Jilan sat on a dark-gray Hejstone stool, Skyfire waging war against the stony awning he sat under.
“Market Day just gets better and better every time,” Jilan muttered to himself.
Market Day presented unique opportunities for him. Thousands travelled from towns and villages that he didn’t know how to pronounce—they brought whispers, festivities, but most importantly, their goods. He had no Arcures of his own, but what he did own was a pair of quick hands, an intimidating aura, and a few magical trinkets to help him out.
He twirled an elegant mirror in his hands, allowing it to tumble along his fingers before catching it with his free hand. The handle was delicately etched with swirls and patterns, the micro chasms filled with a golden lacquer. Winding cylinders spiraled around the reflective surface, creating an oval frame for it.
Jilan’s rocky face stared back at him from the mirror as he adjusted the angle of his head. His skin was a deep, dark hue of blue, like a sapphire injected with ink. His corrugated skin formed in jagged sections, jutting inward and outward irregularly. Even among the Kresh, Jilan’s stone-skin was treated with wariness and caution. After all, who would want to approach the large Kresh man whose skin appeared as dozens of spears pointing toward them.
He lowered the mirror, craning his neck to look at a nearby stall. A young Fultin couple was looking to purchase some Dream Gems. They looked a tad older than Jilan, in their mid-twenties, maybe? The woman seemed particularly short, even for a Fultin, with a smooth coat of golden-tan splotched with black. A long, narrow tail sprouted from her backside, flicking idly.
The man stood much taller than her. He sported a deep garnet fur, with a mane that presented as a lighter shade than his pelage. The mane extended from his head, cascading downward to the middle of his back. Impressive dedication, Jilan mused. He’d never have the patience nor care to grow out something like that, even if he could. It could get caught, tangled, or worse; yanked in a fight. Not good. Although—telling from the couples ware—they didn’t seem to make choices based on their potential in combat.
His gaze shifted to the rest of the crowd. He was unsure whether it was because of the bustling market, or his appearance, but none gave him a caring glance. It made sense, it’s not like seeing a Kresh in Hejka was an uncommon occurrence. Still, he felt a captivating pang of loneliness as people stumbled by as if he were a threat. Occasionally, he caught people staring at him, their faces contorted to an unpleasant mix of horror and fear. Jilan shook his head in silent aggravation, a pitiful attempt to shake away the emotions building within him before they spiraled any further. He placed his fists on his knees and lurched up from the stool in one smooth motion.
Jilan’s arms reached towards the sky, stretching in the midst of the crowd. The mirror was still held firmly in his hand, its ornate metallurgic details glinting as it caught Skyfire. He could sell it for a few hundred Arcures—enough to get him by for at least a few weeks minimum. He took a liking to it, though, and thought perhaps he’d hang onto it as a keepsake. A remembrance of the shop that purveyed the item. With the bountiful feast of items before him and the infamously lax Yutno guards, he was bound to come across something of equal value.
Yutno was nestled between two gargantuan mountain ranges that ran parallel to each other. Living at the bottom of the valley wasn’t so bad, but it did present harsher weather and more frequent anomalies. Being between two ranges meant that the valley hardly ever saw rainfall, making the entire city strapped for food.
The only reason Yutno existed was because of its prominence of mining ore. Those who controlled the mining operations lived a lavish life above the valley, ensuring they placed themselves far above the commoners. Their houses could be seen protruding from the mountain itself, a statement that they were above those in the valley.
Jilan could make out faint outlines of people sitting outside their abode, staring down at the marketgoers. Jilan glowered back in disdain. The skill of molding Hejstone was something that Jilan could never appreciate. It created a gap between those that could afford the arcanists to perform it, and the working folk who had to stay at the bottom of the valley. Skilled Hejstone shaping arcanists were hard to come by, and their schedules were filled with requests for buildings to be made. In a way, they were more architect than they were arcanist. All Jilan knew was that it made them towers of Arcures as tall as the Tuleyen.
