Closed [Rat Hole] Street Rat (Hirem)

[Timothy Mered]

10th of Winter 514AV. Rat Hole

OOCAt the time of writing a reverse personality curse lingers over Riverfall. This is why Timothy behaves much unlike the kind, honest character he usually is and instead acts bitterly and thief-like.

The freedom he had tasted in the air little more than a week ago had turned into a dry, bitter lump stuck in his throat. The little bundle of clothes he held under his arm, tied together with a piece of old rope he’d found on one of the jetties, was his only possession, save for the Benshira bracelet dangling from his left wrist. He’d considered selling it once before, but back then he had had a few coins in his purse and the need hadn’t been too great. Tomorrow then, he decided as he sauntered aimlessly down the streets, tomorrow I’ll sell it. He had little notion of how much the bracelet would be worth, but he had already come past a jewelry that he might be able to sell it to.

With a bit of luck it would keep him on his feet for a few more days. And then…? There was no answer. Leaving the city was not an option, the dangers of the wilderness had been hammered into his mind far too often to slip so easily. Deep down he knew there were only two possibilities. Begging or stealing. Neither appealed to the young Sunberthian, but he would not risk running into slavers again by asking complete strangers for work. If freedom meant sleeping outside, with a pavement for pillows and the stars as a blanket, then so be it, he would not be betrayed once more.

Besides, this people here had had the wealth to build dazzling structures atop firm rock and there seemed to be no people like him, low on their luck and with empty purses. Would they really miss a few mizas? Of course they wouldn’t! They have more money than they know what to do with, it’ll do them good to have a little less, he reasoned.

Clenching his fists he decided to move to where music and laughter sounded. Drunk people, he had noticed, tended to be more generous with their coin, whether intentional or not. If he wouldn’t find a stray coin on the floor of an overcrowded tavern, maybe he could find a scrap of bread or a half-full bottle of ale. The brown drink was vile and bitter, but it would warm his throat and he knew not to drink from the sea.

“Give it ‘ere!”

Timothy yanked his head around. A young Akalak, arms crossed, defied a sloshed, hoary fellow with the hardened look of a sailor etched into his face. “Give it…” the sailor hiccupped, “give it ‘ere you blue, shyking…worm –hic- maggot!”

The Akalak laughed, holding a mug of ale just out of the old's reach. “Go home, man. You’ve had your fill, you don’t want any trouble with a Kavran, now do you?”

Kavran. That simple little world was enough to make Timothy spin on his heel and pace further down the streets until he arrived near one of the darker taverns the city had to offer. He’d strutted past it once as he had little else to do all day but walk about and seize the opportunities presented to him. Out of all places, it certainly appeared the least well-kept. Mud had crept up the outer walls and little pools of rain and possibly puke forced all visitors to circle around in order to reach the entrance.

All in all, it felt like a little piece of Sunberth had been picked up by one of the gods and put down here, just to toy with the blue people. Whatever deity had done this certainly received Tim’s gratitude that night for it reminded him of home. Sagging down a low wall opposite the entrance, Timothy put his bundle behind his head, pulled his knees close and waited with hungry green eyes for an opportunity to present itself.

Within a bell, he felt his eyelids grow heavy and his vision turn bleary. Robes and legs moved around him in a blur, occasionally someone would glance down at him, only to ignore him just like he ignored them. The only constant in the ever changing scenery was the strong, dark man standing near the entrance. Petching bastard, Timoty scowled, if the man hadn’t been guarding the place, he would’ve slipped into the crowded tavern and found a warm little corner by now. Sure, he would be tossed out with the drunks when the sun rose again, but it was better than freezing his bum on the cold, hard soil.

Snorting, he wiped the back of his hand under his nose and forced his eyes to remain open. Anytime now...anytime now someone will drop dead and leave me with a fat purse... Maybe the dark man near the entrance, he seems fat enough.

[Hirem]

There was a man in the corner who was on his tenth drink and looked ready to pass out from exhaustion. There was a thief prowling the tavern that snatched at men's pockets when they were too enthralled by the drink to notice. There were angry mutterings between two Akalak near the bar itself that threatened to blow up into an armed duel. In the back, Tom Volus and Ardan argued in low tones about matters that went far beyond Hirem's head, but he knew that the ramifications could potentially shut the tavern down. The Rat Hole was alive with activity, and while it was usually chaotic and prone to violet outbursts, the recent shift in the character of Riverfall had rendered the bar an even more strange and unhinged mess, as former paragons of virtue now consorted with the lowest of all vices.

Once, Hirem might have cared enough to step in and personally handle every issue himself, throwing out those who were a danger to others and resolving quarrels left and right. Instead, the Benshira merely folded his arms and stood quietly at the door, his eyes travelling where he did not care to go. Enough of his blood had been shed trying to "cure" this miserable excuse for a tavern, and while he had believed that eventually it would start to straighten itself out, Hirem had eventually seen the truth last season. There was no way to fix the Rat Hole, because the Rat Hole was filled with those that could not be helped, those that spurned every human decency and chose the life of a festering leech. He was tired of throwing himself into danger in the vain hopes that the leeches might be dissuaded from further carousing. It was a worthless venture, and more importantly, it was naive of him to place his hope in it. What could his fists solve, when Yahal himself cared not to show his face here? The Benshira was here because he was big and strong, an intimidating portrait to prop against the wall and scare off the easily-cowed. He was here because he had no other skills worthy of employment, and until he took steps to change that, here he would remain. So why bother closing his eyes and pretending that the truth of the Rat Hole could be made false?

