Faus awoke a bit disgruntled, wishing he stockpiled more discarded cloth to fix the bedding a bit more.
Prior to his memory coming back in full, the guard had been more weary of their posts at the cart of discarded clothing. It wouldn’t be a problem if nothing came of it, but there have been whispers of people disappearing, at least he didn’t see some of the older nannies. The ones that took bundles of cloth and reformed it into something usable for the families and orphans that knocked on their doors, living off by the donations people would give for their generosity.
Faus wasn’t so involved, the skill was one of the first to return once he left the orphanage… though, he guessed, kicked out would be more appropriate. Babbling like an idiot roused many voices of concern.
The other children were distant, whispers were being spread. To save themselves and their coin purse, he was flushed out. Though he wished it wasn’t so close to winter, having it had a hand and pushing forward this knitting practice.
He could still remember the days when the chill blew through, missing his thimble and punctured his skin. Yelping in pain.
It was a bittersweet memory compared to his “older” self. Thriving with the zeal of retribution, to silence the aches in his bones.
When everyone abandoned their homes. When the children needed someone, a hero, he was left with the challenge to take hold. The old man trying to be a young and spry wonder boy. The fool he was, still is, but at least he looked to be one. Seventeen? Eighteen? A young man did many foolish things at his age.
If he was this young when the revolution happened he would have joined in a heartbeat, instead of searching for a Rift of his own.
He recalled— the troubling times. One that cast a great shadow over the poor and crippled, playing their little games. Trying to squish out the lives within the gutter for whatever reason; the sight, smell, property, taxes— it didn’t matter.
The memories were turbulent, and the pattern laid bare before his two lives. Such little progress has been made, as nothing was quite out in the open as it once was. But perhaps that was a detriment, allowing people to be blind for far longer than they should be?
A burning desire filled his young heart, the will of an old man spurred by a young body. Before it was put on the shelf.
Perhaps not here, and most certainly not now. But… he could do something, later on— down the line.
Faus frowned.
Though it won’t be easy. Not in this age, nor in this palace of rubble. He needed a plan, one that wont trouble his heart in this lifetime.
Faus sighed, there was a lot to prepare for. He was going to get little sleep wasn’t he?
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Faus set to the easiest task that he could think of, fishing for Splints.
There were three ways Faus knew to manifest his Thame; either, bond to an Avatar, have another’s sacrifice part of their power to stimulate a reaction, or arrange a formation.
Unless he got lucky, he would have to settle for the third. Though with how he remembered the city; the lighter pressure in the air, it was looking to be a challenge.
Splints were rare, but certainly not nonexistent, in his time; mundane items with Thame were a plethora if one just paid the slightest mind to searching. Faus couldn’t recall the countless times he wished he knew such things in his youth, but secret as it was. Plundering hidden libraries, certainly was a boon for the revolution.
But as he continued to feel this world with his refreshed mind, he couldn’t help but feel this becoming a gambit. He swore that the air felt lighter, thinner, with power. But that could just be his senses out of it… right?
Faus wore his best clothes, and washed his hair out to be at least presentable. He eyed one of his makeshift knives, feeling its edge, finding it acceptable. Stowing the knife under his clothes— he stared at the rest.
Better make it two, he thought.
Though he wasn’t proficient at any Dagger Style, it served him well enough when getting ambushed in close corridors.
With barely a lick of light, Faus left his abode shrouded better than he arrived. Padding off the dust from his clothes, he made his way to the morning market without a cloud in the sky.
The noises were subtle among the street merchants. Their appearances weary, practicing for the day of exaggerated smiles— as much as time had passed, there was nothing new about the way of life. Stalls setting up in a routine of wood and cloth, shops plastering signboards of their wares high above their doors. Hells, the only thing different was the amount of glass windows, seemingly every third building had at least a pair.
Times did change, but the people didn’t seem to; colder, distant in some ways, it felt like things have regressed… he didn’t know how to feel about that.
The stalls were the first to be set, the light of dawn just passing over, as more people funneled to the streets.
Mothers mostly, with empty baskets for their own foodstuffs. His stomach grumbled slightly, a shiver spread through his bones and thin muscle. A far cry from any moment in his old life, where he didn’t know the feeling of starvation till he was well past his prime.
His hand placed along his stomach, he could wait for the biscuits and jerky later. He needed to find some trinkets, or at least what could slip through an appraiser's eye. Someone that had a host of knickknacks that he could sort through.
It wasn’t long before he found a small stall, with a grumpy old man.
“What you looking for boy?” The old man asked, eying him harder than he eyed his wares.
“Just looking around for the moment,” Faus replied.
The man leered, “Do you even have the coin for a purchase?”
Faus’s attention shot up and bore through the merchant, “Do you call every prospecting customer a thief?”
