Like Termites on Floorboards

[Fur]

Ymiden 72, 719
Edge of the Southern Housing Quarter
7th Bell

Paxton sipped at the weak mug of beer while he watched the laborers tie down the last of the logs. The portly man preferred the brandies and ports that had become available to him once he had set up shop in the commercial ring, but the beer reminded him of his youth. He had grown up in these very streets, running through the filth and pestering the drunks with sticks. Those were simpler days, before reality set in. Thankfully. Paxton had been blessed with a looming physique that had caught the eye of a generous patron. Master Vorund had set him to watching doorways and busting skulls when he was sixteen, and over the arcs he proved himself more capable than the average alley cat. Showed the boss that he had a head on his shoulders filled to the brim with profitable ideas. Vorund paved the way for Paxton to expand his legitimate business ventures into the commercial ring. He had grown soft after that, but deep down, the man remembered his roots.

And they remembered him, too.

The merchant had kept his finger on the pulse, no matter how far he drifted from the shadows of his old way. Even after so many men and women Paxton had once called friend had past. The memory of Vorund still lived, and with it came the network. Not this venture, though; this was all Paxton. Wood was one of the scarcest materials these trials, since the siege had been broken. Teams had been sent north to the forests there, where invading armies had scarcely touched, but a lot of what was brought back would be diverted towards high priority projects. The wealthiest private citizens would buy some of it, of course, but Paxton was middling at best. He needed a different source. So he had looked south.

Lisarra’s army had not sieged the city in a traditional sense, relying more on their biological attacks than physical weapons. They were mortal, however, save for their murderous ruler, and the army had required wood for their subsistence. Campfires, palisades, and the like. Paxton doubted the foreigners had had time to collect their supplies in the midst of their route, so he figured if he looked in the right places, he would discover a stockpile or two. It took several trials, but the hunch had proven correct.

Lumber, enough to fill several wagons. The carts and horses had cost an exorbitant amount of nels, but Paxton knew he would be able to charge the same rate, perhaps even more, once he had gotten the logs cut into boards and furniture. Maybe even enough to invest further into other rebuild ventures, after he had raked the desperate and the homeless.

“We’ll leave when the rest of the guards get here,” Paxton said, to one in particular. Lenny was the only person here already that would be sticking around after the loading was done; the laborers would part ways, dispersing in search of another project to latch onto. They were certainly enough to go around. “Make sure your crossbow is loaded before we set out,” the merchant added, focusing on his personal muscle, who had already taken his place in the passenger’s seat of the lead wagon. Paxton would drive that one while two of his other employees drove the last two.

Paxton wished he could’ve been able to keep everything in house, but recent events had made it so that wasn’t possible. Too many people killed, and for what? Because an Immortal didn’t like the idea that her presence wasn’t needed by the free Etzori? Paxton spit on the ground. So much life wasted for nothing important.

Still, the merchant felt somewhat comforted by the new hires. Paxton had sent out feelers through Vorund’s old channels, fishing for some sword-arms that could be trusted. And damn if the Raggedy Man himself hadn’t provided the names. Paxton shouldn’t have been surprised; Ymiden was the season for ghosts, so it made sense that he came back as well. He would have preferred having Kasoria himself guarding the transit, but he’d settle for men that came with his recommendation.

Paxton took one more sip of the beer and then poured the rest out onto the ground in front of him. An old habit of his, an Etzori sacrifice to ask that the job would be finished without difficulty. These were tumultuous times, and it was hard to know what would come easy or hard moving forward. Couldn’t stop, though, and wait to figure it out either.

You just had to keep pushing forward and knock down the barriers in your way.

. . .

Fur ached from head-to-toe.

His knees strained as he shifted his weight from one side to the other, crouched and watching the wagons getting loaded from a burnt building down the street. They were on what marked the edge of the housing quarter, though the burned strips and broken husks of buildings blurred the line that used to be more apparent. Fur was gathering what information he could before making his presence known. He hadn’t been given a lot, that was for sure.

Yeh want work, kid? ‘Cause there’s a guy asking . . .

Kasoria’s details had been sparse, giving Fur what he needed to know and nothing more. A merchant was hiring an escort to help move a shipment to the commercial circle. Fur wanted the finer details, but it seemed they weren’t necessary for his role. He was supposed to be the muscle, so flex those, not his brain. It seemed limiting, but Fur figured there was a lesson in there somewhere. Something about trying to be too smart too fast, maybe.

