Nothing follows after me, but I continue my sprint, nonetheless. Just what is going on in this place. I don't believe such undead are supposed to even exist. Even without recalling all of my life's teachings, these creatures still shouldn't be so threatening. A thought passes my mind, quicker than my legs carry me across the terrain. So fleeting, it was, that I've already lost track of it. I finally stop, when I come upon a straggling group of skeletons amidst a dense area of toadstools.
Taking a short break amongst the friendly numbers, I examine my options. Escape? Where to? I've no notion of where to take refuge, or if my current location is already the safest available. I can't give these boneheads any orders, either. Removing all plots of teamwork from my find, I slam my fist into my palm. Digging. I am an untiring undead. It shouldn't be impossible to dig a hole and get the dirt to collapse over the top of me. Afterward, I can just continue to excavate tunnels within the safety of underground.
I toss that errant plan away, as soon as I remember the stupid voice would probably love it. The formless tyrant even has the nerve to try and provoke violence from me. Assert dominance? Is the thing crazy? How are a bunch of mute, comatose-relapsing skeletons supposed to dominate anything. Pause. Whenever I lost control of my body, didn't it start surrendering to the dictators harassment? Am I being possessed or does my body possess a more obedient, secondary will. If it's the latter, wouldn't that mean I'm not the only one being spoken too?
I climb up one of the large, fungal plants and take a good view of the territory. Aggression rules this cavern. I can spot ghoul teams of three searching for their next victims. Of further note, two of them are carrying crudely made bone spears. I'm jarred by the cooperation, witnessed amongst their kind. Following their lead, I decide to attempt such a thing with these skeletons, later.
The vibrant snakes are no longer just sneaking silently amongst the tall grasses, but exercising some form of camoflauge; they now smuggle their venom into unsuspecting zombies. Does that even work? Oh, that stealth is quite serious. As the soon as the zombie reaches for the pesky biter, another of the slitherers wraps around the recently bitten zombie's legs and begins constriction. Clumsily, the meaty creature falls, and three more of the reptiles join the attack. Back of the neck, around the legs, and now through the eyes; I'm floored by the coordination. The nearby zombies, show no signs of even noticing their massacred comrade. Strange. Didn't they try exert an ambush tactic against the ghouls and myself. Am I missing something?
I sit on the toadstool until, finally, a few of my dormant, skelly friends begin moving. Collectively, the remaining members of the fifteen rise and follow the group. I drop down and decide to join the migration.
Leading our troop is a skeleton with not five, but seven toes on his right foot. I make my way to just a half-step behind him. He's just slightly shorter than myself, which makes him the second tallest amongst us. When he turns his head for a moment, I see his abyssal sockets contain a dim orange glow. Did he nod at me, just then? I move a bit ahead of the march, so he can see me, and I begin to make gestures.
I wave. Nothing. I raise my fist. Nothing. I try and point in different directions and even try blocking the path of the pack. Not a single one stops or shows interest in my attempts to communicate, but I am noticed. The way the entire group so smoothly splits around me, informs me of that much. I get back in line and continue traveling with the procession.
We arrive unchallenged at a---new to me---breach in the wall. Our group enters four at a time. The pathway is similar to my previously traveled hallways, but the ground is certainly more well-paved. No, actually. I'm simply walking with more ease. I swell with pride upon discovering my improved control. Eventually, the pathway opens to a wide space, and I'm quite sure I see an exit up ahead. I clack, gleefully.
Umm, hi. I wave at the thirty beings, suddenly, gawking at me. When did I even get to the front of these guys, anyway? Are they even looking at me? I mean I've been wrong before. No no, something is definitely weird. After all, it was the sudden stopping of thirty noisy feet, that caught my attention. Klok, klok, klok. Err, these guys aren't moving. I turn.
