Sweetness on the Streets (Sherashadiss)

[Simeon Aytak]

4th Day of Fall, 514 AV

Simeon, like many herbalists, arose at the crack of dawn. Years of working as an indentured assistant for Bartyom, his deceased master in herbalism, had trained him to instinctively pry open his eyes as soon as it was six hours past midnight. Oversleeping as a slave meant earning a few more stripes across your back, and it was not something you'd risk five minutes more of slumber over. The young herbalist put his strong, muscled arms on either side of the bedroll, and tugged himself out, proceeding to tie up his lank, raven-black hair that ran down to his shoulders like a river of ink. Once his hair was in a crude ponytail, Simeon got to work, rolling up his sleeping gear, taking down his tent, and then striding over to where he had left his horse, slinging everything onto the back of the sleepy mare, who harrumphed irritably at Simeon.

"Good morning to you too," the bemused Benshira responded. With a metal comb in hand, he diligently straightened out her coat, patted her down, and then led her over to a well, drawing out a bucket and leaving it on the ground for her to drink from, waiting patiently until the mare was done, and then lifting another bucket's worth of water from the well and pouring t into a simple brazier. Swinging himself onto the back of the horse unsteadily, brazier full of water sloshing in his grasp, he dug his heels into her sides, and she set off, with her rider clinging on for dear life, inexperienced rider that he was. The steady clop-clop of her hooves filled the air as they left the tent city behind. A few beggars shuffled by, nodding and muttering sleepy greetings at Simeon. Although a fairly new denizen of the notoriously xenophobic tent city, he was very warmly welcomed within a few days of his arrival after his chaotic escape from the wilderness. After all, a man who was willing to doctor to the poor in exchange for little to no money, just a little bit of your homegrown crops, was beneficial enough that xenophobia was easily overcome.

Within the hour, Simeon had left tent city far behind him, and was riding his way into the streets. Life in the city had immured him to the sights of the morning: Fly-ridden corpses leaning against the walls of ramshackle estates, shank wounds caked with drying blood, bile and vomit all over the street, and the acrid smell of piss and waste rising from the gutters. Simeon wrinkled his nose. It was bad enough for normal people, but for someone as attuned to smells as him, it really was something else. Still. He bore through the stench and soon found a nice little spot where multiple streets met to form a square by the docks, known to the locals as the Seaside Market. Several merchants had already had the same idea, and were already busy raising their tents and makeshift shopfronts. Sliding off his mare, Simeon stroked her mane lovingly and handed her an apple as he set to work. "Don't eat the seeds, I need them," he instructed as she started chewing away happily, the sounds of her crushing jaws working filling the air.

The tent and tarp Simeon managed to raise within minutes, nailing them down as best as he could. He glanced up at the slowly-rising sun. Too early to start drying anything, but he might get to that in an hour or so. Simeon went back to his horse, removed his saddlebags, slipped on an apron, and proceeded to spread out his components in an order that pleased him on his blanket, leaving little mounds of poppy seeds here, a small pile of salt there, a cluster of marjoram leaves in the middle, and so on. With a flint and steel, he lit the lantern, hung it up beside the nickering mare, and then started a fire, over which the brazier soon went. As the water started to boil, he undid the clasps on the box of his herbalist's kit, and started removing prongs, knives, measuring tools - the lot of them. The first thing he needed was a large supply of boiling water, out of which he could use to create individual tinctures tailored to suit specific ailments and make hot poultices for external conditions.

He sniffed the ingredients he had brought with him, and sat back, pondering, for a moment, as to the needs of the public of Sunberth. Someone would probably be nursing a crippling hangover, but they would be too sick to leave the house, so no need to bother making anything for that. Something urgent. Something you'd desperately seek help for. Maybe somebody stabbed in a critical vein, bleeding out and slowly dying. A poultice to stem the bleeding then. Simeon tore a generous piece of whole cloth from the folded square yard's worth. He then folded up the cloth six times, until it was a thick bundle. Next, he dipped it into the warm water, and plastered it against the side of the brazier. Now he had a ready-made medium to package the necessary spices and herbs in, which would lead to the creation of a poultice.

