Victory.
Held a distinct taste to the salty winds that drifted through Limsa Lominsa that evening. A palate of prismatic hues splashed across the horizon, where Azeyma’s kiss had yet set. Poised against a white-washed spire, a solitary figure took to admiring the view. One hand firmly clasped a Claw lodged deep into the cracked alabaster surface, while black boots planted firmly against the aged windowsill kept the rogue steady atop his favorite perch.
It’d been quite some time since he’d had a recent success to ponder, and did just that while a smirk toyed against warmly-tanned lips. “Idiots didn’t e’en know wot hit’m.†He muttered to himself, and his stubbed tail wriggled in delight. The operation overall had gone smoothly and without mishap, despite the unexpected early arrival of the Swiftsure and the small window of time available before she departed. The halfbreed’s smirk widened further upon recalling that astonished look of the contact he delivered the sapphires to, having plopped the small pouch into his hands and striding off. Simple, wordless, and with a souvenir to boot.
The fading light of the sunrise danced off the small diamond that the rogue had procured from his belt, and oceanic eyes peered at the many colors that danced off its translucent surface. “Yer a keeper.†He said to no one in particular, grinning wide at the stolen gem before slipping it back into his belt. A gaze was offered towards the colorful horizon once more, before he pulled out his other Claw and slowly climbed down the tall spire, with each moment of purchase provided by the long-bladed daggers. A special form of the popular weapon, designed by himself. Upon reaching the bottom, he jumped down and dusted himself off with another stub-tailed wriggle of amusement. “Time fer vittles.†Proclaimed he, as he stowed his Claws against his belt and sauntered off towards the Wench. Perhaps he might even meet a familiar face there. A face, come to think of it, that had not been seen in quite a while.
“Girlie bett’r be keepin’ outta trouble.†The halfbreed muttered, the smirk alighting once more upon his lips as he walked across one of the many wooden bridges that connected each cluster of spires that made up Limsa Lominsa. It was time for a good drink.
Held a distinct taste to the salty winds that drifted through Limsa Lominsa that evening. A palate of prismatic hues splashed across the horizon, where Azeyma’s kiss had yet set. Poised against a white-washed spire, a solitary figure took to admiring the view. One hand firmly clasped a Claw lodged deep into the cracked alabaster surface, while black boots planted firmly against the aged windowsill kept the rogue steady atop his favorite perch.
It’d been quite some time since he’d had a recent success to ponder, and did just that while a smirk toyed against warmly-tanned lips. “Idiots didn’t e’en know wot hit’m.†He muttered to himself, and his stubbed tail wriggled in delight. The operation overall had gone smoothly and without mishap, despite the unexpected early arrival of the Swiftsure and the small window of time available before she departed. The halfbreed’s smirk widened further upon recalling that astonished look of the contact he delivered the sapphires to, having plopped the small pouch into his hands and striding off. Simple, wordless, and with a souvenir to boot.
The fading light of the sunrise danced off the small diamond that the rogue had procured from his belt, and oceanic eyes peered at the many colors that danced off its translucent surface. “Yer a keeper.†He said to no one in particular, grinning wide at the stolen gem before slipping it back into his belt. A gaze was offered towards the colorful horizon once more, before he pulled out his other Claw and slowly climbed down the tall spire, with each moment of purchase provided by the long-bladed daggers. A special form of the popular weapon, designed by himself. Upon reaching the bottom, he jumped down and dusted himself off with another stub-tailed wriggle of amusement. “Time fer vittles.†Proclaimed he, as he stowed his Claws against his belt and sauntered off towards the Wench. Perhaps he might even meet a familiar face there. A face, come to think of it, that had not been seen in quite a while.
“Girlie bett’r be keepin’ outta trouble.†The halfbreed muttered, the smirk alighting once more upon his lips as he walked across one of the many wooden bridges that connected each cluster of spires that made up Limsa Lominsa. It was time for a good drink.
