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Daggerford

The Bazaars

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a part of Daggerford, by The Cynic.

The south and north bazaars of Daggerford - undoubtedly the busiest place in all the city. Here you will find everything you need...maybe...

RolePlayGateway holds sovereignty over The Bazaars, giving them the ability to make limited changes.

437 readers have been here.

Setting

*Under-construction.*
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The Bazaars

The south and north bazaars of Daggerford - undoubtedly the busiest place in all the city. Here you will find everything you need...maybe...

Minimap

The Bazaars is a part of Daggerford.

1 Places in The Bazaars:

2 Characters Here

Laeliana Regnatos [7] The Blind Apothecary; South Bazaar. "I say to you, man with gilded edge and bloodied creed, let me bear you deadly fruit for your enemies."
Elizabetta [1] Renowned Pirate turned Leader of the Merchant's Guild. Does the life of the rich and wealthy suit her or does she miss the adventures of the open seas?

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Setting

1 Characters Present

Character Portrait: Laeliana Regnatos
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#, as written by mombie
The ephemeral sheet of night was cast aside by a new virgin morn. The heavenly beyond held a dismal sheen, and sweeping gales ghosted across the Southern Bazaar with blood and wickedness beneath their wings. Daggerford, for as long as the fair-haired Apothecary spend dwelling in its silent carnage, was but a frail creature tucked ever so dangerously within a land of great chaos. However she remained as an unwatched phantom, she could not fathom. Perhaps it was by the stroke of luck that she was unscathed by the surrounding loose moral of Assassins, and other depraved souls. If there was ever true neutrality left here, it was in remnants, and of those who saw no truth from the pools of spilt blood.

A small smile stretched across the pallor softness of her facet, as she was moved sweetly by each wakened day. Truth, sight had not fallen in blessed hue unto her, instead, Liana gazed into the cold cruel abyssal depths of nothingness. Yet she could feel the fresh beading of morning dew on her skin, and the fragrances of a rising day remedied her most profound fears. Phobias she had by the plenty, as each new day brought many a horrors to be seen or heard. There was nothing magnificent about the dainty doe, only that she had managed to walk amongst the streets in safety and comfort. So few were the days that brought her adversity, at the most, perhaps a stolen remedy or two. Of course, that was not cause for panicked concern. Life was cherished, even by the most weak of creatures, and she would like to keep her own in tact.

People, in bountiful numbers, began to stretch and yawn to waking, and filtered from their homes into the wretched field of the ominous unknown. Liana was one of them, shrouded in a meager satin gown; roped belt at her slender waist. A threat could hardly be seen in regards to the female, so maybe that was why she moved without turning heads. Pale hair spiraled down the length of her back in an unkempt frivolity, unfettered and careless. Feet softly pattered against shadow laden veins of the Bazaar as she used swift senses to guide her. Not inhuman, no, but senses that naturally became augmented when there was a lack in a pertinent area. Occasionally, a small rounded shoulder brushed against another, but not a soul paid in attention.

The routes were known to her quite well, and she, more often than not, would drift down the same path each morning. In the beginning, she took herself into the places that danger was far more abundant, but none would mangle a youthful blind lady. That was, by far, her only comfort. It would be pleasant to have svelte tendrils curled about her tapping stick, however, it had been so haplessly misplaced. The Apothecary knew when she was growing closer to her quaint shop; a lively bouquet of fresh fruit fleeting towards her nose. She always stopped there to get her hands on fruit swollen with sweet juices. There were not many pleasantries that she could dapple in, so she was a fairly simple women moved by all-too mundane things. Liana was a lone soul, untouched and unwanted, and that she knew with no dark shade of shame to spoil her easy persona.

A pivot of her heel sent her towards the direction of the stand, and the man that employed it chuckled, and with hearty vocals, "Liana, sweet lady, I already have you a basket woven and filled." Her cheeks flushed in a florid hue, and fluffed with the widen of her smile. When he held the basket up, and she got close enough, he grasped her smooth and spindly fingers to wrap them gently against the handle. Raking eyes over her as she settled her full hand down by her side, he quirked a brow, "Where is your walking stick?" That halo of light gold shook with subtlety, and with a soft whimper of a voice, "I fear it misplaced. I can be, at times, so daftly minded."

The male's vocals tremored like a wrathful thunder, "Jacob!" A small boy scurried to his side, and the vendor parted him with a stern order, "See to it that Liana stays her feet towards the path of her shop." Then he grew softer towards the fragile woman at his front, "Such a ray of sunlight would easily be swallowed by these devious streets." With that, she uttered her most heartfelt gratitude towards his generosity, and the boy's small hand snaked about her fingers. It was at that moment in which she would be led towards her quiet employ by Jacob. He was small, and perhaps no older than twelve at the most. Gently, he pulled her at her own pace through the slowly bustling throngs of the Bazaar with no words, just a knowing direction.

