[Information] Stories of the Past and Present

[PIG]

Write some stories about your character for extra experience points. It can be about the past or a side story that is happening in the game currently. As long as the story does not go outside of the scope of the game, I am open for just about anything realistic and inspiring. Some ideas to come to my mind is something that happened in childhood, family, friends, hardships, or inspiring moments. Things you can write about that is currently happening in the game is the character working on a musical tune by starlight, a particularly touching moment during prayer one morning, hunting for food in the desert, or talking to a NPC in the game in private.

Surprise me

Three Stories Max per Level
Level 1 Players: 100XP average | 150XP for extra credit
Level 2 Players: 200XP average | 300XP for extra credit
Level 3 Players: 400XP average | 600XP for extra credit
Level 4-20 Players: 700XP average | 1000XP for extra credit

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Stories Made, Max Three Each Level

-- Character --	-- Level 1 --	-- Level 2 --	-- Level 3 --	-- Level 4 --	-- Level 5 --	-- Level 6 --	-- Level 7 --
Dullen	3	2	1	2	3	0	0
Omacui	3	2	2	3	0	0	0
Drusilla	0	0	0	0	1	0	0
Grak'ark	0	2	2	3	2	1	1
Remkah'ar	1	0	0	1	2	3	0
Draddic	-	-	0	0	0	0	0
Hector	-	-	2	0	0	1	0
Fandrik	-	-	0	0	0	0	0

[Sparkie]

”Come on, slowpoke!” Basil called out breathlessly. ”I win every time these days!” ”I’m coming,” Ahmet called as he waddled up the alleyway toward the main street. Basil bent and rested his hands on his knees, putting the weight of his upper body on his thighs as he waited for his friend. When Ahmet finally got to him he straightened up and said ”You need to stop eating so much. You’d be faster.” Panting, Ahmet looked down at Basil. ”I can’t help that I’m fat. I was born fat.” ”And you were born small too, but you grew. Ahmet gave a single chuckle. ”Yes,” he said. ”Too much, it would seem.” ”I hope we grow more, actually,” Basil said. ”It’s tough to be so small.” ”You’ll be tall for your kind. You’re half as tall as my mother already.” Basil smiled. Ahmet may have been a human, but he was well-intentioned. ”Hey,” Ahmet said, ”Why are we still here at the Daystalls? I thought we were going to the Bazaar today.” Basil’s smile faded. ”Mum and Dad told me to stay close to home today. Papa’s coming for a visit.” ”Really?” Basil nodded. ”I thought he didn’t come around too often anymore.” ”He doesn’t,” Basil replied. ”And I do want to see him. I just hope it doesn’t get nasty again.” Ahmet said nothing to that, and the two young friends just looked around at the usual bustle of the traffic coming and going among the kiosks, huts, and stalls that lined the main way toward the Bazaar. ”I’d better get back home,” Basil said after a while. ”Ok,” Ahmet said. ”I’m going to the Bazaar. That troupe of snake charmers is coming back today, I hear.” Smirking, Basil said ”You know that’s all fake. They don’t even use magic. The cobras just rise when they feel the tapping of the charmer’s foot.” Ahmet just smiled and shrugged. ”It could still kill them with one bite.” With a big grin, Basil waved at his friend in a ‘you’re hopeless’ sort of way. Ahmet chuckled, then asked ”Where do you want to meet tomorrow?” Basil’s smile lessened. ”I can’t go anywhere till after lunch tomorrow. I have the wash again.” ”Aaawwwww!” Ahmet whined with his nose wrinkled. ”And I wanted to go to the Docks tomorrow. It’s no fun there in the afternoon.” With a smirk, Basil said ”Tell you what, come over to my house after breakfast and we’ll try to beg off from chores together. What’cha say?” Ahmet grinned evilly. ”Sounds like mischief,” he said. ”I’m in.” ”Ok, I’ll see you tomorrow,” Basil said, and the two friends parted ways, walking opposite ways down the way. It didn’t take long for Basil to realize how hungry he’d gotten after half a day’s play. In one of the stalls nearby there was a box of luscious-looking Starfruit. Basil had never had a Starfruit before, but they always looked so good. Basil looked for the stall’s owner, and he seemed to be having an argument with a neighboring vendor in a language Basil couldn’t understand. Now was the time. Now or never. Quickly, Basil snuck up to the stall, pilfered a single fruit from the box, and walked away toward a small alleyway. Once he was out of direct sight he took off running as fast as he could. He found a little alcove where he could eat his prize, and soon enough Basil was munching the soft, juicy flesh of the fruit with obvious relish...

[Invalid User]

 

Tajh kept his distance from the gnolls on patrol with him. Natasha circled overhead and seemed to be keeping her distance, as well. Patrols with the Three Jaws Tribe were always tension filled excursions spent at the height of awareness. Not only did the Water Seeker have to watch for the minions of the Carrion King but every one of the gnolls on the patrol would put a blade into his back on less than a whim. The only thing that kept the gnolls in line was Kroggol. Kroggol was one of the War Leaders of the tribe and, after receiving an arrow in the eye, he had developed a healthy dose of respect for Tajh. The War Leader recognized his ability to kill their common enemy and promised a very slow and painful death to any who crossed the Water Seeker.

This particular patrol was a nasty one that had left just as false dawn was approaching. Kroggol himself led the gnolls and their reluctant addition toward the remains of a Three Jaws outpost that had been decimated the night before. Three Jaws scouts had reported enemies still in the area, lying in wait for just such a patrol. Natasha circled overhead, scouting the area. As the patrol grew closer to the outpost, the falcon let out a screech and dove for a tree. Enemies... and they saw her... If the Carrion King's minions had shown no interest in the bird she would have kept circling to provide a location. Tajh peeled away from the patrol and stalked around towards the tree his beloved had made for. Kroggol noted his disappearance with a nod. They knew of his obsession with his falcon and that any divergence from their plan would not lessen the Water Seeker's efficiency. Killing Gnolls had been the entirety of his life since Fareen's destruction and he knew what he was doing.

Finding Natasha proved an easy task. The love of his life had been smart enough to land in a tree that provided excellent cover and flanked the enemy position. Once Kroggol attacked, the Carrion King's minions would flee very near to this tree. "Thank you, dearheart." He whispered as he climbed up beside her and knocked an arrow. All that was left was to wait for the Three Jaws to break the invaders. Waiting... I hate waiting... Its too much like standing watch. Tajh does his best to keep his attention on the battle ahead but the quiet anticipation of the early morning mixed with the strain of keeping his attention divided between his 'allies' and his foes caused his mind to wander to another time when dawn had not yet broke and he was alone with his beloved...

