Blades in the Dark

The darkness loomed embracing Dunslough in a bleak depressing gloom that matched its destitute and helpless inhabitants. Of course everywhere was dark, it was always dark. No one alive knew what it was like to stand under warming rays of sunlight, to feel its comfort, to witness it nurturing the land they lived on. No, the sun was as dead as the common folks hope, shattered over 1000 years ago.

Still, it was darkest in the poorest of areas. There were little to no street lamps and the people living there could ill afford oil to maintain a lantern. Any slugs were used for food or medical care, which realistically speaking rarely worked; physikers and witches tended to be outside Dunslough's budget.

The area was a grim, built up muddy bog of a place which no one in their right mind would choose to live, yet it was lamentably over populated. Most buldings stood in complete disrepair, brick walls crumbling, roofs with massive gaping holes and often front doors missing entirely, having been taken for a warming fire in the coldest of months or simply so rotten they collapsed. It was a horrid place to live, and to most, this is all they would ever know. The conditions they lived in were gruesome at best, it was common to come across a corpse or someone in the throes of death. People simply didn't bat an eyelid to it anymore; once you'd seen your own children or parents dying from a violent disease or starvation you tended to get numb to it.

Cries always seemed to echo around the streets, or perhaps it was simply the staggered bellows from different households; sometimes it was hard to tell. Samir shrugged it off, it wasn't that he didn't care, but there was little he could do to help anyone at the moment. He could barely help himself since he'd arrived in Duskwall over 7 months ago. He'd grown up on the streets in Iruvia, it was a rough life of thievery, destitution, abuse and violence. Having lost his mother at the age of 8 he had to grow up fast and by the time his tenth year had rolled around he had seen and done things that not even most adults would care to witness. Yet... Somehow... Someway...Duskwall was a complete cesspit to him.

Now perhaps that was because he was an outsider, maybe he just didn't understand the Akorosian ways, possibly it was because he didn't have the support of the people he'd grown up around... Or, as he liked to see it, this place was simply the piece of runny goats shit that crept into your leaky boot and seeped into all the crevices, clinging on for dear life. Iruvia had its gangs, it had its fair share of violence, drug abuse, sexual assaults and murders, but the people on the streets tended to look out for each other. You knew who you could and could not trust. Here, people would shank you just to get your manky old decrepid oil lantern... Which is exactly why Samir sat in the dark, keeping it under his literal cloak. Which in itself posed a risk, not everyone had a cloak either.

It had been a few days that Samir had been sat hidden away in his shelter, though 'shelter' was probably too strong a term to use for the dilapidated box he lived in. It had absolutely nothing in it apart from himself and a small bag he carried around everywhere he went, but it was better than sleeping in the open or nearer the mainstreets; out here he could stay better hidden. Hiding was something he had been good at since a young age, which was just as well since his last little incident at The Docks a few days earlier when he cheated the wrong men out of some hard earned coin. They didn't seem best pleased with him, which in reality was the understatement of a century. Once he'd managed to weasel his way out of their clutches, he managed to make a quick exit, hiding in a nearby building for a couple of hours... They were rentlentless.

So, he found himself sat, alone, knowing no one but some sleazy gang boss in Crows Foot whose advances bordered on sickenly sweet. Quite the contrast to his reality, though completely unwelcomed, he'd take sitting in a cold muddy puddle than sharing that guy's bed. It wasn't worth the persecution. Stomach grumbling, he fidgetted, getting agitated for the umpteenth time that day. This wasn't meant to happen. He had so much motivation when he first set foot on Akorosian soil, he was going to make Duskwall his playground, but he couldn't stay out of the mud for long enough to even get a bite to eat. Something needed to change or all he'd be fit for was a deafening chime of a bell and some overburdened Spirit Wardens.

This was unfamiliar territory, but there was only one thing you could do in a city overrun by gangs and the invariably corrupt. If you can't beat them, you join them. Though the young Iruvian had no intention of joining an already established gang, he planned to find himself a crew, he wasn't riding on anyone's coattails. Standing up, Samir clung onto his cloak, keeping it wrapped tightly around himself to keep out the cold winds when he stepped foot outside; it had stopped raining for the time being at least. Bag hidden under his shabby cloak, he made a move for The Docks, it was dangerous for him there, but the best place to find lost souls and burly men who would do anything for a few slugs.

It was going to be a long walk, he wanted to avoid the worst areas, and given the state of his appearance at the moment, it was propbably best he avoided the richer areas. From experience he knew nobles weren't tolerble at the best of times and they'd smell him from a mile away. He muttered under his breath as he headed towards Charhollow, waiting until then to light his lantern. He'd take the street scum any day over the parasitic life draining leeches of the rich quarters.

The Docks were as busy as ever, people bustling from one warehouse to another, others stopping and chatting at any given opportunity, some already drunk and staggering about trying not to bump into anyone. This area was significantly better lit and more well off, but that was due to the sheer availability of work. It was hard labour, so not suited to everyone, but it definitely paid, though most of the jobs went to certain gangs and crews, leaving the average person grasping at the odd jobs here and there with no permanency. Definitely not the type of work suited to a scrawny street rat.

