The Fateweaver [Nephero]

[Imperfect_M]

Most Essyrni wear their sheer or transparent fabrics. The temperature around the Oasis was  much kinder and more forgiving. The wind didn't bite and whip at one's flesh, and even the cold of the night allowed for some degrees of freedom to be taken when it came to one's fashion.

Like every day, the city's many markets were alive with the hustle and bustle of buyers, sellers, merchants and traders, customers and employers... All with their something to sell. The air was filled with the near-deafening din of workers selling their services, of merchants hawking their goods, or street performers showing off their latest trick. And amidst all the chaos skulked a rather short, robed figure. Clad in colorful cotton robes and face hidden behind a porcelain mask, she stalked about with very few barely even noticing her passing, let alone her presence. She pulled her headscarf up, wrapping even around the face of the mask and to not draw attention.

She visited the markets almost every day, this lone walking pile of robes. And all the time she would peruse the same group of textile vendors, like a creature of habit. The merchants knew her by sight, and none of them knew her by name; but they all simply called her "karayika," after a species of small crane. She could haggle like the best of them, and those amethyst, Thanati eyes were as sharp as razors when it came to quality. In the years since she had begun frequenting their side of the market, all of them knew not to swindle the "little crane." But she paid fairly and always would send new buyers their way... Perhaps, despite all the mystery surrounding that walking, billowing robe, the Little Crane was good for business.

This day, like most days, the karayika showed up to market, bought up spools of silken thread and bolts of cotton fabric, and disappeared into the city.

She had a room near the market, and many nights would be spent in lamplight, weaving beautiful silken cloth or sewing together clothing to be sold. Little Crane made beautiful work, and more than a few times she saw her sashes or sarongs worn by the upper class. It was nice to have some money flowing in... But the karayika never forgot her goal: Track down a curse-breaker, and have her Affliction taken so that maybe one day, she could live as Beyhe Kanayhen once more.

[nephero]

   You didn't get to be the top by letting your competition run next to you. No, you got to the top by being the best, and breaking your competition's legs for good measure.

   Seyed ibn Jahangir al-Muhjbat was at the top. And he would not stand for some little upstart making a name for themselves in his corners of the Essyrni markets. Or any markets. The first news he'd heard of this "little crane" had come from his servant Anahita, who had stepped silently up to his table to deposit...

   A sash. It had been simple, and certainly not richly dyed— more the cheap, common inks usually reserved for foreign nations under the illusion of being "top quality." But there had been no denying the skill that had gone into it. The detail alone was enough to keep even the presence of cheap dyes out of the equation. He'd held the thing in his bound hands, feeling the stitching through the thin barrier of his wrappings. Careful, precise, strong. The product of some skill, certainly.

   Paired with the right jewelry, it'd pass even in the grandest of dinner parties. Not that Seyed had gone to very many in the recent weeks— a fact that seemed to completely escape his latest acquisition, the little foreigner practically purple in the face as she screamed and stamped her foot at not being taken along— and it was remarkable how such a small, delicate creature could so easily drown out his own (totally not tantrum-y) screaming right back.

   More than once, Seyed had to question his decision to purchase the silver-haired slave, or at least until he caught sight of her during a calm moment and was very quickly reminded.

   He did have a terrible habit of collecting beautiful oddities. Which left him at his current predicament. Despite the late hour of the day, when the sun was high and even the tall white walls of the city couldn't keep it out, he was out in the thick of it. Well, in a manner of speaking— he was currently reposed under the shade of a covered litter, but the carved walls left plenty of openings for him to see out into the markets proper.

   Including the little crane.

   Anahita had been the one to point her out— though it wouldn't have been hard to tell her apart from the rest of the population. Of all the bodies pressed amongst all the stalls, all the merchants and customers and fish-out-of-water foreigners, no one was dressed like Karayika. Like Seyed himself.

