<strong>Sanguine LeChance<br/>Day 2- Morning<br/>Assigned room to Main Hall</strong><br/><br/>Eyes slept soundly at San’s feet, the way she always did, curled in a small little ball with one ear poking up from the grey-blue mass of fur. The sound of gentle jingling on the other side of her Master’s door woke her with a start. Eyes bolted from the bed and charged at the heavy, wooden door; barking as loud as she could to alert San to the possibility of danger.<br/><br/>San shot up like a bolt from his sound sleep, whipping the small, hooked, steel dagger from under his pillow at the unknown threat that had interrupted his slumber. The dagger merely hissed through the air, as no silent thieves were truly after his life.<br/><br/>It was a confusing and unsettling way to begin his morning, to say the least. But San was not afraid, only ready for whatever it was he would have to face before he woke to another dawn. San pressed himself against the wall beside the door, still brandishing his dagger as he tentatively set fingers upon the pommel that allowed the door to be pulled open. A few moments of tugging and jingling alerted him to the fact that something was in fact affixed to the other side of the door.<br/><br/>A trap?<br/><br/>Perhaps it was a trap, set to kill or maim him to prevent him, the Blind Swordsman from entering the Gladiator tournament that was to take place. If it was, he’d be ready, and Sanguine made up his mind to find whoever was responsible before the gates opened. They would die slow, and lament this ill-begotten scheme with their last breath.<br/><br/>San threw the door inward with a loud crash as thick, heavy wood struck unforgiving stone. He thrashed at the door with his blade, swinging in a backward thrust until the knife pierced some foreign thing and stuck it to the wooden door. It wasn’t until he felt with his hand that the cold, smooth texture of steel bells registered as a calling card from Lady Fool herself, Erin.<br/><br/>With considerable effort, Sanguine was able to wrest his knife free from the door, bringing the string of bells with it. Eyes barked defensively, as if to say that harmless wasn’t what she anticipated from someone tampering with the door.<br/><br/>“It’s alright girl.” San comforted his Sight-Hound. “It’s not your fault someone thinks it’s funny to toy with a blind man. Let’s find Lady Fool and see if we can’t get her to do us a favor in return for ruining our late morning.”<br/><br/>San slammed the door shut again, setting the bells aside for now, they’d make a handy prop for later. Over the black spandex he was still wearing, he began to dress in his armor. Each piece, specifically catalogued and organized by body-part and function. The steel bracer on his right arm that held a spool of tightly coiled razor wire, with a small dagger tucked into a thin sheath under his wrist. The tight leather gloves that buckled around his wrists, bearing steel plates in the palm that could halt a blade or break a nose.<br/><br/>Next, San put on his loose fitting pants, woven with complex and eye-pleasing designs that the assassin himself couldn’t fathom. Over those he strapped a lightweight, steel shin-boot that would protect his feet and his left leg, a very useful instrument for those who knew how to throw their leg into a block. At the back of those was a narrow opening where he slid a pair of thin, sharp, hand-scythes that were spring mounted to make themselves available in a split second.<br/><br/>Moving upward, San strapped heavy, iron-bound buckles cross ways around his middle and loaded various pockets along the underside of the straps with smoke-bombs, flash grenades, vials of paralytic poison and thin powders ground from dried chili peppers. Atop those straps, he fastened a detachable stomach-plate; made from the densest, high temperature treated steel, overlaid with thick leather, tanned and dyed black. The plate was also spring-loaded to be used as a buckler if things got out-of-hand. Six, small knives slid into the sides of the plate before being strapped down by three more belts and buckles.<br/><br/>San slipped the long, heavy, black cloak over his head and secured it around his shoulders with two more belts that crossed over his chest. Lastly, he wrapped another long, black cloak around his shoulders. The cloak was a very effective defensive weapon in a battle of blades, and San had a knack for getting opponent’s weapons tied up in his cloak, leaving them open to a lethal counter attack.<br/><br/>Sanguine clipped a heavy, steel shoulder plate over the whole mass of fabric and leather on his sword-wielding shoulder. The heavy, domed plate held the rest of his armor in place. A few more buckles around his chest and waist and he was ready to battle an army if needed. Siren was the last to join his ensemble, strapped tightly around his waist at just the right angle for easy extraction. Finally he was ready to tackle the day and bleed it dry. He brought the now massive bag of gold he’d accumulated since his family of bandits had been scattered by the Bloody Ravens.<br/><br/>With heavy footsteps, Sanguine strode into the main hall where his ears told him others were already gathered, his nose told him that food was being prepared. Eyes recognized Lady Erin right away and tugged on her restraints in that direction. But it was a tournament day, he needed raw nutrients and protein, not flimsy sugars and carbs that would fail him when he needed them most.<br/><br/>“I’d like a goblet filled with eight raw chicken’s eggs, if it’s not too much trouble.” San asked, walking into the kitchen with purpose, hoping that the chef was the same he’d met before. “And that ham smells too delectable to pass up, I’d like a thick slice of that as well as a whole wheat loaf. Please and thank you.”<br/><br/>With his order in to the kitchen, Sanguine made his way to the long, mostly-empty table which held the other two occupants of the hall. San sat across from Lady Erin and the Aserit Prince who he’d yet to officially meet. San threw the mutilated string of bells onto the table.<br/><br/>“I’m guessing I have you to thank for this… wake-up call.” San said, making little attempt to hide his annoyance at having his door tampered with. “My hound’s ears are even more sensitive than mine, you understand.”<br/><br/>It wasn’t long before a steward brought San his raw eggs, ham and bread; the young man included a second goblet of juice from oranges to boost his vitamin levels, a gesture that San appreciated more than words could express. The vitamin C could prove the difference between eating dinner at this same table and being buried in a shallow, mass grave behind the arena.<br/><br/>San chugged his eggs first, no butter or oil to slow him down, no nutritional value lost to over-cooking. “The Breakfast of Survivors”.<br/><br/>“Sir Prince. I don’t believe I’ve yet had the pleasure of making your formal acquaintance. I’m Sanguine LeChance, currently in your brother’s employ as an ‘agent’ of sorts.” San said respectfully, turning knife and fork on the massive cut of ham that was presented him. “I have heard that Lady Erin ha entered the ‘Top-Shot’ competition. Will you be competing in the events today?”<br/><br/>In all likelihood, Prince Omar had no aspirations of competing and if he did, it was more likely that he’d run in the joust or some other such event that would prevent him from facing true danger. But just in the off chance that Omar was the sort who desired to “Test his metal”, San would want to know that. Better a steak knife to the leg over breakfast than a long-sword through the gut before lunch.<br/><br/>“I’m fighting in the Gladiator category, hopefully with resounding success, lest my life be tossed away on a gamble.” San smiled, trying to be charming despite the fact that he was very tense this morning. “Lady Erin, as one of the few who has witnessed my skill and lived to tell about it, I hope that you’ll do me the liberty of helping me with an odd task or two that I’ll be unable to perform myself.”