I think I am here.

23 minutes ago, Koloss17 said:

Clotho shuddered. Nicrobursting was dangerous, and was explosive. Who knows what would happen?

”Do you know a Nicroburst? I would want to know the risks involved, but at this point, it seems to be one of our only leads.”

Risks, again she was talking about risks. But at least she agreed.

"No, I don't know any," Tsyan said, his tone serious. "I have a coppermind of old connections, but there's no way in damnation you're getting me to open that."

He leant against a wall.

"I know where we can find one, though. Central markets, Oasis City -

Was he even allowed in Oasis anymore?

"- and some sections of the Mistwarrens, they're filled with cheap Scadrian investiture-for-sale. There'll be somebody who knows somebody who has a Nicroburst in their employ. Only thing is, the environment is not exactly... pristine."

He raised an eyebrow. Where was the woman who threatened him if he failed the job? He wanted that one.

"Sound good? Or too 'risky'?"

18 minutes ago, Koloss17 said:

"What do you propose we do?”

This woman. Tysan cursed, pacing back the way he came, again avoiding eye-contact with the portrait. They always looked like they were staring at you. Tysan didn't like being stared at.

"I proposed we go to Elendel," he said, which evidently wasn't happening. He looked to the lists of names. The crew leader - he was helpful for maybe finding Clotho's motive, but they already knew the motive now. Vengeance.

"Sometimes, they didn't tell me what my marks did," said Tysan, answering Clotho's rhetorical question. "For the high profile cases, they just tell you who you need to kill. The one job I got given personally by a Council member - it was like that. No explanation needed."

He turned to look at Clotho.

"And sometimes, we wouldn't even get a name or location. I had to assassinate a cult leader who was in Threnody... somewhere." Worst two months of his life. "So yes. You can say I have killed people without knowing their deeds or name. I haven't done much, but I've done that."

This was going nowhere. Pointless bickering. His heart still pumping with irritation, Tsyan wished he could pull a freight train into this conversation and end it. Not like he could. He needed -

He paused. Turned to Clotho.

"You ever been Nicrobursted before?" he asked. He had once, had almost broken every bone in his body because of it. But her...

"Gold is a spiritual metal," he continued. "You'd peer right into the spiritual realm if you did. That's got to give some sort of insight."

17 hours ago, Koloss17 said:

Clotho, cooling down a little, said 

“Unless you would like me to find a specialist in these matters, and have me introduce you to them, I doubt that visiting Scadrial is much of an option.”

Tsyan, Clotho's Manor, Mistkeep

None of this bothered Tsyan. He stood up, pacing the length of the room. He needed to stretch his legs. Storms, throw him fifty years into the past, the future, toss him into a new AlleyCity, he didn't care. There was nothing for him here. The only reason he didn't move planets was because he couldn't imagine being surrounded by idiots who weren't aware of the cosmere, let alone the Alleyverse.

"I know enough of 'this place'," he muttered, passing a portrait, avoiding its gaze. "I'm not an idiot."

So, no Elendel. That was a shame. Even ignoring its importance to their investigation, Elendel was a nice place - full of arrogant lords and businesspeople begging to be knocked down.

"There must be a way," he said. "Maybe I go to Elendel and report to you, or..."

No. He could get to the university, but wouldn't know what to look for without her.

"... or we find someone who can access that kind of information from here, bribe or threaten them..."

That was something. Irritation panged in his skull.

"You told me you had limitless expertise," he said. "Don't you have a self that got stuck on the way over here and became a Shadesmar expert? Or a scholar?"

He paused. I'm not helping by complaining, he thought.

"I'm not helping by complaining," he blurted, then cursed himself. He looked to Clotho.

"Look, Ms. Renoux," he said. "I know I'm not what you wanted. You wanted a different perspective. But aren't you..."

He gestured vaguely.

"Aren't you all different perspectives? I just think I can help you with more than that. Look, you're hunting something - or someone - down. I've been doing that my whole life."

He stopped rambling, unsure how to get to his point, if he even had a point at all. Storming nobles. Making you feel dumb.

3 hours ago, NerdyAarakocra said:

I'm looking to get back into Alleyverse. Could someone do something that would help me get KanDraa back into the RP?

