[Westfalen] [Memory] A chance encounter

[Arkash]

54th of Ash, 4617

“…Yeah,” replied the other following the explanation. “They got me like that, too.”

“…Did ‘ey?” Arkash asked as he brushed some of the fresh snow from his muzzle. “…’Ew came from Nivenhain?”

The elf nodded and rolled his head side to side. “My quenching was apparently too slow. But you know if you go too fast the metal cracks, so…” he pulled a dismissive frown and held up both hands with his shrug. “They would’a docked us anyway, I reckon,” the Sil’norai went on to explain. “Nitpicking their way out of paying us, it’s the usual around ‘ere. Truth is they don’t have the budget to pay us, and without hollows to pick up the slack, they bait us lot in there to work their steel. Sometimes they pay us, sometimes they don’t, you know how it is, right?”

Arkash blinked and sniffled, slurping up some of the venom that poured from the corner of his mouth. The reflection in his eyes said it all; the elf’s explanation made sense. “Ew’s a smart guy, inn’ew?”

A smirk pulled at the Silnorai’s features beneath the cloud of condensation that poured from his nose. His accent, and the remarkable condition of his skin and hair made it easy to assume he wasn’t born nameless. Where he was from, Arkash didn’t know. “Well, at least we’re here now; it’s a little warmer than Nivenhain, don’tchya think?”

Arkash strained his legs, and didn’t pay attention to the elf’s disregard of his compliment. Carefully, he got up from the snow and brushed himself off. “A bit,” he said with a nod.

“Rabe’s portal is a little further away; it’s influence doesn’ reach much further than this,” he explained. “I don’ think I mind setting up ‘ere. Screw Nivenhain,” he said with a shrug. His smile returned as he stood with the Rath, then brushed some snow from his shoulder. “I think the rest of them are around ‘ere somewhere. I don’t think lots of ‘em are tryin’a go back. How about you?”

The young Rath shook his head. “I’ve gotta get back, me Da’s out ‘er, fendin’ for ‘imself like.”

A sigh left the Sil’Norai’s lips, a breath of warmth that he threw away without care. “I understand. It sucks, but I get it.” He said with that same smile. “Come find me if you change your mind, maybe we can ‘elp each other out.”

With that, Arkash was alone again. His sooty hide jerkin did its best to retain the warmth in his scales, but as the snow came down on him and clung to his body, every flake threatened to drink his Endothermic blood of its lifegiving energy.

He had to return to Nivenhain, sitting around and crying wouldn’t help him. For that, he needed money, and if he wanted to find money, he first needed shelter.

Alleyways provided good protection from the wind, he just needed same walls, a roof, and something to sit on so that the floor couldn’t kill him like the heat-thief it was.

He did delve into a suitable alley and began to gather materials for his shelter; everything from wooden debris, to rags, and even bones were collected before he began construction of his makeshift fort. His whole body ached from his time at the forge, but he couldn’t deny that the snow was pleasant on his scales; it soothed and loosened the tension in his body. When he was done, he resolved to start a fire for warmth. Part way through collecting various pieces of debris, however, some motion and voice caught his attention. Arkash paused his collection of the wood, then stowed it underneath an old discarded tarpaulin before he advanced on the opening of the street.

A gathered crowd bared itself to him, all facing toward the wall Arkash stood beside. A few pairs of eyes looked his way with all their perturbation and scowls, but he paid them no mind.

Scales blacker than slate circled his yellow eyes in the broad daylight while he stepped into the open, and turned to face whatever everyone else was looking at. He stood on his tiptoes to get a look over the heads of some of the taller humans that stood in the back, and beheld some sort of show, run by another human. The man appeared to be selling something from the back of his wagon, something that was covered by a vibrantly colorful blanket. Arkash watched with intrigue, and listened to the sound of the surrounding Rien voices in contrast to the salesman’s pitch.

