(Small note: This RP is based on the setting Midnight, but I confess I know little of it and it may contain gross errors. You've been warned.)
Yasheira Dumein sat perched on one of the large trees which grew from the ruins of old Orun, now dubbed Orun's Bones, since it was laid bear, just some old piles of rocks vaguely resembling the fort which once stood next to the waterfall, ensconced away in one of the many craggy folds of the Kaladrun Mountains. It had been a Dwarven outpost which was manned once upon a time, when you could still reach the Dwarven underground halls now sealed at all sides, their denizens dumb and blind to the plight of the surface dwellers. Much like the Elves of Erethor, hiding behind their shield. Freaking cowards. In truth, people like the Rebels of this settlement, willing to rise up from the crushing hold of Izrador and fight back, were few and dwindling.
Once, Shei had believed that they stood a chance against the Shadow, that they could get the other races to unite and take up arms and say 'no more', but such hopes had vanished over the course of the 7 years she's been a spy, assassin and saboteur for the Rebels. She'd worked all over Eredane and seen much. She knew better now, her vain hopes abandoned. Today, Yasheira was content in killing as many Shadow servants, releasing as many slaves and causing as much havoc as possible before her inevitable death.
"Shei." a familiar voice called from down below. Wearing a long dirt spattered brown hooded cloak, Derin stood, blending with the setting around them, a Wildlander trick passed down from one of their allies. The Sarcosan human was somewhere in-between plain and handsome, his brown almond shaped eyes had a spark to them, his caramel colored skin was rather striking and his shoulder length wavy black hair was not knotted and greasy like most here, but rather glossy and well tended. They had shared a night once, when Shei had drank too much of Quartermaster Kent's moonshine. She could see in his eyes when her dark ones met his brown that he was still pining over her. Yasheira didn't share the sentiment.
"Dorasil Tytus is calling for you. I'll take your shift." Good, she thought. That means I have a job, instead of the drudgery of guard duty. The woman dropped wordlessly, grabbing onto another branch on her way down not to fall too hard, coming down in a crouch, quiet as a cat. She stood up, patting some dried leaves and twigs off her cloak and looking at Derin, the man was just as tall as her, normal for people of his land. "Thank you, Derin." she spoke in her sultry voice and without adding anything else, left, preferring to ignore the slight discomfort of the tension between them.
Long ago, humans fleeing the Shadow servants sought refuge in the maze-like crags and cliffs of Kaladrun mountains. Aside from the Dwarven halls, there had been plenty of caves and natural tunnels hidden in the rock. Here, they had been fortunate to find Dwarven carved dwellings, a rough village of sorts, likely meant for merchants and whatnot to stay and some lodging for the families of those Dwarves who worked in the outpost. It had been long abandoned for being so close to the surface. She was told they had had to kill a nest of goblins that had taken over, but that was long before she was even born.
By the entrance, which was well hidden from prying eyes, there were pegs where sentries such as her would hang the mottled cloaks they used to hide from spies. The Dark God had eyes in the skies... eyes everywhere, really. Most of the dwellings were empty, but many had now families, people fortunate to have been born free, even if it came at high costs, free from Shadow masters, prisoners of the small confinements of safety in which they lived. Yasheira paced the carved tunnels that comprised the hidden Rebel settlement, going through corridors and down stairs, up bridges, all the way to Tytus' spartan apartments and office.
The Dornish man was imposing. In his 40s, he was one of the most powerful Rebels alive, in no small part due to his indomitable heritage, the strong northern folk once having threatened to conquer the whole of Eredane, after all. He was hunched over the round table containing maps and letters. Few were the people who could read and write these days, it was forbidden by Shadow Law, but agents like Tytus and Shei were taught common and the Rebel's code used on their few written communiques. Tytus studied such a one just then, powerful hands holding to the edges of the table.
His clear blue eyes, common to his people, raised to look at the spy as she entered and he grunted. It was meant as a greeting. A gruff gesture was meant to tell her to approach and she did, sauntering to the edge of the table and then standing, hands clasped at the small of her back. "Dorasil Tytus." She used to honorific, even the man cared little for it. He took a deep breath and straightened up, towering almost a foot over the woman, the corded muscles of his rarely covered chest clenching. He wasn't happy. He rarely was.
"Agent Yasheira, I've got a letter from the outpost outside of Chandering. There's a new agent supposed to join us. Some Erenlander called Victor Ayren. He seems to check out." The Dorn tossed a metal coin, scratched and treated in a manner that whatever symbol it held in the past was indiscernible. It was a Dorasil's mark of confidence, adopted so that the illiterate could know who to trust. Shei tilted her head, clearly not seeing what it had to do with her. The man huffed and scowled. "I don't like it, so you are going to tag along with him, I have a mission, an envoy arrived in Chandering, he'll collect news from the local appointed mayor and take it back to Riismark. You'll intercept him when he departs and get everything he may have of interest. His paperwork should contain a good deal of information about the Shadow Servants next moves, collected knowledge of possible compromised agents and settlements, it is crucial intelligence. Along the way you'll assess if this Victor checks out."
