HoneyedHopes
Professional Asskicker
The coin quaked between her thumb and her forefinger, heating from the pressure of her fingertips. She knew she held the coin incorrectly, and that every gambling elf in her clan would have cringed at her grasp. But every time her heart groaned over her stupidity, begged her to put the thing away and call it all off, the wind would wrap around her wrist and hold it steady. It was the reminder that Falon'Din guided her fate today, and finally she would decide her future.
Heads, she would stay. Tails, and... Her gaze flicked to the towering gates of chains which made the entrance of Kirkwall. It caused her throat to tighten, butterflies roaring in her stomach. She flipped–threw–the coin, said a small prayer to the god of the dead, and waited to hear the coin nestle into the grass at her feet.
Of course, it hit her head instead.
Did that count as heads? Was Falon'Din laughing at her, punishing her for her foolish antics? But when she bent over to retrieve the silver coin, she was met with Mythal's flowing locks of hair tumbling down her backside. She smiled.
The walls were taller than she had expected, as well as the humans which clogged up the Gallows, all but blocking her entry. From under the hood of her green cloaked, she peered up at everything– the copper statues, weeping oxidation, the stairway which led to the center of the city, the gleam of import that bounced off every soldier's chestpiece. All of them were marvels.
But she could not marvel long at the city of chains, lest she stand out amongst the crowd. That wouldn't get her inside. So, she bowed her head and huddled against the edge of a gaggle of children, her shorter stature allowing her to disappear amongst the heads. It was a large family, with six or seven children, all crying out with hunger pains. The guards allowed the mother to pass and she ushered her kids along. Neither the guard nor the parent thought twice of the extra head that slipped past.
Finally, she made it to her destination, a vast courtyard filled with stalls and stalls of goods. She ignored most of them, eyes keen for one particular merchant. When she saw her, she rushed over, not bothering to contain her broad, giddy grin.
There weren't many novels to choose from, which disappointed her, but nonetheless she was grateful for the chance to look at new material. She wished she could buy them all. She felt the cinch of metal in her coin-purse as she shifted her hip, and knew that she'd barely have enough for one book, let alone two dozen. So, she picked out the one that looked the best. Vines and flowers crawled up the painted edges of one, encircling a proud couple with golden crowns. That would do nicely.
"How much for this one?" She asked.
"Twenty silver," the bookkeeper said, two dark eyes staring down a crooked nose. She pulled her cloak a little tighter and said, "What about 10 silvers?"
"You playing me for a fool, girl?" The woman spat.
"No, no, it's just that, I only have twenty silvers on me at the moment, and I need enough to buy bread for my family. Please, I'll come back tomorrow with more and I'll buy another book. Please?" She continued to plead silently with her large, mossy eyes.
The bookkeeper spat again, but nodded. She thanked her quickly, and rummaged through her purse, collecting the coins which she'd borrowed–admittedly, stolen–from her keeper the day before. But when she set them on the counter, the woman's darker glower grew darker.
"You do take me for the fool, I see. This ain't worth shit."
"What?" She stuttered. That couldn't be right. They'd had the coins for years, and used them when rations were low. "That can't be right."
"Give me back my book," The woman growled. Instinctively, the elf moved backwards, clutching the book to her chest. It was the wrong move. Before she could think, apologize, give the book back, the woman already had the call for the guards at her lips.
Heads, she would stay. Tails, and... Her gaze flicked to the towering gates of chains which made the entrance of Kirkwall. It caused her throat to tighten, butterflies roaring in her stomach. She flipped–threw–the coin, said a small prayer to the god of the dead, and waited to hear the coin nestle into the grass at her feet.
Of course, it hit her head instead.
Did that count as heads? Was Falon'Din laughing at her, punishing her for her foolish antics? But when she bent over to retrieve the silver coin, she was met with Mythal's flowing locks of hair tumbling down her backside. She smiled.
The walls were taller than she had expected, as well as the humans which clogged up the Gallows, all but blocking her entry. From under the hood of her green cloaked, she peered up at everything– the copper statues, weeping oxidation, the stairway which led to the center of the city, the gleam of import that bounced off every soldier's chestpiece. All of them were marvels.
But she could not marvel long at the city of chains, lest she stand out amongst the crowd. That wouldn't get her inside. So, she bowed her head and huddled against the edge of a gaggle of children, her shorter stature allowing her to disappear amongst the heads. It was a large family, with six or seven children, all crying out with hunger pains. The guards allowed the mother to pass and she ushered her kids along. Neither the guard nor the parent thought twice of the extra head that slipped past.
Finally, she made it to her destination, a vast courtyard filled with stalls and stalls of goods. She ignored most of them, eyes keen for one particular merchant. When she saw her, she rushed over, not bothering to contain her broad, giddy grin.
There weren't many novels to choose from, which disappointed her, but nonetheless she was grateful for the chance to look at new material. She wished she could buy them all. She felt the cinch of metal in her coin-purse as she shifted her hip, and knew that she'd barely have enough for one book, let alone two dozen. So, she picked out the one that looked the best. Vines and flowers crawled up the painted edges of one, encircling a proud couple with golden crowns. That would do nicely.
"How much for this one?" She asked.
"Twenty silver," the bookkeeper said, two dark eyes staring down a crooked nose. She pulled her cloak a little tighter and said, "What about 10 silvers?"
"You playing me for a fool, girl?" The woman spat.
"No, no, it's just that, I only have twenty silvers on me at the moment, and I need enough to buy bread for my family. Please, I'll come back tomorrow with more and I'll buy another book. Please?" She continued to plead silently with her large, mossy eyes.
The bookkeeper spat again, but nodded. She thanked her quickly, and rummaged through her purse, collecting the coins which she'd borrowed–admittedly, stolen–from her keeper the day before. But when she set them on the counter, the woman's darker glower grew darker.
"You do take me for the fool, I see. This ain't worth shit."
"What?" She stuttered. That couldn't be right. They'd had the coins for years, and used them when rations were low. "That can't be right."
"Give me back my book," The woman growled. Instinctively, the elf moved backwards, clutching the book to her chest. It was the wrong move. Before she could think, apologize, give the book back, the woman already had the call for the guards at her lips.