Khy'eras

If life were an apple, today would be the soft, rotten part that no one wanted. Well, that’s not terribly true, is it? Someone would want the scraps and the bits left behind. They would drudge through the trash and pluck such unwanted treasures in order to make ‘Madame’s mystery apple pies’. They would then, in turn, create flyers upon shoddy parchment for these pies where the things nearly crumble at the slightest touch. Then, those horrid little flyers would find themselves in the hands of a poor and unfortunate halfling looking for a mere two coins to rub together.

That’s what would happen to the rotten apples. Cruel profit twisted to a clever torture device all for Nalnis’ suffering.

Oh, if she could count the ways that she regretted this job. Firstly, the height of which the airship ports loom is wicked. How does it not fall apart at the slightest breeze like her buckling knees? Secondly, the waves of crowds were so dense the little dwarf was lucky to catch a gulp of air. Thirdly, and the most terrible of all, not a penny was earned until she got rid of all the flyers. If the gods were watching now, surely all this was for their entertainment.

“Excuse me, would you be interest-”

No sooner had she outstretched a flyer to an older gentleman did he spit at her feet, causing Nal to recoil and bump into another bystander. A flood of apologies sprang forth, a flush quickly painting pale cheeks a crimson rouge while her little heart twisted and turned in a panic; By the time the thought donned of offering this stranger a flyer, though, they had already walked off. A sigh, defeated and heavy, slipped past Nal’s lips and her head hung for just a moment. Such had been the trend all morning: Not a single soul met her eye nor even gave a moment to entertain the poor thing. At this rate, she would go home hungry once more.

Come on Nal, she rallied upon spotting a docking ship, be dwarven.

Gathering all her courage (which is to be not much at all), the halfling crossed the dock and placed herself right in the path of the offboarding crowd. Swallowing her fear, the dwarf shoved a hand out, flyer raised high and eyes squeezed shut.

“Good afternoon! Do you want half off a mystery apple pie?”

Flying tinderboxes. That's all airships truly were to Ruth. All that cloth, dried in the winds. All the wood, coated in water-resistant resin. All the metal, conducting heat so easily. She didn't even want to think of what was in the cargo hold. It kept calling to her, pleading to be set free – to be burned, cleansed and released from its corporeal form.

For days the siren's call went on, until a handful of pirates learned the hard way not to mess with any vessel she was protecting. The flaming spectacle proved a shock to the vagabonds, nearly burning their giant balloon right out of the sky.

Finally, there was release for that pent up magic.

It didn't come at no cost, though. The violent display of fire that chased off the airborne bandits also put fear into the very people, most of which were Fellsgardians, that she'd been hired to protect. It didn't take long to set in, the fellow travelers inching away from her as though she were a rabid animal from then on.

Truthfully, Ruth couldn't really blame them.

Thus as always, getting away from people became a priority, which was a challenge when one had nowhere to actually go. Her necklace ensured no angry outbursts resulted in flames, even if it did feel as confining as an invisible coffin. The rest? It was brooding solitude as far away from the crew as possible.

The warrior couldn't help but feel relief as the city finally came into view. A short-lived thing, really. Spotting the populace milling about beneath the ship was a stark, bitter reminder.

More people. She wasn't quite out of the woods just yet.

A longing glance went towards the main gate as Ruth reached for a little brooch hooked onto her belt. It was a cold piece of home, and a recent purchase she'd made in the Reaches. A simple iron thing, per her request, depicting a dark, cloaked figure in a circle. Ruth's finger ran absentmindedly over the word etched in an arc under her deity. She couldn't read it, but the craftsman had assured her it meant "Nilbein" in dwarven.

Finally, the gangplank clattered into place, jerking the woman's thoughts back from her frigid homeland. With a rumble under her breath, Ruth hooked the little brooch back onto her belt, adjusted the strap of the satchel over her shoulder and took off. She leapt onto the still-rattling wood, long legs eating ground and gaining instant distance from her fellow shipmates.

As far and as quickly as possible.

Per habit, Ruth plowed right into the crowd. And as she expected, the people parted like the sea before the tall woman that looked perpetually hostile. At worst here and there, she had to slow down a step, just long enough to let the fool before her realize they needed to get out of the way.

Used to bulling and glaring her way through, she certainly didn't expect the little halfling woman to appear like a sharp rock out of a thick fog. A curse leapt from the warrior, a violent, instinctive sidestep crashing her into another stranger. Or rather, knocking the poor man into a stumble as though he'd been hit by an unforgiving wall.

The two exchanged a brief glance, the man quickly deciding he had better things to do than take issue with the warrior over this.

"What the hell do you think you're doing?!" Ruth spun to snap at the halfling. "Get the fuck out of the way, pipsqueak! Before you get trampled." An aggravated growl leapt from her lips, the warrior already moving past to keep going.

"Dolt." Ruth added over her shoulder, shaking her head to clear the sudden fury out of it.

What the warrior failed to notice in the collision was that the brooch, not fastened securely enough, had popped right off the woman's belt. It proceeded to clink to the ground and roll, Ruth none the wiser as she grumbled onward.