ordomalcontentus

It was already the middle of the next day when the bar slowly started to quiet down. The most boisterous of the patrons usually worked at this time, only reporting in during the morning and night.  The Horse had an amazing breakfast menu. Harrow hung around awhile longer, trying his luck with other women up and down the tavern, when suddenly one very strange figure came into the scene. He was probably a noble, obviously not from around here. With white hair cut fashionably and piercing green eyes, he wore an elegant red vest with a matching coat, the laces on both a bright shade of gold.  He wore a white half-cape which matched hose of a dar

The tavern was lively with the sounds commonly associated with taverns; a mish-mash of rough singing and merry drinking with the occasional toast for something completely unnecessary. It was a cheery scene, the type you'd see on paintings hung in well-decorated houses. Most of the patrons causing the commotion were male, the female ones being a little more reserved than their counter parts. Yet among the throng of drunk, angry and irrational men, one stood out. A short man trying to charm one very buxom woman. It was obvious he was turned down; the slap to his face being the coup de grace for what was a ham-handed attempt at romance. The rec

Now, the acts of thievery committed as of late had not gone unnoticed, but the first to actually take the initiative to even try to capture the thief had realized one obstruction; they had no idea what the thief even looked like. They knew about each of the little charms he had stolen. About what each could do, and how he would use them to his advantage. But the one little tidbit required to actually find him remained a mystery. They weren't even so sure it was a him. And they couldn't just list down traits of the perpetrator. He or, gods forbid, she was just that damn good. No one could figure out who it was. Except, maybe, the Red Library.

"Call me what you may, but I am more than a thief" the thought passed, as Harrow ran through the halls of the citadel "I do more than steal. I make poetry of what I do. I'm an arti-" he was cut off as a hail arrows rushed from one of the walls. "Ugh, such a nuisance… Can't get a good monologue in, can I?" he said to himself quietly, as he darted through the trap with ease. Cat's Grace Boots, stolen from House Estock. A fancy little thing. As the name implied, he was granted cat-like grace. The thief chuckled, as he ran faster towards… what appeared be a dead end.  Harrow looked from side to side calmly, smiling as he did.