[Liem has long worn inquisitor’s grey when heading into danger, dark robes that had hidden the stains of travel and battle, and helped him blend into dark places. But of late, he has come to wear the colour less. The white and gold of the robes he wears now plainly show the blood of those who’ve run afoul of the slim blade at his hip. Isolated splotches only; most who fell into his sights so far were dispatched at the tip of a quarrel, and it is his crossbow, not his dagger, that is currently in his hand.
Though he is not pointing it at D, familiar as his ominous silhouette is by now.]
It’s only me.
[Liem climbs nimbly down from atop a broken-fronted shop, slinging his crossbow back over his shoulder and partially descending along the second storey before hopping the last ten feet down to the street. The half-shadows that wreathe him do little to hide the brilliant white of his garb, but he isn’t really trying to hide—only to mitigate the sun’s glare enough that he needn’t obscure his vision with his sunglasses.]
1a
Though he is not pointing it at D, familiar as his ominous silhouette is by now.]
It’s only me.
[Liem climbs nimbly down from atop a broken-fronted shop, slinging his crossbow back over his shoulder and partially descending along the second storey before hopping the last ten feet down to the street. The half-shadows that wreathe him do little to hide the brilliant white of his garb, but he isn’t really trying to hide—only to mitigate the sun’s glare enough that he needn’t obscure his vision with his sunglasses.]
Do you need an assist?