Now if I were screaming as a boiling-hot poultice was being pressed into my wound, what would I want...? A painkiller, that's what. With loving care, inhaling deeply as he took it out of its pouch, Simeon scattered an ounce of poppy seeds in the round stone surface of a mortar. In short order, a pint of honey followed and two ounces' worth of elderberries followed. With pestle in hand, Simeon crushed the mixture in the mortar until it was nothing but mush. He then scooped up a potful of boiling water, and then scraped all the mush off the stone surface into an iron pot, starting another fire under it, filling it with water from the brazier, and then letting it simmer. It was incredibly addictive, this particular potive. It removed quite literally all the pain you felt, making you happy, lightheaded, and pain-free... for about an hour. And then the pain came crashing back with twice, even thrice the intensity, instilling in you a craving to seek more of the potive. Simeon couldn't blame the addicts.

With the water boiling, a poultice package ready, and an emergency painkiller on standby if need be, Simeon walked of and fetched the apple cores left by his now-content mare, extricated the seeds, and, after washing the mortar and pestle with a bit of hot water, started slowly grinding the seeds into mush.

[Sherashadiss]

Shadiss brought her black hooded cloak around her shoulders, sliding her arms into it before she buttoned it up. She drew up the hood of her coat, covering her shortly cropped grey hair that was patterned with the occasional black strand of hair. Her crimson gaze flickered around her basic room at the Sunset Quarters. While it was basic, it did the job of keeping her under the radar of most people that would take even the smallest of interest in her. Caution was her best friend, for the Dhani were not the most well liked race, especially among the human beings. So when she had come to Sunberth, she had done her best to learn the common so then she was fluent in it, minus what people called a lisp. When she spoke, it sounded to the humans that she had a lisp and it was fine with her to allow them to think such a thing, so long as they didn’t connect the dots. If they connected the dots, she would have to find some kind of cover or run. Normally, she wasn’t the one to run, but if a whole city turned against one Dhani, then she would rather choose life over impossible odds.

Pausing, she hefted her backpack up onto her shoulder and patted the pocket of her coat, making sure that she had the small portion of mizas still secured within. A small rule that she had, was never carry more than one gold miza, less if one could do so. Thieves crawled all through-out the city, thugs and mercenaries were also not above killing someone for their own personal interests. There was a reason why they were called mercenaries, they killed for mizas. Shadiss was sure that if one refused to give them mizas, then they would not hesitate to kill another for it. Double checking her room, she would step outside of it, locking it with her room key before she made off towards the Seaside Markets, pocketing the key. It was one of the venues that she frequented often and it made her nervous, the last thing that she wanted was someone following her footsteps. Although, if it led to a bit of pain, instead of being killed, then she was all for it. After-all, ever since she had nearly been killed at birth, she had a strange fascination with the limits of a person’s body. Poisons, pain and pleasure. They were the three Ps that she lived by.

Upon reaching the markets, she was going to head straight to the usual stall that she visited, but something else caught her crimson gaze. A male with broad shoulders, his stance seemed to scream a muscular form. Contrary to her own, which was slender and relatively short in comparison to the human form, not that it ever deterred her from personal pursuits. Some scars could be seen upon his facial features but scars were never a deterrent to her. His gaze was a luring violet-blue, while his raven black hair brushed his shoulders and his scruffy beard just seemed to complete the whole look. The woman had to admit, he had this vibe that was different to the rest of Sunberth and her gaze flickered to the task that he had dedicated himself to, an eyebrow raising. In his hands was a mortar and pestle, something that she was very used to using herself, but she watched as he extracted seeds from what appeared to be an apple core and put them into the mortar, the pestle in his hands worked at grinding these seeds into mush. Angling her head, she slowly approached the man, her gaze focused upon the task that he seemed to also be focused upon. Curiousity won out and she just had to ask, ”What exactly are you doing with thossse sseedss?”

[Simeon Aytak]

The apple seeds were just about ground into a watery black mush when a hooded stranger appeared before him. Judging from the tone of voice, a female, but the bagginess of her attire made it hard to place him or her. Furthermore, Simeon had learned it was never wise to judge anything on first appearances: A lesson learned through both the study of herbs and the study of men. The faint lisp, though, spoke volumes. It was either an accent, or a condition manifested since birth. He cocked his head as she spoke, trying to see something of her tongue. Shortness of the tongue or cranial defect sometimes led to a lisp. What he espied though, defied his expectations: Completely normal. Was it a non-physical mutation, or was he or she of a foreign race, unfamiliar to these parts? Simeon, being a Benshira himself, was by no means part of the local culture, but having grown up in Sunberth, he carried himself well enough in the company of thieves to be welcomed into their shadowy cabal. This stranger, though he or she looked like they belonged to an underworld with dynastic connections of some kind, did not carry that cutthroat vibe you were born with in Sunberth.

