The delegation murmurs in hushed tones to one another about the obviously ridiculous fraud presented to them.

"According to our investigations, that seems to be the most likely scenario. Though I admit it is curious that you would immediately label her as illegitimate, to say nothing of correctly identifying the most telling feature of a High Elf," responds a smug Yprus, "It would seem you have a greater knowledge of Elven culture than a woman in your position should possess, and I must confess a further, deeper curiosity as to how you came to hold such knowledge."

The Lantessa grunts in consternation, glancing fervently at her uncle for support, unable to articulate a response of her own, realising she's revealed too much. He sighs at his still-green niece's indiscretion and adjusts his sitting posture, ready to retort.

Before he can intervene, however, Yprus continues to speak, "I can, however, make an educated guess; given your country's desire to bypass the taxes on Elven trade imposed by my own as a service fee for acting as a proxy. You must have some form of contact within their grand and lofty domain, yes? Perhaps a merchant or craftsman looking for a little extra investment with no thought to the greater ramifications of the deal. Or, maybe even a member of the High Spire itself? I have yet to put much effort into discovering this individual, but doubtless, their identity is a matter of some import, and should their greater involvement be made known, you would lose what little faith you've been afforded."

"Your point being?" The rough voice of Haldon questions, his arms folded, and his face, stony.

Yprus gives the man an easy smile, "Do not mistake this for some base attempt at extortion. Oh, no. Did I not already explain? Dwast Clait wishes for nothing but a profitable, safe venture for all participants. The girl would be an excellent negotiation tool when correctly utilised, with the potential to increase the profits you, and by extension, we stand to gain. A commodity which we are willing to sell for a substantial sum."

He pauses to drink some tea, "We are also aware that the sum we are looking to gain in exchange is a bit beyond your...current means. But I am a generous man when it comes to my more profitable clients. A  large share in your soon-to-be-acquired Elven trade route and some other small concessions will suffice for a temporary loan of this second commodity, at the very least."

Incredulous, Ulrissa frowns, "A temporary loan?"

"Yes. Unless you have funds I am not aware of sufficient to purchase this rare commodity outright. But I doubt we would be having this conversation if your family - or even your country, for that matter - had that kind of financial leeway. The truth at the heart of this matter is that you of House Flom need us of Dwast Clait far more than we need you. And it is by my bottomless generosity and kindness you are able to pursue this scheme of yours. Not to mention, that your...competence and viability as a partner are in question, given that the commodity we loaned you at your bequest was destroyed almost immediately after it was given to you."

The Flom delegation's mood plummets, and not a single one of them is without a strained frown. They realise now, that they are completely at this man's mercy. Whatever strategy they had for the negotiations going in has completely fallen apart, and several of their secrets have been laid bare.

Yprus places his teacup back down and claps his hands together, a wide yet thin smile on his face, "I believe you understand the situation. I must iterate, once again, since it cannot be overstated; We of Dwast Clait will do everything we can to ensure mutual success. But should you fail to hold up to the expectations you've created in us, then I - As a responsible merchant - will be left with no choice but to cut our losses."

Off to the side, Hajo can't help but smirk, as his fingertips play behind his back with the pommel of a hidden knife inside the cuff of his sleeve.

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While the people at the table begin deliberating over this business deal of theirs in earnest, the guards that brought me in shoving me in a corner out of the way, where I kneel on the floor quietly, trying to make sense of the situation. But that's proving to be a rather difficult ask for my poor brain. It's like..I try and think but it just stalls and peters out.

The stress is getting to me. But under these circumstances, it's impossible to calm myself down - and Yemesvel was never the picture of grace under fire. Back in reality, sure, it was part of the job back when I was still working restaurants instead of showing up on tv every now and again to promote a recipe book, or yell at some C-list celebrity washouts that can't even roast a chicken without sucking all the moisture out of the meat. But now, I'm just a teenager in way over her head. The contradiction in mentality is only adding to the unwanted emotional baggage weighing down my thought process.

Funny how I can't think about my situation except to complain about how I can't think about my situation. Yeah, great prioritising there, Yemesvel, that's really going to help.

Come on, girl. Just start from the top. What's happening right now?

Well, I'm choking on a rag while a bunch of rich assholes talk about buying Yemesvel in exchange for some forest or whatever. Because apparently, asking for a cool hair colour means I'm supposed to be the illegitimate offspring of a High Elf. Nice of the Avatar Creation Team to mention THAT little detail when Yemesvel was making the character.

