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.
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.
09-09-2023, 08:48 PM
