding deep beneath her ribs, a trickle of adrenaline coming from the excitement.

As she was getting closer, she had to progress at a slower pace. There was some underbrush, but it was sparse enough to cause for want. She had to make sure that every time she snuck from behind a tree or shrub that she was certain to be unnoticed.

She reached her waiting spot for the interception. The voices were boisterous and considerable. All she had to do was mark when they were passing and sneak up from behind. Minutes passed...

The voices peaked and very slightly changed direction. It was her cue. She cautiously snuck a hand outward and inspected the reflection of a mirror implanted into her wrist cuff. All she saw were the backs of heads in the progression. One man rode a horse and a mule was pulling a rickety cart. She nodded to herself and snuck out, sticking as close to cover as she could without disturbing any branches.

What she wanted was supposedly in the cart. Silent as a hunter, she snuck after the group, trying to keep extra keen watch that any should turn. In no time she concealed her pace behind the mule and cart, hunched as close to the ground as possible so that she was hidden. It burned her muscles greatly but the prize should be worth it. When she deemed it safe, she popped up just enough to peek into the cart. If she tried to jump in, the mule would react and all would be for naught, so she walked after. Her eyes scanned the features of what little was in the cart and something felt wrong. This was supposed to be a considerably wealthy person moving into town. The cart, while laden with items, was more bare than she had anticipated.

A chill hit her. She looked at the back of the heads of those in the party again and realized that this was the wrong group. All burly men and no wife or child. Why hadn't she thought of that before? Look at the group before you go in. What a foolish move.

Hastily, she moved for the security of the underbrush again. As she slid behind the tree, a considerable twig underfoot snapped and her heart skipped a beat. She held her breath to listen if she was detected.

Kristoff barely listened as the other men chattered away about foolish nonsense of women and wine. Those things never seemed important to Kristoff. He live for the sword and he shall die by the sword, there will be no wife nor child for him. Kristoff remain the only vilgant member of the party, glancing ever so much at the surround area and their cart. They had little items, mainly weaponary and shields, there were also a few other items, things they lifted off of fallen foes.

Kristoff had nearly deemed the area clear when he heart a twig snap. He paused for a moment, letting the group gain headway over him. As their voices began to fade in the distance, he kept still, listening to what may lay in the sparce underbush. His normal pale teal eyes darkened a bit as he scanned the nearby brush, everything seemed to be still. Perhaps he heard an animal settling in nearby. It couldn't possibly be an animal, not thise close to the main road. Where his unusally sharp ears playing tricks on him?

Kristoff neared the brush that spotted the edge of the road, growing closer. He scanned it, looking for signs of disturbance. "Who is there?" He called out. He waited for an answer, hoping to get one or to get a fight. Before he got one, the men of his group caled back to him. "Kristoff! What are you doing back there? Taking a leak?" They erupted in laughter. Kristoff shook his head at the vile men, his silky chocolate colored curls swaying about his head. His face set in its normal cold stone as he gave the brush one last glance over. He turned on his heel, knowing that something or someone was there, he just couldn't find them.

She could hardly hear a thing, her heart was throbbing in her ears. A cold sweat slicked her forehead and she tried to control her breathing. Mishka did everything she could to calm her screaming nerves and listen. The one who heard her, the one who had almost looked back when she was right under their noses... he was no more than ten feet away. Her mouse coloured hair was plastered to her forehead and back of her neck and itched like madness.

It felt like an eternity before she heard the shift of stray pebbles in the ground that she assumed the man lost interest. Listening further, it turned into footsteps that were fading back into the voices. The immense lump in her throat started to dissipate and she heaved a sigh of relief.

Maybe too loud, though, so she decided not to risk vulnerability by sitting in one spot. Springing like a cat, she jumped up and ran into the forest, continuously cursing herself for such a grave error, and praying hard to the gods that she may not be pursued.

Kristoff was glad that his traveling group reach the inn so early. He grew tired of dealing with those men. They would spend the night in the inn then move on in the morning. Kristoff, however, would stay a few days there. He needed a rest and to put some distance between him and those rude men. He also wanted to scout around in the woods to see if he can't find out who was there. He knew someone had been watching them, hiding from him when he had heard that twig. It still brothered him and he didn't want to let it go, not at that moment.

