------15 years later------
The stench of the ocean complimented by the steaming smell of assorted roasted vegetables, meats, and baked pastries filled Frasa's nose. She skillfully wove her way between the harbor market stalls she was all too familiar with. Each one was decorated in a variety of animal furs, spun silks, and ornately woven rugs trying to entice customers. But, she had seen the displays before. The weapons, the wild things, and even though she tried to avoid it, the scantily clad women. Ignore she might, but Frasa was no stranger to the way this world worked. The world she lived in.
Voices called over her shoulder, some trying to entice her to their wares, others calling because she enticed them. She ignored the calls, something she learned long ago was the only way to stay safe. Reaching a hand down, she felt for the leather band that encircled her waist. It wrapped around a multitude of times, the tight leather highlighting her waist above the folds of her layered gray dress. The band that to an outsider served as an accessory, instead held a prized object: an ivory-edged dagger that any man who dared get too close to her would see shine before it sliced into them. Feeling the pointy tip nip at her finger, Frasa grinned to herself and continued on her walk.
She gripped the dark and deceivingly light cloak she wore tighter to her head, making sure the hood shielded her red curly hair from view, as she approached a large maroon harati printed tent. Outside of it, two men stood, their bodies taut with muscle, eyes scanning the crowd.
Their hair was cropped short, but their beards were long. They each featured a sash of daggers, blades, and various other sharp weapons across their bloused chests. Noting a stall beside her with baskets, she moved past it smoothly, snatching a small one with nimble fingers. Her actions went unnoticed by the hunched woman to whom it belonged who was yelling at a well-dressed patron for trying to haggle with her.
Frasa glanced at the tent, watching as a man with sandy blonde hair, who wore a leather-bound top and pants of blue dyed fur, greeted the men and entered.
Glancing at the next stall, she noticed a variety of meats and cheeses. Her eyes darted to the grocer who paid her no mind as she piled a few into her basket and turned away unseen. If there was one thing Frasa was good at, it was going unnoticed. At least, she glanced at her red hair, most of the time.
She slowed her steps to a leisure pace, changing her posture to one that was downtrodden. She needed them to believe her case and if she walked in her usual brutish confident manner, they would see right through her.
"Excuse me," she called to the men in a nervous voice, her eyes hooded beneath the cape. She held the basket close to her chest like a lifeline.
"What do you want?" one of the men responded gruffly. His arms crossed his chest as the other man stepped forward haphazardly, though his hand reached for the plait of weapons across his chest.
They looked her up and down, trying to assess the threat.
"I am looking to find my husband," she spoke softly, attempting to sound delicate and gentle like the wives of Plyto, an isle of Barnabas, often did. Their reserved nature came from the pressure of society for them to listen to everything their dear devoted husbands, who were often found in the beds of Heltile Halls and market tents, demanded.
"Are you?" the man smirked, eyes with a dangerous glint. He was unaware the glint in her eyes was far more dangerous. "And why would you be here to find him?"
"I know what my husband does in his time," she tried to make her voice sound as crestfallen and somber as possible, "and I know it is not my place to interrupt that time...but," she spoke the word like a soft whisper, "he doesn't know our baby boy," she emphasized the word knowing the importance of men in this culture, "is ill. If he does not come home today, our child might d-die before noon tomorrow. I need-" she began to cry a woeful and hopefully convincing cry, "to get him to call upon the doctor."
YOU ARE READING
Ascension: Isle of Draconi
Fantasy"Tell me little bird, who hurt you?" ... Her family was known as the Plyndrës- pillagers of the north. They invaded lands, stole great treasurers, and murdered those who stood in their way. But, their sins could not go unpunished, especially when th...
