• Graded • In Fear of Difference

[Noth]

Saun 17, 717


Saun was an unbearable season. The atrocious heat which embodied the majority of the season threatened to wrap about every aspect of life. Simply stepping into the sight of the two great suns looming overhead was enough to make someone begin to perspire, even if they were only under the blazing cosmic bodies for a few trills. That wasn’t to say that the entire season had been terribly hot, because only a few trials prior, there had been a cold chill which had seemed to appear out of nowhere, but for the most part, Saun was a season of intense warmth.

Perhaps it was that intense warmth, and the discomfort that it brought which had led to the heightened tensions between man and mutant. The denizens of Padfoot’s Freakshow had been found with disdain sense they had been discovered in the prior season, but it seemed now that the intense heat threatened to boil over what had only been simmering tensions. Noth didn’t live in town, but he wasn’t oblivious to the pain that was being brought about against those who were different.

He wasn’t unaware of the bodies, or the lynch mobs, or the stabbings in the dark where no one could see or hear or help.

He’d heard about the woman who had been crippled after a mob had decided to kick her in the middle of the day, all because of a slight discoloration in her eyes, a minor strum of discord becoming a major flaw in the eyes of the perfectionists. From his cavernous dwelling, he’d heard the story of the older man who had led the beating, had heard about how a couple of bestial sorts had jumped him on his way home, and had strung him up by the neck above a popular walkway.

It was different hearing about the stories, knowing about the atrocities being committed, and then being part of them yourself. Noth had faced racism of some form or another before, certainly, but it was rare that people’s dislike of his half-blooded lineage caused someone to attempt murder. Only the pureblooded Avriel of Athart seemed to care for his muddled heritage, and even they had only dispatched a few agents in the past, apparently deeming him an unimportant entity to waste hunters upon.

No one ever expects to be the victim of something. Everyone exists in their own story, the protagonist of it all, the hero of their destinies, the creator of their own fate, but reality is far harsher than that. No one expects to be an unfortunate statistic, a horrifying crime, an abominable and despised thing. Even Ears, for all of his paranoid mutterings, and the glances he cast over his shoulder, and the careful steps he took to hide his newfound abilities didn’t really seem to think that he’d be hurt for who he was, and why would he have been? He was still a human. He still identified himself as an Etzori, still saw himself as a person. Had so much really changed about him?

Not expecting it was the reason that the tracker with the loudmouth and the feather through his cap had managed to get so close. It was the reason that Ears hadn’t thought anything of the drinking man in the middle of the pub, casting him no more suspicion than he might anyone else. He didn’t panic, because his friends and associates were there too, in the tavern outside of town where they often hung around. He had come here so many times before, that he had lost some of the edge that followed him.

No one expected it when the feather-capped man pulled a knife from behind his back. No one expected it when he arched his elbow, and jammed it into Ears’ stomach.

Time slowed, as it always does when something incomprehensible occurs. Suddenly appalled eyes flicked to Ears, and then to the blade buried deep in him, the crimson blood beginning to well up from the wound even as the knife was withdrawn. Ears collapsed forward onto the table, heaving suddenly, shuddering with sudden agony.

And the reason for the sudden assault?
“Don’t worry, he’s a freak.”

[Noth]

It was the folly of men to believe that everything was a threat. It was the innate and inherent fear of difference that rot its way through the morals and beliefs of every living person, the festering sensation of being in danger that caused brash action. With that brash action came cruelty, the implicit rapidity of activity leading to a decline in care for the senses or perceptions of others, the panicked subconscious leading to atrocity.

It could have been that the man with the feathered cap had been afraid. He might have seen the abilities of Ears, spotted them somehow out of the corner of his eye, and become afraid. Instead, the pleasant and self-satisfied look plastered upon his cheeky face seemed to hint that he was enjoying himself, that he had come for the sole purpose of hurting others. He was one of those few who took great pleasure in differencing themselves from others, in asserting their superiority to those they considered inferior. They were the type who were evil for the sake of identity, for the sake of determining what they were, and what they were not. Racists, bigots, sexists, all of them fell into the same group as the man with the feathered cap.

