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After many long hours, the sun had finally started to set in the sky, and was falling below the horizon at a slow speed, half-lighting the port, where plenty of merchants and sailors went about their final evening business. Planetes was among them, feeling the pressure from a less-than-lucrative day on the market. It was not quite the worst day he had ever had, but it was far from the best, and his takings were quite far from exciting. Atalanta was hardly going to be impressed when he got back to the boat, and he didn't really want to listen to some tedious lecture about how successful she had been in carrying out her own little heists. He didn't need to express that many men were more inclined to listen to an attractive young woman than they were a lanky man in his mid-thirties, only to receive some argument about how he had his own skills and should learn to use them.
There had been a few good sales, earlier that morning. He had managed to sell a pair of swords he'd exchanged for a delicately carved statuette of a bear with a suspicious merchant months earlier, and had succeeded in conning some rich passer-by out of far more than was deserved for a belt that he swore had been made of bronze (it hadn't). They had netted him a tidy profit for the day, but it was not going to be enough and, now that he was done with his sales, the man was returning his cart of wares to the boat, intending to spend the rest of the evening visiting the less careful merchants and collecting food.
Atalanta was not there, and neither was the cat, which led Planetes to suspect they were running that con of theirs where she liked to pretend the cat was some sick infant (he slightly presumed that was how she thought of the feline anyway). It was no bother to him, and only really an opportunity for him to return home again later with greater success than he had had now, and spare himself the tedious lecture.
He folded up the portable stall that he used in crowded marketplaces like the one that morning, some of the wares hidden inside the wooden box that he had built himself many years ago now, and deposited it inside the boat. There was good rapport among the sailors on this particular stretch of the port, and he knew the men in the neighbouring vessel well enough that Planetes felt no trouble abandoning his belongings there for the time being. He didn't suspect he would be long, anyhow.
Now, the man offered those same neighbours a cheerful smile as he exited his own boat, a little jealous at the size differences between the two crafts but reminding himself once more that, soon, he and his wife would be able to settle down as they wished. Then, after a comment on how he would return in only a couple of short hours, so he would be most thankful if they could watch his ship, he made his way back from the port and towards some of the nearer food stalls - time to see how far the day's meagre takings would stretch.
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This character is currently a work in progress.
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After many long hours, the sun had finally started to set in the sky, and was falling below the horizon at a slow speed, half-lighting the port, where plenty of merchants and sailors went about their final evening business. Planetes was among them, feeling the pressure from a less-than-lucrative day on the market. It was not quite the worst day he had ever had, but it was far from the best, and his takings were quite far from exciting. Atalanta was hardly going to be impressed when he got back to the boat, and he didn't really want to listen to some tedious lecture about how successful she had been in carrying out her own little heists. He didn't need to express that many men were more inclined to listen to an attractive young woman than they were a lanky man in his mid-thirties, only to receive some argument about how he had his own skills and should learn to use them.
There had been a few good sales, earlier that morning. He had managed to sell a pair of swords he'd exchanged for a delicately carved statuette of a bear with a suspicious merchant months earlier, and had succeeded in conning some rich passer-by out of far more than was deserved for a belt that he swore had been made of bronze (it hadn't). They had netted him a tidy profit for the day, but it was not going to be enough and, now that he was done with his sales, the man was returning his cart of wares to the boat, intending to spend the rest of the evening visiting the less careful merchants and collecting food.
Atalanta was not there, and neither was the cat, which led Planetes to suspect they were running that con of theirs where she liked to pretend the cat was some sick infant (he slightly presumed that was how she thought of the feline anyway). It was no bother to him, and only really an opportunity for him to return home again later with greater success than he had had now, and spare himself the tedious lecture.
He folded up the portable stall that he used in crowded marketplaces like the one that morning, some of the wares hidden inside the wooden box that he had built himself many years ago now, and deposited it inside the boat. There was good rapport among the sailors on this particular stretch of the port, and he knew the men in the neighbouring vessel well enough that Planetes felt no trouble abandoning his belongings there for the time being. He didn't suspect he would be long, anyhow.
Now, the man offered those same neighbours a cheerful smile as he exited his own boat, a little jealous at the size differences between the two crafts but reminding himself once more that, soon, he and his wife would be able to settle down as they wished. Then, after a comment on how he would return in only a couple of short hours, so he would be most thankful if they could watch his ship, he made his way back from the port and towards some of the nearer food stalls - time to see how far the day's meagre takings would stretch.
After many long hours, the sun had finally started to set in the sky, and was falling below the horizon at a slow speed, half-lighting the port, where plenty of merchants and sailors went about their final evening business. Planetes was among them, feeling the pressure from a less-than-lucrative day on the market. It was not quite the worst day he had ever had, but it was far from the best, and his takings were quite far from exciting. Atalanta was hardly going to be impressed when he got back to the boat, and he didn't really want to listen to some tedious lecture about how successful she had been in carrying out her own little heists. He didn't need to express that many men were more inclined to listen to an attractive young woman than they were a lanky man in his mid-thirties, only to receive some argument about how he had his own skills and should learn to use them.
There had been a few good sales, earlier that morning. He had managed to sell a pair of swords he'd exchanged for a delicately carved statuette of a bear with a suspicious merchant months earlier, and had succeeded in conning some rich passer-by out of far more than was deserved for a belt that he swore had been made of bronze (it hadn't). They had netted him a tidy profit for the day, but it was not going to be enough and, now that he was done with his sales, the man was returning his cart of wares to the boat, intending to spend the rest of the evening visiting the less careful merchants and collecting food.
Atalanta was not there, and neither was the cat, which led Planetes to suspect they were running that con of theirs where she liked to pretend the cat was some sick infant (he slightly presumed that was how she thought of the feline anyway). It was no bother to him, and only really an opportunity for him to return home again later with greater success than he had had now, and spare himself the tedious lecture.
