muse: rook. 38. mercenary. sly, selfish, and not to be trusted. plot: rook's been hired to capture and return your muse to his employers. he found them days ago and has just decided to do the capturing part. open to: m, f, nb; any muse of some importance or use (royalty, magic user, etc.). 23+ muns only, please. non-mutuals very welcome!
Rook had been tailing his mark for several days now.
Any normal bounty hunter would acquire the bounty and return them in haste, eager for the large sum of money that had been promised. Had a younger Rook been entrusted with this mission, perhaps he would have done the same. At this point, though, despite locating the mark days ago, Rook hadn’t even made up his mind on whether he would return the stowaway at all. After all, he knew his employer would continue to line his pockets should he continue to send hopeful letters back to them—"I’ve picked up their trail again after a fortnight"; "They're a slippery beast, but I’m close to catching them now". Little lies that would fund Rook’s days while in truth, he’d found the bounty mere days after he’d set out. Exactly why his employer had hired him. Cunning bird, strategic piece; his namesakes were accurate. What else was there to do after the escape from an endless war but watch, track, note?
As they neared the border between countries, Rook knew he would have to step in lest his mark get himself killed. There was a precarious peace at the moment, but it danced on the edge of a blade. If Rook was the type to make predictions, he’d guess it wouldn’t be a turn around the sun before the peace was shattered and conflict broke out yet again. Over what, he’d only heard whispers of: power, immortality, magic. Kings playing god yet again. Should his mark cross into another kingdom and have themselves be discovered, it would be trouble for both them and Rook.
“Hey, traveller,” Rook called. His voice would find the mark before the mark would find the mercenary. Rook had a habit of only being visible when he wanted to be. Finally, he’d reveal himself, if for nothing else but his own sake. He was leaning against a mottled trunk behind his mark, a loaded crossbow resting comfortably in his hands as he spoke. “Put your hands up and turn around to face me. Don’t try to run. I know where you’re going before you do, so save us both the trouble.”
