Afternoon Stroll (Shinsou Vaan Osiris)

Corone / Radasanth
Late Afternoon / Partly Cloudy
https://i.imgur.com/C6A4niV.png

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In all of his travels, Radasanth was still one of his favourite cities to live in, simply due to the normality of seeing someone like him in the streets. The myriad of different cultures, species and races all made the city a vibrant experience, but it also helped him to stay unnoticed among the crowds. It also provided him with plenty of inspiration for more art pieces in his free time, or new recipes to try out at home.

It was partially the reason why he was out and about. A basket hung from one arm as he gracefully wove through the groups of people in the marketplace, filled with spices and ingredients for a new stir-fry he was looking forward to cooking up back at the orphanage for dinner. The kiddies would probably break out in a riot if they had to eat soup again this week. But he also had a more sinister reason for snooping around. Not many people knew of his evening work, he liked it that way, but every now and then he would get a request from someone to take care of a problem.

The payment wasn't much. A pouch of copper and a simple meal the previous evening. The target would also likely warrant far more than such a pathetic price, a military guard who seemed to have wronged his client in a very despicable way. The client, however, she was the interesting part of the whole situation. A beggar who tried her best, with a pitiful fruit stall in the day, and more intimate business in the evenings. One only needed a somewhat imaginative mind to know what happened to warrant a price to be put on this guard's head. It just so happened that this guard's post was in the marketplace, not too far from her stall.

It didn't take long for the half-breed to find his mark, the only issue was that this was in broad daylight, with a full audience around him. Not exactly ideal.

Also not a problem...

Still walking through the crowd, he calmly pulled his mask from beneath his purchased items and handed his basket to a nearby man by a stall. "Hold that for me, please." He calmly requested as he handed a few coins to the man as well along with his vibrant cloak. With nothing obstructing him, he headed towards his target. It was a reckless move that could go very wrong very quickly, but he hadn't had a chase in a long while.

After months of travel and exploration of the small island of Scara Brae, the prodigal son had returned. It was not a return marked with as much fanfare or excitement as Preston Fletcher had expected though. Indeed, it was as if nobody had known he was gone or cared that he had returned. For the young man, it was a deflating feeling. His father and older brother had both continued to mind the family store and barely paid him mind when he returned to tell them of his adventures. Upset, Preston had left to wander the market.

He found himself in the smaller, less frequented parts of the grand Bazaar of Radasanth. Unlike the main thoroughfare, with elaborate stalls and ornate items selling to discriminate buyers, the side streets were more lackadaisical. They had a certain laissez-faire feel that Preston found endearing. The cobblestones were more worn and grimier, with potholes at odd intervals filled with dirty rainwater from the showers the night before. The pathway was still plenty wide enough for a steady flow of foot traffic and the occasional carriage, but was maintained by the merchants, restauranteur, and other business owners instead of the city.

As he wandered, he had found himself looking for something. In Scara Brae he had established connections for future business, from lumber to fine weapons. Coming back to Radasanth was a part of his plan to find a way to export those goods, and he needed to establish that trade, but it required capital and a lot of it. Finally, he found himself approaching a merchant’s window and waving politely to a stout dwarf with a large pipe almost hanging from his mouth. The broad shoulders of the shop-keep turned away from Preston and back towards the unassuming guard leaning against the wall.

“Fine day we’re having,” the boy said with an even tone and a forced smile. Both the dwarf and the guard turned, as if bothered by the intrusion, and stared flatly. “Might I have a moment of your time?”

“You call this Thayne damned weather fine?” The guard said with a snicker, pulling a toothpick from his yellow-tinted teeth as he ran his tongue across them. “Non-stop rain all night and then just enough sun the next day to make it humid as all Haidia.”

He nudged his dwarven companion with an elbow and chuckled, shaking his head and sighing. “Well,” Preston continued, his smile quickly becoming more of a forced necessity instead of genuine. “You see, I have a proposition for you and your shop. How would you like to be the exclusive retailer of the work of a master smithy?” With that, Preston began to quickly spin a tale of his adventures and the smith he had met, dramatically attempting to woo them into partnership.

