Closed Good Intentions (Crylon)

[Asterope]

11th of spring, 519 AV

The season so far in Sunberth had seen the announcement of all sorts of races and competitions; Alard, always needing to be the best, had doubled down on the time he spent training. The next day was apparently a fighting competition of sorts, and Alard had been at the Proving Grounds since the crack of dawn.

Aster had lingered around the apartment the first few hours, but when it seemed Alard would be out the entire day, she took the opportunity to slip outside; the door was almost never locked. Within the barracks it was generally safe, since any theft was usually dealt with swiftly within the gang by the members involved. At least, that's what Alard had said; he didn't seem worried, in any case. Aster just thought he was too lazy and forgetful to carry a key everywhere, but of course she never said as much.

Quietly shutting the door behind her, Aster peered down the hallway; seeing nobody, she took off at a quick walk, making her way out of the barracks. She was willing to take any opportunity she could get for some fresh air and to stretch her legs; when he was around, Alard kept a tight leash on her.

Not wanting to go too far, and wanting some peace and quiet, Aster padded down the street away from the barracks, deciding she would make her way to the outskirts of town. As she walked, Asterope heard shouting break out down a nearby alleyway; that was nothing new, of course. Still, she stopped in her tracks, stepping back as a group of young men took off running.

Aster frowned slightly, and was about to keep walking when she heard a whimper. Her gaze was drawn to the mouth of the alley where the men had run from, and she froze at what she saw. A young boy, perhaps twelve or thirteen at most, lay in the mouth of the alley, leaning against the brick wall. He was whining quietly like an injured animal, and Aster could see he was clutching the hilt of a dagger emerging from his stomach.

"Petch," Aster whispered, not usually one for swearing; without thinking she ran over, dropping to her knees by the injured boy. He squirmed, holding up a hand feebly.

"Stay away," He whimpered, then started coughing, blood speckling his lips and chin, a few drops hitting Aster's cheek.

"Shh, it's okay," Aster soothed, smoothing the hair back from his dirty forehead. Her hands were trembling; she had no idea what to do. She didn't have access to herbs or medicines, and even if she did, she didn't know what to do with such a serious injury. The last time she'd been with someone who had been stabbed...images of Navi lifeless, a dagger stuck in the dog's chest, flashed in her mind, and she felt even more sick than she already had, if that was even possible.

"Oh, gods," She whispered, sitting back on her heels, gently pushing the ragged edges of the boy's shirt away from the dagger to examine the wound more closely. Rak'keli, please, please let me be able to help him. Aster closed her eyes for a brief moment, dragging in a deep breath to try and calm herself. Focus. Panicking won't help anyone, she told herself, opening her eyes again.

She needed help. She had to move the boy; she needed somewhere cleaner to work, but she couldn't do that alone. Either way, she couldn't move him with the dagger stuck in his stomach...she feared doing more damage. "This is going to hurt," Aster told the boy, grasping the hilt of the dagger carefully.

"One, two..." Without even reaching three, Aster yanked hard, pulling the dagger out; the boy jerked and cried out. Immediately, blood gushed from the wound, and panic hit Aster like a brick to the chest. That was worse, so much worse. Belatedly, she realized removing the dagger had been a terrible idea; it had been acting as a sort of plug, slowing the bleeding and keeping blood loss to a minimum. Now it was free, and blood was spilling out of the wound in the boy's stomach.

She could have screamed, but she didn't want to draw more attention to the scene. Tossing the dagger aside, Aster ripped off a large piece of her skirt, folding the fabric into a square and pressing hard onto the wound in an attempt to staunch the bleeding. She could already see crimson soaking through the fabric and staining her palms.

Aster raised her head, looking around desperately for someone with even an ounce of pity who would be willing to help; a shadow fell across her then, drawing her gaze. Asterope squinted up, the mid-morning sun behind the figure making it difficult to see, but after a moment her gaze focused on the image of a short man.

It took Aster a second to recognize him; she might not have, if not for his short stature and the distinct black stone arm. She'd run into him briefly in Ravok, before she was captured. She didn't have time to dwell on the coincidence. The man wouldn't recognize her, having met her at night, but she knew he was a friendly face; at least, he'd been friendly if blunt during their first meeting. Aster hoped that was still true.

"I need help," she begged, her voice breaking. "Please. He's hurt, badly. I don't know what to do. I think he needs to be moved." Aster pleaded with the Isur, putting pressure on the boy's wound the whole time.

