I am neither Golden Lion Tamarin nor Darkvine! Nor anybody else who
has been named yet! It shouldn't be too hard to guess me if you pay
attention… The Assasin is modeled after a character who I use for a
number of other things.

Heh heh literally half of this post will be about my snake.

~~~

"I learned about frostnip and
frostbite during time I spent in the north. And when one travels often,
one gets to know many people. This Tavern is a wonderful safe haven, and
the Keeper is kind."

Satisfied that the Match Girl will keep her hands in the water, I retract my own hand, and reach under the table again for Fluffles, allowing him to slither onto my hand, and then lifting him up and placing him on my shoulder.

Fluffles, who I sometimes call Fluffy for short, is a juvenile corn snake. Corn snakes are constrictors, and not venomous, but Fluffles would never harm a fly regardless, unless I asked him to. He has brightly colored orange scales and a cream-colored underbelly, and he wears a blue and white snake-sized bandana. The bandana is enchanted, and both the snake and his bandana I got from a farmer in the south in return for killing a mud-beast that had been plauging her fields.

I walk slowly, head bent. The cold wind whips around me, tossing my black cloak up, fluttering like a raven's wing. My satchel bangs against my hip, the contents of the bag rattling. 

Tonight. I think. Tonight I'll go see her again. 

As soon as I think the words, my stomach twists. Procrastination ideas swim through my head.

I haven't seen her in years. Why should I now?

My soft leather shoes scuff silently against the cobbled street. A light snow begins to fall, snowflakes twinkling in the light. I breathe out, my breath becoming a plumed cloud. A delicious warm scent fills my nose and I stop. I find myself standing in front of a tavern, the only one I ever visit. I stare through the frost covered front window, contemplating entering. Everything inside seems calm, quiet. Behind me, a driver shouts and the crack of a whip follows. A carriage rumbles by, carrying several children giggling and laughing. I shiver in the wind it creates as the carriage rushes past, causing snowflakes to spin and dance.

My mind made up, I open the heavy wooden door and step inside. Chatter and the clink of cups greets my ears, a welcome change from the hustle and bustle outside. My eyes dart to the darkest corner, my usual spot, but there are already two people there. A young girl, it seems and someone slightly older. I sigh quietly and head to an empty table by the back wall. I sit and place my satchel on the table next to me.

I am hungry, but I wait to order. The Tavern Keeper appears busy, mixing a drink at the counter. I wonder if anyone will recognize me. Even by my black cloak alone, with silver moons and stars embroidered on the edge. In the market they always find me. I'm the only potion seller, after all. 

I peek my head out from the back room of the tavern. It’s bustling, what with the cold outside, and the cold tend to pay for a warm drink or three. In the two an’ a half years I been working at the Tavern, I’ve learned that it’s the sorta place that invites odd sorts. Tonight is no different.

I see the clockmaker, hidden in their usual table. I s’pose them and I are friends, almost. At least, I know him and he knows me and he never seems too sorry to see me.

I slip over to the Tavern Keeper. I only work here because his nephew, Branson, and I are friends, and I was hanging about for so much that the Tavern Keeper figured I might as well get a couple coins for it. Branson isn’t here today, though. He’s got a new apprenticeship with the farrier. The Tavern Keeper hands me the Clockmaker’s order, and I wind my way over to the table by the wall, spotting the Assassin out the corner of my eye. She comes here now and then, and though we got no proof, we all know of what she does. Many look at her with fear and suspicion in town, but I can’t think of much that she would want from me. She seems fair enough, doing her job and nothing more. ’Sides, if she dares go fer any of my people, I’d bring the whole town up against her, proof or not. Working where I do has its benefits.

Next to the Assassin is the Matchmaker. She is outside the Tavern more oft’n than not, calling on the passersby to buy her wares. We aren’t friends, but I often think we could be, if I tried. Mayhap I will sometime around.

Arriving at the Clockmaker’s table, I hand them their order with an exaggerated bow and adopt the highborn accent that so many of the nobles carry.

“For you, my liege. An order of the finest food in the kingdom,” I tease.

They chuckle. “Thank you, Nixie.”

I smile. “Any interesting orders recently?” The Clockmaker’s shop gets some odd sorts, just like the Tavern, so he always has some interesting tales.

“Not much, the shop isn’t too busy at the moment. Some interesting problems with a new system of gears – I’ve never seen anything like it before. Of course, in terms of gears, the original design is usually the best, but still, this does present some new possibilities… But of course, I suppose that you wouldn’t know what I mean.”

“Ah, it’s still interesting, though! Tell me, have you-”

“Nakisha!” The Tavern Keeper voice rings out. “Stop flapping your jaw and get those orders out!”

I sigh. The Tavern Keeper might as well be family, but their gruff air and no-nonsense attitude doesn’t let me get away with much while on shift.'“Anything else?” I ask.

“No, thank you.”

I scamper back to the Tavern Keeper, who is waiting with another drink. Perhaps I can fish for some more stories later.

Content that the girl is cared for and Fluffles is comfortable, I settle into my seat, let my antennae spring up from where they've been hidden amoung my hair, and refold my moth wings, shaking them out and folding them the way they were meant to be folded. Theyve been modified to collapse and fit under a cloak, and they do it pretty well, but having them arranged properly is better. There's some prejudice against the insect-folk, but not in this area, and while the wings are recognizable everyone here knows about both me and my wings anyways.

I survey the room. The Lamplighter is still eyeing me in contempt, and the Barmaid doesn't look to happy with my presence either, but otherwise nobody minds me. Aside from the Lamplighter, nobody here has anything against me other than the same stupid prejudice that forces my people to hide their wings. Sure, I do my job, but it's not like I want to do it, and it's not like I've ever dealt with anyone they know either. My buisiness stays out of the city. Except for that one job five and a half years ago… but that was a long time ago, and I needed the money, and it isn't like any of these common folk would have known him.

Fluffles winds around my neck comfortingly. Insect-folk have a way with any creatures that are despised by people. Insects are obviously our largest area of control, with even the most untrained being able to command multiple, but arachnids, arthropods, snakes, and a number of other species are within our control. Snakes are some of the hardest to control, with even the most masterful being able to only suggest actions to their minds, but they are relatively easy to communicate with and are happy to lend help. Perhaps thats why I like Fluffles so much. His staying with me is his choice, for I have no control over his will.

I stand and walk to the counter, weaving through the many tables and customers. On the way I pull back my hood. My short, light aburn curls spill out and fall around my shoulders. My hair used to reach down to my waist, but I hacked it short a few months ago, leaving the ends frayed and roughly cut. By the time I make it to the counter, the Tavern Keeper is finished with their previous task and is shouting to the Barmaid. They turn to me with a sigh.

"Hello. Can I get you anything?" The Tavern Keeper's spectacles wink in the lamplight and they smile a tired smile.

"A bowl of parsnip soup and hot lemon tea, please. 

"Your order will be ready soon," The Tavern Keeper says, their voice warm.

I slide a gold shilling across the counter and turn away, pulling my hood back over my head. I walk to my table and sit down. I absentmindedly play with the strap of my satchel, thinking. About her.

Not sure if you were asking me, but I am not Darkvine nor Luna Silvermoon.

@the clockmaker, might you be Jaybells? 

Ye, I was in fact asking you. 🙂 hmm, sooner or later I'll figure out who you all are.

