There's still blood on the wind, Mastemyr thought under the awning of the job board, craning his neck until it popped and he groaned in relief. A great yawn followed and he stabbed the bottom of his shield into the softened dirt, settling against the wall as he busied his fingers with the task of stringing his longbow. Made of purple heart and yew, it was a powerful weapon, appreciated most in an effort to bring food upon the table, and the Mortalborn looked to the skies and considered his posting.
Behind him, now masked behind the width of his shoulders, it read clearly thanks to the help of an old friend:
In search of hunting partner. Male or female. Hides and meat to be split evenly unless dueled for. Prey to be decided together, must meet at dawn, 13 Fall 718.
- Kai
But would anyone meet him? Mastemyr had been a long term resident in the city, but he knew the rumors surrounding his mental and physical oddities. Some thought him a mage - as if he would ever become one of them - he'd rather be a monster - the thought made him wrinkle his nose in distaste, deft hands finishing his task to sling the bow over his shoulder and count the arrows in his quiver. Around him the city still slept, but a few residents were beginning to creep from the safety of their adobe homes, carrying pitchers to fetch morning water or hang clothes out to dry. He met their eyes and lifted a hand in acknowledgment, receiving a few waves in return. Somewhere, maybe still wrapped in a blanket, the shrill cry of an infant reverberated, followed by the sound of eastern windows opening. Could the rising sun chase away the dangers of the day?
Mastemyr began to pick specks of dirt from his nails, muttering the familiar prayer in Ancient - the tongue of his father. The tongue of the Gods. "Good morning, Day Bringer." He was getting restless and inhaled deeply, crouching beside his shield. Upon its face, and perhaps his favorite possession, was the metal carving of a roaring lion, a gift from his first wife many years ago. She had perished, leaving behind the workings of her craft to be scattered across the world. As an Immortal, he wished to collect them, but that fantasy had ceased to exist. He still had his shield and that was enough. It looked outward at any stirring figures, made more real by the sly man perched beside it; a true relic unto itself.
Someone approached and he watched, golden cat eyes glowing in the dim light.