Set Me Free: The Cry of the Kelpie

[Veatrix]

((Closed to The Sweetest Thing and Winterhair))

“Sorry, dearest, but 700 gold is not enough for a sword of this kind.”

Veatrix put the beautiful weapon back on to the rack, placing its sharp edge away from her body. The sword gleamed deep purple in the bright Radasanth sunlight, a blade made of unknown metals and likely of unparalleled strength. The hilt looked evil, demonic, something Veatrix was unused to, but she could get used to it. She ran her finger across the sharp of the blade, causing her pale skin to part, a small drop of blood dripping down her clear flesh.

“But isn’t 2000 gold too much for this?” she inquired, putting the bleeding finger into her mouth.

“Did I say 2000? I meant 3000, dearest,” she replied, smiling cheerily, looking almost normal despite her empty eye socket which she didn’t bother covering up with an eye patch. “This is a rare sword wielded by the great demon Vega, the one who destroyed thirty villages in thirty days…”

“And you have something that impressive her?”

The old hag clapped her hands together, grinning. “Of course! It’s the real deal!”

Waving her hand dismissively, Veatrix began walking away, dismayed. “Thanks, but no thanks. I don’t have enough money.”

There was nothing more frustrating than having little to no money in a city filled with pretty things. As Veatrix Bane wandered through the sweaty streets of Radasanth, browsing through powerful enchanted jewellery and deadly rare weapons, her heart sank. Sure, she had a few hundred gold pieces, more than enough to bring her through her aimless travels, but she needed more than that to purchase stronger weapons. She would need at least 3000 gold pieces for that demonic long sword a one-eyed hag was peddling to her, even though Veatrix had the smallest inkling that it probably was a very authentic-looking fake. Stronger weapons equalled a stronger fighter and though she did not look it, Veatrix wanted to become a great warrior.

Fingering Gainsborough, a pearl-inlayed steel sword her father, she sighed. I guess this thing will have to do for now.

It’s not like she had much experience with Gainsborough anyway. It had only been a few months since her father visited her in Scara Brae with her adopted mother. Only a few months since they were caught and killed in a brutal skirmish, all for the Pharoas Queen’s creed of racial cleansing. Veatrix, a half-Pharoas, had to escape Scara Brae, along with Lacey and Llewelyn Johns, her father-son foster family. They washed up close to the bustling city of Radasanth, after the ship sank from that night’s storm, but considering the danger of her situations, Veatrix ended up leaving the two behind. She led a dangerous and unpredictable lifestyle, Lacey and Llewelyn needed safety and stability.

Things never seemed to go her way.

But this time, she would make things go her way. Money wasn’t that hard to come across in Radasanth. Veatrix was certain that every single bar would have bulletin boards filled to the brim with jobs to do, dodgy or otherwise. All she’d have to do is find a bar and take up one of the jobs on the adventurer’s boards. Nothing complicated – surely she’d earn enough money for that wonderful-looking sword.

Pushing through the crowd, her crystal clear wings helping her part the sea of people washing over her like a tidal wave, Veatrix headed for the nearest bar. She looked threatening enough, sword hilt swishing from side to side, her outfit looking shapely and fairly expensive. Her golden blonde hair and silver eyelashes constantly kept people staring, but no one seemed too flummoxed – Radasanth was a very multicultural city. People avoided her gaze though, as her stone face showed nothing but determination. Squinting from the bright sunlight and wiping the beads of sweat that creeped out of her forehead, she saw a wooden sign that read “A Totally-Not Shady Bar.”

What a way to advertise. Now I definitely know it’s not a shady bar. Sighing at her luck, Veatrix pushed the double doors of the bar. I guess this’ll have to do.

[Winterhair]

It had been too long, Vincent decided, as he stepped out from the lavish courtyard of The Scarlet Lady and onto the pavement of Radasanth. He had been spending way too much time with the prostitute Samantha there and decided that he needed some fresh air, even if it were just for a little bit. She had been asleep when he had left her bed, so he was unsure if he should have left a note telling her he would be back, but in the end decided it didn't matter.

He wandered for a couple hours, checking out the random assortments of people and shops that had opened this morning. He had been thinking about heading to the Citadel to fight someone, but at the moment didn't feel like it. He had his serrated blade with him, but that was only on instinct. Honestly, he didn't expect any action today, and the prospect of no fighting had him mildly depressed and irritable. Why he didn't expect any, one would never know, but it just seemed to be one of those days.