He folded up the portable stall that he used in crowded marketplaces like the one that morning, some of the wares hidden inside the wooden box that he had built himself many years ago now, and deposited it inside the boat. There was good rapport among the sailors on this particular stretch of the port, and he knew the men in the neighbouring vessel well enough that Planetes felt no trouble abandoning his belongings there for the time being. He didn't suspect he would be long, anyhow.
Now, the man offered those same neighbours a cheerful smile as he exited his own boat, a little jealous at the size differences between the two crafts but reminding himself once more that, soon, he and his wife would be able to settle down as they wished. Then, after a comment on how he would return in only a couple of short hours, so he would be most thankful if they could watch his ship, he made his way back from the port and towards some of the nearer food stalls - time to see how far the day's meagre takings would stretch.
The day had started out well enough. Kyros had spent the morning out in the wood, as he did every morning, running himself through a basic fighting routine, using the trees as his targets. He threw one of his daggers, embedding the blade deep into a tree. This was something he’d done many times, but this time the blade did not come back out so easily. Kyros narrowed his eyes on the bit of broken blade still attached to the hilt in his hand. The Fates were laughing at him, he was sure of it. Sighing, Kyros retrieved the rest of his arsenal of blades and headed off to the market. He needed to find a replacement weapon, but he didn’t have a lot of coin to spend.
Kyros thought he’d found a deal a few hours later in the form of a pair of short swords he found being sold by a man not far from the docks. The items had seemed balanced well enough, the blades were straight, and the best part was he’d managed to haggle a decent price for them. Kyros thought he was beginning to get the hang of this city life, such as it was. The assassin- turned-mercenary still much preferred the quiet ways he’d been raised in, but that life was no longer in his grasp. Excited to test out his find, Kyros had ventured back out to his customary training grounds and set about learning the new blades. Half and hour into his routine, however, Kyros was left holding two more shattered blades. This time, he knew the Fates were laughing at him. But this time, Kyros had a target he could take his frustrations out on… the merchant who’d made a fool of him.
The Shadow Walker – for though he was no longer officially counted among the ranks of the Creed, Kyros was certainly still knew how to use the skills that were so engrained into his being - spent the rest of that day watching his target, observing the way he moved, the way he interacted with others. When the merchant closed up his stall and headed for the docks, the shadow followed not far behind.
Kyros watched with a fire blazing in his grey eyes as the merchant stowed his cart on the smaller of the nearest ships, as the man soon emerged once again, calling to the neighboring ship’s occupants with a request to watch the smaller boat. Good. Kyros had thought for a moment that he was going to have to sit and wait for nightfall, for the port to be still and quiet, and sneak onto the boat to deal with the weasel of a man. The shadow fell in step as the merchant left the docks once more.
Kyros waited for the target to be in a more secluded spot before he made his move. Pulling his remaining intact dagger from the folds of his tunic, the dissatisfied customer stealthily slipped up behind the merchant and pressed the point of his blade to the man’s lower back. ”You sold me shoddy blades, weasel,” he growled through clenched teeth. Kyros prodded the man deeper down the alley between two stone buildings, away from prying eyes, the smells of cooking food wafting from the chimneys.
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This character is currently a work in progress.
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The day had started out well enough. Kyros had spent the morning out in the wood, as he did every morning, running himself through a basic fighting routine, using the trees as his targets. He threw one of his daggers, embedding the blade deep into a tree. This was something he’d done many times, but this time the blade did not come back out so easily. Kyros narrowed his eyes on the bit of broken blade still attached to the hilt in his hand. The Fates were laughing at him, he was sure of it. Sighing, Kyros retrieved the rest of his arsenal of blades and headed off to the market. He needed to find a replacement weapon, but he didn’t have a lot of coin to spend.
Kyros thought he’d found a deal a few hours later in the form of a pair of short swords he found being sold by a man not far from the docks. The items had seemed balanced well enough, the blades were straight, and the best part was he’d managed to haggle a decent price for them. Kyros thought he was beginning to get the hang of this city life, such as it was. The assassin- turned-mercenary still much preferred the quiet ways he’d been raised in, but that life was no longer in his grasp. Excited to test out his find, Kyros had ventured back out to his customary training grounds and set about learning the new blades. Half and hour into his routine, however, Kyros was left holding two more shattered blades. This time, he knew the Fates were laughing at him. But this time, Kyros had a target he could take his frustrations out on… the merchant who’d made a fool of him.
The Shadow Walker – for though he was no longer officially counted among the ranks of the Creed, Kyros was certainly still knew how to use the skills that were so engrained into his being - spent the rest of that day watching his target, observing the way he moved, the way he interacted with others. When the merchant closed up his stall and headed for the docks, the shadow followed not far behind.
Kyros watched with a fire blazing in his grey eyes as the merchant stowed his cart on the smaller of the nearest ships, as the man soon emerged once again, calling to the neighboring ship’s occupants with a request to watch the smaller boat. Good. Kyros had thought for a moment that he was going to have to sit and wait for nightfall, for the port to be still and quiet, and sneak onto the boat to deal with the weasel of a man. The shadow fell in step as the merchant left the docks once more.
Kyros waited for the target to be in a more secluded spot before he made his move. Pulling his remaining intact dagger from the folds of his tunic, the dissatisfied customer stealthily slipped up behind the merchant and pressed the point of his blade to the man’s lower back. ”You sold me shoddy blades, weasel,” he growled through clenched teeth. Kyros prodded the man deeper down the alley between two stone buildings, away from prying eyes, the smells of cooking food wafting from the chimneys.
The day had started out well enough. Kyros had spent the morning out in the wood, as he did every morning, running himself through a basic fighting routine, using the trees as his targets. He threw one of his daggers, embedding the blade deep into a tree. This was something he’d done many times, but this time the blade did not come back out so easily. Kyros narrowed his eyes on the bit of broken blade still attached to the hilt in his hand. The Fates were laughing at him, he was sure of it. Sighing, Kyros retrieved the rest of his arsenal of blades and headed off to the market. He needed to find a replacement weapon, but he didn’t have a lot of coin to spend.
