Arturo Diaz de la Frontera had a strong preference to avoid his familial responsibilities. While some of it stemmed from an innate desire to be his own man and dislike of his family forcing him to follow in their footsteps, he had since decided his rebellious desires were for good reason. He didn’t exactly support just how involved in animal market his family was. Not all auctions and shipping were suspicious, but he had seen enough to know that the exotic trades and often times illegal ones were a major focal point.
Fighting in show arenas against monsters or willing participants was one thing. But there was a lot to the massive trade city that had long lost its luster for the hunter.
But when he was looking for somewhere to take a break or new team members to hire or even just to visit the parts of his own family and friends he still cared about, he had to make some exceptions.
The morning had been spent appeasing his parents and playing pretend. Tonight, he was just looking to get away.
The hunter wandered down the main drag, looking over market stalls, shop fronts, taverns, cramped residential spaces, divided by green spaces and larger mansions, all flooded with people and wagons and more. He let the sound of the crowd wash over him as he took a drink from the bottle in his hand and caught more than a few looks.
His fine nobleman’s attire was already a mess, his collar tugged open and his coat sleeves crumpled from where he had pushed them up. Appearance had never been something Arturo cared for. He was a fighter, whether in the upper circles or the arena and out in the street and it didn’t matter what he was wearing, he looked plenty capable. Even if he was working on a drink.
He ducked through a group of miners with pack mules, offering one of the animals a few scratches. The group seemed lost and the dwarf holding the mule he was offering neck scratches too looked at him dubiously.
“I think he likes it,” Arturo pointed out as the mule bobbed her head and leaned into him.
“Go pester someone else, drunk.”
“Rude,” he said, glancing toward the front of the group where he would guess the leaders were arguing over a map. He offered the bottle to his new friend. “I assure you, public indecency is the least interesting way to get arrested here,” he said. It happened a lot, as with anywhere that was a large gathering of people and emotions and exotic drinks and edibles. “Trust me. Most interesting…I’ve seen some fantastic petty theft chases on the roof tops,” he gestured up as the dwarf took the bottle and sniffed it, raising an impressed eyebrow. It wasn’t hard liquor, but it was stronger than usual fair in Alliria.
“That from experience?” The man asked as he took a swig and offered it back. Arturo held up his hand.
Arturo grinned. “Maybe. You’re heading toward the craftsman district or selling?”
The dwarf shrugged and down the rest of the bottle. He narrowed his eyes slightly. “Fine metals,” was all he said.
“Craftsmen then,” he pointed ahead of the group. “Straight until it Ts at the park. Then a left. Should hear it from there.” He stepped back with a wave, brushing against the pack of a mule on the other side and offering a quick apology before he continued through the crowd, wondering what other groups he might see and glad he didn’t have to get rid of that bottle before he ran into the next patrol. Ideally, he found another tavern before the afternoon sun sunk too much lower.
Feyrith
Fighting in show arenas against monsters or willing participants was one thing. But there was a lot to the massive trade city that had long lost its luster for the hunter.
But when he was looking for somewhere to take a break or new team members to hire or even just to visit the parts of his own family and friends he still cared about, he had to make some exceptions.
The morning had been spent appeasing his parents and playing pretend. Tonight, he was just looking to get away.
The hunter wandered down the main drag, looking over market stalls, shop fronts, taverns, cramped residential spaces, divided by green spaces and larger mansions, all flooded with people and wagons and more. He let the sound of the crowd wash over him as he took a drink from the bottle in his hand and caught more than a few looks.
His fine nobleman’s attire was already a mess, his collar tugged open and his coat sleeves crumpled from where he had pushed them up. Appearance had never been something Arturo cared for. He was a fighter, whether in the upper circles or the arena and out in the street and it didn’t matter what he was wearing, he looked plenty capable. Even if he was working on a drink.
He ducked through a group of miners with pack mules, offering one of the animals a few scratches. The group seemed lost and the dwarf holding the mule he was offering neck scratches too looked at him dubiously.
“I think he likes it,” Arturo pointed out as the mule bobbed her head and leaned into him.
“Go pester someone else, drunk.”
“Rude,” he said, glancing toward the front of the group where he would guess the leaders were arguing over a map. He offered the bottle to his new friend. “I assure you, public indecency is the least interesting way to get arrested here,” he said. It happened a lot, as with anywhere that was a large gathering of people and emotions and exotic drinks and edibles. “Trust me. Most interesting…I’ve seen some fantastic petty theft chases on the roof tops,” he gestured up as the dwarf took the bottle and sniffed it, raising an impressed eyebrow. It wasn’t hard liquor, but it was stronger than usual fair in Alliria.
“That from experience?” The man asked as he took a swig and offered it back. Arturo held up his hand.
Arturo grinned. “Maybe. You’re heading toward the craftsman district or selling?”
The dwarf shrugged and down the rest of the bottle. He narrowed his eyes slightly. “Fine metals,” was all he said.
“Craftsmen then,” he pointed ahead of the group. “Straight until it Ts at the park. Then a left. Should hear it from there.” He stepped back with a wave, brushing against the pack of a mule on the other side and offering a quick apology before he continued through the crowd, wondering what other groups he might see and glad he didn’t have to get rid of that bottle before he ran into the next patrol. Ideally, he found another tavern before the afternoon sun sunk too much lower.
Feyrith
