A Thief in the Night (Zandelia)

[Arryn Veseere]

19th day of Fall, 511AV

As dozens of gulls wheeled high in the autumn sky crying out to each other, Arryn walked through the Seaside Market, ignoring the cries of the shop venders. Normally she would be tempted to at least make a show of browsing their goods, maybe going so far as to 'collect' some of their property, but most of the goods in the Seaside were - as often as not - cheaply made or completely fake. It was cold on the bay, the breeze coming off the bay and smelling strongly of fish and algae. The afternoon sun sat high and weak, offering little in warmth, with a few white fluffy clouds dotting the otherwise clear sky. A breeze whipped Arryn's cloak about her legs, and her short hair was caught up in the same energetic dance. She checked the sun again, assuring that she had the right time. Truthfully she was a little early, but for any paid jobs she liked to show up early and get a reading on the person hiring her before she spoke to them. The note that the orphan child had delievered to her was curious enough to perk her interest, but as a native to Sunberth she was smart enough to feel out the situation before walking headlong into it. The note was simple enough; Meet me at the Drunken Fish this afternoon if you're looking for easy work that pays well. I'll be in the shadow of the building.. It was scribbled in a quick hand, somewhat messy and creased from being folded and unfolded. It mattered little, since it was unlikely that the orphan could read, but she caught the brat before he could run away and gave him a back-hand anyways. Then she read the note again and carefully folded it, tucking it into the breast of her shirt. So, she potentially had work, but first she had to find out how this mysterious person found her name. Kismet wasn't really a reknowned name, and although she had some ties with the Sun's Birth, she stopped dealing with them two years ago. Just exactly who was this person, and how did he or she learn of Arryn, and more importantly, what she did? Of course, it could all be accidently, too. Or a trap. Or one of the dozen different scenarios that the thief conjured up in her paranoia. But that was the hand you were dealt in Sunberth, and you either took the risks or you went hungry. Well, it was a good thing she was a gambler, wasn't it? Until her luck ran out, that is. She crossed the Seaside Market under the glare of many shopkeepers; experience bred suspicion, she supposed. Not like the Fence would take anything from the Seaside anyways. She certaintly didn't feel the need to risk losing a hand over a cheap bauble. Arryn left the open Market and turned down another street and than an alleyway, finding herself at the back of the Drunken Fish. Even from here she could hear the raccuous laughter drifting from the tavern from the landed sailors that wanted to stop and have a few before breaking for the waters again. Usually taverns didn't see too much actual during the day, and especially not this early, but boats came and went at all hours of the day, and the Drunken Fish was both a place for drinking and seeking employment. The thief skulked around the building, as close to the wall as she could get without the brick catching the fabric of her cloak. She walked the lenght of the wall quietly in the direction of the shadows, stepping first on her heels and rolling to her toes. Once at the lip of the wall Arryn peered around the corner carefully, investigating the area. A lone figure stood alone, cloaked and hooded aganist the chill from the autumn wind. 'Well', she thought wryly to herself, 'great minds think alike.' From her vantage point Arryn's eyes darted to any niches that ambushers might be hiding in, and upon finding none studied the figure once again. He (or she) was undoubtable taller than Arryn (but than again so was the majority of Sunberth) and although the cloak obscured the size significantly, the figure did not seem to possess a very large build. Well that's a relief, she thougth as she quietly withdrew her dagger from it's shealth, grimacing at the whispered rasp. She waited a few more heartbeats, calming her nerves, and stepped around the wall to sneak up behind the figure. At less than two feet away from him her left foot scuffed the ground and Arryn winced, but already it was too late. She improvised, grabbing a fist full of the cloak and pressing the point of her dagger at the base of the skull. The man stilled instantly, and she thanked whatever gods that were listening that he didn't try to fight. "I wouldn't suggest moving right now; I'm a bit sketchy and I wont think twice about bury this blade as deep in your head as it'll go. Who the hell are you?" She said, proud that her voice was steady - for the most part. She put more pressure on the dagger to emphasis her point. A repulsive, familiar smell waffed up from the figure at the same time that a raspy voice exclaimed, "Kismet, it's me!" and Arryn turned the man around to get a good look at his face. The thief came face to face with a nightmare visage and she heaved a sigh of relief. Releasing him and stepping back, she studied him carefully. His skin - or what remained of it - was dark and leathery, spotted with corruption. Death had pulled the skin tight aganist his face, and his skull was easily discernable underneath. His lips and nose were gone, giving the man a permanent macabre grin, teeth rotted and stained . Decay laid open one cheek and claimed his right eye. Strips of the leathery flesh hung in some places, revealing the sun-bleached bone underneath. Arryn scoffed in disgust. "You smell like the south side of a northbound horse, Grubber." The nuit rolled his one remaining eye, which was milky white from the cataracts that infected it. "Nice to see you too, Kismet." "Did I mention the horse was dead?" She asked innoncently, and suddenly there was something very interesting