Valandil strode confidently through the crowded open market. Around him, there was a bubble. The bubble moved with him, always keeping people a certain distance form him, even if they had ot move unsightly quick to do so. There was no magic in this bubble, it was merely reputation. Valandil was known to the comman man and woman, as something of a legend. Few enough men wore all black on a bright summer's day, and fewer still were marked with an elven tattoo. He smiled, flashing white teeth against the bright day sun. Common folk amused him. It was not as if they had bauble sof value for them to steal, or that the baker could afford to have him kill a rival. Indeed, they had far less to fear from him than the Nobles.

Yet it was the Nobles who looked down their noses at him, and tried to command him. What a funny world this was. Valandil smiled as a little boy ran past him, his mother chasing him with a horrified expression on her face. Valandil dropped to a crouch in front of the boy. The boy stopped, and stared at the large man in front of him curiously.

"Whats your name boy?" Asked Valandil softly.

"Rogan sir." The by answered in kind. The boy's mother dropped next to them, her ahdn reaching for the black-clad assassin.

"Please Shadowdeath, hes only a boy don't hurt him!" Valandil stared at her, slightly amused. "Take me instead she sobbed trying to plant a kiss on his lips."

Irritated, he pushed her away, and then turned to the boy.
"Obey your mother Rogan. You could get hurt running away." The boy nodded mutely, as the tall man walked away without looking back. Valandil had no regrest about his job, but he wished just once that someone would think that he wasn't going to murder their child. That woman disgusted him, he frowned irritably, scaring a nearby hawker, who ran off with his wares.

All around him he could hear people whispering his surname. "Shadow death. Shadowdedeath." It was his own fault really. Wearing a sleevelss leather jerkin with his tattoos exposed proudly to the sun marke dhim for who he was. His baldes were on his back, with a hilt peeking over each shoulder. His bracers and greaves glinted with a dull light, as did the leather of his black boots and breeches. The Warrior stroked a longkife on his belt absently, as he looked around the market.

Finally he descended to the fifth level market alley. there were always buyers or intresting people here. And he was bored and poor. And there people who were both rich and with intresting problems who apparently wanted to be bored and poor. Maybe they could trade. He smiled as he descended the steps into the darker bazaar. He would find someone interesting...he could feel it.

(OOC: Have fun you dont have to hire me, or you can try and be too cheap or whatever....just trying to introduce my character. But if you want to please do hop in!)