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Name: Gavin Piebald
Appearance: Pigment-less skin, hair and eyes. Reddish blotches of flaky skin everywhere that can be seen. (if you can see his arms) large defensive wounds cover his for-arms.
Hair: long, white, unkempt.
Health: Poor; Chronic cough, low light sensibility, physically weak and prone to injury, mildly malnourished.
Age: Difficult to tell. between 30 and 50
Profession: Acolyte.
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"How will i do that without raising questions... questions that could get me killed"?
The wizened old man rises a bloodied leather strap, threateningly.
"Use you imagination, or are you as big a fool as you look? Can't you imagine some reason that isn't the truth?" Spittle flies from his mouth. He looks the retch over with an appraising eye. "I can see why your social skills are lacking but i won't teach an idiot." The old man says with discust.
The elder continues grumbling but it is ignored. Gavin knows his master well enough to know when it's time to stop listening.
"Three more." The old man moves to the next room, still grumbling.
Three was too many. Gavin knew the towns people would notice three disturbed graves. Another murder was out of the question. You can't blame everything on vampires, not forever anyway. Besides it was true he didn't have much of an imagination. Vampires seemed an easy explanation for a few missing imbeciles but this town has called in every kind of cleric known to AO. No excuse can last for ever. The graves are no good. Nothing says necromancy like a dug up grave. And of course everyone will blame the albino.
He smirks. "Just because it's true doesn't make it right."
That makes him laugh. Then another coughing fit.
"Myrkul..." He swears. Winded from the hacking. "Do i have to go out? That means talking to people again.?" He rolls his eyes. "That always goes so well."
He dares a hateful look toward the grumbling in the other room. Then dutifully goes about preparing for a journey.
Appearance: Pigment-less skin, hair and eyes. Reddish blotches of flaky skin everywhere that can be seen. (if you can see his arms) large defensive wounds cover his for-arms.
Hair: long, white, unkempt.
Health: Poor; Chronic cough, low light sensibility, physically weak and prone to injury, mildly malnourished.
Age: Difficult to tell. between 30 and 50
Profession: Acolyte.
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"How will i do that without raising questions... questions that could get me killed"?
The wizened old man rises a bloodied leather strap, threateningly.
"Use you imagination, or are you as big a fool as you look? Can't you imagine some reason that isn't the truth?" Spittle flies from his mouth. He looks the retch over with an appraising eye. "I can see why your social skills are lacking but i won't teach an idiot." The old man says with discust.
The elder continues grumbling but it is ignored. Gavin knows his master well enough to know when it's time to stop listening.
"Three more." The old man moves to the next room, still grumbling.
Three was too many. Gavin knew the towns people would notice three disturbed graves. Another murder was out of the question. You can't blame everything on vampires, not forever anyway. Besides it was true he didn't have much of an imagination. Vampires seemed an easy explanation for a few missing imbeciles but this town has called in every kind of cleric known to AO. No excuse can last for ever. The graves are no good. Nothing says necromancy like a dug up grave. And of course everyone will blame the albino.
He smirks. "Just because it's true doesn't make it right."
That makes him laugh. Then another coughing fit.
"Myrkul..." He swears. Winded from the hacking. "Do i have to go out? That means talking to people again.?" He rolls his eyes. "That always goes so well."
He dares a hateful look toward the grumbling in the other room. Then dutifully goes about preparing for a journey.
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