Lucien,
There's a merchant making a lot of noise in Lowtown about the Qunari, Javaris something. Says he's offering quite a bit of coin for anyone who'll help him. If the horn-heads are involved, it probably won't be easy, but that's kind of your speciality, isn't it?
-Mirren
Admittedly, when he'd woken this morning to find the note affixed to his door with a red-handled dagger, he'd rolled his eyes (the bad one could still do that, after all) and wondered when the Red Iron had picked up such a flair for the dramatic. Nevertheless, he was grateful that they were passing work his way, regardless of how they chose to go about informing him of it. So here he was, going through the daily ritual of strapping on his copious amonts of armor and tying his patch over his scarred eye, thankfully about to be gainfully employed once more. Lucien's home was fairly typical of Lowtown, save one thing: it was incredibly neat and free of clutter. The rooms were scrubbed to Chevalier-barracks standard, which was to say that dust was treated as a mortal foe, and everything had a place. It wasn't exactly clinical, but it clearly lacked the touch of someone who hadn't lived a military life.
Buckling his last gauntlet into place, he removed the scythe from its hook near his bookshelves and places it in its accustomed place at his back. There were no mirrors in his home, so he made due with a quick inspection, ensuring that his cleaning of the plate and chain the day before had not missed any errant blood spots or debris. It hadn't, of course, and so he stepped outside, locking the door with a brass key, kept on a ring with only one other. Looping this through his belt, he set off towards the market, which was for him a fair distance, given his location just a few streets over from the Alienage.
As was usual even this early in the morning, the place was fairly abustle, and he had to scan the heads of the merchants he was used to seeing for the ones that he wasn't. Javaris was not an elf's name he'd ever heard, meaning that he was looking for a human or a dwarf, probably the second. As it was, he pulled over to the clothier's stall to inquire about it and recieved his answer. "That blighter? Won't shut up about Qunari or explosions or something. Yeah, he's over there." Lucien followed the trajectory of the woman's arm and smiled politely, dipping his head in thanks.
The smell of ale and old vomit had been a little too much for Nostariel to handle just then, and it occurred to her that she hadn't been out of the Hanged Man since the last time she'd gone to check up on Feynriel, which was at least a week ago. That was long enough, and after bathing, she'd taken up her staff and decided to go walking, to make her pesence known if nothing else. The absence of a Blight didn't excuse her from her duties as a Warden, however much a "retirement" this posting was supposed to be. Admittedly, she felt a little more motivated right now than she had in a while, partially because of her promise to the Viscount's daughter, and partially because of what Lucien had said to her. She hated disappointing people, which was why she often tried to remind them (and herself) that it was unwise to expect much from her. But the man didn't seem to understand the hint, and he'd gone and said there was nothing wrong with being her.
She still disagreed, but it couldn't hurt to find out if there was some truth to the statement, could there? It was unlikely, but she might surprise herself.
The elven woman had reached the Lowtown markets, lost in thought and her face firmly pointed towards the ground, when her trajectory crossed the Orlesian man's. Unless he noticed and moved, she was actually going to run straight into him.
Lucien was trekking towards the indicated merchant, an old bard's tune escaping him in the form of a low whistle, when he noted a familiar face. Well, really it was more the body language and clothing that gave it away, for her face was turned, as usual, downwards. She did not seem to have noticed him, and the Orlesian neatly sidestepped her determined path, his tune ceasing mid-note. Ever decorous, he did not touch her shoulder to stop her as another might have, but he felt it would be rather inconsiderate of him to pretend he had not noticed her presence at all. "Ah, Nostariel. It's quite the surprise to see you here, I must admit." He smiled kindly, stopping in his forward motion so as to speak to her properly, if that was what she wished. People that needed to pass him simply went around; nobody was going to complain to a man so tall and clearly well-armed.
