75th day of Spring, 513 AV
Irriari walked the length of the bazaar and ignored the scathing looks from the crazed citizenry of Ravok. A few of the brave humans whispered about her wings and claws as she walked past, but they were soon distracted by the din that had erupted near the edge of a butcher stand. Some petching human had decided to start a fight over the price of a bundle of salted fish. Disputes and small riots were fairly common, though she had grown far less tolerant of the quibbles and issues the humans faced. The bravado that had carried her through the streets two years ago had been replaced by a distinct cockiness that had manifested as she aged.
Angry voices assaulted her sensitive ears as Irriari skirted the edge of the fruit stands. When the zith first came to Ravok, the bazaar had been an interesting study in human greed and need. She had often toyed with the idea of injecting apricots and cherries with various poisons. As she passed by his sparse stand of fruits and vegetables, a shop keeper stared at her with wide eyes and an open mouth. His brow furrowed in confusion as he tried to make sense of the claws at her hands and the wings on her back. A second before he looked back to his wares, an urchin grabbed a few apples and disappeared into the rowdy crowd. Irriari laughed at his stupidity as she passed the edge of the wooden stall. Humans were so blind and ignorant to the world around them. It was hardly a wonder that a stealthy assassin could make hundreds of gold mizas a week, if they were efficient.
After a few chimes, the zith found herself outside the Silver Sliver Tavern. While the ale was hardly to her taste, Irriari enjoyed the atmosphere and Jeb’s approach to maintaining the bar. The bartender accepted her mizas readily and gave her little trouble on the few occasions she had visited. Irriari found a table that was occupied by a woman that had drank far too much ale. While walking, Irriari stared at the woman, trying to take in every inch of her form. Her chest was barely restrained by a stained tunic that was overly tight and torn across the womans stomach. The tunic may have been chosen as a way to attract men towards her table, but the glazed look in the womans eyes told Irriari that she had more than likely failed at her endeavor. As she got close enough to touch the woman, a foul smell assaulted her nose and Irriari grimaced. The pathetic unwashed human had no weapons under her tunic that Irriari could detect. The zith pulled a chair out and sat at the edge, taking care that her wings wouldn’t hit the back of the chair or the splintery wooden seat. After settling herself at the table, Irriari tapped the table with her claws. After a few seconds, the womans sluggish gaze followed her fingertips. Irriari hissed loudly enough for her voice to carry to the inebriated woman. The woman startled and fell off her chair with a loud crack as her knees hit the grimy floor. Irriari glared at her, willing the woman to burst into hysterics. It would be fun to have a human to toy with. Surprisingly, after a few seconds of muttering, the woman composed herself enough to stumble to her feet.
Irriari paid no more attention to the woman, and instead decided to focus on the marred surface of the table that sat below her clawed fingertips. Gashes, cuts and stab marks from knives and other implement littered the table from every angle imaginable. Some of the marks were deep and aged, while others barely scratched the surface of the once pristine wood. Ale had spilled into a majority of the imperfections which darkened the tabletop considerably overtime. To his credit, the barkeeper made sure the serving girls kept the tables clean of dirt and any other trash. No amount of cleaning could fix the chaos that time had inscribed into the tables of the bar. Irrari continued gazing, letting her mind wander further as her eyes focused on the deepest gash on the edge of the tabletop. It occurred to her that the chaos on the tables was simply a reflection of the chaos of the city of Ravok. Every inch of the city was marred in beautifully complex ways. The zith shook her head violently as she realized how long she had been gazing at one spot. How the elders would have flayed her, had they known she was so unaware of her surroundings.
Irriari rummaged through her pack and clutched the translated scroll that had taken a whole season to decipher. She was finally back in Ravok. The journey back to her colony had taken many seasons, but the draw to collect the rarest reagents from the caves had proven to be irresistible. Irriari hoped that they plants and roots she collected would be of help when the Ebonstryfe contacted her again. After throwing a few mizas towards a serving girl, the zith left the tavern. The open air was slighty humid, but she rejoiced in the ability to spread her wings on the way back to Tarsin’s Boarding House.
