Feedback goes elsewhere. Seriously guys, we've been through this. Not here, there. M'kay? Clear? Crystal Clear? Good. And just in case it wasn't... POST HERE AND I WILL TRACK YOU DOWN IN THE MIDDLE OF THE NIGHT AND CUT YOUR THUMBS OFF. I think it may have gotten through that time. Maybe. Anyway...yeah. Here we go. -Irin
My name? I'm not so sure if I should tell you that. You see, you might turn me in. But maybe that's inevitable anyway.... Alright, so my name is Arria. Ironicly, it means 'Gold-Hunter.' But don't call me that. No one calls me that anymore. Instead, I'm known as The Bounty Huntress. Why? It's not too hard to figure out. I kill people. I guess this is where I'm supposed to tell you why in a nutshell. But you won't understand if I do. How can I possibly explain everything that's happend to me since the day they caught my father to the day I found him in just a few words? I can't. So either turn away now and forget everything you've read, or keep reading. But whatever you do, keep your lips sealed. I'll have to kill you if you don't.
Chapter 1: Mistakes Slowly, silently, I strung my bow. My father's watchful eyes studied my every move. It made me feel edgy. "Must you stare like that?" I snarled. "Yes." was his short simple answer. So typical of him. I could see my target through the open window of the building next to me. Heck, from my perch on this building, I could just about see the whole city, though few could see me. It made for an easy job with good pay. Made harder by the fact that my father didn't trust me. "Account for the wind," he told me. I rolled my eyes, but did nothing else. I had already done that. 17 years old, and I still wasn't aloud to take down a target without his constant badgering. "I said, "Account for the wind," he repeated. If he could have raised his voice then, he would have. But of course he didn't. We had to keep quiet, otherwise we'd compromise the mission. "Already done, Dad." I said. "Of course it is. If you want your arrow to slice up the curtain." "It's fine, Dad." I said, struggling with my anger. "No, it's not. 5 degrees to the left." In a moment of anger and irritation, I turned to look at him. "Why don't you do it then?" I snapped. Unfortunately, the sudden movement of my turning caused the string to slip out of my hand. No, the arrow didn't hit the bedroom curtain. It actually did hit my target. Though not in the most ideal place. He woke up howling as he tried to get the arrow out of his hand. I ducked, hoping I hadn't been seen. My father ripped the bow from my hands and grabbed an arrow. He penetrated the man's heart. Roughly, my dad grabbed my arm and led me to the other side of the building, where we descended using the rope ladder we climbed up earlier. As soon as I was down, my father lit a match and set the rope on fire. Then we ran in different directions. Our rendezvous was just outside the city, by a hollow tree in which we kept our weapons. When I emerged from the bushes, my father greeted me with an unwelcoming glare. I walked to the tree to put my knife away, but he snatched it from me and pocketed it instead. "You nearly cost us the mission." He yelled quietly. Yes, he yelled quietly. He has ways of doing that. It's quite creepy, actually. "It was your fault. If you had just let me shoot the arrow instead of correcting my every move, he wouldn't have felt a thing." "You should learn to control yourself." "You should have trusted me to do it without your help." "I didn't trust you because I knew something like this would happen!" "Well maybe next time-" "Next time? Ha! There won't be a next time! Your-" He stopped short, cocking his head as if listening hard. "This way, I hear something," an unfamiliar voice said. The guards were tracking us. In the pale moonlight, I saw my father signal to me. I shook my head, but I knew he would argue with me. He took off in the direction of the guards, and I had no choice but to run in the other direction. It must have been around 20 minutes before I made it to the hideout. It was a clever place to be if you didn't want to be found. At first it was just an overgrown tree root that made a shallow cave just big enough for a family of bunnies. Then we found it, dug a bigger hole, and put a bush by the entrance. It was invisible unless you knew where to look. I slipped past the bush and dropped down about 8 feet, landing with a soft thud. The musky scent of my home greeted me. I turned around, making sure I was alone, then went to my 'room,' which actually just another small nook I carved out partially hidden by a boulder. I don't know how much time passed before I heard the rustling of the bush. My father jumped down. I came out to meet him, but his face told me I was better off keeping my distance. "You and your stupid mistakes are going to cost us our lives someday." he said, then stormed off to his room.
