Post by Rinafera Woxwitty III on Feb 15, 2009 17:42:26 GMT -5
The cool air calmed as the night grew on. Wind no longer blew the shady figure's cloak up, possibly a threat to his cover. He scuttled to and fro through the Western Settlement, but finally found peace in an alley behind a tavern. Only a dumpster and a window of one of the bedrooms -- must likely the owner's -- could give him away. The smooth, silent steps he took only intensified the suspense whenever there was a purpose to roam somewhere. He stepped with stocking paws, silent but agile. An array of throwing knives was concealed underneath his cloak and his hood was always covering his head. Being rather stocky, it was difficult to indetify this figure as a mouse, especially because he was lying down on a dirty street behind a Tavern. Snow had cleared and spring was soon to come, but the chilly weather remained; all that the mouse would have enjoyed at the moment would be the gentle, rythmic prose of a bard. Despite his shady attitude as well as his appearance, the creature was a lover of the arts, poetry, and the rest.
Many saw him as a rat; his fur was almost a charcoal color from sleeping in the streets. However, this one very special night, the thief of the Western Settlement, where all morals were put aside, would venture into a Tavern. He stood up from his place and decided that it would be best to finally have some company, despite his craving for silence. The lonely, wandering mouse scuttled silently around the Tavern and kept low; it was almost by habit that he did this, as it most certainly if someone saw him now. Being that he could pass as a rat, and was excellent with disguises as well as accents, he felt comfortable in a vermin settlement. Besides, he heard rumors that the Guardians of Mossflower were expanding from their woodland Fort to the Eastern and Western coasts, where they were building a Waterfront to begin a fleet. This would lead all of the corsairs down south, where Salamandastron could easily crush corsairs. Perhaps the goodbeasts were finally gaining some sense; vermin would begin to be scarce.
He pushed the Tavern doors opened and scoured the room, his hood still shadowing the rims of his eyes. The charcoal dark optics scanning the room could pierce the heart of a lion; he was confident, almost cocky, that he could take anyone anywhere in a fight. While this was most likely false, the confidence alone was enough to frighten many. He scuttled to the bar, now standing straighter. The mouse took a seat and kept his head low; his whiskers were fletched with dirt, and his grubby appearance as well as the dark cloak easily disguised him as a rat. He still sat at the bar, staring down the bartender with unmoving eyes. Clearing his throat, the mouse did his best rat's accent and spoke with disarming confidence. "Barkeep, git me some ale, will ya? Hellsteeth, ya lay'bout, ain't you s'posed t' be 'ardworkin'?" The mouse chuckled gruffly to himself as the bartender hustled to fetch him a tankard of ale; his disguise was working perfectly.
This was Benedict Muse.
Many saw him as a rat; his fur was almost a charcoal color from sleeping in the streets. However, this one very special night, the thief of the Western Settlement, where all morals were put aside, would venture into a Tavern. He stood up from his place and decided that it would be best to finally have some company, despite his craving for silence. The lonely, wandering mouse scuttled silently around the Tavern and kept low; it was almost by habit that he did this, as it most certainly if someone saw him now. Being that he could pass as a rat, and was excellent with disguises as well as accents, he felt comfortable in a vermin settlement. Besides, he heard rumors that the Guardians of Mossflower were expanding from their woodland Fort to the Eastern and Western coasts, where they were building a Waterfront to begin a fleet. This would lead all of the corsairs down south, where Salamandastron could easily crush corsairs. Perhaps the goodbeasts were finally gaining some sense; vermin would begin to be scarce.
He pushed the Tavern doors opened and scoured the room, his hood still shadowing the rims of his eyes. The charcoal dark optics scanning the room could pierce the heart of a lion; he was confident, almost cocky, that he could take anyone anywhere in a fight. While this was most likely false, the confidence alone was enough to frighten many. He scuttled to the bar, now standing straighter. The mouse took a seat and kept his head low; his whiskers were fletched with dirt, and his grubby appearance as well as the dark cloak easily disguised him as a rat. He still sat at the bar, staring down the bartender with unmoving eyes. Clearing his throat, the mouse did his best rat's accent and spoke with disarming confidence. "Barkeep, git me some ale, will ya? Hellsteeth, ya lay'bout, ain't you s'posed t' be 'ardworkin'?" The mouse chuckled gruffly to himself as the bartender hustled to fetch him a tankard of ale; his disguise was working perfectly.
This was Benedict Muse.