Thieves and Tailors

They were nearly at the end of Crystal Street, with the square visible at the end, when a human coming the other way noticed them, started in surprise, and crossed the street to confront Animir.

He was tall, gaunt, and bearded, with brown robes tending to the monastic and a heavy, rune-carved staff. Halting before Animir, he planted himself and barked, "Ho, Elf!"

Animir blinked, unsure. "Yes?" she tried.

"What are you doing in human lands?" challenged the human belligerently. "Have you come to enslave us again? You shall not! We humans have learned since you slunk from Alair like cowards. We slew the Dragon!"

Animir knew this was not true, and that Varkar's death had been at the hands of three elves, two dwarves and two humans, but chose not to comment. Thorkil, however, cleared his throat.

The human seemed to notice him for the first time. In a different tone, almost respectful, he said, "I have no quarrel with the dwarves," he said, "you are mortal folk, you belong here. But there is no place in Alair for elves any more!" He turned back to Animir. "Go back to your magical pixie-island!" he finished scornfully.

"I'll bear that in mind," commented Animir calmly. The human seemed somewhat disappointed - had he been hoping to start a fight? "I will be watching you, witch," he snarled; "mark me, for I am Shakura Earthdancer." He stormed off into the crowd and was gone.

Thorkil spat where he'd stood. "Bloody religious fanatics," he commented. Animir raised a puzzled eyebrow. "Didn't you clock the accent?" asked the dwarf, "and the big-sword-and-hammer motif on the staff? One of those nutters from the Kordasa."

"Don't they worship Kord as some kind of human?"

"Yes. Crazed; everyone knows he's a dwarf. None of your gods look like lizardmen, do they? Pah!"

They carried on, reaching the square and the market - known locally as the Noble Fair. Animir wanted to split up and shop, but Thorkil, feeling like a fish in a desert among all this finery, elected to remain at a wine-stall on the edge. The proprietor glared at him when he sat down until Thorkil heaped several gold coins on the counter, after which he received a smile and a goblet of wine, at which he glared. Animir left him to it.

She had a desire for some jewelry.

The Noble Fair was frequented by the cream of Varensen society; wealthy merchants' families, successful ex-adventurers, and the nobility. All were finely dressed, and walking the fair was as much a social occasion as a commercial one, it seemed. Animir was drawing many glances as she walked through it; some hostile, like Shakura Earthdancer, some slightly awed at the fact of her elven heritage, but the majority disparaging and directed at her attire.

Several months of adventure, falling down holes, wading through water, fighting battles, being wounded, being rained on, had taken their toll on Animir's raiment, and she was distinctly out of place here. She decided it didn't matter.

The first stall she found was kept by a Tarlanoran from the Northkingdoms. His wares were of good quality for human-work, and with their dragon-based symbology probably interesting and unusual to the humans of Stryre, but the the elf the workmanship was crude and unimaginative. She moved on.

The next dealer she located was a dwarf, and, from his accent when he greeted her warmly, from Gloiran. His work was much better, very different in style from the Elven work she was used to, but appealing. He favoured garnets, which appeared in many of his pieces. He even had a small locked wire cage with three pieces made in mithril, but his prices for these were reasonably fair and therefore beyond Animir's purse. She chose out a nice piece - not too fancy - priced at 300gp and beat the dwarf down to 210 for it.

Thorkil was impressed, both by the deal she'd cut and the necklace itself. He was also surprised and rather pleased to find dwarves this far south; "Trade must be picking up," he said.

Animir's thoughts turned back to the reception she'd received in the Noble Fair. Perhaps a nice set of clothes was a good idea. Turning her steps back towards the Merchant Quarter, she located a rather splendid tailor's premises named Rodhur's and made an entrance.

As the doorman bowed her through the portal, a member of the shop's staff came up to her immediately. He bowed, clasping his hands, but with some doubt in his eyes. "Yes," he said "can we help you?" The tone was respectful but implied subtly that it seemed unlikely.

"I need some clothes," said Animir, perhaps slightly obviously.

"Hmn. Perhaps something in a boiler-suit, or maybe a smock; or maybe something more... civilized?"suggested the man, again in a polite voice but fishing for an opening to direct her elsewhere.

"Definitely civilized," said Animir. "A nice dress, that can be packed and transported without taking harm. "

She seemed serious and the tailor adjusted his approach slightly. "Of course madam," he said. "However, I hate to descend to crass commerce, but one presumes that madam's credit is healthy?" Animir understood, and placed her purse on the counter nearby. It thumped and clinked in a very auriferous manner, and the tailor was completely reassured. He introduced himself as Bryant.

He discussed materials and colours (she chose red) and then declared that Animir would require measuring. He glanced at Thorkil. "If Sir would accomodate himself on one of these chairs?" Thorkil blinked. "You mean me?" he asked, and sat down.

Leading Animir to a small cubicle, Bryant said "If madam would remove some of the metalwork?" Reduced to underwear, Animir's differences from a human girl were far more apparent. Bryant measured her waist twice because he couldn't believe the results. Making notes, he told her that the finished product would be ready in four days.

Leaving Rodhur's, they decided to head across the river to experience the market in the poor quarter - Dockside.

The differences were immediately apparent; smaller, shabbier houses, dowdy people either hard or hopeless in mien, and a general air of hazard.

Animir realized quite quickly that her new purchase was attracting attention; the spectacular piece was the subject of many interested looks. She tucked it out of sight; but the damage was done.

As they moved down the crooked, narrow, shadowed streets, the conviction that they were followed grew on them. Finally, as they neared the midpoint of a particularly dim thoroughfare, a tiny noise from behind warned Animir that they were not alone.

With superhuman speed she whirled, and the ancient elf-blade Anvarna flashed from its' scabbard to draw a line of red across her opponent's arm before he was aware she had moved. Her backhand dealt another wound, and deflected the return dagger-thrust enough to save her from a slashed throat, though her neck was cut deeply and bled freely.

Thorkil, not possessed of his comrade's elven senses nor speed of reaction, was taken unprepared. A second assailant drove a dagger into the dwarf's neck and he went down with a gurgle.

The street, not crowded in any case, cleared like magic.

Animir now had two opponents, and got a look at them as the second stepped over Thorkil and squared up to her. Both wore dark, nondescript clothing and kerchieves over their lower faces. Each was armed with a dagger and - by the looks of things - knew how to use it.

Stepping into the attack, the slim elfmaid slashed a blow left, then right, felling one of the thieves and striking home in the other below the ribs. The survivor's courage failed, and he turned to flee, but letting his guard down proved fatal as Animir ran him through from behind.