Bad Decisions (Ink)

[Musca]

Timestamp: Spring 43rd 512AV The crisp clear night resonated with laughter, melting with the biting flames of fire that danced perilously on the darkly questionable material, producing some sort of depraved nauseating miasma that unfurled along the area, dominating the senses with an iron fist. It was hard to place, the smell. Something of a mixture of human waste and garlic burning that was so very unique to the Slag Heap. Yet for all it's gut-wrenching stench, creatures of every shape clamoured along the mountain of unused material and garbage like parched animals gathering by a watering hole, as if it was the last salvation of their miserable lives. There was gambling, of course there was, and there was booze. But there was also song, despite it's broken sound, and there was also merriment, despite it's wrong reasons. Indeed, there was no shortage of that in Sunberth. They roved and breathed like phantoms that knew no time nor limit, merely existing for the sake of momentary relief from their woes and crimes. The Zith hanged back, an oddity among the decadent crowd. She didn't look out of place- one might even dismiss her as another figure too shy to approach another. Dark haired, black cloaked, straight forward eyes... nothing to separate her from the throng of transients. But there was no mirth, no smidgeon of carefree joy that beckoned the fires of sin. She sat alone in a table that looked too unsteady on it's legs, showing only interest in the mug of lukewarm ale that her hands cupped tightly around. An anomaly. But what was her reasons to stay and impose her miserable self among this crowd that only wished to be left to their intoxicants? Musca wasn't quiet sure. Maybe she hoped that their merriment would somehow rub off her if she stayed long enough. She sipped her ale and frowned. Or maybe not. It was a bad idea, Musca was beginning to realise. A couple of days ago, she had allowed her Kelvic pet to be borrowed to strengthen the numbers of the Crimson Edge in their campaign to the Spires, a decision that could certainly make the phrase "in haze of bad decision" swell up in pride. She had thought herself quite clever when she made the offer- until that is, when she felt the forlorn emptiness of waking up alone in a cave that she had loved and hated. Musca shook her head, massaging her temples with a scowl, willing the thoughts to fly away and be drowned out by the taste of ale. It was barely working.

[Ink]

A woman of exceptional features had arrived at the slag heap only moments before. While most had to fight their way through the crowds, the crowds instead seemed to fight a way away from her. She received many a glance that any woman with a pulse in Suberth could expect salacious leers. For every three leers the woman received there was a fourth who instead of leering made way shoving any such idiots out of the woman’s path. A handful of bystanders were run through with swords or bashed over their heads if they failed to move quickly enough. It was a strange play indeed, as though some grotesque mutation of royalty had been instituted upon Sunberth. To top it off; at the lovely woman’s heels followed an immense Talderan grey wolf with eyes for any limbs that got too close. For those few unfortunate souls who knew her, the woman was Libayna Dalanger or preferably just Libby. And this woman, whether intentionally or not, chose to seat herself across from Musca. She asked no permission and the wolf sat down near the end of the table as if a gesture of finality that if they wished to be here, here is where they would be. A handful of men kept glancing at her but otherwise the crowd returned to their rousing bouts of duplicitous activities. Libby looked over Musca, she sustained a bored mien even as her eyes roved over the Zith; one foggy and unseeing the other seeing too much. Cherry lips upturned into an insidious twist. “What is your name?” Libby’s tone almost implied it was a rhetorical question but she waited for a reply none-the-less. Libby's eyes twinkled with unwarranted glee, "How is the 'Edge doing these days?" Elsewhere in the city Daggerhands were searching every nook and cranny, Robern’s daughter had escaped onto one of her escapades again and it was their primary job to never allow her out of their sight. Out of their sight, although, is precisely where she was… for now.