1st of Spring 517 AV
9th Bell
Erruukh would be pleased to see such a sight.
Rhodri was sweating from head to toe and exhausted. His stubble had grown into a tangled mess and his hair was even worse with a few stray locks covering his deep, penetrating stare. The small walking caravan that had taken Rhodri on as a hired hand was nearing Riverfall but tensions were quite high. The exiled castaway was naïve to what was in the crates that they ushered and he bore no need to pry. Having been treated in the manner which he had on the ship left the arrogant young man in a state of clouded oblivion. He was told to lead the oxen along behind the second wagon and to maintain a distance of no more than fifteen feet.
The Eypharian was filthy. His boots were covered in mud and dung, pants stiff from the incessant cycle of wet and dry which was perpetuated by his constant battle with dehydration. Rhodri had never worked so hard for so long without any kind of break or reward. It seemed that there was no goal; no purpose to the endless trudging. The water was always stale and warm but when your throat felt like the Burning Sands that didn’t matter. His skin was a combination of sticky and hot as the dirt and grime built up on his sweat then dried to a weird tack. One of the more seasoned adventurers called it ‘walking glue’. The greasy-looking fellow had rotten teeth, a constant need to smile and breath that made the oxen cringe. Thus, to say, when he approached Rhodri and began to rub the natural adhesive from his arms and hands into little balls while laughing uproariously, the Eypharian felt his stomach tilt then pitch back in the opposite direction.
When the ugly little man began to throw these pilled up globs of filth at Rhodri, the large man lost it. The arrogant young man threw down his reins which halted the caravan as the oxen would not walk unless led. The fire in his dark brown eyes was an inferno of pain and confusion as well as raw, seething hatred for the scum that stood before him. The man just kept flicking his arm boogers at the much larger and seemingly stronger Eypharian as if he didn’t have a care in the world. The exile exploded. He bent his knees and dug the balls of his feet into the ground; the soles of his boots flung dirt as he gained traction. He used his middle arms as the initiation and sent both hands flying forward to grasp the man’s shirt collar. Picking up speed with long strides, Rhodri easily lifted the man into the air with the aid of his lower hands which had latched onto a pant leg respectively. The top set of hands rose up with fists like hammers that came crashing down in the face of the wretch; the blow from this setting off a chain reaction. The middle set threw the man back as the top arms came down. This was devastating enough but when the lower hands lifted up at the same time as the rest, it sent the two-armed human into a backflip that was driving his head down towards the earth. To cap it all off, Rhodri kicked out and planted his large foot squarely against the man’s neck and shoulder which made him look a bit like a rag doll as he crumpled into a heap a few feet away from where the aristocrat had stopped his run.
Rhodri stood triumphantly as several of the other men gathered around. The look on his face was smug, arrogant and righteous. His dark eyes issued challenges to any other takers. In this moment, the Eypharian felt invincible. He began to turn slowly to take stock of who was watching and also to size up any would be takers based upon their facial expressions. That’s when he heard it. The sound of dirt moving and of hands dusting off a set of old leather breeches which was then followed by a gentle rattle which one might think used to be a laugh of some kind. The young racist turned on his heel to see his opponent slowly rise to a full stance. The man was even dirtier than before and had blood running from a few minor scrapes and lacerations on his head and arms.
“Not bad, kid. Too bad you rich folks don’t know shyke ‘bout scrappin’.” The voice was hushed but held ten times the weight. Rhodri didn’t know what to think and worked quickly to erase the surprised look from his face. It was too late, however, as some of the other men began to rumble with whispered laughter and the sound of coin bets clanked somewhere in the distance. The Eypharian bent his knees to lower his center of gravity. His arms fanned out in a very aggressive manner. He had reach, the power of numbers and wasn’t half as banged up as his opponent. Rhodri smirked as he thought about how good it will feel to grind this chump into dust.
The smile quickly faded. The smaller man ran up and ducked under Rhodri’s first two attempts at crossing blows. The Eypharian rocked back still trying to keep his posture coil and loose. He turned his hips a bit to favor the power into his right side to match the man across from him. Rhodri swung left, left, right, left, right and yet he never made contact. It was like this guy knew where the punch was going to be as soon as the Eypharian threw it. After several rounds of this dance that felt like an ever-building letdown, Rhodri was feeling something he did not recognize. It sat in his gut and shook his spirit while making his arms and legs feel heavy. His throat had dried ages ago but his skin was chilled. It was fear. White knuckle, blurry vision, voices in your head screaming at you –fear.
