Rendezvous in the Riot

[Arkash]

33rd of Frost, 120

It hurt. Pretty much everything in his body ached; His eyes, his ears, his muscles, his bones. He still felt feverish and weak, even more so given where he stood. Fayeth's curse amplified his hearing and smell beyond what he could handle, he could hear the heartbeats in nearby bodies, the skittering claws of rodent feet in the abandoned warehouse he slept in. Perhaps crueler was the boost to his sense of smell, which had already been his primary sense as a rathor. He could smell blood for what felt like miles, body odor, defecate, and vomit were all scents that had more-or-less burned a permanent mark in his nostrils by that day.
Naturally, most would choose to seclude themselves in the woods somewhere, far away from loud, disruptive noises, surrounded by natural scents that he could learn to filter through. Instead, he chose to stowaway on a rickety train with the remaining nameless that sympathized with his cause, then join the ranks of a bellowing, angry mob. Their yells rattled his brain and stung his eardrums with such incredible strain that he feared he might go deaf. He could smell them all, the meals they'd eaten that morning still lingering on their breath. Spit, phlegm, unwashed odor, grease, rotten food, piss. All the scents around them were known to him and brought tears to his misty yellow eyes.
It wasn't as though he was at all significant in the crowd either, dressed in a dark cloak to cover his lightened scales while standing barely any taller than the average human, let alone all the elves in the crowd. He couldn't even see the gates of the Florent's estate that people so eagerly crowded around and pelted with rotten foods. Even when he pushed to stand on the tips of his claws in a desperate effort to get a look at the scene, he couldn't even land the spikes of the wrought iron fence in his gaze.
His head thrummed in pain, and the ache in his bones didn't ease at all. So, again, he lifted his claws to cover his earholes but found her hold on his wrists instead. "Stop it, Arkash," she warned scornfully.
"I dun' wanna do 'iss anymaw," he whined.
"The sooner you do, the better," she reminded the rath as she lowered his hands to his sides from behind him.
"Fayeth, please..." his eyes shut tight in an effort to halt the blooming headache that raged in his skull. "We gotta get re'dy for th' raid, enyway... Can' we do 'iss anuva tiem?"
"...This was your idea, Ark."
"An' 'ew says i' was dumb!" he cried.
"Well, yes. But I've thought about it and I think your theory has some merits; I've been selectively drowning out the various sounds around me and trying to focus on specifics since we got here," she explained.
Arkash lifted his head to let his hood drop while he put his yellow eyes on the Sil'Norai's blood-red gaze. "..An'?" He spoke to prompt her to continue.
The Cardinal smiled faintly as she met his eyes with her own, then lifted her gaze to look about the crowd. "...And I've had varying degrees of success; I can hone in on your voice, for example, even though no one else can hear you over this racket."
His tired, defeated eyes blinked slowly at the news. "...So wot 'ew's sayin' is..."
"...That we should stay and see if you make any progress," declared his progenitor quite matter-of-factly, only to draw a pained groan from the rath. "Quit your belly-aching and focus," she warned with a scowl.
His gaze briefly glanced over the grey sky as he hung his head, and stared at the snowy, trampled street while her hands rested on his shoulders. A brief grunt left his lips as he shut his misty eyes, then parted his jaws to breathe while he focussed entirely on his sense of hearing.

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[Podvrak]

¤

Podvrak snorted, chewing a piece of hay which stuck out of his mouth at an angle. At a distance he watched as people congregated, shouting, throwing things over the fence. Leaned on Weaver, his great hammer, he sighed and shook his head.
‘These people, disgruntled as they may be. If they took stock of their lives they would know that it’s a blessing to even be truly breathing. One would think through all of these riots and hubbub that I’ve seen in my life that anything would change, but it doesn’t. That’s not to say that these people are wrong for their resistance, surely my time spent in Lorien has reinforced much to me about the suffering of people-- People!-- I just wish they could see that uprisings such as this only bring more suffering upon them. The only thing that will change anything is war, bloodshed, and greater turmoil than hurling tomatoes at their leaders.’
He was thinking deeply and felt great sadness in his heart.

The great elder Minotaur watched as more and more people poured in and eventually from his vantage point he was sucked into the fray. While he did his best to stay out of the way, his height compared to the majority who were human caused more than a couple tomatoes and rotten food to get stuck to his horns. One large rotten cabbage beamed him in the head and exploded on impact, causing him to flinch and recoil with a large snarl. Those around him scattered as he picked up his hammer and whirled around to see who had hit him, a goose egg forming on the back of his head where he was hit. But none looked guilty enough to be his charge.

