Oran paced the port with slumped shoulder and a shaking head. The lack of subtlety this mission entailed was unfathomable, especially when the illegalities involved were considered. Yet he was an experienced law breaker, and even if worst came to worst he felt that speed and strength would once again prove his savior in an escape. With a shrug, he completed his exodus to the marketplace, assuming a vantage point next to a bar.
Bad green hat. He repeated to himself. The broker is in a bad green hat! What did that mean? His employers provided no further elaboration, which lead him to believe that they were either exceedingly bad at their jobs, or the hat was bad enough to justify such a simplistic description. Once again, he shrugged. Any excuse to abandon employ in Thanatos would sate Oran, for he hated the place. A xenophobic island was no place for a racially sensitive Half-Orc, and he knew this. Yet his drive for gain and exploration pulled him there. Perhaps, he thought, so did a healthy dose of stupidity.
He stood for a good spell, and grew gradually disheartened. Just as he began to believe that the mission truly had soured, he saw it. A hat so putrid in its shameless, tattered greenness he felt the need to congratulate anyone wearing something different on their head, but he also wanted to wear it. Oran strode to Makalo - who noted his approach immediately - and gripped his shoulders. "Two things," he began, "one, did Ano send you? Two, do you want that hat?"
