Day 12 of Winter, AV 511 Enric's Home/Workshop |
It wasn't often that Enric had visitors to his home. Occasionally a tax collector, even rarer was there a social visit. Hell, there was very few social visits in his entire life that he could recall. There was that one man the previous year that had come to preach the odd beliefs of some god named Tyveth, but Enric didn't care much for the gods, nor their disciples. Yet, besides the religious preaching visitation, Enric rarely saw anybody in his own home. Why? Well, the first, and most obvious reason, would be that his small apartment smelled like urine, for the very reason that he literally had buckets and barrels of it against the wall. He would give a morsel of food and a few swallows of water for any Dek that would come by, in trade for them to piss in one of these containers for him. It was disgusting to most, and at one point even Enric had difficulty stomaching through the stench and fighting down the gag-reflex. But that was long ago. Now the smell followed him, and the rare occasion that he actually is away from his home long enough to grow accustomed to other odors, they would seem foreign. Like fresh bread was a mystery. So yes, that was one reason, and a major one at that, that sculpted his life of solitude. Secondly, he was aggressive and angry all the time. Enric would claim to no end his place in life was unfair and harsh and cruel and he wasn't worthy of such a situation. He was a Chiet after all. And as a Chiet, he was treated lower than others. And as someone treated lower (and with the idea it was unfair and uncalled for), he was aggressive to anybody that believed in the social norms of Wind Reach... Which was nearly everyone. And that's where Enric was now. In his home, cutting strips of leather into large strips for future work, belts, straps, or bracelets most likely. It was pretty early in the morning, though early was never early to the ever hardworking Enric, when a rough rapping on his door was heard. A customer? Another religious zealot looking for donations? Surely the person could smell the stench of partially rotting flesh and absurd amounts of urine. "Come in." Enric called out without even bothering to stand up from his seat. His hands kept working, severing leather strips from the body of the well-prepared skin. To answer the door would be to halt production, which meant there was less to sell, which meant there was less to eat. Enric, he knew the dangers of winter, and he was dedicated to not starving this year. |
