Local Knowledge (Rafael)

by **Razkar** on January 30th, 2014, 12:30 pm

52nd Day of Winter, 513AV
12th Bell

"Fourteen days... fourteen days and nearly fifty beside that and nothing to show for it..."

Razkar glared out of their solitary window at the pygmies below him, all bustling around the street like some vast, chaotic choreography. Even in the dead of Winter, there was a great deal of street theater, especially in a place as utterly uninhibited as Sunberth.

Vendors and hustlers of all kinds hawked their wares. Even whores plied their trade, though much more swaddled than in the Summer season. Drunks slumped on the curb, boozed away pain and memories. Carts and carriages lumbered around each other like icebergs among the pedestrians. Through it all flurries of snow raced through the street, icy wind and wet sleet following them.

Pickpockets and cut purses circled and spied and whispered to each other before diving into the shoal like sharks for a tasty treat. Sometimes their targets were unawares; sometimes shouts and curses rebounded across the street, followed by swiftly running figures.

The sight reminded him of Rafael. How would the denizens here deal with them if they were captured? A beating? At minimum. Mutilation? Perhaps. Death? Much more likely. After all, in this city, who was there to complain to?

And who is there to assist you?

The unwelcome thought set the Myrian's lips curling in frustration again. He'd been contracted to do a job, and half the season was already gone. He could only imagine how Everto's anger was steadily building, going day after day without his freakish little abomination returning to him with the good news.

Anar DuFarro is dead. Your future rival is nothing but worm food. But could he do that? No. Still he was stumbling around the city like a blind man, his one road of inquiry a man who had no more concept of honor than a cat's corpse.

"Must be some other way... some other..."

Razkar's words trailed off as he focused on the pickpockets. The street trash. Unseen and yet always seeing, they were on every corner, every street, every alley. They fought and stole and sold everything from body parts to themselves... and they knew everything. Collectively, at least.

And now your love is babying on like a lost kitten. A better opportunity you will not find. Use the boy and his knowledge, in case The Hound turns out to be a dead end.

"No-one gives something for nothing here," he mused, analyzing his problem as rationally as he could, "So..."

With a little smirk the Myrian left his seat at the theater, locking the door behind him as he walked up a floor, and one door to the right.

by **Rafael Colebourne** on January 30th, 2014, 7:25 pm

The cold water tickled his face. He sat on his knees near a freshly filled water tub and with a sigh of relief pulled his head out of the water. Shivering, he splashed some more over his chest and face, then grabbed a piece of rough cloth to dry himself. A small window in his cramped room allowed a few shy rays of sunlight to shine on his bed. It had been five days since he had moved all his belongings into this room, and he still hadn't sorted out all of it. He'd donated a spare blanket of his to Edreina and Razkar and traded some old clothes to buy himself a warm, though slightly worn, cape. Sitting down on the edge of his bed with his makeshift towel draped around his neck, he folded his hands and prayed to Priskil, godess of Light.

Closing his eyes, he shut out all the sounds and scents that wafted through the cracks in the wall. "Please, Priskil hear my prayer. Fill the hearts of men with light, drive the darkness from this place, save us from ourselves and bless the light in all of us. I come humbly before you, to thank you for your grace and kindness. Guide my actions as you have guided those of Edreina and Razkar. May your light purge her wicked magic and his savage nature. They are good people, hidden only from sight by the darkness of their surroundings. Help my hand stay from the pockets that aren't mine. I thank you for this second chance and will do everything in my power to take it." He swallowed down a gulp, "thank you," he whispered, "thank you for putting them on my path. Thank you for giving me hope aga-"

The door swung open. It was Razkar. As if on duty, Rafael jumped up from his bed and straightened his back. A few ticks passed before he realized he hadn't put his shirt on yet. He quickly grabbed one from a small pile of clothes beside his bed, pulled it over his head and shot a questioning look at Razkar. The tall man still made every hair on his skin stand on end, but he wasn't scared anymore, just intimidated. "Good mor- Midday," he said before cocking his head to the side, "is there something I can help you with?"