"Come on, Natasha. The marriage ceremony is only a formality! My heart sings your name every second of every day and the Spirits recognize our love, I am sure of it. How could they not? What force is stronger than what we have?" A very different Tajh offered his hand to the woman who was to be his wife. The smell of dew and the land waking up underneath his feet tried to pull his attention from the doorway of her tent, where she stood uncertain in the half-light before dawn, but every ounce of his being was hers. "Just a walk, then. I promise that I will only attempt two stolen kisses and dozens of hugs." Her smile turned the morning to blazing afternoon as she took his hand but something was wrong. What was that smell? That noise? Why was his bow in his hand?

Natasha's screech pulls him from his memory just in time for him to put an arrow into a fleeing gnoll. Some had already gotten past him. Tajh's features contorted into a visage of pure rage, hate, and sorrow. A growl from somewhere deep inside him poured from his lips and he dropped down from his tree. Arrows flew from his bow right into the teeth of the Carrion King's fodder as they fled the Three Jaws and no more made it past the Water Seeker. Kroggol would later compare his unwilling ally to a demon and brag that he alone was brave enough to approach the 'Bane of Minions' after the battle. The statement would be accompanied by the display of a long scar on his chest. Sometime during the morning, Tajh had run out of arrows and had to switch to his spear.

[Sparkie]

As Basil trod through the back alleys towards home, he flexed and separated his fingers. They were sticky from the Starfruit. He made a mental note to wash up as soon as he got home so as to give Dad or Mum a reason for suspicion. Just about the time that Basil’s lowly family dwelling came into view, he heard the raised voices of Dad and Papa from afar. He stopped and shook his head. ”Fighting again,” he muttered, and he leaned against the alleyway wall in the shadows just looking at the open doorway of the small stucco building he’d always called home. It seemed less like home every time he came back these days. With a sigh he gathered himself and began sauntering towards the doorway. He did his best to look nonchalant as he walked through the door into the main room, stealing a sly glance at his Dad and Papa as they stood face to face in the middle of the sitting area. He quickly looked away and headed toward the kitchen, but he kept his ears trained on the ‘conversation’ his father and grandfather were having. ”All I’m saying is I’m worried for all of you,” Papa practically shouted. ”This is too dangerous a thing for a whole family to be doing.” ”Keep your voice down,” Basil’s father said. ”I’m sure the whole neighborhood can hear you as it is, and that means our guests can too.” ”Oh, guests is it?” Papa said, his voice turning nasty. ”Unappreciative, disobedient little criminals is what they are. Call them for what they are!” Basil closed his eyes for a moment and did his best to mentally tune out as he entered the kitchen. Mama was there at the hearth stove, fixing dinner. Flatbread and bitter greens boiled with lamb bone, and a nut salad with dates, pomegranates, pistachios and almonds for dessert. Basil’s mouth salivated at the sight of it, even though he’d just ate. ”Baz, would you get me the ladle from over there?” Basil’s mother said. It was a command, not a question. Mama hadn’t even looked at him when he entered, and he could tell by her tone she was scowling. He didn’t blame her, what with the goings-on in the other room. ”Sure,” Basil replied, trying to sound cheerful, and he headed over the basin and pitcher to wash the telltale nectar from his fingers. He began to pour a little water from the pitcher into the basin. At the sound of the splash, Basil’s mother said ”I thought I told you to get me the ladle.” ”I will,” Basil said as he put the pitcher back down. ”I just need to wash my hands first.” Basil’s mother turned and looked at him, her head cocked to one side. She said ”You never wash your hands before- Wait!” Her eyes narrowed, and she pointed at him suddenly. ”Don’t you move!” Basil froze, not because his mother told him to, but because he knew he had been caught. Mama stomped over to him and grabbed his hands. As she turned them over and examined his palms, Basil wondered if she wouldn’t notice. Any light of hope he had was extinguished when she looked him in the eye and said ”Why are your fingers sticky?” Basil stared at her, jaw agape. He should have known better. Mama was always in a bad mood whenever Papa came around. ”Well? What do you have to say?” Weakly, Basil said ”I was hungry…” ”And you stole, didn’t you?” Basil put his head down. His mother gripped his wrist like a vise and yanked Basil to her side. She marched him straight out of the kitchen and into the sitting area. She cut right in between Basil’s father and grandfather, much to their visible surprise, and said ”Fariq, your son has been going around stealing!” Tugging at Basil’s arm, she commanded ”Now you tell him! Come on now, you tell your father what you stole.” Basil’s cheeks burned. It was bad enough to be caught, but having this happen in front of Papa made it even worse. With his eyes to the ground, he said ”A Starfruit.” The whole world seemed silent then. It was like nobody was moving, like the whole of Golarion had stopped just for this. No one in the room said or did anything for what seemed like a long time. Basil wondered what would happen. For a split second, he wondered if anyone knew what would happen. Finally, Basil’s father said ”Dad, you’ll need to excuse me. I need to talk to my son.” Though his head was still down, Basil was able to sense Papa’s subtle nod. His grandfather walked over toward the doorway, presumably to have a smoke. Mama practically threw Basil’s own arm at him and stomped back to the kitchen. Basil’s Dad put his hand on his son’s shoulder and said “Come on, Baz.” Together they walked toward the back room…

[ShinobiMaster123]

Finding Haleen: As the group of mercenaries move through the desert, they heard of the Lady Almah and her call for mercenaries and are on their way to sign up. Dullen looks at his family and fellow mercenaries. He is the only one that stands out. They all trained as militia in one of the many towns they called their home, but Dullen was the only one that answered the call from Irori. It came to him in a vision, to serve as part of the clergy of Irori and to become one with knowledge. He wouldn't have answered if not for the encouragement of Haleen. Sweet Haleen. Dullen has known her since childhood and outside his family, one of the only people he could count on and trust. Sibling rivalry was high in their family and each made plays to earn favor from their mother or other people that employed them. This made for a rough life. Sometimes there was not enough food to go around and the strongest would always win out. Dullen wasn't as strong as the rest of his siblings but he was wise beyond his years. He was always the last to eat, but he never went hungry. That was because of Haleen. She would help him during his darkest hours and bring him comfort. Right before they left, she disappeared. Dullen noticed her becoming strangely morose and depressed. Every time he inquired, she would smile at him nervously and brush him off. He knew something was bothering her and she would come to him in time. But then she went missing. All he has left is her note, she left him a brief note, begging him to forget her and to get on with his life, but something about the note bothered him—something in the way she phrased her words struck him as forced. He has no doubt that she may been kidnapped, forced to leave against her will, or even magically controlled, but she also could have left him to protect him from something—that was ever her way. He is now convinced that it’s time for him to step in and protect her, but he has no idea where she may have gone until recently. Several months have passed since she disappeared, and he spent those months searching for clues to her location, and he finally found a lead— a report of a sighting of a woman matching Haleen’s description has come to him, placing Haleen in the vicinity of an old ghost town, Kelmarane. What she’s doing there and how she came to be there makes no sense to him yet, but the lead is the strongest one he's had. This and Garavel’s advertisement for mercenaries to accompany him to the region is all the omen you need. The family joined Garavel’s group and eagerly await the day you’ll be leaving for Kelmarane. Two things to find. What happened to their missing father, which now they found rumors that they may actually be from Kelmarane. The second Haleen. The second is more important to Dullen since he never knew his father.   Right Hand: Left Hand: Put down: Hp: 10/10 AC: 14 Saves: +1/+1/+6 Ammo: 10 sling bullets Equipment affects: Spell/Condition affects:

