[[ very much unfinished despite the drivel! ]]
20th Spring, 519
For all intents and purposes, it had been a quiet day. The sun sifted through dust drummed up by the numerous feet, hooves, paws and wheels that traversed the worn path that cut through the districts of Baroque Bay and Sunset Quarters like an ugly scar, all going about their daily business when a cacophony of noise rang out from the Quay. Chains rattled, drums banged, horses screamed and snorted and then, for a tick, deafening silence before the massive wooden gates of the Quay opened on noisy hinges.
A whip cracked. The clamour rose to a feverish pitch as screams tore from the throats of those that burst out from the parted gates, eyes wild and faces etched with crude digits - most still weeping blood and sebum. The screams of horses followed, a horse-drawn chariot lurching past once it could clear the gap in the gates, its wooden wheels scraping and thundering against the path as the hooves of its horses chewed up the small gap that separated them from the terrified group of scarred individuals.
A whip crack caused the bunched bodies of those being chased to part briefly - like a school of fish - before shoulders collided as they huddled back together in a panicked ball. A laugh rang out. The whip cracked once more. The streets of the neighbouring districts came to a standstill as bewildered bystanders watched it all play out before them.
This area of Sunberth would not be left wondering for long.
Trailing behind the chariot - far enough behind to not get caught in the dirt and dust it kicked up - another scuttled along, the bell in her hand making faint 'tinking' noises despite her best efforts to keep it quiet within her fist. She stopped shortly thereafter, lean body straightening to its full height as she lifted her narrow chin high and allowed the brass of the bell to slip from her palm with a flourish. Seizing the handle in a white hot fist, she then rang it with ever bit of strength she could muster before crying out, voice crisp and carrying far despite her small size.
"Take heed! The Vino come bearing a gift this day! Five slaves have been released unto you, Sunberth, each with a bounty carved on their heads! To those lucky individuals fortunate enough to capture and return any of these five slaves to us, you shall be awarded the bounty they carry!"
She paused, smiling broadly as she surveyed the sight before her, watching as those in her vicinity began to register what she said, what had just happened. She palmed the bell once more and lofted head and arms high as she cried, "Happy hunting and may Ovek smile upon you!"
Chaos reigned.
Shouts rang out. Bodies jostled as a frenzied wave of able-bodied and ever hungry men, women and children took to the streets, chasing after those poor souls that had been released, seizing anything in their path that could be used as a weapon.
Fights broke out immediately and the mob mentality flared within those grown desperate by the call of the hunt. No one cared that these were people. They only cared about the gold-rimmed mizas that could soon be lining their empty purses. Blood soon spilled. The less competition, the better.
The news of the bounties and the Vino's benevolence spread like a tidal wave, surging outwards and spilling past the Sunset Quarter westward into the Seaside Markets and northward beyond the Mudway further into the businesses of Baroque Bay and the Castel Commons. Even the rare few who loitered about Stumble Alley took heed.
It wouldn't be long until all of Sunberth was made aware.
Missing a step, Orakan stumbled down the stoop of the Drunken Fish, free hand reaching for the railing and clutching it firmly as he steadied himself and made the effort to tuck his flask into the sash at his waist. He missed once, twice, and then finally managed to shove it deep within the folds on his third attempt. Raising a hand to shield his eye from Syna's glare, he grumbled as he made the final step down to the awaiting dirt path - but not before he was sent swaying as a body bolted past, clipping his hip.
He bellowed a curse as his hand shot out for anything that might keep him upright - this just so happening to be a small child in tattered clothes. The kid thrashed and squirmed like a cut snake, hands pawing and clawing wildly at the offending fingers that had seized hold of their greasy mop of hair. This only made Orakan tighten his grip, clutching the mess of unwashed hair more tightly in his scarred fist.
His eye wandered his surroundings, the horizon teetering, the surge of people making chase not helping his drunken state. What in Hai? Dropping his attention to the mongrel fighting frantically to be free of his grasp, he only proceeded to yank the boy - or girl, it was hard to tell - closer as he bent a knee.