Word Count: 934

[Crylon Stonecraft]

11 Spring 519 A new season in Sunberth, the atmosphere of action about Sunberth, Crylon had decided to do some exploring today. He had not been in the city too long, but still he felt like he should know more of it while in truth he knew next to nothing of it. He was wearing his darker and cooler clothing, a dark pair of pants and a open chested arm less vest. Sandals. A pack on his back which he had purchased and turned out to be magic, within which he had some money, an axe, and some other tools for building. Also as an afterthought he had brought along his long club he had gotten back in Ravok, which had been tricky to feed into the bottomless mouth of the pack, but which he had managed to do. Not that it would be told by looking at the pack, as it appeared more or less empty. And so he had set out that day to explore... And promptly gotten lost. Or at least, as much as an Isur got lost. He in general had a knack for sensing directions, which way he had been and how to get back. But he had been angling for the edge of the city, and found himself turned about. Not lost, he reminded himself, just not currently sure how to get where he was trying to go. No, never lost. He was an Isur! If need be he could backtrack the way he had come, find his way back that way. But at the moment he had not given up on his wanderings in hopes of still finding something new. Part of the problem of finding new places or particular places within an area was the lack of logic in its design. As an Architect Crylon knew of such things, street planning and laying out buildings. An efficiency so as to avoid wasted space, to make the buildings work in tandem, and to avoid unneeded movement to get between places. Sunberth however was designed more like someone had taken a dirt clod, threw it up in the air over a map, and wherever a piece landed they had built something. It made his normal tactic of reasoning out lines and squares and such rather useless. It also did not help that many such buildings were new or rebuilt, changing how things looked. One building he walked by had clearly only been put up that day, if it could even be called a building seeing as it was little more than some pieces of wood with a bit of cloth overhead to act as a roof. Not even a proper tarp or such to cover the opening. One good rain or storm, and the "roof" would fall in. A bit of good wind, and the rest would come tumbling down. He was walking down yet another street when a group of men came hurtling down past him. Anyone running in Sunberth, Crylon had found, was either heading to do some criminal endeavor, or was running away after having done such a criminal endeavor. He had yet to see anyone running because they were exercising, or perhaps late for work. Heading along in the direction they had come from, Crylon kept walking until he heard a noise off to the side. Sounds of a person in pain. If it had not been coming from so close to the street, right at the mouth of an alley which was more or less a ragged gap between two buildings, he likely would not have noticed. It was also a rather harsh cry of pain. After this, Crylon's attention turned to the source, he heard the clatter of something falling, or being tossed aside. Heading in closer to look, he saw a woman of sorts, and a small human child. Near them was a bloody dagger, and to match was a bloody spot in the boys torso, bleeding freely despite the woman's attempt to stop the bleeding. It seemed simple enough, though a bit odd in the end result for Sunberth. The first bit, very Sunberth, was the boy being stabbed. Probably either as a dare, or in a robbery. The woman had found him, and pulled the dagger out, which had apparently made the wound or bleeding worse. Perhaps the woman was a foreigner, like himself? Blades after all had no problem sliding into flesh, but there was no promise they would take the same route back out. Her being a foreigner seemed almost confirmed when she asked Crylon for help. Either she was not a native a well, or it was all part of a trap. Lure in someone, get them off their guard, and then rob them too. Probably they had not even bothered faking the wound, and had just pulled some random kid off the street and stabbed them for bait. But then, she also could be telling the truth, and if that was the case he could not just leave them... Muttering under his breath in Isurian, Crylon spoke- “My lady, I hold out hope for this city. If this be of the dark, let me see it in your light. If this be of truth, then let me do what I can.” After a half moments more pause Crylon nodded, bending down to the youth. Using his pair of strong arms he lifted the boy as easily as the woman would have lifted a empty basket. He held the heft of his weight in his left arm, using his right more for balance and to hold pressure on the wound as the woman had been doing. Perhaps in hopes of holding in the blood? A simple enough bit of first aid, even for someone as unskilled as he in such matters. Returning to common, he turned to the woman. “Where is go to? I carry, you show way.” As he said this his mind trailed back to the men he had seen racing down the street, realizing this was likely what they had been running from. WC: 1,011

[Asterope]

The man muttered something in a foreign language, but after a moment, he nodded to Aster. Relief flooded through her, and she scrambled back as the man bent down to pick the scrawny boy up; despite his height, he did so with enough ease that it surprised Asterope. She supposed having a stone arm would give one an advantage in strength related tasks.

"Thank you," she said, her voice heavy with sincerity as she stood from her crouch. "Here, hold..." Aster moved to show the man to keep pressure on the wound, but he was already doing so, albeit slightly clumsily. It would have to do for the time being. As an afterthought, she turned and snatched the bloodied dagger off the ground, shoving it into her boot before straightening up again.

She froze when the man asked where they should go. "Oh gods, I don't know," Aster looked around, feeling frantic. Anywhere was better than a dirty alleyway. Sunberth was rundown enough of a city that surely there had to be some abandoned houses, right?

"This way," Aster said after a moment, and set off at a pace just less than a run down the alley. Desperately, she peeked into windows as she went; business, home, business, business, warehouse of some sort...the next window she peered into had a few boards crossing over it. Sliding to a clumsy halt, Aster moved closer, squinting as she peered in through the gaps. Only darkness greeted her.

"In here," she said, glancing back at the man; she tried the door, but it seemed stuck. With a grunt, Aster rammed her shoulder into it, putting all of her body weight behind the push; once, twice...on the third try, the door flung open, sending the Eth tumbling into the abandoned building. She just barely managed to find her balance enough to not hit the floor.

Her shoulder was sore, but Aster ignored it in favour of taking stock of the environment. A dusty cot lay on the ground in the corner; Aster dragged it out of the corner, though judging by the scuffling and squeaking there was at least one rat that wasn't pleased with that. She caught sight of a shining eye as the rat scampered across the floor, disappearing into a large hole in the wall.

