Ferrum-Aur hated the city. The oppressive, constant press of bodies, and the ever present stink of dung (and corpses, in Cheap Side) coupled with the racist attitudes of most of the city's inhabitants served to put the half-dragon in a truly foul mood. However, there were certain purchases and arrangements to be made, and there was no better place for those than the Long Market of Egorian, capital of Cheliax. Here could be found wares from across the length and breadth of Golarion and, at times, points beyond.
Carnalla walked beside her master, to his left and a half step behind, in the subordinate position. She wore a vermillion gown, one of a simple cut, though far less revealing than her customary attire. Her arms lay bare to the late day sun, and the slits up the sides revealed only her stable boots. A belt of silver links circled her waist, matched by a thin chain around her neck that descended into the depths of her bosom. A pair of stylized, silver manacles encircled her wrists, though there was no chain between them, and this marked her station in the byzantine society of Cheliax.
Ferrum-Aur growled, his jagged fangs flashing in the slowly diminishing light, and mimed a kick at a trio of halfling slaves who had stopped to gawk. The diminutive chattel gasped and shrieked, running away from the irate half-dragon. His midnight black, sleeveless tunic rippled as he resumed his former pace, and the burgundy shirt underneath pulled taut as the muscles in his arms tensed. His golden wings flapped once in irritation, kicking up dust in the halflings' wake. He felt Carnalla's hand gently touch his arm.
"Not now, pet", he growled, smoke puffing out of his mouth. "I did not attire myself in this finery to be ogled by fools who ought to know better."
"I know, dominus," she said, using the formal title he insisted upon in public, "but, perhaps we could try to enjoy ourselves, even if only a little bit?"
"Perhaps we should have taken my carriage here," he grumbled, his eyes flashing in the light of the sun.
I suggested that three hours ago! Carnalla thought to herself. She kept silent, however. While a certain level of defiance in the bedroom was simply part of their dynamic, to do so in public was considered to be extremely bad form, and would risk her master being censured by his peers.
They passed a number of shops, nearly all with facades of the almost ubiquitous Chelaxisn crimson and black. They entered one, briefly. It was the studio of an artist, an elf from Kyonin. The interior door of the place did not at all fit with its gothic outer facade. The walls were covered in a rich, dark hardwood, carved to look as if it had grown that way. The proprietor, Tarandriel, was a sharp eyed, steady handed elf who commanded top price for her work. As the most renowned portrait artist in the Innner Sea region, she could afford to.
After hammering out the details of her contract, during which her intense, brown eyed gaze studied Carnalla in uncomfortably close detail, the tiefling and her master left to find another shop. The facade of this one had details picked out in gold leaf, and the sign above the door proclaimed it as belonging to a jeweler.
"You cannot accompany me within, Little Demon," Ferrum-Aur said, his expression softening by a fraction. "This is a purchase i must make alone." His eyes bored into hers with the strength of command. "Do not wander."
"Yes, dominus,"she said, though they both knew the temptation to ogle the merchandise at the surrounding shops and stalls would be nigh irresistible. Still, Carnalla resolved to obey the instructions given by her master.
The strength of that resolve crumbled after half an hour, during which she sought to content herself with furtive glances in the shop window, and by befriending the owner's cat. When it became apparent the feline was more interested in taking a nap than in anything she was doing, Carnalla decided to explore her immediate surroundings. We never get to go anywhere, and once we do, he bitches about it the whole time! she thought. I'll just have a quick look around.
The sun had set by now and, in the rapidly increasing gloom of twilight, the district's lamplighters appeared, as if from thin air. She took in the sights of the Long Market, muted and they were in the failing light. She passed a stall selling fresh cut flowers, and another which offered an assortment of roasted meats, spitted on slender bamboo skewers.
Then, her attention was caught by three Varisian women. They danced up the center of the street, one playing a fiddle, another a small drum, while the third sang and played a tambourine. Dark haired and dark eyed, with skin bronzed by the sun, they whirled, clad in colorful silks and linen. Carnalla raised an eyebrow as she took note of the rose and scarlet sashes they wore, which advertised that music was not the only service the women offered. Without warning, she felt a hand caressing her ass, a hand that was decidedly softer and smaller than her master's.
"Well, well, gentlemen,"a voice behind her proclaimed, "it seems the dancing girls aren't the only sluts to be found in the Market this evening." The hand was cold, its presence unwelcome, and Carnalla jerked away from it.
"IDIOT!" she hissed. "Do you have any idea who my master is? Do you know what he will do to you?" She looked him up and down, nothing the fine cut of his black hose and scarlet doublet. She also took note of the sabre at his hip, and of the halberds carried by his two armored guards. Terrific. Just my luck. Some petty noble. she thought. Oh well. In for a penny...
"Oh ho!" he laughed at her. "Do you hear that, gentlemen? The little hellspawn has a mouth on her!" he said, moving uncomfortably close to her.
"Keep your cold hands away from me," Carnalla said, backing away from him. "Hands as soft as yours would be better off playing with whatever weak, pathetic thing you have stuffed in your trousers, " she spat.
"And what would toy know about what I have in my trousers, bitch?" he asked angrily.
She raised an eyebrow. "Judging from what I can see," Carnalla began to laugh, "you MIGHT have half of what my master's got."
"Insilenti, halfbreed whore!" the nobleman sputtered. "You will learn the penalty for disrespecting a member of the peerage of Cheliax!" He raised his hand for a backhanded slap.
Then, landing between them on talented feet, her master appeared, so close she felt the wind of his landing. His tunic brushed her face, and his tail wrapped around her hips momentarily, squeezing her slightly. Ferrum-Aur spread his wings, the golden sails serving to shield her. To any other observer, he appeared as calm as a slow moving brook, but Carnalla could feel the hear of his fury roiling off him, as though the sun itself had descended and been roused to wrath. His right hand curled slowly around the hilt of his sword, while the energies of magic gathered in his left.
"Leave now," Ferrum-Aur said, his eyes burning with reflected lamplight, "and that will be the end of this. I would prefer not to spill the blood of a peer in the Market." Ferrum-Aur drew his sword, only the edge glittering, as adamantine is a dull, gray metal.
"A peer?" the nobleman asked incredulously. "Since when are monsters allowed into the nobility of Cheliax?"
In that moment, though he gave no outward sign, Ferrum-Aur decided on his course of action. He took in every feature of this young, foolish noble, from the hawkish cast of his features to the sabre at his side, but most especially, he took note of the arms embroidered into the scarlet doublet, a black serpent, wrapped around the blade of a bloody dagger in a green field. The half-dragon smirked.
"Roughly around the time your mother thought it would be great fun to ride the cock of one," Ferrum-Aur chuckled. "Tell me, does she still take cinnamon and cloves in her wine, or have her tastes changed?"
