21st Day of Winter, 512AV
Riverfall Ink
"Gods, you have been busy."
Razkar shrugged at the Akalak's comment and lay down on the column he'd been on the last time he was at Riverfall Ink. The cold stone was even more frigid thanks to the change of the seasons, but he did his bet to ignore it. Cold would be the least of his worries in a few minutes.
He heard the Akalak potter around above and behind him, tracking down his inks and needles. Utterly without concern, he unsheathed his sword and placed it next to him, by his side and out of sight of the door.
The pottering stopped. The Akalak had noticed.
"What's that for?"
The Myrian's eyes flickered to the door, then closed.
"Never too careful."
"Anything kicks off, take it outside. Just like in a tavern, got me?"
"Yes."
"Six, right?"
"Six."
A grunt of understanding, and then the massive shape of Herrlock settled over him, chair creaking as he got into position. The day was full and bright beyond the door to the tattoo parlor, and Razkar could see countless flickering shadows pass beyond the windows and under the door. The Bazaar was undoubtedly doing a brisk trade, as it ever was, and he'd chosen today to get a few of his own affairs in order.
Refreshing his tattoo was one of them.
The needle sliced into his flesh and he felt the pack of muscle under it tighten, teeth gritting as the pain struck him. A constant bee sting, that's what he always thought it as. Dozens of tiny pricks that bled together into one, long burn that just had to be endured. And would be. Since his last visit he had done more work in Myri's name, and his flesh would carry a record of his deeds.
Besides, he knew Herrlock did good work.
The tattooist was silent as he worked, which surprised Razkar even as he appreciated it. No questions about how he had come to require new skulls on his back, no probes into who or why. He knew the man was a warrior, just as Razkar suspected he had been, by the way he carried himself. That was all he needed to know... well, that and the fifteen miza he was getting for his good work.
A softy whinny outside, and Razkar knew Mrrko was satisfied and happy. He'd purchased two bags of feed when he first got into Riverfall, along with a couple of other little items, enough to feed his steed for a season. The black stallion had snuffled appreciatively when he put the feed bag over his head, eternally sad eyes widening a little.
Why, yes, those are oats mixed in. You've earned them.
Razkar smiled and let the pain course through him until his body had grown used to it. Another trick they taught in Taloba: accept the pain. Every thinking, living creature feels it. It is as natural as breathing or defecating, and should be taken in the same stride.
Feeling it is not the issue; controlling it is, or your reaction to it. Pushing it out of your mind, breaking its hold and doing what needs to be done despite it. So it was always a little challenge for Razkar when he made these visits, seeing how long it took him for the pain to become nothing more than a dull ache, as if remembered, not endured.
By the third skull, he'd reached that point. Herrlock would later swear that he honestly didn't know if the Myrian was even conscious for the rest of them.
He was.
Riverfall Ink
"Gods, you have been busy."
Razkar shrugged at the Akalak's comment and lay down on the column he'd been on the last time he was at Riverfall Ink. The cold stone was even more frigid thanks to the change of the seasons, but he did his bet to ignore it. Cold would be the least of his worries in a few minutes.
He heard the Akalak potter around above and behind him, tracking down his inks and needles. Utterly without concern, he unsheathed his sword and placed it next to him, by his side and out of sight of the door.
The pottering stopped. The Akalak had noticed.
"What's that for?"
The Myrian's eyes flickered to the door, then closed.
"Never too careful."
"Anything kicks off, take it outside. Just like in a tavern, got me?"
"Yes."
"Six, right?"
"Six."
A grunt of understanding, and then the massive shape of Herrlock settled over him, chair creaking as he got into position. The day was full and bright beyond the door to the tattoo parlor, and Razkar could see countless flickering shadows pass beyond the windows and under the door. The Bazaar was undoubtedly doing a brisk trade, as it ever was, and he'd chosen today to get a few of his own affairs in order.
Refreshing his tattoo was one of them.
The needle sliced into his flesh and he felt the pack of muscle under it tighten, teeth gritting as the pain struck him. A constant bee sting, that's what he always thought it as. Dozens of tiny pricks that bled together into one, long burn that just had to be endured. And would be. Since his last visit he had done more work in Myri's name, and his flesh would carry a record of his deeds.
Besides, he knew Herrlock did good work.
The tattooist was silent as he worked, which surprised Razkar even as he appreciated it. No questions about how he had come to require new skulls on his back, no probes into who or why. He knew the man was a warrior, just as Razkar suspected he had been, by the way he carried himself. That was all he needed to know... well, that and the fifteen miza he was getting for his good work.
A softy whinny outside, and Razkar knew Mrrko was satisfied and happy. He'd purchased two bags of feed when he first got into Riverfall, along with a couple of other little items, enough to feed his steed for a season. The black stallion had snuffled appreciatively when he put the feed bag over his head, eternally sad eyes widening a little.
Why, yes, those are oats mixed in. You've earned them.
Razkar smiled and let the pain course through him until his body had grown used to it. Another trick they taught in Taloba: accept the pain. Every thinking, living creature feels it. It is as natural as breathing or defecating, and should be taken in the same stride.
Feeling it is not the issue; controlling it is, or your reaction to it. Pushing it out of your mind, breaking its hold and doing what needs to be done despite it. So it was always a little challenge for Razkar when he made these visits, seeing how long it took him for the pain to become nothing more than a dull ache, as if remembered, not endured.
By the third skull, he'd reached that point. Herrlock would later swear that he honestly didn't know if the Myrian was even conscious for the rest of them.
He was.
