15th day of Fall, 518 AV
The thud of the table hitting the floor was what woke him from his misery, but it was the smell of the feast assembled atop it that kept his bleary eyes open.
That, and the raucous din of the feast goers.
In a jarring instant, the once barren courtyard had gone from the tranquil and somber place of training to what could only be described as some kind boisterous bar room party, complete with belligerent hooligans howling and laughing as if they were sailors on shore leave. Though dazed and unfocused, Karth’s vision sharpened in an instant when he finally realized just what it was he was looking at. Food and drink had been assembled before him in absurd abundance, and only mere feet away from where he hung. With crusty, watering eyes, he could see everything from roasted duck legs, to boiled quail eggs and… if his nose wasn’t deceiving him, that pot near the end was filled with lentil soup.
He felt his stomach begin to do more than just rumble.
Miss Caska at the Commorancy used to make the best lentil stew, and she’d always give him an extra helping when it was his turn in line. ‘A big boy needs a big meal’ she’d say with a little smile as sweet as sugar. Karth had to wonder what miss Caska would think of him now if she saw him like this…
Gods how he missed the orphanage.
How long had he been up now? Was it two days or three? He’d lost track once the hunger pangs had really begun to take their toll. At first, he’d welcomed the pain. It gave him something to focus on, but in the end even that grew dull and ineffective against the sheer strife of his ordeal. The worst part was the weakness though. It wasn’t something you could simply shake off or fight through, it just took hold of you like a clammy hand and never let go. It brought tremors to his legs, a dizziness to his head, and left a weight upon his shoulders that demanded every ounce of his defiance of every chime of the day lest it finally find its opportunity crush him once and for all. It was a sensation he was not accustomed to, and he hated it all the more.
“Mmmhmmm!” Came a grotesque and exaggerated groan from table nearby. One of the apprentices was mocking him, Karth realized as he watched the bald-headed boy tear another long, juicy length of sweltering meat from the bone. “Rhysol preserve me, but this is petching goooood!” The bastard cooed as a sliver of grease slithered down his chin. Karth noticed for the first time he was drooling when the others clamoring around the table -eight in total- began laughing at him. The food was so close he could taste it on the breeze. The scent stung about as much as their sneers and mockery did.
It had been three days, he decided. Three days since he’d been allowed to eat. Three days since they had come to him with promises of purpose and whispers of glory. Three days and he was still here… Why?!
Karth began to feel the fire of something sinister growing in his belly, something that was fighting against even the hunger for dominance. Three days of this shyke! Three days and he no one to blame for it but himself!
With a groan, he slowly managed to turn his head for what felt like the first time in a lifetime. Next to him he saw another wooden pole, much like his own. Maybe ten feet tall, with notches cut out one foot off the ground from where they’d been staked and another much higher up towards the top. The former was where his bare and swollen heels had fit uncomfortably for the past three days, shuffling bell after bell in search of something akin to comfort that he knew was never going to be there. The latter was meant to be his handholds, and his fingers had long since lost all feeling in them having been raised over his head for so long a time. Jareth was standing there slotted in to both noctches just like Karth was on his own pole, and likely as much a sorry sight as Karth imagined himself to be at this point. He did not stir, nor had he even opened his eyes to the commotion. He was a big kid, bigger even than Karth and nearly twice as thick with lean, mean muscle. He barely fit on his pole, his feet dangling over the notch like two big, gnarly branches. Karth didn’t know how he’d managed to stay up this long, but he had, and now it looked as if the price had been too much. He wasn’t even sure the boy was alive anymore… Ossia on the other hand, her he wished would hurry up and just die already. She stood to his right, opposite Jareth, and after the first day when the rains had come and nearly chilled their bones to the breaking, had begun mumbling incessantly under her breath. She hadn’t stopped since and the sound of her voice in Karth’s right ear was like having an insect caught in there that he couldn’t dear try to pick out. She’d gone petching crazy and now her sole reason in life seemed to do the same to Karth.
Gods he hated this! He petching hated this!
Why was he still here!?
They had told them all in no uncertain terms that if their grip ever loosened or their feet ever touched the ground again, they would be done with them. There would be no ceremony. There would be no introductions. That would be it, after everything he’d gone through just to get this far, if he failed now, there was no coming back. All the trials, all the hazing, all the petching pain and torment, in the end had all led to this. He’d worked so hard for it, and now all he wanted to do was just let go and forget it had ever happened.
Why was he doing this? It was stupid, it was painful, and it was pointless. So what if he got into the unit, he didn’t need some special group to make it in the Ebonstryfe, and he definitely didn’t want to be part of any outfit that thought this kind of ridiculous test meant anything to anyone.
“Oh no, no, no I couldn’t possibly take another bite… alright maybe just one more.” That familiar, grating voice came again, dragging Karth’s haggard gaze back to the table, back the grinning, shyke eating face of the same punk that had been squealing in delight earlier. The sounds he made as he slurped down another goblet of wine… the way he was staring Karth in the eye as he did it…
“Whats the matter buttercup? Getting thirsty?”
That fire in his belly flared.
“Petch this.”
His feet hit the ground like a sack of stone, buckling beneath him and casting him hard to the granite floor. The laughter intensified, as did the jibes and the jokes.
“Ha! What did I tell you lot, huh! I knew the ugly one would drop first. You all owe m-!” That fire had become an inferno, and the next thing he knew, Karth was up on his feet again, charging the table with fists clenched and teeth bared.