He was paid to escort troublemakers out the door, and until a troublemaker reared his ugly head, Hirem would not bother with the rats scurrying about him.

Fortunately, troublemakers were not in short supply, else he would quickly grow bored. One of the Akalak at the bar had finally pushed himself to his feet and was now reaching for the Lakan strapped at his waist. Clenching his fists, Hirem abandoned his spot by the door and swiftly got between the two blue-skinned warriors. "Enough." He growled, wrapping one hand tightly around the aggressor's exposed bicep. "Time to leave." The Akalak stared at him quietly, measuring just how far he was willing to go for vengeance against slights delivered to his pride... but eventually relented, and walked away from the bar. His opponent seemed to consider the retreat a victory and turned back to his cup, muttering something vile in Tukant. With a flare of anger, the Akalak that was insulted whirled about and prepared to strike, but Hirem caught him with a swift punch to the gut and knocked him to the floor. "Out." He snarled, hauling the warrior back up to his feet and escorting him over to the door. Every step of the way the Akalak fought back, and with every step Hirem just squeezed tighter and tighter around the man's shoulder. Finally, upon reaching the doorway, the bouncer threw the drunk as hard as he could out into the open street.

Long after the Akalak had disappeared around the corner, Hirem stood just outside the doorway, his arms folded once more and his eyes closed as the cold winter breeze caught him full-on. Earlier this season he had found the chill distressing; now, it was somewhat of a relief, making every nerve dance with activity as he reacted to the unexpected cold. Thankfully it was not snowing, or else he wouldn't be able to enjoy this comfort - the snow was too much for him to handle. As he stood, the Benshira stared out into the street, looked at the nearby buildings, watched the ongoing pedestrians...

and found his eyes drawn to the little boy slumped against the far wall.

Immediately Hirem felt a chord of sympathy ring deep in his heart at the sight, his Benshira sensibilities protesting the sight of a lonesome waif languishing in the cold. There was no crime more severe to the Benshira than a child forgotten, and, judging by the garb of this small boy, he was well-versed to abandonment. A sailor's son, perhaps? Or one of the beggars that is rarely seen in Riverfall proper? Unlike many of his fellows, Hirem had gotten a chance to see what poverty truly was in person - Ahnatep's Pillars of Dust had shocked him when he first walked amongst them, and Hai had been infinitely worse. So the little boy not only made his heart break, but his skin crawl at the memory of far darker times. But he felt something else for this boy, something that was explainable only in the hollows of the child's bright green eyes. Something in the seriousness of his gaze informed Hirem that the boy was no innocent sapling, that he had seen much worse than what any child had a right to see. And there was also something... familiar?, in that child's eyes. It perturbed him to see, especially when they sat in a shivering boy's face.

Something must be done about that boy, Hirem decided.

Turning on his heel, the Benshira walked back into the tavern and reappeared a chime later, carrying a mug of water and a plate of olives and dried meat. Seeing as how the Akalak was now stumbling down some distant street, Hirem figured that he would not miss the meal. Crossing the street quietly and only shivering gently from the chill, the Benshira stood before the boy and stared down at him, struggling to place those eyes. "Here." He murmured, taking a knee before the child and setting the food on the ground. As soon as the plate rested on the street, Hirem stood up again, heading back for the doorway of the tavern. "If you have nowhere else to go, you may come with me," he told the boy over his shoulder, hoping that what he described wasn't the case. But Yahal brought the child to his doorstep, and therefore he must be out of options. Once inside, Hirem resumed his post by the entrance and waited for the child to join him.

[Timothy Mered]

10th of Winter 514AV

Black-haired and broad-shouldered, the man had moved with authority as he entered the rotten tavern. Shouts, a thud. A groan. Tim’s ears were trained to pick up the sound of a scrap and his mind urged his limbs to move and seek shelter elsewhere. It only took a little bad luck to get caught up in a brawl and have half your teeth knocked out. Drunk people didn’t aim very well after all.
After a chime the strong giant reappeared, his hands bolted onto the troublemaker’s shoulder. With a splash, the cursing Akalak landed in the puddles. A few more profanities were hurled at the bouncer before the drunk Akalak stumbled off, swaying so dangerously that Tim feared the slightest breeze would topple him.

Tearing his gaze from the sloshed Akalak, Timothy looked back to the door, but the man had gone. Now is my chance! He could slip in, scramble some bits and pieces together, and before anyone even knew he was there, he’d be on his way to his shelter at the docks.

Timothy had just mustered up the strength to will his numb limbs into action when the bouncer returned, this time approaching him directly with a worried frown on his face and a plate in his hand. Tim involuntarily tensed. From where he was seated, the man was like a giant, a hunk of pure strength that could crush the plate he held with his pinky if he so desired.

Tim raised his hand to shield his face from the left-overs that would no doubt be thrown at him, to chase him away. Or perhaps the bulky fellow was bored and sought to tease him and would throw scraps of food at his feet to see if he would lunge at them like a starved dog.

Green orbs met the warm, chocolate eyes that had appeared so menacing from afar. Up close however, an entirely different message was conveyed. He pities me, the thought was heart-warming and embarrassing at the same time. I don’t need your pity! one part of his mind screamed, but the other, larger part knew it was a lie. He did need the man’s charity.

