Finding the discarded helmet had been a simple matter. The barbut had been so rusty and worn that it was no doubt seen as refuse by most of the locals. Nor did anyone think it unusual that the peddler stopped to take it. He was always taking worthless things; what was one more?
Firepower and a partner, however, had been harder to come by. A few days' observation and a carefully cultivated desire to avoid eating shrew-on-a-stick for another year had given Verad the impression that the warehouse had at least ten guards on the premises, possibly more. Whatever Taeros held here was more important to him than luxury items, and while Yune had proven herself more than capable, he felt it prudent to avoid risking her by seeking the aid of someone with more experience in infiltration.
Experience, however, did not mean a cool sense of professionalism, and while Anstarra Silverain had a great deal of the former, there were times when Verad was sure she only had the latter so long as dropping it wouldn't amuse her. Despite the shadows on the street corner near the warehouse's front door, and the limited visibility afforded by the barbut's eyeslits, he could sense the smirk on her face. as she realized Verad's choice of attire. "Nice, ah, helmet," she said, and even if he wasn't aware of the smirk, the mirth in her voice was obvious.
"Mm, I know what you're thinking," he said, peering over Anstarra's own attire. No rags or robes as Yune had worn, choosing instead a dark hunting hat over blue-green hair and a Keeper huntress' facepaint to mask bright green eyes, but he was not so concerned about her revealing herself as he had been for his former assistant; she was in the city but rarely, a matter emphasized by the manner in which she protested the desert heat, and even if caught, more than able to defend herself. "Not a lot of dash to it, is it? But it's a necessary component here," he went on, sighing with a metallic echo to his voice. "My face is highly recognizable, and less-concealing masks would have every Blade in the city seeking me out. It's the helmet or not at all."
There was a bit of untruth to his words. He had considered, of course, removing the beard, but he considered the cost of such an action to the city to be too great to have any real merit. An pursed her lips - probably as part of the ongoing war against laughter - and nodded. "Mhm. Yes, that makes sense, of course. It must be hot, though. Are you able to breathe alright?"
"It should be quite all right for the time being, but as circumstances dictate, well, things might get complicated." Sure that any more questions regarding the helmet would make her break out into a grin - a sight he typically found highly desirable, but there was a proper time and place - he pointed to the building across with a quick flick of his wrist. "There's our target, guarded by the three men out front. Off-duty Blades. Loading bay appears to be on the opposite side. Probably going to be an office through that front door, but I need to see the cargo they hold as much as the office."
It was a brief explanation, and perhaps too brusque, devoid of detail. He had spent enough days examining the building that it seemed obvious to him, enough time that he'd become a bit accustomed to which guards spent more time out front and which out back, though not to any great
She looked thoughtful, and nodded. "Alright, what's the plan? Are we gonna try to sneak in behind, or take out the guys in front? Might be a bit public that way, we'd have to draw them off..."
"Mm, not sure. Before that, here - " He produced a bundle and offered it to her. Upon opening it, Anstarra could see four vials containing a viscous black substance and one containing a more liquid red one. "Something I acquired from an alchemist friend of mine."
Firepower had proven to be a stroke of luck, and an object lesson to Verad in the benefits of maintaining a diverse array of business contacts. Verad had wanted something with a lot of flash and only a minimum of killing power; not a difficult task, but the particular concoction of any given alchemist in the city might have been identified, and Verad in turn identified as the purchaser.
An unusual request from a distressed miner, seeking medicine for his sick daughter, proved the solution to his problem. Seeking sources outside the city, he had considered the Morbolvine, with whose Matriarch he had some contact - and a mutual interest in defending Roen Deneith. A trip to the Shroud and an impromptu meeting later, he had a number of possible treatments from the Keeper clan's alchemist. And in the meeting, a thought had struck him, and he'd broached the subject. A meeting and demonstration had been arranged, and Verad now found himself passing Anstarra exactly what he'd sought.
Taking the bundle, she inspected the vials. "And.. what are these supposed to do?"
"The black vials will react to air and generate smoke," he explained. "Slowly if you just uncork it, but with a great plume if you smash it on the ground. The red ones are a kind of liquid fire. They'll burn until they smother themselves out, and stick. It's a very brief flame, though. The smoke can be extinguished with water - it should simply dissolve into a grey ash. Very neat. But in the end, I want a big plume as we leave." There was another bundle of the vials in the same proportion, but using all ten seemed excessive. From the demonstration he'd been given, even one vial was enough to make such smoke that it would appear as if a bonfire had spontaneously erupted.