about her finger nails. She had nothing to fear from Grubber, at least anymore than any other employer. He had hired her a few times now, after enquiring at the Fence where he could acquire items of... unique value. Unique being not his, and value being more sentimental than monetary. But he did pay her the agreed upon price and he never once tried to swindle her. Maybe that was in part because Arryn insisted on him paying her in person and nuits were notoriously weak. So maybe he would if he wasn't afraid for his body, but at the rate it was going Arryn was a little surprised he hadn't abandoned it. "Your method of contacting me was different this time. It put me on edge." She said softly. "My sincerest apologies," Grubber returned, his expression turning into a grimace that did terrible things to his face. "I have reason to believe that my usual methods may compromise the job, however." That perked Arryn's interest. Seeing Grubber again made her think back to the last job she had with him, stealing the legal notations and documents of a certain Konti slave woman, trained in the artful skills of pleasing one's... baser need. It had been a straightforward, easy enough job. Grubber's work was usually never too risky or danger, and he did pay decently. "How's that slave working for you?" Arryn asked. "Perfectly fine," he replied, suddenly weary. "Actually I've been meaning to ask you something; it's been bothering me. Hasn't the bit between your legs rotted away by now? Judging by your decomposition it must have." "I forgot how much of a joy it is to be in your company, Kismet." "You know, I get that a lot." "I'm sure you do." He said dryily, and quickly spoke so she wouldn't. "Are you interested in the job or not?" Arryn tilted her head, studying Grubber. There was something different about him this time; a certain intensity that he normally didn't display. He was trying to hide it, but it was as if something he had wanted for a very long time was going to be his soon. It made Arryn a little apprehensive. "That depends on what it is, Grubber." The dead man looked at her sharply as if deciding something. "Some years ago a slave of mine ran away with some items of great value to me and I would like them back. I've tracked her down to a tent in the slums - I've marked the tent immediately to the right of her's with a dirty rag tied to the pole at the back. Bring them back to me and I will reward you handsomely. The items are as follow" - and he cleared his throat, like he was some lecturer speaking to a bumpkin - "a set of dice and a metal, nondescript steel. A leather bound book, red, full of strange symbols you wont be able to read. And a brooch, two-toned metal wrought in an intricate design." Arryn cocked an eyebrow. "And the slave herself?" "I have plans for Zandelia, do not harm a hair on her head!" Grubber snapped and took a step towards her, suddenly overwhelmed with anger. In spite of herself Arryn took a hasty step back, alarmed by the fury in his voice. "Gods be damned Grubber, you know I don't work like that!" She snapped back, just as angry with herself as him. The nuit grunted and resumed his composure, though Arryn had to wonder what this Zandelia had done to have Grubber so hell-bent on her. The thief winced, wonder just what she was getting herself into. "And how much for the job, Grubber?" "Five gold mizas now, five after I get my belongings back." Arryn's eyebrows shot up in surprise; valuable indeed. Several hours later Arryn padded softly across the cobblestones, staying as low to the ground as possible without compromising her speed or stealth. After she and Grubber spoke some more on the job and the details, Arryn left to her little hovel in the slums (a mere makeshift shelter supported by the shoddy buildings) and slept for a few hours, ignoring the hustle and bustle of Sunberth's poor district. When she woke up the sun was setting, the sky turning violet with red clouds on the horizon. Not a moment too soon, Arryn thought to herself as she quickly dressed into her leather armour. She brushed out her hair quickly and bound it back with a simple ribbon. Done that she grabbed a small empty bag (for the items, quickly folding it and secreting it into a pocket), her theives' tools (that was organized and folded into an cloth carrier, secured on her belt) and took waited until twilight before departing. Sunberth was not an easy city to live in, but Arryn grew up here. She knew it's streets like the back of her hand and since Zandelia herself lived in the slums it should be a relatively easy night for Arryn. Eventually, winding through all the erected canvas tents, Arryn found the tent that Grubber marked. She looked over to the larger, four-person tent that must be Zandelia's, nodded once to herself and retreated. She moved several meters away from the tent community, still able to see Zandelia's tent but hidden in the shadows of a build. For nearly an entire hour Arryn watched the tent for any signs of movement, and when it became painstakingly apparent that no one was home Arryn crept through the tents until she was behind Zandelia's. Once she was crouched behind the tent she listened carefully for any sounds coming from inside, her ears straining. She counted twenty heartbeats before she unshealthed her wrist knife and parted the canvas material. As quiet as she was there was nothing Arryn could do to lessen the sound of the canvas cutting except what she was doing, and since she was striving for silence the sound was more jarring than if Arryn had run around screaming bloody murder. When she finished a slit large enough to slip her petite body in Arryn slipped into the tent - and stopped dead. OOCIf there's anything in here at all that you don't like don't hesitate to tell me. I have no qualms about editing ^^ Also, if you don't want to read it all just skip to the bottom section. Apparently I got a little carried away