   "Sir?" Anahita asked, quietly, and he didn't have to question what that single, simple word meant. Still, he didn't answer straight away, eyes narrowed behind the veil covering his face, mind racing back and forth as he weighed his options. On the one hand, he could easily make this little problem disappear. Hell, he could even do it without using his thugs. The little crane would vanish in the dark of the night and no one would be the wiser. And thus, whatever small amount of competition she presented would disappear right with her.

   But the artistry lost... He looked down at the sash in his lap again, felt along what was now incredibly familiar stitching. There was no denying the talent here. Making her disappear meant making all this disappear, too. And imagine what a price could be fetched if he added his own dyes to the mix— not just the cheap, shoddy mimicries, but the real deep blues, the purpling blacks and breathtaking indigos. Greens the color of seafoam, and all with the same, beautiful, intricate stitching?

   You didn't get to be the top by letting your competition run next to you. But you also didn't get to be the top without realizing when to take advantage of an opportunity.

   "Bring her back with you," he commanded, just as softly, before gesturing for his servants to lift the litter and begin the long trek back to his manor. Anahita, for her part, remained until he was long out of sight, gesturing at two other remaining guards to begin the slow process of tailing this little crane away from the busy markets.

   This part was delicate, which was why the prince had entrusted her to do it. Anahita was no fool— knock too many heads and you end up getting a reputation, and no matter what the quality of the goods, a poor reputation could undo decades of work and leave even the richest merchant prince utterly doomed. And so, Anahita aimed her blows right where it hurt everyone the most— the pursestrings.

   It was only a matter of buying up the available rooms within accessible distance of the markets. Only a matter of taking over where the little crane herself was staying. Only a matter of pushing the rental fees higher— much too high for a one-woman operation to handle. Only a matter of a little patience, waiting week after week, pushing it just to the point of desperation before moving in for the kill.

   And so, there was no one around when Anahita knocked on Karayika's door. No one but Anahita herself, and the two armed guards she'd kept on. No one to step in and play hero— neither financially or physically, if this little crane proved to be more resistant to matters than they'd planned.

   "You're four days late, wretch. Open up."

[Imperfect_M]

The say that the past few weeks had been "rough" would be a grand understatement. Somehow, perhaps through circumstance or simple greed, the rent had been driven up to unreasonable prices. Or at least, unreasonable for an operation like Beyhe's. She had haggled and conducted plenty of negotiations with her buyers and sellers, but no amount of clever wordplay was going to get her the amount of money needed to pay the price of her lodging. She had saved up some money, and it would take an act of the Divine to get her to reach for those silver and gold coins. Being evicted simply meant she would have to find a new place to live. But... That part was noticeably difficult: Everything in accessible distance of the markets she frequented had been either bought up or had rental costs far higher than what she could make as a weaver... Collectors would come for her eventually. She just needed more time...

Delicate, bandaged hands worked away at the small loom before her. It was no grand-standing piece of equipment like those found in dedicating weaving workshops, but rather something one could fit comfortably against the wall of a room. Clack, swish, clack... Various colored silken thread being bound together to form beautiful works of art. Weaving images and designs as one worked was an extremely complicated and long process... But the results were undeniably beautiful. In this case, she had woven together a stylized image of a mongoose locked in combat with a venomous snake. It was a common sight in Thanatos, but that made the dance of predators no less impressive. Beyhe's image was one frozen in time: A clever mongoose jumping out of the away from the aggressive lunge of a tree viper, its fanged extended as it aimed for the mongoose's throat. The shining emerald green of the viper's scales and the brown of the mongoose's fur did well to complement the deep blue of the rest of the sash. This would net Beyhe quite a bit of money, if she could complete it in time.

Unfortunately, the pounding of fist-against-door was one unexpected.

Her old landlord had been very lenient with her, as Beyhe had done more than a few favors on the old man's behalf. Though old Ibrahim seems to have disappeared and had been replaced with one much more aggressive and prompter person.

"You're four days late, wretch," roared someone from the other side of the door. "Open up."

