Deeply hidden away in the dark shadows of the arches stood a meanlooking little goblin. He was dressed in black, a tuxedo so tightly fitting it seemed to be sewed onto his body. Within his hands he had several cards, and his limber fingers seemed faster than lightening as he played with the cards, throwing them high up in the air and flipping them over in a speed almost impossible to watch it with the humaneye. His eyes flicked up to the undead, watching carefully how the forsaken man lighted his cigarette with ease and smoke was curling out of his mouth. It was a rarity to see people smoking around these parts, only the rich and powerful were able to carry the smokesticks around them at all times. But the smooth, slender version of the undead was something the goblin hadn't seen before, and with that sight he smelled money, a customer that could be profitable if he was the one to bring them in.<br/><br/>Though something about them held him back, the female troll and the elf looked way to good to be wandering around the murderrow. In his eyes the trolles was either unknown about her faith if she walked trough the arches, or tired of life. His eyes burned of eerie green, the only ray of sunlight now shining a streak over his face, making only his eyes and the top of his golden earring visible from the dark shadows. He let his gaze wonder over her body, she was certainly slim, and slender hips were very uncommon for an exotic creature as an troll. Especially her lack of breasts was peculair, and he couldn't decide what would be more profitable. Drag a new woman in, although she was a very strange looking example, it could have some nice profit over it. You never know, some creeps even liked the idea of an androgyn looking female gagged and bound for their every desire...<br/><br/>Or... He could take the undead into his trust, but that would mean he was forced to either make him understand the troll wasn't welcome... But the undead had potential, a certain flair about his clothes, his wares and appearance was enough for Razr to understand this man could have some serious money.<br/><br/>And there was the elf.. A certain soldier, clean, cut and known amongst these parts of Silvermoon. Oh yes Razr had heard about the hardworking Lennendi family. He was the last one standing from a name that went far back into history, but with no family fortune left whatsoever... It was a riddle to Razr what a guy so pure of heart, even an priest, like him was doing in front of the entrance of Murderrow...<br/><br/>It could mean his reputation would be ruined if he didn't decide quickly what to do with the trio before him, but instead of stepping forward he glided back into the shadows and waited. If they were looking for something, they would've seen him, and he doubted a man like the undead was able to miss a dark creature like him. The trolless and the elf might be oblivious enough, but the man in the dark trench-coat had enough wit about him, he thought to himself.<br/><br/>And he continued playing with his cards, the soft sound of the ruffling of the paper against his dark green skin was the only sounds hearable in the arches. Soundproof so people were able to sleep in murderrow, and not to be woken up by the loud crowds that walked over the main streets. So they said... everybody knew, it had a whole different reason to it...<div class="messageTextEndMarker"> </div>