The slight chill in the air tickles the back of your neck as you take your evening walk down by the water’s edge. It is a late summer evening in the quiet village of Northport as the warmth of the beautiful orange and violet tones of the sun sinking below the mountaintops betrays the changing of the seasons. As you take in the sight and feel the last rays of the day on your face, you hear a faint sound behind you and distant. Stone. A quick scrape. A shout. Getting louder, much louder, and quickly. You spin, only catching a glimpse of the smirk on a man, hood up of a navy-blue trench coat, barreling down the cobblestones of the market street that had only moments before been so calm and peaceful. Only seconds behind him are men; armed, sour men wearing an expression somewhere between hunger, annoyance, and abject misery of having to give chase.

Just like that, the excitement is past you. Frankly, that may have just been more excitement that this sleepy fishing town has seen in a long time. For reasons only you know, you pursue…

Past the square and towards the shipwright district you chase the shouts. As you follow you have to weave your way through overturned carts, stalls messed with scattered fruit, and the throng of people gathering to see the commotion. You then catch another glimpse of the hooded man as he takes a right into an alleyway between two tenant houses approaching the harbor. When you arrive, you find a small door frame to duck into and are only mildly disgruntled at the chips of white paint that have flaked off onto your hands as you peak around the corner.

The men, thugs by the looks of it, have found themselves in a dead-end alleyway. Clearly seeming confused, they mutter to each other before you see one shove the other. From your immediate right, you hear a voice boom.

“Gentlemen! We have you completely surrounded! Drop your weapons and put your hands against the wall where I can see them.”

After a quick round of eye contact, the larger of the thugs straightens up. “And just whose do ya think ya are? You’d be awfully bold ta be..”

“First floor! A shot across the bow, if you’d please!” The voice interrupts with bravado. You watch as one of the shutters at ground level flies open, the smack of wood against wood punctuated by the shriek of a crossbow bolt burying itself inches in front of the first thug’s foot.

“The man you gentlemen were in so desperate a hurry to apprehend will be found, don’t you worry. After we take you into custody for the damage of the district, we will see to it.”

“But that basta..”

“Quiet! Second floor, a show of force!” From your vantage point, you can hear a mad dash inside the building as leather boots furiously pound their way up a flight of stairs. A moment later, another shudder blasts open and another bolt lands even closer. The street thugs, having now been thoroughly spooked, back even further into the alleyway. Their eyes glance wildly around, showing plainly on their faces they think they have been backed into a corner. Though slightly out of breath, the voice booms a third time, “The next shot will be to kill! I suggest you drop your weapons and turn around. No one moves until I say so.”

The clanging of steel against stone conveys their answer as they turn and face the wall. Even from here, you think you can hear one whimpering. If you lean in and listen even harder…

Oh!

The door opens and you almost lose your balance. Staring you right in the face is a man, a bit on the shorter side (5'5"ish) with curly brown hair made a mess from his hood and piercing green eyes. He wears a navy-blue overcoat that extends down to his thighs and around his vest are wrapped two bandoleers, both filled with many small pockets and pouches. He looks just as startled as you feel and just for a moment you think his bravado might just be a façade. He recovers quickly, guiding you by the shoulder slowly and quietly away from the alleyway. “I’ll explain later, but do you have a way to make fire? Right now! even just a tiny flame.” The man says as he readies his crossbow a third time and pulls out a bolt caked in a dried, red substance…

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Heyo!

I’m looking for someone who wants to take the prompt and run with it. I have been wanting to play this character for a while who has an outwards personality that exudes confidence, very much in a fighter pilot sort of way, but internally has a complete lack of that very thing. Very much a “fake it till you make it” sort of guy, Pothoc is most likely a sub who is just looking to feel validated and wanted. Frankly I am OK to see this go just about anywhere, but an assertive leading woman is preferred for the sort of dichotomy I'm thinking. Either shoot me a message and we can pick up here or just jump right into it! Let’s see where this goes!