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- Character Biography
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A mist rolled in off of the river. The skies remained lightly overcast, aglow from the rising sun that hide behind them and would, given time, burn them off like paper tossed into flames, quickly and completely.
Mericet bustled. it was summer time, and the city along the river was at the height of its busiest season. The spring runoff had ended, and the river lapped lazily at the docks and wharfs, shirtless men already moving with purpose between ships moored and unloading their cargo, and loading a greater amount of material back on board to be carted to the sea. Mericet exported mostly iron and other metals, with a smattering of gold and silver mined in the Spine not too far away. In other parts of the city, foundries and forges belches smoke into the sky most of the day, the heat oppressive in those places.
In exchange, Mericet brought in finer things that it could not procure from its own people. Silks, and linens from the south, as well as produce not natively grown. Fish, from the Gulf of Ryt, as well as odd exports from Molthal.
It was still early enough in the morning that it was cool, the damp air moved along by an unhurried breeze out of the mountains that dominated the skyline to the east. In the market squares, merchants set up their stalls to hawk their wares, each yelling louder than the next to attract the attention of customers and their coin. So early, and yet so crowded, for the people were in a rush to get their shopping done before the oppressive heat of the evening bore down on the city. The city was so far north that it was rarely actually that hot, but the northerners considered the heat of August to be oppressive, though most in the south would consider it a refreshing day.
Lyssia moved along the street, her diminutive frame making it easy for her to pass unnoticed. And it was just as well, for the girl really did not want to be seen today. It was not a good day, in her eyes. There had been no good days since that fated night, when the Royal Guards had crashed into her home and taken her parents into custody before turning their children out on the streets. It had begun to strange journey to this day, living on the streets and scavenging for all the things needed to keep herself alive. That she had finally found her brother - whom she had assumed dead months ago - was of small consolation. Alric had changed in the months since the execution of their parents, becoming a much harder man than the boy she had remembered.
And of herself? She did not know. She moved about among the peasants, moving in the shadows to avoid the attention of either the City Guards or the Royal Guards. Neither of them appreciated the urchins and the downtrodden, those members of society that had been forgotten. She could even remember the disdain of the aristocracy for the little man, the serf and the slave.
Chattel, they are. Living mean and empty lives, short lives, serving others as that is all they are fit for. Lyssia did not know if she believed that, anymore, but she did know that the people of the city could be mean and petty, spiteful. Small minded and lacking ambition.
She knew that today would not be pleasant, if not for what it was that she was about to do, then for all the bitter interactions she was bound to have. She clutched a wrapped object that bulged in the pocket of her oft-patched dress that hung on her small, child-like frame like a sack. The brown fabric did not flatter her in the slightest, making the pale skin and red hair more stark, but also drawing attention to the fact that it was cheaply made and in poor repair, stained and ugly in her mind. She could recall wearing silk, and sending people to do this kind of thing.
Well, maybe not that last. She was only nineteen, after all, and for a Sidhe that made her very young indeed. Her brother was in his fifties, and still only just considered capable of managing his own affairs. She would not attain her majority for at least another twenty years.
One of the cities many markets loomed ahead, already thronged with peasant and servant of the elite alike. She did not relish being handed this task, taking an heirloom of the Family to be sold for whatever it would bring. They needed resources to continue the long and arduous campaign against House Farron. The old Lord was at the very height of power within the city, carrying much of the Parliament within his back pocket. Farron was the primary operator in the downfall of House D'Avore, and removal of her family titles and lands, estates, and wealth. As well as the cold blooded murder of her parents. She saw the need for what she was doing but didn't like it.
But she was too young to stand against it, and so she did as she was told, meek as milkwater.
The roar of the crowd was almost too much to be heard over as she stepped out into the courtyard that had been set up for the purpose of purveyors of every thing imaginable to ply their trade. The scent of spicy meat mingled with rare spices, with alchemicals, and with the scent of unwashed bodies. It was all a melange that could overwhelm the senses, the noise not withstanding. Women wearing rough woolens moved about with baskets, buying things for their households while men and women in finer clothes, the livery of their Houses, moved about. They cast disdainful looks to the general press of humanity, and kept their distance as they purchased the needful things for their Lords and their Ladies.
It made her heart sink and her spirits fall. She should have been one of those, and yet...here she was.
Standing no taller than a human child would, she passed beneath the notice of most of the people there. It would have been aggravating if she had not wished to pass without a trace. She moved through the thronged passages between stalls and tents, looking for something specific. She avoided money changers, for they were all crooks as far as her Father had been concerned. it was a goldsmith that she was looking for, someone who would be able to turn her object around and send it on to its new owner. Just the thought made her clutched the little gold box tighter.
Eventually, she found one. A small tent setup with try pieces laid out on a table, cheap metal that the owner of the table would not miss terribly if stolen. Back in the depths of the little stall, she could see the glow of a little furnace, used to melt down precious metals for the forging process.
"Shove off, you welp."
She turned to see the owner of the stall staring at her with cold eyes, and almost instinctively shrank back. She considered just leaving, and coming back another day...but that would be the childish thing to do, and she was determined to prove to her brother that she was no child. She drew herself up to her full height - not very impressive or intimidating, planting her fists on her hips. "Excuse me, but you sh-" she began, but the man cut her off rudely.
"Ain't got time to deal with a beggar like you. Go bother someone else, girl." He turned away, muttering something indistinct and not very flattering as he did, ducking back into what passed for a workshop.
