Chapter One - Black Tongues and Deceitful Lies

The streets were hostile enough to be considered a battlefield. The Dwarven District was that of thugs, a place she didn’t fit; a child. She pulled the ragged coat around her, staring around the darkening night. Drunkards littered the streets. It was the hour of the sadists - coming to take their prey. The cultists time as well, as they stood outside the Cathedral, defiling that which was considered Sacred ground. Bullshit, is all she could think. Her gaze kept flickering as she left the smoky district. How the Dwarves managed was beyond her. The middle of the district was busy still at this hour of night, with Dwarves and men sounding the quarter with their loud, repetitive hits against the glowing, melting swords; a nice contrast to the winters coming nights, the workless drunks and the never-ending smoke billowing from their forges.

The moment she stepped out of the smoke and into the windy canals she knew she shouldn’t have. She pondered her opinions for a brief moment, her entire body shivering with the merciless slams of the reckless winter storm. She could head into the Keep, but the guards wouldn’t approve of a woman dressed as she. She could then head back to the forges and seek warmth, but then surely Uncle would find her lest she came. She bit her teeth together and stepped forward heavily as if her feet had become blocks of ice. Every step was a battle against the icy cobblestones, if not herself. The man wouldn’t hesitate, and she knew it. He never did; his moves too quick for her to dodge, his piercing stare freezing her to the ground. The accusations, the debt, and the fear he brought. Yet she couldn’t bring herself to leave. She was lost in thought and woke from it as the wind almost knocked her over. Her short stature wasn’t a match at all, especially not with her run-down boots.

She challenged the storm, determined to at least make it to the next entry - Old Town. Without having the wind slamming her around like a doll, she’d be able to think properly. With quivering heart and mind she took step after step towards the entryway, across the bridge. She felt the last wind slam against her back in denial, as if it didn’t want her to leave: as if it wanted a doll to toss around the late evening. She let out a heavy sigh as the escaped the canals, stopping for a moment. With dread she looked up in the thin alleyway that then split off into two separate paths, which jointed at the Guard’s place. The ‘CC’ - Command Center. She hated this place for that sole reason: the guards. She didn’t fit here either, and was afraid that every time she passed by the guards would ask of who she is and what she’s doing there. Yet again the girl pondered whether to turn back, but decided against; there was simply no way she was returning to the Dwarven District, and even less chance she’d try the canals again. The wind whined at her as if answering to the thought, and she glared out over her shoulder with hatred.

Walking slowly, shivering both out of the cold and fear, she kept on walking. She turned left, towards the bar: it felt oddly inviting. She reminded herself that she should be going somewhere else now, and with a heavy heart walked past it, feeling her every heavy step hit the ground, and hearing it make a soft sound. Her steps were always quick-footed these days, except at these times. Almost completely silent; but many in the City almost had supernaturally good hearing. It was often she was seen, but her stamina allowed her to run greater lengths than them, and longer. She hugged herself, placing her hands under her armpits to survive the paralyzing cold, her teeth chattering together uncontrollably.
The dark alley is intimidating. The cold wind whines softly, calling her back to the canals to freeze, but she takes slow steps into the alley in defiance to the weather’s call. The shadows stare at her as she hunches together, flicking her gaze over and about in absolute paranoia until she finds what she looks for: a tall, slim man by the wall stared back at her expectantly. She looked down in shame as she stepped towards him, the night’s silence making every sound a thousand times higher.

“About time.” The hushed voice reaches her as the shady man stands up straight. “What’ve you got for me?”
She stops a few meters away from him, out of range from his veiled shape and poisonous claws that make his hands.
“I’m sorry. I didn’t manage.” She flinches backwards as the shape steps towards her.
“Come over here.” He beckons. His voice is sinister like a snake’s and filled with hateful glee. She backs away yet again.
“Why should I?” She asks, though she knows the answer herself already. He grunts in annoyance before reaching forth and trying to grab her wrist. She moves back as it's grabbed, but is quickly ripped back into his waiting arms. Held fast against him, she tries to back up further to avoid the unsheathed blade; however, she’s rather weak compared to him. He lifts her firmly held arm and she grits her teeth in expectance before the warmth covers her upheld arm as she looks away. A yelp escapes her throat and Zalerin pushes her aside with a grunt, perhaps of annoyance due to the further work he has to do.

Lifting her hand to the wound, she kept it there, letting the red liquid cover her hand and sleeve. She stares at the pavement blankly, her tight frame curling together. Her jaw is shut tightly together against the pain. The pain, she thinks. Why does he have to? It’s for my own good. Surely, it’s to learn to succeed. To learn not to fail, and to learn to listen and to handle pain; the guards’ reputation isn’t the best, after all. She walks over to one of the crates, sitting down and presses her legs against her chest for a few minutes before he speaks again. She listens intently to his words, unwilling to fail again, and suffer more nagging, burning, if not searing, agony.

“Try again. You will try again, and next time, don’t come back empty-handed.” With these simple words he lifts his hand dismissively at her, confident with her ability to take care of the cut. Like she always have. Like she always will, until he drops like the Old Man did, except if she doesn’t get in too deep trouble and falls by it. Death: a subject rarely thought nor spoken of. What truly is it? So many thoughts well up: fear, the fear for the unknown, yet an odd peace. The bliss of ignorance, perhaps, or the knowledge that finally you can lay down to rest in eternity - if death means rest, that is. With these thoughts dwelling deep within her mind she steps to feet, oblivious to the world around her. There’s only she, her thoughts, and her wound which she is to tend to, alone. As always.

Very well written and I like how you describe how the weather is influencing your character in this story, people tend to forget about the weather-situation during their RP. The story does leave me with a question however, what was she meant to bring to "Zalerin"?

It's always fun to read stories about others characters, especially when you know one and another about them, so cheers for posting! Now you be a good girl and become a p-.. yes.