Fur rose to his feet, checking over his gear one more time. It been a while since he had worn the studded armor, but the Ithecal figured it might prove more useful for this job than his usual gigs. He wasn’t sure if the shoddy patchwork presented a positive image to anyone, but Fur wasn’t looking to build his reputation on looks alone. Prove himself capable, and no one would care what he was wearing.

His knives were tucked in various spots on his body, and he carried his war pick and buckler in hand. The rest of his gear he had stashed a hovel he had stumbled across the night before. The merchant had hired a mercenary, not a homeless orphan, so Fur needed to look the part. To be fair, Fur was perhaps a bit of a stretch when it came to the image of a soldier. A child soldier, maybe, barely big enough to be carrying his weapons. That was just another image he would have to overcome.

Taking a deep breath, Fur turned the corner and moved in the direction of the caravan. The merchant, who was well over six feet and two hundred pounds, glanced his way. “Fur,” the Ithecal called out, once he was within an appropriate distance to call out. “Kas’ man.”

A bit of an overstatement. Squatting in his home for a bit and nearly dying in the Underground with a man one trial didn’t exactly constitute a relationship. Paxton, didn’t know that, though, so why not use that to his advantage? The Raggedy Man was more than a story parents used to frighten their children here in Etzos; he was also a negotiation tactic and a hell of a recommendation.

Fur had arrived first. That left the other man Kas had turned onto this job. He hadn’t said much about him either, save for a single warning of sorts.

Don’t get into any closets with ‘em

[Duncan Oisin]

Duncan still hadn't decided how he felt about returning to Etzos. It had seemed to be the most rational step from him; after years of following others continent to continent he'd return home, start fresh. He'd been eager to find work, and so he hadn’t hesitated in finding Kasoria’s suggested contact. It had been easy enough too; it seemed the man frequented the same pub almost every night at roughly the same time, and so Duncan had bought him a beer and dropped Kas’ name into the conversation. Paxton had looked far less suspicious at that, and he’d been friendly enough once the beer had softened him up, and he’d taken Duncan at his word and at the word of Kasoria. The pay had been a little less than what he’d hoped, but Duncan could hardly argue in such times, and when he represented another as well as himself. He was by no means Kasoria’s man, but Duncan still took his endorsement seriously, the last thing he needed was to fuck up or rub anyone up the wrong way, and have it blow back on Kas by association.

He was dressed for the standard job, leather armour over his normal clothes, and his masterwork gladius strapped to his belt. He was hardly ever without the weapon, his most valuable and prized possession, and more often than not he would find himself resting his arm or hand on the hilt or the heavy loop of leather that attached its scabbard to the belt, as though subconsciously reassuring himself that it was still there. He’d brought his crossbow as well, carried over his shoulder in its sling, though he’d hardly had the chance to use it before, and never on a job. He didn’t think drunkenly shooting at rats in Ne’haer counted as training, but he honestly didn’t think it could be that hard. Aim and shoot, right?

Surprisingly enough, it had been strangely emotional to walk through the slums, the buildings devoid of life or burnt out in an attempt to slow the plague, the worst of the worst in the Outer Perimeter, the poor and downtrodden always bearing the worst when tragedy struck. A few of the sick still lingered in the area, beggars with hacking coughs and hungry eyed children peering at him as he passed. If Duncan was remembering correctly, the building he’d grown up in - that his mother had died in - had been razed as well. It was difficult to tell; all the hovels looked the same, especially after so many years away from the city. It didn't much matter, Gloriana had been dead for over a decade, and any of her belongings would have been stolen or sold by their old landlady. Duncan wasn’t even sure if she’d been properly buried when they’d found her body, or if she’d just gone out with the trash. He supposed it didn't matter anymore.

After a while more of walking, and second guessing whether or not he was heading in the right direction after all, he came upon the meeting point he’d been given. He raised his hand in greeting as he approached the lead wagon, Paxton clearly in charge of the situation, barking orders and directing those around him. Duncan greeted him and reintroduced himself briefly, taking the opportunity to survey the others that had gathered. Drivers for each wagon, a small assortment of guards, one a male Ithecal, if he was judging his build correctly. Small, or a child? It was hard to tell, he’d only seen a handful of Ithecal in his life, but he was almost certain that those he had seen had been quite a bit larger.

