Completed Running (Solo)

[Dutch Forte]

Winter, 39th, 513 AV
Approximately One in the evening

Panting breath in the cool moon, Dutch wouldn’t notice, his ears flushed from the winds; he was quickly catching his breath to ready for another long hull. He was on the run: The man sought freedom from the mercenary life and, knowing there was a nearby town, Dutch fled in the night. It had to be past midnight when he left the camp of the Avaricious Circle, Dutch’s old mercenary group, and he felt like he had been running for an hour toward Zeltiva, funny how running shifts time in the mind.

The young man made observations of his surroundings as he leaned against a rock mound: foliage in his face, a mountain which had been seemingly drawing close, scattered trees above, and a rock at his foot. Not a glamorous position by any means and, just when he thought himself comfortable, Dutch restarted on a fast pace heading the opposite way from which he came. He had to dip and dodge bushes and jump and vault logs but Dutch couldn’t beat it all. So he fell and had been developing some bumps and nicks; Dutch was never fazed by adversity, and his focus on the bigger task was proving useful on this run.

Forte followed the trail until it led to a boulder; he heard voices that were familiar in the bushes, and Dutch figured they must be members of The Circle. Dutch couldn’t keep on running, a big rock was in the way, so he decided to chance his climbing skills: He found a tree with vines that hung proper and he took his climb up, trying to remain silent as he moved, the night would drown out the sound of his grips, leverages, and leaps. Tree climbing was a hobby of Dutch’s as a child, his instincts guiding him up the trunk.

Lifting himself up Dutch took a seat on the sturdier end of the branch, his body bending it to bounce before settling. Looking below he saw saw two men drift who turned out to be simple farm folk, pitchfork and all. Dutch thought of robbing them but he figured it wasn’t worth the risk and, as they had already passed, Dutch was thinking about jumping when he realized he could get on top of the boulder from the branch.

Forte ran to get a start and leaped for the boulder at the tip of the branch, his foot slipping at the last second; the jump wasn’t so hot so Dutch had to grip the roof of the rocky boulder with his hands, he felt dirt smearing on his fingers and skin breaking in his palm. As his hand split he gripped his feet to the boulder and climbed up, planting his feet on the roof of the thing. Thankful was Dutch to be out of such a risky situation. He looked at his hands: Split apart from the hooks of the jagged boulder. As he got to the top he looked down towards his destination and the sight was to behold: The port city of Zeltiva lay just down the way. Mr. Forte felt great release as the burden of finding place slipped from him: He could finally get some rest.

[Dutch Forte]

Food, drink, and lay await so Dutch was anxious to get on with his trip, as such he jumped off the boulder figuring the fall would be a lot smoother than the climb up: Dutch would be wrong on this particular matter. He went one foot before the other and aimed to drop and roll but a midair scramble would ruin that and he fell more in a cripple than in a motion. He might have tipped over a little on his side for pride but for the most of his knees and elbows would eat the fall; the writhing in pain would be Mr. Forte’s recuperation. Dutch heard a man and saw fire as he tussled on the ground: No hiding from this one. The man ran over a little in a panic and he was quick to talk: “I heard a noise friend and…. My, what have you done with yourself? And while I’m at I must say you are no one familiar to me! I know everyone who goes through these passes: Who might you be? And what’re you doing here?! Especially so late at night!”

The man went from inquisitive to damn near forceful in a heartbeat, but Dutch wasn’t shook. Maybe it was the bodily rush from the fall but this man didn’t scare or phase Dutch for a second. Dutch felt he could take him in a square fight, but talking seemed more the fair thing to do. “Sir, they called me Dutch Forte where I’m from, and, if you must know, I was just climbing over this boulder to get to this side of it. I come to Zeltiva seeking refuge and I hoped your people could offer it, being that I offer Mizas and merely wish to exchange service.”

“You’re a regular old rock climber huh? Well now, to your feet boy! The jungle will swallow ya if you lay too long. Now lets get a move on, you’ve been out here too long and ya need to get some warmth around and in ya! Maybe even get inside something warm if you know the speak! HAH! Pleasure to meet you I’m a Wave Guard, Doth Gronspig,, a bastard Isur moved young into adoption but I’ve grown up around here: I can show you around. Who are you……? That’s hardly important now, and I bet you’d agree. We’ll talk all about the place you’re heading into on the way into town, I was just on the way to the bar, ya know? Got this real nice kelp ale you won’t find anywhere else. I can tell you everything you need to know about this place, you ever been? Well that doesn’t matter too, you’ve never heard it like this before.”

