Naomi stands, naked, in her darkened room, her hair still wet from the public baths. She looks out over Capital’s streets.
Her streets.
On the bed is the package the alchemist gave her – every item made to her specification. It hadn’t been cheap, but adventuring paid well. She sneered. Adventuring – a pretty title to describe theft, tomb robbery, genocide and assassination. She was paid blood money and hush money, and she took it all.
The public baths couldn’t wash the blood from her hands, but it was the intent, surely, that counted. She had purified some part of herself.
She turns from the window and gets dressed.
Her armour – form fitting, light. Imbued with the strength of plate mail and the weight of silk; with a secondary effect that made her appear a foot taller.
Her boots – silent, allowing her speed beyond normal and the ability to jump and climb.
Her belt – increased strength, and inset with pouches of holding – containing health potions, smoke and flash bombs, amongst other things.
Rings of invisibility, healing, teleportation and resurrection – though at a very, very slow rate. Hence the teleportation ring. In the event of a fatal wound, she would be whisked to her base and lie in state until healed. Not as dramatic as instantly standing and proclaiming “Is that all you’ve got?” but fun nonetheless and much, much cheaper.
Her gloves – combined strength with her belt and climbing with her boots; one casts a dazzling spell, the other an area effecting silence. Both operated with a simple gesture.
Her mask allows her to see in low light, heat traces, and distances. Her next upgrade will allow her to see through walls and, eventually, detect magic.
And lastly her cloak. A cloak of flying, deflection of missiles, and an illusion that makes her look as if she is half a foot to one side.
The room has no mirror. She doesn’t need one. She knows how she looks. She is ready and the streets call to her.
She turns back to the open window, takes a run and leaps into the night.