[Thomas]

Thomas was no stranger to hard times, but experiencing them in Lorien took on a bleaker air because of the continual cold and snow. Even in the milder climate of Westfalen, he felt the penury soaking into his clothes right alongside the precipitation. He'd come into town all prepared to dazzle the Rien Celebrant class as Altair the Clairvoyant, but they seemed to have little interest in prognostication or future-seeking. He didn't have the funds to make curios to sell to Savants, so in desperation he'd hit upon something that seemed to be working out okay: bottled snow.

Snow was not a novelty to Riens, of course, any more than dirt would be to people from other countries. It was everywhere, and it fell more or less continually. But if you mixed snow with almost imperceptible amounts of perfume and claimed that they were collected from different parts of Lorien, suddenly, there was at least curiosity. Each bottle had a little label with its purported date of collection and location. This, in combination with a reasonably nice display, and he had a chance of making enough farthings to keep him going, at least for a little while.

"Step up, please! Don't be shy! Let the mysteries of the snow reveal themselves to you," he said, in an unremarkable Rien accent. He was pretending to be a Nameless aspirant, hoping to become a Savant through the study of meteorology. "Focus your intentions on a bottle until it calls your name, and then take it home. It will tell you its secrets, if you would but listen."

A customer, a young Celebrant boy, shyly tugged on his trousers and handed him a bank note before running off with four of his bottles. Thomas grinned. This was actually working.

"Don't miss out on finding out what the lad already knows! Scrutinize the snow, and you will find the answers you seek."

[Arkash]

Snow? The man was selling snow? His brow furrowed at the sight. Who on Atharen would waste money on exotic snow?

To Arkash's surprise, the odd celebrant child would. The Rathor blinked in disbelief, he even reeled when he saw those notes being handed over in return for the jar. Arkash drew a deep breath through his nose and held his muzzle with both hands while he painfully cringed. His eyes weren't strong enough to make out just how much money the man had made from selling just one jar of snow, but he doubted it would have made it any easier for him to swallow.

With a noble child setting an example for the masses, they followed suit and attempted purchases of their own. Thomas would likely find most of his inventory of perfume-laden snow sold out shortly after. Meanwhile, the other nameless stood in silence and stared in brewing bitterness.

Arkash stood there with his mouth wrapped in his claws, stricken with an unspoken storm that welled his eyes with bitter tears.

He watched the man as the crowd thinned, then wiped his eyes clear as he began his approach. The smell of burning coals and ash still clung to his tattered hide jerkin as he closed the gap with the snow merchant. "Gor'enymore, me't?" he asked when he finally pried his cold hands from the dark scales of his muzzle. "Eny sno' from Nivenhe'n or wot?"

There was a distinctly uncomfortable tension in his body while he stood, as though he was stiff. It didn't show in the raspy croak of his voice and the stiffness of his lips was hard to gauge for any sort of expression, but there was a distinct misery to his gaze while he addressed the man, as though he'd witnessed the straw that broke the camel's back. Just how desperately did he need the Nivenhain snow?

His pained gaze trailed over Thomas's haul while he anticipated the delivery of his requested item. Even if there was nothing there for him, the young Rath would hover and linger while the crowd thinned further and further.

[Thomas]

The rush of exchanging goods for coin was just incredible. Sometimes, it was better than sex. Thomas'd had more than his fair share of sex over the course of his young life, and enough of it in a professional capacity to know that sex was often rather predictable. Buying and selling, though, was something different with every customer, every exchange, and every goods. As his stock of special snow thinned, so too did the crowd. Many of the people left over were just here to look.

Or, in the case of a young Rathor, to glower, it seemed. Then, as if to prove his earlier musings true, the young man sought to buy some snow from Nivenhain; presumably the horrible city he called home. He had happily excluded Nivenhain from his list of places in Lorien that he had certainly traveled to bottle his special snow, however, because he hadn't thought anyone would want some from the place. It was rather grim, after all, and when peddling snow to people who lived among it, he was selling whimsy, not a crime-ridden midden.

