Spotted sunlight covered the dark ivy and ferns of the forest floor, the trees standing tall, their trunks covered with moss and lichen, creating an almost entirely emerald-colored habitat. A stag grazed lazily at a large patch of wild grass ahead, its eight-point antlers brushing against it and making it rustle. Eventually, its head raised, ears rotating around it to listen for sounds as it chewed. Birds chirped in the branches towering above. Neither were aware of the lurking figure moving silently through the foliage below.
Slowly a scarred hand reached back into a quiver, calloused fingers plucking out an arrow and fitting the nock against the string. The bow gradually raised, the arrow pulling back in time with the motion before the figure was still once more. Olive-colored eyes stared intently at the deer as the fletching rested near their scarred cheek, the sharp arrowhead pointed at the animal’s chest, aiming for its heart.
One heartbeat passed. Then another. On the third, the arrow finally flew, plunging into the animal’s chest. The deer gave a weak cry of alarm, its legs quickly moving as it bounded away from the direction the arrow had come from. It didn’t get too far, however, before its legs began to give out under it and its head lolled. It soon fell, not too far from when it’d been shot, lying still in the grass and dirt.
The figure slowly stood from their hiding place behind the brush, putting away their bow and walking off toward the dying animal with quiet, near-silent steps. They pulled a knife from their belt, crouching down to the animal and quickly ending its suffering. They then began to tie its front legs together before doing the same with the back legs in a method that seemed familiar to them.
There was a pause as the figure prepared themselves before then hauling the large creature onto their shoulders with a groan. They stumbled on the first few steps before eventually falling into a rhythm. The weight seemed to be a bit much for them to haul, but they kept on going despite the slight shake in their knees. Eventually, their labored steps brought them to a path they recognized all too well.
Walking back to town with a deer on their shoulders felt much longer than it was, the blood from the animal now streaked down their green cloak. Their efforts were soon rewarded as the deer was lifted off of them with ease. The figure’s eyes stared down at the cobble path and the familiar pair of boots standing atop it, their hands going to their knees as they tried to recover. “Thank you… Gristle…” they panted out between their gasps for breath.
“You know I don’t mind you coming and asking me to help bring these back, right? You’re gonna get trapped under one of these things one day, Mo!” Gristle held the carcass on one shoulder, either unaware or uncaring of the blood dripping onto his already bloody shirt and apron. The large man had his other hand on his hip, his brow furrowed with concern for the small person in front of him.
The figure finally stood up straight, pulling back her hood to show herself and smile at the friendly butcher. Her face was heavily scarred, the pale lines marking a good portion of her dark skin. “Ah, don’t worry about that. I’d hate to make two trips. Besides, there’s a good possibility something else would get to it before we would get there.”
“That might be true,” Gristle mumbled, his large, protruding fangs giving his voice a distinctive muffle, “But that doesn’t mean you should go and rough it alone. Carrying these things never looks easy for you.”
Mo watched as Gristle brought a large, calloused hand behind his head to rub at his blonde mane, his lion-like ears atop his head held tall. Her own dark brown feline ears turned to press back slightly against her mess of brunette and ash-colored hair. Her Olive-colored eyes darted away and her smile was now gone. “Don’t go worrying about me. I rough it alone, you know that.”
The Lionfolk butcher gave a long, drawn-out sigh, seemingly exhausted by just these words alone. He dug into his apron pocket as he spoke. “Fine. I’ll drop it. Here’s your coin for today’s meat, and some extra so that you can get yourself cleaned up.”
Mo caught the small pouch that was tossed to her, opened it, and quickly looked over the contents. Once everything seemed to be in order, she gave Gristle a wave and a soft thank you before heading on their way.
Ferncomb’s main street wasn’t all too busy, seeing as most folks had already finished work for the day. Not many were still out walking the road. Mo found herself alone, her leather boots gently tapping along the cobblestone as she glanced into the windows of nearby businesses. Most taverns were aglow with light and filled with folks looking for dinner and drink, while the shops and services seemed to be, for the most part, dark and empty. At least, all except one.
The local bathhouse stayed open most hours of the day, just like the taverns in town. There was always a local worker or a traveler who needed hot water and a good scrub, so the business was always flowing. The steam coming up from several small windows and pipes in the building seemed to glow as the light from the building itself bounced off of it. The sign mostly consisted of artwork of a steaming barrel of water and the assortment of colorful flowers surrounding it. The name painted beside it read “Rosie’s Waters” and the font with adorned with, unsurprisingly, roses.
Mo stopped in front of the steps to the door, inspecting the coin Gristle had given her once more. There were a few extra, just as he’d said. Enough to pay for one of the private one-person baths and their laundry service. Mo quickly plucked out the exact amount she needed as she walked up the steps to the main door, tucking away the rest of her pay into the bag on her belt.