Moving the cot to the center of the room, Aster undid her cloak, laying it over the cot. The room was dim, even with some of the afternoon sun shining in through the open door. "Here, lay him down here," she instructed, motioning to the cot. "Is there any way you could get those boards off the window?" She pointed, knowing she would never be able to do that on her own, perhaps even if she had the proper tools.

Aster was increasingly aware that she had nothing in terms of medicine or herbs as she knelt by the boy once he was placed on the cot; he was already disturbingly pale, his eyelids fluttering wildly. Aster resumed pressure on the wound, her mind racing as she tried to think. Letting up pressure for a moment, she peeled the blood soaked cloth aside to get a closer look at the wound. It wasn't good; she could tell it was deep.

Desperately, she placed her bare hand over it, squeezing her eyes shut as she focused. Her hand glowed for a brief moment, a tingling running through her palm and fingers; but when Aster opened her eyes again, nothing had changed. The wound was too severe for aging it by a single day to make a difference. The bleeding had slowed considerably, but it was difficult to say whether it was a result of what she'd done or simply a product of the boy having lost so much blood already.

"Pressure, put pressure on the wound when you're done. Hold it," Aster spoke distractedly, rising to her feet again after putting the rags back over the wound before beginning to rummage around the abandoned building. Surely there had to be something that could help.

There was a cracked, dusty dresser, one leg broken off; Aster had to yank hard to open the drawers, and they squealed in protest as she did so. The first one was empty. The next one had an old dress in it, full of holes, but it would do. Aster grabbed it, continuing her search.

A bottle was laying on the floor in the corner where the cot had been; a quick look showed perhaps half a mouthful of amber liquid left in it. Aster uncorked it and took a quick whiff; the scent of alcohol hit her strongly. It would have to do.

"Gods, what I wouldn't give for a petching needle and thread," she swore, angrily, as she rummaged through the trash in the corner before giving up and returning to the boy. "A torch wouldn't be amiss either," she mumbled. A better light source would have been wonders, and at worse maybe she could try to burn the wound shut. The thought made her uncomfortable; she'd never seen it done before, but she'd experienced enough burn wounds of her own to figure that it could maybe close the edges of the wound at the very least, desperate as she was.

"I'm going to need help, hold him down. This is going to hurt him," Aster said, grimly. She tore a length of fabric from the dress, folding it up and pouring the contents of the bottle onto it. Assuming the man was still willing to help and follow her orders, Aster would clean the wound as best as she could once he had a firm grip on the boy; even in his semi-conscious state, the stinging pain would cause him to jerk and whimper.

"Shh," Aster hushed, trying to soothe him. "I don't suppose you have any medical supplies?" She asked, looking at the stone-armed man, her voice desperate; she highly doubted it, but she was running out of options.

"Mama?" The boy questioned, squirming as Aster wiped the alcohol damp cloth over the wound before pressing down again; the Eth swallowed hard, and simply shushed the boy again.

"It's alright," she murmured. "Rest. Everything will be okay." Her voice shook slightly despite her best efforts to keep it soft and soothing, a desperate edge to the calm tone.

Word Count: 1,059
Total: 1,993

[Crylon Stonecraft]