Kristoff took his room key from the mousy looking barmaid who was flushed with color from all the haughty comments the men were giving her. She smiled at him and went back to work, disappearing into the back away from those men he was with. He grunted at them as he past, they were already drinking and getting drunk. He headed up to his room to rest and prehaps bathe.

In her mishaps of the night, she missed the real target she had been sent after. It earned her a considerable beating and orders that she'd have to pick-pocket at the tavern til all the drunks were sent home. Worst of all was that it didn't leave her much time.

She left the thieving tools at home, as none were needed for this excursion. All she took was a decent dagger, concealed nicely in her boot.

It was a brisk walk to the tavern. She was some distance away and the smells and sounds were already wafting out of the establishment. Stale booze and smelly men was terribly odoriferous and it always took several minutes of adjusting.

When the tavernmaster saw her, he steeled a glare at her. She shrugged and avoided his gaze. It wasn't easy trying to be a thief in a single village. She and he were at a begrudging agreement that she was not allowed to pickpocket anyone not already drunk (and therefore unable to drink much more, which wouldn't be a big loss on his part). She dropped a copper Tonk on the bar and he drew a weak ale for her, which she collected and took with her to a table near the stairs up to the inn. Mishka quietly sat and sipped, analyzing the room of drunks and nighttime ruffians; who she could lift from, who she'd have to avoid.

Mishka's appearance was boyish, and that was the intent. One didn't get harassed as much if you weren't female. Her mouse-coloured hair had dried of sweat now, but was still apathetically disheveled. Her clothes were simple lower-middle-class wear of a simple sleeveless doublet, cheap linen undershirt and pants. It afforded her a good amount of movement while still proffering the illusion of boyhood. Instead of looking like a woman in her 20s, she feigned being a boy in his teens. The only thing too noteworthy about her this evening was the bruise purpling on her cheekbone.

Before long, she began to make her rounds at the bar. Lifting a few Tonk here, a few there. The tavermaster glared at her hard again when she was near one patron, and she took it to mean that he was going to drink more. A lot more. So leave his cash alone. She lifted her hands defensively and moved on.

Not a second after another lift, one of the brutes grabbed her arm. "Eyy, that's mine! You little thief."

She looked down at the small purse she had in hand and held it out. "Oy, is it? I found it here on the floor and was wond'ring. Here you go, chap." The man took it smartly, but not without swaying on the barstool a bit.

"Found it, ey? Found it in my pockit you little thief," the drunkard stood up quickly, knocking his barstool to the floor in a noisy clatter.

"What? I gave it to you, you big galoot! Found it, I say. No reason to get ornery," her hands came up defensive again and she backed away. The other patrons were starting to notice, and a ruckus was building down below the inn rooms.

Kristoff had just returned from his bath. He felt somewhat refreshed and relaxed, not too much mind you. He had his light armor on, steel with gold elven etches on it. It was a gift from his mother as he reached his manhood years. He was not but 24 but already seen more than most men in their late forties. Some would say that is has made him hard and cold to the world, but Kristoff didn't care.

He had decided to brave the traven main floor. He couldn't merely sit in his room all day and night while he stayed there. He had just came downstairs when he found a drunken fool messing with a mousy boy. The drunk was accusing him of being a thief. Kristoff shook his head as he saw the man's coin purse sitting on the table. He made his way over to the table, looming over the drunken accuser. Kristoff was tall, well near six foot two, and he had lean muscles and a broad chest. He was a intimadating foe.

"What is the problem here, Aeron?" He asked, his voice cold and hard, much like his face. Kristoff's dark hair curled around his ears and forehead, giving it a lush look to it. His teal colored eyes were dark and warning of danger. He looked from Aeron to the mousy boy.

Mishka was very irritated, but avoided letting it show. Instead, she pulled the innocent face as best as she could. The bartender rolled his eyes and proceeded to ignore the confrontation.

"What is the problem here, Aeron?"

Mishka looked sharply in the direction of the voice. Her eyes found the man, and she flinched. He was the one that almost caught her in the forest. Her face got hot and she avoided eye contact. The brute with a hold on her shook her arm roughly.