Lyssia stood there, dumbfounded and not entirely sure what to do.
Mericet bustled. it was summer time, and the city along the river was at the height of its busiest season. The spring runoff had ended, and the river lapped lazily at the docks and wharfs, shirtless men already moving with purpose between ships moored and unloading their cargo, and loading a greater amount of material back on board to be carted to the sea. Mericet exported mostly iron and other metals, with a smattering of gold and silver mined in the Spine not too far away. In other parts of the city, foundries and forges belches smoke into the sky most of the day, the heat oppressive in those places.
In exchange, Mericet brought in finer things that it could not procure from its own people. Silks, and linens from the south, as well as produce not natively grown. Fish, from the Gulf of Ryt, as well as odd exports from Molthal.
It was still early enough in the morning that it was cool, the damp air moved along by an unhurried breeze out of the mountains that dominated the skyline to the east. In the market squares, merchants set up their stalls to hawk their wares, each yelling louder than the next to attract the attention of customers and their coin. So early, and yet so crowded, for the people were in a rush to get their shopping done before the oppressive heat of the evening bore down on the city. The city was so far north that it was rarely actually that hot, but the northerners considered the heat of August to be oppressive, though most in the south would consider it a refreshing day.
Lyssia moved along the street, her diminutive frame making it easy for her to pass unnoticed. And it was just as well, for the girl really did not want to be seen today. It was not a good day, in her eyes. There had been no good days since that fated night, when the Royal Guards had crashed into her home and taken her parents into custody before turning their children out on the streets. It had begun to strange journey to this day, living on the streets and scavenging for all the things needed to keep herself alive. That she had finally found her brother - whom she had assumed dead months ago - was of small consolation. Alric had changed in the months since the execution of their parents, becoming a much harder man than the boy she had remembered.
And of herself? She did not know. She moved about among the peasants, moving in the shadows to avoid the attention of either the City Guards or the Royal Guards. Neither of them appreciated the urchins and the downtrodden, those members of society that had been forgotten. She could even remember the disdain of the aristocracy for the little man, the serf and the slave.
Chattel, they are. Living mean and empty lives, short lives, serving others as that is all they are fit for. Lyssia did not know if she believed that, anymore, but she did know that the people of the city could be mean and petty, spiteful. Small minded and lacking ambition.
She knew that today would not be pleasant, if not for what it was that she was about to do, then for all the bitter interactions she was bound to have. She clutched a wrapped object that bulged in the pocket of her oft-patched dress that hung on her small, child-like frame like a sack. The brown fabric did not flatter her in the slightest, making the pale skin and red hair more stark, but also drawing attention to the fact that it was cheaply made and in poor repair, stained and ugly in her mind. She could recall wearing silk, and sending people to do this kind of thing.
Well, maybe not that last. She was only nineteen, after all, and for a Sidhe that made her very young indeed. Her brother was in his fifties, and still only just considered capable of managing his own affairs. She would not attain her majority for at least another twenty years.
One of the cities many markets loomed ahead, already thronged with peasant and servant of the elite alike. She did not relish being handed this task, taking an heirloom of the Family to be sold for whatever it would bring. They needed resources to continue the long and arduous campaign against House Farron. The old Lord was at the very height of power within the city, carrying much of the Parliament within his back pocket. Farron was the primary operator in the downfall of House D'Avore, and removal of her family titles and lands, estates, and wealth. As well as the cold blooded murder of her parents. She saw the need for what she was doing but didn't like it.
But she was too young to stand against it, and so she did as she was told, meek as milkwater.
The roar of the crowd was almost too much to be heard over as she stepped out into the courtyard that had been set up for the purpose of purveyors of every thing imaginable to ply their trade. The scent of spicy meat mingled with rare spices, with alchemicals, and with the scent of unwashed bodies. It was all a melange that could overwhelm the senses, the noise not withstanding. Women wearing rough woolens moved about with baskets, buying things for their households while men and women in finer clothes, the livery of their Houses, moved about. They cast disdainful looks to the general press of humanity, and kept their distance as they purchased the needful things for their Lords and their Ladies.
It made her heart sink and her spirits fall. She should have been one of those, and yet...here she was.
Standing no taller than a human child would, she passed beneath the notice of most of the people there. It would have been aggravating if she had not wished to pass without a trace. She moved through the thronged passages between stalls and tents, looking for something specific. She avoided money changers, for they were all crooks as far as her Father had been concerned. it was a goldsmith that she was looking for, someone who would be able to turn her object around and send it on to its new owner. Just the thought made her clutched the little gold box tighter.
Eventually, she found one. A small tent setup with try pieces laid out on a table, cheap metal that the owner of the table would not miss terribly if stolen. Back in the depths of the little stall, she could see the glow of a little furnace, used to melt down precious metals for the forging process.
"Shove off, you welp."
She turned to see the owner of the stall staring at her with cold eyes, and almost instinctively shrank back. She considered just leaving, and coming back another day...but that would be the childish thing to do, and she was determined to prove to her brother that she was no child. She drew herself up to her full height - not very impressive or intimidating, planting her fists on her hips. "Excuse me, but you sh-" she began, but the man cut her off rudely.
"Ain't got time to deal with a beggar like you. Go bother someone else, girl." He turned away, muttering something indistinct and not very flattering as he did, ducking back into what passed for a workshop.
Lyssia stood there, dumbfounded and not entirely sure what to do.