Thief and Scholar [Hirem]

by **Atoll Northwind** on June 4th, 2014, 3:23 am

9th of Summer, 514AV

The city was...damn it, it was a city. It was a box that trapped people in. It was gorgeous to look at from far away, like certain woman when drunk but up close it didn't match up. Atoll scrubbed his face with a rough palm. The things he did for company. He'd only been there a scant few days but he already missed home. Riverfall tried to be a substitute with its bright colors, and he meant bright even the men in the city were colored. "Look like damned fish." He mumbled. It had water, plenty of it. And it's proximity to Laviku gave it the salty taste and fishy smell he was accustomed to but it lacked everything else. It lacked the danger, the freedom, Laviku, Litty, and the constant comforting roll of waves beneath his feet. From the moment he'd stepped ashore his stomach had protested vehemently. Even the passing days had down little to quiet it.

Atoll rolled his shoulders. He'd just have to ride this wave out like any other. Find something to do, it's why he came to the blasted thing! But it was too early for taverns. But who was he kidding? It was never too early for a tavern. Atoll pivoted around so he could better scan the signs for what he was looking for. When he spotted the perfect place. It looked like a hole in the wall. It none of the rest of the city with its grand buildings that cut everything off. This place was like a cove, the place where Atoll could easily imagine someone not coming back out of. Naturally he went in the establishment. It was as dingy inside as it was out, the people looked even more so. It was almost worse than outside but it probably had cheaper drinks than anywhere else and wouldn’t mind a mindless drunk. Atoll waved a hand for his drink, he ordered three to start because he hadn’t yet eaten then surveyed the room. There wasn’t much to see.

However, when his drinks arrived and he’d given them more than a few ticks time the room looked much more interesting. In fact, there was an interesting bag with an interesting scroll a seat away. Atoll reached in the bag and plucked out the scroll. Now who in this tavern could read a scroll?”What is this?” He asked of the scroll. Without a care Atoll sat in what had been someone’s seat and began to try to and decipher the letters in front of him. They were nothing like what he had seen before. Full of squiggles and letters that made no sense when he mouthed them to himself, not that he was pronouncing the words correctly in the first place. As he got comfortable he kicked his feet up on the table and ignored the beginnings of a brawl. But it proved to be a vain effort. Too much noise for any reading. Atoll felt a cup slip past his ear, nicking it hard enough to tell him that it would be in his best interest to head back to the Sextant. However, when the Svefra looked up the brawl looked like a good time. Atoll tucked the scroll in his pants and cocked back a fist to send it flying into the nearest person. It missed but it threw him into the throng full force. “Great Laviku’s balls!” He bellowed as an elbow hit his cheek but his face was split in a grin. Now this was something to do!

by **Hirem** on June 4th, 2014, 4:53 pm

He hated his job. He absolutely, completely, devotedly hated bouncing at the Rat Hole.

It wasn't the fact that it was hard work that irked Hirem, although he hadn't ever been pressed into this sort of employment before. In fact, working at all for mizas was a foreign experience to him - the most he had done in the past was work with a caravan or Tent to pay off his debt of food and water. Never before had he had a "boss", and never before had that boss deposited filthy mizas into his open palm for the service. But hard work was no difficulty for the steadfast Benshiran, who had bowed his head countless times under the strain of living in the desert and had never once broken. Amazingly, Hirem actually found himself rejuvenated by the idea of performing difficult labour, as he was constantly rewarded by the sense of accomplishment such a task gave him.

No, what really got on his nerves about the job was the fact that the Rat Hole was a barren pit of shyke, lies, and depravity.

The stifled air in the building stank of cheap ale and cigar smoke. The floor was always wet and dotted with puddles of questionable substances. The clientele was brutish, crude, and oftentimes suspicious in their shady dealings, always whispering to each other at darkened tables, always casting glittering gazes upon Hirem that reeked of malice. And, perhaps most importantly, the Benshiran's skin retched at the sight of his employers, who, without fail, made Hirem feel wary and disgusted. There is something dreadfully wrong with this place, he had decided after walking away from his first night on the job. There were only two things keeping him at the Rat Hole: one, was the haunting memory of the Akalak secretary's words after he had first submit his employment form. "I'm afraid that, without proper, marketable skills, you're going to have to settle for grunt work like this."

The second was Hirem's own pig-headed determination. Yahal has led me to this horrible tavern for a reason... if I am to discover the nature of this world, I must peer my eyes open at every part of it, including the parts that offend me. The Rat Hole deserves only to be burned down and destroyed, and every cruel sinner within it left to the judgement of the law... but it is not my place to destroy it. It is my place to learn from it, and grow stronger from it. Walking away from this job would be like bowing his head to corruption and letting it win, letting it take him over... and that was something Hirem could not afford to do. Besides, he would console himself, working as a bouncer means that I get to impose some order upon the chaos. That's better than letting it fester.

Still, sometimes he lusted for a great typhoon to blow in from the bay and swallow the Rat Hole up.