[Dutch Forte]

It wasn’t long before Dutch found himself at a barstool. The wave guard blabbed on and on just like a drunk would so it wasn’t of any surprise. Doth had weaved through the bar’s crowd pushing and shoving with a few exaggerated “Heys” to what seemed to be his fellows. Needless to say, the place was mobbed, the crowd in the middle was a bunch of wandering-drunken-fools who small talked to the point of excess, scattered among tables that were seemingly displaced.

Doth ordered the two of them a round, assuring Dutch that Zeltiva was notorious for its drink. Dutch’s ears finally passed the initial shock: a few flutes sounded playing that upbeat bar jam with a supporting indistinguishable rhythm; the most of the talking was incoherent but you could hear the big fellows bellowing their voice, they seemed less than civil; and everyone in the joint would stop and slam their mug at the end of each 4th bar the flute would play.

Hard oak walls were covered with big catches and old sails, a few old boats had their names engraved on their own hauls that hung as well. The patrons were, in bulk, sailors on the verge of being peg legs. No women were found in the dead center of the pub, they were on the outskirts chatting it up with the scholars or getting schmoozed by the odd drunk who was trying to call it early. Whores, seemingly, chilled in a far quarter of the room, men would approach them and be sent upstairs, a girl did the same just a few minutes behind; it was of no surprise when he came back demanding rounds for his comrades. There was a very select kind of beauty about this place; too bad all the filth had covered it up.

[Dutch Forte]

“Ahh, the mighty kelp beer! Drink up Dutch, my new found friend, the night grows old and you have much catching up to do.” Doth seemed passionate about the beer, and Dutch, being impressed upon, started chugging the mug. On his travels Dutch found that mercenaries would drink whatever came to them in the form of alcohol, and it was of no surprise when he picked up that same trait. Dutch slammed the empty mug on the table, much to Doth’s amazement. “By the Gods! Laviku’s treat flows through you with the grace of Viratas, as if alcohol was already in your blood,” Doth caught himself, “Hmm, mighty poetic of me. But regardless you drink the kelp as if you were one of us, which leads me to ask: Have you ever been a sailor before or, rather, what is your past my friend?”

“Well, I’ve sailed before, never from here though, “ Doth’s eyes widened. “Alls’ I ever did was wonder before this, and I don’t wanna say much else. My old associates and me would slam whatever we could get our hands on, I’ve had a lot worse of drinks. You’re an Isur right?” Doth nodded, “You ever had black rum from Sultros? That stuff tastes worse than a Nuit’s decaying armpits.”

“Hah! And men wonder why I don’t make the pilgrimage to my homeland. I however, must admit, I am mighty curious as to your past, but, I will respect your wishes. Another round on me!” The drinks hit the bar and Doth raised his mug turning to his compatriots, Dutch turned as well mug in hand. “Mates! We have a man of character here! His name is Dutch, a former wanderer! Let us hope we can make him feel welcome enough he feels no need to leave. I’ll ask you gentlemen to raise your mug in his honor.” And so they all did, witnessing Dutch at the stool stand for the occasion. “Cheers! May this be the first of merry times with our new found friend!”

[Dutch Forte]

It was but for a moment that the bar stopped to let glass clash, gulps from the throats of most, rounds for the others. Doth ordered two more drinks, eyeing his compatriot. “I’ll to you what friend, if you can out drink me tonight, all the rounds are on me.” Dutch stared down the drink and then Doth, the both of them putting their mug to lips. The drinks went down smoother now they had bellied up, they competed for pace as if in competition; Doth let out his breath first, Dutch closely behind exhaling with a tad of disgust. “Another round keep’!”

“You ever get used to this stuff?”
“You do, but sometimes I wish I hadn’t.”
“You guys don’t have anything else around here?”
“Nothin’ worth the while, traders come across the world to overcharge us for liquor.”
“Hmm, people can be so cruel to the needy.” Both of them snickering as their drinks hit the bar.
“I’m puttin’ another down.” Doth was being cocky and didn’t realize Dutch already had an empty mug in front of him.
“What is that, four?”
“Yep.”
“Let’s go one more.”
“Hah! You’re asking for it.”
“Asking for a drink? Hey keep, the guy over here wants another round for us, on him.” Dutch winked at Doth.
“Keep the tab open, my friend underestimates me.”
“Here you go fellas, you each had four so far so this ones on the house.”
“Sherman you old dawg, many thanks. Cheers!”
“Cheers!”