"Ah -- my wagon has not taken me all that way in my recent travels, my friend." Then he took a look at the man, who was clearly not enjoying Lorien's climate. Not even the mild, or milder, experience of an Ash in Westfalen. "Perhaps you could do with something warming, not cooling? I'm not sure I have anything on me that would suit, but if you're looking for something, even something that isn't bottled snow, I'd be happy to help you find it."

As much of the crowd began to dissipate and Thomas put away his remaining wares, his Rathor friend stuck close by. So he thought: what's the worst that could happen, and decided to take a swing.

"Would you care for some warm mulled wine, for instance? I'm happy to pay for your cup from a market stall if you're down on your luck." Maybe the man could pay him back somehow, with his company, if nothing else.

[Arkash]

Nothing from Nivenhain, typical. The young rath had an excellent sense of smell and would have been able to tell the real thing from the false product the man was selling... if he had any. He exhaled deeply at the revelation, brow softened with disappointment. "Dun' worry, 'en," declared; no other snow interested him; he hadn't been to any other part of Lorien before and wouldn't be able to verify if it was false.

He rose a brow at the prospect that the man hadn't been to Nivenhain, however. "Should 'ave a look if 'ew's 'eadin' east. 'Ey say i's th' bigges' city in'e world." Westfalen paled in comparison, he realized as his rigid facial muscles brought his gaze to the architecture of the rooftops and window frames of the stone buildings that stretched the span of the road. As the snow fell on the bridge of his long nose, he blinked and breathed deeply.

The people that bought the man's snow had thinned significantly. Arkash watched the odd couple while his cool breath formed no clouds or mist, then returned his gaze to the human charlatan. A rigid, almost mechanical shake of his head followed the offer. "I'm orite, mucka. Gaw'meself sorted jus' round'a corna' 'ere," he said with a nod in the direction of the alley. His broken, discarded timber would provide all he needed in the sense of warmth; it wasn't the first time he'd been stranded in the cold. "Side's, I ain't gor eny munny enyweh-."

A counteroffer was extended; wine, a drink- For free? Arkash's scalie brow raised in response, and his pale tongue flicked while he held quiet in thought. His nose curled a little, and he looked to the side with some degree of shame. "...Tha's real nice of 'ew t' offa', bur'am good," he declined with a nod, returning the gaze of his yellow eyes to the man. "Gotta steh awehk if I wanna put me fia' togever, innit?"

Arkash lingered despite the cold, and when the last of the man's customers were done, Arkash motioned his head to the alley. "If 'ew wan' sum' warmf, I've gor th' wood faw a fia' over 'ere." He took a single rigid step in the direction of the alley, then paused. "Seh... Ew's pre'y good a' talking propa' like, inn'ew?"

"Wha's in 'ose jah'z 'ew go'? Faw real, now." The rath held there for a moment, accumulating a layer of snow on his shoulders and the hood that meagerly covered his head while he waited for the answer. "Dun' worry, I ain't a grass."

The idea that had struck him came free of his thick lips, whether Thomas answered truthfully or not. "I migh' 'ave an oppa'tunity t' maek 'ew sum muney, if 'ew's interested... I jus' need cut enough t' ge' back 'ome, 'as all."

[Thomas]

Thomas was a bit put out that his initial offer of a hot drink was declined, if only because it was all he wanted after an afternoon standing out in the cold, but a place by a fire sounded okay, too. The idea of a business proposition sounded even better. But before they got there, he'd need to issue a disclaimer about his special product. The Rathor may not be intending to tell anyone, but one never knew who was listening in, and as a guiding principle, Thomas didn't believe in giving up a grift until he had to. So he smiled and shook his head.

