Crucible of Spirits

[bloodedIrishman]

Unira and Geyesie, Chapters One through Ten are currently in this topic.

Crucible of Spirits



Geyesie

Chapter One, A Tavern Incident


A boy sits in a chair, brown eyes fixed to the table in front of him while his hands grip the seat. Sitting across from him is a middle aged Ylian man with a broad chest, thick forearms and a heavy brow. On the table between them rests an empty mug. A female Enkiduai sits in the man’s lap, kissing him, while he gropes her. She pushes him away and stands up, holding out her empty hand.

“It’s my money you want girl? I thought it was my pick you were after!” the Ylian says, laughing.

“It isn’t free, fifteen trias it’ll cost you” she says matter-of-factly. Shoving a hand in his pocket, he fishes out some coins and throws them to the floor. She bends down and pockets the trias silently, while the man laughs hoarsely. He yells for a refill of his mug. The barkeep nods as he wipes both hands on a dirty rag. With a jar filled halfway in hand he walks to the table. His face is set in distaste while he refills the mug.

“You thrifty innkeep, fill it to the brim!”

“You’ll stay quiet or I’ll boot you out of my inn
miner” the bartender spats. Laughing, the ylian gllances at the boy across the table.

 â€œWhat’s wrong boy?” The child shakes his head and keeps his eyes fixed to the table. “When I speak to you boy, you’ll give me some goddamn respect!” the man curses.

“I don’t feel well, father” the boy mutters.  

The Ylian laughs, and after a minute says, “It’s your blood boy. Your mother’s blood. There’s a weakness in the Xacha people, boy”. “A half-breed like you is poisoned, the weakness contaminates the strength from my blood in you, I know” he says self-satisfied. “Isn’t that right? Half a Ylian is not one at all.”

The boy looks up at his father, his mouth opened as if to speak. His lip quivers and he averts his eyes back down to the table. Mumbling, he says, “I’m...not weak, father.”

The man stares at the boy as if he had committed murder.  â€œWhat was that boy, what did you say?”

The boy shifts his eyes from the table to his father, and after a moment mutters, “
nothing.”

Enraged, the man yells “That’s right boy, nothing! You’re weak! Weak like your Xacha mother!” Spittle flies from his mouth, landing on the boy’s face. The lad keeps his hands gripped on the seat and lets the spit slowly side down his forehead onto his cheeks. “Pathetic, you half-breed, won’t even stand up for yourself or your filth of a mother”. The man empties his mug and slams it down onto the table. He sways side to side and eyes the women in the tavern. The boy takes one hand away from his seat and presses it against his stomach. He pushes his head against the edge of the table and gasps for air, breathing heavily. The father calls over the fenki for another round. She sits on his lap and embraces him.

While he gropes her the boy squirms in his seat. Lurching forward, he etches vomit all over the mug and his father’s lap. Breathing heavily, he leans back in the seat.

The father throws the fenki to the ground and rises off the chair, kicking it behind him. “YOU HALF-BREED FILTH, LOOK WHAT YE’VE DONE”. Sweeping aside the table with ease, the man picks the boy up and shakes him. Those in the surrounding tables keep their eyes down and do not move. The father rips off the boy’s shirt and grips his neck, strangling him. The men in the adjacent seats stay seated and gaze into their mugs. The women cry and cover their mouths. The fenki lying on the ground crawls away from the Ylian, not looking back. The boy, finding it harder to breathe, pleads to his father, spluttering.

“You’ll find no mercy from me boy, I’ve fed ya, and clothed ya, but I should’ve killed you when you came from your mother’s soiled womb.” Finding courage from some innate source, the boy kicks his father in his groin and falls to the ground. Scrambling away in haste, the boy desperately reaches a nearby table where a pair of male Enkiduai sat. Standing up and backing off, the menki’s watch the scene through dark eyes. The boy’s chest is covered bruises and his arms are littered with bloody scabs. The man roars and knocks away all the furniture near him. “COME HERE BOY, COME HERE! I SHOULD HAVE DONE THIS A LONG TIME AGO.”

Sitting on the table next to the boy is a lit candle and a full mug. The Ylian moves closer and closer, his fists clenched. Mug now in hand, the boy throws it at the man. He grabs the candle just in time to feel his father’s hands circle his neck. Remembering the beatings, the drinking, the humiliations, and all he endured, the boy feels cut off from the man. No longer are they father and son. And the bond, in the boy’s eyes, is forever severed. Taking the candle, the boy thrusts it into the man’s left eye, and then the right. While the father screams and falls to his knees, the boy runs as fast he can, away from the man, the mug, the fenki, the people, the tavern, everything. Everything.

[bloodedIrishman]

Unira

Chapter Two, A Broken Home

Unira sat in her chair, her mind clouded with angst. She sat there without thought, simply staring at her bedroom wall in an empty trance. After some time she looked down and a tear fell onto the floor. Looking about her room, she realized how clean it was. Four walls, each whitewashed. The dresser was next to her mirror, which held all her belongings. Sitting in her chair, her desk had various papers and books to study. Next to her chair was her bed, of medium size. The floor was impeccably clean; because each day she scrubbed it. Her dinner depended on it. There was not a bit of dirt to be seen. Unira hoped her mother would notice. After some time of looking about her room, Unira finally returned to what had happened before.

Do they love me? I am their daughter, of course they love me.

Another lie, Unira?

The tears increased, fast falling as if they came from above. No
they love me, don’t say that.

Ohhhh, but you’re so good at deluding yourself aren’t you girl?

Unira shook her head violently and closed her eyes. Beautiful girls do not have voices. She repeated this to herself over and over. Beautiful girls do not have voices. Continuing this repetition for several minutes, the voices died down.

Several minutes passed, and Unira stood up and looked into the standing mirror next to the dresser. It was partly cracked, but in good condition. Looking at herself, Unira began to cry again. Softly at first, but soon she became hysterical. The sounds of choked sobs filled the room. In the middle of a heaving fit, Unira heard the door behind her creak open. Turning around she saw her father and mother enter the room. Her father bore a permanent frown, his features cold and emotionless. He was always that way. Like nothing was ever as good as his expectation. Her mother was plain and had the look of a woman who had smelled a vile scent, her nose upturned.

Taking in everything quickly, her father spoke without looking at her “Stop crying girl. We are Culley’s. We do not cry and we do not show weakness. Do not shame us further and show some responsibility.” For a moment, Unira sat, stunned by his callousness. Even for her father, this was far too heartless.

