[Final Warrior]

He kept in the background of things, never forgetting that he had a contract to complete, and time really was of the essence. The bonus was well worth it. In the city, Talon disappeared into the crowd, moving through them like a fish through water, leaving behind a pouch of gold to pay the transit fee.

This was more of his element: a tightly packed crowd in a bustling city, where strange faces were more prevalent than the glint of gold. He wound his way through the city streets, down strange alleyways that were still oddly familiar to him. He noted deals and kept his eyes open for oppurtunities, though few presented themselves to him, mostly a stranger. That's what he always was... a stranger.

Finally, he arrived at a rundown home, flies flitting around outside. He drew his grey cloak closer around himself, an instinctive move to help keep himself disguised. Talon approached the building, the door looking sickly and rotted. He knocked on it thrice, mildly surprised that the door stood up to the light breeze, much less his knocks.

The door slowly creaked open, the smell of ash and filth assailing Talon's senses; he ignored it, and stepped through, one hand on the ancient goblet beneath the folds of his cloak and the other on one of the many blades he kept hidden on his person.