INTRODUCTION

The alley seemed darker than the dulling shade of gray that it usually imposed. Sarimah inhaled a deep breath of smoke, the water from the pipe's jar rumbling patiently. It had become an unusual sound that she came to find comfort in. It was the Day of the Dead, and remembering that it was caused her stomach to turn in a mix of frustration and fear, the effect easily forming a dissatisfied scowl on her face. She pressed her lips together in a visible, childish attempt against rational thought. She told herself that today was not a special day just because it was given a name. The smoke came rushing through her nostrils as she begrudgingly climbed to her feet, carelessly dropping the hose onto the floor of the Students of Shadow. She slipped out of the building, robbing anyone of the opportunity to send a snarky comment her way about misusing the pipe again.

The rogue resumed a stern demeanor once she left the alley, a defense mechanism of sorts that often kept self-entitled magisters at bay, and the overzealous Blood Knights seeking a less bright source of amusement. The citizens never approached her, not regularly.

Out habit, she slipped a hand into the bag strapped securely to her side, feeling up the contents as was her usual routine check if she had her more valuable tools of the trade. 'What a trade,' she thought, half amused, 'If I had-wait, what's this?' Her sure footed steps slowed considerably as her eyes shot down to peer inside the bag. 'A vial?' Sarimah stared at it, trying to remember where she got it from...

She had no time for this! It was dark and those graves weren't coming to visit her, that's for sure. Sarimah's gaze remained faithfully glued to the ground upon reaching the main gate of the city, artfully avoiding any eye contact with the guards. She was in no mood for games which expressed their colossal jackassery. Not today, anyway.

The girl's gaze timidly climbed up to take in the night sky. The rogue left the city gates behind now. 'The moon isn't out tonight.' The air was still. Her shoulders slouched for a moment while she let out a disappointed sigh. She was letting it get to her head. Besides, how come she didn't get a day? What made the dead so special anyway? They weren't here. They had left her. They didn't fight hard enough to survive. 'The dead are an inconsiderate people, that's what.' The rogue felt herself swallow hard when her legs launched into a focused pace towards the cemetery, the forced nature of her thoughts only succeeding at forming a regretful lump in her throat. No matter how much she tried to build a resistance against feeling alone, it always backfired. Being the youngest of four siblings at the time of the war did not help her state of maturity. Make that 'lack of maturity.' In fact, she was a down and right brat in most social situations and she knew it.

Sarimah found herself standing in front of five identical stone markers standing rigidly to mark the location of her Fallen. She emitted a nervous giggle, blushing while her eyes anchored themselves to her feet. She could feel the intense crimson of mixed emotions, namely resentment and remorse coat her cheeks. The girl could feel her shoulders stiffen, she could feel her heart aching. Her head tilted to the side as she stood there, stupidly looking down at her boots, her combined courage only being able to thrust her to the cemetery but never to utter even a greeting. She sniffled quietly, surprised to see how quickly her eyes formed the tears then rushed to filter the liquid out of them in the form of what she decided were tears a couple of drops too big. Her mouth opened and a shaky, heavy sigh tore itself from her body. The fingers on her right hand gave a small wave, one that could have easily gone unnoticed as she turned on her heels and headed back towards the city. That same hand was swiftly used to wipe away her tears.

Upon approaching the city gates, the rogue's nimble fingers found themselves gently streaming through her hair, and making sure that her loose bun, one that always threatened to fall apart but never did remained true to its nature. A timid giggle echoed from her throat once her fingers brushed against the new hair pin she had purchased earlier that week.

"You have a way of making hair clips look good, Little Lamb," her father would tease, only to be shot down with a glare from the once younger girl. Since that glare was always accompanied with a wash of scarlet through her face, Sarimah would often find her father grinning in the slightest manner before she stormed away, making sure her mother would hear about how the girl found her father thoroughly repulsive and "abusive".

Not that her mother was any help, really, as she would simply mutter, "You have a little bit of me in you, after all. Lucky girl."

She rolled her shoulders in a manner she had often watched the Orcs do (in utter fascination) while stepping back into the city, hoping that it would intimidate the guards at the gates as much as the Orcs did her. She had already succeeded at winning a few games of chance thanks to a "random" coin she always seemed to pick out at the expense of said guards. It was time to make some plans to poke around the Court of the Sun, or the Farstriders' Square for a new contract, or simply take another beating if cornered somewhere.

She didn't like beatings, nor did she really need to swindle anyone, really, Sarimah simply enjoyed the thrill of possibly being found out. At this point in her life, she could afford some flexibility in accepting contracts with the promise that she would do her job well. The rogue was at least remotely aware of not only the potential danger that lay in being caught, but also of the fact that it was not healthy to have such a stupid pseudo-hobby either. Then again, as a rogue, who cared? She did not, and given certain experiences, she knew that while her pain threshold was low, her stubbornness would at least grant her the illusion of dignity to pass out before she would consider begging for mercy. Usually, the sight of her bloodied, along with a small bag of her gold was enough to bore her disgruntled competitors.

Sarimah ducked into the nearest alley leading back to the Royal Exchange. Renovations were still under way, and the low, relentless banging of hammers did a good enough job of expelling the melancholy from her mind and replace it with a sense of irateness, "I mean honestly, can't the arcane constructs help with the building instead of only patrolling the city?"

The rogue grunted quietly, smirking at her own unreasonable stream of consciousness, glad to have found her way back to Murder Row.