Closed Carrot Top

[A'va]

42nd Summer, 518AV.

The Seaside Market

As much as she disliked admitting it, the humdrum life of Sunberth was becoming somewhat familiar to Oona of the Patient Shadows. Her quiet observations of the populace had gained her an insight – albeit a limited one – into the daily struggles of living in the stinking city. If a person, or their loved one, hadn’t been murdered by the end of the day, then they could count their blessings and sleep relatively contentedly. It was an ugly life, but Oona no longer winced and grimaced when faced with it, instead she merely clenched her jaw and survived.

It could even be said that she was making acquaintances which, for a woman like Oona, was most unexpected to find in the barbarian world outside her beloved Taloba. There was, of course, Kiarsha, her sister of Myrian blood who had fallen for a barbarian male and decided to leave the Goddess queen’s domain in favour of Sunberth. Whilst Oona did not understand this bizarre decision, it was hard to contradict the baker when both Myrian women now lived so far away from their birthplace. Plus, that familiar metallic tang of traditional Myrian blood puddings was hard to deny…

But beyond Kiarsha, Oona also recognised other notable characters of the Sunberth culture. There was, for example, the toothless old man who pissed against the same wall every morning, swaying and muttering to himself whilst he watched the stream of dark yellow liquid pool at his feet with a determined concentration. Two shakes, and he was off quick enough, but for Oona this was the start of her day, a strange ritual that she would feel lost without, however grim she had initially found his dirty habit. Fortunately, today day had started well; Oona had noticed her incontinent mascot within the first five ticks of leaving the Drunken Fish, and she knew the day would be a good one.

Should Oona allow herself to consider and reflect on the importance of these strangers in her life, she might have noticed the underpinning sense of loneliness and alienation she felt every day and every night she had spent in this barbarian city since her arrival at the start of the season.

But with a fixed jaw and the hard stare of a true warrior, Oona would allow no such thing.

With her kris hanging at her hip, Oona directed herself towards the Seaside Market. Her movements were almost cat like, liquid in the way she stepped and swerved to avoid the crowds around her. When she finally arrived at the bustling, heady space of the market, the Myrian initially kept to the fringes of the crowd, assessing which stall might contain whatever goods she was after. This took her several moments; for a good while she appeared to be listening in to the sellers haggling with their buyers, finding the one with the most wares and the least resolve.

Eventually, she decided on a stall owned by a woman with hair the colour of ash. The vendor appeared to sell anything that could be digested by human or dog alike; bones, unmarked meat wrapped in brown cloth, rotting fruit and a few grisly vegetables.

Oona’s harsh gaze selected the few items she desired; an apple and handful of red small berries ”I’ll take these.” She said, her Myrian accent twisted every syllable of her words, ”and that carrot.”

[Aer'wyn Grisghul]

Hours turned to days. And witch each tick of the clock it seemed, Aer'wyn's misery was drawing to the end. After so many years of self pity, he had finally sound a little bit of Sunberth he could call home for the time being and it seemed to good to be true. Nothing could turn back the tides of past but did he have it in him to make a better future from the ashes of regret? Only time would tell. It was still early days and he was still taking baby steps in the direction of redemption.

Recent days had seen him smile more, hold his head up high more. There was a purpose to everything he did. A new found usefulness to Kelski, Ebon and Ren, that he now was. Such a purpose, he had never hoped to find again after the death of his beloved. The friends, they were like water, soothed old scars. But in a city such as this, a man needed many friends. That was a certainty.

Vel had kept quiet as of late. It seemed the dark, looming presence had retreated far back and counted seconds for an opening, any hint of Aer's loss of control. And the sunnier the days became, the more he resented his light brother for slowly finding a way out of the hole that Vel had put him in. There was no moment of happiness in Aer'w life that Vel wasn't preparing to destroy. The fear of such a realisation forever haunted the Akalak, no matter where he was or what he was doing.

That morning like any other, Aer woke up to a plethora of usual tasks. Swept the floor clean off of fur and feathers, washed morning dishes, checked Kelski’s calendar. Before any of that could be done however, the Akalak sat on the floor and closed his eyes. His breath steadied and mind cleared somewhat. He reached deep inside himself and felt the deed pulsing though his body. Almost a bell passed of deep concentration, during which Aer’wyn began to shift the deed and flesh of his left arm. He’d help himself, with his other arm, to mould and form his flesh like plasticine, forming bones and finger joints, nails and knuckles until the scar that ended his left limb was no longer there, but an almost identical Akalak arm came to be in it’s place. Satisfied with his creation Aer’wyn checked that every single one of the fingers worked correctly, that his grip was tight and that every single detail down to the finger print was perfect.

Only a madman practiced magic in the city of thieves and murderers who had no scruples when it came to stringing mages up like pheasant. But Aer’wyn was proud. Too proud to let others glimpse the scars of his shortcomings. A two armed mountain was a far more fearsome a sight than one with only one arm.

Come noon, the Akalak found himself with a little idle time on his hands. A thought popped into his head. Perhaps repeating Kelski’s kindness with a little shopping would be apt use of his time. After all she had a business to run and four hungry mouths to feed, her very own chicks in the nest.

A cacophony of stalls, sellers and crowds assaulted his senses as Aer’wyn came to the edge of the market. Somehow he didn’t feel all that out of place. A mountain of an Akalak, clad head to toe in leather studded armour, a black cloak draped across his shoulders, a pleasant enough face to look at towering over the myriad of humans. On his back, a fearsome looking bastard sword warned others to stay away, least there will be trouble. Doe like eyes watched for the nearest stall that would come of interest to a warrior like himself.

And soon enough he did find one. An seedy looking arms merchant but a merchant sure enough. From the corner of his eye a dark skinned woman caught his attention, built as strong as he was albeit far shorter. A pretty face. Exotic features, certainly not that of a Sunberthian commoner.

Aer’wyn approached with a warm smile gracing his features, doing his best to put the quivering merchant at ease, who seemed to look at him as if the Akalak was some kind of a monster. He took some time to examine the wares, swords and daggers aline only to settle on quite the beaten up weapon. Blunted and with a blade that could certainly do with come love, but a bastard sword that seemed to be reasonably well crafted a long long time ago. Perhaps the restoration of the weapon could become his next project. Aer’wyn needed a practice weapon, so that the one on his back could be maintained and sharp, always ready to part a scoundrel with their head if need be.

Count were exchanged and the battered sword was passed to it’s new owner in a tattered scabbard. The visit was already proving to be a fruitful one.

Soon enough he came to the very same stall by which the Myrian was standing. He tossed a haphazard glance and a smile to the woman, but kept mostly to himself however. The way he looked already put him at risk enough, his morphed arm didn’t help. It was best not to draw any more attention than necessary, if that was even possible. Soon enough Aer made his purchases of several chunks of lamb which seemed to be the freshest thing there. The shrivelled vegetables didn’t quite catch his fancy.

“Outlander, eh?” he smiled politely, commenting on the Myrian’s accent. His own words spiced by many many noted of foreign tongue. It was so very clear common wasn’t the Akalak’s first language either. “What brings you to this shithole? I’m just just about anywhere else is better than Sunberth.”

Credit for template goes to Luminescence