Dillon ducked the larger
man’s right hook, quickly following it by slamming his knee into the man’s gut.
One down, three to go, he thought as the man slumped over. On a
good day he might be able to win this fight, but pain wasn’t really his thing
so he decided to cut it short.
Dillon turned to face the
now sizable crowd. “Today is a special day!” He shouted, pulling a fistful of
gold coins from a pouch and holding them high. “Because today,” he paused
dramatically, throwing the coins into the air between himself and his pursuers,
“I get to make it rain!”
The crowd fell silent as the
gold sailed through the air. Even his would-be attackers watched open-mouthed.
The moment seemed to stand still as more money than most people earned in a year
flew through the air on Dhalkan street. The strange quiet was ended by the sweet
sound of jingling coins on stone. The result was almost instant; chaos erupted
as the crowd rushed forward in a throng, pushing and yelling as they fought for
the money. Dillon watched the pandemonium for a few seconds and then turned,
laughing as he ducked into a small shop and ran out the other side.
The streets of Yhildran
were packed as thousands went about their business. Merchants shouted their
trade as poor and rich passed by, intent on whatever errand they were running. Stalls
lined every street and corner, selling rugs, food, jewelry, weapons, and
trinkets. A few people from Oris, Boltak and even Lyntir moved about the market
otherwise dominated by native Yhildrish. Children with varied amounts of
clothing ran up and down the road, either playing or on a task for a parent or
employer. The din of constant talk and shouting made the streets seem alive,
each as vibrant and familiar to Dillon as an old friend.
The sun glared overhead in a clear sky, its
light magnified by the white sandstone of the buildings and roads. The constant heat of the sun sank deep into
the skin, making it difficult to remember what it was like to be cold.
The hot day and loud clamor
only made Dillon smile more. He loved this place, where the desert sand was
almost as plentiful as the people to rob.
It wasn’t that Dillon enjoyed stealing from people,
just that he enjoyed stealing. The challenge of the planning, the heist, the
chase, all of it added to the thrill. He was too good not to, and thievery kept
life interesting. Yhildran had an exceptional amount of wealth, allowing him to
pick his targets with care. He took from where it would scarcely be missed and
with a little luck he got something nice for himself while making sure the
money got back to the people who really needed it.
Dillon
moved quickly at first, making sure he lost the men in the crowds, and then
more slowly as he attempted to find something in the bazaar that caught his
eye. As usual, it didn’t take long to find what he wanted. A small stall, where
an even smaller man was selling what appeared to be random pieces of junk. Like
many in Yhildran the man was obviously living in poverty and probably had nothing
of value. It looked like he had gathered random pieces of worn out furniture
and cast-off clothing in the hope that someone would see something they might
need. What really caught Dillon’s eye were the two children peeking from the
tiny roomed tent behind the stall, obviously hoping for something of their
father’s wares to sell, ensuring dinner for that night.
“I’ll take the lot!”
Dillon exclaimed, “How much for everything?”
The man scoffed, “Please
sir, do not mock me, buy something if you will, otherwise leave us in peace.”
The man looked tired and
thin from lack of food. No doubt his children were the same.
“No sir, I do not mock.”
Dillon said, more seriously than before. “Peace is exactly what I hope for you.”
Untying his heavy and
recently filled coin purse he handed it to the old man.
“Take it quickly and find
somewhere safe to stay. You’re fortunes have shifted my friend.”
The man opened the pouch
and his eyes widened. Then he moved quickly, grabbing his staff and motioning
to his children to emerge.
The man studied Dillon
for a moment, and then spoke softly, “Thank you, whoever you are.”
He then moved into the
crowd with his children in tow, never looking back. Dillon watched him go and
then turned to his recently acquired junk.
“Well, trash or not,
you’re all mine now.” He mumbled to himself, bending down to look through it
all.
Dillon sighed as he dug through torn rags. You had to go and
pick someone who really had nothing didn’t you? As he expected there was practically nothing of
value and almost everything was broken or ruined in one way or another. However,
he did find an old knife and scabbard, along with a carved necklace nestled
together in a wooden box. The necklace was fashioned after what appeared to be
one of the many Yhildrish gods, perhaps Yaan, he was not sure. He left them together
in the box and put it in his bag. A nice souvenir I suppose. Better than
nothing.
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