THE SHATTERED GODS (fantasty) Feb 11, 2019 18:03:09 GMT -5
Post by ashlynwriting on Feb 11, 2019 18:03:09 GMT -5
I've been working on this for what feels like forever. At this point, I don't even expect it to get published. I just want it to be as good as it can be in case that ever does happen.
The shadows kept Saekina company as she made her way through the cracked, cobbled streets. The only light came from the moon orbs hovering above their metal posts, their brightness burning away the darkness around them.
She turned into the alley, passing dumpsters overflowing with reeking food and discarded magical trinkets. Eagerness fluttered in Saekina’s chest. Information on slavers never failed to earn at least one gold coin. Money led to food, shelter, and some semblance of normalcy.
Saekina smiled. As long as thieves, murderers, and slavers existed, she’d always have a job.
She lugged open the hotel's dented door. The owner, a weed of a man, looked up from his bottle of ale, eyes bloodshot. He'd be passed out within the hour. It happened every time. "You again," he grumbled.
He'd invested a lot in making his shitty little hotel safe for less-than-legal operations. He must have had a fortune stashed away to pay top illusion weavers to have the layers of glamours that hid all the hiding spots in the building. Playing both sides worked well in his favor.
Saekina slipped him the usual payment. "We good?"
"As long as the money keeps coming." He counted the coins before adding them to his purse. "Room seven. You have half an hour until they arrive."
Saekina forced her lips into a tight smile. Smiling is good for business, she reminded herself. "Nice working with you."
Wrinkling her nose, she climbed the stairs. The hotel—and she used that term loosely—reeked of mold like the scent of stale earth. Room seven’s door stuck on the carpeting, and she had to kick it open. It looked like the rest of the place: shitty.
The problems were the charmed utilities. The moon orb, well, she’d be fine in the dark. No one bothered to think of ungifted people when building. People less magically gifted than the average person could, at least, turn on an object already pre-charmed as long as they had the incantation. Having no magic? That was almost unheard of. It tanked, but Saekina had years of experience with finding ways around her lack of ability. If she’d been lucky, had been exceptionally gifted, she could have lived in a boarding school. Powerful unclaimed children were valuable. They had a future. Lesser gifted children joined crews of other children for survival and companionship. Even Saekina, without a drop of magic, had earned her way into those. Knives were just as valued as magic in children’s eyes.
Saekina reached up, removed the grating on the air vent, and climbed inside. The cover clanged against the metal as she angled it back into place.
Hot breaths in such a small space dried her mouth out. Already, she itched to move around: bounce a leg, drum her fingers, something. Not even the elixir she’d bought rid her of this accursed energy. The smaller the space, the twitchier she grew. It made info-gathering absolutely miserable, and some dark part within her felt she deserved it.