To Enter the Markets (Open)

[Zandelia]

Fall 3rd, AV 511 Zandelia walked the streets, her air of confidence not completely a façade, as she picked her way through the grimy warren of streets that comprised the bulk of Sunberth. Her boots flicked the corpses of dead rats into the streaks of garbage that the recent monsoon-like downpour had forced into the open and scattered across almost every patch of ground she could see with her single eye as she scanned her surroundings for any lurking danger. That reflex made a small, secret smile spread across her lips as she continued her, hopefully discreet, journey. Danger! Sunberth is a danger. The largest melting pot of scum and larceny in the lands some say. It’s dangerous to get dressed in this hole she thought to herself as she peered around a particularly blocked corner to see if it was safe before continuing onwards. She tried to keep the hem of her rough cloak from dipping into too much refuse at first, but gave it up entirely as a pointless venture after a while and let it sway and ripple as it pleased. She reasoned that at least her jacket, breeches and corset were still as dirt free as it was possible to be when one turned their hands to the employ of misinformation and libel. In truth her character itself might very well sully her clothes more than her surroundings, after a fashion. “They had better bloody well be there this time, or there’s going to be something nasty waiting for them in a dark alley one day” she muttered to herself as the squeal of a not-quite-dead rat rose briefly from under her foot with an accompanying noise she wished she would not remember for long. Sunberth almost looked clean as she emerged into the wider spaces that heralded the fringes of the Slaver Markets, the rain having cleared the structures themselves of their weeks old layers of filth, depositing it into the packed mud where it was not so noticeable. Still, she could not help but shudder slightly, her fists involuntarily curling into balls as her feet took her into the heart of the darker parts of her past. She hated coming to the markets, avoiding it when at all possible, but this time it was unavoidable and a grudgingly accepted necessity. Still, one day I hope this wretched pock mark of society burns to the damned ground. Ideally after the fire is started by myself she swore to herself as she picked her way through the growing throng of bodies browsing the ‘wares’ on display. She could remember being in much the same position as some of the young girls that had been lined up, their hair and teeth inspected as if they were horses. She suspected that the buyers might actually consider horses to be more valuable – and the economy would agree on that point. “Horses are harder to find and domesticate” she breathed as she stalked onwards, her loathing now beginning to impair her watchfulness of her surroundings. Her rigid control was slipping, another reason why she hated even entering this part of the city. The last time she had lost control she had lost her damned eye after all and as she lifted her finger to trace the cut that had decimated half of her sight she tried to push back her anger and revulsion, to maintain a more professional aura. If she had been smarter she might have figured that the persons who had lured her to the Slaver Markets had known it would stretch her guard. If she had been even a little smarter than that she would have noticed the figure flitting through the crowd some ten yards behind her…

[Deventur Apenthes]

Deventur moved quickly and quietly through the crowd, slightly crouched to hide his height. He occasionally raised his head above the level of the crowd for a split second to verify his target's direction. He found himself in need of employment, and she was the best way to obtain it. He wanted to join one of the three syndicates that had the real power in the city. Specifically, the Night Eyes. However, little to nothing was known about them, and he'd had to bribe or kill half a dozen people just to find out that the girl he was currently tailing might know something about them.

It wasn't just the obvious fact that the Night Eyes were the most dangerous and mysterious of the three syndicates, though that was certainly part of it. His decision was also based on the fact that the other two syndicates were utter shyte. Daggerhand? A brutish and clearly feeble-minded group. What sort of organization would kill hundreds to accomplish something that could be done by threatening three or four? The Sun's Birth was nearly as bad. Not only did their ability to create clever titles leave something to be desired, but they were composed almost entirely of drunkards and sloths that were expelled from a far better society because of said behavior.

With these in mind, the Night Eyes was the only faction that Deventur could join without giving up his last few shreds of self dignity. And he did have to join a syndicate, make no mistake about that. If he didn't, his chances of making enough money to survive and simultaneously not getting killed for freelancing went down to almost nil.

So that was why, at a time of day when he would normally be laying down to sleep, he was instead in the middle of a crowded marketplace following a woman who looked to be at least 8 years older than him. Anyway, it was time to stop tailing and start talking.

Deventur swiftly closed the distance between himself and the woman, coming up behind her just as she started to trace the scar she wore on one eye. Leaning in behind her, he spoke in her ear "Why, hello there my dear, I think you know something useful." Having said this, he stepped back quickly to recover his own space and give himself at least some chance of avoiding a blow if she attacked.

[Zandelia]