Should he not console me? Is that not what a father should do? Oh, but you fool yourself again Unira, he has never cared.

The mother entered the room and looked around with wide eyes. “You’ve made a mess of your room you stupid girl. Clean it entirely; I want not a speck of dirt.’ Unira nodded and bowed her head. The father stepped forward a few paces and then stopped. He stared at Unira for several moments without expression.

When he finally spoke, he was looking at her mother, “Unira, we have been your parents, fed you, clothed you and sheltered you. Yet, this is how you repay us?”

Unira looked at them both with incredulity, “What?”

The mother walked to the other side of the room, next to the bed. “Where is your feminine beauty girl? Where is the body that will let you marry another man?” Stepping in front of Unira imposingly, she pinched her daughter's chest. “Beauty finds husbands, not intelligence.” The mother laughed softly. “I knew from the minute you were born that you were nothing.” She looked at her husband and shook her head, “You of course did not want it done, but it would have been preferable to this.”

Unira clenched her teeth and spoke angrily, “I may not be beautiful, but I am your daughter, and you are wrong.”

The mother laughed and slapped her daughter across the face so hard it stung. “Stupid girl, I am wrong? I was wrong for letting you live. Filth, Filth that you are!” Unira’s tears only grew, dropping down in great quantity. She knew that they did not love her, now. It was the obvious truth. They had only kept her alive to wed another man. To advance their position in their narrow-minded society, she knew. It was all a game. And she was their pawn.

The mother walked forward, and stood over her daughter. “Husband, I think it is time.” Nodding, he never looked back at Unira as he closed the door, locking it with a click.

[bloodedIrishman]

Chapter Three, An Unwilling Engagement

Unira sat quietly, staring down at the dining table. Sitting left of her was Tellimon, the wealthy son of a well known merchant in Hydlaa. He wore fine clothing; adorned intricately and made by the best tailors in the city. Sitting to her right was Unira’s mother, who wore a beautiful dress that nearly matched Unira’s. Her mother had them wear similar dresses to give the appearance they had a close relationship. Unira could have laughed at that. How empty, how false it was. Sitting directly across from Unira was Tellimon’s father and mother, both dressed elegantly and laughing at their own jests. Unira’s father sat at the head of the table, and his two brothers on his left and right hand.

Tellimon’s hand dropped onto Unira’s knee and began moving up her leg. She felt no butterflies or urge; but strong anger. She dropped her hand and gently moved his away. Looking down Unira winced at the pain in her abdomen. Her mother’s beating had been fast and brutal; leaving large and painful bruises along her back, chest and stomach. It had taken all her strength to crawl to her bed afterward. The next morning she was told there would be a dinner to negotiate a marriage.

Later that day Unira allowed the maids to dress her and put on makeup. Her mother told her that looking presentable was crucial to winning the negotiations. Unira thought she looked feminine; but she abhorred the image because it was not of her own making. Disgust was all she felt when they finished dabbing powders on her face and finishing touches on her garb.

Unira looked up at her father, who was telling a story to everyone at the table. His eyes wandered to her momentarily, then continued gazing in mock interest at Tellimon’s father. He was playing a good game; Unira thought his ass kissing was wonderfully done. He was an expert in the art of flattery and social graces. It was all he lived for, to rise above in position. No matter the cost.

Tellimon was bored and stared across the room, fiddling with his table utensils. Once more he dropped his hand below the table and gripped Unira’s knee, smiling. She attempted to force his hand away, but he kept a hold. He began moving up her leg, and nearing her inner thigh Unira gripped his wrist forcefully with her left hand, and with her right pushed his palm up and over hers. He quietly cried out from the pain and let go. Rubbing his wrists he scowled at Unira and mouthed an obscene word at her. Unira laughed on the inside.

An hour passed and the adults had finished their stories. Bluntly, Tellimon’s father stated that he would like to begin the negotiations over the marriage. Unira’s father nodded and turned his head toward his daughter, “Unira, you are to go into the sitting room and await our call to return.” Tellimon’s father did likewise and told him to remain in the sitting room until they had finished.

Unira stood up and moved quickly, walking down the first floor hall and into the sitting room, where she sat on an antique couch her grandmother had owned. Tellimon came into the room and leaned against the wall, smirking at her. “We’ll be married soon, and you should get used to the play.”

Unira flatly stared at Tellimon, directly opposite her. She said simply, “I will not be your wife.”

Tellimon remained leaning and laughed, throwing his head back. “You will, whether you like it or not. Your father has been desperate to be rid of you and will lower the prices tremendously.”

Unira spit on the floor. “I do not want to be with you, and I will not be your wife, my father does not own me and neither will you.”

Tellimon’s smirk turned into a frown and he began to walk around the room. “You should not be prideful. You are not beautiful, or remotely pretty. In fact your face is so unattractive the thought of waking up to it is revolting. Yet, I am no longer able to marry within the wealthy families, as I have procured a nasty reputation with women." He sniffed "One I think undeserved.”

Unira had overheard gossip from the maids about Tellimon and his nightly endeavors with single women, but had always assumed him to be wanton.

Tellimon stopped at a bookcase, gazing at a painting uninterestedly and abruptly turned toward Unira. He chuckled softly, “You aren’t responding, so you don’t know?” He smiled, “I’ve been with many women, but at the end, they never see me again.” He grinned, “And I suppose they spread the word after they stumble home.” He paused. “I have not been able to be with any woman of high reputation since weeks ago, because of this.”

Unira, in her confusion, asked, “What do you mean, they never want to see you again?”

Tellimon looked at Unira momentarily, and quietly muttered, “Noyone will care anyway.” Looking back at the painting he spoke, “Well, I have been known for certain acts that have been deemed abusive, it’s too bad then, that you are the only family who will give up their daughter to me.”  He chuckled, “I was very surprised your parents still offered. Of course they know of the things I’ve done, but well, they must hate you. For a parent to despise their child enough to give them to a monster willingly
”

Unira closed her hand and tightened it.

Tellimon walked to the end of the couch Unira sat on and looked down at her. Unira closed her legs quickly and drew her fists up to her sides. He spoke softly, “Your father won’t ask for much, for all the worth they believe you to have, and well, the negotiations won’t last long. I think, tonight I’ll take you home, and break you. The ceremony will be in a week or two, and by that time you’ll carry my child.”

Tellimon smiled, “I hope he does not have your ugliness, or I’ll have to try again.” He smirked and looked at the open doorway, seeing Unira’s mother walk toward them. “I told you.”

