Passing Fancies
She broke into a run, nudging her way in and out of the crowd to the disdain of many a folk who were carrying their goods to market; a crate of apples tumbled to the ground as she inadvertently kicked a man in the shins; half-turning to shout a quick apology she collided with a woman carrying a basket on her shoulder and the oats within spilled in a wave of white over the two of them.
Rill winced, but didn’t have the time to stop and help. She ran on, found a clear stretch and tried to break into a sprint but the fronts of her sandals caught on the raised cobbles and sent her flying. She staggered to catch her balance and stopped just long enough to shrug out of the footwear. That was better – she hoicked up the edge of her skirt and set off with renewed vigour towards the docks.
“Ye sodding whore!” The man’s voice carried over the crowd behind her. She glanced quickly over her shoulder and saw his head bobbing above the others, his wide shoulders forcing people out of the way like a parting sea. He looked angry. Well, she didn’t doubt that he WAS angry – the engraved silver dagger at her hip and fifteen sharpened and polished silver darts strapped to her leg were testament to the fact that he had something to be angry about. But hells, he’d taken enough from her to warrant the theft of some small replaceable goods, hadn’t he? How much was dignity worth? More than a glorified knife and a handful of metal shards? Certainly.
She slipped on a patch of road wet from a freshly spilled mop bucket, fell hard on her rump and muttered a curse to her lost Goddess. Scrambling to her feet again she pressed onwards, dived into another crowd of people – tourists on their way to see the fabled Host Tower, she assumed from the snatches of conversation she caught – ploughed through them and emerged the other side almost at the harbour. Her heart pounded in her chest as she skipped along the last few yards of the street and onto the warm wooden decking of the pier that would carry her to the ship that she prayed would still be there.
“Stop that woman!” The man behind her cried; his voice was further away, he’d got caught up in the group of tourists and as she looked back again, she saw him trying to claw his way through the throng. “Stop her, she’s a thief!”
Rill turned her attention back to the pier and spent all of her remaining energy in sprinting along its length to the very end. ‘The Passing Fancy’, she saw the name painted in golden lettering along the prow. It hadn’t left! She stumbled up the gang plank, was pulled up the last few feet by the strong hand of the first mate, and collapsed into a panting heap on the deck.
“Go!” she wheezed. “Go go go!”
She saw them hoist the gang plank up and heard the billowing of the sails above her. Music to her ears. Angry shouts and bitter curses carried on the breeze from the pier below, and she laughed, lying flat out on the deck with the gloriously warm sun on her dark skin.
“Getting in trouble again, Rill Den’Kelo?” The first mate, an older man with a mess of peppery blonde hair and a perpetual rough stubble crouched at her side. She squinted up at him and grinned. “Well, I’d stay away from Luskan for a while if I were you. Especially with your hair like that – you’ll be noticed a mile off.”
Rill chuckled. “You like it, Patter? One of the women at the Seven Sails did it for me. Said it’d piss the Arcane Brotherhood right off to see that their cherished little Rill had shaved two thirds of her head clean.”
The man, Patter, reached out and poked at the stiff wedge of blue-black hair that remained. “How’d you get it to stay up like that?” He asked.
“Magic,” she winked. “Oh, hey, I have these for you.” She unstrapped the leather girdle from her leg – the one that held the silver darts she had stolen – and handed it to Patter; so-called because of the noise his throwing knives made when they sank in quick succession into the plank of wood he used to practice with.
He took the girdle from her and held it up so that the tips of the darts caught the light of the sun and twinkled brightly. “Nice,” he said. “But I’ll make you a deal. I’ll teach you to throw them and you can keep the lot.”
“Sounds like a one-sided deal,” she arched a curious brow. “What’s in it for you?”
Patter pointed a calloused finger along the deck to where one of the crew, a new man that Rill hadn’t seen on the ship before, sat on a crate whittling a piece of wood. “Him,” Patter whispered. “Played a trick on me back at port. Figured you might return the favour. Something… Flashy. Scare him good. You know what I mean.”
Rill curled a wicked smile and pulled herself to her feet. She discreetly made her way to the stern of the vessel and stood against the railing, just a few feet behind where the new crewmember sat on the crate, attention completely focused on his carving. She cracked her knuckles, flexed her fingers a few times and, pulling a scrap of fleece from a pouch at her belt, began whispering a chant and tracing her fingers through a series of complex shapes that she had memorised.
The tentacle slithered slowly over the side of the ship, suckers popping softly against the smooth surface as it crept closer and closer to the crewman’s crate. At first he didn’t notice, but when the illusion came within a few inches of him and reared its writhing tip upwards, the movement caught his eye and he glanced down at it.
“Sssuhh – Aaaargh – SEAMONSTER!” He pointed and screamed, jumping up, staggering backwards and falling heavily onto a pile of crates with a cacophony of splintering wood.
Patter stepped up beside Rill and rested his hand approvingly on her shoulder. “Nice,” He nodded. “Very nice. I can see Neverwinter’s going to have a handful dealing with you.”
“Neverwinter? That’s where we’re going?” She asked, turning to the first mate, a smug smile of satisfaction tickling the corners of her lips and a devious twinkle shining in the depths of her dark-black eyes.
“No place safer for you to hide from Luskanites,” he nodded. “Sign up with Nasher’s guard, learn some new tricks. But keep your hands to yourself, Rill – they’re noble folk there and don’t take kindly to the pirate’s shenanigans of Luskan.”
“Well, that’s no fun,” She sighed with a mock-pout. “I suppose I’ll have to find some other means of entertainment…”
WelshPixie
Kuri'thas