If you know to look down, if it's not too busy, if you're not in a city full of fucking dwarves. But it's Kirkwall, and it's got dwarves down to the buried slave bones, and when all's said and done it's spying birdshit on a buoy to spot him out here.
But he is here: Halfway between a stall and the steps, and a head above the tattooed woman at his side.
"Hey," Waved over. "Hey, Naca. This is the guy I been telling you about."
Edgard's face suddenly brightens. It's not every day he meets another bowman. He shoves up his right sleeve and offers it. Smiling, he eyes Naca's arms as if trying to tell which is hers.
"Was a soldier. Long time ago, not important. But, didn't want to die, so I got good. You?"
She spits and grabs his arm, sizing. There's something off about her shoulders — a familiar asymmetry. Vance shrugs helplessly: Look, he's just here to pay.
"Too many soldiers. Don't know if there's a good bowtree left in all Orlais." Groused. She releases him, steps back. "I'm making something special. Needs a test. Deserters here can't draw for shit."
"Don't disagree. If there is one left, should probably leave it for the birds." He grins lopsidedly as his arm is manhandled and then measured. He likes her, whoever she is.
"You asking me to test something?" His eyes widen adding a please.
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If you know to look down, if it's not too busy, if you're not in a city full of fucking dwarves. But it's Kirkwall, and it's got dwarves down to the buried slave bones, and when all's said and done it's spying birdshit on a buoy to spot him out here.
But he is here: Halfway between a stall and the steps, and a head above the tattooed woman at his side.
"Hey," Waved over. "Hey, Naca. This is the guy I been telling you about."
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"What have you been telling her?"
Edgard shrugs. "Whatever it is, Vance started it." It's partially a joke, but not all the way a joke.
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"Show me your drawing arm," Curt. "Where'd you learn to shoot?"
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"Was a soldier. Long time ago, not important. But, didn't want to die, so I got good. You?"
He nervously glances at Vance.
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She spits and grabs his arm, sizing. There's something off about her shoulders — a familiar asymmetry. Vance shrugs helplessly: Look, he's just here to pay.
"Too many soldiers. Don't know if there's a good bowtree left in all Orlais." Groused. She releases him, steps back. "I'm making something special. Needs a test. Deserters here can't draw for shit."
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"You asking me to test something?" His eyes widen adding a please.
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Vance mouths, behind her head: Say yes.
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But, he leans against a wall nonchalantly and his mouth says,
"Give it a shot if you want."