Unira’s mother walked through the doorway, her smile prim and her hands neatly folded. “I hope you two became acquainted! We’ve finished the talk and would like you two to come in.”

[bloodedIrishman]

Chapter Four, Birth of a Lioness

Unira stared blankly out her window, slicked over by the pouring rain, its drizzled surface providing a blotted image of the Hydlaa avenues. Seated next to her was the haughty Tellimon, lounging restlessly on the fine leather seat. The carriage that took them was tied to several rivnaks, the driver personally hired by the family. Tellimon’s father was nibbling his wife’s ear. She covered her mouth and giggled. The mood of the interior was nothing but awkward, but mercifully they neared their destination as the carriage slowed.

Drawing up in front of a tall, rich home, Unira heard the driver yell something to the rivnaks. Unira stepped out and onto the slick ground. Nearly slipping, Tellimon caught her, grinning. She jerked her hand away from his grasp and focused intently on the home. It was four stories, cleanly painted white with a dark-brown roof, the windows shut and the front door blocked by several servants.

Tellimon’s parents had already exited the carriage and ordered the driver, who was already halfway down the road as servants from the household moved down to greet their masters.

Unira ignored the conversation and waited anxiously, tapping her arm. Tellimon appeared utterly uninterested with the proceedings, as the father and mother inquired after the daily gossip and the happenings of the day. After handing their coats and things to the servants, they walked toward the home, chatting. Unira and Tellimon walked side-by-side, coldly silent to each other. Several times Unira saw Tellimon smile secretly. Inside, Unira’s heart was beating up a thunderstorm. Though she did not let her fear show, to her, it seemed someone could smell it off her.

Once inside, the parents ordered the servants free to go home. They decided to go out for the rest of the evening and enjoy themselves, informing Tellimon the house was his for the night. Smiling with all the graces of a well-mannered son, he bowed and accepted their terms to keep the house clean and such. They paid no mind to Unira, giving her not even a glance. A minute later, they were gone, the remnants of their stay only the sound of receding footsteps.

Tellimon offered Unira his hand and she accepted, knowing she had little choice. But in the back of her mind, a small voice, always heard but never listened, spoke. you always have a choice
.always. Unira shook her head. There was no choice. This was her life, now. To be his
thing, she supposed. Moving up several staircases, they were at the highest floor, where Tellimon reached a door at the end of the hall, shut with a great round lock. Pulling out a key, Tellimon drew Unira close.

After opening the metal door, he pushed her inside the dark room, un-illuminated from the interior or exterior. He shut the door behind him, and for the first time spoke in an hour. “This is my home. It’s yours now, my wife.” Unira heard sound of a match striking to flame behind her, and suddenly the glow of a lamp warmed her back, and revealed the room around her, though dim. A small, dingy bed, next to which was a bookcase half-full of thick tomes. Several places for lamps were placed along the walls. It was a rather large space, with the currently lighted area a seemingly normal bedroom for a person, though unusually shabby for a wealthy one.

Tellimon leaned his head over to her left shoulder and kissed her neck. “Just what I need.” He moved to the side and put the lamp on the wall, picking up another and lighting it. Again he hosted it in the next hanger. There were several unused lamps on his desk, all of which he placed in their brackets. The room was now completely illuminated, revealing, to Unira’s horror, a bedchamber with odd, grotesque devices.

“My toys. You should grow accustomed to them.” He stepped toward her, his hands stretching wide to hold her. Unira shivered in this room, and yet it was not cold. Her skin was covered in goose bumps, fear taking its tight hold of her, a fear she rarely felt, but now, now she could foresee pain; intense pain; such that she might not survive. She foresaw a life of endless torture, of wretched days and a life of misery. A life where she was a slave to this unwell man, this insane merchant’s son, who abused women for his sick pleasures. She was no fool, for her mind was the means by which she had survived all these years.

Again, she heard the tiny voice in her mind speak...you are in danger, now, now! Make the choice, take your freedom...grasp it!

She foresaw her life, and it was not one she would live.

Within Unira, perhaps in her soul, or her heart, a lioness roared. Pure hot flames licked up inside of her. Resembling a mother bear that lost her cubs, an unbridled rage drew inside her. Akin to a kettle whose top has not been taken off to release the pressure within, Unira’s festering anger was unlocked. Years of oppression and humiliations had hardened her, strengthened her. Many thought she was Unira, acquiescent, subservient Unira. But she would only be led so far. She would only be pushed so far, so far to the edge before she pushed back, harder than anyone would expect her to.

Later, when Unira looked back over what had occurred, she could barely remember. Fleeting images of a bloodied, weeping man who cowed before someone, or something, were all that she saw. Perhaps, she thought, those images were part of a dream. Tellimon, who in his assumption that once more he had obtained a willing subject for his abuses, was flung upon by a madwoman. Her eyes, the very windows into her soul, were like dancing fire.

She beat him within an inch of his life. When she was done, he was on the ground in his chamber, lying facedown in a pool of his own blood, his face torn, forever ugly. All his limbs were broken, their bones shattered. Some of his bones could never heal again, smashed into dust as they were. His hair was ripped out, mixed in a bloody pulp next to his head. The last memory Unira had inside that room was her leaving behind that mote of a man, now an unrecognizable mass of ragged flesh.

Some weeks later, Unira heard rumors of a wealthy merchant's son, killed on his doorstep, a dagger through his heart. The news gave her satisfaction, for though she was unable to bring herself to completely finish Tellimon off, another had. In her own heart, she was content with thinking his executor was one of his previous victims.

Walking out of the house in a haze, Unira could recall the light blinding down on her, tickling her blood-covered hands and face. Then she saw four people, all waiting in front of the home. First, an elderly Xacha with a benign face. Behind him was a tall, beautiful black-haired woman who rested a hand on her hip. On either side was a pair of twin, female dwarves. The elderly Xacha stepped forward, looking at Unira with all-too knowing eyes.

 â€œGreetings Unira. We’ve been waiting to meet you for the first time.”  

[bloodedIrishman]

Chapter Five, Inclusion

The blood on Unira’s hands was drying, soaking the heat from the mid-evening sun. Her arms and legs suddenly ached, causing her to tremble. She nearly fell, but managed to balance herself before she looked around the house entrance. Four people they were, an odd group truly, two twin female dwarves, a beautiful woman and an old man. All waiting in front of the house she had left, and they knew her name.

Unira’s senses were not fully returned to her, as she still was half-inside the stupor she had assumed minutes before. Or was it hours? Nonetheless, Unira stepped forward cautiously, her ankles becoming wet in the sodden, dewy grass. Recalling a semblance of what she had just done, and what she looked like, covered in blood and all, Unira knew she had a vested interest in getting away from this place. Possibly away from Hydlaa, because once they discovered what she had done, she would be caught and executed.

