New places, same faces (open)

[Declan Moss]

In his dreams he could remember the smallest details, trivial bits of information he, in a conscious state, would rather have forgotten. In his dreams, he was a boy, staring into the red hot glow of a small forge, he saw the embers, and in them, the end of childhood. The young Declan gazed up, bright blues eyes watery with fear, and found nothing but stern determination upon the face of the huge man who wore a leather apron, and stood heating a long-handled iron. He was the cats paw of the Magistrates court, an impartial tool used to carry out the judgments of his superiors. His eyes failed to meet Declans, focusing instead at the task at hand. The walls were stone and bland, the floors remained much the same, it was a room without the warmth of the pleasant memories that engrained themselves into the sinews of the homes and taverns Declan frequented, a room without compassion.

He was only a boy, and already forced to face the harsh realities of life as a lowly peasant, faced to confront the arbiter's of the countries legal system. It was sure to be an unpleasant experience, and not just for the impulsive thief, but for the men gathered in the room, totaling eight, who were forced to watch this waif of a child undergo the torturous punishment that would forever brand him as a thief. "Declan Moss, we are about to carry out the sentence imposed by the Magistrates Court, have you anything to say?" came the monotone voice of the Magistrate.

Declan nodded his head, and this time, with a smile on his face, replied in a tone both clear, and cheerful. "Rare will suit me fine," he said, as two of the men held his hand fast against the anvil. In the moments to follow Declan Moss the quick witted bright eyed boy would be forged by judicial hospitality into the rogue he was today.

He could hear the iron on his skin, like pork sizzling in a pan, and a bleary eyed, twenty four year old thief woke to daylight streaming through the cracked windows of the local tavern. He ran a hand through his dark hair, letting it stop to block the light from his eyes. He didn't need to see the T shaped brand on the other side of his hand to know it was there, it always burned, some days worse then others. It was probably just his imagination, but someone had once told him that even illusions can hurt you, if you believe in them enough.

After several long minutes the thief rolled from his bed, donned his clothing and made his way into the streets of the nearby marketplace. His clothes were simple, but not pitiful, striking the necessary medium to not stick out in the crowd. Apparently, it worked to well, as a man slammed heavily into the young thieves shoulder as they passed each other. The man snorted a laugh, pleased that he had been able to knock the smaller man out of the way, and Declan smiled, as he dropped the mans coin purse into the folds of his small cloak. Sometimes stealing was just too easy, though that was in no small part thanks to Declans vast experience in the matter. Hopefully someone with a bit more money would pass him by soon, he was getting hungry.

[Selphia Dek]

The streets of Camelot seemed busier this day then any other day, since her coming to the famed city. It was a place that Selphia often reframed from coming. Too many people caused great stress upon her, namely her mind. Which suffered greatly when in the mix of such crowds. She had only come to the marketplace to see the wares of the vendors, and to visit the apothecary shop.

Her pale gaze drifted from face to face. Knowing that if she wished she could invade their thoughts with just a simple expression of desire. Her focus would slip and she would gain their thoughts. She didn’t even have to venture into their heads. Their thoughts were like ribbons of energy, casting out from their person like rippling water. It took a lot of willpower for her to force others thoughts beyond her mind. It was exhausting, which could attest to her willowy frame, pale sickly features. Truth be told though it was not the reasons for her brother’s looks were equally as pale. Though he was stronger and a lot more outgoing then she was.

Her lips curved into a smile as she thought fondly upon her brother. She wished he would come find her so they could return home. But his letter stated that he would still be months in Mercia. A soft flutter in her chest caused her attention to turn to those about her once again. It was not smart to get lost in thoughts that caused her to be forgetful of those about her, namely the people.

Her left hand curled against the edges of the inside of her robe. Pinching it tightly between her fingers so that nothing was seen. While her right hand rested against the raised flesh that rested just beneath the neckline of her dress. Her gaze drifted from one person to the next as she made her way along. She would pause briefly at one cart. Peruse their wares before heading to the next vendor.

There was one vendor’s cart that held her attention for some time. The gems that he carried caused a slight discomfort in her. The reasons unknown to her, or perhaps lost in her thoughts, but she stood staring at them. Her right hand moved across the harden flesh beneath her robe, upon her chest. Where did these gems come from?