The assassin was quickly closing the distance to his mark, gently weaving through the crowd as a knife hid behind the palm of his hand. However, the conversation between the guard and his audience piqued Ogedai's interest as he drew near, halting his approach for a moment. With a blink he sheathed his blade and removed his mask before he walked over, brushing down his outfit to look more presentable.

"A curious story, good sir. Do you have any goods from this blacksmith of yours?" He asked as he approached, his gaze studying the group of people. "Also, forcing a smile isn't the healthiest thing to do. Regardless, I am in need of a good blacksmith these days." He leaned against the counter and placed a few coins in front of the dwarf, gesturing to a nearby pile of apples. After a few bites and a satisfied hum, he set it aside and faced the stranger. "I'd like to talk business, though I have some other business to take care of first." Calmly he slid his mask on and, without hesitation, slashed a blade across the neck of the guard.

He flashed the two witnesses a wink before taking off into the crowd, grabbing his things from the man holding it as he headed for a nearby alleyway. He needed to lose the attention first, the shopkeeper and his customer could wait for now. Amateur work by all accounts, though far more exhilarating than his last few jobs.

The marketplace burst into shock at the violent display in broad daylight, though it merely slowed the progress of his pursuers. With a frown he skidded to a halt and turned to wait for the city guards in the alley as he cleaned off his weapon and slid it back into its rightful place.

“Then they attacked the poor kid, for no reason. I did my best, of course, but I’m no fighter. They said they were from here, so I’m hoping I can find the kid soon.” Preston had just finished explaining the plight of a young tiefling, the ending of his tale from Scara Brae. The pair seemed slightly more interested in the young merchant after his story. But, before Preston could unsheathe the masterwork rapier at his side, another person walked up to the trio.

“Another tiefling? What are the odds...” Preston thought, a bit shocked to see another one after having just told the guard and his stout dwarven friend how he hardly ever saw the race. The man spoke calmly, evenly. The words felt though as if they were more tongue-in-cheek than to be taken seriously. The newcomer was taller than Preston, with a slightly wider chest, and a sly look to his sharp features. “A foreigner too. Maybe Akashima?”

Before Preston could ponder further, the man fluidly donned a mask without another word. As the merchant looked at the dwarf for confirmation on just how odd the interaction had become, he heard the heavy inhale of surprise. There was a slight grunt in that moment, and Preston turned back to the newcomer only to find a new mask of his own; this one a smattering of warm liquid.

It took a full second for the young man to register the event. He absently noted the wink behind the mask as the stranger turned away from him. The man started to dart into the crowded market leaving Preston to gather himself. He placed a gloved hand on his face and, with a dumbfounded wipe, pulled away a slick trail of blood. The metallic taste suddenly caught his attention, and his stomach churned as he looked towards the guard. The man was on the ground, hands wrapped around his throat and eyes wide.

“Guards?” Preston half-cried out. “Guards!” Around him people were muttering and pointing at the scene, at him. He looked at his hand and tried to rub it on his pants, smearing it with the spatter that had struck them. “Call the guards!”

Preston reached down and snatched the dead guard's crossbow, a bolt from the quiver, and pulled his mace from his belt. Suddenly his body was in a dash, shoving the ring of onlookers out of the way as he chased the assassin. He knew the direction the man had gone, but it was the shocked and angry crowd displaced by avoiding him that gave the young merchant his path. He ran as quickly as he could, his boots pounding the cobblestones, as he followed the frantic directions of citizens guiding him towards an alleyway.

“Halt!” He yelled, his voice an attempt at depth and command but underlined with the shakiness of someone far outside their element. He could have sworn that he heard it crack a little as he spoke. “You. Stop right there.”

The crossbow was leveled and he could feel his arms try and tense against the shaking of adrenaline. His eyes were so focused on the masked man he did not even realize that the crossbow was not only not primed to fire, it also was missing the projectile.