That signal, in turn, would be enough to summon the authorities. Verad could only hope that Roen had managed to get in contact with Sergeant Melkire, and that he would be in the area. The Flames would not ignore anything illegal found in Monetarist hands the way the Blades would, Ser Melkire in particular, of that much he was sure.
After the explanation, Verad glanced back at the warehouse. "I'm hoping to find papers in their office detailing the nature of their business, as well as have a look at their stock. This is too well-guarded to not have something valuable. As far as how we get in . . . " He frowned. "Well, last time we had the guards at the front door put to sleep, but that seems not to be an option now."
"To cover our escape, yes, you mentioned that. So one vial is to be saved for the end. That leaves us with three, and the red." She looked around, taking in the environs with a scrutinizing eye, scanning for who else might see if a confrontation were to break out.
For Verad's part, the eyeslits remained fixed on the guard s themselves, too much so to notice anything out of the ordinary. His hands kept finding their way to new weapons, the last component of his "arsenal." The daggers were cheap, and hardly well-made, but they were sharp, and that was all he required. Asking Val for his weapon again was impractical. Nevertheless, having them was not the same as being used to them, and he found he kept curling and uncurling fingers around their handles without realizing.
"Hmm . . . I think our priority is to keep this out of the public eye," Anstarra said. "If that's the entrance to the office, these guards are likely to only be willing to admit very select people. I'm assuming the boss isn't in right now . . ?"
"Hm?" He glanced up from his reverie, and down at Anstarra. "At this hour? No, I daresay he wouldn't be."
An placed a hand on one of Verad's, to still the touching of daggers. "So we can't exactly bluff our way in to talk to him. We need to approach from the rear. Carefully though, because the guards back there might be more alert."
Glancing down, he seemed to realize his mistake, and gradually removed his hands from his blades. "Thank you," he said. "Let's go around the back. I'll take the helmet off while we're on the way."
Good to his word, Verad was able to make his way around the byways of the Steps of Thal unmolested. With her hat and her bow at her back, Anstarra looked like nothing more than another adventurer in the city, and Verad was a well-known ambler about town. The bulky package he kept wrapped under his arm was unusual, but asking about unusual things when it came to Bellveil meant getting a pitch and wasting half-a-bell's time. And so he moved unmolested.
Once they were around the back road leading to the warehouse's loading bay, their steps moved from casual and calm to careful and controlled, avoiding making too much noise on the stones of the street. A bend in the architecture, an outward jutting at one corner, gave them a little cover from which to observe the security around the exterior. The two peeked around the corner, Verad's advantage of height letting him see over An's hat.
The guards could not have been more different, as if the three out front, laughing and joking to themselves, secure in the presence of passerby, had been merely for show. A trio of them stood in front of the loading bay doors at full attention, overseen, from slightly behind, by a grizzled-looking Highlander. There were no uniforms to mark them as Blades, but, as before, their choice of weaponry and their stances betrayed their training.
Anstarra's eyes narrowed as she took in the opposition, before drawing Verad back into cover. "More guards here, naturally. We could try taking them out, but it might be messy. Let's see if there are other options. . . like a roof access? I could climb up in an alley. . ."
"You'd probably have better luck than the last time," he remarked, recalling how quickly Yune and he had considered and then discarded the idea. "The masonry here looks better than at Pearl Lane, though. "If you can do it quietly, by all means."
Anstarra nodded, and inspected the walls for handholds . . . before hopping up, and trying to drag herself up with a combination of dexterity and brute strength. She climbed with remarkable ease, boosting herself up like a born climber.. which she was, really. She was grinning by the time she got near to the top, and not paying too much attention.. and then her bow caught on the edge of the roof with an audible CLANG! It stuck where it was wedged, and she cursed under her breath as she worked it free.
The noise didn't go without notice; the guards reacted, and so did Verad, cursing in that same metallic sound as he ducked around the corner. He heard the grunt of an order, a quick "Go check that" from the superior to one of their number, a Roegadyn. Heavy footsteps approached the corner, near where Anstarra was caught.
Verad had to react quickly, and for a moment he thought to draw the dagger. His hand was near its sheath - and then he paused. Offering another metallic sigh, he took his helmet off of his head before the guard rounded the corner. With a quick step, he made the move first, stepping out into the street with a broad grin and his hands spread wide.
