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Zorien Rhyss flicked his head to one side irritably, shifting his hair from his eyes and dislodging his hood a little. Hastily pulling it back into position, his locks jestingly fell straight back into his eyes. He closed them slowly and gritted his teeth, bearing the annoyance. The shadows enveloping him like a lover's embrace concealed the movement from his mark who was finally leaving his place of trade, locking the door noisily with the sigh of a man awaiting an ale after a long day's work. As he rounded the Waterdhavian street corner, Zorien glanced around himself a few times before hopping silently to the door and inserting his picks into the lock.
The door was unchallenging to say the least, and within a few moments he was silently within the smithy. His primary glance around the place revealed little had changed since he'd cased the joint earlier in the day. A sword had been sold and replaced by something rather similar, but other than that, there was little of excitement to catch his eye. This would be yet another low profit endeavour, he was sure.
With a relaxed yet careful pace, he began to root around in the stuffy room, still hot from a day's metal working with the smell of mildly sulfurous smoke making him wrinkle his nose lightly. His search was proving fruitless until he stumbled across a dagger which had the familiar stench of magic. With a quiet whisper and the artful wriggling of his fingers, he fixed his stare on the blade, and its nature unfolded in his mind as his spell completed. With his trademark half smirk he lifted the blade and gently blew along the blade. His breath on any normal blade would not so much as disturb the surface, but on this particular blade, his breath stuck to the metal and solidified into a frosty pattern, giving off a slight steam. For a few moments the icy design remained, before slowly receeding. Zorien picked up the blade and its sister scabbard before stowing it silently behind a leather strap under his cloak.
Deciding this would be the only thing of any interest in the whole place, he slowly turned to leave and he sighed, shaking his head, a strange pang of an unfamiliar sensation hit his stomach. A single thought penetrated his cool calm for a moment before he banished it silently.
"How I miss Sundren..."
The door was unchallenging to say the least, and within a few moments he was silently within the smithy. His primary glance around the place revealed little had changed since he'd cased the joint earlier in the day. A sword had been sold and replaced by something rather similar, but other than that, there was little of excitement to catch his eye. This would be yet another low profit endeavour, he was sure.
With a relaxed yet careful pace, he began to root around in the stuffy room, still hot from a day's metal working with the smell of mildly sulfurous smoke making him wrinkle his nose lightly. His search was proving fruitless until he stumbled across a dagger which had the familiar stench of magic. With a quiet whisper and the artful wriggling of his fingers, he fixed his stare on the blade, and its nature unfolded in his mind as his spell completed. With his trademark half smirk he lifted the blade and gently blew along the blade. His breath on any normal blade would not so much as disturb the surface, but on this particular blade, his breath stuck to the metal and solidified into a frosty pattern, giving off a slight steam. For a few moments the icy design remained, before slowly receeding. Zorien picked up the blade and its sister scabbard before stowing it silently behind a leather strap under his cloak.
Deciding this would be the only thing of any interest in the whole place, he slowly turned to leave and he sighed, shaking his head, a strange pang of an unfamiliar sensation hit his stomach. A single thought penetrated his cool calm for a moment before he banished it silently.
"How I miss Sundren..."