Snippet #1557975

The sheets, pressed, warm and soft as could be were wrapped around the dozing assassin in a comforting embrace. Eos slept in an infantile curl with only the edge of his face visible past the beddings, his scarred body hidden within. He was enjoying sleeping in on his day off. Or, rather, he would have enjoyed it had a certain Guildmaster who he was not on trusting terms yet with not knocked on his door. With a loud groan of protest the assassin surged up from the bed and swung open the door to his room, ready to lash out should an opponent present themself.

That would have been preferable to the merry band of morning-goers that awaited him just outside. Eos immediately perked up and regarded the others for a long moment...in the nude. Out of the many times he had gone against sleeping bereft of clothing, letting his better judgement take the back burner on this one had not been one of his best calls. "One moment, if you would."

The assassin turned, shutting the door behind him and grabbing some comfortably middle-class traveling clothing. Once dressed, the Hand strapped ona belt, hid his weapons in the appropriate compartments and exited the room to join his fellows. Hopefully their glimpse of 'The Trouser Titan' would not traumatize them too much. A disturbing thought crossed Eos's mind just then: Had Selene been joking about that nickname? The thought was brushed away as easily a cobweb. Of course she wasn't. Before he could inquire as to the nature of Amon's summoning, the Guild Master divulged the method behind his madness.

Eos listened on with growing interest, in the situation as well as the unease apparent in Amon Gregory's voice. He must have been getting old...the Amon Eos knew would never have shown any outward signs that the situation was anything but under control. Amon had always been the player that was seven steps ahead of the competition, equipped with two back-up plans should the first go awry. As the meeting was adjourned, Eos cast one last inquisitive look at Amon before making his way towards the streets.

---

It only took a couple tries to get the location of the steadily growing mob and a few minutes to catch up. Dressed in nothing too fancy, Eos blended in with the disgruntled marchers fairly well. He shouted occasionally and raised his fist in the air for effect. He refrained from gathering any intelligence from any of the stoked marchers, as blind faith and mob mentality often muddled the truth of the matter. Even then, Eos thought with a wry smile, the truth is hard to come by.

Instead the assassin began picking out targets that were stoking the flames of these fool's misguided fervor and went to work. One by one a preaching man or a rallying woman dropped to the cobbles to become pebbles that the river of marchers broke around--or merely stepped upon in some cases--and Eos was lost in the thick procession. With each pass he jabbed a target in the solar plexus or the soft spot in the back of the skull, making sure to be as discrete as possible. In all honesty, he might as well have saved himself the trouble of discretion and just went all out. Nobody was paying any particular attention to the man next to them, seemingly intent on the unseen objective ahead.

Eos scowled and waved the front of his shirt in a vain attempt to get some cool air on to his skin. The press of the mob overwhelmed his senses with a torrid, musky air that threatened to make him wretch. The Hand noted, with a hint of displeasure, that the throng of people replenished itself faster than his meager efforts thinned it out. He hoped the others were having a better run of the situation.

The sound of crackling flames and roaring spell-craft carried over the cacophanous drone of the rioters, prompting Eos to direct his focus to the more readily detrimental individuals; The mages.