Whereas he had lived on his own the months before and still technically did, he felt somewhat embarassed that he still hadn't sorted out his belongings. Even though he didn't have too many possesions, his room was easily filled by his table, two chairs, some clothes and a chest overflowing with odds bits and pieces he had either found or otherwise obtained.

by **Razkar** on January 31st, 2014, 12:16 am

Gods, was the little bugger messing with himself?

Of course, the Myrian would never have thought Rafael was praying for him. He opened the door without ceremony - after all, their bloody mizas were paying for it - and he saw the human shoot up in a surprised blur, half-naked, wide-eyed... what was he supposed to think?

It also never entered his mind that Rafael was simply in awe of him.

"Good mor- Midday."

"Not really." Razkar said bluntly, giving him a short nod of greeting before closing the door. "But the day is not yet over. It may improve. And you-?"

The bigger, broader savage stepped forward quickly, hands already out and grasping the boy's bandaged hand. He jerked it up and inspected it like he might have it for dinner, turning it this way and that. Edreina had changed the dressing again by the look of it, and despite the good work, he shook his head.

She babies him. Not a good sign.

"Is there something I can help you with?"

Razkar walked slowly around the room, which didn't take long. A few bundles of clothes were strewn around, as was a deep pail of water and a thin bar of soap. The fire was smoking if not blazing and, all in all, he saw that their young... whatever, had been enjoying his new accommodations.

The male gave the bed a once-over before wincing hard, as if something sadistic had just stabbed his brain.

Inspecting his room. Goddess, I'm becoming my bloody father!

"I see you are settling in nicely, and the hand is healing."

He spoke pleasantly enough, but couldn't keep it up. Razkar couldn't stomach talking small with anyone... at least not barbarians. Always an objective, a reason, a... purpose. So he cleared his throat and stood before the boy, hands clasped in front of his stomach.

"You have been here for some days, now. Edreina has visited you much, I think. But I have not. Do you know why?" Before the boy could answer, Razkar did it for him. "Because you are, despite her feelings to the contrary, an unknown quality to me. Your family, your friends, your history, what you do aside from thievery... I don't know any of it. I was unwilling to leave you in the snow to die, so I brought you back. Edreina took it from there, and... this..." He gestured vaguely to the room around them. "... was what happened next. But I feature... very little."

He let the cold statement stand for a few moments, as much to get his own bearings as allow the boy to do the same. It was hardly a winning opening gambit, he'd admit, but this was odd for him.

Usually it was Razkar where Rafael stood. Opposite some powerful and enigmatic individual, spinning words and lies into employment and promises. Razkar had been a Fang Leader back home (temporarily, his unwanted inner voice automatically added), but... authority? Well, there was the mercenary band in Syliras... and the caravan to Zeltiva... and the-

Gods, why are you not better at this?!

"Anyway-" he started again, voice a touch louder as if shaking away the... ah, yes, a good way to go about it! "-that is all the past. The truth is, b-... Rafael, I would like you help." Another pause. Another few ticks to read his reactions. "I am looking for someone. Some I presume is influential and wealthy. You do not need to know why; all you need know is I have to find him. So... if you can help me find this person, I will reward you."

Razkar sat at the chair by the table, loading his old, worn clay pipe with Taloba Grey as he spoke, the movements so practiced and worn into his minds' grooves that he barely needed to look at his fingers.

"You know... and have seen... what I am capable of. In return for your help, I can teach you..." He took a smoking twig from the fire and lit the bowl. "I can teach you to maim or even kill with your hands. To wield a gladius, or an ax, even this-" he patted his kukri affectionately, dispelling a stream of blueish smoke "-if you wish. I know methods of fighting, and when to use them. I would be... your instructor."

Grey smoke curled and wound into the cold air, the Myrian's onyx eyes barely blinking as he regarded the young thief. Such a turnabout. If Rafael had had a blade in his hand that freezing afternoon, Razkar would have killed him and moved on without regret. Now he'd gone from mutilating him to offering him a job, and...

Yes. The means for revenge.

"Well? Speak, boy..."

by **Rafael Colebourne** on January 31st, 2014, 1:29 am

Rafael held his breath as Rafael inspected his hand. The savage was looking at his hand with a butcher's eye, turning it this way and that as if he was considering to buy a good piece of meat. He tensed even further when the broad-shouldered man turned to inspect the room.

