Rivain was working out quite well. More lucrative and less restrictive Chantry minds governed these shores. Technically Antiva did, but things were.. Iffy. Colt paid it no real mind as he leaned against the support. Arms folded over his chest while eyes carefully watched those mulling around the market for a potential customer. They’d leave his company lighter and none-the-wiser that a simple con had lifted their coin purse, he just had to find the right one.
To his side stood a vendor friend, one who’d paid for his services of not lifting anything but a snack or too. A nice little set up. Colt could see all the avenues leading in and out, tracking potentials from stall to stall and gaining more understanding of their habits, jobs, possible professions and even making up personal quests. Ah the unknown, inner workings of folks minds were always queer. That’s why locks were easier. Patterns, mechanisms, they were puzzle pieces when disassembled, but to him, they were pieces of a greater sculpture. Some he had even had to whisper to, quietly talk to it for the goods beyond to be given up.
The stall held a few relics and knickknacks, Colt had added a few flashy looking items to try and lure in some unassuming but curious patron, but no-one had given in to the bait so far. If they were interested in something, it was to do with the vendor’s own stock. Shifting against his resting place he’d readjust, taking a final glance of the market before picking up a bag of candied dates. A rare treat for him, but Colt had only managed to toss back a few before he spotted something curious.
A mane of pale hair, moving, weaving its way through the crowd.
It wasn't often that Avorra made her way through the market, but sometimes the perpetual sense of boredom in the near-empty slums overwhelmed her. The five years that she had spent on-and-off in the slums left most of the inhabitants dead or dying, a side-effect of her slowly but constantly leeching their life forces. For the longest time it was about sustaining her increasingly chaotic magical reservoirs. Now, since the finding the shard, it was more about satiating an indescribable hunger that never quite left despite her momentary 'cure'. That, and she derived a sense of sadistic pleasure from it. The fog that she had created years ago still remained, lending truth to the myth of the Shadow in the Mist that haunted Dairsmuid. She found it ironic that nobody had been sent to investigate her thus far; whether Antivan, Rivaini, or part of the Chantry. She was beginning to wonder how long the fragile peace would last.
Slowly stalking the market stalls, a light fog had begun to settle in the district, clinging around Avorra. As much as her ego would like to attribute it to herself, these low-hanging clouds were entirely natural. Early morning weather, it would seem. Her Death Sense allowed her to feel the blood flowing within every living being around her - she'd dare say it was more akin to a smell. Every thump of a heart beat, every pump of blood coursing through each vein. It used to be overwhelming to her, but she eventually learned to tune it out - or tune it in, if need be. A second nature of sorts, one that was both a blessing and a curse for the Shadow.
A brief glint of light caught Avorra's eye - her weakness had always been the shiny things. Like a scent-hound drawn to a fresh bone, she prowled to the vendor's stall. She peered into the glass boxes holding mundane jewelries. That brief glint was more appealing than what she saw now - knockoffs, tarnished metals, and fake gems that were far more interesting to the unknowing eye. She scoffed at the borderline 'replicas', if they could even be called that. If the vendor's owner had said anything, she wasn't listening. A scowl formed on her face as she found herself immersed and distracted by determining whether each and every individual item was a scam waiting to be sold. Surely there had to be something real here.
Of course, what little coin she carried wasn't frequently used. She had other methods for getting what she wanted.
Out of the corner of his eye, Colt watched her approach, remaining in his shadowed corner. He’d suppress the grin itching to spill out across his face from the swift change in her expression. Hands busied themselves, moving stock about the table to better display it. He’d pay her no mind unless she spoke, only glancing over occasionally to see if her hands reached for anything. His companion did attempt to draw her into conversation, but was left ignored. Colt smirked, teeth peeking briefly before he slowly rounded the bench.
Eyes flickered over her, calculating, judging the curves and dips of her robes to understand where she might keep her coin. Passing behind her to lean on the table's edge, Colt would flash a wide grin.[color=#e82a1f] “Nothin’ grabbin’ your fancy today, Miss?”[/color] No. Nothing but shite, brick-a-brack, though he did have a real fancy piece, though laying it out on the table would be a dumb move. [color=#e82a1f]“I’ll admit the selection isn’t fairing great, but I got nicer ones, if you’re interested? Can’t leave the good ones out with all the fuckin’ thieves,” [/color]he’d chuckle. It was true, his kind caused everyone to clutch their valuables, but really folks should know better.
