@theblackwarden
The messenger’s advance was far from concealed. The foot of his cane struck the cobblestone floor in hurried succession, a repeating noise which hardly rose over distant howls, barely louder than the crackling pyres in the plaza nearby, but certainly enough for the man at the opposite end of the alley to hear. Lengthy legs allowed his stride to close most of the distance in not too much time, but his pace didn’t quite warrant the adrenaline of a faster, athletic hunter rushing with unnatural vigor. No, his was a closer match for a bikeless postman making an urgent delivery somewhere downtown- hurried, but restrained enough to walk another ten long streets.
“Excuse me, sir.” Cayin called, but not before he stopped in his tracks a generous distance away from his receiver, hands resting over the curved handle of the stick. Now he saw for himself what others had spoken of: someone who towered over even his own characteristic height, and not an inch of that difference was spared, for this one stood in a firm stance that suited the authority he allegedly possessed. So finely dressed, too, adorned either for his position or his merits, but what of the mask? What did it remind the envoy of: a brigand? An executioner? Something somewhere inbetween that fueled his interest further, though his countenance only displayed a glimpse of satisfaction.
“You must be the one they call ‘the warden’, yes? I was told to look for you. They say, that you’re bringing law back to this wretched city.” Cayin’s own posture straightened that little bit further, not in an attempt to close in on the other’s height, but to display respect in the face of a vaguely militaristic figure. “I come to report on my latest discovery, good sir. A church rat, hiding and scheming from its lair.”
