| abstract
| - (the definitive first part) -To overwrite yesterdays rambles, mostly set up and mood stuff. And the daily grind- Bhasu sat atop the roof of the Pig and Whistle Tavern, idly staring out over the bustling streets of Old Town. Bustling, being a relative term, since this is where he came to avoid the noise and chaos of Stormwind proper. Old Town. It was old, run down, and best of all, shady. This was the sketchy part of Stormwind that made rogues feel at home. All sorts of low-lives could be found here. Run of the mill ruffians,assassins on loan from Ravenholdt, pickpockets, liars, spies, poison crafters. To Bhasu, this felt like home. A smile spead across his dusky face as he thought about this. How here, amongst the humans he felt more at home than he ever had on the Tree. Senra and the other Night Elf rogues were accepting enough, but Night Elf society at large didn't always smile on its shadier sons and daughters. Staghelm, the arch druid, accepted them; but as a necessary evil. Nothing more. Though, he was never known for his patience or acceptance. The clocktower, and the moon in the sky told Bhasu that it was approaching midnight, so he decided that his vigil should end. People would wonder when the P&W had added a statue to the roof anyway. Plus, he was getting bored. He crept silently back into the shadows, and slipped down from his perch. Moments later, his feet alighted silently on the cobblestone streets. He folded in unobtrusively with the meager crowds in Old Town, and began to make his way East towards the Keep. He wandered towards the battlemasters, making his nightly check to see if he was on the roll to be called to the frontlines any time soon. 'Not likely' he thought to himself, shrugged, and strode back down the carpeted hallway and out into the open night. Such was the nightly grind. Check in with Phaerok, his Captain to see where we were sailing to; If it was quiet, check with the Alliance forces, though, that was becoming an exercise in futility more and more. Good thing the Alliance has numbers, he thought to himself. Precision and tactics were only held dear by a select few. With a resigned sigh to the status quo, he realized his feed had turned north, and he had just crossed the bridge into the Dwarven District. As many a night before, and many a night to come most likely, he found his feet walking the familiar road to the Dungeon. He had been sad when it had opened up, forever destoying the peace and quiet and intrigue of Cut-Throat Alley. It also alerted the local law enforcement to the goings on there more and more. In doing so, he had his close associates were forced to move their meetings to various new places, but noone had decided on anything as of late. That melancholy had changed a few days later though, when he decided to visit it, ending his boycott of principle. He sighed to himself and thought "Shady places attract shady individuals...." And there-in is the rub. He chuckled to himself and that choice of words as well... "A shady place like that is the best place for rogues of various sorts to find work. It is just the natural way of things." As was his custom, He undid his spaulders and placed them in his pack. Never one to be shy, he switched out the chest armor he was wearing, favoring the black leather Cadaverous piece he had picked up. It had a particular style to it, he though, pulling it over his muscled torso. He looked to the familiar archway, and walked in. "Hi Mr. Bhasu!" A small voice shouted over the music to him. He had to wait for his eyes to adjust to the general haze and strobing lights of the place, but, truth be told; he knew it was Myrie, the ever-cheerful gnome greeter of the dungeon. He smiled and waved back to her, shrugging about her incessant use of a title with his name. "By Elune when will people realize i am no lord or gentleman..a knight by rank and a pirate, but nothing in so desparate need of being mentioned every single time I am addressed." He seethed silently to himself, realizing that In spite of all his internal bravado, he didnt truly mind. He thought about giving her a rose just because, but a quick mental check reminded him that he carried only black ones today, and that just would not do. Shrugging, he smiled and blew her a kiss. This prompted the usual giggle, and Bhasu sat down feeling that everything was in order. He pulled his flask from his hip pocket and took a long pull from it. Catching his breath as what could have been fire spilled down his throat, he decided that being a pirate had many fringe benefits. Good rum and plentiful booty being the foremost in his mind at this particular moment. A quick scan of the crowd noted familiar faces. In some cases, it wasnt the faces that he remembered, but he remembered them nonetheless, so it was a start. He never did bother much with names. He noted a few new faces as well. A rather nervous looking young rogue, and a few ladies he hadn't been properly introduced to yet. Looking to the dance floor, he took a quick moment to appreciate Nebulous dancing for him (as he always did), slid a few gold coins into her leggings, and waited to see what would unfold here tonight. An unemployed assassin is a bored assassin. Not that anyone here really knew his business, but word always gets out, and people always come looking. A tap on his shoulder, and Bhasu glanced back in anticipation. "Excuse me sir, but could you open this for me?" A young looking adventurer of some type or another asked him. "Fel take me" Bhasu thought, "Maybe I should change the way I dress or something. At least he asked though, instead of pushing it in my face. That is a good way to get cut... Its like i have a sign that says rogue over my head or something..." But before he had finished this mental tirade, he had popped the lock, handed it back to the kid, who handed him a few silvers for his time. "Probably getting his feet wet with a few adventures and blowing his first gold pieces on a lap dance and well..." He muttered under his breath as the kid walked off. He took another pull from his flask, and relaxed. "I need to ask Phaerok where he finds this stuff..." he muttered through watering eyes... An hour or so later, with an empty flask and a lighter purse, he wandered toward the bank, since it seemed as good a place as any to keep his personal stock of spirits and ales. You never know when you might need it. And with a restocked flask, and a muddled head, he decided to head to the park. "Someone HAS to want someone dead here....It would be much easier ir Ravenholdt would start opening us up for contracts again. We might as well be a club these days. A very scary, dark club...but when was the last time we did anything..." he grumbled to himself, thinking about handing out flyers or something. "At the very least, some of my druid friends should be here." He mumbled hopefully. He wandered past a rather crackers looking mage shooting off firearms, who shot him a scowl, but thankfully only a scowl; and wandered into the Jester. "Why do I even come to the park...these people are mad." Then noticing the silver haired, slightly disheveled but beautiful elf in the corner, he remembered. Smiling, he walked over to her and took a seat. "Hello, love, how does fortune find you this night?" He whispered in as sultry a tone as he could muster.
|
![[RDF Data]](/fct/images/sw-rdf-blue.png)