Emma
Herin Farensun
The Stilts, Tonate Proper

 Herin had been staying in Tonate for a few days now, staying at different inns each night, rotating through the city with one eye over his shoulder like a hunted animal. Ever since Tam, he felt like someone was watching him, he knew it was probably just paranoia, he couldn't shake the feeling that as soon as he stopped jumping at every shadow, something was going to step out of them. He tried to push away the feelings by focusing on his mission, analyzing the city. Even that task had become troublesome though, as Herin found himself overwhelmed by the sheer magnanimity of it all. How do you understand the impacts of things like sewers and waste disposal when all your life you've lived in shanty-towns where people poured buckets of human waste out their windows at night? Whatever insights Herin had hoped to glean into the mind of Bradai Maith were obscured by the sheer alien nature of Tonate. It had begun to dawn on Herin that Tonate was something unlike the rest of the isles, a separate entity living within the heart of the nation. It truly was a reflection of its ruler in that sense, a gaudy, pompous monument to power, lording its power over the rest of the lands. Its great red walls, dotted with the corpses of scags, seemed to scream out for attention. Herin could not deny that it was a beautiful city, but it screamed of desperation. A monument to power built to house the ego of its paranoid ruler.

And yet, Herin had not found that sentiment popular among the people of Tonate. He didn't go around asking people if they wanted Maith dead, he had been more subtle than that at least, but in his conversations at taverns and markets, he found that most people supported Maith, or at least found him preferable to the alternative. Oh there were certainly people who thought Maith had his flaws, yet compared to the idea of scags, Maith was practically a saint. And as far as Herin's own ploy at sainthood went, any news of his attacks in the Tardide waters was slow to reach Tonate. A few merchants he talked to had heard rumors of burned plantations and scag pirates with a crimson flag, but it seemed Maith was hard at work suppressing news of his actions. In Tonate it seemed, Maith reigned supreme, the people knew what he wanted them to know and thought what he wanted them to think. If it was anyone other than Maith, Herin would want to shake their hand for exercising such control, but that power in the hands of a man like Bradai Maith only served to anger Herin. If he had to burn Maith's sheltered paradise to the ground to break his hold on Tonate, Herin would do it with glee.

Herin's inner ranting was pushed aside as he found himself at his destination, a seedy Tavern in the stilts by the name of the Red Squirrel. He had heard of this place from his contacts, smugglers and pirates who operated right beneath Maith's nose. The whole of the stilts seemed to be the one place Maith couldn't control, a blighted growth right in the heart of his carefully curated paradise. Of course, that didn't mean Maith had no presence here, he had eyes and ears in every part of this city, though apparently the stilts didn't count as part of the Tonate proper. *Typical* Herin thought, *If you can't control it, toss it out like a chamber pot*. It did seem like all the waste from the city ended up in the stilts though, beggars and paupers lined the alleys, begging for coins from the people who were only a few coins away from being in the exact same state as they were. It surprised Herin, but wading through the scum of the stilts, he felt more at home than he had since arriving in Tonate.

A brawny fellow working the door at the Red Squirrel gave Herin a look, but let him in without issue. Herin doubted he'd have trouble getting in, he didn't seem to vary much from their usual clientele. The whole tavern was filled with men who stretched the definition of the word, pirates and smugglers, killers and thieves, Herin recognized the tattoos as markings of crews he'd done business with before. He wondered how many would recognize him if he had his mask on. Yet out of all the patrons, only one caught his attention, a woman seemingly drinking alone. In a place like this, that meant something, though Herin was unsure of what exactly that something was. Perhaps it wasn't the smartest idea to talk to her, his goal was not to attract attention, after all, yet this entire trip was an ill-informed idea in the first place, so compounding his own stupidity didn't seem too bad an idea. Then again, this wasn't the first tavern Herin had visited today, so every idea seemed at least plausible to him at this point. As Herin sat down across from the woman, his every instinct seemed to say this was a mistake, yet all he did was smirk and motion for the bartender to bring him a drink. 
"Interesting place to come for a drink, eh?"
Christina
Cecilia Lyanah 
The Stilts, Tonate Proper

Wary side glances were casted towards the young woman from the moment she had entered the tavern. She was far from welcomed inside the establishment but fortunately no one was willing to risk confronting the ill-tempered shifter in fear she may react in a way she had previously that left many temporarily and a few permanently disabled. So she sat by herself, drinking an ale that did nothing to satisfy her through intoxication but instead, was used as an aid to avoid looking suspicious while gathering her own intel when eavesdropping on the conversations around her. She had her own reasons for wanting to collect information on those traveling through the isles, listening to the discussions they have with their companions or those haggling for knowledge and secrets. 
Her feet rested comfortably against the surface of the chair pulled out beside her while slouching against the backrest of the chair she was sitting on. The olive tunic dress she wore, belted at her waist, had smears of dried blood stained on the cuffs from her recent endeavours that involved a couple of handsy men who were visiting from the mainland who kept themselves isolated enough to not be missed by anyone but each other. As she paid attention to a couple of smugglers who were quietly conversing about a trade involving a group of captured women turned slaves, surprise caught her when a man she'd never laid eyes on previously took the seat opposite of her. 
Her head slowly craned towards Herin and observed him momentarily while eyeing him down. Throwing her feet onto the floor beneath the table, she placed both her arms against the surface and leaned in with her head cocked. Cecilia painted a feigned smile on her lips as she stared towards the man in an uncomfortable manner. 

