This is part 2 of 3 of some work I did inspired by episode 10.5 of Writing Excuses (You can read part 1 here). It’s set in a fictional world that I don’t have a name for, but have dabbled in building over the last several years. This story stars Vanessa, a rogue I have as a backup character idea for a D&D 5e campaign.
I am not a thief, and don’t let the guards try and convince you otherwise. They have it out for me. You get caught snooping around inside an estate worth more than entire villages one time and you’re branded for life here in Windcaller’s Roost. It’s bigotry I tell you. If they had caught a guy in that manor loaded to the teeth with parchment, quills, and ink, they would have believed him.
“I wasn’t going to take anything, honest!”
They weren’t hearing it. Can you actually be accused of stealing floor plans? Apparently the answer is “yes”.
Which is why I’m here at the market today, to drop off this…thing. I probably shouldn’t look at it, whatever it is, even if it doesn’t seem dangerous. I was given this package that is about the size of an apple, weighs about as much as one, and is wrapped in greyish cloth. I was instructed to find a booth with an aqua coloured awning and purple beads hanging from the front. Around back, inside the booth, there was to be an orange vase with the Wolf’s Insignia on it that I should drop this package in to. Then I was to make like a tree and get the hell out. After that, they would expunge my record and I would be a free woman again.
Why am I working with the Wolf if I’m not a thief? Who gave me this package? Just what was I doing in that estate? What are you, the magistrate? In order: none of your business, none of my business, and working.
As I was quietly contemplating the injustices that the world had recently levelled against me, I realized I was probably near the centre of the market and had not noticed a single stall on my way in. Whoops. This Gray Apple isn’t going to deliver itself. Probably. I stepped out of the main thoroughfare, which had a goodly amount of foot-traffic in the noon-day sun. The day was warm, but not oppressively so, with a crisp, salty wind blowing in off the sea that borders the wharves this market found itself upon. I stopped my brooding to turn my face towards the sun, soaking in the rather enjoyable atmosphere of this bustling marketplace. I should bring Trish here some time.
I concluded my imitation of a sunflower and got to work examining the stalls around me, looking for the distinctive colouration my contact had given me. They had neglected to give me a general location to look for it, but I wasn’t too worried about that. Not much escapes my eye when I decide it should be seen. Given that axiom to work from, I got out my supplies, estimated how long I had been contemplating the injustices of the world, and starting sketching the area out around me. I had a couple stalls with labels like “red drapes, dark wood, rough-looking bloke with eye-patch”, “yellow and green drapes, light wood, selling fish (?), rough-looking guy with missing teeth”, and “beige cloth, beige wood, caricatures being painted by” - you guessed it - “rough looking dude with arm scars”.
I guess it hasn’t been that long since the Roost went legit. Upstanding folks like myself (stop looking at me like that) have only begun to feel safe here in the last decade or so. That was about the time all these fine fellas got muscled out of the sea and had to start meaningfully contributing to society instead of pillaging and plundering the people with estates worth more than villages (stop looking at me like that. I’m not a pirate, either).
I finished sketching out my immediate surroundings and began walking in an ever-widening, counter-clockwise circle out from where I started, filling out my impromptu map as I went. I got back to where I had entered the market, having mapped out what I estimated to be about 70% of the total area, and had yet to find any sign of the stall I was hunting for. Darn. I was going to have to do this the old-fashioned way.
I marched up to the stall with the least dumb-looking ex-pirate I could find and rapped my knuckles on what amounted to a counter to attract his attention. He gave me a quick nod of acknowledgement, gesturing to the older gentleman he was presently engaged in conversation with, and effectively conveyed a non-verbal “one second, please”. I guess I wasn’t in a terrible hurry. As I waited, I inspected the wares out on display. It looked like this fellow was selling weapons consistent with his previous life: cutlasses, flintlock pistols, daggers, various accoutrements to hold the aforementioned weapons, black powder, the like. I think I even saw an épée.
“Afternoon there miss, what can I help you with?” The shopkeeper approaching me looked to be in his late thirties or early forties, though that could be the sun and wind damage to his skin making him look older than he actually was. He was shaved bald with a thick, chestnut brown beard covering most of his face and encroaching on his upper torso. He didn’t bear any of the markings of serious damage one usually acquires in his line of work, which led me to believe he was one of the lucky ones who served on a pirate vessel without having to undergo much combat. Which would explain why he had a bunch of weapons to sell instead of use.
I withdrew my map of the market and unrolled it between us, jabbing a finger down over his stall (labelled “red and white, guns and swords, guy looking not-so-rough”) and declared: “We are here. I am looking for a stall with an aqua awning decorated with purple beads along the front. It isn’t any of these stalls…” gesturing to the mapped-out area I had already covered, “Do you know where it might be?”
He seemed taken aback at both my directness and my line of questioning not related to weaponry or the procurement thereof.
“Oh, ah, ummm, aqua awning you say? I, ah, umm, hmmmm. No, I can’t say I’ve seen it, sorry miss.”