His latest annoyance had come just in the middle of his break, when he finally had a chance to sit down at the bar and reread one of the Penita Scrolls he hadn't yet commit to memory. Not a chime into his reading, Hirem became aware of a sudden chorus of voices echoing in the back of the tavern, growing louder and louder, the words slurring increasingly towards threats. Cursing under his breath, the Benshiran turned his head over his shoulder to see a group of young Svefra pushing each other around a table, spilling their cards onto the ground and hassling their opponents over a heavy bag of coins. It looked like they were in the midst of an intense disagreement, and one of them looked only moments away from drawing a dagger and plunging it into his rival's heart. What was worse than that, though, was the fact that Hirem was the only bouncer in the tavern proper - the rest were all in the back room, conducting their secret business.

"Hik," Hirem growled, setting his rucksack of scrolls onto the seat and hauling himself to his feet. Navigating roughly through the bar - he had learned on his first day of work that the best way to get through the Rat Hole was to shove obstacles out of your way - he approached the table and immediately grabbed the nearest belligerent by the shoulder. "Hey!" he cried, shouting in order to be heard above the din. "You'll have to leave now!" Though the Svefra that he grabbed was a foot shorter than him, the young man proved surprisingly strong, wrestling his way easily out of Hirem's grasp and throwing himself back into the argument. Hissing, the Benshiran reached back for his target...

only to be rewarded with a sudden punch to the face for his troubles.

The blow came out of nowhere, striking Hirem roughly in the chin and sending him tumbling backwards. His clumsy steps ended up crashing him into another table, knocking into the wooden surface and tipping it, along with the drinks on it, to the ground. The two patrons that had been sitting there threw themselves to their feet in an uproar, staring angrily down at the bouncer that had just ruined their evening. Shaking, the Benshiran pushed himself off the ground and stood between them. "Sorry - " he wheezed, before the burlier patron suddenly lunged forward and shoved him back with both hands, pushing him back into the bar brawl that was already erupting.

From there, it was chaos.

It was all that Hirem could do to avoid being knifed. He shoved his way through the brawling patrons and disabled them however he could, lashing out quickly with trained blows that, more often than not, just glanced off the combatant's bodies. Trying to stop a bar brawl alone was bad enough, but it was far worse when the bar was in Riverfall and the patrons were all aspiring warriors. For every punch Hirem threw, he received another two strikes in response, resulting in him getting quite a beating. Nevertheless, he was having some success as he made his way through the crowd, punching and pushing and kicking and guarding. "Stand down!" he kept shouting above the din. "Stand down!"

The priority for him, right now, was to find people that were carrying weapons and disable them, before they drew steel and intensified the brawl into a bloody slaughter. Soon, he found another Svefran man fighting in the skirmish, with a steel cutlass at his side - by far the most dangerous weapon within the tavern. "Get out of here!" he roared, charging at the man and launching a kick at his stomach.

Word Count :

by **Atoll Northwind** on June 5th, 2014, 10:05 pm

Atoll was enjoying himself, if his wide and swollen smile was any indication. His cheek, mouth and hand were swollen and what wasn’t yet would be in the morning. And it could have been the alcohol but he thought it was the second or third most interesting thing he’d done all summer. Even if he was losing.

The Svefra ducked one chair to be shoved in the back. He face planted into the floor with a grunt. Over the din of his own cursing as he was stepped on Atoll could hear shouting. He kicked up at the nearest legs wildly then got slowly to his feet. It was then he seen the shouter. Tall as any of the natives but lacking the color. Atoll couldn’t see much else through the flurry of arms and legs. Hands up he backed off from the fight. For his troubles he received a swift punch. Atoll double-over, “Petch a fish, ya bastard!” From his hunched position Atoll could see what he was guessing was the guard of the tavern. Or at the very least a foolish well-meaning citizen. Atoll chuffed out a laugh. Well-meaning or not the man was becoming another brawler right along with the others, maybe he had never broken up a fight cause this was not the way to go.

He’d give him some praise though. A few of the scragglers who had joined in drunken fury or fun had stepped away. Atoll straightened and made to do the same when he briefly met the eyes of the shouter. The other man had his face twisted in some sort of shout, looking as deranged and drunk as them all. Atoll had seconds to dodge a flying kick. But he didn’t. He had rubbed his stomach, close to his cutlass that he’d forgot he had. So he raised his hand and—

“Gods above.” He squeaked and crumpled, his hands clutching himself under the belt. He felt all the air leave his lungs and a burn travel straight from his groin to his head then back down. Atoll thought it was what death felt like. A few others stepped on him but he could not feel it. Yet, the kick had done a good job. Save for the few original brawlers most had backed up looking at the downed Svefra with a mixture of worry, pity or frustration. For the fellow Svefra’s part they reached for any manner of weapon. Atoll groaned, and forced himself to stand even though he was sure he couldn’t take more than a hobble forward. He held his free hand out placating to the other Svefra. “Not dead. Just thinkin’ I’m a woman now.”

Laughter met the comment, and they trotted off to continue drinking. The original brawlers still enjoying themselves. Atoll ignored them. He’d had enough brawling a time. He finally looked to the man who sent the kick.

“No harm meant.” He said, his hand was still up but his gaze swept the floor. Atoll found his scroll had fallen out. “Just get things then go, aye?”