[ShinobiMaster123]

The Seal…. After telling Trevis about the seal, Dullen reflects back…. Dullen being the most responsible of the siblings was often called in by his mother, Aisha, to help around the house. She is getting old and can’t get around as easy as others. Luckily Dullen has taken the path to enlightenment and Irori’s teaching strives for you to reach perfection in any body type/age that you are. Dullen has guided his mother to live a life that extends her longevity and vitality. It was a typical afternoon, the rest of the family was out looking for mercenary work and Dullen has checked up on his elderly mother. ”Fetch me that large platter on top of the hutch, Dullen. Watch out for my dishes though. You know what they mean to me.” his mother said with concern in her voice. The hutch was tall and the platter was wedged behind something. As Dullen pulled it free, all the dishes went crashing to the floor. He heard a slight metallic sound above the breaking of ceramic behind the hutch. His mother broke down into tears at the sight of the broken dishes. Dullen eased his mother’s pain, ”There, there mother, with the power of Irori behind me, nothing is impossible. Great Irori, make your servant a fixer not a destroyer.” Picking up one of the destroyed plates, he prays as the pieces form around it and rebuild the plate [ooc: Mend spell]. His mother is elated, but then says sternly, ”Dullen, you are so careless. Now please finish fixing my plates and place them where you found them.” It takes some time to fix them all, but he completes his task. He then investigates the metallic sound behind the hutch. He finds a small piece of cloth that has been used to wrap something hard. Dullen opens the cloth and finds a metallic seal. One used to press out the wax to seal a scroll. Looking at the emblem of the seal which is a scimitar on top of a spread goat hide. Looking more at the cloth and it looks to be of a village he has never seen before with the name, “Kelmarane” written on the bottom. One of the houses has a dark read circle around it. Dullen surmises that this may be their family crest. Kelmarane must be the key and the house circled must have some clues to find. He holds back the emotions knowing that his mother never wanted to discuss their family history. Dullen hides it away in his robes and vows to look into the matter when he is able.   Right Hand: Left Hand: Put down: Hp: 11/11 AC: 14 Saves: +1/+1/+6 Ammo: 10 sling bullets Equipment affects: Spell/Condition affects:

[aerondor]

The Quarterstaff Omacui ibn Ishan Omacui trembled outside the Sheiks tent. He hurt. Oh by the blazing light of Saeran he hurt. He was an adult. He was the son of Ishan ibn Asad and he would not shame the memory of his father by showing pain. The tent flap was opened and Omacui ibn Ishan felt the gentle push of the guard on his shoulder. Not so long ago the man had under his direction... now.... Before Omacui stood his master, Sheik Khayyam. Around the Sheiks upper arm was a bandage, blood still leaking through it. Omacui’s failure was evident to the world in every crimson drop. Another push from behind, and Omacui prostrated himself in front of the Sheik. “My master....” he starts. The words come unbidden, bubbling up as the sense of failure threatens to overtake him. “For each drop of your blood shed, take a finger. For each wound, take a ..”. The words stop the instant the Sheik raises his hand. Sheik Khayyam was a hard man, and one not known for mercy. Omacui had enjoyed privilege – well beyond that his status as a slave warranted. Now the Sheik looked down at him. Out of the side of his eyes Omacui could see the Sheiks advisors were arrayed in the tent. That did not bode well. The hour was late and several of them did not appear happy. For the Sheik to have summoned them was not surprising. An attack on Khayyam would need to be answered. It appeared that a formal pronouncement was to be made, as they were still in the tent. Given all the attention was on him, Omacui was fearful. “Arise Omacui.” Arise? In the presence of the Sheik? He was a slave. A warrior slave, but a slave none the less. Slaves did not stand in the presence of Sheik Khayyam. Slaves did not disobey him either. Slowly Omacui stood, his eyes still affixed on the Sheik’s feet. “Omacui ibn Ishan..” the Sheik started. Why is he using my full name? Justice doesn’t require that. Slaves don’t even have full names. Something was very wrong and in the pit of his stomach fear began to gather. “tonight a hashishiyya attempted to take my life. He points to the wound in his arm. “But for your quick thinking and throwing yourself in front of his weapon...” he now points to the bloodstained bandage wrapped around Omacui’s torso. “he would have succeeded.” The Sheik looks around the tent. “Omacui is my property, and may be disposed of as I see fit. Tonight I do that. Omacui you are now a free man.”. The looks around the tent vary. Many are startled, and at least one raised an eyebrow at the “man”. “Let all know this, and marvel at the mercy and generosity of Sheik Khayyam.” In a state of shock, both from the announcement and the wound, Omacui was led from the tent to another in which he was allowed to recuperate. The days past slowly and the wound resisted normal healing. It seems the blade of the hashishiyya was tainted. However the generosity of the Sheik eventually saw a priest summoned. After a week, Omacui could rise and walk. Nizari, one of the Sheik’s advisors approached. “Omacui, you are now free, and must decide what you wish to do with your life. All know of your desire for vengeance on the gnolls that killed your family. Word has reached me of an expedition that seeks to free ancient Kelmarane from the gnolls. Who knows, maybe some of your family remain there as slaves to this day?” his eyes bore into Omacui. “I can arrange for you to meet up with it. An old colleague of mine, Garavel by name is looking for warriors to assist.” his eyes turn cold. “Remember though, you are no longer a warrior in the service of your Sheik, so by our laws you may not carry a blade. I am sure that is hard for a warrior, and once you are out of our lands you may do as you please. I tell you this to explain why your sword will not be returned to you.”

