Abel Beth-dagon's Story

Dominic Diamondheart

Johnathan had been awake since the crack of this miserable and cold morning that loomed over the city. The usual vivid view of the district was shuttered close from the bedchamber he worked in the legendary Carmine Maid. The prostitute examined the three supreme locks that were attached to each window, rumor accounts of a three story burglar were beginning to spread from whore keeper to whore keeper. A burglar that unlocked the latches, slipped in while client was being entertained and steal the valuables that were on his person before slipping out.

The Madame of course replied to these rumors by adding more locks and from what he had even traps on the windows of the Maid's high earners. With a released breath Johnathan began continued to clean up his station, the Westbrook Brothers had made an awful mess. Johnathan had a very busy evening he was almost glad no one had called upon him this early morning.

His evening had consisted of a Toothless old woman who was one of his regulars, two very plum dwarven sisters of the Ambassador's Aide; A limp wrist foreign nobleman that had a fixation for whips, floggers, riding crops and curious costumes of leather; and of course, the Westbrook Brothers: A pair of ruthless enforcers for the Sethur's Hand. They were always excessively rough and excessively forceful and trashed half the room by the time they were done. Still, they paid really good coin for their perks.

They also seemed to have introduced a new 'game' which the Westbrook Brothers always doing with their whores and for the rest of the night Johnathan had to resist the urge to scratch the wig they putted on him as they "Took a stab at Abel Beth-Dragon." Who so ever said that the life of a whore was a glamorous one had obviously never been a whore themselves.

With his station somewhat recollected he looked back to the accursed thing that laid on one of the bed posts lifting up the rather itchy wig as he went back to the mirror. The uncanny resemble to the small portrait that loosely was wedged into the mirror's crack had made him shiver slightly as he took the wig off, the body art on Johnathan not helping his case.

He was tolerate of many things, but he certainly hope this would not become a regular thing as he continued to get redressed. As he did, a rather shapelly dwarven woman that was currently stripped from the waist down approached the door for a moment. "Johnathan, the Madame needs more fire wood for the chimney right away." Was all she said before she advanced further down the hall.

Johnathan looked back at the leaving co-worker before he finished dressing in very colorful grab of vivid silks and revealing tight materials as the whore proceeded without rejection. He had ignited some fresh inscents into the room before he left. Sometimes a client arriving in one time and arriving in fifty times was the difference if the room did not smell like feet and sex.

Pacing downstairs he quickly made his way through the back, he paced through the many brothel courtesans getting dressed, preparing for the day, a few were practicing their various yammers, cries and moans in the back for the new entries to learn the trade as he reached the backdoor and paced outside to the wood shed. The air was bitter and cold making him regret wearing such thin clothes as he scammered over to the shed opening it revealing the great deal of firewood inside.

Strongly and stoutly he carried a heft bundle back into the Carmine Maid somewhat approaching the fireplace after a brisk walk. He was certain to neatly stack the wood where it needed to go remembering how a red haired woman had not done this, a client had tripped on the wood and she was quickly kicked out of the brothel. He had never saw her again, the client who tripped was a very powerful woman and he had heard rumors that the client did something to her face that compensated 100 times over for the bruise that woman obtained.

He rather not think about it now, once the wood was stacked he placed the first logs inward and he began to strengthen the fire he looked back and to his shock he had found Madame Tre'vani idly leaning on the counter top. "Madame." He hailed back to her "Good morning." With that slightly said he resumed to poke and stack the fire as it burned a little brighter.

T H E I N K E D R O G U E



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Ice dwindled beneath a raven cowl; lids shuttering and vision wavering. Air sifted through his nostrils and filled his lungs; the scents of the city ignited a sense of nostalgia. Memoirs of Daggerford filtered through his mind. By the time he had arrived, the sun had long since surrendered to the moon and the winds were void of warmth. Lunar rays illuminated the City of Daggers in the evening; gracing the city in a silver trim. The distant sands of Eri took on the hue of a blue veil, and moon-light stretched and sprawled over each breast. The dunes looked like rime – no longer sultry, but frozen.
Though Abel had relished the flavours of sea during his journey, he had oddly missed the familiar stench of penury. He had missed the throng of beggars and thieves festering in city’s veins, and the vile blood that splattered the walls each new moon. As soon as his feet had left the Sea Bitch and skimmed across motionless ground, he had disappeared from the docks and entered the city, leaving behind the insistent groaning of wet-licked wood and tumbling waves. He had an engagement that night, one he could not afford to miss...

