Within the City of Yarfell, things were tense. You could feel it in the crowd as they bought and sold their wares. You could see it in the stance of the city guards as they patrolled the streets and along the great wall. The guards had been doubled at their gate post.From her raised platform within Yarfell's entertainment section, better known to the locals jokingly as Fair Square, Rosalia Vallanheart's attention faltered ever so slightly. She concentrated on the rose colored smoke streaked with violet that swirled playfully between her hands. The images formed of the smoke took their finals bows from the crowd, looking almost alive, their story now done.
The white haired Storyteller looked over the pleased crowd, who threw some coins to her. Not glancing where the coins fell at her feet, her amythyst eyes looked to the main gate. She saw that the Young Ones had returned and had brought with them those who appeared to be guests and not prisoners.
She clasped her hands together, swallowing the smoke inside. A half grin touched her lips and she again spread her hands wide, to the immense cheers of the crowd. She smiled wider at the reaction, glad that so small a thing as entertaining could keep their minds off of the City's surrender to Venger, not seven days away.
Containing a sigh, she concentrated on forming the smoke into the image of a hawk. She focused intensely and putting a piece of herself into her creation, she made it almost reality. The smoke-hawk flew over the applauding crowd to soar over to the Young Ones. The hawk paused in mid-air, hovering before them and gave a bow, seeming to welcome them back. The Storyteller bowed her head at the same time in greeting from the platform and with a wave of her hand, the smoke-hawk flew back.
Just then, her eye caught a burly red-haired man ready to come to blows with a smaller fellow. Before he could bring down the stick he held upon the other's head, the hawk swerved down and caught it in it's talons, dropping it some distance away. Both men looked up startled and the Storyteller's lilting voice said soothingly, "Now is not the time to fight, my friends. There is sure to be plenty at the end of this week. Find what peace you can in the meantime."
The burly man glared at her and shrugged, walking off. The other seemed relieved and waved his thanks at her. She then shut her eyes and with a flick of her hands, the smoke-hawk disapated into the air, becoming no more than smokey tendrils.
Rosalia clapped her hands together and the smoke ceased to flow from her hands. She thanked the crowd for coming to hear her and told them she would perform for them later that eveing. Smiling, she watched as the Young One's guests passed by on their way to meet the Princess, no doubt.
She reached down and, flicking her long braid back over her shoulder, replaced the palm coverings she always wore. They looked a bit like backless gloves, with a strap that fit over the middle finger of each hand and straps that wove around her thumbs and wrists. When they had safely covered the marks of her "gift", she brushed her hands down her cream-clored leggings and over the full sleeves of her tunic of the same hue. She knew the burning sensation from the marks couldn't be brushed away, and with a sigh, she gathered the offerings from the crowd and made her way through the Square.
