<div class="floatleft">(http://i232.photobucket.com/albums/ee48/Gevaden/Garviel2_zps262de298.jpg)</div>The woman with the intriguing sway to her hips wasn't the only assassin Thorolf had brought into this little test. He was perhaps more typical in appearance for an assassin, with a brown flak jacket with wool inner lining covering most of what he was wearing, its collar turning up the closer it got to the back of his neck. He was perhaps ten years older than Kat, give or take. When the fat man offered sedative pills the unimpressed eyes of Garviel Ored watched him for a moment but he said nothing. There was a lho-stick hanging from his mouth, two fingers removing it for a moment before smoke was pushed out through his nose.<br/><br/>If Garviel intended to take the girls wager, he gave no sign either. As it would happen, he was noble born himself. There was a time when when he lived in the top of a Hive Spire, he ate the finest food, had personal tutors in all things academic and cultural. When he had to move among the masses he did so on a barge, resting on a bed with a pair of beautiful women, naked but for what golden trinkets he gifted them. He'd change the girls every week, the lower spires were full of pretty girls willing to be paraded in the hopes that when the Noble lad squirted into them it would hold and they'd be set for life. Even if they didn't get pregnant, they walked away with something pretty that they could sell when he got bored of them and had them returned to wherever they had come from. But that had been a long time ago, the only evidence of a 'better life' was a piercing. A stud of white-gold above his left eyebrow.<br/><br/>Garviel entered the shuttle, throwing down the backpack he wore and his rifle before dropping into a seat and strapping himself in. "Well here we go."