[center][img]https://i.imgur.com/zp4Lnjc.png[/img][/center]
[b]//O11 - Deserted Backstreets[/b]
[b]“B-boss, we’re surrounded!”

“Damn, who knew there’d be so many after this one mark!”

“Shut up, you oafs…”[/b]

The halfling’s eyes flashed dangerously.

[b]“And you shut up too!”[/b]

Voi had kept calm under incredible stress. Certainly, his defiance was worthy of respect, the fair-faced youth possessing courage that others lacked in the same scenario. Perhaps it was a matter of his elevated soul. Perhaps he had already faced true death before, and was numb to lesser threats such as these. Perhaps, however, he had simply forgotten that just because the trio of thugs surrounding him were outnumbered didn’t mean that his own situation had improved all that much.

Which, perhaps, was why Voi didn’t realize that his balls were in jeopardy until the halfling’s fist had already finished an uppercut that sent stars flying up from his testes to his eyes. The Ichor-Blessed of Souls immediately felt the air expel from his lungs, felt the accompanying nausea that caused him to double over. Small hands slapped all over his body, before a triumphant cry sounded as the halfling’s fists closed over one of sewn pockets in Voi’s shirt. Snicker-snack went the blade, and with it, a part of Gareth’s bounty was ripped out from his clothes.

[b]“Damn, yer loaded! Bob, send ‘im!”[/b]

[b]“Aye!”[/b] Thick hands seized Voi next, the blob of a Bob grabbing him by neck and waistband, before summarily hurling him towards the scaly brawler who had a big voice and little of anything else. She had struck a more heroic adventurer-look compared to that gang of five. With any luck, the lizard-maid would be too busy fumbling with a hot new master to immediately pursue them, which meant…

[b]“CHARGEEEEEEE!”[/b]

Oratorio was a rough-and-tumble kinda city, after all. The kind of city where you could never run forever. And in narrow alleyways like these? A gang of six didn’t necessarily all that much more compared to a triad of three! Slender-lad sprinted first in, hurling sachets of powder at the frontmost of Talia’s men, clouds of dust bursting out to obscure the surroundings, before Bob the Wrecking Ball would undoubtedly follow suit, ready to wreck at their boss’s behest.

Now it was just a question…

Between the trio, who had a bit of money stolen, and the dragon-girl, who had all the rest of the money (as well as Voi himself) tossed at her, how much would Talia’s crew invest in handling these ruffians, compared to handling two Ichor-Blessed?
[sub][@OwO][@Theyra][@Izurich][/sub]
[hr][b]//O8 - Underpass[/b]
The Underpass was enough to get you drunk.

Spilled alcohol, rotting food, and the perfumed waste water of the Royal Road all settled in the Underpass, flowing off the pipes and the sides of walls before making it into sluggish ditches that gradually spilled into sewage grates. Canvas along the sides formed rudimentary tents for those forced to live down below, while the rattling of pans sounded like the falling of raindrops. Amidst that metallic ‘rain’ were other sounds too. Ramblings infused with delusion, the clattering of bone-dice against stone, and the occasional groan or rasping breath of ones not long for the world.

Adventurers passed on without notice. Merchants too, merchants who could not afford a pass through the Royal Road, held up perfumed handkerchiefs and rode on. It was the way of the world, after all. Everyone was out for themselves, and if they were not careful, if they were not diligent, they too would end up in the Underpass, sifting through refuse, licking the dirt off another’s boots for the chance at receiving a copper penny.

And sometimes, it wasn’t even a matter of laziness or ineptitude that landed one here.

Sometimes, it was just the misfortune of one’s birth.

There was a child. Couldn’t have been even ten years old, unless it was simply a cause of malnutrition. Her eyes were large, bloodshot with dark irises. A dress, ragged and dirtied, but showing a rare flash of color that implied it was once something prettier. Her hair, too-long for the Outer Layer, dragged against the ground as she walked back and forth, trying to draw the attention of those who passed by. There was a plea there, a plea from a throat too dry to do anything more than whisper it out.

But if one did not have the ability to scream, how could one hope to be heard?

A man with a weapon that was too brutish to be described as a sword knocked her aside with the back of his hand. He was accustomed to pickpockets who played at being helpless brats and strode on without remorse as the child felt her mouth and watched as a fragment of a tooth fell out.

