• Graded • To Trouble Their Fathers (Part I)

75th of Ashan 718

With the escalation of hostilities between Etzos and Rhakros, a series of small walled towns is being established as a network of early warnings and defenses against Rhakros' reprisals. Only the very bravest and most formidable of characters should risk themselves on the Witches' Wilds frontier.

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To Trouble Their Fathers (Part I)

75th Trial, Ashan, Arc 718
Westguard, West of Etzos
15th break


"I know you're my dad."

The boy looked up at the man, and found he was not looking back. His eyes were for the fields and woods and farmhouses spread out at the bottom of the hill. Westguard bustled on the other side of them, like some pretentious midget offspring of the bloated behemoth that it surfaced, smog from foundries and mills smearing the sky even three trials distant into the horizon. But over here... they could see no hand wrought by such numbers. No evidence of thousands, even millions, all working and taking and producing and consuming and corrupting.

Out there, the man could see only nature as it had been tamed, instead of swallowed. It was unusual to him. A city boy his entire life, he'd had brick and cobbles under his feet long before he even knew what grass was. Cows and sheep were odd beasts that were almost alien in their dimensions, inhabiting only buildings that stank of dried blood and wet fear. He'd sworn before that his lungs felt odd, even taxed, when the air thinned and became "different", moving beyond the confines of Etzos.

It took him a while to understand that was because they weren't used to dealing with air not choked with the stink of a city. After a few days in Westguard, he felt somehow younger. Cleaner. Observing himself going about this small town with friendly people as if he were on some strange narcotic.

The boy had much to do with that. Every break he could steal with him... it mattered. But that trial would be harder, and he knew it. The boy was growing into the man, or at least the growling, rampant creature he'd become before the academy. He knew that only his presence would halt the issue, both for the boy and the ones who were threatening to upturn his life.

Kasoria would allow neither the child nor these strangers to ruin that life he had worked so hard to maintain. He was prepared for the worst he could accomplish, and the unknown, unfamiliar, uncomfortable ways of conversation and compromise.

But he was not prepared for those words. They struck him like a blade, making his shoulders tense and then slump. He could not see that soft brown face, but felt eyes on the back of his head and knew an answer would have to follow. His head slumped slightly and the hundred lies in his mind vanished like smoke in the breeze.

No. Enough lies.

"Yes," he said, opening his eyes to the bright, clear sky and the wide eyes of his son. "I'm your father."

He wasn't ready for this.
Last edited by Kasoria on Sun May 27, 2018 8:59 pm, edited 3 times in total. word count: 463
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To Trouble Their Fathers (Part I)

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Fifteen Trials Ago
"No talking you out of it, then?"

"No, master."

"I really fucking hate it when you call me that."

"This needs to be handled. I leave it another season, it might go too far. You read the letter. This smithy is already on the verge of calling the Guard, or whatever they have out there."

"Kas, this isn't the best of times, I don't need to tell you why."

"You know what this means to me, sir."

Bangun Vorund was not a man used to being denied. To meet the man in person would be one way to know that: the way his force, his presence, his rough charisma seemed to bend people to his will. He'd been alive and thriving for decades in a business that broke many man within seasons. But to then attach details, facts, sordid histories with that name... to know all the horror and malice he could unleash, or the gifts and boons he could grant for good work... then one would understand why he was a man who did not often hear the word "no".

At least, not twice. But the man in front of him, small and ragged and nervously turning a letter over and over in his small, callused hands... that was a different matter.

Nervous, he thought, pulling deep from his pipe and shaking his head. If anything could make him nervous, it would be this.

'Aye... Aye, I know, Kas."

Even here, in a private booth, with the air around them deserted and quiet for twenty feet around, Vorund didn't put a name to Kasoria's fears. That had been their unspoken rule for going on twelve arcs, and it was in place for a reason. Once a season, his favorite killer made his journey out of town, heading west, and was seen no more on the cobbles of Etzos. His absence was noted, but only in the way that the underworld - great, gestalt organism that it was - noticed that for that period of trials, those who had run afoul of Vorund were dispatched with... more businesslike malevolence than usual. No severed body parts. No mangled limbs or heads lopped off into the gutter.