Setting

2 Characters Present

Character Portrait: Saren Niordan Character Portrait: Kilel Niordan
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Kilel Niordan

The mid-morning sun shone down on the crowded bazaar. The scene was reminiscent of the market places in cities Kilel had visited while in exile. Merchants hawked their wares, people haggled over prices, everywhere people bustled about. However, here there was an air distinctly more sinister than in the other cities, and there was also an apparent lack of children, this was not a city for families. This city was one of death, debauchery, and a distinct chaos. As opposed to the cities the exile had lived in before now, there was no rigid rule of law but for those put forth by the various criminal elements, spoken and unspoken. It was a situation that suited his goals quite well, an organized chaos.

Upon his arrival a few weeks ago, Kilel had been pleased to find out just how true the tales were about the city's complete lack of moral bindings. Anything went here, so long as it didn't upset the wrong people, or so long as no witnesses were left to tell the tale. It was quite easy for him to find work here, more than in any other city, someone wanted someone else harmed. The reasons did not matter, so long as the coin was good. Everyone, including himself had their own problems, it was their own duty to solve them by whatever means were most effective. If that interfered with others' lives well, that was just too bad wasn't it? They should have taken better care to stay out of the way. It had taken awhile, but he finally had a decent grasp of the city layout, and where one could and could not walk without undue trouble.

As a new arrival to the city, he had experienced difficulty finding work at first. However it did not take long for him to find that everyone needed a little help in one way or another in this city. It just so happened that the one way was usually a very good beating, and that another was oftentimes a permanent solution to a problem individual. There was just no shortage in the city, all he had to do was sit and watch. Price wars between merchants, fights between bar patrons, turf battles between different groups of some nature or another, disputes over love or ownership, all seemed to welcome the help of an outside...mediator.

Kilel was an interesting sort of person, one ideally suited for life in such a city. Banal matters such as morality, justice, and the like were of no concern to Kilel, there was a single driving force in his life, and it had no use for such worthless sentiments. There were few things in this life held real importance for him, though he had yet to reach the limits of what he would do for the sake of these few things.

And on such matters.... 'Where in the hell is he...' He had split from his brother, Saren, earlier that morning when the two had departed from their inn room in the Tavern District. 'How long can it take someone to get food...' These were of course rhetorical questions, he knew Saren wouldn't be able to just go and buy food. Honestly, it was a wonder his brother ever accomplished anything, what with his inability to resist flirting with any girl possessing a fair figure. And it just so happened that this city seemed to have more than its share of such women. Kilel was resigned to the fact that it would take considerable effort to keep his brother under control, he didn't want him causing too much trouble. It was an unenviable job, too much for even five men to handle, however this city was to be the final stepping stone in the plan, and as such he was willing to put up with his brother's more impetuous nature.

After a solid hour of combing the bazaar, he finally spotted Saren. He was flirting with a merchant, no surprise there, he never gave it a rest it seemed. Still, even as he thought that, he knew that was not entirely true. When it really came down to the wire, the do or die, there was no one he would rather have at his side than Saren, not even... He shook his head, now was neither the time nor the place for such thoughts. Walking up to the merchant stand he slammed his hand down on the counter in front of his brother. In a rough, impatient voice he said, "How hard is it to go pick up some damned groceries? We don't have time to play around, this isn't some fucking vacation!"

Setting

2 Characters Present

Character Portrait: Saren Niordan Character Portrait: Kilel Niordan
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Saren

Saren still wasn't quite use to Daggerford, it was an usual place to be sure, law enforcement was little to none, even thieves and assassins walked around unhindered which was good in some aspects but quite concerning in others. The most peculiar thing to him though was the atmosphere of Daggerford, it seemed no matter what time of day nothing changed besides the amount of light beaming down from above. Sure, foot-traffic in certain areas fluctuated but it never stopped. That was a general rule but it was especially true in the bazaar where merchants constantly shouted over one another trying to make a living. One had to be careful walking around the bazaar though, some merchants were mere swindlers and as many merchants as there were, there just as many cut-purses also made their living in the crowded streets. Saren had been walking around for some time now, he had left the small inn his brother Kilel had decided to coop them up in before light had actually peaked its head. He never really slept much to begin with but this city made it all the worse. Besides, how long or when he slept meant little, morning or night made no difference to Saren and obviously Daggerford felt the same.