"This 'ere little rat tried to steal my purse," Aeron accused, face red with anger. "I intend on showin' 'im a lesson right."

Mishka spoke up, still avoiding eye contact with the dashing man nearby. "I found his purse on the floor and returned it," she offered, not sure if it was to be believed. Course she remembered that eye contact would make her believed, so she forced herself to look at him. Her eyes were brown, with the slightest hint of green around the pupils, and there was a fierceness within. The bruise on her cheek was clear as day.

((Because I imagine there will be a bunch of dialogue and back-and-forth coming up, I am ok with brief responses as long as you are :) ))

((Haha, that's good with me. :D ))

Kristoff had his hand on the drunken man's shoulder. He began to squeeze it, his grip death like. "But you still have your purse, Aeron." He said, his voice cold. He looked at the mousy boy, who had looked at him. The boy's brown eyes stared into him. This young boy seemed to be more femimine than he first thought. Something about his eyes that shook Kristoff.

"The boy says he returned it to you, Aeron." Kristoff said to the man again, this time his voice was harder. There was a dangerous tone in his voice as he tore his eyes away from the boy and back to Aeron.

((Oh and just in case, know that I also don't mind you "running" any NPC I create and even minor actions of my character if you think it'll add interest. I am pretty easy going. I will let you know if its conflicting with an idea I had. :) ^,^))

Aeron's shoulder hurt from the grip. He released the "boy's" wrist roughly.

"Bloody hell. He's a little thief, I know it," he muttered and sat back to his drink. Mishka was rubbing at her wrist, eyes cast down.

"Thank you, sir," she said, trying to make her voice just masculine enough. Hastily, she turned to go, hoping to escape with the rest of the bounty she had earned.

((Sorry this was kind of short >.>;; ))

((Ok, I might throw one or two in just to make things a little fun. :D I'm pretty easy going too.))

Kristoff glared at the boy, something about his voice catching his attention. He watched as the boy ran off, wondering all the while. He turned and sat down at a table in the corner, one furthest away from all the people. A pretty barmaid came by to take his drink order and to flirt a little. Kristoff merely waved her off after telling her what he had wanted, he kept his eye out for any trouble that may arise. It had seemed to him that the mousy boy, if he was a boy, had been the center of the trouble. Kristoff had a feeling that Aeron could have been correct about him being a theif, but Kristoff detested Aeron the most.

Kristoff kept his eyes on the mousy boy, waiting to see if he would leave the inn or stick around for a bit longer. He didn't quite understand why he was so interested in the young one, but he was. And Kristoff wasn't the type to let things that interested him to slip away from him.

"Aye, Kristoff, you into little boys now?" Luke said as he sat infront of Kristoff, blocking his view of the mousy one. Kristoff gave him a hard look that had the other man flinching. Luke held his hands up infront of him, giving them a slight wave. "Calm down now, Kristoff." He said, leaning forwards towards him.

"What do you want, Luke?" He asked, his eyes searching for the mousy one. Kristoff wasn't interested in what the other man wanted. He had just spent four days on the road with the man and he couldn't stand him. "I hear there's a theif around here. One that visits this inn quite a bit. Pretty big bounty on their head." Luke said, causing Kristoff's head to jerk back to him. He knew what Luke was thinking, and he didn't like it one bit.

((:D That doesn't mess with any of your plans does it?))

((Mm, I don't really know what I had planned. I keep figuring that Kristoff may chase Mishka.))

The barkeep heard what Luke said and tried to cast a warning glance at Mishka. She didn't catch it, but at least she wasn't being dumb and trying to lift anymore coin that evening. Which was a damnable shame seeing as she didn't make her quota. It would earn her another beating, and she winced to think of the bruises. Absently, she tenderly touched a hand to the swollen place on her cheekbone.

She sat down where her drink was, doing her best to play it cool for almost getting caught. She sipped lightly at the ale and did her best to avoid looking at any of the patrons.

"A bounty?" said Aeron, interest clearly piqued. Money was one of the few things that spoke to the dumb bloke. He leaned his head toward the others and did his best to whisper, which was a sorry attempt. "I say we bag that little stickyfingers and turn 'im in. Whether its the big 'un or not I'm sure we'll get somefin' fer it."