Deluge of Desolation | l. ackerman

Individual of Virtualism

(chapter fourteen)

Sheen morning haze blanketed the stone-clad district capital of Wall Rose. Small puddles were bestrewn about the cold, concrete floors, disregarded as soldiers, noble men and clerics amble their way through them. The sun, although shrouded by the veil of thick, gray fog, was just making rise into the sky for another day of its reign.

There was a merchant that lay in my peripheral, just beyond the gated cathedral, raising his arms in vehement joy while he endorses his product. What it looked like, from my view opposing him, was a glass vase filled with a covert bundle and small bones. A dead bird, as it seemed, but the feathers lacked a carcass.

Looking among the rest of his novelties that lay all along his covered workbench, I saw a few vials of dark, crimson blood, the rotting tale of a cat, crisp tree bark and other false relics.

Leaning back on the wall to get a better view around an infuriating iron bar, I twist my head to see the merchant gathering another item from his heap of antiques. A beheaded snake and its body took up another glass jar with a cork head to secure the, likely putrid, scent of the cadaver. Gleaming in the reflected sunlight was a golden cross necklace that hung around the curve of the jar. I furrowed my eyebrows in distaste and brought my gray coat further around my figure.

What a low-life scum, I thought, finding pleasure in the exploitation of ignorant and vulnerable citizens for the lone, sick reason of greed. And that smile, that God forsaken smile that he flaunts, teeth yellow in a heavy coat of plaque that looked as though he has never scrubbed in his pitiful life. How he can claim religious righteousness in the eyes of so many true devotees and sin all in the body, is beyond me. Has he no dignity?

With a click of my tongue, I close my eyes and lean my head back on the wall.

Not only do I have to stand amongst the pathetic cowardly soldiers of the Garrison and Military Police, but I now have to listen to that damn vendor gospelize his negligible items, as well. With a newfound confidence, I slip past the gates and into the large farmer's market of town square, walking up to the boisterous merchant.

"Uh, Sir?" I ask for his attention, tapping my finger on his table as a few needy-looking groups of citizens turn their heads in wonder. Seems as though soldiers don't often attend these types of assemblies.

The man in question frowned at me, his once jovial voice now down to a low grumble, "What?"

Only furthering my prior assumption, I thought. "May I take a look at this uh...artifact?" With my best convincing innocent facade, I point to the bounded cat tail.

Finding my feigned interest as sincerity, he smiles once again, brown eyes gleaming with mischief. "Why, of course you can, Girly. Take a look at anything you please. Soldiers get discounts, you know,"

"Oh, you don't say?" I pick up the jar, twisting it around with nimble hands, sparing him a second of a glance.

"Yes, yes! You Soldiers do so much to protect the virtue of God's truth and— and our moral justice system!" He stumbles over his words, breath falling short, "Now, why don't you take a look at this here,"

Never trust a man who repeats his words. A simple principle I learned over the years. There always seems to be a lie hiding behind that conniving joy they retain. A truthful man does not fail to hide his emotions, even if he is unable to uphold a smile.

Without putting the cat tail down, I gaze at the bundle of roots he held in his dirty, calloused hands. Dirt lined the underneath of his grown-out nails. "Looks like plain, old ginseng to me,"