♦♦♦♦♦♦

Her spindly digits skimmed over his inked flesh; raking sharp enamel across the surface. Malice dripped from the whore’s lips, masked by a fabricated smile. Her bottle-green eyes glanced up at the rogue, peering intently behind a thick veil of charcoal lashes. Her nails glided down the length of his spine and in-between the shallow dip of his muscles. Such firm meat – such vigor. “You have beautiful body...” the vixens cooed, her voice laced with honey. The candor went ignored. The rogue did not stir; he kept still on the flat of his stomach, sprawled out and languid after a long session of sin. Raven hair cowled his face from view – but he was alert. Pheromones and sweat seeped into his nostrils; flavoured with the scent of her perfume. Her eyes retreated to his back, scanning the onyx design that branded his hide. She followed the ink with her fingers…"and such a lovely tattoo. What is it?” she queried – innocently; but not innocently enough. His eyes – icy blue in hue – opened and he turned his head away.“Don’t know,” he answered. The whore pursed her cerise lips.

“How do you not know?” she asked with a flustered chuckle. “You must know what your own tattoo is...” The courtesan appeared genuinely curious, like a child – sweet and angelic. But he remembered well the acts he had performed upon her, and she had begged for more and relished each moment. She was no seraph – he knew what she truly was. “You are not a whore…” the rogue said; his voiced muffled in his pillow. Heat bubbled in her veins, but she pretended to not hear him. “Come on, you can tell me! “She exclaimed, playfully prodding his back. Her other hand was slowly reaching for her discarded clothes, silk garbs that she had kept close, but it was the tool within she needed. Animation suddenly sprung the man’s bones. One arm pushed up from the mattress, whilst the other reached for a dagger beneath his pillow. He rose to his knees, but did not reveal it. She had the briefest moment to react, managing to grasp the handle of her own knife – before a flash of silver emptied her eyes, and sent her careening rearward into oblivion. He rocked back on the balls of his heels, swivelled, then launched off the bed; sweeping his dagger vertically across her throat. His stiletto sliced clean through the flesh and the cartilage of her larynx, and spilled her blood and air. When he landed on the floor – nude and unshaken - she sat still for a moment, gurgling and choking, before falling limp like a doll.

“You are an anathema to me...”

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The following morn, the assassin's leather boots padded against cobble and carried him limpidly through the south bazzar. He was shrouded; a lumbering figure cloaked in a long black mantle, dwarfing most that passed. Though many did not bother to keep themselves in masquerade, he often found it needed. For a reputation as abominable as his, heads often turned unless he was cloaked. Youth and fledglings regularly aspired to kill him for fame and reputation - and that was irritating. He ambled silently, weaving between bodies, avoiding junction without fault. The man sneered beneath his hood – none of these impoverished peddlers had anything worth seeing. And then, in the corner of his eye, he found a jewel; a luster stone embedded in a heap of colorless rubble. She was lithe and slender, willowy and pale, adorned in flaxen locks and alabaster cloth. Even from such a distance, he could see the aura that cloaked her; potent with light and other chaste notions. She was disgusting – yet positively succulent. He pivoted on his heel and paced for her vicinity, tracking her footfalls through the cluster.


-fin.

Laeliana Regnatos

It would be to her surprise that someone took notice of her being; especially in a crowd livened by obscene perfumes, and voluptuous women. The apothecary could hardly think herself worthy of attention. With her hindering derangement, she could only be taken advantage of, and that was it. That was the only future that she saw for herself, even through the dismal spell of unshakable, and incurable blackness. Regardless of all that made her far below the steps of the renown, in secret, she was one of the best alchemists known to step feet into Daggerford. Perhaps not of the guilds, but the common citizens of Daggerford. That had yet to be determined. A person in sound mind would think more than once to come to her, and usually, she was the last attempt at gaining potions, toxins, narcotics, and the likes. Yet her pocket was not as grievous as the vendors that would proverbially, and proudly, paint their items with gold. Liana was no diamond among unpolished stone as she took to the streets of the bazaar each wake of the morning. She was awfully predictable; each path taken in the same, and every action having no contrast into the next day. None would bother her, not even the wretched-hearted men. The only names made for herself were The Blind Apothecary, or the Blind Girl. As she meandered through the crowds, people would ghost 'poor woman' upon their lips, or question her ability to be so out in the open.

