Post by topagae on Feb 23, 2007 5:57:27 GMT -5
Topagae sat nursing his drink in the pale light of the evening at the Rusty Trident. The bartender always thought the name was clever, he had a habit of running disorderlies through with a deceivingly old looking trident. There was obviously some magic within the old weapon the bartender lovingly called "Ol' Pokey".
All the regulars were around, not that Topagae ever fraternized with them, and he decided a long time ago it was much more useful for them all to think he didn't know their language. He picked up a lot more useful information that way. He was glad that the place wasn’t well lit; he doubted very much that he would enjoy the appearance of some of the patrons. Especially the ones whose mouths he couldn’t quite make out because they seemed to be positioned no where near their faces.
Topagae retreated to his room after finishing a small meal of steak and eggs with his drink. To this day he wasn't EXACTLY sure exactly what the drink was, but it was sweet and didn't kill him, so he let it be. Satisfied for the night, he checked a little mail slot that he used as his seemingly primary means of communication. He worked out a deal with the bartender to tell anyone interested in hiring the mysterious looking gunman that he would have to go through him. It was easier that way, often he would never have to meet his client face to face, or ever speak to them. That often made things less complicated. The bartender got a cut, and Topagae got to remain fairly anonymous in most situations, all the while picking up useful information every night from loose tongued demons. It never hurts to make the client think you’re strong and mysterious either.
Topagae plopped down on his bed after resetting some of his
simple traps on his door, which he used to know if anyone had been in his room, and unfurled the letter. An involuntary smile crept across his lips. Today was going to be an interesting day.
All the regulars were around, not that Topagae ever fraternized with them, and he decided a long time ago it was much more useful for them all to think he didn't know their language. He picked up a lot more useful information that way. He was glad that the place wasn’t well lit; he doubted very much that he would enjoy the appearance of some of the patrons. Especially the ones whose mouths he couldn’t quite make out because they seemed to be positioned no where near their faces.
Topagae retreated to his room after finishing a small meal of steak and eggs with his drink. To this day he wasn't EXACTLY sure exactly what the drink was, but it was sweet and didn't kill him, so he let it be. Satisfied for the night, he checked a little mail slot that he used as his seemingly primary means of communication. He worked out a deal with the bartender to tell anyone interested in hiring the mysterious looking gunman that he would have to go through him. It was easier that way, often he would never have to meet his client face to face, or ever speak to them. That often made things less complicated. The bartender got a cut, and Topagae got to remain fairly anonymous in most situations, all the while picking up useful information every night from loose tongued demons. It never hurts to make the client think you’re strong and mysterious either.
Topagae plopped down on his bed after resetting some of his
simple traps on his door, which he used to know if anyone had been in his room, and unfurled the letter. An involuntary smile crept across his lips. Today was going to be an interesting day.