It probably wouldn't have made a difference to my decision, but still.

Yemesvel doesn't really know anything about her father. About all Yemesvel knows is that her mother was an Adventurer who met him on a job. He probably doesn't even know Yemsevel exists. But that's not going to stop those bastards drinking tea over there from treating me like a bargaining chip.

I'm doing the third person thing again. I sigh through my nostrils.

I need to focus on the present, though, so we'll just table the identity crisis for now.

Forgetting my sense of optimism, since today has shown just how little Naszik of Many Dice is smiling on my fortune; There's no point in trying to escape right now. With all the people in the room, I'd never manage to even open the door before I get caught. My best chance is going to be if and when these foreign nobles decide to assume 'ownership' over me. When they take me out of the building I'll be able to create an opportunity to escape. That's the hope at least. I don't really know how smart or swift they are, but they're going to be far easier to get away from whilst moving through the city. If I do make the attempt, though, I'll need to be confident I can pull it off. If I get caught, they'll either step up their vigilance or in a worst case scenario, break my legs to stop me from running.

This story originates from a different website. Ensure the author gets the support they deserve by reading it there.

And if they decide that the price for even a single hair on my head is too much to stomach, well...

I don't know. I'll figure something out I guess. Assuming they don't just, as the Dost put it, "cut their losses".

Mm. Mocking his raspy voice is less cathartic when it's only in my head.

Whatever.

My eyelids are starting to feel heavy, all of a sudden. The lack of sleep from last night and all this built-up stress have exhausted me to my bones. I think I'll just take a nap until they've decided what to do with me...

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Meanwhile

At the South East Gate, known locally as the Bastard's Gate, a pair of children eye the sentries at the checkpoint with worry and suspicion. The younger, a girl with bandaged arms looks over at the ragged boy holding onto her shoulder, worry spreading across her whole face.

"D'you think they'll let us out? We's only kids," she asks, biting her lip.

The boy, putting on a brave face, puffs his chest out and tightens his grip in a manner he thinks is reassuring, "No problem! Those lardfaced bastards don't give two shakes about some urchin brats. We just have to pick a moment where they gonna care even less."

"Ow! Stop squeezing my arm...You know it's sens..senstuv," The girl complains, swatting with her other hand at his.

The boy flinches back, arms raised, "S-s-sorry Dazzy...I forgot..."

The girl, Dazzy, puffs out her cheeks, pouting.

The boy clasps his palms together, dropping to one knee in the muddy alley, "Please Queen Dazzy, find it in yer big, big heart to forgive me."

"I'll think about it, Sir Ricko. Hey, look, there's a merchant caravan coming. What're they doing at the Bastid Gate?"

Dazzy points over Ricko's shoulder at a short train of canvas-roofed carriages pulled by stocky horses. Though the last cart is filled with crates and sacks, the other two are filled with men and women in a hodge-podge of chain, leather and plate.

Ricko's eyes widen, "Those're Adventurers, Daz! C'mon, we can follow them out if we're careful!"

Scrabbling to his feet, Ricko grabs her hand and pulls her along behind him as he runs around to the rear of the caravan. It's passengers in the back barely register their presence as they stare off into space, occasionally responding to a query or joke from a compatriot.

Keeping their heads down, the children follow a few paces behind the rear carriage, keeping pace with the cart horses pulling it forward across the muddy road.

"Ho there!" A pudgy guard calls out from ahead, "Who're you lot and where're you going at this time o' day? It's almost time to close the gates, y'know?"

The procession slows to a halt, and a short-haired middle-aged man dressed in a thickly woven blue cloak over a set of polished silvery scale mail that gleams in the fading sun hops off the driver's seat of the middle carriage. The guard starts back at the movement, before re-assuming his previous posture of attempted intimidation.

The brown-haired man gives the guard an easy smile, suffused with complete certainty of self, "But as the gates are still open, I don't see what business it is of yours should my crew and I wish to leave the city. Or do you have some reason for stopping us?"

The man folds his arms across his trout-like chest, impatience leaking through.

The guard coughs sheepishly, "A-aye. We've received word to search for someone who might be looking to skip town in a hurry."

The man nods slowly, "I see. And you suspect they might be hiding amongst my number?"

Another guard with thinning hair and dark, puffy bags drooping beneath his eyes approaches the Adventurer with a greasy smile, "Yeah. Got a lot of folk with you, don't you? Could be one of them."