"Ah," he said, his voice bright and chipper as he always made it in the pitch. "Good day, Ser! Can I interest you in any dubious goods tonight? We have a fine special on commemorative tin Brass Blade cups. Just the thing for a long shift!"
The guard frowned, furrowed his brow, and for a moment appeared to glance up at the wall. There was confusion there; Verad was well known as a source of noise, but not necessarily this particular noise. The Duskwight was quick to interject before he glanced too high. "But, of course, we have specials for members of one of the finest fighting forces in the city! Perhaps your friends would be interested?"
The prospect of a discount seemed to settle the matter, or perhaps the verbal assault was too much for the man to do anything but respond to with a short nod. In either case, the gaurd waved Verad towards the bulk of the group. He strolled forwards as if he owned the city itself, hoping An could free himself in the meantime. "Now, sirs, if you'll take a look here, you'll find that I happen to have a wide variety of brass items for members of the Blades such as yourself - ah, but you cannot fool a sharp-eyed man like myself, for who but the Blades could have such fine swords? If you'll have a look here . . . "
A few minutes passed, and Verad worked his way back around the corner with twenty extra gil in his coin-purse and a spring in his step. This was already becoming a lucrative heist, and he hadn't even made it inside.
A soft 'hsst' from above preceded the appearance of a knotted rope, or the tail-end of it anyway, right in front of Verad. His good mood only improved; Anstarra was certainly visually stunning in any circumstance, but he knew there were others reasons he liked her, a similar manner of thinking being one of them. What proper adventurer didn't have rope, after all? He took hold of the knot as a foothold and scaled the building with some sweat and only a moderate deal of extreme difficulty, his indeterminate but no-doubt-advanced age showing itself as he strained to climb. Â
Anstarra helped, holding the rope steady, and giving Verad that last hand up before reeling it up after him. She mades a thumbs-up sign, pointing to a skylight in the center of the roof, its window unlatched. Then she showed three fingers, and pointed down toward where the guards were patrolling inside. Finally, she showed the vials, mimed an explosion, showed him the rope and pointed at the skylight.
He got the idea after she mimicked the explosion. This offered him the broadest and brightest grin he'd seen in a long time. Twelve, but where would he be without this kind of assistance? Probably already in gaol. He nodded, and took a quick, quiet peek down the skylight.
Anstarra took this moment to tie the rope down securely. The last thing they needed was for the damned thing to come loose while they were climbing back out, no doubt in a hurry, and possibly laden with ill-gotten gains. Verad tightened his grip on his daggers for a moment as he looked into the building. Well-lit, and lightly guarded on the interior compared to the force out front. He could see the shadows of crates cast out from torch and candle-light, promising that there was something ill-gotten there, or, if nothing else, that Taeros' coffers would bleed just a little more. There was a smile on his face, the grin having faded to something smaller and more relieved.
Once An was done, he waited for her to drop the vials, giving her an elaborate bow and a "Ladies first" gesture in the direction of the skylight. She smirked, and, waiting until it seemed the guards were least likely to notice, opened the latch and dropped the vials in with one smooth motion.
The impact was impressive. First the crack of a vial spreading some warmth and light as they flared up within the warehouse, and then the panicked sound of the guards as they realized a fire had abruptly broken out. And then a "WHOOMPH" of smoke as a giant plume billowed up towards the skylight, spreading out into the warehouse entirely. Shouts and banging on the door attracted the attention of the guards at the loading bay. The pair had their moment, unseen thanks to smoke and panic alike.
Anstarra jerked back, slightly, eyes widening at the sheer violence of the fire and especially the smoke. She grinned at Verad, then gripped the rope and rappel-dropped herself down into the gloom. He followed behind her, shimmying down the rope. The smoke kept billowing, as if the viscous fluid in the vials had been some massive font of the stuff, a portal to the smoke dimension. Inside, the sheer volume of it cut off easy visibility, making even silhouettes of people difficult to see. Around them, they could hear the sound of the loading bay opening and panicked shouts.
Verad didn't have much time to take stock of how little he could see, as he found his grip slipping around the rope. Age and exhaustion took their toll, and he fell. Bracing himself for impact, he guessed the blow to his rump would hurt but not be fatal. Instead, his impact was against something solid, but soft, Anstarra having braced herself to catch him. The sheer physical strength of the Miqo'te continued to impress him, as she didn't even reel under the impact.