We could use KanDraa's skills in the E6T3 thread, if you want. Right now we have Koloss17's chacter, a gold savant trying to recover her memory, hiring my character, an assassin who is woefully unprepared to help her :P.

So if Kan needs money or something to do, that's an option!

23 minutes ago, Koloss17 said:

"As for why I have come, I don’t know. My suspicion is that I was to avenge someone. In my alternate histories, someone almost always dies. I react differently, of course, and it is never consistently the same person. But death and my past seem to go hand in hand.”

It sounded morbid. But Tsyan supposed it had to be the truth. Death. Avenging someone. That meant someone had been killed. That meant...

"If you're suspicion is true," he said. "That means that either the person you're avenging, or the thing that killed them had ties to AlleyCity before you did, which is why you needed to come here."

He tilted his head to the side. "Have any of your younger selves been here? The Alleyverse? Maybe a self that got exposed to all this stuff before you did? We could figure out what was different about their life, and then maybe figure out what your connection to this blessed city is from there."

Hey! Turned out he wasn't so dumb when the conversation shifted to death. Tsyan's mind was also focusing on her answer about leaving the city. Risks, wasn't worth the risk.

"But don't you think leaving for Scadrial would sort all this out?" he pushed his reasoning. "It would be something concrete. Not just words. And you wouldn't be unsafe. You're hiring me, remember?"

He supposed maybe she didn't trust him enough - he had a sneaking suspicion she hadn't liked what he did to the butcher-shop manager - but, well, she had trusted him with her notes so far. And he was no criminal, storm it. He was an assassin.

23 hours ago, Koloss17 said:

"Has anything caught your eye?”

Surprisingly yes. While Clotho had been making her lists, Tysan had been scanning through the books, storing the pages in his copperminds, and trying to make some sort of logical connection. He doubted he could solve this logic puzzle the conventional way, with just these books. There had to be some other way. Some links to the real world. He hoped the lists would help with that.

"A few things," he said hesitantly, gesturing to the books. Whatever he found, she'd probably found already. "I was looking through the summaries of all your selves. Well, not all. Just some of the younger ones."

He pointed to a paragraph on a page he'd opened. Fortunately for him, these notes had been organised precisely. He could learn a thing or two about that. His copperminds were such a mess.

"Here it says you have a self that got... mixed up in the party scene of Elendel University. Now, maybe that means you never went to university at all in real life. But then here, you have another self which seems to be... talented scholar, graduating from EU. And another self that looks like it ran away from parents and didn't get a formal education."

He paused, then looked up at her. "Either way, there a few mentions of Elendel University. Either you went or you didn't go. We should go there and find out."

Big institutions were pretty tight-lipped about their records, weren't they? Hmm. He'd have to figure that out later, if Clotho thought the idea was worth pursuing.

"You've probably thought of it already," he said, looking down at the lists. He was hoping there would be someone Clotho remembered who might have a firmer link to her past.

He pointed to a crew leader's name.

"I know where he operates. Even if he doesn't know you in real life, he must still hire the same kinds of people. Worldhoppers. Newcomers to Alleycity. He would know the kinds of motivations they would have to arrive here. You were rich when you got here. It must take a specific type of person to be rich and still end up in the underground as a thief. Maybe he'll have an insight. If he's alive."

He tapped his fingers on the table again. "One things for sure. You're motivation definitely wasn't money. An object of power, then? Secret knowledge? Revenge? Love? Anything ring a bell?"

2 hours ago, Koloss17 said:

”I could certainly leave this place, and give up on whatever I care here to do, but something, in the back of my mind, knows that I need to be here. I just need to know why.” 

Tsyan nodded, kept nodding as he opened the first page of the first book she'd plunked down in front of him. One page of many. One book of many. And for what? To find a life-purpose you didn't even remember? At least it was a purpose. That was more than most people can say.

She had said she wanted a detective. Not a scholar. A detective.

"And after five years of these notes," he said, thinking. "You thought you'd hire a scholar to look over them again? To analyse the same way you analyse, except that they don't know nothing about you. Not nearly as much as you seem to..."

He gestured around vaguely.

"Know about yourself." He paused, playing with the first coppermind he'd taken out, the empty one.

