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Xander contemplated Rohaan’s words. The dirtiest, most nasty thief within the confines of Errandil. He considered what he had been taught in his small hamlet. It was not comparable to the education one might have received in the capital of Orthreloth or even one of the larger towns. However, he had known a little bit about the world. Perhaps not the particulars of individuals and their reputations but at least the more common understandings of that world. At least regionally, the Men in Cloaks were the most notorious in the Kingdom. But they rarely traveled far beyond the capital’s walls. When they did it was merely to entertain the criminal element in another larger city. What fun could a thief have in a hamlet? More oddly, what fun could a notorious thief have on the road? Xander could not figure out such a concept. For he had not the experience of a more well traveled adventurer. 

Xander contemplated Rohaan’s words. The stories of shapeshifters were not so far from the unknown, at least in the folklore. Devourers of the lost and weary, stealers of naughty children, the haunters of a land when scavenging the dead. It was often told that Shapeshifters would often prowl the remnants of battlefields, the belief was that they were better able to relate to the dead and dying than the civilized beings of higher society. If the presumption was still held that this was the case, why would Xander still be alive? He had nothing to offer. He would not allow himself to believe his mission was a pipe dream, but reality would have to set in if some advancement was not made quickly. At the very least he was still a child, and had the attention span of such. He needed progress and regardless of what Rohaan would tell him, true or otherwise the man had offered his assistance and he would take it with Sarah in mind. 

The young boy, with his arm still concealed stepped towards his door. It would not be unbelievable to think that if Rohaan was indeed the thief he had proclaimed to be that he could pick a lock without leaving a trace and subsequently lock the door. But to Xander it was not futile to check. The young boy examined the lock in the bright light of the morning sun shining through the window behind his new partner. It was locked to say the least with no exterior proof of its tampering. The boy unlocked it and checked the opposite end when he opened the door. It too was clean. 

[B]”Impressive…[/B] Xander whispered before turning around to address Rohaan openly. [B]“We are tainted by one and the same.”[/B]

The young man abruptly unveiled his left arm, the cloth of the cloak hanging limply from his elbow. A quick shake and the cloak broke free from the abnormality with a small tear. What he had presented was an arm no longer than his other. But it was markedly different. What appeared to be an armor moved with the fluidity of flesh, the dark exoskeleton like scales haunted by hints of a crimson flow pulsing beneath the flesh of the underside of his forearm. Xander maneuvered his arm in a manner that would allow Rohaan to appreciate the design of the exterior armored spikes without any apparent loss of dexterity 

[B]”If you are a shapeshifter, Yggdrasil has cursed us both. But at least you seem to have a grasp on yours.[/B]

Xander turned away from the shapeshifter, concealing his arm beneath his and meandered down to the common room a head of the man. He wouldn’t protest a nice breakfast before moving on but he certainly had been in a better mood last night.

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