The elderly man spoke, “We have come to help you, Unira.”

To her own surprise, Unira laughed raucously. “Help me, you say? Old man, you have no idea what I have done. And I do not know how you know my name, but I will tell you now to keep it quiet or I will find you and silence your tongue myself.”

The two female dwarves stirred and started forward angrily but the elder cut them off with a simple hand motion. Turning back to Unira he smiled. “I am Gawyn, child.” Pointing to the beautiful Ylian woman, “She is called Violet, and, the girl on her left, the one with blonde hair, is Bella. The other, with brown hair, is called Selly.”

Unira looked around nervously, licking her lips. The parents might return, someone could see her, covered in blood and speaking to strangers. Yet, she knew this would be unlikely. There was a festival in Hydlaa for the remaining weeks of Unodin, and people were having their fun, drinking and dancing and hearing tales. Finally, Unira spoke. "Honestly, I don't care old man."

Gawyn laughed heartily. Unira thought he was rather youthful for an aged man. There was a twinkling in his eye, she thought, some determined look to his face. Nevertheless, she had no time for banter with these people. As if reading her thoughts, he spoke again. “We know what you have done; in the least, that Tellimon is dying or dead now.” Unira gritted her teeth. I don’t know how this old Xacha found out, but
to survive, I will do what I have to do. “And how did you come to this conclusion, old man?”

“We have watched you for months, now. We know you, Unira, daughter of Turic Culley.” Unira’s eyes bulged. They’ve watched me, eh? So now these four know my name, my face and my crime. Laanx spare me
 Moving toward Unira with sure strides, the elderly man appeared unafraid. “As I said, I am here to help you. We have watched you for a reason, to offer you the choice to join us and escape this meaningless existence you have crawled on and on in for all the years of your life.”

Unira was angry, now. Not only was her identity and safety compromised, but this man was infringing on her past. She grew impatient and turned to leave.

As she briskly moved away, Gawyn continued speaking. “And when all is said and done, after this justice you have had, what will you do? Will you hide, and run, forever fleeing?”

Unira stopped. “Will you be a plaything of the wicked? Of the mockers? Where will it end Unira?” She turned, slightly, on her right. “You are not part of this society, Unira. You belong elsewhere, though you do not know where, yet. But you do belong.”

In the harder places of her heart, she melted at the man’s words. These words struck deeply, for they were exactly what she wanted to hear, though she never admitted it.

“What will be your purpose, child? Hiding. Running. Fleeing. Cowardice. Uselessness. Are these your purposes? To follow your fears blindly?” Unira revolved angrily, intent on giving the man a piece of her mind. “Or will you take hold of destiny, grasp it by the reins, and pursue a dream worth fighting for? Where is your passion, girl? Do you not wonder what you were meant for?” She stopped in mid-stride. He stepped forward, directly in front of her.

“So?”

Unira’s mind felt clearer than it ever had, as if she finally knew an answer she chose to give. “Yes. But, who are you? Who are they?”

Gawyn smiled, and took hold of Unira’s left hand with his. Sweeping toward his companions with his right hand, he spoke in a voice laden with joy. “We call ourselves the Hand of Talad, his deliverers of justice, if you would.” The beautiful woman nodded, and the twins smiled at Unira.

His voice dropped, and he stared her dead in the eyes.

“It is far too dangerous to speak of here, but know this; evil gathers, Unira. The world is not what it was. Shadow no longer scurries before the light.” He hissed “It defies it openly now. Yliakum will become consumed by the Darkness, for the world is changing. The tentacles already grip the underworld, swarming from beneath, corrupting us from our roots. You must brace yourself for what is to come.”

[bloodedIrishman]

Chapter Six, The Painter

Geyesie laid back against the wall, his heart pounding. All I have to do is quiet down, just breathe, breathe and they won’t hear me. From the sound of their voices, he guessed they were twenty paces around the building.

Fool! This wouldn’t have happened if I had taken that carvan to oja when I had the chance! Geyesie’s trembling hands were clenched and sweaty, shaken by the suspense of waiting. He wore brown-dyed light cloth pants and a ragged shirt, while his feet were shoeless. His brown hair was messy, falling down onto his shoulders and forehead.

“You thieving runt, I’m gonna find ya and when I do I’ll skin your head for the bounty!”

They’re still looking? Damn them. I need to move. Geyesie swerved his head left and right, anxiously searching for a way to escape. The only path I could take is the walkway between those houses, and that leads straight into the plaza, but that’s not even an option, those guards will see me in an instant.

Frantically he took hold of a dagger stuffed in his belt and crouched down, waiting for the men to come. Geyesie gripped his stomach and felt intense pains wash through him.  Sunova
Not now, not now, this is not the time.

“Look behind that house you three, circle it!” Geyesie heard the command and the scampering of feet around the house. He dropped to his stomach and crawled three feet, hands and feet pushing him forward.

Quickly he stuffed himself behind several barrels in a dark corner, using his left eye to peer outside. Damnit, Damnit, Damnit!

“Where the hell is he?”

Between the empty building’s shrouded corner and the barrels he hid himself, barely breathing. Guardsmen rounded the house to search the area. The captain pushed one of the men aside and glowered in the face of another, whose face Geyesie could not see. “We have searched in various districts, but they are all clear, sir.”

The leader was of small height, but stocky. His beard covered nearly his entire face, and he was clothed in padded leather armor. Slung in a sheath below his right arm was a small sword and across his back a round iron shield. “Search the East quarter again, all of you.”

The man waited for all his subordinates to leave, while he eyed the surroundings.  â€œI know you’re there, boy. I can smell you. If you give yourself up, you’ll get some leniency. Make me find you, and I’ll kill you where you snivel. Geyesie gripped the dagger more tightly and his mind clouded. The man reminded him of his father, and he felt anger well inside of him.

The man sighed and smiled. “Well, well, I’m sorry little guy, I didn’t mean to say things like that, just come on out, would ya? Nothings going to happen to you” The man waited half a minute, and his smiling features abruptly changed. His eyebrows twisted toward the center and his mouth contorted in anger. He drew his sword and began to sneak around the area, looking into each small alley between buildings.

Geyesie softly whispered to himself, “He deserves death, he deserves it. I bet others have suffered because of him.” While the man searched the area, with his sword drawn, Geyesie contemplated killing him. “Yliakum would be a better place for it. No man, woman, nor child would miss him.”

