Leon drifted through the crowd of mercenaries, a half-full silver wine cup in his hand that always seemed to dodge any attempt to refill it and an easy smile on his face that hid as much as the bronze mask at his hip did at times. His blue eyes scanned the faces and helmets all around him with interest. Lord Hastlon had gathered quite the menagerie of 'ne'er do wells' into his not so humble home tonight for his grand call for action. And grant it would be, for the Maskarrans to send one of their own to this particular masquerade.

[i]If only they weren't all so dreadfully boring,[/i] Leon thought to himself, even as he feigned an interest in the immaculately maintained armor of a human male that clearly thought themselves some dragon slaying knight out to find their princess. The man put on a brave face, recounting the story of their last adventure into some dreadful sewer and fighting off a wererat infestation. Leon kept an easy half-smile on his own face, nodding through the story, but also seeing the slight wince of pain in the other man's eyes. [i]You fought near the back of the group... and someone died. No, the pain is too recent. They were bitten. And so you freaked out and spent your life's savings on armor that will be stripped from your body ten minutes into Scardale...[/i]

"It is good to hear that I will be in the company of such heroes," Leon said, "hopefully your companions meet with similar success. Pardon me." 

And so he continued the dance, flitting from one group to the next, always looking for the true players of this game. The ones with skill, intelligence, money, and/or strength to draw his attention. There were a few faces in the crowd that he took note of, but none that seemed to trigger what he was looking for. That special blending of shadows, that whisper heard only in the darkest of alleyways, the touch of his god upon his shoulder. He learned names, let others brag of their talents, and even made a few simple offerings of his own services in exchange for appropriate payments. He had received two offers of employment so far, but had turned both offers down sensing that their idea of loyalty didn't quite match up with his own.

His patience was already beginning to wear thin after two different passes through the 'adventurers'. If necessary, he would carry out his temple's mission himself, but there was a nagging feeling in the back of his neck that he was missing something... someone. Muttering a prayer to Mask under his breath as he swung through the next group of fools, several people seemed to move in just the perfect way so that he caught sight of a lone figure that he had somehow been missing on his previous trips. An elven woman, possibly a half-elf since her skin was a little lighter than the wood elves he had seen in these parts, graced with curves that drew attention away from the telltale musculature of someone who performed acrobatics as part of their daily routine. She held the ethereal beauty most elves could lay claim to, but even Leon's brief look was able to see the intelligence that hid in those eyes. The shadows seemed to welcome her, and one of the first tenets of Mask's faithful came to his mind.

[i]Mask sees everything that happens in the dark. Trust the darkness, for those in the light are easy prey.[/i]

The crowd moved again and he lost sight of her, but he would remember her face. Even as Lord Hastlon began to call for attention, he couldn't help but throw subtle glances around, wondering if she was still lurking in the crowd somewhere.