As soon as the plate was set down, Timothy snatched a piece of dried meat from it and stuffed it in his mouth. Pride and decency were but an afterthought as he reached for the mug and eagerly gulped down the cool water. His tummy purred happily and his fingers gleamed with fat and olive oil by the time he’d devoured every last bit. Wiping his moist lips with his sleeve, Tim glanced back up at the tall man who had resumed his position near the door and looked as grumpy and intimidating as before. Wobbling slightly, Timothy stood up, picked up the plate and shuffled towards his savior.

“Th-“ he hiccupped, “thank you.”

Now standing, the dark-skinned bouncer wasn’t as tall as he’d initially thought and the harshness he’d perceived from afar dissolved upon closer inspection. The man’s body told a tale of bitter endurance, crevices etched into the dark skin were like scars of horrors past. Or maybe his job was simply rough, perhaps both.

Tim opened his mouth to say something, but then closed it again. I shouldn’t come with him, it’s too dangerous. His brows knitted together in a frown. I can’t trust him to feed me every day and it’s miserable out there in the cold. What if he has a proper bed for me? Wrinkling his nose, as if it disgusted him to have to ask for a favor, Timothy said, “You said I could come with you?” The words were spoken softly, like a whisper on the wind. He’ll betray you… “I am willing to work,” he added. You’re only making it worse. He’ll betray you, just like everyone else.

Filling his lungs with the heavy, smoky air that wafted through every nook and cranny, he mustered the courage to speak more confidently this time. “Thank you for your kindness. I shouldn’t ask for more. If you need to find me so I can repay you, I am usually near the docks.” He leaned in a little and lowered his voice, “please don’t tell them though,” he shot a glare at a nearby Akalak. “I don’t think they like me very much.”

He backed away a pace. The wind was picking up and Tim shivered as it whistled gently in his ear. He could only hope the angry mark on his forehead, put there by Jed Radacke to announce his status as a slave, wouldn't show as the wind played with his overgrown hair. “I should go now. Thank you, I’ll always remember it.” And with that he turned, picked up his bundle and held it close to his heart. Like a miniature scarecrow he stood, teeth chattering, eyes turned bleary by the howling wind that had chased almost all pedestrians inside, leaving just the boy and the bouncer standing like statues. Yet he remained, shoulders pressing into his neck, bony fingers grasping at the fiber of his overcoat. A solitary question stopped him from turning his back on the man and fleeing into the darkness.

Sleep would not come easily in the bitter cold, but Tim was certain that unless his question was answered, the anguish of not knowing would be unbearable and sleep wouldn’t take him at all. Vivid green, dulled only by endless wandering, challenged dark, unrevealing brown. “Why did you help me?”

[Hirem]

"You said I could come with you?” The boy timidly said, the tentative note in his voice confirming to Hirem that his earlier fears were accurate. There is no way this boy has a loving family to return to, the Benshira guessed, unless he is a very good liar. There was some talk of child thieves in Riverfall two seasons ago, and while the problem had apparently been solved, it wasn't wise to trust every vagabond that littered the streets. And if rumours in this city weren't enough to convince him of the dangers of misplaced trust, then surely all he had to do was think back on Hai and the trap he walked into there. The little boy that came to us from the dark, lost and confused... turned out to be the worst monster in that dark realm. Yet somehow, Hirem didn't think that this boy was capable of lying. Indeed, it was hard to imagine what he was capable of. Those are the eyes of a survivor, he thought, weary and hard, but I also see hope within them. And there is no thief in the world that holds hope dear in their hearts. He found it easy to place his faith in this young boy.

From the sounds of it, this boy was not eager to place his faith in Hirem. Confused, the Benshira raised an eyebrow as the child backed away from him, turning down his offer to venture inside the tavern and instead stepping back into the darkness. "I shouldn’t ask for more." The boy said, holding all his worldly possessions to himself as if the breeze might snatch them from his grasp. Can't ask for more? This boy will die without aid, and surely he must realize that! What madness possesses him now? Hirem faced the wind without flinching, watching from the corner of his eye as all nearby pedestrians abandoned the streets, leaving him alone with the boy... and the boy was swiftly departing. The words to bid him stay were caught in his throat, for he was unsure of exactly what, if anything, he could say to reassure the child's heart. What has poisoned his heart so, that he would dare not chance his life on the kindness of strangers? The Benshira would never see a lonesome youth abandoned so... but the world contains more than just the Benshira. Something terrible has happened to him, and at such a young age. Even though Hirem was intimately with darkness, and had braved the uncontested horrors of Hai, he shuddered to think of what this boy had experienced.

And yet Hirem understood.

He understood why this boy was turning down the offer of help he so desperately needed, because Hirem himself had once done the same.