Yasheira's eyes could be pits of hellish darkness so irritated she felt. Yet she kept her sultry voice even, crossing her arms over her chest and shrugging her shoulders in nonchalance. "What am I, a babysitter?"
________________________
Apparently that's exactly what she was. Tytus hadn't at all been amused by her sarcasm and his shouting could be heard echoing against the walls. After that Shei got little to no word in edgewise and was forced to go along with it all. And here she was, swaggering through the streets of stormy Chandering, going to meet this Victor, who she was told was staying at The Drowned Cat, a local Rebel-friendly tavern. Fitting name for the dreadful weather of that night. The thick droplets turning all the darkened streets of the human town into a muddy mess. Thunder and lightning keeping most folk out of the streets, which suited her fine, less prying eyes.
Shei entered the busy tavern full of somber faces with darker moods, many eyes turned to the unusual sight which was the beautiful woman, all clad in snug dark cloth and a not at all discreet cleavage. Her oil-treated long cloak had made sure she remained mostly dry despite the heavy rain and she hung it by the door to let the water droplets fall off. She carried only a few concealed daggers in her garb, anyone caught armed without a permit was readily arrested in cities controlled by the Shadow such as these, but Shei had grown in such a place and she knew how to work with it. The spy had a fake permit, however there was no point in calling attention unless it was needed.
The woman's heels clicked off the wooden floor as she crossed the room and sat by the counter. "'Night, what's yer poison?" Asked the bartender regarding her, the man was gaunt, with a mop of straw-colored hair, muddy green eyes and a short-cropped beard and mustache. "Dark ale." Shei said, studying the counter and then raising her dark eyes at the man, adding. "It's dark tonight." It was a Rebel code phrase. She confirmed it by sliding one of the brushed iron coins along with the coppers for the beverage. The man swiped them and put it in a pocket of his apron without batting an eye and answered. "Plenty of torches, though." It was the right answer. The man knew what she was doing there, and as he set the foaming mug in front of her, motioned his head to a booth by the corner where a man sat alone.
Yasheira nodded, taking a hold of her mug and swaggering on to sit herself across from her charge and new partner, the man called Victor Ayren.
_______________________
Yasheira Dumein sat perched on one of the large trees which grew from the ruins of old Orun, now dubbed Orun's Bones, since it was laid bear, just some old piles of rocks vaguely resembling the fort which once stood next to the waterfall, ensconced away in one of the many craggy folds of the Kaladrun Mountains. It had been a Dwarven outpost which was manned once upon a time, when you could still reach the Dwarven underground halls now sealed at all sides, their denizens dumb and blind to the plight of the surface dwellers. Much like the Elves of Erethor, hiding behind their shield. Freaking cowards. In truth, people like the Rebels of this settlement, willing to rise up from the crushing hold of Izrador and fight back, were few and dwindling.
Once, Shei had believed that they stood a chance against the Shadow, that they could get the other races to unite and take up arms and say 'no more', but such hopes had vanished over the course of the 7 years she's been a spy, assassin and saboteur for the Rebels. She'd worked all over Eredane and seen much. She knew better now, her vain hopes abandoned. Today, Yasheira was content in killing as many Shadow servants, releasing as many slaves and causing as much havoc as possible before her inevitable death.
"Shei." a familiar voice called from down below. Wearing a long dirt spattered brown hooded cloak, Derin stood, blending with the setting around them, a Wildlander trick passed down from one of their allies. The Sarcosan human was somewhere in-between plain and handsome, his brown almond shaped eyes had a spark to them, his caramel colored skin was rather striking and his shoulder length wavy black hair was not knotted and greasy like most here, but rather glossy and well tended. They had shared a night once, when Shei had drank too much of Quartermaster Kent's moonshine. She could see in his eyes when her dark ones met his brown that he was still pining over her. Yasheira didn't share the sentiment.
"Dorasil Tytus is calling for you. I'll take your shift." Good, she thought. That means I have a job, instead of the drudgery of guard duty. The woman dropped wordlessly, grabbing onto another branch on her way down not to fall too hard, coming down in a crouch, quiet as a cat. She stood up, patting some dried leaves and twigs off her cloak and looking at Derin, the man was just as tall as her, normal for people of his land. "Thank you, Derin." she spoke in her sultry voice and without adding anything else, left, preferring to ignore the slight discomfort of the tension between them.