Her loss of sight had not been a burden ill-fated to her in a womb, but one born by none other than an err on her part. In a moment of experimental mixing, two ingredients were coupled together that should never have been. Without precaution, she had gone ahead into stirring it, and with no warning it had caused her eyes to become horribly blurred. Hoping that slumber would wash away this unwanted ailment, she woke up with the belief that she had gone into the great beyond of the afterlife. Unfortunately, that had not been the case at all. Stumbling, like the whelp of a doe with slender and wobbly limbs, she descended the steps from her place of rest, to that of work. When she felt the sharp pain of her mistakened step, her mind awakened to the reality that she was henceforth blind. Not all was as hapless as firstly thought, for she knew each smell and feel of her ingredients. It was to the point where it was easy enough to accomplish her work without the need for true sight.

So thickly rolled the horrid odor of whetted desire, and bellies pregnant with frivolity. Her senses warned her that the way of the apothecary shop was far lost, and now she stepped into the ugly regions of the bazaar, nearing the maw of the tavern district. Knowingly, she turned on her heels and rerouted her steps back from whence they came. It was in this new direction that she would, deprived of a wary mind, near someone that held the veiled visage of quiet hands brimmed in gore and vile. Inwardly, the convolutions of her brain would bid her to turn around, or maybe even take flight without true direction. Still, she did not know a soul that would try to corner her into their misplaced wrath. There was no darkness that surrounded the girl on her exterior, as she was humbled by an overwhelming purity and devout neutrality. The only void of black inhabited those soft paling chestnut eyes. There was also a duo of men, both with lips smacking at one another like blood kin with fouled words; Kilel Niordan, and Saren Niordan. She would not pay them much mind, the writhing caution in her head telling her that it would not be very wise to do so. Thus, without much thought, she would just move between them, and hopefully she would go unwatched.

This man, Abel Beth-dagon, was a name that she would not know, if she knew anyone at all save for the plethora of vendors that were sweet to her. Sandals, by which its straps coiled at her elfin ankles in a crossed pattern, stopped short of where she wanted to be. Where she was, she did not know, only the voices of the vendors to comfort her in the way that she hadn't ventured from the Southern Bazaar. "Miss! Miss!" a small cooing rang out; Jacobs own. He ran toward her, shortened breaths heaving his chest. Bending at the knees, he placed hands upon them, "I have been looking all over for you. You shouldn't be out and about on your own. Not in your..." looking down to the ground below, "...condition. In all fairness, Liana, you are without sight. Your shop is not much more but a few steps away." He grasped the smooth planes of her plush palm, "Let's go before we get trouble, miss," the boy would add, eyes venturing toward the Niordan brothers, and furthered toward Abel. Something just told him that this was no place for her right now.

Deep inside, she knew this to be truth as well. With the nod of her head, she allowed herself to be once again guided.

T H E I N K E D R O G U E



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Ice eyes flickered in their sockets and swept over the doe, drinking in all her forget-me-nots and allure from behind. His peer was lewd beneath the cowl of his hood. The woman's flesh was like cream, spiced with dribbles of honey and vanilla, and her tresses were like wheat. The harshness of the streets was evident on her person; stained into her clothes and smeared across her skin, yet to him, she was still an utter charm. It was not the shell that enticed him, it was the sense of piety and purity that drenched her. He continued to observe, watching the way her hips swayed beneath her garbs - triggering his mouth and loins to ache. Abel's stalk was prudent and in no means obscure, yet she seemed entirely oblivious to his existence. No, not that. Like she felt him, but could not see him. His gait was quick and strides nimble; avoiding the clusters of bodies that hindered his trail. In time, he began to notice a peculiar fault in her steps. Even at her rear, he began to realize that her movements were triggered by sound and not by sight. Before long, however, even that primary perception betrayed her. The woman grew awkward and graceless at first, then entirely disorientated. This perplexed him further.

