Pulling Up Weeds [Orias] Oct 24, 2015 20:36:40 GMT -7
Post by Nascent on Oct 24, 2015 20:36:40 GMT -7
Some would say that few places in the world were so deserving of the term 'decrepit backwater' as this meager assembly of ragged tents and weathered homes, if such they could rightly be called. Zecille took in the scene, shrouded in a haze of fog-mist that wound its way between drooping trees and torch-lit buildings with a measure of quiet appreciation. Many would consider the witches, Zofien, and outcasts who dwelled here to be the dregs of their respective races, unwanted leftovers cast from the table of real societies... but to survive, even thrive, in such a place and under such conditions took greater fortitude than such lesser minds were willing to admit. These people were survivors.
But in the eyes of some of them she saw fear. Fear of the unknown and the barely-glimpsed, of things nameless and terrible. And in a place where many of the residents were considered monsters themselves that spoke volumes. The creatures had passed through here, or at least close enough to leave an impression. Which meant her source had been right on the money.
Pulling back her hood to reveal her face, she caught the gaze of a passing resident -- witch, were-beast, vampire, it was impossible to tell for certain, though the raven-skull talisman around the older woman's neck certainly suggested certain leanings. There was no point playing with flattery or flashing coin, not here; with people this rugged, Zecille knew that anything but the direct approach would earn her only scorn. "I'm looking for a Weedsman. I heard there was one here. Is he still?"
The woman, gray in hair but strangely smooth-faced, looked up at the mercenary on her horse and appraised her with the same judging gaze that any remote community gave unexpected outsiders who wandered in and started asking questions. "A Weedsman? What need have you for such a man?"
"Business. I suspect I hardly need to tell you what kind."
"I suspect you do." The older woman's upper lip curled, if only just slightly, as her expression towards Zecille soured -- Zofien, then, and likely a werewolf from the behavioral tick. "We don't let just anyone wander in here and stir up trouble."
"Ah, so he's still here. Good." A small, brief smile graced the spy's lips before, in a reassuring tone, she added. "He and I are after the same thing, from what I gather. I'm simply looking to enlist his aid."
Silence fell again as the old woman glared at the mounted warrior... then, with a slight nod of her head and a grunt, the she-wolf moved on. It wasn't much, but it was a direction at least. Zecille urged her horse on; with any luck, her Weedsman wouldn't be too hard to find.