The crowd was thinning in front of Zandelia as the cries and hawking of the slavers pierced her ears, drilling into her mind and pushing her ever closer towards cracking, her emotions beginning to boil over she could sense, teetering upon the brink of a repetition of that day so many years ago. Ironically such a scenario was forestalled by the late arrival of the one whom she assumed she was supposed to be meeting, the voice wispy behind her ear and jolting her into immediate action – a reflex learnt by all Sunberthians who survived for any real length of time. Her hands flashed to the handles of her Tonfa, curling around the rough metal there as she whipped them out of their holsters, spinning with them to face the origin of the voice. At first she was still upon edge but as the figure had chosen to take a step or two in retreat after his grandiose entrance she found herself lowering her arms, Tonfa still gripped and their bodies following the backs of her forearms. After all, you could never tell in Sunberth when a deal was a deal or it was a death rattle – and she had no pressing wish to join her father in the list of those unable to spot that difference. That was when her gaze fully took in that which was peering down at her. His skin was more than just parchment pale, it was out the other end of the white spectrum, eyes seemingly lilac in colour and even stooped he was far taller than she – though spindly judging by his limbs. She would also be willing to bet her last gold miza that fangs would be found behind those damned lips. By the Goddess Akajia! It’s a fucking Symenestra! Just my bloody luck. I swear heads are going to roll if I get out of this pile of shit she thought to herself privately as she was all too aware of her own form being taken in by the creature. “That would depend entirely upon what you want to know, my friend. I know many things, all of them at a price. Of course it’s a seller’s market and so each bit of information has it’s own price – depending upon its value,” she spoke back, regaining her composure now, “and of course inflation has a great burden to play too” she finished, placing one Tonfa back into its holder, but keeping the one in her left hand on display and ready. She used this new threat to block out the old, the necessity for being cold and calculating in dealing with a client overriding her base desire to rip out the throats of those around her in a frenzied bloodbath. It was working at the moment, though she could not be sure for how long. She would need to conclude business fairly quickly in that respect – or at least retire somewhere more…convenient. “So what can I do for you? The location of an enemy? Directions to items of intrinsic value and interest? Speak up, let’s see what can be dealt this day” she finished, giving him the opportunity to name his desire – only then could she feasibly name a price. And I hope I can bloody help because I don’t want to have to look up every time I walk at night expecting this bastard she told herself in a form of a mantra.

[Deventur Apenthes]

Obviously this place had some significance to the girl, and looking at her more closely, Deventur realized why. The small build, bulked up by heavy labor, the scar, the terrified look in her eyes. All clues suggesting an end answer; this girl used to be a slave, perhaps she had even been sold at this very market. It wasn't totally out of the question. Judging from her facial expressions before she regained her composure, she was wary and more than a little bit angry. Perhaps a little something to push that farther along, get her declared mad and then volunteer to care for her...? No, not yet. He still needed his info, and as much as he wanted to bring a back to Kalinor kicking and screaming, that would have to wait.

The Symnestran chuckled lightly at her first comment. "A seller's market? I find that extremely difficult to believe, my young acquaintance. How many times have you been attacked for information? Or payed, then attacked? No, the world itself is a buyer's market, in this as well as other things." As the last few words passed his lips, his eyes flicked slowly and clearly to the side, glancing towards the 'merchandise' being sold around the market.

Knowing how inflammatory this comment was, Deventur decided to look at the armaments the woman carried. She had two metal clubs that she seemed familiar and comfortable with, and they worried him. A sword would, at worst, give him a few cuts and maybe a lost finger. But metal clubs? He had no doubt that if she landed a sizable blow, he would shatter like a ceramic pot. Realizing this, he pushed djed into his eyes and, using Hypnotism, instigated an emotional response of angry respect. Hopefully, with her emotions so similar to that, the woman would accept it as her own.

"I want to know two things of...moderate value. At best. First of all, do you happen to know the name or approximate location of an agent of the Night Eyes. As you will doubtless pass this on to someone, I am in need of employment and find the other syndicates contemptible. Second, are there any interesting stories about magic items around here? I ask because I recently heard a story about some anvil or other of interesting ability, and wondered if there were other objects like it"

[Zandelia]

Zandelia could feel the situation making her more irritable by the second as she listened to his words and stood there, surrounded by a sea of corrupt debauchery that paid homage to the intrinsic worth of an individual’s body and soul. She felt her anger rising yet again, though this time in a different manner, one which was tinged with slithers of loathing. She forced it downwards, compacting it for release at a later time – preferably somewhere out of sight of other people. She could feel her hand tighten and tremble around the handle of her Tonfa as she fought for control – a pitched battle she won grudgingly. You drag me here, to the bloody Slave markets of all places, and then proceed to lecture me upon the merits of information exchange. If I didn’t need the mizas I’d just as happily break you to pieces to fragile widow she seethed to herself as she let a business-like smile creep across her face to hide the internal conflict. Then she chuckled out loud, almost laughing in fact, in a show for his benefit. “You want information about the Night Eyes?” she began, looking him up and down, “don’t we all? Don’t we all indeed” she continued in a bemused tone. “Hardly anyone knows more than snippets and you come to me for information saying it is small. You may be right in that respect. Though I can educate you some for free in that instance as the information is next to useless. No one just joins the Night Eyes! If they did then they wouldn’t be a secret would they?” she skirted around the subject in a manner designed to tease and annoy a little. “I can tell you this, though. The answers you seek may be found upon Lodestar Island. I can tell you nothing more. May wisdom guide your thoughts in that manner as you will surely need it” she finished, her point made on that topic now. She stepped towards him a little ways so that she would almost be able to touch him if she stretched forwards enough, letting the few steps ease her legs somewhat of tension. She gauged his reaction and tilted her head, as if she were listening to something as she considered the other information he desired. “As to the other, first we set a price. A small price to be sure, for a small piece of information,” she looked him in the eye, a hard look that said payment was required for information given. “Five gold mizas is what I name, the prizes you might find worth far more than that in both intrinsic and historic considerations” “In the Castle Commons you can find the Temple of the Unknown. There you will find the wreckage and flotsam of Pre-Valterran existence some say. This may or may not be true, but age is encoded in the stone there. Catacombs, treasure to raid, it has it all. The trick is finding it, but that’s not my problem is it?” she flicked her gaze to him once more with a grin. “It has been picked many times by the scavengers of many ages, but still turns out goods of great value. Mayhap you shall find what you seek there. It is certainly the easiest and least threatening place to do so” she finished, facing him squarely now. “You have what you came for, now I need my reason for being here, my friend” she concluded with firmly pronounced words.