It clattered like bone dice, settled.

She looked up, and her gaze met Ananta’s.

But she was just one child, out of many. It would be better to remain focused. Better not to take a detour.
[sub][@Kero][/sub]
[hr][b]//O3 - The Pallid Mermaid[/b]
There was a girthiness that occupied the mass before her, a heft that reminded her of bears, but the musk in the tavern was more indicative of the clients and the owner than anything her blessed sense could tell her. Stale beer and gamey meat. Hard bread, cracking beneath teeth. Heavy wooden mugs, slapping against the ground. The stench of tobacco and other herbs, forming a hazy fog overhead. This was no place for women or children, and in the eyes of these men, she was both.

A mug slid towards her, the sound something that she could react to well enough. A sip to be courteous, or chugging to establish some credentials; no matter how Elys chose to drink, she’d find that it was neither beer, nor mead, nor wine, nor [i]water[/i].

It was milk. Lukewarm and slightly sour.

[b]“Monster slayer, hm?”[/b] A gravelly voice from the bartender. She could hear something rustling. Perhaps the beard moving with the breath. There was no sense of judgment in his tone, no overt mockery, but a couple snickers from the other patrons could be heard nonetheless.

[b]“Couple o’ rats in the cellar for ya, girlie. Ain’t no good end fer kiddos playin’ at heroes though. Run ‘long home ‘fore yer old man finds you took his sword.”[/b]

Elys could sense another approach, their center of gravity swaying, before a meaty hand slammed in the counter beside her.

[b]“Aye, Crag, relax. She ain’t [i]that[/i] young.”[/b] A burp, and then that fat hand pressed against her shoulder, squeezing [i]possessively[/i]. [b]“If the girl wants to learn how to handle a ‘sword’, well, I’ll be happy to oblige, hehehe..."[/b]
[sub][@Estylwen][/sub]
[hr][b]//O4 - Main Streets[/b]
Ignorant of the divinities he had wronged within the span of but a few moments, Camille smiled guilelessly at Firenze. [b]“I must confess, Firenze, that I’ve not heard of Despina before. Please, tell me of your homeland. The merchants, alas, are more predisposed to selling stories to better sell their wares, while the adventurers are of a rougher stock, either taciturn or prone to flights of fancy.”[/b]

The young master smiled at Meisa as well, but outside of simply noticing her clean clothes, her unblemished skin, her pointed ears peeking out from her blonde tresses, there were no words exchanged between them as he lead the two elven ladies (who were both older than Oratorio itself) across the streets and past the entranceway into the Royal Road.

Not past, of course, in that they passed through it, but rather past in that they passed by it.

The trio passed by the next possible entrance as well, the guards shooting a steely-eyed gaze towards Camille as he strode on, entirely or intentionally oblivious to the ill intent of those uniformed men. Rather, the destination that the young master brought them towards remained within the Outer Layer still. This close to the Royal Road, it couldn’t be said to be a place of abject poverty and despair, but the two story building, constructed of brick and wood with clay tiles for roofing, could only charitably be considered cozy.

[b]“Please, come on in.”[/b] A twist of the key, and immediately, there was the smell of drying paint, a fresh stench made overbearing by concentration. He noticed their expressions, of course, and smiled apologetically. [b]“I’ve few opportunities to air this place out, madams. One can’t trust an open window in these parts, even when one has nothing worth stealing.”[/b]

And indeed, there wasn’t much at all on the ground floor. It was the atelier of a painter, filled with stacked canvas upon a dirt floor. A stove holding embers laid in one corner, while easels of different sizes stood around the open space. The young artist (downgraded from master, because he was clearly no master of anything) gestured for the two to make themselves comfortable as he walked around the building, opening up windows to let in both air and light.

A ladder provided access to the second floor, but Camille did not climb up there.

[b]“Would you two like some tea to refresh yourselves before I begin? Ah, and if your companion enjoys reading, Madame Firenze, I’ve a few books too for her to peruse, though honestly, they’re dusty tomes compared to what’s popular amongst those of the Road.”[/b]
[sub][@Asuras][@Click This][/sub]