Mission: Impossible -- with mercenaries and Tal-Vashoth

[freedom_is_grey]

They've scoped out the three target merc companies over many long nights going over documentation and word-of-mouth. They've come up with a backstory for James, she's brought him what was essentially a bucket full of daggers from which to pick those that fit his purposes best, and they've gone through packing materials, bedrolls, waterskins, maps -- all of it.

They're as prepared as they can be, which is why Ysalwen, bundled up in her cloak and with a travel pack (and her sword) slung over her shoulders, is waiting by the front door for James to arrive. Liranan -- fitted out in his spiked collar and Lady of the Skies kaddith -- is there, too, tongue lolling out with excitement.

Travel!

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[nerves_of_ice]

On the other side of the door, in his apartment, he's carefully going through his own weapon set. He knows he'll be able to use the ones Ysalwen brought for him to choose just fine, but it never hurts to have a backup.

Or two, or three.

He settles on several matte-black throwing knives, then adds a couple of garrotes to hidden pockets, and calls it good enough. He also adds a small package of caffeine pills. He hates the damn things, but with sleep being as dangerous as Ysalwen had described, it might not hurt to have them around, just in case.

This is important. He has to do it right. This matters.

One final glance around, and then he pushes the door open and steps through.

[freedom_is_grey]

Ysalwen smiles in greeting, bright and easy, stepping aside so that James has room to maneuver.

(Or perhaps her smile is that of someone that had to ration them for so long that she's decided never to do that again. Even odds.)

"You're right on time. Are there any last things we ought to go over, do you think?"

Liranan yips once. Hello, James! You are going on an adventure!

[nerves_of_ice]

His answering smile is not nearly as easy or bright, but it exists all the same.

"I try to be. Hello, Liranan."

He offers his right hand to the mabari, evidently willing to scratch Liranan's ears.

"Not unless the situation's changed, or your intel has."

[freedom_is_grey]

Liranan licks his hand with a very damp tongue, then sits still for the petting. Well, he tries to sit still, but he's very excited! It's difficult to wait!

"My information is the same as it was. Zevran went out earlier this morning to check that all was as we heard, and he'll be waiting for us when we get to the other side. What we're looking for remains the same, as well. Though Meraad -- she'll likely want to ask questions of you herself, either before or after."

A pause.

"I know you won't, but -- please don't stare at her mouth. She'll know why, and it's not the most pleasant of reminders. So."

[nerves_of_ice]

"She can ask me whatever she wants," he says, quietly. "Whenever."

"And you're right. I won't stare. I ... know a little about that kind of thing."

He gives Liranan a final rub, then straightens.

"Ready when you are."

[freedom_is_grey]

Ysalwen does a quick check of her pack, Liranan's collar, and her weapons.

Then she nods once, sharply.

"I'm ready. Let's go."

It doesn't seem to bother her to have James at her back, and her stride is easy as she heads for the front door, opens it, and then heads through.

Liranan will bring up the rear.

[nerves_of_ice]

He follows through without hesitation, moving a little to the left once he clears the door so that the way is clear for Liranan.

James pauses, briefly, as he casts an assessing look around the area.

[freedom_is_grey]

There's no one on the other side of the door besides Ysalwen, James, and Liranan until there is.

From the shadows under the trees -- across the side garden of the ruined house -- a cloaked form seemingly appears. Then he pulls his hood back, revealing a very pretty, tattooed face a head of gold hair.

Said man grins, sheathing his daggers and moving across the open ground toward them, brown eyes fixed on James. He is only leering a little.

"Ah, my love, always you bring the prettiest of your friends in order to tempt me. But alas, I belong only to you, much as it pains us both."

Ysalwen laughs, cheeks going pink, even as she tugs Zevran down into a quick kiss before shoving him away very gently.

"You know I stopped believing you about that a long time ago, right? About the time you married me?"

About the paining thing, that is.

"This is James. James, this is Zevran, my husband. He's ridiculous, at least until he's not."

[nerves_of_ice]

He sizes the other man up, taking in the wear on his leather armor (along with the crow-feather motif that seems to be a recurring theme) as well as the way Zevran handles his weapons.

It all adds up in a very familiar way, and the corner of his mouth twitches upward in something like a smile as he nods a greeting in response to Ysalwen's introduction.

"She said you were good."

He may sound laconic, but it's clearly a compliment all the same.

[freedom_is_grey]

Zevran claps one hand to his chest, staggering as if he's been shot by an arrow.

"Only good? I am crushed, I am betrayed, my heart and my pride shall never recover."

Ysalwen's mouth twitches at one corner, even as she's scanning the forest's edge for the sight of a tall woman with horns.

"Liranan."

And that's when Liranan leaps up onto Zevran, licking his face in reassurance that they like him, they really like him!

As Zev goes down under the mabari's weight, a horned woman with dark gray skin, mage robes, and an immense staff steps out from behind a tree as well, dark eyes narrowed and -- is that worry on her face?

"Meraad!" Ysa's voice is cheerful, and maybe a little soft. "I've brought James, so you and he can go look at mercenary companies together. He's got some experience, like I said."

Up close her mouth and the skin around it are covered with scars, as if someone ripped out stitches after they had been in there a long, long time.