A windchime was immediately noticeable as she opened the door and stepped into the lobby, the feline ears atop her head giving a slight twitch to the crystalline tone. The walls were white painted wood, the baseboards still dark. Dried flowers hung from several different points on the walls and ceiling, making the lobby smell floral. A woman with orange-tinged skin and short, flickering hair like a candle flame stood at the desk in the lobby, folding clean towels and smiling all the while. Mo had seen the Elemental woman several times before but didn’t know her name.
“A private one-person bath, please.” Mo put the coin down on the desk as she spoke, beginning to take off her bloodstained cloak.
The woman manning the front desk pushed aside her neat stack of towels and scooped up the coins, giving Mo a grin as she pointed her to a ledger on the far side of the wood. “Please sign your name, then you can head on into bath number two!”
Mo simply gave a nod, quickly writing out her full name into the ledger before heading off down one of the hallways. She didn’t have to go far to get to the room with the number two painted on the wood in a flowery pink and green artsy font. Inside was a small space with white drapes hanging over another doorway into the room with the bath itself. Mo began to undress, leaving her clothes on the nearby bench before taking her belt and weapons with her past the drapes.
The bathing area was small and simple. The walls, floor, and ceiling were all a dark wood, glass sconces with floating golden motes of light brightening the room in a comfortable orange glow. In the corner was the square basin of water, built into the floor and already steaming, light dancing along the water’s surface.
Mo gave a tense sigh, turning to look at the long bench along the wall and the two clean towels sitting at the end. She set her bow and quiver down, along with her belt and the small bags tied to it. There was a hesitation, however, as her eyes landed on the sheathed dagger attached to the belt itself. She gave a glance at the drapes, anxiety starting to creep on her before she quickly unsheathed the dagger and brought it with her toward the bath. If someone was going to creep up on her, she wasn’t going to be without a weapon.
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The Catfolk woman slowly lowered herself into the basin, stepping on one of the seats in the water before her feet moved to the bottom and she sank further in, sitting in the corner so she faced the curtains while her back was to the wall. She set her dagger down beside the soaps at the side of the bath and did her best to let her muscles relax, finding it rather hard not to feel sluggish thanks to the deer she had to haul back into town.
After a few minutes of enjoying the steam and hot water, Mo untied the bun keeping up most of her hair, her streaked, wavy locks falling over her shoulders and into the water. Using a cup beside the basin to pour the water onto her hair, she began to wash, amber and rose-scented soaps becoming more fragrant with lather and steam. She couldn’t help how her ears occasionally twitched, flicking off beads of water from the sensitive fur.
Eventually, there was a knock on the door, one that made her jump and reach for her weapon. She listened as a quiet voice announced herself simply with the word “laundry”. Mo could hear the employee picking up her clothes and then the door shutting again. Hopefully, there wouldn’t be any complaints about the blood once she returned to the front desk.
Mo looked down to her right hand, fingers gripped hard around the dagger to the point where her knuckles began to pale. She took in a shaky breath before letting it out, attempting to calm her nerves. Reluctantly, she let go of the dagger, setting it down gently beside the basin of water. Her eyes continued to stare at it, however, scanning the silvery metal and the leather-wrapped hilt along with the small triangular pommel.
It was only then that she realized her hand was shaking, her eyes finally leaving the dagger as she grabbed her wrist, holding her hand close and staring down at it. Her naturally more pointed nails were kept short, so as not to interfere with the pull of her bowstring, but the more noticeable feature about them was the scars. Just like most of her body it seemed, there were long lines and nicks of scar tissue. They adorned her fingers, knuckles, and arm, all developed from separate wounds at separate times. Mo flexed her hand, continuing to take in deep, calming breaths before letting them out slowly.
“Calm down… You’re safe.” She whispered under her breath to herself, her anxious mind jumping between different memories as she looked at each scar. Soon, she squeezed her eyes shut, gritting her teeth in a grimace before letting her arms sink into the hot water. It took everything in her to force her mind away from the memories of the battles, the losses, and the wounds. Eventually, she continued to wash, choosing to try and focus on finishing her current task rather than lingering on the past.
Once she had had her fill of the water, now clean and rejuvenated, Mo stepped out of the basin, gently wringing water from her dark brown tail and hair. Just as she began drying herself with the clean towels provided, however, there was another knock on the door, and her hand immediately grabbed the dagger she’d kept nearby, an instinctual habit by now. She bristled as she heard a different voice from before, one that was familiar and much more… Eccentric.
