[The Grand Bazaar] To Market, to Market to Steal a Fat Pig (Dark please)

[Nessani Kemenlo]

35 Imperos



It was absolute and utter gypsy heaven, Nessani thought as she stood in the middle of the Grand Bazaar, letting the sights and sounds wash over her senses. The sound of the hawkers crying their wares stirred up her blood and made the tips of her long fingers itch to touch new things. Eyes as blue as the sun closed momentarily to sharpen the other senses. She could smell people and animals and sand, all mixed together, and somehow, for the gypsy that scent was heady. Anora would likely call it "stench" and crinkle her pert little nose, but the wilder cousin inhaled it greedily. Even the jostle of warm bodies didnt annoy the girl. It reminded her of the flood of people present during those rare and special occasions when several kumpanias would come together.

Long lashes fluttered open again as Nessani moved into the crowd, her faded blue-green skirts swishing around and between her legs as she moved with purposeful strides. She wanted to take it all in - from one end of the bazaar to the other - before her mistress concluded her day's business and finally noticed the gypsy slave's absence. Occasionally, she would stop at a stall and slide her fingers over the wares, noting the softness of the silk, the coolness of an ivory comb. She had no coins with which to buy anything, but that didnt stop her from looking.

A sound, faintly musical, floated to her on the breeze and Nessani stopped to listen. She cocked her head to one side, sending her dark hair cascading in a waterfall across one bare shoulder. The source of the sound eluded her - perhaps it was a lone musician, maybe the wind whistling through a tent flap, or perhaps it was simply the din of the people, bartering and trading at the top of their voices. Whatever it was, her feet wanted to dance, to find an empty spot in the crowd and spin and twirl. It might bring a shiny coin or two, she reflected, eying a scarf in a raucous shade of orange. But the suns were too hot and the crowds too thick... it would definitely be more work than it was worth for the paltry few coins she was like to get off of the charity of these people.

And dancing wasn't her only skill. Anora's presence had thusfar been the only thing that had kept Nessani's light fingers in check, but the stuffy mistress wasn't currently here.

Nessani's demeanor shifted from that of a child at festival to an artisan selecting her work. She was only marginally experienced at the art of pickpocketing, but thievery was in her blood. Her mother was Morganesse Kemenlo, a leader in one of Medonia's guilds of thieves. Ness had traveled there with her as a child, smuggled into the underground to mutely witness her mother's work. When her father caught the seven year old Nessani trying to imitate the art, he had put a stop to her forays into gaje cities. Her father didnt know that Morganesse had since then taught Nessani the basics of pickpocketing.

She glided now through the crowd with the skill of a dancer, her hands innocently crossed behind her back where a tattoo of flame erupted from the waistband of her skirt and disappeared again beneath the loose white blouse that tied just beneath her breasts. The crowd was pushing and shoving so much in efforts just to get by that no one should notice one more tug. It would be better if she had a dagger, of course, but people were careless and she'd always been lucky. Those born to the element of air usually were, gliding through life with ease.

Quick as a snake, it caught her eye, that tale tell bulge that usually meant a load of gold coins just waiting to be plucked. Scanning the crowd, she determined who might be looking her way and whose attention was obviously on their own business. She schooled her face to innocence and nonchalantly reached out, closing her hand around the prize and pulling - gently enough that it could have been an accident, yet insistent enough to pull it from loose laces. Win or lose, she intended to go on as if nothing ever happened, burying her hands and their contents in the folds of her skirts and losing herself in the tide of the crowd as it ebbed and flowed through the heart of the bazaar.






OOC: if I made too much of an assumption, just kick me and I'll retract it!

[Darkmavrck]

The Bazaar didn’t carry the word grand in its name for nothing. This city was where all crossroads met, merchants of every land visited this lost gem, and to pass through the west was to pass through Arakmat. Here was the only place in the desert you could find things from Prime, and here was the best place to find the trinkets of the desert lands. The air not only carried the scent of men and women’s natural odors but was also laden with heavy incense, perfumes, and oils. Freshly cooked meats and sweet juices were tossed around from venders in every direction, if one needed a cheap meal all they had to do was dawn a set of fair clothing and act interested in the right merchants fineries.

The other thing the open air market was thick with though was thieves. Children, the elderly, the rich and poor all participated in the art. Here in the desert it was more then a way to pick up an easy coin, it was a way of life, and sport. The laws on thievery were strict and to be caught would cause unimaginable damage to ones person, thus one had to be good in order to survive unscathed.