"With regards to my bottled snow, I'm sure I don't know what you mean, Sir. All of it was bottled and collected right here in Lorien, just like I said during my pitch, then bottled by hand and sold to delight the fine folk of Westfalen. That being said, I never turn down a potential business opportunity, especially if it will help a fellow Nameless who's down on his luck and wishes to make it home. Why don't I join you by your fire and I can hear what you have in mind? I'm sure the beasts," he jerked his head toward Chestnut and Stubborn, "would appreciate a chance to warm up as well. I could make them some warm mash if it is to be a cook fire, too. They have precious little to do during the day, but even under their blankets I worry they will take up a chill. So then -- shall I follow you? I would love to hear what you have in mind. One can never have too many farthings, after all."

Thomas didn't believe in much, but he did believe that one opportunity often led to another. With any luck, this would prove to be legitimate, because a business partner in Nivenhain would be a reason to visit the city. He'd always been too put off by its reputation to bother.

[Arkash]

"Yeah..." Arkash returned with a nod "bet." Despite his agreement, the tone he carried held more of a leer than any sort of approving smile. One didn't need to be a mind -reader to know that Arkash didn't believe the human. A flick of his pale tongue followed a squint, and he rose a brow at the mention of 'fellow nameless', but a dismissive shrug saw him come to his own conclusion behind those dark yellow eyes.

A wave of his claws relayed his given direction, and he proceeded into the alley. Every footfall was stiff, rigid, slow. His single set of eyelids were heavy and his focus appeared absent while he bent down to pull the wooden debris he'd gathered from the tarp, then kneeled in the snow to begin constructing his fire. When everything was set, he used a claw to pick a groove in one of the planks and frayed a scrap of some old burlap sack to act as tinder. Once he'd placed a rounded piece of wood in the groove with the strands of burlap to catch the friction, he squeezed it between his hands and began to roll it to spin and grind into the lower plank. He became faster with repeated efforts, and it eventually began to smoke before igniting. Gently, he ushered it under the tent of sticks and waved some fresh air into the opening with a closed claw. From there, the fire caught and grew.

He was quiet for a moment, ushered close to the flame in the cover of the alley. His darkened carapace soaked in its warmth, the furs he dressed with gradually accumulated the warmth of the fire.

After some time, just staying there in silence, he looked up from the flame and peered at the human with a degree of intrigue. "Was 'ew born foreign or di'someone teach 'ew to speak like a propa' bloke?" Regardless of the answer, the human he'd encountered - one of the few that had ever spoken to him with any degree of respect - spoke proper common.

"Eiva' way..." Arkash continued. "'Ew's not a grass, rite? No friend a' tha Knight'ood?"

"Them Chevalia'z fucked me ova'; promised a fair wage faw some work if I came ova 'ere from Lowa' Nivenhe'n..." Arkash's nose curled in anger and disgust, eyes darkening as the flames flickered in the dark of his sclera. "Long story short," he continued, "I didn' ge' paid; 'ey won' even gimme a train ride 'ome, an' I got's people waitin' faw me."

"I've been workin' at e'rry station at'e steel mill up'a ro'd 'ere. They're makin' guns an' ammo; fancy shet." Another flick of his tongue accompanied a cloud of condensation while he breathed. "Wiv 'ew propa' talk an' me know-how, I reckon 'ey might end up losin' a shipment soon if 'ew work wiv me. Int'rested?"

[Thomas]

If he'd been fresh out of Grisic, Thomas would have perhaps been tempted to brag about his once-promising acting career, but years on the road had seen that dream wither and decay as the tender dreams of youth were wont to do when they came into violent conjunction with the brutal reality of life in Atharen. So instead, Thomas told a version of the truth:

"I was raised to speak precisely so as to be of service to my betters in any way they saw fit. My entire life was dedicated to preparing me for the realities as a secretary, clerk, or servant in some Lord's house. For all of those positions, one needs proper diction and elocution. This is not my real manner of speaking, of course, but it's as easy as any other, and it tends to get less rotten produce tossed at me when I try to sell people something, so I tend to stick to it. While it takes a fair bit of practice, I don't doubt that you or anyone else can do it. It may not be worth your time, however, my friend."

