Post by Etheric on Nov 7, 2010 16:28:15 GMT -5
The only children she saw alone would dart from dark corner to hidden nook, only seen as brief flashes of black scurrying across the dangerous open spaces to meet safety in hiding. All the others were in groups of threes or fours playing in the brown grass yards of Bayer Street.
Bayer and the surrounding neighborhoods were well known as the slums of Kelacia, one of the oldest parts of the city choked against the northern seaboard. The air here was thick with the sickly sweet smell of rotting buildings and rank garbage of all sorts that littered the streets – some even claim that the scent was visible in the faint yellow mist that seemed to pervade the area. Someone walking down the wrong alley could stumble on a half-rotten corpse serving as a meal for the brave among the sewer rats that dared the surface world. Dilapidated wood shacks blackened by age and small, tightly packed houses that groaned their complaints beneath their own weight lined the streets.
The streets themselves were little more than tightly packed dirt and loose, cracked cobblestone. Traffic along the major byways of the slum was heavier than one might expect – the same overcrowding problem the rest of Kelacia faced hadn't spared the slum; peasants carrying laundry to and fro here and there, a merchant and his bodyguards passing through, men leaving to go off to work, homeless begging for a coin on the sidewalk, and pickpockets filtering quickly through the crowd.
Kiashi drew her cloak tight around her shoulders and her secured her cowl over her head as she pushed through the late morning bustle, blue eyes peering out from beneath to carefully watch the passerby. Thick black leather boots guided her steps onto the front porch of the Bayer Lair, a decrepit old inn run by a decrepit old man named Erikk and his gem of a granddaughter, Bridgit. It was a shabby little place, specks of dust lifted by Kiashi's steps floated through the beams of sunlight that filtered through the cracked and mud-plastered windows and the floorboards moaned in protest beneath the miniscule weight of her gentle steps. The first room was a simple tavern – tables with chairs lining the walls and an ashen black charred brick fireplace in the corner. A bar lined the far wall, ending with stairs leading to the upstairs rooms.
The Bayer Lair was known only to a select few for it's primary draw of business – it was a hotspot for information exchange. A large board covered one of the walls, and posted on it were bounties, some given by the law of the land, others not. Bounty hunters gathered here on a regular basis to trade information like currency and check new postings.
At this early hour, the only living soul in the place was Erikk, sitting behind the bar pretending that his ceaseless wiping of the counter would rid the place of it's dust. Hearing the door open, he lifted his eyes to give attention to the woman that had entered, and Kiashi met his gaze. Age had obviously taken it's toll on the man: stringy white hair hung over his his dull, desaturated eyes and sparsely-toothed scowl set deeply in a sheath of loose grey skin.
“Kiashi...what are you doing here...?” was the greeting he gave, “I thought I told you not to come back.”
“I'm just checking my post,” Kiashi muttered a response, letting her cowl fall from her head to expose her short-cut white hair as she moved across the complaining floor.
“You killed a man last week,” Erikk answered her in a weak growl. “You're lucky I don't call the guard.”
“You're lucky I don't call the guard,” she said, stopping in front of the bounty postings. Her eyes scanned over the various posters and scrawled notes, searching for own handwriting. Erikk remained silent as she stood before it, a shallow breath shaking it's way into her chest as she found her post.
It was simple and to the point, but that was all that was needed. A small envelope had been pinned to the bottom of her poster. Erikk watched carefully as Kiashi took the enevelope from the board and slid it into a pocket on the inside of her cloak.]
Bayer and the surrounding neighborhoods were well known as the slums of Kelacia, one of the oldest parts of the city choked against the northern seaboard. The air here was thick with the sickly sweet smell of rotting buildings and rank garbage of all sorts that littered the streets – some even claim that the scent was visible in the faint yellow mist that seemed to pervade the area. Someone walking down the wrong alley could stumble on a half-rotten corpse serving as a meal for the brave among the sewer rats that dared the surface world. Dilapidated wood shacks blackened by age and small, tightly packed houses that groaned their complaints beneath their own weight lined the streets.
The streets themselves were little more than tightly packed dirt and loose, cracked cobblestone. Traffic along the major byways of the slum was heavier than one might expect – the same overcrowding problem the rest of Kelacia faced hadn't spared the slum; peasants carrying laundry to and fro here and there, a merchant and his bodyguards passing through, men leaving to go off to work, homeless begging for a coin on the sidewalk, and pickpockets filtering quickly through the crowd.
Kiashi drew her cloak tight around her shoulders and her secured her cowl over her head as she pushed through the late morning bustle, blue eyes peering out from beneath to carefully watch the passerby. Thick black leather boots guided her steps onto the front porch of the Bayer Lair, a decrepit old inn run by a decrepit old man named Erikk and his gem of a granddaughter, Bridgit. It was a shabby little place, specks of dust lifted by Kiashi's steps floated through the beams of sunlight that filtered through the cracked and mud-plastered windows and the floorboards moaned in protest beneath the miniscule weight of her gentle steps. The first room was a simple tavern – tables with chairs lining the walls and an ashen black charred brick fireplace in the corner. A bar lined the far wall, ending with stairs leading to the upstairs rooms.
The Bayer Lair was known only to a select few for it's primary draw of business – it was a hotspot for information exchange. A large board covered one of the walls, and posted on it were bounties, some given by the law of the land, others not. Bounty hunters gathered here on a regular basis to trade information like currency and check new postings.
At this early hour, the only living soul in the place was Erikk, sitting behind the bar pretending that his ceaseless wiping of the counter would rid the place of it's dust. Hearing the door open, he lifted his eyes to give attention to the woman that had entered, and Kiashi met his gaze. Age had obviously taken it's toll on the man: stringy white hair hung over his his dull, desaturated eyes and sparsely-toothed scowl set deeply in a sheath of loose grey skin.
“Kiashi...what are you doing here...?” was the greeting he gave, “I thought I told you not to come back.”
“I'm just checking my post,” Kiashi muttered a response, letting her cowl fall from her head to expose her short-cut white hair as she moved across the complaining floor.
“You killed a man last week,” Erikk answered her in a weak growl. “You're lucky I don't call the guard.”
“You're lucky I don't call the guard,” she said, stopping in front of the bounty postings. Her eyes scanned over the various posters and scrawled notes, searching for own handwriting. Erikk remained silent as she stood before it, a shallow breath shaking it's way into her chest as she found her post.
Wanted
Dejraemikol Kamadeva-Durai Torak
Captured ALIVE, or information leading to apprehension
Reward of two thousand coin
Dejraemikol Kamadeva-Durai Torak
Captured ALIVE, or information leading to apprehension
Reward of two thousand coin
It was simple and to the point, but that was all that was needed. A small envelope had been pinned to the bottom of her poster. Erikk watched carefully as Kiashi took the enevelope from the board and slid it into a pocket on the inside of her cloak.]