He uttered a quick oof as he landed in her arms. "I am both pleased and thoroughly emasculated" he muttered, coughing under the onslaught of smoke. "Quickly though, find some of the crates."
Anstarra flashed a grin and dropped him onto his feet. "Oh, you know you liked it~" she purred before ducking down under the smoke. She freezes upon seeing the vaguest of silhouettes approaching through the smoke, and looked at Verad in a panic.
He cursed inwardly. There was a downside to the plume erupting so quickly, to their infiltration in the midst of causing a stir. If the Sergeant was in the area, he would be drawn to the smoke. Making their way to the office was an impossibility now, but they could at least confirm that this wasn't a waste of time.
An seemed to decide that this would likely serve as far as distractions went, and hurried about their initial mission, dragging Verad to one of the crates, and helping to pry it open. She forsook a bit of subtlety for speed; the sound of a crate being opened likely going unnoticed amidst the convenient hue and cry as the guards started to organize to douse the "fire." She wrenched the lid off the crate. Peering down into its contents once the lid was free, Verad's eyes widened. "Twelve, they're not even trying some days, are they." he said, a stunned expression on his face.
Neatly packed amidst bales of grain were vials of a milky white substance. He knew it well enough from the half-dozen times people had assumed he was in the market to sell narcotics or trying to break into it - the reason he was careful to insist that his goods were dubious, not nefarious. "Milkweed milk. Lovely." He said, waving a hand to try and waft away smoke and stifling a cough.
There was a splash somewhere amidst the smoke; someone had thought to organize enough to bring water, and as it struck the source of the "blaze," their cover began to dissipate, coalescing into a fine ash upon the ground. It was unlikely they'd have time to check for more and determine if the building's entire inventory was being used this way. The question, then, was whether or not to take any of it or leave it for the Sergeant to find upon his arrival. "One vial, quickly," he decided. We need to leave."
An  nodded in agreement, quickly snatching the vial before leaving the open crate plainly visible as she dragged Verad back to the rope. She hoisted him up, pushing his butt as she went, climbing mainly with her feet.  Even with An pushing up, however he didn't have the strength to climb a third time. He was only vaguely aware of the next few moments, of his grip slipping partway up, of falling back down with a hastily spoken "Go!" as he collapsed onto the ground, suffering a sore rump but little in the way of real damage, and more of the smoke being smothered and turned to ash, now a clearly visible silhouette.
In a daze, and trying to avoid inhaling any more of the smoke, he was at least distantly aware of An calling out his name from up above. She'd made it out, at least. He became much more aware of the figure that soon jogged towards him while feebly trying to brush smoke out of his eyes and avoid choking on what remained. He was far more aware, in turn, of the appearance of another figure beside him, of the familiar voice whispering, in harsh tones, "Gods . . . damn it, Verad."
Verad often found it fascinating how, in the midst of a great shock, the mind disconnected from the actions of the body. That was it, then, he thought, aware that he was struggling to force himself up to his feet and unable to do so, still too sore and stunned from the fall. It was one thing to provide these goods to Melkire, but it was another entirely to be caught in the providing. Decency and a sense of the law meant he would no doubt have to be detained. He could only hope his time in the gaol would be as relatively kind as Roen's seemed to have proven. "Check the crates," he hissed, resigned to an inevitable fate. "The crates, please!" Prison, surely, was a small price for having succeeded.
"You first, eh?" He felt hands under his arms, felt himself dragged bodily towards the dangling cord. Resignation was swiftly evicted from the halfway house of his mind by the new tenant of confusion. He did not resist as Osric tied a knot around the Duskwight's midriff and tugged down sharply on the rope. "I'll check the crates. I swear I will."
He was sure he'd thought about this moment before. The notion of escaping a dangerous situation by being pulled up by a rope. Didn't he have a witty rejoinder? Surely something from the memoirs would suffice. Some last, parting comment that would leave a strong impression. But nothing came to mind. Verad could only offer a last, desperate "please," as if the sergeant might change his course, before being pulled up through the skylight, nothing more than a shadow amidst dissipating smoke.
The next few moments were a daze. Finding his footing on the roof. Anstarra hugging him tightly enough he felt he was going to lose a rib. Osric was saying something below, but he couldn't quite make out the details. It seemed to make An grin, though. "Success. Now let's get the hell outta here."
"Yes," he said, coughing, feeling as if he'd inhaled too much of the thick smoke. "I can get the helmet another day."