When Geyesie’s thoughts drifted toward the man’s likeness to his father, his mind clouded once more and his doubts subsided.  â€œI’m right here dog.”

Geyesie got off his knees and strode out of his hiding place. He moved into a lit area and stood up straight, despite the pain in his stomach. Turning his head toward Geyesie, the man smiled. “Trying to be a man, runt?”

Geyesie scrutinized the captain. He was short, yes, but his features looked Ylian. “Are you Ylian?” he asked.

Laughing loudly, the man responded “Ylian? Of course. My name is Eronden, boy.”

“Why are you pursuing me so strongly? I only stole some bread.”

Eronden smiled broadly, and said “The last one died out too easily, boy.”

“
the last one?”

“I enjoy a little fun with my captives before their trials; unfortunately they seem to die before it’s their time.”

Eronden’s eyes glimmered red and Geyesie wondered whether this was the trick of a light. “You’ve killed others
tortured them?” Geyesie’s knees began to tremble, and the pounding of his heart grew quickly.

The captain spoke softly, “Oh
yes, it is exquisite. My victim’s call me an evil bastard, but they do not know the beauty of what I do, boy” Eronden stepped toward Geyesie. “It is an art form, truly” He raised his left arm, pointed his sword at Geyesie, and smiled. Geyesie’s knees began to wobble so terribly, he felt he would fall to the ground. His heart was pounding so heavily, he felt his chest would explode. He felt the fear as it paralyzed him. Barely able to move, or even speak, while this man with the red eyes moved slowly toward him.

He kept on moving toward Geyesie, with that unceasing, ugly smile. “And your body will be the canvas upon which I paint my masterpiece.”

[bloodedIrishman]

Chapter Seven, A Flawless Canvas

Light shone upon Geyesie’s stricken face, revealing the tears swiftly dropping from his eyes.

Gods, I don’t want to die. Oh god. How can I be such a coward?

The man leisurely paced around, his finger brushing the nape of Geyesie’s neck. “A specimen, in the prime of youth, beautiful
.simply beautiful.” He drew his eyes toward the back of Geyesie’s head. “I will take my time with you, oh yes
.yes you are special” The man grasped Geyesie’s hair and tugged, laying his neck bare, the pale skin gleaming in the eerie light. Squatting down, Eronden whispered in Geyesie’s ear.

“You’re fear, It’s a sweet touch, you know that boy? You see, what I do, is a form of art.” Speaking almost inaudibly, he began to elaborate, as if to lecture an imaginary class of students, learning his sanguinary art. “To achieve a masterpiece, an artist’s work of perfection
” He motioned toward his sheathed sword, “one must have clean brushes”

He stopped. Caressing Geyesie’s insipid cheek, he continued, “And a clean, flawless canvas to paint upon.” Eronden smiled, but all Geyesie could do was stare into the man’s eyes. No, not a man. A monster. He was surely a monster. For in his eyes there was a twinkling evil, a passionate love for violence and pain. Would that Geyesie could move at all, he would run endlessly, praying he would never meet Eronden the Painter again.

The sound of running feet were close. ”Damn the dogs.”

Soon enough, several soldiers rounded the house and stood at attention before their leader. “Captain Eronden, we found nothing in the districts. We
.” The guardsman frowned as he looked upon Geyesie, “Is that him?”

The man smiled “Yes, I found him on my lonesome, Dornin. Are you surprised?”

Dornin shook his head and gazed at his captain with an odd look before speaking normally. “What should we do with him?”

Eronden gave a sign of dismissal with his finger and motioned toward with his right hand. “I’ll
handle him, you three return to your posts.” The man waited a split-second before responding. “Understood, sir.” Watching the guards depart into the shadows across the walkway, Eronden finally turned toward his prize. Tears fell onto Geyesie’s cheek more swiftly than before, as the knowledge of a solitary death awaiting him in a torturer’s chamber sank deep in his heart.

“Are you so paralyzed you could not attempt escape, or even return your head to its original position?” The man laughed, “Why so frightened boy, you inevitably caused your own punishment by your actions.” The man counted his fingers, while grinning mockingly, “Thievery and destruction of Octarchal property, my, my” he said loudly. “Simple cause and effect runt, and a half-breed like you isn’t deserving of a trial, anyway, now are you?”

Geyesie startled, righted his head and fell back against his hands, facing the man. Narrowing his eyes, the man looked down on Geyesie “Oh
.did I surprise you boy? I knew your father boy, I knew him very well”. The man looked to the left and smiled. “He and I had cut a deal, you see. Whenever refugees passed by the mine, he would escort them to me, by the gate
and the toll, the toll you know, would be high. Sometimes when they didn’t have enough, we would sell them, did you know that boy?” The man turned his head back to Geyesie and laughed. ”There’s an underground trade of slaves, sometimes for work, for sex, and sometimes
parts” The man’s eyes glimmered red - Geyesie knew this was no coincidence.

“The most exquisite part of my hobby, is that it pays boy, it pays very well. And when I’m done with you, I’ll take you apart, piece by piece and sell them." The man grinned. “When I heard your father had bailed on me, because of his blindness, well you can be assured I was distressed."

”I wonder how quickly you’ll die compared to him.” The man knelt down and grasped a small stone lying on the ground. “He begged for his life of course, said we were friends at first, and then he tried to fight back, and finally said he would do anything in exchange for his life." The man took his left hand and pushed away the hair from his eyes. "He said he would trade his son...to save his own life." The man smiled. "I asked him what your name was, and he told me, that his son's name was Geyesie. Before he died he wept openly. I'm not entirely sure if it was for his own life, or perhaps because he betrayed you. Knowing your father boy, it was probably for his own damned soul."

The man went on. “But you, you are special, I’ve never had a father and son in my collection, and this will be a unique work of mine” Geyesie felt his hands go numb, and then his legs. His heart pounded so terribly he wondered how Eronden could not hear it. His mind however, began to clear.

“You
killed, him?”

The man ignored the question. “I have to take you somewhere else, this place is too open” The man grabbed Geyesie by the shoulders and hauled him across the area, looking from side to side. Geyesie mumbled softly, in whispers.

“Killed him, you killed him.” The man reached the end of the lit area and began to drag Geyesie through an alley. “My father, you killed my father.”

Geyesie felt a crippling fear, but a fear that became had become duller with each word the man had spoken. He had known evil men since the day he could reason. His father was evil, and deserved death, but not by another man’s hand. Geyesie had always thought that one day he would be the one to reconcile his father.