In his mind's eye, he was no longer standing on a quiet Rivarian street. The sky above him was not darkened with winter's touch but brightened by the heat of the desert sun. The ground below him was not paved stone but flowing sand. His feet ached from endless walking and his eyes buzzed with unpleasant intensity. He wanted to shut his eyes and slump to his knees, but he kept walking on, for some unknown purpose. His eyes were trained on an invisible destination, his path carved from the dunes by an invisible master. His pack was constantly running dry, his throat growing hoarse and cracked with misuse. He should be perishing. He should be food for carrion. Yet at every bend of the road, he found solace, comfort, warmth; he found others, who were willing to offer him the life he so desperately needed. A Drykas caravan, tall and stout. A young girl named Nahali. A tall man named Hisham. A Chaktawe tribe. They saved him from death, bathed and provided him succour, and offered him a place beside their fire. And really, wasn't that all he was searching for? So many times on his journeys, Hirem was offered a chance to just stop - to cease his wandering, settle down, and become truly happy. But he could not accept that charity, for it was not in another's power to give him purpose. Only Yahal could claim that power over Hirem, and it was only to Yahal that Hirem would listen. And if it was not his god's bidding that he end his travels, then it would be Hirem's own hand that forged his destination and rightful place in the world. To take another's purpose and claim it as his own... it was a cheap answer to a question he alone could answer.

So when this boy asked, "Why did you help me?", Hirem knew what to say.

Abandoning any intention of re-entering the Rat Hole, the Benshira approached the child once more and dropped back down to his knee. "Listen," he began, placing a firm hand on the young man's shoulder. Bony, he thought, frowning. "My name is Hirem, from the tents of Alachi, of the sons of Rapa. I am a Benshira. My god - the god of all Benshira - is Yahal, the Lord of Purity and Faith. He watches over all men as if we were sheep and he the shepherd, and protects us from danger. Just because you have not heard of him, does not mean that he is unaware of you; from the moment you first drew breath, he was guiding your path. When I was younger, I wandered the Burning Lands alone and might have died many times from lack of supplies, but I did not. My faith that Yahal would protect me led me to continue my journey, and I was always led to safe harbour." He nodded sagely, impressing the seriousness of what he said upon the boy. "Yahal is guiding your path as well, little one. His road is long and can be confusing. You may believe he has forsaken you entirely. But keep believing, and you are brought to places like this," he gestured to the tavern, "where you can meet people like me," he said, tapping his own chest, "that can protect you. I was saved by Yahal, and now I am here to save you." The words felt strange in his mouth, drawn from some strange iteration of himself that at once lived in the past and had never existed, but he said them all the same. "Do not return to the docks. To do that would be to spurn the aid Yahal has given you. Trust in me. I will see you to a safe home this night, little one."

[Timothy Mered]

10th of Winter 514AV

OOCA little short, but that tends to happen when dialogue comes in. I hope you don't mind.

Timothy flinched as the man placed his large, calloused hand on his shoulder. Once too often had he felt a hand grab him there, only to shove him around. But this hand was different. It was warm. The touch was gentle and Hirem, as he introduced himself, didn’t squeeze like others had. Resisting the urge to pull away, Timothy settled his dull gaze upon the man. A yearning, like the yearning for home, stirred in the pit of his stomach. He wanted to trust this man. He wanted to believe that there were still good people left in this world.

Unsure what to expect, Timothy kept a dull gaze trained on the Benshira’s face. He didn’t have the rotten teeth of a sailor or the scarred cheeks of a mercenary, he even lacked the slit-like eyes of a back-alley merchant. It would be easy to trust this man. Too easy, he decided. It’d deserve to freeze to death if I trust him blindly now. He’s a stranger. He gave you a bit of food, so what?
But the man’s voice was kind and soothing. The promises he made were almost too good to be true…

Before Timothy could muster anymore reasons to yank his shoulder away and flee into the foggy darkness, the Benshira mentioned his origins. At this, Timothy’s eyes widened, and a little light shone through, a light that brightened even further when the Benshira spoke of Yahal.

“I…I know,” Timothy whispered through a ragged breath. “Yahal is my God too. I wasn’t sure why he guided me here but…maybe we were supposed to meet.” He blurted, almost believing it.

Amazement and laughter battled for dominance on his face. In the end, Timothy couldn’t stop a faint smile from curling his lips. What if he’s lying? His brows reset into a worried frown.

“I don’t know,” Timothy breathed, shooting a glance over his shoulder. “I want to come with you Hirem. I really do, but I’ve…there’s…” Obviously struggling, he brushed the man’s warm hand away and shook his head. “I can’t…” he murmured to himself. But he hadn’t even retreated half a pace before he glanced back up again. “How do I know I can trust you Hirem? How do I know you won’t take me back to the docks, and to the slavers?”

A gust of wind drummed in his ear and he shivered again. You’ve said it yourself. You can’t go back. They’ll catch you. And what if he’s right? What if this is Yahal’s will? Pressing his lips into a thin line, Timothy thought of the solution to his own question.

“If you’re really a Benshira, then you must know what this is.” He held up his left wrist, and showed the Benshira bracelet dangling from it. “Tell me all you know about it, where it’s from and who it belongs to if you can, then I’ll come with you.”

Timothy was certain the man would get it wrong and he already tensed his legs to ensure a quick escape should the bouncer try to grab him. Somewhere deep down he hoped and prayed to Yahal that the Benshira had not sold him lies and had no intention of betraying him. How long it had been since he’d slept in a proper bed…

[Hirem]

While Hirem was finished speaking aloud, he was not done talking. Reaching deep into his heart, he offered up a silent prayer to Yahal. Dearest father, if you be just, do not let this poor soul turn away from me. Let his wandering feet come to a rest beside mine. Let his path mingle with mine, if only for this night, so that I might see him to a safer home than the Rivarian docks. Father, if you be wise, allow your light to shine through me for one precious moment, so that I might appear to this child an aspect of your grace. Please. He needs me. The Benshira had yet to truly understand why this little foreign boy had ensnared his heart so, especially in the midst of a season that had seen him turn otherwise cold and insular. For those world-weary green eyes, and that ragged young face, and that quivering light of hope that he could see forming deep within the boy, Hirem felt like he would do anything.

