One morning, Sophia woke up with a feeling that something tremendously important was hovering just out of reach, and that if her mind could grasp it, everything would be all right.
She pushed it aside, and began dressing for work: simple clothes of dark green, with a buff coat to turn aside blades. From her belt she hung an arming sword and a parrying dagger. Thus prepared, she opened her lodgings' door and walked out into the market.
Sophia was immediately assaulted by a cacophony of cries and shouts, each vendor advertising his wares louder than the last. A huge tattooed man with an earring called, "Ships in a bottle! Galleys, cogs, longships! Take you where you need to go!" From a small figure swathed in a dark cloak covered in silvery dust: "Stars, two a penny! Galaxies, ten shillings!" One unsavoury man with green tattoos swirling on his face grinned at Sophia with pointed teeth. "Sylphs' feathers for the pretty lady? Ensnare men, drive rivals mad? No?" Sophia put her hand on the pommel of her dagger. "Bugger off, Mordecai," she growled. He backed away, bowing and scraping. "Jean-Pierre's men are looking for you," he hissed as he retreated. She shrugged and tossed him a crown piece. "Let them look," she replied.
The market swarmed with all types - gawking provincials fresh from the colonies, easy meat for pickpockets; furtive, hairy men from the unexplored forests selling the skins of white harts; stranger persons hawking the breath of fishes, or the hand of a hanged thief. One respectable old fellow with silver-feathered wings stood next to a vulpine gentleman sporting a pointed beard in a stall advertising "Miracles and Curses - Reasonable Rates". Several large men sporting weapons lounged around a sign reading, "Hawkwood, Sforza, Montefeltro, and Associates. The Old Firm. Condottieri at your Command."
Continuing past a number of other such remarkable entrepreneurs, Sophia reached her own premises. The sign outside her tent read "Sophia St. Clair. Adventuress and Quester. Unicorns captured, dragons slain, princesses rescued, princesses kidnapped, kingdoms overthrown. Enquire within for details." She sat down inside the tent and waited for business. Sophia had no need to cry her wares; those who needed her would find her on their own.
Briefly, she recalled her earlier strange mood, and was about to dismiss it as the result of too much venom-mead when she saw them - two young women about her own age. She knew immediately, with the instinct of a quester, that they were the reason behind the odd feeling; she was about to walk over to them when two hulking masses of muscle grabbed her by the arms. "Jean-Pierre wants a word," grunted one of them. Surprised at this loquacious display, Sophia briefly entertained the idea of complimenting him on his obvious intellectual achievements (far above the calibre of most of Jean-Pierre's hired muscle), but decided on reflection that the thug was unlikely to appreciate her subtle humour and instead followed them toward the centre of the fair.
ToTW 235: Mare Umbrae - Winner!