"Tha petch is goin' on?" He jutted his stubble-covered chin towards the frenzy beyond.
The kid only fought harder.
Orakan gave the messy hair in his grip a firmer yank, wrenching the child's head sideways and pinned them in place with his mismatched glare
Finally, it stopped squirming and bit out, "The Vino released slaves wit bounties on their heads. Says they'll reward any who catch um and bring em back."
Orakan huffed and shoved the kid away... and was repaid in kind when the kid doubled back and sent a swift kick to his shin. He cursed, stumbled, and then lashed an arm out to try and clip his assailant but the child was wily, spry and - most importantly - sober and easily evaded the heavy lumbering limb. It laughed, bent, plucked a wayward cobble from the ground and then hurled it Orakan's way. It hit him square in the shoulder, sending a hot sting down the length of his arm.
He cursed again and grit his teeth.
That little petcher.
Finally he stood and slowly ambled along with the masses that filtered down the ever-narrowing path that lead south towards the outskirts. Morbid curiosity carried him and he felt himself spat out just at the fringes of the Tent City. His world swam as he moved warily through the all too familiar mishmash of tents and shanties, gait slowing only as his boots began to disappear within the ever-thickening vegetation of the Wildlands that opened up before him.
He took a breath as he stopped, eyes sweeping over the lazy sway of grass and shrubs. It was almost serene... if one ignored the screams and shouts that echoed from the distance. It was all too green. All too unfamiliar to someone like him who had spent their entire life with nothing but shit and dirt beneath their feet. He sniffed and then knuckled as his nose. No. He wasn't about to risk life and limb out there just to try and catch something that every other Sunberthian was after. He'd rather take his chances with the monsters that dwelt within the city than outside it.
Turning around, he slowly made his way back to the city proper, eager for the familiarity of its broken down buildings and the smog of the Slag Heap.
A whip cracked. The clamour rose to a feverish pitch as screams tore from the throats of those that burst out from the parted gates, eyes wild and faces etched with crude digits - most still weeping blood and sebum. The screams of horses followed, a horse-drawn chariot lurching past once it could clear the gap in the gates, its wooden wheels scraping and thundering against the path as the hooves of its horses chewed up the small gap that separated them from the terrified group of scarred individuals.
A whip crack caused the bunched bodies of those being chased to part briefly - like a school of fish - before shoulders collided as they huddled back together in a panicked ball. A laugh rang out. The whip cracked once more. The streets of the neighbouring districts came to a standstill as bewildered bystanders watched it all play out before them.
This area of Sunberth would not be left wondering for long.
Trailing behind the chariot - far enough behind to not get caught in the dirt and dust it kicked up - another scuttled along, the bell in her hand making faint 'tinking' noises despite her best efforts to keep it quiet within her fist. She stopped shortly thereafter, lean body straightening to its full height as she lifted her narrow chin high and allowed the brass of the bell to slip from her palm with a flourish. Seizing the handle in a white hot fist, she then rang it with ever bit of strength she could muster before crying out, voice crisp and carrying far despite her small size.
"Take heed! The Vino come bearing a gift this day! Five slaves have been released unto you, Sunberth, each with a bounty carved on their heads! To those lucky individuals fortunate enough to capture and return any of these five slaves to us, you shall be awarded the bounty they carry!"
She paused, smiling broadly as she surveyed the sight before her, watching as those in her vicinity began to register what she said, what had just happened. She palmed the bell once more and lofted head and arms high as she cried, "Happy hunting and may Ovek smile upon you!"
Chaos reigned.
Shouts rang out. Bodies jostled as a frenzied wave of able-bodied and ever hungry men, women and children took to the streets, chasing after those poor souls that had been released, seizing anything in their path that could be used as a weapon.
Fights broke out immediately and the mob mentality flared within those grown desperate by the call of the hunt. No one cared that these were people. They only cared about the gold-rimmed mizas that could soon be lining their empty purses. Blood soon spilled. The less competition, the better.