Keeping an eye out for the thugs he'd conned out of coin,  Samir wandered the docks cautiously, looking around for anyone he could sweet talk into creating a new crew with him. First things first, he needed somebody with a bit of weight behind them, someone who could throw some punches and take them in return. Something the Iruvian was seriously incapable of.

It was dawn when Rorik lit his lantern, ready to begin a new day like every other. Currently the blind hour was at its worst, but by the time he had made his way through to the decks nearest to the water, the dawn fog had passed. The sounds of shouts and breaking glass from a brawl breaking out across taverns echoed through the cramped, stacked alleyways surrounding the Docks. The raised streets were bustling with people starting the day, their heavy cargo rumbling away on wagons as they hauled them across the decks. There was a continuous flow of people emerging from ships, be it the worker steamships, or the prestigious leviathan hunter ships, dwarfing the others with their titanic presence as they loomed closer. Throngs of sailors and dockers spilled out from twisted back streets and towering cargo warehouses, singing and whistling to the tune of a sea shanty, their workday beginning anew.

Passing through the more battered side of the Docks, Rorik watched as some of the poor Skov refugees sat under the decking, legs dangling down so their feet dipped into the inky black depths below. Passing by some refugees huddled along the sides of old battered warehouses, the red head grumbled his apologies. Most of them were holding their hats or old wooden kuksas out for a few spare slugs. Pushing his hands into his pockets, Rorik sighed. He would help the others, but he didn’t have any money. He spent his last couple of silvers on a mysterious stale pie that was due to be thrown out from one of the bakeries downtown. That had been a few days ago at least and the red head had been hoping he might come across more work before now. Turning to walk down one of the many dingy unlit backstreets, he hoped to have more luck today.

Twilight would be approaching in a few hours, and as the red headed Skovlander walked through the busy streets, his stomach could be heard from a mile off. He’d managed to do a few hours work for one of the smaller warehouses towards the back end of the Docks. He hadn’t earned much more than a couple of slugs, but it might be enough for something decent to eat tonight. Passing back through the battered warehouses, Rorik spotted the refugees again, some familiar faces from earlier and some different. He took notice of two in particular. A woman in very few tattered, messy clothes sat wedged up against a wall, knees up to her chest. She was holding her young toddler protectively against her bosom, bundled up in nothing more than a thin dirty rag of a sheet. A mother and her child it would seem. The child looked very thin for its age and the women didn’t fair any better. Stopping in his tracks, Rorik turned on his heel and stepped towards the woman who was looking down at her child. As he got closer, she looked up, startled by his looming appearance. Without a word, he slowly took her hand and placed the slugs into her hand. She froze in place, confused briefly, but before she could stutter out her gratitude, he had already got up and walked away.

Turning the corner onto one of the side streets, Rorik looped back around some of the more beaten up warehouses looking desperately for anymore work. After searching some of the less well-off areas, he set off for the main streets in the docks, where the lighting was much better. Perhaps if he looked around some of the Grinders more known areas, he might be able to get a favour from some of the crew. It was either that or checking some of the notice boards to see if someone out of town might have work. He didn’t like venturing outside of the Docks, but he was getting desperate for work. It had been a miracle that he had gotten work this morning. Some days were better than others, but it was getting towards the end of the working week and his opportunities would be dwindling even more so.

Rorik circled the better off side of the Docks, speaking to some of the labourers and crew members he had met to ask for work or a one off favour with the promise of helping out in anyway he could. He didn’t like resorting to speaking to the gangs around, but at this point he didn’t have the choice. Unfortunately, he couldn’t be helped today, they said to check back the beginning of the following week. Residing himself to the idea of going without food for a few more days, Rorik turned to head back through the main streets, heading back towards the decks.

There were many faces going by, none giving Samir the time of day when he approached them. Clearly they were busy or simply had no interest in humouring a scrawny runt as one eloquent man had so politely put it. Given up hapazardly approaching people, the Iruvian decided to step back and try to target someone a bit more strategically; there would be people needing work, it was just finding someone that looked strong but not a complete thug. Samir couldn't deal with a thug, it would give him a headache, he dealt with enough mindless thugs as it was, and strength without two braincells to rub together left a lot to be desired in a potential ally.

A good spot would probably be by the notice board right down next the the main docks. Best place to find someone, worst place to be if you didn't want to be found... Oh well, if he was spotted then he was spotted, he'd proven last time that his legs could carry him faster than the legs of old Limpy Leeroy and his couple of cronies. Perching upon an abandoned crate, Samir sat watch, conveniently half obscured by the notice board a few feet in front of him.

Around fifthteen minutes had passed and Samir was already getting bored, his attention wandering to nearby conversations, loud thuds and a loose thread on his cloak which he tried to pull free but failed, instead just making his finger sore.

Feeling completely downtrodden, Rorik shuffled his way back through the Docks, towards his corner of relative quiet. As he walked along the busier streets he glanced around at all of the notice boards, not expecting to see any work left. The boards would often be covered with posters, and by the end of the week the posters would have been ripped down once the job has been completed.