Someone next to him gulped, but looked angry. They accused him in common with a finger stuck out at the Minotaur,
“You stand there doing nothing, yet get angry when you’re caught in the middle? Why’re you even here? Just leave if you aren’t going to help.”
Podvrak scowled at him but nodded and only looked grim, then began making his way out of the fray. He saw near the back, a wagon filled with boxes of what he assumed were more rotten goods. The man’s heated words rang true, while the man Podvrak wouldn’t commit an act of violence against his leaders-- he could help those he knew were truly in the right even if their resistance was futile. As he helped them unload the heavy boxes of rotten fruit and other foods he was caught in thought yet again,
‘The Celebrant, those creating the wretched Hollows for angry gods… What will happen next?’
He knew in his heart nothing good would come of this, his long life was tale of that enough.
‘If history repeats itself is there hope for a different outcome? Is there hope for those who simply want better for themselves and their peers?’

[Arkash]

Arkash too, shared Podvrak's sentiment, it seemed. For despite looking upon those that ruled the country with burning hatred and spite, he didn't lift a claw to act against them. It wasn't entirely because the sounds around them rattled his brain or because he simply hadn't the means to lob rotten food into the front garden of the estate, no. He recognized the futility of such an expression. Such actions had no weight in a world where no one cared. If the gathered humans truly wanted change, they'd have stormed the gates and fought to the last man to take the head of the wretched Cailan.
Alas, only three minds in the gathered hundreds were alike, and they were separated by an ocean of warm bodies with thrumming hearts.
Arkash blinked quickly to dispel the forming tears in his eyes as the scents of rotten food and fetid body odor only grew worse. Why did humans sweat? What god saw fit to make it so that the most populous race on Atharen was also the most stinky? As he lifted his claws to brush away the trailing tears, he could feel her stern gaze watch his every move. He didn't even try to reach for his abused ears while he continued to listen to the crowd of angry protestors... That was until something much sharper caught his senses and forced him to reel.
He immediately covered his ears and ducked while he shut his eyes and bared his teeth. Fayeth allowed his relent, for she heard it too. Her eyes formed a glare as she looked over the crowd. The blast sounded again, and Arkash's legs buckled at the knees to drop amidst the crowd. It was too loud, whatever it was.
"Screaming," Fayeth spoke on edge. "No ordinary scream, either: A young woman's death wail." She shook her head, then looked to her progeny with disappointment. "Come on, it was only-" She began before more screams ensued. Wood splintered and burst, glasses shattered and goods were spilled as bodies hit the ground. All around them, the herd recognized the danger. "-Get up, Ark," her tone changed to something dire, laced with urgency.
He couldn't. The sounds were too intense, they rang in his ears and brought him to shake. The heartbeats around him began to pick up in speed as fears rose, and the scents... Oh, the scents. Blood, lots of it. An undertone of piss and vomit. "ARKASH!" She bellowed and shook him to his core, but he couldn't will himself to move. His head hurt as though his brain was being crushed by all the sounds, and the only thing that brought him any relief at all was the squeeze of his palms against his own head.
Snapping bones, torn flesh, and then the unmistakable shriek of a hollow's malformed vocal cords. The Knighthood. His heart skipped a beat at the sound that brought him such dread. They were there? Were they...? No, most of the people in the protest were Rien citizens they wouldn't...
A stampede quickly built up around him as people pushed through and trampled one another to escape the space close to the gates. All around the gathered mob, dozens of hollows flooded the streets from the alleys, adjacent streets, and buildings alike. The Argent weren't far behind them, leading the attack on the gathered protestors. His eyes widened fully as the rounded black pupils of his eyes dilated. Already, there was so much blood in the air. Vapors aplenty rushed his nose as people began to push past him, and took off into running.
As Fayeth reached to grab him, someone's boot slammed the side of his face and he was knocked from his blood-induced trance to the floor. What came next was a flurry of stomps and kicks until someone eventually tripped over him. His claws shot out to grip the man before they could land upon his body. Using his elbows, he propped the man up as a shield from the oncoming stampede.
There on the street floor, he had a chance to look the man over. Short of build, obviously well fed. Dressed like a commoner, clean-shaven, a full head of brown hair. He was young, just a few years older than himself. The most notable feature the man bared, for Arkash, was the throbbing veins in his neck, rushing with vitality. As always, the botchling was starving. His ears had more or less buckled to the sounds around him and rang at the muffled screams and cries of panicked citizens. Would anyone notice if he took just one bite...?

