- Messages
- 9
Morning in Vel Anir.
It was early in spring, yet, and mist hung in the air thick and damp and, above all else, cold. The Komodo did not like the mornings in this place. She always felt slow and sluggish first thing in the morning, or at least she would have had she not been standing in close proximity to a fire at intervals through the night.That beat the chill back, and her companion on the gates overnight was far more resilient to the cold of the winter months than she herself was.
Just as well most people did not really know much of the Komodo beyond clearly racist notions such as their thievery and shiftiness. The fact that she was huge - even for a Komodo - was all the more this particular estate needed. The giant sword on her back added a degree of deterrence that her size alone did not; the weapon was a massive chunk of flint, all a single piece, with the hilt wrapped in leather. It lacked any finesse, opting for raw, savage power. Just as well, since its owner had all the finesse with that weapon as a bull in a ceramic shop.
It should be noted that a bull in a ceramic shop still smashed a lot of things, skill or no.
She stretched out cramped arms and legs, muscle bound and sporting a touch extra weight as well. Joints creaked as she drew scaled arms behind her head, arching her back, before dropping back on her feet. The street was lightly populated this morning, for as much of it as she could see. Typical, in this part of the city; it would be servants and the ones that were less than servants that were out about in the damp chill. Fetching items for their masters' to break fast with, else about other errands set by their betters. Reptilian eyes tracked their movements, and wherever her gaze fell, people seemed to step a little faster, a little more warily.
Humans were interesting creatures at the best of times. Shela yawned, exposing razor teeth that made the few watching hurry a little faster. Rolling her shoulders and tossing some bits of polished metal in her hands, the tall blue Komodo stepped off, out into the street, and headed towards the markets of the city.
Shela had only been in Vel Anir for six months or so, and could not remember what it was that brought her here in the first place. Her crimson horned-head could not often maintain attention on much for very long, unless it had to do with food or something shiny. She gave the coins in her oversized hand a bright smile at the thought. They were shiny, but they would go to some human in exchange for something tasty. It was all she used money for, was for food that was hot. She enjoyed a good stray cat or dog as much as the next, but there was something about the taste of something slow cooked with spice and salt over an open fire that made her drool. Her tail twitched as she walked along the way in pleasant recollection of the fine fare of this city. She had already forgotten the drudgery of standing at the gate all night long with nothing better to do than count the cobbles in the street and the stars in the sky. All that mattered was that she had gotten shiny bits of metal today, which meant it had been seven days since the last time she got shiny bits of metal. Two silver and thirteen copper, grudgingly given over.
Didn't matter that the other standing duty, a human male that spent most of the night asleep standing up (a neat trick, that), was paid twice what she was. She knew that he was, only not why. She could not remember if he had been paid the week before, and so her reasoning was that they were making up for it.
Cold water ran down her back, beneath the poorly maintained leather breastplate she wore, running in thin rivulets over sapphire scales that seemed to ripple with the striped pattern of her mother. The pattern was lighter on her arms, especially where the scales were finer. With her white hair and pallid coloration to the front, it gave her a spectral look from afar. She did not need that to be more intimidating to the people that wandered the streets this morning. The only ones not shying away were of the city's Guard, whatever they might be called here. Those worthies watched her with sharp eyes, hands close to weapons.
She ignored them.
The markets were a fair distance from the estates of the wealthy where she had stayed the night scaring the lights out of any would-be thieves. The mighty did not like to be reminded of the unwashed masses that they ruled over, and so they kept the merchants and the better off between them and the peasants in their squalid tenements and hovels. The street was in worse repair here, potholed and muddy in places, and the scent of rotting rubbish in alleyways wafted through the air, mixing with the scent of the unwashed bodies in houses to either side. It was all quite sharp to her nose. It was not unpleasant, in any case; she was a Komodo after all. It took a fair bit to upset her not-so-delicate stomach, if it was even possible. She had long ago learned how to filter out the various sensory stimuli for the ones she wanted; the scents of rot and chamber pots were easy to filter out. The scents of rare spice and exotic perfume came from other parts of these streets. No interest there.
