Completed [Southern Trading Post] Misinformation

[Theur]

4th Winter, 513 A.V A single tower, weathered with time was the only structure that was both permanent and out of place. One part battlement another part an entry way, it stood in sheer contrast to the tents and merchants in and around this land. The Southern Trading Post that was its name but it had another; the bazaar. Somewhere amongst the tents we find Theur, who just finished setting up his tent himself. Ravok hasn’t treated Theur too kindly, six days after he had arrived in Ravok; he had to leave, atleast the city proper. He had no money and setting up a tent within the city warranted strange glares and the eventual calling of the Ebonstryfe; warriors in black. Rather than see the Ebonstryfe he left post haste. He was still able to enter Ravok however those were rare occasions. Theur made his way towards a particular set of tents easily found by the sound of barter and smell. He made sure to remember which pathways he took, afterall he just finished moving. His target was Bort the fruit merchant and it wasn’t long until Bort came into view. The middle-aged man saw the boy and gestured for him to come closer; Theur complied. “Boy I want you to go check up on my things, see if they’ve been sent already as you can see I’m quite busy; then come back for the usual” Two people ain’t busy old man the words almost left Theur’s lips but he kept it in; he smiled at Bort which prompted three grapes from the old man before Theur left running. Bort was already out of sight when Theur had to stop. He was breathing hard and his heart felt like leaping. Sweat came down like a hard rain and his only grace was the cool air gently beating down on him. When he caught his breath, he shook his head and cursed under his breath, it had only been six chimes since he left but he was already panting like some mongrel dog. In his other life this was nothing, easily running twice the distance without too much trouble. Once more, the boy shook his head whilst downing two of the three grapes; breakfast and lunch (dinner was obviously kept for later) before moving on at a more relaxed pace. There was no need to rush; the Southern Trading Post wasn’t going anywhere. He could easily deliver Bort’s message, still be back and Bort would still be busy. With that in mind Theur’s eyes wandered until it rested upon a certain spot. Those grapes did stir a small storm in his belly.

[Theur]

There weren’t much and there were hardly worth the effort but what he saw filled the boy with delight. His eyes rested upon some flowers, small ones, common ones and yet his eyes drank it all; what the boy saw wasn’t beauty, what he saw was food. Theur moved towards one easily yanking a flower off from its base inspecting it. Where the flower was ripped; a thin thing that resembled string jutted out. With his free hand Theur carefully pinched it then, in one fluid movement he had two items in either hand; a flower and its innards. Theur put the innards of the flower in his mouth first before licking around for the nectar. A sweet taste and then it was gone replaced with a feeling like hair in the mouth. Theur took a couple at a time sometimes he would eat a few petals too, though sometimes, as they were difficult to swallow. Only the buds were safe from Theur as they were at best bitter and revolting at their worst but also because that in time, they would too, turn into flowers; the next batch of flowers and another season of food. Whilst the boy ate, a single word darkened his face; wolves. Theur focused on where the word came from and when he found where he believed it came from he listened. Two men were talking, their voices hard to pick up. They were a bit far from the boy but their voices were deep; gruff. These were not your average merchants. These were not merchants. “Wolves, Wolves by the edge ” “Have you forgotten, they hunted the wolves, brought back its head” “Petch they’re back, I swear it on the coin I have on me right now” “Ha! Then better pay up” “Wrong I was attacked; those shykes nearly got my hand look” “I see your hand and I see your wounds; you know you’ve been staying at that beer place far too long, what do they call it again beer hut” “Petch, the wolves are back” “You know… ” The voices faded into obscurity. Theur’s legs exploded, in seconds at full speed. Muscles contracted, muscles stretched; his feet dug into the ground. His torso curved forward his chest expanding and contracting at each hard breath. His arms swung under the boy’s will, practically throwing them if only to get just a little more reach. The fastest thing on two legs south of the city took five chimes to reach the tower.

[Theur]

Laboured breathing and something else deep within greeted the boy as he stopped. Perhaps he had pushed himself too hard but no matter; this was urgent. Merchants, travellers and citizens lined and waited around the building; nothing new there. Ravok was bells away. Still the boy forced himself to move; with each step, the beating in his chest only grew: harder, faster, more forced. The tower rested upon a hill as a slight dread came over him; he continued. Normally Theur wouldn’t have to go that far but how else was he going to get the Ebonstryfe’s attention; the guard so busy with someone else. Atleast a dozen pair of eyes found their way to the boy, and one more that Theur shuddered to. “Halt” boomed the guard; that one word. Carried with it such force. That it managed to stun nearly all those within range more so Theur. Suddenly Theur did not feel too good. The boy kept his eyes downcast while he tried to explain. It wasn’t that he couldn’t look the guard straight in the eye rather it was the sword by the hip that caught his attention; it seemed disturbed. The boy chose his words carefully, pausing when the disturbance reached its highest before continuing on. In reality there was nothing wrong with the sword physically but images of cutting filled the boy's mind. As the last word left Theur’s lips a silence followed. He twiddled his toes and rocked on his heels; when he was talking he could hide it but now it was apparent. Theur was nervous. The silence only grew longer between the two. In an attempt to fish for an answer, Theur looked up. If looks could kill, the boy died seven times; displeasure painted clearly across the guard’s face. Not a single word the boy said the guard believed. Who would. Despite his job Theur was still a boy, a child, a non-citizen with no one to vouch for him. He was still just as powerless as he was back in Sunberth a lifetime ago. The boy just ran lest his fears take over him. Within chimes tents of all colours came and passed. Faster the boy ran, digging up dirt as he ran. He didn’t know where he was going but he didn’t care, he just ran. The boy picked up speed on his first corner and exploded down the line. He followed the clouds and a bird, his speed never waning. By then his tiny heart hurt as he struggled for air. By then Theur wondered why he still ran. He slowed to a stop, catching his breath amongst heavy ones when he heard a familiar voice call out to him. Bort.

