<div class="floatleft">(http://img.photobucket.com/albums/v140/Lockepick/Character%20Pictures/8b5a6740-17a0-4466-b9ff-72090d36659c_zpsbadf0357.jpg)</div><strong>Name</strong>:<span class="bbc_size" style="font-size: 14pt;">Bresnahan</span>(http://elliquiy.com/forums/index.php?topic=188184.msg9096189#msg9096189)<br/><strong>Location</strong>: Institute of War<br/><strong>Time</strong>: --<br/><strong>Wearing</strong>: Black high collared sleeveless shirt, black pants, heavy belt, fingerless gloves.<br/><strong>Tagging</strong>: Open<br/><br/><hr/><br/>Bresnahan's success had given him all the money he needed for an elaborate estate or keep. The idea of 'hearth' and 'home' was something that was never really instilled in him. Whatever possessive emotions he had about a home had always been about those within it, and a house for himself would be empty while he was gone. There was no ego for a title or a holding, as both seemed to require responsibility and distraction from the missions given by the Institute of War. Having an elaborate house didn't seem prudent with how much he was traveling. Bresnahan had a room in the Institute of War, a small place for him to sleep while he was in the area. He had plenty of money to retire as well, but the thought had never crossed his mind -- there was still so much of the world to see.<br/><br/>The Institute's missions were always risky. As he grew in skill, the danger of the missions increased with them. The adrenaline rush was half the fun, making up for years he didn't get to live, by living to the fullest in those moments. The missions allowed him to see more of the world that was just in the back of his brain. Every new experience for him felt like deja-vu; like catching the word right on the tip of your tongue. He struggled between what he did and didn't know, and actually having the new experience was the only way to create a concrete memory. He welcomed every mission, and this new one was no different.<br/><br/>Bresnahan was hardly a card carrying wizard for the Institute, and his talents didn't make many wizards enamored with him. Still, when Bresnahan wanted to watch the alchemy and spellcraft labs, he was given the lee way to do so, as long as he kept his distance. Attempts to argue that he should leave were quickly rebuked, and while Bresnahan never intended to lean towards intimidation, his reputation tended to precede him. He was overseeing just such a project when he got the message. The prospect of a new mission quickly proving more interesting than an experiment he wasn't privy to the details of.<br/><br/>The letter claimed urgent, and Bresnahan had little else occupying his time anyway. He made his way down the maze like halls with a proficiency that came with practice and memorization. He stopped by his room to grab what little supplies he wasn't already wearing, before heading out to the antechamber. A black sleeveless shirt was tight to his torso, clinging to his trim frame and going high up his neck. His arms were bare, showing the markings running down one arm, but wearing a pair of fingerless gloves on each hand. A heavy belt was around his trim waist, more for holding pouches and his swords, than it was to hold up his pants. Black pants hugged his waist, but billowed out as they went down his legs, before cinching into a pair of black boots.<br/><br/>He stepped into the antechamber, giving a glance around at the collected, and seeing only Zhara there. He gave her a nod, glancing her up and down. He had heard of the woman, but their paths had never crossed. He had no reason to be concerned, after all, they were theoretically on the same side. The smile stayed on his face, as he made his way over to the table to idly scan across it. He looked back, "You're... Zhara, right? I'm Bresnahan. Any idea what they called us in for?"