And yet, what caught his attention the most, was the scarlet intensity of her gaze. Crimson orbs, like blood-red moons.

A smile cut through the scruffy beard that ringed the lower half of his face. "Not from around here I take it, stranger?" Simeon asked with the perfect Sunberther twang, without a hint of the thick glottal consonants of a Benshira who learned Common as a second language. Common was obviously the one he was more comfortable with over his cultural mother tongue. "Ah, but where are my manners. My name is Simeon, and while I am a man of many interests, most would, I suppose, call me a herbalist by trade. Please, make yourself welcome. Do feel free to browse - I'm sure you can tell what these are to some degree, yes?" he gestured casually at the herbs lying around him, at the poultices, and the simmering substances. The curiosity in her eyes and the way she observed him working the mortar and pestle betrayed a familiarity with his art. A fellow herbalist? Or perhaps, more sinisterly, a poisoner? He scooped up the crushed apple seeds with the pestle, emptied them onto his hand, and offered them to her for her to see. The freshly-crushed apple seeds emanated an acrid, almost acidic smell, that mingled with the fruitiness, and thus became hard to isolate and detect. "Crushed them into pulp," he replied in response to her direct question. "Perhaps you're wondering why. Well, first of all, I have no interest in growing apple trees, and secondly - what can you smell from the pulp?"

Simeon grinned as he left her to ponder the question, reaching for a bunch of cherries, tugging the stalks off, and then chewing each cherry one by one before spitting the pits out into a neat little pile. As he waited for her response, he plucked one of the cherries free of its stem and offered it to her: "Free cherry?"

[Sherashadiss]

A smirk fell across her lips as she spied that his gaze seem to take in her own form, however, her focus had pretty soon returned back to apple seeds that were now turning into mush from the grinding of the mortar and pestle. It was a process that relaxed her when she grinded down her ingredients, a process that could very well seem menial and unnecessary to others. She silently listened to his words before she lifted her hands to push back the hood of her coat, revealing the rest of her pale features. He continued speaking and she learned that he was a herbalist, something that was similar to what she did. However, from her understanding, herbalist tried to help people more that they wanted to kill or poison them. Or… Did he have an ulterior motive like most Sunberthians? She asked herself as she avoided for the most part, staring at him. The violet-blue hue of his eyes was not a common sight in most humans and while he did have the human figure and the Sunberthian accent, she truly wondered as to whether he was even human at all. ”Sssimeon, I wasssn’t born here, no. However, I have been here for a couple of yearsss now.”

Her crimson gaze watched his movements carefully, while she liked to believe that she was an all-right poisoner at the moment, she knew that she could always learn more. This man also probably knew things that she didn’t and she was very much interested to see what exactly that he knew that she didn’t. If he did indeed know more than she did in the way of the herbs, it would probably be in her best interest to linger, to pick his brain and learn what he knew. The smirk upon her lips seemed to widened as he mentioned that he obviously wasn’t growing an apple tree. ”I believe they are beyond growing apple treesss now.” He held out the pulp to her that was cupped inside of his hand and asked her what she could smell from it. Her head angled to the side, her crimson eyes noting his grin before she slowly leaned forwards and drew in a deep breath, also drawing in the scent from the crushed apple seeds that were no longer seeds but pulp. It was strange to say in the least, for although it had the fruity twang of the apple itself, it also had another scent to it, kind of acidic actually.

Slowly, she leaned back, straightening her form out and a brow lifted as she shook her head at the offered cherry. She didn’t enjoy eating fruits, in fact it wasn’t something that she ever ate, mostly because her diet was made up of stray dogs and cats. Speaking of which, she should indulge upon a stray sometime soon. ”I don’t know how you can eat thossse. The apple ssseedss, however, sssmellss like it hasss a fruity twang to it, paired with an acidic ssscent.” Shadiss wasn’t exactly sure as to how or why the apple seeds could have such a scent for she had seen many people eat the fruit. Acidic scents were usually paired with things that can eat at or kill someone. It was a scent that she recognized with the Heldrog plant, for if made the right way, it could paralyze someone while it destroyed their stomach. So what exactly did the apple seeds do? She had seen humans eat the apples, but she had assumed that it was a simple piece of fruit. Was there something that she didn’t know about the apple seeds that the humans didn’t eat? The woman had been made curious enough to stay, to find out exactly why the crushed apple seeds smelled the way they did, perhaps, she could use it to her advantage.