Perhaps it was due to the child’s age that Hirem felt so attached to him. He had always liked children, from the sweetest young Benshira child to the most rambunctious Eypharian youth. Their innocent perspective, untouched by the horrors of the world, reinvigorated him, gave his spirit a breath of fresh air. Or perhaps his fondness for this boy was due to the fact that the child was anything but ‘untouched by horror’. What is that mark on his forehead? Hirem wondered, spotting just the barest hint of dark ink that marred the boy’s brow. That doesn’t look like any Gnosis I’ve seen… and besides, I doubt one of the godtouched would be starving in an alleyway. Thinking back on similar marks he had seen, Hirem, with a start, struck upon a very clear image in his mind: a wailing child, a slave’s brand etched in black ink across his forehead, being dragged away by a pair of guards in Ahnatep’s slave markets. That explains why this boy is bereft of a home. Or perhaps it was the child’s green eyes that he was so fixated on.

Nothing prepared Hirem for the truth. ”I… I know…” The child began, his voice tentative but growing brighter with each word, ”Yahal is my god too. I wasn’t sure why he guided me here but… maybe we were supposed to meet.”

The Benshira stared at him in shock.

We were supposed to meet.

Yahal has willed it.

Yahal has sent me another sign.

Earlier in the summer, Hirem had reached out to the Ethaefal Caelum for aid and found his world changed. Not only had he discovered a way to battle the crippling nightmares that had plagued him these past four years, but, through Alements, he had also stumbled upon Kavala, Nysel, and the Cytali. Surely, there was no surer sign that Hirem was performing Yahal’s will than him chancing upon an ancient legacy that his destiny was intimately tied with. This was a far humbler omen, to be sure, but there was no other way for him to explain it beyond divine intervention. Of all the taverns in the city, this boy chose the Rat Hole. Of all the bouncers on shift tonight, it was my shift that saw him arrive here. Of all the gods he could be sworn to, it is Yahal that serves as his guide. Belief in Yahal’s benevolence had brought the boy to the Rat Hole, in the hopes that he would find opportunity when he needed it most. As Yahal’s servant, what else could Hirem do but reward that faith with kindness? And so my holy father has commended that I see this boy safely delivered into salvation’s arms. This is my purpose.
Yet the boy once more denied his aid, pushing Hirem’s hand away and stepping back. Confused, the Benshira nearly reached out for him again, but decided against it, thinking that the motion might scare the child off. A chill shook the bouncer’s body, making his shoulders quiver and his teeth clench together. ”How do I know I can trust you Hirem?” The boy asked.

And Hirem didn’t know how to answer, because he did not know if he was worthy of trust.

”If you’re really a Benshira, then you must know what this is.” The boy chirruped, holding something up for Hirem to examine. Furrowing his brow, he reached out and gingerly touched the bracelet’s cord with two fingers, testing its strength, turning the little wooden carving so that he could stare upon its face. The bracelet was old, its leather tough and weathered after many years of use. The figure was difficult to discern, the wooden edges having long lost sharp definition. Assuming that the boy would protest if he tried to remove the bracelet, Hirem instead shuffled in closer and stooped his neck. The ornament was unfamiliar to him, but at the same time… His eyes narrowed. Where have I met you before? Whispers crawled down his spine, sand sticking itself to his back. Fires raged in the distance, and the cries of children could be heard all around. Someone had their hands around his neck. Cooing gently.

Absentmindedly, Hirem scratched at his wrist. ”That is a charm of faith, child. There are many like it, worn by every Benshira youth. It is a symbol of our belief in Yahal, and our devotion to his ways. Mothers carve it for their children, and daughters for their younger siblings. And when they are finished, they are each blessed with a holy prayer.” He switched to Shiber for a brief moment, speaking softly in his native tongue before translating. ”Lend your wings to the flock. So long as you wear it, misfortune will be cleaved from your destiny, and Yahal will see you guided to your home.” And Yahal is the kindest shepherd a little boy can ask for, his mother murmured in the hollow of his mind. His gaze travelled from the boy’s bracelet to his face. ”Who gave this to you?” Though he tried to sound firm, there was a definite tremor to his voice. "Who?"

Before the boy could answer, Hirem's thoughts were interrupted by a drunken slur from behind. "Foreign petcher!" came the bewildering, half-pronounced cry. Turning about, the Benshira was suddenly accosted by the drunk Akalak from before, now throwing himself at the bouncer with wild abandon. "You want to get in my way?! Well, here I am!" The man cried. Surprised by the unexpected attack, Hirem stumbled backwards and collapsed onto the street, the violet-skinned warrior clambering on top of him and slamming a fist down into his face. His back groaning from contact with the pavement, vision spinning from the square punch, Hirem threw out a sloppy arm at the Akalak that was easily blocked. "Teach you for throwing me out," his opponent growled, hands grasping around the bouncer's throat.

[Timothy Mered]

10th of Winter 514Av

OOCI struggled with this one. You gave me much to work with, but I wasn't sure if I could NPC the Akalak. In the end I decided to go with it or I would've had to make a very short reply indeed. I hope that's OK. If not, let me know and I'll adapt!

