I was extremely conscious of the heavy weight of gold in my pack, and the stained blood on my face. It was just a splatter, but the knowing that is was directly connected to the gold made it feel like I was covered in red. I stared at my reflection in the barrel of water I was washing my blade in, green eyes surrounded by heavy blonde locks smirked back. A small piece of my ear showed through the strands, pointing to the heavens like a proud fiend. At spotting it I placed my dagger in its hilt and my hood over my head. I headed to the gate of the old miners home, hoping I wouldn’t draw too much un-need attention, although, the Undercity is desensitized to death and crime. A city that is as large as Jordur, the lands capital, but appears like a slum, a giant, cruel, lawless and guardless slum. Guards and Soldiers wouldn’t dare touch the town with it being ruled by cutthroats.
The old miners homes was the smallest excuse for a house in the whole of the Undercity, and it was choked in the back of an alley leading away from the market. I strolled down the alleyway, hearing the voices rise the further I walked. The market was yelling, chaos and greed all wrapped in one. People were pushed together surrounded by shops and shacks; the appearance of it mimicked a gladiator ring.
This is where I grew up, I played as a child on the tile roofs, I stole from these merchants, were beat when caught and now, I help rule this town as apart of it’s guild hierarchy. The Cabals were known across the whole of the land, for their reputation at associating with politics, whether within our land and others. I passed a few slick brown purses as I maneuvered through the crowd, and coppers fell into my pack. A small man with a dirty grey beard and a bald head caught my hand as I reached for his purse.
“What are you up to you little whore?” His voice cut like slurred daggers in my ears. See, we Cabals rule silently, stealing money from scared merchants, killing the unwanted, and taking money from our outside sources and pouring more money to the merchants and the tavern where we make our home. We don’t like attention. This man is attention. His grip tightened as my lips did, and quick as a snake I brought my foot to his shin, turned as his hand loosed and ran to a barrel up against the markets wall. I pushed myself up, gripping the top of the wall and flinging my feet up and over landing on a roof on the other side. That wasn’t expected, but luck was smiling.
I heard yells of displeasure as I jogged across the angled roof. I cursed under my breath and froze as the long roof came to a sudden stop. I looked down and around thinking of the layout of the city. The tavern was to the far west, and the scolding second sun threatened to plunge me into the dark before I met my destination. I stared right at the hot blue gas ball, right in front of me with its twin red brother along side, and took the challenge. My pride is the only thing larger than my courage. I stepped back, and guessed the distance to the next roof. I pulled up my boots, which had slightly fallen, and pulled my mask up to cover my mouth and prepared myself.
“ King of liars, corrupted by the simple sniff of riches blow.” I sang under my breath and ran leaping with all my strength and tumbling on the roof over. I stood.
“Tell your people who ran, that the song of the Myr still stands.” Next roof.
“That the lovely princess lives, born on blood.” Next roof. Darker.
“Hidden from your blade, the last of the Myr.” A slip, a loose tile, and a fall to the ground ended the song. My eyes were blurred with black as I opened my eyes. The sick feeling of being breathless was ignored. I pulled myself up, surveying where I’d landed. Thank the creator I knew. The paper wall had been in the Undercity for years, people remember bounties from a hundred years ago, when humans first came to Lorefell. Now as I stared at the thousands of paper faces with small ears and painted eyes, I wondered if others were still living or dead. But the largest is the only one I’d ever seen before anywhere else. Six years ago, I was sent on my first actual mission out of the city. It had been the first time I’d seen green grass and trees, instead of the sandy dessert climate of the Kiyan, the providence where the Undercity is. I was stalking a caravan which had bunches of liquor. The Cabals tavern was in dire need of such. I was only twelve, so it simple, kill everyone, no witness. I had never had an issue with killing humans; I held a personal vendetta against the whole of the species. I was on horseback, ready to cut them off the path, but it was this poster, the poster that had probably murdered an entire forest with the amount that was handed out across Lorefell, which distracted me from that mission. A boy about my age, a boy about 12 and a child all with similar features, scarlet hair and piercing blue eyes. In the description, it described a scar across his collarbone. This poster, or more specifically the child, was the reason our land was fighting a new war. When the human King faced interaction with the neighboring country of Alduin, he wed the lands empress. Later the two had a boy, a hope of peace with the lands. But the child was taken, and stricken with grief and hatred for the King, she declared war. 17 years of war, and no child. They are certain he is dead, but his face painted on the dark brown paper was entrancing. A sudden hush of wind, reminded me of the sun. Pink light flooded the alcove, no people left in the street. As the wind started to pick up I ran with all my strength out of the alcove, down the abandoned path. As the cold heightened I slowed, and pulled open the strong wood of the tavern door, absorbing the warmth of the fire inside. The normal patrons of the upper level greeted me with sideways smiles and winks. Dael our bartender gave one of his fleshy grins, which I waved at in approval. I walked by Horus, the Under’s keeper, he barley noticed my lithe figure. The Under is my home and the home of a few others, who were gathered around a round table enlightened by two gas lamps.
“What are we playing?” I called and they turned. Moro is the littlest, his silver eyes and white hair are daring and strange. Jamii, and Talien are from Alduin, the twin’s whose duals are infamous to end with the same result, and their place at the table is answer enough. Both boys are slender and tall with shoulder long blonde hair. Last at the table was Pol, our warrior. Brutish and childish, yet intelligent, he was always getting bruises around me. He loved to make me painfully obvious of the fact he fancied me. His eyes settle on me, and I can see the red on his cheeks from alcohol. Being the only woman in a group that stays underground most of the time does come with certain issues.
“Dead mans dare. You in?” Said Moro. I smiled throwing my heavy pack in the middle of the table, gold and the coppers from the market spill out. Awe spilled as well.
“Where’d you get that?” Moro cried.
“Old minor had it stocked up under his floorboards, lucky for me he was all too willing to share.” I pulled down my mask bearing the blood on my cheek.
“You have the stupidest amount of luck out of any other person in the land Alewn,” Pol joked. He cast a silver into the pile. “I bet you all your gold, for whatever you want.” He cast a hungry glance my way. Remember my pride.
“You’re on, but if I win I get the Jordur job.” The hunger turned to slits, and he tightly nodded. I smiled widely, grabbed my prized dagger and took of my gloves. The rules of dead mans dare are simple, you pass the dagger around the table over your hand, picking up speed, and if you drop the dagger, you're out. The only issue is you're handling the blade. This was an ale and money game. I flipped the hilt and grasped hold of the blade, lightly enough to not cut, and passed to Jamii on my right. The game went on for a while until it was Pol and I left. Since he is across the table from me, we were throwing the blade, standing up, and focusing even with the other boy’s drunken chants. Pol moved quickly, but blood was running down his arm, I hoped he didn’t have much longer. As I passed to him, he gave me a sickening smile and threw it high. So high, in fact that as I caught it, the blade cut my palm. I fumbled for a hold but it fell before I could. The room was silent, and Pol grinned. I looked at the coins in front of me, and pushed them towards him. He gave me a sideways glance.
“Keep your money Alewn. But just know, you owe me. One day I’ll collect my dues, little rouge.” With that he turned and left the room leaving me pondering his strange words.
