Snippet #2650781

Raikyyn jerked awake to the sound of the ship's bell ringing. They had reached port.

Finally, I can get off of this dreadful boat. Oh, I ache for land.

The assassin, aliased as a traveling merchant, rose from the bed- or, cot -within his cabin. He only wore loose breeches to sleep, as was usual for him, and his lean muscles rippled as he stretched the sleep from his body. After cracking his neck, he stood, and began to clothe himself.

Breeches, shirt, chestpiece, guards, bracers, boots, cloak. Even while disguised as a merchant (and in a brown cloak, no less), Raikyyn wore his armor underneath his cloak. Granted, in this day and age it wasn't odd to see individuals in armor, but he kept his tucked under the cloak just to be safe.

Raikyyn gathered his things (of which there were many), and made his way up to the main deck of the ship. As he arrived in the sunlight of the day, he noticed that they were just beginning to dock. Timing as impeccable as ever, Raikyyn chuckled to himself.

The "merchant" hauled his belongings across the ship, and onto the port. "Excuse me, sir, need a name for the registry," a dock worker informed Raikyyn. "Tsamuus Araan, merchant arriving for business," the assassin told the dockhand. His alias had to have to have a name, of course. Tsamuus also had a touch of legitimate business items and ledgers on hand just in case suspicion came his way.

The dockhand waved him on, and Raikyyn continued down the port into the city.

My, my, Opynonias is as grand as they say. At least on the surface. Every city has it's own darker shades, but where to look? Raikyyn puzzled.

Regardless, the elf made his way through the city streets until he reached his destination, a small inn in the middle of the town. Inconspicuous, out of the way, and just the right price for a merchant to stay for a while. Raikyyn entered the building, waded through the barfront lower floor of the inn, and found the Innkeep. "Tsamuus Araan, here for my room," Raikyyn told the Keep. The burly man nodded, accepting the pouch of gold (counting it, of course), and gave Raikyyn his room key.

The ashen-skined elf made his way up the stairs, noting bits of chatter within the bar.

"Did you see the last fight?"
"Oh, it was great!"
"Who fought?"
"The Black Hammer!"
"I missed the Black Hammer?!"

At this point, Raikyyn had entered his room, locked his door, and left earshot of the conversation. He placed his bags on the bed, and began opening and sorting everything within them. Within one bag resided the necessary papers and items for his cover, should he need them. Within another, his black and red cloak, sheathes, belts, pouches. Within the last, his "tools" (poisons, and the like).

As the assassin organized himself and his belongings, he pondered the dream he had had the night prior. A tavern, a woman, it was distorted, blurred now. Pieces he remembered, but others he had lost. Probably just bad ale, or seasickness, Raikyyn thought to himself.

No matter, this dream shouldn't impose on my mission. But how to guarantee a way into the depths of the Colosseum?