Kyros thought he’d found a deal a few hours later in the form of a pair of short swords he found being sold by a man not far from the docks. The items had seemed balanced well enough, the blades were straight, and the best part was he’d managed to haggle a decent price for them. Kyros thought he was beginning to get the hang of this city life, such as it was. The assassin- turned-mercenary still much preferred the quiet ways he’d been raised in, but that life was no longer in his grasp. Excited to test out his find, Kyros had ventured back out to his customary training grounds and set about learning the new blades. Half and hour into his routine, however, Kyros was left holding two more shattered blades. This time, he knew the Fates were laughing at him. But this time, Kyros had a target he could take his frustrations out on… the merchant who’d made a fool of him.
The Shadow Walker – for though he was no longer officially counted among the ranks of the Creed, Kyros was certainly still knew how to use the skills that were so engrained into his being - spent the rest of that day watching his target, observing the way he moved, the way he interacted with others. When the merchant closed up his stall and headed for the docks, the shadow followed not far behind.
Kyros watched with a fire blazing in his grey eyes as the merchant stowed his cart on the smaller of the nearest ships, as the man soon emerged once again, calling to the neighboring ship’s occupants with a request to watch the smaller boat. Good. Kyros had thought for a moment that he was going to have to sit and wait for nightfall, for the port to be still and quiet, and sneak onto the boat to deal with the weasel of a man. The shadow fell in step as the merchant left the docks once more.
Kyros waited for the target to be in a more secluded spot before he made his move. Pulling his remaining intact dagger from the folds of his tunic, the dissatisfied customer stealthily slipped up behind the merchant and pressed the point of his blade to the man’s lower back. ”You sold me shoddy blades, weasel,” he growled through clenched teeth. Kyros prodded the man deeper down the alley between two stone buildings, away from prying eyes, the smells of cooking food wafting from the chimneys.
The route to the lesser-known food stalls was hidden through a maze of alleyways which, although tedious to traverse and easy to get oneself lost in if they were not well-versed with the area, were worth the journey. Their prices were cheaper than the usual stands, and the vendors were somewhat more willing to offer their foodstuffs to those that required them but could not afford higher prices. In the evenings, when he had a fair few pickings from the day's exploits and sales, they were one of the travelling merchant's preferred locations, for he could get far more food for fewer drachmae, and it was this place where Planetes now headed. He was so accustomed to the route that he was thoroughly absent-minded as he walked, humming to himself some old song the origin of which he could not recall.
Likely, the man should have been significantly more alert — he had spent so long on the streets that it would have been foolish for him to forget suddenly all those lessons he had learned, particularly the ones about his personal safety which were so important now that he had his small family to consider — but, for once, foolishness had allowed the thought to slip his mind. That was precisely how, out of nowhere, he found a knife pressed to his lower back.
At least, he supposed it must have been a knife, though his mind was so awash with sudden fear that he might have mistaken anything for a weapon. That tended to be the case when one was suddenly assaulted in a dark alleyway like this.
Planetes tried to look over his shoulder at the man in question, the cocky confidence that usually came so quickly to him drifting away for once as he tried to gather his thoughts and work out what exactly was going on. He had sold some guy shoddy blades? That checked out, he supposed, although which particular set of knives had offended his attacker was a better question. Planetes was far from a metalsmith, and though some of his weapons were of reasonable quality, there were far more which were questionable at best. That said, the voice sounded moderately familiar from earlier that same day, and he had made a sale of some weaponry, so perhaps this was that man? At that point, he had not thought the man looked the sort to do something as horridly drastic as follow him through the backstreets like this, though it had always seemed to be a danger of the job.
"Look," he tried, stuttering into the word as he was pushed further down the alleyway, trying to move fast enough that there was no chance he was going to end up getting stabbed through the back. He needed to sort this out and get home to Atalanta and that stupid cat sometime soon, or she was going to get worried. "Whatever this is, we can work it out. I can get you better knives. I've got this blacksmith friend, he can hook us up with whatever you need. No charge, alright?"
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The route to the lesser-known food stalls was hidden through a maze of alleyways which, although tedious to traverse and easy to get oneself lost in if they were not well-versed with the area, were worth the journey. Their prices were cheaper than the usual stands, and the vendors were somewhat more willing to offer their foodstuffs to those that required them but could not afford higher prices. In the evenings, when he had a fair few pickings from the day's exploits and sales, they were one of the travelling merchant's preferred locations, for he could get far more food for fewer drachmae, and it was this place where Planetes now headed. He was so accustomed to the route that he was thoroughly absent-minded as he walked, humming to himself some old song the origin of which he could not recall.
Likely, the man should have been significantly more alert — he had spent so long on the streets that it would have been foolish for him to forget suddenly all those lessons he had learned, particularly the ones about his personal safety which were so important now that he had his small family to consider — but, for once, foolishness had allowed the thought to slip his mind. That was precisely how, out of nowhere, he found a knife pressed to his lower back.
At least, he supposed it must have been a knife, though his mind was so awash with sudden fear that he might have mistaken anything for a weapon. That tended to be the case when one was suddenly assaulted in a dark alleyway like this.
Planetes tried to look over his shoulder at the man in question, the cocky confidence that usually came so quickly to him drifting away for once as he tried to gather his thoughts and work out what exactly was going on. He had sold some guy shoddy blades? That checked out, he supposed, although which particular set of knives had offended his attacker was a better question. Planetes was far from a metalsmith, and though some of his weapons were of reasonable quality, there were far more which were questionable at best. That said, the voice sounded moderately familiar from earlier that same day, and he had made a sale of some weaponry, so perhaps this was that man? At that point, he had not thought the man looked the sort to do something as horridly drastic as follow him through the backstreets like this, though it had always seemed to be a danger of the job.