Five intriguing skeletons approach us. They sport the silly formations of a three and two skelly column. I doubt the single file lines have a purpose, but their garments are a seperate matter. Each of them is wearing chain armor over their torso, and every one of them brandishes a weapon. Not some retooled objects, at that, indeed they have finely crafted instruments of carnage. A mace, crossbow with quiver, twin axes, and a falchion with buckler make for an oppressive gathering.
The column of three's lead skeleton looks even more formidable. He dons a half-cape over his left shoulder. His legs are covered by knee-high, leather greaves. It's unfortunate that, there isn't enough lighting for me to make out the exact materials of make. Nonetheless, any equipment is better than being unarmed. Strapped to the right side of his waistband is a stupidly thick club. Who did that even belong too? Certainly, no human would've wielded something so unbalanced. A butterfly flits past it, and my thoughts are made certain. The upper portion of the club is coated in metal.
They proceed forward, until we are within the club's reach. Upon stopping, the two skellys behind the leader fan out to our left, and the members of the duo column mimick the movement to our opposite side. Our would-be oppressors about-face, and begin marching toward the exit. As if this is perfectly natural, my traveling companions match pace with our escorts, doubtlessly. I stroll forth with them, but I'll admit; it's only thanks to my expressionless body, that my unease remains concealed.
We quickly reach the slope, that leads up to the exit. My clacking starts up again, after seeing the lead skelly of both groups, fall face-first into the slope. No one else joins me in my celebration of humor. The others simply stride forth, as if they missed the joke. I'm treated to the site of nearly twenty skeletons failing to traverse a slope. My clacking rises in volume.
The culprit of this event, belongs to the deceitful terrain. Upon closer inspection I've noticed, that unlike rest of the path we've traveled; the slope is made up of tons of tiny pebbles. Even the ground in front of this slippery mass feels oddly softer, than expected. The party isn't allowed to make fools of themselves for a fifth time, instead hands burst forth from within the mound in an ascending order. Tricky indeed. With unexpected understanding, the group lines up and uses the surprise staircase. Following behind them, I stop to look at the final step. Unlike the palms-up steps we'd been using, the final step is the work of an entire skeleton laying down. Strange. I'm being left behind, so I leave contemplation for later.
Stepping into the space steeped in a dark violet, my thoughts sputter into a useless mess. I...I don't even. My neck twitches like some unhandy meister is practicing puppetry. The room doesn't appear to be as large as my former destination, but that is unimportant.
There are, possibly, a hundred skeletons inhabiting this area. At least, one in five possessing some form of armament. It's hard to spot them, since they don't have that weird, illuminating aura. I'm mostly estimating, based on the amounts I see gathered around the plethora of oversized fungus. There's far less greenery in this room, but fortunately everything of interest is near the shrooms.
Tall, oozing husks sit within reach of the fungi's glow. The dark, egg-shaped features are not likely plants. Every plant I've seen has had, that radiance, although the brightness has varied. I wouldn't even have spotted these three so far, if there weren't so many skeletons cloistered around them. I walk toward one of these groups, while trying to figure out the husk's purpose.
"Err...can I help you?" I'm not sure what to think about the group of skeletons, that just blocked my path. I look back and realize the previous squad had followed behind me. "Uhh, what are you all doing?" I'm really not a fan of being encircled. My skull feels kinda itchy. Jeez, now the secret sergeant is even giving me phantom pains. I shake my head and the pesky prickling vanishes. The perimeter has finished forming and a single skelly remains in front of me.
He's the most well-equipped skelly, I've seen thus far. The mail he wears is a well-polished bronze. A signet of a family---my human self, probably would've recognized---highlights his right shoulder. That image of a man kneeling in front of a burning forest, means nothing to my current self. The bronze-colored leg armor looks just as sturdy. Strapped around his legs securely, it covers the full span of his lower body. His hands are protected by chainmail gloves with a leather palm-side. A spiked mace is remains holstered in his waistband. He reaches up and pulls at a bit of clumping near his neck. Oh, well that's nice. Now, a chain covering extends to underneath his chin and up the back of his neck to forehead.