That, and the raucous din of the feast goers.
In a jarring instant, the once barren courtyard had gone from the tranquil and somber place of training to what could only be described as some kind boisterous bar room party, complete with belligerent hooligans howling and laughing as if they were sailors on shore leave. Though dazed and unfocused, Karth’s vision sharpened in an instant when he finally realized just what it was he was looking at. Food and drink had been assembled before him in absurd abundance, and only mere feet away from where he hung. With crusty, watering eyes, he could see everything from roasted duck legs, to boiled quail eggs and… if his nose wasn’t deceiving him, that pot near the end was filled with lentil soup.
He felt his stomach begin to do more than just rumble.
Miss Caska at the Commorancy used to make the best lentil stew, and she’d always give him an extra helping when it was his turn in line. ‘A big boy needs a big meal’ she’d say with a little smile as sweet as sugar. Karth had to wonder what miss Caska would think of him now if she saw him like this…
Gods how he missed the orphanage.
How long had he been up now? Was it two days or three? He’d lost track once the hunger pangs had really begun to take their toll. At first, he’d welcomed the pain. It gave him something to focus on, but in the end even that grew dull and ineffective against the sheer strife of his ordeal. The worst part was the weakness though. It wasn’t something you could simply shake off or fight through, it just took hold of you like a clammy hand and never let go. It brought tremors to his legs, a dizziness to his head, and left a weight upon his shoulders that demanded every ounce of his defiance of every chime of the day lest it finally find its opportunity crush him once and for all. It was a sensation he was not accustomed to, and he hated it all the more.
“Mmmhmmm!” Came a grotesque and exaggerated groan from table nearby. One of the apprentices was mocking him, Karth realized as he watched the bald-headed boy tear another long, juicy length of sweltering meat from the bone. “Rhysol preserve me, but this is petching goooood!” The bastard cooed as a sliver of grease slithered down his chin. Karth noticed for the first time he was drooling when the others clamoring around the table -eight in total- began laughing at him. The food was so close he could taste it on the breeze. The scent stung about as much as their sneers and mockery did.
It had been three days, he decided. Three days since he’d been allowed to eat. Three days since they had come to him with promises of purpose and whispers of glory. Three days and he was still here… Why?!
Karth began to feel the fire of something sinister growing in his belly, something that was fighting against even the hunger for dominance. Three days of this shyke! Three days and he no one to blame for it but himself!
With a groan, he slowly managed to turn his head for what felt like the first time in a lifetime. Next to him he saw another wooden pole, much like his own. Maybe ten feet tall, with notches cut out one foot off the ground from where they’d been staked and another much higher up towards the top. The former was where his bare and swollen heels had fit uncomfortably for the past three days, shuffling bell after bell in search of something akin to comfort that he knew was never going to be there. The latter was meant to be his handholds, and his fingers had long since lost all feeling in them having been raised over his head for so long a time. Jareth was standing there slotted in to both noctches just like Karth was on his own pole, and likely as much a sorry sight as Karth imagined himself to be at this point. He did not stir, nor had he even opened his eyes to the commotion. He was a big kid, bigger even than Karth and nearly twice as thick with lean, mean muscle. He barely fit on his pole, his feet dangling over the notch like two big, gnarly branches. Karth didn’t know how he’d managed to stay up this long, but he had, and now it looked as if the price had been too much. He wasn’t even sure the boy was alive anymore… Ossia on the other hand, her he wished would hurry up and just die already. She stood to his right, opposite Jareth, and after the first day when the rains had come and nearly chilled their bones to the breaking, had begun mumbling incessantly under her breath. She hadn’t stopped since and the sound of her voice in Karth’s right ear was like having an insect caught in there that he couldn’t dear try to pick out. She’d gone petching crazy and now her sole reason in life seemed to do the same to Karth.
Gods he hated this! He petching hated this!
Why was he still here!?
They had told them all in no uncertain terms that if their grip ever loosened or their feet ever touched the ground again, they would be done with them. There would be no ceremony. There would be no introductions. That would be it, after everything he’d gone through just to get this far, if he failed now, there was no coming back. All the trials, all the hazing, all the petching pain and torment, in the end had all led to this. He’d worked so hard for it, and now all he wanted to do was just let go and forget it had ever happened.
Why was he doing this? It was stupid, it was painful, and it was pointless. So what if he got into the unit, he didn’t need some special group to make it in the Ebonstryfe, and he definitely didn’t want to be part of any outfit that thought this kind of ridiculous test meant anything to anyone.
“Oh no, no, no I couldn’t possibly take another bite… alright maybe just one more.” That familiar, grating voice came again, dragging Karth’s haggard gaze back to the table, back the grinning, shyke eating face of the same punk that had been squealing in delight earlier. The sounds he made as he slurped down another goblet of wine… the way he was staring Karth in the eye as he did it…
“Whats the matter buttercup? Getting thirsty?”
That fire in his belly flared.
“Petch this.”
His feet hit the ground like a sack of stone, buckling beneath him and casting him hard to the granite floor. The laughter intensified, as did the jibes and the jokes.
“Ha! What did I tell you lot, huh! I knew the ugly one would drop first. You all owe m-!” That fire had become an inferno, and the next thing he knew, Karth was up on his feet again, charging the table with fists clenched and teeth bared.
WC - 1249