[Simeon Aytak]

The cherry left rejected, Simeon promptly popped it into his mouth, chewing, and then spitting the pit out into the pile. He made no show of recognition when she drew her hood off, though he had to admit, she struck a very lasting impression with the otherworldly beauty, ringed by a predatory aura. "Yes, correct, fruity, yet - bitter, I should say?" he smiled at her, quite impressed, as he scooped up the cherry stalks and pits, and promptly dumped them into the mortar. With silent diligence, he ground the stalks and pits into mush along with the apple seeds, working away for several minutes. The silence was interspersed with sluggish bubbling, gurgling sounds coming from the various simmering substances that ringed the herbalist. Once he was done grinding the cherry parts into mush, mixing it along with the apple seed mush, he held up the mortar for her to smell.

"... Apple seeds, as they are in their natural state, are ringed by a hard coat, which blocks out the smell of its inner contents. Crack that coat, look inside, and within the cotyledon - what the seed is largely filled with - you will find an assortment of chemicals, and a very, very tiny amount of cyanide - a deadly poison causing fever, delirium, and hallucinations... As I think you know." He had paid attention to her facial features, or more importantly, the way her eyes moved. Where they looked. The tiny twitch of her body - fingers, particularly - which would have betrayed familiarity with whatever he was holding at the time. The mortar and pestle, for one, she was obviously comfortable with. Simeon guessed, and might even be willing to deduce, that she was a herbalist herself. Or at least someone in a trade associated with herbalism, if not intimately, then at least to some extent.

"If you keep the seed intact, and swallow it," he continued, "The cyanide within passes through the body harmlessly." Simeon knew why she was interested. But he wasn't particularly perturbed. His knowledge had never been something he kept guarded. This was particularly true of his current practice style, where he doled out remedies. Explicit instructions needed to be given to cure someone and not have them accidentally poison themselves. The effects and why some herbs did what they did had to be elaborated to the cynical or the paranoid. And so, he was well-used to explaining what things did, and saw no harm in teaching another versed in his art. "If you crack the seed open - beyond the fruity layer, you can smell something bitter, and acidic - that's the cyanide. One seed, you might not be able to smell it. But around ten or more was the amount I crushed - and that's more than enough to make the cyanide far more obvious." Simeon toyed with the pestle for a moment. "Here I added six cherry pits, and also their stalks. Like apple seeds, they contain tiny amounts of cyanide. Not the stalks - the pits. If swallowed, you'll probably choke - but, if it manages to pass through the digestive system, you end up with - well, nothing. Ringed by the coating, which can't be dissolved by stomach acid, the poison content passes through harmlessly. But you crush it, as I have, the cyanide is released. The cyanide within the apple seeds and cherry pits are similar, but ultimately different. Poisoning by apple seeds can be remedied in one way. Poisoning by cherry pits in another. But if you blend both together? You have to tackle twice the amount of problems, make a tincture using both ingredients for the antidote without clashing. The stalks, containing scopolamine and hyoscamine, form a poison causing diarrhea and nausea, not too serious, but it exacerbates an already-complex scenario. The cyanide mingles with scopolamine and hyoscamine, creating a combined poison, which, when consumed, causes fever, delirium, hallucinations, diarrhea, nausea, and ultimately -" he set the mortar down and smiled up at her. "- Death."

Returning to his work, Simeon kneaded away at the purplish paste that smelled of of fruity sweetness, not betraying the fact it was now a lethal poison. "About a teaspoon's worth into jam, and it'll probably go undetected, due to its similar texture, smell, and even taste. Death by strawberry jam on toast, now wouldn't that be a way to go?"