Long ago, humans fleeing the Shadow servants sought refuge in the maze-like crags and cliffs of Kaladrun mountains. Aside from the Dwarven halls, there had been plenty of caves and natural tunnels hidden in the rock. Here, they had been fortunate to find Dwarven carved dwellings, a rough village of sorts, likely meant for merchants and whatnot to stay and some lodging for the families of those Dwarves who worked in the outpost. It had been long abandoned for being so close to the surface. She was told they had had to kill a nest of goblins that had taken over, but that was long before she was even born.
By the entrance, which was well hidden from prying eyes, there were pegs where sentries such as her would hang the mottled cloaks they used to hide from spies. The Dark God had eyes in the skies... eyes everywhere, really. Most of the dwellings were empty, but many had now families, people fortunate to have been born free, even if it came at high costs, free from Shadow masters, prisoners of the small confinements of safety in which they lived. Yasheira paced the carved tunnels that comprised the hidden Rebel settlement, going through corridors and down stairs, up bridges, all the way to Tytus' spartan apartments and office.
The Dornish man was imposing. In his 40s, he was one of the most powerful Rebels alive, in no small part due to his indomitable heritage, the strong northern folk once having threatened to conquer the whole of Eredane, after all. He was hunched over the round table containing maps and letters. Few were the people who could read and write these days, it was forbidden by Shadow Law, but agents like Tytus and Shei were taught common and the Rebel's code used on their few written communiques. Tytus studied such a one just then, powerful hands holding to the edges of the table.
His clear blue eyes, common to his people, raised to look at the spy as she entered and he grunted. It was meant as a greeting. A gruff gesture was meant to tell her to approach and she did, sauntering to the edge of the table and then standing, hands clasped at the small of her back. "Dorasil Tytus." She used to honorific, even the man cared little for it. He took a deep breath and straightened up, towering almost a foot over the woman, the corded muscles of his rarely covered chest clenching. He wasn't happy. He rarely was.
"Agent Yasheira, I've got a letter from the outpost outside of Chandering. There's a new agent supposed to join us. Some Erenlander called Victor Ayren. He seems to check out." The Dorn tossed a metal coin, scratched and treated in a manner that whatever symbol it held in the past was indiscernible. It was a Dorasil's mark of confidence, adopted so that the illiterate could know who to trust. Shei tilted her head, clearly not seeing what it had to do with her. The man huffed and scowled. "I don't like it, so you are going to tag along with him, I have a mission, an envoy arrived in Chandering, he'll collect news from the local appointed mayor and take it back to Riismark. You'll intercept him when he departs and get everything he may have of interest. His paperwork should contain a good deal of information about the Shadow Servants next moves, collected knowledge of possible compromised agents and settlements, it is crucial intelligence. Along the way you'll assess if this Victor checks out."
Yasheira's eyes could be pits of hellish darkness so irritated she felt. Yet she kept her sultry voice even, crossing her arms over her chest and shrugging her shoulders in nonchalance. "What am I, a babysitter?"
________________________
Apparently that's exactly what she was. Tytus hadn't at all been amused by her sarcasm and his shouting could be heard echoing against the walls. After that Shei got little to no word in edgewise and was forced to go along with it all. And here she was, swaggering through the streets of stormy Chandering, going to meet this Victor, who she was told was staying at The Drowned Cat, a local Rebel-friendly tavern. Fitting name for the dreadful weather of that night. The thick droplets turning all the darkened streets of the human town into a muddy mess. Thunder and lightning keeping most folk out of the streets, which suited her fine, less prying eyes.
Shei entered the busy tavern full of somber faces with darker moods, many eyes turned to the unusual sight which was the beautiful woman, all clad in snug dark cloth and a not at all discreet cleavage. Her oil-treated long cloak had made sure she remained mostly dry despite the heavy rain and she hung it by the door to let the water droplets fall off. She carried only a few concealed daggers in her garb, anyone caught armed without a permit was readily arrested in cities controlled by the Shadow such as these, but Shei had grown in such a place and she knew how to work with it. The spy had a fake permit, however there was no point in calling attention unless it was needed.
The woman's heels clicked off the wooden floor as she crossed the room and sat by the counter. "'Night, what's yer poison?" Asked the bartender regarding her, the man was gaunt, with a mop of straw-colored hair, muddy green eyes and a short-cropped beard and mustache. "Dark ale." Shei said, studying the counter and then raising her dark eyes at the man, adding. "It's dark tonight." It was a Rebel code phrase. She confirmed it by sliding one of the brushed iron coins along with the coppers for the beverage. The man swiped them and put it in a pocket of his apron without batting an eye and answered. "Plenty of torches, though." It was the right answer. The man knew what she was doing there, and as he set the foaming mug in front of her, motioned his head to a booth by the corner where a man sat alone.
Yasheira nodded, taking a hold of her mug and swaggering on to sit herself across from her charge and new partner, the man called Victor Ayren.