“Can I help you miss?” the vendor asked.

Selphia’s gaze darted sharply back to the man. She stepped back and turned colliding with someone. She lost her footing and tripped over her skirts, as well as her long robe. Toppling to the ground in a disheveled heap.

[Declan Moss]

This was what made city life so, unremarkable. There were countless individuals milling about, going through their daily routine with stoic predictability. It was the heartbeat of a city at work, and held no particular attraction for Declan outside of the fiscal possibilities. No matter which city he was in, the people were always the same. The early bird shopkeeper, the burly butcher, the dirty little street urchins running about attempting to take advantage of the unaware. He had seen much of this land, but no matter how different the places may have been, the people populating them were always the same. They toiled, they sweat, they bled for a country that viewed them as tools during the best of times, but equated them more commonly with beasts working in the field. It would have been sad if he didn't find it so infuriating.

Fortunately he didn't have time lament the condition of the world as he spied a young woman, dressed in clean robes making her way through the market. She looked thin, frail even, a condition that immediately allowed him to recognize her as not being a peasant. Say what you would about their lifestyle, peasants maybe have been thin, emaciated even, but they were never frail. Hard life made hard people and this girl, at least at first glance, was anything but hard. Granted she didn't look like nobility either, so Declan was unsure of what position in society she actually held. Fortunately, that knowledge wasn't essential to his line of work.

The thief effortlessly blended in with the crowds as he made his way towards the strange woman. He wasn't sure of what kind of treasures she might have on her person, but he knew where to look. Wrists, necklines, places for jewelry would be the obvious places, especially since he doubted the robs she wore had pockets. At long last she paused, taking her time perusing the wares of a jeweler while he approached in a surprisingly meandering and casual manner. He flexed his fingers, making them elicit a small pop as he waited to see if she had a purse with which to pay the jeweler. It was at that moment that she stepped backwards, directly into the surprised Declan.

If he had been anyone else, he would have fallen to the floor along with the girl, something which in retrospect wouldn't have been nearly so horrible. The thought of being sprawled out on the floor with a member of the opposite sex wasn't exactly unappealing.

"Are you alright miss?" he asked as he knelt beside her, offering her his hand to help her back to her feet. His dark black hair was a mess as usual, and while his voice held a tone of concern, it was easy to see the beginnings of smile appear at the corners of his mouth.

[Selphia Dek]

Gathering the hem of her robe and skirts, she struggled to gain her legs. She rose to stand, only to realize that she was kneeling upon the hems of both robe and skirt. She almost toppled forward to the ground again, but her right hand shot out to gain access to the vender’s card beside her. What had she hit that caused her lithe form to topple as she had. She tugged at them until they came free. Which was simple enough with just the raise of her feet. A soft chuckle would have escaped her lips, as it not been for the embarrassment. She had heard a voice inquire to her well-being. A soft flicker of thought merged with her own. Which caused her to turn her pale gaze to the man at her side.

“All is well, I thank you. Though I cannot help but apologize for having caused affliction upon you.” She told him, as her pale gaze lifted to regard him. She took note of the smile that was slowly working its way to his lips. She was clumsy to a point, or so her brother often told her. Rolling back off the hem that she had partially tugged free, she managed to get to her feet by the offer of a hand if the man offered it. She then shook the dirt from her skirts and smoothed them out as well as her robe. Correcting her posture as she stepped back from the man. Creating space between them. As he was very much a stranger and they were not introduced. Society’s rules were lost upon her in such moments. For she had collided with the man, therefore introducing herself. Therefore making them acquainted. But that was not the way it worked.

Her pale gaze looked the man over. From the smile upon his face to his dark unruly locks. But it was his eyes that seemed to command her attention. Her right hand moved across the edge of her hood to draw it forward. It had come partially down in her attempts to right herself. Her long pale locks fell along side of her heart-shaped face. Resting against even pale flesh as she tried to bury it within the folds of her hood. She was certain he would if he wasn’t already. She was use to stares, but it still made her feel uncomfortable, why would he be any different.

She would finally right herself, dust off her robes and mend her pride. A flutter of thought came forth always with a few others. Were they his? She could not say or she dare not say. For a brief moment she placed her fingers to her brow at the slight discomfort that her abilities brought to her.