Patiently the murderer waited for potential pursuers to satiate his odd desire, leaning against a wall in the alley with his basket on the ground next to him. Someone finally caught up to him, though it certainly wasn't the people he expected to be pursuing him. The man by the stall with his grand tales, armed with a crossbow and mace, Ogedai raised an eyebrow as the man demanded he halt.

"I'm in no rush, friend." He quipped as he crossed his arms over his chest with his striking gaze fixed on the man. "I hope you plan on loading that crossbow first before trying to shoot me." He continued, finally pushing himself off the wall and calmly closing the distance between him and the man. "I wouldn't worry too much about what happened back there, if I were you. If you knew what went on beneath the surface of this great city, you would do the same as me."

He stopped a few meters from the man with his arms resting by his sides. His broad sleeves masked his hands wrapping around a pair of throwing knives as he continued to glare at the man with a calm smile hidden behind his mask. "Seeing as you are here, though. I have a proposition I would like to extend. That story of yours intrigued me, I would very much like to get my hands on some fine craftsmanship..." He paused as shouting echoed in the distance, followed by metallic footfalls as guards closed in on their position.

"Otherwise, we could just finish up, I get rid of a witness, and I go on with my life." A pursuit was one thing, but a fight interrupted by the city guards wouldn't be ideal by any means. His grip tightened on his knives as he faced the man, waiting for a reaction as the soldiers drew closer.

Preston could feel his arms quiver as he tried to steady the crossbow. He could feel the hair on his arms and legs begin to stand on end, feel the goosebumps tickle their way down his back to his legs, pushing against his clothes. Between the adrenaline and the scent of blood, and his burning lungs from the short jog, the young man could feel the bile clawing its way up his throat to the back of his mouth. He tunnel-visioned on the man in front of him. The coy nature of the assassin both frightened and angered him more.

“I can kill him. He can kill me. What the hell am I doing? The guards better be on the way.” The stream of conscious screamed in his head as the man began to wander towards him. His swagger was smooth, confident, infuriating. Preston listened as he tried to take everything in. Slowly he lowered the crossbow and shot multiple, quick glances at the weapon trying to see if the man was right about it being loaded. After a few darting glances, he lowered it and slung it by the leather strap over his shoulder.

As the man grew closer, Preston held up a gloved finger still dripping with slowly coagulating blood. His ears were ringing, but he could still hear the man’s words as sharp as a knife, yet as slick as one covered in poison. “Wait.” he said, burping up acidic bile and holding back the desire – insistence – to wretch. “Are you trying to buy weapons from me?”

Preston inhaled deeply and stared at the man. Deep into the dark blue eyes, his own crystal blue slowly graying with the emotions overwhelming him. He raised an eyebrow and half-turned around, but immediately reminded himself of the situation. In the distance, he could hear the clatter of slap-shod armor from the Beat Watch, patrolling the area and trying to find the pair. Suddenly he remembered he was holding his breath and exhaled heavily.

“I know about the underworld,” the merchant finally said under his breath, as if someone was listening that would implicate him in a negative way. “My Patron would be very unhappy if she didn’t get her money back, so I don’t think you would want to...” he lifted the mace from his belt and tapped the head lightly against his chin, “get rid of the witness, I think you said?”

His voice was shaky, wavering, but he was trying to push what little confidence he had into his response. It was not a lie, he had taken a significant loan out for a few transport ships between Corone and Scara Brae and she would be very unhappy not getting paid for them. “I also –,” he coughed, and repositioned the mace with his off-hand and reached with his left hand to the hilt of the kukri in its sheath across his back. He tried to, and failed, to pull his faux confidence together. “I also don’t take threats kindly, or good – well I mean. I don’t take them well. I don’t like them... you know what I mean. If you want to fight, let's do it. But I’m a thinker and a trader first, so it would be embarrassing to have to lose to me...”