Such were the things that were noticed. Such it spoke of their world. And Vorund knew that the... subject, had nothing to do with it.

Also for a reason.

"How long?"

"Not too bad of a chunk. Three trials there, three or four in town at the most, three back."

"Call it ten, then?"

"Probably a good idea." The hairy man with the bushy beard caught the twinge on his master's face, even through the low lighting in this corner of The Speckled Jim. "I'll try to get it sorted sooner."

"Yeah, yeah, I know..."

Vorund blew out smoke in a huff, like a wrinkly old dragon missing some of his hoard. Kasoria has been quite the worker this season already, dealing with a band of robbers in a way that ensured copycats were unlikely. But he wasn't idly fretting. Those shadow bastards in the Al-Whatever were pressing, ever-pressing. Something was coming, looming over them, over him, and he wanted the one man he could rely on above all close to hand when it happened.

Forty-five trials. Fuck me. Anything could happen.

"I can make it worth your while if you stay," he said, voice lilting between coaxing and commanding. "Fifty gold nels, each trial, rest of the season. C'mon, Kas, you know this is going to be when those bastards who've been gobbling up every other crew are going to move on us! The North Side is pretty much sewn up. Weak cunts there either pay them to leave them be, or work for them. That means they're..."

He stopped talking as Kasoria lifted up the letter, and rested one corner in the candle's flame. The dry, worn, much-folded scrap caught quickly, and Vorund could see his words were gaining as much purchase on Kasoria as the letter was not burning to a crisp. His mouth tightened, his jaw torqued, as much at Kasoria's bland, wordless insistence as in the prospect of him being so far from Etzos... but he knew pushing him would not help.

"I need to go, sir," Kasoria said, words so soft they barely carried over the crackling sound of the letter he'd surely memorized being burned to ash. "He needs me."

Vorund blinked. Attaching a gender to it. Rare was the time that Kasoria was so... expressive, when it came to discussing his son. Mainly because he never discussed his son, not with anyone. Even Vorund, who was one of only three living souls that knew Kasoria had one. He also knew that the sole reason he had Kasoria's loyalty and unflinching obedience was because of that boy, and the favor he'd done father and mother and son arcs ago. To order Kasoria to stay, to risk him leaving, to actually go to war with one of his most trusted enforcers...

The streets would notice. They'd think me weak. Pushing my own men away or losing my grip on them. Exactly what I don't need right now.

"Fucking Fates and all their bastards..."

For the first time since they'd cleared the back aisle of booths, Vorund waved over the bartender. He stumped over and Vorund order a bottle of something expensive and two glasses. Kasoria watched the man come, then go, and only his eyes moved. The letter was ash on the table and he didn't need it. Every word was burned into his brain. What his son had been doing, or had been caught doing, more accurately... the smithy that had gone grousing and crying to the Law about him... the threats he'd made, the worry that his mother had in her at all times for what might happen.

Kasoria had nightmares about the path he could be on. It was so similar to his own. Anger and misrule, without direction or channel, striking out at the world. He'd been there, so many arcs before, and he doubted the same lightning would strike twice and save his son. More likely he'd go the way of all gutter scum: graduating from petty pilfering to brawling to... to...

"Enjoy the finer things, la-"

Kasoria did so before Vorund even finished. Then he poured himself another and did it again. He embraced the liquid burning dripping down his throat and ignored the surprised look that Vorund gave him.

"... yer supposed to savor that, Kas."

The killer looked at the gangster and the booze did its work. Loosened him up, if only by the minute amount that he could allow. They weren't friends. He was servant and this was his master. They weren't family. The only blood that joined them was that which was shed at Vorund's command. But he knew, the same as Kasoria did. The only other soul in Etzos who could see the fear in The Raggedy Man's eyes and understand it. So for that moment, that handful of bits, he was not a stranger, and even a solitary creature like Kasoria could appreiate that.

"Fine," he said with a smirk hidden behind his beard. He poured a glassful... and sipped it. Like a gentleman. "... fuck me, that ain't bad."