Saren smirked as he moved rather easily through the morning rush going from one stall to another and he had been at it for close to an hour. He was simply looking around and having his fun, picking up a few things here and there, paying for some and winning others. One particular stall caught his eye as he continued on his way though, one with fresh appetizing fruit being displayed and a beautiful woman was calling to those who passed by. He took immediate action, slipping between the mass of bodies and making his way to the stall. His eyes fell to the scrumptious round orbs for a moment, observing them carefully before finally moving to the the fruit. Immediately his attention was brought to shiny red apples stacked in one of the many wooden boxes placed upon the stall. He took one of the apples in his hand, it was firm and there appeared to be no flaws on its glimmering wax surface, it would be a treat indeed. But all treats were better if he received as a gift from a beautiful woman. This was a game Saren loved to play in order to keep himself entertained, flirt his way to free food and at times other services, never anything substantial but small things.

And so the game began. He looked up, apple in hand and smile on his face to the woman watching, most likely for any attempts of theft. His smile seemed to lower her guard, it was well practiced and his natural charisma helped, or so he liked to think. Then came the game of cat and mouse, tossing out a few compliments while not making it too obvious and goading the woman into reciprocating. It was working splendidly as well, Saren was well on his way to a free snack until... Kilel ruined it, scaring the poor woman behind the counter. "How hard is it to go pick up some damned groceries? We don't have time to play around, this isn't some fucking vacation!" Saren turned to look at his brother with a sigh, Yes, not a vacation, got it. Come to think of it I don't think I have been on a vacation in over fifteen years... It would be nice to take some time off for once, lay in bed for a week with beautiful women and good food. Saren didn't respond immediately, his daydreams keeping him occupied for a time. When he snapped back to reality he reached into his pocket and pulled out a small coin, handing it to the merchant.

A look of disappointment passed over his face as he gave her a quick wave and led his brother away, taking a bite out of the fruit, delicious sure but it didn't have that taste of victory he so enjoyed and it was all Kilel's fault. His brother almost seemed to enjoy limiting the fun he had, he made them stay in the same room at a small rundown inn, he kept Saren on an 'allowance' as it had come to be called, and at every turn Kilel was rushing him and ruining his efforts with women and denying him some most basic of luxuries. Sure it was true they had better things to do, killing people and earning money, and of course he had heard the plan a million times to, as Kilel put it, 'gather forces and seek revenge', but he preferred to enjoy the simple things along the way. Luckily it just so happened Daggerford was the absolute perfect place to do that with its beautiful women, a seemingly endless stream of work, and most of all opportunities unlike any other for people of their particular trade. All of this would no doubt get him and Kilel what they needed, it was just his way of going about things was always a bit linear, no room for the constant shenanigans Saren so enjoyed.

That said Saren loved his brother, family was all he had and if not for his elder sibling he would most certainly have been dead long ago, whether by jealous husband or in combat. Once they had walked away from the stall Saren spoke up, swallowing another mouthful of the juicy apple before speaking in a cheerful manner, "Relax brother, this may be no vacation but it is still morning and I have already picked up what we need so don't worry so much." He proceeded to pat the small bag he was carrying around on his back, the food was inside so all was well. Then again he had failed to mention the extra purchases he had made, two bottles of spiced rum, not that Kilel would complain if he was offered some but he was always cranky in the morning so it was best to wait until later.

As they continued to walk Saren ran his hand through his hair, still munching away on the apple and wondering just what the day would hold. In his mind the first priority was finding a woman to have conversation with, maybe go check out the guilds at long last and meet some of the members, his focus being on those of female persuasion. Kilel would no doubt have other options in mind though, to take on another job and if they did happen to peruse the guilds or anything of the sort it would be strictly business no doubt. Regardless of what the day held Saren began to hum as they walked, determined to enjoying himself even if Kilel was not.

Setting

1 Characters Present

Character Portrait: Laeliana Regnatos
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#, as written by mombie
Laeliana Regnatos

Miniature fingers, those of guiless youth, were so lax upon her own that she swore he would become lost in the unfathomable numbers of a crowded street. One small collision with robust features could certainly put an end to her guided path. It would appear as though paling chestnut orbs aimlessly wandered the streets, and that her mind was neither here nor there. Simply, she could not comprehend why it was taking longer than usual to get to her shop. Soon enough, the soft pads of the boy's digits swept free of her hand, and all she could hear was the hastened duet of small feet scampering away. As he did, Jacob beckoned her to stay her place whilst he sought innocent drink at yet another vendor. This direction to her dwelling, and employ, was riddled with fascinating distractions. Voices rang through the air of merchant's sales, heralding supposed goods of rare designs and outlandish prices. Truth be told, many of the items found here are only guised as special to bloat a man's pocket. Liana was aware of this, but she needn't much to sustain her well-being. As though on a swivel, her head turned to and fro hoping to catch some sensory glimpse into where exactly she stood.