His wanderings brought him outside a weapons store, and he gazed inside at the random assortments of blades, battle axes and bows before deciding to step inside, brushing back his white hair as he fit his large body through the frame of the door.

"Hello, m'dear..." An old, cracked voice said to him, and he looked to the side to see an old hag rubbing her hands together gleefully as she looked him up and down. One eye, he noticed, was completely gone, and she had not bothered to hide that fact with an eyepatch. Not that it disturbed him any, but it said something about the woman. "...can I...help you?"

Vincent raised an eyebrow. Now that was a disturbing prospect.

"Not really, but thanks for the...offer." He waved a hand, dismissing the subject, and continued inside, glad to get out of the morning heat and into the shade. Casually he looked around. He didn't see anything of real interest to him--his serrated nodachi was definitely in finer condition than most of the blades around him--but he continued to search, wasting time.

That is, until he saw the very blade that Veatrix herself had been admiring earlier that morning.

It glowed a deep purple in the darkness, the sunlight from the open doorway pouring light onto it barely, and it was obvious to the wandering swordsman that it was demon-forged. The very blade breathed demonic energy, and even Vincent, a "normal" human, could feel the power thrumming through its supernatural steel. Although it wasn't nearly as long as his blade, he knew that it could out best his any day...

What was a treasure doing in a grimy place like this?

"Oh, so your interested in that there blade too, eh?" The old hag cackled, having watched him admire the blade from a distance. "A girl came in, wanting to buy it, but alas, she did not have the necessary...necessities, I'm afraid." The hag move from behind her desk, swinging her hips in what Vincent thought was revolting but she obviously thought was provocative. "It costs three thousand...but for you, handsome, I'll settle for half that price." The witch laughed girlishly and placed a hand on his shoulder.

Vincent snorted. "You ask for too much, woman." he growled, but in reality his heart sank at her words. He would have loved to have come in possession of such a dark blade, but alas, he too lacked the necessary "necessities". "I'll just have to come back one day when either you can ask a lower price or when I can afford it." Without letting her reply he spun away and back out the door, almost gagging in revulsion.

A good blade. But an expensive one. He sighed and patted the hilt of his own blade, which hung in its ivory sheath on his left side. This one had suited him through the years though, and if he couldn't make do without a fancy new sword then he was no warrior at all.

[The Sweetest Thing]

The girl in the mirror could have tantalized the tide to come in early.

Anastacia Alliendra smiled sweetly at her reflection. The rosy tint of her cheeks stood out evocatively against her creamy skin, a humble blush that accentuated the crimson streaks in her golden hair. Those shoulder length tendrils danced like the strings of a strummed harp as she shook them out and reached up with both arms. Her fine-boned hands worked like frisky butterflies to tie her hair back in a loose bind. The blue ribbon she used was sky blue, matching both her eyes and the slinky dress she wore. With lapis lace at the throat, wrists, and hem, the garment could have been considered conservative if not for the way it clung to her slim curves as if by static energy. Stacia blew herself a kiss in the full-length mirror, then turned in a swirl of skirts and red-streaked hair to exit the room.

Gliding down the worked stone hallways of The Scarlet Lady, Stacia pressed both hands against her smooth stomach to suppress the bubbling excitement within. Radasanth! At last she had free reign to roam the great city. To the young girl from Scara Brae, the great Coronian melting pot represented an almost fictitious tale, told by many of the men she serviced. Some men liked to talk, afterwards. Unless they had something interesting to say, Stacia preferred them to just leave, but if the customer paid, the customer got what they wanted. Such were the rules of the Sisterhood, the rules she had been raised and trained to obey as a second nature.

Although the streets of Radasanth called to her like mysterious dusty sirens, she made a quick detour. Stopped silently at a heavy oaken door and listened for a moment, then lifted the latch and stepped inside.

Her close friend Samantha lay face down on the rumpled sheets, raven hair spread like an ornate fan upon the pillow. Her shoulders rose and fell with the friendly peace of untroubled sleep. Stacia took a moment to admire the other prostitute's milky skin, pebbled due to her nudity and the gentle chill of the air. Deciding not to wake the napping beauty, Stacia backed out of the room and shut the door as quietly as possible.

Adventure awaited.