"Leave me alone with these for a while," he told her, hoped she'd appreciate him playing her game before getting her to play his.

"But if you ask me what could help get results - make a list of people you think you remember in this city. Or... get your selves to, I don't know how it works. When I'm done here, I'll pay them a visit. Won't waste too much time."

He smiled. "I get around quick. And I can be persuasive... in the right situation."

38 minutes ago, Koloss17 said:

Fillfully erasing memories? She…couldn’t fathom why. Sure, neither seemed particularly helpful, but what if there was something useful there?

”Do what you wish. I do not think I am the one to tell you what to do with your own memories.”

Hmm. Not very helpful. Tsyan decided to hold off on erasing anything just yet. He glanced at the books she'd set down, each one big enough to have its own gravitational pull. And it wasn't everything, not by a longshot.

"The memories you remembered yourself," he said, picking up and book and moving it closer to him. "Seem like they'd be good for... certain uses. And the book of your other selves, good for figuring out your past."

Slowly though. It had to be process of elimination, right? A gold shadow showed you what didn't happen to you in your life.

At least, Tsyan was pretty sure of that. The last time he properly studied something, he'd probably been an underling in an oversized cloak.

He sighed. This was like hiring a whitespine to do your taxes.

He looked up at Clotho.

"You already know a lot. You know how you got here, some of your past life, your family. What exactly do you want me to find? All of your past? Every memory? Something specific?"

He turned back to the book. His knives were impatient weights on his hip. They wanted to be used.

"What I'm saying is, how will I know I accomplished the mission? It's not as black-and-white as killing somebody."

He looked to the two copper coins he was choosing between.

"And I'll erase them both," he said. "Who gives a rusting storm about New Hallendren economics, anyway? Like 98% of their trade is from glorified paints. And I'll need the space."

Tysan followed her into the den, trying not to make eye-contact with the large portraits across the walls. The sophisticated noblemen and noblewomen they depicted were probably long gone, dust on these furnishings. Not that there were many furnishings.

"So, that's a 'no' on whether you've visited the things you remembered?" Tysan asked. He supposed it may have been hard for a woman like her to get in some of the ... darker places. Well, maybe not, actually. She'd surprised him before.

Taking a seat and noting the carefully organised stationery, he wondered how someone could live like this for five years. The furniture wasn't bad, just... lonely-looking. His scrappy apartment on the poorer side of Smokestack was half the size and had twice the stuff. But then again, his apartment and everything in it was probably worth less than one of these bronze candles.

Storms, right now I'M worth less than a fancy candle.

He watched her get some books and his eyes widened.

"They're... all your notes?" He had some reading to do. "I may need more than one Coppermind."

Pouring a few of his copper coins over the desk and hoping she wouldn't mind, Tysan held out two, white notes written on their surface.

"Tell me," he asked. "Which one should I erase? This one has the agricultural economics of New Hallendren as of... okay, 13 years ago. Not exactly relevant. And this one..."

He held up a second one. "Is the complete archives of TruthSpikeTruth.org. Pretty sure they said everyone should be a drab... for some unspecified economic reason. I think they also believe uranium to be the 17th Allomantic metal?"

@Koloss17

Three streams of thought. Storms, Tsyan could barely keep track of his one stream of thought most of the time. And judging by the mess this city got itself into every few months, he doubted most other people could, either.

He listened closely to her system with her notes. It seemed... good. Methodical. Like it should've worked. But five years alone and only gaining that much info had to mean something could be improved. Somehow.

A walking logic puzzle, he thought.

"Like a walking lo-" he stopped himself, cursing internally. Was his impulse control really that poor?

"It would be helpful to go inside and see your journal," he said, though the idea of poring over notes nauseated him. "If you're not still shaky over a scream that wasn't even fatal."

Storms... a member of the Scholar's Guild really would have been more apt. Or would they?

"Do you ever act on your notes?" he asked. "Visited people you remember? Places? Talk to people you think know your family? Where is your family, for that matter?"

He supposed she wouldn't remember. Scratching his head with one hand, he dug deep in his pockets and took out a handful of copperminds in the other. They were in the from of vintage copper coins, and he laid them flat on his palm. Each had a white note attached to it with writing on it.