The sound of a familiar voice snapped her right out of her reverie, and she looked up sharply. How was it that everyone she knew was so much taller than her? Clearly, she needed to befriend more dwarves. It was worse when they were standing, and it would not be an exaggeration to suggest that Lucien loomed. Not that she believed he intended to. The lady Warden blinked, her mouth opening and closing a few times before her words finally caught up with her thoughts. "Oh, Lucien. What are you doing here?" She winced; that had sounded somewhat impolite even to her own ears. Had it really been so long since she'd needed to socialize without the aid of ale or brandy?
Lucien's smile grew, and he chuckled lightly. "I do have to earn my keep somehow, I'm afraid. I'm here on a bit of business. Apparently, there's a merchant here who needs some help involving the Qunari. I'm told the coin will be lucrative, but I came to discover the nature of the task first." After all, he was not the Red Iron. He didn't take anything that would pay well outside of slavery and assassination. Still, however suspect this seemed, he was at least willing to speak with the client before making a decision.
"Ah, of course. Sorry." Nostariel felt the faintest hint of color rising to her skin, which only made things worse. She should have guessed that he was here for his work. Even if he hadn't been, what right did she have to inquire? She paused for a moment, considering simply making her goodbys and departing, but something made her hesitate. She recalled the way she'd felt upon Feynriel's rescue, as well as Sophia's words in the pub the day before. Biting her lip, she gave it a bit of thought, then took a deep breath. "Can I come? That is, I won't ask for any of the profits, I just..." she exhaled, at a loss for how to explan her desire to be active to actually accomplish something again.
Lucien shrugged, the corner of his visible eye crinkling with faint good humor. "I don't see why not; I'd be happy to have some help, in fact. And you're welcome to your share of the payment, whatever that might be. Shall we?" He gestured ahead of himself, and the two approached the merchant identified as Javaris Tintop. "Pardon me, sir, but I'm of the understanding that you're looking to hire help of a certain kind. My friend and I were here to inquire about the circumstances."
The dwarf fiddled with his rather short and well groomed beard as he sized up his potential help. "So that's how it works, is it? Gotta put out a load a coin before you get anyone with some muscle on them? Can't get a decent blade at a bargain anymore, that's for sure," he finished, half-mumbling the last bit. "You two, though! You might be what I need. The name's Javaris Tintop, in case you didn't already know, and I need skilled help in order to pacify the Qunari."
He leaned forward on the little stall he was set up at, to speak more directly to Lucien and Nostariel, even though it was unlikely many of the other Lowtown merchants would hear him as it is, or even care if they did. "Those horn-heads in the Docks have a... powder, and it explodes! Just dust, no lyrium, no magic, no demons. Anyone can use it! Problem is, that Arishok said I wasn't worthy or something, then he said something about how not even their outcasts, those Tal-Vashoth as they call 'em, are that mercenary. Made me think... if I got rid of something that bothered the horn-heads as much as those Tal-Vashoth do, maybe he'd bargain with me! Therein lies the job. You up for hunting some outlaws, my good man?"
Today was not a shop-sitting kind of day, as Ashton locked the door of the Hunted Stag behind him. Sure, he may have had gotten some customers over the course of the day, but that really wouldn’t help pull him out of the bind that he was currently in. While he was a shopowner, that didn’t exactly mean he owned his shop. He still had massive payments to make out to the Viscount’s Keep—and he couldn’t shake the feeling that they cheated him. Hard. Ridiculously so. So that meant every now and then, on days like this, Ashton would have to venture from his lowly shop and try his hand at freelancing once more—though he’d rather stay away from the type of freelancing that got him into the city. Smuggling would leave a bad taste in his mouth.
Luckily, due to the prime location of his shop (in the heart of the Lowtown bazaar) that meant that if he kept his ears open, job opportunities would just up and appear. This was one of those times. There was word of a dwarven merchant looking to hire. From what he had gleaned the job wasn't anything illegal-- though that wouldn't have stopped him in the first place. He already associated with mages and tranquils, it's not like breaking a little law here and there would weigh too heavily on soul. The dwarf, a Jarvis Tin-something or another, was actually nearby where Ashton had his own shop. He reached behind him to make sure he had his bow and an adequate number of arrows (he once left his bow at the shop... When he went hunting. Throwing arrows at animals didn't quite pan out.) he began to make his way to where he believe this dwarf was set up.
