an alien a day keeps the sorceror's away

Rylee disliked Denerim. Like all shem-run cities, it was a cesspool of the dregs of society. The marketplace was especially bad. Swindlers of all kinds peddled their wares and took advantage of others. Especially those like her. Knife-ears, they'd call them, rats that didn't beg worth of their time or effort to be fair.

She'd been perched up on a rooftop, one leg hanging off as she casually watched the bustle of people below. She'd been eyeing a particularly interesting looking woman, idly sharpening one of her daggers. That was, however, until she heard the loud voice of the merchant. With a scowl, she stashed her whetstone away.

Dropping in right behind the merchant after a few hops across the rooftops, Rylee pressed her dagger into his back. Is that how you treat women? she hissed into his ear, slowly pressing the dagger into his back. A hand over his mouth stifled any chance of him to answer, any chance for him to cry out for help.

Where are the items you took from her? she asked, voice still a harsh whisper. He didn't seem keen to give an answer. Idiot. The man squealed under her iron grip as the silverite dagger pressed deeper into flesh. I will have what you swindled from her or I will have your life.

When the merchant finally cooperated, Rylee released him, pulling her dagger out of his back. Good dog, she remarked, taking the items, sheathing her dagger, and heading after the woman.

I think you lost something, she called out to the woman, jogging up until she was alongside of her. She held out a pouch of the items she'd just traded to the merchant, a surprisingly warm smile on her lips. A harsh contrast to the cold manner she'd treated the shem.