• Graded • [Foster's Landing] The Pledge

[Finnegan O'Connor]

The Pledge

Foster's Landing - 19th Cylus, 718

He had been in scuffles before and instinctively, deflected most of Ivanthe's clumsy blow with the back of his own hand, brushing the angry fist aside. The next instant Ivanthe turned and ran while Kas was momentarily distracted by Roy.

Finn seized the opportunity to give chase, bumping past Kasoria and shouldering his way past whoever tried to block his path. The drunk who'd called them midgets let out a cheerful "hurray!" at the excitement.

The outside world was much different. Quiet, save for hurried footfalls and harsh breathing. Finn turned sharply to the right, chasing the small shadow with as much speed as he dared on the slippery road. Ivanthe was fast. Too fast for his own good. The shadow fell face-down to the ground, ending the chase before it had really startes in earnest. Finn slowed his pace to a light jog as he came up to Ivanthe, noting that the young boy was more winded than himself. It wasn't untul he crouched at Ivanthe's side that he noticed the lad had wounded himself. "Ivanthe..." he said in that half-reprimanding, half-concerned voice an older brother might use. The boy's jumpiness was puzzling. What had set him off? He seemed particularly jumpy around adults and Finn wondered yet again if Ivan was cursed with violent parents. "C'mon," he said as his eyes assessed the damage. The scrapes and cuts were surely painful, but mostly looked dramatic due to the blood. Ivanthe wasn't in any real danger though.

Already he sensed Kasoria approaching which meant they hadn't much time. "I'll get us out of this," he whispered, "Trust me. Don't go running no more, it'll only make things wurse." Before Ivanthe had much time to respond, Finn had already pulled the bag of bones up into his pins.

A moment later Kasoria reached them, barely acknowledging Ivanthe's existence. Finn knew better than to cross the crook, even if they were almost the same height now. Kas was a skilled killer, unflinching in his execution and rather crafty with daggers and short blades of which he undoubtedly carried one or more on his person. "He's my friend," Finn answered fiercely. "He's coming with." It was as much an answer to the thug's question as it was an instruction for Ivanthe to follow. It was also all the rebeliousness he could muster in front of Kas without immediately fearing for his own life. Kas had been prone to violence those few times their paths had crossed and Finn had no intention of being beat into a pulp.

Whether Ivanthe wanted to or not, Finn made sure the sharp little thing came along, offering as much encouraging nods and "It's-gonna-be-alrights" as Ivanthe needed. Soon enough they returned to the warmth of an inn, though a far less crowded (and far less clean) establishment. It wouldn't surprise him if Kas rented a room there as it'd certainly explain the foul odor lingering around the mousy criminal.

The food smelled soud but tasted a bit better, thanks largely to copious amounts of added salt. While Finn obeyed Kas' command for a few spoonfuls, his patience soon wore out and he pushed the half-eaten bowl away from himself.

"I don't owe you," he muttered. "We would've been fine on our own... How do you kno-?" He stopped there before he went too far. Aye he could defend himself but Kas had been in the trenches of the underground for fates knew how long and now was not a good time to test the man's patience, especially not with little Ivanthe around.

Finn rested his arms on the table and arched an eyebrow at the dishevelled man. "What's the rub?" Best to get it over with quick so he could get Ivanthe home in one piece. "I can't call on my sis," he added, "she turned Blackjack, and she's an ass to deal with anyway. I do know a decent thief though." He nodded toward Ivanthe. Best to make him sound useful before Kas got any ideas about drowning Ivanthe to reduce any risk of peaching. The kid was an unknown to him after all...

[Ivanthe]

Ivanthe heard the footsteps approaching lightly, though he didn’t immediately know who it was. Knowing he had an audience was enough to stop laying there like a lump and begin moving; he was alright enough to come back to things.

Except that it was Finnigan. And the sight of him flooded Ivanthe with a wave of shame and embarrassment.

Ivanthe looked at the ground as soon as Finn crouched next to him, unable to speak or even meet his gaze. The older boy’s tone made it worse––half worried, half chiding, as if the only thing Ivanthe had done wrong was put himself in danger. Far too friendly for having just been swung at.

“Sorry,” Ivanthe mumbled at his shoes.