The woman, whom seemed as frail as rose petals; one touch, and all is left to die away, made the daft decision to go ahead. However, she knew nothing of the direction she faced, only that she had managed to turn her feet and shuffle from unease of being so out in the open. Daggerford was not fashioned in a way to ensure the survival, or innocence untainted, towards a mere girl of her phobic caliber. Each nearness of bodily warmth too close for her comfort made her bosom rise with a choking breath. Most of the time, Liana just held onto that small glint of hope. Hope had no longevity in a place like this. Through the infinite bleak of her sight, she knew that it was a carnivorous world out there. The plea that she was but a blind female was to run out of her reaped pile of excuses sooner or later. She thought that if she minded her own, she would find safety. It had worked thus far, but something gave her festering feeling that it would end. Just because she was blind, often wayward in her thoughts, or silent, did not mean that she was an ignorant fool. Blood ran hotly upon these grounds, and each passing day the scent grew hazardously thicker.

Her patience was small, expecially amongst the crowds of wolves, which caused her feet to liven in cautious animation. With woven basket in tow, she began to take the most careful and well thought steps. Or so, that is what she had so stupidly imagined. It was hard to feel that florid rush of embarrassment as her flesh, speckled in small bumps from the gelid air, found that of another. The other may look to her and scoff in irritance, but she would never know their face. That meant she could feel no shame of it. There were days where she could make her handicap seem flawless and easy, and then there were the times like today where she felt troubled by her missteps.

An emptied hand was lifted slightly, just above mid-belly, and she made the vain attempts at feeling out where she was heading. Fingers swept through naught but cool air, and by the time she was nearing someone, it was too late. The Bazaar was over-crowded this morning, which made it especially harder for the fair woman to make her way through. Every so often, more than she could stand, the sour and pungent odors of fermented fruit married with sordid breath assaulted her nostrils, forcing her nose to wrinkle in disgust. Unfortunately, such stimulants are loved by most of the citizens here. How could it not be? Even in the daylight did the darkness linger relentlessly, and sometimes the only way to excape it was to fill bellies with strong drinks and enjoy the relaxation of merry carousal. One never knows just when their life has seen the last rosey fingered dawn of the birthing day. It was best to enjoy the fine establishments catered to the needs of both men and women until one can do so no longer. Not her. Not ever. It was near impossible, despite the fact that she could quicker find a raunchy brothel or the cacophony of a tavern than her own silent and solitary home. All by the smell and sound of them, which is the reason for such assumptions.

With feet in planned gaits, few friendly and knowing voices found her ears in greeting along the way. Many came to see The Blind Apothecary, for she was quite skilled, even for a sight bereft human-being. Assassins were few, but the plagued and mared were many. Liana had opened her business to all, regardless of affiliation or motivations. That was how she kept a decent living, and her life. The fear was so strong a life within her that she wouldn't dare deny anyone of their wishes.

Setting

2 Characters Present

Character Portrait: Abel Beth-dagon Character Portrait: Laeliana Regnatos
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T H E I N K E D R O G U E



♦♦♦♦♦♦

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...”

♦♦♦♦♦♦

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.

Setting

4 Characters Present

Character Portrait: Saren Niordan Character Portrait: Abel Beth-dagon Character Portrait: Kilel Niordan Character Portrait: Laeliana Regnatos
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#, as written by mombie
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.