He took a copper coin without a note and held it in tight in his palm, dropping the rest in his pocket with a clink.

"I'm ready," he said, then grinned at her. "Don't worry, this one I'll make sure I won't throw away."

@Koloss17

19 hours ago, Koloss17 said:

"Look, I’ll give it to you simply. If you get results, you get paid. You try anything funny, I’ll make sure you regret it.”

Tysan was a bit taken aback by the sudden change in attitude. He supposed this was where he'd have to remember what she'd said. She'd never be what he expected. Nevertheless he nodded respectfully. He liked her more like this, when she deserved his respect.

"If you knew my previous employer," he said. "Then you'd know I wouldn't expect anything less. I've worked under those terms all my life."

Every assassination had mattered. Every missed target - a lost chance, and an advantage gained by rivals and enemies. Authority. His heart pumped with adrenaline just thinking about those days. He felt restless and primed - 

19 hours ago, Koloss17 said:

"Well then. Now that you know your job, let’s get to work. If you were to retrieve the lost memories of a gold savant, where would you start?”

- but first, the investigation. He titled his head and wondered if he had anything about gold savantism in his metalminds. Probably not. Then he wondered if that even mattered for now. Amnesia was amnesia, wasn't it?

"Well what do you remember?" Sounded like a stupid question, but - "I have to start from somewhere. Old interrogation technique. Once we have something, we branch out."

Something occurred to him. He knew he'd forgotten something.

"And where were you going today?" he asked. "Before I... made my entrance."

4 hours ago, Koloss17 said:

”I have tried, for years it seems, to retrieve my lost identity. However, it is clear that even with limitless expertise, I cannot unravel my past alone. I had hoped for a scholar, maybe a historian. Perhaps even an allomantic specialist. Though, a copper ferring might be of use.”

”Do you think you will be of any use, or are you a waste of coin?”

Waste of coin. Tysan scowled at the phrase alone. He'd done many things for his employers, but he was never a waste of coin. If the lady wanted a detective, she'd get one.

"So, that's why you focused on me being able to figure things out,"  Tysan said. "Instead of my other skills."

He wondered what "incredible ability" the lady got from her gold. She had mentioned "limitless expertise". What did that mean?

Could she...?

He dropped from the streetlight, pulling on it slightly to soften his fall. He walked towards Clotho.

"I think you'll find me more useful than a bookworm," he said. "Too much academia, theory... it muddles everything. I get results. I'm straight to the point."

He tapped one of the knives by his side, and winked at her.

"Besides, once you do remember your life, Ms. Renoux... maybe I can help you take care of a few things. A noblewoman must have enemies, after all. Even if she's forgotten their faces."

15 hours ago, Koloss17 said:

“The name is Clotho Renoux.” She said. “I’m a noblewoman from Scadrial and an augur. I’m not what you expect, and I never will be. Very few about me will be constant, but one thing is a certainty: I am the best Augur you will ever meet.”

Tsyan listened quietly, fascination all over his face. A gold misting. He knew they were a bit odd, but even with her answer, this woman was draped in more mystery than a Selish stage play. What did it even mean to be the "best Augur he'd ever met"?

He sat down on the streetlight, dangling his feet in the air. She said she'd never be what he expected. Well, her answer certainly hadn't been what he'd thought to hear from a lady like her.

"So, then, Ms. Renoux," he said, tilting his head to the side. Maybe working for this woman wouldn't be so boring after all. "What's my part in this? What exactly are you hiring me for?"

45 minutes ago, Koloss17 said:

A moment of confusion flashed through Clotho. She hid it immediately. This man was insane.

”Are you a rusting idiot? Did you not hear the scream? Did you cause it? Is there any reason in particular for it?”

The scream. Tsyan looked back over to the butcher-shop. A wave of irritation passed over him.

"What does the scream have to do with anything?" he asked. Babies screamed too.

"Look," he said, holding his hands up and not wanting to cause any misconceptions. He could see her thinking deeply and his heart began to race. She could cut his employment at any moment. Had it all been too good to be true?

 "I had history with that butcher-shop," he said slowly. "And I did what I do. That's who I am. Not ashamed of it. And if you're hiring me, I think it's important I know who you are, too. Dont want any surpises."

