Post by genuisj01 on Aug 7, 2020 0:03:11 GMT -5
Terrorizing the citizens without a second thought, that's what she had heard of the Rock Dragon Bandits. Death followed them wherever they went, and with those who killed, the price on their heads would haunt them forever.
Shivre Out was a large place. While she had explored plenty of cities during her efforts, none of them had felt so... disconnected. Tourists came and went, highly aware due to the reputation of crime in the island, but still far too casual. Citizens knew where to go, but more importantly, where to avoid if they didn't want any trouble. Despite the knowledge that the only thing separating them between death in an alley, and not, was a group of poorly trained but numerous militia, the streets were busy and countless people heeded no attention to the other, more shady figures roaming beside them. This amount of confidence in something they themselves had no control over, she would never understand. The militia themselves were scattered all over the place, but were especially gathered at the entrance to the city. Due to their sheer numbers, they weren't even spread thin, while maintaining order in most of the area. That is... if they ever managed to catch the culprits; these bandits were known for tricks rather than brute force, so oftentimes they would find a way out, with the rooftops being so accessible.
Just inside Shivre Out, beside the entrance was a well known tavern known as the Iron Crossroads, an oft visited and well known attraction for all sorts of men and women, whether they be foreign or not. It was a place that oozed calm and content, a place for people to relax after a long day... and a place that allowed all in its walls; that is, as long as they followed the rules. Due to this, tourists tended to avoid the place, but citizens grew to trust the owner, and actually understood it to be a rather safe settlement most of the time. Plus, the best drinks in all of Shivre Out couldn't be gotten without a little bit of danger on the side. The tavern itself looked gruff, knowing what kind of audience it was made to attract. While most buildings on this side of the mountain were made with the resources that the island also exported: Corrugated iron, the tavern was made almost entirely out of hard wood, unbefitting its name. It had a niche architecture, as did most of the buildings here since they were built on the incline of the mountain, but the tavern did its best to stand out, with a more straight edged build and an appearance that made it look like it would fall down at any moment, even if it was standing strong and had faced off against countless storms up here on the harsh weather of the mountain without a scratch. Even the sign looked like it was half broken, tilted about thirty degrees and barely standing. It all gave a certain charm to the bar, that danger that people think they would find themselves in when they enter from the outside. However, the inside was far more well decorated, with various ornaments on the walls, billiards, darts, further proving that the exterior was just a front, or even that by entering, one might escape the danger shown in the surface. The tavern wasn't made for everyone, and it prided itself on that.
Grey smoke flowed through the air, its source: a cigarette in the hand of a pale young woman. Hitori was standing just outside the Iron Crossroads, eyes scouring the people that passed back and forth. She had just arrived in the city, having spent most of her earlier days outside, going through many of the mines in an attempt to find any tracks that she could hope to find, yet there were no leads. While the likelihood of what she was looking for being in the city was quite low, she needed a break of some sort, so for now she simply stood there, leaning against a building opposite the Iron Crossroads, a blacksmith in fact, smoking her cigarette for some relief. While in one hand she had something any person could have, in the other she held something that more revealed what kind of person she was. Hand down at her hip, she held a sheathed sword of some kind; she didn't have a belt to strap it to, so she always held it of her own accord. The sheath in particular had some feeling to it, something that felt off.
The city had its fair share of problems, and people like her were paid to fix them, but at this point, most of the citizens had long since given up on finding a solution to the ever growing bandit problem. As the prices for their heads grew, it no longer haunted them, it heightened their ego, and gave them enough trust in their abilities to do more dangerous things, things that they would never have imagined themselves doing prior. Eventually, the citizens and the militia believed themselves safe enough behind their city walls, and that was enough for them. Hitori had other ideas.
What she was on this island for was quite simple; to stop the bandits from causing more fear over the poor people here. How she planned to do that... was not as simple, and was not exactly planned yet either. Hundreds of militia couldn't deal with them, why should they expect her to do so like it was nothing? They would see soon enough. The key was in the approach.
Shivre Out was a large place. While she had explored plenty of cities during her efforts, none of them had felt so... disconnected. Tourists came and went, highly aware due to the reputation of crime in the island, but still far too casual. Citizens knew where to go, but more importantly, where to avoid if they didn't want any trouble. Despite the knowledge that the only thing separating them between death in an alley, and not, was a group of poorly trained but numerous militia, the streets were busy and countless people heeded no attention to the other, more shady figures roaming beside them. This amount of confidence in something they themselves had no control over, she would never understand. The militia themselves were scattered all over the place, but were especially gathered at the entrance to the city. Due to their sheer numbers, they weren't even spread thin, while maintaining order in most of the area. That is... if they ever managed to catch the culprits; these bandits were known for tricks rather than brute force, so oftentimes they would find a way out, with the rooftops being so accessible.
Just inside Shivre Out, beside the entrance was a well known tavern known as the Iron Crossroads, an oft visited and well known attraction for all sorts of men and women, whether they be foreign or not. It was a place that oozed calm and content, a place for people to relax after a long day... and a place that allowed all in its walls; that is, as long as they followed the rules. Due to this, tourists tended to avoid the place, but citizens grew to trust the owner, and actually understood it to be a rather safe settlement most of the time. Plus, the best drinks in all of Shivre Out couldn't be gotten without a little bit of danger on the side. The tavern itself looked gruff, knowing what kind of audience it was made to attract. While most buildings on this side of the mountain were made with the resources that the island also exported: Corrugated iron, the tavern was made almost entirely out of hard wood, unbefitting its name. It had a niche architecture, as did most of the buildings here since they were built on the incline of the mountain, but the tavern did its best to stand out, with a more straight edged build and an appearance that made it look like it would fall down at any moment, even if it was standing strong and had faced off against countless storms up here on the harsh weather of the mountain without a scratch. Even the sign looked like it was half broken, tilted about thirty degrees and barely standing. It all gave a certain charm to the bar, that danger that people think they would find themselves in when they enter from the outside. However, the inside was far more well decorated, with various ornaments on the walls, billiards, darts, further proving that the exterior was just a front, or even that by entering, one might escape the danger shown in the surface. The tavern wasn't made for everyone, and it prided itself on that.
Grey smoke flowed through the air, its source: a cigarette in the hand of a pale young woman. Hitori was standing just outside the Iron Crossroads, eyes scouring the people that passed back and forth. She had just arrived in the city, having spent most of her earlier days outside, going through many of the mines in an attempt to find any tracks that she could hope to find, yet there were no leads. While the likelihood of what she was looking for being in the city was quite low, she needed a break of some sort, so for now she simply stood there, leaning against a building opposite the Iron Crossroads, a blacksmith in fact, smoking her cigarette for some relief. While in one hand she had something any person could have, in the other she held something that more revealed what kind of person she was. Hand down at her hip, she held a sheathed sword of some kind; she didn't have a belt to strap it to, so she always held it of her own accord. The sheath in particular had some feeling to it, something that felt off.
The city had its fair share of problems, and people like her were paid to fix them, but at this point, most of the citizens had long since given up on finding a solution to the ever growing bandit problem. As the prices for their heads grew, it no longer haunted them, it heightened their ego, and gave them enough trust in their abilities to do more dangerous things, things that they would never have imagined themselves doing prior. Eventually, the citizens and the militia believed themselves safe enough behind their city walls, and that was enough for them. Hitori had other ideas.
What she was on this island for was quite simple; to stop the bandits from causing more fear over the poor people here. How she planned to do that... was not as simple, and was not exactly planned yet either. Hundreds of militia couldn't deal with them, why should they expect her to do so like it was nothing? They would see soon enough. The key was in the approach.