Setting

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Character Portrait: Annon
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Annon gave a coy smirk as he disembarked from his small slew he had employed 3 sailors to get it where he needed to go as his nautical experience was lacking at best. He had just landed in the city of Daggerford and he was ecstatic about the potential money to be made from unleashing a new drug into the city of the town. After all the Divine killed most if not all pains emotional and physical, the substance made the user listless and uncaring for hours yet the comedown was most unpleasant and always left the user searching for more. He carries the box containing the cakes of Opium on his back as he walked into the town he had sent a message weeks before he left to procure a license to sell wares in the city yet left what was being sold unknown. He walked towards the bazaar instrument in hand as he plucked away on the strings singing a soulful tune of home attempting to attract positive attention to himself the pipe that hung from his lips let a sickly sweet perfume into the air as the “divine” inside slowly burned away. He was addicted to the substance himself, but years of use left him tolerant to the drug the only thing it did to him now was quench the painful cravings it had left him with and gave his attitude a well needed lift. He casually walked into the well crowded market place setting the box down under his foot to attract any inquisitive customers as plucked away a new tune. Something uplifting to bring in the people as the unusual and sweet smoke drifted from his pipe like tobacco made of flowers. It landed hard upon the nose and even the mere scent could make people want to try it after all that’s how it gained the name the “Divine”. He sang a simple song at those who walked by enticing them to try his wares, he always had a standard let them try for free once they will always come back for more, He thought in his head. “Come one come all it calls to you, The divine the pleasant the epitome to, It will fix your troubles in just one use, Its perfection, sedation, and it’s all for you.” As he plucks away on the string looking up at the passer bys a smirk loomed across his face, his pipe was brass and shone in the sun yet with expertise he could smoke it while he played. His eyes flicked left to right with an unnatural appearance like that of an animal looking for it’s next victim. Yet his music rang loud through the air and even the most un-tide-able of people could not at least help to see where it was coming from. Within the hour he was handing out a small portion of free samples to the local populace and his bait was set now all he had to wait for was the trap to snap.

Setting

2 Characters Present

Character Portrait: Lunora Tre'vani Character Portrait: Ceres Landros
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The Bazaar was full of fools speaking in whispers, merchants yelling in booming voices to buy and try their wares, and whores lifting skirts in attempts to attract men.She could see the pink tongues of their mouths slithering, and the honey lies dripping from their lips. It was truly the best place to make a deal, kill a fool, and buy a new coat all before the sun went down and the more unsavory of folks crept out of the woodwork.

She maneuvered through the stalls, occasionally bumping into someone but dispersing before any words could be exchanged and fake apologies made. Coins jangled in her pockets, something most thieves could hear even over the noise of the Bazaar. She suspected however, that the small knife at her side would be more than enough for any thief to see and think twice before reaching a hand into any of her pockets.Or at least she assumed it would until she felt a tiny hand brush against her thigh and a child with greasy black hair run past her. One minute her pockets were heavy with gold, and the next as light after taxes.

"Oh hells, COME BACK HERE YOU LITTLE BASTARD!" Her voice rang, as shrill and loud as she could make it. A few men moved away from her, and a few she pushed out of the way as she followed the tiny black head through the crowd. She ran, each step longer and faster to the next but never quite as fast as the boys. Her leather boots hit the ground and her arms swung side by side. Anyone could have assumed an elf would be able to catch a small human boy, but she was a bard. She rarely ran unless someone was chasing her , and that had been nearly months ago. She suddenly spotted the little urchin climbing one of the few tree's that grew in the Bazaar. His tiny body moved rather quickly, reminding her of the alley cats she once chased as a child around town.

He had trapped himself, much to Ceres delight. The boy sat down on one of the limbs, holding the bards wallet in his dirty hand . He held it tight to his chest and looked down, glaring at her with fierce green eyes that made it look as if she was stealing from him.. "You best throw that down now boy, before you get yourself hurt." She was horrible with children, but she made her voice as soothing as her mothers hoping the little wretch would comply. "Finders keepers knife ears!"

Her mouth dropped. "You little shit! Here I was hoping we'd be able to settle this peacefully and you go and use that sort of language." Elven slurs hadn't been used on her since she started carrying a bow and knife around. This was proof that children had little to no common sense. The boy scrunched his nose and stuck out his tiny pink tongue. "I'm up here and you're down there." He blurted out, in a sing-song voice that children used when they wanted to be incredibly annoying. She clicked her tongue. "Either you throw me down that bag, or I swear I'll put an arrow through you boy." Her voice lost it's soothing tone to be replaced with her usual bite. Surprise quickly flashed over the boys smug face for a moment, before his smirk returned.[i] "You won't do nuthin." He crowed, smiling down at her with yellow teeth and ragged clothes. She had never hurt a child, but this one was making her bow hand twitch for a shot. She hadn't noticed, but a bit of a crowd had begun to gather around her and she now knew why the boy said she wouldn't shoot him.

Witnesses.


She sighed a long hard sigh and moved towards the tree, pressing a palm to the bark. She could hear the sounds of voices behind her, both man and women speaking about her and the creature above her. "You think she'll kill him?" A raspy womanly voice asked from behind her, to which made several people inhale sharply. I'm not a monster...I was only going to scare him. She thought bitterly, willing herself not to look back for fear she'd end up attracting an even bigger crowd by hitting one of the passerby's.

A realization hit her that she would probably be late to her appointment as well after all this. Madame Tre'vani would scold her and she'd probably lose a cut of the gold she was promised.