Reaching an arm over, he’d feel out for one of his prepared boxes, [color=#e82a1f]“Got somethin’, think it might match your pretty eyes.”[/color] A necklace. Simple in design, but unlike the others, its stones were very real. [color=#e82a1f]“How bout, I put it on you, check yourself in that mirror there and I bet you’ll fall in love.”[/color] In another life, he might have done well for himself as a trader, but his hands enjoyed the wander, his body the adrenaline of a successful lift or a good old chase through alleys.
For a seemingly prestigious selection, 'tis certainly lacking. Avorra replied uninterested to the new voice, not bothering to look away from the items in the stall. One would have better luck pickpocketting than keeping up with this sorry excuse for a racket. While the comment was certainly a jab, her disgusted facial expression lacked any humour.
The mention of better quality caught her interest, and the comment of matching her eyes perked her hidden pointed ears. However, she was visible repulsed at the suggestion of being touched. If you so much as lay a finger on me, beggar prince, I will grant you a bleak existence in those decrepit slums.Her slums, but she had to maintain secrecy regarding that fact. It was best if Dairmuid's denizens didn't know exactly who she was.
I will certainly adorn it myself, however, and admire the beauty in the mirror. She said with the flash of a fake smile, along with the intentional jingle of the coin pouch nestled within a pocket beneath her robe. What is it you have for me, exactly? Her amethyst eyes were now seemingly peering into the merchant's soul. If nothing else, the stench of his rhythmically driven blood was enough to keep her attention momentarily undivided.
Colt had to grin. She was feisty, and her jab did not offend him either, seeming to laugh it off instead. [color=#c10300]“Well, I can only do my best with what I have and find, Miss.”[/color][color=#e82a1f] [/color] His body pitched forward, his free hand finding a pocket to place a toothpick between his lips. A habit, something to toy with and keep his wandering digits free and his mind sharp.
Acquiring the box, he let it fall against his chest as she spoke, lips pursing in thought. [color=#c10300]“You talked about pickpockets earlier, so.. I can’t really let you put it on without some collateral. How about… you hand me something to keep, while you see if it’s to your fancy, eh?” [/color]
That smile wasn’t true though, Colt could tell, but the jingle of her coin purse had him quickly grinning. It was so polite of her to narrow down his prize without much pressure.The stick caught between his teeth before finding the corner of his lips once again, as he teased opening the box for her. [color=#c10300]“I promise, it’s a fine thing. If you have the coin and, of course, if you like how it sits around that swan neckline of yours.”[/color] A bit of flirting didn’t go amiss. He was going to lighten her pockets shortly. It was only gentlemanly to leave her with some pretty words.
Avorra kept the false grin to keep up appearances. The man's poor excuse for his even poorer collection had her mentally rolling her eyes. To top it off, he was now putting a toothpick in his mouth. Since when had Dairsmuid become so... stereotypical? She fully expected this sort of informal etiquette from Ferelden, certainly not here. Then again, this was Rivain.
How quaint. Avorra purred, eyeing the toothpick. Do you win all the damsels with that little piece of wood? She quietly snickered at the double entendre. Her false smile disappeared when the merchant mentioned 'collateral' in exchange for wearing her prize. 'Tis a bit rude to make such a request of a harmless woman. The remark was followed by an audible click of her tongue. You are certainly brave. For a man.
Avorra gave it some false thought, but her decision was made the moment the man made such a ridiculous suggestion. No. I will not be giving any 'collateral', as you so delightfully put it. True, the promise of a worthwhile piece of jewelry was alluring. Enough for her to stand her ground with a subtle threat. For something so fine, I'm sure your wandering eyes are well aware of the coin I carry. Let me try whatever this is on, and perhaps I will like it enough to give you this pouch in exchange. She pulled out the coin pouch and dangled it in front of the merchant, like treats for a hound. Or, if you would like, I could come back much later and relieve you of such a heavy burden. Her somewhat distracted eyes were now solely on the box and what lay within, pouch still in front of the man's face. Consider that your 'collateral'.