Beyhe immediately stopped and looked up from her work. She drew her mask from beneath her robe and quickly placed it against her face. This was... Not going to be easy, and chances are she would have to fight in order to get out of here. She could easily slip away in the night if she could fight her way through whomever had decided to come to her home at this hour. As she approached the door, she reached beneath her robe and tugged loose the silk rope that held her sword against her side. It was a short, curved weapon, no bigger than a machete used to clear brush. But while the weapons of the Thanati Temple's warriors were developed from farming tools... This elegant and master-crafted Thanati steel was born to taste blood. However, it is the role of a Temple Warrior-Monk to know that taking a life is not a decision lightly made, and there is great responsibility in carrying a sword. Each life taken was one Beyhe had to carry for the rest of her immortal life; she would not kill if it could be avoided. The last life this sword had taken was that Necromancer that murdered nineteen of her comrades. She tied the blade's handle to its sheath with that silken rope and held it in the center like a baton.

"I'm closed. Come back in the morning," she whispered as loudly as she could while she stalked to the door.

With a moment of concentration, Beyhe caught a glimpse of her immediate future. One of the two guards would kick the door in and charge, his club raised. The other would follow in after him to try and flank her. With a work of artifice, she conjured a bow. The construct appeared, ethereal and beautiful in its own way, like snow or fog caught in the wind and molded into a form. The arrow she created was a blunt one; it would hurt, but it wouldn't go taking anyone's eyes out or gouging organs.

When the first man kicked in the door and entered searching for her, she let the ethereal arrow fly. It struck him squarely in the jaw and knocked out a few teeth, disappearing shortly after making contact. The bow disappeared and Beyhe quickly moved to drive the steel scabbard into the side of the man's knee. It landed, but not as hard as she would have liked. He howled and swung with his club, forcing her to double back... Which unfortunately made room for the other thug.

"Don't make me do this," Beyhe rasped. She should have known that they wouldn't take her warning. They rarely do.

Hardwood met steel as they exchanged blows. Beyhe moved around and between her two opponents with the grace of a dancer; the swiftness and light steps of her footwork made her seem as if she were floating above the floor as she parried and returned attacks to her two assailants. The stories of Thanati martial arts are true: Their movements were swift, beautiful, and surprisingly effective. Centuries of experience had given Beyhe a leg up over most combatants; most warriors don't live long enough to reach her age. But even so, an old, frail woman fighting two opponents in a closed space was a difficult venture, and despite all the blows she was landing, they were whittling her down.

Her Affliction reared its ugly head, and Beyhe suddenly found herself unable to breathe as she drew another in. Blood caught in her throat and she began hacking and coughing as she tried to fend off her attackers. Even when weakened and tired, she made the two thugs work for their keep. She found herself choking and gasping for air as she desperately parried and shunted away blows that surely would have knocked her down or out. She had taken a blow against her arm to protect her head, and the impact had ruptured her fragile flesh. The bandages covering her mouth became wet with blood as the Elf continued coughing. Another swing found its mark on her leg and she found herself tumbling to the floor as another swing barely clipped her sword-arm. Now that she was on her back, it should have been over... Should have. As the two moved in to apprehend her, Beyhe pulled a sash from a nearby box and used it to catch a swing from their clubs. The thug found himself caught with his wrist caught, and a quick kick to his knee had him down on the floor. Beyhe grappled him and, in a quick series of motions, had used the sash to tie his wrist to his own neck. She tried to stand, but that blow to her leg had not been a light one. She could feel the pain of more than ruptured skin... That one may have cracked something.

But despite her inability to get in a full breath of air and her injuries, she kept on parrying swing after swing. If she was going to get dragged off, it would not be without a fight. But with the moments passing and her energy running out, what little strength the woman possessed had left her, and the next downward blow from the Essyrni thug knocked the sheathed sword from her grip, and the club he carried found purchase right in her ribs. That was it; the final strike that had done her in. Beyhe's vision darkened, and she faded into unconsciousness.

All told, she had done quite a number against her two attackers... They would be feeling their injuries for weeks, if not months from now.