Oona had been in Sunberth for a full twenty-four bells now. The city had swallowed the Myrian whole, confusing her beyond all measure with its buildings (however shoddy the structures) and its general populace.
And so far, Oona of the Patient Shadows was not impressed. The barbarian city was worse than she had even imagined, this despite all of the tales told of the world beyond Taloba. Disease, famine, disobedience. There was clearly no respect between the people of Sunberth, not like in Taloba where all people were united under their Goddess Queen. The people in Sunberth, however, were like rats; fighting amongst themselves. Each had his or own beliefs that were guarded against all others. There was no unity, only rivalry.
The only ties between Sunberth’s people seemed to exist between families. This at least managed to restore an ounce of faith in Oona; family seemed to be as important here as it was in Taloba. But the families were much smaller, and seemed to be scattered throughout the city proper.
Then there the gangs.
Oona had, as yet, experienced no interaction with anyone tied to any of the Sunberthian gangs, but as she understood it, these ties were not always made obvious. The barbarian sailors she had travelled with from Falyndar to Sunberth had explained it to her by using various pieces of dried fruit (part of their rations) to represent the biggest gangs. There was the Sun’s birth (ridiculous name, Oona had thought, as if anyone could give life to Syna herself), which had been represented as oranges. “Prob’bly the biggest of three, and certainly the richest,” Oona had been told, “got their own military called the Dragoons, and the original Sun’s Birth were a bunch of Syliran knights turned rogue.” The prospect of a militaryman or woman turning their backs on their army disgusted Oona beyond all reason. She had been a dedicated warrior in Myri’s own army for three years. And though they had been gruelling, Oona had done her service with great pride.
“Dagger ‘ands are just a bunch of thugs, really. Mindlessly violent, hungry for control. I wouldn’t piss on one even if ‘e were on fire.” Finally, the sailors had moved onto the third gang, the one that had sparked Oona’s attention the most, “the Night Eyes… Nobody really knows anythin’ about them, ‘cept they’re pretty secretive and don’t like bein’ identified as what they are. Bit like owls, I think, in that they’re busy at night.”
Like my clan, Oona had thought, though the very idea of comparing her family of skilled hunters and warriors to a bunch of barbarian thugs was an uncomfortable thing to do.
And now here she was, escaping the stinking city at the first opportunity she’d had. Oona was exhausted; tired from travelling but filled with an uneasy restlessness. Being aboard a ship filled with barbarians was one thing, but now she was surrounded by them. The Myrian had not removed her weapons for the duration of her time in the city; she had even fallen asleep last night sat upright on the lumpy straw bed with her back against the headboard, dagger clutched to her chest. The consequence of her paranoia was a sore back and stiff legs, but better that then being killed by a barbarian.
Perhaps she was giving the Sunberth denizens too much credit, but Oona was not willing to find out. In this city of mindless sin, the Myrian warrior was determined to watch her back, to survive.
The thin woodlands beyond the city were as disappointing as Sunberth proper. Oona’s lips curled upwards in menacing disgust as she prowled, picking her way over dried leaves and broken twigs. This land was as unlike her jungle home as the oceans had been. Less open and blue than the sea, yes, but no greener or lush. Bare. Hungry was an apt word for it, Oona decided.
She had come only armed with her kris dagger, as the Myrian had not planned to hunt whilst she was out exploring. But now she felt ill at ease in this open land. With one hand on the hilt of her dagger, Oona broke into a jog. Her feet were placed carefully, but with more haste than before. When her foot caught on a stick, she almost fell over but managed to catch herself at the last tick. The Myrian ran on, feeling more hunted than ever before.
by Deliath on September 7th, 2016, 9:17 am 