"Fucking savage."
Last edited by Kasoria on Fri May 25, 2018 7:03 am, edited 1 time in total. word count: 1246
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To Trouble Their Fathers (Part I)

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Four Trials Ago
He waiting in the mustering fields, for faces he did not know. Assemblages of men and animals and conveyances for the first congregated on the grass and mud. They organized around a shouting headsman, the were parceled off and drifted from whatever crate or stump he gave them orders from. Some were polished and fast-moving affairs. The caravan workers old hands and experienced, knowing their roles, not needing to ask questions or hesitate. Others were slapped-together, or just starting out in the cross-country business.

He sipped at his water skin and wondered how many of those men would last until the next arc, or at least be seen again on this field. Would it be bandits, perhaps? Some rabid pack of beasts, picking them off in the night or en masse during the day? A rainstorm that washed them away, a storm that sent bolts of lightning to burn and ravage? Some army or company with lofty goals and empty bellies and purses, who would do bandits' work under the banner of "foraging"? Or mayhap they would meet some better offer in Hiladrith - a woman, an employer, a calling, something - that would see them happier in foreign lands?

Kasoria wondered idly even as his gaze was anything but. Every group, he saw faces that he knew. Because most of these caravans were from Etzos. Well-supplied and guarded by rough, broad men. Quick eyes and callused hands. Weapons far better maintained than their own bodies, the sign of any man who lived by instruments of death.

In every caravan, there was a face he knew, and who knew him. So he consigned that group to oblivion and moved to the next. Fortunately for him, Etzos was know for bustling and urgent commerce, and that was a masterclass in understatement.

There was a gaggle of alien voices and Kasoria's ears perked up. This sounded better. He knew the gabble of Hiladrith folk when he heard it, booming or flowing depending on the moment and the need. He stood from where he squatted at the edge of the field, in the shade of a crumbling house, and saw the procession moving out from the city. Covered wagons and carriages were rolling, horsemen with arrows and bows in their saddles keeping pace. On each wagon, next to the driver, was one of those hard-faced men you saw in all businesses and places that required "security" .

Kasoria stared at the group for long bits. Until he'd managed to see every face he could... and none of them wrong a bell. He started walking over, listening for the loudest voice. It was usually the man in charge. As he got closer, faces turned to him, and he saw no recognition in them. But he could see they were folk from the northern city, beautiful and teeming and as adamantly against magic as Etzosi were the Immortals. More so, actually. They didn't kill you for worshiping those bastards in Etzos.

Something cold and old jabbed Kasoria in the stomach, and with a clench of his jaws he pushed the memory away. Nigh-on twenty-five years, and it still ached. Hell of a thing.

"I help you, sir?"

There was a "sir" tacked on, but solely as a mercantile courtesy. You didn't last long as a headsman if you chased away customers, after all. The man who'd spoken was seated atop probably the best horse in the party, though Kasoria was mainly going by the shiny coat. Then again, most of the man's customers probably did the same. The Hiladrith was gabbling away in Common, but his hands were gesticulating and sweeping through the air, much as any of his people did when they spoke. To an Etzosi, it seemed so... passionate. As if all their souls were infused with the words and magic was needed to draw them into not just air, but flying gestures of their hands.

All it told Kasoria was this man was from far enough away not to know him, and so were his lads.

"Going past Westguard? I'll pay for passage."

"Cost you a gold nel a day." Kasoria cocked an eyebrow and the headsman forestalled the obvious question with a shrug of his shoulders. "Look, what can I tell ya? Roads ain't as safe as they used to be, and now with the snow melted and travel easier, those woods are stuffed with bandits and renegades."

Kasoria didn't quite understand why that level of mortal danger denoted doubling the usual fare, but he had better things to worry about, and despite his modest appearance, was hardly a pauper. He still rubbed his chin, hummed and twisted his lips in contemplation, gazed into the sky as if it was a thorny conundrum to be solved. Giving in too easy was suspicious all by itself, and Kasoria knew that throwing coin around without question was a good way to get robbed.

