72 Ymiden, 719
When Llyr had first arrived to the coast of Foster's Landing, past all of the crisis and urgency of finding his way in a new land that was beset by plague and immortal aggression, he'd wondered how he would make ends meet. It was a concern, however, that he could ignore for a while as Foster's had been in disarray, then Westguard had been much the same. There were no jobs to be had for what he sought. The only payment one would receive during the war would be death or life, not nels.
But now he'd been in Etzos Prime, behind the gated walls, for twenty trials.
It was time to start.
Start building a life that he might be able to call his own. Start making his way within the new structures of stones. And while his daughter had become a ghost, no longer in requirement of food or shelter, he still had his slave and... in a way, he'd started to find hope again. In the darkest of nights, when he'd find himself alone, Llyr wouldn't sleep. He hadn't dreamed in Emea for so long now that he'd started to take to simply creating dreams in his waking state so that he might get a sensation of it. So, he'd settle in a corner of a room and if it were not dark enough, he would imbue a strip of cloth with the quality of pitch-black shadows and put it on over his eyes. He'd settle another cloth with the sound of silence and cover his ears.
Deprivation of the senses had become his meditation, his dream, and through it, he slowly led himself to his own recovery from loss and grief. It didn't take too many nights of this before his mind led him to imaginings of what life in Etzos could look like, what a future might be, who might be part of it, and more. All seen through his mind's eye in the dark quiet.
The youthful biqaj had never been one for wallowing. He'd never been one for despair. For him, the lowest of his lowest points only meant there was a greater challenge to climb - and if Llyr enjoyed anything - it was a challenge.
So by now, he felt it was time to start anew.
Yes, he'd lost a great deal and as bittersweet as it might've still felt in his heart; for him, such loss meant there was room to build and grow.
While he walked around the streets of Etzos, learning of the paths and navigating the inner city as well as the outer, he felt a sort of symbolic parallel between his soul and the city itself. Burnt from the inside out, all that'd been known cleared away so that even the most expected and consistent now seemed shaky and uncertain, and with death came great change.
Transformation had turned the torturer's heir inside out. He'd seen his body fade away into Emea. He'd seen his flesh melt off his bones. He'd discarded himself in the form of names that'd anchored him to identities that were for others, yet not for him. And so, he tried to decide which identity did he want to build in this new city of his that he felt an inherent resonance toward.
Llywelyn seemed a decent name to him. He'd taken it as if it were a family name, but he considered the use of it as a born name instead. Llyr Llywelyn was something that simply fit for the time being, but he felt attached to it in a way he'd never felt toward the name that paid homage to his father: Zarik.
Besides he wanted to keep as far away from names that were too obvious, for those who knew him from his past - from Quacia - and anything like his father's family name or his married name or names of people he'd known or of concepts that could be tied to him, he had to avoid them all. He had to try and distance himself from it, whether his visage remained the same or not - it was the paperwork that mattered. What was written on the deeds and contracts and everything that would come in the future he imagined while he sat alone in the dark.
There were things he needed to accomplish. Things he needed to supply himself with, while the city was still shaking, while things were still for the taking.
A shack here, a little mailbox there, a contact who would always be in the same building at the same time every trial, a public place for meetings, a private place for meetings, a private place within a public place, a place high-up where he could push someone off the roof if needed, a place where the windowless darkness would drive people to desperate acts, a spot where his contacts could exchange information by whisper, a known ground to send potential contacts, a...
...the list went on and on.
For there was much that Llyr needed to accomplish. He had certain ideas, as youth of his ambition often do, and he wanted to see them through if he could. But before his ideas, he needed the foundation set. He needed his home and he needed his work, and he needed his purpose.
Llyr walked through the commercial ring, at early dawn, and he found his way to the doors that led into Trust & Fair Appraisal and Valuation services. It was an old business, from what he'd learned, and it had taken a few trials before he'd finally been able to speak with someone there, after scrounging up a recommendation of sorts. Now, he had a short-term offer to provide relief support. Just enough to make some nel so he could secure a foothold in Etzos. He didn't expect to stay there long.
Upon entrance through the front door, he found the place empty. He hesitated, then walked to the receptionist's desk. Llyr leaned over to peek at the papers that were strewn about the surface. It looked like there were a lot of appointments for the coming trial and he read through some of the names... but to no importance as they were only initials.
One of the double doors opened, and a girl slipped through. She held the door open, not walking into the foyer, and simply asked, "You're the new boy?"
He nodded. She gestured for him to follow and he walked past the desk, and to the back corridor. His gaze flicked around before he looked at the blonde girl. He knew her name, but he shouldn't... so he pretended he didn't. He greeted her, "Llywelyn, you're...?"
