Side Story: Tsarra

Tsarra marvelled while flexing the digits of her right hand. They perfectly mirrored the left, albeit without the calluses. It had been a month since that frightful morning where she waited for Exill’s return from the Inquisition.

“Thank you so much!” In a rare show of affection, she threw her arms around the Witchdoctor while precariously seated on the examination bed. He braced her dangling form for a moment before pushing her back down.

“We still have a way to go. I’m thinking of removing the scars around your face and regrowing your ear.” Exill said as he brushed her auburn hair aside, examining the entirety of the face including her gentle jade eyes.

The right side of her face was no longer red and sensitive to the touch, but there were signs of ridges and scarring where the skin felt stiff. There was a small circular area of healthy skin around her cheek where the hole used to be.

“Haah!” The surprised sound escaped her lips when Exill lifted her chin to examine the scar bisecting the right side of her mouth. His fingertips brushed against her soft lips, causing a shiver to run down her spine.

“We’ll start tomorrow on the lips and work our way back to the ear, how does that sound?”

Tsarra nodded.

Her voice was no longer raspy, but it had a husky ring to it. She remained reluctant to speak and after the recovery of her hand it had become the next great source of shame.

The Witchdoctor turned around and began loading a shopping bag with various ointments that had been infused with mana. Their pots were painted with the signature dark cyan colouring of the Clinic.

“Good, give my regards to Bola and stay safe. I’ll see you in the evening.”

Tsarra nodded again while accepting the shopping bag and stepped out into the mid-afternoon sun. She clung tightly to her coin purse and the valuable ointments as she was swept along with the crowd towards the East Gate. The Dwarf had been pickpocketed the first time on her errand and had caught a stern lecture from Exill.

A warm sense of pride suffused her when she was waved through by the guard. The red token signifying her status as a resident of Ark was both a source of pride and worry. She worried that someday Envy would spot it and cause great trouble for Exill, perhaps even murdering him in a fit of rage. Tsarra had heard rumours, confirmed by the Labyrinth guards, that one of the Vampire’s jobs was ‘Murderer’.

She suppressed a shiver while walking along the cobblestone walkway of the Inner City. The streets were no longer packed, and the risk of pickpockets were lower in this central area. Soon, she emerged into a small square that surrounded the Labyrinth Tower

Mighty buttresses jutted out to support the landmark Tower, providing shade to the mercenaries standing in line as the sun shifted towards the north. Tsarra walked towards the line of stalls catering to the queue.

“Um, hi Vendor Bola… Master Exill sends his regards.”

A wiry woman, tanned from years of working in the outdoors grinned while greeting the timid dwarf. The former mercenary had retired, in a way, after falling in love with a mousy shoemaker who had swept her off her feet. Now she ran a stall selling odds and ends, mostly leather repair and maintenance kits.

“How is that rascal doing? Still keepin’ both his legs have he?”

“Um, yes he’s tired but fine.”

Tsarra had been frightened when she first heard the extent of Exill’s injuries at the hands of an Iron Golem. It was another reason she didn’t like the Vampire because he supposedly got hurt while protecting her.

“Good, good… well, I’ll be out of your hair then. Take good care of my stall and if you have any trouble ask Samson yonder for help. He’s always asking when you are next set to manage the stall.”

Bola winked at the blushing Dwarf, her blue eyes twinkling mirthfully. There was nothing sweeter than young love.

Exill had made the arrangement for Tsarra to man the stall twice a week, a couple weeks ago. He had seen it as an opportunity for the timid dwarf to make some friends, earn some pocket money, and shift his premium goods. Tsarra had vehemently refused to accept payment for her work in the Clinic, so he had asked the persuasive Bola to pay her instead.

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“Here are your wages for this week, thirty Denars as promised. Why don’t you take that young man out for a date at the Arena, I heard there is a saucy comedy that got the whole city heated up!”

Bola cackled loudly when the shy maiden turned a brighter shade of red. She gave her a light slap on the rear before cheerfully heading home towards her husband’s workshop.

Tsarra faithfully counted the pots while refilling the display stand, ensuring that the new batches went behind the old. Then she sat on a crate, watching mercs file by and overhearing their chatter and gossip.

“H-hey, did you have lunch?” A shadow crossed Tsarra’s face as a timid voice called out to her.

“Um. Hi Samson, I did, but thank you.”

