Arturo

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Arturo

The street buzzes with crowds during the mid-day frenzy within the bazaar. Some stalls are packed with customers, unable to allow breathing room for anyone as they scramble for deals and haggle for better prices. The smell of sweat and bodies of all kinds fills the air.

A tall man, horned scalp, black hair and oddly nimble tail, skin a light rust color; stands over a booth looking at shards of metal and pieces of glass. He touches a few of the tools on the table with a loving caress and a toothy smile can be seen on his face. He wears leathers and what looks to be military uniform trousers that are worn and muddied. A small empty coin-pouch sits at his hip and an instrument case is slung over his back.

A scuffle breaks out a booth down and a child, no older than twelve cycles of the seasons comes tearing past him, only to be slowed in the throng as he runs from a large man who suddenly shouts “THIEF!” The tiefling takes notice and seems to let out a sigh and the smile fades as he follows the two through the crowd and to an alcove where the man has the child cornered. People glance in the direction but pay the scoundrels no heed.

The tiefling walks up to the two, the boy cringing as the rough shop-keeper hoists him by his collar and demands “Give me back the coins!” The child curls up a bit as though to protect himself from the man’s raised hand. Before the hand can come down on the child, rust-toned fingers wrap around the wrist and the shop-keeper spins startled and enraged; dropping the child. “Leave this trash to me!” He snarls at the tiefling.

“Sir, surely the child hasn’t done enough to warrant a beating? Why not just get the coin back, you shown ‘im you aren’t to be played a fool and he’s cringing in terror. Surely he’ll return the coin in exchange for ‘is safety.” The tiefling looks to the child who now stares up at the exchange with wide eyes and nods his head fiercely. The man snarls, looks at the few people staring in various degrees of disgust at the event and lowers his hand, turning to the boy. “The coins, boy.” He grunts.

The child hands the man a small handful of silver coins which swiftly go into the shop-keepers bulging hip-pouch, stuffed in by grubby fingers. “You’re lucky this devil done took your side.” He sneers at the tiefling and begins to walk away, shouldering past the horned man and back to his stall. The child looks to his savior “I could have handled him, now I’m screwed for figuring a meal for me an my sis tonight…”

The tiefling watches the shop-keeper disappear into the crowd, half listening to the boy and then turns to face him. “Don’t worry kid.” He says as he smiles that toothy grin and produces the shop-keeper’s very coin-pouch with his tail, maneuvers it to his hand and pulls out a few silver pieces and pushes them toward the boy, whose mouth is now agape. “Th… Th-th-thanks mister!”

“Don’t mention it.” the tiefling says as he turns on his heel, waving a quick and cheerful goodbye over his shoulder “Take care of your sister.”

As he begins to step into the crowd once more a moderate sized magpie lands on the tiefling’s shoulder and drops something into his hand as he strokes its feathers. You would swear it was the very tool that he was staring at not moments before in the crowded booth.


Arturo

Eberron: Nocturne GnomeSplosion