My room, he thought as he dropped his head and stared at the planked floor.

"I see you are settling in nicely, and the hand is healing."

Shaken from his thoughts, Rafael relaxed a little. "Yes Sir," he replied obediently. "I am very grateful for everything." Tearing his eyes from the ground, Rafael's eyes collided with that of the savage. The tattoos covering the man's body snarled and hissed whenever the savage spoke, and he remained very weary of them. Still, much as liked to flee from the inky creatures, he remained standing, stiff as a board.

Razkar's words did little to thaw him. But what else could he expect from a savage? Edreina had shown nothing but kindness, and Razkar complemented that by displaying the charm and comfort of a block of ice. "Well," he began to reply, "my father is a sailor and my mo-"

He shut his jib immediately as Razkar continued to speak. The muscles in his jaw relaxed a bit, his almost soldier-like posture loosened. A man as tall, strong and no doubt courageous as Razkar needed him? Still, he listened eagerly as the savage explained. He could see why he was needed, Sunberth wasn't just famous for it's lawlessness, it was a safe haven for those that wished to disappear for whatever reason.

"I will reward you."

"Oh," Rafael sat down on the edge of his bed again, baffled by what his ears had just registered. "I don't think that'll be neccessary. I think I more or less owe you." How someone as wild and violent as Razkar could make such generous offers was beyond him, but it was clear that it was an offer he could not refuse. And then it struck him. When Razkar began to speak of his weapons, there was an undercurrent of passion in his voice, and though it had been easy to spot the man's savage nature, he'd never demonstrated so clearly where the root of his actions layed. This was someone, Rafael now realised, who lived to fight. A man who's primary love was that of violence and weapons. Would he become a weapon too? A weapon for Razkar The Wild to use and discard whenever it suited him? Now that he thought about it, gaining a new room might not have been a liberation after all, but an imprisonment rather.

"Well? Speak, boy..."

"I will find your target, but I am not so sure about being trained. I think I can hold my own," he said rather unconvincingly. "It's just, I don't mean to become a burden..." Allowing himself to ponder for a little while longer he stood up from the bed and sat down on the remaining chair. Resting his elbows on the table, he stared intently at Razkar, contemplating what to do. "I don't want to steal anymore," he confessed quietly, "but I am not sure how much of a fighter I am either." A memory fluttered through his mind and he smiled briefly at it, "though I did once knock a tooth out of James, he was tailing my tary*."

*tary, (unofficial) slang for 'target'.

by **Razkar** on January 31st, 2014, 2:38 am

Razkar had no idea who James was or what in the hells a "tary" was, but he was more focused on the boy than the words. Rafael was... certainly not over-confident. He remembered (just) being that young. Sure of his skill, proud of his meager ability... Goddess, how had he lasted as long as he had?

Instead of bravado, however, Rafael was being honest with him, or it sounded like it. The Myrian nodded and sat back, puffing lightly on his pipe, tiny smile flashing across his lips and eyes behind a veil of smoke.

"A tooth? Not bad. Little bastards cut yer hand up, though. Best to go straight for the jaw... or the throat." He leaned forwards suddenly, capturing the street kid's attention as assuredly as he could, eyes boring into him. "And don't make promises you aren't sure you can deliver on. It's a good way to end up dead, boy. Now... the man I am after... his name is Anar DuFarro-"

He sounded out the words as carefully as he could, just as when he'd spoken to the Hound. His Common may have been fluent, but his accent was not.

"-though I doubt he'll be using the name anymore. He is an..." Razkar frowned briefly, remembering what the Nuit had said, his exact word... ah-ha! "-anarchist. Which... I suppose, does not mean much in this town. But he is marked by Sagallius. That is all I can say to you..."

The Myrian sat back and sighed, lips curled in frustration. Much like Rafael probably was, he mused. Little to go on in an alien environment, except for a name that probably wasn't spoken anymore and a single scrap of information... but that was why he was talking to Rafael, after all.

This isn't alien to him. This is home.