Hells she hated children.

Setting

3 Characters Present

Character Portrait: Drake Sigurdsol Character Portrait: Ceres Landros Character Portrait: Dominic Diamondheart
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Drake Sigurdsol

Drake and his men strode confidently down the alleyways until they reached the Ruby Ward. As far as the wards went, this one was the nicest outside of the Palace Ward. The establishments here, while certainly not of the reputable sort, were often grades above those of the lower wards. Indeed, there were a number of fine brothels and taverns to be found throughout the ward. Even the air seemed nicer in this ward, not as tainted by the filth and poverty of those in the lower class wards. This ward at least established a pretense of finery and civility, even if pretense was all that it was.

The sun shining down upon them went unnoticed, accustomed as they were to the far harsher beatings affected upon those at sea by the sun, ocean, and all the other elements whose powers were amplified upon the open seas. While they were moving through the ward, one of the mates mentioned that he had put a special order in with one of the local merchants for absinthe, a rarity even in the city of thieves and vice. Drake clapped the man on the back, causing him to stumble forward as he laughed, "Well why didn't you say so in the first place? Not trying to hold out on your captain are you?" Laughing, the men moved off towards the bazaar to pick up this rare and potent alcohol. They stopped only when a voice called out from one of the brothels.

"Captain Sigurdsol, Why don't you choose the world renowned Carmine Maid for your time on land?" The quartet of pirates stopped and looked at the male prostitute standing in the doorway of the brothel. Still in a good mood from the mention of absinthe, Drake laughed aloud. "You have a right mighty pair of stones boy to be addressing the Lord of Pirates yourself." After a moments thought he continued, "Well I reckon we could do wit a good brothel, but we have important business to attend to first. We will be back in a short while." And with that the pirates went off to attend to the important business of procuring alcohol.

When the pirates entered the bazaar, it was already filled with a pack of customers, merchants, thieves, and others. Some people tried to make room for the pirates to pass, but that wasn't always possible given the crowded conditions. In those instances, Drake roughly pushed aside the sea of city-dwellers, making room for them to pass through unhindered. It took some time, but they finally reached the shop where the crewman had requested the absinthe. One of the crewmen spoke briefly with the merchant who then ducked under his stand for a moment. When he stood back up, he had a large, ornate glass container filled with green liquid. He placed it in a box with a felt indentation, specifically fit for the bottle. It cost quite a pretty penny. As the crewman was paying for it, Drake took some gold from his own purse and chipped in. The merchant raised his eyebrow at this, the captain was known for many things, though generosity when it came to gold was not one of them. Still, the merchant accepted the gold unquestioningly, and the transaction was thus completed. The men turned and left.

Making their way back through the crowd, the crewman who knew the merchant holding the absinthe box, they witnessed the spectacle of the elf-bard chasing a small purse snatch through the crowd. It was truly a humorous sight to behold. Drake observed the quick, agile movements of the child, he would make a fine pirate with the agility he had. Then the child climbed a tree, effectively trapping himself. Looking on impassively, Drake listened to the ensuing confrontation between the female elf and the street urchin. A crowd formed, but it seemed their presence was keeping the elf from taking further action against the little thief. He frowned, it seemed the elf was on the verge of giving up, to an insulting whelp no less. And the crowd just stood by doing nothing. That sent the wrong sort of message, he thought to himself. If petty thieves were just allowed to run amok in broad daylight with no one lifting so much as a finger to stop them...nay, the crowd was actually helping the little brat get away with their seeming judgement of the elf. If such things were just allowed to occur unchecked, well, even cities like this one needed some sort of rules. "Time to send a message." Drake said, mostly to himself. "Open thievery will not go unpunished." The child was still jeering at and mocking the elf lass when Drake removed his hand crossbow from its holster, pointed it at him, and pulled the trigger. The small twang went unheard by the crowd, the bolt unnoticed, at least until it buried itself in the boy's chest. It was then that the crowd fell into a shocked silence. The boy looked down at the bolt in surprise before he fell over, and landed on a lower branch, blood dripping down onto the cobblestones below.

However, the silence lasted only a moment, then an uproar began to swell, outraged that someone could shoot a child, even one that had committed theft right in front of them. The crowed turned about, looking for the one who had committed such a deed, and fell silent again when they saw the Sea Monster himself holding his larger-than-normal hand crossbow. The quartet of pirates moved forward without a word, the crowd parting before them, fear and awe apparent, but mostly fear. The boy was slumped in the tree, blood continuing to fall to the earth. Using his height, Drake reached up and plucked the child unceremoniously from the lower limb. Holding the boy with one hand, he pulled his bolt from the body, before letting it drop to the ground as carelessly as one might discard a piece of refuse. He reloaded the bolt into the crossbow and placed the Drake-sized hand crossbow back in it's holster.

