[Marco's Musings]

[1dboy]

Often I walk the sands and the city, gazing to the heavens and pondering my meaning here. I survived the ringfall, scurried the streets of Kha'esh, slit the throat of my slave master in Qadira, murdered a hundred and more men in the Banafsi civil war in an attempt to escape. And now I found myself here. In this forsaken place, filled with petty problems, conniving men and women, dastardly bandits, and otherwise.

A reminder of home that I had long forgotten. I used to drown in bloodshed, swim in the butchery. Now, I wait and see. Patient. Calm. Sheathed. A home will be carved here, through determination, or I will be broken and tossed aside, as I have so many others.

A proper send away for a man who has nothing. 

[1dboy]

I've bled more times than I can count, tasted the copper, suffered broken bones and all else. When a man is defeated, it is best to find your favorite barkeep, and sulk. Whatever insights he gives me I only nod in agreement, but deep down we both know I will not change. I am wrought of iron and stone, and the trials set upon me will either make me indomitable, or find the cracks and sunder me whole. For now, I sup the tea. I consider my next move.

Not every strike needs to be a victory, but it is a question of what way the wind blows for my path.

[1dboy]

Some times, the heists aren't worth the risk. Tackling on more than I could count, I only managed to swipe away a handful of dinar. Watching the man go to the Fourth and report me for the crime, however, was priceless. The law doesn't care much around here as long as the people are Voiceless. Non-citizenry crime is something they couldn't care about, so I doubt they'll do more than be on the lookout for a 'black clothed man with a shamshir.' Regardless, the point isn't about the coin....

It's about the reputation. And the right people will eventually start making their catcalls. Let's see how much longer it'll take for it to pass.

[1dboy]

[The blade cuts swift through the flesh of a marked man, blood splatters the plateau he had placed his back upon. In several swift cuts, the target is dead, and a crowd of onlookers spectate, some intervening, some surprised, some turning away in horror. The man of the black cloth slips away into the desert, and a lady of the Rose chases...]

The man is my first kill in a long time, but I was hired to do a job, and it was as clean as it can be. A toast to the Rose for earning my first notch. They will be heavy in their cups, no doubt praying to Urazzir or whatever Modini god of vengeance, waiting to make their move against me, waiting for me to slip up. The game's only beginning. Either I'll be dead within three days or less, or I'll skirt on by for a long time. The pardon though...

The pardon will be a nuisance. I'll need to figure out an out.