"I can teach you what you wish to know." He said a little more softly, with a shrug that ended with his shoulders up and his hands spread. "As long as I know it. Other than that... you will be under my protection. Mine and Edreina's. You can stay in this room and not have to fear the cold. But... there is a price, as there is with everything."

The Myrian bowed his head a touch, accentuating his already-fierce stare.

"You do your best. You roust whatever contacts you have, speak to old friends, current comrades, even make new ones. But you go to work. I don't give anything for nothing, and if that's all you produce in, say... five days, the lessons stop... and so does our protection."

Razkar stood, reasonable words now replaced by a stony, blank expression.

"And don't think the female will talk me around that. We're not an orphanage or a charity. You tried to thieve from me, and I cut your finger off. There is no debt left in that incident... but if you do hold up your end of the deal, then there will be a debt that I will collect. Do we understand each other?"

by **Rafael Colebourne** on February 1st, 2014, 1:31 am

Coughing as some of the smoke filled his lungs, Rafael too leaned back his chair. Behind that veil of smoke, the savage was smiling at him. A tooth, it didn't sound half as impressive now. Not in the face of someone so adept at brawling. He made a mental note then, when Razkar gave his first piece of advice. Go for the throat. There was a merciless tenacity behind the way he said it.

And don't make promises you aren't sure you can deliver on. It's a good way to end up dead, boy. Now... the man I am after... his name is Anar DuFarro-"

Rafael raised an eyebrow. Was that a threat? It probably was, the savage was in a position to make them though he doubted that the man even noticed himself. The name didn't ring any bells and an uneasy tingle began to spread through his stomach. I haven't promised anything yet. No sooner than he had thought that he replied, "I haven't heard of him but people with marks rarely go unnoticed here. It's a sign of magic after all, isn't it?"

Sharp and sour, the scent of smoke filled his nostrils, kicking his thoughts into the second gear. DuFarro was certainly an unusual name, probably not a Sunberth native. A trader was their next best bet, but a trader in what? Ships came and went almost every bell, Razkar was trying to fish the ocean on a rowboat with only small net to catch some slippery ale in. "I'll do my best," he said, "but I can't make any promises. People travel here specifically to disappear. It's near impossible." He turned in his seat and glanced out of the window, hoping that the wind would carry some novel thought to him, and waft away some of that awful smoke.

When Razkar went into the details of their agreement, he simply nodded and started the nail on his thumb absently.

Do we understand each other?"

He swatted Razkar's question out of the air and buried his hands in his hair, hoping to find the faintest clue among some of the dark strands. "Yea I understand," he groaned. "Just give me a little while to think. And some luck while you're at it," he added, knocking his knuckles on the wooden table.

by **Razkar** on February 1st, 2014, 3:28 am

Disheartened as he was by Rafael's blunt but undeniably honest appraisal of their chances, Razkar found himself frowning more as the boy rapped his knuckles against the table. It seemed to have some... ritual significance. Was it tidings to a god, perhaps? Or some house spirit?

Gods, he's only been here five days.

He shook the thought from his head and got to his feet, walking over to the window and opening it, eyes narrowing at the freezing blast that greeted him. He tapped out the pipe and a waterfall of spent ash burned and blossomed and died, mingling with the icy snow.

"Then we begin your training." Razkar said simply, stowing away his pipe and walking to the doorway, turning back to his new protege. "Still plenty of Syna to last the day. We'll go to the courtyard. Plenty of space down there, and by now... probably not too busy."

He massaged his knuckles, cracked his neck from side to side and smiled like a wolf would at a lamb. In truth, it felt... somewhat good to have a student again. Anything to break the tedium, after all, and the boy was like fresh clay to be molded. Something Rafael had said also put him in slightly more optimistic waters.

A magical mark... yes... that's what a god's favor is, when you get down to the practicalities. Such a person would not be welcome here, would try to hide it... and in a place with so many covetous eyes, that would make him stand out even more.

"We'll start with your bare hands. When you're good and bruised and know a thing or two... then we'll put something in them."

by **Rafael Colebourne** on February 1st, 2014, 4:06 am

Like a ghost breathing in his neck, the cold wind shook him from his thoughts and nearly doused the small fire in the hearth. "You want to train now?" Inside here it was warm, and he could sit near the fire and think about how to find DuFarro. Outside however, there was only snow, sticking to your boots, seeping down your collar and melting on your skin. He shivered at the mere thought of going outside but saw no point in arguing with Razkar.

