(map made with Inkarnate [https://img.wattpad.com/ebe863b392c78c15e864a738dee09173a8d9fdef/68747470733a2f2f73332e616d617a6f6e6177732e636f6d2f776174747061642d6d656469612d736572766963652f53746f7279496d6167652f626e56517743525f525877656f773d3d2d313436303433393334382e313765316134663533396663636633613139353238383039343136302e706e67?s=fit&w=1280&h=1280]
The looming tower of the Purple City could be seen from all areas of the Heill Kingdom, even from Thevs, over the mountains. It was a beacon of hope and home for some. For others, the purple banners and constant smell of cinnamon from the ports was a signal of oppression. The trading routes expanded in the recent years, leading to economic power throughout the capitol.
Constre and Thevs were left in the wind when people migrated towards the capitol, leaving the farmers and peasants. The merchants, innkeepers, and craftsmen, even the clergy left the poor towns to pursue wealth.
Roaming bands of mercenaries, thieves, and ne'er-do-well's eventually infiltrated the towns. The economy in these towns depended on raids and other shadowy means of earning money. Drugs, sex, robbery, and murder were the new jobs that the farmers depended on to earn seeds for their crops.
This way of life began ten years ago. Since then, Constre and Thevs have all but disbanded from the government rule of the Heill Kingdom. But, people can only be pushed so far into a corner before they start fighting back.
\
Os watched the man struggle to sit upright in his chair. He had more mead on him than in him at this point of the night. For the man, the mead meant he was enjoying himself - probably celebrating a payoff for some raid or robbery. For Os, the slew of mead this man swallowed meant the perfect score.
The tavern, Black Hoof, was filled to maximum capacity as usual. Any time of day or night, people drank their lives away. Living until old age with a perfectly good liver was unheard of in Thevs - unless you were an outsider. However, outsiders never stay a full day in the town. They either pass through quickly or pass away.
Others, like Os, were addicted to the Greay. It was a nasty drug, one that killed more and more each day. Rumors spread that Constre had fallen to it, and nothing was left. The town bounce back, of course, with another band of mercenaries looking to settle down after a long life of being a bastard. Then, as usual, it would fall again because mercenaries don't make good town mayors. For those addicted to the drug, it was an itch that itched your bones. The only thing that could scratch it was another hit of Greay. This was Os' mission: rob the man of whatever coins he had left, leave the tavern, and get to his dealer. It was time to focus.
Os shuffled his way out of his chair at the end of the bar. He took a long breath, and began to weave in and out of the crowd. The bickering, laughing, kissing, and fighting amongst the tavern drunks would have made it hard for anyone to make it through to the other side, but Os was light on his feet, flexible, and a damn good dancer. His whole body never touched another person, except when someone was forcefully shoved into him. The commotion caused Os' target to look up, but it was merely a glance, and then he looked back down at his drink.
"Hey, Murte!" Os shouted over the noise of the people, slapping the man on his shoulder. "Long time, no see!"
The man looked up at the boy. Every time Murte saw Os, he experienced a pang of guilt and nostalgia. The boy was no older than his own son, who passed away from the Greay not too long ago. Their matching thick, brown hair and light stubble on the chins could have made anyone do a double take and mistake them for twins. Except, Os didn't have his son's eyes. His son, Hyndel, had his mother's eyes. They were piercing blue and -
"You okay," Os asked. "Are you crying?"
"N-no!" Murte wiped his eyes. "Jussh' allergees." His voice slurred as he realized he probably had too much to drink.
Os knew he was thinking about Hyndel. The two weren't the closest of friends, but enough to where Hyndel introduced Os to the Greay.
"Ho' esh yu' been? Ho's yur dad's farm?" Murte took another chug of mead, spilling it down his fiery beard, onto his tunic.
"Good," Os nodded. "He just planted pumpkin and some squash. Autumn's just around the corner." If Os was honest, he would have told him that his dad moved to the Purple City about two years ago. He was left to fend for himself and his addiction alone, as his dad wanted a better life. After his mom died, Os' father fell apart. He stayed sturdy for a couple years, because he had a sense of duty to the town as a farmer. However, it wasn't enough in the end.
If you come across this story on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen from Royal Road. Please report it.
"Who's got te' biggesh' farm now? Did yur' dad ever grew his landsh?"
"No, he didn't expand. I think the Oncler's have the biggest farm now." As a matter of fact, the Oncler's were the only farm in Thevs. The were the richest family in Thevs, as they controlled the crops and the food. People needed to eat, yet people also needed their vices. Which is why the Oncler's controlled the Greay trafficking, too. The oldest Oncler son, Tryn, was Os' dealer.