When the stranger arrived, it was easier to look at him. There was a sharp twist of wariness at the sight, followed by an equally sharp twist of confusion; Ivanthe knew quite well that the man himself wasn’t what he feared, just his ability to summon memories of the dead––and that was a problem that lay inside Ivanthe, not anyone else. The man was unnerving, yes, but Ivanthe wasn’t sure yet how much of that was innate and how much was projection on his own part; any other night and he would have looked at the man’s tangle, but he didn’t dare anything with his emotions still so raw.

For now, the young boy decided not to make any opinions about the stranger until he sorted his own thoughts out.

Finn, though, seemed nervous at the mere presence of the raggedy man. He took Ivanthe’s arm and gently but insistently encouraged him to his feet. The younger did so, eyes glued back to the ground forlornly as he followed. He didn’t feel deserving of eye contact, so he just trailed behind Finn in silence. The stranger seemed determined to ignore Ivanthe’s existence, and that suited him just fine; it gave him more time to feel guilty.

The young hunter licked his hand as they walked, gently but insistently dragging out all the grit and dirt. Spit is the best sterilizer, Yaren had once told him. Not because it’s powerful, but because you always have it with you. He could bandage it up once he got back home.

The stranger led them to a smaller, stinkier place that cared far less about who walked through its doors than the first one. Even though it was grubby and emptier, Ivanthe felt a bit safer––as it the only people who cared about his presence would want to hurt him, instead of believing they were actually doing him good. When people wanted to hurt him, they tended to be more honest about things.

The stranger found a table and ordered them three bowls of soup. What came back was gray and oily, but the smell… it was something familiar, and Ivanthe frowned as he tried to place it.

Eel. Oh. His mouth began watering the second he realized what was in that bowl; it had been years since he’d last had eel. He grabbed a spoon, ready to claim the closest of the three––

––when a hand slammed down on the table. Ivanthe threw down the spoon and leaned back instantly, ready for a flying strike or cutting reprimand.

But there was none. The stranger simply wanted their attention, so he could look each boy square in the face.

You owe me.

Ivanthe’s eyes narrowed, and deep down inside he felt the growl of a stubborn, uncooperative beast that demanded he simply be contrary. He was a boy who counted his debts carefully, and he counted no debt in the stranger’s favor––not for the scene in the tavern, at least.

Perhaps for the soup, though.

Grinding his teeth, Ivanthe fished around in his pockets for coins. He tried to remember what the man had paid for the three bowls, then slapped down an equal amount of money and pushed it the stranger’s way. Paying for all three would more than remove any debt the stranger was entitled to, at least in Ivanthe’s eyes.

With the money on the table, the young hunter reached for a bowl again and began to eat. Yes, it was eel soup, and it was magical. Alright, not quite magical, but it was better than it smelled and there were bits of eel floating around with what were probably potatoes, along with a few tiny bones.

Finn and the stranger were on speaking terms, it seemed, so Ivanthe was content to leave them to it. Up until the point Finn volunteered him as a “decent thief,” which both blindsided him and also flattered him greatly, leaving Ivanthe confused as to how he should respond.

He ended up blushing furiously, looking at everything except for Finn, not saying a word and chewing his cheek near to bleeding to keep from smiling proudly.

[Kasoria]

"No, you wouldn't have, dumb shit."

Kasoria was not what they called a "people person". A charmer, a raconteur, one that was blessed with the ability to swim among humanity with grace and magnetism. He left that to his master, who handled all such matters where such nuance was called for. What did he need it knack for, anyway? He was a tool, a weapon, and was honestly happier that way. There was a simplicity in being blunt and honest and-

Honest? Says the man who just pretended to be a father.

Kasoria's face twitched for a moment as the thought snapped through his mind, and the mirrored truth of it gouged at his guts a little. He didn't pretend. It just wasn't to these boys. Then he shook the thought away and returned his glare to Finn, meeting the sullen boy's gaze with one just as intractable.

"Roy and his woman would have called the guards, you and your friend would have been dragged away, and then what? Eh? What was your grand plan for when they stuck you in front of a magistrate? Hmm?"

It wasn't the fatherly facade anymore, but it seemed somewhat similar. Kasoria seemed bent on browbeating the boys, throwing their mistakes and lack of foresight at them like boulders at a city wall. Stupid kids. Children playing at being men. Shallow lies and no strategy, bad enough that he of all sodding people had to step in and pull them out of their mistakes.

He didn't know about Finn's new "friends", of course.

Coins slapped the table, then scraped across the wood. Kasoria looked down and found the money he'd just spent returned to him, albeit in coppers beaten and worn and, yes, bent almost in half in one case. But all there, and as he followed the hand and the arm back to the bowl of eel brother with leek and tomatoes... he found a similar sullen gaze, tempered with stony resolve.