She had almost breached the Tavern District before she stalled, tried to grasp her bearings, then subsequently turned around and paced back the way she came. When her body swiveled and stumbled past him, his gaze briefly seized a picture of her visage. Her face was angelic and perfectly sculpted, yet the gems embedded in her sockets were hollow empty, void of life and sight. Of course, she was blind. How a beautiful woman - who appeared to have no extraordinary talents - managed to live in Daggerford was an absolute wonder to him. By having observed her, he also discerned that there was no tone to her muscle, therefore she wasn't a fighter. He had known blind warriors in his day, and she was not one. There was something else, though, something he had allowed to slip past his keen nose: medicine. Her skin gave off the unmistakable scent of herbs. An alchemist, then? She wasn't a member of any of the guilds, therefore even if he had heard of her, her existence prior would have meant nothing to him. This was interesting, -very- interesting. An insidious grin stretched long across his lips and he sneered in delight. He continued to trail and watch her from a distance, glancing at a boy that later rushed to her aid. A frown marred Abel's brow; she had a child as well? It was rare for children, let alone individuals with handicaps, to survive long in the city. It was during this very thought that a large disturbance not far off snared his attention.

A street urchin had attempted to steal a bard's coin-purse, only to have a cross-bolt puncture his gullet by none other than Drake Sigurdsol. Abel knew of him, there were few who didn't, and the Pirate Lord's guild had been occasionally affiliated with the Achaz. The bazaars were in no-means a secure place, but it was generally out of 'etiquette' that battles and conflicts were kept to a respective minimum. This was an 'informal' policy that Rakkath often liked to enforce: he did not like the distribution and trade of goods badgered. Of course, their enemies and many others didn't have mush regard for it. A sigh slipped through Abel's lips and his brain seethed. He would have to deal with this, to his dismay. The apothecary would have to wait - but he was surely going find her again. She was being guided into her shop when his eyes adverted back to her. He knew her place of residence now. Abel's grin broadened, then he vanished into the fray.

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The crowd was surprisingly quite infuriated when the boy was slain. Abel reckoned the common-folk grew tired of the perpetual acts of murdered that only seemed to be increasing these days. Still, one would think they'd be use to it by now. Evidently not. The man was irritated and vexed by the whole thing. He made his way towards the pirates with less grace in his steps, and he practical began -tossing- people out of his way by the time he breached the edge of the crowd. A few peasants fell over and scrambled to get out of his way when he broke through the throng. "Alright," he started, grasping the brim of his hood, allowing it to fall rearward against his nape, "...everyone shut the hell up." He felt shudders course through many, followed by several alarmed gasps and whispers. 'The Achaz...' from some, 'shhhh' by others. The crowd instantly grew quiet and many dispersed when he made himself apparent. Two elites from any guild entering a confrontation was clue enough to 'get the fuck out.' So they did. Abel's visage could not be mistaken, his stark black-hair, brilliant ice eyes, and vivid facial scar, distinguished him well. Drake, however, was even more so. "The Sea Monster," the rogue's lips peeled back and he flashed him a toothy smile, "how good it is to see you again." Whether or not it was a jest...was irrelevant.

-fin.

Annon sat peacefully in the bazaar for quite some time until his interest was piqued by a small crowed that had gathered under a tree. Instrument in hand he stood up and placed his lockbox upon his back. Plucking the strings as he walked along he managed to cut a way through the crowed in time to see a rough looking sea farer shoot a child perched in a tree like a common crow. He raises an eyebrow as the crowd murmurs incoherently. He sighs taking a drag from his pipe, this was probably going to hurt sales for the entire bazaar at least for a short time. Glancing at the man who took the shot he plucked at his guitar idly walking off to the side and taking another seat. He was a performer of some sort after all and without attempting to jest he started to pluck away at an old song he had heard on his journey to this country. The sailors that taught it to him were a rough lot but he found the song humorous “ Come friends, pass the bottle around. For our time is short remember, For soon the grog will stop and our spirits will drop as we sail away in September. But tonight we will be merry and tonight we will remember, yet when the sun rises we will sadly be sober” His song was light in the air as he packs his pipe full the aroma drifting under the tree, he found it odd not a person even bothered to bury the boy, yet being an outsider he remained silent. Once the crowd dispersed he realized it was a common occurrence.