There was some difficulty in determining the exact moment when everyone at the table knew that the feather capped man was going to die. There was the hardening expression that flicked upon each face, the gentle twitch of a face as it twisted in sudden rage. The faint echoes of prior laughter hung in the air, becoming a reminder of more pleasant times, but there were no utterances now, the only noise remaining in the air at the confession of the man’s activities now was the subtle scream of silence, and that spoke more for each of them than any words might have done.

And there it was, realization, revelation which spread across the fellow’s cheeks in a flustered smile. Acknowledgement that he had acted foolishly, that they had all known of Ears traits, and that he had been their friend, not just some casual drinking partner.

Solemn eyes judged from the sidelines, observing the escapades of the group of regulars who showed up at the tavern, the ones who laughed and made merry, and whispered of elaborate schemes and ideas. There had been brawls, there had been fights, and they had participated in them as well. There had been screams, and yelling, and faces flushed with blood-red anger, but never quite to this extent. There were no sounds. The remainder of the tavern went quiet, as if though the act was a shock to their systems as well, as though they hadn’t expected to see the violence so near to them.

Given their typically emotional nature, it was perhaps not so surprising that the first person to react in the group was Oxy. His hands gripped onto the end of the table and the carved chunk of wood was quickly sent sailing to the side of the group, landing with a frightening crash which broke the eerie silence which had hung in the air. With the throw came a thunderous roar, a shrieking phenomenon which rattled around the bar like thunder, shaking patrons to their souls, their very bones resonating in the scream.

Like the crack of lightning, the group became alive in an instant, bristling with deadly energy, but too fascinating to not observe. Tragedy begot attention, and the other patrons’ eyes were locked onto the scene, knowing the outcome before it could ever occur. There was a perverse satisfaction which filled the room when Thane arose from his seat, and tackled the feather-capped man to the ground.

Every person had lines that they would not cross, morals that they would not break, and actions that were restricted by their conscious.

In that moment, not one of them had any qualms. Compassion for one’s fellow man was thrown to the wind, allowed to be carried away like a leaf upon the breeze.

Then, the glisten of knives, the slick sound of withdrawn blades, the wet noise of blood, the crunching noise of muscle being broken by metal, of life being taken, of screams, of vengeance being exacted at terrible cost. The intake of breath rattled, the fey gasps of those unaccustomed to the event, the screams of the sickened and the accusatory, and the terrified stares of those few who understood.

So few understood, but they all would.

[Noth]

The body came out looking rather demented in appearance, its face twisted into a perpetual hiss of pain. Teeth and blood were scattered around the corpse, and the presence of leaking knife wounds was clear to even the most ignorant observer. Noth took faint notice of the scent of alcohol on the fellow’s jacket, and the subsequent moisture there. He had been drinking, and his ingestion of liquid courage had likely led him to make his fatal mistake. It was not the first time that the group had killed something, nor would it be the last, but unlike many of their other interactions with bodies, this time they cared little for the material value of anything upon the fellow.

Instead, attention was refocused upon Ears, who lay hunched in a ball, his breath hitching in his throat as he struggled to draw forth breath through all of the pain. His hands clutched about his stomach, doing their best to hold in the torrent of blood which threatened to spill over his fingers any trill. He wasn’t dead yet, nor was he bleeding so terribly that it seemed absolutely certain he would die, but his wound was still rather serious. The only potential solution which came to the hybrid’s mind was a frustrating one, but very clearly necessary.

They needed to see the Glass Eyed Doctor.

“Oxy, pick him up.” He ordered, rising from his knelt position as he motioned the group towards the door.

“Slip. There’s a house off in the forest in that direction.” He pointed towards the woods as the gang burst through the door, Thane trailing behind them and ensuring that none of the bar patrons had decided to avenge the fallen feather-capped man. “It looks like a mushroom. It’s alone. Go there, tell the man there that we’re bringing a gut wound. Mention my name.”

The youngest member of the party simply nodded her acquiescence, and quickly launched herself towards the wilderness in the direction he had identified, leaping over broken branches, and sliding easily through bushes and brambles. It seemed rather evident that she was motivated by the notion of saving her dying friend, because Noth was uncertain if he had ever seen her move quite as quickly before.