The man gruffed, “Only if they look it.”
He snorted, ignoring grump entirely. Feeling through the sets of fine fiber, twisted metal, melded fixtures of broken glass…
Faus sighed at the selection, “Do you have anything else?”
“Like what?” The man raised a brow.
“Perhaps something foreign, or strange. Maybe unique is the right word?”
“Mmmm… I do have a box of broken and aged pieces.” The man's eyes changed, younger, appraising him more than before. “What you need em for?”
“A present,” Faus replied readily.
“Then why you here? I’m sure your lady would like something better than broken junk.”
Faus guffawed at that one, “You think I’m a thief and yet you believe I have a woman I fancy?”
The man blinked, “Oh… then?”
“Family.” Faus lied.
The man, for a moment, smiled. “Sorry boy. Thought you were one of those “artists” types wanting to whoo a girl.”
“If I wanted to “whoo” I would have gotten to a pub,” Faus deadpanned.
The man broke a note higher. “Ain’t that right boy— Ain’t the world so unpleasant.”
Faus looked around, the silence that followed was a bit uncomfortable. But the people near bore brief smiles, and then, like lightning, it went in a flash. Before they went on their own way, the brief lapse of joy sunk to brittle, and locked itself in a hold far too familiar.
The slam of a crate broke him out of it.
“This all I got.” The man smiled, “Feel free to look.”
“Thank you,” Faus went shifting through, feeling for the signs.
Items of Thame, to his knowledge came in three types.
Splints were naturally at the forefront. Heirlooms; were items that were made directly from proofs awarded through trials. And Equipment; was man-made items of Thame, crafted by a mysterious groups.
Oh, how he wished it to be so simple, an Heirloom or piece of Equipment could be used as a formation itself. But alas, he had to rely on a few tricks.
Because how could a man not be a Seeker and yet sense the flow of Thame. In truth, reality was difficult to admit when he first learned of it. That everyone could sense the flow of Thame, only they were blind, lacking attention at the focal points of sensitivity.
Faus, in the shadow of his movements, kept pressing the trinkets deep into his wrist. His mind was split in motion, keeping the motion as natural as he could— he paused, a piece of metal tickled.
Faus smiled.
Masters could use these pressure points as a funnel to open the path for their apprentices. Though it was not usually done this way— the back was the more preferred option, but it was possible.
Regardless he sifted to the bottom of the crate.
He managed to find two trinkets— well three; a necklace, with a broken wing of rusted iron, along with the worn thick string itself, the other was a single clothespin. He threw in a few more truly mundane items to keep the suspension off of him.
Because, What kind of person buys just a single clothespin?
“This it?” The man asked.
Faus shrugged, “Its part of what I need for the moment.”
The man blinked but gave a shrug of his own, “Seven Copper.”
A little pricey but… “I won’t haggle.” The old man’s eyes gleamed in victory. “But— only if you tell me where I can find similar wares.”
The victory degraded, realizing that Faus wanted more than what he had.
“Deal.” The old man replied.
They exchanged coins, and contacts around the city.
Faus internally smiled, he had five more stops ahead of him for the day. His stomach grumbled… maybe he’ll celebrate a little today, get himself an actual meal to fill the void.
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It was lunch, for Faus at least, everyone else likely already ate. Going onwards to an early dinner for those that could afford the extra food.
The time proceeded fruitfully, adding two more stops to his route ended him in gathering fifteen items with at least some Thame. But it was troubling, each time he found an item his worries only grew. For even the greatest item within his pouch only had half of the Thame of what he was used to in the markets of old.
Seekers still existed— that much he was certain. His head recalled the brief whispers of a giant stone ogre, and a sorceress of rain— Avatars, still having their prominence carry on in the current age of conflicts. But they didn’t come here, there was only a rumor of the Head of the Marsal Family— the Lord of this city, and his few knights being Seekers themselves.
The fact that there was a belief they weren’t was truly strange. Back in his old time, one couldn’t rule without their subordinates being Seeker, much less the lord and his family themselves.
Faus didn’t believe it, it was more likely they were hiding their power. But that fact they could do so, and to this extent, without being challenged added colors to the situation.
A picture was being painted as he pieced his thoughts together about the region, and in turn, the world.
He didn’t like it for a single second.
His time drifted to the last few hours, surveying some clothing shops he had been eying. Run down, broken places, for how much customers were buying. He was sure to come back soon, but his thoughts lingered taking in their sights.
It wasn’t until he had a set mind to come back home did they whisk themselves away.
He needed to be attentive on these streets.
The people began to fade, the streets got smaller, and dusk was near night. He had made it through the worst bits, the part where he was jumped by other boys— young men, into the bare district of coin.