True to his name as a hunter, he came upon the dwarf in spectacular time. Even so, it seemed that two others had already beaten him to the punch. It was a good thing Ashton wasn't shy. He coyly rubbed his hands together as he realized that one of the party was a very pretty elven lass. "Seems like it times to make some friends," Ashton said to himself as he approached the group. He arrived just in time to here the bit about exploding powder and Qunari. Dammit. The Qunari were intimidating creatures, and hunting them sounded... Suspect. Though, he did need the money. Else, his shop may not be his for much longer. Besides, he couldn't call himself a man if he let the elven lass attempt something this dangerous by herself could he now? So with his mind firmly set, he opened his mouth.
"Explodes you say? Surely something that dangerous would never be used for something grisly," Ashton deadpanned. "Though, hunting these outlaws sounds like something I could do. For the right price," He said with a wink to the elven girl.
Nostariel's mouth was set into a small frown. The way the merchant spoke conveyed absolutely no care for anything but the money he could make off the enterprise, and that did bother her to a degree. Still, what they were actually being asked to do seemed a decent-enough task. She was about to speak when she was interrupted from behind by someone unfamiliar. Turning to see the newcomer, she sighed inwardly. He was nearly as tall as Lucien! One of these days, she was going to end up with neck problems just from looking at the people she spoke to, she just knew it. For all that though, they seemed otherwise completely different. This one wore what seemed to her a friendly face, but considerably more open than her friend's.
She coughed slightly and looked away when he addressed her. People were sometimes forward with her, but they were also usually drunk at the time (as was she) and that did quite a bit to reduce her embarassment. Not so presently. "Erm... indeed not," she replied as much in kind as she was able, though her tone grew more serious when she continued. "Varric tells me that these Tal'Vashoth, they often prey on travellers and merchants trying to make their way into or out of the city. On the Wounded Coast, mostly. It seems they've displaced many of the other bandits with, well... bigger bandits." It seemed like reason enoughto do what Javaris was asking, even if the results might be... less than entirely savory if he successfully claimed credit for it. Someone purely merchantile likely wouldn't bother all that much with caring who he sold such a substance to, as long as they paid well enough.
Maybe they'd get lucky somehow, and it wouldn't become an issue. She glanced briefly in Lucien's direction, trusting his judgement a good deal more than her own.
"I'll admit to not knowing as much as I'd like to about the Qunari," Lucien pointed out, "But it seems like the Arishok's word is not something commonly overturned." Still, it appeared that this hadn't dissuaded Javaris from his resolution in the slightest, and he was about to decline on the grounds of insufficient reason to simply further the ends of a money-seeking merchant when a stranger joined the conversation. He seemed to be primarily intent on addressing the Warden, and the once-Chevalier had to work very hard to suppress the amused grin that threatened. Few people in this country were quite so direct; it was almost like being back home.
The thought fled quickly enough when she spoke though, and her words gave him reason to reconsider. Bandits... perhaps there was some merit in taking the task. An outlaw was one thing (he probably qualified as one where he was from), but a bandit was something else entirely. There was the matter of what Javaris would do with this powder if he gained it, but Lucien suspected that, opaque as they were, the Qunari were not simply going to hand it over to him. If they made to do so, perhaps he would be able to convince them otherwise. "Very well, Javaris. It looks like you have three pairs of hands where once you had none. Are we to assume that these Tal'Vashoth are indeed on the Wounded Coast?"
"Exactly so, my friend!" Javaris responded, considerably more excited now that he had a team of able individuals agreeing to help him. "Hell, loads of travelers and traders have been avoiding the Wounded Coast road just because of the damn oxmen. They hide in the hills, so I've heard, just off the roads. You probably won't have to look too hard to find them. Come find me here when the job's done, and we'll go get the powder from the Arishok, and you'll have your reward, all three of you!"