“Your clothes are clean, Mo-Mo!” called the voice in a sing-song manner. Mo could see the silhouette of her bardic friend displayed on the curtain, rabbit ears standing tall atop his head.
Mo could feel her brow furrow with annoyance at the nickname, her cheeks warming now from more than just the steam. She quickly covered herself with her towel, giving a huff toward the fabrics that separated them. “Dammit, Ash, here? Really? Is it that important that you just couldn’t wait until after I came out?”
“It is, actually!” the man replied, his shadow moving against the white drapes, most likely placing her now clean clothes down on the bench. “I’ve found you a job! A real, actual job that you could use your real, actual talents on! And believe me when I say the coin purse looks heavy on this one!”
Mo paused at this, her ears perking up atop her head at the prospect. “A large payout? There’s got to be a catch. And I find you mentioning my ‘talents’ in such a way as suspicious.”
“Don’t worry, I already vetted the lady, she’s not gonna be any trouble!” Ash quickly replied. “Elven woman, bright fiery head of hair, fancy white and gold getup, and a naive, peppy attitude. Her coin purse is practically overflowing and she’s been asking about town all day for somebody with your skills.”
“My ‘skills?’” Mo hesitated, having dried off now and beginning to tie her hair up into another messy bun. “And what makes you think I need to take on another prospect? I got a good thing going with Gristle, I don’t-”
“Living in a shack and getting paid with the butcher’s stray coin is what you call a ‘good thing’ now, Mona?” Ash’s voice now sounded more serious, a slight worry interlaced with his words. “You need the coin. Besides, I already told the Elf that I’d be introducing you to her tonight. You have to come.”
“Wait, you already have me meeting her!? But-”
“We’ll be at The Honeyed Dagger! Go ahead and get yourself dressed and I’ll grab you a pint when you walk yourself on over. Don’t you dare stand me up!” There was then the sound of the door quickly opening and shutting, leaving Mona by herself without an opportunity to argue. She blinked at the curtains for a moment before grumbling and beginning to get dressed.
By the time she was back on the street, the sky was dark, stars dotting the inky black above her, the three moons lighting the streets when the nearby houses and shops weren’t enough. She began walking again along the stone toward The Honeyed Dagger, a nervous feeling twisting in her gut. What the hell kind of job would it be? The Elf didn’t fit the description of anyone she’d seen in town before, so it probably wasn’t something local.
Mona’s mind began to race with different possible things that could be asked of her, the anxiety making the hairs at the back of her neck stand on end. A long-term hunt, perhaps? A bodyguard? Ash wouldn’t approve of a job for a hit, would he? He’d done some seedy things in his life and business, but he hadn’t pushed a job of that sort on her before.
When Mo finally looked up again, she was standing across the street from The Honeyed Dagger, olive eyes scanning over the charmingly painted sign with its colorfully depicted bees before looking to the apiary on the roof. Her view then flitted down to peer into the warm glow of the tavern itself. It seemed rather busy, plenty of locals drinking their nightly flagon of mead after a hard day's work, some over a game of cards. It wasn’t hard to spot the bright orange hair in the back corner of who she assumed was the Elven woman she was meant to speak to. It was one of the only heads she could see, anyhow, that didn’t have a set of animal ears or horns atop it, or a floating head of watery hair, or brightly colored Elemental skin.
What would an Elf be doing here in Ferncomb anyway? Mona thought to herself. Most of the town’s occupants were Beastfolk and Elementals, and Elven visitors arriving without a party of travelers with them was uncommon. Usually, they stayed closer to the bigger cities, where their long bloodlines built big, close-knit families. When they did travel, it was usually as a Cleric or some other form of healer thanks to their talents.
With a groan of nervous worry, Mona instead decided to look back up to the star-filled space above her. Sulphesta seemed to be right above her, the small red moon nearly full. Gorentz wasn’t too far away from it, its milky white and green swirls presented in the sky in a perfect half circle. Far on the other side however was Aphirette, now only a giant curved sliver of blue near the horizon.
Mo could feel herself begin to relax as she stared at the beauty of the night sky and its colors and lights. She could feel a sense of relief looking up at the celestial objects above her, something she knew a lot of other Beastfolk would relate to the feeling. Maybe this wouldn’t be so bad, and she’ll have a simple job for a lot of coin and be one step closer to moving herself out of Gristle’s old shed and into a little place of her own. Maybe, for once, things will be better for her, simpler, easier even.
With this sliver of newfound courage, Mona finally took her first steps across the cobblestone road, walking up to the front door of The Honeyed Dagger. Her hand grabbed the cold brass handle and she paused, one last wave of nervous hesitation crashed through her before she buried that feeling, pushing open the door.
It was just one job. What could go wrong?