[Frogman]

A lesson "Her Scorpious, two banks arrayed for us like pearls in a necklace, / a crown beside a crown, a palace beside a palace; Her soil, musk; her water, silver; / her gravel, diamonds and jewels/ The seat of the Dawnflower/ The soul of song/ What does it mean, Jayed? Rig the Eternally Bored interrupted Jayed midway through his awkward recitation, What does it say of the people of Katapesh? Jayed flicked his ears in irritation. This was not magic. This was not why he had agreed to be here, with this... person of indeterminate species. What good did wasting effort on poetry do? Uh... I think, he began, chewing the words like jerky, I think that the poet is proud of his city. He's in love with where he lives. And if I told you that this poem was written before the city got its name? Before the Year of the Scouring Winds? Would you be surprised? Rig had pulled a dagger from somewhere and was picking his nails. The pesudo-human had something off about him... maybe it was the smell. I suppose not? When the raiders came there wasn't much to love... Jayed mumbled glaring at the parchment as if he could will it to produce an answer. [B] They will come and burn the books/ Before eyes grow feeble/ Before ideas are muddled/ Before their crowded languages teach us/ Tranquility/ Before that/ He will come![B] Rig recited, punctuating the poem with his precise baritone, Now what is that, Jayed? He paused uncomfortable in the silence. Uncomfortable in the scrutiny. He hated the questions, questioning, always like he was following a lure into a trap. Uh... Is it the fear of Katapesh? The fear of being burned again? Rig just smiled his crooked, snaggletoothed smile Katapesh is a fine home for the wealthy/ but an abode of misery and distress for the poor/ I walked among them in dismay as though I were a child without a parent... What is that to the Katapeshi? That's... what they are now. It's a city built on stolen land, fed by a tide of misery. It's a place where the wealth only goes upward... toward things that cannot be understood or trusted... Jayed spilled, not realizing how much he was saying. I think, Rig said with his ineffable grin, That you're beginning to understand poetry.

[Sparkie]

The room at the back of Basil’s family’s dwelling was dominated by a dwarven-sized kiln, with earthenware jugs, vases, cups, and the like mounted on shelves or hooks around the room. Some of the vessels were exquisitely painted and coated with a sealing agent, others were plain and unfinished. A table with a pottery wheel took up most of one side of the room, with containers of clay, paint, brushes and other supplies stored underneath. In one corner of the room there were some overstuffed pillows, upon which sat a young Halfling woman with a small child in her arms. In a way, both of them seemed barely out infanthood. Upon seeing the two occupants of the room, Basil sighed again. More ears to hear what just happened meant more humiliation. As both father and son entered the room, the young lady looked up at them and Basil’s father addressed her. ”Juhana,” he said, ”with all the noise just now I think it would be best if you and little Wadi stayed out of sight for a while. OK?” Juhana nodded and rose up right away, as if anticipating having to move. She set the child down on the pillows and looked to Basil. ”Would you watch him?” she asked. Basil managed a slight smile and slumped down onto the pillows with Wadi. Normally he would have enjoyed playing with the little tyke, who was big enough to walk but wasn’t quite to the point of talking yet, but the impending punishment he knew was coming kept him from interacting much with the child. Instead, Basil watched as his father and Juhana pulled the pottery supplies out from beneath the table and set them aside. The trapdoor under the table was well hidden even without the supplies being on top, as it looked like part of the floor. Once the trapdoor was open, Juhana slipped under the table and down into the compartment under the floor. Without being asked, Basil picked up Wadi and carried him to the table. He handed the boy down to Juhana, who thanked him. Basil’s father knelt at the edge of the trapdoor and said ”We should be able to bring you back up before supper.” He then added ”I’m sorry about all this, Juhana. I wish there was another way.” ”No! Don’t feel bad, Fariq,” Juhana replied. ”I’m just thankful to all of you for helping us. Salaam.” ”Salaam” Father said, and he shut the trapdoor. He turned to Basil and said ”Give me a hand with these.” Together, Basil and his father put the supplies back under the table. Then Basil’s father motioned to the pillows and said, ”Sit down.” Basil did as he was told, but inside he was smoldering. He kept his head down as his father stood in front of him, refusing to meet his gaze. He was angry at the whole world just then, and most of all at himself. He knew a lecture was coming, and he wanted no part of it. He’d have rather had his father pronounce judgment and have done with it. He didn’t want his father to stand there and tell him why it was wrong to steal; he knew it was wrong. Why go on about it? So it took him by surprise when his father sighed and sat down beside him. He didn’t do much to react, however, and he kept his eyes to the floor as his father began to speak. ”Did you have fun with Ahmet today?” he asked. Basil shrugged a little. ”I guess,” he said. ”Good. Was Ahmet with you when you took the Starfruit?” Basil’s already tense body tensed even further when he heard that question. He hadn’t thought about Ahmet. ”No!” Basil cried. ”I was on my way here when I… It just… Look, I took it, but Ahmet wasn’t with me. We’d parted just before.” ”Good,” Basil’s father said, then he was silent for a time. Basil’s nerves frayed steadily with every silent second. Basil thought about saying ‘I’m sorry,’ but figured that would do more harm than good. He almost looked up at his father, but some primal fear kept him from doing so. Finally his father began to speak. ”Baz, I know you know what you did was wrong. You know what right is, and what isn’t. What you need to realize is that what you do affects other people. You don’t want Ahmet to get hurt, do you?” ”But he wasn’t there-“ ”It doesn’t matter,” Basil’s father said, cutting him off. Another silence ensued. Basil could tell then just how angry his father was with him. He only stopped speaking like that when he was trying to keep his temper. Again, his father began to speak. ”Let me put it another way: What do you think would happen if you got caught?” Basil’s first thought was to say ‘I didn’t get caught,’ but greater wisdom prevailed. ”They’d take me away and cut off my hand,” he said. ”Right,” his father said. ”But what if the guardsmen went easy on you, as they’ve been known to do? What if they brought you back here to us to tell us what you did?” Now it was Basil’s turn for silence. He didn’t see his father’s point. After all, getting off easy was a good thing, right? ”I’ll tell you what could happen,” Basil’s father continued. ”Those same guardsmen could decide to have a look around our house, just to be sure we weren’t all criminals. They could see Juhana and Wadi, and ask why they’re staying with us. They could decide to search this place and find our hiding place. I don’t think I need to tell you what would happen to your mother and me if that were the case.” Basil nodded slowly. He now saw what his father was getting at, but it seemed like a reach. Only the smallest human guards could even fit in the door of their residence, and even if they could fit in, why would they look around? ”Do you understand what I’m saying?” ”Yes, I do,” Basil said. More silence. Basil could tell that his father was looking to him, expecting something more, but Basil had no idea what to say. Then his father said some words that he would remember for the rest of his life: ”I want you to be honest with me. What do you really think?” Basil hesitated, then looked up at his father. He looked into those big blue eyes that both were and were not his own. He saw that his father was earnest, concerned. For the first time, Basil felt like he could tell him something and feel like an equal. ”It’s just… I dunno…” Basil searched for words that would not offend. ”Sometimes I feel like we’re being hypocritical, like we’re just keeping up appearances. I mean, we are breaking the law, aren’t we? I don’t want to sound like Papa, but doesn’t he speak the truth? Aren’t we helping criminals? Doesn’t that make us criminals?” Basil saw a fleeting look pass over his father’s face. Relief, perhaps? ”I can’t blame you for thinking so,” he said. ”In fact, yes, we are breaking the law. There are few laws in Katapesh, and we break the most sacred of them all. But I want you to keep this in mind: Something may be legal, but not right. Do you agree?” Basil scratched his head. He thought about that day when he and Ahmet wandered over by Zandrek’s Pesh Palace. They’d peered inside out of curiosity and Basil didn’t like what he saw. He had nothing against smoking pesh, but he saw the way Zandrek and the other dealers preyed upon the needs of the addicted. It didn’t seem right to him then, nor did it now. ”Yes, I see what you mean,” Basil said. ”Good. Now, consider this: Something may be right, but not legal. What do you think?” As Basil’s father paused, Basil thought for a while. Without waiting for an answer from his son, he continued. ”You see, your mother and I both believe that it is wrong for one person to own another person. Indentured servitude is one thing, but slavery is another. Many Halfling slaves are bought and sold each day in this city, and some are mistreated badly. Even when they aren’t, their life is not their own. Their concerns are second to that of their owner, and they often have even the minute details of their lives ruled over. This is wrong. And so we work to free those so afflicted because it is the right thing to do, regardless of what the law says. Do you see?” Basil furrowed his brow. ”I suppose,” he said. ”One last thing, Baz. Think of your life thus far. You enjoy being able to run and play with Ahmet, don’t you? To wander the districts at will and see the wonders this city has to offer? Now, think of little Wadi. If Juhana hadn’t been brave enough to escape captivity with him, he might not have ever had the chance to do as you do every day.” It wasn’t until then that Basil grasped the weight of his father’s reasoning. He thought of how it felt to be cooped up in the house all day doing the wash or cleaning the kiln. He thought of the prospect of doing nothing but work every day of his life, with no rest. He thought of little Wadi, and how that could have been his life, or that it could be even worse than that. Once again, Basil looked into his father’s eyes. ”You’re right, father. It isn’t fair, is it?” ”No it isn’t, my son. That’s why we break the law. Trust me, Baz, you’re no criminal. We are not criminals here. We merely stand up for what we believe, and act accordingly. Remember that, son. Remember that, and you’ll make me proud of you. Now, about your punishment…” Basil suppressed a groan, but had an easier time looking at his father as he spoke. ”You’ll be allowed to have supper with the family tonight while Papa is here, but your mother and I will speak about disciplinary actions tomorrow. I can say with some certainty, however, that you will not leave the house for the next seven days. Understood?” Basil exhaled. ”Yes, father.” ”Good. Now, let’s go help your mother.” Basil got up and helped his father to his feet. As they proceeded out of the back room they were met by Papa, who looked to have been standing just outside the doorway. ”Baz,” Papa said with a wisp of a smile, ”would you give me a minute with you Dad here? We have to talk.” Basil nodded and began walking toward the kitchen area. A noise caught his ear and he looked over his shoulder behind him. His father and Papa were embracing. Basil smiled. He turned back to walk to the kitchen and saw his mother watching the same display of affection he’d just seen, only she was getting misty-eyed. ”Fathers and sons,” she said almost wistfully, then spied her son watching her. ”And you, young man, are going to clean up everything from supper. Then tomorrow you’re going to do the wash, then sweep the hearth, then scrub the kiln…”