Duncan eyed him curiously but didn't comment, simply listened to Paxton, answered simply when he was assigned a wagon to guard, and did his best not to make an ass of himself. As a younger man he’d fallen back on posturing and bravado in an attempt to prove himself, to make himself feel stronger and more secure amongst other sellsword, mercenaries and bounty hunters. He’d quickly learned that it did nothing but make you look a fool, and ensured that if shit went down you were the last that they came to help.

Duncan moved off to the side when Paxton was done with him, and he stood out of the way, tuning the man out as he went over the route with the drivers. Despite his attempt to mind his own business, he couldn't help himself, and his gaze swung back around to the young Ithecal. "Morning." He called, taking in the boys armour and weapons with interest. Duncan was hardly as succesful a mercenary as Kasoria, no where near his level in fact, and so when he spoke it was with complete sincerity, if tinged by the slightest amount of curiosity. "'ave you worked for Paxton before?"

[Fur]

Fur took stock of the newcomer as he wandered onto the street, waving in Paxton’s direction. He wielded a gladius like Kasoria—and him too, now, Fur couldn’t forget that—as well as a crossbow. Duncan was broad and thick, towering over everyone in their group save for the merchant. He too wore armor, though it was of a far better quality than the Ithecal’s own. Not that that was shocking, of course; the child rarely had the luxury of upgrading his equipment on what little income he brought in.

The newcomer was assigned the middle wagon, so Fur fell back to the rear without being ordered. He glanced at the empty chair beside the driver, but decided against it. Unlike Lenny and Duncan, Fur only had melee weapons on him, so whatever defense he would offer against looters would come on the ground. Their train couldn’t move faster than he could, so it seemed like a better idea to be ready for any surprises.

While Paxton moved to take his seat at the head of the caravan, the newcomer turned to greet Fur. The child nodded in response, offering no verbal reply to the first bit. He couldn’t quite avoid the direct question, however. “First time,” Fur replied. He paused for a moment, before adding, “You?”

“Right Lads,” Paxton called out, interrupting their exchange. “We’re moving out. Route’s taking us through the Market to Parhn, so keep your eyes peeled there especially. Should be smooth sailing once we reach the Comm’See.” The merchant tapered off and reins cracked as the trio of wagons lurched into motion.

The pace was slow, marked by the periodical creak of the wheels as they hit ruts in the street. Conversation was minimal from the drivers, leaving Duncan and Fur to their own devices as they moved westward through the housing quarter towards the Citizens Market. The Ithecal fell into the far rear so his vision was unimpeded by the cart. Left to right, scanning the shadows and alley mouths for unsavory individuals. For now, though, there was no one. All was quiet.

“How do you know our friend?” Fur called out to Duncan as they walked. He didn’t mention Kas by name because he didn’t want to bring unwanted attention onto either of them from the other workers. The child figured Paxton was aware, at least, but it was likely that the others didn’t. The Raggedy Man was a near mythical figure in the city, and who knew how Lenny or the drivers would react to his associates.

[Duncan Oisin]

Settling in the wagon, Duncan pulled his crossbow off his shoulder and settled it in his lap. He glanced back at the kid, his brow creasing briefly as he noted that he hadn't taken his seat as the other's had. Though he knew none of the men that he now accompanied, he'd quickly fallen into the familiar mindset that he often held when working in a group. There was safety in numbers, and if he was to trust the others to watch his back, he had to take on the responsibility of watching theirs in turn, and while having the boy on the ground made sense, it also made him more vulnerable. Every blade would count if it came down to it. Duncan turned so that he was sitting to the side, one leg pulled up and propped on the other, the crossbow laid across them. ”Hm, for me as well.” Duncan nodded absently pulling at the string and picking dried mud off of the arrow track.

Duncan glanced around as Paxton spoke, distracted for a moment as the driver flicked his reins and the wagons lurched into motion, the horses snorting and flicking their ears as they started forward. It was silent for a long while, and the driver beside him showed no interest in starting up conversation, his deep set eyes almost entirely obscured by his bushy eyebrows, but fixed firmly on the road and wagon ahead of them, as though Duncan wasn’t even there. Duncan cast his gaze about, and once satisfied that all was calm for at least that moment he turned back to eye the boy curiously. He looked to be roughly the age Duncan had been when he’d first started running jobs, but Duncan had been delegated to the simpler tasks; delivering letters, standing watch and the such. It hadn’t been until later in his teens that he’d been trusted and deemed skilled enough to accompany the men on jobs such as this, and to see that the boy was apparently well prepared for their job was mildly impressive.