Once Crylon had picked up the youth, holding pressure to the wound in an imitation of the woman, he watched as she recovered a small blade and rose. His query of where they should go however quickly returned the woman to a panic. She had apparently not thought that far ahead, and Crylon had simply assumed she knew where to go. But after a bit of hesitation the woman turned and ordered him along, leading the way herself. Or at least, appearing confident in her steps as she wandered about. It soon seemed to Crylon the latter was the truth, as the woman glanced from building to building as if trying to pick one by some odd qualifications he was not aware of. Perhaps then she did not know where she was going, but the type of place? After a time during which the child moaned and tried to fight Crylon's grip twice, the woman found what she was looking for and lead Crylon to a run down building. Anywhere else Crylon would have thought it empty, but in Sunberth he did not doubt someone would be squatting such a place even if not currently there. It took her several tries to ram the door in, barging in with her weight. Crylon would have done it himself, but it would have required putting down the child. A dirty cot. Worn and disused things. Garbage. Rot, so common to the city. But such meager accommodations where better than nothing, and it seemed the boy did not have long for them to find something better. A rat escaping at their entrance through a hole in the wall. Crylon silently followed the womans command, sensing as much as anything that she wished the boy no ill and wanted like him to help. He quietly, softly, gently, laid the boy across the cot. Then he turned to the windows, replaced by boards nailed into the walls rather than glass. But there were gaps, and it had not been done well. Moving to the window Crylon picked a spot near one of the nails that had a wide enough gap, and grabbed the edge of a board with his left hand. Clenching his grip like a vice, he pulled, pulled, and pulled, until the board began to move and the nail exited the wall. He repeated this at the other end, using the fulcrum of the loosened board to yank it out in one go. Then on to the next board, grabbing in his grip, pulling the board free while he steadied himself with his other hand. It would have gone faster if he had proper tools, or could use both hands, but his one hand would have to suffice as what was present and while not as quick as other purpose made tools it got the job done. One of the last boards splintered in his vice like grip, the edge of the board snapping off from the edge of the window leaving a chunk nailed to the wall. If he had been using a normal hand, he likely would have shredded it. Instead with his unique Isurian grasp he felt little more than some additional momentary pressure. While he did this the woman worked on the child, though she like him was without proper tools. But unlike him, she was lacking of any divinely gifted tools to do the work... Or so it seemed at first until he saw a glow of her hand. He could not tell what it had done, but afterwards the wound seemed crusted and dried, if not healed. Bleeding less. Once he was done he returned to the boy, placing pressure on the wound again as he had before at her behest while she wandered about the room looking for supplies. It was as he did this that Crylon recalled he had tools in his pack, or at least tools of the type that might have been useful in removing the boards. In his rush though he had not thought of them, forgetting the things within the seemingly weightless pack. Nothing though, he knew, that would help with repairing the child. A building, but not a living and breathing thing. Crylon nodded and moved his hands to the boys shoulders as she returned, ordering him to hold the child down while she did something that would hurt but hopefully help. He made sure to be careful with his grip, particularly his left hand, as he applied pressure and stopped the boy from rising or wriggling as she worked. He watched as she took a bit of torn cloth, soaked it in some potent alcohol, and working to clean the wound. Crylon considered talking to the boy, but had a feeling the woman's words would be more soothing in the moment than his own. He simply shook his head at her next query. No, nothing for fixing people. Perhaps something he should acquire to put in his pack, but he had not considered it before... Crylon was calm through this all, but in a rather detached way. He focused on his breathing, and the feel of his hands on the boys flesh. Focused on the act he was doing, to try to help the child, and nothing else. He could do nothing else. His skills could not repair such things, as he watched the woman do her best. He could do nothing else but watch as the boy slowly bled and died. Speaking in Isurian once more, he murmured a prayer quietly to himself. “Izurdin, if you could, give skill to her labors, alacrity to her hands. Priskil, if you could, give hope to the boy and this woman who tries to help him. And let him see the light you cast, full of hope and power against the depth of the dark.” WC: 974

[Asterope]

The man followed her orders silently; he was stoic, but the fact that he remained and helped as best as he could told Aster more about him and what sort of person he was than anything he could say ever would. It brought her some small amount of comfort to know that, at least, she and the boy were in the company of someone who cared.

As expected, the man shook his head at her question. Aster closed her eyes, pressing one bloody hand against her face, not seeming to notice or care about the streaks of crimson left behind on her face. The other hand still stayed on the boy's stomach, applying pressure in vain. She had no money to buy any medical supplies. Even if she did, the only place she knew of that sold herbs was all the way across the city; even running the whole way, she would never make it there and back in time to help the boy.

Something cold and heavy washed over Aster as she realized with a sudden certainty that the boy was going to die, and she could do nothing about it. He was mumbling, calling out for his mother again, his eyelids fluttering; his skin was cold and pale, his breathing coming in short, wheezing gasps.

She heard the murmuring of her companion in the same foreign language from before, but only distantly registered it. Numbly, moving automatically, she continued to stroke the boy's forehead. "It's okay," she repeated, on autopilot, barely feeling the words passing through her lips, her thoughts in a jumble.

What sort of city was it where a child could be killed, left to bleed out on the street, and nobody cared? And for what? A few gold mizas at most? Alard had warned her about what sort of city Sunberth was. She'd caught glimpses of it; the children fighting the first day she'd arrived, men mugging each other in the streets, the prostitutes that seemed to be on every street corner. Bloodshed, homelessness, chaos, dirt, and destruction. Corruption. But she hadn't quite realized the depths of it until now, and it was like a stone in her chest.

Shifting over, Asterope gently lifted the boy's head into her lap, running her fingers through his hair. It took all her effort to drag her attention back to the current situation, focusing her gaze on the boy's pale face. She wanted to comfort him, to say something that would put him at ease, even half-conscious as he was; perhaps to hum or sing something that would calm him in his last moments. But she could think of nothing.

The boy took in a wheezing, rattling breath, and Aster saw his chest go still, no longer rising and falling weakly. His eyes stared blankly up at her. Grief seized her, followed closely by a white hot, blinding anger; she wanted to scream, to cry. But following close on their heels was a deep, numbing despair. Aster stared down listlessly at the now lifeless body of the boy in her lap, her fingers still stroking through his dirty hair.

He had mentioned a mother. Was she still alive? Did he still live with her? There was no way of telling. This wasn't Alvadas either, where there were officials she could go to, or friends she could ask for help. Nobody would care about one more dead child from the streets, she realized.

Aster had witnessed death before; she knew it was simply a part of the cycle of life, a necessary thing. But like this, it seemed so senseless and cruel. She had seen death when she lived with the Drykas; there wasn't always a body, but there was always people to mourn the one who had been lost. To respect them, and remember them, and speak fondly of them; to wish them well in whatever awaited them in death.