Nessani had chosen a good time to take up the art of pick pocketing though. Today was especially busy in the grand bazaar and people were shoulder to shoulder shoving about and working their way through the crowd. The woman’s natural grace as a dancer aided her fluid movements and as she picked a target based on the size of his purse, it was no doubt the poor fool was an outsider. As Arakmatans knew the bazaar was a hotbed of activity, none born of the city were dumb enough to wear a purse in plain sight, let alone leave it loosely dangling from their belt. In many aspects the desert nomads would say the idiot got what he deserved and it would serve as a valuable lesson the next time crowns were in his pocket.

The leather pouch was about the size of a large apple, tight and plump with a bit of weight to it. In the thick groupings of people once the gypsy had moved on she was gone from her prey’s sight and her prize was safe in her hand, that is unless someone managed to pry it from her fingers. Once out of harms way and prying eyes, the woman would find inside the fine little pouch 25 crowns, a few scraps of paper, and a small silver pendent in the shape of star, that was at one point hung from a chain that was no longer attached. All in all, not a bad catch for a novice of the trade. The real question was whether or not she wanted to push her luck and try again, or simply find something nice to buy with her new found funds.

[Nessani Kemenlo]

The satisfying heft of the pouch as it came free in Nessani’s hand brought a smile to her full lips. There was an exhilaration in success that was addictive. She continued to walk along with the tide of the crowd until she had wound her way to another side of the bazaar. Only then did she allow herself a quick glance at the contents.

A handful of gold coins, not a bad catch, she thought to herself, though in all honesty, she had been surprised that someone was so careless with their money. One of those coins would eventually be tied into her hair. The rest would likely go to Anora to pay down her slave debt – once she came up with a suitable story for where the coins had come from, of course.

The star pendant caught her interest and she pulled it out, twisting it between her long, thin fingers as she inspected it. Without a chain, there was not much it was good for, unless she tried to sell it, but doing that so soon after having stolen it would be the epitome of foolishness. She made a mental note to find a chain for it as she dropped it back into the bag.

The last item in the purse caught more than just a passing interest. Nessani pulled out the scraps of paper and pulled the pouch’s ties closed. With the papers tight in her fist, the gypsy tucked the pouch beneath her white blouse, into the valley between her full breasts. One little shove to each side of her cleavage to even it all out and then Ness was free to peruse the scraps in her hands.

She wasn’t an avid reader – Air’riela didn’t have a written language of their own, so it was unusual that she could read at all – but her mother had made sure that she at least had a basic understanding of the common writings of the Aelyrian people. Still wandering somewhat aimlessly, Nessa split her attention between the papers and what was going on around her. She flipped through the scraps, glancing up between each sheet to keep an eye out for her next prize.

One success had definitely whetted her appetite for thieving, but waiting for chance would only give her random loot. What did she really need? Well, a visa would be helpful for getting her into other gaje cities. Anora wouldn’t approve, but Ness would hold it in reserve for the day Anora no longer owned her. More pressing, she thought, would probably be a dagger, something with which to protect herself, should she need it, and would definitely make snagging gold pouches a little smoother. With a prize in mind, Nessani turned her attention toward finding a dagger that she might just slip from someone’s loose sheath.

[Darkmavrck]

The tiny star pendent was of very simple design five simple little bars laid atop one another and soldered together about the size of the woman’s thumb nail with a tiny loop on the top just big enough for a delicate clasping chain to be run through. A shining beauty that was most likely meant to make some child very happy.

Perhaps Nessani should have been born into the katta race rather then the human for she was more curious then a kitta in yarn factory. The scraps of paper were empty save a few that had simple notes on them like 103 or apples oranges, and the final a scribbled mess barely legible as The Desert Rose. The whole lot of it didn’t make much sense, at least to an outsider like her, though anyone from the city would have a shrug of curiosity to offer in response as well.

As she paced the Bazaar people bumped and shoved her toward the edges and a few even tried at a cheap feel on her rump as they passed, though picking out what hand directly grasped her flesh would be a feeble ambition. Finally though as the woman tucked the scraps of paper away and really took in her surroundings the gypsy would find herself very lost. The aimless wanderings had shoved her down a dark ally or two that had a few shadier merchants in it and little else.

