33, Summer 519 AV
The closer Baelin got to his destination, the more brands he started to see. Triangles and circles filled with varying amounts of ink―the mark of the Sun’s Birth. The telltale signal that he was indeed nearing their refuge.
Baelin had been on the fence about coming here for the last several days, ever since he caught wind that the gang’s combat training was open to the public. Much to his continued detriment, Baelin was a woefully bad fighter. Now that he was living in a place filled to the brim with the desperate and poor, he was all too aware of just how much of a liability that was.
He still wasn’t sure if walking straight into a gang’s training yard was such a good idea. But Baelin had already decided to do it, and any more arguments were powerless against the might of his stubbornness.
Baelin got as far as the first guard-post. A man with three ink-filled triangles moved to stop him and said, “Hold up, gotta check you first.”
At Baelin’s confused frown, the man snorted. “C’mon, now,” the guard rolled his hand in a circle and grinned, “Do a little spin and show me some skin.”
A second guard groaned, “Can you not?” She stepped forward, ignored the mock-offense of her colleague, and grasped Baelin’s right wrist. The woman―two ink-filled triangles―made to pull his arm up. Baelin willingly obliged, raising his limb for her scrutiny. She twisted his wrist palm-up and squinted at the black scythe resting among callouses. “What’s this?” she asked, “Some new gang come up?”
“Nope,” the first guard chirped, “That’s Death’s mark. Jebediah’s got the same.”
The woman’s face was carefully blank, and Baelin got the distinct impression she hadn’t a clue who her fellow guard was talking about. The other guard apparently did too, since he bust out into a full-fledged grin and teased, “Never been up to the Dust Bed? Don’t you know nothing?”
She scowled and dropped Baelin’s hand. “I know Matt went to Brega’s last night.”
His smile instantly fell and she smirked viciously, “Yeah, had a right good time I imagine.”
The atmosphere between the two grew so thick it was almost suffocating. Whatever this was, it wasn’t anything Baelin wanted to be a part of. These two seriously needed to work on their interpersonal skills. While the pair were busy with their stand-off, Baelin slowly backed away.
He got less than two steps before the woman spun around and the man barked, “We ain’t done checking you.”
Baelin obliged as quickly as possible, pulling his pant legs up and yanking his shirt out of the way to demonstrate that the only thing marring his skin were patternless scars. Satisfied, the pair waved him forward. Baelin didn’t hesitate, getting away from whatever that drama was as fast as he reasonably could.
He had chosen this time to arrive since, supposedly, this was when the Sun’s Birth held their group lessons. There certainly seemed to be enough people milling about the training yard; people clustered into small groups and chatting with each other as they loitered. Baelin hung back, feeling out of place and trying his very best not to draw too much attention to that fact.
The closer Baelin got to his destination, the more brands he started to see. Triangles and circles filled with varying amounts of ink―the mark of the Sun’s Birth. The telltale signal that he was indeed nearing their refuge.
Baelin had been on the fence about coming here for the last several days, ever since he caught wind that the gang’s combat training was open to the public. Much to his continued detriment, Baelin was a woefully bad fighter. Now that he was living in a place filled to the brim with the desperate and poor, he was all too aware of just how much of a liability that was.
He still wasn’t sure if walking straight into a gang’s training yard was such a good idea. But Baelin had already decided to do it, and any more arguments were powerless against the might of his stubbornness.
Baelin got as far as the first guard-post. A man with three ink-filled triangles moved to stop him and said, “Hold up, gotta check you first.”
At Baelin’s confused frown, the man snorted. “C’mon, now,” the guard rolled his hand in a circle and grinned, “Do a little spin and show me some skin.”
A second guard groaned, “Can you not?” She stepped forward, ignored the mock-offense of her colleague, and grasped Baelin’s right wrist. The woman―two ink-filled triangles―made to pull his arm up. Baelin willingly obliged, raising his limb for her scrutiny. She twisted his wrist palm-up and squinted at the black scythe resting among callouses. “What’s this?” she asked, “Some new gang come up?”
“Nope,” the first guard chirped, “That’s Death’s mark. Jebediah’s got the same.”
The woman’s face was carefully blank, and Baelin got the distinct impression she hadn’t a clue who her fellow guard was talking about. The other guard apparently did too, since he bust out into a full-fledged grin and teased, “Never been up to the Dust Bed? Don’t you know nothing?”
She scowled and dropped Baelin’s hand. “I know Matt went to Brega’s last night.”
His smile instantly fell and she smirked viciously, “Yeah, had a right good time I imagine.”
The atmosphere between the two grew so thick it was almost suffocating. Whatever this was, it wasn’t anything Baelin wanted to be a part of. These two seriously needed to work on their interpersonal skills. While the pair were busy with their stand-off, Baelin slowly backed away.
He got less than two steps before the woman spun around and the man barked, “We ain’t done checking you.”
Baelin obliged as quickly as possible, pulling his pant legs up and yanking his shirt out of the way to demonstrate that the only thing marring his skin were patternless scars. Satisfied, the pair waved him forward. Baelin didn’t hesitate, getting away from whatever that drama was as fast as he reasonably could.
He had chosen this time to arrive since, supposedly, this was when the Sun’s Birth held their group lessons. There certainly seemed to be enough people milling about the training yard; people clustered into small groups and chatting with each other as they loitered. Baelin hung back, feeling out of place and trying his very best not to draw too much attention to that fact.