It felt wrong, to have nobody, nothing, in death. It had been the driving force behind her determination in Alvadas, when she had found a body in the hedge maze, to seek out the dead man's family. For someone to be forgotten in death left a bitter taste in her mouth.

Finally, Asterope looked up at the man still sitting beside her and the boy. "I'm sorry," she said, quietly, her voice cracking. She wasn't sure who she was apologizing to, really. "I couldn't do anything." Feelings of uselessness flooded her. Perhaps she was meant for this life, after all, if she couldn't save anyone. Not the boy, not Navi. What was she good for?

Swallowing hard, she reached down and slid the boy's eyes shut. A heavy silence had fallen, filling the abandoned building; it felt as if it was suffocating her. Quietly, after a long moment, she said her own prayer. "Syna, please give him strength wherever he may go next. Guide him and give him light, and warmth, and comfort." The words felt hollow even as she said them; who was she, to pray for someone who she had let die? And why should Syna listen to her prayers now, when she had never seemed to answer them before?

"Yahal," Aster continued regardless. The name of the god came to her of its own accord, but it provided some measure of comfort where speaking Syna's name hadn't. "Let him finally be free of the corruption of this city." She was unsure of what else to say, not as familiar with Yahal as she was with the sun goddess, so Aster left the prayer there.

Gently, Aster lifted the boy's head off her lap and rose to her feet slowly. "Thank you for helping," she said to the man, her voice quiet and tired, offering her hand to help him up. It was, of course, unneeded; but it was her way of showing her gratitude. He had tried his best, and without his help, things would have been much more hopeless. "You've done more than enough. I have another favour to ask of you, though."

She hesitated, looking to the still, lifeless body of the boy. "Do you know where the graveyard is?" Anja had mentioned that he worked at the graveyard, which meant there had to be one somewhere within the city. She refused to leave the boy to rot in an abandoned house; his mother, if she was still alive, would never know what had actually happened to him. It seemed nobody would remember him. She could, at the very least, make the effort to give him as proper a burial as possible.

"I'd like to take him there. I won't leave him here," the last part was said stubbornly, a glimpse of her old self flashing through the despair that had overtaken her; in case her companion thought to argue or try to dissuade her. If he didn't want to help, she couldn't hold it against him; he had already done so much. But she would figure out a way to do it herself if that's what it came to.

Word Count: 1,177
Total: 3,170

[Crylon Stonecraft]

It seemed that while the woman worked, still the boy got worse. Perhaps the wound was beyond her. Perhaps the wound was simply too grievous. Regardless, the longer she worked, the worse the boy appeared. Breath growing heavier, then lighter in quick wheezes like he could not breath. Flesh going pale. She continued to try to calm the boy, to convince him it was alright, but by his condition and her response he began to believe the opposite was true. Not by lack of trying, but by lack of skill or lack of hope with such a wound. Crylon simply continued his quiet prayer over the pair, coming to accept before the woman did that the boy was to die. He felt no qualms or guilt about it though, he had done all he could. He had fought for life while possible, and accepted death when it came calling. He did not savor it, did not enjoy it, but he accepted it. Considering it, Crylon felt perhaps that was the way to go about it. Fight to live, to exist, to be. But once it was over, not to fight to drag it on. To accept the end when it came and was inevitable. But before then to live and do what could be done with life. To keep on with it. It was after one final wheeze that the boy stilled. It took Crylon a moment to realize what that meant. He had passed. The fight was over. The forge had been flooded. Nothing more would come from it. With a though Crylon put his right, fleshy palm on the woman's shoulder, as comforting a gesture as he could think of. When the woman tried to apologize, Crylon simply shook his head as he met her eyes. “Is try. Is more most can say. Is did best with have. Sometimes... Sometimes storm come, no matter what do. Not mean not try to prepare, not try to make ready till comes. But sometimes it come all same, and will wash all away in wake no matter what do. But is trying. Is... Intent... Is that, of import, think.” “Is try. Is learn. Is grow. Is what is life, think. When stop try, that is when sorry. When stop try before storm hit, when resolve to storm wash away, that is when of sorrow. Is when lose hope. Hope, seem still have. Nothing worse, than lose resolve, than lose hope. Maybe next, can save. But if lose hope, not try, and not have chance, yes? Is why hope so of import.” Crylon listened to the woman's prayer, not familiar with the deities she beseech-ed, but respecting the prayer all the same. Then she was thanking him, and asking a favor. For a moment Crylon pondered what it could be, but then it turned out to be something rather simple and not selfish. Something for the child. She did not want to leave him here, but wanted him to see a proper burial. He realized quickly the futility of finding his family, if it existed. If they were not gone, or dead, or worse. No, better they take care of it themselves than to let him sit and rot. “No. Is not do this favor. Is do because is right. Favor is something do, and person doing is owed for doing. This not favor. Is just do right. Hold here. Not sure, but will ask.” Rising Crylon quickly headed out of the ramshackle building, gazing about the street. He peered about, watching for someone, waiting till someone met his eyes in passing. The first person to come close and do so was a man who at least looked like he had eaten that season and was wearing more than rags. “Excuse, have question. Need find...” Crylon did not get much further than this before the man told him to "Petch off!" and tried to dart around him. Instead Crylon stepped forward and grabbed the mans arm in his vice of a left hand, giving it a quick squeeze just enough to make it hurt but not do any permanent damage... Though perhaps it would leave a bruise. But then, he had been quite rude, and he did need the information. Continuing on with a smile on his face, as if the man had not interrupted or been rude, Crylon continued on. When the man went to jerk away his arm, or to interrupt again, Crylon would give him a small squeeze until he stilled and grew silent. “Thank you for listening, friend. Is need know of where place go, bury bodies. Cemetery. Is find boy, is die, and need take there. Is you knowing where?” His teeth gritted, he glared at Crylon, but with a glance at his black arm begrudgingly gave away the information. Not that it was secret, or hard to find, just something Crylon had not known and the man had not felt like sharing. "The Dust Bed, everyone knows it. Its over by the bay. Near the coast and by the bay. Can't miss it. Now can I have my petching arm you crazy son of a..." Crylon released his arm, letting him walk off as he continued with a series of expletives so colorfull and varied it strained Crylon's in the use of common. Heading back inside, Crylon bent and picked up the boy, gesturing with his head at the door. “Is find person. Is say is on coast, near bay. Place call bed of dust. Should be able find. Sound like not place easy miss.”

