They say every person is unique from behind, that the way they carry themselves and their walk is a far more reliable source of identification than a face. In Heulwen's opinion reality was a little trickier than that oft-repeated wisdom suggested, but still there was something about the way the robed figure below moved across the terrace...she increased her pace and trotted down the final set of grandiose stairs, ponytail swinging rhythmically.
She was a comfortable 15 yards behind as her quarry turned into the Grand Bazaar.
He - she was sure of that part at least - made a beeline for a pair of local merchants and began to speak. The banner at their stall was painted with symbols Heulwen didn't recognise, and one of them clutched a cracked mask that was less than convincing even at her distance. The three huddled closely, one of the Trolls waving expansively as he made his case, the other silent, and the person she'd been following with his cowled head cocked. Heulwen drifted closer as if wandering past, her coin purse open as she pretended to count the contents. She was a few steps past but still easily in earshot as the robed figure spoke, and the familiar almost-metallic grate of his tone served to confirm his identity for certain.
She wandered on, pretending to examine a selection of bracelets laid out for sale. From the corner of her eye she kept tabs on the little group, occasionally holding up a bracelet to the sun to shift her gaze and study them more directly. She'd not seen him decked out like that before, the largely black robes decorated with deeper black and grey runes - skulls predominating - and with delicate cascades of strung phalanges attached to his belt. His staff was intricately carved, the magic rippling through the patterns making it seem to seethe with life. Or, Heulwen presumed, un-life. He shook his head in obvious disgust, turning away from the merchants enough for her to see that the enchantments of the cowl effectively hid his face. Not even hid, really, as it was far more than basic shadow. No, it was rather that the magic made it seem as if what was inside the hood simply didn't exist. The void of absence stared at her.
He walked in her direction, that odd, uneven Forsaken gait making the phalanges clatter like dried wood. He was the Necromancer of a potboiler novel, every garment and adornment selected to strike fear into those who'd read such books...or was it? Heulwen's lips twisted into a little grin as he moved closer. Did he want to make the nervous fear him, or perhaps the more sophisticated to underestimate him, to dismiss him as a posing caricature? She had her money on the double bluff. Replacing the bracelet she'd been holding back on the rack, she nodded a greeting.
He stopped at her side, pushed the cowl back to let it fall to his shoulders, and gave a quick glance over the stall. He leaned in, close, with undeserved intimacy, yellowed grin on full display, "I know the feeling, H. You shop and you shop, and you just cant find a cock ring in your size."
She rolled her eyes. "Nice to see you too, Bones."