~~~

I glance out the window. The moon has truly risen, and dusk has truly fallen. It is time for me to go. I tell the Match Girl that if she ever needs anything from the Tavern to charge it to my account.

I pay the Tavern Keeper not in coins, but in pest control. Little does the Barmaid who glares at me know, but the miraculous lack of mice and rats and bugs from the Tavern is not the herb packets she hangs in the windows but instead my patronage.

And now I really must leave. I slip from my seat, heading for the door. I need some time to get me where I need to go, especially because I wouldn't put it past the Lamplighter, nor anyone else here trying to get dirt on me, to follow me, so I'll need time to lose any tails that I've picked up. I don't want this little detour to the Tavern to cause me to lost my next client.

I silently walk along the cobblestone road in the dead of night, the stars shimmering at me. 

as I walk, rats and stray dogs look up at me, ears perked. they do not run away. 

a fight breaks out in an alley near me. I close my clawed fist around the emerald concealed in my sleeve, the only link to my past. someday I fear that it will be stolen, or lost…

My feet are soundless, weightless. They make not even the little pitter-patters of mice feet. My arms–long, flexible, strong. Wonderful for pulling a bowstring. My legs, long. Nimble. Good for leaping from shadow to shadow, unseen by all. My face–hooded. Eyes–gray, flashing like a thundercloud hidden in shadow. My hair–pulled back into a long, blonde braid, cascading down my back.

A movement behind me–I load an arrow and pull my bowstring–taut. I crouch, my legs nimble and ready for flight, if needed.

There–a thief blunders through the forest, thinking he is unseen by all–but I know better.

The thief stops to rest and I let my arrow fly–it pins him to a tree by his collar, and he grunts and struggles–much like a hog.

"Y-Yeh better let me go!" he says gruffly, struggling to remove the arrow from the tree and his shirt.

"Give me your bounty," I say, disregarding his words. "And then I may be so generous as to turn you in to the sherriff."

"A-Alrigh, just lemme–" A stern glare from me does the trick, and he hands over the bounty. I tie him up with a rope and easily hoist him over my shoulder. I may be small, but I am strong.

As I walk through the forest on my way to the town, he mumbles to himself, anxiously tapping his fingers together. It really is astounding how much of an idiot he is.