[Asterope]

Aster offered a weak smile as the man did his best to comfort her in his limited Common; she appreciated the kind words, and deep within herself she knew he spoke the truth...but the words held no comfort for her in that moment. Still, they echoed faintly in her ears; hope.

It wasn't something she wished to dwell on then, but perhaps something to return to at a later time; Aster didn't realize it, but the words impacted her more than she felt then and there.

He agreed to the favour, which was a relief to the Eth; he rose to his feet, mentioning something about asking. Ask who, and what? Asterope watched with furrowed brows as the stone-armed man lingered in the doorway before trying to stop a passerby in the alleyway; it went about as well as she would have figured.

Once again, however, his strange and unique arm served him well; as he gripped the passerby in place and asked his questions, Aster turned and did her best to wrap the boy in her cloak. He was small for his age, and Aster was tall for a woman, so she managed to bundle the boy's body fairly well, tucking the edges of the cloak in as securely as she could manage.

Aster stepped back when her companion returned, picking up the boy once more; she listened intently to his words and nodded. "A fitting name for a cemetery," she said, quietly. Taking one last glance around the abandoned building, she lead the way once again, ducking through the doorway and out into the alley.

"It's going to be a bit of a walk. The coast is across the city." She wasn't familiar with the details of Sunberth's layout, but she had a vague recollection of the path she had taken from the bay to the barracks when she had first arrived. "Let me know if you need to take a break," she said, softly, unsure of the limits of the man's strength or endurance. Even with a stone arm, carrying literal dead weight was sure to wear on one quickly. Silence fell then, heavy but not uncomfortable, the ambient noises of the city and the sound of their footsteps the only things breaking it.

"My name is Asterope," the Eth finally spoke, glancing over to the man beside her. "We've met before. In Ravok. I looked different then, though. No horns," she said, gesturing at her head. She had only meant to introduce herself, but found herself rambling slightly to fill the quiet, not wanting to be left alone with the thoughts racing through her mind.

They received a few curious glances as they walked through the city, but most seemed content to ignore them; for that, Aster was grateful. The ride over the river was quick, and then they were on their way again, on the east side of the city, heading towards the coast.

"What brings you here, anyway?" Aster asked, as they approached the outskirts of the city; she couldn't imagine leaving a city like Ravok for one such as Sunberth, given a choice. The noises of the city slowly faded, replaced by the nearby crashing of the ocean; the smell of dirt was overpowered by clean air and salt. It was refreshing, and provided Asterope with some slight measure of relief.

In the distance, she could see an expanse of land marked with a few stones dotted over the rocky grass landscape, some areas much denser than others. The land was much greener than she expected, given the name. "That must be it," she murmured, more to herself than her companion. The sun was now high in the sky, signalling it was around noon; the misadventure and traveling across the city had taken most of the morning.

[Crylon Stonecraft]

