Post by Set on Sept 22, 2014 3:44:36 GMT -5
It was the first time in months that Set had been in the City since he had nearly died.
Sure, he had been close to death too many times for him to count, but the most recent time was the worst of them all. He had overdosed on Heprensal to the point where he was convulsing on the ground with foam escaping his mouth and his eyes rolling back into his head. Or at least that was what his mentor, rather the man who saved him, Fulkore, told him. All that the shifter could remember was the unbearable pain that would cease to end.
He had been lucky that Fulkore saw some potential in him as a thief and a future assassin. Otherwise he would cease to exist.
These thoughts and memories flew through the mind of Set as he entered in The City through the gates unseen. It was nightfall and thanks to the time of season, the skies were almost always overcast with almost no light from the moon. The only time anyone was allowed through was if they were nobles or merchants. Otherwise no one could enter.
Though not actually an assassin, as he had yet to kill anybody, Set did learn better techniques on staying unseen and silent. Fulkore was more of a master thief than a killer and wanted the shifter to learn expertise in that field more than the other.
It had been easy. A merchant caravan requested to pass and was granted access. All he had to do was shift into his true form and trot along with the caravan underneath it, all the while dragging some clothes with him. The creaking of the wood and the footsteps of the oxen made the dragging in-audible to the guards. This "trick" he was taught was not actually something that he would have thought to do before meeting Fulkore. Then again, he had no intelligence beforehand beyond just surviving.
Once he was in and away from suspicious eyes, Set took a right and exited from under the caravan with his clothes in hand (or rather mouth). The golden jackal form was swift, and as soon as he found one, he went to the darkest and most discrete corner. In a matter of minutes, he swiftly changed into his human form and threw on the black, tight fitting and thick leather pants lined with pockets (some even filled with picks) and his rather thin and bland black gambeson. The cuffs of the gambeson's sleeves went down to his wrists. It was made of a cheap fabric and of cheap quality, but it did the job.
Now that he was in, it was time to do some reconnaissance and find his target. Fulkore had sent him on a job; to steal a family heirloom ring from a noble household known as the Achitanians, an elite family of fighters. There were no details beyond 'if you do not succeed, do not return'.
Set sighed and brushed his clothes off of dust. He combed his fingers through his golden brown, thick hair. It was cut down just a bit to be less of an inconvenience and was much healthier. In fact, the shifter himself seemed a lot healthier. His arms were lined with muscles from constant lifting (mainly himself over walls). That and there was merely more meat on his bones. Though he was still addicted to the drug Heprinsal and always would be, it no longer controlled his life to the point where he needed it every few hours. Fulkore had helped with that.
'Now if only I could have been given some coin to go along with it all,' the shifter thought to himself. He began to head in the direction of the nearest Tavern to start his reconnaissance mission. Though first, he would have to do some pick pocketing. With that in mind, his golden eyes gleamed cunningly as he scanned through the small amount of people still awake in the city, searching for his first target to pick pocket.
Sure, he had been close to death too many times for him to count, but the most recent time was the worst of them all. He had overdosed on Heprensal to the point where he was convulsing on the ground with foam escaping his mouth and his eyes rolling back into his head. Or at least that was what his mentor, rather the man who saved him, Fulkore, told him. All that the shifter could remember was the unbearable pain that would cease to end.
He had been lucky that Fulkore saw some potential in him as a thief and a future assassin. Otherwise he would cease to exist.
These thoughts and memories flew through the mind of Set as he entered in The City through the gates unseen. It was nightfall and thanks to the time of season, the skies were almost always overcast with almost no light from the moon. The only time anyone was allowed through was if they were nobles or merchants. Otherwise no one could enter.
Though not actually an assassin, as he had yet to kill anybody, Set did learn better techniques on staying unseen and silent. Fulkore was more of a master thief than a killer and wanted the shifter to learn expertise in that field more than the other.
It had been easy. A merchant caravan requested to pass and was granted access. All he had to do was shift into his true form and trot along with the caravan underneath it, all the while dragging some clothes with him. The creaking of the wood and the footsteps of the oxen made the dragging in-audible to the guards. This "trick" he was taught was not actually something that he would have thought to do before meeting Fulkore. Then again, he had no intelligence beforehand beyond just surviving.
Once he was in and away from suspicious eyes, Set took a right and exited from under the caravan with his clothes in hand (or rather mouth). The golden jackal form was swift, and as soon as he found one, he went to the darkest and most discrete corner. In a matter of minutes, he swiftly changed into his human form and threw on the black, tight fitting and thick leather pants lined with pockets (some even filled with picks) and his rather thin and bland black gambeson. The cuffs of the gambeson's sleeves went down to his wrists. It was made of a cheap fabric and of cheap quality, but it did the job.
Now that he was in, it was time to do some reconnaissance and find his target. Fulkore had sent him on a job; to steal a family heirloom ring from a noble household known as the Achitanians, an elite family of fighters. There were no details beyond 'if you do not succeed, do not return'.
Set sighed and brushed his clothes off of dust. He combed his fingers through his golden brown, thick hair. It was cut down just a bit to be less of an inconvenience and was much healthier. In fact, the shifter himself seemed a lot healthier. His arms were lined with muscles from constant lifting (mainly himself over walls). That and there was merely more meat on his bones. Though he was still addicted to the drug Heprinsal and always would be, it no longer controlled his life to the point where he needed it every few hours. Fulkore had helped with that.
'Now if only I could have been given some coin to go along with it all,' the shifter thought to himself. He began to head in the direction of the nearest Tavern to start his reconnaissance mission. Though first, he would have to do some pick pocketing. With that in mind, his golden eyes gleamed cunningly as he scanned through the small amount of people still awake in the city, searching for his first target to pick pocket.