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The Orders of Magic
Metal-Control over metal and metal objects
Flame-control over fire
Strength-increased strength and endurance
Tides- control over water
Air- control over wind
Earth- control over land, plants, and trees
Oracle- can see the future in the form of prophecies, and visions
The Forbidden Order
Shifter- posses more than one power, can change their appearance within their bodies limits
The Quarters of Talvos
Merchant-merchant class dwellings
Market- the center for the city's trading
Factory-produces iron tools and weapons for the army and export
Iron-lower class dwellings
Bronze-middle class dwellings
Silver-Valdev's army headquarters
Gold-home of the noble class and the royal compound
The Main Gangs of the Iron Quarter
And Their Territories
The North Side
East-The Sparrows-Theives Roost and the Docks
West-The Blades-Boxers Alley
The South Side
East-The Ghouls-Deadman's Lane
West-The Serpents-Sin Plaza
Tara
I can smell them before I hear or see them. It is the smell of new metal fresh from the forge, fresh leather newly polished, and fine new cloth from the loom. The smell of the Silver Guard. Of course they come, swaggering peacocks the lot of them. As if they have nothing better to do but march down the street of the Market Quarter. Showing off their pristine uniforms, shiny new guns, and swords. While many of us would kill for the money it cost for their new clothes and toys.
Sons of wealthy merchant families whose blood is as blue as mine. They are favored though, these new recruits who blindly follow the whims of the blue-blooded nobles and their king. A king whose word is law and that all should obey here in the kingdom of Valdev. Even a poor wretch looking for some amusement, of which I will soon have.
From my perch atop a stack of wooden boxes, pressed against the rough brick wall, I wait. My eyes scan over the crowd of silver uniforms, looking for the perfect victim. Finding my target, a lieutenant directly below a low hanging flowerpot, I strike. Flinging one of the small metal disks from my belt, I send it flying with a flick of my wrist. Bending to my will it flies straight and true, hitting the pot dead center.
Clay and dirt fall on the unsuspecting man, leaving him covered in a fine layer of roots and flowers. Just as I hoped, the people surrounding him break out in hoots of laughter. That is until the lieutenant starts screaming and cursing, demanding for the hooligan responsible to be found. Then it is a race for the soldiers to find the cause of their leader's humiliation.
My feet are already moving by the time the lieutenant shouts. Like a cat I jump from the top box and make my way into the crowded market.
Wooden stalls covered in colorful awnings and loaded with goods, line the stone street. Shop windows display an array of items such as jewelry, cakes, furniture and shoes. Causing passerby to gaze and gawk in longing, as they stand under the wooden eaves that drip with water from the morning storm.
The streets are congested with people from the many surrounding lands of Silva. All dressed in clothes from fine silk robes to thin cotton shirts and trousers. Some with skin as pale as milk, and others as dark as the bark of the black oak trees that line the southern border of Morva. A week long trip across the wide watery expanse north of Valdev.
My fellow countrymen are dressed in dark cotton cloth and even darker leather jackets, well suited for the ever present cold that lingers here. Jörmungandrians clothed in fur and seal skin, stand out in the crowd. With their long hair braided with shark's teeth and scarred faces, many folk give them a wide berth. I can tell by the bulging cloth sacks on their shoulders, that they are here to sell the hides and skins from their hunts on the ice. Andelian merchants in their jewel toned scarves and robes, haggle with a local jeweler over how much he will pay for their glittering haul.
Kamundians in brightly dyed homespun and beaded necklaces are also here. To trade their highly valued and sought after charms and potions, for the metal tools that Valdev is known for. The nomadic Morva decked in deerskin and glass beads, are followed closely by their horses. Weighed down by their burden of fine white oak and fox furs.
I even spy a few of the reclusive denizens of the Pearl Islands clothed in the fine silk that few here can afford. Most likely the ambassadors of the Emperor, here to once again demand for the heads of pirate raiders that hunt the dark waters of the Black Sea. Their favorite targets, the small fleets of ships hauling spices, fine wines, and precious silks that make their way from the islands, to the many ports across the temperamental seas.
Blending into the crowd, I make my way through the main square. Then down a small side street lined with shops selling clothes and antiques. Hoping to gain some ground from the soldiers that start to question any poor soul who dares to cross their path. I can hear the cries of people shoved as they make their way through the crowd. Even with my heart beating at a frantic pace, I walk as if I have no care in the world. The thin souls of my boots smack the cold muddy ground, as I keep pace with the now thinning crowd.
Knowing that I need to hide and fast, I spot a door leading into a dark looking shop. Slowly, I make my way towards it fighting the urge to run, lest those mangy brutes see me dash for safety. At last, I reach it just as the crowd parts for the soldiers, a pack of wolves searching for their prey. The pounding of their boots making an ominous sound on the stones. Closing the door, I find myself faced with shelves of old and discarded objects. Books, tools, and jars fill the overflowing wooden shelves and compartments.
Hearing the pounding of footsteps, I duck out of sight, holding my breath until the sound of thundering footsteps fades. Standing up, I decide to explore the shop having never seen so many items in one place. Items that might not even be missed if they happened to disappear.
