Closed Breaking & Entering

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A lawless town of anarchists, built on the ruins of an ancient mining city. [Lore]

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Breaking & Entering

Postby Oona on December 28th, 2017, 5:48 pm


It had been nineteen days since Oona had arrived in the city of Sunberth, and still the stink of the populous made her snarl and wince whenever she left the relatively odourless haven of her room at the Drunken Fish.

She had quickly found that night time was the lesser of two evils, with the stench of body odour and other bodily stinks slowly giving way to the very slightly more tolerable concoction of alcohol, vomit and blood. The latter, at least, was familiar to Oona, and therefore was almost reassuring.

One thing that was significantly lacking in the city – beyond general hygiene and standards – was food. The Myrian recalled how the sailors she had travelled with had promised her that the Drunk Fish would provide the finiest cuisine the ‘berth has’ta offa. But as yet, her hosts had only provided Oona with stale bread and a fish soup that had had reappeared as quick as she had inhaled it. Since then, she had opted for as raw a food as she could find; vegetables, fruit, meat that looked only a little greyish.

But even unprepared food was becoming ever harder to find. Oona had also picked up on the growing sense of unease and desperation that was beginning to flourish in the city. It seemed that with every day, people were eating less and less -- just the other evening, she had seen a mother feed her children the browning core of an apple. Food was not exactly easy to come by in Taloba – you had to hunt, to work for your meal – but Oona had never before seen such overt poverty and malnutrition as she was witnessing in Sunberth.

She felt little sympathy for the people of the city, however, and still firmly believed in the divide that separate her from them; the filthy deyhans who were not her own kind. Had Myri chosen Sunberth, and not Taloba, as her realm, the people of the city would not starve as they were doing now. They would have learnt to hunt, to find food. Instead the deyhans complained, grew weary and pathetic and turned on each other.

Such sins would not exist in Oona’s home.

And so, it was of no concern to Oona’s morality when she left the Drunken Fish inn and began to prowl the darkening streets, looking for an empty home to rob. Thieving from another Myrian would be worthy of great punishment, possibly even exile. But to rob from a deyhan – to slaughter and kill in order to fill her belly – was perfectly acceptable. Expected, even. It was hunting, albeit somewhat differently to what Oona was used to.

She walked the streets on Sunberth with the same cautious steps as she did in the jungle; her feet were placed carefully in order to avoid roots and rocks and poisonous plants that could trip you, break your toe, or sting you to death. It had been drilled into Oona to move this way, to slink rather than stride, and it was not a habit she was about to forget anytime soon.

Pressing onwards, Oona weaved her way through the city for twenty or so bells. She moved her gaze on the stars above every so often, that unfamiliar sight of an open sky, in order to navigate her way. Though granted, the last few nights she had got thoroughly lost in this sprawling, shitty city.

Eventually Oona stopped. She heard a baby crying from one of the shack-like buildings to her left. Good; there were residents nearby, but a brief glance around her confirmed to Oona that this was a relatively quiet part of the city. She followed the squeals of the baby, stepping quietly through alleyways to position herself to the back of a row of houses. It was the third house in a row of eight that she surmised the infant lived in. The houses immediately next door were too close – plus, the shack to the right was highlighted from within with a dim candle. But further down this terraced row were more promising.

It was the eighth house – the last in the row – that Oona eventually selected. Unlike it’s conjoined neighbours, this property featured three external walls, each with at least one window, allowing a quick escape if one was needed. Decision made, Oona approached the home and inspected the rear of the house. This window was small, but just wide enough for her to enter. There was, like many of the nearby homes, no glass in the window, but a lank piece of foul-smelling cloth to act as a curtain.

Entering the property was relatively easy; Oona swung her left leg through the window, placed it delicately on the floor – ensuring she made as minimal noise as possible – before leaning her torso and right leg through. She appeared to have entered into the main living space of the house; blankets were strewn across the floor and the only piece of furniture in the room, a battered old wooden chair, set in the centre facing a dead fire place.

And most importantly of all Oona was, for this part, completely alone.
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