28th of Summer, 518 AV
15th Bell
15th Bell
It had been an interesting stretch of days. The man with no name had come from the belly of the world in a pile of filth and fear. He had made friendly acquaintances and apparent old friends. The world was new again but some things kept feeling familiar. The sting of past mistakes and never knowing what was made navigating day to day decisions all the more difficult. A recent encounter revealed what might be his name -Azmere. The scarred man felt awkward saying it, even in his head.
With a slight limp in his left leg, the man strolled along the upper tier of this city and was given a wide berth due to his appearance. The large canine companion that stayed just off his left hip also attributed to this gracious personal space. Since the weather was warm, his wounded leg did not hurt quite as bad as on the damp days and this gave the warrior hope. In fact, this was one of the first times that he could remember not wishing to carrying his weapons about on his errands and wanderings. A dagger slipped into his belt and a kukri in its sheath were all he bore aside from his worn leather pants, beat up leather boots and a mostly opened white linen shirt. His windemarks were covered by sleeves and the shirt helped keep most of his other scars covered such as the wolf bite and most of the recessed squares.
One thing that was never covered was the left side of his face and neck. Burned in a freak display of the strange things that happen in this world, the man’s potentially attractive face stops at his nose. From his forehead down to his collarbone and back t his ear are rippled with the scars of an incident he cannot recall. A solid mass of tissue sits marred and immobilized around a golden eye that was once blue like the one on the right. When he feels threatened, the vagabond has taken to tilting his head so that the scarred portion of his face is presented. There are mixed reactions but the indigenous population is a race of warriors raised by warriors and sired by warriors so the scars do not bother them. The scurrying population of mixed races they dominate, however, tend to be leery of one so battered by the world.
The man and his dog made their way along the road to a wide open area nestled among huge structures of rock and tall trees. To say it was open might be considered incorrect, however, since the entire space is covered in tents and tables, carts and people all trying to make a deal, find the perfect item or get rich. The blue and gold stare narrowed. He couldn’t recall why he had come this way but something told him that it was necessary. A huff from furry jowls reminded him of the errand. His right hand shook slightly as it moved from the handle of the kukri between the ears of the dog. He scratched and rubbed then slowly lowered his head to meet the lightning blue gaze of the creature. “You’re probably hungry, eh big fella?” The scarred man spoke the language of the horse people but he did not quite recognize that fact.
His gaze was dichromatic but also bore a significant mutation - an enigma within an anomaly. Each pupil was rimmed with bursts of color that shone out like stars. Several colors of vivid contrast gave the stare an eerie presence that would sometimes appear as if the colors moved. Such detail had to be gained at close distance. The man was scruffy with an unshaven face and a beard that was as straggly as vegetation on a rock ridge. His hair was black with a filtering of grey fibers that hung down into his face, around his ears and down his neck. A few braids were knotted along the left side and a piece of fabric; old, thin and faded, was tied in as well. The strange man with shaking hands limped along towards the smells of a person who intended to make a living by smoking some kind of meat.
When the duo approached the cart, a few patrons hustled off to one side and gawked before moving on. The shaking hand reached into a pocket and produced a few coins. “I’d like a few pieces of your food.” The vendor watched for a moment. He had bright blue skin, deep purple eyes and thick black hair that was neatly pulled back into a slick ponytail. He was big, muscular and looked to be bored. He studied the coins, then the man and then the canine. He held up his big hand and nodded then held up four fingers. The buyer looked into his palm and saw six coins but they were not all the same. He looked back up to the seller. “Four light or four dark?” The man looked like he was about to argue but instead, he produced a silver-rimmed Miza to show. The scarred man smiled with the right side of his face and fetched the proper amount from his coin purse. He paid the man and took two skewers of meat that were handed to him. He turned with his companion and they began to leave the bazaar with a slow pace as each took his turn to nibble upon the snack.
Ledger4 SM subtracted