"Look," he tried, stuttering into the word as he was pushed further down the alleyway, trying to move fast enough that there was no chance he was going to end up getting stabbed through the back. He needed to sort this out and get home to Atalanta and that stupid cat sometime soon, or she was going to get worried. "Whatever this is, we can work it out. I can get you better knives. I've got this blacksmith friend, he can hook us up with whatever you need. No charge, alright?"
The route to the lesser-known food stalls was hidden through a maze of alleyways which, although tedious to traverse and easy to get oneself lost in if they were not well-versed with the area, were worth the journey. Their prices were cheaper than the usual stands, and the vendors were somewhat more willing to offer their foodstuffs to those that required them but could not afford higher prices. In the evenings, when he had a fair few pickings from the day's exploits and sales, they were one of the travelling merchant's preferred locations, for he could get far more food for fewer drachmae, and it was this place where Planetes now headed. He was so accustomed to the route that he was thoroughly absent-minded as he walked, humming to himself some old song the origin of which he could not recall.
Likely, the man should have been significantly more alert — he had spent so long on the streets that it would have been foolish for him to forget suddenly all those lessons he had learned, particularly the ones about his personal safety which were so important now that he had his small family to consider — but, for once, foolishness had allowed the thought to slip his mind. That was precisely how, out of nowhere, he found a knife pressed to his lower back.
At least, he supposed it must have been a knife, though his mind was so awash with sudden fear that he might have mistaken anything for a weapon. That tended to be the case when one was suddenly assaulted in a dark alleyway like this.
Planetes tried to look over his shoulder at the man in question, the cocky confidence that usually came so quickly to him drifting away for once as he tried to gather his thoughts and work out what exactly was going on. He had sold some guy shoddy blades? That checked out, he supposed, although which particular set of knives had offended his attacker was a better question. Planetes was far from a metalsmith, and though some of his weapons were of reasonable quality, there were far more which were questionable at best. That said, the voice sounded moderately familiar from earlier that same day, and he had made a sale of some weaponry, so perhaps this was that man? At that point, he had not thought the man looked the sort to do something as horridly drastic as follow him through the backstreets like this, though it had always seemed to be a danger of the job.
"Look," he tried, stuttering into the word as he was pushed further down the alleyway, trying to move fast enough that there was no chance he was going to end up getting stabbed through the back. He needed to sort this out and get home to Atalanta and that stupid cat sometime soon, or she was going to get worried. "Whatever this is, we can work it out. I can get you better knives. I've got this blacksmith friend, he can hook us up with whatever you need. No charge, alright?"
Kyros smirked as his target skittered forward at the feel of the blade tip at his back, at the stutter revealing the man’s fear of what may come next. It always amused Kyros when he could elicit that kind of reaction from someone. ’Whatever this is, we can work it out … whatever you need. No charge, alright?’ Kyros tilted his head to the side, his blade still at the merchant’s back. Well, he hadn’t expected such… cooperation right away. Unless this was a ruse. Kyros narrowed his eyes as he stared at the back of the man’s head. After a few more moments of contemplation, Kyros removed the tip of his blade from the merchant’s back and took a single step back. ”Turn around,” he said in a commanding tone. After replacing the dagger in the hidden place he kept it in the folds of his clothes, he pulled the hilt with the broken bit of blade still attached from his belt pouch and held it up for the merchant to see. ”This is what you sold me. One hit, just one, and it snapped when I tried to remove it from the target,” he said disgustedly. Kyros tossed the hilt to the other man, not carrying if he actually caught the trashed item or not.
He let out a long breath, crossed his arms over his chest. ”You will give me my coin back and we go to this blacksmith together. His grey gaze was hard and unwavering as he stared the man down; despite his young age, and no matter the size of his opponent, Kyros never backed down as he was confident that he could take just about anyone in a fight. He had been raised and trained among the Creed, a group of elite strained in the art of stealth and speed and more deadly than anyone else around – so he had been raised to believe with all his being. It didn’t matter that he was no longer among their ranks or that the master of this elite and secretive group wanted his head on a platter, Kyros would always consider the Brotherhood his family. He knew no other.
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Kyros smirked as his target skittered forward at the feel of the blade tip at his back, at the stutter revealing the man’s fear of what may come next. It always amused Kyros when he could elicit that kind of reaction from someone. ’Whatever this is, we can work it out … whatever you need. No charge, alright?’ Kyros tilted his head to the side, his blade still at the merchant’s back. Well, he hadn’t expected such… cooperation right away. Unless this was a ruse. Kyros narrowed his eyes as he stared at the back of the man’s head. After a few more moments of contemplation, Kyros removed the tip of his blade from the merchant’s back and took a single step back. ”Turn around,” he said in a commanding tone. After replacing the dagger in the hidden place he kept it in the folds of his clothes, he pulled the hilt with the broken bit of blade still attached from his belt pouch and held it up for the merchant to see. ”This is what you sold me. One hit, just one, and it snapped when I tried to remove it from the target,” he said disgustedly. Kyros tossed the hilt to the other man, not carrying if he actually caught the trashed item or not.
He let out a long breath, crossed his arms over his chest. ”You will give me my coin back and we go to this blacksmith together. His grey gaze was hard and unwavering as he stared the man down; despite his young age, and no matter the size of his opponent, Kyros never backed down as he was confident that he could take just about anyone in a fight. He had been raised and trained among the Creed, a group of elite strained in the art of stealth and speed and more deadly than anyone else around – so he had been raised to believe with all his being. It didn’t matter that he was no longer among their ranks or that the master of this elite and secretive group wanted his head on a platter, Kyros would always consider the Brotherhood his family. He knew no other.
