[Writing Prompt] A rogue so unremarkable that they’re effectively invisible by nature.
Sliz The Invisible
In the raucous bustle of the pub, Sliz approaches his target, trying to stay in the heavy shadows inhabiting the edges of the room. His thin rapier hangs loosely at his side, his poison dirk held in his right hand, dripping liquid death with each step.
All around Sliz the passerby drink and are merry, each paying him no attention whatsoever. This has nothing to do with Sliz’s gear or his skill set, both of which are meager. His boots have no special properties, just well worn brown camel leather. His jerkin isn’t even very dark – he lost his black leather armor in a hazing on his last mission – and now he wears a fairly bright blue linen shirt, the only one he has.
By all accounts, he should be well and truly screwed by now. The guards should be lashing him to a post and warming up their whipping arm to teach the clumsy, conspicuous rogue a lesson. Instead, Sliz is walking through the crowd, functionally invisible on account of nothing except his sheer unremarkability.
Ahead of him the target is drinking with three friends, a bulbous slug of a man and the richest merchant in Karholt. Sliz waits, heart pounding, for the perfect moment – dirk held down by his hip, ready to strike out and send terrible poison coursing through the lardy bastard’s blood.
“Oi! Another round fer me and me boys!”
The voice came from behind Sliz causing him to jump nervously, raising the dirk up in a defensive posture. A tall, drunk man stood over Sliz and gave him a little push on the shoulder.
“Oi, son! You deaf? More beer fer me table!” The tall man glanced haphazardly at the dirk, visibly dripping foul poison and then turned back toward his friends, saying as an after thought “and some meat if yer goin to the carvin’ table.”
Sliz stood perfectly still, his face a vexed mask of frustration, feeling totally useless.
“The hell with the this.”
Sliz turned to leave the pub, discretely poking the tall man who’d mistaken him for a serving boy with the tip of his dirk on his way toward the door. Behind him the tall man turned around, saw nothing of any interest, clutched his chest and coughed up heaping clods of blood all over his drinking buddies.
Sliz didn’t even try to sneak out, almost hoping to be noticed, but then he was at the front door, then beyond it loping through the bracing night air.
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