The mirror disappeared from Jilan’s hand.
His heartbeat accelerated. A silhouette slipped into the density of the crowd. Their figure was already obscured.
He didn’t have time to evaluate, he needed to move! Shifting his body horizontally, he shuffled through the crowd as quickly as he could. Shuffling turned to a jog, throwing the safety of those around him to the wind.
The crowd started to thin, allowing his idle hands to push people out of the way. The chase escalated until Jilan was in a sprint, barreling through any remaining in his way. He drove through the rapidly dispersing crowd like a wedge forced through a crack. The pursued figure came into sight again. He caught a glance of their head; it was smooth and laurel… appearing metallic.
“Ho—hey, get back here, that’s mine!” Jilan’s voice piqued. The crowd had completely scattered, leaving him and the thief in an unimpeded footrace. He was lucky they weren’t a Chi or Baltian. If they were, his mirror would’ve been long gone by now.
The thief seemed to briefly mull over a direction, their head subtly whipping right, then left. They took off to the right, a short blue cape flapping as its wearer moved away. Jilan found himself in the the residential area of Yutno. A maze of alleyways unfolded before him. Houses in Yutno were tightly coupled, making them appear as a singular conglomerated building.
Alleyways tended to be an issue for Jilan. His large frame impeded him significantly when rounding corners in chases, and caused many a job to go awry. The Kresh he was chasing was smaller than him, thinner in frame, too. A good build for a thief around these parts.
Jilan began to hear a whirring noise. He instinctively ducked down as a large bolt of arcane blasted above his head. The magical projectile left a trail of purple that lingered in the air before turning gray and slowly disintegrating into nothing. Unbelievable, Jilan exasperated, of course they would be an Ambivyr user. Jilan did not pretend to acquaint himself with the arcane. It was a foreign language to him, and one that he gladly chose to be untranslatable. Only now, he desperately wished he could speak it.
He rounded yet another corner in the dizzying maze of lilac colored rock. Good dreams upon him, the thief seemed to have made a grave mistake. Up ahead, there was no more splintering in the path; no other way to go. It was a dead end.
The thief whipped around, facing Jilan. Besides their shoulder length cape, they wore a yellow tunic, tattered dark green pants, fraying boots, and a charcoal piece of stone-silk that covered their neck, mouth, and nose. Their eyes narrowed at Jilan.
They put their hands up, mirror grasped firmly in their hand. A smug look was written on their face as they lowered their covering to speak.
“Seems like ya got me.” Her voice was unfeeling, almost sarcastic.
Jilan panted, the long chase winding him significantly. He extended his arm, holding the palm of his hand skyward. “Just give me back my mirror, and go get something of your own.”
“Something of my own?” she retorted. “From where I’m standing this mirror belongs to me just as much as it belongs to you.”
“Well,” Jilan paused for a moment, unsure of what to say next. “I took it first!”
She seemed as if she were going to reply immediately, but stopped herself from doing so. She shrugged. Cautiously, she approached Jilan, offering the mirror to him. Jilan reached out for it, the exasperation leaving his body.
“Thanks—” a fist took up the majority of Jilan’s view. At the same moment, the woman withdrew her arm with the mirror. Jilan’s torso twisted to the side, the fist coming within mere inches of his face. She wasn’t done. With the momentum of the punch and her shoulders now lower, she pivoted her foot and unleashed a devastating kick straight into Jilan’s stomach. The move landed soundlessly as Jilans feet left the ground. In a wicked display of flexibility and martial arts, Jilan now lie on the stony dirt, his arms splayed out perpendicularly to his torso. His body was immobilized with a force that felt like static coursing through his veins. There was something more than physical to the kick that left him a dazed stupor.
In the midst of his suffering, Jilan heard footsteps approach, and another voice.
“Whatta we do wit em?” It was a gruff voice, much more masculine than the woman he had been chasing.
Jilan couldn’t hear the rest, but he could feel his body being lifted off the ground before he slipped into unconsciousness.