She accepted the charcoal skewer from the Dwarf vendor’s shaking hands. Samson was in his mid-twenties who ran a grill stand two stalls down. He was a pleasant lad with ruddy cheeks and cute dimples that lit up whenever he smiled, which was often while in the presence of Tsarra.

“Say… if I wanted to go watch a play with you, would I have to ask your master for permission first?”

She choked and spluttered when a piece of vegetable got caught in her throat. She imagined Samson entering the Clinic, cap in hand while asking Exill for permission to take her out on a date.

“No!”

She exclaimed, envisaging the shrewd grin her master would make. He would never let her live it down, just like the pickpocket incident or that time she spilled the chamber pot near the reception area. It still made her toes curl in embarrassment.

“Ah, I suppose not, you must be busy after all… um, excuse me, I think I see someone by my stall.” Samson hurried away, crestfallen by rejection, but perhaps it was better this way. She knew he had a crush on her, it would have been obvious had she been blind. Tsarra just… didn’t feel ready for romance yet, not when a bright future had opened up just in front of her.

She swung her legs seated on the crate, a vacant expression while tallying all the things she ever dreamed of doing. She was shaken out of her reverie when an emaciated street urchin reached out for one of Exill’s merchandise.

“Miss… could you spare a pot of poultice? My sister is hurt, and I heard the Witchdoctor’s medicine is the best in Ark.”

“Ah!” Tsarra exclaimed when she saw the boy’s hand hovering over the large cyan pot. Bola and Exill had warned her of this exact scenario and not to listen to their pitiful stories. Her panic subsided as the boy made no move to flee with the goods, and instead stared at her with beseeching eyes.

“You can take this smaller pot of poultice instead… and bring your sister here next Tuesday if she doesn’t improve. Also, have the rest of this skewer.”

She placed the half-pot priced at eight Denars into the boy’s outstretched hands, as well as the skewer she had barely touched. Watching the boy race away, she reluctantly withdrew eight Denars from her personal coin pouch and deposited it in the stall’s lockbox.

“It’s fine, I’m in a position to help people now.” She whispered to herself.

The experienced vendors flanking her stall tutted while witnessing this act of charity. Of course, they understood why she did it, but that path only invited misery and resentment when more would arrive to exploit her goodwill.

In spite of the drama, the rest of the afternoon passed uneventfully. Vendor Bola returned in the evening accompanied by her husband. She looked happy and well rested as she chased Tsarra away to close the stall herself.

“Doesn’t a pretty gal like you have a date to look forward to? Go on, shoo!”

The Dwarf backed away, her cheeks flushed in embarrassment, when she bumped into someone behind her.

“Ah! I’m sor-”

She stopped to look up into the detached amber eyes of Envy, the Vampire rumoured to have killed her former master. There was grime streaked across her face and armour, and a large net was slung over the shoulder filled with valuable monster parts. Her two companions, a gruff looking human male and a young wolfman sidled up behind the Vampire.

“Hmph. Friend of yours? We’ll drop these off at the Guild for you.” Grundle held an arm out for her netting.

“Bye! see you tomorrow same time big sis.” The wolfman jovially shouted.

Envy released the net when Grundle gripped it, causing the gruff man to snorted in exertion when his load doubled. The two mercs nodded as they went south towards the Guild.

“Let’s go.” The Vampire gave the timid dwarf-maiden a once-over, her eyes briefly hovering over the intricate silver ring on one hand. After that, she turned towards the east and entered a side passageway to avoid the crowded streets. Tsarra panicked, feet frozen in place, before she chased after the indomitable Valkyrie.

‘This is bad… she is going to find out I’m no longer a slave! I need to follow close behind her at the gates and show the guard my red token… she won’t look back… she’s not looking back even now!’ Her thoughts were broken when Envy looked back, her expression unkind as always.

“Keep up.”

Tsarra’s hand trembled while standing in line to exit the gate. The queue to leave the inner city moved quickly as the guards often just waved people through. She stuck close to the Vampire in the hopes she wouldn’t look back.

“Wait there young lady, show me your token again.”

Tsarra’s heart froze when the guard singled her out. She hastily flashed her token again, but a line of suspicion grew on the Guard’s forehead.

“Please step aside for further inspection.”

Envy turned around to wait for the dwarf as she was inspected by the guard, her token and Card closely examined. She spotted a flash of red exchange hands before it was nervously pocketed by the apprentice healer.

She wordlessly turned around and walked towards the Clinic, not waiting for Tsarra to catch up.