It was the scent of rich red meat that had her rapt attention. There was a place down here that she frequented when she had shiny bits of metal, and they served a variety of the most delectable treats. Her tail practically vibrated in anticipation of the feast to come. The proprietor was always generous with her, too. Probably. He had tried to short change her once, but she had asked why he had counted wrong and he had apologized. It had not happened again.
The place was just down the street, across from a blacksmith who did work for the Anirian military. Even now, there were uniformed men standing outside his yard, arms crossed and sour looks of their faces. Apparently no one liked to work this early in the morning. She noticed they were watching her plot along and raised a taloned hand in greeting. Their scowl did nothing to her mood; she merely smiled obliviously and continued on into the place with the meat.
She had to duck low to avoid hitting her horns against the door frame. It was second nature to her. Humans built their places so short that she was always in danger of running her head into chandeliers, doors, and lanterns. This tavern was certainly no different, with thick beams low enough on the ceiling to crack her skull open if she was not wary. A dozen sets of eyes looked up as she entered, the survivors of another night of drinking the cheap, foul beer that was on offer here. Mostly survivors; here and there a slumped form lay on the ground beneath a chair or stool. The owner had not bothered to have them dragged out and thrown into the street yet.
Several of the patrons muttered unflattering things, stood and gathered their things, and left. Others simply glared at her darkly, then went back to their dealing. A trio in one corner made a gesture at her, then went back to yelling at one another in emphatic fashion, waving pieces of paper in each others faces. One drew a knife for a moment, stabbed it into the table, then screamed in a tongue that Shela could not understand so that spittle flew in the face of the two seated opposite of him.
She sat on a stool that creaked threateningly beneath her weight at a table towards the center of the room, totally unwary of the other patrons. In a dive like this, it might be unwise to not keep your wits about you, but there were just some things even a hardened criminal was not about to mess with. There were gambles, and then there were gambles, and nearly seven feet of muscle bound Komodo of unknown temper did not figure well in the odds department. She was as safe here as anywhere else in Vel Anir, human or not.
She settled back on the stool (that groaning increased in volume), her tail twitching in anticipation as she waited patiently to be served, empty head filled with the prospect of bloody rare roast seasoned just so...
It was early in spring, yet, and mist hung in the air thick and damp and, above all else, cold. The Komodo did not like the mornings in this place. She always felt slow and sluggish first thing in the morning, or at least she would have had she not been standing in close proximity to a fire at intervals through the night.That beat the chill back, and her companion on the gates overnight was far more resilient to the cold of the winter months than she herself was.
Just as well most people did not really know much of the Komodo beyond clearly racist notions such as their thievery and shiftiness. The fact that she was huge - even for a Komodo - was all the more this particular estate needed. The giant sword on her back added a degree of deterrence that her size alone did not; the weapon was a massive chunk of flint, all a single piece, with the hilt wrapped in leather. It lacked any finesse, opting for raw, savage power. Just as well, since its owner had all the finesse with that weapon as a bull in a ceramic shop.
It should be noted that a bull in a ceramic shop still smashed a lot of things, skill or no.
She stretched out cramped arms and legs, muscle bound and sporting a touch extra weight as well. Joints creaked as she drew scaled arms behind her head, arching her back, before dropping back on her feet. The street was lightly populated this morning, for as much of it as she could see. Typical, in this part of the city; it would be servants and the ones that were less than servants that were out about in the damp chill. Fetching items for their masters' to break fast with, else about other errands set by their betters. Reptilian eyes tracked their movements, and wherever her gaze fell, people seemed to step a little faster, a little more warily.
Humans were interesting creatures at the best of times. Shela yawned, exposing razor teeth that made the few watching hurry a little faster. Rolling her shoulders and tossing some bits of polished metal in her hands, the tall blue Komodo stepped off, out into the street, and headed towards the markets of the city.
