• Mature • [Memory] Stay on the Path

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Llyr Llywelyn
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[Memory] Stay on the Path

15th Ymiden 709

Walk down the road until you find travelers. If they are with wagon or cart, sit in the middle of the path and do not budge for any reason. If they are walking, follow after them until they are distracted.

His father’s instructions repeated over and over in his mind.

Walk the road.

Zarik kept one foot in front of the other. The dirt road sharply cut through the dense, humid forest. Warbles and caws of birds echoed in the many trees that towered above the small biqaj boy. In the distance, he heard familiar screeches and growls of jungle beasts.

Wagon or cart… sit and stay.

He peered around the bend of the road. Though he couldn’t hear them yet, he could see the shift of shadows. Compared to the empty road he’d been staring at for the past break or so, the difference was obvious: Travelers approached.

Walking, follow them.

As he got closer, the familiar shape of a cart pulled by two donkeys reached his sight. The cart’s rider spurred them at a quick pace. He saw three people altogether as their two paths converged.

The young biqaj boy found a spot in the center of the road. He held his arm, which he’d been holding ever since his father had sent him on the walk. Thin, gaunt, the first impression he gave was that of a starving and lost child. With his arm, broken, bloodied, and undressed, the second impression was that he’d gotten into a tragic situation. As the wheels of the cart rattled, closer… closer… Tears welled in Zarik’s blue eyes. He cried, then, forcing the tears to flow and wailed in desperation to be heard. An act of both truth and deception as muddied as the dirt beneath him.

“Woah,” said the cart’s driver. They pulled the reins of the donkeys. There was a pause, but before anything else could be done - a human woman had jumped down from the cart. She rushed over, her skirts picked up as if the hem might be saved from the dirt of the road.

A man shortly followed after her, muttering, “Jaci, get back in the cart.”

“Oh no, you’re hurt,” she said as she crouched in front of Zarik. “You poor thing. Where is your family?”

“Get back in the cart, Jaci,” repeated the man as he joined them. They spoke the common tongue, a language that Zarik understood more and more. Many travelers said similar things, after all. The man - a rough, but younger fellow with piercing green eyes - grabbed the woman’s shoulder, then pointed at it. “Now.”

Sniffling, Zarik tugged on the peasant lady’s skirt. His other arm hung limply against his lap. He said in strained Rakahi, “Please, it hurts.

“What was that?” She gave a sympathetic look toward Zarik. The woman brushed away the alert man’s hand off her shoulder, stubborn. She said, “Look at him, Merrik, look at his arm. We can’t leave him alone like this. A beast will eat him.” She crouched again and wrapped her arms around Zarik. “Come here, I’ve got you. We’ll get you fixed up right.”

“Get him in the cart then,” muttered Merrik. The man seemed agitated, hand on the hilt of his sword. He peered at Zarik with suspicion, but as Zarik looked up at him with watery blue eyes, the human eased somewhat. He sighed and moved to help Jaci lift the boy from the ground.

On his feet, Zarik winced from his jostled arm. Past the woman’s skirts and the holstered sword of the man, he saw the cart covered in fresh blood. The driver leaned over the back, throat splayed to the air with blood still draining from the deep wound. It had been a near-silent kill and the donkeys seemed unperturbed by their lacerated master.

The biqaj boy grabbed onto the woman’s arm and pulled it so she wouldn’t turn around. He whimpered and said in the language they clearly didn’t understand, “I’m sorry. I’m sorry. I’m sorry.

“There, there,” said the woman, confused as to the outburst…

…until Merrik turned around and swore loudly, “Gods, Kian! What the- I knew it! Jaci, get away from the blasted kid.” With his free hand, he grabbed the woman and forced her away. He pressed her to gain more distance, then let go to hold the hilt of his sword with both hands. He shouted at the surrounding densely vined trees, “Come out where I can see ya, cowardly bastards.”

Zarik fell back, having been let go from the woman trying to comfort him. He took a few steps away, clinging to his battered arm. His shallow breath held in his chest. His stomach turned over. His father appeared around a tree from the woman’s side. In mere trills, he had her in his grasp, arm around her waist, and dagger at her throat.

“Merri-” she started, but her voice vanished as her vocal chords were cut out. She fell to the ground, fingers scrambling at the wound to try and stop the inevitable loss of her life force.

Zalazar Ki’enaq wasn’t perfect in combat, a mere bandit - obvious by the patchwork of stolen, stained clothing he wore - who relied on subterfuge like that which had resulted in two deaths of the three travelers. Before him, now, however was a man with a sword who looked like he knew how to use it and reason to use it well.

“You killed her, you fuck-” exclaimed Merrik in lingering shock at the woman who writhed against the dirt road, still dying in silenced anguish. “I’m going to gut you like a gods damn-”

A knife landed in the human’s chest. It’d been thrown and lodged deep within the flesh, just between the lacing of the man's leather jerkin. Though non-fatal, Merrik looked down at it however… a mistake.

In the next trill, as Merrik stared at the impaled knife, Zalazar sprinted past the sword arm, so that if a hit was desired, Merrik would have to turn to follow. The biqaj man, in his early 50s, was spry and not altogether weak in his movements. His blond hair tied in a ponytail, his eyes gleamed gold in the diffused light of the jungle. From a hard life at sea to an even harder life on land to scrounging in the jungle, Zalazar harbored deceptive strength in his lithe body.

