Sorcerer… Cyborg???

Yorub watched as the man he had been tasked to watch left his home, a room he had been renting for almost twenty years. It was an odd assignment, following the eccentric scholar Piatt, a man who was spoken of as both foolish and a man of rare genius.

But why would somebody want to tail a man like him, Yorub wondered, then cast the thought aside, what did he care, the man who had hired him had paid him for weeks worth of work, and promised twice the sum once he had completed the mission.

As he tracked the man, being careful to keep at least three or four people between himself and Piatt, he smiled smugly. This was too easy, it was like getting paid to sit around and wait. 

But now Yorub's mentor's voice echoed in his head, 'Yorub, if something is too good to be true, then it is.' His mentor had screeched at him, before rapping his knuckles with a cane, as he did whenever he wanted to emphasize a point.

Piatt had pulled up the hood of his cloak, which was a little strange, seeing as the weather was mild today, there was no hellish heat beating down on the pedestrians, nor was there a freezing rain.

Yorub continued to follow the cloaked man, and then, he lost sight of him in a throng of people. He panicked slightly, worried he had lost his profitable mark, but then heaved a sigh of relief as he saw the distinctive black clock with an orange stripe running down each shoulder. 

He followed easily, but then a frown appeared on his face, and he ran closer to the man wearing the cloak, all thoughts of secrecy cast out of his mind. Why was Piatt walking so strangely, he had such a brisk and even pace before, and now he slouched, walking slowly, as if afraid to fall on the slightest change in the road.

"Hey! Stop right there!" Yorub called out, grabbing at the shoulder of the cloaked man, who turned around with a confused look on his face.

"Whaddaya want, eh?" A broken toothed, wrinkled beggar sneered at Yorub from beneath the hood of the cloak, gripping Yorub's fingered with a surprising amount of strength, and leaving them off his shoulder.

Yorub was silent, and it slowly hit him, Piatt had obviously switched his clock with the beggar, and then disappeared into the crowd. Yorub swore, and the beggar swore back, reaching under the clock for a knife, not realizing that Yorub's ire was directed at the disappeared Piatt, not himself.

"Sorry, sorry! I mistook you for another!" Yorub waved his hands at the beggar and backed away slowly, and the beggar spat towards him before wrapping his newly acquired cloak around himself and scurrying away. 

Yorub groaned, it looked like he wouldn't be able to claim the reward, but he was happy enough with what he had already been paid, and besides, he might be able to sell this information in someway, many would be interested to know the name of the man who had ordered him to follow Piatt, and possibly even the fact that Piatt was aware he was being followed.

Now that he had consoled himself into a better mood, Yorub whistled slightly, walking back to where the Official that had hired him was currently staying, and made up his mind to try and squeeze even a few more coins out of the man.

As Yorub headed back to an Official who would soon be extremely disappointed, Simon was inside the backroom of one of the many inns that were scattered around the outskirts of Aznur. 

He had worn another, shorter and less conspicuous cloak under the black one that he had just given away. It was an old trick he used, but it was nonetheless very effective, and hadn't failed him since.

Simon pulled a small mirror out of the many pockets on the tawny colored cloak, and set it against one of the shelves, it was time to get to work.

First, he pulled off the flesh colored putty that had covered his nose, rolling it up for future use. Next, the putty around his mouth to make his lips smaller was removed, and then he removed a small bottle of a colorless, jelly like substance from within his clock.

This would remove the glue and paints from his face, and Simon liberally applied this to his face, and as he rubbed it into his skin, the face that his family was familiar with appeared. 

But he wasn't done yet, he wouldn't show his face in Aznur, there was far too much risk involved that he would risk being recognized.

First, Simon used the water from a barrel in the corner to thoroughly wash the remnants of his previous disguise away. Then, he liberally applied a black dye to his blonde curls, using a brush and bottle that he had taken out from the seemingly endless pockets within his cloak. 

Next, as he waited for his hair to dry, he took out another kind of putty, this one darker in color, and created a puckered scar that ran from the corner of one eye to his chin.

Sometimes, the best way to avoid recognition, was to give the onlooker something else to remember, this way, people would only see the scar, ignoring the rest of his face.

A touch of the putty on his chin to lengthen it, and a little more to make his nose appear flattened, and his face was once again unrecognizable, not even close to his own face or that of Scholar Piatt. 

Simon then stared in the mirror at his new face from every angle, committing the features to memory, after all this identity could be necessary in the future, and he would have to be able to recreate his features if required.

"Alright, Thibault." Simon nodded into the mirror, naming the new face allowed him to more easily remember it and create a backstory. Finally, Simon pulled a rough shirt and breeches from the bundle he had carried, hidden under the larger, black cloak, and with that, Thibault was ready, for the next stage of Simon's mission.