Chapter 2: Pesky Rogues
The scraping of metal against metal rang rhythmically in a worn-down shop, not much larger than an outhouse shed. It was the type of shop to keep its wares outside in barrels and boxes due to a lack of storage room. Nailed to the wall hung an old sign where "THIEVES GET HUNG" was written out in (now peeling) white paint. The quartermaster was methodically scraping rust off of metallic pipes and gears, and a bandolier-clad mercenary was impatiently waiting off in a corner of the shop for his request to be completed.
"Don't you worry there ol' pal, I'll be done in just a moment," said the quartermaster, quickening his pace a bit. He could not tell if the beads of sweat forming at his temples were caused by the immense heat, or the immense presence sitting before him.
"If you had been any other shopkeeper, I'd have all but turned this shed upside down by this point in frustration. A simple reparation job—fifteen minutes you said it would take-" Soran revealed his powerful forearm as he drew back his sleeve to view the time on his ticking bronze watch. "-but it seems that an hour has just now passed, and I was already cursing myself for arriving late. Has age finally gotten ahold of you, quartermaster?"
A forced chuckle managed to escape the quartermaster's lips accompanying his labored breath, like the sound of a malfunctioning steam engine.
"Come now, good sir Soran, we've known each other since you were but a wee boy, would it hurt to let this old man take his well-deserved time?" said the quartermaster, before his hand abruptly stopped mid-scrape. "To tell you the truth, Soran sir, the Jinho's got me."
"Since when?" asked Soran, raising his voice in one part concern and one part surprise as he stood up, tipping over the small wooden stool upon which he just had sat.
The Jinho Trade Federation was certainly old, but not forgotten: even today they were one of the big shots, and in shadier areas like the River Valley, they were kings among peasants. In fact, most of Soran's current jobs were issued by the Jinho's, but as a mercenary, it didn't matter what you thought of your clients, a job was a job—and jobs pay. Even among the rugged, there is honor.
"Well, they came to me about a month past, but nothing of importance was ever really signed. In fact, I don't know how they managed to tie me into their affairs, but now I'm forced to work for them, making whatever they ask of me, or they'll "confiscate my property in the name of the fifth law of trade", as they keep 'kindly' informing me off." He took off his rugged bowler hat and placed it by his chest. "I swear on the Fair Lady that I'm tellin' the truth, Soran sir."
"Don't go begging for mercy now, quartermaster, it's unsightly." the mercenary relaxed his shoulders a bit as he exhaled. "I've known you long enough to trust you. Keep working with them for now, I'll sort it out somehow. As long as you do your job reasonably and properly, they won't confiscate anything, I promise."
The quartermaster's arms unfurled in relief as he broke out into great appreciation.
"Thank ye's! Thank ye's! Good sir Soran! I shall finish your repairs in less than ten minutes without fail, don't you worry!" The quartermaster halted in his cheers for a second, before adding. "Oh, but, don't you worry about me too much now. Wouldn't want to get on the bad side of the Jinho's, isn't that right?"
"I guess so. I'll see what I can do. And about those repairs, take your time if you need to, I'll be back for them later. Just take it easy for now."
And with that, Soran left the shabby shed, accidentally bumping his head against the doorframe on his way out. Not that he was particularly tall or anything, but River Valley has never had any proper architectural design (or architectural influence at all for that matter). It was not all that uncommon to step through old wooden floorboards or to see crooked signs, broken windows, or debris lying about; even seeing parts of buildings straight out collapse under their own weight was commonplace. The town grew so hastily that there just wasn't time to hire architects or designers. Traders moved in and they needed a place to live, and therein they helped each other construct houses. Though shabby, they were still habitable. You could say River Valley was a trade hub truly built by the hands of traders. Because of this, the town was chaotic, locals would say positively so, even though visitors and travelers kept getting lost within the mazelike streets.
Walking along the inner eastern wall, Soran inspected the integrity of its wooden design. It certainly could keep out any pesky rogues trying to climb their way up—it was tall enough for that, but he'd reckon that if a behemoth raged up on wild berserker fungi ventured into the valley, it would not stand upright any longer than it would take to call out "behemoth" in terror, considering even rays of light haphazardly managed to make their way through.