“Would you look at her?” Dutch checked his shoulder to see the topic of conversation; a young lady walked by, a loose navy-blue dress danced below her waist. She wasn’t in heals like the rest of the girls, having the most shining blonde hair Dutch would come to know. She sat at the end of the room among some other women. “Yep, that Lacy Scrub is some woman, you won’t find a rump like that anywhere else.”

“You sailors have some interesting views on the world.”

“I’m no sailor, I’m a wave guard! Plus, no ones ever gonna’ get the prize unless they have it in mind. You ever see a girl look that good in red before, Mr. Wanderer?” Dutch checked his other shoulder; he saw a red moon on top of table, hunched over for the perfect view. Rotation brought round the face; a skirt covered half the space between her waist and knee, a top just covering the breast with laces on the back. She had a red cap pulled down over her shoulder-long-dirty-blonde curls. “Yep, you’re staring at Zeltiva’s finest woman right now.”

“What do you think about them, down at the end there?

“Those are some teacher ladies, maybe they’re students for all I know. What I do know is this: Any girl hangin’ around here not showin’ off her belly thinks they know just as much as us men, don’t even know what they’re good for.” Doth was trying to pass meatloaf as sirloin.

“You sure you aren’t a sailor? Another round keep’.”

[Dutch Forte]

“What do we got, eight?”
“Somethin’ like that man, I haven’t been this shit-faced since I was thirteen and the other mercs’ were feedin’ me some Riverfall brew.”
“My you got a taste for the world friend. What’d you say you were again, a mercenary?”
Dutch darted his head forward, “no, just ran into some when I was young, they took care of me for a little.”
“My-my-my, what an interesting life you’ve lived Mr. Forte.” Doth looked up to where the stars would be, looking right back at Dutch, “tell ya what, don’t you worry about these drinks. Just drink another with me and its all fine: I tire of competition. Keep’!”
“Fine by me, I have to do some saving anyway.”

The drinks hit the bar yet again; the men gripped the mug in preparation. Dutch took a whiff from the mug, which had grown stench-less. Laviku’s brew slipped into both their mouths after two touched glass, the kelp didn’t burn until on the back of the throat. It was only the drunk who could taste the sweetness added by the local shrubbery. When they put down the last Doth turned to Dutch and let him know he would be leaving, scribbling his address for Dutch’s use. They wished safety and bid farewell, Doth picking up the tab as promised.

Doth hobbled his way out the door, and as soon as it shut Dutch hit the John. Dutch felt tremendous pressure on his temples and in his jaw as brown liquid spewed from his mouth; his abdomen flexing to perform one of nature’s oldest preservation techniques. The young man wouldn’t even realize until he got up he had dipped his knees in a concoction similar to the one he just spewed. Dutch sighed and dipped his hands in water to rinse off, he washed out his mouth as well. As he walked out Dutch noticed a spare pair of trousers on the wall, he decided to risk it and change into them.

When he came into the bar again Dutch had no choice but to scan the room: He was at a loss. His eyes spun and noticed all the same things again: The thinning crowd, sailing trophies on the wall, whores coming and leaving at an ever increasing pace. Dutch thought to just get a room and sleep, he approached the counter where he was sitting and drinking with Doth. Lacy Scrub was taking her top off just as Dutch walked by, all the men stopped and stared as she put on her usual show using an old sailor as the conduit. Forte kept it moving.

Dutch walked up to the bar and was about to ask for a room when he noticed the same navy-blue dress down at the same booth she was before, alone this time. Nature took its course, and the young heartthrob made his way over. The girl sat at the edge of the table and seemed to be readying to leave, she looked up at Dutch and caught enough of him to delay the departure, if only for a minute. The two of them made eye, Dutch bowed his head, she smiled and so did he.

Dutch spread his hands on the opposite end of the table, gulping and focusing to avoid slurring, “Rushing out the door are we; why? The night is still so young.” The girl snickered, checking her watch. “Excuse my manners, my name is Dutch Forte.” Trying to be cordial Dutch extended his hand palm side up.