"That looks cool and everything, but surely you're not abou---," my thoughts are interrupted. Currently, a bonehead is bringing me a special violence report. Well played. The street urchins and market ladies would've loved such an enthusiastic worker. I can accurately give a firsthand account, later. "I get it. You can stop swinging at me now," he doesn't hear my praise for his precise reenactment.
Alright, enough is enough. After another one of his terrible attempts to punch me, I sidestep him and bring a knee to his core.
"Oh! Unlife is such an arse-tweaker." My arrogant display of skill did not translate into a result worth bragging. I've got longer reach than this empty-headed brawler, so I hold his shoulders, as I try to figure out to do with my barely attached leg. He continues to swing like a petulant child. I let go. His momentum carries him forward. Say hello to my elbow. Wait, should it be goodbye?
Nasal road explodes. A few specks of bones splatter forth and I'm proud to have seen his neck crack. We both fall backwards. Takes me a little effort, but I manage to get a nice crawl working. The ground is so soft, I actually struggle to cling and pull myself forward. I make it to the circle's perimeter and pull at the leg of our audience members. Okay sure, don't help me. I get it. You might be fined for touching the product. Nobles can be such pricks, right? Mr. Uninvolved serves as a good balancing tool, as I climb to my foot unassissted.
"Don't worry, that was a hundred percent, all me," I quip. "We're gonna work on these social skills, alright buddy," an unwanted tries to partake in the nonexistent banter. "No, not you Itchmenot, go away."
I think, just maybe, others really are hearing Itchmenot. Mr. Uninvolved has become more than just a ticket-buyer. He joins the show with a surprise shove, that sends me back near the center of the gathering.
"Oh. Seems I was trying to leave early. My bad. Maybe we should have a quick intermission first? A timeout?" My muted appeal fails.
Bonehead, the man himself, standing over me, with his mace at the ready. I roll to dodge his downward swing. Prsht! Land erupts in a cascade, that fills my eyes with dirt. Why...why...why? There's now way the mace should've hit so close to my face. I...I think...no. I quickly shake my the sand out of my skull, and find my inane suspicion proven true. He threw it. The mace is right in front of me, but I hear him running toward me from behind.
I grab the death club and try to rise to a knee. Not the best move. Lifting my left arm saves me from part of the tramples impact. My new weapon bounces away during the collision. I start pushing myself up and meet a resounding kick against my head. My right eye's vision ceases. Now, I'm seriously nervous. I can't even calm myself. Again! he runs me over like a toddler across his parents. This time, a knee bangs into my shoulder and two of my ribs get crushed in the passing. His armor converts his blundering attacks into an adult's nightmare. I swear if he weren't so hard to see I'd...wait. See!
He's coming. I hurry executing my theory. Late. I dodge the oncoming rush, but Bonehead has luck with him. My half-attached leg got completely seperated by one of his crude steps. I don't waste any thought on it and continue my operation. His next body barage comes up completely empty. Perfect. I've removed all plants wrapped around my body, finally. I can't believe, I've been running around like some kind of moronic beacon.
It's my time to shine. I'll start off with my skill of a reminiscient life. Drop down and crawl. I maneuver my way toward the far side---the spot furthest from the towering mushrooms---of our skelly confinement. I'm probably near-invisible to him at this point. Staying low, I wait for his approach. I continue waiting. This guy is actually just charging in random directions. That...that's probably not a bad idea. As long as these guys made sure I didn't leave, he'd eventually get me. How long does that mean I'll be waiting here, though.
After the eigth sound of friendly fire, his steps become subdued. Is he adopting a new approach? While he was rampaging, my eye recovered. I'm ready to welcome whatever Bonehead has planned. Shroosh, shroosh. He's getting close. Shroosh, shroosh! There! I reach for his legs. I let go, immediately. I roll and look up to see a caved-in skeleton. Remains lay scattered all around. Bonehead stands facing his recent victim, with a used mace looking deadlier than ever. How did he even find that? He turns toward me and takes two long steps. I push off the ground, as hard as possible. I hope.