"Clover," she answered with seeming disinterest as she walked past. "Hurry up, I was in the middle of things."
The two went to an adjacent hall, through an iron grate door, and down a spiral staircase into a basement that smelt heavily of old parchment and dust. Llyr almost immediately sneezed. He covered his nose and mouth, and wished he'd worn his mask... but it had felt wrong to wear his leathers to a job like this. Instead, he'd worn a simple cotton tunic and some leggings with his boots.
"You work down here, by yourself?" he asked, slightly surprised. The lower area was huge. Much larger than he would've expected, filled with shelving for scrolls and record books. Carved from pale stone, dust covered the ceiling and had built up in the corners. Long wooden tables marred from age sat between the many shelves with various points of work on the flat surfaces.
"Sometimes," she replied. Clover went to a podium where a large book rested and she dipped a quill into ink. She scribbled on the book, then pointed the feather of the quill toward the tables lined up in front of the podium. "All of that needs to be organized by date first, then by first initial of surname next. Look for stains or ripped pages. If you find anything torn out, let me know immediately."
Llyr nodded. He glanced over the many things, then said, "I was told there would be a finished contract for my services written up? To sign?"
"Oh," said Clover. Her tired eyes widened slightly. She leaned over, shuffled parchment around at the shelving built into the podium, then lifted with a bound stack of vellum. "Right. Here it is, but please, I'd rather get started working than bother with this. It can wait."
"And I'd rather finish it now," he tried to not sound too sharp in tongue about it. Llyr walked over and took the vellum from her. "It shouldn't take long, unless it's been altered greatly from the original draft."
Clover hmphed quietly, then shrugged and returned to whatever work she'd been scribbling in the book.
He sat at a table, unbound the vellum, and read through the contract as quickly as he was able to. It hadn't been altered too greatly, though he did notice there were certain things taken out and other things added... but nothing that insulted him or disadvantaged him to the point of not bothering with the job itself. On occasion, he'd hear the other youth yawn and try to hide the audible sound behind her hand. He finished within a few bits, then scrawled his signature in acceptance of the terms. Llyr gathered the vellum back into the twine bindings, then returned it to Clover.
"There, now I can work without having to think about it," he mentioned.
She nodded, though he could've sworn when she bent over to return the document that she'd rolled her eyes. Clover pointed toward the tables and said, "Start at the farthest end and work your way here, if it pleases you."
Llyr smiled politely, then followed her instruction. He started at the farthest end, and gradually worked his way through the various record books to sort - first by date, then by surname.
But now he'd been in Etzos Prime, behind the gated walls, for twenty trials.
It was time to start.
Start building a life that he might be able to call his own. Start making his way within the new structures of stones. And while his daughter had become a ghost, no longer in requirement of food or shelter, he still had his slave and... in a way, he'd started to find hope again. In the darkest of nights, when he'd find himself alone, Llyr wouldn't sleep. He hadn't dreamed in Emea for so long now that he'd started to take to simply creating dreams in his waking state so that he might get a sensation of it. So, he'd settle in a corner of a room and if it were not dark enough, he would imbue a strip of cloth with the quality of pitch-black shadows and put it on over his eyes. He'd settle another cloth with the sound of silence and cover his ears.
Deprivation of the senses had become his meditation, his dream, and through it, he slowly led himself to his own recovery from loss and grief. It didn't take too many nights of this before his mind led him to imaginings of what life in Etzos could look like, what a future might be, who might be part of it, and more. All seen through his mind's eye in the dark quiet.
The youthful biqaj had never been one for wallowing. He'd never been one for despair. For him, the lowest of his lowest points only meant there was a greater challenge to climb - and if Llyr enjoyed anything - it was a challenge.
So by now, he felt it was time to start anew.
Yes, he'd lost a great deal and as bittersweet as it might've still felt in his heart; for him, such loss meant there was room to build and grow.
While he walked around the streets of Etzos, learning of the paths and navigating the inner city as well as the outer, he felt a sort of symbolic parallel between his soul and the city itself. Burnt from the inside out, all that'd been known cleared away so that even the most expected and consistent now seemed shaky and uncertain, and with death came great change.
Transformation had turned the torturer's heir inside out. He'd seen his body fade away into Emea. He'd seen his flesh melt off his bones. He'd discarded himself in the form of names that'd anchored him to identities that were for others, yet not for him. And so, he tried to decide which identity did he want to build in this new city of his that he felt an inherent resonance toward.
Llywelyn seemed a decent name to him. He'd taken it as if it were a family name, but he considered the use of it as a born name instead. Llyr Llywelyn was something that simply fit for the time being, but he felt attached to it in a way he'd never felt toward the name that paid homage to his father: Zarik.