“Katrin Hearth.” She gave her hand in the late night, the boy kissed it lightly before returning it to her. The two smiled at each other.
“What’s a lady doing alone so late at night?”
“I went to the bathroom to rinse, and when I came out all my friends had left. Guess I really shouldn’t be calling them friends now but, yeah, I was just on my way out.”
“But, as I said, the night is still so young; don’t address that watch of yours either. You got time for a drink.”
“Sure, but let me order, I don’t drink anything local.”
“That’s what I like to hear.”
“Barkeep! Could you make us two drinks? I’d like a Cobalt sweet.”
“Same.”
The girl chuckled, “that’s a girls drink you know right?”
“Yeah, whatever. If I let people shame me every time I made an odd decision I’d eventually wither my soul to insecurity. Lets drink the wine before we judge it.”
“A man who stands by his decisions, I like that.”
“Well, if I backed down I would of looked like a girl too, as well as a flip-flopper. Far as I’m concerned Mrs. Hearth, you’re trying to set me up.”
“Miss Hearth Mr. Forte and don’t you ever label me a deceiver.”
“Hah! Well you could fool me for certain. Hey, this wine is great, am I a girl for liking it?”
“Certainly not, you’re just expressing your feminine side.”
“I didn’t even know I had one.”
“Most men don’t, after the way you chugged that though I’m beginning to ponder your possession of one myself.”
“Needed to load up, I’m running on an empty stomach.”
“So am I, something tells me for the same reason.” The two shared an awkward chuckle, alcohol and emotion eating at their insides.

[Dutch Forte]

Time: 9 AM

“Get up! I’m tired of your murmurings.” The woman nudged the boy who squirmed before resting.
“Buzz off, I needn’t face the day yet.” Dutch could feel a cool pillow against his head as he tossed and turned, the mattress he laid in was extraordinary. He came to sense and opened his eyes to see red blanketing the walls, a worn study desk and a lazy bookcase to match laid in the corner, a mirror laid opposite the door, and a girl sat next to the mirror in a lounge chair reading some writings. “What’re you reading?”
“Why do you ask?”
“Because I’m interested.”
“I don’t think interest should govern your actions.”
“Why does it matter why I want to know? It’s not gonna’ kill you to tell me.”
“You can harm me by knowing what I’m reading.”
“And how?”
“By making a mockery of me, I don’t want to be poked fun of.”
“Why would I do that?”
“I don’t know, most people outside the college shun the university. But, I don’t think you’re most people.” The girl sighed and closed her reading. “It’s called The Limited Human Frame by Roland Pedigrew if you must know.”
“What’s it about?” Dutch said this with a smile.
“Pedigrew talks of how we must never believe anything being such lesser beings on this world; the world we live in is subject to change at anytime with powerful beings having such direct impact on us. It’s currently one of the most important post-Valterrian works that we have; the world of philosophy was shocked by what Ivak had to do.”
“The God of emotion and fire, we give hymns and lamentations to him in The Circle.”
“You shouted much of them in your dream, what was it about?”
“Tough to say. I was walking down a narrow path in a jungle before I reached a clearing, wandering towards this radiating light.” Dutch sat up on the bed. “I reached it, but shadows came after me from the darkness, my sword came with me into my dream so I fought them off. The jungle I was in then lit ablaze and it didn’t take long for it to encircle and consume me.”
“Doesn’t explain much.”
“So you would think.” Dutch put his hand on his chin. “So you attend at the university?”
“Yes, and proudly so.”
“What is it you do there, I know you keep your heads in the books, but what is there to study?”
“Much, I’m currently enrolled in epistemology and geometry. Since you’re so inquisitive about it why not let it be inquisitive of you: What do you call knowledge, Dutch?”
“Nothing special.” They both snickered. “Well, after what you just told me I’d call it what I know for certain.”
“That being?”
“Nothing.”
“Good. You know you were so charming last night.”
“I don’t remember much of the night. I’m sure a lot of it was the drink in both of us.”
“Yes, me as well, but there was something so true in what you spoke of.’
“You as well, intent is what matters. You’ll have to excuse me if I’m a little more private at this point, I have much on my mind.”
“That’s okay, I understand what you mean.”
“Do you? Did I tell you everything?”
“Yep, that was your first time.”
“First time with what?”
“Making love, it was beautiful what we did, the most true expression I’ve ever had in life.”
“Whatever we did I wish could remember it.”
“We could make it memory later on, the dorms are to active right now to make much noise.”
“Hah! You’re funny. I tell you anything else?”
“Oh nothing, just how much you admired someone like myself, and about your previous affiliations: The killing and stealing you did.”
“Fuck.”

