I always hate these little villages. Mako thought to himself with a slight frown as he hopped off the small cart and offered the old farmer a wave, his other hand coming up to flip him a coin.
That warning was exactly why he hated these places. Mako had grown up in a village like this one, small, insular. Every outsider was regarded as suspicious and anyone different was seen as a threat. If he'd had a choice he never would have made his way here, but the clues he'd stumbled upon in Alliria had practically screamed this towns name.
Ignoring, unfortunately, was not an option.
Not if he wanted to get rid of this fucking itching in the center of his back.
It was the first time in two years that he'd ever actually experienced anything from the tattoo. Radic had warned him about it, had told him the rules. If he ever felt it, a compulsion, a pain, anything, he had to follow it. Even if it broke a mission, even if it meant putting crewmembers(aside from Radic himself of course) in danger.
The Reckoners had to have their revenge.
In this case that vengeance would be wrought for a man named Charos Tremere. A man whose name had been enough to send a shiver through most Merchant Lord's spines. He had been a freelance enforcer of sorts, working for the highest bidder and putting his considerable muscle to whatever project he was pointed at.
Mako hadn't known him personally, but that didn't matter much. He had been the closest to Charos when he'd died, and that meant the task fell to him. At least for now.
He'd found only one clue on his fellow Reckoners body, a clue that had lead him here to this tiny little village. He couldn't imagine it was anything but a hide out, a way to escape and getaway from the retribution that was to come. Mako frowned for a moment, looking at the bloodied slip of paper that he'd kept in his coat pocket to remind himself of the name
It read simply; Erik Grayson.
Deft fingers folded the slip of paper and placed it back in his coat pocket, the rogue silently stepping towards the Inn has his blade clattered slightly on his back.
"You be careful now son, folk like you are considered bad luck in these villages."
That warning was exactly why he hated these places. Mako had grown up in a village like this one, small, insular. Every outsider was regarded as suspicious and anyone different was seen as a threat. If he'd had a choice he never would have made his way here, but the clues he'd stumbled upon in Alliria had practically screamed this towns name.
Ignoring, unfortunately, was not an option.
Not if he wanted to get rid of this fucking itching in the center of his back.
It was the first time in two years that he'd ever actually experienced anything from the tattoo. Radic had warned him about it, had told him the rules. If he ever felt it, a compulsion, a pain, anything, he had to follow it. Even if it broke a mission, even if it meant putting crewmembers(aside from Radic himself of course) in danger.
The Reckoners had to have their revenge.
In this case that vengeance would be wrought for a man named Charos Tremere. A man whose name had been enough to send a shiver through most Merchant Lord's spines. He had been a freelance enforcer of sorts, working for the highest bidder and putting his considerable muscle to whatever project he was pointed at.
Mako hadn't known him personally, but that didn't matter much. He had been the closest to Charos when he'd died, and that meant the task fell to him. At least for now.
He'd found only one clue on his fellow Reckoners body, a clue that had lead him here to this tiny little village. He couldn't imagine it was anything but a hide out, a way to escape and getaway from the retribution that was to come. Mako frowned for a moment, looking at the bloodied slip of paper that he'd kept in his coat pocket to remind himself of the name
It read simply; Erik Grayson.
Deft fingers folded the slip of paper and placed it back in his coat pocket, the rogue silently stepping towards the Inn has his blade clattered slightly on his back.