Things were going swell— a crack struck him out of it. Instinctively he jutted himself against the closest wall.
Another crack followed, only this one came with a muffled scream.
Faus’s heart wailed against his chest. The memories of war; shifting through the thick forests to lose their adversaries peeked his mind, but he took a familiar step. Slow, and steady, pressing his luck for any bit of intel he could gain.
He held his breath, his ear almost hooking the alleyway. Hearing the barest of whispers.
“Next time watch out for rats.” A gravelly voice commanded.
“Sorry boss.” A plain one replied. “New to the post.”
The gravel scoffed, “We’ll be out after the last two are moved. But we cannot afford another one, at this rate the slopes will get suspicious.”
“Aye, sir.”
There was a pause, the voices went quiet. Then, footsteps sounded from the alley, they were coming closer… And closer…
Faus matched the steps with leaps and ducked to an adjacent ally.
“Clear.” He heard the plain one, before the steps retreated.
There wasn’t much cover but the alleys. He peeked his head to the main street, but no one was there, a brief shuffle and a grunt; like someone was trying to fit something too big for their sack.
Faus took a breath, fastening his clothes tighter so nothing would click. He went low, one the balls of his feet, shifting back the road he came and into the discord of alleys till he heard the noise of a tavern, and the lights of full business.
He slumping against the side of a building, finally able to take a whole breath.
Assassins? A Gang? Psychopaths? Faus’s thoughts swirled with ideas of what just happened, but nothing seemed right.
For as much as the slums were lawless, killings didn’t really happen. There was nothing to gain over people that were fighting starvation. Unless it was something personal— the slums is where people would hide.
Besides the group of young eavesdroppers, there weren't really any organizations in the area. Well… discounting the guards.
Faus paused.
He thought of their actions— strange, the dead were never covered up.
They would be found and picked up sooner or later, with a whole squad standing at the site. Information was relayed, of how they died— if it looked like a murder, they had no problem saying so.
The guards didn’t care, the people here didn’t bother for more than a week. So long as their wasn’t another killing in the time, everything would die down.
A chime went off in his mind, Faus got up. He needed confirmation, and a broker, so he booked it.
The way back was long, dusk nearly upon him when he put his valuables within the chest. Anxious to work on his Thame, but that can wait. If their were doing anything remotely like a sweep through these slums then he was a sitting duck.
He changed his clothes to something more ragged, messing up his hair, and covering his face with splotches of charcoal. Setting off to trudge on a familiar street, keeping an eye and ear to everything— looking aloof as he went.
Faus passed the ally, his attention lingered barely for a second, but it was clear.
There was nothing; no blood, no signs of struggle. In fact, the area looked just a bit cleaner than the other stones.
His heart picked up pace, but he kept appearances, until he faded into another alley. He ramped up his steps, until he was booking it to lose the imaginary ghost.
Sweat beat down his brow as the moonlight light breached the clouds. He needed some answers— the sooner the better.
He sighted with regret. Set on returning to the place where his experience had proved useful, but ever increasingly tiring. Where his memories surged with each instinct he pressed on the job.
He wondered if he still had some name for himself with the old woman.
Faus went off. Deeper into the slums, where the homes were the most deprecated and the streets littered with large pieces of rotting wood. Though a single structure stood out, rotten and falling apart, it still had a roof. Just as it had all those years ago, when this area was still his home.
There was no door, he stepped through, the sounds of creaking boards announced his presence. And sure enough, a small figure stepped out of the shadows.
“Who are you?” The young boy asked.
He was blind in one eye, while one of his hands was slightly deformed, but was taller than he thought. Then again, the teller was always paid more. Perhaps things could have been different if he retired to the role, even if it only lasted for a year.
“Is Agatha still running the place?” Faus asked.
The young man filched, “Who— who are you?”
Faus sighed, waving the kid off. “Just tell her Fritz is here.”
“O- Okay.” The kid replied, silent as a mouse went.
A few minutes passed, a larger-hunched figure stepped into the moonlight with not a sound. Agatha’s clothes were well worn, as was her appearance; wrinkles and greys. All of it spoke to a tireless woman who fought off the turn of the clock with ease.
Her eyes scrutinized his appearance, before they went wide. “Fritz? I thought you left this city?”
He smiled, “Oh? And you didn’t hear about me at all through these years?”
“Bah,” She waved him off. “There are countless people with your description, besides you were quite good at staying out of trouble.”
“True,” he stepped closer till they were nearly face to face.
Agatha tensed, no doubt ready to signal in case something happened.
He relaxed his pose, and took a breath. “I need information.”
Agatha’s shoulders released a bit of stress, but an eyebrow rose. “You looking for information? Thought you would like to spend your time sneaking into the library?”
“Ha-Ha, very funny.” He replied, as the old woman chuckled. “But this is serious.”
