9 || Rotting Flesh and Bones
To the necromancer, blue was a strange colour. While the shade was associated with tranquil skies and untampered innocence for others, it only reminded Morana of one thing. A determined azure glow pierced through her memories, the image of a dagger protruding from her chest following suit.
The gemstone that the assassin pinched between her nails caught in the sunlight and cast the same luminous shine over the stall. As an angered, tear-stricken face clouded her vision, she buried it back into the assortment of other mismatched jewels.
Blue was not her colour and it never would be.
"What are we even doing here?" Damian questioned from behind Morana, arms folded across his chest. "We need to get to the other side of the island and back before nightfall so I won't cause any suspicion."
"We're getting supplies for the trip, Fire Boy.
" The stall owner watched her fingers warily, studying every movement they took.
As soon as they would inch toward her sleeves or pockets to slip an unsuspecting jewel inside, she knew the old, thin-lipped crone would bite to protect her wares.
"You never know what we could encounter in the Wyrith ruins. "
"And gems are on that list?" Uncertainty wavered in his voice.
Morana pouted. "It doesn't hurt to do a little window shopping too."
She reached into the tray once more and retrieved another crystal.
This one had the smoothness and shape of a pebble, yet mist roiled inside the clear exterior as if a stagnant storm was caged within.
A violet hue caught the assassin's eye as she threw it up into the air and secured it in her other hand. "What does this one do?"
"That one is a wishing stone," the old crone confirmed. Her eager smile at a potential sale revealed her pointed, metal teeth. "If you squeeze it in your palm and make a wish, if your heart truly desires it, it will come true."
The Fireborn Prince sighed, his eye roll audible. "You realise that's fake, right? It looks like a piece of tampered glass."
The woman slammed her fist on the stall, shaking the larger gemstone clusters that were on display. "If you're not interested in my wares, young man, keep your opinions to yourself."
Her outburst drew the attention of a few passersby, signalling that it was time for them to move on. "Thank you for your time." Morana returned the wishing stone to the tray and patted Damian on the shoulder, motioning for him to continue down the Wandering Market.
The shop she needed to visit was on the other end of the Lost Abyss, so she couldn't help getting a little distracted here and there.
A wide variety of goods were always on sale which made each trip unique.
Custom enchanted trinkets, fearsome weapons, strange potions without labels — every time there was something new to encounter.
"This sorcerer," the Fireborn began. "Have you met him before?"
Morana shook her head. "No. Silas has spoken of him before, but I've never actually met him."
"But you've been to the ruins where he lives." He narrowed his eyes in question.
"Those ruins belong to my ancestors.
That sorcerer has disturbed their history and made his home in one of their sacred towers.
If I had met him, he would be nothing but rotting flesh and bones.
" She kicked the ground as she slowed her pace.
If her boss didn't need him for his plan, she would have brought that fate upon him already.
A flash of metal from a refined dagger caught the necromancer's eye as they passed a weapons stall — the same one that they had watched earlier that morning.
The man who had fallen to the Necromancer's Curse was long gone, the only remnant of his life being the black liquid that stained the cobbled ground.
"So you don't know what sort of payment he could ask for?" he pushed, continuing his interrogation. Damian turned to look at the assassin when she didn't respond to find her still lingering near the fresh blades.
When the blacksmith reached into his furnace, Morana grabbed the dagger that called to her and slipped it into her belt.
"I haven't got a clue." Her pace quickened, hoping to get far enough away before the angry elf noticed one of his creations was missing.
"Maybe he wants your finger bones for a spell. "
"Really?" His dark skin paled at the thought, his jaw hanging loose as his steps started to slow.
The assassin hid the grin that grew on her lips.
Perhaps if she frightened him enough, Damian would turn tail and leave her to work on this mission by herself.
Silas wouldn't be happy, but it wouldn't be her fault.
Prince Damian was simply too weak-hearted for your plan.
The excuse already formed in her mind. There was still the matter of the payment, but she could figure that out once she arrived at the tower.
She nodded gravely. "Perhaps finger bones was a stretch. Eyeballs seem to be popular right now with the witches, so maybe that's what he wants. Yours are a stunning colour too, he might be fond of them as soon as he sees them."
The prince paused as they rounded a corner, then broke out into a burst of laughter.
"Did you really find that funny? I'm not joking, you know." It seemed her plan wouldn't work after all. Damian did nothing but confuse the necromancer. He concealed himself behind a shield of fear, yet cracks of his true self still shone through.