His appetite for a fight was further dulled by the foreboding sounds Razkar produced, not to mention his bulked figure, ham-sized shoulder and fists that would make a sledgehammer feel like a caring touch. What little color had found it's way back into his cheeks over the last five days, disappeared completely at the mention of putting something in his knuckles.

"I am sorry," Rafael began, "what did you say? You want to put something in my knuckles?" His disbelief was bigger now than the day he'd seen a hanged man come back to life. Obedience forced him out of his chair and he followed Razkar to the courtyard. Before they had even taken up their positions, he already felt sick in his stomach, as if something was stirring in his intestines, desperate to get out. "Are you sure this is a good idea?"

How on earth was he going to find a lost man when the savage would no doubt bruise him?
OOCIt's a little short, but I felt that anything more would've been pointless filler.

by **Razkar** on February 1st, 2014, 10:05 pm

When they stepped outside, Razkar felt the unexpected and unpleasant sensation of his balls trying to migrate upward into his pelvis, and his shivering mind just about managed to stammer out:

Y-You r-really s-should th-think th-these th-things th-through...

"On second thoughts," he said, wiping a thin film of snow and frost from his face, settling there after mere ticks out in the coming storm, "We'll go somewhere inside..."

This was easier said that done. Sunberth in the Winter was a place where any kind of cover was greedily taken over by anyone who could stake a claim and defend it. The homeless that would usually sleep under the stars grudgingly handed over handfuls of coppers to Jilene for a few days respite from the cold; only the "good lads" she hired on kept them from simply taking the rooms over.

So the Myrian and the human traipsed for a while, finding every room taken, noise issuing forth from all... save one.

"Ah. I forgot, it's not lunch yet..."

One of the dining rooms was devoid of life. Tables and chairs lay strewn around and already Razkar could get a whiff of whatever stew Jilene was concocting. Something with... mutton, apparently. And cabbages.

"I saw a little of what you could do," he said without preamble, whipping off his cloak and draping it across a chair, standing in a roughly square space between four tables, large enough for two grown men to brawl, so presenting them with few problems, "Now I wish to see more."

Rafael watched as Razkar unclasped his weapon harness and placed it on the table with equal, if not greater care. They were, after all, the tools of his trade. Clad only in his breeches again, scarred, inked and taut torso bared to the world, Razkar held up his hands, palms inwards... and flicked his fingers towards himself.

"Come at me." Not a hint of fear, but no mockery, either. "You will fail, true. But so did I, at first..."

by **Rafael Colebourne** on February 3rd, 2014, 4:34 am

Rafael couldn't suppress a snigger when Razkar surrender to the cold and instead proposed to move inside. The very fact that they were heading back inside increased his joy even further. Though it took them a while to find a good spot in the rackety building, they did eventually stand opposite to each other.

A knot began to form inside his stomach. One that, no matter how hard he scolded himself for being such a coward, only seemed to tighten. Looking up the well-muscled chest of Razkar, there was much to fear. The tattoos, the muscles, the fierce look on his face...

Just when he'd begun to muster some of his courage, Razkar kindly reminded him that he was doomed to fail. Well, they'd see about that. He let his eyes slide over his surroundings, perhaps there was something he could use to his advantage. A chair to knock him on the head with, or a bench he could kick over at the last minute and make the savage trip over it. Neither seemed useful and both were unlikely to work.

With a sigh he concluded that the only way to ever defeat Razkar was to adapt to the man's style. And since he had little to no understanding of what the man's style was, expect from cutting off fingers -fortunately he'd put the sword away, there was only one way to find out.

"Alright, I am ready," he breathed.

Every fibre in his body braced for imminent pain as he edged towards Razkar, eyes trained on his fists. First he'd feint a strike with his right hand, only to let the just-healed knuckles on his left hand smack into his gut. Then, he'd try a leg sweep and perhaps throw a punch at the man's throat, as he himself had recommended. In all truth, Rafael doubted he would even get that far.