Firepower and a partner, however, had been harder to come by. A few days' observation and a carefully cultivated desire to avoid eating shrew-on-a-stick for another year had given Verad the impression that the warehouse had at least ten guards on the premises, possibly more. Whatever Taeros held here was more important to him than luxury items, and while Yune had proven herself more than capable, he felt it prudent to avoid risking her by seeking the aid of someone with more experience in infiltration.
Experience, however, did not mean a cool sense of professionalism, and while Anstarra Silverain had a great deal of the former, there were times when Verad was sure she only had the latter so long as dropping it wouldn't amuse her. Despite the shadows on the street corner near the warehouse's front door, and the limited visibility afforded by the barbut's eyeslits, he could sense the smirk on her face. as she realized Verad's choice of attire. "Nice, ah, helmet," she said, and even if he wasn't aware of the smirk, the mirth in her voice was obvious.
"Mm, I know what you're thinking," he said, peering over Anstarra's own attire. No rags or robes as Yune had worn, choosing instead a dark hunting hat over blue-green hair and a Keeper huntress' facepaint to mask bright green eyes, but he was not so concerned about her revealing herself as he had been for his former assistant; she was in the city but rarely, a matter emphasized by the manner in which she protested the desert heat, and even if caught, more than able to defend herself. "Not a lot of dash to it, is it? But it's a necessary component here," he went on, sighing with a metallic echo to his voice. "My face is highly recognizable, and less-concealing masks would have every Blade in the city seeking me out. It's the helmet or not at all."
There was a bit of untruth to his words. He had considered, of course, removing the beard, but he considered the cost of such an action to the city to be too great to have any real merit. An pursed her lips - probably as part of the ongoing war against laughter - and nodded. "Mhm. Yes, that makes sense, of course. It must be hot, though. Are you able to breathe alright?"
"It should be quite all right for the time being, but as circumstances dictate, well, things might get complicated." Sure that any more questions regarding the helmet would make her break out into a grin - a sight he typically found highly desirable, but there was a proper time and place - he pointed to the building across with a quick flick of his wrist. "There's our target, guarded by the three men out front. Off-duty Blades. Loading bay appears to be on the opposite side. Probably going to be an office through that front door, but I need to see the cargo they hold as much as the office."
It was a brief explanation, and perhaps too brusque, devoid of detail. He had spent enough days examining the building that it seemed obvious to him, enough time that he'd become a bit accustomed to which guards spent more time out front and which out back, though not to any great
She looked thoughtful, and nodded. "Alright, what's the plan? Are we gonna try to sneak in behind, or take out the guys in front? Might be a bit public that way, we'd have to draw them off..."
"Mm, not sure. Before that, here - " He produced a bundle and offered it to her. Upon opening it, Anstarra could see four vials containing a viscous black substance and one containing a more liquid red one. "Something I acquired from an alchemist friend of mine."
Firepower had proven to be a stroke of luck, and an object lesson to Verad in the benefits of maintaining a diverse array of business contacts. Verad had wanted something with a lot of flash and only a minimum of killing power; not a difficult task, but the particular concoction of any given alchemist in the city might have been identified, and Verad in turn identified as the purchaser.
An unusual request from a distressed miner, seeking medicine for his sick daughter, proved the solution to his problem. Seeking sources outside the city, he had considered the Morbolvine, with whose Matriarch he had some contact - and a mutual interest in defending Roen Deneith. A trip to the Shroud and an impromptu meeting later, he had a number of possible treatments from the Keeper clan's alchemist. And in the meeting, a thought had struck him, and he'd broached the subject. A meeting and demonstration had been arranged, and Verad now found himself passing Anstarra exactly what he'd sought.
Taking the bundle, she inspected the vials. "And.. what are these supposed to do?"
"The black vials will react to air and generate smoke," he explained. "Slowly if you just uncork it, but with a great plume if you smash it on the ground. The red ones are a kind of liquid fire. They'll burn until they smother themselves out, and stick. It's a very brief flame, though. The smoke can be extinguished with water - it should simply dissolve into a grey ash. Very neat. But in the end, I want a big plume as we leave." There was another bundle of the vials in the same proportion, but using all ten seemed excessive. From the demonstration he'd been given, even one vial was enough to make such smoke that it would appear as if a bonfire had spontaneously erupted.