[Zandelia]

The day had been a long one, long and bruising for starters and with an added portion of physical training and manipulative machinations throw into the mix for her personal enjoyment – and how she just loved it too. Her old bruises, ones inflicted by ‘Tucka for the most part, had now healed and yet new bruises and scrapes had now flowered to take the places of the old. She was beginning to think that one day she might have her body damaged just enough to make it hold permanent bruising. In an ideal world she would have liked to spend a day without returning to her tent with new bodily trauma, but she knew that to be a wistful fancy – something to be hoped for but never achieved. Her job as Tua’s word runner was just too dangerous. Even the small jobs where she ferried missives between The Establishment and smaller businesses were rife with peril, the larger competitors going to any lengths to limit their enemies in economical pursuit. Sometimes I wonder how the ‘Berth even stays upright. Anyone will kill any other and competition is the method of everyone’s day. Almost seems like there must be a deity’s hand in keeping the damned city afloat she thought to herself as she lay upon her bedrolls, blanket wrapped around her almost naked body. It was not getting particularly cold throughout Fall as of yet, to her mind. Perhaps it was because she was used to living in damp and chilled conditions, however she still thought that the bite of cold that should have arrived already was merely somewhat of a nibble. She saw no reason to sweat herself to death inside her own tent, and so chose nudity over dress sense. She knew that it was perhaps riskier, especially in the slum areas where she had pitched for the season. Any random thug could walk in and get ideas of his own and of a nature she would predictably not share. Still, that was what the dagger was for, held gently in her left hand and tracing idle patterns across the floor at her side as she kept herself busy with her reading. “Not that I can read overly much of this damned scrawling spider’s script!” she grunted to the air in general. It was a frustrating affair, having to decipher something that not only wanted to be kept secret from prying eyes, but also was fundamentally unreadable in the way it had been traced onto the scraps of parchment. She was agitated by now, having been trying to work out if there were any hidden meanings, some intangible secrets, locked within the few scraps of pilfered missives she had obtained from various places over the course of the last week – her eyes straining to the point of exhaustion in the dim light given off by the hooded lantern that she had affixed to one of the central struts for her portable lodgings. It was an expensive affair, but it made it more economical for oil usage, not to mention that with the dark canvas fabric of the tent combined with the built in hood on the lantern itself it was all but impossible for light to be leaked out to prying eyes. She had gladly paid extra for such an advantage as she never knew when she was being watched, or if there would be another strike out at her enterprising spirit. There had been many in her short, but colourful, lifetime. Too many, and I’ve been lucky not to lose more she thought to herself as she traced the flat of the dagger’s blade across the scar on the left side of her face. She finally gave up her sifting for secretive information and rolled up the pieces of paper, turning them quickly into small scroll-like structures, before placing them into the leather scroll case she had purchased from The Wizened Crone but a few days ago. Having done that she pushed it under the end of her bedding to keep it hidden and rubbed her palms into her eye sockets, trying in vain to rub out the tension that had accrued there over the last hour or so. She sighed out loud, a quiet and morose sound that seemed to echo within the mostly empty space around her to her ears. She shook her head at her foolishness, she could not afford to want to spend time with others – not when it usually ended up with a knife in the back in Sunberth. “Time to sleep I suppose” she whispered to herself as she levered herself out of her bedrolls, letting the blanket fall from her and back onto what passed for a bed in her life. She padded to the hooded lantern, the top half of her body bare and quickly covered with spreading goose pimples from the sudden change in temperature from the air. She still wore her leather breeches, and the covering of shadowsilk trousers on top of that, looser and rippling as they were. It was as she was turning the lantern to its lowest setting and getting ready to extinguish the light entirely that the soft sound of canvas being slit reached her ears from her right, her head whipping around and searching for its source – which turned out to be a dagger pointing through and into her tent – close to the ground. Ah thievery, the most honest profession in this city. I was wondering when it would happen to me again she thought to herself as she quickly cut out the lantern and closed the hood fully. “Let’s play then little thief” she breathed to herself, shifting ever so slowly back to where she had left her dagger – point down in the ground. She crouched down, her eyesight not quite used to the suddenly darker conditions yet, and crept over to where she had left her shadowsilk robes, reasoning she would have enough time as the thief carefully surveyed their situation to put them on. She felt her way around the fabric, finding the appropriate holes, and slipping them over her head, trying to keep as silent as possible. As her head popped out of its covering she shoved her arms through their own tubes and pulled the hood up over her head. To the casual observer she might be invisible, but she was not sure of the species of the specimen whom was trying to beak in. Still, what advantage she could get was useful. She would try and take this one alive.