As Rorik passed one of the final notice boards, again he briefly looked at it. Only this time he stopped in his tracks. At first glance, he could see most posters left appeared to be maps or advertising, though he could also see another bit of paper poking out from under one of the notices. Lifting it up, he revealed another poster, this one was a bit battered and even torn at the edges. It had to be at least a couple of weeks old, judging by the condition of the paper. The note was handwritten, and judging by the handwriting, the person clearly had a decent education. The only problem was, it was written in Akorosian, and although Rorik was trying to learn, he could only pick out a few words. He had mostly learnt to speak the language but reading it was even more challenging. Looking around, he weighed up whether asking someone was a good idea at this time in the day. People were rushing to get home or just starting their shifts into the night. Returning his attention back to the poster, he continued to try and ascertain what the note said, eyes boring into the text in disgruntled confusion .

Thread wrapped around his finger, Samir tugged on it once more only serving to create another hole in his already tattered cloak. "Balls..." He muttered under his breath, frowning dramatically at the offending imperfection as if it were a new hole in fine silk. Suddenly, he snapped out of his bored daze as honey eyes landed on a large man only a few feet away in front of the notice board. He was built like a bear, well over 6ft tall, legs like tree trunks and shoulders built for carrying the largest of barrels. Quite possibly the biggest man Samir had ever laid eyes on in his life. He almost wrote off approaching the man entirely based on the fact that if he wanted to, this guy could snap him in half like a toothpick and no one would dare to question him.

About to look back down at his cloak, Samir noticed the disgruntled expression on the bear-man's face. He was clearly a Skov with such pale skin and ginger hair, and he was clearly perplexed by something he'd just seen on the board. It would make sense that he couldn't read something, it happened a lot, most people struggled to read around here, so many different languages were used, but so few were also adequately educated. That was one of the reasons all notices were posted at the beginning of the week as someone more educated read them outloud to an eager and hungry crowd waiting for a few slugs to tide them over.

Groaning inwardly, Samir hopped off the crate landing lightly on his feet as he sidled up beside the towering beast of a man. "Can I help, stranger?" Hoping the other man actually spoke Akorosian and could understand what he'd said through his own thick Iruvian accent, Samir held his lantern up to where the other had been looking.

Rorik had been staring blankly at the poster on the notice for so long, that he barely noticed someone approaching. He had been close to giving up on deciphering the note, until he heard a voice from close by. As he turned to face the sound, the red head noticed how the voice was imbued with a thick foreign accent. Stood next to him was quite a small man, both in size and stature. His skin was a natural dark tan in complexion, his face framed with thick, dark curls of long hair resting past his shoulders and his eyes were honey coloured, almost golden. By the sound of it, the man beside him was from Iruvia.

Staring down at the unhealthily skinny man, Rorik grumbled. "Whit business is it tae ye?". His own accent was strong and a bit difficult to understand, but he could clearly speak Akorosian, though his pronunciation was clipped, as was the case with most Skovs. Sighing, the red head shook his head and glanced back at the notice board. After a few moments of silence, Rorik hesitantly nodded to the poster. "Ah cannae read it". He hoped that the other man might at least be able to give him some idea, that was if the other man could even read. Judging by the looks and smell of him, he probably couldn't, the man didn't look to be much more than a peasant or worker himself. "Nevermind, it isnae important", he muttered. Rolling his eyes at his own gaucheness, he started to walk away.

It had crossed Samir's mind to just shrug and walk away after the man's first comment, but he held ground for a moment longer, remembering why he came here in the first place. Instead, he stood waiting for the inevitable look of defeat on the larger man's face, along with the assumption that Samir couldn't read. It made sense, the average person in his position wasn't likely to be able to read, but this Iruvian was far from average; he was a curious little shit that didn't know when to give up.

"It's not? You often stare at notice boards pensively to pass time then?" On a list of things not to say to a giant grumpy Skov-bear, that was probably up there. Squinting closer at the notice, he tried to make out the words... Which, quite frankly, there were a lot of and not all of them made sense, either because he was still learning Akorosian or this person was drunk when they wrote it.... Or both. Now wasn't the time to not be able to read this, he'd practically just insulted an angry bear and had no leverage to weasel his way out of it. "Something about.... A leaky roof.. " He glanced back over his shoulder before trying to decipher some more relevant words. "Err.. In Silkshore... Oh.." He paused, realising why the notice was probably still up other than because of its wordy nature. "They're only offering a handful of slugs, my friend." Lifting up another poster, he revealed an obscured corner of the notice he was reading, revealing some random unidentifiable doodles. "Umm... Rather you than me.."

Stopping in his tracks, Rorik turned around to face the Iruvian, eyes boring into the small man with a domineering gaze. Ignoring the other's comment, he returned to the man's side. He watched on as the Iruvian tried to decipher the note, rolling his eyes. "A leaky roof?", he  replied, pausing to think. "Ah kin dae that...few slugs is plenty." Staring down at the Iruvian, Rorik nodded in gratitude. "It say where exactly?".