Timothy scanned the Benshira carefully tugging at the bracelet with distrustful, curious eyes. The urge to yank his wrist away gnawed at the back of his mind. Heavy brows knitted into a frown. It was hopeless, the man saw no more than Timothy did: a faded carving dangling from worn leather. Yet Hirem moved in closer, broad nose almost brushing against his skin. A nutty, dusty scent lingered around Hirem and when he finally spoke, his voice was as heavy as the earth. The first few bits Timothy could understand, but then his savior began speaking in a slurred whisper, like grains of sand dancing in the wind.

He gulped.

A translation was offered, his arm slackened in HIrem’s caring hand. The words rekindled an old flame and the bitter cold of night retreated. There wasn’t a slither of doubt anymore as he filled his lungs with air. Hirem had been speaking the truth and had revealed more than he’d dared to ask for. Thank you Yahal for leading me here... Letting out a relieved breath, he was about to surrender to the man’s wishes when a shadow leapt from the dark.

Stunned, Timothy looked on. Like a enraged beast the man launched himself at Hirem, landing a strong hit and pulling back his gorilla arms to strike again. The kind Benshira tried to defend himself, but it was no use. He was pinned to the pavement and the Akalak, though drunk, sported enough muscle to keep him there.

“What’re you staring at?” The Akalak snapped his bald head to face Tim. “Petch off!” Startled, Timothy stumbled a few paces back and watched the blue-skinned warrior return his attention to Hirem. “Hello Hirem,” he drawled, his breath heavy with alcohol, a murderous smirk curving his lips. “You look a bit down on yourself…haha!” The man’s haughty laughter cleaved through the night, sending chills up Timothy’s spine as he watched from the shadows.

“Get it?” The Akalak sneered, “down on yourself. Down Haha! Down! Like a dog!” Meaty fists grabbed Hirem’s arms, pinning them down to the cold, hard cobblestone. “On- only you’ve been a very, very bad dog.”

I should help Timothy thought, but he knew he wouldn’t stand a chance against the warrior. And if he’s one of the guard… Tim shivered, he’d be tossed out of the city before dawn and left to freeze in the wild. It was best to scurry off and return to the docks. Please forgive me…please let him live… Timothy prayed as he turned to flee.

“I had a dog once, a big wolf-like one,” the Akalak continued. Timothy stopped and looked back to the stark shadow sitting atop a writhing pile of limbs. “But he was a very bad dog. He didn’t listen you see…he had no respect for his superiors. So you know what I di-“ The Akalaks voice was cut off as he struggled to keep the Benshira down. Bringing his chiseled face and wide, psychotic eyes closer to, the Akalak continued in a whisper. “Want to know what I did Hirem? I cut off his balls. I cut of his balls with a long, thin knive and I ate them.”

Timothy clenched his fists at his side. What kind of a Knight would he be if he allowed this filthy drunk to terrorize the kind Benshira? Yahal had meant for them to meet, I can’t just abandon him now! Lowering to a crouch, Timothy dug his fingers into the street and tried to unearth one of the stones, but no matter how hard he pulled at the muddy, slippery stone, it wouldn’t give. All the while, the drunk Akalak continued.

“Can you guess what happened you filthy foreigner? The beast got angrier, and angrier, he would growl and snarl, he would bite at the legs of my guests. Can you imagine what I did next? I tied a weight around his puny little neck and I drowned the petcher! No one gets in my way! Do you hear? No one!.” Without further warning, the Akalak pulled a bottle from his coat and bolted one hand around Hirem’s throat. “You’ll drown too, petcher…I’ll make you drown.”

Come on! Timothy desperately tried to pull one of the stones loose. But it was no use. He had no weapon. There was nothing he could…There! Amid the frozen mud and stone lay the platter Hirem had brought him, discarded and well out of the Akalak’s reach. In a flash, Timothy dashed forward, grabbed the board and smacked it against the warrior’s head.

The blue-skinned warrior’s stranglehold slackened, his frame tipped to the side, a dazed, confused look replaced the blood-thirsty scowl. “Get away from him,” Tim seethed, holding up the platter in his trembling hands, threatening to strike again. If he had known Riverfall to be a city of warriors, he wouldn’t have hesitated to hit the blue bear again, just to be safe. But he didn’t know. A meaty blue hand latched around his wrist. “Little petcher!” he heard the man growl before the world started to spin. The Akalak’s scarred, fuming face was only inches removed from his own, and he felt a massive weight press down on his ribs as he hit the pavement. I am useless… he thought hopelessly. He hadn’t helped, he had merely turned the situation around, and now Hirem would show his true colors and flee, to live another day. “I told you not to mingle, you little rat!”

“Get off me!” Timothy squealed.

But the warrior was just getting started. His grip around Tim’s left wrist tightened and in one, fluid move the twig-like bone was snapped beyond its limit. The sickening crunch stabbed at his ears. His feet kicked uselessly at the air as he cried out in pain. Blue fingers grasped at his right wrist to repeat the process. I’d rather be dead, Timothy thought as he gritted his teeth, preparing for his pain to double.

[Hirem]

What is the first lesson of combat? yelled Zafar in his head, the old martial instructor's voice echoing through Hirem's mind.

To breathe! Roared back the young Hirem, eager for battle.

And why do we breathe, son of Rapa?