The men eyed her with dark eyes, and rotted teeth being wetted like she were some swine meant to be cooked for dinner. A few of them chuckled as they watched from behind their counters maliciously waiting for a moment when they could grasp her sweet tender body. Karma it would see was in full swing on this brightening. Then before Nessani could make her choice of how to react a sharp jerk tore at her hair yanking her head back as a razor sharp blade lay just under her throat.

“Serale thief, you passed your first initiation test. If you want to have proper training bring the things listed to the rose, wearing that star about your neck and the room is yours to use as you like. You have one candlemark, however if you fail, well Arakmatan law states that a thief shall lose their hand as payment. Understand my dear?”

[Nessani Kemenlo]

If her assailant expected her to wimper or beg for mercy, he would be left unsatisfied. It wasn't that Nessani didn't realize the amount of danger she was in or value her life enough to care. The gypsy was just too stubborn to allow herself to display such a weakness for the amusement of the lowlifes watching in the alley.

"Your breath stinks," came her initial reply, her lips curling in a sneer as she spat the words out into the air.

One hand shot up to grab the wrist holding the knife to her throat. She dug her nails into the flesh and pushed against the arm. Her other arm aimed behind her, intent on elbowing whoever it was in the gut. She hadn't given up to the slavers of Vortex without a fight and she certainly wasn't going to let this ruffian get away without one either. The fact that he had her by the hair infuriated her. Air'riela tended to be vain about their tresses and Nessani was certainly no exception.

"What room? What rose? What fething list?!" she hissed through bared teeth as she struggled against her would-be benefactor. She was sure it had something to do with the scraps of paper that she had found, but none of it made any sense and his offer made even less.

[Darkmavrck]

Nessani would soon find herself very disappointed with the results of her struggles. As the woman’s nails went to dig into the flesh of her captor they were met with hard leather bracers that not only jammed her nails back but with any pressure broke the tips of them. Her unfortunate elbow met the same fate as well. The hard bone of her arm went numb as it felt like it had bounced off stone, in fact more hard leather armor worn under the fabrics of her assailant. “Tisk tisk child, a thief knows their opponents strengths and weaknesses.”

With one quick jerk the mans left hand hoisted her body upward by the tuft of her hair, while his right pulled the blade from her neck, nicking her flesh enough to cause a small line of blood to dribble down her protuberant curves. Any short pains or worries this small cut may have given her were quickly replaced however by the same hand using the handle of the blade as a knuckle break and slamming into her midsection, just below the ribcage into her kidney. The punch sent overwhelming shockwaves through her gut and up her spine as the man twisted his wrist and in turn her hair around with his second arm and then forced her down to her knees facing him. His hands left her body as he stepped back out of her reach and for the first time she caught a glimpse of the man attacking her.

Before her stood a cloaked figure, hiding behind fabrics of light yellows and browns easily blending into the sandstone buildings surrounding them. His face was hidden below the hood of the light material save his jaw which stood mocking her, contorted into a devilish smile. The plump pink lines of flesh broke speaking slowly and clearly so that she could understand his low and soothing tone. “It seems I may have overestimated your abilities Barripoari. Now you have the information you need, use your wit, all true thieves are apart of the guild in Arakmat, we protect our own, we teach our own and as a group we live free.”

The man slowly started backing away down the dark ally his face never truly being revealed to her beyond the smug smile that stared down at her. “Remember chavi, you have one candlemark.” Then as fast as he had grabbed her, the man was gone, turning and sprinting down the ally and into thin air it seemed leaving Nessani to her self.

[Nessani Kemenlo]

Nessani slumped to the ground, her arms protectively wrapped around her middle as she waited for the waves of nausea to pass and the spots to clear from her vision. She looked up to the source of the voice that was mocking her, but was disappointed to see only a dismembered pair of lips. Her father would be furious with her if he saw her now. Her mother… well, the master thief would tell her it was a hard lesson learned.

Get up, Ness, she silently scolded herself as she watched his form recede from wherever he had come from. Get up now and get away from here before those toothless gits decide you’re easy pickin’s.

She forced herself to her feet, ignoring the pain in her belly. Retracing her steps as best she could, Nessa walked in a painful haze. Her belly hurt every time she took a step – every time she took a breath, for that matter – and now, her head was beginning to throb. She didn’t want to go all the way back to the bazaar, at least not yet. She needed to regroup first.