Memories drifted by, swimming through his distraught mind. He had always been able to withstand his enemies, from other urchins, thugs who wanted to control him, to his father. But now
now, he was helpless.

They entered into a grassy lawn, nearing the currently closed medical center. Farther down the field was Laanx Temple, a grotesque construction of fire-colored iron and sweeping buttresses that rose into the sky in abnormal shapes. Truly, a terrifying sight in the dead of night.

[bloodedIrishman]

Chapter Eight, Men’s Smiles Hide Daggers

Geyesie’s body was dragged along without his control as he lifted his head to peer around.

Abruptly, Eronden threw Geyesie aside and sat in front of him, speaking with a menacing tongue. “Stay there, and don’t say a word, or I’ll give you a more agonizing death than you could imagine in your darkest nightmares.” He did not wait for a sign of understanding, as if he knew Geyesie would obey, and turned the other direction. Geyesie looked to his left and saw a man sprinting across the field. The sound of feet padding the soft ground came closer and closer.

Eronden bellowed, “Who goes there?” as the figure ran into a patch of lighted grass. Geyesie gasped, it was Dornin, the guardsmen who had reported to the man earlier.

What
what is he doing?

Dornin stopped running and slowly began to edge forward, his eyes taking in the scene.

“What in the name of Dakkru are you doing Dornin, I told you go to your post.” He wore a complete uniform of leather armor, and strapped to his waist was a short sword, sheathed under his left arm. Tucked into his belt under his right arm was a dagger. The man waited several seconds before moving forward, “Dog, I told you to go to your post
or, do you need me to teach you what an order means?”

Dornin responded hastily, nearly stuttering. “Sir I heard your order, but I thought it uncommon for the boy to be taken alone
with you.”

“I’m your commanding officer, soldier.”

Eronden’s frown turned into a small smile, “Disobeying an order is fifteen lashes, or more.”

Dornin pointed his finger to the city. “Sir, the holding cells are on the other side of the city. You are seemingly taking this prisoner to Laanx temple
I do not understand. Why?”

Geyesie nudged his head away from the two men and thought he saw a flash of movement in the shadows.

The man began to walk toward Dornin. “Dornin, my subordinate, do you question my authority?”

Dornin stood straight and regulated his stance to attention, “Sir, I believe it to be unusual for you to be taking prisoners on your own, these past months. They
.do not return with you.” His eyebrows furrowed and he looked to be concentrating, “I am not attempting to undermine your authority, but I worry over what is going on. Truly, sir” The man walked in front of Dornin and put his hand on his shoulder.

“Yes soldier, you have always been loyal. I can see that.” The man patted Dornin on the back and grinned, pointing to Geyesie. “You wonder what I’m doing with the prisoners. You see, Dornin, you of course were right to be suspicious. I cannot commend you on your cleverness, as honestly the whole lot of you ought to have suspected long ago.” The man quietly drew Dornin’s dagger from his belt, and twirled in his hand. Geyesie began to cry, softly. He knew what was coming but he was too afraid, too frozen with fright to act. He saw this man’s life ending as he sat on the ground. “I always liked you Dornin, and you do have a well-built body. Yes, I think you will pay well. I really cannot chance an investigation. I’m so sorry Dornin.”

The soldier turned his head, appearing confused. “I don’t understand, sir.”

Smiling softly, Eronden flexed his fingers, “Oh, it's nothing.” In a smooth flow of motion, the man placed his foot behind Dornin’s right ankle, centered his right hand behind the small of his back and pushed. Dornin tripped and fell on the ground with a grunt, face first. He grasped the dagger's hilt and drove it into Dornin’s back with force.

Dornin’s throat gargled. He began to writhe in agony.

“A little quieter please, Dornin, the transition is only enjoyable for me if I am not distracted with unnecessary noise.”

The sounds of a man in the throes of death fell utterly silent, disappearing in the same moment as the violent spasms.

Geyesie’s tears came even faster. He had never seen a decent man die, and today it struck him deeply. If the world would let men as evil as this thrive, how could this life ever contain true happiness?

[bloodedIrishman]

Chapter Nine, Justice


Eronden removed the dagger from Dornin’s back and wiped it on the grass. He tucked it into his belt and sat down, looking deep in thought. Geyesie turned over and eyed the corpse. Dornin’s face was on its side, his left eye half open and his right completely closed. His mouth was permanently etched in a lopsided grimace, and his nose appeared broken. Blood seeped from the wound in his back onto the grass, pooling underneath him. Little by little, the smell of blood and death mixed together arose from the area, filling Geyesie’s nostrils. Geyesie felt the feeling in his body return, little by little. And Dornin stared at Geyesie through those lifeless eyes, taunting him, as if he were calling him a coward.

The man awoke, and eyed Geyesie silently. “This has turned into an ordeal boy. You’ve caused me much pain; I had not planned to kill Dornin. This will cause an investigation, one that I cannot afford.”

“Ah
.Ah, I know. It grieves me, but I cannot paint this night.”
The man absentmindedly twirled Dornin’s dagger in his hand. “No, I did not kill Dornin boy, you did. Ah, yes, you see what happened, it was tragic. A young ruffian, running from the law. Dornin reached out to you, and you accepted it. Stabbed him in the back, didn’t you?”

You sunovabitch. Godamnit! Why are you such a godamn coward? Move. Move!

The man took hold of the dagger once more, and drove it back into Dornin’s back. “Well, that was easily accommodated.” “Ah, yes. Where was I? But Dornin did not die before he swung around, drew his sword and slew you, stabbed you in the chest, didn’t he?” The man drew his sword and swung it in the air as if it were a toy. He giggled.

Geyesie, weakened as he was, managed to gather what strength he had, and pulled himself of his feet and stood up, wobbling. Out of the corner of his eye, he once more saw flashes of movement in the shadows across the field. The man was about twelve paces from him, and walking unhurriedly toward Geyesie. “You don’t have the strength to run boy. You don’t have the courage to withstand me. Nor do you have the ability. You’re time has come, though I regret this is how it will end.” The man sighed and rolled his eyes, “This night was a waste, unfortunately; I cannot practice my art, and you are such a fine canvas. It is so very regrettable.”

He raised his sword several inches and increased his pace. Geyesie heard a soft whoosh, and the noise of a blade embedding itself in flesh. The man staggered, fell to a knee and cursed. Geyesie stepped back a few paces and looked about wildly. Swerving his head to the left, he saw a figure running, no, almost flying through the field, the face hidden by shadows.