"No, you just remind me of my brother, that's all. You have the same type of sarcasm and humour. Matthian makes dark jokes that nobody understands or likes too." The smile that the Fireborn flashed her bloomed a horde of butterflies in her stomach.
"Excuse you! You're the only one who hasn't laughed at my jokes, I'll have you know."
"Did the others have daggers held to their throats?" He arched a singular brow.
"... Maybe." At the returning roar of true laughter, Morana hit him over the back of the head with a sharp palm. "Shut up. We're here."
They stepped into the shop which had its glass door propped open with a weighted skull.
Even with the extra airflow provided, it did nothing to counter the strong metallic scent that coated the assassin's tongue.
Every surface was swathed in cream tile, making it easy to clean up the blood that dripped from the various slabs of meat that hung from the walls.
Smaller chunks were on display in a glass cabinet, the extra layer of protection needed for the rarer selections.
A figure pushed through the crimson beads that led to the back of the shop and greeted them with a wave. "Morning, Morana. You're just in time for your next batch."
Larsa's company was the best in the Lost Abyss.
The Half-Orc with green-tinted skin had dark, cropped hair, the perfect style that wouldn't get in the way of her work.
One half was shaved, revealing the winding rose tattoo that lurked underneath, while the other was thick with curls.
Embellishing her arms were spikes that had been sewn into her flesh.
Despite the harsh exterior she presented, the woman was nothing but fun and cheerful.
"Perfect." The necromancer grinned.
"We're getting supplies from a butcher?" Damian whispered in a hushed tone. As his gaze raked the meats that were on display, the Fireborn gagged.
"Not just any butcher. I'm the best butcher Wyrith has to offer," Larsa called as she slipped into the other room and returned once more with a large, silk pouch.
The heavy thud as she placed it on the counter made excitement reverberate in Morana's veins.
"There's a mixture of Selkie, Troll, and Human in there.
I wasn't sure how to cut some of them, so a few came out quite small. "
"Varied size is alright. You never know what a situation may call for." She tugged on the drawstrings to reveal hundreds of bone shards packed inside. Her power cried out in glee as she reached in and pulled out a handful, her necklace rising into the air with an eager glow.
Most still adorned stains from the blood of the person they had come from.
In the assortment she held, there were some small, sharp shards that would be good for picking locks or assisting with stealing things.
There were also bigger ones too — ones that she could have used when facing down the red-headed Wyrith guard.
"Thank you, Larsa." The assassin slid over a gold coin as she returned the bones to the pouch. It was more than the silver she usually paid, but the butcher's services were worth it. "For the trouble of getting these for me."
"Thank you. Without your business, I'd have a lot more digging to do to hide these remains." She slotted the coin into a jar underneath the counter and it fell with a satisfying clink.
"Bones? The supplies we're picking up are bones?" Damian shook his head in dismay, questions racing through his eyes.
"You guessed earlier that daggers were my weapon of choice and I informed you that you were wrong." Morana flicked her hand and a few shards began to float, purple light shimmering in her eyes. "That's because these babies are my weapons."
As far as the necromancer knew, Larsa was convinced she was some type of bone faerie. There was no need to hide her magic when she was with the butcher.
"Keep stockpiling these for my next visit. I will always need them." Tightly securing the drawstrings, she tied them around her belt and hoped they would hold the weight the pouch contained. "See you around!"
"Don't get into too much trouble," she replied as Morana reached the door. "If they make another wanted poster with a different variation of your face, I'm going to submit an accurate drawing so they can finally get it right."
While the assassin was ready to leave, Damian's feet were still rooted in place. "Come on. Don't you want to get started on this journey so you can get back on time?" She batted her eyes innocently.
The Fireborn only nodded and followed her out. Once they had gotten far enough away from the butcher and began the walk back through the Wandering Market, he grabbed her wrist to stop her. "What are you? Are you a necromancer?"
Morana shot him a glare. "Say it louder, why don't you?" She was surprised it had taken him so long to gather the pieces of information he had and put them together, but now that one of her secrets was out, it would make the trip a whole lot easier.
"You're one of those horrible creatures mentioned in the Wyrith history." His grip tightened, his fingers digging into her skin.
"And those books were written from the wrong perspective.
" She snatched her hand back. "Victors of a war only record what will make them appear to be saints.
Once we've finished with this plan, I'll finally get to change that.
" The prince still didn't look convinced. "Are you scared by that, Fire Boy?"
Damian paused and shook his head. "No. Not at all, Bone Girl."