1875-04-03: Watching and Waiting
Watching and Waiting
Summary: On an errand for Darius, Sylas scouts and spends a fair bit of time waiting.
Date: 1875-04-03
Related: None.
NPCs: None.
Players:
Sylas  Salys  

Galenthia. Horse shit and sweat. Those were the two overriding scents that seemed to assail Sylas' nostrils with every breath, though given the broken squalor of Firen, it was hardly surprising. Shrouded in a thick cloak, the Imperial hardly caught the eye of those whom he passed on by, they had other worries to concern themselves with. Food? Shelter? Re-building? It was one worry after another for those who had suffered through the great siege of Firen, and through the dust and the aftermath of the destruction Sylas trod carefully, paying heed to his surroundings and doing much to avoid the crooked towers that had been struck, and yet by some miracle of engineering not twisted fully and snapped, only to crush those who were unfortunate to be beneath at the time. It was a matter of time, yet it provided an ideal cover for the 'merchant' as he awaited the arrival of his sister from another errand.

Within a torn down hovel that had perhaps been quite a fancy home by Galenthian standards, a dusty and hollow-faced family sat and sobbed, and Sylas caught the eye of those within. Even for Sylas it was hard to walk on by, to ignore the suffering, even though he did his best to not even think of what had occured back home, it was easier that way. There was a job to be done, and sentimentality and wallowing on what could not be changed did not help that. Yet Sylas' hand dipped into a pouch upon his hip, drew forth a single gold coin and tossed it towards the huddled and broken family. It bounced, rolled and span into a lazy circle before a dusty hand snatched it from the ground. A nod was all that was offered, but a nod was all such a gift was worth, and Sylas moved on, stalking the streets, taking in his surroundings and getting a lay of the land.

Winding streets, all altered through bombardment, fire, and the resulting efforts to rebuild and extinguish fire. It was easy to get lost within the streets, easy enough to lose others following. It was near enough perfect for him and his sister, for their appointed task. And with such a task at hand, Sylas settled into the broken shell of an old tower that had once been attached to a merchant's home, only the broken beams and shattered walls had long since ruined the home and left the tower to the ravages of the elements, though it would soon no doubt be toppled, the stone put to use elsewhere in rebuilding what had likely been a passably quaint looking city. Yet still one that reeked of death, ash, sweat, and horse shit.

The hours passed and Sylas barely moved, a few markings had been left on walls, markings that would not be noticed or recognised as anything but a scrawl to anyone but Salys. And high up as the wind wafted the faintest grasp of fresh air, tinged as ever with the underlying scent of ash and death, Sylas watched the exact part of the city he needed to watch. Huddled against a broken beam, hood pulled down low, he was nothing if not a shadow. A mere glint of his gaze watching, barely blinking as he bided his time and waited.

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