He waddled over, grabbed the scroll and shoved it back into the waist of his pants. The pain in his groin had thinned to a steady piercing pain. He straightened, “There, be seein’ ya.” Atoll said with a wink, then turned to stroll out of the tavern.

by **Hirem** on June 6th, 2014, 12:53 am

A shockwave crawled through Hirem's leg as he planted his foot in the stomach of the Svefra, shaking his bones and rattling his hips, but a far greater aftershock was felt throughout the brawling patrons of the tavern. Their eyes were drawn to the young man, who groaned in pain and collapsed to the ground, and at the hulking Benshiran that had made the attack, looming over him. Finally, they seemed to make the connection that this brawl could actually get dangerous, and their own drunken courage evaporated in the face of possible injury. Shuffling their feet, grumbling among each other, laughing at the Svefra's misfortune, they all paused their endless fighting to stare at the bouncer...

except for the other Svefra in the bar. Seeing their fallen kinsman sprawled on the ground, their blue eyes travelled to the Benshiran and turned fiery. With a swift, shuffling sound, a dozen hands were placed on the hilts of daggers and axes and swords, all men and women taking a step closer to the bouncer with murder in their gaze. Hirem - who had only ever heard legends of the Svefra's loyalty to their people, and had never seen it in person - backed away from the advancing horde and put his fists up, quickly trying to reassert a fighting pose before they got any ideas and lunged at him. Hik... what have I gotten myself into? He wondered, briefly, if that throwing himself into the fight headfirst had only made the situation worse. What, exactly, were bouncers supposed to do if not end fights directly?

He had a lot to learn about this type of world, the tavern world... if he survived the next chime.

Thankfully, before Hirem could be torn apart by the pack of furious Svefra, the young man that he had kicked pushed himself to his feet and waved the offence off. Listening intently, the Svefra laughed and then, maddeningly, turned to leave. The Benshiran stared in awe at the scene. That was one of the hardest kicks I've ever given somebody in my life, and yet... this man picks himself right up afterwards and jokes about the blow? And the others, upon seeing that he's alright, ignore the battle entirely? What kind of people are these Svefra, so headstrong and willing to battle, their attitudes changing as swiftly as the tides?

Seeing that the man was speaking to him, Hirem dropped his battle stance and narrowed his eyes. “Just get things then go, aye?” The Svefra was saying, still bent over from the pain. "That's the idea," the bouncer responded in Common, nodding his head and gesturing to the door. "Check yourself into the Gilia if I've broken anything. They'll take care of you there." He watched closely as the man retrieved a fallen scroll from the ground, confused as to what this roguish individual was doing with a precious-looking scroll like that. Either this man is surprisingly well-read despite appearances, or he's pilfered this from the town and is looking for a buyer. Considering the average person that steps through these doors, most likely the latter. Still... I wonder if that scroll means something to him?

Hirem was interrupted from his thoughts when he became aware of a sudden crashing from behind him. Whirling about, he realized with a start that the fight had not ended, just quieted - currently, a man of the original brawl was being choked out by his rival, while at his side another was being kicked viciously in the stomach. Cursing violently, the Benshiran flung himself once more into the fray, reaching out with both hands and struggling as hard as he possibly could to separate the combatants. Even though he was utterly ruthless with the brawlers, they continued to scrap under his guard, filled with complete and total rage at their hated opponents.

It took the arrival of the head bouncer to end their bloody conflict.

He came from nowhere, but arrived with an explosive and terrifying force. Hirem thought himself adjusted to dangerous men, but something about Ardan - the chief bouncer of the Rat Hole - filled him with unease. The man was quiet and oftentimes soft-spoken, but was filled with a consuming pragmatism that left even life itself to be an acceptable sacrifice in the means of accomplishing his goals. Hirem despised the man, but nevertheless welcomed his help in quelling the tavern disturbance. Together, the bouncers ended the brawl and sent every combatant limping out the door, except for the man whose leg had been broken by Ardan - he was carried out by his peers.

Immediately after the belligerents were kicked out, Ardan whirled upon Hirem. "You let this happen?" He murmured, accusing the man with his intense eyes.

"I tried to stop it," the Benshiran answered, refusing to show fear to his boss even though it was welling up deep inside of him.

"And you tried to stop it by joining in the fray yourself, punching and kicking like an idiot." Ardan looked moments away from striking him, but apparently was holding himself back. Instead he pointed at the door. "Leave. We'll see if you have a job here tomorrow."

It was humiliating to be leaving the tavern just behind the drunken brawlers, but Hirem knew that he had no choice - defy Ardan, and he risked more than just losing his job. Turning around and marching stiffly back to his seat, the Benshiran kept his teeth grit and his hands balled into fists at his side. I should have let the brawl destroy this place, he thought bitterly. Let all of its corruption implode in one burst and level this Rat Hole to the ground. Remembering that he chose to be here - a wonderfully stupid idea, even for Hirem - the man let out a frustrated sigh as he approached the bar, reaching for his deposited rucksack.

His heart stopped when he realized that the Penita Scroll, the one that he had been reading before all of this mess occurred, was gone.

His thoughts immediately settled upon the strange Svefra and the scroll tucked into his pants.

How could I be so stupid?!

"Benachag!" Hirem hissed, throwing the rucksack onto his shoulder and bursting through the door. Outside, the afternoon sky was glaring brightly above, blinding him momentarily as he stepped from the tavern and into the street. His eyes, once readjusted to the light, scanned the nearby buildings and alleyways, searching for the departing figure of this detestable Svefra. Yahal save me, but when I find that man...

