[His stride is sure even in unfamiliar territory. Kaz Brekker has gotten the lay of the land as much as he could, maps and word of mouth, scoured books and in-person study, but this is not his home. The dusty ground settles differently beneath his feet from the marshy softness of his home. Kerch as an island nation is temperate and rainy, Ketterdam as its capital even more so being one of if not the largest port city in the known world. His home is known for its canals and narrow streets, for its endless greed and glossed over vices. A realm that did not have a monarchy but rather a putative oligarchy known as the Merchants Council. It claims to be worldly and renowned, a nation where anyone with talent and skill might make something of themselves.
The Council makes a mockery of such ideas even as claiming to uphold them, and Kaz has vowed to turn their sins against them while reaping their rewards.
It isn’t merely spite and revenge that urges him onward though, nor is it even his fierce desire to protect the people he now calls his. Kaz also simply has a mind that’s never quiet, never still. Even when sitting and plotting his fingers find their way to locks to pick or coins to disappear. He’s never allowed a mystery to remain unraveled or a door to remain locked. Perhaps that’s partly why he takes on these jobs that take him far and wide nowadays. A new challenge, for if he grows complacent, he isn’t worth his second chance at life. Perhaps it’s for the money, that admittedly is very nice, too. There’s no such thing as enough in his mind, because there are always more uses for it. There’s always the risk of losing everything, as he’s had happen to him more than once, and stocking up for a rainy day meant many things in water-logged Ketterdam.
Perhaps there’s some small part of him that finds kindred causes, where he sees the value in allies near and far that exist beyond betrayal. Kaz Brekker always has fists raised and ready to fight, and more and more now, those reasons extend beyond just his self-preservation.
He’s a little worse for wear right now but not in any dire straits nor needing medical aid. His limp is a little more prominent than usual for being up on his leg for so long, black leather clad hand curled over his crow’s head cane as he uses it to help him walk. He’s wearing dark clothing that befits the local fashion to blend in, as dark as possible, the sole oddity still being the gloves he won't remove. There’s some bruising on his face, along with a scar over his left eyebrow and another along his neck that are much older. Sleep-deprived shadows always exist beneath his eyes, bruisings that are reflected in a gaze that says they’ve doled out worse. He doesn’t smile, but his eyes are sharp and focused. Predator and protector rolled into one. Kaz Brekker is intense, never really at ease, and it shows in his expression. It isn’t particularly friendly by default, more marble than mirthful with harsh angles and slicked back hair, but it’s a reserved reckoning. One that lies in wait, rather than striking without reason despite what rumors circulate.
He comes to rest outside the gate after having scanned the perimeter, never being too careful. He clocks any guard towers or passing stations, any strolling on the streets or buildings in sight. Exchanging any known signal, he studies the young woman whose words have remained wrapped in his mind. Experience begat wisdom, not age, and her eyes seem nearly as ancient as his own when he meets them. Perhaps that’s merely the night sky, or his own perception. Head cocked to the side, he doesn’t take out her parcel just yet but his head dips in greeting.]
Lovely night to avoid much strolling, it seems. I have the parcel, if you’ve the payment, Priestess. Are we to exchange now, then?
[She knows this area best, along with her customs, so for the moment he’ll defer to her on how such trades normally went.]
no subject
The Council makes a mockery of such ideas even as claiming to uphold them, and Kaz has vowed to turn their sins against them while reaping their rewards.
It isn’t merely spite and revenge that urges him onward though, nor is it even his fierce desire to protect the people he now calls his. Kaz also simply has a mind that’s never quiet, never still. Even when sitting and plotting his fingers find their way to locks to pick or coins to disappear. He’s never allowed a mystery to remain unraveled or a door to remain locked. Perhaps that’s partly why he takes on these jobs that take him far and wide nowadays. A new challenge, for if he grows complacent, he isn’t worth his second chance at life. Perhaps it’s for the money, that admittedly is very nice, too. There’s no such thing as enough in his mind, because there are always more uses for it. There’s always the risk of losing everything, as he’s had happen to him more than once, and stocking up for a rainy day meant many things in water-logged Ketterdam.
Perhaps there’s some small part of him that finds kindred causes, where he sees the value in allies near and far that exist beyond betrayal. Kaz Brekker always has fists raised and ready to fight, and more and more now, those reasons extend beyond just his self-preservation.
He’s a little worse for wear right now but not in any dire straits nor needing medical aid. His limp is a little more prominent than usual for being up on his leg for so long, black leather clad hand curled over his crow’s head cane as he uses it to help him walk. He’s wearing dark clothing that befits the local fashion to blend in, as dark as possible, the sole oddity still being the gloves he won't remove. There’s some bruising on his face, along with a scar over his left eyebrow and another along his neck that are much older. Sleep-deprived shadows always exist beneath his eyes, bruisings that are reflected in a gaze that says they’ve doled out worse. He doesn’t smile, but his eyes are sharp and focused. Predator and protector rolled into one. Kaz Brekker is intense, never really at ease, and it shows in his expression. It isn’t particularly friendly by default, more marble than mirthful with harsh angles and slicked back hair, but it’s a reserved reckoning. One that lies in wait, rather than striking without reason despite what rumors circulate.
He comes to rest outside the gate after having scanned the perimeter, never being too careful. He clocks any guard towers or passing stations, any strolling on the streets or buildings in sight. Exchanging any known signal, he studies the young woman whose words have remained wrapped in his mind. Experience begat wisdom, not age, and her eyes seem nearly as ancient as his own when he meets them. Perhaps that’s merely the night sky, or his own perception. Head cocked to the side, he doesn’t take out her parcel just yet but his head dips in greeting.]
Lovely night to avoid much strolling, it seems. I have the parcel, if you’ve the payment, Priestess. Are we to exchange now, then?
[She knows this area best, along with her customs, so for the moment he’ll defer to her on how such trades normally went.]