Geyesie croaked. “Who
Who are you?” Swiveling, the man struggled to his feet. With his right hand he drew out the knife from his back and screamed. The figure sprinted quickly towards them. Geyesie saw a hand rise, and the glint of metal speed through the air, once more making a whooshing noise.

The knife connected with the man’s ear and sliced it in half.

“GODS, CURSE YOU COWARD”

Geyesie wavered and righted himself with some effort. He attempted to yell, but all that came up was a whisper. An intense need to see Eronden suffer overwhelmed him. “Kill him, kill him, kill him now, that’s all I want, just kill him” The figure was lighted, and revealed. It was a woman, though by no means appearing feminine. Her hair was tied in knots, while her face appeared scarred. Her body was clothed in tight fitting and patched brown leather. Strapped across her back was a wooden staff, and across her waist various knives. She wore leather boots which appeared to rise halfway to her knees. Geyesie could not discern her race, but he assumed it to be Ylian or Xacha by her shape.

The man gripped his sword and staggered towards the woman. “I’ll kill you, I swear to Laanx I’ll kill you.” The woman, staff in hand, rushed forward. Geyesie fumbled clumsily for his dagger but could not find it.

She reached Eronden in seconds and swung her staff in an arc. The man raised his sword only in time to block the blow, but fell back on his right elbow. He grunted, cursed and charged forward, screaming even more insults. She gripped the staff by the haft and thrust it forward, hitting the man in the stomach. He fell on his back with a loud thud, rasping for air. His sword fell out of his hand during the impact and ended up next to the woman’s feet.

Weeping loudly, his sobs echoing off the buildings, “I don’t want to die
no, not yet, no I haven’t done enough. All my work
gone, oh please, don’t kill me, please.” The woman bent down and picked up the sword. She shoved her staff into the ground, letting it sit.

Looking as pitiful as possible, Eronden crawled toward her feet, begging, scraping for mercy. “Please, please. I’m sorry, I’m so sorry, I’m sorry. Won’t you forgive me? Won’t you? You have to! Please. Oh god, oh god, please, no, no, no, please, please
don’t kill me, I’m honestly, truly, honestly, I’m so sorry.”

Geyesie, with wide eyes, looked at the women in amazement. He had never seen a female ever display such power, usually a characteristic of masculinity. The woman grasped the sword with her right hand, and gripped it with her left. She raised it to the level of her eyes and looked down on the man.

“Wickedness shall no longer pervade this world. Evil will not infect it, corrupt it, with it’s web of deceit and sorrow. Malevolence will take no role. The evil committed shall be undone by the blood of it’s minions. You have been judged, and your malice revealed. Your sentence has been given. For your misdeeds, for your injustice, for your evil actions, I condemn you as guilty. By my righteous mortal hand you will no longer blight the earth upon which I stand.”

The woman raised her sword high and swung it down, cutting through the man’s upraised arms and into his throat.

All the meanwhile Geyesie could only help but stare at this woman. Her words of vengeance struck a sweet tune, ringing true.

"W-w-what is your name?"

The woman gazed at Geyesie for a moment. "I am known as Unira. Nice to meet you."

[bloodedIrishman]

Chapter 10, A Debt to Pay


Geyesie stood feebly; his legs weak from all that had happened that night. His eyes wandered to the body of Eronden, strewn on the bloodied grasses. Minutes before, Geyesie had been the dead man’s captive, awaiting a death inside the temple, where it was said rogues hid in caves beneath the foundation. Yet she had come, the woman named Unira, wielding a quarterstaff as if she had been born to use it, giving Geyesie his life back.

Her figure was not womanly at all. No curves gripped her; little bosom or hip to grace her form. She was handsome, if in a peculiar way. Beautiful, if you looked at her in the right light, into those pooled brown eyes, like Geyesie did that night. Perhaps then he first loved her, but he did not know it.

She spoke in a voice like steel. “We must leave this place Geyesie. It’s too dangerous to stay.” She turned, giving him a glance before briskly walking toward the city. It became a sprint within bare seconds, her feet padding the ground with not a sound.

Geyesie stood shakily and ran after her, tripping over his own feet. Forced to follow her, he kept himself wary. A life of betrayal and running from strangers and friends alike had kept Geyesie on his toes, forever suspicious of those who could do him harm.

After crossing the field, they turned into an alley where the shadows seemed to be alive, hiding men inside their sinister folds. Barely able to stand, Geyesie ran stumbling after her. His eyes constantly closed and opened, exhaustion taking over his body. The run seemed a dream, with the image of Unira a flickering image, sometimes clear and vivid, sometimes swaddled in shadows, and the next she was gone, already turning into another street.

Geyesie ran through a seemingly endless number of dark alleys and shrouded side streets. Finally his legs gave out and he fell to the hard, stone ground. His throat made rasping noises as he gasped for breath. His feet felt numb and all he wanted to do was sleep, but his mind was alerted to every possible danger. Whether or not he had succumbed to paranoia, Geyesie did not care. He slowly turned onto his stomach, and used every ounce of strength in his burning legs and arms to raise himself unsteadily. There he stood, swaying from side to side, waiting for his eyes to obey his command to open.

In a deep, bass voice, a man spoke in front of him. “Open your eyes, lad. Do you think your getting a kiss in the trousers from some night-lady? Hmm?” Geyesie startled and stepped backward, wincing as his bare foot pressed down on a small stone. The man was a little lumpy, short of middling height, with a receding hair line. Geyesie peered bleakly and thought he saw a lute across the man’s back. Lowering his head just a tinge he also saw a pair of long-daggers at his waist.

Geyesie moved his eyes ever so slightly to take in his surroundings. He was inside a small open space enfolded between several homes. In the middle of the tiny square was a fountain, which caused Geyesie to notice the dryness in his throat. He swallowed and decided not to reveal his thirst. Straightening, Geyesie caught movement to his left. Folding his arms, he tried to look the older man in the eye.  â€œWho the bugger are you?”

The man ran a hand through his wispy, blonde hair. “You can call me Cap’n Harkey. Alright lads come out, this one is ready as he’ll ever be I guess. Don’t have time to bother with the ritual. Deorin thinks it has to be done every single goddamn time. Well I don’t have the rotten time.”

Several men stepped out of their hiding places into the little plaza’s dim light. They were all young, with a look of hardness in their eyes. In the back of the group stood a sandstone colored Kran, wearing a too-tight chainmail chest piece. He was the first to speak out of the newly approached, sullen gang of young men. He nodded to Geyesie and spoke slowly. “My name is Weck.”