Stacia had made the stomach-churning sea voyage from the port of Scara Brae to Radasanth's commercial docks on a passenger vessel, her fare paid by the Sisterhood. The Scarlet Lady was one of many brothels funded by the Sisterhood. As a reward for her unprecedented success at the Dajas Pagoda, the Mistress assigned Stacia a week's vacation in Radasanth, her only task to report back on the status of the Scarlet Lady. The establishment was doing extremely well, and was well maintained besides, leaving the girl almost nothing to criticize. As her measured steps bore her ever closer to the front door, excitement swelled within her anew, a balloon which would never pop. She wanted to see everything.

Her first breath of air brought the taste of meat pies sold on street corners, smiths pounding out silver, and horse shit all around. Trying to ignore the rank odor, she strode proudly down the cobblestone street, swaying upon the high heels of her boots, head held like a queen. Her azure eyes jumped about erratically, absorbing the colors and sights like wide round sponges. Scara Brae could easily demonstrate as much bustling activity, but Radasanth was so... unique. In the space of a single block she passed three blacksmiths that would probably never compete with each other; an elf owned one, a dwarf the second, a heavyweight human the third. Stacia had to remind herself often to not stare at anyone. She had seen dark elves before, of course... but never a laughing group of twenty purple-skinned teenagers racing down the road as they called to each other in an archaic foreign tongue.

Somehow, in the midst of her epiphanic revelry, Stacia sensed she was being watched.

It began as an uncomfortable sense of paranoia, and slowly crept across her body, groping her slim form, disturbing the quiet confidence she carried so imperiously. Her ghostlike steps became hurried, often faltering leaps. Her neck ached from looking over both shoulders, and yet she could not discover the hidden person whose gaze molested her.

In a flustered haze that had tears sneaking from the corners of her eyes, Stacia veered towards the first clean, well maintained bar she saw. She did not notice the name of the little pub; all she cared about was getting off the streets. Trembling hands shoved the double doors open and her neck groaned as she crossed the threshold and twisted around for one last glance at the dusty road. Her carelessness screamed for attention as her heel caught on the baseboard and she stumbled wildly into the room, childish hands clutched about her in irrelevant defense.

"Oh!"

Eyes too blurry to see, she bounced off another person and staggered into the wall. She caught herself on the well sanded woodwork and straightened up, one hand covering her mouth while the other gripped a handful of her dress.

"I do apologize," she said in an endearing, wavering voice, "the fault is mine, I did not watch where I walked. May I beg your forgiveness?"


That's right V, I just nailed you from behind. You can bunny Stacia if you want.

[Veatrix]

“May I beg your forgiveness?”

A small, endearing voice spoke gently from behind Veatrix. Turning around, the half-Pharoas saw a beautiful porcelain doll, only life-size and moving. She was a sight to behold – any man (or woman) would have been extremely lucky to have the pretty young thing for a couple of hours. Her golden cherry hair bounced wonderfully, framing her face like a legendary painting. She was sweet, sensual and delectable all at the same time. What the hell was she doing in a bar like this?

And why was she talking so formally?

“It’s no problem,” Veatrix muttered, simply walking away from the girl. There was no need to socialize, that’s not what Veatrix was here for.

Brushing past the girl, she looked across the expanse of a surprisingly clean bar, glasses filled with ice and beer clinking as they were passed to their respective owners. The ambience was perfect, homey for all peoples of all status, lights bright and the air filled with the chatter of Radasanth. Various people peppered the tavern, from burly pirates to upper class men sniffing haughtily at the presence of said burly pirates. Some women talked amongst themselves in a corner, gossiping and scheming to get their hands on the next good-looking man they saw. For a bar, “A Totally-Not Shady Bar” was most definitely not shady.

Looking over to the end of the bar was the billboard, notes taped and nailed and magically sealed on to the simple corkboard bearing the heading “TAKE YOUR PICK.” It was straight-forward and easy enough to find a job that’ll be dirty and scheming, but pays well. Veatrix scanned through the parchments, looking for something interesting to do. Some of the papers seemed to have been there for ages, as the writing was barely readable. Others looked brand new, like they had just been posted minutes before Veatrix bumped into the silly girl.

