by Fariday on Fri Mar 16, 2012 2:39 am
The Torian sat at his booth to the side, eyes scanning over a small journal filled with neatly scrawled notes. Sharp eyes looking up, he saw the woman toying with the pouch, and watched curiously. "You might be careful, Miss," he commented. "Thieves find such things irresistable targets."
The man was pale, long white hair tied back in a ponytail that hung to his lower back. Appearing maybe 23 in age, he sat straight, his toned body evident under his tunic and duster. Ebon wings, black as night but each feather tipped snowy white, were folded behind him. The pattern was akin to a starry night sky, or a snowy one.
Pure white eyes, devoid of pupils, examined her from his spot. The book and the small ice crystals he was levitating cast him for a mage, but his heavy greaves and the longsword about his waist spoke warrior.
Either was correct, but only if called with the other together.
Let the blood flow,
Let the tears fall,
Open your tired eyes
And realize that you're just too late.