A quick moving Lemur stepped in front of the rest, twirling a pair of daggers in both hands. His eyes sparkled, dancing and darting as he looked over Geyesie. He seemed a fellow that could never stand still in a single place. “The name’s Slick, kid. Slick.”

Next to Slick a stout Dwarf with a sour look on his face folded his arms and grunted. “His name is Willy. He thinks he’s slick. More like delusional.”

Indignantly, Slick turned on the Dwarf and scowled. He opened his mouth to speak but the older man barked an order. “Quiet you two. Quit quibbling.” He grinned. “That’s called an alliterative phrase. Spontaneous, that. Anyway, shut it. His name is Slick here, and his wife over there is called Brude.”

Slick laughed. “Brude the Brooder. He’s always brooding. Always in a bad mood.”

Brude flicked Slick his middle finger and muttered something that sounded like ‘clot-pole’.

The older man pointed to a male and female Enkiduai pair to the right of the group, both with similar features. Likely Clamod, they were of a creamy color, wearing light leather legs and chest pieces. At the male’s side was a hand-and-a-half sword, inside a gilded black sheathe. On his back a simple iron round-shield looked worn with use. His apparent female twin held a shortbow, an arrow nocked and ready to fire. She gazed at Geyesie, looking him over. “His name is Mur, and his sister is called Sur. They’re twins.” Mur was tall and strong, and handsome, if only because he exuded an aura of assumed power. His sister, Sur, was beautiful, her eyes dark and glittering in the half-light of night. She moved her eyes away from Geyesie, staring hard into the city. Several times, however, Geyesie noticed her eyes flickering back to him.

The older man motioned Geyesie to look left, and there he saw a Diaboli leaning against a house’s cracked wall, its paint faded. “That’s Dryad, the newest to the group, besides you.” Dryad opened his eyes to mere slits and gave lazy acknowledgement of Geyesie. The way he stood looked as if he was relaxing, but Geyesie had seen men who held themselves in that manner; appearing at ease, but with every muscle tensed and ready to fight.

Geyesie shrugged. “Alright, Cap’n Harkey. Now why do I give a damn? I’m not joining your group.” Then Geyesie noticed Unira was not there. “And where’s Unira?”

“She left, onto more important things. You’re with us now, lad. She saved your life and in return you work with us as payment.”

Geyesie laughed. “Yeah, right. You probably just go around picking up strays and make them do some dirty work for you. You probably don’t know Unira, either.”

The older man snorted. “Unira Culley, Ylian female. My boss, and addicted to her job. Your name is Geyesie, you’re a stray who pickpockets and steals petty objects for living. Your father was Geyesie too, and ran a kidnapping business with Eronden Merstek, the late Captain-of-the-Hydlaa-Guard.”

Geyesie gritted his teeth. He didn’t want to be tied down to a group. He liked his freedom. But, a life-debt was not something he could break easily, and Geyesie held to his word, however unspoken it may have been given. Still, if this pack were connected to Unira, he was interested. He wanted to thank her for what she had done and he had a suspicion that she was part of the string of assassinations in Hydlaa over the last few weeks. All the targets had been a corrupt bastard or someone suspected of it. “And what is it you do?”

“We like to prance in flowery meadows and pick flowers for our friends. What do you think we do Geyesie? We kill people. The ones whose hands are slippery with tria and somehow it ends up in another hand, the hand that carries a dagger dripping in the lifeblood of innocents. You know exactly what our group is about, or at least this part of it. You live on the streets; you’ve heard rumors and gossip, with a fair bit of truth in them.” The man nodded, as if assuring himself of what he had said, and waited for Geyesie to respond.

Geyesie paused, and considered his options cautiously. If he refused their offer, they would likely kill him. No, not likely. A certainty. If he accepted, he would join a group of assassins. He spoke, choosing his words carefully. “I’ve seen vigilante groups like you before. They chase after the bad ones, yeah, but then they start picking people that haven’t dirtied their hands enough to deserve the noose or the garrote. It’s all the same. Then they all end up in the gallows, or decapitated by the executioner’s axe, or locked away in a dank prison cell. I admire what you’re doing, but you won’t cleanse this world of the bad people, because it’s in human nature to choose wrong, bad, ugly and for some, or even many, evil. What you do is fruitless; you’ll achieve nothing.”

The older man looked to re-consider Geyesie for a moment, nodding. Then he smiled, “I see you’re a lad with a good head on your shoulders. You’ve got a sharp mind, and you use it. A cautious one too. Your thinking is fine, but it does not apply to this vigilante group, because we have a different purpose, if it could even be said that most other vigilante groups have a purpose. They are usually mindless - a mob. No, what we do is different. It is new. It is clear to the council, and clear to me, that evil cannot be eradicated completely. However, there is the possibility that we may destroy a large part of evil’s medium in this world that we know. It is a large organization of killers called the Smiths. The leaders of the group are powerful figures in Yliakum, we suspect, though, we can never connect some of our targets to the Smiths. They are difficult to track. Nonetheless they are the driving force behind the aggressive activity of underground groups of late. You have seen their work yourself, for one of their agents was Eronden, lad. The one who tried to kill you tonight.”

Geyesie licked his lips. Eronden was part of the group? He said he was part of an body-parts trade, along with my father


“Was my father part of it?”

The man hesitated for a moment, but shrugged. “Not supposed to tell you but you ought to know. Your father was one of their pawns, small-timer they used to bring in bodies for their black market trade.”

 I thought so. My father didn’t have the intelligence to be in a top position. I’ll have to go along with them, and when I have the chance, make a break for it and hide away in a town somewhere. He opened and closed his hands, feeling the sweat that covered his palms. The best way to do that is to stay small. If I get a leadership position they won’t let me be. Attempting to look nonchalant, Geyesie cracked his neck and shrugged. “Thanks for letting me know. Yeah, I’ll join. Don’t see what other choice I’ve got.”

Harkey brightened “Good, now I wont have to beat the snot out of you. Sometimes we have to do that, y’know. Slick over here was close to it, but he came around.” The man put a hand on his hip and thought for a moment. “That’s done. I’ll need to outfit you and get you ready for your training. And by the look of you, a bath too.”

Geyesie stopped for a moment and lowered his head to sniff his chest. Slick covered his nose and grinned. The man turned into the walkway leading out of the small open space. Geyesie followed him, ahead of the six young members. As if he were talking about washing dishes, the man spoke softly as they turned a corner. “And if you’re thinking of betraying us and breaking your life-debt, I’ll kill you.”