As he glances at the group under the tree, an apparent pirate with crew in tote, an elf, and a human he was curious as to what would unveil he had moved himself in earshot but was far from eavesdropping only listening to what was said loud enough for passer bys to hear. It had been a couple of hours though and he was starting to become tired of the looming sun and was curious as to where the best places in town to acquire that certain company could be found, and something strong to drink to go with it. His pipe was practically red hot to the touch with the cherry that had burned inside for the last two hours, if anyone knew what the divine was around here they could tell his clothing was permeated with the scent. He smirked to himself though pulling his hood up shielding his head from the sun, he had made more coin today from people thinking he was a begging musician all he had done today was give out free samples he was going to have to find a better market to sell in. Perhaps a local bar, in his home town that’s where he made his first fortune selling it but he had sunk a good half of his money into procuring more and the trip to this place.

Dominic Diamondheart

For a brief moment Johnathan had thought he was going to get a crossbow bolt lounged between his eyes. He knew that in most instants that the Sea Monster wouldn't murder a man for speaking to him. The moment he had turned around through, he seemed as intimidating and massive as the leviathan he was named after. His words had somewhat grounded him back to reality as he had offered a seemingly calm smirk and a nod of his head. "The lovely fragrances of the Carmine Maid will be eagerly awaiting your legendary company." he prose as the four departed again.

Johnathan was surprised how good of a promoter he was at time, the rare patronage of a powerful warlord for the evening for the Madame and the Carmine for a brief exchange of words. Then again, when finding words to say Johnathan always had a particular talent in that aspect: even as a lying good for nothing whelp. With a smirking grin, the handsome well toned man returned back into the confines of the rich exotic brothel. A few approached the single prostitute, some neutral and others irritated.

"You didn't piss off the bastards with those smug words of yours did you!?" One in the group accused almost appearing as though she was about to strike him for losing such fine business. Johnathan's dwarven friend was quite quick to come to her co-worker's aid. "If the Sea Monster was disgusted by the offer there would be one less whore in the Ruby Quarter." She asserted.

Though it did silence the critics, Johnathan was not so terribly assured with those amoral wording. "The Sea Monster has business in the day, he told me he will be dropping by the evening." He proposed which gave enough certainty to dispel the group away. Johnathan took another breath as he looked a rather fat hairy man wearing too much jewelry with teeth made of gold that was pacing out with a friend armed thugs. It was none other than Hassir the Flesh Peddler, a slaver that bought exotic people of the wild untamed lands and sold exclusively to brothels. If he was here, it had meant he was seeking business.

"You! Whore!" he somewhat bellowed. Hassir had never bothered to learn any name he did not deem important, it was strange of all the seasons he had been in the city he was always referred simply as 'whore' to this man. Holding in his true disposition he turned to the man with a neutral face bowing his head as he spoke "Master Hassir, How may I-" Was all he could say before the impatient man spoke again "I have no time for formalities! Where is your mistress!? I have business to attend with her. Very rich business that need not wait!"

He paused for a moment before he idly spoke "She is at the Bazzar during this hour." Johnathan had answered in return "Good! Good! Than that is where I go next!" With that had said the immensely wealthy man paced away with his guards in tow. Rumors had circulated that Hassir had privately funded a war in the wild lands beyond the seas for an aggressive chiefdom to expand its statehood. This had resulted in Hassir having first pick of the thousands of war captives in the aftermath of this war, some have said the fleet of ships that were said to arrive would be rich in 'black gold'. To Johnathan though, it may mean having new blood in the Carmine for Hassir always had a habit of saving his absolute best pick for the Madame.

For now Johnathan would wait, the red haired client would arrive sooner than later and it was his personal responsibility to greet and escort her through the Maid with her list of potential new clients.

