open. fantasy au [★] FOR CENTURIES

[Keona.]

✯ — female. fae. blind. druid.

It was rather unfortunate that Keona could not fool anyone of her age.  The young fae was in her mid-teens, even though she appeared perhaps as young as twelve, much to her chagrin.  The misfortune of a long life span.  The tavern was a good a place as any to pick up work, but the druid stuck out like a sore thumb, even if her pointed ears were hidden beneath the mess of wild red curls.  Her pale sea-green eyes gleamed with angry determination.

Perhaps she was half-kender, as some joked.  Wanderlust was well know to be strong in the blood of the Faoláin family however, and Keona was not exception, even if her earliest years she had been split apart from said family.  No doubt her pirate father - and uncle - were running about somewhere.  Perhaps inside even.  It took every ounce of control not to shift into some other form, but Keona knew even then she'd likely not get in.  Her best shape was that of a wolf, and they weren't going to let a wolf into a tavern.

The girl would have looked more ranger than druid, due to her simple green clothes and cloak, if not for the gnarled staff in her pale golden brown hands, and the assortment of random flowers strung about in her crazy hair.  Whether or not the plants had been placed there, or had come about on their own was up to anyone's guess; Keona did not tend to pay attention.  Instead, she trained her ears towards the tavern, leaning against the wall, resigned to just listen for rumors until she could discreetly make a move or something truly interesting happened.

And it was still early.

code by spacexual

[Verdigris]

  [font=trebuchet ms]Percy, so far as he knew, was merely human. In a world of dragons, drow, and dwarves, some would argue that that put him at a disadvantage- but what he lacked in animal features, he made up for in adaptability. Being a rogue wasn't an especially glamorous or honorable job, but there was little one wasn't capable of doing with a stroke of cleverness and a little ingenuity, and rogues had both in generous supply.

  Frequenting this tavern, he’d heard from the grapevine, was a certain high-ranking individual who was known for being a bit too careless about flaunting their wealth. It wasn’t yet “happy hour,” as it was often dubbed by the lower classes, but getting there early would allow him to plan a better route. If he could map out his starting point, his mark, and his exit, he could accomplish the heist in a minute tops, assuming no unforeseen circumstances- and he’d be out of this town and on the way to the next in no time.

  As he passed by the fae, however, Percy halted and glanced back at her. What was a twelve-year-old doing near the tavern? Then again, perhaps he could make use of that. Taking off his black cloak, and removing four gray scarves from his bag, he silently passed them to the fae. He jerked a thumb towards the entrance and winked his blue eye at her, then casually walked in without so much as a glance at the guards.

  Once he entered, he maneuvered around the drunken guests and long-suffering hosts within, and stopped by the far wall. Leaning against it, he watched the entrance, waiting for the arrival of his mark.