---Moving away from the crowd in the main square.---
A voluptuous woman swayed sensually as she moved down the barren street in a suede-dyed purple cloak, the material rocking as she moved.
*CLACKING OF HEELS.*
Hurriedly walking back towards the market street, with the stand of trinkets and jewels as her main goal. The smooth but polished silver clasp that held the taut cloak together across her chest glistened. The clasp catching the daylight, trickling the warm sun under the woman's pale chin as it scrunched at the thought of the man on the podium.
Dwinnerva: How I hate those people who look up to that hollow sycophant. 'Annoyed.' Tis a fool who listens to the rambling of a man who preaches of "his" God's words and not theirs. Blinded in the light... all of them! 'Spiteful tone.'
As the sun continued its relentless tirade over the day, its ever-growing warmth moved from strand to strand of the thick but light material, eventually reaching the cold skin underneath, bringing no comfort from its embrace or piled annoyance on her weary mind to the small form that was so out of place.
Dwinnerva: I never expected one of those to be here, let alone even leave the confines of the capital. It must be something important. 'Thinking.' Well, whatever it is about, I will have no interest in it. Let one of those cattle come and trickle it to my ears come late day.
The clacking of heels continued on and so did the dying ramblings of the woman, now gradually slowing as she reached the darkened alley to her left.
Something in the darkness began to seep out from its depths, calling out to those that could sense, calling out for someone to find it and someone shall.
*CLACK, CLACK... CLACK. FINAL STRIKE OF A HEEL FADING OFF.*
The tapping of heels no longer filled the wide but empty street, only the rustling and creeks of signs jostling in the wind from the small shops on either side and the rustling of loose sheets adorning small pop-up stalls. Instead, a sickly scent took hold—a pungent odour that was coming from deep within the darkness—the smell of death creeping into the life of a new day, creeping to the lone soul in the street.
No longer concealed by the muddy odour of the villagers that had previously obscured it as they marched by, masking its true sense, now overwhelming the woman's nose and in full force, forcing her to go on the defence.
Dwinnerva: What is this vulgar stench? 'Confused.' How come I didn't notice this before... (Moving her hand to her mouth.) It reeks...
The cusping of her face only thwarted the smell slightly.
As the lone woman stood still, simply wondering how she could have missed such a scent—the smell forcing its way down her throat, mixed into the channels of her nose—the odour fought hard not to be forgotten.
Dwinnerva: (Turning to glance down the dark alley.) Really? The village is truly going to the gutters. 'Lamenting.' At least keep it to the outskirts, idiots... They know don't shit where you sleep. If they find out... 'Pausing.'
The woman walked to the edge of the shadowy alley, and something began to pique her morbid interest, no longer berating the actions of the unsavoury souls who resided in the underbelly of all places. A village, city, or even the inhospitable, there will always be the underbelly to all things.
Where the light came to an end and the darkness began, bleeding into each other, Dwinnerva moved, slowly leaving the lonely street of light behind, walking on once more, now into the darkness, quietly following the smell to its destination, unperturbed or worried of what might be waiting, curiosity being taking hold.
As the light clack of heels moved on, a new noise inserted itself into the woman's movements.
*A LIGHT SPLOSH.*
Dwinnerva: What is this? (Looking down.) 'Pausing.' There is a lot of it... (Wondering to herself.) Why is there so much blood?
The jeweller shook the front of her right foot, the partially dried hidden crimson flicking back onto the ground and wall to her right, making hidden marks as she moved on.
The smell was now growing even stronger as a mound on the stone-cobbled pathway came into view, almost tricking the onlooker into thinking it was simply tossed garbage in a pile and hastily covered.
Dwinnerva: Someone must have had some unduly fun of their own. 'Cold interest.' Still, it doesn't explain this rot.
*SHUFFLING OF A CLOAK.*
A young, soft feminine hand reached down, no longer covering a confused scrunched-up face, slowly grasping onto the torn material of the large mound on the cold dead stone, trying not to rip it with a loose grip. The unmoving form began to slightly lift up and then over on its side, plopping down like a bag of meat hitting a solid countertop. A wave hit the womans face and eyes, almost becoming unbearable, once more placing her hand back to her face in an attempt to shield herself from it and ultimately failing.
Her eyes squinted.
Dwinnerva: How can a... man smell like this? 'Pondering.' Even in death, this gives no excuse... (Taking a closer look at the corpse.)
The large head of a man was now gazing up towards the sky with its warped face before slumping to the left and falling back to the solid ground, thumping as the skull hit down. Life long gone past from the corpse of the body left in the alley from before, the river of blood pooling to the side. The sight below made the woman move back in shock, her back almost touching the wall.