The news of the bounties and the Vino's benevolence spread like a tidal wave, surging outwards and spilling past the Sunset Quarter westward into the Seaside Markets and northward beyond the Mudway further into the businesses of Baroque Bay and the Castel Commons. Even the rare few who loitered about Stumble Alley took heed.
It wouldn't be long until all of Sunberth was made aware.
Missing a step, Orakan stumbled down the stoop of the Drunken Fish, free hand reaching for the railing and clutching it firmly as he steadied himself and made the effort to tuck his flask into the sash at his waist. He missed once, twice, and then finally managed to shove it deep within the folds on his third attempt. Raising a hand to shield his eye from Syna's glare, he grumbled as he made the final step down to the awaiting dirt path - but not before he was sent swaying as a body bolted past, clipping his hip.
He bellowed a curse as his hand shot out for anything that might keep him upright - this just so happening to be a small child in tattered clothes. The kid thrashed and squirmed like a cut snake, hands pawing and clawing wildly at the offending fingers that had seized hold of their greasy mop of hair. This only made Orakan tighten his grip, clutching the mess of unwashed hair more tightly in his scarred fist.
His eye wandered his surroundings, the horizon teetering, the surge of people making chase not helping his drunken state. What in Hai? Dropping his attention to the mongrel fighting frantically to be free of his grasp, he only proceeded to yank the boy - or girl, it was hard to tell - closer as he bent a knee.
"Tha petch is goin' on?" He jutted his stubble-covered chin towards the frenzy beyond.
The kid only fought harder.
Orakan gave the messy hair in his grip a firmer yank, wrenching the child's head sideways and pinned them in place with his mismatched glare
Finally, it stopped squirming and bit out, "The Vino released slaves wit bounties on their heads. Says they'll reward any who catch um and bring em back."
Orakan huffed and shoved the kid away... and was repaid in kind when the kid doubled back and sent a swift kick to his shin. He cursed, stumbled, and then lashed an arm out to try and clip his assailant but the child was wily, spry and - most importantly - sober and easily evaded the heavy lumbering limb. It laughed, bent, plucked a wayward cobble from the ground and then hurled it Orakan's way. It hit him square in the shoulder, sending a hot sting down the length of his arm.
He cursed again and grit his teeth.
That little petcher.
Finally he stood and slowly ambled along with the masses that filtered down the ever-narrowing path that lead south towards the outskirts. Morbid curiosity carried him and he felt himself spat out just at the fringes of the Tent City. His world swam as he moved warily through the all too familiar mishmash of tents and shanties, gait slowing only as his boots began to disappear within the ever-thickening vegetation of the Wildlands that opened up before him.
He took a breath as he stopped, eyes sweeping over the lazy sway of grass and shrubs. It was almost serene... if one ignored the screams and shouts that echoed from the distance. It was all too green. All too unfamiliar to someone like him who had spent their entire life with nothing but shit and dirt beneath their feet. He sniffed and then knuckled as his nose. No. He wasn't about to risk life and limb out there just to try and catch something that every other Sunberthian was after. He'd rather take his chances with the monsters that dwelt within the city than outside it.
Turning around, he slowly made his way back to the city proper, eager for the familiarity of its broken down buildings and the smog of the Slag Heap.
21st Spring, 519
Syna's light hung low in the sky as Orakan left his post, his patrol of The Park finally over. He still donned his leather armor and weapon harness - complete with every weapon he owned - and was rolling a shoulder, mind back on the Daggerhand Tavern he was heading towards, when the shriek of a horse and curse of a rider caused him to swing his attention towards his blind side. Unable to get out of the way, he felt the powerful body of the beast collide with his left shoulder, sending him tumbling backwards until his boots caught awkwardly, causing him to twist and trip as he came crashing down onto the hard packed earth below.
For a brief moment there was silence. Orakan groaned as he began to test his limbs, legs first and then his arms. His left wrist hurt fiercely, a sharp pain jolting up the length of his forearm once he moved to push himself upwards. He sank back down onto the ground and regrouped, rolling to his right as he gathered his knees beneath him and then shoved himself upright with his right hand. Settling back onto his heels, his good eye scanned his surroundings as he felt the sting of the cut on his left cheek.