Irriari walked the length of the bazaar and ignored the scathing looks from the crazed citizenry of Ravok. A few of the brave humans whispered about her wings and claws as she walked past, but they were soon distracted by the din that had erupted near the edge of a butcher stand. Some petching human had decided to start a fight over the price of a bundle of salted fish. Disputes and small riots were fairly common, though she had grown far less tolerant of the quibbles and issues the humans faced. The bravado that had carried her through the streets two years ago had been replaced by a distinct cockiness that had manifested as she aged.
Angry voices assaulted her sensitive ears as Irriari skirted the edge of the fruit stands. When the zith first came to Ravok, the bazaar had been an interesting study in human greed and need. She had often toyed with the idea of injecting apricots and cherries with various poisons. As she passed by his sparse stand of fruits and vegetables, a shop keeper stared at her with wide eyes and an open mouth. His brow furrowed in confusion as he tried to make sense of the claws at her hands and the wings on her back. A second before he looked back to his wares, an urchin grabbed a few apples and disappeared into the rowdy crowd. Irriari laughed at his stupidity as she passed the edge of the wooden stall. Humans were so blind and ignorant to the world around them. It was hardly a wonder that a stealthy assassin could make hundreds of gold mizas a week, if they were efficient.
After a few chimes, the zith found herself outside the Silver Sliver Tavern. While the ale was hardly to her taste, Irriari enjoyed the atmosphere and Jeb’s approach to maintaining the bar. The bartender accepted her mizas readily and gave her little trouble on the few occasions she had visited. Irriari found a table that was occupied by a woman that had drank far too much ale. While walking, Irriari stared at the woman, trying to take in every inch of her form. Her chest was barely restrained by a stained tunic that was overly tight and torn across the womans stomach. The tunic may have been chosen as a way to attract men towards her table, but the glazed look in the womans eyes told Irriari that she had more than likely failed at her endeavor. As she got close enough to touch the woman, a foul smell assaulted her nose and Irriari grimaced. The pathetic unwashed human had no weapons under her tunic that Irriari could detect. The zith pulled a chair out and sat at the edge, taking care that her wings wouldn’t hit the back of the chair or the splintery wooden seat. After settling herself at the table, Irriari tapped the table with her claws. After a few seconds, the womans sluggish gaze followed her fingertips. Irriari hissed loudly enough for her voice to carry to the inebriated woman. The woman startled and fell off her chair with a loud crack as her knees hit the grimy floor. Irriari glared at her, willing the woman to burst into hysterics. It would be fun to have a human to toy with. Surprisingly, after a few seconds of muttering, the woman composed herself enough to stumble to her feet.
Irriari paid no more attention to the woman, and instead decided to focus on the marred surface of the table that sat below her clawed fingertips. Gashes, cuts and stab marks from knives and other implement littered the table from every angle imaginable. Some of the marks were deep and aged, while others barely scratched the surface of the once pristine wood. Ale had spilled into a majority of the imperfections which darkened the tabletop considerably overtime. To his credit, the barkeeper made sure the serving girls kept the tables clean of dirt and any other trash. No amount of cleaning could fix the chaos that time had inscribed into the tables of the bar. Irrari continued gazing, letting her mind wander further as her eyes focused on the deepest gash on the edge of the tabletop. It occurred to her that the chaos on the tables was simply a reflection of the chaos of the city of Ravok. Every inch of the city was marred in beautifully complex ways. The zith shook her head violently as she realized how long she had been gazing at one spot. How the elders would have flayed her, had they known she was so unaware of her surroundings.
Irriari rummaged through her pack and clutched the translated scroll that had taken a whole season to decipher. She was finally back in Ravok. The journey back to her colony had taken many seasons, but the draw to collect the rarest reagents from the caves had proven to be irresistible. Irriari hoped that they plants and roots she collected would be of help when the Ebonstryfe contacted her again. After throwing a few mizas towards a serving girl, the zith left the tavern. The open air was slighty humid, but she rejoiced in the ability to spread her wings on the way back to Tarsin’s Boarding House.