"And who the fuck are you?"
Emma
Herin Farensun
The Stilts, Tonate Proper

 Two things about this woman immediately jumped out to Herin, both of which a wiser man would consider bright red flags that said "Walk away". The first was the blood stains around her cuffs. They weren't exactly well disguised, which either meant this woman was an inexperienced killer who didn't know how to dispose of evidence, or she just didn't care who knew what she had done. Either way, that made her unpredictable, and unpredictable was dangerous. The second red flag was the way she moved. When she leaned over the table, her head slightly tilted and a forced smile that more resembled baring fangs on her lips, Herin was struck by how much she resembled Nostrom. It was animalistic, in a sense, the same movements a wolf or a bird of prey might make. Herin began to feel more than a bit uncomfortable, but he refused to let it show on his face, keeping his charade of serene confidence up as he met the gaze of this woman. 

"A visitor to this great city." He chuckled, taking a sip of his ale to hide the falseness of the laugh. "Name's Perun, came all the way from Tardide. Honestly feeling a bit let down, stories made this place seem a bit grander." 

Herin made a show of looking around the room before turning back to Cecilia, raising a curious eyebrow as he returned her gaze. "I might ask you the same question, what brings a lady like you to the stilts, eh? You were drinking alone before I came along, so I doubt it's the company, eh?"
Christina
Cecilia Lyanah
The Stilts
 
As the man across from her began introducing himself, she took less notice of the way his facial features expressed himself and instead kept her eyes pierced towards him as the corners of her lips lowered from its smile, wondering if he would break his facade through a wavering tone in his voice or a hint of a stutter. She practically grew up through lies and deceit and knew the game well. 
 
"Interesting name." Cecilia retrieved her arms from the table as she regained her composure and rested her spine against the backrest of the chair. He had a pair on her, that she could admit to herself as he continued to speak to her. Others in the tavern eyed them cautiously, waiting for the shifter to break character. She did not however, instead, Cecilia kept an expressionless demeanor when questioned for her reasoning to be in a tavern like this alone. "Well *Perun*" It was a unique name, one she had never heard of before. Though it shouldn't be a surprise considering the names of the past men and women she had met in her life. "It's not usually wise asking a stranger their business in a type of place like this. I understand it might feel alright to do so because I am a woman, but the same rules apply."
 
A mere second after the words left her lips, Cecilia's attitude quickly changed as a mischievous smile grew on her features. "But maybe if you are fortunate, you'll find out my reasons for being here. Or unfortunate, I guess it depends on your take of how that ends. Since we are asking personal questions, Why is a visitor like you choosing this part of tonate to adventure through? That sounds a bit... Dumb"
Emma
Herin Farensun
The Stilts, Tonate Proper

 Well it was no longer a question in Herin's mind, those bloodstains were a warning, not the sloppy mistake of a third-rate killer. You probably didn't last long in the stilts if you weren't good at disposing of bodies. Herin was sitting across the table from a very dangerous woman, but now he had a measure of her, somehow that steeled his nerves. 
In a dangerous situation like this one, Herin had found that fear was usually more dangerous than the situation itself. He could not afford to feel fear now, and so he took another swig of ale and resolved he would not be made the prey this night. 
"It's also not considered wise for a woman to drink alone in the stilts, I'm a newcomer and even I know that." He put a forearm on the table, leaning over in mock contemplation. "Yet, by the way all the men in this tavern look at you, I doubt you care about that sort of danger." Herin could feel the eyes on them, all the fools in this tavern looked at Herin like he was a dead man walking. 

Herin leaned back in his chair, looking at the patrons staring at them before looking back to Cecilia. She could tell he wasn't telling the truth, she had the attitude of a cat in the process of hunting a mouse, pawing around the point before striking. Herin couldn't avoid her questions, but perhaps he could use her curiosity to her advantage. 
"It seems to me we're both hiding things, so I propose a game. It's very popular where I come from. Ever hear of Liar's Pitchers?" Herin motioned for the barkeep to come over. "Six for the table, and pour them heavy, will you?" 

"The rules are simple, we each get three pitchers. Then, we ask each other questions. You either answer the question, or you drink a pitcher. First one to finish their drinks either pays for the table, or the next round, if the conversation is interesting." 
The barkeep returned with the drinks, slamming down a tray of full pitchers between the two.
"So, how about it, eh?"