[Arryn Veseere]

Before penetrating her make-shift entrance Arryn paused, tense as a rat who spotted a cat. Did she actually hear something from within, or was that just her imagination? The thief breathed, trying to slow the break-leg race her heart jumped into, ear straining to hear anything inside the tent. She hesitated as long as she could outside the canvas shelter - after all, she was rather conspicuous; crouched down so close to the tent, her dagger plunged hilt-deep into the fabrics. Hearing no further sound inside Arryn ducked her head and stole into the tent, sheathing her dagger as she stalked in. The tent was surprisingly spacious, all things considered. Arryn's first instinct was to look at the cot and upon finding no one there she breathed a little easier. She quickly surveyed the tent, her eyes sharp and intense, her heart still pounding. There was always the thrill of the break-in, the scare of someone actually being home. It wouldn't be the first time Arryn was caught in someone's house, but Zandelia was a former slave and would likely fight for her freedom. Not that Arryn was interested in trying to apprehend her, but she could be mistaken for someone trying to reclaim her. Or there was the alternative; the dear Zandelia could have been in Sunberth long enough to realize that it was a cut-throat city, and the woman very well might take certain liberties on Arryn. The thief shook her head in frustration with her. Here she was, in her target's tent and illustrating fantasies in her paranoia. Arryn focused, murmuring to herself. "A book," she started. "A brooch. Some dice and a metal cup. Seems easy enough." A lantern hung above, affixed to one of the poles. Arryn cast her peculiar eyes around the room, speculating where Zandelina kept Grubber's items. What kind of importance did these items hold for Zandelia? Why did she take them and why has she kept them? The thief took another step into the tent, and than another, rolling on the balls of her feet. Well, it appeared as though the only thing in the tent beside the cot was the chest. That makes my job immensely easier. And yet... And yet it could be rigged with a trap, or poison. What if there's a lock on it that's harder to pick than the ones Arryn was use to? She frowned, annoyed with herself and her doubts. Heaving a small sigh - after all she was committing larceny and the walls were made of cloth, hardly sound proof - Arryn stepped furtively over to the chest and crouched down. Amazingly, there was no lock on the chest. This was almost too easy. Arryn unsheathed her dagger and gently worked the tip into the latch, hoping that if there were any traps her blade would trigger them. She strained her ears, leaning in as close as she dared and waiting for the tell-tale click that would announce a sprung trap. When she heard none she tentatively lifted the lid while leaning back. Still nothing. Arryn frowned. She looked over into the chest and found an assortment of items. The thief cocked an eyebrow, trying to tally up the value of some of the items. She plunged a hand inside the chest, sorting through Zandelia's belongings with as much stealth as was possible. A small book emerged, and Arryn's eyes flashed as she picked it up. Sheathing the dagger that was still in her hand, she opened the book and scrolled over the foreign, disquieting text. There was little doubt that this was Grubber's book, and even as she looked at it her eyes blurred with the strain. It was not an easy script to look at; it was as if her eyes didn't want to look at it. She closed the book abruptly and continued her search.