That signal, in turn, would be enough to summon the authorities. Verad could only hope that Roen had managed to get in contact with Sergeant Melkire, and that he would be in the area. The Flames would not ignore anything illegal found in Monetarist hands the way the Blades would, Ser Melkire in particular, of that much he was sure.
After the explanation, Verad glanced back at the warehouse. "I'm hoping to find papers in their office detailing the nature of their business, as well as have a look at their stock. This is too well-guarded to not have something valuable. As far as how we get in . . . " He frowned. "Well, last time we had the guards at the front door put to sleep, but that seems not to be an option now."
"To cover our escape, yes, you mentioned that. So one vial is to be saved for the end. That leaves us with three, and the red." She looked around, taking in the environs with a scrutinizing eye, scanning for who else might see if a confrontation were to break out.
For Verad's part, the eyeslits remained fixed on the guard s themselves, too much so to notice anything out of the ordinary. His hands kept finding their way to new weapons, the last component of his "arsenal." The daggers were cheap, and hardly well-made, but they were sharp, and that was all he required. Asking Val for his weapon again was impractical. Nevertheless, having them was not the same as being used to them, and he found he kept curling and uncurling fingers around their handles without realizing.
"Hmm . . . I think our priority is to keep this out of the public eye," Anstarra said. "If that's the entrance to the office, these guards are likely to only be willing to admit very select people. I'm assuming the boss isn't in right now . . ?"
"Hm?" He glanced up from his reverie, and down at Anstarra. "At this hour? No, I daresay he wouldn't be."
An placed a hand on one of Verad's, to still the touching of daggers. "So we can't exactly bluff our way in to talk to him. We need to approach from the rear. Carefully though, because the guards back there might be more alert."
Glancing down, he seemed to realize his mistake, and gradually removed his hands from his blades. "Thank you," he said. "Let's go around the back. I'll take the helmet off while we're on the way."
Good to his word, Verad was able to make his way around the byways of the Steps of Thal unmolested. With her hat and her bow at her back, Anstarra looked like nothing more than another adventurer in the city, and Verad was a well-known ambler about town. The bulky package he kept wrapped under his arm was unusual, but asking about unusual things when it came to Bellveil meant getting a pitch and wasting half-a-bell's time. And so he moved unmolested.
Once they were around the back road leading to the warehouse's loading bay, their steps moved from casual and calm to careful and controlled, avoiding making too much noise on the stones of the street. A bend in the architecture, an outward jutting at one corner, gave them a little cover from which to observe the security around the exterior. The two peeked around the corner, Verad's advantage of height letting him see over An's hat.
The guards could not have been more different, as if the three out front, laughing and joking to themselves, secure in the presence of passerby, had been merely for show. A trio of them stood in front of the loading bay doors at full attention, overseen, from slightly behind, by a grizzled-looking Highlander. There were no uniforms to mark them as Blades, but, as before, their choice of weaponry and their stances betrayed their training.
Anstarra's eyes narrowed as she took in the opposition, before drawing Verad back into cover. "More guards here, naturally. We could try taking them out, but it might be messy. Let's see if there are other options. . . like a roof access? I could climb up in an alley. . ."
"You'd probably have better luck than the last time," he remarked, recalling how quickly Yune and he had considered and then discarded the idea. "The masonry here looks better than at Pearl Lane, though. "If you can do it quietly, by all means."
Anstarra nodded, and inspected the walls for handholds . . . before hopping up, and trying to drag herself up with a combination of dexterity and brute strength. She climbed with remarkable ease, boosting herself up like a born climber.. which she was, really. She was grinning by the time she got near to the top, and not paying too much attention.. and then her bow caught on the edge of the roof with an audible CLANG! It stuck where it was wedged, and she cursed under her breath as she worked it free.
The noise didn't go without notice; the guards reacted, and so did Verad, cursing in that same metallic sound as he ducked around the corner. He heard the grunt of an order, a quick "Go check that" from the superior to one of their number, a Roegadyn. Heavy footsteps approached the corner, near where Anstarra was caught.
Verad had to react quickly, and for a moment he thought to draw the dagger. His hand was near its sheath - and then he paused. Offering another metallic sigh, he took his helmet off of his head before the guard rounded the corner. With a quick step, he made the move first, stepping out into the street with a broad grin and his hands spread wide.
"Ah," he said, his voice bright and chipper as he always made it in the pitch. "Good day, Ser! Can I interest you in any dubious goods tonight? We have a fine special on commemorative tin Brass Blade cups. Just the thing for a long shift!"