“How serious?”
Faus leaned in, regardless of Agatha raising her hand— ready to command. He whispered, “Serious as the guards coming in to sweep the Slopes to just cats and vermin.”
Her eyes shook, as did she lower her hand. “Tell me what you know.”
So he did everything about the encounter.
Agatha’s knees nearly buckled if not for Faus giving an arm for her to grip. Her fingers dug, nearly taking blood.
Her breath was shallow, a muffled wail escaped her lips as the tears fell.
“Sarah… our Sarah…” She repeated.
Faus tried to keep her steady, but he didn’t know what to do.
“Mum?” The teller boy came out of the shadows, holding a makeshift crossbow. A group of them mangled children followed, emerging into the light, armed with crude weapons of their own. “What’s wrong?”
Agatha raised her blood shot eyes to look at the boy, “Sarah’s been killed Owen.”
Their was no handhold to the truth here, the child shook taking a step back— they all did.
“What…?” Owen’s one good eye went far. Turning to Faus, a burning desire for it to be a lie.
Faus said nothing, but it was enough for all of them to shed their tears.
In the obscure old home the children cried with the woman that gave them some hope in their lives. They mourned for a life he never knew, but felt their pain as they held their mouths shut with their hands. Unwilling to make another sound.
Faus didn’t know how long it took for Agatha to recover, let alone all of them. Only the room began to become emptier, leaving only the two of them left when Agatha asked for them to bring a couple chairs to rest.
So returned the peace, if it was only silence.
“Apologies for—“
“Stop,” Faus interrupted. “Please... just, its okay…”
Agatha paused, but she smiled. A brittle thing, “Thank you Fritz. You always did have some more heart of those that quickly left.”
Faus scoffed, “So… I take it my theory is true?”
“Yes… it would appear things are lining up to be so.”
“Why? And how?— What do they have to gain from doing any of this besides unsettling the populous at large?”
Agatha sighed. “We are not some special brokers. The city is too small, and the lack of Thame attracts no people of interest.” They were more gossipers, taking bits and pieces from everywhere to form some drama. Rarely did they go out of their way for some critical information. “But, about two months ago a carriage arrived bearing the mark of the Dudley House; the noble superiors of the Marsal Family.”
Faus didn’t really get noble politics, not in either time. “So?”
“So, the Marsals have always been the ones to adhere to Dudley's requests. Traveling themselves, not the other way. Something was happening.”
He raised a brow, “And you investigated it?”
“I forbid it,” she replied sternly. “Nothing good ever comes if you tangle with nobility.”
“Then I assume your little helpers didn’t listen?”
Her sigh looked drained, “Yes… with what we’ve been overhearing it looks like the Dudleys are going to try to set up some military front at the city.”
His attention peaked, “Why?”
“We’re on the border of the Kasron and Tarelia Kingdoms. Though Kasron is relatively reserved, they are still an opportunistic land. Just as our own, though ours it not a calm history— aggression could be said to be a staple of the kingdom. Even in my day, before I “settled” down here, there were whispers amongst the nobility for expansion.” She huffed, “And it finally beginning to look like the peaceful decades are coming to an end.”
They continued for a bit longer, learning, before shifting the tone to drown the nihilism with some pleasant talks. Reminiscing on the brief time he was working with her, she spoke like an elder to a child only just growing up. It was… strange and familiar, the kindness in her eyes returning with each exchange.
He saw himself in her eyes, not of an old fool, but a bright young man. Filled with boundless yearning of youth, hiding the veteran of an old war.
They talked a bit more into the night, reminiscing about some of his grand exploits. Though they were more children’s tales than anything, it did brighten up the mood.
“Fritz, I’ll send someone for you in a few days. Please don’t harm the messenger.” Agatha said.
“What for?” He replied.
“They killed one of my children. I will see to why,” Her voice went cold. “And see what is to be done.”
Faus simply nodded. He watched as she went off into the shadows of the decaying building, and the return of silence.
He exited the broken door, and saw the high moon. The days were about to become very hectic.
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It had been two weeks— two weeks his body laid while his mind scoured the possibilities of years.
He wanted to depart immediately, but made a stop at the town nearby to commission two stones.
‘Oliver’ and ‘Etarian’ were chiseled upon them.
Their place of rest, and whatever was left found themselves far off the traveled road. Past the mountain and cave that sheltered Gregor. To a small and unassuming grove, he placed their graves.
It had taken a day, he spent one more night with them.
He looked at the rising sun, his pack ready to set off. Only he kneeled between the two graves, and bowed his head in a silent prayer.
“Thank you.” He whispered, “I will make it to the end.”
Gregor brushed away a tear, taking a choppy breath. Towards the sun, was his first step towards a brighter future.