Because in that moment we breathe, we may find a way to resolve the combat peacefully, and if not, we shall get a better strike at their eyes!

Unfortunately, Hirem found it difficult to breathe with the full weight of the Akalak upon him. Big though he was, the Benshira found himself physically outclassed by many of Riverfall's residents, and this stranger was included among them. More than that, when it came to sheer, savage ferocity, the Akalak were unparalleled in a fight. By and large, most of the warrior race that Hirem had met had proven to be quiet, disciplined individuals that kept their blades sheathed at all times unless it was absolutely necessary. But when they got drunk, it was like a second side of them emerged, a side that too often blew up into violent rampages and sought conflict like a wolf seeking prey. When an Akalak got involved at a dispute in the Rat Hole, Hirem never walked away from the encounter without at least two new bruises. Training at the Tuvya Sasaran had prepared him somewhat for combat with the Rivarians, but there was a vast disparity between training and fighting for one's life. Right now, there was no amount of training that could prepare Hirem for fighting off a drunken, half-mad Akalak that sneered at him and kept pounding him further into the dirt. The only thing the Benshira could do was struggle as hard as he could, shielding his head with his arms and trying to throw his weight back against his aggressor.

"On- only you’ve been a very, very bad dog.” The Akalak drawled, his voice slipping in and out of Hirem's senses. Mostly, there was just a dull ringing in the Benshira's ears, words getting blocked out by the constant throbbing of pain. Though numb, he felt something wet on the pavement, just underneath his ears, and wondered if it was snow or his blood. His opponent had managed to pin his arms to either side of him, leaving Hirem defenceless. Groaning, shaking his head from side to side, the Benshira tried to throw his arms up with renewed force and attack the Akalak, but the strength to do so had deserted him. That first lunge by his attacker had taken all the energy from him, and the knock his head had done against the street had completely befuddled his senses. Snow was in his eyes, blinding him, and sensation was slowly being crushed out from his legs. He tried kicking them upwards, but succeeded only in jostling the Akalak for a moment. Breathless with pain, Hirem listened to the drunk continue his barely understood speech. "Can you imagine what I did next? I tied a weight around his puny little neck and I drowned the petcher! No one gets in my way! Do you hear? No one!" The hand around his throat was there before Hirem could stop it, and the dreadful squeeze the Akalak exerted was nearly too much for the Benshira. It was all he could do to prevent passing out, as his weary eyes caught sight of the drunk's bottle, glistening in the moonlight.

Is this some kind of joke, Yahal? Deliver unto me a sign and then snatch my life away in a heartbeat?

Yahal answered him with impeccable timing.

Bang! went the platter against the Akalak's head, knocking the drunk senselessly to the side. His bottle slipped free from his grasp and smashed into the ground, thankfully not upon Hirem's body. Air, blessed air, was sucked in greedily by the released man, gasping for life. His fingers, trembling, rested on his ribs and tested them for any damage. None cracked, he thought unbelievably, but noting that they were very sore. His head still rang like a brassy bell, chances being that he had sustained a concussion in his initial fall to the pavement. Better than dead, he figured, thanking Yahal for his deliverance from death. Thinking now on his sudden rescue, Hirem groaned and lifted his head, searching for his attacker... and then saw him, throwing the little boy from before to the ground. It was obvious that there was no contest between them; the only advantage the boy had possessed had been surprise, and with that eliminated, he was no match for the much larger, much heavier, and much more dangerous Akalak. "No!" came the hoarse cry from the Benshira's lips, as he struggled to get to his feet. His balance failed him, however, and he ended up stumbling onto his knees, his dizziness costing the boy dearly. A scream of pain echoed in Hirem's ears, making him clench his teeth until it hurt. His eyes, staring at the ground, caught sight then of something glinting in the light:

A shard of glass from the man's broken bottle.

What is the second rule of combat? Zafar yelled.

To seize what opportunities Yahal grants us! The young Hirem bellowed.

And why do we seize those opportunities?

To reward our god with victory!

The words echoed in Hirem's mind as he threw himself unsteadily to his feet, glass shard in hand, and approached the prone combatants. He gripped the shard so tight that it cut deep into his palm, but the Benshira was able to ignore the pain for now. Lunging down, he grabbed the Akalak's shoulder and twisted the man about, distracting him from the boy. In the split second after Hirem did so, in that confused moment when the drunk looked at him stupidly, unable to defend himself, Hirem let out a furious roar and plunged the shard hard into the man's stomach. The makeshift shiv was not stopped by bone but pierced through his flesh, and Hirem released his grip on the weapon to leave it embedded in his gut. Screaming out with pain, the Akalak fell off the boy and hit the ground, holding his bloody stomach with two trembling hands. Staring down at the fallen bastard, Hirem's fists clenched and he had to restrain the urge to smash his foot fatally into the drunk's face. Blood rose and fumed between his ears. Closing his eyes, Hirem took a deep breath, perfectly aware of how easy it would be to end the life of this mongrel below him. Riverfall would be better off absent this wretch. But he wasn't willing to risk a visit from the Kavran to exact his revenge.

Turning to the door of the Rat Hole, and greeting the curious bystanders that were staring out the doorway, Hirem pointed at the Akalak. "Take this one to the Gillia," he commanded the nearest two rats.

More likely they'll rob him blind and dump him into the Bluevein on the way, Hirem thought, caring little if the drunk lived or died. So long as he is removed from my hands permanently, I will be satisfied.