A single strike was all it took. No matter the ability, the human had allowed for an opening in his surprise and temporary confusion. And an opening, as brief as it was, offered the option for death in a dishonorable duel such as the one that played out before Zarik’s wide eyes.

Zalazar slid his dagger through the leather jerkin and into Merrik’s side. An audible shlick of razor-sharp metal piercing muscle, then a squish as he twisted the knife. He grinned at the obvious pain sounded in the human’s muffled cry. He continued to turn the blade as if gathering noodles on a fork.

The sword nearly fell to the ground. Merrik’s grip loosened. He trembled, barely able to keep on his feet. He coughed red, the lifeforce splattered on the road in front of him. The human threw back an elbow with speed unexpected of the wound he’d just incurred. The bony joint slammed into Zalazar’s face.

Stumbling, Zalazar let go of his dagger and held a hand up to his nose. Silver trickled out over his thin mouth. He licked at it, then mocked in common, “That all you got, red-blood? Pathetic.”

Merrik pulled out the dagger from his side and tossed it far away from them. He threw his sword aside as well, though Zarik didn’t understand why. Not until the human rushed at his father and the two went to the ground in the start of what swiftly became a bloody brawl within trills.

As the men grappled with each other - landing blows so brutal that it sounded like bones snapping and rocks thudding against flesh - Zarik ambled over to the woman who laid face down in a pool of her blood. He knelt beside her. The biqaj boy gently brushed aside a strand of her hair and then pressed on her shoulder. Her blank eyes stared at him, filled with death; her mouth hung open as if from shock or the gasp of a last choked breath.

Zarik let go of the shoulder and let her return to hiding in the coagulating blood. He searched her pockets, taking a wrapped portion of bread and a few coins from her skirts. He murmured in common, “I’m sorry, miss.”

“Son!”

His father whistled. It drew his attention. Zarik returned to his feet and looked over. The fight had turned for the worse. Merrik straddled atop Zalazar, a rock in hand and readying to bludgeon the prone biqaj. Zarik acted without pause or thought. He picked up the nearby dagger. The boy threw it at Merrik and shouted, “Leave my da alone!”

The hilt of the dagger bounced off the back of Merrik’s head. But it’d been enough of a peripheral threat that the human turned to try and defend from the possibility that the blade would have hit instead. Merrik’s eyes widened, staring directly at Zarik, as he realized what had just happened.

Zalazar swiped the dagger from where it’d fallen, then attacked. The blade stabbed through the underside of Merrik’s jaw and the tip pierced through the cheek. He drew it out then slit the human’s throat. Merrik fell aside, if not dead then soon to be.

“Let’s see you endure that,” snarled Zalazar. He kicked aside the dying man, then spat on his face. The biqaj searched the clothing, plucked a coin purse, then without waiting to watch anymore, he said, “Pick up the sword, boy. See what we got.”

His father went to the cart, dragged off the long-dead driver, and took a seat. He steadied the donkeys who hadn’t gotten as spooked as they might’ve without their blinders. Zalazar glanced, then whistled lowly. “That’s a lot of food.”

Zarik tiptoed around the dying Merrik and then hurriedly retrieved the human’s sword from the road. He ran to the cart, scrambled onto the backside, then nestled between a couple burlap sacks of cabbages and potatoes.

“Eat some of it,” suggested his father. Zalazar grabbed one of the cabbages, then shoved it against Zarik’s good arm. “I won’t have you fainting again. We’ll need to make camp. No doubt they've got others on their trail, and fell behind those men from the other trial. Wherever they were headed, they didn't prepare well enough. Their loss, our gain. Isn't that right, Zarik, my son?”

Yes, da. Thank you for taking care of me,” offered Zarik. He pulled at one of the leafs on the cabbage head, holding the vegetable between his knees. He shoved it into his mouth and bitterly chewed at the hard, uncooked greenery that tasted like manure and soil. His stomach twisted and turned. He felt the need to retch, but swallowed the bile instead.

Zalazar flipped the reins, started the donkeys. Bump, bump the heavy wheels ran over the legs of Merrik, not slowing to drag the bodies out of sight or away from the road. The biqaj man told Zarik, “Stop using that damnable tongue. We’re not on sea anymore and we never will be. So get it out of your head unless it’s to trick slags like that one.”

“Yes, father,” Zarik corrected himself, speaking in common tongue instead. He stared at the blood and bodies strewn over the road. They journeyed away and soon, the travelers were nothing more than shadows against darkening crimson pools til the cart turned a bend and then he saw them no more.
word count: 2032
Please — consider me a dream.
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Re: [Memory] Stay on the Path

Color me impressed.

The fact that you were more than willing to write your character to be an accomplice to such an objectively terrible act, and the fact that you portrayed him as such a young thing at the time, instilled a very curious attention to detail on your character's psyche. I must admit, I didn't think you'd go so far as to kill them off. But you never cease to impress, Llyr.

I can't complain. Take your blood-soaked rewards, you deserve it.
Llyr

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Knowledges:
Deception: Pretending you are alone.
Deception: Acting as if you don't know the language.
Tactics: Role: The Diversion.
Tactics: Manipulating the target's attention.
Blades (Dagger): Throwing to distract, regardless if the blade or hilt lands.
Endurance: Witnessing the murder of innocents.
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Renown:
EXP:
+10

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Player #2

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Knowledges:
Wealth:
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Understand that all criticisms are done in good faith. It would be a greater disrespect to not say anything in the face of problems. Please contact me through this account's inbox if you wish to further communicate on the matter of improvement, or if you feel as though anything is unduly harsh.
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