"They should have made it out of sandstone," he muttered to himself.
Caught in the moment, and as if fate had played a trick on him by the mere thought of 'pesky rogues', he noticed how the pouch hanging by his waist which he always put his valuables in felt significantly lighter. Taken by sudden shock and frustration, his head darted backward and scanned the few people which roamed along the near paths ebbing in and out of alleyways. Fortunately, this part of town was not a very populated one, and Soran had a keen eye for picking out villains among the masses, so when he saw one awkward figure in a green hooded coat swerving into a dark passage, he knew that was the "pesky rogue" he was looking for. He realized in which direction that passage led, and he speculated that the thief must be heading towards an area known as 'Fire Avenue'. This, for many reasons, was not good.
He quickly took to climbing (or more so running) up the nearest shack, from which he took off in a sprint, jumping between uneven rooftops and strangely shaped wooden architecture. Soran was a master of all things that had to do with physical exertion and had no issue with moving smoothly between the poorly constructed buildings.
He managed to spot a bobbing green head moving along groups of people at a quick pace but lost sight of it when a penthouse on top of a residential building in front of him came into and blocked his view.
A large window was loosely open, swaying in the light wind, and a white-haired woman inside seemed to be trying on clothing. Having both limited choices and time, he flew forwards and grabbed onto the window sills, slipping inside with a strong gust of wind following by his side. The woman tripped onto the floor and gasped, but Soran managed to slip through the room and then back outside through another window just as quickly as he entered. He could only hear her angered shouting from behind like whispers on the wind.
Scanning the alleyways below again, the warm sunlight revealed for but a moment that pesky green hood heading towards, just as Soran predicted: Fire Avenue.
Fire Avenue was a long, long street where culinarians lined up to serve whatever food they may cook at their stalls, and they served it on the cheap side, making it one of the most popular places in town. The reason it was called 'Fire' Avenue was because of the flickering lights from all the cooking stations, as well as the hanging red lanterns above. It turned the entire street ablaze in light—quite beautiful if you didn't mind crowds.
Beauty and color aside, however, if the rogue managed to make their way there before Soran got a hold of them, he would certainly lose them among the crowd. He needed that money to pay for the reparation costs to the quartermaster, and thus he silently cursed himself for being so aloof earlier.
Making his way to cut off the rogue, he prepared a grappling hook that he took out of his pack in his left hand to swing his way down, as he did not want to suffer the fall. Just as he thought the moment to swing came, a wooden canopy which he had been running on buckled, cracked, and broke into splinters with a snap, sending him hurtling down into the street below.
"Damned be the ones who constructed these!" exclaimed Soran just before slamming into the ground and rolling a few meters. Thankfully, he had just barely managed to hook onto a random beam sticking out of the cramped houses lining the street in front just before falling, which had held well enough for him to partly soften his fall.
One of the onlookers who happened to be a young boy pointed at him and cackled in a way only a cheeky rascal could before his mother hushed him and hurried him along the other way.
Not letting himself be distracted, Soran managed to spot the green hooded rogue looking back at him, turning foward and taking off hastily, pushing themself through any passersby (who were undeservingly knocked to the ground). Soran rolled himself off of the ground and continued the chase—at this distance, that thief had no chance of escaping.
A loud creaking of wood split his attention, however, and when Soran looked back to see the part of the building from which he had fallen earlier rapidly collapsing, he came to realize the tragedy that was about to befall, as large chunks of debris came barreling towards the boy who previously had heckled him.
A whimpering 'mama' was heard by all nearby folk, followed by the loud crashing of wood hitting the ground and a mother's horrified shriek. As the dust from the crashing debris settled, from it rose the mercenary, underneath him the child of the mother, relatively unharmed. Embracing her child, the mother looked back to see the man who had risen from the rubble, only to realize he was already running down the alleyway, and shortly after he disappeared into a crowd of people.
"Thank you," she cried.
Weekly Power Status
-- Power
Ranking 
-- Power
stone