It was hard to maintain his balance, but the Benshira managed to keep standing as he approached the fallen little boy, breathing heavily. There was blood on his hands and blood on his face and blood streaming from a broken nose, but nothing looked so bad as the mangled wrist the child was crying about. Grunting, Hirem dropped to a knee and lifted the small boy into his arms, finding that he was extremely easy to pick up. All bone and no muscle, he thought, hefting the child into the air. "I'm taking you..." he began, without a destination in mind. Where can I take him, where he won't be able to slip away from me again? Where can I take him for sanctuary as well as healing? Where can I...? Then the name that had saved his life came to mind, and Hirem smiled in revelation. Kavala. "I'm taking you to the Sanctuary," he continued, setting off down the street at as quick a pace as he could manage without falling over. Best to be free of the Kavran before they come snooping. "You'll find a home far better than the docks, and they can treat your broken wrist. On my word, you will not come to harm." He glanced down at the child and smiled, hoping that his wrist injury was the only wound he had sustained during the fight.

Hirem did not speak again until they had left the city proper, whisking through the gate without incident and hurrying quickly up the road to the Sanctuary. The winds were harder now, fiercer, and snow was beginning to fall in the distance. Shivering with the chill, the Benshira trudged on regardless, holding the boy tight in his grasp. He's still no burden to me, even after all this time. "What is your name?" He murmured, glancing down at the child. "Why don't you tell me how you came to this city? It'll help you stay awake."

[Timothy Mered]

10th of Winter 514AV

oocThe end! I wish I could've made this longer but alas, with Tim immobilised and me just sucking at description and internal musings, I am afraid this will have to do. I really enjoyed this thread. The way you handled that drunk Akalak was pure gold. You had me gasping for air as Hirem struggled...brilliant!

Feet kicked uselessly at the air. He’d brought the sleeve of his good arm to his mouth and bit on it with all his might until he was clenching his jaw on a mouthful of threads. Lancinating pain coursed through his left arm. To his left, a toe-curling scream rented the air. Next came the sound of a thud, then a heavy ragged breath, and even heavier boots. A shadow loomed over him, blocking out the paling moonlight above.

The face was dark an anonymous. Grey specks filled his peripheral sight. He was picked up. The air was lighter there. Strong arms bobbed underneath him. Unable to tell whether he was being moved forward, backward, left, or right, he squeezed his eyes shut and tried desperately not to cry.

Hirem said something, multiple things. He heard the words loud and clear but could not connect them into a coherent whole. “Sanctuary” was all he understood. Everything will be alright… he told himself. Everything will be al-

Another crushing wave of pain hit him, as if someone had replaced the veins in his arms with white-hot steel. Any moment now his skin would split, his eyes would pop out and his jaw would break from clenching it so hard. This time, he couldn’t keep the floodgates of his eyes sealed. They burst open and hot tears streamed down his face. Like a bucket being emptied, the salty water kept flooding from his eyes until he could only make out the dark blue of the sky in one big blur.

On and on they went. Every bob made his head throb even more. Within three chimes no more tears spilled from his eyes. There were none left. His cheeks and forehead had turned feverishly red and his eyes had puffed up to the size of small marbles.

“What’s your name?”

The question stupefied him. What was his name? Who was he? Where was he? From the depths of his mind a voice emerged. Timothy. Yes, that was his name.

“Timothy…” he gasped, fighting back to never-ending barrage of stabbing pain. It never occurred to him that he’d admitted his real name instead of the one he’d assumed since his arrival in Riverfall. Thomas Caine from Syliras no longer existed for he was not the one in pain.

“Why don't you tell me how you came to this city? It'll help you stay awake."

With the greatest effort he pulled the sleeve out of his mouth, it gleamed wet with saliva. “I came from Ke-“ he gritted his teeth, “Kenash…On a ship, with slaves.” Tensing, he sunk his teeth into the torn cotton again, unable to utter anything but muffled screams.

They went further. The air changed. Were they still in the city? He gazed up at the sky. There, on the edge of his vision he could see vale orange light. The starts sparkled above. Such a pretty night…

He blinked. All was dark.

[Matthew]

Timothy

Experience Points:

• +1 Brawling
• +1 Endurance
• +1 Interrogation
• +2 Observation
• +2 Socialization

Lores:

• Brawling: Simple Improvised Weapons
• Endurance: Bearing the Bitter Cold
• Hirem: Kind Bouncer
• Hirem: From the Tents of Somewhere, Sons of Someone, Etc
• Observation: Watching for a Busking Opportunity
• Religion: Finding Hope in Faith
  

Hirem

Experience Points:

• +1 Brawling
• +1 Diplomacy
• +1 Endurance
• +1 Intimidation
• +2 Observation
• +1 Persuasion
• +1 Rhetoric
• +2 Socialization

Lores:

• Brawling: Simple Improvised Weapons
• Diplomacy: The Effectiveness of Simple Kindness
• Endurance: Bearing the Bitter Cold
• Observation: Eye for Trouble
• Rhetoric: Preaching His Faith
• Religion: Conviction of Purpose
• Timothy: Youth Beyond His Years

If you have any questions or concerns relevant to your grade, don't be afraid to send me a private message so that we can work it all out! Please remember to mark your Grading Request as Graded.

A shout-out to Ollic Rimesage, who was kind enough to make this template for me.