[JoeNotJoey]

The Release of Abdul-Azim Remkah`ar The morning came sooner than Remkah`ar could have dreamed. He had intended to stay awake, but the excitement of the previous evening had left him more tired than he had known. He was shaken awake by the head of servants and told to gather his few possessions. The sky was still a dark blue, just starting to lighten. It could not have been much later than the fourth hour. He was bustled down the hall to a small courtyard. It was not the main courtyard, where fresh gardens were kept for the Master’s pleasure at great cost in water. This was an area for stables and the smiths and carpenters to work their craft. He was left at the door of one of the smitheys while the head went in and discussed in hushed tones with the metal-worker while an apprentice stoked the bellows. The noise of the bellows made it hard for him to hear, but he caught snippets. that the “Master feel strongly that the Ifrit be sent away… No, not sold… the details of the dream... difficult last time” He could not believe that this was really happening. The head of servants returned and explained without ceremony that Remkah`ar was to be freed. He explained his new rights and the stipulation that he was not welcome to return. Gladly, he agreed. He would not return. At least not until he had the power to do what he needed to do. And by then a house full of guard might as well be an ants’ nest and he a roaring fire. “Then come along.” He lead him into the smithey. The head produce a bundle which proved to be a suit of somewhat threadbare third-hand clothing. He had him remove his garments, which were the property of the household and still had plenty of wear. But before he donned his new clothing, he was stopped. Before a branded slave is officially released, a seal of pardon must be overlayed. “You will not remember your first branding.” The head of servants was almost conversational with him. That was a first, he was used to being spoken down to, except by his fellow slaves. “A barbaric practice, especially for those born into it, but necessary I am afraid.” The bellows continued to pump. “The first time we tried to brand you,” he continued. He sounded as if the whole affair of remembering tired him. “We used a fire no larger that a cookfire to heat the brand. And do you know what you did? You giggled. That is an unsteadying thing for a man expecting a scream." He produced a flask in a similar manner to how he produced the bundle from one of the deep folds of his robe. He took a long drink before offering it to Remkah`ar. He hesitated, unused to such offers. “Take a drink, you will want it.” Remkah`ar did so. The Head took it back and took another long draught. He had the expression of a man who took no pleasure in what he was about to do. “As you know, we got it to work. But there is no delicate control of the temperature required. Take another drink.” Remkah`ar did. The liquor was strong and hitting him harder than he would have expected. As he handed back the flask the Head nodded and four strong arms came from behind him. They pulled him down into a chair, and though he struggled there was nothing he could do. The Head took another long drink before pulling on a heavy glove and removing the brand from the fire, white hot and causing the air air to waver around it. "The only sure way to see that it takes is to get the brand as hot as possible." A stick wrapped in leather was jammed between his teeth. “Bite down, son. It won’t help much, but it will help some.” He raised the brand to level. “I do not envy you, boy.”

[aerondor]

Omacui’s normal family diet was dates, goat milk, rice, goat milk, nuts, goat milk, sometimes goat meat, and never forgetting the goat milk. While he wouldn’t want to miss out on any of it, he loved it when something different and exciting was on offer. Once every month or two, the family would go to town and trade.

Omacui loved it when the family had been in town. He didn’t like the town itself. There were too many people; it was too noisy and too busy. What he loved is that when the family had been in town, they bought flour. Not feed grain, not bread grain, but flour.