Ashton's answer was a wide grin to first the dwarf, and then second to his newfound companions. "So we just need to find these renegade Qunari, get rid of them, and get back just in time to get paid. Sounds like a simple job," He said sarcastically. Obviously, this wouldn't be easy as he made it out to be. He wasn't that stupid. The straight laced Qunari were already frightening, these renegade Qunari sounded like they had no qualms about splitting his head like an overripened melon. However, that just meant that he just had to stay out of their reach. The tall fellow with the armor could worry about that, he'd just hang back. Ah! Which brought him to his next point. He pivoted on his feet, coming face-to-face with the elven lady... In a manner. She was strikingly shorter than him, which he readily remedied by leaning over and taking her hand in his own. He gave it a light peck and then looked back up to the elf's hazel eyes and introduced himself, "I am Ashton Riviera, hunter extrodinaire, at your service Miss..."
"N-Nostariel," the Warden stuttered in reply. More than a little irritated at herself, she cleared her throat and tried again, this time with considerably more composure. "My name is Nostariel Turtega, Captain of the Grey." She hadn't used the title in a long time, but a present, she felt like a little distance might not be at all unfavorable. She couldn't remember the last time someone had so much as touched her except on accident, so this was... very strange, and more than a little uncomfortable. Taking a quick breath for fortification, she plowed onwards. "It's... nice to meet you. This is a friend of mine, Lucien..." She threw a glance at the aformentioned warrior, as though pleading with him to step in and smooth this over. She was awkward enough around people like he and Aurora and Ithilian. This was... another step away from even that.
Lucien decided that it would be best to do the lady a small mercy and get the task underway at the same time. "Lucien Drakon, at your service," he finished smoothly. "As fond as I am of both conversation and knowing my allies, I think it might be best to be underway as soon as possible, perhaps." He raised a brow at Ashton and smiled, just slightly, at the other man over the Warden's head. It was, mostly, something sympathetic, as though to point out that the Warden's reticence was universal and not his fault.
There's a merchant making a lot of noise in Lowtown about the Qunari, Javaris something. Says he's offering quite a bit of coin for anyone who'll help him. If the horn-heads are involved, it probably won't be easy, but that's kind of your speciality, isn't it?
-Mirren
Admittedly, when he'd woken this morning to find the note affixed to his door with a red-handled dagger, he'd rolled his eyes (the bad one could still do that, after all) and wondered when the Red Iron had picked up such a flair for the dramatic. Nevertheless, he was grateful that they were passing work his way, regardless of how they chose to go about informing him of it. So here he was, going through the daily ritual of strapping on his copious amonts of armor and tying his patch over his scarred eye, thankfully about to be gainfully employed once more. Lucien's home was fairly typical of Lowtown, save one thing: it was incredibly neat and free of clutter. The rooms were scrubbed to Chevalier-barracks standard, which was to say that dust was treated as a mortal foe, and everything had a place. It wasn't exactly clinical, but it clearly lacked the touch of someone who hadn't lived a military life.
Buckling his last gauntlet into place, he removed the scythe from its hook near his bookshelves and places it in its accustomed place at his back. There were no mirrors in his home, so he made due with a quick inspection, ensuring that his cleaning of the plate and chain the day before had not missed any errant blood spots or debris. It hadn't, of course, and so he stepped outside, locking the door with a brass key, kept on a ring with only one other. Looping this through his belt, he set off towards the market, which was for him a fair distance, given his location just a few streets over from the Alienage.
As was usual even this early in the morning, the place was fairly abustle, and he had to scan the heads of the merchants he was used to seeing for the ones that he wasn't. Javaris was not an elf's name he'd ever heard, meaning that he was looking for a human or a dwarf, probably the second. As it was, he pulled over to the clothier's stall to inquire about it and recieved his answer. "That blighter? Won't shut up about Qunari or explosions or something. Yeah, he's over there." Lucien followed the trajectory of the woman's arm and smiled politely, dipping his head in thanks.