The pouch of coins was sitting in the pool of blood expanding out from under the body. Drake picked up the pouch, opened it, and plucked out four gold coins. He looked at the elf girl, for she was certainly not out of her twenties and said, "For services rendered." Then he closed the pouch and holding it by the top extended it towards the elf, it was hers after all. Blood dripped from the bottom of the bag onto the street. He waited stoically for her to take the pouch.

Setting

4 Characters Present

Character Portrait: Abel Beth-dagon Character Portrait: Drake Sigurdsol Character Portrait: Laeliana Regnatos Character Portrait: Ceres Landros
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T H E I N K E D R O G U E



♦♦♦♦♦♦

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.

♦♦♦♦♦♦

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.

Setting

5 Characters Present

Character Portrait: Abel Beth-dagon Character Portrait: Annon Character Portrait: Drake Sigurdsol Character Portrait: Laeliana Regnatos Character Portrait: Ceres Landros
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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.

Setting

3 Characters Present

Character Portrait: Abel Beth-dagon Character Portrait: Drake Sigurdsol Character Portrait: Ceres Landros
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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.

Setting

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Character Portrait: Elizabetta
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#, as written by Celedia
Elizabetta Aria-Teague




A hollow rapping sound echoed throughout the lower level of the Teague estate, waking the servants that lived on the lower levels.

"Yes?" Archion asked, his tremulous hand clutching at the brass door handle with what little strength he could muster as he tried to ascertain who was disturbing their rest. The Master would have just let himself in or even if he had forgotten his key, he would have snuck through the back door instead.

Two uniformed guards, if one could even name them as such since there was little in the way of law enforcement in this city, stood at the door with their eyes intent upon the house servant. "We wish to speak to the Lady of the house, if we may?"

Archion shook his head vehemently and took a step forward as if his frail body would keep out the men which were much larger than himself, denying them entry. "She is asleep, as all gentle folk are at this hour. Now I must bid you good eve-..."

As the servant went to shut the door, one of the guards placed his wide palm up to stop it and a heavy sigh escaped his dry lips.

"Monsieur Teague is dead." The armored man spoke bluntly as he forced Archion to meet his gaze so that he would know the truth of his words.

"...Dead. Dead? Master Alex is dead?" Archion shook his head in disbelief but relinquished his hold upon the thick mahogany door to allow the guardsman entry. They took this small window of opportunity and stepped inside, out of the heavy rain just as a rumble of thunder sounded in the distance. The older guard nodded his head, looking weary for having to deliver such news as frequently as he did. The bodies were constantly being cleaned from the streets but usually it was from one of the Guild Wards, less so from the Ruby Ward.

"I'm afraid so...." he paused, giving the servant a moment to collect himself before gesturing towards the grand staircase leading up to the second floor of the estate. "The Lady of the House?" he gently reminded Archion and a subtle flinch pulled at his brow as if he had been struck.

"Oh, she is going to be devastated, she is." Archion murmured and worried at his hands, pulling at each in turn as he cast his gaze upon the steps as well before drawing a deep breath, steeling himself for what was to come.

He nodded, a jerky movement, before turning away from the two armored men. "Mistress...?" The manservant called out tentatively as ascended the staircase.



Elizabetta was no longer the wounded bird that she had seemed to be that night. No longer wallowing in her own misery and sobbing over love lost. No, instead she had steeled herself and reverted to her former mindset. That of the pirate lass which cared little for anyone else and did only what benefited her health, wealth or social standing. Which was one of the reasons she had kept a vast majority of her dead husband's financial holdings instead of selling them off to the overly eager bidders that had circled her like vultures soon after her husband's burial.

Bloody bastards.... she thought with a scowl as she slammed the large leather bound book closed that she had been working on, a ledger for one of the merchant stalls stationed in the Bazaar that sold a plethora of items and despite the amount of unusual goods that she had given this merchant to peddle, he seemed to be doing quite poorly, monetarily, despite selling a good amount of stock. Or at least she assumed he was selling the stock since he rarely had anything left on his shelves when one of her assistants went by to check up on him.

"Archion!" she called out, rising out of the elaborately carved chair so she could exit her office in search of the manservant that had always stuck by her these so many years despite everything that had happened.

"Yes, Mistress?" The elderly man shuffled to the foot of the stairs just as she swept down the hallway on the second level and placed her hand on the bannister.