[Sherashadiss]

Hm, bitter? She pondered this for a moment before she nodded her head in agreement. It did indeed smell a bit bitter now that he mentioned it. Something that she would have more than likely assumed would go better with lemon or something. Apples were fruit that she had associated with being sweet, but she wasn’t exactly an expert on fruit seeing as she didn’t eat it. Her crimson gaze watched his movements closely, especially when he had added the cherry pits and stalks in the mortar, only to grind it into mush with the apple pulp. Strange, did they have the same properties as the apple seeds? She asked herself as he held out the mortar to her to smell and smell she did. She leaned forwards to sniff again and while the scent had change slightly from the cherries being added, she could still smell the acidic scent. It intrigued her and she also took note of the slight colour difference from the cherry pits and stalks being added. Shadiss curved her arms back so then her hands could clasp together behind her back, in order to curb her eagerness at learning why it smelled a little acidic, for it could very well end up in her own poisons should the properties be effective enough. Anything to further better her poisons and her crafting skills.

Simeon began to speak and she listened intently as she straightened her form, angling her head in the process. He explained about the hard coating of the apple seed and what it held inside. The acidic smell from the apple seed was from the chemicals inside and cyanide. He had called it a poison, a poison that caused fever, delirium and hallucinations. While she had heard of cyanide, she hadn’t been experienced in the poison itself. Other poison crafters, mostly other vipers for she rarely came into contact with other poisoners in Sunberth, kept their craft to themselves. She lifted her chin slightly, before her gaze returned back to the mortar and its contents. She was weary of the fact that he could be lying. If the seeds of apples were that dangerous, then why did the humans eat the fruit? Her gaze flickered to the horse, why didn’t the animals that ate the fruit, die? Although, that question was answered fairly shortly afterwards and her gaze returned back to the male. So the shell of the seed acted as a protective layer as well as a vessel. The pits of cherries, were also vessels for the poison known as cyanide, crush it and the poison was released. However, the two types of vessels had different remedies, even though they were similar in nature but also different. She could definitely see the benefits of the adding the two together, for it would be harder to remedy if the doctor didn’t know what ones were used.

She angled her head as she then remembered the stalks, what use were they in the whole process? What properties did they contain themselves? A question that was also soon answered and she found out that they contained scopolamine and hyoscamine. Together they formed a poison that caused diarrhea and nausea. Combine all of the three together and she could definitely see how it could cause death. She lifted a brow at his last comment before she silently asked herself as to why he would tell her such things. Her gaze drifted from one side to the other, even twisting slightly to make sure that no one was approaching her from behind. She then looked back towards the man that smiled, a lot. He was strange, odd even and she was trying to work out what his end game was, suspicious that this could all be a trap. ”Why are you telling me all of thisss?” She finally asked, the questions easily passing her lips as she tried to work the man out. Even if this wasn’t a trap, didn’t he know that poison-crafting wasn’t exactly a welcomed craft among most?

[Simeon Aytak]

Simeon looked completely unperturbed as a whirlwind of inner emotions stirred the woman before him. As she pondered the knowledge he had imparted, he set the mortar aside, clearly done with it for the time being. He had now moved on to peeling the leaves off sprigs of parsley, and was leaving them out against the hard sun-cracked ground, letting them slowly roast in the heat and shrivel up.

"Because," he said in response to her query. "You seemed interested." Simeon smiled up at her briefly before returning to his work, delicately putting the leaves in neat little rows like green soldiers in leafy ranks. He sensed someone like her, who appeared to be paranoid and guarded by nature, would not be content with an explanation like that, so he elaborated: "You seem schooled in the herbal craft - or at least, in medicine. Or was it poison?" he cocked his head up at her, done with leaving the parsley out to dry. "Then you'd know that telling somebody exactly what a poison does or how to extract the toxin from raw ingredients, is really quite negligible to the poisoner. The greatest knowledge is not in how it kills or how to make it kill, but rather - how to cure it."

Simeon glanced at the mortar filled with the poisonous mush as he continued to speak: "I've simply told you how to extract the poison - I haven't told you how to treat it. No self-respecting poisoner would use a poison they didn't have the antidote to. And the antidote is infinitely harder to grasp than the poison, most of the time. So there you go - sharing knowledge of a poison really doesn't bother me all that much, seeing as I haven't given away the most pivotal part of this knowledge. Plus-" he pointed up at her. "Its given me an excuse to get a pretty lady to take off her hood and talk to me. Helps ease the monotony - the daily grind, if you will - of being a street merchant. So, why not?"

