MezzraMature

"Aye! Just one piece of silver for this exquisite statuette - 'ey! Where the 'ell you think you doin', kid?!"

A child resembling a drowned rat more than a human being scrambled from behind the stall of the man selling glass figurines, dining sets, tables, and many other things. The boy's black hair fell in front of his eyes, dirt crusted all throughout it. His skinny frame made him look like death had grown a few limbs and tried to awkwardly run. Because he was definitely tripping as the stall owner ran after the boy.

Mezzra merely shook her head and left a piece of silver on the stall before grabbing the statuette of a Mask. It was Seitrak, the Mask who controlled fire. Many tributes had been made to the Masks who lost their lives in the Great Battle. Few, for the ones who lived. It was odd. These humans decided those who were dead needed more recognition than the living. 

Walking away from the stall, she headed towards the south, down the crowded way of the market that came alive a few minutes before as mothers and children rushed out to get the best deals with the salesmen and women. Everyone cleared the way, of course, in the presence of the mask, but she ignored them, just staring at the statuette of Seitrak. Although they never interacted when they were younger, when she met him, she didn't hate him, like she expected to. The statuette was quite beautifully made, every little detail of the late Mask of Fire etched into it. His blue-green mask that resembled his blue-green scales when he was a dragon glinted as the clouds peeled away from the sun, allowing warmth to wash over Mezzra's ebony skin. 

Seitrak, you really are stupid, she thought in contempt, thumb brushing over the white hair in a single braid down his glass back. Sacrificing yourself for a whole village... You stupid, lovestruck idiot...

That was the reason Seitrak died. He loved a mortal woman and when Saratha's forces neared the woman and her family, he died fighting against them. In the end, they were murdered anyway.

Mezzra took a hiatus and looked off to the right, brow arching. Trees lined the entire market place, and the speckled pattern on the fallen leaves underneath the trees caught her attention. Someone bumped into her and took off in the opposite direction, though she took no notice. 

Slowly, gracefully, the dark-skinned woman walked over to the gap in the stalls and buildings and disappeared into the wood. 

It was louder, the sound of growling. It resembled that of a wolf. 

A lycan, or a werewolf...? Mezzra thought with furrowed brows. Either way, she stepped quietly, as if she were a cat stalking its prey and when she came to the clearing where the growling was most prominent, she peeked through the vegetation to see - yes, a wolf lycan - snarling at a woman with dark hair. She was an elf. Mezzra narrowed her eyes a bit, confused as to why an elf ventured to this area. Some, of course, were called upon by royalty, or just visited Jeryz'l to interact with those other than their own kind. But it was still odd.

She didn't want to get involved in a fight that was not her own, though, not until she was sure the elf was in real danger and that this lycan was not a friend. It didn't appear to be, but Mezzra was not about to risk her life for a stranger so easily.

The End

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