Chapter 2: Fortunes It was months before he let me help with another mission. The man didn't know how to let go of grudges, and he probably wouldn't have let me come if he didn't need me. But an innocent carefree girl having her fortune told looks much less suspicious than a man like my father. If only I really was innocent and carefree. I was rigid and tense in the marketplace. I expected someone to recognize me immediately, though I know my fears were foolish. I hadn't been to Miraás for weeks. And the place was too busy anyway. Pushing and shoving. There was very little chance of someone recognizing me. I didn't even have my own 'Wanted' poster yet. I walked from stall to stall, looking over my shoulder every now and then to make sure I wasn't being followed. But no one seemed to take any notice of me. I almost didn't hear her over the sounds of sellers shouting about their goods and buyers haggling for the best price, but sure enough, she was talking to me. "You there! Come, come! Have your palm read. Special price, just for you!" "Me?" I asked, acting unsure. I would have to play this out perfectly if I wanted to get the job done. I knew that if I messed up one more time, my father would kill me. "Yes, you!" she said eagerly. "Come!" She turned abruptly, then went into her tent, her long, dark hair flowing like a waterfall behind her. I followed without hesitation, clenching my fists anxiously. The interior of the tent was astounding. Almost beautiful, in an eerie sort of way. Strings of beads hung everywhere, so that it was impossible to walk without bumping into them and making all sorts of noises. There were shelves full of glass bottles filled with different kinds of liquid. Even though there were candles everywhere, it was dark. And I was absolutely shocked to find that there was no crystal ball on the center table. "Sit. Please!" the fortune teller said. "Give me your palm." I did as was told, looking at her tan skinned palms examining my pale one. She flipped it many times, and traced the lines on my hand. For some reason her silance made me afraid. It was several minutes before she spoke. "Interesting." Curiosity got the better of me. "What? What is it?" "Hands do not lie. I know this for a fact. So that leaves only one possibility. You are not as you portray yourself." "What...what do you mean?" "You are living a life of lies. You guard your identity carefully. You live in a secluded place. You...do not have much of a social life." Her eyes flickered away from my palm and met mine for a brief second. It was enough to make the hair on the back of my neck stand up. "As for your future...hmm...very interesting." She looked at my hand with such intensity, and my fear grew. Did I really want to know my future? "You will save someone, yet fail to save another. You will fall into hate, and only love will save you from yourself. You will succeed. And then...you will fail." I closed my eyes tightly, not wanting to hear anything else. She didn't know what she was talking about. She didn't. She didn't. But she wasn't done yet. Her hand gripped mine tightly, and I opened my eyes to see her gazing at my with something like fear and curiosity at the same time. Her voice was so, so calm when she said, "You're going to kill me." And then I saw her eyes widen as I plunged my knife into her heart.
Chapter 3: Respect I took my knife and cleaned it on the table-cloth. I looked at the fortune teller for a moment, watching a pool of blood form underneath her. At first glance it would look as if she had passed out from drinking too much. She was slumped over on the table, one hand stretched out. I realized my hand was still in her's and yanked it away. The words of her prophesy still hung in my mind. But I waved them away. Now I had to concentrate on leaving the city without getting caught. I took one last look at the body and slipped out of the tent, trying to look as innocent as possible. I knew my father would be watching me closely, probably from a rooftop, trying to find some sort of flaw in my escape. So even though I felt like running, I forced myself to walk casually. I stopped at some stalls and even bought a few apples for later. I made my way out of the busy marketplace, and onto some much quieter streets. From there it was easy travel to the city gates. But it was only after I smiled at the guards and got the hell out of there that I was able to sigh in relief. And that's when I started thinking.... I thought the fortune teller was nice. At least she was to me. So why would anyone want to have her dead. I mean, besides her creepy predictions. I could almost feel her wrinkled hands examining mine again as I walked through the forest. It left me feeling afraid, but of what I can't tell you. Maybe it was what she last said. How she knew that I was going to kill her. If she was right about that...if she was right about who I was...what else was she right about? I jumped down into the hide-out, landing softly in a crouch. I stood and met my father's eyes. "Well?" he asked me. Well...what? At a loss for words, all I could say was, "She's dead." "I know." he said calmly. Then his lips broke into a half smile. He nodded, then walked away to his bedroom. My father was a man of few words when it came to matters like this, but I had learned to read his small gestures, facial expressions, and body language. So his witty half-smile was all I needed to tell me what I wanted to know. I had earned my father's respect back.