The dingy human saw this emotion present itself in the brown eyes and unleashed his attack. He slipped under the high and wide strokes of Rhodri to deliver two and three punch combos to the body and legs of the tall Eypharian. In a chime, he had the young man breathing hard and struggling to keep his arms up. The old man moved so quickly and every attack or block even the retreats that Rhodri made seemed to be predictable to this human. Fists were starting to fall like rain on his body and arms as well as the occasional blow to the face or head. This went on for seven or eight chimes but it felt like an eternity to the one on the receiving end. There was an uppercut which made something in his abdomen snap and Rhodri folded like a tree beneath a mudslide. His face was level with his attacker and the young man looked up through a swollen eye with blood on his lips and his arms cradling the immense pain radiating from his gut. He mouthed the word ‘please’ but all he got in return was a knuckle sandwich that turned his world black.
14th Bell
When Rhodri woke up, he couldn’t see out of his right eye and everything hurt. He was barely aware of what was happening around him as sounds, sights and smells all seemed far away like he was tied up in a dream. There was a sound like a chain in the distance and the animals were called to a halt. The Eypharian tried to stand but found himself bound at the wrists –all six of them- and then around his waist. He began to struggle but felt something inside him rub and the pain seemed to rouse him further. The young man was bound to the back of a wagon with his arms bent over the sides and his feet dragging. The ropes around his midsection kept his weight from pulling him down but it also rested against the broken piece within thus applying constant pressure and leaving him to writhe in agony.
The ugly man who issued his beating walked up and behind him, Rhodri could see the makings of a river crossing with barges on chains. “Oy, lad. You’re finally awake.” The rotten teeth and foul breath came very near to the beaten man. “We took some coins from ya for drinks on the other side…hoe ya don’t mind.” He gave Rhodri’s side a good wrap with his fist. Spit flew from the crack and dried lips of the aristocrat as the man welled up making his whole right side throb. “We ain’t gonn’ kill ya but we ain’t takin’ ya wiff us, either.” The ugly man started to untie Rhodri who instantly started to struggle. All that did was earned him another shot to the ribs and an elbow to the head which dazed him into a state of half-consciousness.
The man walked away and dropped Rhodri’s belongings on the ground nearby. In an effort to reach his things, the Eypharian simply collapsed on his bag as his hands searched for his weapons. All the while, people came and went and most paid him no mind. He had never felt so alone or defeated in his life. Rhodri was not a praying man and so he asked for no favors. After fifteen chimes, he was able to drag his beaten form and humble pack off to one side of the wide road. He propped up against a sign that he didn’t bother to read and closed his eyes. He drifted in and out vaguely aware of what was going on around him. In a cough, he uttered one word. “Petch.”
9th Bell
Erruukh would be pleased to see such a sight.
Rhodri was sweating from head to toe and exhausted. His stubble had grown into a tangled mess and his hair was even worse with a few stray locks covering his deep, penetrating stare. The small walking caravan that had taken Rhodri on as a hired hand was nearing Riverfall but tensions were quite high. The exiled castaway was naïve to what was in the crates that they ushered and he bore no need to pry. Having been treated in the manner which he had on the ship left the arrogant young man in a state of clouded oblivion. He was told to lead the oxen along behind the second wagon and to maintain a distance of no more than fifteen feet.
The Eypharian was filthy. His boots were covered in mud and dung, pants stiff from the incessant cycle of wet and dry which was perpetuated by his constant battle with dehydration. Rhodri had never worked so hard for so long without any kind of break or reward. It seemed that there was no goal; no purpose to the endless trudging. The water was always stale and warm but when your throat felt like the Burning Sands that didn’t matter. His skin was a combination of sticky and hot as the dirt and grime built up on his sweat then dried to a weird tack. One of the more seasoned adventurers called it ‘walking glue’. The greasy-looking fellow had rotten teeth, a constant need to smile and breath that made the oxen cringe. Thus, to say, when he approached Rhodri and began to rub the natural adhesive from his arms and hands into little balls while laughing uproariously, the Eypharian felt his stomach tilt then pitch back in the opposite direction.
When the ugly little man began to throw these pilled up globs of filth at Rhodri, the large man lost it. The arrogant young man threw down his reins which halted the caravan as the oxen would not walk unless led. The fire in his dark brown eyes was an inferno of pain and confusion as well as raw, seething hatred for the scum that stood before him. The man just kept flicking his arm boogers at the much larger and seemingly stronger Eypharian as if he didn’t have a care in the world. The exile exploded. He bent his knees and dug the balls of his feet into the ground; the soles of his boots flung dirt as he gained traction. He used his middle arms as the initiation and sent both hands flying forward to grasp the man’s shirt collar. Picking up speed with long strides, Rhodri easily lifted the man into the air with the aid of his lower hands which had latched onto a pant leg respectively. The top set of hands rose up with fists like hammers that came crashing down in the face of the wretch; the blow from this setting off a chain reaction. The middle set threw the man back as the top arms came down. This was devastating enough but when the lower hands lifted up at the same time as the rest, it sent the two-armed human into a backflip that was driving his head down towards the earth. To cap it all off, Rhodri kicked out and planted his large foot squarely against the man’s neck and shoulder which made him look a bit like a rag doll as he crumpled into a heap a few feet away from where the aristocrat had stopped his run.