And he didn't need the added questions when he killed the dumb cunt who tried it.

"I'm not sure," he said, voice meek and yet his accent was... cleaner, than the gutter-choked affectation he'd been raised with. They matched his clothes, after all: neater, tidier, a tax bracket or two above the raggedy look he wore during his "work" days. "I mean, it used to be five silver nels, and now-"

"Fine, fine, we'll throw in a blanket and three bowls of soup a day. You ever had Hiladrith Surprise Stew? Three days from now you'll be asking me for the recipe, I guarantee you."

"And you're definitely going by Westguard?"

"Stopping by for supplies. Roads stay clear, we'll be there on the third afternoon."

Kasoria dragged it out a little longer, just because he knew when he was being cheated by some pompous foreign cunt who thought he was a soft mark. But he still needed passage, and this lot... every face around him was alien, unknown, unconnected to his memory and thus his world. The handful of passengers were like... well, were dressed like him, too. Tradesmen and traders and even a family, heading out for business and what looked like an early holiday to the countryside. He finally nodded, affable smile stretching his lips.

"You've got a deal, my friend!"

"So glad to hear it... sir."

Yeah, and fuck you in the ear, too.

He'd become an old hand at finding his spot, settling in, and not being noticed. His rucksack was loaded with clothes and a few other items... such as the gladius wrapped up in a thick cloth. His karambit was still at the small of his back, but his clean coat covered it. Clean coat, clean boots, and breeches. Beard neatly trimmed, none of the ragged spurts and outrages of hair infesting his face from throat to scalp. His mane of tangled locks had been scrubbed, brushed, and tied into a simple braid that hung down his back and he'd even-

No. In fact, he had not. He drew the line at perfume.

"Ready all and all be ready!" The cheating sod on the fancy horse bellowed, riding up and down the line of goods and guards and travelers and traders. "Moving out and moving off! On-ward!"

With a whip cracking and a groan of oxen and a lurch that almost pulled Kasoria from his seat, the wooden snake moved on hooves and wheels and began slithering away from Etzos. Kasoria tried to get as comfortable as possible in the back of a cart, threadbare cushion under his arse his one luxury... and the old, well-kept thing he drew from his bag. A couple of the other passengers wondered what book that was as the little man with the beard opened it from the beginning.

Three trials. He'd done it before. No reason he couldn't do it again.

"There are those who believe that fine dining is an experience only available to those with wealth, plenty of time, and only the best ingredients," he began, the words echoing in his mind in a voice not his own. "This book - and this humble author - posits the exact opposite, and will endevor to show you how filling meals and delicious recipes can be made by anyone..."
Receipt
-3gn for three-day passage to Westguard
Thanks to Rumor for the template
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To Trouble Their Fathers (Part I)

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One Trial Ago


"You're nervous."

"I am not nervous."

"A wife can tell, honey. You've cleaned that table three times in one break. How much dust do you think could settle on it in that time?"

"Doesn't mean I'm nervous. And it wouldn't be because I'm afraid some city scrote might wrinkle his nose at our dinner table."

"That's not what you're nervous about."

Alsome had been married too long to take that bait, kick off a fight he knew he was going to end up apologizing for that evening. As he turned to face his wife, he saw a smile on Regeta's plump features that made him forget that was even an option. He smiled, half tired and half amused and all of it, all of him, remembered why he loved this woman.

She knows you better than you do.

"You know," he said slowly, slapping the dust cloth clean out the window before tossing it back to her. "Some men might think that tone and those words were proof I didn't beat you enough."

"Oh, would they now?"

"Oh, yes," he said, words grave and low and his performance was a fine thing. He sauntered up to his woman and slid his hands up her thighs. "Quite the warning sign, I'm sure they'd think. In dire need of correction."

She was a peasant girl, like her mother and grandmother and so forth going back... Fates, probably back since Etzos was a bloody field with a sodding big rock sticking out of it. Rough cotton and home-knitted aprons were her most common garb, save for the silk she wore on festival days. Today, her one concession to high fashion and their guest was the satin kerchief in her black hair, holding it in a ponytail that was resting on her shoulder like some sleeping, furry beast.

