A hawk, wings spread defiantly, descends from a great migration 'cross the desert. His nest, alien to him for many seasons, a great bowl of stone: Cupped hands cradling life in the arid expanse.
Eri Alsahva', a towering feat of a city, was known by its citizens as proof of humankind's triumph over nature. Even the mightiest of sandstorms faltered by its authority. Its high walls were veritably impenetrable. By all means, Komas should have felt safe here from the Empire-- Alas, he soon discovered with horror the reality of the situation: The city was no longer free.
Now, a wild and shaken Komas dashes into a plaza. Looking especially scrappy, his body is covered in bandages and bruises. This dark place he finds himself in tonight is frighteningly empty. He looks back over his shoulder. Have I lost them? he wonders. Having spotted someone approaching, with little time to think, Komas ducks behind a pillar. Without a visual, he recognizes them as Imperial soldiers by the clanking of their armor. "Where has he gone, that filthy rat?" One voice asks. Komas holds his breath and counts their footsteps-- There must be at least six, he deduces. He is all but defenseless against the soldiers, and can do nothing now but hide- The irony of the situation is not lost on the soldier-no-longer. While planning his escape, he suddenly realizes that the pursuers grow silent-- And-- He makes a split-second decision to run-- "Now!" Someone yells from behind him-- Soldiers leap around the column to pounce on Komas-- He narrowly avoids their reach with a start.
A frantic stampede began as the hawk slipped from the net of his hunters. He had no destination in mind as he tore down those dark alleyways-- stones digging into his feet-- step after blistering step. All that he held true in that moment was the euphoria of freedom in 'scape. "Hotfoot, don't let up!" Yelled a distant pursuer, but it was already hopeless for them; They had let their prey fly free, he who knew the streets intimately and would struggle until his last breath if necessary.
***
Komas sighed deeply, seemingly finally alone. Alas, whither do I go now? He considered his surroundings whilst wandering: The seemingly endless tracts of looming buildings and shaded corners reminded him of older, brighter days. Thinking back, he recalled the existence of seedy dens at the fringes of the city where once he visited. Now a criminal of the Empire, I suppose there is no home for me to return to. Perhaps I should seek shelter among more of my kind.
The warehouse district was nearby, a riverfront region infamous for its pits: Places of gambling, pipes, and all the dangers associated. He did not need to travel far to come across a warehouse that seemed quietly occupied, despite its run-down exterior. It was remote enough to be safe from Imperial eyes-- At least for one night. Surely one night will be enough.
Reaching the entryway, Komas slithered in slowly, only to find a cold arrowhead pressed to his throat-- He stopped in his tracks. Eyes adjusting to the smoky dark within, he too-late noticed a group of shadowy figures surrounding him. Once again he had fallen into a hunter's trap. "Damn this inhospitable city!" He exclaimed, "Thou can drag me back to that prison, but I will never forfeit my spirit, Imperials!" Upon mention of the Empire, the pressure of the arrow diminished. A drop of blood traced down Komas' neck. "There's some fire in thy belly." A disembodied voice said in a casual tone. Could it be that..? Komas kicked the door behind him, letting moonlight flow inwards. Before him was revealed to be naught but a warped old man: Short, with scarred skin, and patchy hair covering his head-- Whether due to age or rampant stress was inexplicit. The others in the leering troupe looked similar: Strikingly un-Imperial. "I assure thou, I am no friend of their kind," Komas stated. "Indeed, only today I fled from their hold." The little man looked Komas up and down: He was of a dark tone like native Urdhonians, but had a fighter's build and a serf's garb, with anti-Imperial disapprobation. What was a wary old fellow meant to make of such contradicting characteristics? "Well, whoever thou are, I deem thou no Imp. As such, our doors are open." The spike withdrew from his throat, as did the observers.