Rhodri stood triumphantly as several of the other men gathered around. The look on his face was smug, arrogant and righteous. His dark eyes issued challenges to any other takers. In this moment, the Eypharian felt invincible. He began to turn slowly to take stock of who was watching and also to size up any would be takers based upon their facial expressions. That’s when he heard it. The sound of dirt moving and of hands dusting off a set of old leather breeches which was then followed by a gentle rattle which one might think used to be a laugh of some kind. The young racist turned on his heel to see his opponent slowly rise to a full stance. The man was even dirtier than before and had blood running from a few minor scrapes and lacerations on his head and arms.
“Not bad, kid. Too bad you rich folks don’t know shyke ‘bout scrappin’.” The voice was hushed but held ten times the weight. Rhodri didn’t know what to think and worked quickly to erase the surprised look from his face. It was too late, however, as some of the other men began to rumble with whispered laughter and the sound of coin bets clanked somewhere in the distance. The Eypharian bent his knees to lower his center of gravity. His arms fanned out in a very aggressive manner. He had reach, the power of numbers and wasn’t half as banged up as his opponent. Rhodri smirked as he thought about how good it will feel to grind this chump into dust.
The smile quickly faded. The smaller man ran up and ducked under Rhodri’s first two attempts at crossing blows. The Eypharian rocked back still trying to keep his posture coil and loose. He turned his hips a bit to favor the power into his right side to match the man across from him. Rhodri swung left, left, right, left, right and yet he never made contact. It was like this guy knew where the punch was going to be as soon as the Eypharian threw it. After several rounds of this dance that felt like an ever-building letdown, Rhodri was feeling something he did not recognize. It sat in his gut and shook his spirit while making his arms and legs feel heavy. His throat had dried ages ago but his skin was chilled. It was fear. White knuckle, blurry vision, voices in your head screaming at you –fear.
The dingy human saw this emotion present itself in the brown eyes and unleashed his attack. He slipped under the high and wide strokes of Rhodri to deliver two and three punch combos to the body and legs of the tall Eypharian. In a chime, he had the young man breathing hard and struggling to keep his arms up. The old man moved so quickly and every attack or block even the retreats that Rhodri made seemed to be predictable to this human. Fists were starting to fall like rain on his body and arms as well as the occasional blow to the face or head. This went on for seven or eight chimes but it felt like an eternity to the one on the receiving end. There was an uppercut which made something in his abdomen snap and Rhodri folded like a tree beneath a mudslide. His face was level with his attacker and the young man looked up through a swollen eye with blood on his lips and his arms cradling the immense pain radiating from his gut. He mouthed the word ‘please’ but all he got in return was a knuckle sandwich that turned his world black.
14th Bell
When Rhodri woke up, he couldn’t see out of his right eye and everything hurt. He was barely aware of what was happening around him as sounds, sights and smells all seemed far away like he was tied up in a dream. There was a sound like a chain in the distance and the animals were called to a halt. The Eypharian tried to stand but found himself bound at the wrists –all six of them- and then around his waist. He began to struggle but felt something inside him rub and the pain seemed to rouse him further. The young man was bound to the back of a wagon with his arms bent over the sides and his feet dragging. The ropes around his midsection kept his weight from pulling him down but it also rested against the broken piece within thus applying constant pressure and leaving him to writhe in agony.
The ugly man who issued his beating walked up and behind him, Rhodri could see the makings of a river crossing with barges on chains. “Oy, lad. You’re finally awake.” The rotten teeth and foul breath came very near to the beaten man. “We took some coins from ya for drinks on the other side…hoe ya don’t mind.” He gave Rhodri’s side a good wrap with his fist. Spit flew from the crack and dried lips of the aristocrat as the man welled up making his whole right side throb. “We ain’t gonn’ kill ya but we ain’t takin’ ya wiff us, either.” The ugly man started to untie Rhodri who instantly started to struggle. All that did was earned him another shot to the ribs and an elbow to the head which dazed him into a state of half-consciousness.
The man walked away and dropped Rhodri’s belongings on the ground nearby. In an effort to reach his things, the Eypharian simply collapsed on his bag as his hands searched for his weapons. All the while, people came and went and most paid him no mind. He had never felt so alone or defeated in his life. Rhodri was not a praying man and so he asked for no favors. After fifteen chimes, he was able to drag his beaten form and humble pack off to one side of the wide road. He propped up against a sign that he didn’t bother to read and closed his eyes. He drifted in and out vaguely aware of what was going on around him. In a cough, he uttered one word. “Petch.”