He had already found her impossible to read. Whoever she really was - the answer had to be good. He leant forward on the streetlight.

"So, who are you, lady?"

13 minutes ago, Koloss17 said:

"What in the Ascended Savior are you doing?”

@I think I am here.

Tsyan landed on a nearby streetlight with perfect dexterity, then perched and looked down at the woman. His smile faded. Why did she look so terrified? She'd even dropped a few coins. They lay still on the sidewalk, blue lines streaming from them to his chest.

"What?" he called down at her, confused. He looked back to the butcher-shop, then back to the woman.

"I bought some iron. Didn't take long. Isn't that what we discussed?"

He glanced towards her cane. Had she been ready to fight? The thought alone was enough to make Tsyan smile again.

1 hour ago, Koloss17 said:

Rolling her eyes, she pulled some boxings* out of her purse. Given that she had been away from the world for so long, she estimated what she thought would be about right. 

“This should buy you the vials you need, and then some. Just know that there is more where that came from, but only if you prove your worth in the task I need you to complete. Now go buy your vials; I have notes to write down.”

Tsyan took the boxings, stuffing them in his pockets. They were enough, more than enough, but he didn't comment on them. The woman had money.

He turned and walked in the direction of the butcher-shop, her words echoing in his skull. A task she needed him to compete. He remembered the odd tear that had fallen from her eye before she'd snapped back to her usual self.

Did she dislike hiring Tsyan? Was she emotional about giving her boxings? There were a hundred reasons for the tear, and Tsyan couldn't figure any of them out. He didn't care. He had money!

#

The manager of the butcher store met Tsyan with a cheeky smile.

"I saw you crash," he said. "You're not still looking to be hired, right? Policy's the same. No one to vouch, no -"

Tysan tossed a couple of boxings forward, anger boiling in him already. He didn't need the manager, didn't need any of these ants.

The manager caught the boxings and set them on a table behind him. The back wall was decorated with various steel hooks attached to chains, some small, some larger than a man's head. Most hooks had one cut of meat or another on them. Some hooks were empty.

"Iron," Tysan said. The manager turned his back for a moment, then came out with a few vials. Enough to last a while. He tossed them to Tsyan, who downed one and stored the rest in pouches by his side.

He burned iron. Life filled him. The blue lines burned back into existence. He smiled, adjusting his stance to brace himself.

"Now," said the manager, facing Tsyan. "Seems like you got a job after all. See? It's not that -"

Tysan flared iron, pulling on an empty hook behind the manager. It jerked from its spot and embedded itself in the manager's arm, causing him to scream and collapse. Tsyan didn't get why you would scream if the wound wasn't fatal.

He considered taking back his boxings, but he was no thief. He had his vials. Walking outside again, he pulled on a streetlight and shot himself in the air again, this time actually landing the Pull.

That's more like it.

6 hours ago, Koloss17 said:

"Well, I suppose I can give you a day or so to prove your worth. You’re hardly in top shape anyway.”

This is a bad idea

”I suppose iron must be acquired. Where do you get your vials?”

Tsyan ignored the patronising tone of the noblewoman. The realisation that he'd scored himself some money was more than enough to wash away his irritation for now.

He couldn't help it - he grinned at the noblewoman. She seemed conflicted again, and whatever he mentioned about his copper had worked. Hey now, maybe he was a better detective than he thought.

"Anywhere," he said quickly, but trying not to sound desperate. "Convenience stores. Metallurgist shops. Everyone sells vials on the side. It's iron, not atium."

A thought quirked him. Slowly he turned towards the butcher-shop a short distance away where he'd been rejected. He smiled. That manager would rue his days.

"That store's the closest. I... know the owner," he said to the woman. He looked at her up and down.

"And I'd like some advance pay. To make sure you're not leading me on. Drab clothes, empty manor. You're not exactly shining riches yourself."

He didn't doubt she had some money, but he had to reply about the comment about not being shape. Give him iron - and he would streak across the sky. His fingers twitched and he licked his lips just thinking about it.

1 hour ago, Koloss17 said:

“Unless you can give me something other than stating the obvious, I doubt your ‘skills’ will be any use to me.”

Tsyan stepped forward, irritation burning. How many more hoops did he need to jump through?