Word Count :

by **Atoll Northwind** on June 6th, 2014, 8:21 pm

The Svefra had put on a brave face when he’d left that hold in the wall. Truth was he was sure his bits were going to fall off! When he stood still there was a constant ache but Laviku preserve him when he walked. Each step sent a shooting pain through him. It made Atoll second guess his decision to let the stupid brawling bouncer go. Then again, Atoll had to give him some praise, the man knew how to end a fight. So he cheered himself with the fact that he at least had something interesting to look at for the night. He patted the scroll at his waist. He didn’t keep many. Too wet or too windy to have them. But it was nice to have bragging rights. For the scroll was obviously some sort of special thing with its fancy words that he couldn’t understand.

His mind didn’t stay on the scroll for much longer, the more he walked the more he hurt. It was still early to hit the sack but it was looking nicer each step. Still thinking Atoll had forgotten his surroundings until he heard the pitter patter of angry feet behind him. Then the pitter patter became a louder. Atoll did not think it was coming for him at first. He hadn’t done much during the brawl and fellow Svefra wouldn’t attack him from the back. Still, he speed up. Or tried too. “Mothering petching son of land dwelling bastard!” He ended with a hiss and rubbed the inside of his thigh to take away some of the pain. He should’ve let the bouncer bastard get what was coming, Laviku save him if Atoll got his hands on him.

Speaking of the bouncer, there he was. Atoll was shocked out of his anger and he stopped walking. He raised his arm halfway in salute until he realized the other man looked less than pleased. The expression on the bouncers face wasn’t something Atoll could explain, it seemed like exertion mixed with pure rage and bordered on constipation. The Svefra wondered if another flying kick would be sent his way, were he not feeling like his balls would fall off he might even send the other on a merry chase. But as it was pain and morbid curiosity stayed him. Something has caused that expression but it sure as shyke wasn’t Atolls doing. Or was it? Maybe one of the Svefra had taken vengeance for him. That made him chuckle.

Atoll finished raising his hand in a gesture of goodwill but the other hovered by his cutlass. “Oi! Who ya running from?”

It quickly became clear the maybe Atoll shouldn’t be so cheery when the others expression didn’t seem to be less angry. He dropped his hand, and crouched. The air whooshed out of him in a small wheeze. His smile faded but he didn’t pull out his cutlass just yet. He hoped the bouncer only wanted to yell at him for encouraging the fight. Something told him it wouldn’t be that easy because no one looked that angry for nothing. The longer he stood and moved it felt more like he was going to hurl. So Atoll called again.

“Oi! Waddya want? Bugger off,.” He pulled out his cutlass, “I ain’t in the mood, got a mean kick there but not again, aye?”

Then Atoll waited for the other to slow down, he wouldn’t relax until he was sure the bouncer wouldn’t be attacking. Then he wondered just how many laws on that little scroll that he was breaking. Atoll hadn’t actually read any of them, maybe brawling was against the law in the cliff city?

by **Hirem** on June 7th, 2014, 2:54 pm

As he walked, Hirem struggled to make peace with his own insatiable inner fury. Deep down, he knew that what he was feeling right now, that what he was embracing - a burning desire for vengeance - was wrong, and that he should work harder to control himself. Yes, the Svefra should be punished for stealing from him, but the painful fantasies that were emerging to him at the moment were crossing the line. I will not be doing justice if I throw myself upon him... that was the mistake I made with the Eypharians. I will only be pleasing foes like Krysus by giving in to primal abandon. Yahal deserves better of me.

But at the same time, he couldn't help but feel infuriated by the actions of this particular Svefra. It wasn't just the fact that he had been robbed that angered the Benshiran so; Hirem would balk at a setback like being stolen from, but it wouldn't be a crime that he took personally to heart. No, what truly angered him about this particular offense was the object of the theft. A precious scroll to me, written only in Shiber, gifted to me from my family... what exactly does this man think to do with it? Sell it? Who would pay him anything substantial for a Penita Scroll, if they recognize what it is? No, this cannot be a crime of greed... is he trying to spite me, then? Get back at me for striking him in the bar? That petching Rakva will learn not to try and revenge himself upon a Benshiran, lest he cannot endure the response.

And, yet another thought was running through his mind... one of guilt. How could I be so stupid as to leave my pack unattended in the Rat Hole? Gods, I had thought I was growing wiser every day... the challenges of city life yet remain foreign to me. I'm going to have to adapt quickly.

Finally, Hirem spotted his target, limping away down a quiet street. His brow furrowed and his fists clenched, the Benshiran stalked after him, making sure to keep his eyes pinned to the Svefra's back. In the case of the man pulling any funny tricks to get away, Hirem didn't want to lose him for a second. Eventually his target seemed to realize that he was being chased, and tried to speed up... only for the injury that he had sustained in the Rat Hole come back to haunt him. Smiling tightly after realizing that he had indirectly managed to incapacitate his thief before the man had actually stolen from him, the wronged bouncer balled his fists tighter and approached the limping Svefra.