[Theur]

Bort had a big grin across his face, probably expecting a favourable reply. A sense of dread came over the boy. He had forgotten completely; taken in by the story of the wolf instead. A rookie mistake and Theur would pay dearly unless he came up with something fast. Quickly he feigned ignorance choosing instead to focus on his breathing. His eyes moved around in their sockets, searching for anything really. Items picked up by sight clashed against each other within his brain. Experiences were put in followed by a dash of memory and a bucket of knowledge relevant or not. Believe it or not a scene popped into the boy’s mind; a wicked smile crept along his face. If Theur played his cards right, Bort would believe him; which meant Theur’s due. All this happened within a few moments; without wasting another breath he turned to face Bort. Butterflies fluttered within the boy’s stomach. The first word did not come, only more hard breaths. At first Bort took this as the boy merely regaining his breath, before long Bort’s face soured. Upon seeing this, the boy swallowed. Barely making a noise and the only sign that he did was his neck moving ever so slightly; he began to talk. “Um well they’re still werking on it” “Really well its taking longer than usual…maybe I should go check” “No! No! No... I wouldn’t go you know, I wouldn’t rush em” “Mmmm you have a point boy… perhaps I should send you instead” “Now” “Yes Now, go on be back within the day” It didn’t work Again the boy ran albeit slower but still, he was in disbelief. The moment Theur thought Bort could not see him anymore, he slowed to a walk. He seriously considered not going, weighing his options; his consequences. In the end he continued, deliberately making his journey slow towards the tower and choosing a longer route. Theur first visited his tent picking up his blanket and placing that like a hood and mantle, fastened only by a small stick Theur found lying around. Once his blanket/hood stopped falling after the first few steps the boy circled his tent three times before moving towards the structure. Every other tent he circled as he approached in a zig-zag way. As the post grew near, the boy lined up like everyone else, his eyes he kept downcast. As per usual the line took time; there was always the occasional argument with the guard or delay with a merchant – usually both but it couldn’t stop the inevitable. Theur and the guard faced each other. Almost immediately words rushed out from Theur’s mouth; perhaps a little too fast as he was told to repeat again - three times. Theur only spoke what needed to be said, he only inquired about Bort’s goods and nothing more and in a lower voice. Surprisingly the boy was not noticed or maybe he was but the guard didn’t care, either way the message was sent and after a reply the boy left. The way back was easier Theur found. After stopping by his tent to put back his blanket the boy left to find Bort which really wasn’t that difficult. Theur found him in that same exact place. It was as if no time had passed but the boy did not approach. He waited until Bort signalled towards him, no matter how busy or un-busy Bort may be. From the looks of it Bort seemed busy, really busy; people began to flock the merchant tents and that included Bort’s. The boy looked up; high noon or near enough. Business usually picks up at this time and seeing that Bort did not see the boy yet, Theur left. Theur would be back and soon but he needed to confirm something, see if it was true with his own eyes or ears. Theur’s pace was fast but not hurried meandering pass tents; the further he went the fewer tents he had to pass. By now Theur could see the great plains before him stretching out as far as one can see. Awe struck him as well as some memories both good and bad but only for a moment. His eyes scanned the area; his ears listened for the softest sound; his skin felt for the slightest disturbance; his nose looked for odd smells; even his tongue tasted the air. All five senses worked together to find one thing or not. Something compelled the boy to turn. Call it luck, fate, a bad itch Theur turned and he saw a flash of black clearly not human. What he saw was a…

[Verin Rush]

Theur

Knowledge :

Skills

Skill	XP
Observation	+3
Running	+2

Lores

*Don't Forget the Task
*The Dangers of Ravok

Micellaneous :

Injuries

*None

Loot/Expenses

*None

____________________________________________

Notes

*If Theur is living in squalor and surviving on three grapes - one for breakfast, lunch and dinner - he shouldn't be capable of running for six minutes, and then running some more. He would likely be near death and should only have energy to sustain tiny bouts of running.
*Also, on a few occasions, you switched to the present tense. I often make the same mistakes in my threads, and its understandable, but just watch out for it
*It felt a little unfinished and, with the cliffhanger ending, I want to know more!

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