---

The Docks

Prince Constantine IV

The morning was still and the skies a murky grey, fog had begun to roll along the piers obscuring the fleet of ships that crowded the free port of Daggerford. Nathan Bounty had been a smuggler and a very successful smuggler at that. His days in piracy and contraband from slave to foreign silk had given the man a rather comfortable retirement in the Palace Ward. As a sign of sentimental value he had kept his old vessel: The Sapphire of the Ocean seaworthy in port managed and maintained by a few paid crew members to clean and manage her a small gang of toughs to discourage vandalism and theft.

Nathan was now an elder man, a bald wrinkled head with a well trimmed white beard. He was deeply tanned and still a very active looking man due to his many adventurers on the high seas and dressed in rather rich clothes as a sign of his own status in the Merchant Guild which he served somewhat as a adviser to for a good pension. Dulled brown eyes examined the vessel again as a voice spoke out to him. "Its rather a marvelous vessel old friend, it sometimes makes me wonder our place in this new generation."

His eyes turned to Merrivian Veldonnas. Veldonnas had been an actor once, though when the more respectable seeking pashas had noticed how eloquent he was with words they began to hire him to write speeches and pamphlets of all kinds. Within the city where literacy was rare, Veldonnas quickly became the most popular playwright and author within Daggerford, supply the ample masses with witty comedy, beautiful drama and to some extend tragedy that was not booed off the stage by the groundlings.

The equally old man seemed to age somewhat more gracefully, appearing a smooth, handsome man of his late forties more than the elderly pirate before him. Dressed in equally rich flowing robes he was accompanied by a single slave bodyguard, a loyal mercenary that held no tongue from the Wild Lands. Merrivian spoke a foreign dialect and the man departed from earshot for now as he joined his old friend's side to speak in private.

"We'll out live the little bastards yet." Bounty had boasted rather firmly prompting his friend to somewhat chuckle.

"Still as jovial as ever I see." The other old man commented as the two actually made their way up the walk way of the ship.

As the two arrived on top deck, they behold an image they had not been expecting: Prince Constantine awaiting for them. "Gentlemen." The masked prince hailed the other two men. Both were in slight fright, and this was what Hugo desired if for a brief moment the brief and sudden realization that he could be anywhere at any moment. The loyal and secretive monarchists returned their attention to Hugo both bowing their heads respectively as they spoke "Your Highness." In their graces.

Hugo had liked these men, they were experienced and competent something he found lacking with the boot lickers and flatterers of merchants that made the bulk of the movement here in the city. He did tried to seek other counsel now and then to give the illusion that he held them dear and appreciated their support but he would not be a vain and rash ruler but a prudent one and remained grounded in wise counsel.

"Forgive my intrusion on your weekly conversations of philosophy and science, but I knew this was the only time I could seek word with you." The spies the Prince had been able to install had told him through contacts that The Rakkath had vanished from affairs and that his Blood Hound was distracted with an assassination attempt on his life to manage the guild personally in his master's absence. The infrastructure of the Achaz was awe inspiring and perhaps too good for Rakkath's other lieutenants to truly manage on their own accords. It had left cracks in the system, which have given the Prince ample enough time to slip this small meeting in and then vanish out before anyone above could suspect a thing.

"Let us take this conversation inside the captains quarters." He requested and with that statement the two men followed him inward to speak.

Gods be good that tiny urchin had created a shitstorm.

She had watched as the crossbow strings released and the tiny boy collapsed and landed on one of the lower branches of the tree. Startled, she had glanced around and proceeded to show the crowd her empty hands when angry and shocked eyes immediately turned towards her. A man stepped towards the boy, procuring her purse from the pool of blood that surrounded him. Four coins he took from her bag, and the rest he turned to hand towards Ceres. Her words were caught in her throat for a moment, struggling to break free from her throat. His long white hair and coal black eyes sent a sting throughout her whole body. Not to mention the way he shot the boy without batting a single lash. Only one pirate lord in the city had the same appearance she was now viewing herself for the first time.

" Gratitude Captain. I....thank you kindly for the, " She licked her drying lips before continuing. "Assistance." Her hand moved forward as if on it's own and her fingers clenched around the bloodstained bag. He wore no gloves unlike herself, but she imagined that his skin would be cold. As cold as the sea itself she wagered. She could hardly count the callused on his hands, but shook her head when she realized she was staring at his hands.