Kyros smirked as his target skittered forward at the feel of the blade tip at his back, at the stutter revealing the man’s fear of what may come next. It always amused Kyros when he could elicit that kind of reaction from someone. ’Whatever this is, we can work it out … whatever you need. No charge, alright?’ Kyros tilted his head to the side, his blade still at the merchant’s back. Well, he hadn’t expected such… cooperation right away. Unless this was a ruse. Kyros narrowed his eyes as he stared at the back of the man’s head. After a few more moments of contemplation, Kyros removed the tip of his blade from the merchant’s back and took a single step back. ”Turn around,” he said in a commanding tone. After replacing the dagger in the hidden place he kept it in the folds of his clothes, he pulled the hilt with the broken bit of blade still attached from his belt pouch and held it up for the merchant to see. ”This is what you sold me. One hit, just one, and it snapped when I tried to remove it from the target,” he said disgustedly. Kyros tossed the hilt to the other man, not carrying if he actually caught the trashed item or not.
He let out a long breath, crossed his arms over his chest. ”You will give me my coin back and we go to this blacksmith together. His grey gaze was hard and unwavering as he stared the man down; despite his young age, and no matter the size of his opponent, Kyros never backed down as he was confident that he could take just about anyone in a fight. He had been raised and trained among the Creed, a group of elite strained in the art of stealth and speed and more deadly than anyone else around – so he had been raised to believe with all his being. It didn’t matter that he was no longer among their ranks or that the master of this elite and secretive group wanted his head on a platter, Kyros would always consider the Brotherhood his family. He knew no other.
'Turn around' were not exactly the words Planetes wanted to hear right now. There was, so he thought, a pretty fair reason for that. Firstly, he did not want to come face-to-face with whoever he'd wrong, because then he would have a decent idea of just how much damage they could do him and, secondly, it seemed a lot easier to hit all his vital organs from the front, and he didn't exactly want to give the guy access to those. In case it wasn't obvious, he did want to stay alive.
Still, it wasn't as if the merchant was being given much of a chance, since it was either 'turn around and face the music and maybe get out of this all alive' or 'immediately get murdered down a dark alley and never be found again'. There was no question which of those options he preferred.
At least the knife was removed from his neck as Planetes turned around, his movements still cautious as he lifted his gaze to face the man, noting with ease that he was infinitely more terrifying straight on. You weren't supposed to show fear to anybody, that was something he had learned in his life thus far, so he stared him directly in the eye, eyes only shifting to look down at the man's displayed dagger. Ah. Yes, that did seem like a bit of a problem.
"Well, that can sometimes happen," he stuttered awkwardly, as if that was going to be enough to get the guy off his back. He should have done his whole spiel about the way none of his products could be guaranteed, so none of these issues was his own fault. "I suppose you must have..." Something rehearsed about using the item incorrectly, although it was already clear that this man was a skilled assassin, so there wasn't really a chance he didn't know what he was doing, and Planetes trailed away without finishing, biting his lip instead. "Never mind."
A hand shifted down to find the thin folds of his bag, digging for the few coins he had made that day. "Here. Take it. Sorry." Gods, this was rather pathetic, wasn't it? Where was the chatty salesman who prided himself in his ability to maintain a bright conversation with almost anybody. "That's all I have. Yours and a little. I-it...it wasn't the best day, I don't know what to tell you, I'm sorry." He should stop talking now. For once, talking only seemed as if it would make matters worse. "So, the blacksmith, right. Follow me. He's not far, I swear."
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'Turn around' were not exactly the words Planetes wanted to hear right now. There was, so he thought, a pretty fair reason for that. Firstly, he did not want to come face-to-face with whoever he'd wrong, because then he would have a decent idea of just how much damage they could do him and, secondly, it seemed a lot easier to hit all his vital organs from the front, and he didn't exactly want to give the guy access to those. In case it wasn't obvious, he did want to stay alive.
Still, it wasn't as if the merchant was being given much of a chance, since it was either 'turn around and face the music and maybe get out of this all alive' or 'immediately get murdered down a dark alley and never be found again'. There was no question which of those options he preferred.
At least the knife was removed from his neck as Planetes turned around, his movements still cautious as he lifted his gaze to face the man, noting with ease that he was infinitely more terrifying straight on. You weren't supposed to show fear to anybody, that was something he had learned in his life thus far, so he stared him directly in the eye, eyes only shifting to look down at the man's displayed dagger. Ah. Yes, that did seem like a bit of a problem.
"Well, that can sometimes happen," he stuttered awkwardly, as if that was going to be enough to get the guy off his back. He should have done his whole spiel about the way none of his products could be guaranteed, so none of these issues was his own fault. "I suppose you must have..." Something rehearsed about using the item incorrectly, although it was already clear that this man was a skilled assassin, so there wasn't really a chance he didn't know what he was doing, and Planetes trailed away without finishing, biting his lip instead. "Never mind."
A hand shifted down to find the thin folds of his bag, digging for the few coins he had made that day. "Here. Take it. Sorry." Gods, this was rather pathetic, wasn't it? Where was the chatty salesman who prided himself in his ability to maintain a bright conversation with almost anybody. "That's all I have. Yours and a little. I-it...it wasn't the best day, I don't know what to tell you, I'm sorry." He should stop talking now. For once, talking only seemed as if it would make matters worse. "So, the blacksmith, right. Follow me. He's not far, I swear."
'Turn around' were not exactly the words Planetes wanted to hear right now. There was, so he thought, a pretty fair reason for that. Firstly, he did not want to come face-to-face with whoever he'd wrong, because then he would have a decent idea of just how much damage they could do him and, secondly, it seemed a lot easier to hit all his vital organs from the front, and he didn't exactly want to give the guy access to those. In case it wasn't obvious, he did want to stay alive.
Still, it wasn't as if the merchant was being given much of a chance, since it was either 'turn around and face the music and maybe get out of this all alive' or 'immediately get murdered down a dark alley and never be found again'. There was no question which of those options he preferred.
At least the knife was removed from his neck as Planetes turned around, his movements still cautious as he lifted his gaze to face the man, noting with ease that he was infinitely more terrifying straight on. You weren't supposed to show fear to anybody, that was something he had learned in his life thus far, so he stared him directly in the eye, eyes only shifting to look down at the man's displayed dagger. Ah. Yes, that did seem like a bit of a problem.