The smell of ale and old vomit had been a little too much for Nostariel to handle just then, and it occurred to her that she hadn't been out of the Hanged Man since the last time she'd gone to check up on Feynriel, which was at least a week ago. That was long enough, and after bathing, she'd taken up her staff and decided to go walking, to make her pesence known if nothing else. The absence of a Blight didn't excuse her from her duties as a Warden, however much a "retirement" this posting was supposed to be. Admittedly, she felt a little more motivated right now than she had in a while, partially because of her promise to the Viscount's daughter, and partially because of what Lucien had said to her. She hated disappointing people, which was why she often tried to remind them (and herself) that it was unwise to expect much from her. But the man didn't seem to understand the hint, and he'd gone and said there was nothing wrong with being her.
She still disagreed, but it couldn't hurt to find out if there was some truth to the statement, could there? It was unlikely, but she might surprise herself.
The elven woman had reached the Lowtown markets, lost in thought and her face firmly pointed towards the ground, when her trajectory crossed the Orlesian man's. Unless he noticed and moved, she was actually going to run straight into him.
Lucien was trekking towards the indicated merchant, an old bard's tune escaping him in the form of a low whistle, when he noted a familiar face. Well, really it was more the body language and clothing that gave it away, for her face was turned, as usual, downwards. She did not seem to have noticed him, and the Orlesian neatly sidestepped her determined path, his tune ceasing mid-note. Ever decorous, he did not touch her shoulder to stop her as another might have, but he felt it would be rather inconsiderate of him to pretend he had not noticed her presence at all. "Ah, Nostariel. It's quite the surprise to see you here, I must admit." He smiled kindly, stopping in his forward motion so as to speak to her properly, if that was what she wished. People that needed to pass him simply went around; nobody was going to complain to a man so tall and clearly well-armed.
The sound of a familiar voice snapped her right out of her reverie, and she looked up sharply. How was it that everyone she knew was so much taller than her? Clearly, she needed to befriend more dwarves. It was worse when they were standing, and it would not be an exaggeration to suggest that Lucien loomed. Not that she believed he intended to. The lady Warden blinked, her mouth opening and closing a few times before her words finally caught up with her thoughts. "Oh, Lucien. What are you doing here?" She winced; that had sounded somewhat impolite even to her own ears. Had it really been so long since she'd needed to socialize without the aid of ale or brandy?
Lucien's smile grew, and he chuckled lightly. "I do have to earn my keep somehow, I'm afraid. I'm here on a bit of business. Apparently, there's a merchant here who needs some help involving the Qunari. I'm told the coin will be lucrative, but I came to discover the nature of the task first." After all, he was not the Red Iron. He didn't take anything that would pay well outside of slavery and assassination. Still, however suspect this seemed, he was at least willing to speak with the client before making a decision.
"Ah, of course. Sorry." Nostariel felt the faintest hint of color rising to her skin, which only made things worse. She should have guessed that he was here for his work. Even if he hadn't been, what right did she have to inquire? She paused for a moment, considering simply making her goodbys and departing, but something made her hesitate. She recalled the way she'd felt upon Feynriel's rescue, as well as Sophia's words in the pub the day before. Biting her lip, she gave it a bit of thought, then took a deep breath. "Can I come? That is, I won't ask for any of the profits, I just..." she exhaled, at a loss for how to explan her desire to be active to actually accomplish something again.
Lucien shrugged, the corner of his visible eye crinkling with faint good humor. "I don't see why not; I'd be happy to have some help, in fact. And you're welcome to your share of the payment, whatever that might be. Shall we?" He gestured ahead of himself, and the two approached the merchant identified as Javaris Tintop. "Pardon me, sir, but I'm of the understanding that you're looking to hire help of a certain kind. My friend and I were here to inquire about the circumstances."
The dwarf fiddled with his rather short and well groomed beard as he sized up his potential help. "So that's how it works, is it? Gotta put out a load a coin before you get anyone with some muscle on them? Can't get a decent blade at a bargain anymore, that's for sure," he finished, half-mumbling the last bit. "You two, though! You might be what I need. The name's Javaris Tintop, in case you didn't already know, and I need skilled help in order to pacify the Qunari."