"Archion, please gather my cloak for me. I am going to be visiting the Bazaar today. I have a... problem which I will need to take care of, personally." As Archion bowed and made his way off to fulfill her command, Elizabetta chewed delicately at her lower lip, wondering exactly how she should approach the merchant. She had only met him once or twice before and could honestly not decide whether he would respond better to intimidation or... gentle persuasion.

She decided that persuasion would be the easier tactic and went to her room to dress the part. Plucking a simple yet well-designed Orchid-hued gown with a figure-accentuating corseted bodice and slightly flared skirt from her wardrobe; she slid on a pair of sheer thigh-high stockings first before donning the garment. Last came her buttery-soft leather boots and by the time she had made her way downstairs, Archion was waiting for her. With a practiced hand, he wrapped the deep black velvet garment around her neck, fastening it with a silver brooch before leading her to the door.

"You be careful, Mistress." Archion warned her in an almost fatherly tone, causing a sinister smile to sweep her lips when she had stepped passed him and onto her front porch. If only someone had given that same warning to the merchant...

Her long, lean legs carried her easily to the Market District, an easy venture from the Palace district where she lived. In order not to seem as if she had come only to speak to the shady merchant, Elizabetta stopped at several of the merchant stalls that offered her wares, from those that sold fabrics and dyes to those that sold metal goods and raw ingredients for crafters. Slowly, she worked her way through the market to the one man that she wanted to speak with.

Setting

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Character Portrait: Laeliana Regnatos
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#, as written by mombie
Ere breaching the threshold of her employ, something caught at the thin husk of her heart. Turning swiftly, she asked the boy what had taken place. Yet, she needn't his sight to entertain her curiosity, only her ears. The populace uttered words, aghast and bewildered, then were silenced by the authoritative tongue of another. Jacob shook his head, and then yanked the woman like a rag doll into the safety of her shop. She prayed heavily with an unmoving tongue, that mercy not stay too far out of reach. Not known for her daftness or ignorance, she was well aware that a boy's eyes were stolen of morning sunlight, and cast into an eternal pool of black; his blood yet another imprint of the cruelty that was so becoming of Daggerford, pressed into the cobblestone laden streets.

This city gorged from the meat and life essence of the weak, by which her own survival was a curious thought embedded in the minds of most. She was, after all, at a rather impeccable disadvantage. The only weakness she dare portray, for it could not be evaded so easily, was that she ambled not as gracefully as feet stuttered across rugged streets. It was but by the pity of the gods, that she had been thus far nurtured in safety. Now within the confines of the apothecary's building, she moved as though naturally enlivened with the ability to see. The boy, Jacob, while her sandals whispered across wooded planks, muttered his dismissal and goodbyes, and she her thanks and gratefulness.

Inside of these walls were tall shelves with emptiness sated by rows of well known herbs and remedies for both ailments of common and rare demeanors. Books that detailed aids to wounds and recipes for simple concoctions also lined the shelves. By no means was her shop so scantily stocked, as she had no other business aside from mixing and writing. Not even personal or leisure time bothered her. She knew none that would come and speak to her, and only in her morning escapades through the bazaar did she make conversations in small spurts with vendors. It did not bother her, though, as much as some people would think. She was quite at ease in her solitary life, and depended on it to ensure her continual existence. She trusted too much, and in the end, it was to be her downfall. So, she preferred to be out of sight, and out of mind.

The belly of the quaint establishment was left bare, once full and lined with more shelves than she had now. It was to ensure that she could maneuver without hurdles throughout. The door was shut, and had a bell that was big enough for her to hear if someone came in. Void of windows, as she believed in security from the vast network of thieves and assassins, she hardly thought anyone could enter without her knowing.

Assassins were stealthy, but they were no match for her bell. Even when the door shut, it chimed with acknowledgement. Most thought it irritating and laughable, but of all the things people thought about her, Liana's comfort of security was no joking matter. She was a woman of science and rationality, whereas others filled their chest with thoughts that the gods would save and stir them in the right direction. However, she did have faith as well. An alchemist she was, and an inventor, she had been once. The girl was fluent in all that was philosophy, history, algorithms, and chemistry. No stone of education had gone unturned, and no ocean of wisdom too steep to dive into. She was intelligent, wise, studious, and dependable but overlooked time and time again. She was beginning to think the future held no merit for her...

This world, once glorious and vivacious, was now a place where even angels' wings were fettered, and dreams in shards. To rise and become renown, in any way, was to become marked in bloodied greed and pulls of power. There was no longer a struggle for notoriety, but one to remain voiceless and faceless. She was no different.