Closed Among The Barbarous

[Razkar]

80th Day of Spring, 512AV
Syliras Docks
15th Bell

"This isn't a good idea, Razkar..."

The Akalak must have meant it, because he actually used his name, rather than just "Myrian". Technically, no passenger on the Cuttlefish was permitted to ask questions about the others, even their names; probably a holdover from Tonio's more shady days, Razkar assumed. But over such a long voyage, such information was inevitably ferreted out.

What surprised the Myrian more was the concern in Eranis' voice. He turned from Mrrko and regarded the towering Akalak. Well, towering to him, anyway. Even at six-and-a-half feet tall, Eranis was considered small by the standards of his people. But he more than compensated with his skill with his lakan, skill enough to make his behemoth of a cousin shut up and listen to him, and also his sharp mind. Now those furtive, intelligent eyes were marred by a furrowed brow and Razkar cocked his head to one side.

"I am not going to walk streets picking fight and killing Knights-"

"Good, because you wouldn't last a day-"

"But," Razkar continued, holding up a hand, "this is where ship makes port. I need to move on. Must get long way from here, so, must find work." He snorted and patted the gladius and ax at his hips. "What else am I good to do, hmm?"

"These Sylirans, they don't like Myrians, Raz," Eranis said, stepping forwards, urgency now thickening his voice. The Myrian turned back to his snuffling horse and continued brushing him, readying the faithful animal for their disembarkation. "They never have, and it's not like Riverfall where they'll tolerate you. Here, those Knights will throw you in the Tank just for-"

"The what?"

Eranis sighed, rolling his eyes at the interruption just as his flow was starting to find its groove. "It's like a jail. They take you off the street, put you in there, judge you and then cut your head off."

"Not place for trial, eh?"

"Well, no, there is a trial of sorts but... Razkar, this isn't funny!"

The Myrian still laughed despite that fact, settling his saddle bags over the creature's broad black flanks. Most of his possessions were packed inside, save for the important ones he wore on his body. Since he was entering the epitome of Mizahar civilization, he'd decided to wear his breeches over his loincloth, and even going so far as to wear matching leather shoes.

That was essentially the only concessions he made. His weapon harness, laden with gladius and ax, kukri and dagger, not to mention two lakan at his back... they were all there. Well, there but not all visible. You couldn't see the lakan or dagger because of his cloak.

Made of scalps sewn together.

Eranis shook his head and lowered it, pinching the bridge of his nose. Gods, how would this Myrian last even a day, an hour, a chime among these rule-crazy humans? He knew how to handle them - just speak politely and act like they're better than you, and they're easy - but Razkar? He had no such... subtlety.

"Eranis, I know you worry, but not need to. I will be fine." He paused as he finished loading his horse, sliding his bow and quiver into the saddle. "I have a plan."

"Oh, and what, pray tell, is your design?"

"My what?"

"Oh, gods, Myrian!"

"Fine, fine," Razkar said with a smile, letting his exasperated Akalak friend stew a little more. "I be serious. I will go to place where fighters are, and I will make name there. Once I have it, make easier to get work."

"Work as what? And do you even know where to go?"

"First question, as a guard, or... sellsword, whatever. You know is plenty of people want that. Second question, no, I know not, but you do."

"Excuse me?"

"Ah, Eranis," Razkar said with a note of gentle chiding in his voice, fishing something out of one of his saddlebags. "Not be so hard to see. I know you read much, and you are man that not come to a place he not know about. You know about Syliras. You know where such thing like fighters go. So?"

"You want my help?"

"Not question. Question is, will you give it?"

That question would have to wait, because at that moment a shadow the size of Mrrko blocked out the stairs to the decks and a gigantic Akalak topped with a grinning purple face appeared there.

"C'mon!" Turak said, as irrepressible as a child. "We're in sight of it!"

He was gone before he got an answer, of course, but the two he left below didn't quite share his enthusiasm. Eranis turned back to the Myrian, half in shadow thanks to the dank and light-less nature o the Cuttlefish's hold, and sighed slowly.