She smiled and Alsome smiled. She rolled her eyes and he smiled wider, because peasant though she was, she had the soul of humor and a mind for wit. She made him happy, and he never forgot that. Even when he was nervous.

"Dire need? You've been reading again."

"Always trying to improve my cogniz... cognitive functions."

Regeta sighed and shook her head, turning from him and checking the plethora of pots and pans and bubbling, steaming, simmering receptacles all over her stove. Alsome, of course, was not so easily dissuaded, and his hands stayed where they were.

"You know what they say about men who use big words: s'all cuz of their little peck-OOOOP, ALSOME?!"

Something quick and naughty and attached to her husband's wrists goosed her in the sides and "Reggie" nearly jumped into their with a yelp. She squirmed and turned and slapped her husband around the shoulder, doing little but drawing a chuckle from him. But her work was done, and she could tell it from that low, gravelly sound. Alsome didn't have much family, not after his father died a few arcs ago. What scattered cousins he did have were mainly in Etzos, and given his family had come from the Outer Perimeter... well...

They're not always the most well-scrubbed folk.

He walked over to the window and beheld his domain. Five acres, neatly tilled and planted, sprouts poking up from the ground already. Eager for the suns, aching to stretch up and embrace the light every day. Two little figures in white scampered and chased and raced up and down the rows, careful not to trample their father's labors. Beets, cabbages, potatoes, tomatoes... and children, apparently.

"Girls?!"! He hollered out the window, causing the two white figures to freeze and turn his way. "Come on back in, now! Dinner'll be ready soon!"

He could have been hearing things, but he was sure he heard the ghost of a "yes, papa!"... from one voice. Probably Nina, the little daddy's girl. Alvian was more of a nodder, he'd noticed. Either way, the two of them started pelting his way, one reaching out the tag one, then speed up as the other gave chase. Alsome smiled as the setting sun caught his beard, his tanned brow, warmed his tired bones and the shoulders bit and mauled by a thousand insects that buzzed around his crops. This was his home. He'd not mind more acres, more help, more money, more of everything they didn't have enough of... but he sighed as he turned back to the inside of the cottage.

"It's having him here, Reggie," he said, and his wife turned immediately. His tone was not one idly listened to. "He's family, my dad's brother's son, and I know he cares about us. I know he'd never hurt me, or you, or the girls. But..."

There was a silence, but Reggie didn't fill it with anything. She knew Alsome hated it when she did that; it made him snappy and withdrawn. Like if she'd just given him more time, more silence, more ways to find the words before he spoke them, he wouldn't retreat into himself again. So she wiped her hands on a towel and stepped closer to him, watching him scratch at the back of his head, other hand at his hip, staring at that damned, thrice-cleaned table.

"... but every time he comes here," he finished, words coming out a she took his hand "... it feels like he brings something bad with him."

Reggie reached out and touched one rough cheek. Their eyes met and twenty arcs of marriage seemed like a few seasons ago. Tossing a dowry in with some loans to buy this land, build this cottage, the barn out back, the seeds and tools. Two children buried under the oak tree that towered over all five acres, watching over their babies, loved forever even if they never got to live. Twin girls like night and day, making them feel older than they really were.

All of it was just time. The feeling, the strength, the love and the trust in that glance was what mattered. He sighed and shook his head, feeling like the green boy that courted Miss Ephie's daughter so long ago. "It's silly, I know."

"It's not. This is your home. Your family. Anything bad comes here, you know about it." Her hand patted the side of his neck and she got on her tippy-toes to give him a quick peck. "But he doesn't bring his business here. He's not that careless."

Alsome blinked, and seemed to regard her anew. Careless. Not stupid. Not wrong. Careless. As if it was a professional critique she was making of the man, and not some moral judgement. The farmer cocked his head to one side and wondered what he'd missed in twenty arcs, and what she had yet to surprise him with. Then something whistled wetly behind her and she whirled back to her stove, just as-

"Uncle Kas, Uncle Kas!"

