Eight Intertwined

26 - Therion

Bolderfall was the largest town in its general area, a bustling home of activity from all types of people. The tavern of the multi-layered Cliftlands city reflected this, and people were constantly talking and engaging in whatever business it was that had brought them to such a location in the first place. It was easy to slip through the town undetected, and luckily for Therion, that was just what he was hoping for. 

Therion's clothing was purple and caught somewhere between elaborate and understated, ripped apart in some places and all too neat in others. His white hair fell over one eye, casting half of his face in ominous shadow. His visible eye was a green color, both too bright and oddly dull at the same time. All eyes at the tavern glossed over him because people were unaware of who he was, and that was part of his reason in coming to the town in the first place. 

He had been to Bolderfall more than a few times, enough to the point that when he approached the barkeep waiting behind the counter at the back wall of the tavern, he barely had to speak to get his point across. "The usual," Therion said simply as he slid into the one available seat at the bar. He was surrounded by people on either side, and while that was far from ideal, it wasn't as if he had a choice in the matter. Off to his left, there was a pair of people that were chattering with one another to the point of forgetting that the rest of the world was there. Therion resisted the urge to roll his eyes until they fell free of his skull. 

The barkeep simply nodded in response and got to work. He popped the cork off of a bottle and poured the mead out into a cup before setting it down. He put the cap back on the bottle and slid it back into its position on the countertop. From there, all he had to do was pass it across the counter to where Therion was waiting. "As ye like it," the barkeep said simply, his voice laced with a notable Cliftlands common accent. 

Therion lifted the glass to his lips, closing his eyes as he did so. One good thing about a busy tavern was that it made it easy to find out more about the rest of the world. All one had to do was just listen, and from there, it would be just a matter of time before something interesting surfaced among the cacophony. Information shared by accident fueled Therion's work, and listening was the most important thing that someone like him could do. 

Unfortunately, the words that reached his ears did not tell of anything interesting. The obnoxious pair of men off to his left hadn't learned what tavern courtesy was, and they didn't seem to care in the slightest that they were being almost obnoxiously loud in fueling their own conversation. "I 'eard that thief's at it again," one of them, the one closer to Therion, told his companion. He took a mighty swig of his own drink before setting the mug back down on the bar. 

Therion could tell immediately that this man was a thief himself, and he pretended that he wasn't smirking as he took another drink from his glass. The companion of the thief responded as he did so. "Really? What's he done this time?" he asked, his strong accent only barely contested in power by the heavy drawl of his companion. 

"Lifted everythin' off a merchant leavin' the goldsmithy," the first man responded. "Guess he didn't get his fill at that fancy manor the other day. Still can't believe he made it past all those guards. I'm sure the more the better for 'im."

Therion just presented yet another thin smile into his glass. The guards at that manor could hardly be called such, instead seeming more like harmless decorations or mannequins of some kind. Then again, he supposed that when a thief had as much skill as he did, it was easy to breeze through whatever challenges presented themselves. Therion's many years of stealing had paid off, and he could do as he so pleased anywhere in Orsterra. There were few places that were able to escape his sticky fingers, and he wouldn't have had it any other way. 

After all, Therion had to look after himself above all else. That was what it meant to be a thief when push came to shove. He hadn't exactly chosen this lifestyle, but he had mastered it regardless. Everything was all too easy for him in terms of theft, though he certainly wasn't complaining. It allowed him to assert his dominance across the continent as the mysterious shadow of a thief that nobody could catch more than an empty glimpse of when he showed a rare display of carelessness. Oftentimes, it was more of him allowing people to see the traces he left behind to fuel the legends that had spread far and wide about him though. Perhaps it fueled some twisted sense of satisfaction for him, though he wasn't about to protest it.