<div class="floatleft">(https://elliquiy.com/elluiki/images/d/d8/RowanPF.jpg)  </div><strong>Rowan Riks</strong>(https://elliquiy.com/wiki/File:Rowan.pdf)<br/><strong>Tagging</strong>: Florica, Amanda, Corine, Will<br/><strong>Status</strong>: coy<br/><strong>Rolls</strong>:whatever needed<br/><hr/>Taking a soft breath, Rowan tugs up the front cloth of her shirt, unfurling and tying tight a makeshift mask.  It's not designed to do anything against must or mold, but it makes her feel a little more... well...<i>stealthy</i>as she draws her two daggers and begins her careful assessment of the entrance and foyer.  "Your stories make me sad, Amanda," she says distantly, her eyes glistening a bit.  "I think it's the way you tell them.  Or... maybe it's hearing them from you.  But... they're beautiful."  Though her mouth's covered, there's a faint smile in her eyes, the words<i>like you</i>lingering unspoken, like a feather dangling in the air.<br/><br/>Then, with careful determination, she begins to make her way towards the stairs.  She's mindful of soft spots on the floor-- any soft dips in the floorboards or rugs that might indicate a weakness or trapdoor-- whether one of design or of the building's dilapidated state.  She tests each step carefully, bearing her weight on the balls of her feet.<br/><br/>She murmurs softly, for her companion's ears only.  "Best vantage up 'ere.  We should check it first."  She glances for any protest, and if she receives none, she proceeds for the steps, keeping her feet toward the sides of each board, remembering how she used to sneak to the upstairs of Maghall's Tavern at home to spy on the patrons and how, nearest the walls, the boards creaked less, had more support.<br/><br/>Her daggers whisper in her hands as she spirals them delicately, pivots them in her fingers with a lover's familiarity.