Yarrowton had never been one of his favorites. Connected to the mainland; it was a town riddled with guards.. He leaned against the stern’s taffrail, looking down the port. He watched as the gangway was dropped. Watched as other members of the crew walked down and onto the hard earth, having to retrain their legs for the land.. His eyes scanned over the busy port. Merchants selling their wares, children running about, men and women weaving through the denseness of it all just to spend what little coin they’ve saved to feed their families.. His trained eye spotted a member of his crew diligently pick the sachet of a mother who had her attention turned to her crying son.. Later,he guessed he would also watch that same mother cry in frustration as she rummaged through her belongings to find the coin she needed to pay for her son’s dinner, only to find it was gone.
He’d watched it a million times before. Hell, he’d done it a million times before. Didn’t matter. She would find a way to feed her snot nosed son.
Below, A few of his fellow crewmen walked a wobbly path straight to the right of the port, where they would we’ve through the crowd and disappear into the east living district. A long and dim alleyway with gypsy fabrics and ribbons hanging about. They were always damp and stunk of mildew and mold… He was glad he hadn’t tagged along.
A few heavy lopsided footsteps sounded behind him, and he didn’t need to turn to know who it was.
“Zypher-” The man sighed a frustrated, gravelly sigh.
Zypher uncrossed his arms, keeping his elbows on the railing and raising one hand to the side of his face now, tugging at the gold piercing on the cartilage of his pointed ear. “Not today, Dad-” He said in response. A large hand clapped down on his shoulder, and he winced at the grip it held.
“You haven’t gotten off of this ship for the last three ports. My heir or not, you’ve got to pull yer’ weight, boy.”
Heir. Zypher wondered when he’d stopped being his son. Replaced only now by the word he’s grown to hate. Heir. The word filled Zypher with a deep sense of bitterness, a reminder of how he had become nothing more than the next in line to inherit the title of captain. Captain of a ship he has grown to hate.
Zypher pushed his fathers hand from his shoulder and shoved past him. “Whatever you say, Captain.” He spat as he turned away from his father and walked with purposeful strides off the stern of the ship
Captain Roland O’Neil was a cruel and spiteful man. But he hadn’t always been that way. He was once a true father and a loving husband. Zypher remembered only from the most faded memories of his father. It was nearly impossible to compare him to the pathetic man that was ‘Captain’ O’neil… Zypher let his frustrated thoughts and anxieties cloud his mind as he fastened his belt, the weight of his daggers pressed against his waist, hidden beneath the guise of a cloth wrap. It was a deceptive layer of fabric, more stylish than functional, but effective in concealing the lethal arsenal that lay beneath.. Or, in dire circumstances, using it to wrap a wound..
Zephyrs boots crunched against the wooden gangway, bringing him to a momentary standstill as he took in his surroundings. His eyes quickly scanned over the busy port, and he was soon weaving his way through the crowded streets. While acting in crowds may have been a good cover, it was just as dangerous due to the numerous eyes to keep track of. He set out for the shops.
Zypher sought out the stone buildings that stood weathered and worn by the relentless assault of seaside storms. Despite their battered appearance, these structures held a sense of solidity and permanence—a testament to the resilience of those who called this port home., He wandered a while, keeping his head held high. As Zypher made his way through the crowded streets, a fat, stumpy man lumbered past him, his arms laden with a basket of baked goods stacked so tall that he couldn’t see what lay ahead. Without hesitation, Zypher reached out and deftly snatched a roll from the top of the precarious pile, bringing it to his mouth with a mischievous grin.
A passing lady caught his eye, her gaze fixed on him with a mixture of surprise and amusement. Zypher offered her a playful wink before taking a hearty bite of the bread.
As he continued to walk, his eyes carefully scan the surrounding shops. It was a simple area with about six or seven shops in a circle. Overhead, balconies adorned with colorful fabrics and drying clothes overlooked the scene below, adding a touch of domesticity to the bustling thoroughfare. A woman leaned against one of the railings, her gaze fixed on her children as they played on the street below—a scene of everyday life amidst the chaos of the city.. Zyphers eyes fell from the balcony to a sign that read D’naes Weaponsmith. A weaponry was just the type of place Zypher was hoping to find. With a determined stride, Zypher rolled his shoulders back, straightened his posture, and made his way towards the open doors of the weaponsmith’s shop.
The cramped confines of the Weaponry surrounded Zypher as he prowled through the narrow aisles, his gaze sweeping over the assortment of daggers displayed on a nearby table. With arms crossed over his chest, he adopted an air of contemplation, his fingers drumming a steady rhythm against his biceps as he weighed his options. Which would grab a good price, and also which would be easiest to go unnoticed. His thoughts were interrupted by a rough voice. “Ay- Elf Man..”
Zypher’s response was a smooth exhale, his attention still fixed on the gleaming blades before him. With a casual gesture, he uncrossed his arms and reached for a small steel blade, turning it over in his hands with a practiced ease. “Hm?”,he replied, his tone indifferent as he continued to examine the weapon in his grasp. The voice persisted, its owner undeterred by Zypher’s apparent disinterest. “I think I’ve got a better weapon option for someone such as yourself,” the voice suggested, its tone laced with a hint of condescension.
Zypher arched an eyebrow, his expression unreadable as he glanced up from the blade in his hands. “Meaning?”
“Uh- Elvish? With ears like that, you’ve got some fae in you, yeah?”
“Elvin.” He corrected the masculine voice.
Zypher allowed himself to look up, then. He turned to face the voice’s source, only coming to see the top of a bald head. He then looked down, meeting the solid black eyes of the Dwarf before him, who held a velvet box. “Go on, then.” Zypher then told the man, nodding at the box that the dwarf so eagerly wanted to show him.
The dwarven blacksmith then nodded and opened the top of the box, setting it upon the counter. Zypher quirked an eyebrow as he stared down at the chameleon metal. He held a good poker face, but he was pleasantly surprised. The blade was short, but it was remarkable. He reached to pick it up,the dwarf’s protest falling on deaf ears as Zypher examined the blade with keen interest.. He turned the dagger over in his palm, running a calloused finger over the sharp blade. It cut like butter. Not deep enough to draw blood, Zypher made sure. He was delicate like that.
“-I know that I should be hustlin’ me own creations, but it’s a genuine FaeCraft, that’un. Look at ’em colors.” Zypher hummed and nodded in response. This. Yes, this would be a great steal to bring back to the ship. With a grin, Zypher carefully returned the dagger to its box, savoring the weight of the metal in his hand before relinquishing it to its velvet resting place. As he did so, he felt the subtle brush against his back, signaling the arrival of another patron in the shop. A welcomed distraction.. Turning his head ever so slightly, Zypher caught sight of the woman in his peripherals— with a long, thick red braid cascading down her back. A faint hum escaped his lips as he crossed his arms once more, his hand instinctively rising to the scruff of his chin in a mock gesture of contemplation. “Let me take a look at the rest of your inventory, and I’ll see.” Zypher says, turning away from him, hoping the Dwarf would go and assist his newer client. That would give him the chance to cause a distraction and swipe the box. He walks to the other end of the table and pretends to look at the metal gauntlets on its surface, all the while reaching his hand down, fingers splayed, focusing his energy into his palm. He would create a distraction and-
“Hey-! Heyhey get BACK HERE!!”
Zypher head snapped up, and all he saw was that long red braid as it whipped out of the door. He spared a quick glance to the velvet box. It was empty. The dagger was gone..
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