[Zandelia]

Zandelia watched from her secluded and shadowed corner of the tent, staying absolutely immobile so as to not attract any immediate attention from the intruder – which turned out to be another woman, as far as Zandelia could tell from her single observant eye, trying to penetrate the darkness as her night vision began to fully return to her. She kept her observation continual as she noted how the form was slight and graceful – indicating to her it was most definitely a woman, which seeing as they had seemingly not noticed her in the pitch black was most probably of a human species. She found herself hoping that the intruder was merely an inquisitive thief, taking an opportunity to explore an unassuming and empty dwelling. However, as she continued to watch, she realised that this particular thief was, if not professional, at least competent. Paranoid as well, a dangerous combination indeed. Still, using a knife to prise open the chest latch, I will have to remember that when I can finally afford a damned locking mechanism she thought to herself as she thought upon what the most practical reaction would be. The woman was cautious, to a fault, and even managed to keep her audible sounds to a bare minimum as she began sifting through Zandelia’s sparse belongings. It would not be difficult for the thief to realise that Zandelia was fairly poor and held few possessions of note. She would turn out to be a disappointing target for this outing – the chest holding but a few small items, trinkets and replaceable paraphernalia. Her most prized possessions she usually kept upon her person, and her money and the belongings she couldn’t haul around with her at all times were kept buried under her bedrolls. Not even the grandest source of perpetual larceny would think to dig in dirt for mizas. Still, she knew that it was coming time to act, the thief’s search coming to an end – having taken three items she saw. The last one she closed with a snap, and she knew instantly what it was she held in her hands. What in the name of Akajia could she want with that?! Not even I want that bloody thing! I keep it because I have to, not out of choice she mused, and some pieces of the jigsaw began to fall into place in her mind – but not enough to comprehend more than a snippet or two of the whole design. However, her subconscious told her, in no uncertain terms, that she had to capture this thief now. She began to unfold herself from her crouched ball position, coming up into a walking crouch, taking step by slow step around to the side of the figure still riffling through her beaten wooden chest, eyes still greedily intent upon her work at hand. Zandelia was incredibly happy for the fact that she had purchased the full set of Shadowsilk Robes at The Grunt’s Armoury – rather than opting for a mere cloak or similar item. No, at that point in time the inherent padding the robes offered her feet, the absorbance of sound, was the most important factor in her equations. She took a few steps, careful to drop onto the ball of her feet only, thereby reducing the noise – still ready to spring forwards if necessary. She paused often over the next few minutes, keeping her gaze upon the intruder, making sure she still had time to spare as she circled around behind them. It was a slow and cumbersome affair, but easier and less risky than direct confrontation. Well then, time to act she told herself when she was finally between the thief and her possible exits – the hole she had cut herself and the door flaps of the tent proper. She crept up behind the woman almost in touching distance now, before speaking out. “Well well, it’s not very often I get visitors here. The conditions aren’t particularly nice really. No one ever wants to visit. I’m so glad you came though, I was getting lonely” she growled at the woman, drawing the daggers from their boot sheathes and tapping them together to create a metallic chime. “I would advise you not to move, I am quite well armed,” she bluffed, reasoning the thief would possibly be surprised enough to imagine an entire arsenal, “and I get…twitchy…with those whom try to steal from me when sudden movements are taken into the equation. So, close the lid of my trunk, and turn around and sit on it. Slowly” she finished, hoping the intruder would obey and not cause any unnecessary fighting. Zandelia had had enough of fighting, her body already tired enough for three. She was not sure she would be able to win in a melee this evening, and she wished to find out more about this thief before sending them on their way, one way or the other.