I moved with enough force to dodge the latest smash, but it doesn't seem to matter. What is this? He's not even turning his head, as I'm strafing sideways near his feet. Suddenly, his feet turn directly towards me, and I become the lead performer of Rolling Bones, once again. The ground actually dips inward, where the mace landed. Is he really that strong or is the mace stupidly competent? I slide forward, hoping to take advantage of his weird habit of pausing between actions. I latch onto his armored ankle, and yank. He doesn't fall backwards or even stumble, for that matter.
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I really wish I knew if he was well-balanced or just plain heavy. Another unnatural turn and he slams down the mace with greater intensity. But he missed. Thus, our game of whack-the-skelly continues, and I dodge six more prize-winners. Carnival activities are scams. It's best he learns now. Hey wait. Shifting backwards and away, he leaves my perception. What now?
Thank everything I can still hear. Slshhhh! Um, um. Move. Move. Move. I manage to get onto a knee with both of my palms on the ground. Shwoop! A high pitched screech, is the sound of the missed mace-uppercut. I only dodged it by my former hair's breadth. I turn and try to grab him, but his retreat is quicker. Slshhhh! This guy is dragging the mace across the ground, like he's invented a new style of trampling. I'm both terrified and ashamed, that I'm so disadvantaged by this. His weird ability to track me gives him too much leeway.
Shwoop! I fail. The mace cleaves up through the right side of my body. Knocked airborne, I try to check the damage. The rest of my right leg, part of my pelvis, some ribs, and my right arm are all gone. Don't think of those things. My eyes dart to my opponent. The mace is still pointing skyward, as a result of its devastating death-arc. Bonehead is paused, as if he's unaware; he just needs to follow up. I reach my left hand for the mace, while coming down. My grab is successful. I pull myself forward. His head lifts up. No no no no no. Rather than accept getting crushed, I launch myself off the weapon towards Bonehead's face. Two for two miracles. Elbow hooked around his neck, I begin headbutting him. Stopping isn't optional. Again. Again. Again. Again. Oh, what am I doing?
His head forehead shattered, and he fell to his knees, after the second headbutt. I've been assaulting a chain helm, ever since. Well, also throughly shattering his skull, but I doubt that's how it would've looked. The third cranium attack forced him onto his back, and it took me a while to relent. I waddle myself over to his hands and try to open his fingers to take the mace. No good. I pull on his his left arm until it pops out of his sleeve. I hand-chop the bone until it's segmented enough for me to wield. I probably look silly using someone else's hand as a weapon girp, but who's going to laugh. My audience is dead.
I pound on the armor like I'm the smith, himself. This thing is unreasonably sturdy. I've barely dented the metal. Deciding the legs should be easier, I scoot my half-body back around to the legs. With the swing coming down, I see everyone gathered closely. All except one, actually. Anyways, certainly the undead aren't practicing peer pressure. I smash my mace down upon the leg armor for a second time. The skeleton in front of me shakes his head. Eh? Is...is he communicating? I look up at my mace, I point down at the bent legs, and I motion for a swing. I stare at the curious skeleton and nod my head. He shakes his head again.
Seriously?! Now you things can understand me. Two skeletons extend their arms toward me.
"What? What are you doing? I'm not some child. Put me down or I'll be forced to use this." My body language doesn't seem to be working on these two. Maybe Headshaker was an exception. While I'm disgracefully held like a body about to be tossed into a freshly dug grave, five of the skeletons are rolling Bonehead over.