Walking between the mounds of broken chairs, tattered rugs, and lines of dusty shelves, I notice a flicker of movement and turn. The first thing I see are eyes. My eyes, the color of green sea glass, starring at me from a mirror tarnished with age. Then I see the outline of the mirror, its iron sides rusted and scorched. The glass though filthy, shows my dirty and somewhat haggard reflection.
Black ragged hair and a pale face streaked with coal dust and dirt, while silver strands weave their way through my gnarled locks. A long, leather coat hides my belt of metal disks and pockets filled with my collection of lockpicks, packets of gunpowder, and iron bullets. I even have a small revolver tucked discreetly in its holster on my belt.
From the opening in my coat, I can see the wrinkled blouse, thin torn skirt, and tattered leggings that hang on my skinny frame. Already my battered boots are covered in the mud from the street, and my brass goggles have fallen to hang around my neck. Resembling a crude brass necklace that has wrapped itself around my throat.
The appearance of every poor drudge here in the city of Talvos. Many resorting to stealing or running with many dangerous sorts, in exchange for a warm bed and a hot meal. Luckily for me, I have no problem with stealing trinkets from rich merchants and clueless sea captains. It's dealing with the other thugs and thieves that I don't care for, but at least it keeps me from living on the cold dark streets.
The front door suddenly slams open, quickly I find a spot between a stack of books and the wall. Just as soon as I slip behind the musty tomes, two soldiers go by. Their capes edged with a thin strip of metal, click and snap as they walk past. Controlling my urge to sneeze, I watch them go by obviously frustrated and annoyed. Cautiously, I poke my head out from my hiding place, and see them stop in front of a small gap between the wooden bookshelves.
"Are you sure you saw someone come in here?" the taller of the two said.
His friend then speaks, eyes flashing with the thrill of the hunt.
"I know I saw them, running like a scared deer they were," he says, "and now that metal rat is hiding somewhere in this place and I intend to find them."
I roll my eyes, of all the names they have for us so-called troublemakers. I find that one lacking the most in creativity.
"Well," says the tall one, "I don't see any in here so where are they?"
"Probably hiding like the rat that they are," Crazy Eyes says, "And they are obviously hiding in one of the mounds of junk in here."
He walks towards a stack of furniture, moving aside old wooden chairs and tables he begins his search. The other shakes his head and looks behind other stacks and shelves that take up most of the space. I wait patiently as they search, waiting for the right moment to escape. As they make their way down the row of shelves, I slowly make my way from behind the book stack and watch them walk down the crowded aisle. Quietly, I make my way to the back of the shop, keeping my ears pointed towards the sound of their boots.
Thankfully I spot a door, the dirty glass of the small window next to it showing the alley just outside. Making my way quickly through the discarded objects and pocketing a few along the way, I reach the door. The hinges creak loudly as it opens, letting the cold morning air sweep into the shop. As soon as my foot touches the street outside, I hear one of them shout.
"Stop right there metal rat!"
Before he can finish though I'm gone, out the door, and running down the alley as fast as my legs can go. Breathing in the cold smoke filled air, I run, my boots beating a rhythm against the stone. I turn right jumping over baskets of laundry as I go, heading for my favorite escape route. I hear my pursuers struggle as they run into the baskets. The crash of splintering wood following quickly after, along with the shouts and curses of unhappy women.
Laughing, I reach the end of the alley and find my grappling hook hidden beneath a pile of rags. I send the metal hook to the top of the closest building, my blood humming as the metal listens to my command. I hold onto the rope and fly up, landing gently on the shingled roof. I secure the hook and rope to my belt and make my way towards the docks.
Going from roof to roof, I travel to the other side of the city. Above I can see the crowded city streets, and the many people walking upon the muddy stones. To my right is the way to the Merchant Quarter, filled with the finest shops and homes of greedy merchants. Behind me is the Market and behind it the bridges leading to the Gold and Silver Quarter, where the manors of the nobles and the king's castle lie.
In front of me you is the way to the docks, home to thieves and lawbreakers alike. Named the Iron Quarter for its tough conditions and tougher inhabitants, that dwell near the cold dark water of the Black Sea. A place I've called home for most of my life. The Factory Quarter is placed right next to it, hundreds of smoke stacks forming a forest of black iron. Finally to my left is the Bronze Quarter, filled with the residents of the more fortunate citizens here in this pit they call a city.
All around me, I see the buildings made from a mismatch of stone and wood. Roofs alternating from flat stone, to slanted shingles. Far off in the distance, I see the tall bodies of the factories, smoke billowing from the tops and darkening the sky. The castle though is a wonder unto itself. Built from dark stone and marble standing out from the colorful manors of the nobles. Like a thorn in a garden of flowers, flowers waiting to be plucked.
After traveling for ten blocks, I climb down landing in a crouch at the mouth of a dark alley. Straightening my spine, I close my eyes imagining my friends faces when I tell them of my prank and great escape. As well as enjoying Miss Cole's famous stew, a rare treat given out sparingly and having our stomachs craving more. Opening my eyes, I feel my stomach drop and see a sight that would make anyone's blood run cold.
A figure draped in black from head to toe stands between me and the street. A long dark cape trails behind the figure, its open sides revealing the lean tall form of a young man. The morning mist swirls around his feet, and a hood covers his face, shrouding it in shadow. From his belt hangs daggers, a crossbow, rope, and bottles containing dark ichor like liquid. A Reaper, a gods damn Reaper probably deciding to either arrest me or kill me.