While the boy was dead weight, literally, it was not overly straining to Crylon. The boy was not only a child, but as was common in Sunberth somewhat underfed. Also Crylon while appearing much smaller than the woman and other humans was in his limited frame still as strong as one. Rather all of that weight and strength was compacted down making him much heavier and stronger than he appeared. More dense and solid. And his unique Isur arm was twice as strong as the other, also making the task easier. He did his best to support most of the weight with his left arm therefore, more aiding with his right than outright carrying as he cradled the wrapped mass of the boy against his chest and cocked to the side like an oddly shaped package. As the woman left Crylon followed after, assuming the woman knew well enough from his directions where to go. The coast though was a known spot, as was the bay, even if the cemetery was not. Crylon was curious though what a human place of the dead would look like. As they began walking Crylon nodded at her comment, continuing onward with nothing more than a grunt as a response. He concentrated instead on the task at hand, and pictured it as just another way Izurdin was honing him. Honing his tool upon this mortal land, contained within the body of Crylon. It turned out to be a more strenuous workout and bit of exercise than he had been expecting, carrying the child across town, and it was not long before the muscles in his right arm began to ache. He would endure. If not for the child, then for this woman who so clearly needed a strong arm beside her in this moment. Crylon felt no awkwardness, no need to fill the void of speech, but clearly the woman did. Asterope was her name, and apparently she was also the woman he met before in Ravok. After digging for a few moments in his mind he recalled the late night collision with the woman in Ravok, who had called herself “Aster. Is say before, is Aster. Now is Asterope. Same person, but different body? One of those... Eth-full? Sky fall people?” The latter was filled in from his talking with Kelski who had mentioned a man he knew who was as such. Once they crossed the river Crylon was able to rest his arm, though only the non-black one grew tired or fatigued. He rested the boy before him, at his feet, letting his arms dangle and calm his muscles and body before he would need to hoist him up once more. Endure. “Is meet before, when inspect buildings. Do much same now. Maybe some day, design own, build own. For now, help. What better place, need such things than Sunberth. Is needing good builder, good designer, know about quality. Know about make well, not pile of rubbish. Make to last.” Crylon paused for a moment, considering the question and himself before continuing. “Also come for freedom of who worship. Follow Izurdin. Priskil. Ravok not like other but one follow. Is perhaps too much freedom here, Ravok too little, but is some ways better.” “Make living, people need build though, wherever go. All different. All learn new things. Make new things. Learn of float building in Ravok. Learn of things here. But always need doing. So always have place, of sorts. Some more than others. What brings you here, Aster? Asterope? Why you here? How come here too, if ask me how, why, I come here.” As their neared the coast the sounds of the city began to slowly die, the sounds of the ocean overtaking it. Not completely, not totally, but enough to make the shift in noise noticeable. Nearing the bay, nearing the coast, Crylon saw what must be the place they were going to. The man had apparently told them true. Which was good, because his arm was growing tired again. Endure. Bits of stone. Dirt. Green. It seemed an odd hodgepodge of things. But then, what was a place to bury dead but an odd place? As he grew closer Crylon realized the stones were markers, placed there. Placed there long ago he thought based on their wear. Though in Sunberth wear and quality was hard to use as a judge of age. Stone for marking, but burying in the dirt. “Seem is place. Now need find... Caretaker. Person who work, do burying here? Or is dig hole self?” Crylon considered the latter, wondering where he could find a shovel. And how much longer he could keep carrying the boy around, even with his with his will to endure struggles and effort. Endure, he thought to himself as a single worded command once more. It was, he reminded himself, as much physical as mental.

[Asterope]

Aster was surprised at her own delight when the man remembered her, and even seemed to know what she was. She listened to him explain what he was doing in Sunberth, glad for the distraction from the situation. Too much freedom? Perhaps he meant the chaotic, anarchistic nature of the city. She nodded silently when he said that it was perhaps better in some ways, remembering the room she'd been chained in during her time in Ravok.

Curiosity piqued in her as he mentioned two names; freedom to worship. "Izurdin and Priskil? Are they gods?" They must be, though their names were unknown to Aster. "Why couldn't you worship them in Ravok?"

She hesitated when he asked why she was in Sunberth, her hand reaching up to touch her collar. "I didn't choose to come here. I was taken as a slave in Ravok. Experimented on. Myself and some others. I guess they didn't need me anymore, because they sent me here." Her voice was bitter, despite her best efforts to keep her tone neutral as she retold the events as briefly and as clipped as she could.

Silence fell after that, and the Eth surveyed the graveyard as Crylon posed the question about digging a grave; Aster glanced around, lips pursed. Was there someone who took care of the graveyard? The headstones suggested perhaps there was. While he was being stoic, Aster couldn't imagine it was easy for Crylon to have carried the body this far; he must be starting to tire, at the very least. Digging a grave, especially without a shovel, probably wouldn't be best.

"I suppose we should at least take a look around first," she finally agreed, leading the way across the rocky but green ground, mindful of the grave markers as they entered the cemetery.

"Hello?" Aster cupped her hands around her mouth, calling out; her voice didn't carry far in the open space, and was drowned out by the steady crashing waves of the ocean nearby. "Is anybody here?" She had called out without thinking too much, feeling more secure so far from the city; but belatedly, she hoped that there was nobody unsavoury lurking in the graveyard.

Peering around, Aster squinted up at the cliffs that rose higher above the cemetery; she could spot a few stone structures, but only barely, and she wondered what was up there.

"That there's the Dust Bed Ridge," A deep, gruff voice sounded from behind her, startling her. Aster let out an undignified sound not unlike a squeak as she spun around. "I wouldn't be going up there if I were you, miss." The man who spoke was tall and built thick; muscular, likely from digging graves and hoisting bodies around. His face was weathered and wore a scowl as he stared down at Aster and Crylon, arms folded over his chest.

Aster glanced to the side at her companion, wondering if Crylon had seen the man approach or not. "What's up there?" She asked, instead, glancing back over her shoulder towards the cliffs.