He glanced back around to the boy as he spoke, asking after how Duncan knew their common acquaintance. "Travelled into Etzos with him and some others, after the siege." He called back. As he spoke Duncan dropped the stirrup of his crossbow towards the floor, fitting his boot into the loop of metal and using it to hold the bow in place. "And yourself?" Duncan pulled the spanner from a loop on his belt and slipped it over the crossbows string, grunting as he used the tool to pull the string back, fitting it behind the nut. "'m names Duncan by the way." He left the bolt in its quiver for now, happy to wait to see if he’d even need it. Their little procession trundled along, and Duncan sighed, resigning himself to a long, boring ride. He turned around to more fully face the Ithecal boy. "You live in Etzos? Here for the siege?"

[Fur]

The newcomer settled in beside the driver of the second wagon, uninterested in walking alongside the wagon like Fur had chosen to do. Truth be told, he was probably better off trying to fire that crossbow from the seated position anyway. The wagon allowed the man allowed him to fire from elevation without getting impeded by the cart. Of course, it also left him rather open for fire as well. Fur wasn’t interested in exposing himself like that, especially with no ranged weapon for himself. No, he felt more comfortable walking alongside the caravan, using its mass to make him a difficult target. It played to his strengths better to be on his own two feet, moving exactly where he wanted to every single trill.

The trek through the housing quarter was rather uneventful, allowing for a bit of conversation between the two hired hands. Paxton spared them a single glance to verify that Duncan and Fur were staying on task, but he did not shut the conversation down. Though no one had accosted them yet, the chance at violence still lingered in the back of their heads. Men turned to different things to control their stresses, so he would not silence the men who wished to speak, no more than he would force the silent to break their inward mediations.

Fur listened to Duncan’s answer with anticipation. It was a stretch for the child to even call himself a friend of Kasoria, so he was curious if the mercenary was in a similar situation. He didn’t really learn much, save for the fact that Kas hadn’t been in the city during the siege, which Fur had already suspected. As to Duncan’s relation besides former travel partner, it was not clear. The child nodded, glancing down a side alley as the conversation paused for a moment. Nothing in that one either. “Fur,” the child replied, reciprocating the introductions.

Fur chewed over Duncan’s follow up question, concocting his answer for a few trills. When it came to personal information, the child always struggled with how much to offer up. Etzos was a dangerous city when no one knew anything about you, and it only could get worse for a man whose history was known. At the same time, to give the man nothing could offend him worse than the truth. Like tightroping across the blade of a double-edged sword, hoping to stay the straight and narrow, or at the very least fall on the side that cut the least.

“Aye, born and raised,” the Ithecal finally responded with. “And could’ve been where I died at too. But I didn’t, though, so now its about picking up the pieces.” Fur had heard that said a hundred times since the siege broke, with nearly as many meanings behind it depending on who uttered it. Some spoke of physically rebuilding, others of trying to salvage a shred of normalcy after the world-upturning they had suffered this season. Then there were men like Paxton and to a lesser degree Fur himself who spoke the phrase to emphasize their capitalization of the post-war setting. There were a lot of loose pieces scattered about the city just waiting to be pocketed. This wood was just the start; there was plenty more out there for the people willing to look for it.

The Market Alley ramp marked the end of the housing quarter, an abrupt arrival that left the caravan alone in the empty expanse before they crossed over into the bazaar. Paxton guided the lead wagon onto a wide avenue that cut directly through the market. A cycle ago, this wouldn’t have been possible due to the sheer density of the tents and stalls. Fortunately, at least in the merchant’s eyes, the vendor population hadn’t been completely replenished yet, which allowed for a caravan of this size to move through the quarter. Eyes watched them for both sides, merchants and guards alike, as they trudged by. Lenny had draped his crossbow over the front guard of the wagon for all to see.

“Eyes sharp,” the portly merchant called out behind him, never taking his eyes off what was in front of him. The other drivers maintained a similar focus, leaving it up to Duncan and Fur to watch for threats. The Ithecal brandished his war pick and shield, hoping they would intimidate the men who were on the fence about bothering the caravan. The determined or the desperate probably wouldn’t be deterred, but maybe the rest would. Hopefully Duncan knew to do the same.

No one talked any longer. It was silent save for the snorts from the horses and the creaking of the wheels.