It didn't take long for the reply to come. Lower, slower, deeper and older. Alsome swallowed as he walked to the door, hearing that same badness seep across the back of his neck as he closed his hand around the handle.

"C'mon, girls. I've told yeh before. I'm yer cousin. Fates... yer gettin' big, Alvie."

He's your cousin, he reminded himself, as footsteps stopped outside the door. He's family, and he's never harmed you. Stop being a fearful fool.

Alsome opened wide the door, and smiled at the neatly-dressed man with the short beard, holding a grinning Alvie in small, strong hands.

"Well, about time!"

Thanks for Jade for the template
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To Trouble Their Fathers (Part I)

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"... an' so the Corp's staggering around outside with his cock out, his men are rushin' all about tryin' t'find his breeches, an' all the while the fortune teller's screechin' about how 'the Fates have foreseen this day!' and-"

"Fuck me, like they didn't have anything better t'do?"

"Oi, lemme finish!"

"Sorry, sorry..."

It was almost possible for him to pretend he wasn't himself, when he was alone with his cousin. After the meal was finished and the endless questions from the children had been parried (but mayhap not believed, for children could sniff lies better than one thought). After they'd been sent to bed and he'd sat by the hearth, given them the brandy and cheese and some perfume for Reggie that he remembered her mentioning a few seasons ago. After that, when she'd gone to clean the dishes and set their little house to order, and the men had adjourned to the cool night air, watching fireflies bounce over the dark fields, passing a pipe between them, a clay cup in each hand.

Kasoria sniffed his brandy before sipping. Felt that warm, pleasant buzz trickle down his throat into his belly. Guffawed and covered his mouth when Alsome gave him the punchline, the crescendo to his story. Just two friends, sitting out after a long day of labor and traveling, enjoying the air and each other's company.

He wondered if that's what he looked like, to a stranger passing by. If they would see his clean clothes and trimmed beard and lack of weapons and think he was an honest man. A goodly man. A lawful man. Something other than one than had grinned with real mirth in his eyes at the same moment he'd opened a man's torso up from balls to breast. The thought played on in his mind, Alsome's voice becoming a fuzzy thing as it wandered, meandered, morphed and shifted and there was-

-the boy. Of course there was. Because he was so close, now. Barely a league away and-

"Kas? Oi, Kas, Fates, man, wake up!"

"S-Huh? Sorry, Ally, I was miles away."

"Aye, looked like it. Somewhere pleasant."

"Well... it wasn't here."

Silence, uncomfortable and unwanted and speaking more than their words could. Alsome shifted a little, studied the amber liquid in his cup. Kasoria had a habit of doing that. Just... going into himself, for trills or bits or even breaks. He would be awake and breathing, eyes open and watching, but Alsome could tell he wasn't really there. Whether he was dreaming or remembering, he didn't know, and didn't want to.

Something nameless hangs off the man, he thought as he watched his cousin sip his brandy, kiss his teeth as it seared his gums, eyes buried like gimlets in his face. Or maybe I just don't want to give it one.

"Well," Kasoria said suddenly, in that tone that said he wouldn't be hanging around much longer. "Been cooped up on the back of a wagon for three days, so I feel like stretching my legs."

"Goin' for a walk?"

"Aye," the older man said as he got to his feet, groaning softly and Alsome wasn't fooled. He'd felt the hard, coiled muscle under the man's clothes when they embraced. It wasn't the stoic strength of a man who worked the ground every day, but it was there. Hidden. "Won't be more than a break. Just gonna see if Westie's changed much."

The cousins didn't exchange looks, or lock eyes. They didn't need to. Just like two mummers didn't need to read lines for a play they'd performed dozens of times before. Words unsaid filled the silence between them and it seemed like they crafted questions and answers, too. Alsome opened his mouth to tell his cousin to be careful, for the army had patrols out and there were beasts from the badlands in the west prowling with the fresh, sunny season, but... it seemed unnecessary.

"Something funny?"

"No, Kas," Alsome said, clasping his cousin's shoulder and squeezing for a moment. "Probably just you, thinkin' this place could change that much in a couple of seasons."