She kept her eye out for an empty alley where she could sit alone for a moment and figure things out. She wasn’t joking when she said that she had no clue what he was talking about. Maybe she just needed to look through the bag again with a clear head.

Once she had left the unsavory folks behind and found a relatively isolated spot, Ness pulled out the pouch from where she had hidden it in her décolletage. Sitting there, she allowed herself a moment of self-pity. This was not how she had wanted her day to end up. She could just run back to Anora. The necromancer would protect her property.

‘And then what, Ness, cling to Morwen’s skirts for the rest of your life? Unacceptable.’

She imagined what her mother would say. Yes, you hurt, chavi. Pain is the whetstone on which we sharpen ourselves. So what have you learned?

‘I need a weapon and the skill with which to use it.’ Her head listed to one side as she thought on the question. ‘I need to be more observant of what’s going on around me.’

Anything else? Her mind filled in for her absent mother.

‘I learned that my attacker-teacher is Air’riela,’ she realized with a start. He spoke to her in Aire. Her people would never teach a gaje their secrets, even one so common as their spoken language. ‘Unlikely, but not impossible’ she corrected herself silently.

A faded scarf materialized from amidst the folds of Nessani’s skirts. The gypsy wrapped it around her neck, hiding the scratch on her throat even as she wrapped her thoughts around the puzzle laid out before her. It was true that she could run and hide, but what purpose would that serve? She wanted this training and to think it would come without a cost – or testing – was naïve. Besides, she intended to help Anora with her spice caravans. If she was going to bring a merchant caravan into and out of this city, she needed this contact to ensure the product’s safety.

Reaching into the pouch, Ness pulled out a handful of the gold coins and let them drop back into the pouch one at a time, eying each coin critically to see if they’d been stamped with any hidden messages that she had missed on her first perusal of her prize. She picked up the star and gave it another once over, certain that she would have caught anything peculiar about it in her first inspection. Lastly, she pulled forth the sheets of papers that had previously made no sense to her.

Bring the things listed to the rose, he had said. Well, obviously ‘the rose’ was The Desert Rose. The star was obvious as well, although she made a mental note to procure some way to hang it around her neck. She flipped through the scraps again, this time with all of her attention and some idea of what she was looking for. 103? Apples and oranges? Was she feeding the homeless of Arakmat? Nessani sat for a precious moment pondering the scribblings on the paper. It wouldn’t be time wasted if she could figure out where to start. It sure beat wasting time wandering aimlessly. But she didn’t have too long to consider. Only a candlemark.

[Darkmavrck]

“What is that, smells good.” A voice suddenly rang out in the silence next to Nessani. When she looked up two elder gentlemen had leaned against the wall beside her with their backs to the young woman. One had a thin white piece of reed hanging from his lip with a glowing cherry at its tip where a tendril of smoke slowly rose carrying the faint aroma of strawberries into the surrounding air. “Its tobacco from the rose, I bought a pouch and this reed when I was in there last time. You just fill it with the tobacco see, and use a match to light it and it gives you the ability to smoke whenever you want.” The second darker skinned male continued his explanation pointing out the parts and how to load the reed as the first watched with approving nods.

The conversation carried on like this for a while the men talking back and forth about the device and about their recent encounters at the establishment, their words sometimes slipping to the vulgar side as if they either hadn’t noticed the young woman beside them hunkered at their feet, or simply didn’t care. Then shifting slightly the second man leaned closer to the first and lowered his tone a bit. “So the other night I had the pleasure of enjoying a smoke with Musif and I asked him, what his secret to flavoring the herb was. He laughed and said he would never tell, it could put him out of business if every bar in town knew that, but then he tossed me an apple and said THAT. I looked at him and said, what this apple, and he just nodded and wouldn’t say another word about it.”

The first pushed off the wall and headed down the street away from the gypsy as the second followed close by. Their words quickly faded out of earshot but their conversation was enlightening to what the fruit on the scraps of paper were. It seemed now the woman knew what she needed and to where she was to take it, there was only one scrap of paper left with 103 scribbled on it and the tidbit of information that if she completed her mission the room would be hers.

The sun had drifted by and the heat was still in full force. For the most part the pain and sickness that had been flowing through her bones had subsided leaving her free once more to roam the streets. The crowns were at her disposal and she only had about 3/4ths a candle mark to collect the supplies.