He tried to think.

She'd paused for a moment when he'd mentioned figuring things out. She'd looked conflicted earlier despite her strong demeanour. She carried herself like a true noblewoman despite living in a mansion alone for - did she say five years?

Put all that together and you got - what? There were better Ghostbloods for this kind of work than Tsyan, the types who buried their heads in books.

"You're desperate," he said uncertainly. "You have money, but you can't solve your problems with it. You're not a fake noblewoman, not a con artist. But you're not shocked I kill people. You're..."

Tysan cursed. The woman wasn't unreadable, she just seemed... contradictory. A paradox.

"... you're more than you look," he said finally, hating to admit he knew nothing else. He was no detective. Would searching his copperminds make a difference? The thought stopped him.

"I'm a coppper Ferring," he said, wanting to change the subject. "If you need someone to find things out, I got a good memory."

There were no other cards to play. Had this been another day, another battlefield, Tsyan would have shown this stuck-up chull the meaning of fear. But right now, the battlefield was the conversation, and he felt frustratingly outmatched.

1 hour ago, Koloss17 said:

”What type of job are you looking for?”

So there was a job available. Tsyan narrowed his eyes at the woman, searching her face, scouring for lies. For a moment, he sweared the noblewoman looked almost conflicted - but then the moment was gone and she was back to her signature look of superiority.

He was no beggar. But when even the local butcher-shop rejected you...

"What type of job are you hiring for?" he asked, pacing back and forth like an Axehound getting its first taste of blood. "I'm no house-servant, though. I won't cook your food and iron your clothes."

That had to be said. These nobles - they assumed anything of guys like Tsyan. He searched her face again for weakness he could exploit, but found nothing in her demeanour. She was good.

"I'm good with a dagger," he continued. "Good at killing things. Good at getting into difficult places." And he was better at all three with iron.

It was a sore reminder. He started getting agitated. He hated this situation, hated asking for a job, hated the look on the woman's face. If he delved into the mess of his copperminds he was sure he'd find more reasons to hate.

The woman had too much power over him. He needed to play a card from his hand. He stopped pacing.

"And I'm good at figuring things out," he said. "Like how I figured out you're all alone in that big mansion. No security."

He stopped talking, let the implication hang silently in the air.

5 hours ago, Koloss17 said:

"Listen here mister” She said, adopting a role she has gone into a million times. “You may have the rights to the skies, but you have no right to crash onto my doorstep.”

"Yes ma'am," Tsyan said, groaning and shakily standing to his feet. He'd dealt with superior officers, generals and - once - a Ghostblood council member, but surprisingly this older lady commanded more authority than any of them in those few short words.

Maybe he he was still dazed from the fall.

5 hours ago, Koloss17 said:

"Look, other than iron, what can I give you? I’m already running late, and you dying on my porch will not make things go any faster.”

No iron. Tsyan titled his head. Curious. So it wasn't just the exterior - her manor really didn't have any security. Typically, even if nobles hired a Thug or Coinshot, they still had some reserves. Something.

Again, his irritation flared, his heart quickened and he reached for his knife, but stopped himself. The lady had helped him. That had to count for something.

She asked what she could give him.

A job, thought Tsyan sourly.

"A job," he accidentally said out loud. Storms.

He backed away from the lady. Despite the pain, his steps were quick, precise, and firm. That was the training.  "Forget that. I'm no beggar," he growled at her.

2 hours ago, Koloss17 said:

"What’s your name sir? And what are you doing falling from the sky like that?”

Tsyan, Mistkeep, 919 Yomen Street

For the first few seconds Tsyan couldn't see or hear anything. The pain was all he could sense. Then, quickly, he forced himself back to reality, taking in a deep breath and numbing the pain. You never let pain get you down. What was pain? A feeling. Was he going to be put down by a storming feeling? No, sir.

He felt himself being placed into a sitting position and looked to an older woman helping him. He listened to her, while staring at the manor behind her.

What was he doing falling from the sky? "That's my right," Tysan said. "Divine right. You think the Lonely God gave us Lurchers the ability to fly without wanting us to use it? Scratches are just... par for the course."