I arrive, walk past a girl–about my age, covered in a beautiful ball-gown–and make a sudden bee-line for the tavern, where the sherriff is bound to be. 

"T-T-Thass a tavern," he stutters anxiously. 

"Yes, and that's where the sherriff is at the moment," I say crisply, striding through the doors.

Then, without a word, I walk up to the sherriff and place the man down in the chair next to him.

"Wha–You–Who're ya?" The sherriff says in astonishment, standing up hastily.

"It's none of your business who I am," I say, walk swiftly out of the tavern. Someone bumps into me on my way out–it's a fairy-person.

"Oh, I'm sorry," I say to them. "Can I help you?" I quirk an eyebrow, pulling back my hood.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

So, Scuttles, do you mind if we have an interaction or something here? 

The stars are bright tonight. Twix once said they point the future, the path ahead.   Yet he never said what to do when they circle in a loop. He would never say it now. I bite my lip, whiskers twitching in the freezing night air. It is close, I know. The scent of the sands lies heavy over this area, shifting slowly. 

Down, Erindi. I think. My sword, golden crystal blade glinting in the moonlight swoops lower over dark rooftops, carrying me closer to the root of all scents. 

It is here. I leap off Erindi and onto the ground below. A tavern is in the distance, my intended destination. Putting a hand on my sword, Erindi shrinks accordingly once sensing I no longer stand on its blade, folding into the depths of my palm to become a twinkle of golden light before dissapearing from existence.

Smoothing out my inky black fur ruffled by biting wind, I flick my tail and set off in the Tavern's direction, claws scratching on cobblestones. My ears pick up a scruffle to the north, what seemes to be a street brawl. To the east, there is the sound of a door creaking, panting, and noises from a kitchen. It must be the tavern's kitchen. I entertain the idea to ask if they sell belwoon wine, but push it away quickly. I'm not here for this.

The tavern is finally in scanning reach of my limited powers. It would have been easy to do this from afar, but the feeble stability of this world makes me fear ripping it apart if I exersise oversight on the surroundings. This will have to do for now. In my mind's eye, i make out a handful of souls. There is the rough, weathered one of a barkeeper, the frosty one of a young girl, and even- my yellow eyes narrow- a fiery one. This is unexpected. Fire magic, here? I pause in my steps. This isn't right. Something much larger is happening here, something out of my control.

I dislike being the pawn.

But if one wishes to gain something, one must make sacrifices. I finally locate my quarry, the one i've been tracing everywhere. He's as sly as a fox, that one. Always a step ahead, like he sees my every move, every thought. And to think we've never even talked.

Not now though. He is perfectly relaxed, eating the food of this world. Gathering up my magic, I force open a miniscule crack in space, enough for me to pass.

The heat of the tavern attacks my senses once I teleport in. No one will see me, not just yet. Casually, I saunter over to the sceluded table where a bent, funny little old man sits, engrossed in thought. The smell of lubricant coming off him makes my nose wrinkle and ears fold down. Don't people care about hygiene?

I flop down into the chair on the other side of the creaky wooden table, grinning. "Let down your guard for once, sand healer." 

The old man gives a start, finally noticing me once I undid my cloaking spell. "You again! Leave me, demon! I have nothing to do with a cat spirit like you!"

Some people look over, startled at my sudden appearence. 

What? I roll my eyes, ignoring stares. "My dear healer, don't judge people by their appearences. I've never even talked to you face to face yet. I'm a deity, for crying out loud, humbly coming to ask for your help."

The man, or the Clockmaker, I remember the name he goes by in this world，calms down a bit and looks suspicously at me. "What do you want?"

I raise my hands in peace. "Relax. Help me fix this sand window, or clock as you races call it. I need it to find my brother." Keeping my hands up, I fish Twix's battered sand wave indicator out with my tail. "And give me a useful solution right now, don't think of giving me the slip."

The clockmaker inspects Twix's indicator slowly, glancing up at me every once in a while. Others return to their gossip, but some keep staring at me. It increases the strange feeling inside my mind, that something big is happening.

The clockmaker finally speaks.

note: 'I' am a black humanoid cat in appearance, with inky black fur and yellow eyes.

I step into the tavern, rubbing my claws together to try to warm them. warmth, after all, is important for one who is part reptile. 

it is loud in the tavern, filled with the noise of clinking cups, people talking, laughing, occasionaly bursting out in merry tune, then drifting off awkwardly. 

most of the people are normally dressed humans, though I see a humanoid cat, and someone with wings and antenna. there was also a human who was quite obviously royalty, no matter how much mud and grime she had smeared on her once-magnificent dress.

I take a seat at a table in a shadowed corner, and order a warm drink. my tail curls around the chair legs, and I softly tap out a rhythm on the table with one curved claw. a song none would recognise, except for perhaps those who were not purely human. 

(PS- is that how you spell 'rhythm'?)