Oxy to his credit cradled Ears in his arms as though he weighed nothing more than a slight rock, the muscle he had built cracking apart stones finally paying off in an admirable bout of strength. The twilight hybrid began to hurriedly lead the group towards the residence of the Glass-Eyed Doctor, using his knowledge of the forest and other tracking and hunting abilities to select pathways that would be easier suited for travel for the burdened Oxy. Several times throughout the journey, Thane had to help the Aukari with his load, but without fail, they surpassed every obstacles they came across.

Noth glanced backwards, scenting the blood on the wind as his ally lay increasingly still in the arms of his savior. There had always been the lingering threat of danger in their line of work, but Noth had always expected it to occur when they were out hunting someone down, or when they had decided to break into a place they ought not to have entered. No one would have expected for a mutant hater to have decided to take out his anger in the middle of a bar-room, especially when it was clearly incredibly illogical. Hate blinded logic, though, and the fear of what was different caused hate in mass quantities.

Eventually, the home became visible, and Noth became acutely aware of the small slender shape standing near the doorway, her face bent in worry as she awaited the arrival of her friends. For an instant, the twilight hybrid was worried that the doctor was not actually home, and that they had traveled for no reason whatsoever, but the slight motion of a figure through one of the mushroom home’s windows hinted at his presence, and he quickly opened the doorway, ushering the group into his abode.

Noth passed by the same jars and vials of strange and odd substances and organic materials as he had in his prior visit, especially taking notice of the bird without eyes which seemed eager to pick up the same song as it had when he had first made its acquaintance. Ears, his chest gently rising and falling with respiration was placed upon the same table where the Avriel had once seen a body with many of its vestigial pieces missing, and the hybrid hoped that his ally would not suffer a similar fate.

“Everyone out. I’ll call you when we’re done.”

[Noth]

There was something particularly unnerving about the Glass-Eyed Doctor’s chosen residence. It was as if all of his furniture and decorum had been chosen in order to highlight the oddities and anomalous organic materials he had located throughout his life. Eyes, ears, and other vestigial organs floated in almost translucent vials and containers, each one somewhat different than the next. They were all marked and labelled, but the names of some of the creatures were unfamiliar to the twilight hybrid, and though he felt certain that he had heard the word Volareon before, he couldn’t fathom where the mad doctor had managed to acquire one’s wing for the glass case standing in the middle of his waiting room.

The remainder of the crew simply sat and waited in the quiet room set aside from the operating room. It seemed as though it had been constructed at some point to act as a more official area, but was now cluttered with papers and emptied boxes, and Noth felt as though he were waiting in the middle of a closet. The room was fairly cramped as well, and so the analogy of a closet wasn’t entirely so far-fetched. The opposite wall could probably be reached in nearly five steps. The general anxiety of the situation and the claustrophobic nature of the room did nothing to appease the worried minds of his comrades, and they each expressed their worries about Ears health in differing manners.

For Thane, it was simply a quiet glance towards the door every few moments, as though he expected his friend to suddenly burst through it and be healed. He was a leader at heart, and that meant that he was unlikely to express much emotion to the remainder of his allies, because that would mean losing his perceived control over the situation. Crimson eyes looked into his own in an analytical fashion, and there was a subtle half-nod shared between the pair in understanding. Noth himself hid his own tumultuous feelings on the recent wounding of his underling, because he too understood that to give into emotion would remove any chance he had of salvaging a potentially terrible outcome.

Slip; in comparison to her brother, was far more revealing about her internal tension, though she was unnaturally quiet. Her leg twitched and rocked up and downwards with a gradually intensifying speed, and eventually, all of her nervous energy being directed into the limb. It was a release for her, and the slight clacking noise of her boot against the floor was one of the only sounds to echo out of the chamber. She glanced worriedly over to the hybrid, and to her brother, waiting for them to fix the situation somehow, but in her face, Noth saw the resignation that they could do nothing else for him now.

Oxy was the most vocal of the group, though his speech was kept to a light whimpering noise which barely managed to pierce the air between them, let alone force themselves past his colossal beard. Occasionally, Noth caught quiet snippets of his self-conversation, and he came to the easy conclusion that he was also worried about the outcome of his friend. Oxy was typically a cheerful and happy sort, but in that moment, he seemed depressively slow and morose in his movements and expressions.

