"Wrong, all wrong." Eryx says to himself, staring down at a wanted poster. Looking back was a man remarkably like himself, only with a narrow chin, one of which he himself did not have. "I do not look like that, at least put credit where it's due..." He mutters, starting to gaze down the list. "Larceny, forgery, murder, ra- that lying- I've never raped anyone!"
Dust cloud, just over the edge of the paper.
"Show time then?" He ponders, leaning over on the railing. He was on the rooftop of a small store, overlooking the marketplace. Shimmering golden eyes moved across the crowds, looking for those few, the silly few that were so desperate to be incognito that they stood out.
It was hard to find areas of the city that he could get to, but he knew in a place so ripe with thieves, he'd be able to find it- eventually. The problem with just going to any shady tavern was bounty hunters, ones he didn't particularly care to have a run in with. One thing he did know, is that a public shipment of gems brought attention, and there was no way that someone wasn't going to try and hit it.
Black leather shaded the white hair it ran through as he pulled it back, clearing his vision. Of course there were people in hoods and cloaks moving about, but really, who dresses like that and moves in such a hurry? Time limit: caravan.
There, to his left, a girl had just ducked into this alleyway, he watched only for a moment as she headed off, cold feet maybe? This was a rather big hit, surely they at least have professionals... And, one just went into a haystack. He dropped his head for a moment, his clean white cloak falling over his arms. I'm sure it was just a fluke, maybe he will set it on fire, I've done that to scare horses...
Oh, the fighter is going in. He notes, watching the man grab a cloak. I suppose it might make their reaction hold for a second or two, but alone...? No, he's just there... He can't have a shield under there, he's likely goingnto be shot down. He was losing hope, the people he needed to talk to were apparently a few amateurs about to get shot. Mercenaries with a noble seal could kill anyone they found suspicious, and that man practically sacrificed himself.
"Should I go down?" He mutters to himself, weighing his options. Not all of these people looked to be fighters, let alone against the front guard, four men for a haul like that? Nonsense. They needed surprise, and at this rate they wouldn't have it.
Sigh
He places the steel plate of his glove to the railing as he moves to leap over it, if fighting was going to break out, perhaps he'd be able to stop someone from dying here. He rocks on the railing for a moment, still debating internally. His clothes were entirely white, aside from the black leather boots and base of his gloves, and he stood out like a sore thumb as he rocked above the citizens.
The slim, well built white figure growls a little as he finishes leaning forward, dropping down into the marketplace. He doesn't bother with his hood, though he does pull up a scarf that covers his mouth, splash guard, might have to hit someone in the face. He humms to himself, making sure his gloves are tight as he walks down the road, directly towards the caravan.
"Terribly sorry gents, my poor uncle thinks it's never too early to drink." He calls out, his eyes narrowing as he grows closer, looking to the hooded man, then to the caravan driver. His voice grows cold, he was trying to buy a few more seconds before the clearly improvised distraction got the man shot. "It's quite a bad habit, don't you think?"
