Rhyson Halfhame's Plot Notes

[Rhyson Halfhame]

Gnosis Story For Night Stalking This story is mostly defunct, but there are bits and pieces of relevance. Mostly just names. Please consult the history as written in the Character Sheet for a concrete picture of Rhyson's actual history. Part 1 ~ Whole But Broken There's very few memories that children, especially babies can hold onto. That said, there are certain sensations and vague impressions that stick with a person throughout their entire life. Even if they were only felt for the briefest of moments, during those earliest of days... For Rhyson, it was the sensation of having both arms. Of having his left arm specifically. The Blessed Limb of Izurdin, the shaper of the world's wonders. When Rhyson was born, he was happy and healthy and as could always have been said of the Isur's children, strong as a bull. But something was wrong. Something was nightmarishly wrong. It stuck out just as much as if the boy had been born with two heads, or a harelip. The boy was markless. Unblessed. Cursed, even. 65th of Winter, 430 AV Irzin Vizerian was out of sorts. He was beside himself. He was floating above the clouds, disbelieving the farce happening beneath his airy façade. My son?!? Unblessed by the Mountain King? Our family's newest progeny, our most devout and zealous family? Irzin paced and paced, knowing that even as a minor relative in the clan, this would reflect badly on all of them. He could not even bear to look over at his wife, whose own Holy Arm cradled the babe. His son's arm had looked so frail. So weak. The moment that the birth had happened, the markless arm had been a naked sign of something terrible. To Irzin, it could only mean that the Father had lost faith in his creation. He eyed the midwife, the only other person to witness his shame, and kept pacing. The door was locked for now, under pretext of giving the parents time to acquaint themselves with their newborn, but soon there would be questions... Then the thought hit Irzin. Even a stillbirth would bring us less dishonour. He turned on his heel, towards the bed. It was still bloody and smelling of sweat. To Irzin's nose, it smelled of death. The look on his face was stony, and his wife Elzure saw it and flinched. She shook her head and shielded the boy with her Holy arm. Irzin scowled plainly then, partly at her resistance, and partly because he realized that others would see the markless corpse before he had a chance to burn the body. Elzure watched her husband's face twist in a series of ugly shapes, before settling somewhere between a frown and something resembling stoicism. "Illria, bring me a hunk of iron..." Her husband said, detailing its specific dimensions precisely. His gaze burned a hole in Elzure's chest, as he never looked away from her son –their son– as he rattled off the list of numbers. He finished by adding that they, "Would be needing an axe." "Irzin, what are you doing? Our boy needs your love and support now most of all. Come, hold him with me. It is what the Father wills for u–" "What the petch would you know about what Izurdin wants?!?!" Irzin shouted, causing Elzure to start from his interruption. Their child, for his part, began loudly crying. The two of them stared quietly at each other for a span of several ticks, with Irzin's hot anger bubbling on his end, and Elzure's cold disapproval radiating from her end. Finally, the silence (apart from the baby's crying) was broken by the door opening once more, and the Illria entered lugging a chunk of metal matching Irzin's description in her Holy hand, and an axe in her normal hand. "Were you discreet?" Irzin inquired, deigning to look away from his shame for a moment. Illria nodded matter-of-factly, and set down the metal before locking the door behind her. Irzin beckoned for the axe. "You will not harm a hair on his body Irzin." Elzure said in a low dangerous voice. She had shifted their son to be held in her off-hand, and despite the vigour of pregnancy having taken its toll, she looked prepared to use her Holy arm to make good on her statement. Irzin hefted the axe and looked to Illria, adopting a strong commanding voice, as though he weren't sweating through his tunic at present. "Illria, our Holy Father has seen fit to demonstrate that this baby is undeserving of his gift. To spare our family shame, we must see to it that he is properly..." Irzin's mask cracked, and a bulging vein at his temple suggested to both women that he was crumbling inward. Elzure glared daggers at Illria, but Illria was a Vizerian through and through, and being Irzin's second cousin, they were quite close. Loyalty, bought and blooded would prevail, Elzure thought sourly. "That he is properly shaped to our Father's wishes you mean, cousin." Illria provided, and she took the axe from his hands and approached the bedside. She gave Elzure a beckoning look as though to say, Give over the child, and Elzure paused a long moment. He would be bullied endlessly. Taunted. Made to live a life as hellish as any outcast, if not worse. It will be a mercy. A mercy... Elzure's pulse quickened as she brought her still whimpering babe across her chest to Illria's outstretched hands. His heartbeat was tapping away speedily, and she felt his breath warm against her skin. Vision blurry, Elzure released the child. Once she had, she brought her Holy arm down on the side of the bed hard. A cry of frustration escaped her lips and despite the fine Isurian craftwork of the bed, it cracked. At her wit's end, Elzure lost consciousness. ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ When Elzure regained consciousness, her first thought was of her baby. Her second thought was of what she'd done just before blacking out. A wave of terror, regret, and self-hate hit her harder than a hammer blow. She made some sort of strangled noise in her throat, and sat up. Illria was nowhere to be seen. There was a very small pool of blood dripping from the table across from the bed. And Irzin? Irzin was slumped in the corner of the room, head pounding. His lower lip was raw, bleeding, torn from where he'd been gnawing at it. His Holy arm and normal arm alike lay at his side completely still. The familiar tattoo that adorned his arm, that of a Priest of the Father, was now unusually short. To Elzure's shock, she spotted the blank skin where his third mark had been. His mark was gone. And was it her? Or was the second mark looking somewhat translucent? Elzure's attention was caught by the piece of metal Irzin had requested, which lay next to him. It had been fashioned to look exactly as their son's arm would have, had it been... Severed? Elzure's eyes burned as new tears seeped forth and she shuddered silently in the bed. Revulsion and amazement rocked her in twin bursts. Irzin, newly awarded with a third mark. So proud of his devotion to the Father. He had never been the best smith, merely an expert. And yet, he'd had this blasphemy within him? As a bearer of only the second mark, even she could sense the wave of the father's power washing over her from her place in the bed. Irzin had imparted into the arm a sense of having belonged to an Isur, specifically, their son. "Is he looked after? Has the doctor seen to him? What did you tell them?" Elzure asked. Irzin tilted his head back to meet her eyes, and with a last exhalation, he said, "Yes, his arm marked. Sickness infected. He...needed to be...to be saved...the arm..." Another rasping gasp and Irzin fell into his own sea of darkness. Elzure cried. Somewhere nearby, the screams of a baby could be heard echoing through the halls of the house. Alive. Markless. Unblessed. Cursed. Part 2 ~ Broken, Yet Sound Elzure never recovered from her part in Rhyson's maiming, and Irzin never recovered his favour in the eyes of the Mountain King. If it were possible for the lowest-hanging branch of the Vizerian clan to fall further, they did. And from the day he was born until he was nine years old, Rhyson was sequestered away with his family. A family that hated him, cared for him out of a sense of duty, and who took every possible chance to distance themselves from him. Nobody could ever answer the question of why Izurdin had neglected to mark their son. In fact, he was so seldom considered or brought up in public that both other families and his parents themselves began to refer to him as the "Forgotten One." It was a fateful day then, when Rhyson, then known as Idurno Forgefaith Vizerian, snuck out to see the city. 17th of Spring, 440 AV Idurno got out of his cot, and squinted. He must've gotten up extra early, seeing as the room was entirely black. He couldn't even see his hands in front of his face. Then, he blinked a couple times and the darkness lifted. Idurno could see the rays of light coming in under the door to his room, and he guessed at it being late morning. He could hear the sounds of dishes being washed in the basin outside, and the murmurs of voices. A voice, actually. Idurno sighed, and got dressed. The kitchen in the Forgefaith household was disorderly as per usual, with utensils and plates strewn about haphazardly. At the table, Idurno's mother Elzure sat hunched over. Her shoulders were shaking, and a rolling tone of voice emanated from under her crossed arms. She was having another conversation with herself. Idurno stood still and listened quietly. "The boy's been awfully good lately hasn't he? His beatings have stopped, and the husband has stopped paying him so much heed has he not? Yes he has, and the forgotten one has been very nice and hidden away. Very nice, yes. There will be little to worry on for a while now. Except that the husband is drinking even now, is he not? Yes he probably is, drinking and whoring his way through Vizerian. All the while proclaiming his devotion to the Father, and his pride in being an Isur faithful..." Idurno listened to her murmurs a while longer, before leaving the kitchen, a piece of bread in hand. She hadn't even noticed him grab it off the shelf. He made his way around the house to the back entrance and passed his parents' bedroom. He heard muffled noises, and the sound of moans coming from beyond the door. Idurno took a bite of the