Snippet #2358130

Istillo Anselm


"They will be here any moment. You must be patient, especially if you are to ever surpass me some day…"

Something was obscuring one of the windows of the three-story building. A figure, perched precariously on the thin sill. Pushing his back into the left the frame, Istillo kept his seat with one boot up against the opposing side.

"What are you anxious for, apprentice? This is only a simple heist, not a complex shill. Speak, what is on your mind?"

The assassin sat quietly, tearing another piece out of his smoked meat. He surveyed the dirty street below, but his vantage point was not a needed precaution. The streets were long since deserted for warmer interiors as the morning was young, and it's air cold. He was seated here to listen.

It was curious. There were heresy in the southern lands of these two assassins: fearsome tales whispered by careful tongues of rouges and thieves alike, and spat from outraged maws of the guards of those more fortunate… or more corrupt. They seemed to be the dark folk heroes to the common masses, and hated just as fiercely by those of opulent ill repute.

"If this heist is so simple, Master, then why do we require an entire Warband? You and I have undertaken much harder tasks and accomplished them with ease on our own. I do not understand the Master of Shadows and his ridiculous rules."

Istillo snorted. It did seem rather ridiculous; however, the objective was clear to him. Succeeding in a heist, no matter how small, would earn him coins. Coins would earn him food. If the Master's "ridiculous rules" fed him, then he would readily follow them.

"Not all who join the Brotherhood are as naturally skilled as you and I, child. The Master of Shadows knows this more than any. The reason we have been put on this task is to show the recruits the power of the Brotherhood and, with training, what they can become. Our jobs are to simply insure the mission goes smoothly. They will do most of the work..."

So it is a test. Istillo's musing cut short as something flew over his head, casting a brief shadow in the ally below. He went back to chewing on his smoked meat with disinterest. Noah's voice floated down to him. That made four. Where were the other two thieves?

With a quiet sigh, Istillo stuffed the rest of the meat in his mouth, and tied a piece of cloth back around his head to cover the lower half of his face. Standing, he lent back out over the street, and reached up- jumping to grab onto the roof's ledge. Toes finding holds, he pushed off to lift himself up onto his forearms, and to clamber over the side. Another figure was advancing towards the small party just before him. Tetsuya, the thief.

The soft soles of his boots made little noise as his stride slowed before the war band. Stepping into the semi-circle, Istillo joined their ranks. He crossed his arms, looking over the faces of those present, before settling his gaze on the blue eyes that burned under the red cape.

"M'ster," he said quietly, tipping his head in a show of respect.

Istillo's northern accent was strong, but not altogether unintelligible. His pink eyes flicked back to the biggest of their group, eyeing the warrior. He was from the North as well, but until their first meeting, Istillo had never seen one such as him. Largely uneducated and not much more than a vagabond, the assassin had been more than surprised to meet the orcish descendant. He still remained wary of the strange man.

Turning to his left, his eyes fell on the thief Tetsuya.

"Bru'hr. You do not luk vell. 're you ill?" Istillo asked, frowning at the dark bruised-like shadows under the man's eyes.