Colt couldn’t suppress the strong laugh she incited from him. [color=#c10300]“Ha! Now Darlin’, nothing wrong with my wood,” [/color]he’d wink, smirk curling upwards. [color=#c10300]“But I doubt you’re harmless.” [/color]Eyes flickered playfully over her, lips pursing to let out a small whistle of appreciation. [color=#c10300]“And you strike me as a lady who gets what she wants, but I’m also pretty stubborn.” [/color]
His brows rose, defiant. The box still rested against his chest, cupped by his hand. The smile across his face though remained wholly pleasant, unfazed at first though eventually softened. Her silver hair almost matched her silver tongue, and he’d maybe have fallen for it if he himself wasn’t such a good bullshitter. Colt let out a small laugh. [color=#c10300]“Of course I know. It’s a merchant's job to take care of his customers, but I’m aware of the old trick, Miss.”[/color] Nodding to the offered pouch. As much as the jingle and clink of coin itched at his reflexes, Colt kept his calm.
If this was to be a game of sleight of hand, she was going to be sorely disappointed.
He reached out, at first aiming to take the pouch, but quickly, in a flash of movement, Colt snagged her wrist instead, tugging her forward. His head dipped, cheekily pressing his lips to hers in a way to knock her not just off balance but mentally reeling from the invasion. Deftly as he withdrew, he’d toss the box into her eyeline and pluck the coin purse cleanly on his way out. The sway of the canvas behind him was the last sound he heard before his feet launched him into a sprint.
The kiss had caught Avorra off guard, though for some reason she can't explain, she oddly relished it. As the thief took off into the crowd with her coin, she eyed the box that he left. Opening it revealed a handful of nothing. How dare he pull such an old trick? She looked at the crowd where the thief had disappeared, and took a moment to collect her senses. She could smell the blood in the air from every beating heart. It didn't take long to find the one that was beating erratically fast, but it was getting further away. She concentrated on stirring the fog that she was infamous for. The fog that signaled the dark presence within Dairsmuid, the so-called Shadow in the Mist, the creature that everyone knew of but nothing more.
Black clouds clung to the ground, and suddenly every heart started beating faster. The crowd went into a panic and started vacating the streets. She couldn't spot her thief, but she could still track his scent. Using her hedge magic, she conjured up more of the mist to redirect him towards her. Her figure would appear in front of him, behind him, all around him. Multiple Avorras now proliferated the market, but they were all illusions meant to herd the thief back to her. She wondered what his reaction was. How it felt being followed to the end of the world with no feasible escape. She let her illusions chuckle at the man, hearty laughs of a deranged mage.
She smiled and waited for her prey to come to her.
He had to bite his lip during the lap across the market. Laughing as he fled was a dead giveaway. It had been too easy and pulling a fast wee kiss was just the icing on the cake of his little misdirection. With practised skill, Colt weaved and wove his way through the stalls, animals and people seeming to flee, using every pre-checked shortcut committed to memory. It was a miracle he didn’t barge into one or the other, his body twisting, turning, clambering and slipping past whatever obstacle.
It wasn’t to last though. He’d thought her maybe a noble brat, but clearly underestimated her being a mage. Fuck. The strange fog cut him off, not once, but at nearly every turn he tried to take to increase what distance he had, Colt was quickly losing as it rolled in, drawn to him. He felt a thrill of panic run up his spine, but he shoved it down to take another path only to come to a skidding stop some few feet into it.
He recognised the street instantly, realising the little minx had corralled him like a mouse in a maze. But he wasn’t a mouse. Colt smirked, quickly checking the flagstones for a grate and darting for one when found. He was just about to get it mostly opened before her white haired head rounded the corner. [color=#c10300]“Shitshitshitshit,”[/color] came as a mantra, his body pressing against the heavy iron into the sewers.
The Shadow watched as the thief struggled to pry open the sewer grate. She gave a mad laugh, a laugh that would echo all around them in what sounded like a bout of insanity. She continued to stalk toward her prey, holding out a hand. The magic fog glided onto the ground, a thick mist of darkened clouds obscuring what lay beneath them. The grate would disappear with the fog as it becomes too thick to see through. Continuing to hold out her hand, she directed it towards the thief. She could smell his rushing blood, hear every quickened beat of a panicked heart. She relished the sensations, stimulating her desire for hunger. She wanted to flay this man in every direction, see how each beat of the heart spurts a stream of blood out of every artery, until he was ripped apart and splayed about by her own two hands.