It became clear that, if Hirem was looking for a fight, his thief was going to give him one. The man seemed jovial enough as he greeted the Benshiran the first time, but his expression soon soured and was replaced by a look of warding hostility. He settled into a battle-ready crouch and withdrew his cutlass, waving it about as he threatened the bouncer. At the sight of the naked steel, Hirem did not grow disheartened, but instead only became more determined than ever to combat the thief. If he thinks that I'm going to be scared off as easily as another tavern rat, he has another thing coming. I've looked death in the face before and survived. I'll survive this weak man and his toothpick. He advanced slowly, already plotting a way to disarm his thief and get the upper hand...

And then Hirem stopped.

What am I doing? Yahal wouldn't want this, he thought to himself. Gods, has Yahal ever desired violence from me? Never, not even when I believed that it was his calling. As he stared into the blue eyes of this young man, Hirem felt appalled by how similar his feelings were to the wild emotions that had governed his crusade against the Eypharians. Yahal has asked me to fight for myself before, to kill in his name... but never to exact a wrong. Always, it has been done to protect something that he holds dear, or else champion his faith in a place without mercy. This boy... he is deserving of Yahal's guidance, not his judgment. Who am I, to think that he should be struck down? A god? No, just a foolish man that cannot see the path to his own heart.

And he sighed.

Dropping his offensive stance abruptly, Hirem outstretched his hand and raised it up, palm-spread, to his thief. "Easy, my friend." He began, trying to speak in a comforting one, working as hard as he could to erase any sense of anger within him. It continued to threaten him, threatened to explode and consume him once again, but the shame that he had felt earlier helped to erode its sting. He pointed at the bared cutlass. "You want to put that away," Hirem advised. "Fighting is allowed only in the academies of the city... if you're found with a weapon, they'll make you fight in the Arena."

His gaze slid from the drawn weapon to the scroll, so casually stuffed into the Svefra's pants. For a brief moment, the rage that the Benshiran was containing flared up again, furious that such a precious thing was being treated with so flippantly by this foolish man. Swallowing down his fury, Hirem took a careful step forward and pointed at the scroll. "You don't understand that scroll, yes? It's written in a language you don't understand?" He took another step, easing his hands down to his sides. "It's written in Shiber, the language of my people... that's a Penita Scroll, words from Yahal himself! It was given to me by my mother, who got it from her father, who got it from his uncle."

He placed his hand upon his breast, smiling gently at the Svefra. "I am Hirem, from the tents of Alachi, of the sons of Rapa." He proffered that same hand to the man now, nodding his head. "I know most Scrolls by heart... but not that one. Give it to me, and we'll read it together."

Word Count :

by **Atoll Northwind** on June 8th, 2014, 4:38 am

Atoll was waiting for something. Not anything because he knew what was coming. A swift kick in the ass. Or other places. But his mothers words rang in his head like ghosts. You do not give your life to anyone. His muscles bunched with the mounting anger, his skin felt taunt against his face and although the other man had relaxed somewhat Atoll just grew more cross. It did not thing to help when the bouncer did not but raise his hands.

The Svefra jerked his cutlass, just a twitch. He’d heard the words but he wanted to hit something. Plus he found the bouncer was not armed. Atoll was many things but he wasn’t a murder. With a curse he shoved the cutlass away and spoke grimly. “Oh, aye the arena seems likin’ the place to go.” Against his leg he felt a mild tingle, he glanced down to find in his anger he’d cut his pants and created an anger read line across his thigh. It did not bleed blood but it served to bleed out his anger while the bouncer continued to try and pacify him. Chase a man through the damned city then try and be his friend? Crazy petchin’ land-dwellers. He kept his hands on the hilt of the cutlass but allowed himself to ease the tension from his shoulders with each exhale. It was slow going but by the time the bouncer had finished telling him what the scroll was everything in Atolls posture had eased save for his face.

Against his will Atoll felt the stirring of interest. Another language he’d never heard of? And Yahal, what’s that? But along with these thoughts Atoll was angry. The man was speaking to him like he was a tot! Or like his was some sort of pond scum.

“You’re ain’t a smart one.” Atoll began, “Leavin’ these there. Anyone gonna take ‘em. I don’t known lots of Common but I ain’t stupid. Ya want it back. But I got it, ain’t yours no more.”

To his ears he sounded just as bad as Hirem the bouncer probably envisioned him to be. So Atoll was playing it up but he also wasn’t lying. He had no reason to give it back. As far as the Svefra was concerned if it wasn’t chained down it was free pickings, and if it was chained he better go get the damned key. But he was still curious, he cocked his head at other. His face was still a scowl but there was a glimmer of curiosity in Atolls eyes that made him speak again with marginally less venom. “Ya wanna read me a sleep story? Alright. But ya are gonna…make more for me. So I can have one then I’ll give ya this.” Hand tight around his weapon Atoll used the other to slowly pull out the scroll. His eyes never left Hirem, gazing up and down in an almost perverse manner to make sure there’d be no funny business. And although he didn’t want to he finally released the hilt in order to unfurl the scroll without damaging it anymore the fight and his waist had done.