They unstrap the leg armor first, and place it in front me. I guess this was a winner-takes-all bout. After getting the body upright, they remove the helm and cuirass. Once all of the armor lays below me, the disrespectful skeletons, finally, set me down. Relief floods my being, as I realize it's really over. My mind feels itchier than ever, but it's not enough to keep me conscious.
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"Kid, are you hungry?"
"Mhm," I nod my head, and look into my empty cup.
"Then show me some money already or get from in front of my stall," speaks the large, stained-clothed man. Various flavors of soups and stews create wondrous smells at his booth. His shirt looks to have skipped its last twenty baths, but the man is obviously proud of hard work's smudging.
My plan gives me none of the esteem this man's earned, but going after the same people every time, is a surefire way to get caught. I back away and watch as an actual customer arrives. He purchases one of the meatier selections, and the cook fills a wooden bowl with the soup of choice. Five scoops of the ladle and the broth starts to overflow from the edges of it's confines.
The likely smith-in-training purchases a second bowl and leaves with a good meal's smile. His linen shirt is rolled up to reveal taut muscles, but they don't yet have the thickness of an experienced forgeman. My eyes catch sight of his feet for the first time, and I see his boots are in need of replacement. They are ripping apart at the midsole. The man is in fit shape, but he definitely can't chase me in those.
I wait for him to leave the stall-keepers line of sight and make my move. It sounds like I've got some kind of great plan. Thump. That's it. I just weave between people and bump him. I thrust my cup out and catch far more of the spilled pottage, than should be possible. Ever since, I overcame the town head and his goons; I've had much greater awareness and agility. The guy doesn't even grant the spilled portion any attention and continues to his destination. I press my luck and knock into his opposite side. Lucky me. A sizable chunk of meat pops out, during this attempt.
I'm gone, before he can even decide to take action. Without wasting any time, I tilt my cup back and enjoy my spoils. No need for me to learn another lesson about everything being a treasure. If that isn't understood, it'll be made clear when a more covetous pair of eyes find it. I rub my stomach, after wiping my mouth on my sleeve. It should be enough for me to only have some minor pangs tonight.
I travel through the massive city, searching for the scent of opportunity. The capital is told to present many options for the hungry. Yet, for an elipse now; I've been forced to snatch food on the streets. I see another group of kids trying to make off with some fruit. Those are probably some of Nadim's boys.
His gang is filled with many of the more athletic hustlers of the capital, Fövennag. Isn't that kid a bit too young to be involved in this? I see an unfamiliar child, that can't be older than nine. I shake my head, upon noticing he clearly isn't the same as us. He's clean, like the kind of clean, that only exists because wealthy people are responsible. Jewelry still adorns his body. I watch him, as the little guy goes from stall to stall causing distractions. After seeing them make away with a final pilfering of some clothes; I follow behind them. I can't fight the urge to learn why, this boy is involved in abetting the thievery of things; he clearly could've afforded.
The road starts to turn from pavement to pathways of gravel, as I follow them from one of the city's hubs to the outskirts. The stone and metal buildings become shambles of thrown together wood and vines. There are occasional buildings that retain more than a modest pride, but in this part of town; that's a clear sign of danger. They pick up the pace, once we enter the territory of users.
It'll be hard to stay unnoticed, if I try to speed through this area. The eyes of these people are dazed, but it shouldn't be confused with a lack of senses. I cough upon sucking in some of the thick smoke. It's said that the stuff elevates the senses and strengthens the body. Though I doubt, that's why these guys smoke it. Knocking into any of these people will become an unavoidable brawl. I chuckle, when I recall many of these people are legitimately successful citizens. They usually don't live long, but I'd guess they're enjoying it too much to care.
Panting hard, I don't feel any relief having made it through those quarters, before the slums. They've reached the part of the city, that only exists for those who enter. I look around the edge of the wall trying to see what kind of action has been brought to Lewt's Cradle. A couple of the older kid's are missing, but I'm too distracted by memories of this place to care.