bread, and crept to the backdoor. He winced when the door creaked unimaginably loud. The muffled noises ceased. A whisper could be clearly heard. Idurno froze, standing stock still. The sound of padded footsteps on the stone floor grew steadily louder. Idurno watched his father's head peek out from the room, and a strong pungent stench of liquor wafted out with him. Looking one way, then the other, Irzin's bloodshot eyes settled on his son. A long moment passed, as Idurno returned the gaze, hand still on the door handle. Irzin squinted at the boy, and then lunged forward, snatching the bread out of his son's hand. Idurno yelped, and Irzin chuckled faintly. Mumbling about Izurdin's bounty, he turned around and re-entered his bedroom. The sound of him crunching on the bread faded away. Idurno opened the door, and left his house behind. The street was narrow but empty, and as he stepped out into the path, he noticed that the mountain's lights cast thick, silky shadows on the buildings nearby. On a sheer whim, Idurno turned down one street and followed it. The buildings, squat and nondescript seemed to reveal the character of their inhabitants. Idurno lived in a poor part of town, and it was not just his family whose means were less than might be expected. His hunger kicked in just then, and like a punch to his gut, Idurno keeled over. It was his nose that'd done it. He caught a whiff of roasted meat, combined with freshly-baked, slightly burnt bread. As he lay there, smelling the delicious scent, he became aware of somebody standing over him. Idurno rolled onto his side and saw a tall man with his face in shadow. "CHDLWIEDHAK IOWNALDJK AIWLDNW ATUJAWMNDO OWDALNJK." The man said, his voice making noises Idurno couldn't even begin to understand. Even more startlingly, Idurno thought he could see that the shadows clinging to the man's face were liquid, fluid, moving of their own accord. Then, Idurno blinked and the shadows were gone. The man was kneeling down to help Idurno up, guiding him to a nearby bench, sitting him down. A greasy sandwich with some variety of meat slathered in steaming sauce was produced, and Idurno devoured it. In a much more comprehensible, and compassionate tone, the man spoke, "You've been forgotten, haven't you little one? Tell me, what do I call you?" "I am called..." Idurno struggled to remember his name, since he heard it so seldom. It took him a long moment, but eventually he recalled it. "Idurno, Idurno Forgefaith Vizerian." The name sounded strange, alien even, to his tongue. "Oh is that what you're called? The Forgefaith boy, who lost his arm in infancy? That's funny, seeing as how most everyone I've cared to ask referred to you as just some little-remembered urchin by two hopeless souls in Vizerian Citadel's backwater." The man saw Idurno's expression remained neutral, and the deadness of his eyes struck him deeply. He had not realized to the greatest extent how little exposure this boy had had to the outside world until now. "No matter, my name's Rurdin Blackblade Sultros." If Rurdin had expected some light of recognition to show in the boy's eyes at the mention of his clan name, he was disappointed. "May I have some more food?" Idurno asked, stomach still growling away. "Of course my boy, come with me." Rurdin said, and he led the boy down the street towards the marketplace. It would be a long walk, and Rurdin would have much to tell the boy. ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ "And that woman there is called a blacksmith, and they make all sorts of objects out of metals. Mostly, they forge, forge is another word for making with metal, anyway they forge weapons and armour. Weapons are– Oh, you already know what weapons and armour are. Very good. And so then there is that fellow over there, and he's what you would call a busker, he plays music for people so that they'll pay him. Why aren't some people paying him? Well they clearly don't like his music. I can't say I blame them either, he's not very good." Rurdin went on, continuing to talk with Idurno. The boy, pale when Rurdin had come across him, had more colour in his cheeks. He was eager to learn more, talk more, and share his thoughts. Though still far less expressive than any nine year old boy had any right to be. Rurdin had not even begun to broach topics of the Isur themselves, such as the clans, the Church of Izurdin, or the race's special talent. Currently, the boy was tucking into some very expensive variety of salad mixed with sweetmeats imported from Kalea or some such region, no doubt. The pair were seated at some corner cafe near the market, and it had proven an ideal place to show and tell the boy about. Rurdin caught himself smiling, genuinely, not in an attempt to reassure the boy, as he watched him chomp down on the vegetables with enthusiasm. Another odd sight from boys his age, though perhaps less so given his skeletal frame. Idurno had not been getting enough nutrition. Rurdin would see to it that he was provided with better meals from now on– HKAUEON ILESNJKD OIWLA. "Yes, yes, I remember the task..." Rurdin