|Hometown||A stinking whorehouse in Antiva.|
|Residence||Antiva City, Antiva|
|Affiliation||The Antivan Crows send their regards.|
|Gear||Studded leather of Antivan make... except for the boots, sadly. The daggers are standard-issue Crow daggers, and they get the job done well enough.|
|Behind the Mask|
Some years ago, I was sent on a task for the Crows involving the assassination of a very wealthy, very pretty noblewoman. It was meant to be a simple job: get inside her manor using any means necessary and cut her throat or snap her neck or whatever gruesome thing you could think to do to end her life. And for the most part I had little trouble, as it turns out she took to elves very well and had absolutely no idea I was an assassin up until I pulled my blade.
That's when things got awkward. And hilarious. Funny how often those two mix, no?
She told the most cringe-worthy poem. I don't even want to repeat it here-- I just ate, after all.
Anyway, she tells me the poem, and it takes every fiber of my being not to laugh in her face. I have no idea if the woman was desperate or if she honestly thought it would work, but I decided to humor her.
The sex was alright enough. Nothing to write home about, certainly. I'd had much better, several times over, long before her. And even Taliesen was a seductive poetess by comparison.
Needless to say, after the tumble I gave her a kiss and a blade to the skull and was on my way. All in all a typical encounter, but the poem was amusing enough that the memory stuck.
An underwhelming story to be sure, but there it is!