Of course, somewhere, Murte knew all of this. Must've overheard it somewhere, somehow. But he had spent all of his time drinking away the pain of his lost son, that he didn't have the brain cells to recall.
"Think I've ha' too much," Murte said, as he almost fell out of his chair.
"I got you," Os said, as he lifted the man by his tunic collar. Os slung an arm over his shoulder, and preceded to walk towards the back door of the Tavern. "Want me to just leave you outside?"
The man nodded. "Yesh, won't be able to walk - " Murte then preceded to vomit all over himself. "Leav' me by they stable."
The stables, thankfully, were just a few paces from the back door of the Tavern. Os found an empty one, with a pile of hay, and laid Murte down.
"Thank ye'," the man said. Os realized this was his chance. He reached down into the man's tunic to look from a bag of gold.
Murte flung his hand into his tunic, brushing Os' hand. If he were sober, Murte would have realized Os was trying to rob him. Murte pulled out the bag of coins from inside his pocket, and placed it in Os' hands.
"Take it," Murte said. "Jush' sho novody comes and robs me."
Os stared blankly at the man. That was...easy.
Os made his way down the alleys, towards his usual meetup spot with Tryn. The smell of tobacco, Greay, vomit, blood, and every human and horse excretion you could think of was present on the streets of Thevs. Some believed that's why the tavern was always so full, because the smell of mead was better than the smell of Thevs.
Tryn made his operation out of an old building. Nobody remembers what the building was called, but it had an oven in the back, so the common theory was either a bakery or a crematorium. The table that Tryn usually sat at to do his operations made pople lean in towards it being a bakery, but Tryn swears that the table wasn't there before, so the truth remains a mystery.
"Hey, Hyndel! Good to see you," Tryn smirked. He did this on purpose, as he knew Os wouldn't do anything about it. The tall blonde wore the best clothes in the city. He got all of his material from the Purple City, and liked to flaunt his power through being an asshole and expensive clothes.
Os threw the bag of coins on the table. Tryn reached in his expensive jacket, a dark purple color, and adorned with the crest of the Heill Kingdom, and tossed a small vile of smoke-colored dust to Os.
"This isn't the amount -"
"The price went up," Tryn said, almost sounding bored like he had already said this a million times that day. "Material from the City is getting costlier, making the price here go up too. By the way, who did you rob to get this?"
"Murte," Os muttered as he turned away to leave. "Hyndel's father."
Tryn let out a laugh. "What a piece of sh - " His voice was cut off.
"Where do you think you're going," a gravely voice said. Os turned back around, and a naked man held a knife to Tryn's throat. His eyes were black and the skin was grey, a common sight for Greay users. This is whay Hyndel looked like before he passed. These features usually indicated that the user took too much of the substance, and the drug took over. When used in moderation, the Greay became manageable. The user remembers to eat, sleep, drink water, and so on, but too much can cause what is known as Black Out. The only thought the user has is the drug.
"Greay, now." The man outstretched his had, the knife-hand not leaving Tryn's throat. Os placed the vile into his hand, and watched as the man opened it with a flick of his thumb, and dusted his eye. He let out a yell of excitement, dropping the knife. Tryn saw this as an opportunity. He snatched the coins off the table, and ran for it.
The naked man fell, and the floor, in pure bliss. Os yelled, and picked up the knife. His only source of happiness, escape, freedom, was stolen by this fiend. He held the knife to the man's throat, and wanted so desperately to kill him.
But he didn't. He held back, and resisted the urge. All he saw was Hyndel laying there, or what could be Hyndel. No, they weren't friends when he was alive, but he was the closest thing to a brother that Os had.
Clap. Clap. Clap.
Os spun around, expecting to see Tryn. But it was a woman, wrapped in dark clothes, and a dagger on her hip. She stood in the doorway of the dilapidated building. "Good, you showed restraint in your anger."
"Oh, come on, I don't have anything for you to steal." Os felt defeated, as even if the lowliest beggar was richer than him at the moment.
The woman smirked. "I don't want to steal from you. In fact, you could probably steal from me with those light feet of yours."
Os gave her a quizzical look, but decided that whatever this woman was talking about, wasn't worth his time. Os exhaled, and began to exit the building through a broken window since the woman was still in the doorway. He made his way down the street, leaving the building behind him.
"I saw you at the bar," the woman said. "Stealing that man's coins. The way you move and blend with the crowd is something we could use."
Os turned, looking back at the woman. Down the street, two other men stood near an alley way. One of them had Tryn by the throat. The other had the bag of coins. The man tossed the coins at Os, landing at his feet.
The man with Tryn by the throat spoke up: "Hey there, kid. We're looking for new recruits."