He leaned forward on the little stall he was set up at, to speak more directly to Lucien and Nostariel, even though it was unlikely many of the other Lowtown merchants would hear him as it is, or even care if they did. "Those horn-heads in the Docks have a... powder, and it explodes! Just dust, no lyrium, no magic, no demons. Anyone can use it! Problem is, that Arishok said I wasn't worthy or something, then he said something about how not even their outcasts, those Tal-Vashoth as they call 'em, are that mercenary. Made me think... if I got rid of something that bothered the horn-heads as much as those Tal-Vashoth do, maybe he'd bargain with me! Therein lies the job. You up for hunting some outlaws, my good man?"
Today was not a shop-sitting kind of day, as Ashton locked the door of the Hunted Stag behind him. Sure, he may have had gotten some customers over the course of the day, but that really wouldn’t help pull him out of the bind that he was currently in. While he was a shopowner, that didn’t exactly mean he owned his shop. He still had massive payments to make out to the Viscount’s Keep—and he couldn’t shake the feeling that they cheated him. Hard. Ridiculously so. So that meant every now and then, on days like this, Ashton would have to venture from his lowly shop and try his hand at freelancing once more—though he’d rather stay away from the type of freelancing that got him into the city. Smuggling would leave a bad taste in his mouth.
Luckily, due to the prime location of his shop (in the heart of the Lowtown bazaar) that meant that if he kept his ears open, job opportunities would just up and appear. This was one of those times. There was word of a dwarven merchant looking to hire. From what he had gleaned the job wasn't anything illegal-- though that wouldn't have stopped him in the first place. He already associated with mages and tranquils, it's not like breaking a little law here and there would weigh too heavily on soul. The dwarf, a Jarvis Tin-something or another, was actually nearby where Ashton had his own shop. He reached behind him to make sure he had his bow and an adequate number of arrows (he once left his bow at the shop... When he went hunting. Throwing arrows at animals didn't quite pan out.) he began to make his way to where he believe this dwarf was set up.
True to his name as a hunter, he came upon the dwarf in spectacular time. Even so, it seemed that two others had already beaten him to the punch. It was a good thing Ashton wasn't shy. He coyly rubbed his hands together as he realized that one of the party was a very pretty elven lass. "Seems like it times to make some friends," Ashton said to himself as he approached the group. He arrived just in time to here the bit about exploding powder and Qunari. Dammit. The Qunari were intimidating creatures, and hunting them sounded... Suspect. Though, he did need the money. Else, his shop may not be his for much longer. Besides, he couldn't call himself a man if he let the elven lass attempt something this dangerous by herself could he now? So with his mind firmly set, he opened his mouth.
"Explodes you say? Surely something that dangerous would never be used for something grisly," Ashton deadpanned. "Though, hunting these outlaws sounds like something I could do. For the right price," He said with a wink to the elven girl.
Nostariel's mouth was set into a small frown. The way the merchant spoke conveyed absolutely no care for anything but the money he could make off the enterprise, and that did bother her to a degree. Still, what they were actually being asked to do seemed a decent-enough task. She was about to speak when she was interrupted from behind by someone unfamiliar. Turning to see the newcomer, she sighed inwardly. He was nearly as tall as Lucien! One of these days, she was going to end up with neck problems just from looking at the people she spoke to, she just knew it. For all that though, they seemed otherwise completely different. This one wore what seemed to her a friendly face, but considerably more open than her friend's.
She coughed slightly and looked away when he addressed her. People were sometimes forward with her, but they were also usually drunk at the time (as was she) and that did quite a bit to reduce her embarassment. Not so presently. "Erm... indeed not," she replied as much in kind as she was able, though her tone grew more serious when she continued. "Varric tells me that these Tal'Vashoth, they often prey on travellers and merchants trying to make their way into or out of the city. On the Wounded Coast, mostly. It seems they've displaced many of the other bandits with, well... bigger bandits." It seemed like reason enoughto do what Javaris was asking, even if the results might be... less than entirely savory if he successfully claimed credit for it. Someone purely merchantile likely wouldn't bother all that much with caring who he sold such a substance to, as long as they paid well enough.
