Cobbled stone shifting beneath my feet with each step upon the narrowed street, as pebbles skated into the dust it would soon form into, Sprouts of greenery and moss thrived between the missing pieces, their tendrils creeping out like nature’s reclamation. Created haphazardly as if done with the intent of completion rather than care, the foundations between both the road and the houses built near it seemed as unsupported and crowded as the masses whom inhabited the this part of Eahbridge. Stacked together, each home a shifted mismatched piece, roofs sloped at awkward angles, while some abandoned the concept of a uniformed covering, and adorned the patches with tarps. It was no secret that this part of town, the foundations of what created it, was crumbling beneath the desire of expansion. And while the air was thick with sweat, smoke, and other odors that held my senses in a vice, I felt a slight form of pity.
Shaking the onslaught of emotions that threatened to plague me, I kept my head down and kept moving.
The bustling early morning noise of crowds surrounded me the further I drew into the town, trading the pastoral scents for more fragrant ones. Intermingled voices, a cacophony in the air, as deals were made, food was exchanged, and conversations were humming between the clang of metal. The tonal shift in the environment was jarring. Roads maintained , hardly a crack to be had, while the homes were built sturdy and secure. Breezing through the bodies that constantly threatened to bump me this way and that, I found a pocket between the sea of people and broke through to the alleyways.
Cut narrowly between supported buildings, I tucked behind the smaller area that acted as my makeshift den. Nestled behind the tavern, which only garnered minor use in the earlier hours of the morning, I sought refuge in the dilapidated former shed that, I assumed, once housed medicinal herbs given the faint traces that that remained there. Shrugging my hood over the freshly woven braid, memories of laughter and stolen kisses in the encroaching spring of day, as Ray redid the plait she lovingly frayed mere moment prior. Color came to my cheeks, settling in that moment, before I snapped back into reality.
Damn you, Ray. You aren’t even present and your threat to steal my focus lingers on..
Biting my lip with the intent to draw blood, the stinging prickle brought me back to attention. Focusing on strumming up the laces on my boots, I reworked the knots, making sure the loops were secured.
The grandeur of the castle peeked between the worn wooden slates of the shed, banners fluttering the royal crest arrogantly billowing breeze. Sunlight climbing behind the imposing fortress, illuminating the soaring marble spires that threatened to pierce the sky. Towering as if it could encapsulate the light of life itself, a true testament of excess, every stone in the construction of this building was deliberate. I nearly snorted at the sight as I secured my gloves, turning my back to the over imposing show of arrogance.
A faint breeze skated along my neck, causing the rumple of parchment to wave back at me. Tucked within the corner of my den, I smirk at the crude drawing of my features. Details exaggerated, my eyes were a piercer shade of gold rather than the cool tones they possessed, and my features were sharper, more severe, and sinister. They never could capture my face, given the amount of meticulous care I took to shield my identity, but rather let the mystery and “danger” of my actions lead their pen. Closing the distance between me and my trophy, I trace a finger along the artistry, finding humor within the small nuances that they crafted. Embracing the image they painted me as. My gaze fell to the words beneath, my moniker scrawled in blocky bold letters.
“THE SCARLET BANDIT. WANTED – DEAD OR ALIVE”
The words loomed on the page like a curse, one that morphed with each new creation of a poster. I remembered the day I spotted this one in the market , the name piquing my interest enough for me to tear it down and take it with me. Stamped with the official seal of the King, I embraced the name he gave me and the power attached to it. Turning with the paper in my hands, I hold it up in the air, comparing it to the sight of the grandiose castle. My presence exposed the cracks in the looming entity, causing it to crumble even more and desperation to seep through. My face remained the symbol that kept the King from perfection, one that his ego clawed at to keep from wavering. And that is what kept me coming back all these years. Remaining a thorn in his side.
That’s not the only reason…
Crushing the paper and tossing it to the side, hoping that noise would silence my intrusive thoughts. Shaking my shoulders to regather my focus, I adjusted my face covering, securing the fabric around my mouth and nose. Fully dressed, I knew that it was my time to shine.
It’s time to give them the monster they crave to paint me as.