"Alright, everyone shut up."

The voice spoke over the tittering and whispers of the crowd, the voice of an alpha male that cared little of the thoughts and words of common men. It was a voice she knew without even having to take a glance at the men. "The Sea Monster, how good it is to see you again.". Her hand and the pouch of coins darted back away from the Captain and her fingers found the edge of her cloak. She quickly drew the hood around her pale face, and held it tight beneath her chin. A simple thief had gone and ruined her entire day when all he had to do was simply ask her for a coin or two. Pitiful.

With the crowd gone, clearly taking a hint at the voice of The Blood Hound; one of The Achaz deadliest killers to leave, Ceres knew her odds for escape were slim to none. She'd have to pray that the man didn't notice her, though there was a good chance he wouldn't. She was just a bard after all. With her face now hidden and her lute on her back she didn't seem at all different besides most of the folks in town. Her elven heritage and red hair were the only oddities about her, and she doubted any of the man here cared much about either of those things.

Turning her head to one of the many sun dials around the Bazaar, she clicked her tongue in annoyance. An hour later than the time she needed to be at The Carmine Maid. Not only was the Madame expecting her, but now she had to wait and see what would happen between her "savior" and the man her guild ached to destroy.

"Lovely." She murmured, placing her pouch into her breast pocket for safe keeping. Now she would wait, and see if the Gods would finally find a shred of mercy for her on this cloudy day.

"Fucking move bitch! " A man howled, pushing his shoulder past Lunora's and running forward, away from the group of common folk surrounding a tree in the Bazaar. Normally she would have taken the knife under her skirts and held it against the whelps throat, asking for him to repeat the words his cracked chapped lips had uttered, but with the fray the market was in; she let the fool pass. It was unusual to see people closing down a few of their stalls and packing their things early to go home so early in the day, but they were. Men, women, and even children were all frantically moving about, trying to distance themselves from three individuals who appeared to be speaking around a large oak tree.

The Madame was a curious creature, and curious creature often did things sane ones did not.

Exactly the reason she moved forward, walking towards where the three were conversing amongst themselves. Her tiny feet made little to no noise as she ambled over to where the men were. Her eyes darted between the white haired man and the black haired, a contrast between them greater than even she knew. "White and black...how apropos " She blurted out, making her presence known whether the three cared or not. Within seconds however, she heard a "squishing" sound as her foot lifted in order to turn herself around.A thick crimson liquid coated the bottom of her foot and all around her. She followed the stream of blood to the body of an urchin boy, laying with his head to the side and eyes wide open by the bottom of the oak tree.

"Such a waste...." Lunora whispered, bending down to close the lads eyes with her slim fingers. His skin was coated with dirt, fingernails practically chewed off, and his hair looked as if it hadn't had a proper washing in months. It was sad, but there was never any time to mourn in Daggerford. She picked herself up and dusted off her skirts, eyeballing the small droplets of blood that had found their way onto her clothes. The servants would have a hell of a time getting the stains out of her clothes before the evening came.

Turning to the three, she casually placed a hand on her hip and took a good hard look at each of them. The Pirate Lord was the easiest to spot, with his long white hair that practically begged for a good brushing and braiding. Her palms tingled at the thought, and a grin began to spread. The Blood Hound was also another easy individual to spot. He too had long hair, but it was jet black, just like the so called heart he possessed. If he had on at all that is. It was the last individual she had trouble placing. Cloaked and hooded, it was difficult to spot the persons face. Her eyes slowly moved up and down her body until she spotted the two lumps that squished against the individuals body. Breasts.

She finally caught a small piece of red hair peeking out from the hood, causing her to let out a hearty chuckle with relief.

"Ceres dear, how did you get caught up in this nonsense? Shouldn't you be at the Carmine by now?" Her voice was filled with nothing but motherly affection. She was fond of the red-haired bard, and often paid for her services whenever the girl decided to play at the Maid. Mostly, she was surprised that a member of Sethur's Hand and the Achaz were around each other no one had pulled a weapon out yet.

Smiling gently still, she waited for an answer from the girl all the while keeping her eyes on her and the two men.