<div style="text-align: center"><img alt="[​IMG]" class="bbCodeImage LbImage" data-url="http://i.imgur.com/OBYSo.gif" src="http://i.imgur.com/OBYSo.gif" style=""/><br/>
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<span style="font-family: 'georgia'"><span style="font-size: 12px"><span style="color: #9D612B">BUT YOU'RE A KING AND I'M A LIONHEART<br/>
A LIONHEART</span></span></span>​</div><br/><span style="font-size: 9px"><span style="color: #544A41"><span style="font-family: 'georgia'"><span style="font-size: 15px"><span style="color: #9D612B">Nodding her head in return,</span></span></span> Sbatarra began fiddling with her earring, running her gloved fingers over the black water naga's tooth.  A trophy from one of her first <i>good</i> deeds, and one she kept close to her person ever since.  When a necklace seemed to get caught on things and only flopped about as she ran, and wearing it underneath her armour took away the purpose of wearing it at all, she made an earring out of it, displaying the black trophy for all to see, though whether as a test of her skill or just a fashion statement, it was hard to tell.  <span style="color: #9D612B">"There's a better way of looking at that,"</span> she said after a few moments of thoughtful silence.  <span style="color: #9D612B">"Never trust a genie,"</span> she deadpanned, before breaking her brief seriousness with a wide smile, genuine and lacking most of the wickedness that her earlier ones had been dripping with.<br/>
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<span style="color: #9D612B">"If I looked like a genie, perhaps I would be better received,"</span> the assassin shrugged, lifting herself from her seat to begin doing an inventory check, as she usually did before a kill.  She tested the weight of her dagger, removing it from its sheath, flipping it around in the palm of her hand in a rather flashy manner, before snapping it back into its place with a deft movement.  Then she tugged at the hilt of her metal babble falchion, drawing it only halfway to inspect the texture of the blade.  Snapping that back, she then reached for her gold falchion, and removed this one from its sheath, holding it in both hands, one resting against the Oerthblood stained blade.  She dipped her head low, offering a silent prayer to either some deity or cosmic force, seeming oddly religious for that moment when everything else she did betrayed any such loyalties and dedications.  Silent words spoken, she replaced her heavy falchion into its respective sheath, then reached for her pipe, which she took one last puff from, before placing it within her pack, which was resting at her feet from when she moved over to join the man.<br/>
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Her ritual had finished just as quickly as it had began, and with a grunt, she hefted her haversack up, slung it over one shoulder, then offered Baltazar a brief grin, full of wickedness.  <span style="color: #9D612B">"Let's get going then, yeah?  I'd rather be there early.  Get an idea of what our surroundings are like before we go toe-to-toe with an onna-bushi,"</span> she advised, referring to the samurai by her proper title, showing that she knew more about their target than she originally had let on.</span></span><br/><br/><div style="text-align: right"><span style="font-family: 'Georgia'"><span style="font-size: 22px"><a class="externalLink" href="http://www.myth-weavers.com/sheetview.php?sheetid=454315" rel="nofollow" target="_blank">*</a></span></span>​</div><div class="messageTextEndMarker"> </div>