The killer snorted softly, and shrugged. He scooped the coins up and turned his attention to his own bowl. So much potential in such unassuming, clueless little packages. They were like diamonds ripped straight from the ground, jagged and resistant to sale or tempering, but if you spent enough time on them, sanded and rubbed and chipped away...

Kasoria wondered if that had been the case for him. Was Sergeant Tantos doing just that? Did Vorund, who came after? No... no, not him. Whatever he was, whatever he would become, he was long before he'd marched into Vorund's warehouse and pledged his loyalty.

He waited for them to eat before he spoke, as he'd said he would. Around them the denizens of the cafe quaffed and slurped and tore at their meals, none giving them much attention. But another trio of poor peasants, enjoying solace from the cold and the maddening darkness. Only Kasoria's gaze flickering constantly to the door and the entrance to the kitchen betrayed any alertness about his ragged form. Even that faded when he grabbed the bowl with both hands, tipped it up... and sucked down every dram of food.

"If it's in front of you, eat it, and before some bastard can take it from you," he said as he set the bowl back down, "Old rule from the streets."

He blinked. Advice? When did he impart that for free? He mentally shook himself, and a mask seemed to fall behind his eyes. Impenetrable and built upon by decades of arcs. He wasn't a friend, or a comrade, or a brother, or a father, or a cousin's uncle's granddad. He was, at best, a temporary ally and employer. So he leaned forward and kept his words hanging over the chipped wood of the table, for their ears alone.

"I don't need you to steal anything. I need you to find someone. Man arrived here from Etzos, start of the season. In his forties, dark hair, beard, might have changed them both. Got a tattoo up one side of his neck, though. Fish or a snake or something. He knows there's folk after him, so he might be hiding... but he's also looking to put down roots. Start over. Get back into the life. So he'll have feelers out."

He was editing and omitting even as the words came out his mouth. Vorund's words echoed in his head as he relayed just what they needed to know, and nothing more. Not Destard's name, not the fact he was a rival of his master, driven out of Etzos. Not that word had wound it's way back up river to Vorund, whispering that a thought-to-be spent force was back, in Foster's Landing, and apparently set to rebuild his business. Kasoria didn't have to be told that Vorund couldn't let that happen. He had interests in the burgeoning port city that extended beyond deals with bandits and smugglers. But his power, his base, hell, his being was in Etzos, and he had too many balls in the air to go running downriver. He couldn't split himself in two... but he could send his most trusted killer.

Kasoria got his orders days before, and simply nodded in reply, as was often his way. Eleven years working together, they knew each other. How they thought, what they expected, what they were capable of. Vorund gave him a bag of nels for expenses, with another, fatter one when he returned triumphant. The details, though... that was up to Kasoria.

"Now..." He moved his gaze from young face to wide eyes, but focused mainly on Finn. He was not a people person, yet he knew how to impress importance. "... you think you can handle that?"

Thanks for Jade for the template

[Finnegan O'Connor]

The Pledge

Foster's Landing - 19th Cylus, 718

Any other child might’ve answered an insult to their intelligence with a scowl, but not Finn. Here too Fiona had prepared him for the harsh realities of life, having slung dictionaries worth of vulgarities at his head from the moment he’d learned to speak, rendering him practically immune to empty threats. The only acknowledgement came in the shape of a fleeting, knowing smirk. He’d never been in any real danger and he wasn’t in much danger now, unless the crook had some new tricks up his sleeve.

“Magistrate?” Finn scoffed. “You ‘aven’t been here before, have you? There’s no magistrate. No black guard either. There’s laws an’ all, but the real law is,” he put his elbow on the table and balled up his fist before scooping up another spoonful of soup with his free hand. “You should like it here.”

He shot a quick glance in Ivanthe’s direction, making sure lil’ one hadn’t scurried off again but they boy seemed content, if perhaps a little shaken. At first he didn’t think too much of Ivanthe’s face glowing red with pride, he’d always seemed shy after all, but then he considered that perhaps Ivanthe was beaming because his ears weren’t accustomed to flattery. Not that being called a decent thief was particularly flattering, and that only added to the mystery.