"We will continue this later."

"Yes."

With that Razkar patted his steed on the nose softly and promised he would return, following the Akalak up to the deck, stairs sway under his feet, light making him blink and then...

Then past the decks and the sails, below the sky (but only just), they saw it.

"Goddess... I... I never thought it would be so... so..."

"Yes." Eranis breathed back to the stunned Myrian, words a little more controlled but only thanks to his erudition. In truth, his soul was swooning as much as the savage's. "Tis the Stormhold, Razkar. It does have that effect..."

[Razkar]

He had no words for the sheer scale of what he was looking at. To say it was big would be like saying that the Valterrian was mildly upsetting. That Myrian Tigers were slightly hazardous. He saw the kep rise up and up and up and realized with a blasphemous shudder that it was bigger, much bigger, twice as tall as The Palace in Taloba, seat of Blessed Myri herself. And the walls, so huge and imposing, they just went on and on, stretching for leagues around, cording off the whole city in thick ropes of stone.

Razkar squinted... and his jaw dropped even more. There were three of them. Three separate layers of fortifications and towers, each on containing a plethora of buildings. He could already see them as the Cuttlefish breezed across the cool waves, cavernous warehouses in the shadow of the Stormhold appears as naught but barnacles on the hull of some great vessel.

And then they saw the Docks... and, well, that was a little easier to digest.

There was a whole fleet of boats and ships docking, unloading, loading or leaving, but not nearly as many in that vast tangle that was the Anchorage Flotilla. The Cuttlefish wasn't the largest by far, galleys and frigates gliding past them like surface whales, but under Captain Tonio's skilled direction, she weaved her way to a berth easily enough.

Not that the Myrian noticed. He was still gaping upwards like a hillbilly and perfectly aware of it.

"Er... Myrian?" There was repeated pressure in his shoulder. He should look down. And he would. In a moment. "Myrian?" Eranis lowered his voice sharply. "Razkar?! Snap out of it!"

"Huh?"

"I said, we're getting ready to dock. They'll need some help."

"Oh. Yes."

Help they did, for while they were paying passengers, certain responsibilities were expected of them. They had sailed all the way from Riverfall to Syliras, after all, given shelter and food every day, and now they strained and pulled and fetched and carried. Tonio and his crew of Svefra scurried over their vessel like the efficient little sea rats they were, Razkar marveling the whole time at their coordination.

Within a few chimes of entering the Docks wharfs, they were sidled up next to a berth, tied up and a plank had thudded down onto the stone walkway. Tonio and his first mate were bellowing orders, demands, threats, sweat already pouring down them as boxes and crates and sacks were stacked up on deck. Razkar could see workers already approaching them, little brown dots getting bigger and bigger as they hurried to unload the new ship.

And, notably, much cleaner-looking men with quills and parchment. Have to pay the costs of civilization, naturally, Razkar thought with a fang-toothed half-smile.

"You were saying?"

Razkar turned to find Eranis there, Turak already facing the city with his tree-like arms crossed, grinning around a thick root that he was chewing like a bull. His eyes were wide and smiled almost as much as his lips; he could not wait to get out there and find what he was looking for.

It took the Myrian a few blinks to understand the pensive-looking Akalak's words, and finally he nodded. "Ah, yes. We were talking. About place to go fight..."

"Fight?!" Turak said without any invitation (which was the norm), spitting out some foul-smelling root juice. "A season cooped up on in a floating stockade with nothing but ship rats and a horse for company, and the first thing you want to do is fight?! Gods, man, you're priorities are all over the place!"

Eranis just sighed again, that weary sigh Razkar recognized well: family is family, after all, and you can't just kill them. Satisfying thought it would probably be.

