<strong>Name; Zam Sharrow</strong><br/><strong>Location; Everesta, Prancing Pony</strong><br/><strong>Tagged; Kei, Mizuki, Morgul (maybe Elrich, Zach)</strong><br/><br/>Zam hadn't slept well. The nagging feeling of having been set up, that someone was coming after him, dogged him through the night. He tried to shrug it off as he woke, and dressed. He put his lockpick bandoleer over his shoulder, checking that each pick was still in its sheath. Each one had its own leather spathe, so when he moved about they didn't jingle against one another. It also had the benefit of making it difficult to tell what they actually were, so he could wear them openly and not attract too much undue attention from the guards. He checked his bag, making sure the stone was still there, as well as his coinpurse, waterskin and various other little bits and pieces. Satisifed, he slung it over his other shoulder and cinched the strap tight.<br/><br/>He stretched, and left the attic he'd used to sleep in for the night. He needed to find an old fence he'd met shortly after he first arrived, but he had no idea where the old coot might be now. In the meantime, he could always do with more work.<br/><br/>He spent most of the day wandering around the city, not really knowing who or what he was looking for. He made sure to go nowhere near the private estates from the previous night; he did not fancy another encounter with the estates' family security.<br/><br/>Zam found himself outside the Prancing Pony in the late afternoon, his dark clothes soaking up the heat of the sun like a crusty sponge in a lake, and decided to go inside for the shade and the ale.<br/><br/>Upon entering, a crowd of what could only be PC's were clustered around a table in the middle of the room. He made sure not to stare too openly at them (especially the towering Amazonian woman; he somehow suspected she wouldn't take too kindly to an ogling thief), his plain-looking (if darker than usual) clothing helping him look like any thirsty courier in the city. He nodded for a pint from the barman, thinking.<br/><br/>PC's in one place tended to mean quests. Quests, in turn, meant loot.<br/><br/>He listened to them exchange greetings, from the bar. He'd wait until they got to business.