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[Podvrak]

¤

Podvrak heard the screams and it set his teeth on edge, through the rioting he saw it-- them. Hollows. Sent by their masters to quell the uprising no doubt. Between this uprising and what he had heard within whispers about those killed in Lower Nivenhain, it came as little surprise to the old man what was transpiring. The nameless were hungry, starving, tired of their lot of thievery and being spat on. As it would seem their overlords, HIS overlords, were meeting their tired vagrants with deadly force and would continue to do so-- he was sure of it.

To his dismay Hollows began murdering all in their path, the terrifying visage of these inhuman creatures covered in blood, the visceral screams emanating from those slain, it was reminiscent of battles past in only one way. The stench of blood and fear. Other than that this blood bath was nothing more than sheep lined up for slaughter and fighting these unholy creations would go nowhere; their masters would only create more of these weapons to beat down their intrepid nameless.

From his high stature he could see far and wide into the crowd and amongst the sea of human bodies he saw a lizardman. The person stood out for this rathor nature, something Podvrak had rarely seen here in Lorien. Podvrak was considering the curiosity of his brethren here when he next saw the small lizard get pushed to the ground. Indeed, the herd of sheep were running hither and thither fleeing from the Hollows but it was of little consequence to Podvrak, his sheer size was enough to make it where anyone who ran into him simply bounced off and carried on their scurrying away. It was for this when a second person tripped over the lizard that Podvrak started pushing into the fray, against the current of bodies, towards the lizard and what looked to be his young, human meat shield.

Leaning down the Minotaur lifted up the human by an arm and grabbed the lizard on his shoulder, making to lift him up as well. Should the lizard respond well and be replaced on his feet the bullman would dust him off and place his own body between the current and the two men before him, saying only this.
"Are you injured?"
Once in Common then again in Ithmi.

[Arkash]

He was lost in a haze of hunger. His lips dripped copious drool and venom while he stared down his catch, his prey. He could almost feel the rush of life that coursed in the soft, delicate tissue of their neck. The sweet, filling warmth of flesh was just a few gentle bites away. The thought and anticipation alone ran shivers down his spine and carried him away from the terror-struck streets of Astoria to somewhere warm, comfortable.
His ears were ringing, overloaded by screams and cries. His nose was a blur of different scents and his vision darkened around the edges. The human in his hold began to struggle and pull in an effort to escape as Arkash parted his lips and pulled his jaws apart to show his sixty serrated, ultra-sharp teeth. A fetid breath rolled from his venom-stained maw as he pulled his human shield closer to himself... Then paused as the man was ripped from his grasp. Shreds of clothing were all that remained in his claws as his jaws snapped shut on the open air. Quickly, the sounds of the world began to return as he was forcefully pulled from his hunger-induced trance. He was on his feet, his claws held on to something big and fluffy.
Misty yellow eyes lifted to Podvark above a set of drooling lips, and the rathor slurped to swallow the yellowed, viscous spit. A cow? A cowman? Another Rathor, it struck. Arkash inhaled suddenly through his nose in a sudden gasp, and his gaze darted about the rushing humans, who ran like a river down the channel of the open street.
"We..." he started, and swallowed hard as he re-oriented himself. It was a fight of instinct and will; the nearby bodies were still warm, rich, and ripe for the taking. But it was neither the time nor the place to indulge his dranoch hunger. What was he thinking just moments ago? Evidently, he wasn't thinking at all. "We gotta go!" he called in common, then lifted his eyes to the bull-man again. At once, he pulled on Pod's wrist
The shriek of hollows rang in his head and brought his teeth to chatter uncontrollably. His arms and legs shook as adrenaline coursed through his veins and urged the rathor to move immediately. Arkash would pull with surprising strength for a small, skinny lizard, but not enough to actually move Pod more than a step. It seemed as though he had yet to realize that he could run without Pod if the older rathor wished to remain in place, as he continued to pull regardless of the amount of resistance Pod offered.
Ahead of them, away from the Florent's Estate, was a mass of humans that struggled to push through and climb over some sort of obstacle in the middle of the road. They were like a wall of bodies, pushing, pulling, and trampling one another in a desperate, frantic effort to escape. Several alleys littered the sides of the streets, where a mere few humans and elves delved in an effort to escape the blockade of the tipped wagon. Behind them, the hollows rushed. They were cutting down and striking citizens and nameless alike; killing indiscriminately.
The only thing that permeated the horrified, desperate screams and wails of the broken was the occasional crunches of bones and the rip of flesh whenever a nearby hollow took another victim.
Arkash tried his hardest to direct the bull-man to a shady alley to avoid the blockade, but it was Pod who had the final say of where they went, as there was no chance that the slight lizard could force his mass in any one way or another.