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***
Komas could not help but feel apprehensive in this unusual pit. The scent of pipesmoke was not unfamiliar to his nose, yet it seemed that the jubilance known to accompany it was absent. All the warehouse's inhabitants wore dour expressions in their rags, which hid scars akin to the doorman's. Are they too freed prisoners? Komas' mind began to wander. I wonder if they all originated as criminals, or, perchance, members of that death cult. No matter, I must stay on my toes... "What a destitute bunch, hm?" Without realizing it, one had snuck up on Komas in the midst of his surveying. He spun around to find a bald, tough-looking fellow at his side. "Thou truly mustn't be military, for thy perception is lacking," the man mocked. Perhaps acting before evaluating the intention of this comment, or perhaps to prove a point, Komas pulled his arm back-- and-- shot him a mighty blow to the stomach. An effective attack, his target stumbled and lost his breath. Before blades were bared, the bald man returned a swift punch. A scuffle ensued, which, to the delight of Komas and his opponent, hadn't an ounce of rage within it.
"So, thy people are fighters?" Komas asked between gasps, as he pulled back from the apparent stalemate. "Indeed, are we. On the streets we fight to live; a lifestyle which I wager is familiar to thou." And that it was. In those bygone days as an urchin, fast fists and fast feet were the keys to survival. Komas harbored some appreciation for the hardy nature of these people, along with their shared disdain for the Empire. "I am Komas, of Eri Alsahva'. I was once a young rogue of these streets, once a coerced Imperial soldier, and today a criminal-on-the-run. I am pleased to make your acquaintance." The bald fellow introduced himself as Ini, and the group as a band of escaped laborers. Komas was surprised by this, as the Eri Alsahva' he once knew was a place of democracy and personal rights. "Labor in this city?" He asked. The man's pleasant expression was undone. "A most clandestine labor, unknown to the populace. Hark, yes, we worked many painful years here, until revolting against our Imperial masters. For months since we have evaded capture, yet unable to 'scape the city walls." Komas felt intense sympathy for their story- For both of them were scarred, and only one force was powerful enough to torture with impunity: The Hand of the Imperial. Ini decided not to discuss the issue of labor any further. "We are pleased to make your acquaintance as well. Come hither, doff your apprehensions, and partake with us, friend."
***
Throughout the night, the tone in the aromatic pit lightened. Komas shared stories of the lands he had traveled and battles he had fought as a soldier. "Ha! To think that they would turn on you so quickly following your service." One said to him. "A bunch of fools," exclaimed Ini. "And how pointless, the issue of your arrest. Despite being the most advanced city in all of Urdhiin," he continued, "they cannot solve such a simple miscommunication." If only that crooked general had discharged me through official channels, Komas thought, and took a puff of smoke. Well, hindsight has driven many a man mad. He eased into his seat and relinquished the exhausting memories of the day. Something most unexpected struck him then-- A sentiment of content. It had only just set in that he was home, that place which he had yearned for.
Now, all of the pleasant feelings reverberating in this moment are prematurely cut as a mighty rapping sounds from the front door. The jovial group falls silent, those dour expressions returning. More knocks ring out most ominously. Who could it be, at this hour, and with such a cordial greeting? The survival senses of the runaways reemerge, as they make themselves scarce and extinguish the lights. The knocks boom like rolling thunder.
Anon the old doorman steps up to do his job. "What be your business?" he asks the outsider from the door, barely ajar. Komas approaches, to back up his new friend in the event of conflict. Then-- Ini leaps and tackles him-- The door is thrown open-- And-- Komas is invisible lying doggo on the ground. Whoever this unwelcome visitor is, he barks questions to the doorman about having seen an escaped prisoner. "...Tall, long hair, dark skin... He has spit in the face of Imperial law and order by defecting from the military..." The doorman courageously denies ever seeing such a person. Komas holds still until this tense dilemma is finally over...
What a most remarkable faction, Komas thought as the lamps were re-lit. Hours ago the destitute drew his blood and beat him, and now they protect his life as they would one of their own. The hawk had alighted, and realized that just one night here simply would not do.