Unmended

Start of the hunt

Rusksen crouched on a scorching roof overlooking Jumps Corner. Sweat worked itself through the thick layer of dust on his skin, only to dry instantly in the blazeing heat of Dursan.

" Where is this Grand Head Vizeir?" Freena asked, panting.

" Don't know."

" What does he look like."

" Don't know." She glared at him, annoyed.

" Well, what DO you know."

" Don't know." He grinned wolfishly, white teeth gleaming.

" How someone of my refined talents is repeatedly paired with the amuture likes of you, is without a doubt beyond the reckonings of any mere mortal. "

Rusksen just watched the street below as Freena waited for his return banter. This was a tradition of theirs, to mock one another. The insults never really held ground, for neither wanted to truly hurt the other.

" You should only use big words if you know what they mean. Don't talk just to hear your own voice. " She snorted.

" Rag picker."

" Narrcacist."

" Now who's useing big words?"

" I know what it mean...." Rusksen trailed off, his gold eyes narrowed. Freena followed his gaze and saw a colorful band turn the corner.

There was no doubt it was the Grand Head Vizeir. The group was huge. Wagons and chariots were of the highest crsftmanship covered with walls of crimson and black silk. The horses were fine blooded and highstepping, no camel was anything but milk white. A parade of performers danced and juggled among the party of the well dressed and well fed nobles, kicking up vast clouds of red dust. In the center of this all was a grand, vast, shaded litter, held aloft by ten strong slaves. Reclieing in pillows lay the man they had waited to rob.

He wore all black silk robes, decorated with gold threading. A heavy mantle lay on his thin shoulders, a mask and hood covering all his features, save his feirce eyes. They glowed with a keen hunger and a brutal desire for violence. He seemed to take great pleasure in shoveing past the peasents and poor merchents that crowded the street. Under his propped feet lay the treasure chest.

" Oooo, pretty colors. " Freena mocked. Rusksen didn't answer her, his body was tense, his cool expresion showed his mind was thinking tactics. The Grand Head Vizeir drew closer.

" Left side, low. I'll make a distraction." He took a small packet from underneath his ragged shirt, and began to creep down the building, Freena followed.

The Vizeir sat upon his litter, enjoying the laborious breathing of the slaves, and watching the perfromers twist and bend in unbeliveably complicated motions. There was a twitch of movement in the shadows, but he paid no mind. Then, ahead of the parade there was a scuffle, and the noble at the front fell from his horse.

Everybody gathered around him, comeners and nobles alike, the Vizeir shoved his way into the circle that surrounded the noble. The noble lay spread eagle in the red dirt, his eyes roved aimlessly, his mouth had flecks of yellow spittle that showed clearly against his dark skin. Peering closer, he found a tiny needle in his neck, which he promptly tore out. Turning to the crowed, he shouted in his rough voice.

" Who did this?!" The crowd fell silent, and if they hadn't, he wouldn't have heard the gentle clink of coins.

He sprinted towards his litter, the mob of people slowing him down as he franticly clawed his way free.

He saw a tall, ugly girl fleeing with his box of coins. Snarling, the Vizeir reached within the folds of his robe, and withdrew a thin, curved sword that glittered in the sun. He began to chase the girl, she was fast and determined, but had always been whip fast, and he gained ground quickly.