Dalavesta Stalinsa
65th Spring 522 AV – Storage Houses
It was with a crooked smile that Ves paced her usual route amidst the Storage Houses of Sunberth, for the first season in gods knew too many she was actually happy to work her ‘boring’ job as a guard. For years she had had little purpose beyond earning enough to be able to grasp at whore’s tits and drink herself under as many tables as possible, damn it all even as many taverns as possible. She was far from sober now, she had taken to carrying a small hip flask of fire water tucked into a new belt pouch, but she was much better than she had been. She had even started having a few dreams…small and foolish dreams perhaps…but it was a flickering light of passion that warmed her from within – which was far more than she had had before.
She paused in her patrol, checking that she had everything about her still for the thirtieth time – old Squire habits died hard even after having a mountain of shyke dumped upon them. She found nothing missing – arming doublet, chain shirt and leather gauntlets and greaves were her thick lining against the cutthroats of streets. A dagger upon each curved hip and her longsword hilt poking above her right shoulder were her weapons to carve back against any attackers. She had a kind to add to both her protection and arsenal…but it was a choice between things she had not needed so far in her years of service and something she desperately wanted to procure over the next season or so, hopefully.
“Little nip…for luck” she muttered to herself as she pulled out her flask and took a swig, leaning into the shade of an overhang from the warehouse she leant upon. Slipping it back she took some chimes to listen carefully, trying to read the rhythm and noise of the city.
Nothing untoward was heard as far as she could tell, the nearby bustling of the Castle Commons on the other side of the warehouse a background thrum that had not ceased all day – a sure sign that people were currently more interested in making profits the traditional way rather than the criminal…for now. She tucked her flask back into its pouch, tightening the drawstring thongs, and set off to continue her route. She was, perhaps, paying less attention than she might normally have done given the things swimming through her mind. She loved her tent, and she loved sharing it with Rowen, but it had not been where she had wanted to end her days when she had first stumbled, defeated, through the city gates. She wasn;t sure when she had given up on more but now…now she had reason for purpose.
I want a bloody house…a nice one…well eventually….with a petching pretty garden and courtyard…even if I have to kill some petching shykes for it. And a big bedroom…with a bed big enough for far too much fun she ran through the vague plans for the thousandth time, her steps slowing and ten halting subconsciously, though she was still lot in the fantasy.
Eventually, though, the noises that had changed trickled through to her consciousness and her eyes widened and lips parted with a sharp intake of breath. Her hand went instinctively for her longsword and pulled it out of its leather scabbard, settling easily into her hands as she ran around the warehouse, breathing heavily and covered with a light patina of sweat by the end, bursting into the Commons to see a right barney going on – a gang barney amidst all of the public and mercenaries.
“Petch!” she hissed, wishing immediately she hadn’t as it attracted the attention of an unaffiliated thug, who turned to lunge at her.
She got her blade up in time to slide the flat of it under his lunge, sending it skywards and leaving him open to an elbow to the jaw and a backhanded slash that sent a spray of red across the dirt – he stumbled back, not dead but definitely pissed off and wounded. Eyes darting everywhere she realised that she had run herself into a trap that had not been intended for her – she was surrounded by brawls…and even if she didn’t want to fight the sound of splintering merchant stalls sounded the clarion call that she would have no choice but to heed…and fight, for her life.
It was with a crooked smile that Ves paced her usual route amidst the Storage Houses of Sunberth, for the first season in gods knew too many she was actually happy to work her ‘boring’ job as a guard. For years she had had little purpose beyond earning enough to be able to grasp at whore’s tits and drink herself under as many tables as possible, damn it all even as many taverns as possible. She was far from sober now, she had taken to carrying a small hip flask of fire water tucked into a new belt pouch, but she was much better than she had been. She had even started having a few dreams…small and foolish dreams perhaps…but it was a flickering light of passion that warmed her from within – which was far more than she had had before.
She paused in her patrol, checking that she had everything about her still for the thirtieth time – old Squire habits died hard even after having a mountain of shyke dumped upon them. She found nothing missing – arming doublet, chain shirt and leather gauntlets and greaves were her thick lining against the cutthroats of streets. A dagger upon each curved hip and her longsword hilt poking above her right shoulder were her weapons to carve back against any attackers. She had a kind to add to both her protection and arsenal…but it was a choice between things she had not needed so far in her years of service and something she desperately wanted to procure over the next season or so, hopefully.
“Little nip…for luck” she muttered to herself as she pulled out her flask and took a swig, leaning into the shade of an overhang from the warehouse she leant upon. Slipping it back she took some chimes to listen carefully, trying to read the rhythm and noise of the city.
Nothing untoward was heard as far as she could tell, the nearby bustling of the Castle Commons on the other side of the warehouse a background thrum that had not ceased all day – a sure sign that people were currently more interested in making profits the traditional way rather than the criminal…for now. She tucked her flask back into its pouch, tightening the drawstring thongs, and set off to continue her route. She was, perhaps, paying less attention than she might normally have done given the things swimming through her mind. She loved her tent, and she loved sharing it with Rowen, but it had not been where she had wanted to end her days when she had first stumbled, defeated, through the city gates. She wasn;t sure when she had given up on more but now…now she had reason for purpose.
I want a bloody house…a nice one…well eventually….with a petching pretty garden and courtyard…even if I have to kill some petching shykes for it. And a big bedroom…with a bed big enough for far too much fun she ran through the vague plans for the thousandth time, her steps slowing and ten halting subconsciously, though she was still lot in the fantasy.
Eventually, though, the noises that had changed trickled through to her consciousness and her eyes widened and lips parted with a sharp intake of breath. Her hand went instinctively for her longsword and pulled it out of its leather scabbard, settling easily into her hands as she ran around the warehouse, breathing heavily and covered with a light patina of sweat by the end, bursting into the Commons to see a right barney going on – a gang barney amidst all of the public and mercenaries.
“Petch!” she hissed, wishing immediately she hadn’t as it attracted the attention of an unaffiliated thug, who turned to lunge at her.
She got her blade up in time to slide the flat of it under his lunge, sending it skywards and leaving him open to an elbow to the jaw and a backhanded slash that sent a spray of red across the dirt – he stumbled back, not dead but definitely pissed off and wounded. Eyes darting everywhere she realised that she had run herself into a trap that had not been intended for her – she was surrounded by brawls…and even if she didn’t want to fight the sound of splintering merchant stalls sounded the clarion call that she would have no choice but to heed…and fight, for her life.
