I put the 'ass' in 'assassin' @zanmyrdo - Tumblr Blog

sylvarvenren‌:

He couldn’t help it, the smile that spread across his face, both pleased and amused. He had been worried for a long moment that his spell-work might have been a little heavy handed. Dragging a half-lifeless person around town would have been sure to raise suspicions.

No, this was much better.

“Oh, I wouldn’t worry about it. I’ve heard that its a natural reaction to my presence.” He says, voice still wry with the amusement and endearment that shows on his face. “But one can never be too careful, can they? I believe it must be my duty as a concerned citizen to see you recover fully.”

He bites, for a moment, at the inside of his cheek. Thoughtful. It would be best to get them as far out of the way as possible, so that even if they snapped out of it, it would be hard for them to raise an alarm.

“Tell me, is there somewhere nice around here to get a drink? It might do you some good to sit down and gather your strength again in friendly company.”

They couldn’t possibly explain why they do it, why they step away from their paid post to move towards the smiling man, knowing how the Shimmer feels about deserters and failures, how they take to hired hands who step out of line, knowing that it means not only they won’t be paid for the job, but that they may not even make it out of Dalgren without some serious evasionary tactics. But they could think of several excuses off the top of their head, if asked: the Shimmer are barbaric, and the pay is dirt, not nearly enough for their significant talents; they’re bored and he’s handsome and it’s been too long since they let themself have fun; they really were feeling a bit woozy, and there’s nothing for the constitution like a strong drink.

These are not excuses Zan Myrdo would have made ordinarily. But they come easily to them, now, iin the movement of stepping away, of offering their arm to the man and beginning to lead him away.

“There’s a quiet tavern not too far,” they say, gesturing down the road with their free hand. “Just at the edge of where the shops begin again from here.” It doesn’t occur to them to ask what this man was doing in the abandoned areas of the city, lurking near well-guarded warehouses. It doesn’t occur to them to be suspicious, as if there were some block in place preventing it.

“But please-- forgive my rudeness. I haven’t yet asked your name.”

#( sylvar venren )#( port dalgren )

sylvarvenren

Location: The abandoned suburbs of Dalgren Mission: Distract the Guards. For: @zanmyrdo

There will be time to be nervous about this later, Sylvar thinks to himself, as he carefully observes the guard he will have to deal with. Now isn’t the time for feelings as frivolous as that. Confidence is key when it comes to pulling off a charm like he intends to. The spell-work is easy. Sylvar could charm a brick wall if he had to, but he knows how crucial it is that his spells stick and last in this particular case. The Gambit is depending on him, and he does so hate to let them down.

With his target locked in sight, he breathes out hushed incantations, fingers weaving a spell in front of him that settles over them, light as a feather and as warm as sunlight. He has faith that it will stick true, but all things such as this are best approached with a gentle hand and a beguiling smile.

Sylvar’s steps are calm when he makes his way into the view of the guard, close enough that an un-charmed person would have jumped into action. It’s natural to reach out and press a light hand to a shoulder, to gaze into warm eyes and turn on his own, less magical charms.

“You looked dizzy on your feet for a moment there, my friend. Is all well?”

zanmyrdo

There had been a wanted notice posted, looking for guards for this warehouse, when Zan had passed through Dalgren several weeks ago -- they’d ignored it at the time, hoping to find better short-term work more in line with their skillsets, but... well, needs must and so they’d returned a few days before to throw their hat in the ring and earn what tal they could. Given the nightshift, they’d reported every evening at sundown to patrol the area, and it had been entirely uneventful so far. Their daggers sat untouched at their waist, their fingers itching for a good fight, or at least a decent conversation, but neither had made its way to them so far.

Well-- not yet.

The sudden moment of disorientation takes them by surprise, like a cloth passing over their eyes until suddenly they are, just slightly, far-away, a dazed kind of distance between them and the world, just for a moment, that they can’t explain. And then there is someone in front of them, someone with a hand on their shoulder to steady them, someone smiling and looking at them from much closer than they’d realized, and they blink, and the haziness seems to pass.

“Ah--” they start, trying to find the words, but for a moment they find themself stunned again, this time not by whatever strangeness had passed over them, but by the graceful line of the man’s face, the way he looks at them through his long lashes as he looks up. “I, uh.”

They clear their throat, best they can, straightening up, and then nod. “Yes, yes, of course, just. Well, I’m not sure what came over me.”