Just a perfectly normal monk...

A figure walked down a narrow, dusty road, towards a hill covered in dead grass, and the crossroads beyond that. It wore the dull red robes of a monk, and it kept its head low as it walked, seemingly lost in prayer. It held the robes tight to its body - likely because the robe no longer fit it, but it cared not for such material luxuries as comfort.

Poisonhook, Journeyman of the Radcliffe's Thieves' Guild, held the stolen robe tighter to hide his reptilian form, and wondered how the monks had managed to make clothes that itched through scales. His snout stuck out of the robe's hood, so he kept his head down to hide it. He was lost, but not in prayer - he had no idea where he was.

He flicked his eyes up for a moment and, seeing that the land around him was empty of people, he looked up properly, taking in the land around him. It was, unsurprisingly, rather dead, and quite flat. Almost certainly, there'd be someone around who could tell him stories about how it used to be covered in waves of grain... if, that is, he wanted to take the risk. This looked like farming land, of the kind his family lorded over, and he was... no longer exactly in their good graces.

Honestly, they were so picky. It's not like he'd gone and seduced the queen - just a countess. And he hadn't ravished her, either! It had all been done "properly"... well, apart from getting her pregnant, but that had been unintended. Mostly.

Anyway, though, there was no one around... other than a single figure, who'd just reached the top of the hill. Poisonhook looked them - no, make that her - over. Pale skin, tall, well-dressed for travel but with a surprising amount of skin showing, with a bow at the ready. Probably an elven ranger.

He held his hands up to show that he wasn't armed - even though he was, with fangs and claws and knives hidden inside the monk's get-up - and then started walking up the hill towards her.