The Marauder now stands within what seems to be a house. In reality, a pocket dimension, only accessible by his unique Auxilia Rod. The interior is not exquisitely decorated, but humble and organized - partially organized. Beside him, the subtle crackling of the fireplace can be heard. Across him stands a pair of sturdy bookshelves, filled to the brim with dozens of books and papers.
The chirping of a bird can be heard from within the depths of the room. In a grey and yellow blur, the bird soars towards the boy, gracefully landing on his head. In turn, the boy scoffs, offering his finger for the cockatiel to perch on. He then paces towards a narrow, descending staircase.
At the base, in the heart of the room, lies a pile of shimmering treasure and syhoses towering above him. The boy retrieves the coins he has collected throughout the day from his pocket and simply tosses them onto the pile, briskly returning to the floor above.
Shuffling towards the other end of the room, Blue eventually reaches his bed, only to collapse onto it over-dramatically. The bird, disturbed, glides onto the floor. Quickly, he removes his cloak and changes his clothes, revealing his golden hair. Ruffling his hand through his hair, he rolls back onto his bed, letting out a groan of exhaustion, and immediately drifts into darkness.
***
As his eyes flutter open, Blue sits up on his bed. Hardly awake, but with no time to lose, he throws on his clothes and steps outside of his bedroom, still rubbing the sleep out of his eyes. While rummaging through his pockets for the map, the Marauder carves yet another portal into the wall, and steps out into the world of Horo’s Cope.
***
Now he stands, hidden within the bushes surrounding the lighthouse walls. Examining the map for the last time, the boy begins to walk, this time, to the right direction. This time he’s sure. He’s checked - a dozen times. Scoffing at his own remarkable sense of direction, Blue continues on the path, surveying his surroundings for approaching travellers.
At long last, the piercing towers of a city can be seen on the horizon, illuminated by the rose-pink light of dawn.
He walks on the margins of the path, listening. For danger, for enemies; alert as always. Shortly, he begins to spot small signs of civilization. First a well, then a small hut, and eventually farms.
Taking cover behind one of the many dwellings surrounding him, the boy throws his cape off and into his satchel, and instead pulls on his usual disguise. Simple, commoner clothes which should -in theory- allow him to hide in plain sight and remain undetected.
Hesitantly, he begins to walk closer towards the core of Esterbridge, composing himself to enter the endless ocean of people. Blue begins to wander, struggling to hide his paranoid precautions and suspicious glances. Despite his concerns, he walks past commoners, keeping up his act, swiping syhoses off of each.
He enters the market. Loud clatters of commodity and carriages, merchants’ bribery and bickering fill the air. The Marauder discreetly glances around him, surrounded by valuable loot. As the Ariesan commoner he clearly seems to be, Blue approaches several stands, and one by one, removes a large, but unnoticeable amount of loot and syhoses from the overflowing merchant stands. Several stands later, he hears a small commotion behind him. A merchant seems to have noticed the syhoses, or rather, a lack of. It is best he moves on further away. He continues pick-pocketing commoners and better yet, merchants. Reaching into dozens of pockets and bags and backing out, unnoticed.
Noon is approaching, and the White Riders are to follow. The Marauder decides to take his leave. Proceeding towards the Capital outskirts, he bumps into someone and opens his mouth to apologize, but instead takes the opportunity to rob them of their wallet. Casually, he continues to walk away. Away from the Riders and the Merchants and from the blazing sun and into his cerulean portal.
***
Satisfied with his day’s findings, the Marauder - as he has done every day - begins to deposit the syhoses onto his ever-growing pile, emptying every satchel and pouch. Nearly finished, the boy retrieves the final wallet from within his cloak. Blue traces his hand over the linen leather and unfolds it, met with a dozen syhoses. He begins to empty the wallet, however his eye catches on something. A note.
Out of curiosity, he retrieves the note and opens it, reading the small passage inside.
He freezes.
Then, he reads it again.
It couldn’t… It’s not possible…
The note was addressed for him. Whoever this wallet belonged to-
Had known he was coming.
You are reading this, and so I know who you are.
Be aware that your title alone is worth me a fortune.
Your deal, even more.
If you, most surprisingly, wish not to be taken by White Riders for both- or by myself- come to the bridge by the seventh hora.
I will meet you there.
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