He looked back to the woman, dressed in a creased brown dress. He looked back to the manor, devoid of any guards or orderlies, it seemed. Prime target. He could break in, score some iron, get enough money to pay rent this month, get -

- he stopped himself. He was an assassin, storm it. Not a gangster. He looked at the arm he had landed on, glad it wasn't serious enough to be a scar. He had enough scars already.

"Do you have iron?" he asked the woman, wishing she'd stop staring. "I'm Tsyan," he said, hoping giving his name would give her more incentive. He narrowed his eyes. She looked vaguely familiar, but he couldn't place her.

Tsyan, Mistkeep, 919 Yomen Street

"You've got to be kidding me," Tysan said, fingers itching for his knives.

"Sir, please understand that -"

"A letter of reference? You wanted hunters. I can hunt. I'm the letter of reference."

They were standing outside a locally-run butcher-shop, Tsyan and the young, stubborn manager he was arguing with. The place looked like it was coming part, one layer of paint at a time, and it stunk more than a Axehound's breath, but the only reason Tsyan was here was because, in bright and bold lettering, an EMPLOYMENT WANTED sign hung over the front door. Turns out, this butcher-shop sourced its own meat.

"We need at least one other person to vouch for -"

"Vouch? You want a Whitespine? I can get a Whitespine. Half an hour. Forests outside the city. I'll get you a Whitespine. He can vouch."

The manager looked confused.

"Because," Tsyan explained. "If I get you a Whitespine, that'll prove I can hunt. You sell Whitespine meat, don't you?"

"Yes," said the manager. "And Chasmfiend meat."

Only in AlleyCity, thought Tsyan. No wonder they were looking for hunters.

The manager kept his stance. No one to vouch, no job. Tsyan got so irritated he burned iron, and traced a blue line to the sign behind the manager. Subtly he took a step to the left, and the sign hung right behind the manager's skull. If Tsyan flared iron...

The sign shook, then flew off its spot towards the manager's head and -

- clattered to the floor.

The manager turned and knelt to pick up the sign. Tsyan sighed. He had killed people for money. Death by his hand had had value once. He wouldn't give it away for free, not for this rusthead.

And that job's gone now, he though sourly. The Ghostbloods were no more, replaced by the Mirrorshades. And Tsyan would go to damnation before he let his services go in the grubby hands of any of the two-bit gangsters and thieves in the streets. He wanted a job, storm it, and honest-to-Shard, legitimate form of employment, like killing people for the Ghostbloods had been. And now it was over.

While the manager fixed the sign, Tsyan grumbled and walked in the other direction. It was pointless. He ran, then Pulled on a streetlight and launched himself in the air. He maneuvered over the streetlight midair so that his chest wouldn't strike it, and then - 

- he was out of iron.

Storms, he thought. When had he forgotten about refilling his iron? This was shaping up to be a great morning indeed.

He crashed into the ground a few short paces from where he launched, right in front of an older woman and an even older manor.

@Koloss17

2 hours ago, Voidus said:

Happy to take Acrobatic Lurcher as a Major merit, would probably separate out the combat aspect to a normal one though (Eg. Unarmed fighting expert, marksman, fencer, etc.)

But you do have a normal merit to spare so happy to approve with that caveat.

Only question for this one is what is her House name?

But mechanically and backstory wise looks good, approved!

Thanks Voidus  All edited.

8 hours ago, Koloss17 said:

So will this be like a little micro character? How would ya post it to the character thread?

Hope my post in the character thread clears it up a bit. Just a normal character, but with the purpose of being someone who can act as a foil to yours. (I have to give props to the Era 6 character sheet, it’s great at getting you think more about your character’s story and depth).

2 hours ago, Koloss17 said:

 

That’ll totally work for me! Ideally they would do the murdering on Scadrial, then move to the Alleyverse. You’re free to concoct the exact details of it. My family characters are currently quite open ended. Ideally I’d know the details so that I can weave them into the memories that I create for my alternate characters. 

No problem . I haven’t made it too specific either, effectively hired by an enemy of the father, killed the father and then decided to kill the rest for any number of irrational reasons. Very quick and aggressive style. Eldest brother was tough and gave him a scar for his trouble, but was killed (can change this to survived/escaped if you want).

If you want any changes to how it went down, just say the word.