In all of his 24 years, Mozan had never witnessed the culmination of an event this beautiful. The plan, distraction, and execution were flawless in their structure and completion. His team worked in tandem as if sharing one individual psyche, and all of the careful planning and anxiety had finally looked as though it was about to pay off. Mozan had gathered a team of like-minded individuals who were looking to earn an extra few pieces of gold, and orchestrated the perfect crime. They infiltrated the Cralldor Estate in the midst of a massive gathering of nobleman. They were about to be some of the richest men in all of Uliar. Or at least they would have been if the rogue hadn’t rolled out of his bed with an alarmed screech as one of his lovely neighbors kicked a chair into the wall. He squirmed on the floor for a brief moment before he kicked the blankets off of his body and rose to his feet.
‘To have a dream like that conclude in such a startling manner is the epitome of all irritation.’ Mozan thought to himself as he slowly crawled back into the comfort of his bed. Another ending would be much more gratifying to his mind, body, and soul. However, he quickly realized that he would never find his lazy dreams for as long as his neighbor continued slapping furniture around their side of the wall. He heaved a heavy and dramatic sigh before rolling out of his bed into a push-up position, and began his morning routine. After doing a few pushups, he proceeded to stretch and contort in a variety of directions to loosen his joints and prepare his musculature for the limber dexterity necessary for his profession of choice. It was at that moment that he began to mutter a lengthy series of obscenities and complaints about the situation he had found himself in. He was a new recruit of The Silver Leaves, the prestigious and well-respected mercenary company responsible for slaying beasties and doing generally anything for the right amount of gold. Most would think a man like Mozan comfortable in his situation; everyone had a like minded goal here. Coin, blood, and glory. However, it simply meant he’d have to work himself three times as hard if he wished to build the skills and reputation necessary for his goals to become reality. There were simply too many others around to lunge for the spotlight, and Mozan simply could not have that.
Mozan continued brooding through the length of his hour-long morning workout after walking outside, then resigned himself to tidying up his section of the barracks. Within ten minutes, he had the place completely spotless and looking professional and orderly. He sighed and ran his fingers through his thick black locks before submerging his head in a basin of water and splashing water along the length of his body. He scrubbed himself off to the best of his lazy ability before shaving his face, combing out his hair and dumping his night soil out the window into a drain for such purposes. After doing so, he reached into a nearby set of shelves and withdrew his clothing for the day. His clothes were utilitarian and comfortable; a white tunic of cotton with the sleeves ending at the elbows alongside a well worn leather vest containing a plethora of pouches and pockets inside and out. He wore a simple pair of loose fitting brown cotton trousers and a belt of leather, and the ensemble ended at wool socks of a navy color and worn brown leather boots. Dressed and ready for anything, Mozan took ten more minutes to sharpen and oil his swords before gathering his tool pouches and attaching them to his belt. Alongside his blades. Now it was time for some breakfast.
Mozan navigated the streets at a slow pace as he advanced toward the castle, and made sure to make small talk with a few of the other Silver Leaves and gaze at the artwork and architecture of the bustling village outside of the castle’s walls. He began to walk a bit quicker as he felt his stomach grumbling at his pace in disagreement, and eventually he found himself at the gates of the fortress. He snapped his eyes back and forth at the words engraved upon the structure, and pondered his own purpose as he was admitted into the courtyard. He paused to watch several of his fellow recruits spar with the veterans, and began quickly reevaluating his combat strategies as he watched their elegant and masterful use of fist, sword, and bow alike. He decided to explore the castle a bit further, and admired the craftsmanship of the fortress from every angle he could possibly find. Everything was cut with care and precision only dwarven artisans could perfect, and Mozan began to feel that his stay with the Silver Leaves might not be so stressful after all. As he continued his aimless wander around the castle, he eventually made his way down into The Inner Sanctum. Though Mozan was not a particularly religious individual, he had respect for the infinites. He spent time pledging fealty to each individual deity by joining each of the priests in prayer before lighting a stick of incense and placing it on the shrine. After reflecting for a moment, Mozan rose to his feet and proceeded back up to the surface, and toward the mess hall.
The pungent fragrance of meat and bread made the rogue’s stomach scream at him in lustful anticipation of the meal to come, and Mozan wasted no time in filling his plate with bread, eggs, meat and fruit. He filled a large goblet with wine before tasting it and assessing its quality, then strode through the mob of mercenaries in an attempt to find somewhere to sit. He saw a few familiar faces such as Iano the flamboyant Tindra, but instead of finding a place next to a familiar face he chose to break his fast with a duo of extremely egotistical dwarves and a quite peculiar looking woman. The dwarves mentioned something about necromancy and Mozan eyed the woman with wary respect. Most kept them at arm’s length, and were justified in doing so for the most part. But Mozan had never quite formed an opinion on the touchy subject. Though before he could ponder on her presence further, one of the dwarves boasted about throwing an axe a hundred feet into a church before making it ricochet into his target’s skull. He tried, oh he did, but Mozan could not help but attempt to top his exaggerating compatriot next to him.
“Oh, that’s nothing.” Mozan said as he placed his elbows on the table. He paused to take a sip of his wine before clearing his throat, and then resumed speaking. “I once threw my sword off a cliff , only for the wind ta’ blow it straight back up the Cliffside inta’ a bandit standing in its path. The damned thing has a mind of its own, I tell ya’.” He patted the hilt of the bastard sword at his side with appreciation for a moment before tipping an imaginary hat at the dwarves sitting at the table. “A pleasure, gentlemen. And lady.” He added as an afterthought before beginning to chow down on the food in front of him. “To whom do I have the pleasure of fasting with on this fine morning?” His tone remained playful and jovial from the moment he sat down at the table. No, he had a feeling that he would get by just fine around here.