The city boy didn't say anything else. Just gave a half-smile that came with a snort, and hefted his traveling knapsack over his shoulder. Alsome wondered why he'd still be carrying that with him, after he'd already arrived at the house. Surely it would be a burden for him, walking around on a jaunt, weighed down by his luggage? But Kasoria was already gone by the time he thought to ask, then decided it wasn't wise. Alsome licked his lips, as he watched the little man grow smaller and less defined in the darkness.

There was a circle of pitch around the farm, and beyond it, the braziers and torches of Westguard burned across a humble patch of the horizon. Kasoria would be walking maybe a quarter-break in the darkness, alone, far from his city and the cobbles he knew so well. And yet Alsome was not worried.

He knew his cousin, after all. And he knew where he was going.
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To Trouble Their Fathers (Part I)

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To paraphrase something she heard arcs ago, back in The Big Rock, only stupid people thought children were stupid. Being innocent did not make you stupid; being dumb didn't make you blind; being young didn't mean you were gullible. Often times it depended on the person in question; just like all those fools thought whores were only good on their backs with their mouths shut or "otherwise stuffed". Like beggars and street urchins, they saw, and they listened, and they remembered, and they knew there was a price tag hanging off everything.

Which Jessye knew a little something about.

So when she heard the same board in the hallway creak for the third time in five bits, she knew it wasn't a rat scurrying around, or damp wood airing out. She sighed and put down her needles, placing them carefully on top of the clothes still half-mended. She got up, very slowly, and slid her slippers off as she did. Just her socks, now. Muffling each step as he tip-toed to the corner. Careful not to step in front of the candles and throw her shadow into the hallway.

Another creak. The suggestion of breath, being held... then exhaled... very shallow. Very quiet.

Not quiet enough-

"Gotcha!"

"ARGH!"

He snapped her arm around the corner and grabbed a handful of warm, wriggling, hairy flesh, then yanked it back around. Her son was already flailing in shock, yelp of surprise becoming a howl of brief, indignant pain when her other hand struck out and smacked him around the back of the thigh. Fates, he hated when she did that! At least his bum had more meat on it, more... stuff, to pad the blow. But his thighs would be stinging and tingling all night now, and he pouted at the floor as she held him by the wrist.

"What are you doing up?!"

"You said Mister Kasoria was coming!"

"I didn't say he was coming tonight, slop-brain!" She let him go and crossed her arms. One good, solid smack was all she had for him nowadays. He was getting bigger, stronger, and beatings would work less and less. They'd just make him hate her, and she couldn't bear to see that emotion in his eyes when he looked at her. "Get back to bed, you've got school in the morning."

"Oh, I'll get enough sleep-"

"Am I bloody well asking you, hmm?!"

Shouting, though. Flaring nostrils? Blazing eyes? A tone that would make a necromancer gulp and twiddle his thumbs? Oh, yes. Jessye had going on twelve arcs of practice in that with her boy, and the rest of her life with her siblings. She raised her hand and showed him the row of knuckles that he'd grown to fear, for their speed and accuracy.

"Get. To bed. Now. I'm sure you'll see him... oi... wait a moment, I didn't tell you he was coming today!"

"Er... I'm sure you did, Mother."

"'Mother'? Oh, now I know you're bloody lying to me." Her eyes narrowed and Jessye had to work hard to keep the amusement out of her voice. The cunning little ferret had worked it out to the damn trial. She was torn between being exasperated, proud, or just as angry as before. "Come, now. Don't bugger around, boy. How'd you know?"

Fates, but he could turn it on when he wanted to. Embers of his father, shining through the skin of the son. He gripped his hands before his belly, as if to protect himself and give him something to do with them. Then his eyes swept around and she could see his mind racing, whirring, chasing lies and half-truths. Then he turned those chocolate orbs back to her and read her just as easily.

Mama won't like another lie. She'll hit me again. Probably on the thigh. Damn. Okay. Truth. But make it good!