"Well, that can sometimes happen," he stuttered awkwardly, as if that was going to be enough to get the guy off his back. He should have done his whole spiel about the way none of his products could be guaranteed, so none of these issues was his own fault. "I suppose you must have..." Something rehearsed about using the item incorrectly, although it was already clear that this man was a skilled assassin, so there wasn't really a chance he didn't know what he was doing, and Planetes trailed away without finishing, biting his lip instead. "Never mind."
A hand shifted down to find the thin folds of his bag, digging for the few coins he had made that day. "Here. Take it. Sorry." Gods, this was rather pathetic, wasn't it? Where was the chatty salesman who prided himself in his ability to maintain a bright conversation with almost anybody. "That's all I have. Yours and a little. I-it...it wasn't the best day, I don't know what to tell you, I'm sorry." He should stop talking now. For once, talking only seemed as if it would make matters worse. "So, the blacksmith, right. Follow me. He's not far, I swear."
’Well that can sometimes happen. I suppose you must have… Kyros rose a brow, suspecting where that line of thinking was taking the merchant. That the assassin didn’t know what he was doing and must have done something wrong. If the man continued with that thought, Kyros would show the swindling cheat just how well he knew his craft. ’Never mind.’ A small and brief smirk lifted one corner of his lips. Kyros tensed and prepared to take the man out when the merchant reached for his bag. But all that was brought forth was a coin purse. A rather small coin purse. ’Here. Take it. Sorry.’ Kyros accepted the purse and opened it, pulling out a few silver pieces, inspecting them with scrutiny. ’That’s all I have. Yours and a little more. I-it…it wasn’t the best day, I don’t know what to tell you, I’m sorry. Kyros dropped the coins back into the pouch and cinched it closed. ”This will suffice. For now.” He said simply, his tone still edged in agitation and disgust. He tucked the coin purse into his own belt pouch. If Kyros had been a merciful sort, he would have counted out what the man had stolen from him and gave back the rest. But the shadow walker was not merciful, had no inclination to be. This merchant had lied, by all appearances. Had sold an inferior piece. How many others had he done this to? The man deserved to lose all his coin from the day and more. ’So, the blacksmith, right. Follow me. He’s not far, I swear.’ ”Try anything, lead me anywhere but to the smithy, attempt to summon friends to your aid… and you will watch your friends perish before your eyes before you join them on the journey to the underworld.” Kyros walked closer to the merchant as he spoke, every muscle in his body moving perfectly in tune with each other. Perfect balance, the posture of a near perfect killer. He stopped within inches of Planetes, his grey gaze daring the man to defy his instructions. ”Lead the way.”
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’Well that can sometimes happen. I suppose you must have… Kyros rose a brow, suspecting where that line of thinking was taking the merchant. That the assassin didn’t know what he was doing and must have done something wrong. If the man continued with that thought, Kyros would show the swindling cheat just how well he knew his craft. ’Never mind.’ A small and brief smirk lifted one corner of his lips. Kyros tensed and prepared to take the man out when the merchant reached for his bag. But all that was brought forth was a coin purse. A rather small coin purse. ’Here. Take it. Sorry.’ Kyros accepted the purse and opened it, pulling out a few silver pieces, inspecting them with scrutiny. ’That’s all I have. Yours and a little more. I-it…it wasn’t the best day, I don’t know what to tell you, I’m sorry. Kyros dropped the coins back into the pouch and cinched it closed. ”This will suffice. For now.” He said simply, his tone still edged in agitation and disgust. He tucked the coin purse into his own belt pouch. If Kyros had been a merciful sort, he would have counted out what the man had stolen from him and gave back the rest. But the shadow walker was not merciful, had no inclination to be. This merchant had lied, by all appearances. Had sold an inferior piece. How many others had he done this to? The man deserved to lose all his coin from the day and more. ’So, the blacksmith, right. Follow me. He’s not far, I swear.’ ”Try anything, lead me anywhere but to the smithy, attempt to summon friends to your aid… and you will watch your friends perish before your eyes before you join them on the journey to the underworld.” Kyros walked closer to the merchant as he spoke, every muscle in his body moving perfectly in tune with each other. Perfect balance, the posture of a near perfect killer. He stopped within inches of Planetes, his grey gaze daring the man to defy his instructions. ”Lead the way.”
’Well that can sometimes happen. I suppose you must have… Kyros rose a brow, suspecting where that line of thinking was taking the merchant. That the assassin didn’t know what he was doing and must have done something wrong. If the man continued with that thought, Kyros would show the swindling cheat just how well he knew his craft. ’Never mind.’ A small and brief smirk lifted one corner of his lips. Kyros tensed and prepared to take the man out when the merchant reached for his bag. But all that was brought forth was a coin purse. A rather small coin purse. ’Here. Take it. Sorry.’ Kyros accepted the purse and opened it, pulling out a few silver pieces, inspecting them with scrutiny. ’That’s all I have. Yours and a little more. I-it…it wasn’t the best day, I don’t know what to tell you, I’m sorry. Kyros dropped the coins back into the pouch and cinched it closed. ”This will suffice. For now.” He said simply, his tone still edged in agitation and disgust. He tucked the coin purse into his own belt pouch. If Kyros had been a merciful sort, he would have counted out what the man had stolen from him and gave back the rest. But the shadow walker was not merciful, had no inclination to be. This merchant had lied, by all appearances. Had sold an inferior piece. How many others had he done this to? The man deserved to lose all his coin from the day and more. ’So, the blacksmith, right. Follow me. He’s not far, I swear.’ ”Try anything, lead me anywhere but to the smithy, attempt to summon friends to your aid… and you will watch your friends perish before your eyes before you join them on the journey to the underworld.” Kyros walked closer to the merchant as he spoke, every muscle in his body moving perfectly in tune with each other. Perfect balance, the posture of a near perfect killer. He stopped within inches of Planetes, his grey gaze daring the man to defy his instructions. ”Lead the way.”