"Nothing you want to be messing around with. The dead. The undead. You best leave them to their rest," he growled, walking over to Crylon. It wasn't exactly an answer, but Aster didn't say anything else as the man leaned down, lifting the cloak from the boy's face and grunting before straightening up again.

"Related?" He asked, briskly, beckoning for them to follow as he lead the way through the graveyard towards a shack that Aster hadn't noticed until now.

"No," she spoke, quietly. "Not to either of us." The walk was mostly silent as Aster hung back, following beside Crylon; the man made her uneasy, and she couldn't quite say why.

The smell of death hit Asterope like a wall as they reached the shack, and Aster gagged slightly; flies buzzed around, the smell of dried blood and rotting flesh like perfume to them. Not far away was a small pile of bodies and a wagon of sorts. "I was just getting to these 'uns," the man said. "Go ahead and put 'em with the rest, unless you want to dig 'is grave yourself." The last part seemed both serious yet mocking at the same time.

Aster opened her mouth to protest, then shut it with a soft click. Clearly, these were the customs of the city; if anything, it seemed like those who made it to the graveyard were already a step above some others. Still, the thought of dropping the boy's body on the pile of rotting corpses to be carted off and buried at a later time made her feel sick. But what was she going to do? She had no right to demand the man stop whatever he was doing to dig a grave for a street rat she hadn't even known.

Unless they were to dig the grave themselves, it seemed like this was the boy's last stop. "What do you think?" She turned to Crylon, uncertainty etched into every line of her face. Perhaps she needed to simply accept that the customs here were different. Death was so plentiful, nobody seemed to care; and the boy would still be buried. They had done what they could and made sure of that, at the very least.

If Crylon could also accept that Sunberth was simply a different place and leave the boy's body, Asterope would simply nod, murmur a thanks to the caretaker of the graveyard, and lead the way towards the ocean once the boy's body was placed, away from the stench of death and rotting; she didn't want to leave quite yet, enjoying the open space and fresh air.

If he disagreed and wanted to dig the boy's grave themselves, she would also nod, and approach the caretaker to request a shovel so that they could begin doing so.

[Crylon Stonecraft]

Crylon paused for a moment in his stride as the woman asked of Izurdin and Priskil. Priskil he understood, he had not heard of her till recently. But Izurdin? Someone not knowing him seemed as odd as not knowing what toes were, fingers, food. “Ravok is place of own god, not like others be worship. You have god, you worship? You worship there?” Shaking his head, Crylon continued onward. “Lord Izurdin. Is God of Strength. Of... make... Of Industry. He is God, is father, of Isur. We are all of him, his people. He gift make... Industry, to all people. not just his. Show how to make. With tools. Buildings. Boats. Plows. All of him, his gift.” “Lady Priskil. Goddess hope. Light... Radiance. Is not know of as long, but she blesses with... With hope. Of not give up. Of not give in. I plant seed of her hope, help it grow, when can. Believe in her, her hope, her sight. Not give in. Not give up. Even in city as this.” At her explanation of her reason for being here Crylon frowned. He had not known much of slavery since coming to Ravok years past, and still did not fully understand it he felt. Its reasoning. Its goal, to dominate and rule. The concept as a whole seemed... Flawed. Incorrect. Wrong, to Crylon. And yet so many, particularly humans, practiced it. “I is sorry happen you. If something can do, something can help, ask. If could be, would be not slave? What would do if not slave? What would need, to be not slave?” Crylon would grow quiet, giving the woman time to answer, not responding but considering her answers. Looking around the graveyard Crylon followed the woman, Asterope, watching for a sign of where to go. If Crylon had been a bit less exhausted, he might have noticed the man coming up. As it was he turned at the sound of the voice, his shoulders slumping as the man came up to them. He listened to Asterope and the man talk, not bothering to intercede. At least, not immediately. He did nearly snort in response to the mans question of if the boy was related. Asterope, clearly not human at the moment, and Crylon an Isur, could not be much more clearly not related to this human child. If it had not been so sad, such a waste, he might have found it in himself to laugh. He did not overly react to the smell of death, his head having grown a bit cloudy from his labors, feeling the need to sit down coming upon him. Just a short rest... A sit... Endure. a sharp reminder to himself. Regardless of the smell of death Crylon pulled himself and the child back out of the building, which even in his current state of mind he could see was decent by Sunberth standards but little else. Once outside he more collapsed as much as sat with the child still wrapped across him, finding the softest bit of ground and crashing his keister on it. The man continued to putter about as Crylon rested and Asterope asked her question. What should he do? Leave? Was he done? No. But he was also tired, exhausted, his body strained from the days exertions. If he could rest a few bells he would be fine, but... But no, he did not want the boy laying about dead until he could slowly scrape out a whole. Coming to a decision Crylon motioned for Asterope to draw near without rising. Reaching into his pack he focused on his money, and pulled out a small handful. Five gold rimmed mizas. “You know how, barter? Make... Deal? Negotiate? Take, and use. Help move boy to front list, yes? I rest. Start low, maybe two?” With that Crylon would lie back, adjusting the body to sit on the ground next to him in his wrapping while Crylon laid with him on the ground of the graveyard. Leaving Asterope to negotiate on behalf of their party.