[center][h1]Ketrefa[/h1][/center]
[center][h3]The Warrior and the Prostitute - Part 1[/h3][/center]

[hr]

	The House of Ambrosia had nothing to do with food, nor was it much of a house. In reality it was a cramped area of the old city where an open sky market used to be. Where stalls used to be crammed between the hefty stone buildings and dark alleys, now stood seductive men and women. Some were free, others stood on raised platforms to be sold indefinitely. A certain rot overtook this part of the old city -- it was in the rotting gutters of the buildings, the rotting platforms of the slavers, in the very soles of the inhabitants sandals. Whoever coined the name for this market of vice clearly had a sense of humor. 

	But it was here in the House of Ambrosia that a certain man of a certain type lingered. He never came to partake, yet his presence brought a smile to some of the prostitutes faces. He was a tall man with an ugly face, meaty arms and a scarred back. His nose was busted at an angle from a life of fighting, and a hefty bronze axe dragged on his belt. His name was Eriff, and he was a warrior.

	One of the smiling prostitutes ran up to him. She had age written on the sides of her dark eyes and her aging dress of flowy greens hinted at a once prosperous career being snuffed by time. Recognition as well as a slight greed reflected in her eyes at the sight of Eriff. Her name was Pricilla, and she was a has-been. 

	“Eriff!” She linked an arm around one of his, the very action pushing back the thoughts of any of the other men and women of the House. Eriff gave a split-lipped smile.

	“Pricilla.”	

	 Pricilla’s smile faded and she nodded. Eriff’s shortly followed and he furrowed a thick brow, “Again?”

	“Again,” Pricilla confirmed.

	“Who?”

	“I don’t know his name, but I can take you to his post.”

	“A guard!?”


	“What of it?”

	“I’m not looking to get arrested.” Eriff crossed his arms over his chest, forcing Pricilla to let go.

	“Eriff,” She placed a hand on his shoulder, “You can have all of it this time, I just can’t be humiliated like this again. Once word gets out-”

	Eriff held up a hand, “He better be skinny.”

	“And small,” Pricilla nodded.

	“I don’t need to know about that, Priss,” Eriff groaned and Pricilla hardened her stare.

	“I mean he is short, Eriff.” 

	“Oh,” Eriff made a face, “Of course.” The man looked around, other eyes digging into him -- awaiting their turn. He let out a sigh, “Bring me to the post, but this is going to be fast and quick -- understand?”

	“Fast and quick,” Pricilla parrotted, then mumbled, “typical man.”

	Hooking her arm back through Eriff's, the prostitute began to tug him away from the House of Ambrosia and through one of the many dark alleys that spiderwebbed through the old city. They stepped over puddles that never seemed to go away, through stale clouds of miasma that had the same permanence in the back city, and past crusty fragments of a life long lost that could have once been a person (another seemingly permanent fixture in this part of the city). The greedy dogs who took the form of men with knives and men with lust that often hunted in the alleys gave Eriff a wide berth, an angry recognition in their eyes -- forcing proud sneers from Pricilla as they passed by. 

	Now and again a prostitute on her or his way back to the House would greet them with a smile or a small “Hey Eriff!” but the business painted on Eriff’s visage often told them they wouldn’t get much more than a “hello,” or grunt depending on their friendship with the warrior. The rest of the walk was much of the same on a loop -- that was until they neared the Southern gates.

	The Southern gates stood apart from the rest of this part of the city in the same way a diamond might shine out of a dungheap. It was well washed in the sun, often upkept, and adorned with shining guards. It was often hard to believe it actually existed and wasn’t just some strange reflection of the sun playing off of the muddy puddles that run between it and the border of the old city alleyways. But it did, and it was impressive.

	A lot of the younger and newer Southern guards tried not to look Eriff’s way -- his reputation preceding him in some cases, while the older guards gave him a mix of gritted teeth and respected nods. Unfortunately for Eriff, the only guard he needed to talk to on his way out of the city was an older and angrier man.

	“Where are you heading Eriff?” Lesser captain Tramian crossed two white haired arms across a wide if not aging chest of bronze mail. He wore a simple bronze cap, but his own dark skin and hardened scowl made it seem like the helmet extended down past his face and was simply decorated with the anger that he always wore on his flesh.

	Eriff looked over at Pricilla, “Somewhere private.”

	“Whole city not private enough for you?” Tramian pushed.

	“I’m a noisy lover,” Eriff pushed back.

	Pricilla stepped in between them, “Eriff is being silly as usual Captain Tramian, you know how he is -- he doesn’t partake.”

	“Oh I know how he is -- which is why I’m a little skeptical that him leaving the city is for anything good.” Tramian prodded a finger into Eriff’s chest. Pricilla pinched the finger between her fore and thumb, pulling it away before Eriff’s scowl grew any deeper.

	“My sister is staying outside the city,” Pricilla explained, her eyes flickering to Eriff -- who on command took a surprised face.

	“Why so secretive about such a thing?” Tramian tilted his head, his skepticism replaced with the gossip loving curiosity he was so known for.

	“Don’t tell him,” Eriff said beyond gritted teeth.

	Tramian leered at Eriff, “Tell me.”

	Pricilla frowned and leaned in close enough for Tramian to get a gagging mouthful of her perfume, “She was struck with leprosy.”

	“By the gods!”

	“I hired Eriff to see me safe from bandits so I can find her and take her final wills, see if she needs any supplies before her exile.” 

	Tramian eyed the two before nodding slowly, “You two cannot go unsupervised.” 

	“What?” Eriff grunted loudly, catching the attention of the other guards.

	“If you contract her curse and bring it back into the city it will be on my head,” Tramian explained angrily, “I’ll go with you two -- ensure the city’s good will.” 

	“But Captain Tramian!” Pricilla protested, “The gates without you would be lost, no that will not do.”

	“Are you telling me how to do my job?” Tramian crossed his arms and frowned.

	“A suggestion, then?” Pricilla offered.

	A receptive silence was her answer.

	“How about you send someone in your stead? Like... um... him!” She pointed at a short man dressed in the guard uniform -- a look of surprised recognition overtaking the man’s face.

	“Fine,” Tramian agreed, “Lefrin, escort this pair, would you?”

	“But sir!”

	“Gods braze my bottom, is everyone fixed on being difficult today!?” Tramian shouted, forcing the guard to attention. His stare turned sour and Lefrin motioned for Eriff to lead the way. Before long, the southern gates were behind the sudden trio, a proud fox’s grin hidden on Pricilla’s face. 

	With the forest ahead of the three -- this will mark the start of an interesting story. 

[hider=Summary]
We visit the House of Ambrosia -- an old open market place in the old city now gone red light district. Here we find Eriff -- a prostitute’s best friend, and Pricilla -- an aging prostitute. Pricilla hires Eriff to deal with a client of hers, a guard. They find the guard at the southern gate and use his commander officer to get him assigned to escort them out of the city to see Pricilla’s sick sister, who doesn’t exist. We end there.
[/hider]