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[Podvrak]

¤

It couldn't be....
'Was that scrawny lizard about to bite the man?'
But Vrak had little time to discern the intentions, he saw for a second as he dragged the two boys up the yawning maw of sickly, putridity and remembered its stench. In all of Podvrak's good graces he gave the lizard-boy the benefit of the doubt-- surely it was out of fear and without being a lizard rathor he had no idea how a lizard would think. His question was met with a command,
"We gotta go!"
And the small lizard pulled on Podvrak's wrist, to no avail. There was a slight hesitation on the bull's part, a moment where he looked to the desperate pulling with a deadpan stare and then up to the rathor who pulled on it. Ultimately he swung Weaver over his shoulder, groaning beneath her girth, and allowed himself to be dragged to what he assumed was safety.

They were now in an alley; alone with just the two of them. Not one for conversation the elder Minotaur waited for his new compatriot in this cacophony to speak first, almost willing him to. The cries of men and squalls of hallows were muffled here in their sequestered alleyway and for that Podvrak was grateful. The Minotaur waited for the other to speak and finally made to say something on his own when the entrance to the alley was graced with a figure. Podvrak's ear twitched and he snorted, moving his sizable head away from the shadow in the alley and towards the intruder. Intruder it was, a hollow had found them.

It was covered in blood and viscera, gnashing its teeth in an awful way on what was surely a piece of human meat. Its eyes lolled towards the pair with heaving shoulders from its enraged state, throwing up its arms and clawing at the sky it let out a horrible, grim, shrieking cry and set for the attack, heading straight for the smaller rathor. Podvrak wasn't the fastest but made the difference and shoulder checked the beast, leaning his full body weight on the thing. It was jostled off balance but not severely and set its claws to attack the Minotaur. They raked against his skin and the old man let out a baleful cry, then made to swat the thing away from him with a hand. His hand connected with the hollow's face and did little other than stun, but it was enough time to swing Weaver towards his foe.

The hollow jumped out of the way, putting enough space between them where if Podvrak could keep swinging the vivacious Weaver, he may have a shot at killing his attacker. And yet, he wondered at what cost and far reaching repercussions this battle would have on his psyche, he was so tired of fighting. Would he be marked somehow? That after this battle and riot others would know, he was indeed a nameless as well but better off than most, he worked his menial job and hoped someday to become a Savant. For now though, he was being attacked and should he not defend himself-- there would surely be no future either way.

[Arkash]