Squeezed into an alleyway, using every angle necessary, exists a straightforward alignment of abodes. Spots where there shouldn't have been enough room, simply have their dyed-fabric extended further up the wall. One wouldn't believe that would serve any use, until they see the ladder inside and the well-crafted upper floors. This place testifies to just how easy it is to steal cloth and dye. The torches scattered across the alley's walls create a picturesque panorama of billowing shadows. An azure weaving, conceals the five floor construct at the end of this alleyway.
The show gets underway, without them entering the single-floor, green room in front of them. A kid, that could certainly receive a barkeep's service approaches the child of wealth. I'm not close enough to hear, but I assume; they are negotiating the split. The young boy reaches into his finely-made, waist pouch and shows his overturned palm to the young adult in front of him. Tok! Tok! My foot knocks into a pebble or two, as I try to peek around for a better view. With my heart racing, breath holding, and hands steadying; I pray to escape misfortune. I wait...The pebble's avalanche must've been an illusion of my nerves.
Eight denizens of the humbling alley exit the green tent, including the two misplaced thieves among them. The tallest of the new arrivals steps forward and exchanges places with the previous negotiator. He lifts the bag in his right hand up and reaches inside. He doesn't pull the object all the way out, so I'm excluded from the prize greeting, presented to the boy. The kid flips two coins toward the young man and grabs onto the bag.
I see the smirk of foolish maturity.
The child backs away from his supposed purchase.
"I'm bigger, I'm stronger," the moron's silly smile widens, upon getting such treatment.
This idiot thinks he's bargaining with someone beneath him. And then he's not. He's thinking nothing, at all. I blink multiple times, hoping that the scene will change in transition. After all, right now some suit-and-tie fellow is politely bowing with the sack held toward his apparent charge. My eyes finally register the discrepant horror. A servant and his ward stand spotlessly amidst a pool of blood and flesh splatter. Eyes of the grotesque stain's accomplices are widening with realization in tandem.
Sound is muted. Mouths are still open in disbelief. Some continue to soundlessly scream, and others fail to speak through intermittent mouthing. Unlike the two unsullied visitors standing in front them, grisly bits of the ex-person stain everyone else.
I'm perspiring in a race to die of dehydration. My hairs raise in anticipation of the nearing finish line. Legs shaking, body quaking, and palms bleeding from nails of digging; reveal my sanity is not enduring. I want to run, but fear denies my action. Heart thumping loud enough to wake my neighbors, but I don't have the will to answer. As soon as I move, time will follow.
Srrip! One of the boys falls on his rear and begins backing away. Motion proceeds to reinject itself into the gathering. Screams unmuting, unintelligible words rebuking, and even some puking are the responses of the overcome teens.
The child of calamity takes the offered package and turn his gaze to the surrounding frenzy. His caretaker hands him two coins picked up from the ground, and the boy proceeds to toss the currency over to the panic-stricken hoodlums.
They turn to leave, but another swine of ignorance ruins everyone's fortune.
"Hey now, what's goin' on out here?" a man shifts open the green curtain. His steps are swaying, and his beard looks like it just had a fresh layer of grease applied. A bottle battles with life and death, as it rocks back-and-forth between the man's middle and index finger.
The newcomer looks down toward one of the retching boys,"What's with Mr. Fancy over there? Wait, s'that blood on you. Ye' get robbed?"
Why won't Doom's Duo just leave. Like unassuming spiders, they curiously wait for the man to dig further into the situation. I know this can't end well, but I remain paralyzed in place.
"Sir, we've paid appropriatley and were just leaving," the intoxicating voice of the silver-suited gentleman explains.
Drunk-In-Charge somehow looks more bewildered. "Paid appropriately? You've laid hands one o' Lewt's. You tink you just gonna leave, now, without me taking a de..debuctable?" He whips out a flip blade, as if it's some type of super weapon. Oozing confidence, he begins to stroll forth. "Now look here, Mr. Fancy," he looks down upon noticing a splash, while traipsing forth.