[Sherashadiss]

Her crimson gaze continued to follow the male’s movements but remained silent as she waited for an answer to her question. Although when he did finally answer he started fishing, fishing for information. So when he questioned that she was schooled in poisons, she simply remained quiet her face a total blank for she was used to people fishing for information about herself. He on the other hand seemed quite capable to be able to make some poisons for himself, so therefore he didn’t exactly need her services and she didn’t feel the need to tell him. If she went about telling every stranger that she was a poisoner, she would have a manhunt out for her. As it was her crimson gaze raised enough suspicion to make her a little on edge, not to mention that it also intimidated quite a few people. This man on the other hand still rose questions, the fact that he knew something about poisons made him somewhat lethal and made her reluctant to take anything from him, especially food. For she was sure that if she was to offer food to someone that knew she was a poisoner, they too would be hesitant. Which wouldn’t exactly be beneficial to her, even a suspicious mind could cause problems.

However, he was right about one thing, he hadn’t exactly told her how to cure it, but she knew that most poisons could be cured by a remarkable berry, a berry that she detested so much. Just think, her wonderful poisons being cured by a silly little berry, but the berry had to be eaten before any real damage could be done, unless they visited a doctor who knew how to fix their patients. So she simply leaned back upon her heels, her gaze simply watching the male set out to do other things within his stall. She did have to agree though, a poisoner did have to know as to how to cure a poison, for if someone was accidentally poisoned, it would needed to be cured. A smirk fell across her lips once again as he mentioned giving an excuse to get her hood off, before she lifted a brow. Honestly, flattery hardly worked upon herself, but she was silently amused. This conversation turned out to be better than she had half expected, at least, she had learned something and it made her question as to whether she could use other seeds from other fruits.

”I have to admit, I did at leasst learn sssomething from you and thisss converssation hasss been sssome what interessting. Although, herbsss, isss more of a hobby of mine. I dabble a little.” She finally said in hopes that it would take away a little suspicion of her current occupation, the last thing she needed was someone to talk. She angled her head slightly to the right as her gaze silently flickered over the man’s form once again, cautious of the fact that he could be hiding weapons within his clothing. Her gaze than flickered away from the man, turning them to the ingredients that he did have with him, some things she did recognize, but other things she didn’t. He was strange in his ingredients, just as he was with his manner, open. Not many if any at all in Sunberth were happy and open about what they did, so it made her curious as to why he was open about his own knowledge of being able to create poisons. While a self-respecting poisoner wouldn’t poison someone without knowing the anti-dote, someone who didn’t care, would poison someone without an antidote. Honestly, doctors could be poisoners and poisoners could be doctors at the same time. The professions themselves were similar and went hand in hand, but the processes were different.”How did you ssstart in thisss profession?”

[Simeon Aytak]

You didn't need to really ask a direct question and receive a direct answer to confirm your suspicions. Simeon knew this well, and often used his people-watching skills to his advantage. Observation was an unlikely weapon bestowed upon those in trades where they had to interact with others constantly, and herbalism was one such profession. The fact she denied being too skilled in herbalism, and yet possessed the eyes and gait of someone who was familiar with what he was doing, simply eliminated herbalism as a choice and left three others in its wake: The arts of medicine, poison, and philtering. To learn to kill is to learn to heal - so she likely possessed some knowledge of both medicine and poison, and in that case, was likely somewhat familiar with philtering as well, if not an outright expert.

Simeon smiled and patted the spot beside him on the spread-out blanket when she asked her question. "Its a fairly long story, feel free to take a seat. But stand, if you're more comfortable that way." He picked up a sprig of basil, dried up after its time in the sun, and crushed it in his fist, before scattering the green powder into a neat little pile. "My mother was a pleasure slave, pregnant with me before I she was caught by slavers. I was born a slave from my first breath, and in my early years I was used in the kitchens thanks to my mother's status, and spared from harsh labor. The smells of the kitchen fascinated me, and it was there I learned of both herbs to be used for their benefits in cooking - and poisons. How to inspect for poisons, how to sniff them out, how to prevent our master being assassinated by means of a subtle toxic tincture. The cooks liked me. I had a talent for smells, and I could pick up even the subtlest hints of each individual taste," He cast a sideways glance at the mashed-up, poisonous seed mush he had created, and smiled wryly. "When my mother passed, I was no longer a privileged slave. I was sent out to the sugar plantations, where we process raw sugar for use in alcohol. There is nothing that burns as hot as molten sugar." He ran a finger across his face, showing her the pockmarks across his cheeks and neck, and the thick white welts on his forearms. "We slaves stuck together, and many passed on knowledge about wild herbs that grew in the countryside. We sniffed them out, and we chewed them up, raw, and spat them on our wounds to cure them."