To even consider trying to barrel through the wall of meat was a fool's thought. No, Arkash and Pod stood no chance at all. The only way out of the slaughter was through one of the alleys and out onto another street. Despite his desire to escape the conflict, though, he couldn't help but think of trailing back after all was said and done - just to grab something to eat. The thought made the pit in his stomach ache and churn, and his lips spilled more of their toxic payload, which he quickly slurped back into his maw while they ran.
But the older Rathor was hesitant; he was slower than Arkash. If it were not for the lunk he'd had to drag through the alley, he'd have been gone already. If the Rathor so wished, he could have scaled any number of those walls and escaped through the rooftops, but against any judgment whatsoever, he held fast at the older rath's side. Was that the ingrained grand family speaking to him? Could there be some part of him that wasn't made selfish and cold? He didn't believe so, but there he was pulling the weight of the minotaur from harm's way.
It was for naught, though. Arkash could outrun hollows for days but at the cow's pace? They might as well have been crawling. The metallic shriek stopped Arkash in his tracks. Froze in fear, his claws tensed around the bull's wrist and his pupils shrank to pinpricks while he trembled on the spot. Venom ran copiously from his maw as he rigidly turned to face the manifestation of his trauma. To his dismay, it barreled toward him at full speed.
The wind was stolen from his sails and the strength in his bones turned weak. Facets of his mind shut down as he stared down the beast, and the past scars of his elbow and left eye burned while he watched the mechanical monster run them down. He couldn't think to run or fight, even while his heart pushed vast volumes of adrenaline through his darkened veins. It didn't register as real; he was stolen from Atharen and placed in some kind of momentary purgatory; a nightmare that would only end when he felt the beast's teeth in his throat.
In the next moments he came to, he saw the minotaur collide with the monster at full force to knock it back a touch. Arkash blinked away the welling tears in his misty eyes and stammered as he took a step back. His breathing was quick and his heart raced like the thrum of a drum in his ears. Shaky claws wrapped the handle of B.T's dagger and ripped it from its scabbard before he lifted the weapon with both arms to stand guard against the monster while the bull and the golem did battle. Streaks of venom fell from his lips and hit the floor with dull, wet splashes.
He had no intention to use either his venom or the dagger, but his body was prepared to defend itself even if he wasn't. The venom wouldn't have an effect on the automaton, of course, but instincts weren't nearly so clever in the modern world.
As the hollow jumped out of the way of the strike, Arkash blinked. The golem recognized the Minotaur as a threat? They weren't normally so clever, dodging wasn't something they did often as a hollow was disposable. Could that one be special in some way? Special enough to be granted basic dodging capabilities? Dodging capabilities. Hollows were programmed by their nexuses. Arkash slurped and swallowed the vicious toxins of his maw before he parted his lips to speak.
"TH' 'EAD!" he cried. "AIM FOR TH' 'EAD!" he couldn't fight the thing himself, but if the Cow could crush the nexus in its fake skull, they'd win. "KILL I'!" he called again and wiped away the tears that wettened his scalie cheek

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[Podvrak]

¤

The poor boy was stricken with fear. With right intentions. This was quite deistrubing. Podvrak knew little of Hollows other than they were labor but he had never seen them employed to fight. The fact that they were here covered in blood was... eerie. Something wasn't right.
"This is wrong."
Came the mellow, deep tone of Podvrak as he stood between the lizard and this foe. Turning the weapon in his hands to get a better grip, he shook out his shoulders at the same time to loosen up. Podvrak spat on the ground, maintaining eye contact with his foe.
"Why?"
The Hollow said, though it didn't sound like it was in response to Podvrak, no. It sounded like it was asking the gods. Its herky-jerky movements unsettled Vrak, as if it were fighting a capture unseen. It clawed at its face, hands covered in blood, intoning more words with only the movement of its mouth-- no words were spoken aloud.

The lizardman told him to aim for the head and so Podvrak did. Lifting up his great hammer, Weaver, with both hands firmly gripped he swung the axe like a bat towards the thing's face. Its eyes looked back and forth as it gnashed its teeth, perhaps lost in thought-- which Podvrak thought was impossible. It was, in a single word, uncanny. Something about the golem was just off and in Vrak's mind, as the edge of the hammer met with the meat of the automaton's face, he thought perhaps this was a mercy killing. A snap and a pop marked the death of the thing.

Vrak was still on edge. A man of few words, this time he had something to say in Ithmi.
"They are sick. Enraged by the blood. Brought here intentionally to slaughter? Indeed, I've heard the others talk about Hollows gone mad in groups but didn't believe it. So docile. Why else brought here but to be enraged by the stench of blood. This fit, it's wrong. Boy, you saw this too right? Not natural, if anything about that lifeless thing ever was."
He shook his head solemnly, as if sickened and tired with the world.
"My name is Podvrak, I would say it's a good day to meet, Rathor, but it seems I have just committed a crime. This is big isn't it, bigger than a few too many rotten cabbages thrown on the noble's lawn?"

The body of the defeated foe lay lifeless at his feet. He noticed the tears staining the boy's cheeks and felt for him, so much sorrow in the world. So much terror and grief. This scrawny lizard had seen better days, so it would seem by the state of him, and Podvrak felt the familiar sense of protection as well as the Rathor kinship. There was no debt owed to Podvrak but there was the duty that he always held in his soul, part of his purpose, to protect others. And so he would, for a moment, stay in the presence of the lizard.

