Kisa Brightshadow is a member of an amateur thieves guild and an assassin for Lightsbane, an elite group that takes contracts on anyone, if the coin is right. She is one of the best at what she does, and has an uncanny ability to appraise magical items.
Kisa slid the flat sides of her dagger across the bandit's brown cloth tunic and then, seeing the sword that had fallen to the floor after she had slit his throat, she buried the dagger in his chest and stepped over his corpse.
"Where does a bandit come across such a fine weapon?" She mused, stooping to grab the pommel.
Straightening up, she held the sword horizontally in front of her face, almost touching her nose. She scrutinized the blade, carefully turning it over in her hand, it was crafted from some material she had never dealt with or even heard of, and she noticed the iridescent glow of an echantment and fine runes inscribed near the tip of the blade on both sides. She closed her eyes, now holding the blade across both of her palms, feeling the minute vibrations that ran its length. It wasn't familiar.
"I don't know this enchantment." She said, snapping her eyes open and squinting at the sword.
She grabbed the hilt in her left hand and pointed the tip of the sword to the ceiling of the small cavern. She then licked the flat of the sword slowly, from the hilt to the tip.
"Definitely not familiar" she sighed, sheathing the sword in her belt where it drug the floor as she walked.
"I can't have that" she said to herself.
Looking around she saw some leather straps lying on a wooden table. Gathering them up she fashioned a makeshift sling sheath over her shoulder. Now the sword hung at her back.
"That will do for now. It isn't far to the shack."
She surveyed the room once more before making her way back to the mouth of the cavern where snow from the blizzard outside was creeping its way inside. She pulled her hood up and wrapped her fur cloak tightly about her body, burying her face as she stepped out. It would be pointless to attempt to wait out the storm; out here in the far northern corners the mountains, the storms never abated.
It was a struggle, as always, for the slight framed woman to make it through the torrent of wind and snow; at just five feet in height, it took everything she had to fight the elements. She had help in the form of her enchanted gear, which served to nullify the harshest of the cold and keep the snow from seeping into her clothing.
A thousand paces north of the cavern, she saw the major land marker, a broken marble statue of some sort of god, benevolent or malevolent she could not tell; the head was missing along with an arm and half of its torso. Scorch marks ran the length of what was left. The statue would turn her west towards the shack she was occupying. As she changed her heading she heard someone, a gruff voice carried by the wind.
Oh no. Was all that Kisa thought.