Finn was about to look away again when Ivanthe showed just how foreign he was to Etzos and fished some coppers from his pocket before sliding them toward the crook. He had half a mind to catch the boy’s thin wrist before the ragged, hairy vulture would pocket the coin but remained still in the end, letting Kasoria take the payment, yet there wasn’t a hair on his head that even considered paying for his own bowl.

Cautious, he remained still for another half bit, letting the steam from the bowl go to waste until he concluded that neither Kasoria nor Ivanthe would speak until they’d finished their meals and followed their example. When finally the last bit of hot food had been gulped down, Kasoria explained the reason for their little reunion with all the grace of a typical Etzori low live. Straight to the point. Of course, things weren’t ever that easy though. Finn noted that Kasoria failed to mention why he needed to find this man, nor had he brought up any name or alias that would help identify the man. There was more to this story than the rat let on and he wondered if he should pry or not.

His younger self, the one Kasoria had employed before, would’ve jumped up, offended that the villain dared to insinuate that he might not be up to the task. That would’ve been two, maybe three arcs ago, but not now. His current self was taller, stronger, wiser and just a smidge more restrained.

“What’s in it for us?” Finn demanded to know, making sure Kasoria wouldn’t continue to labour under the illusion that he was dealing with over-eager ten year olds. He shot a quick glance at Ivanthe. Correction, there was one ten year old in the room, but his eagerness to stalk someone through the shadows remained to be seen. “It’s not a big town but…” he shook his head, “might take a while unless we can lure him somehow.” A man like that would be looking for ground to build a house on, or purchase an existing house perhaps. He looked to Ivanthe, silently asking the little one if he had any bright ideas how to find this man.

Eventually his gaze returned to Kasoria. “It’ll cost ya.” Which was a polite way of demanding to know if the other party possessed the coin and goodwill to reward the time and effort.

[Ivanthe]

Ivanthe was content to sit and watch; he was used to not knowing things, and this felt important to learn. He watched the exchange and he listened, and he committed it to memory. Not just the words, but the attitudes; who was leaning in, who was leaning away. The curve of an eyebrow, the guardedness of the arms. Nods of the head, pauses in voice, clipped phrases and held tongues.

The stranger––because he still hadn’t introduced himself, but he and Finn knew each other––seemed very interested in making points. He even made drinking his soup into a statement, and Ivanthe blinked curiously. The young empath knew better than to examine any more tangles, but the measure of the man’s face seemed oddly… guiding, like the hunters that had taken Ivanthe aside every now and again to teach their craft.

But he liked that Finn was having none of it. Street rules, those were neither here nor there; Ivanthe was more accustomed to the rule of the wild.

It did give him more information about Etzos, though.

The problem the stranger posed caught Ivanthe’s attention, mostly because it led his thoughts to the soon-departing caravan. They had arrived in Foster’s Landing at the beginning of Cylus, too, and also from Etzos proper. Ivanthe himself remained silent and let the older boy remain the center of attention, but his mind wandered. Would any of the other caravaners know a man by that description? It seemed unlikely that any man would travel from Etzos to Foster’s without the company of others.

Finn did not rise to the old man’s bait, remaining cool and calculated. It was only when he demanded payment that Ivanthe finally realized where all the pieces fell; this meeting was a negotiation, not some farce of a rescue. The stranger had a need, and the two boys were somehow at liberty to fulfill it, and knowing this made the younger of the two feel much more at ease. There was a product they could provide, and the stranger wanted it.

Even better, Finn was not only aware, but had done it before; he held their ground confidently and glanced Ivanthe’s way––and now, Ivanthe knew much better what those eyes were asking.

Ivanthe softened his expression, nodding along but unsure how much to say. That he knew some caravaners arriving around the same time as the stranger’s prey was not a guarantee of success, but it could be a start.

“Maybe,” Ivanthe said to Finn and not to the stranger. “I might know someone to ask.”

[Kasoria]

He had to admit, it was impressive how the boy had matured in only a few years. In the same way a predator's claws and fangs grew in, or how it learned to cast of it's mother's kills and hunt for itself. The Finn that Kasoria had met years before hadn't even tried to keep up the facade of a stoic, street-toughened hustler. He'd been confused and afraid and only his touchy pride kept him from crumpling under the pressure of that day.

Finn wasn't afraid anymore, even eye-to-eye with the man who'd slaughtered a houseful of Etzosi pushers and gangers like they were cattle. He asked the only relevant question that mattered in their world, and that, at least, drew a smile from his old acquaintance.

Doesn't change what happens to him if he gets too smart, though.