He swiped at it just as a crossbow bolt went whizzing by his right ear.
He dropped back down to the dirt with a sharp curse.
"You whoreson petcher!"
Another bolt whizzed by.
"You just lamed my horse, ya shykesack. C'mere!"
His good eye searched for the source of the voice as he laid there, trying his best to blend in with the ground. He knew his efforts would be futile; he needed to get to his feet and take cover so he could get a weapon handy. Mentally, he tried to pinpoint where other Daggerhand Siblings might be and how many would be available to him if he needed them. Four others had been with him during his patrol of the left side of the bridge and another five had just arrive to relieve them. That would make nine...
"Who are you."
It was the bellow of a Daggerhand Sister and just the distraction he needed. There was a pause in the bolts that had been flying over his head and he waited until he heard the rider engage in some heated exchange with his Daggerhand Sibling to make a move, shoving himself back up and to his feet. Without any hesitation, he freed his dagger and advanced towards the source, left arm held close to his body.
The conversation continued, the rider's tone changing as she realised exactly who she was dealing with.
"I was jus' out here hunting. Wasn' meanin' no trouble with your lot."
"Bit close to the city to hunt," The Daggerhand Sister countered, "you after brats or something?"
Finally, Orakan spotted the pair - or, rather, trio, as another Daggerhand had come up alongside the Sister's side. They were fresh, replacements, and likely eager for something to break up the monotony of guard duty. Orakan could sense it, the hands on the hilts of their weapons, the tension that shuddered through their bodies, ready to spring into action. His attention shifted to the rider as he slowly continued his approached, trying to keep his footfalls as quiet as possible, noting the basic leathers she wore, the weapon harness full of what he suspected were throwing daggers given their small size. The quiver on her back. The way she held the crossbow, pointing it down and away from the pair.
For a brief moment there was silence. Orakan groaned as he began to test his limbs, legs first and then his arms. His left wrist hurt fiercely, a sharp pain jolting up the length of his forearm once he moved to push himself upwards. He sank back down onto the ground and regrouped, rolling to his right as he gathered his knees beneath him and then shoved himself upright with his right hand. Settling back onto his heels, his good eye scanned his surroundings as he felt the sting of the cut on his left cheek.
He swiped at it just as a crossbow bolt went whizzing by his right ear.
He dropped back down to the dirt with a sharp curse.
"You whoreson petcher!"
Another bolt whizzed by.
"You just lamed my horse, ya shykesack. C'mere!"
His good eye searched for the source of the voice as he laid there, trying his best to blend in with the ground. He knew his efforts would be futile; he needed to get to his feet and take cover so he could get a weapon handy. Mentally, he tried to pinpoint where other Daggerhand Siblings might be and how many would be available to him if he needed them. Four others had been with him during his patrol of the left side of the bridge and another five had just arrive to relieve them. That would make nine...
"Who are you."
It was the bellow of a Daggerhand Sister and just the distraction he needed. There was a pause in the bolts that had been flying over his head and he waited until he heard the rider engage in some heated exchange with his Daggerhand Sibling to make a move, shoving himself back up and to his feet. Without any hesitation, he freed his dagger and advanced towards the source, left arm held close to his body.
The conversation continued, the rider's tone changing as she realised exactly who she was dealing with.
"I was jus' out here hunting. Wasn' meanin' no trouble with your lot."
"Bit close to the city to hunt," The Daggerhand Sister countered, "you after brats or something?"
Finally, Orakan spotted the pair - or, rather, trio, as another Daggerhand had come up alongside the Sister's side. They were fresh, replacements, and likely eager for something to break up the monotony of guard duty. Orakan could sense it, the hands on the hilts of their weapons, the tension that shuddered through their bodies, ready to spring into action. His attention shifted to the rider as he slowly continued his approached, trying to keep his footfalls as quiet as possible, noting the basic leathers she wore, the weapon harness full of what he suspected were throwing daggers given their small size. The quiver on her back. The way she held the crossbow, pointing it down and away from the pair.
Receipt :
