None on Pearl Lane had imagined the the girl... boy? They couldn't tell, with how shaggy her hair had grown, the facial tattoo was clearly that of a Vieran boy, but the angles of her features, the curves to her body, they all contributed to confounding a declaration. The little droplets of fantasia she'd been stealing from the alchemists guild when taking the odd clean up job had been paying off. Slowly they encouraged her curves to develop, slowly yes, but they had been coming in. None had imagined that she'd be the one to stand in front of the crowd of street urchins on the Pearl. Not after they had teased her, berated her for her fortune and the fate of her family. Her father murdered, her mother strung out on Somnus and finally dead from it. Herself relegated to being a whore and a thief.
None of that street-rat pack had expected her to stand to the front and defend them. The Brass Blades hadn't expected it either. Not even the Ala Mhigan adults dared stand up to them. For her temerity she took a mailed fist right across the face. She'd spent a childhood taking her mothers hand across her cheek, and her father's cuffings when she'd disappointed. This was just another disappointed, angry, adult. She felt the blood seep from the corner of her mouth. The crowd of fellow street children staring on in awe as she didn't break and run.
"Give me the broomstick."
Her Coerthan accent was clear in her voice, as was the rage in it that ran as ice cold as the winds the calamity had brought to her home. None of them had believed any of her stories. Not about being the Fencing Captain, about having gone to a posh school. About her family being nobles. Her babouches found grip on the worn street cobbles. The length of wood in her hand was no sword, but she adjusted her grip to find the balance. Her eye locked onto the brass blade that had cuffed her.
She'd measured his swing, he was as clumsy as a butcher. Not even bearing the finesse of a gladiator on the blood sands. She would educate him on how to swing that shamshir.
It took her all of four passes with that broom stick to shock the sword from his hand. Her foot planted on it. Locking it to the ground beneath her body. Her expression never left that cold rage and ire at his demand for money that had led to this confrontation. She had fought hard, and with none of the coda of a formal duel. This was no place of honour. Her foot lashed out and she sent him sprawling further with the kick to his chin.
"You call yourselves the Brass Blades of the Balsam, servants of the syndicate. We're the Children of the Pearl, and this is our street. Leave."
And for that little gang of street rats? She became their Fencing Captain.
None of that street-rat pack had expected her to stand to the front and defend them. The Brass Blades hadn't expected it either. Not even the Ala Mhigan adults dared stand up to them. For her temerity she took a mailed fist right across the face. She'd spent a childhood taking her mothers hand across her cheek, and her father's cuffings when she'd disappointed. This was just another disappointed, angry, adult. She felt the blood seep from the corner of her mouth. The crowd of fellow street children staring on in awe as she didn't break and run.
"Give me the broomstick."
Her Coerthan accent was clear in her voice, as was the rage in it that ran as ice cold as the winds the calamity had brought to her home. None of them had believed any of her stories. Not about being the Fencing Captain, about having gone to a posh school. About her family being nobles. Her babouches found grip on the worn street cobbles. The length of wood in her hand was no sword, but she adjusted her grip to find the balance. Her eye locked onto the brass blade that had cuffed her.
She'd measured his swing, he was as clumsy as a butcher. Not even bearing the finesse of a gladiator on the blood sands. She would educate him on how to swing that shamshir.
It took her all of four passes with that broom stick to shock the sword from his hand. Her foot planted on it. Locking it to the ground beneath her body. Her expression never left that cold rage and ire at his demand for money that had led to this confrontation. She had fought hard, and with none of the coda of a formal duel. This was no place of honour. Her foot lashed out and she sent him sprawling further with the kick to his chin.
"You call yourselves the Brass Blades of the Balsam, servants of the syndicate. We're the Children of the Pearl, and this is our street. Leave."
And for that little gang of street rats? She became their Fencing Captain.
Mes speaks in a bit of an affected Rogue's cant
Yer jus' the bright egg out the studium aren't ye? How did I get m'wee fambles on a brass blade's shamshir? I suppose I musta asked real polite like~
Yer jus' the bright egg out the studium aren't ye? How did I get m'wee fambles on a brass blade's shamshir? I suppose I musta asked real polite like~