At least he took the money. If there was something positive Planetes could say he'd gotten out of this whole ordeal, it was that the man had not been so unreasonable that he would not even accept the meagre amount of coins the merchant had made that day. Still, it would have been helpful if he'd been able to maintain some of it, but beggars could never be choosers (as he'd had the misfortune to learn throughout his life).
"What friends?" he mustered in the way of a response, tone half-joking as he attempted to return some joviality to the situation. If anything, Planetes thought himself to be skilled at talking, and it never hurt to try and make the best out of an uncomfortable moment. It wasn't even that much of a lie: he was never really in one place long enough to make many friends, and those few he did have in the area where all back down by the docks, bar a few stray merchants and the blacksmith in question.
The route was not a long one, though it passed through a few winding alleys that looked far less welcoming in the growing darkness of night than they might have during the day, when they were still filled with those who attempted to sell their goods in person rather than at proper stalls. He walked at a slower pace than usual, as if to reassure his attacker that he was not making any attempt to escape, and coasted to a halt once they reached the blacksmith in question, who was already starting to close up shop for the night.
"Aegeus," he called out to the man, who, though shorter, made up for it with the rest of his size. "Bit of an emergency. Got this friend—" No, that seemed too intimate a title given the current immense awkwardness and unfriendliness behind the interaction. "Got this bloke here who needs a new set of knives. Said you'd hook him up."
'Bit late, Etes. I'm just closin' up here. Come by tomorrow, yeah?'
The tall man shifted his head to look back at the man who had followed him, bit his lip as he attempted to decide on his next step, then shook his head at the blacksmith. "Look, it's proper urgent. I'll pay you back. I'm in a bit of a situation." Planetes tilted his head towards his companion, as if to indicate that he didn't have much of a choice in the matter. "Anything you need, you can grab it from mine."
He gave the blacksmith a long, pleading look until the man seemed worn out and nodded his answer. 'Alright.' Aegeus turned to look at the third man in the equation, stretching his face into a bright smile that was only half-forced. 'What kind of knives are we lookin' for?'
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At least he took the money. If there was something positive Planetes could say he'd gotten out of this whole ordeal, it was that the man had not been so unreasonable that he would not even accept the meagre amount of coins the merchant had made that day. Still, it would have been helpful if he'd been able to maintain some of it, but beggars could never be choosers (as he'd had the misfortune to learn throughout his life).
"What friends?" he mustered in the way of a response, tone half-joking as he attempted to return some joviality to the situation. If anything, Planetes thought himself to be skilled at talking, and it never hurt to try and make the best out of an uncomfortable moment. It wasn't even that much of a lie: he was never really in one place long enough to make many friends, and those few he did have in the area where all back down by the docks, bar a few stray merchants and the blacksmith in question.
The route was not a long one, though it passed through a few winding alleys that looked far less welcoming in the growing darkness of night than they might have during the day, when they were still filled with those who attempted to sell their goods in person rather than at proper stalls. He walked at a slower pace than usual, as if to reassure his attacker that he was not making any attempt to escape, and coasted to a halt once they reached the blacksmith in question, who was already starting to close up shop for the night.
"Aegeus," he called out to the man, who, though shorter, made up for it with the rest of his size. "Bit of an emergency. Got this friend—" No, that seemed too intimate a title given the current immense awkwardness and unfriendliness behind the interaction. "Got this bloke here who needs a new set of knives. Said you'd hook him up."
'Bit late, Etes. I'm just closin' up here. Come by tomorrow, yeah?'
The tall man shifted his head to look back at the man who had followed him, bit his lip as he attempted to decide on his next step, then shook his head at the blacksmith. "Look, it's proper urgent. I'll pay you back. I'm in a bit of a situation." Planetes tilted his head towards his companion, as if to indicate that he didn't have much of a choice in the matter. "Anything you need, you can grab it from mine."
He gave the blacksmith a long, pleading look until the man seemed worn out and nodded his answer. 'Alright.' Aegeus turned to look at the third man in the equation, stretching his face into a bright smile that was only half-forced. 'What kind of knives are we lookin' for?'
At least he took the money. If there was something positive Planetes could say he'd gotten out of this whole ordeal, it was that the man had not been so unreasonable that he would not even accept the meagre amount of coins the merchant had made that day. Still, it would have been helpful if he'd been able to maintain some of it, but beggars could never be choosers (as he'd had the misfortune to learn throughout his life).
"What friends?" he mustered in the way of a response, tone half-joking as he attempted to return some joviality to the situation. If anything, Planetes thought himself to be skilled at talking, and it never hurt to try and make the best out of an uncomfortable moment. It wasn't even that much of a lie: he was never really in one place long enough to make many friends, and those few he did have in the area where all back down by the docks, bar a few stray merchants and the blacksmith in question.
The route was not a long one, though it passed through a few winding alleys that looked far less welcoming in the growing darkness of night than they might have during the day, when they were still filled with those who attempted to sell their goods in person rather than at proper stalls. He walked at a slower pace than usual, as if to reassure his attacker that he was not making any attempt to escape, and coasted to a halt once they reached the blacksmith in question, who was already starting to close up shop for the night.
"Aegeus," he called out to the man, who, though shorter, made up for it with the rest of his size. "Bit of an emergency. Got this friend—" No, that seemed too intimate a title given the current immense awkwardness and unfriendliness behind the interaction. "Got this bloke here who needs a new set of knives. Said you'd hook him up."
'Bit late, Etes. I'm just closin' up here. Come by tomorrow, yeah?'
The tall man shifted his head to look back at the man who had followed him, bit his lip as he attempted to decide on his next step, then shook his head at the blacksmith. "Look, it's proper urgent. I'll pay you back. I'm in a bit of a situation." Planetes tilted his head towards his companion, as if to indicate that he didn't have much of a choice in the matter. "Anything you need, you can grab it from mine."
He gave the blacksmith a long, pleading look until the man seemed worn out and nodded his answer. 'Alright.' Aegeus turned to look at the third man in the equation, stretching his face into a bright smile that was only half-forced. 'What kind of knives are we lookin' for?'
