3 Ashan 718
After a second disgustingly uncomfortable night sleeping tucked away in a corner, Maios woke up with a sore back. The night had been restless and plagued with nightmares. The morning offered no relief. Ashan brought life to the flora, and flora brought forth Maios’ allergy. His nose had been soaping all night, and his snow had fallen in firm tendrils all over the outside of his cloak. With a clean portion of said cloak he’d wipe away his nose, grunt his way up his feet, and search his belt for his case of cigarettes. With a match he’d light the first of the three he’d smoke, like he did every morning.
It was barely dawn. The sun still hid in the east, but the twilight was enough for the birds. They already sang their repetitive hymns, just like the roosters announced the incoming day. The Duss Quarter was slowly coming to life as well. It never really died. Even in the darkest of nights there were always voices, always footsteps, always eyes piercing through mist or gloom. There were always those desperate enough to steal in attempts of escaping their poverty. There were also those that simply wanted to cause pain to others. Whatever their reasons, they all lived in the Dust Quarter. Just like Maios did.
He lacked the materials to build his own little shack of shit, so instead he had found himself a nice spot by the city wall, placed his bags behind him, as safe as he could from possible thieves, laid atop them and wrapped himself in his cloak. He had spent the night shivering. He couldn’t feel his toes, especially the left one. The boot had been pierced somewhere in the forest, and the draft had no qualms in invading the leather.
While he smoked, Maios checked his inventory. He had one golden nel and two strips of dry meat for the whole day. Coin had ran out faster than he expected, but he had expected it nonetheless. And now that it was low, he had many things to buy. New boots, for instance. Maybe a blanket of some sort, given that a room in some inn was far from his budget. He had enough tobacco for half the day. He also had to eat, and he had nothing to trade for it. He also needed a bath, urgently so. His stench was starting to penetrate even the barrier of snot. Mouse would need time to gather the information. This gave Maios no room to calculate his odds.
As he lit a second cigarette with a match, Maios left the smoke in his maws and took a hold of his daughter’s doll. It had gotten dirtier from the advance through the forest. Whenever he looked into those fake eyes he got inpatient. On the surface, he wanted to be done with this. He wanted time to unfreeze and to be on the road again, to find the man that could bring back his wife and daughters. His blood boiled at the thought. Then again, Maios was no fool. It would take time, and the notion killed him inside.
The labourer had actively avoided thinking of his village and the misfortune that had swallowed his family’s life. Now those feelings were beginning to surface. A dead body could only stay hidden for so long, he thought. In due time, old bones rose from the soil like maggots through the flesh. He felt guilty. He hadn’t been the father he would’ve wanted to be, nor the husband he had imagined himself to be. He had tried, but it was as if he and the roles of either father or husband were split by an invisible barrier. It was almost as if, as if…
Enough.
Maios returned the doll into his belt and gathered his few belongings. It would be painful to drag all he owned in life onto his back, but until his housing situation was fixed, he’d have to do without. He hoped luck was by his side, at least for this one time.
After a second disgustingly uncomfortable night sleeping tucked away in a corner, Maios woke up with a sore back. The night had been restless and plagued with nightmares. The morning offered no relief. Ashan brought life to the flora, and flora brought forth Maios’ allergy. His nose had been soaping all night, and his snow had fallen in firm tendrils all over the outside of his cloak. With a clean portion of said cloak he’d wipe away his nose, grunt his way up his feet, and search his belt for his case of cigarettes. With a match he’d light the first of the three he’d smoke, like he did every morning.
It was barely dawn. The sun still hid in the east, but the twilight was enough for the birds. They already sang their repetitive hymns, just like the roosters announced the incoming day. The Duss Quarter was slowly coming to life as well. It never really died. Even in the darkest of nights there were always voices, always footsteps, always eyes piercing through mist or gloom. There were always those desperate enough to steal in attempts of escaping their poverty. There were also those that simply wanted to cause pain to others. Whatever their reasons, they all lived in the Dust Quarter. Just like Maios did.
He lacked the materials to build his own little shack of shit, so instead he had found himself a nice spot by the city wall, placed his bags behind him, as safe as he could from possible thieves, laid atop them and wrapped himself in his cloak. He had spent the night shivering. He couldn’t feel his toes, especially the left one. The boot had been pierced somewhere in the forest, and the draft had no qualms in invading the leather.
While he smoked, Maios checked his inventory. He had one golden nel and two strips of dry meat for the whole day. Coin had ran out faster than he expected, but he had expected it nonetheless. And now that it was low, he had many things to buy. New boots, for instance. Maybe a blanket of some sort, given that a room in some inn was far from his budget. He had enough tobacco for half the day. He also had to eat, and he had nothing to trade for it. He also needed a bath, urgently so. His stench was starting to penetrate even the barrier of snot. Mouse would need time to gather the information. This gave Maios no room to calculate his odds.
As he lit a second cigarette with a match, Maios left the smoke in his maws and took a hold of his daughter’s doll. It had gotten dirtier from the advance through the forest. Whenever he looked into those fake eyes he got inpatient. On the surface, he wanted to be done with this. He wanted time to unfreeze and to be on the road again, to find the man that could bring back his wife and daughters. His blood boiled at the thought. Then again, Maios was no fool. It would take time, and the notion killed him inside.
The labourer had actively avoided thinking of his village and the misfortune that had swallowed his family’s life. Now those feelings were beginning to surface. A dead body could only stay hidden for so long, he thought. In due time, old bones rose from the soil like maggots through the flesh. He felt guilty. He hadn’t been the father he would’ve wanted to be, nor the husband he had imagined himself to be. He had tried, but it was as if he and the roles of either father or husband were split by an invisible barrier. It was almost as if, as if…
Enough.
Maios returned the doll into his belt and gathered his few belongings. It would be painful to drag all he owned in life onto his back, but until his housing situation was fixed, he’d have to do without. He hoped luck was by his side, at least for this one time.