muttered to himself. He made a small sign of appeasement, before giving Idurno a friendly pat on the head, to muss his air playfully. The boy jolted upright, mouth still full, and sat stock still. His eyes were wide, and Rurdin could feel the boy's heartbeat hammering away from across the table. A sour taste filled Rurdin's mouth, and he recognized a deep-learned fear that struck the boy at the mere touch of his hand. It made Rurdin sick to think about, the way the boy must have been treated, even now must still be being treated. He set about distracting both the boy and himself, pointing out a cobbler... Idurno listened intently, and before long, he had learned the names of a half-dozen professions, at least twenty new terms and definitions, and had a general sense of the local culture. If somebody had tried to quiz him on the spot, he would have failed miserably, do not mistake his learning for knowing, and yet the boy was absorbing everything Rurdin was saying keenly. The food was good as well, pleasantly filling the hole in his belly, along with making his tongue tickle with all the new tastes. In the back of his mind, Idurno wondered what had prompted this friendly man to take care of him, but mostly he was content to listen along and eat. This was so much better than he'd been led to believe. His parents, in their more lucid moments, had always told him that the outside world was terrifying, evil, and dangerous. Then, when he asked any question that challenged their stories, such as "Why are you both able to leave and come back no problem, if the world is so dangerous? Why does father leave for so long and so often?" The beatings would happen. Dark violent things that danced in the lower halls of Idurno's mind, and things he'd rather ignore. Sweetmeats were far nicer things to focus on after all. ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ The evening had arrived, and people were rushing through the streets this way and that. Most Isur were making the commute from their place of work to their residences, and Rurdin shepherded Idurno through the crowd with a hand on his shoulder. The sounds of commotion up ahead, of raised voices, and a loud crash rang in the air. Idurno couldn't see over or around the torsos of the people ahead of him, but soon enough the crowd parted. A figure, half-naked and red-faced, stood in front of them. It was Irzin, eyes wide, mouth frothing, and hair mussed. Rurdin squeezed Idurno's shoulder, and stepped in front of the boy. Rurdin stood ramrod straight, with his hands behind his back, where Idurno could see them. Rurdin's hands were empty. "You must be this boy's father. I'm honestly quite surprised you even thought to remember him. I was seriously considering taking him myself, and making him my protegé. Would you even care if he disappeared?" Irzin said nothing, but merely stalked forward, Holy Arm bulging visibly. The expression on his face for all the world resembled that of the bas reliefs of Izurdin carved into temple walls. The likeness was striking, and despite this drunken, malnourished, grasping man's base nature, Rurdin took a step back, startled. "GIVE ME BACK MY SON!" Irzin roared, throwing a heavy punch. The blow swung at Rurdin's temple and– Missed! At the last second, Rurdin had jerked out of the way inhumanly fast. And at the same time, the man jabbed Irzin with rapid-fire blows in the torso that were a blur. Idurno's father staggered, fell to a knee, and then collapsed. Rurdin cracked his knuckle back into place, grimacing as he gingerly rubbed at the swollen finger. "That my boy, is called Flux. I can teach you that too, should you express the desire to learn. I imagine there will be many techniques that require adaptation to suit your unique circumstances..." Rurdin fell silent for a few beats, all while Idurno stared slackjawed at his father. The great terror of his young life, felled in a mere two seconds. It was as though a man had just tore down his entire world, and held out his hand, offering salvation. Even now, the handsome man smiled confidently and knelt down in front of Idurno. "Now, I need to go. Urgent matters await. Are you going to come with me?" Idurno met the man's eye, and saw a cold steel in them. The man's friendly expression was... a façade? Why did this man have such a frigid look in his eyes? Idurno didn't know, but he shivered gently. A worry, fear of being at the mercy of those icy orbs, crept up into his gut. He shook his head slightly. Idurno's heart was in his throat. "He'll beat you. Mistreat you. Forget you. The only reason he came today was because he worries you'll bring trouble down upon him. He fears you'll rebel against him and expose him. Come with me, and leave this all behind." "He called me his son. For the first time since I can ever remember. My mother too, she needs my help. When she'll let me give it..." Rurdin examined Idurno for a long moment, and then stood up. "Fair enough." And he was gone. Idurno blinked, and the shadowman disappeared. Part 3 ~ Sound Shadow Silenced Rurdin was correct, for the most part, that after