Shela had only been in Vel Anir for six months or so, and could not remember what it was that brought her here in the first place. Her crimson horned-head could not often maintain attention on much for very long, unless it had to do with food or something shiny. She gave the coins in her oversized hand a bright smile at the thought. They were shiny, but they would go to some human in exchange for something tasty. It was all she used money for, was for food that was hot. She enjoyed a good stray cat or dog as much as the next, but there was something about the taste of something slow cooked with spice and salt over an open fire that made her drool. Her tail twitched as she walked along the way in pleasant recollection of the fine fare of this city. She had already forgotten the drudgery of standing at the gate all night long with nothing better to do than count the cobbles in the street and the stars in the sky. All that mattered was that she had gotten shiny bits of metal today, which meant it had been seven days since the last time she got shiny bits of metal. Two silver and thirteen copper, grudgingly given over.
Didn't matter that the other standing duty, a human male that spent most of the night asleep standing up (a neat trick, that), was paid twice what she was. She knew that he was, only not why. She could not remember if he had been paid the week before, and so her reasoning was that they were making up for it.
Cold water ran down her back, beneath the poorly maintained leather breastplate she wore, running in thin rivulets over sapphire scales that seemed to ripple with the striped pattern of her mother. The pattern was lighter on her arms, especially where the scales were finer. With her white hair and pallid coloration to the front, it gave her a spectral look from afar. She did not need that to be more intimidating to the people that wandered the streets this morning. The only ones not shying away were of the city's Guard, whatever they might be called here. Those worthies watched her with sharp eyes, hands close to weapons.
She ignored them.
The markets were a fair distance from the estates of the wealthy where she had stayed the night scaring the lights out of any would-be thieves. The mighty did not like to be reminded of the unwashed masses that they ruled over, and so they kept the merchants and the better off between them and the peasants in their squalid tenements and hovels. The street was in worse repair here, potholed and muddy in places, and the scent of rotting rubbish in alleyways wafted through the air, mixing with the scent of the unwashed bodies in houses to either side. It was all quite sharp to her nose. It was not unpleasant, in any case; she was a Komodo after all. It took a fair bit to upset her not-so-delicate stomach, if it was even possible. She had long ago learned how to filter out the various sensory stimuli for the ones she wanted; the scents of rot and chamber pots were easy to filter out. The scents of rare spice and exotic perfume came from other parts of these streets. No interest there.
It was the scent of rich red meat that had her rapt attention. There was a place down here that she frequented when she had shiny bits of metal, and they served a variety of the most delectable treats. Her tail practically vibrated in anticipation of the feast to come. The proprietor was always generous with her, too. Probably. He had tried to short change her once, but she had asked why he had counted wrong and he had apologized. It had not happened again.
The place was just down the street, across from a blacksmith who did work for the Anirian military. Even now, there were uniformed men standing outside his yard, arms crossed and sour looks of their faces. Apparently no one liked to work this early in the morning. She noticed they were watching her plot along and raised a taloned hand in greeting. Their scowl did nothing to her mood; she merely smiled obliviously and continued on into the place with the meat.
She had to duck low to avoid hitting her horns against the door frame. It was second nature to her. Humans built their places so short that she was always in danger of running her head into chandeliers, doors, and lanterns. This tavern was certainly no different, with thick beams low enough on the ceiling to crack her skull open if she was not wary. A dozen sets of eyes looked up as she entered, the survivors of another night of drinking the cheap, foul beer that was on offer here. Mostly survivors; here and there a slumped form lay on the ground beneath a chair or stool. The owner had not bothered to have them dragged out and thrown into the street yet.
Several of the patrons muttered unflattering things, stood and gathered their things, and left. Others simply glared at her darkly, then went back to their dealing. A trio in one corner made a gesture at her, then went back to yelling at one another in emphatic fashion, waving pieces of paper in each others faces. One drew a knife for a moment, stabbed it into the table, then screamed in a tongue that Shela could not understand so that spittle flew in the face of the two seated opposite of him.
She sat on a stool that creaked threateningly beneath her weight at a table towards the center of the room, totally unwary of the other patrons. In a dive like this, it might be unwise to not keep your wits about you, but there were just some things even a hardened criminal was not about to mess with. There were gambles, and then there were gambles, and nearly seven feet of muscle bound Komodo of unknown temper did not figure well in the odds department. She was as safe here as anywhere else in Vel Anir, human or not.
She settled back on the stool (that groaning increased in volume), her tail twitching in anticipation as she waited patiently to be served, empty head filled with the prospect of bloody rare roast seasoned just so...