Maybe they'd get lucky somehow, and it wouldn't become an issue. She glanced briefly in Lucien's direction, trusting his judgement a good deal more than her own.
"I'll admit to not knowing as much as I'd like to about the Qunari," Lucien pointed out, "But it seems like the Arishok's word is not something commonly overturned." Still, it appeared that this hadn't dissuaded Javaris from his resolution in the slightest, and he was about to decline on the grounds of insufficient reason to simply further the ends of a money-seeking merchant when a stranger joined the conversation. He seemed to be primarily intent on addressing the Warden, and the once-Chevalier had to work very hard to suppress the amused grin that threatened. Few people in this country were quite so direct; it was almost like being back home.
The thought fled quickly enough when she spoke though, and her words gave him reason to reconsider. Bandits... perhaps there was some merit in taking the task. An outlaw was one thing (he probably qualified as one where he was from), but a bandit was something else entirely. There was the matter of what Javaris would do with this powder if he gained it, but Lucien suspected that, opaque as they were, the Qunari were not simply going to hand it over to him. If they made to do so, perhaps he would be able to convince them otherwise. "Very well, Javaris. It looks like you have three pairs of hands where once you had none. Are we to assume that these Tal'Vashoth are indeed on the Wounded Coast?"
"Exactly so, my friend!" Javaris responded, considerably more excited now that he had a team of able individuals agreeing to help him. "Hell, loads of travelers and traders have been avoiding the Wounded Coast road just because of the damn oxmen. They hide in the hills, so I've heard, just off the roads. You probably won't have to look too hard to find them. Come find me here when the job's done, and we'll go get the powder from the Arishok, and you'll have your reward, all three of you!"
Ashton's answer was a wide grin to first the dwarf, and then second to his newfound companions. "So we just need to find these renegade Qunari, get rid of them, and get back just in time to get paid. Sounds like a simple job," He said sarcastically. Obviously, this wouldn't be easy as he made it out to be. He wasn't that stupid. The straight laced Qunari were already frightening, these renegade Qunari sounded like they had no qualms about splitting his head like an overripened melon. However, that just meant that he just had to stay out of their reach. The tall fellow with the armor could worry about that, he'd just hang back. Ah! Which brought him to his next point. He pivoted on his feet, coming face-to-face with the elven lady... In a manner. She was strikingly shorter than him, which he readily remedied by leaning over and taking her hand in his own. He gave it a light peck and then looked back up to the elf's hazel eyes and introduced himself, "I am Ashton Riviera, hunter extrodinaire, at your service Miss..."
"N-Nostariel," the Warden stuttered in reply. More than a little irritated at herself, she cleared her throat and tried again, this time with considerably more composure. "My name is Nostariel Turtega, Captain of the Grey." She hadn't used the title in a long time, but a present, she felt like a little distance might not be at all unfavorable. She couldn't remember the last time someone had so much as touched her except on accident, so this was... very strange, and more than a little uncomfortable. Taking a quick breath for fortification, she plowed onwards. "It's... nice to meet you. This is a friend of mine, Lucien..." She threw a glance at the aformentioned warrior, as though pleading with him to step in and smooth this over. She was awkward enough around people like he and Aurora and Ithilian. This was... another step away from even that.
Lucien decided that it would be best to do the lady a small mercy and get the task underway at the same time. "Lucien Drakon, at your service," he finished smoothly. "As fond as I am of both conversation and knowing my allies, I think it might be best to be underway as soon as possible, perhaps." He raised a brow at Ashton and smiled, just slightly, at the other man over the Warden's head. It was, mostly, something sympathetic, as though to point out that the Warden's reticence was universal and not his fault.