The tension in the room had grown explosively palpable, and the slightest pinprick of noise was liable to set off a bomb of flustered and worried souls. Time ticked onward, but it felt like a small eternity was spent inside the confines of the room, listening intently for any sign of recovery or failure on the part of the doctor.

Nearly a break had passed before the doctor returned to the room, his expression a shocking contrast to the evident morbidity of the room, and he spoke in a cheerful lilt, as though he could not be phased by the moods of his clients.
“Your friend will recover nicely. His internal organs managed to sustain only very slight damage, and it was fairly simple for me to fix. He will, however, undoubtedly suffer from some abdominal pain for several seasons.” He spoke quickly, his fingers highlighting his words in rapid gesticulation as though he were attempting to sign his vocalizations to them.

“If you’d like, you may go see him.” He smiled once more, though the way he carried himself was without mirth nor humor. Immediately, his trap had been set, and the remainder of the group hurried into it, scattering from the room with thankful obedience to his veiled command. The hybrid himself attempted to slip by the man, but instantaneously felt the presence of a cold and gloved hand upon his shoulder, halting his progress in spirit more than in true physical restraint.

“Noth” He began in a falsely warm tone that immediately made the hybrid’s feathers stand on end. Conversing with the frail and elderly fellow left a feeling of impending doom latch onto his soul, and he felt as though he were discussing matters with an occult-like entity. “That man. He is one of Padfoot’s, isn’t he? I’ve yet to be able to dissect one of them, yet, but I’d absolutely adore the opportunity to practice my medicine to a higher degree.” The meaning of his words wasn’t lost upon the hybrid, but he wanted to force him to state his request nonetheless.

“He might be, and that’s very good of you to try to improve your station.”

“Quite. I do wish my operations upon your friend were entirely for charity, but I’m afraid the world simply doesn’t operate under such parameters.”

“Oh? I would have expected a contract in advance then. I’m afraid I’ve not signed anything.” He spoke venomously towards the fellow, yanking his fingers from his shoulder like they were a parasitic thing.

“That’s fine. You needn’t pay. I simply will have to shutter my doors to outcasts in the future, is all.” He smiled once more, his threat revealed. Noth would have difficulty locating another doctor who would deal with his criminal element, and not having them around could be fatal for him or his agents.

“What do you want?” The hybrid growled rather bluntly.

“In payment for this most recent operation, I want a mutant. Do make sure they’re dead, I simply couldn’t stand associating myself with murder of any sort, and the living ones squirm too much under the knife.” He laughed again, a mirthless chuckle that set the hybrid on edge, and made him question how many vivisections the good doctor had performed in his time.

“Fine. You’ll have it by the end of the season.”

“Good man.”

And just like that, he was under contract for the sickening man.

[Pash Raj'oriq]

Thread Rewards

Noth

Skill Knowledge:
➳ Detection: The Face Someone Makes When They Know They'll Die
➳ Medicine: Stomach Wounds Take Time to Heal
➳ Torture: Stomach Wounds Hurt
➳ Leadership: Keep Calm to Keep Others Calm
➳ Leadership: The More People Calm, the Better
➳ Leadership: Caring for Lackeys
➳ Leadership: Dead Lackeys Can't Work

Other Knowledge:
N/A (nothing ventured, nothing gained)

Loot: N/A
Injuries: N/A
Fame: Murder in a barfight -4 (it was retaliation, so there’s a weird balance, though … haha)
Devotion: N/A

Points: 10 These points cannot be used for magic.

— ⟡ ⟡ ⟡ —

Comments:
Because two knowledges can’t be in duplicate even if they are for different skills, I went ahead and edited Medicine/Torture so that they were no longer the same, with Medicine focusing on how stomach wounds take a while to heal and Torture focusing on how much they hurt. If you have any questions, please drop me a PM.

Noth with his own crew—there’s a dark heart under those dark feathers. Hiding. I’m now going to have to go back and read more about the ragtag band of altered people he’s collected around himself, however. Now you’ll have to find an unwilling one to deliver to that doctor! What a mess.