The guard frowned, furrowed his brow, and for a moment appeared to glance up at the wall. There was confusion there; Verad was well known as a source of noise, but not necessarily this particular noise. The Duskwight was quick to interject before he glanced too high. "But, of course, we have specials for members of one of the finest fighting forces in the city! Perhaps your friends would be interested?"
The prospect of a discount seemed to settle the matter, or perhaps the verbal assault was too much for the man to do anything but respond to with a short nod. In either case, the gaurd waved Verad towards the bulk of the group. He strolled forwards as if he owned the city itself, hoping An could free himself in the meantime. "Now, sirs, if you'll take a look here, you'll find that I happen to have a wide variety of brass items for members of the Blades such as yourself - ah, but you cannot fool a sharp-eyed man like myself, for who but the Blades could have such fine swords? If you'll have a look here . . . "
A few minutes passed, and Verad worked his way back around the corner with twenty extra gil in his coin-purse and a spring in his step. This was already becoming a lucrative heist, and he hadn't even made it inside.
A soft 'hsst' from above preceded the appearance of a knotted rope, or the tail-end of it anyway, right in front of Verad. His good mood only improved; Anstarra was certainly visually stunning in any circumstance, but he knew there were others reasons he liked her, a similar manner of thinking being one of them. What proper adventurer didn't have rope, after all? He took hold of the knot as a foothold and scaled the building with some sweat and only a moderate deal of extreme difficulty, his indeterminate but no-doubt-advanced age showing itself as he strained to climb. Â
Anstarra helped, holding the rope steady, and giving Verad that last hand up before reeling it up after him. She mades a thumbs-up sign, pointing to a skylight in the center of the roof, its window unlatched. Then she showed three fingers, and pointed down toward where the guards were patrolling inside. Finally, she showed the vials, mimed an explosion, showed him the rope and pointed at the skylight.
He got the idea after she mimicked the explosion. This offered him the broadest and brightest grin he'd seen in a long time. Twelve, but where would he be without this kind of assistance? Probably already in gaol. He nodded, and took a quick, quiet peek down the skylight.
Anstarra took this moment to tie the rope down securely. The last thing they needed was for the damned thing to come loose while they were climbing back out, no doubt in a hurry, and possibly laden with ill-gotten gains. Verad tightened his grip on his daggers for a moment as he looked into the building. Well-lit, and lightly guarded on the interior compared to the force out front. He could see the shadows of crates cast out from torch and candle-light, promising that there was something ill-gotten there, or, if nothing else, that Taeros' coffers would bleed just a little more. There was a smile on his face, the grin having faded to something smaller and more relieved.
Once An was done, he waited for her to drop the vials, giving her an elaborate bow and a "Ladies first" gesture in the direction of the skylight. She smirked, and, waiting until it seemed the guards were least likely to notice, opened the latch and dropped the vials in with one smooth motion.
The impact was impressive. First the crack of a vial spreading some warmth and light as they flared up within the warehouse, and then the panicked sound of the guards as they realized a fire had abruptly broken out. And then a "WHOOMPH" of smoke as a giant plume billowed up towards the skylight, spreading out into the warehouse entirely. Shouts and banging on the door attracted the attention of the guards at the loading bay. The pair had their moment, unseen thanks to smoke and panic alike.
Anstarra jerked back, slightly, eyes widening at the sheer violence of the fire and especially the smoke. She grinned at Verad, then gripped the rope and rappel-dropped herself down into the gloom. He followed behind her, shimmying down the rope. The smoke kept billowing, as if the viscous fluid in the vials had been some massive font of the stuff, a portal to the smoke dimension. Inside, the sheer volume of it cut off easy visibility, making even silhouettes of people difficult to see. Around them, they could hear the sound of the loading bay opening and panicked shouts.
Verad didn't have much time to take stock of how little he could see, as he found his grip slipping around the rope. Age and exhaustion took their toll, and he fell. Bracing himself for impact, he guessed the blow to his rump would hurt but not be fatal. Instead, his impact was against something solid, but soft, Anstarra having braced herself to catch him. The sheer physical strength of the Miqo'te continued to impress him, as she didn't even reel under the impact.
He uttered a quick oof as he landed in her arms. "I am both pleased and thoroughly emasculated" he muttered, coughing under the onslaught of smoke. "Quickly though, find some of the crates."
