Out of the Clear Black Sky [Angmor]

[Phaethe [Roi]]

"Well?! What'll it be?"
"Ummm---"
"Will it be one night or WHAT?"
"J-just the one. Night. Please. Thanks."

Raven clenched her fists nervously and scuffed the aged toe of her boot on the smooth wooden floor. There was no way she could bring herself to make the motion of raising her head to look the man square in the eye. It wasn't that she didn't know what he looked like, she had scoped him out when she'd entered what appeared to be the dirtiest(but hopefully the cheapest) tavern in all Uru'baen. Judging by his bulbous potbelly, this was a man who certainly hadn't missed a meal in the last ten years. But something about the bulk of this man's hairy arms and the twitching muscles in his trunk of a neck told her she's better be on her best behavior tonight. Not that Raven's behavior had ever been a problem, but it helped her composure to remind herself to be good.
Look at the man! Look at him, you coward!
She stopped moving, entirely.
Oh, THAT looks REAL normal. GREAT job, Raven!

"Fine," the big man grumbled, startling her back into motion with a subtle jump. His voice sounded impossible loud. She noticed the the other noises in the tavern for the first time since she'd walked up to the frighteningly large inn keep. He impatiently drummed his fingers on the counter of the bar.
You're wasting his time...
Before she could turn to leave, he spoke, or grumbled rather, again. "Anything to drink?" She could feel his black gaze on her forehead. She shook her head quickly and said 'no' so quietly she couldn't hear herself.

"Fine."

Wasting no time for further agonizing conversation, Raven turned around as gracefully as anyone could with their head down and shoulders tensed and half-walked, half-shuffled to a secluded table in the corner of the talkatively alive tavern. Slumping into an obnoxiously creaky chair, she tucked the stray locks of her wavy black hair behind her ears and rest her arms on the small round oak table in front of her.

Now, what do I do...?

Raven idly crossed her legs, not thankful for the sticky pull of leather, and tapped her foot nonchalantly.
Well, I'll stay here tonight, hopefully make it until morning. And then, tomorrow...
She stopped the thought from finishing, knowing there really wasn't anything for her to do now that she was back in he home town. Returning to Uru'baen was a last resort, living off twigs and roots for the past weeks in the woods had only gotten her close death and further from the adventure she desperately craved. So this was it. Rock bottom.

Look on the bright side; you're alive, uninjured, and this city is HUGE. There must be something for you here, you just have to find it.

Wishing she had accepted the drink offered to her earlier, Raven let her eyes wander about the room. Nothing exciting seemed to be happening. The room was full of people, dominantly males, and laughter along with conversation that made her ears burn just hearing buzzed through the air. A dimly lit fireplace crackled on the opposite side of the room, the only source of heat and, considering the cold, understandably the focal point for the rowdy patrons. Shivering ever so slightly she cast her gaze to a nearby window. Snow huddled on the windowpane like it, too, wanted to sit by the fireplace and wait for warmth to wash away all it's troubles. The street outside was surprisingly busy, the people looked like walking shadows in the obsidian darkness of the night. Dead, walking, shadows.

It sure is great to be home...

[Angmor]

As anyone could tell, the streets of Uru-baen could be miserable places.
Niar clenched his thin cloak even more tightly about himself, his teeth chattering uncontrollably in frigid weather. Moving slightly in order to keep the blood circulating through his numbed joints, he reflected that this was the worst possible time of year for the people with his job. As with most of his Uru-baen assignments, his cover was the look of one of the huge number of homeless waifs who made the lower streets and alleyways -and occasionally sewers- their home. While it worked very well as a cover, after all, no one noticed something that was absolutely everywhere, but it of course meant that he had to wear old, tattered clothing that was far inadequate at keeping out the winter chill. He had been watching this particular inn and pub for two weeks, and almost every day had either filled his hiding spot with snow or soaked him with a fine drizzling rain, making the entire time an interminable exercise in wet and cold. And yet, he reminded himself, when you were lucky simply to be alive, you couldn't exactly complain about the conditions.
Making up his mind yet again to ignore his discomfort, he squared his shoulders and concentrated on the mission.

From an operation standpoint, it had been pretty simple. Imperial Intel had long been on the trail of a small yet effective ring of the Varden underground, responsible for the ambush of many groups of imperial soldiers, some of them actually within the city walls, thus denting the idea of invincibility that the imperial army tried so hard to cultivate with its citizens. After a lengthy investigation, Intel had finally found a possible link between the attacks and a local textile worker named Pym Deerborn; forty-six years of age, widower, one son. From there, it was simply matter of keeping a very close eye on the honorable Mr. Deerborn, and since Niar was lately back from an assignment behind the borders of Surda, he was conveniently available, as well as expendable enough that they could blame him and cover their backsides if it turned out they had the wrong man. Cruel it was, but Niar was used to it.

And so, after about a two and a half weeks of following the man, and occasionally the son wherever they went, a pattern began to emerge. Eight times over the course of his surveilence, Deerborn had entered this very inn at about an hour before sunset, then he and several others -twelve men and one woman- until long after the common room was closed. This might not have been suspicious if they were all guests, but none of them stayed inside the place all night, leaving in ones and twos over the period of an hour. On the second such incident, Niar had managed to creep silently around and peek into window of the back room, seeing eight men and one woman seated in a circle, their body language indicating they were discussing something, although he was unable to make out what was said. In the face of a discovery of what was certainly the ring's meeting place, Intel's reaction was typical: orders to get eyes on the place with the objective of setting up a raid.

And so, here he was, in the mouth of an alleyway across the cobbled street from the inn, watching the place empty steadily out as the barkeep and his assistant closed up.
Supressing a sneeze, he tallied the faces he say filtering through the door against those that he had seen go in. There was... Yes, all members of the underground were still inside as he heard the bar slam down, plus a few extra. He had hoped that they would not be, but had little reason to think it woud happen that way. He shook his head. It was too bad. Give a group a few unoposed success, and even the best ones got careless. Which, within the Empire, meant a faily quick death. And now, it was time for the hammer to fall.
Closing his eyes, Niar reached out with his mind as his father had taught him all those years ago. Almost like a second sight, he could immediately sense the souls of the people inside the buildings all around him, the simple, indestinct emotions of the horses stabled behind the inn, all the unseen life of this horrible city. with a sigh, he narrowed the range, latching onto the familiar mind of Kayf, the imperial mage who waited with the four squads of soldiers who waited in a commandeered weavers shop at the end of the street, their weapons and armor padded with cloth so that they could move quietly through the dark.
Ah, there you are boy. Are we good to go?

[/Color]
Niar made one last sweep with his eyes before answering, wishing he had some way of prolonging the inevitable signal, but there was none. As usual, he was trapped.
We're clear. All of the suspects are inside.[/Color]
Right. You sound bothered Niar, is something wrong?[/color]
Ah yes, that was Kayf all over, taking the opportunity to bait and torment him. He had been thinking about the people inside who were not traitors to the Empire, the simple, law-abiding citizens who were simply renting a room for the night. All would be arrested regardless, and the Empire didn't take much care in making sure that they always got the right men.
There's nothing Kayf. Just start moving and let's get this over with.[/Color]
Before the mage could say anything more, he severed the connection. Still shivering, he stood up for th first time in hours. Checking to make sure the street on either side was still clear, he crouched low and started his sprint across the road, heading toward the opposite alley that would take him to his preassigned spot at the back of the inn. [/size][/Blockquote]