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Message: <blockquote data-quote="Isida Kep'Tukari" data-source="post: 2282668" data-attributes="member: 4441">Sebak looked at the Unicorn Run with mingled anticipation and reluctance.  How he had ended up here again was beyond his knowledge.  Just north of here lay the abode of the only person who had seen past his numerous masks, past his deceptions and lies, and had seen the one within.  It frightened him, even though he enjoyed being with Rodel.  She was kind, she cared for him without reservations, she was not afraid of him.  Even so, she made him uneasy.  Being around her was like living with his skin off, exhilarating and painful at the same time.  He knew he should stop and see her, he promised he would.Damnit!  I will not be afraid of a blind woman! he snarled at himself.  Kicking his horse back into walking again, he paused at the edge of the woods and looked down into the tiny town below.  He was still two days' ride from Secomber, and he didn't care to break out precious gold and silver for the sub-standard quality inns of these little country towns.  At least I can prove I'm not losing going soft, whether or not I'm returning to see Rodel, he decided, and delved into his horse's saddlebags.Most people expected the worst from someone like him, considering what he was.  One look at his red eyes and six-fingered hands and people had him pegged as a thief or killer.  Not that he hadn't been both before, but he was far more elegant than that.  He was an accomplished liar, a smooth deceiver, and with a little care, even his heritage could be concealed.  He couldn't quite pose as a beggar if he wanted to believably keep his horse, but he could look far less prosperous than normal.  His Mulan heritage gave him sallow skin, which this far north and west could look sickly instead of normal.  Dust rubbed into his horse's coat made the beast look far less valuable and healthy.  Sebak exchanged his red and black finery for worn and tattered traveler's clothes, including a broad-brimed hat.  Bandages with spots of dried blood he tied tightly around his hands to make them look wounded, and drops of belladona made his eyes large and dark, instead of red.  Dust and grease in his hair made it dark brown instead of black, and a shift in posture made him look weary and down on his luck.Riding into town, he managed a pitiful performance for the innkeeper that he was a poor tradesman, wounded by wolves, tired and sore, and desperately needing charity to survive.  A dash of copper offered from a nearly-flat purse was turned away, and stew and a room were given to the "poor lad."  He "gratefully" left behind a few copper coins the next morning, so that they would remember him as being polite, and he rode out with the dawn.  Better three copper than five silver, as he often said, and being a down-on-his-luck tradesman granted him food, quiet, and a warm bed with no questions asked, particularly from pretty wenches and sympathetic matrons.Satisfied that his skills were still sharp, he rode into Secomber with less foreboding than two days ago.  He dropped the bandages and skipped the belladonna, though he kept a concealing cloak and hat on.  Sooner than he liked, he found himself at Rodel's door.  Almost he road away, just to prove that he could if he wanted to, and finally settled for walking backward around the house.  There, he could be contrary if he chose to.  Feeling better about himself, he tugged his hat low and knocked on her door.</blockquote>

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