Vallejo Family/Arin/Roleplays
Arin wipes the blood his favourite dagger, a bone handled knife with a blade around 5 inches long, small enough to conceal but long enough to reach a heart if he so desires.
He slips back into the shadows, he is starting to enjoy himself, and allows himself a wry grin. He has come a long way since tracking Morrigan's Ale in Nida.
"These Carelians are soft. Almost not even worth it."
"It's time to move on. I can't stand sitting around in a region too long. There are too many familiar faces, and it's too damn noisy. I need to find somewhere peaceful, so I can create some of the noise I like to hear."
Arin has been sitting camouflaged in the tree watching as the Carelain Troop Leaders dig in. One particular Knight caught his eye, ray. The man had the gall to try and hunt down Cagilan troops.
Immediately Arin had his target selected. As ray went to his tent to rest, Arin made his way carefully, silently to the rear of his tent.
Arin listened carefully to the rythmic breathing of the target as he rested within his tent. Arin silently slid the razor-sharp blade of his bone-handled dagger up the canvas of his tent, and slipped in. Pausing for only moment so his eyes could adjust to the dimness, he made his way to the slumbering form.
As he stood above the man he murmurs "Dhall accepts your sacrifice".
ray must have been a light sleeper as he awoke with a start rolling towards Arin reacting defensively. Arins skill with the blade was no match for him and he makes short work of the weak defence that ray puts up. A sigh slips from his lips as Arins blade slips neatly between his ribs.
Arin drops the body unceremoniously on the floor for his guards to find, and slips out the way he came,none but ray the wiser.
Arin enters the foyer of the guildhouse, quickly and quietly he reads the notice board, and relaxes visibly. This was a safe place.
He looks at the bottom of the notice board and sees a form titled "Become an Aspirant". Arin, feeling more comfortable indoors than he has for a long time, immediately signs up. He reads the fine print which says foriegners are rarely accepted as full members. Rarely he thinks to himself, at least its not never.
Arin wanders around his cell, checking bars for weaknesses, drains for width that he would fit through. He stands on tiptoe and peers through the small window up in the wall, all he can see are peoples feet as they wander by.
"Abington isn't the nicest place I've visited.. but at least it's a different place!"
"I suppose I should send a scout report. Rat! write this report down and send it to the rest of our army."
"Abington Jail: 4:rats, cs:5, Type:Black, Moving:Aimlessly."
Arin sighs and sit cross legged with his back against a wall, waiting patiently. He was trained for patience, so he may as well put his training to good use.
Arin steps out of the carraige that has taken him from Gesthemne to Ossmat, his hood pulled tightly around his face, his pale skin and dark eyes barely visible,looking down at the two parchments he had kept in his pocket for just this moment, one from the Dunraven clan, care of his brute of a brother Maelg in Perdan, and another one sent to him from his cousin Mischa that had a name he hadn't heard of before, Epaminonda. He read the parchment from Epaminonda again, contact the Duke of Ossmat, lorgan .
He looks up to see several of Ossmats militia head down the lane, he steps to the side and melts into the shadows. As the militia pass by he thinks to himself
"Still got some skills, but I need to sharpen up a little. I wonder if Duke Lorgan will let me train a while before I'm sent out?
As he heads up the street he wonders "Did Dorian make it over safely?"
Arin was seated in the front caravan, his hood pulled high over his head, blocking the view of any passers-by of his identity. He had the reigns of the horse held loosely and the horse plodded casually along the road. Up ahead in the distance, a man was walking towards him. The man looks up and starts suspiciously, pulling his cloak tighter around him, not before Arin noticed the Avalon emblem on the breast of his tunic. As the man looks to either side of him, as if for another route that would not make him cross paths with this apparent 'trader'.
A feeling of foreboding comes over Arin, the taste of bile in the back of his throat. As the individual gets closer, Arin lets out a yell of 'DHALL!' and spurs the startled horse forward as fast as it will go. The man manages to step away from the horse, but is collected by the caravan careening along behind him. The man bounces, spins, hits the ground and rolls off the side of the road into the brush.
Arin pulls the caravan to a halt and climbs down. Walking cautiously over to the man he looks down to see he was injured and unconsious. His cloak had come open in the spill and nearby his hand was a finely crafted dagger. This was no ordinary man, but a man of the shadows.
As the feeling of foreboding leaves him, another feeling takes over and he stumbles and then retches into the nearby bushes. Wiping the spittle from his mouth with his sleeve, Arin makes his way back to his caravan, and continues his journey.
