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Message: <blockquote data-quote="Sparky" data-source="post: 1803242" data-attributes="member: 13681">Oliver sits quietly while this Kester fills their heads with his arcane and oblique ramblings. I knew a man like you once. He nods at the memory. He ended up with a dagger in the base of his skull. As the conversation winds down Oliver is no more or less convinced of Kester's trustworthiness. He nods at Raven's request, moving to flank the man should he accompany them, though he well suspects the man does not want to be seen by any of his certainly legion enemies. Oliver snorts at his inner dialogue, amused, and sniffs his runny nose loudly.  He retreats from the room memorizing the man's face, scrutinizing it, trying to pierce any disguise the man might have raised to conceal his identity. His focus is searing, rolling off him like the waves of a magic spell. An off-putting trick learned in the streets of Hedrogura, perfected in the Arena and ruthlessly wielded in the underbelly of Hedrogura's highest circles.  Hmmm... He follows the others silently, wrapping his cloak tight around his thin form tightly to help his shivering. He pauses the group to step inside the pungent dim of an Alchemist's store. He returns swiftly with a small paper envelope that he tucks inside his jacket. Eyes red-rimmed he urges the others on gruffly muttering about 'a tree full of owls.' At Gilter's shop Oliver runs his hands admiringly over the wares displayed. Nodding approvingly, "A fine stock."  Spotting a light, curved blade of exceptional balance and craftsmanship he notes the swirling and mottled bluish metal. He raises his eyebrows seeking permission, "May I?" He smiles as Gilter waves the large-lipped man to fetch the blade. Oliver holds it gingerly, flat across his palms "Where did you come by this?" ********* The old man chuckles at Shavah's dilemma. He wanders over to inspect the objects of her admiration. In low tones he asks, "How much short is your purse?" When her brows draw together, Oliver doesn't wait to find out if it's her oft seen temper or puzzlement, though his slightly raised hands indicate he expects that it will be the former, "You fight like a wildcat, young woman. Who am I to let a few coins get in the way?"</blockquote>

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