All In a Day's Work
May 22, 2017 1:04:28 GMT -6
Word Count:
Brady and Sabine Aris Oana Ishtar like this
Post by Talen Mythik Aureon Gale on May 22, 2017 1:04:28 GMT -6
The stone of Faewin loomed around Talen, as unwelcoming as ever, and the wind swept through his dark hair with a hundred chaotic voices, each oblivious to the other. In the mountain-side city, life was both bursting and dead; individuals who never connected, simply a hive of every man for themselves. Business took place in the streets, blocking the way, just as it did in the shadows, slipping by in quiet whispers and furtive glances.
He loathed every moment in it.
Faewin's walls were a cage, protected against any who might wish to climb in... or out. But it housed prime hunting grounds, fat with loot and idiots and lined with shops overflowing in loose merchandise. It was a thief's dream and nightmare in one. Escape was through restricted gateways only and it made the hair bristle on his neck, as if every eye were on him. Far from the truth, however, as he poured through the hordes like liquid, fast fingers dancing through pockets as his casual stride kept attention from him. Adorned in his regular black cloak atop a simple white shirt and black pants, he dressed to be inconspicuous, desiring no spotlight today. On occasion, he paraded his rank, no matter how unknown it yet was, equipping golds and jewels in all the riches of his pseudo-royalty. But ego did not outweigh intelligence when it came to one of the most stealthy tasks his guild undertook: pick-pocketing.
There was little pride to be had in the game. It was easy, a trade often practiced among children, and there was no prestige to brag of. But it was necessary and it served a purpose greater than arrogance: it honed his skills, and with the Black Cloaks barely a bud, there was little other exercise to be had. As he trained his fingers to be more adept, his thoughts to be more cunning, he focused only on what missions these basic talents would accomplish in the future.
Having exhausted his patience for easy prey, he opted for a challenge, fixing his muted cyan gaze on a nearby merchant who boasted silks of the gods' own thread. Smirking slightly, he knew such tall tales would sell only to the large ladies fanning themselves despite the freezing air, but the material was quality nonetheless and a far greater dare than the stuffed pockets of distracted strangers.
Though he had improved his abilities since the original conception of his guild, from the moment the bandit mask had become burned into his flesh and joined his fate with utmost certainty, he was still far from perfection. More graceful than your average citizen, surely, and steps with feline silence, but he could not yet blur himself into the darkness with total invisibility, could not yet move with speed beyond notice.
That would've made it too easy, anyhow.
He waited a moment until one of the hovering parties descended on the front counter, distracting the owner, before making his careful move. Sauntering as close to the stand as he could without drawing the businessman's inevitable awareness, for any shopkeeper senses a potential customer like rats searching through sewers, he kept his eyes firmly downward and lightly browsed through the stock in the farthest corner of the booth. There was little about his natural appearance that would part a crowd--after all, he sported only one head--but he knew the flash of his glowing eyes could alert even a fool's peripheral vision. Breathing evenly to keep his emotions in check, knowing even a stir of excitement would make his irises flare, he chose his target, placed his palm atop the fabric, and began to surreptitiously drag it into his sleeve while keeping his face turned elsewhere, redirecting any eyes on him with a false object of scrutiny.
And yet, even as his perfect scheme nearly completed, luck shifted and the distracting customer abruptly left, clearly bored by the salesman's efforts. Deprived of any victim to latch onto, and clearly frustrated at another failure, the merchant began to turn to the back, perhaps desiring a break from the frostbitten masses.
Stealthy or not, Talen was about to be face to face with a man who would find a new possible patron far too appealing to ignore, and there was going to be more observation on his actions than his dexterity could blind. With the silks already halfway up his sleeve, his only option was to flee, but he knew a dark figure whipping around would only draw more curiosity, perhaps even from those clustered in the street. An audience was the last thing a thief wants. Particularly one trapped in Faewin.
Cursing the stars and whichever blasted god had spun events so poorly, his mind sped through the available nanoseconds to concoct the best escape plan, seeing no way to finish the con and immediately plotting a trail back to Morrene, where such obstacles did not exist.
OOC: Tagging Sabine Aris Oana Ishtar and Brynora
He loathed every moment in it.
Faewin's walls were a cage, protected against any who might wish to climb in... or out. But it housed prime hunting grounds, fat with loot and idiots and lined with shops overflowing in loose merchandise. It was a thief's dream and nightmare in one. Escape was through restricted gateways only and it made the hair bristle on his neck, as if every eye were on him. Far from the truth, however, as he poured through the hordes like liquid, fast fingers dancing through pockets as his casual stride kept attention from him. Adorned in his regular black cloak atop a simple white shirt and black pants, he dressed to be inconspicuous, desiring no spotlight today. On occasion, he paraded his rank, no matter how unknown it yet was, equipping golds and jewels in all the riches of his pseudo-royalty. But ego did not outweigh intelligence when it came to one of the most stealthy tasks his guild undertook: pick-pocketing.
There was little pride to be had in the game. It was easy, a trade often practiced among children, and there was no prestige to brag of. But it was necessary and it served a purpose greater than arrogance: it honed his skills, and with the Black Cloaks barely a bud, there was little other exercise to be had. As he trained his fingers to be more adept, his thoughts to be more cunning, he focused only on what missions these basic talents would accomplish in the future.
Having exhausted his patience for easy prey, he opted for a challenge, fixing his muted cyan gaze on a nearby merchant who boasted silks of the gods' own thread. Smirking slightly, he knew such tall tales would sell only to the large ladies fanning themselves despite the freezing air, but the material was quality nonetheless and a far greater dare than the stuffed pockets of distracted strangers.
Though he had improved his abilities since the original conception of his guild, from the moment the bandit mask had become burned into his flesh and joined his fate with utmost certainty, he was still far from perfection. More graceful than your average citizen, surely, and steps with feline silence, but he could not yet blur himself into the darkness with total invisibility, could not yet move with speed beyond notice.
That would've made it too easy, anyhow.
He waited a moment until one of the hovering parties descended on the front counter, distracting the owner, before making his careful move. Sauntering as close to the stand as he could without drawing the businessman's inevitable awareness, for any shopkeeper senses a potential customer like rats searching through sewers, he kept his eyes firmly downward and lightly browsed through the stock in the farthest corner of the booth. There was little about his natural appearance that would part a crowd--after all, he sported only one head--but he knew the flash of his glowing eyes could alert even a fool's peripheral vision. Breathing evenly to keep his emotions in check, knowing even a stir of excitement would make his irises flare, he chose his target, placed his palm atop the fabric, and began to surreptitiously drag it into his sleeve while keeping his face turned elsewhere, redirecting any eyes on him with a false object of scrutiny.
And yet, even as his perfect scheme nearly completed, luck shifted and the distracting customer abruptly left, clearly bored by the salesman's efforts. Deprived of any victim to latch onto, and clearly frustrated at another failure, the merchant began to turn to the back, perhaps desiring a break from the frostbitten masses.
Stealthy or not, Talen was about to be face to face with a man who would find a new possible patron far too appealing to ignore, and there was going to be more observation on his actions than his dexterity could blind. With the silks already halfway up his sleeve, his only option was to flee, but he knew a dark figure whipping around would only draw more curiosity, perhaps even from those clustered in the street. An audience was the last thing a thief wants. Particularly one trapped in Faewin.
Cursing the stars and whichever blasted god had spun events so poorly, his mind sped through the available nanoseconds to concoct the best escape plan, seeing no way to finish the con and immediately plotting a trail back to Morrene, where such obstacles did not exist.
OOC: Tagging Sabine Aris Oana Ishtar and Brynora