his short-lived freedom Idurno was cast back into his parents' oppressive clutches. But having tasted the outside, Idurno chose to read books, sneak out at night, and study his parents more intently. As he grew, and changed, and much of what lay within him lacked explanation, Idurno sought the answers to other questions. What did his father do to earn money to feed them? Where did the women he spent his attentions on come from? What secrets did his father guard jealously, as a banker with hoarded gold? And along the way, Idurno found the answers to many other questions. He joined up with a group of urchins who ran along the edges of the Citadel, pickpocketing and pranking hapless churchgoers. His father's paranoia around Idurno giving up the game left him after Idurno returned for the fifth time, guards absent. Idurno grew up wild, thirsty for new experiences, and hungry for a future. He even grew fond of one of the urchin girls, and they both showed each other the ins and outs of intimate affairs. Idurno's lack of an arm it seemed, was of little concern in that particular domain. At 19, Idurno and his gang were much less disposed to pranking faithful folk, and more likely to relieve them of their valuables, and only their valuables, if they behaved themselves. Of course, Idurno was still not worth shyke in a fight. In fact, he was their designated sneakspy. Sticking to the shadows, Idurno would case the area and check for trouble. When the coast was clear, he would whistle and the game was on. Idurno had also taken up pipeweed shortly after he had split with his urchin girl. He had one of his friends who possessed Izentor take his severed baby-sized Holy Arm and shape it into a pipe, polished iron that resonated strongly with a sense of himself in it. The Idurno-ness of the pipe would be ironic to him, when he finally learned the truth of things. Idurno had after all, failed to answer any of the questions that mattered to him. They were what burned him at night. He was practically a man grown, an Isur in full, save his Holy Arm, which now served the delightfully irreverent purpose of smoking. Thus, Idurno decided to let his gang go off on their own job on a certain day. He would have his answers, one way or another. 48th of Summer, 450 AV "So father, it comes to this?" Idurno asked, standing in the doorway to the hovel the Forgefaiths called a home. "You've lost your job? Lost your charm? Lost your faith?" The strangled noise Irzin made at that last suggestion drew a half-taut smirk from Idurno, but he was not finished speaking. "I've never had any trouble from anybody regarding my lack of a Holy Arm. Back when you used to talk to me, between beatings, when you could still catch me, you mentioned that endlessly. But petch me if I'm wrong, that doesn't seem to be a problem. In fact, you'll never guess who I bumped into on my way home last night." Irzin finally met Idurno's gaze. The two men stood in sharp contrast to each other, with the differences seeming almost comical to a neutral observer. Irzin was balding, with wrinkles piling on his forehead, looking for all the world like an old hound with the same jowls and dopey eyes. More than a decade of heavy drinking, combined with being the only member of the household to get regular meals, had made Irzin into a fat boulder of a man. On the contrary, Idurno had almost a decade of street living to thank for his lean physique, a full mane of ebony locks, and a face that had inherited the regal lines of his father, at least when that father had been young and fit. To make things even more stark, Irzin had shrunk in his old age while Idurno stood at his full height looking down at his father. Despite all this, it was in a gravelly alcohol-soaked tone that Irzin asked, "Who did you meet?" Idurno's wolfish smile shone in the dimly lit living quarters, and he flexed his arm, cracking each knuckle meticulously before deigning to answer. "Cousin Illria was coming by to see you." Irzin's blotchy face went ghostly pale at this statement, and he began to shake as Idurno went on. "She said she felt guilty for what she'd done to me at your behest. But then she recognized who I was, and she fled. I didn't bother to give chase. I'll track her down easily enough if I choose to. Me and the boys have a knack for finding people. I'm more interested in what she said. What did you tell her to do father?" Irzin looked back and forth, and then he cursed under his breath and called for his wife. And he called again. And again. There was no reply. Irzin blinked, unused to being ignored. Idurno pulled up a chair and sat across from his father. "You'll find her incapable of answering your summons, you old shyke-spinner. She's safe from you, and whatever the petch you did to her when I was born. I asked her who she trusted above all else, and she led me to one of your old friends. A faithful priest of the Mountain King. He's going to try to help her to heal. I don't know if she'll ever recover, but I do know that you'll never see her again. Now don't make me ask again, what did you do to me when I was born?"