[Arryn Veseere]

Arryn was still sorting through the mass of utter junk that the chest contained -and it would be just like Grubber to send her off on a job to rob a poor person, she thought with no small amount of disdain - when a chill ran down her spine that did not account for the cool air. Without knowing exactly why it made the thief incredibly tense she opened her bag and dropped the book in, along with the indistinct lumps of shadows at the bottom of the bag that would reveal themselves to be the cup and the brooch. The dice she had pocketed to reduce the sound of her passage as much as possible. Even so, the cup and brooch hopefully wouldn't clank together to often. Arryn usually didn't walk heavy enough on her feet to jostle things about when she was on the prowl. As Arryn rose gently from her crouch there was the unmistakable chime of metal against metal and the low growl of a woman. Zandelia. Arryn rolled her eyes, chagrining herself mentally even as her mind plotting several different excuses for her to be in Zandelia's tent, with a bag contain her stuff. 'Well, better listen to the lady of the house, huh?' She thought ruefully to herself. "Maybe if you threw a Welcome mat outside more people would drop by. Tents are so foreboding, after all." Arryn replied with no small amount of sarcasm, every part of her being willing her into appearing casual and unafraid. She lifted her right foot and closed the lid of the chest with it, her arms slightly out to the side, the bag hung in her left hand aloof. How stupid could she be?! Waltzing through the tent like it was the safest place in Mizahar! She suppressed a grimace as she turned. "Twitchy, huh?" She said, but did not challenge her words. Zandelia had the drop on her, and if she had told Arryn that she was six seconds from death... well, Arryn would believe her. And act accordingly. The woman had been damned quiet though! Even with her life hanging on the line Arryn could - as a professional thief - admire how quiet Zandelia had come up on her. Rather than sit immediately Arryn boldly studied her captor, and quirked an amused eyebrow at the site of the ex-slave. She was situated between her only two possible exits and, thankfully, not nearly as armed as she had led Arryn to believe - 'smart girl, but wouldn't she piss herself laughing to know that I'm scared half out of my wits of her anyways?' Arryn cocked her head curiously. She was easily taller than Arryn, and even though she appeared relax Arryn could almost feel how tightly coiled the other woman's muscles were, could see the tension in her body. Her had blonde hair, cut short and left bed-ruffled, and her right eye was a startling green even in the gloom of the tent. Arryn blinked, a little disturbed about the left ones' absence. 'And I thought I made people uncomfortable.' A thought came to her suddenly, perhaps a way to run, and damn Grubber to the bowels of whatever hell there might exist for his nuit soul. "You've misplaced your eyes, it seems. That's a shame..." She finished in a murmur, and threw the bag with as much force as she could at Zandelia's face. There were two things Arryn learned growing up in Sunberth; you had to fight to survive, and you had to fight dirty. She unsheathed her dagger and charged Zandelia in the wake of the bag, hoping to some god that she had throw Zan off balance enough to gain the upper hand. Arryn didn't really like fighting, but she liked living, and backed into a corner like she was she could fight viciously.

OOCI'm really sorry about the delay on the post time Zan, I've been sick for the last few days and it's Thanksgiving up in Canada lol.

[Zandelia]

oocI hope you like what I did. I didn't know how else to resolve it and make them both sit down and chat without murduring each other Enjoy!

As the woman talked to her, her sarcastic comments fuelling her already cracking patience towards the breaking point, Zandelia could feel her rage build within her – filling her with an icy hatred for the figure before her, in only a few seconds and without even knowing her name. No, Zandelia had suffered much in her twenty-nine years, and the scars littered both her body and her psyche. Those who knew her were aware that the fastest method of breaking her willpower and self-control was to mock her battles as if they were pointless and easy affairs. The woman had done both now and Zandelia could feel her fingers tense around the handles of her knives, her arms almost beginning to move of their own accord towards the motions of stabbing the woman through the chest. Still, she tried to maintain what loose semblance of control was left, and that inner battle distracted her too much from her target. This she found out, as the bag containing the book the woman had stolen flew towards her face in a shadowy blur.

Son of a- was all she could think as she brought her arm up a fraction too late and the angle it hit her forearm with caused the bag to spring up, roll over its trunk, and clip her soundly across the side of her forehead.

She was disoriented and slashed around blindly with her knives or a few moments, seeking to limit her enemies movements out of a fear of harm. She felt one of her blades hit something solid before it was ripped from her grasp, the other slipping from her fingers in her wild hacking of the air around her. Still, she had bought herself some time and the sound of rustling tent flaps or the tearing sound of canvas during escape had not reached her ears, so she could assume her adversary had not escaped yet. That was merely a heartbeat before a solid form rammed into her, seeking to bowl her over and get past her. The woman had obviously had enough of being trapped and was willing to do anything to escape, but Zanelia hindered that as she struck out whilst she fell to the floor. As her body crashed into the dirt with a thud she heard the other woman crash down beside her.

