Lightfoot
02-07-09, 03:32 AM
((SOLO))
The night was young in the city of Radasanth. The moon, half-full yet as bright as the morning sun, could be seen rising in the east. From Jasker's vantage point - being perched on the roof of a local bakery - the halfling thief could see the Citadel in the distance, bisecting the large ellipse as it rose. Stars shone almost as brightly in the Outer Darkness, encasing Althanas in a veil of twinkling pearls and diamonds glistening as light danced and refracted off their surface.
Thin clouds, pale and sickly, drifted lazily intermitten throughout. The thick humid air, heavy with the scent of baked goods and city life, clung to Jasker's skin like a passionate lover, daring to never let go and leaving the halfling hot and sweaty. The thief shifted uncomfortably in his crouch, the damp air seeping into his skin and sneaking its way into the corners of his armor. Yet, no complaint flitted through his mind or drifted from his lips. Such was the way of the mercernary rogue. Do the job, unquestionably and to the best of your abilities. He could no more blame his employers for the weather conditions than a beggar could blame the gods for his misfortunes.
So as the thief pondered the wonders of the night sky, perched as he was in relative darkness - and thus, relative safety - the city of Radasanth began to take on a new face. Street vendors and spice merchants gave way to prostitutes and drug peddlers. Guardsmen and nobles melted into hired thugs and crime lords. Jasker thrived in such a world. The criminal underbelly of any city, large or small, welcomed the services of Jasker Lightfoot. He was known - albeit by word of mouth - for his "no questions asked" style of thievery. Any job, any place, for the right price.
He didn't care who he stole for, or the nature of what he was stealing, as long as the coin was good. His latest assignment could be used to help fuel the civil war in Salvar and he wouldn't care, as long as he came out ahead in the end. Some would call that a selfish outlook on the world, but if the world was going to tear itself apart, Jasker would rather meet his end sitting on a pile of gold than choking on his own refuse in the gutter.
The halfling's brown eyes, scanning a small group of buildings, narrowed as he spotted what he was looking for: a small residence, built atop an antiquities shop. Jasker watched as, one-by-one, the occupants began to snuff out the candles placed throughout their home. Once the final candle had been removed of its flame Jasker began to prepare himself.
Time to go to work. With a steadying breath the halfling thief moved swiftly and silently through the night's humid air, ready to complete the task given to him; unquestionably, and to the best of his abilities.
The night was young in the city of Radasanth. The moon, half-full yet as bright as the morning sun, could be seen rising in the east. From Jasker's vantage point - being perched on the roof of a local bakery - the halfling thief could see the Citadel in the distance, bisecting the large ellipse as it rose. Stars shone almost as brightly in the Outer Darkness, encasing Althanas in a veil of twinkling pearls and diamonds glistening as light danced and refracted off their surface.
Thin clouds, pale and sickly, drifted lazily intermitten throughout. The thick humid air, heavy with the scent of baked goods and city life, clung to Jasker's skin like a passionate lover, daring to never let go and leaving the halfling hot and sweaty. The thief shifted uncomfortably in his crouch, the damp air seeping into his skin and sneaking its way into the corners of his armor. Yet, no complaint flitted through his mind or drifted from his lips. Such was the way of the mercernary rogue. Do the job, unquestionably and to the best of your abilities. He could no more blame his employers for the weather conditions than a beggar could blame the gods for his misfortunes.
So as the thief pondered the wonders of the night sky, perched as he was in relative darkness - and thus, relative safety - the city of Radasanth began to take on a new face. Street vendors and spice merchants gave way to prostitutes and drug peddlers. Guardsmen and nobles melted into hired thugs and crime lords. Jasker thrived in such a world. The criminal underbelly of any city, large or small, welcomed the services of Jasker Lightfoot. He was known - albeit by word of mouth - for his "no questions asked" style of thievery. Any job, any place, for the right price.
He didn't care who he stole for, or the nature of what he was stealing, as long as the coin was good. His latest assignment could be used to help fuel the civil war in Salvar and he wouldn't care, as long as he came out ahead in the end. Some would call that a selfish outlook on the world, but if the world was going to tear itself apart, Jasker would rather meet his end sitting on a pile of gold than choking on his own refuse in the gutter.
The halfling's brown eyes, scanning a small group of buildings, narrowed as he spotted what he was looking for: a small residence, built atop an antiquities shop. Jasker watched as, one-by-one, the occupants began to snuff out the candles placed throughout their home. Once the final candle had been removed of its flame Jasker began to prepare himself.
Time to go to work. With a steadying breath the halfling thief moved swiftly and silently through the night's humid air, ready to complete the task given to him; unquestionably, and to the best of his abilities.