[Dutch Forte]

“Two orders of flap jacks for us, orange juice to drink.”
The chef took the order and headed to go cook at their request. “This place is packed, smells delightful though.” Dutch looked to the tables lined with students who ate their food civilly, many staring at books. “You guys sure are serious about your studies.” A chef came by to load up some oranges into a juicer, he squeezed them until they were almost peals. “This is all so new to me.” Dutch chuckled at himself, “I’m talking to myself.”
“Yeah, so? Don’t take it to heart, there isn’t much to say; I have a feeling these things will come in time to you, Dutch. Anything I can say to help you cope with this room you could learn by yourself; you’re not a child so I’ll let you make up your own mind.”
“In some respects its as if I’m a child.”
“Possibly, but you’re a man now; the world isn’t going to be so nice to you.”
“Never was, even when I was a kid.”
“Flap jacks and orange juice!” Some raggedly dressed stragglers nonchalantly made their way for the meal before the boy and girls assertion deterred them. “Enjoy guys, syrup and butter are on the station.”
“Thanks chef, you have a nice day.” The chef nodded as the two headed for the station. “Always, always watch out for your food around here, I don’t know how your pockets are doing, especially since I’ve been paying for your ass, but whatever it be you can’t feed all the hungry in Zeltiva.” Dutch watched as the girl poured syrup on her ‘flapjacks’ and spread butter on them. “You spread this on there for some salty flavor, and this is very sweet; you’ll be eating these so quick after this you’ll hardly know how full you’ll get.”
“I know what syrup is.”
“Catty, are we?”
“No, just humorous. Hey, if there are hungry people in Zeltiva, why don’t they get fed?”
“Because they don’t work. My father always said that ‘if someone’s begging they aren’t making.’”
“Does that mean they can’t make?”
‘No, they choose not to, they’re lazy.”
“Those people over there that made for our foods are still standing there. I don’t think they’re lazy, actually, quite the contrary: Their diligence and focus is just on food only.”
“Well, duh. They need to eat some how. So they’ll do that instead of work.”
“You think they like having to beg for food? Seems a little degrading.”
“Certainly does, but they’d rather do that.”
“Do you know if they actually have jobs they could go to?”
“No, I never thought of that. I think there’s work in the ports always.”
“You think, you don’t know. Don’t be so harsh on people, I could be one of them hadn’t you be with me right now, and thank the Gods for that.”
Katrin smiled, “you know what? I’m not even mad we disagreed, in fact, you persuaded me.” She waved the men over, “hey, you guys want the last of our pancakes?”

[Dutch Forte]

The day had been kind to the young duo as it had not dragged or passed quickly: peace was in the air. Dutch, after living a life of shifting, got to experience a meal that wasn’t timed. He reflected much on this and his life, but could this be too sudden?

“You know, I never really thought about the sky deeply, it’s so beautiful.”
“Are you trying to tell me you’re a poet too?”
“I believe its called a poem Miss Katrin.”
“How dumb can you be? A poet writes poems.”
“They know who wrote those things? I thought that was just an old name for drunk’s tales.”
“Uggghh, you really did live like that.” Katrin stopped next to a to stare out to the ocean it seemed, they had been walking along the beach since breakfast. “Poets are the makers of beauty, Dutch,” she paused and quickly darted her eyes at Dutch, “Don’t take that literally.”
“Come-on, just because I’m not one of your university buddies doesn’t mean I can’t follow you when you talk.”
The girl went straight-faced and stared at the ocean; they were now sitting next to a statue. “Yeah, you’re right, It’s just a little hard to figure out what you do and don’t know, it’s like all the things I’m used to being mentioned in passing are new to your ears and what would normally pass by another’s is caught in yours.”
“Yeah, just don’t think I know too much, and don’t be too surprised when I ask questions. But honestly, I can tell you don’t mean bad, don’t beat yourself up.” They smiled lightly. “So, what do you suppose I do around here?”
“Whatever you want, what is it you wanna’ do?”
“Honestly, the thought never crossed my mind until now. I could spend a year like this, but I have a feeling I can’t keep this up.”
“How much money you got?”
“Six-hundred mizas.”
“Yeah no way. What’re you good at?”
“Besides the devious arts, not much. I could make ends meets stealing, but I just ran from that and, I don’t know, it doesn’t seem like I should go running back to that.” The tides crashed on newly found sand, “I like learning from you, you think I can enroll at the university?”
“As long as you got money in your pocket,” Katrin laughed. “You know I think it makes a lot of sense for you to go there; in fact, I’d call that logical”
“What’s that mean?”
“Logic is an applied art: It’s the matter the semantics (laws of) and pragmatics (practice of) of reasonable argumentation, you rely on valid premises avoiding fallacious (inherently false) claims to support some conclusion.” Dutch ears turned, “you established your premises: you can’t function productively non-criminally, but you like to learn and have money, so attending the university makes perfect sense for you.”
“ Yeah, I guess you’re right. You told me its as simple as registering, I’ll register soon.” Dutch’s eyes drifted to the stars and then the girl, “its awfully peaceful out here; things all just make sense.”
“To you I guess, the man who lived in chaos.”
“And to you they don’t?”
“I didn’t say that, in fact, this always made sense to me.”