I began rolling up my map right around “sorry” when he seemed to find his mental footing and said:
“While you’re here, though, might I interest you in one of these fine swords I have for sale? Someone as determined as you are is sure to find themselves confronted regularly with antagonists. I know my loved ones feel better knowing that I go out in to the world well-equipped, I’m sure your husband would too.” He had spied my wedding band, a thin bit of silver without any flourishes.
He wasn’t wrong. Well, I mean he was wrong about one thing - her name is Trish. But that’s besides the point.
I didn’t seek out trouble, but trouble had its ways of finding me. I thought about Trish, alone in the shop, and I came up short. Dammit. Stupid merchants tugging on my stupid heartstrings with their stupid scare tactics. I turned back to his booth and ended up landing on a short steel dagger, about twice the length of my hand, that fit neatly up my sleeve (I am not a thief!) We haggled over the price and I eventually wore him down to something much more reasonable, paid him (told you), and tucked my new blade away to hopefully never be needed.
“Good luck finding…whatever it is you’re looking for in that booth, miss!” He called after me as I began walking briskly away.
Well damn. I wasn’t on a time-table, but it was starting to get late, the sun inching closer to the horizon causing the temperature to dip. Some of the stalls had begun closing up, either selling out or calling it a day as the chilly wind began driving people out of the market and back to their homes. I wasn’t sure how long my target stall would remain active; it would be a bit conspicuous to be the only stall open at a market. As I was contemplating my next move, not entirely watching my surroundings, I ran headlong in to someone walking in the opposite direction.
“Hey, watch it!” I barked out reflexively. The person who had so rudely derailed my train of thought looked to be a lad no older than 16 or 17, in a long brown-grey cloak, sporting a shock of messy black hair. He mumbled an apology under his breath and scurried away. As I watched him go I felt…off balance somehow. I began checking my belongings: Gray Apple, check. New dagger, check. Old daggers, check. Coin purse, ch…Shit. Typical.
“Hey get back here! Thief!” I shouted, without a hint of irony in the statement. I broke in to a run as I started shouting, but he had the initiative and was already a good ways down this particular corridor of stalls. I’m not super tall, and this kid had a head or so on me, which translates to a longer stride. On the plus side, I’m in better shape than most people, especially teens who haven’t yet had to start working on their physical health and could still take it for granted.
I wasn’t sprinting at my absolute fastest to try and catch him; instead I was keeping a pace that would allow me to keep up with him for an hour if need be. If I could keep my eyes on him, I could outlast him. He encountered a T-intersection at the end of the corridor, rubbernecked left and right, and took off to the right. Good. He had no plan. Every decision I could force him to make would buy me time to keep wearing him down. If he hesitated like that one or two more times, I could drop in to a full sprint and catch him.
I rounded the corner he had hesitated at and assumed he picked this way due to its lack of traffic. All the shops this far back in to the market had already closed up, and it was just him, 40 feet of open docks, and then me. I poured on a bit more speed as I saw him nearing the end of this corridor, which only had one exit, to the left. I began cheating to the side, anticipating his turn, hoping to make up time by taking the inside track. But he didn’t turn. He checked over his left shoulder as he was coming up on the bend, and I guess I was a lot closer than he had anticipated. He stared at me for a split-second too long and flew right through the front of the stall at the end of this row, his torso catching the counter and his legs flying up over his head in an unintentional front flip.
I saw the top of his head over the counter as he scrambled to his feet and disappeared out the back, through the curtains that hung there. I slowed a little as I approached the stall, careful not to make the same mistake. As I reached the stall I planted both palms down on the counter, kicked both legs out wide, and vaulted it easily, coming up on the other side in a roll.
Where I came face to face with an orange vase with a wolf’s smile imprinted in to the clay, with a chipped left tooth. I did a double-take and quickly checked out my surroundings. Aqua awning. Purple beads. No shopkeeper, no wares. I stared at this vase for a couple breaths as I realized I had inadvertently found the stall I had been spending all day looking for.
The thief.
I hopped up and stuck my head out the back curtains. I was met with the sight of dozens of wooden crates, varying in size from about two feet high to a good seven or eight. We had hit the part of the market that met with the edge of the wharf, where it stopped being a place for merchants and became one for seafarers. I figured the thief wouldn’t be able to move too rapidly through this terrain, and if I could get up on one of the larger boxes I could probably get a good view of my surroundings, maybe catch a glimpse of his hair…ahhh screw it. After buying the dagger I didn’t have much money left in there anyway. Kid probably needs it more than I do.
I pulled my head back in to the stall and took in my surroundings more thoroughly. Pretty unassuming. The vase was one of several of various colours, ranging in height from about half a foot to three or four. My target vase was about three feet tall, tapered towards the bottom, with a wide lip and open top. I also noticed a sign on the counter, leaning against one of the posts holding up the awning that had a hastily scrawled “back in 20” drawn on it. I decided I didn’t want to find out if that sign was sincere or not and unloaded the Gray Apple.
As I made way back up the row of stalls that had so serendipitously dumped me in to my target stall, I filled out as much of the remaining portions of the map I had been putting together as possible. It was almost entirely filled in at this point. I made sure to take a quick detour to the missing parts before departing. Trish would love to have a “Map of the Windcaller’s Market” to add to our catalog in the shop.