“And I’ll be holdin’ it.” He added after a moment, there was no guarantee Hirem would read it properly and Atoll liked his new scroll. He didn’t want it stolen away by some land-dwelling brawling bouncer. With that he gave the other a sharp nod and held out the paper. He knew he should introduce himself too but damned it he was going to give this fish shyke his anything. The Svefra forced the thoughts away then two a little shuffle or four towards Hirem so they could both clearly see the scroll. “Read it.”

by **Hirem** on June 8th, 2014, 1:11 pm

This Svefran confused Hirem in many ways.

He acted more like a frantic and confused beast than a man, his expression constantly wary and twitching with flashes of anger. His open defiance of the bouncer seemed to be for the sake of defiance alone, for the treasure that he was so eager to protect would get him nothing in the markets. Surely he must know that, even if he wasn't aware of what the scroll read? The Benshiran was happy to see, at least, that his words were having a calming effect on the thief, evidenced by his relaxing shoulders and straightening legs, but the Svefra also seemed to be aware of this fact and was rebelling against it. The hilt of that damned cutlass was always within his reach, frustrating Hirem to no end - for how could he trust a thief not to strike at him? Watching quietly as his opponent breathed away the intensity of the moment, Hirem noted that the man had actually cut himself blindly in his single-minded readiness for battle. Is he aware of the present moment at all? He seems to be living in some foreign place to reality... if this is the first real pirate I am to meet, it is a sad day for pirates everywhere.

But more than confusion, Hirem felt angered by this man's offensive presence. He was equal parts glib and vitriol, and seemed to enjoy insulting the Benshiran. Even when he knows that I can cause him considerable harm, he laughs at me. Is there anything that this impudent fool will treat seriously? His far greater offense, however, was claiming that he was going to maintain his possession of the Penita Scroll despite Hirem's protests, convinced that he laid a stronger claim to it simply because he snatched it out of a bag. Struggling to maintain his composure, Hirem once more felt a surge of anger flare up inside of his heart. His arms wavered and shook, yearning to throttle the life out of this man who dared steal from him... this man who dared part him from Raim and Jaliya forever. The Penita Scrolls are my last tether to the family that I had forsaken... purity be damned, I will never part with them.

Peace, Hirem, he sharply reminded himself. If you let yourself get overcome by anger, you will be rendered as blind as this man that you now call 'thief'. Look into his heart, and see if you can't find some sympathy of yours aligned with his. Taking a deep breath and closing his eyes, Hirem snuffed out the rising flame growing in his chest. When he re-opened his eyes, the Benshiran turned his brown gaze upon the thief and stared intently at him, trying to discern if there was good in him at all. Initially, Hirem despaired of seeing anything beyond that ugly, taunting look of anger... but eventually he caught sight of the spark in the Svefra's eye, and realized that he was actually interested in what Hirem had to say. Latching onto that, he took another steady breath and stepped closer to the thief. A fellow scholar then, even if his appearance doesn't suit the profession... I can work with that. Working intently to maintain his calm, the Benshiran braced himself as the Svefra approached.

Immediately, he winced upon noting the damage that the Penita Scroll had sustained in his thief's pocket. He nearly took it back there and then - it would be a simple enough matter to direct a basic punch into the man's exposed neck - but he pacified himself by remembering that the scrolls hadn't exactly remained pristine in his care, either. Four years in the desert haven't been kind to them... not my fault, granted, but a fact nonetheless. Craning his neck forward, the Benshiran perused the Shiber text to refresh his memory as to which scroll this was, constantly aware of the thief breathing down his neck. I can safely say I've never felt more threatened when reading my Penita Scrolls than this precise moment. But, perhaps, there is a purpose to this madness? What if this is a test, a trial of conviction, to see if I might reach out and touch a soul even when they are closed off to me through hostility? The idea intrigued Hirem, enough to keep whatever angry feelings he might have sustained at bay.

Clearing his throat, the Benshiran glanced over to the Svefra and nodded. "From the spring of the Jackal," he began, speaking in a low and familiar tone with the thief. "In this dire season, one of the greatest Yahalmen of the city has found cause to step down... Yahalmen is guard, if you are unaware," he added, before continuing with the reading. "Though he is still fit and hale, the Yahalman Ezra has put aside his khopesh for the shepherd's staff, claiming that his old age will prevent him from protecting the Prophet. It was with great regret that the Prophet bid farewell to Ezra. It was also in this season that a plague of unknown origin came to Yahebah, killing several dozen men, women, and children. It also spread to the nearby Yahebah-bound Tents, including the camp where Ezra had retired. He made it to his family just in time for the plague to arrive, its evil sickness causing many to perish within his Tent. Though Ezra and his immediate family were spared from the sickness, their livestock was not, stripping away their food to only a few day's rations.

One dark night, a desert thief named Osran stumbled across the Tent, hoping to find himself some food to survive the deadly plague season. After some quiet searching, he managed to find the last of the Tent's food rations, but there was a problem; Ezra was keeping watch over them, his eyes trained on a nearby campfire and his staff laid flat upon his lap. Osran panicked and froze, thinking to run away from the fearsome-looking guard... but Ezra called out the thief from the darkness, asking him to come closer. 'Here,' the old man said, tossing Osran a bag filled with nourishing Hik fruit. 'Take this, and be on your way.' Osran was so confused, he almost threw the bag back at Ezra, but finally found his footing and disappeared into the nearby sand dunes.

