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[Nh'bdy]

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His plate gleamed and sang as he stalked the streets of Britain, sending the mid-morning sun from whence it had come. The perfectly groomed soldier moved Southward in the city, his plate spoke of long hours spent by candle-light. His sash told all who were aware that he was a trusted ally and possible relation of the Late Lord Blackthorn, a Partisan even. His well groomed stroll spoke of his personal commitment to his work, and the limp, the limp spoke of combat, or so one would assume.

Hazel eyes surveyed his surroundings, spotting a currier bolt from the door, the plate-helm withheld his comment of victory. As the plate-mail outfitted man surveyed the small scribe's business, he barely noticed a second currier impact directly with him.

His eyes shot to the boy, the boy muttered an apology and pulled away quickly, tugging his load closer. Turning back, he entered, show time.

He barged into the frantic sound of hurried writing, pressing through some idle conversation he spotted the table. Ponderous that you could find a man and kill him easier than one could find some words. Well, important ones at least.

Strolling over idly to a half way that hid the man's desk, he threw one leg over, then used the moment to carry him over, ducking behind the half wall quickly, removing his helm and preparing for some quick edits!

Spring back up, he spotted his quarry spread across the table, glancing back to the front he quickly rolled it up and stashed it, bending back down to quickly search a smaller pile of works pilfering one, then another, taking the last and spreading it where the former was located, idly knocking over the ink well, ruining it, as he leaned down to retrieve his helm.

Tucking his findings into his armor, he ducked under the clerk's bar-door and strolled out the door again, a voice behind him called;

"Hey..which one of you has been using me-OOH HE-

The portal to the building passed him, and with that the sounds of the day filled the helm, coupled only with a muttered appology, and an idle muse.

"I wonder how this Casca treats failure..I hope that man is a bachelor..
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Work in Progress.
"What do you call a fish with four legs? A stool pidgeon! Bwuagh bwuagh bwuagh bwguagh!"
~Malorn