Quoted By:
Your dark violet skin that's not covered by the long black cloak, glistens in the dark with sweat. That's the reason for the respectful distance between you and the camp that you have been circling for the past half an hour, looking for a weak spot leading to the fancy tent in the middle. Long legs traverse silently the dark terrain with great leaping jumps. You pick a spot for infiltration. You close in the distance, huddled in the dark cloak, eyes closed - might be too reflective for torch light. You crawl under a wagon. A guardsman passed by on his route and you begin to shadow him, stealth is in your nature making it an easy feat. You reach the garden of tents and start hoping from one to another with one jump to their shadowy side.
Finally you reach the fancy tent that you take as the one owned by the leader of these deplorable creatures; you create your own entry to it with a silent slash of your obsidian dagger. You slide in on all fours. The first thing that you notice is the smell of fruits, then the smell of burning sesame oil presented as an offering to Mythra, the supreme human god of discipline, courage and war. Finally there was the calming smell of cleanliness, the antithesis for which stands on your back, the raggedy damp cloak has an almost vulgar smell to it after weeks of hardship in the wild.
<span class="mu-i">That's enough for one night, sergeant... </span> you barely hear a voice coming from outside and soon the official entry of the tent is open for a young man to come in. He is almost too young, however his armaments and insignia confirm that he is the one in charge. <span class="mu-i">Nobility</span> you chuckle to yourself.
You concentrate... can't pickup his thoughts... the color of his aura is positive... tends to be emotionally volatile... Suddenly you recognize his face, you have witnessed him killing your kin back in the abandoned fortress where your elven did their last organized stand.
Your big yellow eyes are like two wide open suns burning together with the candle light, the youngling captain sees you laying on the floor, your limbs spread like a gecko.
You decide to
>you are angry, rush him with killing intent, he lived by the sword he shall die by it
>surrender, drop the obsidian dagger and slowly rise, displaying no ill will
>tell him to sit down with calm voice, close the distance, assert dominant position
>write-in
roll dice+1d10