“This is where you learn not to insult someone who has a petching scar across their face” she growled as she threw herself upon the woman, her vision all but returned to normal now, at least enough to wrestle across the ground.

The other woman got a few solid hits in on Zandelia’s torso, but Zandelia merely rolled with them, using her weight to get on top of her before ramming her forehead down twice, smartly upon the other woman’s forehead. They would both be dazed now, but Zandelia would have the advantage she hoped – her whole life had been an acceptance of taking knock after knock. She rolled off of the woman and groggily brought herself to her feet, turning to face a more slowly recovering opponent. Grinning maliciously she dived back into the fray, taking the semi-recovered woman with her to the floor once more – brawling being what would win the day she hoped, for once thanking Mok for teaching her the art of getting hit and recovering from it.

“Bloody…call…my…eye…into…question….petching…..rip…yours…out…see…you like…it!” was all she hissed out as they both became a cloud of knees, elbows, fists, feet and shoulders.

It carried one like that, each of them doing a fair amount of damage to the other as their strength’s ebbed and their energies became more sapped/ This was what Zandelia had sought to do, to wear the other woman down. She knew she would be able to keep going longer than the other, though her body would present the bill to her alter – and with interest. It was after several minutes of this that she shoved the other woman back into the corner and heaved herself up to her feet once more – again between the thief and the exit.

“Now,” she panted, recovering her breath as quickly as possible, “do you want another round of that, or do you want to sit down and talk? It’s all the same to me lass. You’ll not get out of here before I’m not breathing anymore – so make you bloody choice. I won’t ask you again” she grunted, between breaths.

[Arryn Veseere]

Zandelia was quicker than Arryn gave her credit for, and she made a pretty damn effective barrier with her blind slashing. When the thief saw an opening she seized it, and all of her 5"3, 109lbs rammed into Zandelia. For all the good it did her. Arryn just wanted to befoul the woman so she could make a clean get-away. Her petite frame ended up landing on the ground beside her. Using what was giving to her Arryn started to crawl towards her make-shift exit when Zandelia threw herself on the thief, growling about something. Arryn gasped and shifted to roll herself on her back so she could fight better, and tried her damned hardest to dislodge the other woman. This carried on for far longer than Arryn liked. In the wake of her adrenaline the blows she and Zandelia were exchanging didn't hurt, but she knew that she would be a mass of bruises tomorrow if not within the hour. Abruptly a sharp wave of pain enveloped her head and her vision started to blacken on the edges. Arryn cried out in pain, her hand instinctively going to her head when she felt Zandelia climbing off her, and she blinked rapidly, trying to dispel the black. The thief looked up to Zandelia in time to see a decidedly sadistic smile as she said something about taking Arryn's eye, and then the woman came at her again. Arryn's efforts were renewed in her sudden panic. The bitch was crazy! Taking an eye?! Using everything in her arsenal (that being elbows, knees and her fists) she fought back as best she could. In the sudden expansion of power that her panic lent her drained just as quickly, and she felt herself becoming sluggish and slowing. Her arms and legs felt like lead, but she still fought back, as pitiful as her hits were becoming. The thief's efforts stopped completely when she felt Zandelia grabbed her collar and bodily hulled her into the corner. Arryn vaguely wondered if she had the strength to run if Zan came at her with a hot poker or something. She would have to, because she didn't much feel like giving up an eye. Slowly, the pain from their scuffle started to register on her body, and Arryn's shoulders visibly slumped with her weariness. 'It's easier to take the beating than it is to resist it' she thought with no small amount of scorn. "Ah hells," Arryn replied after listening to Zandelia. Talk? She could talk, as long as she walked out alive. She had no intentions of killing anyone, and she highly doubted she could kill Zandelia even if she wanted to. "We can sit down and pretend all civil-like if it sees me out of here with my life intact, Zan." The thief said, intentionally showing Zandelia that she knew her name. "Don't you dare think I won't fight 'til I'm dead if you have any plans on exacting some kind of warped justice, though. I think we're both tired as all hell," she paused briefly to lift up her mask and catch the blood that came running down her chin. 'Must've cut my cheek on a tooth' she thought, and continued. "And wouldn't last much in another bout. But I will fight for my life." She growled. Arryn rolled her head and shoulder slightly, already feeling the tug and pull of tight, sore muscles and the bruises that undoubtedly littered her body. Looking at Zandelia, she hazard that she came out the worse from their fight. And she was damned tired - despite her words she didn't know if she could fight again, regardless of what Zan wanted to do to her. 'Well, when you're shit out of luck and your hand isn't the house, bluff big and send them with their tails tucked between their legs,' she thought. "I'm guessing that you've been here since I came in, right? Maybe you're wondering why I've... procured... certain items. I can tell you why I'm here, I think more importantly to you, who sent me. But it will cost you."