Anstarra flashed a grin and dropped him onto his feet. "Oh, you know you liked it~" she purred before ducking down under the smoke. She freezes upon seeing the vaguest of silhouettes approaching through the smoke, and looked at Verad in a panic.
He cursed inwardly. There was a downside to the plume erupting so quickly, to their infiltration in the midst of causing a stir. If the Sergeant was in the area, he would be drawn to the smoke. Making their way to the office was an impossibility now, but they could at least confirm that this wasn't a waste of time.
An seemed to decide that this would likely serve as far as distractions went, and hurried about their initial mission, dragging Verad to one of the crates, and helping to pry it open. She forsook a bit of subtlety for speed; the sound of a crate being opened likely going unnoticed amidst the convenient hue and cry as the guards started to organize to douse the "fire." She wrenched the lid off the crate. Peering down into its contents once the lid was free, Verad's eyes widened. "Twelve, they're not even trying some days, are they." he said, a stunned expression on his face.
Neatly packed amidst bales of grain were vials of a milky white substance. He knew it well enough from the half-dozen times people had assumed he was in the market to sell narcotics or trying to break into it - the reason he was careful to insist that his goods were dubious, not nefarious. "Milkweed milk. Lovely." He said, waving a hand to try and waft away smoke and stifling a cough.
There was a splash somewhere amidst the smoke; someone had thought to organize enough to bring water, and as it struck the source of the "blaze," their cover began to dissipate, coalescing into a fine ash upon the ground. It was unlikely they'd have time to check for more and determine if the building's entire inventory was being used this way. The question, then, was whether or not to take any of it or leave it for the Sergeant to find upon his arrival. "One vial, quickly," he decided. We need to leave."
An  nodded in agreement, quickly snatching the vial before leaving the open crate plainly visible as she dragged Verad back to the rope. She hoisted him up, pushing his butt as she went, climbing mainly with her feet.  Even with An pushing up, however he didn't have the strength to climb a third time. He was only vaguely aware of the next few moments, of his grip slipping partway up, of falling back down with a hastily spoken "Go!" as he collapsed onto the ground, suffering a sore rump but little in the way of real damage, and more of the smoke being smothered and turned to ash, now a clearly visible silhouette.
In a daze, and trying to avoid inhaling any more of the smoke, he was at least distantly aware of An calling out his name from up above. She'd made it out, at least. He became much more aware of the figure that soon jogged towards him while feebly trying to brush smoke out of his eyes and avoid choking on what remained. He was far more aware, in turn, of the appearance of another figure beside him, of the familiar voice whispering, in harsh tones, "Gods . . . damn it, Verad."
Verad often found it fascinating how, in the midst of a great shock, the mind disconnected from the actions of the body. That was it, then, he thought, aware that he was struggling to force himself up to his feet and unable to do so, still too sore and stunned from the fall. It was one thing to provide these goods to Melkire, but it was another entirely to be caught in the providing. Decency and a sense of the law meant he would no doubt have to be detained. He could only hope his time in the gaol would be as relatively kind as Roen's seemed to have proven. "Check the crates," he hissed, resigned to an inevitable fate. "The crates, please!" Prison, surely, was a small price for having succeeded.
"You first, eh?" He felt hands under his arms, felt himself dragged bodily towards the dangling cord. Resignation was swiftly evicted from the halfway house of his mind by the new tenant of confusion. He did not resist as Osric tied a knot around the Duskwight's midriff and tugged down sharply on the rope. "I'll check the crates. I swear I will."
He was sure he'd thought about this moment before. The notion of escaping a dangerous situation by being pulled up by a rope. Didn't he have a witty rejoinder? Surely something from the memoirs would suffice. Some last, parting comment that would leave a strong impression. But nothing came to mind. Verad could only offer a last, desperate "please," as if the sergeant might change his course, before being pulled up through the skylight, nothing more than a shadow amidst dissipating smoke.
The next few moments were a daze. Finding his footing on the roof. Anstarra hugging him tightly enough he felt he was going to lose a rib. Osric was saying something below, but he couldn't quite make out the details. It seemed to make An grin, though. "Success. Now let's get the hell outta here."
"Yes," he said, coughing, feeling as if he'd inhaled too much of the thick smoke. "I can get the helmet another day."
Verad Bellveil's Profile | The Case of the Ransacked Rug | Verad's Fate Sheet
Current Fate-14 Storyline:Â Merchant, Marine
Current Fate-14 Storyline:Â Merchant, Marine