Silver-framed eyes scanned and saw a plain little piece of parchment, yellowing and slightly crusty, but still readable. It read:


HELP NEEDED.
RETRIEVE STOLEN ANIMALS FROM A CERTAIN PERSON.
VERY DANGEROUS BUT REWARDS ARE GREAT.
2265 RAVENBLACK STREET, RADASANTH
GIRL IN A GREEN HOOD

Turning away, Veatrix took note of the address written on the bill. It did say something about great rewards, and that’s exactly what Veatrix needed. Money was an issue, not living with parents or other people, and money was what she was going to get. Before she went searching for the mysterious bill owner, the girl in the green hood, Veatrix curved over to the bar, catching the attention of the barkeep. He shuffled over to her, sliding a foaming glass of ale down to a surly gentleman at the end of the row.

“What can I do for ya, miss?”

Bluntly, she pointed at the small piece of parchment nailed on to the corkboard. “What do you know about that bill, the one with the girl in a green hood?”

“Not much, miss, except that the person who put it up there looked exactly the way she described herself. Girl in a green hood.”

So much for help. “Do you know anything about it?”

Veatrix pulled on Gainsborough very lightly, just enough for him to see the silver glint of steel peeking over the wooden sheath. She didn’t want to resort to violent tactics, that would have been too much effort.

Gulping, the barkeep smiled at her sweetly, sweat trickling down his forehead. “Well… I’ve heard that Diego, the head of one of Radasanth’s smaller gangs, got a hold of a really important animal from Concordia.”

“Anything else?” Gainsborough peeked out curiously from its home, pearl inlay shining but the blade shining even brighter.

“Ummm… yeah. Heard that they’re planning on selling it at the black market. And the girl in the hood told me that she needed hardy people.”

Satisfied, Gainsborough went back into hiding, resting, readying itself for a possible fight later in the day. Nobody seemed to notice their little situation at the bar, or nobody cared. Either way worked fine for Veatrix, as she smiled fakely at him, grabbing her bearings and walking out the tavern. Her sword swished from side to side and all the barkeep did was stare.

[Winterhair]

Vincent was a predator. He stalked the streets of Radasanth like an animal, loping along at an easy pace, his trusty long blade at his side casually placed for easy access. He walked along in the morning sun, let the light reflect off of his ivory hair and scabbard, his silver eyes constantly scouring the crowd for prey.

But even the most deadliest predator can become prey sometimes. Despite the swordsman's attentiveness, he did not notice the person following him about ten feet back, a small figure dressed in tight clothing and outlined with a curvy shape. Her hair was a deep red, and at her hips she wore twin daggers, with multiple smaller daggers lining her thin legs and arms. She wore these weapons openly except a green cloak with a hood that covered her face, letting only her red hair show.

She had been following Vincent for some time now, even before he had stepped into the weapons store to check out the sword that Veatrix herself had been interested in earlier that morning. A person watching the pair would have related it to a game of cat and mouse, as just when Vincent would turn around or sense something the girl in the green hood would disappear into the shadows as swiftly as she appeared. What her intent or purpose was, no on could have guessed, but that same person wouldn't have made her out to be malicious. In fact, her movements seemed almost fearful.

Of course, Vincent was oblivious to the small form of the small creature, searching for obvious strength and size, swordsmen and maybe swords women. The thought of approaching the girl in the green hood, even if he had noticed her, would never have occurred to him until he came to a large billboard right outside the tavern that called itself the "Ravenblack Inn." Vincent ignored the name, instead concentrating on the pieces of parchment nailed to the board. He had never been one for taking up odd jobs, but in anything other than mercenary work being a wandering swordsman didn't exactly rack up the gold, and so he did this from time to time, seeing what the board held for him this time.

He searched it throughly he thought, and having no interest in any of the jobs posted there he was about to move on when suddenly he felt a tug at his black coat. Turning around in surprise, he looked down as he towered over the tiny form of the girl in the green cloak who had been following him all this time. "What do you want?" He growled at her. His irritation came not from her, though, but at himself for being caught off guard like that.

"Are you seeking work?" The girl spoke, her voice silvery and fluid like liquid quicksilver, and Vincent shivered as the words slid over his body and into his ears. Magic...he thought to himself in warning, and took a step backwards as he placed his right hand on the hilt of his blade, poised to strike the girl down if she made any movements to him. She seemed surprised by this movement as she too stepped backwards, one hand up as the other flew to one of the long daggers at her hip. "Please, I mean you no harm."