[Nessani Kemenlo]

The presence of men's voices gave Nessani a start. 'So much for paying more attention to your surroundings,' she thought in silent self-rebuke. But at least she learned something as she listened. Not only did she know what she needed, she had also been told where to find it.

Gathering up the components of her test, Ness settled the pouch once again into the valley beneath her blouse. Rising, she took a moment to brush the dust off her skirt - a futule effort since it seemed to be well embedded in the fabric. Now that she had caught her breath, hopefully she could make up for lost time.

The Air'riela girl set out with a purpose, not completely certain of where she was, but with a plan formulating in her mind. She was too committed to back out now. Walking out into the street, she looked up one way and down the other, determining in which direction 'the Rose' might lie, before stepping forth. She would head toward the seedier part of town - it shouldn't be far since that was where she was accosted. The inn singled out as the classroom in which she would study her mother's art would surely be frequented more by ruffians and cons than by the upper class.

As she walked, Ness watched along the way for a vendor who sold ribbons. The gypsy man had said to come with the pendant about her neck, but he didn't say it had to be a silver chain and a ribbon couldn't sell for more than a silver, she supposed. She'd even pay for it.

And then on to the Rose to see about these apples.

What the 103 meant, she didn't have a clue, though she kept her eyes peeled for one (a clue, that is) as she walked. She also was cautious to observe the people around her. No more knives at her throat or men with smoking reeds popping out to surprise her.

[Darkmavrck]

Brushing her blouse off was more futile then she realized, for as soon as she made her attempt, the wind kicked up and reaffirmed its dominance over her cleanliness with another dusty gust. It was why people of the desert wore such thin material with either very, very loose knitting or, a knit of super fine thread so tight that nothing could work its way through. To say the least the “normal” fineries of the rest of the empire didn’t stand a chance of keeping a pristine appearance.

However this poor judgment was nothing in comparison to the assumption Nessani made about the location of the rose. The establishment was unmarked for starts, however, every Arakmatan knew its location, if she simply would have asked near anyone could have pointed her in the right direction of the fragrant tobaccos that rolled out of the tiny rectangular windows adorning the upper part of the first level.

After a bit of wandering and the shadier merchants eyeing her, the girl would realize that these were not the type of men that her assailant would be hanging around. He was more dignified then these common ruffians and street urchins. In the other direction however the fragrances similar to what her informants had been smoking earlier would slip into her senses over the heavy laden fragrance of incense and perfume of the Bazaar.

Along her way, there were a plethora of merchants shoving the fruit that she was supposed to bring to the rose into her face, and those that weren’t were shoving fabrics and jewelry there instead. It was up to her to decide how much of what she wanted, and she needed to hurry the candlemark she had been given was almost up.

[Nessani Kemenlo]

Time traveled faster in the desert city than it had in her kumpania or else the heat of the suns was playing tricks on her sense of time. Whatever the reason, Nessani realized that she was quickly running out of time. She was about to pick up her pace when she changed her mind and spun on the balls of her feet, turning instead to the nearest apple vendor. The man she had overheard didn’t say anything specific about the apples that had been used. They weren’t ‘magic’ apples or apparently rare in any sense – at least she hadn’t gotten that impression by the sound of his own surprise at finding them to be the secret ingredient to the tobacco. And if they were some rare breed, perhaps she could pawn them off to her assailant anyway.

Eyes as blue as the sky narrowed thoughtfully as she approached the apple cart. How many should she bring? Well, one hundred and three were certainly out of the question. She couldn’t carry that many and she was fairly certain that she would have to buy the whole bazaar out of apples to even come close to having that many. Well, without any clearer direction, one was as good as a dozen.

“How much for a sack of apples?” the gypsy asked, her nimble fingers already procuring the pouch of gold coins from their home between her breasts. She didn’t really care how much they were. All of the gypsies, dead and gone, would likely collectively roll over in their graves, but she had no time to barter for a better price. So long as she didn’t feel like he was robbing her of too many gold pieces – and so long as she had the crowns to cover the cost – she would agree to the price. Already her eyes were moving on to a vendor with strings of ribbons. She’d offer him a silver piece, wanting only one long enough to tie the pendant about her neck.