The other boy spoke and whatever parity Kasoria's gaze held vanished when he switched it over. Paying his way was one thing, but that fit outside... he didn't like it. Could understand it, of course: some minds just snapped under the pressure of Etzosi life, especially those born and dragged through the grime and squalor of the underworld. But he didn't need some lunatic stroking out around him. It threatened his anonymity, and Kasoria valued that above most other things.

"Anything else for you boys?"

"No, we're just leaving."

The serving wench walked off to the next table and Kasoria filled the space she'd left, looming over the two still-seated boys. There was nothing else he needed to add, nothing else relevant. But when he rose he heard the clink and tinkle of coin at his hip, and patted it again. Like dogs in an experiment, two sets of hawkish street-rat eyes snapped to the sound.

"You know what I need. What I'm looking for. And you know where to find me. I don't need you luring or distracting or thieving-" he snapped a quick look at Ivanthe, trying to frown as much warning as he could in just a trill "-just find the man, and tell me where he is. And after that..."

He looked to the heavens and his lips made the slightest pout as he started doing some quick math in his head. His expenses covered the barge trip to and from the port town, and start at Roy's for a half-dozen nights, at the most. But the rest of the coin he had was his, and he didn't want to fork over any more than he had to. That said, given the task, the time to see it through, the possibility they might have to do a little palm-greasing of their own-

"Twenty-five gold nels." That got their attention again, so he decided to ram home the point even deeper. "Each. That's what you get after I finish the job. You get paid for results, not for effort."

He gathered his cloak up and around himself, for the chill would be fierce once he got outside. The wind from the sea seemed to snatch up frost and snow as it skimmed over the waves. He thought it was only in mountains and hills that such things happened, but he was hardly a scholar of the natural world. His talents lay elsewhere.

Fond farewells were not a staple of their world; more often that not, they would be greeted with mockery, not sincerity. So instead he just fixed his hat atop his head and touched the brim at them. A moment later and he was outside, bracing himself against a wind that had teeth and claws and a bloody serious grudge against him. He narrowed his eyes against the gusts and started hobbling back to Roy's, eager for bed and whatever news his two new allies could bring him.

If they can be trusted, the paranoid voice in his skull reminded him. He ran from Wattle, he ran from Vorund, now he's working with fuck-knows. He could run straight to them now and set you up.

Kasoria admitted the possibility to himself, but no pain creased his face or crinkled the skin around his eyes. If that was the case, then Finn and his freaky friend would both die with their throats opened up... and he would find another way to ferret out the one his master wanted dead.

No law, no magistrate, he thought, Finn's words echoing in his mind and giving him some cold comfort. Boy was right. I am going to like it here.

[Finnegan O'Connor]

The Pledge

Foster's Landing - 19th Cylus, 718

Finn answered the farewell with the slightest dip of his chin, barely an acknowledgement that their newfound employer was leaving them to their task.

It wasn’t until the same foul wind that had carried Kasoria to Foster’s Landing saw him leave through the half-unhinged door of the shabby inn that Finn’s mask broke. First his eyes shot to Ivanthe, wide with disbelief. The serious frown relaxed, his shoulders drooped and the stern, thin line that was his mouth broke into a wide grin. “Did’you see?” Finn chuckled in disbelief. “He wus as drunk as a nob. Fuckin’ had to be. Twenty-five,” he whispered the last part, barely containing his laughter. “Twenty-five, each,” he almost choked on the words. “All that for just finding some poor sod? Maybe it’s his eyes or sumthink. Old age an’ all.”

A customary light punch landed on Ivanthe’s shoulder. “You did good.” Finn said, leaving out what exactly Ivanthe had done considering the things the boy hadn’t done were of greater importance. Hadn’t caused another ruckus for starters, hadn’t interrupted, hadn’t pissed of the volatile shitpile that was Kasoria. All things considered, Finn thought Ivanthe would have a bright future ahead of him in the underbelly of society.