Besides he wanted to keep as far away from names that were too obvious, for those who knew him from his past - from Quacia - and anything like his father's family name or his married name or names of people he'd known or of concepts that could be tied to him, he had to avoid them all. He had to try and distance himself from it, whether his visage remained the same or not - it was the paperwork that mattered. What was written on the deeds and contracts and everything that would come in the future he imagined while he sat alone in the dark.
There were things he needed to accomplish. Things he needed to supply himself with, while the city was still shaking, while things were still for the taking.
A shack here, a little mailbox there, a contact who would always be in the same building at the same time every trial, a public place for meetings, a private place for meetings, a private place within a public place, a place high-up where he could push someone off the roof if needed, a place where the windowless darkness would drive people to desperate acts, a spot where his contacts could exchange information by whisper, a known ground to send potential contacts, a...
...the list went on and on.
For there was much that Llyr needed to accomplish. He had certain ideas, as youth of his ambition often do, and he wanted to see them through if he could. But before his ideas, he needed the foundation set. He needed his home and he needed his work, and he needed his purpose.
Llyr walked through the commercial ring, at early dawn, and he found his way to the doors that led into Trust & Fair Appraisal and Valuation services. It was an old business, from what he'd learned, and it had taken a few trials before he'd finally been able to speak with someone there, after scrounging up a recommendation of sorts. Now, he had a short-term offer to provide relief support. Just enough to make some nel so he could secure a foothold in Etzos. He didn't expect to stay there long.
Upon entrance through the front door, he found the place empty. He hesitated, then walked to the receptionist's desk. Llyr leaned over to peek at the papers that were strewn about the surface. It looked like there were a lot of appointments for the coming trial and he read through some of the names... but to no importance as they were only initials.
One of the double doors opened, and a girl slipped through. She held the door open, not walking into the foyer, and simply asked, "You're the new boy?"
He nodded. She gestured for him to follow and he walked past the desk, and to the back corridor. His gaze flicked around before he looked at the blonde girl. He knew her name, but he shouldn't... so he pretended he didn't. He greeted her, "Llywelyn, you're...?"
"Clover," she answered with seeming disinterest as she walked past. "Hurry up, I was in the middle of things."
The two went to an adjacent hall, through an iron grate door, and down a spiral staircase into a basement that smelt heavily of old parchment and dust. Llyr almost immediately sneezed. He covered his nose and mouth, and wished he'd worn his mask... but it had felt wrong to wear his leathers to a job like this. Instead, he'd worn a simple cotton tunic and some leggings with his boots.
"You work down here, by yourself?" he asked, slightly surprised. The lower area was huge. Much larger than he would've expected, filled with shelving for scrolls and record books. Carved from pale stone, dust covered the ceiling and had built up in the corners. Long wooden tables marred from age sat between the many shelves with various points of work on the flat surfaces.
"Sometimes," she replied. Clover went to a podium where a large book rested and she dipped a quill into ink. She scribbled on the book, then pointed the feather of the quill toward the tables lined up in front of the podium. "All of that needs to be organized by date first, then by first initial of surname next. Look for stains or ripped pages. If you find anything torn out, let me know immediately."
Llyr nodded. He glanced over the many things, then said, "I was told there would be a finished contract for my services written up? To sign?"
"Oh," said Clover. Her tired eyes widened slightly. She leaned over, shuffled parchment around at the shelving built into the podium, then lifted with a bound stack of vellum. "Right. Here it is, but please, I'd rather get started working than bother with this. It can wait."
"And I'd rather finish it now," he tried to not sound too sharp in tongue about it. Llyr walked over and took the vellum from her. "It shouldn't take long, unless it's been altered greatly from the original draft."
Clover hmphed quietly, then shrugged and returned to whatever work she'd been scribbling in the book.
He sat at a table, unbound the vellum, and read through the contract as quickly as he was able to. It hadn't been altered too greatly, though he did notice there were certain things taken out and other things added... but nothing that insulted him or disadvantaged him to the point of not bothering with the job itself. On occasion, he'd hear the other youth yawn and try to hide the audible sound behind her hand. He finished within a few bits, then scrawled his signature in acceptance of the terms. Llyr gathered the vellum back into the twine bindings, then returned it to Clover.
"There, now I can work without having to think about it," he mentioned.
She nodded, though he could've sworn when she bent over to return the document that she'd rolled her eyes. Clover pointed toward the tables and said, "Start at the farthest end and work your way here, if it pleases you."
Llyr smiled politely, then followed her instruction. He started at the farthest end, and gradually worked his way through the various record books to sort - first by date, then by surname.