[Darkmavrck]

“One crown per apple, 12 in a sack.” The fat merchant spoke back with a heavy Arakmatan accent holding out his palm for the crowns the woman held. His eyes were hidden under the folds of a fat brow, and his meaty hands and chubby belly suggested that he was either eating far to much of his goods, or not at all. With a smile he thanked her and sacked up a bag of the fruit that, while a bit small for an apple, was just turning a ripe red color. “Want anything else, strawberry, fresh dates, orange, coconut milk?” His fast speech and heavy accent made it a bit difficult to understand but with a point at each of the fruits as he asked, there was no mistake he was after a bit more crown.

Once Nessani made her decision and moved on, arms full of fruit; she realized how hard it was to maneuver through the crowd burdened with weight. People were bouncing off her, and pushing the lithe framed woman about as if she were a leaf on the wind. In all fact, she had little chance of making a fast forward progress, but it was not only due to her newly acquired delights, the shopping day was in full form and everyone and their brother had seemingly flooded into the Bazaar. However as she did progress, catching the tail end of the occasional train of people a few merchants called to her offering the fabric she desired.

Most laughed at her pronouncement of offering a silver for a snip of their wares stating coldly that it wasn’t worth the time they spent listening to her offer. At last one gentle hearted merchant woman pulled a piece just long enough that the gypsy could wear the star about her neck like a choker and cut it free. The fabric caught the light and shined bright with a crimson hue. The elderly lady even offered to affix the star in the ribbon for the girl and tie it about her neck in a neat bow, waving away the coin when Nessani offered it. “There you are child, a lovely little star to watch over you in our city.”

[Nessani Kemenlo]

Nessani frowned at having lost half of her coins, but she handed them over wordlessly as curses flitted through her head. She really didn't have much cause to complain, considering she had started the brightening with nothing. She was still ahead by thirteen shiny crowns.

The gypsy girl smiled at the elder woman, holding her mass of dark hair up obligingly as the crimson ribbon was tied about her neck. Releasing her hair, she removed the scarf that had hidden the nick the blade had left on her skin. The bleeding should have stopped by now, she figured, and the open air would help avoid any infection that might set in. It wouldn't do to have to have her head cut off to remove the infection. Things like that got in the way of thieving.

"I am in your debt," she replied to the lady merchant in a deep, honeyed voice. "I wonder if I could burden you for one thing more? Could you point me in the direction of The Desert Rose? I'm supposed to meet my uncle there and I fear I'm already running late. He's like to tan my backside once I finally get there with his apples."

She'd already tried to find it on her own and had failed miserably. There wasn't enough time left in the candlemark to keep wandering aimlessly. Besides, she thought she had an inkling of what the '103' meant. It had taken most of the time alloted, but she thought she was finally catching on. The room that was to be hers, if the Desert Rose numbered their rooms, then 103 would be where she headed.

[Darkmavrck]

The woman smiled sweetly as she looked over the young girl before speaking in her soft weathered tone. “Of coarse you are my dear, it would be a shame if you were late. It is just up ahead through that alley.” The woman extended a finger pointing casually in the direction Nessani needed to travel before continuing. “It is the one with the great Iron doors. You won’t miss it I assure you.” She smiled as if she knew much more then she had let on and waved the girl from her shop in the direction she should go.

She quickly found the building indicated and upon examination found that the whole of it was made in native architecture, constructed of mud bricks and then smoothed to a flush smooth finish with mortar creating an eggshell color that contrasted to the natural yellow sand of the desert. The walls were lined with rectangular windows just large enough for an adult human to squeeze through along the top of the first level. However to keep such a thing from happening they were protected with decretive grates designed to look like a popular desert rose accented with scroll work.

On the second level, things were slightly more decorative with French style doors made from iron framing opening onto small balconies but what was behind said doors was hidden away by an assortment of colorful curtains. Most likely this is where the gypsy girl would find the fabled room 103. Perfectly aligned in the center of the street side face of the building stood a large arched doorway with two heavy iron doors. Moving works of art, they were engraved with a scene of lovely ladies ensnared in a tangle of rose vines and opened to a dark hallway that stretched back to the rear wall of the building.

Once inside she found herself standing before a massive Nairu male who towered over her lithe frame. His muscles were chiseled and his hands looked as if they could crush her head like a melon. Before progressing any further the intimidating fellow smiled wide and spoke in a deep heavy tone. “Bout time ye showed, Musif was tired of waiting. C’mon” He led her to down the hall and to a set of doors. Opening the one on the right he nearly pushed her through and slammed it shut behind. Inside Nessani found herself in a dimly lit area with a small table and two chairs stationed in the middle. Apparently it was her turn to wait a bit.