*SMALL AUDIBLE GASP.*
Dwinnerva: 'Shocked.' Who would do such a thing like this? There's murder... but this is just... (Recoiling away, then recomposing herself.) It looks akin to what a beast would do to a man. Still, that is impossible for any beast to have done this.
Silence took hold over the alley until the sound of something alive began to move deeper in the shadows, pulling her away from the sight below and turning to her left.
*LIGHT SHUFFLING FROM DOWN THE ALLEY.*
The jeweller paused, listening attentively for something else to rear its head. When nothing came, she spoke up, not wanting to give whoever was hiding a chance to think they were not noticed.
Dwinnerva: Hello? 'Unsure.'
The jeweller, pausing for another moment, spoke out once more, much clearer and firmer in her tone.
Dwinnerva: Is somebody there? (Hand shifting to her belt.) I promise you that I shall not be as easy as this one. 'Determined.'
No answer came to the woman's call-intwined warning, but she could feel that someone or something was in the unknown in front of her, not watching or waiting, but hiding. The woman closed her eyes and focused on the heart of the noise from before, attentively listening for something, tunnelling her mind and senses into one.
*BA-DUMP, BA-DUMP... BA-DUMP.*
A light rhythmic beating thumped in tune, and the shallow breathing of someone was coming from one of the alcoves up ahead; it was close enough that two strides would make it almost on top of her. It was the beating heart of something small living, almost asleep, and the scent of an apple aroma wafted her way.
A smell she knew all to well.
Dwinnerva: It can't be... Kohl? 'Worried.' Kohl, it has to be you? But what are you doing down here.
The hand that went for the small curved sheathed blade on the darkened belt quickly moved away; instead, she instinctively moved forward, deeper into the alley. Ignoring the sight from before and pushing it into the far recesses of her mind. She was focused on the thought of the young boy she had been wondering about for most of the morning.
The hurried clacking of heels returned and moved on, the body behind staying where it was, seeping back into the stone once more.
*HURRIED MOVEMENT OF FEET.*
As she made her way to the hidden spot to the right, the rolling of carriages rushed on by from the street of light. Her mind focused on what was in front of her, ignoring the ambience of wheels coming and going.
The clattering of hooves came and went.
Dwinnerva was now standing in the hidden but locked doorway where the sound came from, easily towering over a small, crumpled form. A worried look was adorning the face of the jeweller as the person she was wondering about was now right in front of her.
Dwinnerva: Where the hell have you been? 'Worried.' I have been worrying about you all morning... (Looking down.)
Barred closed with thick planks of wood, a small child was cowering at the base of the securely locked doorway that should have led to the storage units for the merchants. His hands and head deeply nestled into his legs, clearly hiding from the world in the sea of darkness.
The woman kneeled down, preparing to move a hand to the frightened child, not realising it was slathered in blood until the last second, she pulled away, wiping her hand on her cloak.
Dwinnerva: Kohl? Dear, it's me! 'Concerned.' What are you doing down here, my dear?
No reply came from the woman's gentle calls, trying to lull the child away from his legs. When no answer came, the calls turned into a sharp demand.
Dwinnerva: Kohl, KOHL! 'Loud.' Please snap out of it!
A hushed reply finally came to the woman's demand.
Kohl: Be quiet... It will hear you. 'Muffled.'
A confused look took over the woman's face. Not understanding the child's words.
Dwinnerva: Kohl... there is no one... (Cutting herself off.)
Two new sounds appeared. Clattering of feet in the street of light... and the scratching of something sharp scraping across the cobblestone—it was now getting louder and sharper as it moved closer. The smell of rot grew and so did the guttural growl and a raised heartbeat.
Dwinnerva could feel something emanating behind her—the presence that was neither beast nor a man. It was something else, something that didn't fit in this world, mimicking life where there was not.
Quickly whispering to Kohl.
Dwinnerva: Kohl... No matter what you hear... keep your eyes closed. 'Firm.'
The child's arms that were wrapped around his legs stiffened and tightened to the point that pain and discomfort began to settle in. His forearms crushing into his ears, muffling the sounds that would come of beasts in the darkness.
The warped screams and squeals rang out and the hurried feet of two guards halted hearing the anguish of something being torn to pieces. Both men looked to each other before they themselves reached for their own blades. Worn hands reached for the cracked leather on the swords handles, quietly but smoothly unsheathing the glistening scratched blades from there homes.
The howling of beasts had come to an end.