In the morning, Ezra told his family what he had done; they were appalled, driven to anger. 'You foolish old man!' his son cried, tearing out his hair. 'You've doomed us all!' The Tent turned about to make the trip back to Yahebah, but it was clear to everyone that they would not make it in time - Yahebah was yet many days away, and they only had enough food for three more days of travel. Ezra apologized to his family for the act of charity, but did not regret it... instead, he told them all that it would eventually save their lives. Come evening, and Osran, who had been tailing after the Tent, sneaked once more into the camp and was rewarded with a bag of food from the old Yahalmen. 'Be on your way,' Ezra cried, and Osran would nod and smile and go running off into the shadows.

By the third day, the situation in the Tent seemed dire. The water had finally dried out, leaving Ezra's family starving and thirsty in the Burning Lands. The men and women of the family struck out on their own to make peace with Yahal. Osran, meanwhile, was similarly suffering, though his own food supplies were abundant. He could not bring himself to take a single bite out of anything, for each time he tried, a memory of Ezra's smiling face came to mind and tormented him with guilt. Despairing of his treachery, Osran tried to stumble into the desert and find himself a place to die... and instead came across a wonderful oasis, attended by peaceful desert cows. Instantly upon arriving at the oasis, Osran knew what he had to do. He ran back to the Benshiran tent and cried out to them, guiding them to the oasis, thanking Ezra profusely for his kindness.

So it was that Ezra's family yet survives, not thanks to the zealousness of their guard or the brutality of their ways, but instead due to the faith Ezra had decided to place in one desert thief. Yahal is mysterious, but infinitely wise in his ways."

By the time that he was finished speaking, Hirem's guard had relaxed completely, and he turned to smile comfortably at the Svefra. "That is all that it says, my friend." Glancing back down at the scroll held in the thief's hands, the Benshiran put his hands up and backed away. Though it pained him to do this, he nonetheless felt that the other man needed the story more than he did. "Why don't you keep this Penita Scroll for now?" He said quietly, his gaze earnest and his expression solemn, bowing his head to the Svefra. "By reading it aloud, I've already committed it to memory, so there is no point in me holding onto it anymore. You say that it is not mine anymore, but yours... you are right. Please, take it."

Word Count :

by **Atoll Northwind** on June 9th, 2014, 11:59 pm

Hirem seemed even more angry with Atoll but the feeling was mutual and for a few tense ticks while the other obviously had some sort of internal debate. Atoll thought it would end in blood. Or at least that the bouncer would snatch the scroll away. Instead he began to read. To Atoll all on the words on paper were just symbols that he wanted to learn, planned to learn but as Hirem spoke they came to life. The Svefra tried to follow along but the words were too different from what he knew. Yet, they were being spoken in Common. A smidge of respect grew for the man who translated so easily. It made Atoll realized there was more to the brawling, foolish bouncer than there seemed. But soon thoughts of Hirem left completely as Atoll story unfolded.

By the time Hirem finished Atoll could have laughed at how closely they paralleled, he’d even have sworn the story was made up. But he’d seen the way the man looked at the scroll, with need and care. The Svefra looked at the wrinkles in the page and sighed. His anger had drained, his facial muscles felt sore but his hand didn’t even twitch toward his cutlass this when the story finished. He thought for a moment before smiling. “Family is smart. Can’t trust all ‘em thieves to be nice.” He gave Hirem a wink. “But I’ll make ya a trade, I don’t take…giveaways.”

“Ya can tell me ‘bout this Yahal, ya said it lots of times, then I’ll give ya this.” With that he rolled up the scroll and tucked it away. This time with more care. When he was done he gestured in front of them. “We’ll walk, aye?”

He didn’t wait for Hirem to decide if he would agree or not, he began walking. It was slow going as he was still in mild pain. It had dulled and his constant distractions gave him more and more reason to ignore it. While he walked he spoke, casually.

“Ya not from here? And I’m forgettin’ to introduce myself. Names Atoll Northwind, I live out there.” Atoll pointed out in the direction of the sea. When a particular step jolted his leg he gave a little chuff. “Hirem, ya got a mean kick.”

The Svefra paused to give his leg a little shake then waited for the other to speak. He was curious as to how the other new such a language. Laviku, ya’d be laughin’ if ya saw me now. This time I might have some stories for ya, sure ya heard ‘em all but this one’ll be fun. The thought cheered him, he’d enjoy offering up this story to Laviku, along with the knowledge he’d soon gain. What good was the scroll if he couldn’t read it? Besides he’d already had someone translate it so he didn’t want it much anymore. Paper wasn’t the best thing to keep on a ship, and his baby only had so much room. He didn’t need paper cluttering up what space he had.

As he listened to the other speak, Atoll took a better look at the man. Faint edging around the eyes told Atoll that Hirem was older than he’d appeared. And he was walking as heavy as Atoll was which only added to the assumption. The Svefra thought it strange that someone his age didn’t realize how taverns worked, especially ones like the previous. Either he was some sort of do-gooder land-dweller or he wasn’t all there. But his grasp of languages told Atoll the former was more likely. Someone picked the wrong job.

by **Hirem** on June 10th, 2014, 1:54 am

Out of all the possible responses Hirem could have gotten out of the man - he was expecting, at best, a derisive laugh - to have managed to pacify the thief was a better reaction than he could have hoped for. The thought emboldened Hirem and made his heart swell up in his chest, proud to the point of bursting. I reached out, hoping to find stable footing... and, by Yahal's grace, it was found. My faith has been rewarded. Even the Svefra's snarky comments didn't throw the Benshiran off his rising spirits. “Family is smart. Can’t trust all ‘em thieves to be nice,” he had said, and to this Hirem only closed his eyes and shook his head. "Yes, the family would have been smart to refuse food to the thief. But being smart and being foolish would have brought them to the same end, alone in the desert. It was thanks to Ezra's faith that salvation was had, not their cunning."