First it says,"That's kind of a lot, right?" Whilst donning the appearance of vexation, it follows,"Even if it was everyone, it still wouldn't be like this." Sweat begins to flow across its pathways, as the man's head swivels to take a more careful look at everything. His expression that has traveled from: doubt to panic, panic to disbelief, disbelief to dread; has finished speaking. Now the man, finally finds words he must ask,"Wh-wh-where is Köpányá?" His eyes wander back-and-forth, searching for someone to deny the conclusion; he doesn't want to face.
There is no answer. A few grief-filled eyes meet Sobering-Charge's own, but all turn away. Silence pervades. Those with greater survival instincts have already vanished from the area. Only those of lesser guts remain, and they've yet to stop retching themselves empty.
"Seems this decrepit place doesn't know moderation, at all," the elder starts. "It's one thing to go about living like pests, but to not even recognize our family's signets...hmph. Obviously, we wouldn't take kindly to being slighted."
"Our family is not what it was uncle. You can't expect the bottom rung of layabouts to know of us," the young boy enters.
"Perhaps, but I believe I then gave a proper response. Hmm hmm, so how is it that now; he's holding a trimming blade at us. Certainly, he can't believe he is fit to style the young lord."
"Praises no, I think this one was planning try repossessing our fair acquisition, like the previous dealer."
"You...you," out of patience, the sobered man begins to speak toward the imposing servant. His words execute a distraction and he launches his knife, following his second word. The blood puddle surges upward, as a result of a high-speed eruption. My sleeve slides across my soggy face, when I try attain a clearer view of the situation.
The elder gentleman and boy turn to leave. I'm not understanding. I don't feel like I have legs, instead these must be stumps. Only by digging up the ground completely, would I be able to move. Eyes scanning everything for everything, I feel terror scratching all over me. Am I in danger? Where is Mr. Sober-in-Charge? Did he run? Ahh! I'm ashamed my scream came out as nothing more than a squeak, that even a rodent would look down on. When did they pass me, or when did that boy even get on his guardian's shoulder?
"Haven't you ever heard curiosity kills the poor? Peeping is also bad form, or do you not possess any more manners than these other feral children?" The old man turns to ask me.
Words don't form, rather than that my stumps attempt to a rapid deepening of their roots. They fail to dig deeper, and my bark being bruised is the only result.
"Stand, this isn't your first time seeing death. Expecting pity from calamity is assissted suicide child. Even a heart attack shouldn't shake a hardened heart. Respect saves more lives than mercy, remember that." The old man leaves me a few seeds for growth, although they won't sprout right now.
Upon realizing that death wasn't imminent, my legs regain their humanity. I stand and bow to the boy first. Then I greet the elder with a slightly shorter bow.
"Very good, you do actually know your place. This is a proper place for you to begin." the young boy speaks.
"Begin?"
"Slow, aren't you? No matter, they are equally dim. Shared experiences and mindsets are good for comradery. Begin your climb here, boy. For a commoner, you weren't bad at tracking through traffic." The swooped cowlicks on the right side of the child's head, nearly cause me to not follow his words.
"A son of an adventurer, I'd wager," the elder adds.
"Listen well, join these worthless scraps. Maybe you'll manage to make a fire, or will you be satisfied being the kindling? Those that become worthy will always thrive in the capital. Everything is here for the powerful to grab or be gifted."
"Well put, milord. If such a poor-looking, young man had time to be following us; he obviously needed some direction. Your father will be most proud."
"Thank," I don't even get to finish, before they are gone.
With their bodies no longer block the view behind me, I finally find the missing drunk. He's all over the wall outside of Lewt's Cradle.
It won't be this night, or the next, or even anytime soon. But we'll become that fire. We'll burn so brightly, that even the capital is just apart of our shadow. I'd forgotten, that everything starts small. I'll take this spark and grow it.
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