Soon enough, Finn’s smile faded and the bright twinkle faded from his eyes. “You alright?” he checked again, giving Ivanthe a proper once-over in the amber light of the inn. On the outside the boy looked fine. Scruffy, aye, bony for sure, perhaps a little too weary too, but no black eyes or festering gashes could be spotted anywhere, just the scrapes from his panic attack a few bits prior. Some wounds however, weren’t visible on the surface. The anguish he often felt in the presence of his sister couldn’t be counted in bruises or scars, it was written in those bouts of silence, those flickers of agony flashing across the face. He hadn’t yet spotted either on Ivanthe’s face, but he was certain the boy was still hiding something. Perhaps it was just a matter of time…

“All jokes aside,” Finn resumed more casually. “I wouldn’t recommend crossing Raggedy-rat. He might not look like much- heck he looks like less that nothing most of the time, but he’s got a real mean bite. Did you see that sword he carried? Simple little thing, but he’s killed people twice his size with that and he won’t hesitate to...you know…” He left the details up to Ivanthe’s imagination. “Look,” Finn said as he rested a light hand on Ivanthe’s shoulder, “just don’t get in his way and he won’t get in yours, simple as that.”

He withdrew his hand again and chewed on his lips for a few trills, considering their options. “I wouldn’t mind startin’ now, if you’re up to it, but I wouldn’t mind a soft pillow either. No way I’m going back to my tent with this shitting cold… What about you?”

[Ivanthe]

The stranger stood, taking one more moment to loom over them and shoot an oddly threatening look Ivanthe’s way––as if Ivanthe was some sort of self-sabotaging kleptomaniac––and left them with the sound of coins on the air.

Ivanthe let out a breath of relief when they were left alone again, and then it really sunk in what they had agreed to. As Finn muttered out loud about the gold, Ivanthe was already imagining what it could buy him. A saddle, new and fitted for Marigold, or a set of thick fur clothes. Maybe a tent that didn’t need patching, one that was actually watertight with waxed canvas.

The boy nodded along with his companion, smiling with surreal exhileration. “I’m good,” he reassured softly.

Raggedy-rat. It was a better name than “that stranger,” he supposed.

“Also, ah, in the tavern… I didn’t mean…” Ivanthe folded his hands in and looked at the ground in shame. “I didn’t mean to do that. It wasn’t… I didn’t know it was you.” He shifted in his seat and changed the topic quickly. “Look, I won’t get into trouble with him. I’m good at staying out of the way.”

He paused for a moment to lick the remnants of the stew from the sides of his bowl. It was a good stew.

“I know someone who came from Etzos beginning of Cylus,” Ivanthe offered. “His caravan does regular runs between Etzos and towns. Sometimes people will travel with him to stay safe. Or warm. He’s not quite friendly, but he’s alright. And his caravan is the biggest on this route this time of year. He might have seen someone, or maybe knows someone who did.”

Ivanthe stood up and adjusted his clothes just as the barmaid began coming their way, already balancing a small stack of dirty dishes.

"We're camped just at the end of town, where the cobbles become dirt. It won't be as cold if we're fast."

[Pegasus]

Ahh, what a great thread! I really enjoyed this, the interaction between the three of you and the very different relationships, centering around Finn especially in this instance. I love the description and the atmosphere you got going in the thread between all of you. The NPCs were well played, it was one of those threads I fell into and forgot I was reviewing! Enjoy your rewards, drop me a pm if you have any questions.

Kasoria

Points

XP: 15

Renown:Nope

Loot

Knowledge

Discipline: Minding Your Own Business
Discipline: Recalling a Voice From Long Ago
Intelligence: Recognizing a Potential Asset
Intelligence: Briefing Without Giving Away Too Much
Finn O'Connor: Plucky Street Rat, Far from Home
Ivanthe: Weird Kid, Possible Liability
Acting: Playing the Outraged Dad
Intimidation: Playing On Reputation (Yours and Your Master's)
Negotiation: Setting a Price for Services To-Be-Rendered

Ivanthe

Points

XP: 15

Renown: 5

Loot

Nope

Knowledge

Discipline: pain creates focus
Unarmed Combat: strike at the limbs
Unarmed Combat: surprise as a weapon
Discipline: cold is temporary
Deception: guarding your answers
Deception: know when to abort
Acting: this is my brother
Acting: believe your own lie
Medicine: saliva, nature’s disinfectant

Finn

Points

XP: 15

Renown: 5

Loot

Nope

Knowledge

Leadership: making Ivanthe follow you
Acting: half-truths are the best lies
Persuasion: enhancing a story with enticing mystery
Negotiation: making Ivanthe do as you want
Acting: playing along with Kasoria
Endurance: taking a fist to the stomach
Caregiving: making sure Ivanthe is alright.
Discipline: remaining cool opposite a dangerous crook
Negotiation: demanding a reward
Kasoria: Raggedy-rat from the past
Ivanthe: Jumpy friend