The man laughs soundlessly, "Oh, I sincerely doubt we have who you're looking for. In fact, this sounds an awful lot like an excuse to 'search' our provisions cart for 'fugitive' rations and artefacts."

His arms fall slowly down to his waist, where his hand fingers the pommel of the wide yet stubby shortsword belted to his leg.

"So you best shape your story up unless you want to admit your purloining and let us pass," He adds.

In the back, Dazzy shrinks away, slipping her tiny hand into Ricko's and clinging onto him. He barely registers this, however, finding himself completely frozen with a mixture of fear and awe. The little boy's eyes as wide as can be, he bites his lip, a strange new feeling welling up from within - admiration.

To their credit, the guards stand their ground against the obvious threat, and the greasy one finds the stones to pompously thrust his chest out and respond, "We ain't lookin' for black pay from your like. See, someone real high up the chain's lookin' for this thievin' half-elf bint. So if you try and start a fight wi' us now, they'll assume you have 'er with you."

He grins, completely cocksure, "And if that happens, there ain't nowhere in Herod that you can hide from the Claits."

The Adventurer scoffs, unimpressed, "Well, by all means, look all you like. Ain't a single Half-Elf among us."

He spread his arms widely, welcoming the challenge.

One by one, the Adventurers present themselves for a brief physical and magical tool aided inspection, until inevitably, the guards come to the two urchins stood at the back.

The first guard grunts, "What, you're takin' children with you as well? Hoping to bait out a monster with them or something?"

Ricko and Dazzy quiver at the thought of being fed to some eldritch beast with more teeth than a whole family. They'd not really planned this far ahead, expecting to follow the caravan out unchallenged.

The Adventurer leader clomps down the muddy road and regards the pair silently for a few moments before opening his mouth, still staring at them, "Not bait. I ain't a savage. I know a guy who lives out in the plains who's looking for an apprentice. Think I might introduce them to him, see if he agrees to take them on."

Ricko and Dazzy do their best to hold in their surprise at the man's declaration.

"Really now? Didn't know your kind delivered kids as well," the guard replies doubtfully.

The Adventurer directs his stare at the guard instead, "I do believe that is none of your concern. Now, you've wasted altogether too much of our time. Do be sure to tell your owners that Shortsilver Alsten was most impressed by their dedication in hunting down this so-called thief."

The two guards stumble back in silent horror. But Alsten ignores them, and gestures to the children, "Come. You will sit with me."

----------------------------------------

Underneath the darkening sky, the only sounds upon the sparsely vegetated hill are the carriages are attempting to crest are their rhythmic creaking and the snorts of tired horses. Conversation, such as it was for the assembled group, had long since died off after leaving the city, replaced with a cautious quiet.

Unable to find a good way to start a conversation, Ricko and Dazzy had likewise kept their peace, despite a number of questions ringing through their minds, but it is at this moment, that Alsten chooses to finally speak.

"I suppose if one were to consider the rushed nature of our egress, this could be seen as a kidnapping," he muses, fumbling with the reins, "And to be fair, it might as well be. I was able to infer your shared desire to leave the city, from the...shape...of the fear in your eyes, I suppose you could call it."

Alsten sighs, "That's not a very good explanation, I realise. But my position and Class require that I understand people, so I apologise if I was somehow mistaken."

"N-no! We- Yeah, we did want to leave!" Ricko stammers, looking this way and that to avoid the gaze of both Alsten and Dazzy.

Alsten nods, "Good. Because I was quite serious when I said I was thinking of introducing you to an acquaintance of mine. It would pain me to have to force you to accompany us there, so just consider your agreeing to meet him as being payment for allowing you to leave the city with us."

Dazzy frowns, "Why?"

Again, Alsten sighs, "The old man isn't getting younger. And after he injured his leg pulling me out of a pit of monstrous insects, I feel compelled to honour the debt by providing his life with new meaning. Particularly after catching a glimpse of your potentials."

Ricko perks up, "Our potential?"

"I am in possession of a Trait that allows me to better assess the 'potential strength' of those I observe. It has aided me well in forming a competent cohort," Alsten explains briefly, "I deemed you to both be capable of growing into capable individuals."

"Really?" Dazzy asks sceptically, hugging her bandaged arms to her frail form.

The man cracks a small genuine smile, "Yes."