Back in the hill country, he could hardly ever wait. Ishan would watch him. “The boy acts like he has sat on an ants nest.” he would say to Abrar. Father was always full of such expressions. Mother just laughed. She had a beautiful laugh, clear and full of life. As she laughed, she would set out the small oven. “Omacui, fetch water please.”.

The one bit he hated was this. The oven was always clean, but each time that bread was made she insisted on cleaning it again. The small oven shone like a genie lamp, and water was precious – to use it to wash the oven seemed wrong.

Dutifully Omacui would gather the skins and jog the mile or so to the closest well or stream. The trip back took much longer. The water was heavy, and running would just cause it to spill. In later years he would realise this was all part of his learning to be a man: learning patience; learning that good things had a cost; learning where to find water, and how to carry it.

Abrar would then wash the oven and set it over the fire. The dough was normally ready by the time Omacui had returned with water. His mother would work her magic. Though he watched hard, he never saw her sneak anything in. Somehow though, it always grew, and grew. How the small loaf of dough could become so large he knew could only be magic.

When he grew restless again, Omacui would be sent out to tend the goats. He never went far when there was baking. The smell of the bread in the oven was too good, and he wanted to make sure his brothers and sisters didn’t eat it all.

His sisters worked too. When there was to be bread, they would be making butter from the goats milk. As he grew, Omacui began to realise that this was something his family did to bring them all together. Everyone contributed to the meal somehow. No matter the squabbles of the day, everyone enjoyed the bread and fresh fruit and vegetables from the town.

To Omacui, Bread meant family. Cleaning the Oven was always worthwhile.

[PIG]

A Monster I

Fire&Wind "Blessed is the temperament of Gozreh. Blessed (O Noble) are his seeds upon the land. Grant (O Holy One) Thy Protection; Lest his wrath be tempted and the winds are in fury." Raheem whispers this over and over as he walks among the long lines of pesh crops, at the peek of their ripeness. He stops his prayers at the sound of hushed laughter behind him and turns to see his little brother and sister playing, growing bored of the long trek through the vast pesh farm of their family. "Zahara! Khalid! Stop this instant." The two children freeze and hesitantly catch up with their much older brother, head of the house with their father away to the city of Katapesh on business. "You must take this more seriously. Harvest has begun and if we do not pay Gozreh true respect then we might lose this year's crop. Last year we lost half to rot. We can't let that happen again. I know you are both hungry but that is why this crop must succeed if we are going to get food into our bellies before year's end." The little ones agreed with their brother and said they will do as he says, empty stomachs or not. The Sun of Saranrae is low in the horizon as they continue to walk. Khalid is still very young and curious, a little too curious for Raheem's taste, and has very little respect being the youngest son of father's children. Khalid was coddled, something Raheem never had from their father when he was growing up, and was punished less for questioning their traditions and their religion. Instead, his probing questions were conveniently ignored. But when Raheem was left in charge things changed and the eldest brother always had a cane around to remind the little brother his place. In many ways he looked upon him as his own son. Raheem would tell his siblings that a gnoll might kidnap them, a bandit slit their throats, or sand eels drag them underneath the sand if they misbehave. This usually worked on Khalid but Zahara remainder dubious. Zahara was different. She was quick of wit but quiet. She was coming of age and wore the traditional niqab women were supposed to wear upon maturity, only her eyes showing through the veil across her face. Raheem was horrified by stories of his father traveling the Katapesh market where women were not veiled. He even spoke of slaves that barely wore any clothes and walked the streets, ten paces behind their master. The barbaric nature of the urban life there was wrenching. The freedom that the pactmasters gave this good nation lets everyone do just as they please... as long as coin is made that is. Next thing to happen is men lying with men and women lying with camels! Raheem and his father spoke of these things deep into the night by melting candle light, away from prying eyes and ears that might connect to the pactmasters' vast network of spies. Usually it is Raheem that gets the most heated about the subject, but his father would quickly ease him back down. 'But we are making a fortune!' he would say. 'The Foreigners chase our pesh like a moth chases flame.' Raheem and his siblings take a break and help their selves to some of the pesh milk in the tables of cacti stretching further than the eye can see, taking it in it's rawest form and touching it to their lips to curb their hunger. Raheem feels his lips and tongue go numb from the narcotic and his hunger falls to the background as his senses focus to the front. It's much like drinking strong coffee and just as lightly addictive. But soon they shall harvest and ferment the pesh into the ultimate cash cow- the ultimate drug: Refined Pesh. That in there lies the dragon that can never be caught. Something cheaply made, only grown in Katapesh, and sells 10 gold coins to the pound locally. Double or triple that across seas to unheard of places like Absalom, Cheliax, or Varisia. Places Raheem has only heard about but has no interest in seeing their strange foreign ways. "Brother." Raheem does not notice his brother's voice as he is lost in thought. The sun beats down on them as they walk on. He has even stopped praying to Gozreh. Instead he is wondering if his father was able to hire any slaves in the Flesh Market this time. Halfling work hard and you can work them to the bone, very cheap and easy to replace. They aren't strong but for their size they can push their selves pretty far, scoring the multiple cacti to ooze the precious milk out. A larger male slave would be an excellent guard against trespassers and ward off danger. "Brother, they are waving at us and yelling." Again, Raheem ignores his siblings. Maybe if they bought a slave druid from the inner lands, or even hired one on loan once they can afford it with some interest, to help crop growth. Cleric slaves were unreliable, he's heard, since the Gods rarely enjoyed granting blessings to clerics who make prayers upon the command of their masters. Druids however... had no God. They worshiped the land and could be controlled. A druid... or even a wishcrafter with all the trappings of genie granting minor wishes...Then they might make serious money. Raheem doesn't care much about how the pactmasters have eroded their traditions but the wealth they are making off of pesh from the pactmasters could get him multiple wives. The best way to change the world is to breed soldiers that would carry his ways. That way his traditions can continue! As they sow the land he will sow the women and make everything right again, fathering children that will listen and not question. There is a slight grin on his dry lips when the warning horn wails loud and clear in the air. Raheem freezes and looks around. The farm help are in the distance, near the villa, waving and jumping to get their attention. Gnolls!? No, they are too far inland for a gnoll raid... right? Katpashi lions! They have been wondering into their land the last few days and have even been attacking neighboring farms, beasts of fathomless speed and strength. All the dangers he threatened his siblings with were all true, just rare was all. He never truly worried that any of them would happen. "Look! Look! No!" Zahara voice called. Raheem finally sees what the warning horn was for. A giant sandstorm was rising like a tsunami in the horizon. A monster, unbarred, by nature. The horn, blown much too late by who ever was responsible to the station, blew one long note. Then two small ones. Then one final medium note. Long, short, short, medium: Sandstorm sited. And too late. By the all the circle of gods, much too late. Gozreh's ears were deaf to his prayers as his waves seared the land towards them. It was the time for Earth and Air to smother Fire and Water, to take petty revenge for their fame in the land. Raheem screamed for his siblings to run and he cupped them in each arm as they ran with him, their feet barely touching the ground as he half carried them/half pushed them back to the stone villa in the distance. As the shadow befell them he knew it was too late. The buffer of wind before the storm actually helped them along the way for a split moment, pushing at their backs as if to say 'Hurry!' Then the shower of sand was upon them. It ripped skin and filled every crevasse it could find outside of clothing such as their mouths, nose, and ears. Raheem's skin turned red from the burn and the world was suddenly brownish-black. He held onto his loved ones for dear life and hugged them close, his back taking the brunt of punishment. Sand and wind pushed him down but Raheem was strong and desperate, he marched on in the direction he last saw of the salvation of stone structures. He screamed his anger and determination but it just could not be heard by even his own ears as the sandstorm roared around him. * * * The next day, Raheem's father returned to find much of the land smothered by sand. He yanked at the chain holding his newly purchased halfling and human slaves behind him to quicken their pace back to the villa. He spent a fortune on them and he will need to pay the slave masters back the debt. He needed to know the extent of the damage. Raheem's father found him weeping at the villa, Zahara's dark veil in one hand in tatters and Khalid nowhere to be seen. Raheem's mother was treating the bright wounds on her eldest sons' back but backed away as the true man of the house approached, slaves and servants in close tow. Almost all of the pesh farm was buried by mounds of sand. A horn broken in half laid on the ground not too far off, blood splashed the ground near it. Raheem fell to his knees before his father. "There was nothing I could. No sword I could swing. No spells cast could have helped. I can not find my brother or sister, I believe them to be already buried in their coffins of sand. I have forsaken our name, Father." The older man steps past his only son and looks at the damage on his land. He swallows his sadness for his lost children, his hurt hidden buy the white mustache covering his mouth, but still revealed by his furrowed brow and wet blue eyes. "No. We will prevail. The slaves will dig out the pesh we can use and whatever we can sell will be payed to the pactmasters for our loan for the slaves. We will prevail, my son. We are now the pactmasters' slaves, but we will still prevail."

