When the Disciples first came to Haven, some distant ancestor brought his long nose, his dark eyes. These past years, he's learned to mimic their manner of speech, to add a slight arrogant lift to his stride. It places him within the middling ranks of soporati; a merchant, perhaps, far from home.
Maybe it’s the red, maybe it's just the malaise that's hung over him like a shroud. Whatever the reason, he's slower than he should be to notice that he's been made.
He's not long onto two legs before the first suit of armor peels off the corner to follow, joined shortly by a woman with a snake-headed staff. The templar's too close to chance flight: a moment too slow, and they'd knock him out of the sky. But this is a better part of town, they won't risk a confrontation until they know they can put him down fast.
There’s an open door ahead, leading into an indoor market. His pace quickens as he turns abruptly inside. He can’t afford to run outright, but maybe he can lose them long enough to disappear. The crowd buzzes thick with people, slow to clear a path for the oncoming guards. Alan dips sideways beside a stall, pretends to inspect a little tray of Nevarran jewels.
There’s a mirror at eye level. It's enough to keep a watch to his back — but a flash of purple eyes is the last thing he expects to see.
BELETH
When the Disciples first came to Haven, some distant ancestor brought his long nose, his dark eyes. These past years, he's learned to mimic their manner of speech, to add a slight arrogant lift to his stride. It places him within the middling ranks of soporati; a merchant, perhaps, far from home.
Maybe it’s the red, maybe it's just the malaise that's hung over him like a shroud. Whatever the reason, he's slower than he should be to notice that he's been made.
He's not long onto two legs before the first suit of armor peels off the corner to follow, joined shortly by a woman with a snake-headed staff. The templar's too close to chance flight: a moment too slow, and they'd knock him out of the sky. But this is a better part of town, they won't risk a confrontation until they know they can put him down fast.
There’s an open door ahead, leading into an indoor market. His pace quickens as he turns abruptly inside. He can’t afford to run outright, but maybe he can lose them long enough to disappear. The crowd buzzes thick with people, slow to clear a path for the oncoming guards. Alan dips sideways beside a stall, pretends to inspect a little tray of Nevarran jewels.
There’s a mirror at eye level. It's enough to keep a watch to his back — but a flash of purple eyes is the last thing he expects to see.