"I, um... I hear you, and Farmer Alsome talking, um... a few trials ago? He, ah, he said he got a letter, and I wasn't dropping eaves, I promise, but I heard Mister Kasoria's name and I was walking by and heard it totally honest like and I heard it was in eleven days and that was eleven days ago so-"

"Martyn?"

He hated it when he couldn't read her tone. Sometimes she was so... hard, like trying to read a poster through a fog. His name was said so evenly and carefully that he didn't know whether or brace himself or grin hopefully... until she sighed and rubbed her forehead.

"You shouldn't listen in like that. It's rude. But I remember talking to Alsome, and yes, he should be here today-"

"The caravan from Etzos arrived, I saw all the animals and such-"

"But that doesn't mean he'll be right here, and you can't-"

A knock at the door and Jessye realized she wasn't going to be proved right that night. Especially when whoever was outside immediately opened it without her calling first. There was only one man who had the nerve to do that, and she had to admit, the right. This house, the clothes and possessions and medicines and food and all the means for survival and prosperity for herself and her son... the man who walked through from out of the night had paid for them all.

She was angry and she was tired and she had two seasons worth of worry for her son pressing down her her like she was the fabled giant that held up the world. But seeing him there, knowing what he had for her, what he'd promised he would do, it made her fair features crease into a smile.

He saw it and gave one back, but it didn't reach his eyes until he saw the boy in front of her.

And when it did... it went far beyond them.

"Mister Kas!"

"'ello, mate!"

She opened her mouth but they weren't listening anymore. The boy flung himself at the little man not much bigger than himself, but still strong enough to catch him and pull him off his feet. Making snarling, wolfish sounds as he pretended to gnaw the boy's neck, laughing at Martyn's squeals and laughter. She shook her head, and she smiled. It was hard not to, at such a sight. Even if you knew what the man was, what he did, since long before they'd met, arcs and arcs ago.

Kasoria paid her no mind, for that snatched handful of trills. He lost himself in the scent and warmth of that body in his arms. He closed his eyes even as he played and he screwed them tight and for a moment, just a few moment, he was a father. Wholly and hopelessly and without the truth to ruin the fantasy. All the blood and horror and grime and walking, talking human excrement he dealt with... it was worth it, for this.

Continued here

Thanks to Rumor for the template
word count: 1197
Common Speech | Thoughts | Ith'ession Speech | Speech of Others
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Doran Cooney
Approved Character
Posts: 461
Joined: Wed Oct 26, 2016 8:10 am
Race: Human
Profession: Performer
Renown: 40
Character Sheet
Plot Notes
Wealth Tier: Tier 1

Contribution

Milestones

RP Medals

Miscellaneous

To Trouble Their Fathers (Part I)

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Kasoria of Etzos
Knowledges
Deception: Playing the Novice Traveler
Discipline: The Strength to Tell the Truth
Discipline: Putting Your Son First. Always
Negotiation: Not Going For the First Offer
Socialization: Having a Drink with Family
Tactics: Traveling with Foreigners, To Avoid Being Recognized

Non-Skill Knowledge:
Location: Westguard
NPC Alsome: Kasoria's Cousin
NPC Regeta: Alsome's Wife
NPCs Nina and Alvian: Twin Daughters of Alsome and Regeta
NPC Jessye: Mother of Kasoria's Son
NPC Martyn: Kasoria's Son

Loot: N/A
Injuries: N/A
Renown: N/A

Points 10
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Wow. You have an amazing, easy to follow cadence in your writing. You use effective analogies, and have a really great balance between dialogue, description, and action. On top of that, the dialogue has excellent flow, and you can feel the characters speaking rather than reading words put into their mouths. Even if it's only a part, the entire thread had a really nice pace, and I enjoyed reading every moment of it. You built up expectation and contrasted the man Kasoria is with who a part of him wants to be so well, I got a little bleary eyed reading that last paragraph. Very, very well done. I look forward to the privilege of getting to review more of your work in the future!

Also, in case you weren't aware, Kasoria's CS has a WIP tag. If that's intentional, never mind me!
Please edit your grade request, thank you!
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