72nd Fall, AV 511
Zandelia had been filled with disconcerting thoughts of late, propagated by various events that had seemed singular at first, but rapidly coalesced into a patchwork of inter-connected weaves of fate all too quickly. It had been enough of an experience for one season to have been stranded and fighting in the mists, the events of which now were chronicled in infinite detail within her memory, to her lasting regret she knew. She had met new friends, or associates at the very least, and had discovered shadowy secrets to her past that, in hindsight, seemed better left unknown. Her father, presumed dead, wrote to her from after the date he had died – though how she was no closer to knowing. Grubber, the little wretch, had sought her out through a proxy thief and had vanished back into the dankness of the darker parts of Sunberth when she had been made aware of the fact.
The walls close in around me, with no sign of an escape, and it would seem a good time to vacate this bloody town. Before my life becomes much shorter than expected she thought to herself, sipping upon her clay cup and the tepid ale sloshing within.
She was sat within the Pig’s Foot tavern, early evening rapidly approaching she presumed by the dimming light shining through the windows. She had managed to get through a couple of pitchers of the disgusting brew, watching and listening as the patrons came and went – mostly going more than arriving. Recent events had led to the safety of the denizens of Sunberth being called very much into question. War had broken out between the gangs, each engaged in random pitched battles for control of long contested locations. As such there were precious few people within the main room to distract herself with, and as she came back from her thinking she noted there were precisely four others to talk to, not including the staff – who she was beginning to suspect never left.
“And what do you say young lady? Eh?” came the cracking words of an old timer, at least sixty years of age she guessed, his gap-toothed grin shrouded in mystery by the matted beard upon the lower half of his face, a hedge more than anything.
“What would I say to what old man? I wasn’t listening” she returned, focusing her ears upon his voice once more to try and keep the conversation going in a friendly manner.
“You youngsters, never listening to your elders!” he shouted, harrumphing into his own beverage and waving her away in frustration as Zandelia merely blinked at him, trying to recall what had been said in the last few minutes.
She looked around at the others, seeing if they had become involved whilst she had been away with her own troubles, searching their faces for any vain hope of aid in the current scenario she had found herself within. They were slow to respond, smiles upon their face as they awaited perhaps another scolding by the wizened one, having taken a few licks of his tongue already that day. Still, eventually one of them piped up to give her an idea of what to say in response.
“The old one was talking about healing lass, healing so powerful it is said that it can heal old scars, deepest wounds and more. He wants to know if you would take that if it was offered you, considering your…” the man trailed off, Zandelia’s single eyed gaze growing harder and flintier, and in its onslaught he was reduced to a sheepish gesture towards her face.
“I see, let’s all ask the blind woman for healing advice” she responded in a stony tone, sweeping her gaze across them all now, “very astute of you all. In answer to your question wrinkled one, I would bloody love to get my petching eye fixed if I could. But healing such as you describe I’m not sure even exists outside of the old tales, and believing them is as foolhardy as thinking any of you are pretty” she finished, slamming her cup down upon the table with enough force to cause it to crack slightly.
As the other set about waving their hands at her in a peace inducing gesture or two, assuring her there had been no offence intended, she poured another mug of ale for herself from the emptying pitcher, unaware of another arrival into the tavern.
Bloody cheek! Do I want my eye healed? No! I really like it like this! I love not being able to gauge distance very well. Bastards! she raged at herself as she wondered how she could exact vengeance without killing them.