Simeon gesticulated in the general direction of a distant street down the road. "One day, I was coming into town, with sacks of my master's sugar on my back, when I smelled a most peculiar combination of smells. My nose had always been sensitive, and what I picked up I had never smelled before. I could not help my curiosity. I tracked down the smell to a herbalist's store, and I impressed him by identifying every plant he had used while demanding to know which others he had used I did not recognize. But my master soon found me missing. He caught me, dragged me back to the plantation, and flogged me within an inch of my life. I kept myself alive only by chewing the raw plants on the side of the road which I knew would keep my wounds from being infected, and slathering them on my skin flogged so raw they showed bone. Eventually, the herbalist, who I had impressed, found me by the whipping post, bought me off my master, and took me to work for him. Then, one day, he died, I found myself free, and here I am." he offered Shadiss a quick smile with the gait of a man who knew his way around others after much customer interaction. "Talking to a pretty lady. So I suppose you could say things took a spin for the better. No?"

[Sherashadiss]

The man continued to smile up at her and patted the spot beside him on the blanket that he was currently seated on. She glanced to the side before she figured that sitting beside him would be better for her, so then thieves would find it harder to get at her backpack, so she obliged. She walked a couple of paces forwards, careful to keep her movements slow so then not to disturb the sprigs of basil that were currently laid out. She knew that too much movement could whip up a slight wind which might scatter them all over the place, disrupting the neatly placed lines they were in. She silently moved to cross her legs, her backpack sliding off of her shoulder to gently settle it down beside her, her hand resting on top of it though to make sure that no thief that did come this close wouldn’t steal anything from it. Although, there wasn’t exactly anything in it except for a few empty handy containers that she kept with her, in case she went out gathering or buying a few herbs for her own purposes. She would generally prefer to gather her own herbs, to save her mizas, but most of the time it was simply easier to buy the required ingredients. However, she was beginning to get worried that someone might be able to identify that she could be a poisoner from the ingredients that she bought.

She angled her head as she listened to the man’s story as her crimson gaze watched him crush the dried sprigs of basil into a little pile. He was born into slavery? It was interesting to say in the least, however while he was explaining himself, she wasn’t going to participate in such storytelling for she wasn’t exactly one to indulge people about her history. While she hadn’t killed her own nest mates, she had enjoyed the taste of their blood and the fellow Dhani who knew her history would call her Serxesnas, which meant fang in the dark. It never worried her at all, in fact, she couldn’t honestly bring herself to care about that simple fact, especially seeing as she rarely saw her own kind in Sunberth and it was even more rare that they would come from Zinrah and know her. She pressed her lips together as she focused more upon the task that the male was focused upon himself. Her gaze only lifted when he went to show her the pockmarks upon his cheeks and neck, he even showed her the welts upon his forearms. She lifted a brow at this before she looked back at the task his hands performed.

Shadiss finally chuckled softly before she lifted her gaze to view those strange coloured eyes, a smirk falling across her lips. ”You flatter me…” She paused for a brief moment, before continuing. ”But if your masster wasss ssso cruel, then why didn’t you let one of thossse poissoned dishesss reach him?” She angled her head slightly to the right before she lifted her gaze to view the streets. ”Nip it in the bud, ssso to ssspeak.” The smirk returned to her lips, her crimson gaze almost daring him to take some moral high ground. People accepted the fact that death was a simple fact of life, but not many were willing to hold someone else’s life within their hands. Shadiss liked to think that she was born through death and so, she hardly thought anything about the death of others. She also wasn’t exactly worried whether that particular death happened before her very eyes or even by her own hand, it happened and she just didn’t dwell upon it. However, she had always thought that if one had the power to change their circumstances, why didn’t they do it? Why did they prefer to suffer, rather than change it?

OOCSorry, I just lost momentum, hopefully things will be better now.