"Crude though he may appear, my cousin does have a point-"

"Bloody right I do-"

"although," Eranis continued pointedly after a quick glare, "I may be able to express it a little clearer. There are employment offices here you could visit, perhaps even the Knights, I am sure a warrior of your caliber would-"

"Not want to be a knight," Razkar said simply, and the lower-case "k" he put in front of that word was clear to Eranis. That was another problem the Myrian would have, he thought with some worry. He had only just learned about the Knights, and he wasn't awe-inspired like everyone else usually was. He was a warrior; so were they. That was where it ended, as far as he was concerned. "Want to get my name to city, get job on caravan, and head east. Going to City of Learning. Zeltiva, yes?"

"Yes."

"Can you help?"

Eranis saw the slightly-pleading look on the Myrian's face, and scratched behind his ponytail as he wrestled with his thoughts. Much as he hated to admit it, he had grown to like the Myrian, in a strange way. Though no scholar, he was not stupid, and his skills as a warrior were impressive. Many a day they had sparred and swung steel, bloodied each other and learned yet more. He didn't want such a... useful, individual to flounder in such a place as Syliras.

Because for all the shining civilization here, it's still dangerous, especially to outsiders.

"... I do know one place. I read about it." He ignored Turak's grunt, which seemed to scream "oh, big surprise, is that". "It's called the Anthonius Fighter's Pits. A lot of people train there. They hold matches and tournaments there, too. Run by a man named... ah... well, I can't remember. Begins with a G, I believe. That would... be a good place to start."

Razkar smiled and the timing could not have been better. Mrrko was led down to the stone berth by one of the Svefra, who was clearly nervous around the strange land animal with legs rather than feet. Razkar took the reins and the Svefra hurried away, Mrrko snuffling gratefully. He handed a heavy bundle to Turak, the huge man taking it with some surprise, opening his mouth-

"It is punching bag. I thought you could use. I do not need."

He turned back to Eranis, the crewman and workers seeming to avoid them... no, more than seeming. They were very aware of them, especially the tattoo-covered Myrian, and wanted no part of him, clearly. Razkar smiled, but it looked more like a grimace.

"I have nothing to give you, my friend. It seems there is debt."

"Myrian, there's-"

Razkar held up a hand and actually managed to stall the Akalak's words. He turned the placid Mrrko around and held out a hand, the two of them gripping wrists like warriors. He met his eyes and shed all suspicion from them. This man was worth more than that.

What looked out at Eranis was honest and grateful, and indebted.

"There is. You were friend. You helped. Balance must be made again. One day, we meet again, I think. And I will pay debt. Not argue. Not care if you not think so. I think so. So I will help." He jerked his head at Turak and favored the big, bullish bastard with a lopsided smile. "Don't get killed by jealous husband, Turak."

"Pfft. That'd only happen if I was caught, and that ain't gonna happen."

"As you say." The Myrian started to turn, glanced at Eranis once more. "May Myri guide your hand-"

"-and Dira your blades."

Razkar gave him a pleasurable smile, face full of filed teeth so at odds with the genuine happiness as the barbarian replied to the Myrian's own peoples' ancient farewell to each other. He nodded.

"Go well."

Eranis watched him walk away. He did not expect him to turn back, and he didn't. With his scalp-fashioned cloak swaying at his waist, his weapon harness clinking with the metal sheathed in it, his ponytail bobbing behind his head, tattoos snaking and curling and screaming out at the world from his dark skin... the Myrian strode away.

Then, when he was small and almost lost among the roiling chaos of the docks... he stopped. Stopped and hauled himself into the saddle.

Razkar turned, and raised a hand. Eranis raised it back, Turak following suit.

Then the Myrian was gone, swallowed up by the stone and commotion as if he never was.

[Razkar]

"Er... why do you want to know, exactly?"

Usually, Nathan had no trouble assisting travelers with directions. Syliras was a sprawling and complicated warren of buildings, many built in the ruins of others, or on top of others, some businesses changing locations so often it was baffling. Men like him were expected to instruct as much as observe and protect and, well, he enjoyed this. It made him feel valued, a vital part of a sprawling organization that bought order to the world.