The trek through the streets and alleys of this slowly shutting down city took longer than Kyros would have liked, but he didn’t want to draw attention to them by prodding the merchant to go faster. Stealth is where Kyros was more comfortable. At this slower pace, he could keep in a position to maintain the point of his blade just touching the tall man’s back, and yet keep to a position behind him that hid the blade from prying eyes.
At last, there was the sign for the blacksmith workshop ahead A man was coming out of it, appearing to be locking up for the night.
’Aegeus. Bit of an emergency. … Said you’d hook him up.”
’Bit late, Etes. … Com by tomorrow, yeah?’
When ‘Etes’ turned his head to look at him, Kyros prodded a bit with his blade – just enough to remind him it was there – and gave an almost imperceptible shake of his head as he stared him down with his steely grey eyes. Kyros would have blades he desired without delays, or there would be pain for all who got in his way.
’Look, it’s proper urgent. I’ll pay you back. I’m in a bit of a situation. …’
’Alright. What kind of knives are we lookin’ for?’
Kyros locked his eyes on the smithy, taking measure of him. He looked tired, weary. But Kyros got the feeling he possibly understood what was going on here. ”I require a set of double edged daggers to fit the sheaths upon my belt. And I will have them tonight.” The sheaths in question were of fine leather and would fit blades of about a thirteen inch length. Not quite long enough to be short swords, but long enough to allow a skilled fighter to hold his own against such longer reaching weapons.
The hairs on the back of Kyros’ neck began to bristle. He felt like eyes were upon him. He turned his senses outward, listening for out of place whispers of sounds, feeling the environment more than seeing. Always he felt he was being watched. And with good reason. The Creed wanted his head as a traitor to the cause. The Leventi lord blackmailing him likely had spies watching his every move. His lip curled up in disgust of the thought; to be subjugated to the whims of a royal. ”Let us go inside.” It wasn’t a question or request, as the deadly man began to push to merchant forward and he motioned for the smithy to open the door.
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The trek through the streets and alleys of this slowly shutting down city took longer than Kyros would have liked, but he didn’t want to draw attention to them by prodding the merchant to go faster. Stealth is where Kyros was more comfortable. At this slower pace, he could keep in a position to maintain the point of his blade just touching the tall man’s back, and yet keep to a position behind him that hid the blade from prying eyes.
At last, there was the sign for the blacksmith workshop ahead A man was coming out of it, appearing to be locking up for the night.
’Aegeus. Bit of an emergency. … Said you’d hook him up.”
’Bit late, Etes. … Com by tomorrow, yeah?’
When ‘Etes’ turned his head to look at him, Kyros prodded a bit with his blade – just enough to remind him it was there – and gave an almost imperceptible shake of his head as he stared him down with his steely grey eyes. Kyros would have blades he desired without delays, or there would be pain for all who got in his way.
’Look, it’s proper urgent. I’ll pay you back. I’m in a bit of a situation. …’
’Alright. What kind of knives are we lookin’ for?’
Kyros locked his eyes on the smithy, taking measure of him. He looked tired, weary. But Kyros got the feeling he possibly understood what was going on here. ”I require a set of double edged daggers to fit the sheaths upon my belt. And I will have them tonight.” The sheaths in question were of fine leather and would fit blades of about a thirteen inch length. Not quite long enough to be short swords, but long enough to allow a skilled fighter to hold his own against such longer reaching weapons.
The hairs on the back of Kyros’ neck began to bristle. He felt like eyes were upon him. He turned his senses outward, listening for out of place whispers of sounds, feeling the environment more than seeing. Always he felt he was being watched. And with good reason. The Creed wanted his head as a traitor to the cause. The Leventi lord blackmailing him likely had spies watching his every move. His lip curled up in disgust of the thought; to be subjugated to the whims of a royal. ”Let us go inside.” It wasn’t a question or request, as the deadly man began to push to merchant forward and he motioned for the smithy to open the door.
The trek through the streets and alleys of this slowly shutting down city took longer than Kyros would have liked, but he didn’t want to draw attention to them by prodding the merchant to go faster. Stealth is where Kyros was more comfortable. At this slower pace, he could keep in a position to maintain the point of his blade just touching the tall man’s back, and yet keep to a position behind him that hid the blade from prying eyes.
At last, there was the sign for the blacksmith workshop ahead A man was coming out of it, appearing to be locking up for the night.
’Aegeus. Bit of an emergency. … Said you’d hook him up.”
’Bit late, Etes. … Com by tomorrow, yeah?’
When ‘Etes’ turned his head to look at him, Kyros prodded a bit with his blade – just enough to remind him it was there – and gave an almost imperceptible shake of his head as he stared him down with his steely grey eyes. Kyros would have blades he desired without delays, or there would be pain for all who got in his way.
’Look, it’s proper urgent. I’ll pay you back. I’m in a bit of a situation. …’
’Alright. What kind of knives are we lookin’ for?’
Kyros locked his eyes on the smithy, taking measure of him. He looked tired, weary. But Kyros got the feeling he possibly understood what was going on here. ”I require a set of double edged daggers to fit the sheaths upon my belt. And I will have them tonight.” The sheaths in question were of fine leather and would fit blades of about a thirteen inch length. Not quite long enough to be short swords, but long enough to allow a skilled fighter to hold his own against such longer reaching weapons.
The hairs on the back of Kyros’ neck began to bristle. He felt like eyes were upon him. He turned his senses outward, listening for out of place whispers of sounds, feeling the environment more than seeing. Always he felt he was being watched. And with good reason. The Creed wanted his head as a traitor to the cause. The Leventi lord blackmailing him likely had spies watching his every move. His lip curled up in disgust of the thought; to be subjugated to the whims of a royal. ”Let us go inside.” It wasn’t a question or request, as the deadly man began to push to merchant forward and he motioned for the smithy to open the door.