[Arkash]

Arkash saw no life in the thing. All he saw was the monster of his youth, his own executioner, and the beast that took Liu from him. That thing, that very same unit, in his eyes, had made a hole in his world that could never be filled, and he hated it for the fact. He wished for nothing more than to see it die, and he'd forego air itself to see such a monster cry.
Alas, Arkash gained no such solace. It was struck down, and its nexus was destroyed. He felt nothing but relief, though his jaw still chattered while he watched the dead, inanimate object lying on the floor. With a shaky exhale and a shallow breath, Arkash flexed his frosty fingers around the handle of his knife, swallowed hard to pull the venom from his lips, then shook his head. "Nasty fucks..." He muttered under his breath, then dropped his knife before he fell back against the alley wall to rub his leaky eyes.
He wanted to slide down the wall, curl up and disappear from the world. No such fate was planned for him, though. He knew he'd end screaming someday, but not that day. His gaze directed skyward, and he again swallowed hard. With a deep breath, he tilted his gaze a little to look at the cow from the side. Only one of his reptilian eyes set on the minotaur when he spoke "thank you" in ithmi.
Another hard shake of his head dispelled the cumbersome relief that weighed down his heart, and he dipped to collect the knife he'd dropped before he tucked it into his belt. His gaze seldom traced the dead golem while the older rathor spoke, and Arkash moved to take the taller male by the wrist. "We can't stay here, the overseers will come looking for this unit when it doesn't show up in the headcount," he explained simply with an accent far more refined in his native tongue.
So, he pulled the bull-man's wrist to lead him through the alley. He spoke nothing on the dead golem, he didn't want to ever look at such an awful thing again, let alone talk about it. His slender claws shook a little while he tried to guide the bull from the scene. Again, he couldn't force someone so much bigger and stockier than himself to move, but he certainly urged it so.
"Arkash," he returned, whether the man moved or not. "You're right to think so; we're both due an execution if we're caught here," he warned again.

When they were in the clear, or if they weren't, Arkash would sit on the first waist-high surface that came to be; a crate or the edge of a frozen fountain in a place not so overfilled with bodies and gore. His mind lingered on the scene as snow began to fall, however. He knew after the encounter with the bull that he needed to go back to feed... but where was Fayeth?
"You didn't see a pale Sil'Norai on our way out, did you?" He asked seemingly out of nowhere, then shook his head to dismiss such a question. "Sorry, I should be thanking you more. I'm sorry I didn't help much in the fight, those things just... fuck me up." Again, he wiped at his cheeks with his claws, then huffed a cloud-less breath.
"It scratched you, right? Are you okay?" His eyes traced where the machine had hit, and his narrowed pupils steadily began to dilate to fill the misty yellow of his irises. "I've got a hideout with some bandages and rubbing alcohol if you wanna get it wrapped - A bunch of us from the butchering in Nivenhain migrated here, only to get caught in another slaughter," he explained with a pensive shake of his head. "If not, it's fine, but I feel like I owe you more thanks than words can offer."

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[Podvrak]

¤

Podvrak took the thank you with a nod of his own, looking into that one reptilian eye for a moment before breaking away eye contact with an amiable snort. Something in those eyes was even more solemn than he, they spoke of something deep; though Podvrak couldn't know what that depth would hold just yet.

Again, the boy took the old man by the wrist and again the old man allowed himself to be pulled. He was no stranger to danger and not one to blindly trust another but something about the touch of Arkash's flesh against his wrist felt genuine. The other person truly felt like a boy in this moment and that again endeared Arkash to Podvrak.
"A fitting name, Arkash."
Said the bull as he looked down to his wrist, inspecting idly the contact there.
"Indeed. I was wounded by its claws."

He was lead out of the alley and taken away from the fray. Along the way there the generally silent Vrak spoke,
"No, I looked but saw no Sil'Norai. I apologize. I must admit, I am also nameless but escaped the slaughter of those people by pure luck. I fear if these riots and the attacks don't stop I will have to leave Lorien-- it's much too hard to survive here."
And so, with that all said he followed the lizardman Arkash back to his hovel of vagrants. It was as much out of curiosity as it was caring, after this second attack on the nameless he was interested to see if there was anyway he could help. Podvrak was lucky, he was well on his way to becoming a Savant and working at his library as an official transcriber of books. But for these others, wretched ones with no pot to piss in and a well earned chip on their shoulder-- there might be a small way he could bring them some comfort without becoming too involved with their comings and goings.