[Zandelia]

“Cost me? Cost me!” Zandelia responded icily, between deep breaths designed to restore some of her flagging energies, “lass, don’t talk to me about cost! You look to have the petching glow of youth about you. You probably know nothing of cost, so don’t make me teach you” she responded, her words all but dripping with bitter threat.

“If I wanted you dead, then I would’ve stabbed you in the back without thought. The fact you have bruises comes from your trying to run. You admit I would best you in a fight, to the death I might add, and then tell me I have to pay?” she continued, hey single eye glaring at the girl as she snorted in mockery, “how about I give you the gift of your life and you just sit there and think whether you want to tell me or not. I don’t care who hired you, it could be one of many enemies. All will die eventually, if I have my bloody way” she growled, pacing around the tent to pick up her daggers once more.

She kept her attention upon the small woman as she gathered them and slipped them back into their sheathes. She could feel the bruises beginning to ache across her body already, the exuberance of youth no longer upon her and acting as a buffer to her knocks and scrapes. No, she was feeling the effects already and was certain she would be taking her job easier the following day, all the better to heal from the damage dealt. Once she had regained the daggers, her father’s being given a small stroke and a smile before it was safe one again, she looked around for the bag that had been thrown at her head. She wished to see what the girl had come for, and from that deduce what she was there for – and quite possibly who as well. It too her a few moments, the events having distorted her supposition of its whereabouts, but she found it after a minute or two – the girl merely watching her from her seated position upon Zandelia’s wooden chest.

Breathing hard too. The girl is probably barely standing, but she’s got guts. I’ll give her that at least. Few would do what she has done this night, let alone state flatly about fighting to the death Zandelia thought to herself, a rare sliver of altruism creeping into her mind.

“And yes, I have been here since you arrived. I heard you slitting the canvas, which by the way I have a mind to have to bloody repair too. A word to the wise for your future escapades. Make sure you know what type of canvas a tent is made of – some are designed to block out light” she smiled at the woman now, her grin slightly manic as she pulled the sack cloth across the item inside, which was clutched in her fingers.

As she revealed it she could barely feel her smile fading, her eye gazing at something she had all but forgotten. Now, however, the memories flashed back with an intensity and vividness that nearly felled her to her knees. As it was she took a step back to steady her stance as she ran her fingers across the front of the book – a book she had taken years ago now, from one she had left dead, for the second time in point of fact, in her wake. She dared not open to look at the pages. She knew already what lay within, though she could not understand its contents. She had devoted months to trying to catch a fraction of its knowledge inside her mind, but her intellect had failed her in that regard and she had instead placed it deep in the bowels of both her life, and her chest. She had not thought on it for many months, though its presence came back to her every so often.

”You’ll never be free of me Zandelia….”

”I’ll take my chances Garret….something I’ve not done before…”

”Come Princess, out of the cold. I can help you, you know….”

”Death comes to even the undead Grub…”

“Grubber” she whispered to herself, placing the book back into the bag gently, placing it upon the floor, next to the lantern that she set about lighting – her hands shaky enough that the flint and steel slipped from her grasp twice before she had managed it. Once done she let its light fully fill the ten with a warm glow.

“Girl, get up off that chest and get the bottle of whiskey out. I need a petching drink. And if you’re trying to take that book is anything to go by then so will you this evening. Tell me who sent you and tell me what they wished. I surmise this is not the first time they have asked a task of you, is it? No, that would not be his way. Come, tell me what you know of them” she spoke, sometimes as if to herself, other times her eye looking directly at the woman.

“And tell me your damned name so I can call you something other than girl” she growled, a semblance of the fiery and gruff woman she was creeping back into the brittle and fragile shell she felt at that precise moment.