brea-thebrave -- supernatural-selection -- tomorrowfragrence -- lastxyearsxmodel -- higher-than-hrothgar -- obscurecleptes -- nothingxtoxprove
Pull the bowstring back. Take in a deep breath. Re-- no, no, his posture is all wrong. Irritably, Gallus lowers the bow. He can't seem to quite remember all that Karliah told him about techniques, and he can't exactly go all the way back to Riften, back to the guild, and ask her now, can he? No. He's hiding in the bushes right outside of a camp, attempting to get the upper hand by offing the nearest bandit with an arrow. It's not a secret that he's never been the best shot, that he's always favored the blade instead of the bow, but Karliah had insisted he try it out. At least once. And who is he to deny her? He can't say no to that woman, he swears.
Bow slung over his shoulder and arrow sheathed already, he frowns. Perhaps it would be better to off them all and say he did it with the bow-- maybe. Probably. The only reason he's even out here is because he's here to take back a stolen family heirloom and return it to somebody in Windhelm. It's incredibly tedious; he's already had to fight his way through a pack of Ice Wolves, and he's already had to run from a Frost Troll, which left him arguably winded and unprepared for the camp of bandits outside of the cave where the supposed amulet is.
He won't dare give up, but that doesn't mean he enjoys doing this.
A muffled step is taken forward, boots soundlessly pressing into the snow, and he stops. Something doesn't seem right. The feeling of being watched looms over him, his eyebrows furrow, and he looks over his shoulder.
Oh.
A stranger.
Well, this is inconvenient.
His hand automatically moves to his side, fingers wrapping around the hilt of his Nightingale blade as he draws it forth; a subtle warning to the stranger standing a few feet away from him. Perhaps they're lost, the better side of him muses. Though, any thief knows that a stranger could be a threat.
