<div style="text-align: center"><img alt="[​IMG]" class="bbCodeImage LbImage" data-url="http://i.imgur.com/CfPk5.jpg" src="http://i.imgur.com/CfPk5.jpg" style=""/>​</div><br/>Well, so much for the element of surprise.<br/><br/>Azir kept his position in the doorway, coiled like a great spring, as he eyed the woman inside. To her credit, she'd hardly batted an eye as he had barged in, only the bright flash of dilated pupils and the rush of ruby high upon her noble cheeks had spoken to the instant change of her demeanor into adrenaline-fueled poise. It was the mark of a warrior. Someone who, judging by the thick white scars still standing out upon her knuckles, had walked into a literal hell, and been brash and bold enough to walk back out after sucker-punching the master of the house. All while wearing (so it would have seemed) little more than the mewling, lust-blinded slaves and dregs that had inhabited it. This was his mystery person alright.<br/><br/>She gripped the blood whiskey bottled tight in her slim hands, the sloshing glint of it's amber contents catching the low fire's glow that also brought light to her features. She was young, even for a Norn, with bronzed skin interwoven in jet-black ink. Her pale blue eyes stared daggers into his own golden ones, the youthful arrogance blinding in her defiance. He must have caught her mid-something, as the crumple of black fabric and worn steel upon the floor exposed the smooth length of her legs up to a similarly hued pair of panties, stretched wide over buxom hips. Her top, half-loosed, barely contained the sizable swell of her breast, which hitched in sharp motions as her breath coursed rampant. If Azir had been anyone else, a threat from a veritable warrior goddess might have been enough to give him pause. As it was though, he'd been over and around this world far too many times to let a pretty face (Or an...Intriguingly curvy figure as she sported) sway him.<br/><br/>“I can t'row a blade faster'n a man can blink, girl. Yeh'd not make it 'cross th'room. But calm yerself, I ain' 'ere tah hurt yeh.”, he half-laughed through his devil-may care grin.<br/><br/>He slid the dagger back into it's sheathe in one smooth motion, holding a gigantic palm out towards her as he took another step inside and eased the door closed. He'd already made far more sound than he should have, and the very last thing he needed was another nosy guest to be roused from sleep. If this woman did indeed have what he was seeking, the other half of his map, than the time had long passed for subterfuge and surprise to do their work. He'd have to rely on a quick wit and a silver tongue. Both, unfortunately, were far rustier than he would have liked.<br/><br/>“I'm aftah something. Something I think yeh have.”<br/><br/>He still had to crouch somewhat inside the room, the low-slung ceilings far too short for him to stand to his full, impressive height. He settled his gaze on the woman's own, careful to not allow the inviting contours of her plush frame to steal his attention, ready to flick the thin throwing dagger strapped to his bicep to a waiting palm and into her throat if she made any aggressive move towards him. He carefully reached into a small pouch on his side, withdrawing a thin, rumpled scrap of parchment. He held it up, so that it caught the ruddy light.<br/><br/>“Th'other half 'o this.”<br/><br/>The faded sepia lines criss-crossed it's surface, ancient and arcane markings that seemed to follow no pattern but their own. Eons ago, some scholar or hero had set their old letters to parchment, riddling out the location of a vast wealth, an immense treasure hidden by ages of history and time. If, that is, even an iota of what little he had gleaned from his own half was to be believed. That sort of fortune would be enough for anyone...It'd be enough to buy a new life. To slay any haunting demons of a past that refused to go away. And spirits new Azir needed that.<br/><br/>“I'm sure weh can come tah an agreement 'ere, girl.”<div class="messageTextEndMarker"> </div>