[Yuul]

Shadows and Dust part 1 The escape from Kelmarane had been a harrowing one, but Tahir, then but two years old, wouldn't remember much of it but a flash of panic, perhaps phantom screams doomed to echo through dreams on some faraway night. He would never know his young father, dying like many others did while his mother Farah carried him to safety alongside those few others fortunate enough to escape and outrun their attackers. Those early days after their escape were filled solely by the need to survive and reach Katapesh. Some had family there, others could think of no better choice, and some held to some foolish hope that the pactmasters would care enough to do something about the loss of Kelmarane. For Farah, it was how best to ensure her young child's survival whilst at the same time keeping her mind from falling into the endlessly looping abyss that could ensnare her mind should her thoughts lay to long on the recent events. Shock and grief would wait, must be made to wait, until they could reach the city. The mother and son, along with the rest of the group in which they traveled, did indeed reach the city. But in truth they had escaped one fell fate and entered another. There had been no time, as there often is not, when fleeing for their lives to grab much. Any food that had been carried or found had long since been consumed. Their only clothing was already worn be herself and her son. Most of what the family had possessed in coined wealth had been kept in a little nook beneath their home's floor, so Farah had little gold or other currency with her upon entry into the city. Certainly it would not last them more than a few days at best, if it was not stolen by the quick fingers that could belong to anyone who walked by them in the streets. And so it did. The young woman had maintained some hope relocate some of the others and beg room and board until something change but it was not to be. She was penniless, and yet she still had something with which she might ensure her son's life. A valuable bargaining chip perhaps. Herself. Even before she had matured it was easy to tell she would be beautiful. Indeed, before the fall of Kelmarane she had been perhaps the loveliest woman in the town, and her husband, the father Tahir would never know, was widely considered a very lucky man on the day of their wedding. She could use that, it would be loathsome and tear at her pride but she could use it. Or would have been able to. In a different city she might have made a tidy some as something of a nobleman's escort by her looks alone, but in Katapesh with it's tolerance of slavery and renowned flesh stalls, there were slaves for that. And if she were to become a slave, she would have no rights, and no rights meant she would not be able to ensure her son's life and in the end that was everything. Any contract for her becoming a slave could very well be considered void after her part in such a deal was done, for who could be made to hold such things with a slave? Something that was just that, a thing. She would have to rely entirely on a would-be owner's word to keep to it. In the end she did. It might have been her having spent the past two night sheltering in alleys, trying to keep young Tahir from shivering when the evening cool swept through the city. It might have been spending the past three days scrounging for scraps amongst refuse and less savory places. But whatever it was, when Farah's path crossed that of Solan Carrid's, a man of mixed chelaxian and katapeshi heritage and the owner of a fairly successful ...establishment, among other things, that Tahir's mother approached the man with her offer. She expected to be laughed at, or perhaps struck, and so she tensed when his hand eventually grasped her chin as his eyes met hers, and slowly roved over her filthy form with an appraising and uncaring eye. Silence prevailed for a long moment in the dimming light as night set in again before he had last said nothing but motion for the young woman to follow him as he glanced at the boy before leading the way. A bath awaited them, and perhaps two hours later with Tahir sitting in a different room Solan, who Tahir would later in life mostly just refer to as 'the old man' eyed a much cleaner but less than covered Farah. Simple terms were set, Solan would see to Tahir's care, his feeding, clothing, and basic learning in addition to ensuring the boy lived to come of age. The food and any material possessions to be provided could be, and indeed were mostly expected to be, simple though not however poor. But in the end all the terms in the world would not keep such a contract binding to Solan after Farah upheld her part in it, it would be left entirely to Solan's word. But to the merchant, his word was a valued asset, reputable enough to be used much like currency. So he would keep to it, and keep to it he did. And after Farah felt the touch of the brand that night, Tahir's survival was all but ensured for the next fourteen years.

[ShinobiMaster123]

Dullen looks down at the spider guts he just wiped onto his already grimy armor. The others give him looks as they do not understand. Dullen smiles as he remembers the code of his family when it comes to enemies, "Always take a piece of your enemies and add their power to your own." A creatures life essence that flows within them, is a bit of their soul and when added to your armor not only adds fear to your enemy as they think you are crazed, but also shows that you engage in battle and don't fear death. His family all have much more badges of honor than Dullen. He spent his time in the monastery learning about Irori while the rest of the group were off fighting and gaining honor. Dullen is glad to be on this mission, he has already learned much about his enemies through the grace of Irori. This knowledge will make it easier to slay the same type of enemy in the future. "Yes, I will be bring back much honor to his family, as they will see the next time we meet up. Dullen thinks to himself. Now the job of clearing out this monastery is at hand and to get paid is the other thing, Dullen doesn't like leaving back Tahir as he doesn't really trust the sneaky rogue. Definitely not a team player. He doesn't seem to be comfortable in close combat situations. Family is easier to count on. He just hopes he survives to see them again. It is as Irori wills it.