"Hello." Meraad's voice is deep, and the kind of rough one gets when one has not used said voice in a while. That, sadly, is a pretty permanent state of affairs. "Thank you, in advance, for your help."

[nerves_of_ice]

He doesn't laugh, but there's more than a little bit of a smirk evident as Liranan takes Zevran down. This kind of back and forth -- it's familiar somehow, in a way that he'd almost forgotten.

Then Meraad enters the clearing, and his expression instantly fades into something much more calm and steady as he takes stock of her. Hearing about the Qunari from Ysalwen's not the same as meeting one.

(He doesn't appear to notice the scars around her mouth at all; certainly his glance never rests on them.)

"You're welcome."

Quiet but clear.

"I'll help all I can."

[freedom_is_grey]

She moves forward deliberately, like a wave rushing toward shore, does Meraad.

When she comes to a stop in front of James, well within touching distance, she tilts her head very slightly, studying him.

"You are not afraid."

Her mouth twists in what is a painful-looking sort of smile.

"This will be good."

Ysalwen reaches over to touch Meraad just above her elbow.

"You'll have to watch his back. He's not planning on sleeping much."

Meraad nods, reaching to brush her knuckle against the corner of her mouth.

"I understand."

Maybe she does.

[nerves_of_ice]

"No."

Quiet but clear. He doesn't smile, but there's something about the look in his eyes that seems somehow understanding.

"I'm not afraid."

James glances over at Ysalwen.

"And no, I'm not. But it'll be fine."

[freedom_is_grey]

"It will be."

Ysalwen's smile is crooked, but firm.

"So. We should probably get moving, if we plan to scout the mercenary camp before either of you enter it."

[nerves_of_ice]

James nods.

"Lead the way."

She is the commander here, after all.

[freedom_is_grey]

"The view from behind really is quite something," Zevran says in a very loud aside to James.

Meraad scoffs.

Ysalwen buries her face in her hands.

Liranan just wags his tail cheerfully and bolts off up ahead.

"Ah, yes. Mabari ass," Ysalwen says mockingly. "The finest in the realm."

And then she sets off, her stride surprisingly ground-eating for such a slight figure, but also incredibly maintainable.

She and Zevran have great practice at hiking across the continent.

[nerves_of_ice]

"So long as it doesn't distract you too much," James replies, dryly.

[freedom_is_grey]

Zevran rests one hand over his heart.

"Never. To be too distracted would be to miss dancing with her in battle, and that will never be."

Is that some degree of sincerity to Zevran's words? Perhaps.

Meanwhile, Meraad just snorts, loudly, and moves to pass the both of them.

"Men," she says, very scornfully.

[nerves_of_ice]

"Mm."

It may sound neutral, but there's something of clear understanding in his eyes as he nods to Zevran.

(Memories of Natasha will ever, always, hold a place in his heart... and did to some extent even when he didn't realize it.)

"You'll have to forgive us," he calls to Meraad as she passes. "We all have our flaws."

[freedom_is_grey]

"I do not have to do anything," Meraad tosses back, voice low and raspy. She's smiling, though, so that's something.

"That is what freedom means."

Even Zevran barks a laugh at that, looking pleased as punch.

(It took her years, you see, for her to say it. So.)

"And on that note!" Ysalwen calls. "Let's get moving."

[nerves_of_ice]

He falls in line, behind and slightly to the left, watching to the sides as they move.

Familiar habits, from familiar times, but just as useful now as they were then.

[freedom_is_grey]

It's a little after the noon meal, the sun high in the sky and the air growing uncomfortably warm, when the sound of birds stops.

Liranan, who has the best nose among them, knows what is coming.

He tilts his head back and lets forth a bone-chilling howl.

The mages are slinging their staffs off their back even as Zevran falls back into the shadows.

And the wyverns rush the path.

[nerves_of_ice]

What the hell are those?

He doesn't waste time with questions, though. Instead, he cuts to the left and forward, clearing the line of fire for others while drawing the attention of the first thing in the group.

A flicker of motion, and two matte-black blades slice the air and strike home -- one in each of the first wyvern's eyes.

[freedom_is_grey]

Ysalwen darts forward, rushing straight at a knot of three wyverns, who turn from baiting and mantling at each other to try to catch this prey that's gotten very close. One of them rears back to spit out venom, and that's when a wall of arctic air rushes out from Ysalwen and freezes all three wyverns solid where they stand.

Liranan is already charging at the one on the left, smashing it to crystalline, icy pieces with his bulk and the speed of his advance. Ysalwen summons a boulder from nothing and shatters the one in the middle.

Zevran, meanwhile, is riding the head of a fourth territorial beast, knives aimed precisely downward to slice into the brainpan. He has, it is clear, done this before.

And Meraad -- shields of reddish-green magic spring into place around everyone on the field that isn't a wyvern, and the qunari quickly starts casting another spell, clouds stirring in the sky before splitting apart as something vast and fiery begins to emerge.

[nerves_of_ice]

The creature he's blinded lets out a fearful shriek that causes the world around him to quiver, but he's already thrown himself into a long baseball-style slide that carries him underneath its head.

James shakes his head to clear it and punches straight upward with his left arm -- through its jaw and into its brain.

As it collapses, he rolls sideways to get out from under it and looks around for a new target.