Except, she wanted to try something new today. Today, she would enthrall the man, force him to serve her until his usefulness was at an end. He would live a bleak life of forever being under her control, at her beck and call, until it was time to consume him like so many walking corpses before him. He would learn a very painful, very long lesson of stealing from the wrong mage. Avorra continued to move her hands toward the thief, moving her fingers in a strange fashion. She sensed the blood in his veins, and commanded that his arms restrain themselves. She forced the thief to his knees, arms behind his back, as she slowly and slowly paced towards him, like a cat stalking a mouse. What would he ever do now?
My darling thief, I think you're well in over your head now. How about we discuss the coin you took from me, and the box you left empty?
This was bad. His lower limbs scrambled, helping to try and brace and shove the heavy iron to no avail. In the black choking fog his foot would slip, knocking him forwards and snagging free the nail biting grip he’d had. His reflexes sent him back up onto his feet, head twisted, this way and that in a desperate search for any spark of light. While living his life in the shadows, he knew the dark, but this void only gave way to one master.
His eyes found as she skulked out of the gloom. His chest grew tight, painfully so, with the rapid beating of his heart. Panic was beginning to set in as fire seemed to begin coursing through him, the scalding sensation sending his body into a spasm of agony. Eyes squinted between the searing fire running throughout, glaring at the tricksy bitch as it tempered when submitting to her will. What the fuck bullshit was this? His breathing became raspy, and Colt growled during the peaks until finally forced to his knees.
[color=#c10300]“Fuuuuuuck’in hell. Just take the gold, fuck!”[/color] his voice strained, Colt’s body fell forwards, hands splayed out to hold what dignity he could. [color=#c10300]“How about you just take back your shit and we call it fuckin’ evens. You made your point!”[/color]
Approaching the thief, Avorra continued to make twisting motions with her hand, bending the man's will to her own. As she brought him to his knees, she seductively walked ever so slowly towards him, until her hand was gripping his neck. His throat heated in her hand as her palm engulfed itself in a delicate flame, branding a mark of defiance underneath his chin. Releasing his throat, she delicately grabbed his cheek, imagining a tendril of her power seeping from her palm into his skull. The tendril would seep into his mind, latching onto it and forming a link to her power.
My darling, I do not want the gold. I do not even want your precious jewelries. I want you. The Shadow whispered with a sinister smile.
She released the thief from her grasp, making the strange motions with her fingers once again, raising him to his two feet. Without a second thought, she released her hold on his blood, allowing him to run free if he so desired. They were linked, however. She would hunt him down, her new thrall, and force him to serve like the servant he needed to be. First, though, she wanted to make a game out of this. She wanted to see how far he would go, the lengths he would take to get away from her, before she came crashing down on top of him and forced him to submit. The internal pleasure she felt from the mere thought of the act pleased her. Oh, yes, this was going to be such fun.
Run, little deary. Run as far as you can. I will always be there, watching, waiting. When the time is right, I will pounce. You will never escape me. When your punishment is due, I will find you, and you will be mine to do with as I please. The smile grew larger, her bleached white teeth showing like a rabid Mabari. Whatever would this little thief do now?
A sickening shiver ran through him as she called him Darling. No-one called Colt that, he wasn’t someone's sweetheart and he certainly wasn’t going to be hers. A growl came through as words became difficult, her nails digging into the flesh of his face. Hells no, but struggling was a moot point against this bitches magic. Colt was fucked. She knew it and so did he as a foreign tendril snaked its way from her to him, latching into his mind as some parasite.
She released him and Colt fell forwards onto his hands again, stomach emptying what remained of his breakfast from earlier. [color=#c10300]“Fuuuuuuck.”[/color] Spitting out the last few bits, he glared up at her, briefly contemplating a swift retaliation with a dagger, but with whatever spell she used on him had him scooching back instead. Flight had been chosen, this bitch too hot for him to handle alone, not without a Tin Can or someone to nullify her foul tricks.
[color=#c10300]“Catch me if you can, Cunt,”[/color] came his hoarse reply, a hand reaching back for the grate and throwing his whole weight behind it, Colt rolled into the maze of sewers underneath the city.
