<strong>Name;</strong>Zam Sharrow<br/><strong>Location;</strong>Everesta<br/><strong>Tagged;</strong>No one in particular<br/><br/>Zam wandered around the markets, looking for the vendor who sold shadowsilk. He hoped the NPC wouldn't remember him from the last time they'd met. He was a low-level thief back then, and didn't like the price he'd been offered. When he tried to steal a bolt of the cloth later he'd been caught on the way out. That was when he'd discovered the value of freerunning; the vendor hadn't been impressed.<br/><br/>"Do I know you?" the merchant asked. A faint stirring of recognition seemed to light his eyes.<br/><br/>"Uh, no. I have a pretty good memory for names, and I'm not sure I know yours," Zam replied, lying through his teeth.<br/><br/>"Huh." He didn't seem entirely convinced. He shrugged. "Well, what can I do for you?"<br/><br/>"I need a small patch of shadowsilk." He gestured at his shoulder. "Need to fix my jacket."<br/><br/>The price was outrageous, but he didn't feel up to trying to steal it later. He settled for merely haggling the merchant down until it didn't hurt quite so badly when he reached for his coinpurse. He left for the nearest tavern. A welcoming-enough inn was across the square.<br/><br/>Once inside, he went to the bar. "Have you got a room free I could use for a couple of hours?"<br/><br/>"Afraid not. Busy place, see. What did you need one for?"<br/><br/>"Just to relax, repair my jacket."<br/><br/>"Ah, we're pretty easy-going here. Just use one of the booths over there. No one will mind if you sit with your shirt off," the landlady said with a smile. Zam narrowed his eyes a little.<br/><br/>"Sure."<br/><br/>He took an empty booth in the corner, and shucked first his satchel, then his bandoleer, and finally his jacket, leaving his thin undershirt on. The faint line of the scar running the length of his left arm was just about visible through the sleeve, as well as the hole and fresher scar in his shoulder. He'd never been too self-conscious in-game; all the work he'd put in to flinging himself up and down walls and over rooftops had left him with a well-toned physique. As he began to patch his armour, he kept an ear out for the gossip of the moment.<br/><br/>His needle stopped its ducking and rising. A funeral? For a PC... the drow demon hunter. He thought belatedly of the chevaliere. Could have been a triple funeral, or worse, if he hadn't jumped them out of the way. He let the jacket settle in his lap while he thought. Normally, he wouldn't bother with an in-game funeral. He didn't see why if people cared so much about someone, and could afford to play Eden, that they wouldn't just turn up to the actual funeral in person.<br/><br/>But this time... this time was different. Something compelled him to go. If it hadn't been for the other adventurers in that tavern, he'd have been killed by the horde of lesser demons, before the Balor even showed up. After what happened to the drow, would he have been killed as well? Perhaps it was time to rethink his stance on soloing.<br/><br/>He finished the repair and held it up to the light before putting his kit back on. Leaving the tavern, he struck out for the funeral.