During all this time, he had watched in rapt fascination as the Rathor started a fire. He'd never gotten the hang of doing that without matches, or at least flint and tinder. He preferred for someone else to light the fire, much of the time, as well. Once it was lit and not guttering, he gestured to it.

"Clearly, you have other skills. I'm no friend of the Argents, either. They have never truly bothered me, but I can't but feel as though there's a sword above my head when I am in Lorien. If I misstep, a Celebrant could claim I'd done something to them, even something small like ruined a picnic they'd been planning, and an Argent could interpret that as a reason to behead me, and no one would even blink. That does not endear me to them, or to this benighted country in general. You say they cheated you, so let's get you your wages, plus some extra for pain and suffering. That's my feeling. My main question is: you're sure just the two of us can do this?"

Thomas was wary of that. Doing anything approaching robbing or even defrauding a gun factory seemed liked a great way to end up dead unless the plan was airtight. On the other hand, the profit margin on having even half a crate of guns would be tremendous. Worth the risk, certainly, as long as the plan was solid.

[Arkash]

Though most of his face was immobile, rigid in its shape and musculature, he did curl a slight smile at the revelation that the human held no love of the Knighthood. What Nameless did? The arm of the law stood as nothing more than a looming executioner for anyone that wasn't a citizen of Lorien. Travelers and natives alike avoided the towering figures of steel-wrapped muscle at every turn.

A nod of his head relayed his understanding, both on the subject of diction and his alignment.

"Ew come'n go as 'ew please, eh?" He asked when he caught that there was often a time where the man was not in Lorien. "I'ss orite, lo's of us come from ova' par's a' Mornoth, an furtha'." He'd heard numerous accounts of what life was like outside of Lorien, with plenty of tales from regions beyond the reach of Lower Nivenhain. "Careful 'ew dun' ge'r stuck 'ere, mucka'."

"Plan's solid, jus' a couple' pieces missin'; we'll need 'ewa wagon, too." He began with a gesture of his thumb claw to the horses.

Hands extended to the fire, Arkash rubbed his dry scales together, then pressed them to his face to better distribute the life-saving heat. "Flint'n steel's too pricey," he spoke on the observation of Arkash's other skills. Living in lower Nivenhain did teach him to be resourceful if nothing else, he supposed. "Potato sacks is jus' dry plants n' shite, does i's own part faw' tinda'," he explained with a curl of his claws.

Could the two of them make it alone? he looked up at his hooded scalp while he thought, then nodded. "Yeah, I fink so."

"I'm warm enuff. If 'ews in, I can show 'ew th' gis' a'th' plan?" He offered with a sincere raise of his brows. "A, rite. An me naem's Arkash. Jus' Ark sui's me fine if 'ew fancy."

Image source.

[Thomas]

Thomas wasn't naive enough to trust Arkash -- or Ark, if he preferred; whichever was fine with the human -- but he could tell that the Rathor believed in this plan of his. A cold-blooded lizard didn't survive in a land of eternal winter by being stupid, either. So he found himself inclined to hear the other man out. The prospect of having enough farthings that he could get out of this damn winter and go somewhere warm for a spell was also motivating him, as was the idea of fleecing whichever awful Celebrant owned the factory.

"Call me Wright, Ark. Full name is Edward Wright, but just Wright will do."

He sat down by the fire, warming his hands by it. He steeled himself to listen to the plan carefully, but he knew he was liable to go ahead with it. He wanted a big score, was what it came down to. He could move on to another city and sell more snow, but that was just kicking the can down the road. If he got one quarter the take of what he expected from an operation of this magnitude, he'd be set up for a good long while. he was doing exactly what he shouldn't be doing: already imagining himself on a beach in Teos somewhere, sipping something fruity and alcoholic and watching beautiful fluffy white clouds float by on the horizon.

"I'd be happy to hear you out on your plan. If I feel like it's not for me, you have my word I won't tell a soul. And you know I'll keep it, because no one will reward a Nameless for snitching on another Nameless anyhow. So -- what's this plan of yours?"