[Yuul]

Shadows and Dust part 2 The hot desert breeze swept through the streets and paths of Katapesh's renowned open air bazaar. Thousands of voices hawked goods from all corners of the world in more than a dozen languages and dialects to the shifting hordes of the masses moving between them. The bazaar, perhaps the world's largest marketplace, was made cramped by the shifting bodies of the people, and the amassed body heat combined with the sun would have made most foreigners used to coolers climates retreat indoors or elsewhere cooler. But for the natives, this was just another regular day in Katapesh's extended dry season. Besides there was money to be made, deals to cut, and business to be done. Colors swirled throughout the place, perhaps even every color in existence that was visible to most races' sight, whether they adorned the clothing of the people or made up extravagant tents to shelter a wealthy man's stall they were there. The market stalls themselves were an arrayed contrast in the myriad of their design. Some were the extravagant colorful affairs already mentioned, other were simple stalls, perhaps with a bit of fabric for shade, and still others were simple blankets or rugs thrown on the ground with goods laid out over them. And all of them had the same goal in mind, to attract and focus the attention of those around them. For a now eight year older Tahir, it was the sun's light reflecting off of a small belt knife, one hanging alongside many others, most of which far bigger. It was something many boys his age would have, perhaps given to them by their father, an elder brother, or some other close relative. Just like they received nice clothes from their mothers' hands, and perhaps some sweets from all of them. His own clothes were quite simple. Sure, they were well made enough, and clean, but he'd have to be blind to not notice better stuff most others were wearing. His own clothes were like something you would expect to see a servant, or perhaps a servant's child, wearing. The other boys probably got better food too. Oh sure, he had never wanted for hunger, but his food was usually quite bland, if nourishing. Like porridge, simple soups, and bread. He sent another longing look at that small belt knife, recognizing the price attached to it and sighing. The old man never gave- The old man! Tahir suddenly glances around in a panic as he realizes he let himself get distracted to the point of wandering away from the man and his guards. He tries to calm himself, really he does, but it is not to be of much help. Instead he focuses on finding the old man quickly, maybe he'll have been too busy to notice his absence? But a firm hand coming to rest on the boy's shoulder put an end to such fanciful dreaming. Tahir turned and craned his neck up to find himself looking into the dark blue eyes of Solan Carrid. The expression beneath his grey goatee and mustache combo is one of displeasure. "You wandered off." It echoes through his voice too, causing Tahir to look at the ground quite shamefaced. The hand on his shoulder moves instead to grip his chin in the same firm manner, though not quite roughly, before forcing the boy to meet his gaze. "Look a man in the eye when he speaks to you." Tahir's voice is barely above a whisper. "Yes sir." As the man's guards catch up to where they stand, Solan's eyes sweep the stall next to them as a calculating smirk settles onto his face before he turns back to Tahir. "Now keep up this time, I don't have the time to waste in tracking you down again." And off they went. For much of the rest of the day, Tahir did what he usually did. That is, following Solan Carrid as he went about his daily business. The man made sure he was clothed, if depressingly simply, fed, and occasionally taught Tahir something via a method other than observation. Which was one of the supposed reason Tahir followed the man everywhere for. Sometimes he held papers and small bags too, but not always. The young boy knew the reason behind these things of course, he lack much of the naivete others his age clung too. It was the deal his mother made too long ago for him to really remember. The deal that had consigned her to life as a slave in the man's upscale brothel. He got to see her sometimes, but not often. And despite the things Tahir often bemoaned about his life, he was alive, and he owed it to his mother. The old man was finishing up a deal with another merchant, taking a scroll of some sort and letting the other man of wealth know that he'd make sure the message was passed on. Tahir thought nothing of it at the time, not until they were outside the tent they had been in. That familiar hand rested on his shoulder again, that sly calculating smirk from before present once more, before speaks. "I saw it you know, that little knife that you were so focus on. I saw it just like I see the way you look at the better clothes of the other children, like I see how you long for the sweets as we pass by the confectioneries, and like I see everything you want." Thoughts were swirling through young Tahir's mind, where was the old man going with this? "Well you can have them." The boys eyes shot wide open. "If..." And now they focused quizzically. The catch, there was always a catch. His shadowing of Solan had taught him that much from the man's deals. "...You earn them. Here," Solan held out the sealed scroll. "Take this to Marcus Vibryn down at the trade warehouses by the docks, you know which one. Return by sundown." Tahir stared at the scroll before glancing back up at the old man. Solan raised an eyebrow. "I could always have someone else do it, if you really do not wish for those things so strongly after-" He was cut off by the boy in his charge taking the scroll quickly from the man's grasp, but not so quickly as to damage it before he took off down the street, weaving through people like only a natural born, or raised in his case, city person could do. He would have to hurry if he was supposed to be back by sundown. Tahir had seen a lot of the city in his time spent following Solan around, but never on his own. The next hour in which he took to get to his destination was exciting in a way, but also somewhat scary. The city was huge, he knew this, but being on his own made it seem still larger. By the time he got there and knocked, banged really but that was to be expected, there was less than an hour left before sunset and Tahir was understandably in a rush. It took him another five minutes to convince the door's guard to let him in, as Solan had often stated the importance of making certain something was delivered directly, especially messages, and the boy could only assume it applied here too. Still, it took another couple minutes for him to make it to Marcus, watched by the guard the whole time, and give him the scroll. The man gave it a quick glance over and nodded, with Tahir being returned to the door. The next half-hour was a rush, and Tahir couldn't remember ever moving so fast. He took more than a few turns to cut through unsafe alleys in order to shave time. In the end, when Tahir burst in Solan's office at his journey's end, looking very ragged with breath coming in ragged pants, he had made it. The look on Solan's face was one of pleasant surprise. "My, you actually made it. I didn't think you would, not the first time at least." Walking around to Tahir's side of the large desk between them before grasping Tahir's wrist and pressing his other hand into the boy's palm, only to drop to small, shiny, and silvery coins into the boy's grasp. In later life Tahir would look on such change as a pittance, but for the moment it was the most money Tahir had held in his life. It wasn't enough to buy the knife, but it was a start. It was also the start of his time as Solan's errand boy, but there will be time to tell those tales later. Still, three days later, Tahir got that little belt knife. His first knife. And it would not be the last...