But while he had an answer ready to explain the true meaning of the scroll's story, Hirem had no ready response for the thief's sudden suggestion for a bargain. He... wishes to learn more of Yahal in exchange for the scroll's return? I already have realized his thirst of knowledge, but this seems bizarre, even for him. Have Svefra not their own patron god, or is that only a lie drunken louts at the Rat Hole tell me? But the Benshiran watched as the thief rolled the scroll up and returned it to his pants - at least this time paying heed to any damage he might cause - and decided that he would accept this trade. It gives me a chance to spread word of Yahal's meaning in my life, and perhaps it might inspire the same in this man? Even if I cannot carry the torch past one man, it is still an honour to pass the flame. "I will come with you," Hirem nodded, joining the man at his side.

As they walked down the quiet Riverfall street, leaving behind the warren of alleys that sheltered the Rat Hole, the Benshiran wondered if he was making a mistake in so readily coming with this man. Has all of this been a ruse? Are there three more Svefra lurking in the darkness behind us, waiting to plunge a knife into my back? Deciding that he trusted the thief more than that, Hirem instead contented himself with pondering the strange circumstances that brought him to this street. Benshira are the children of the desert and of faith, Svefra the sons and daughters of the volatile sea, yet both have found their way to this strange city. I am a man of Yahal, and he is a thief, yet here we are, walking side-by-side. My god must be mad, or else he is laughing mightily at my situation.

Realizing that the thief was speaking to him, Hirem turned his head and gave the man a once-over with his quiet gaze. Atoll Northwind? A fanciful name, even in this land of inflated egos... then again, I am named after a man of legend. Noting, with only a slight sense of guilt, that his new companion was still hurting from the blow in the tavern, the Benshiran bowed his head. "Pardons, Atoll, I was trying to end the fight. It was only thanks to your... help, that I managed to stop it." Glancing back over to the man, Hirem gave him a quick wink before continuing to speak. "But no, I am not from here. My home is south of this green land, in Eyktol. You would not wish to go there - no water to be found for miles and miles. And I would not wish to live where you live... boats often betray me."

It was all fun, this back-and-forth banter, but in truth Hirem was using it as a distraction, giving him time to think. For he was faced with an odd and strangely difficult task - How do I explain a god I have known all my life to someone that is completely unaware of his existence? He had done just the same earlier in the week, with Edith... but Atoll posed to him an entirely different problem. He is a man of ever-changing passions, willing to steal in order to sate his own curiosities. How might he feel about the god of my people? Any conversation that was to be had soon petered out, thanks to a quiet Hirem who had furrowed his brow and dedicated himself to searching for the right explanation. His feet quietly padded against the paved road below, his eyes staring lazily at the nearby buildings.

Finally, he felt that he was ready to begin. Taking a deep breath, Hirem turned his gaze over to Atoll. "Yahal is..." he started, clearly uncertain of how to proceed, "... the god of my people. The Benshira are his beloved, and he is ours. He steers us through the treacherous paths and leads us to safety, and for that we will hold him forever dear in our hearts. That is not to say," he clarified, "that we do not believe in other gods. We do - Syna, Dira, Ivak are names still familiar on our tongues. But it was Yahal that saved us from slavery and the Valterrian. He chose us as his people. But none of this must matter to you."

"Yahal is the god of faith and purity. He demands a clear conscience, a life untainted by lies, and belief in his cause... and for all of that, he will grant miracles." Smiling softly to himself, Hirem looked upwards towards the bright sky. "Many believe that Yahal is a jealous god, that if you do not show him complete devotion, then he will scorn you and refuse you his blessings. They do not realize that Yahal allows room for doubt - he would foolish to place his trust in humans if he did not understand their doubts - and that, to show praise to Yahal, all one has to do is trust that he is watching over them. In many ways, his path is a simple road to walk. You need only believe that there is a destination that he has in mind for you."

"For me..." He sighed, and shook his head. "The path has not always been so easy. I have erred many times, and distanced myself from his will without realizing it. I had once thought myself his avatar, so convinced that I knew what he was asking of me,and the consequences of my foolishness were grave." Talk of the past was difficult for him to manage, the words stumbling in his throat and clinging to his heart, but he talked of his history anyway to better explain Yahal to his companion. "I have struggled and fought and nearly gave up on my faith many times in the past - but if I had, I would have doomed myself to an early grave. Yahal has kept me sane, has given me purpose in this life, and for that gift I strive to serve him in all things."

"But petch me if I understand why he chose to send me to the Rat Hole, of all places." Chuckling quietly, Hirem breathed out the last of his solemnity. "And what of you, Atoll? What do you believe in?"

Word Count :