"Drop whatever your doin' with that voice of yours, then." He snarled at her, his skin in goosebumps at the feel of her magic caressing his skin. He hated the feel of magic, the very idea of it, and the idea that someone was using it on him sickened and scared him. "I know your doing somethin' with that voice, I can feel it. So don't even tell me ya aren't."

Immediately the girl stood up to her full height, a minuscule 4 foot 11 next to Vincent's towering frame, and threw her head back, laughing. The sound was like a crystal bell being tinkled, and even though Vincent could still feel the magic in it, he realized the difference now: she wasn't using magic, she was magic.

"Boy..." She continued on amongst her chuckles. Reaching up with her slim hands, she slowly pulled back the hood on her head, slowly as to reveal fair skin with slim, thin features. Her hair was wavy and slightly short, pushed back as to give her a sort of mane of red hair, and two long ears protruded from the bushes of her hair, pointed at the ends sharply. She smiled a thin smile as she opened her eyes, and revealed the greenest pair of eyes Vincent had ever seen in his life. "...You have much to learn on what is 'magic' and not."

Staring at the small girl with the brilliant green eyes and flame-red hair, he slowly raised himself to his full height. People sometimes stopped to watch the two during this exchanged, but besides some long looks no one cared to stay for long, leaving the two seemingly opposite warriors staring at one another, evaluating each other's prowess. Vincent didn't notice their looks however, as he spoke to the girl with a smiled quirked up on his face. "What are ya? Your definitely not human." He finally said to her, dropping his right hand from the hilt of his blade.

The girl noticed this and noticeably relaxed her posture, her taut muscles loosening a bit. She gave a quirky smile back to him as she replied. "Was that an educated guess or just pure dumb luck?" She asked him bluntly despite her silvery voice, a contrast that clashed like two bells.

Vincent grinned fully back now, amused by her response. "Pure dumb luck. So..." He walked over to her and extended his hand out to her, a seemingly massive hand compared to the slim pale one she placed in his. "...you also guessed right. I need a job: I'm afraid I'm short on cash."

As she shook his hand lightly and then dropped it, she replied "Then I have one for you, as long as you don't mind great risks." Arching a slim red eyebrow at him, she cocked her hips a little as she lightly placed her hands at her side.

Vincent laughed, a deep throaty sound compared to her earlier silvery laughter. "Risks? I live for risks, girl. They what keep life interesting. What do you have to offer?"

She looked around at the crowd, suddenly worried, and her hands flew to the hilts of her twin daggers at her hips once more as she crouched down. Worried by his new companion's sudden movements, Vincent too went for his blade, but before he could draw it the girl held out her hand. "I believe we are being watched." She whispered to him, her green eyes darting this way and that. "It is not safe out here. Can we go somewheres safer...more private perhaps?"

Private? Hmm. Vincent thought about that, being alone with a girl who was obviously dangerous and knew how to wield her blades well enough to be comfortable with just daggers. But he never was much of a thinker, and instead went with his gut instincts.
"Its fine with me. I have a room at The Scarlet Lady that I share with just a prostitute, we could talk there."

Immediately as the words left his mouth he knew they were a mistake, for the girl's nostrils wrinkled in disgust. "A brothel?" She asked rhetorically, and shook her head. "No, even there it would be too...public." She lingered on the word, and had Vincent been a smarter man, he would have realized she had just give him a metaphorical slap in the face. But he was not, and simply nodded.

"Where to, then?" he asked, shifting his feet impatiently as he felt the sunlight burning into his skin. Standing in one place for too long had never suited the swordsman. "I want to get out of this damnable sunlight."

The girl looked at him with her green eyes as if reconsidering her choice, but then drew up her hood and spoke lowly. "How about in here, then?" She gestured to the "Ravenblack Inn" with one hand lightly.

He arched one thin, silver eyebrow at her. "Isn't a tavern a bit too public as well?" He asked. He may not be the most intelligent man alive, but that wasn't to say he was stupid either.

"Not if you play your cards right." she replied cryptically before striding over to the doorway with light, easy steps. Before she went inside, however, she tossed over her shoulder a thin smile and these words: "But any where, I might add, is less public than a whorehouse." And with that she disappeared into the reaches of the the barroom.

Taking a couple seconds to think about her words, then dismissing them as nonsense, Vincent followed the girl in, his large body barely fitting in the frame of the doorway.