However, with the latest traveler that questioned him in accented but surprisingly accurate Common, he was less than forthcoming with his answer.

This may require some explanation, but foremost among his reasons was the fact that the traveler in question was a Myrian.

"I have heard that it is good place to train." The stranger said, smiling but with his lips still pressed together, eyes crinkled at the corners, radiating good-natured affability. "I have been on ship for long time, so want to... as you say, brush up? Yes! Good words."

Nathan exchanged a glance with his partner Harald and his flickering eyes took in the stranger once again as he sat on the jet-black horse. Perhaps six feet tall, wearing leather breeches but bare-chested, he looked every inch the savage that Nathan had heard stories about when he was a snotty boy. Tattoos of tigers and strange, multi-armed women, bizarre patterns and burns, not to mention more scars than he could ever count, covered all the skin available to the eye, except for his hands and face, apparently.

Though the latter was pierced enough times for it to hardly detract from the image.

But what was drawing Harald's older and more critical eye was the amount of steel on the savage. Three weapons that he could make out, and he probably had others. An ax, a gladius, a kukri, a bow on the horse... and this one definitely had the easy air of one who knew how to use them.

Nathan trusted smiles. Harald trusted eyes. And this one's told him that he was being polite because he didn't want trouble, not because he naturally was that way.

"Myrian, are ye?"

"Yes." The Myrian bobbed his head a few times. "From jungle. I come to explore world. I hear Syliras is great city, so, here I am. Now, these Fighting Pits...?"

"Not going to cause trouble are you?"

Razkar couldn't resist, damn him.

"Think I would tell if I was?"

Harald's eyes narrowed and Nathan just looked put out. The Myrian rolled his eyes internally, while keeping his face smiling and bland. Goddess, give him strength, what he had to do to get around these stupid petching barbarians! So he just shrugged amiably, like he'd seen others do, and chuckled without showing his teeth.

Goddess knew they'd only shudder.

"Only kid, friend! Make joke. Not be so serious. I not plan to cause trouble. I just wish to train. Have heard Fighting Pits are good place."

Harald "hmph"-ed, but really had no reason not to be polite here, and neither did his young charge. Too bloody eager, though, was Nathan. He shrugged and nodded to the younger city guard, who straightened immediately, voice as authoritative as he could make it as he pointed down the street.

"It's down Winthrop Alley, you'll see the signs on the street. It's got a sign over it, too, with it's name. It's set in a big factory that got destroyed, gods, years ago. Now Gerard owns it."

"Mister Anthonius, to you, lad!"

"But Gerard said-"

"Look, just because he gives you a free lesson now and again doesn't make you mates!"

"Oh, fine!"

Razkar let this peter out before he continued, lest he be skewered by that pike the older one carried. They looked jumpy enough to do it. Finally, when their eyes were back on him, he dug his ankles lightly into Mrrko's side and nodded his thanks, words coming out in his native tongue with a warm smile.

"May Myri never let either of your morons breed."

"'ere, what did that mean?"

Razkar was already calling over his shoulder, bobbing slowly down the crowded street as the gate through the wall to Winthrop Alley vanished over him, and the relatively open sky of the district was granted to him by the guards.

"Blessing for you and you children!"

"Oh! Thank you!"

Razkar turned and smiled wider. This time he used his teeth, and moved with a purpose to somewhere he could swing some steel...

Continued here

[Accolade]

Razkar

Experience

Skill	XP Earned
Negotiation	+ 1 XP
Acting	+ 1 XP

Lores

•	Lore Earned
•	Syliras docks: Location
•	Work: Do what you love
•	Anthonius Fighter's Pits: A place to train
•	Playing the part of civilized man

Notes :

Good thread and welcome to Syliras! I liked this thread, and the way that you described Razkar's view of the city, and also the interactions with the NPCs.

The Sylir has spoken

If you have any questions or concerns regarding your grade, please send me a PM and we can figure it out.