66th of Winter 514AV
OOCThis thread starts off on the assumption that Tim, being a child and all, would not be easily let in on some of the secrets The Sanctuary holds. I'll have threads taking place earlier this season to establish this more firmly or I will adapt should this assumption be proven false I couldn't find much OOC info on the training room either, so I improvised a bit.
Large and hollow, the training room was a stark reminder that they were beneath the crust of the earth. When Hirem had first taken him to The Sanctuary, he hadn’t realized just how large the complex truly was. Whenever he wasn’t needed elsewhere he would wander -preferably alone- through the labyrinth of brick and stone. Ocassionaly he would stumble across a room or building that he previously escaped him. Unfortunately, most doors were locked, but when he thought no one was around, he would peer through the keyhole, trying to guess what rested in the darkness beyond.
It hadn’t been long before he’d first walked into the large training room. Whether it had been the scent of sweat or the grunts that came from within that had first guided him there, he didn't know. It wasn't an easy spot to miss though, simply because of its size and its prominence within the stronghold.
At times he went down there, to watch others spin blades with unimaginable grace and ease or just to be alone for a bit and think. He suspected they knew he liked to come down into the Within and bury his hands in his hair, trying to decide his life's purpose. He longed to pick up one of the swords from the armory and be trained in swordplay. But who would train him? They probably didn't even want to spare the time. He was a burden, all he would get was reprimand if he would grab a gladius without permission. Permission, he hated that word. They would never be grant him permission to come even close to swords and spears. They had to think him weak and frail ever since he'd arrived with a broken wrist, crying his heart out, practically awakening all who had the misfortune of being in the sanctuary that night. When will they stop pitying me? It was starting to get irritating, to always have eyes burning into his back.
He was hardly the youngest here, and he wished he could be more useful. Sometimes a whisper would reach his ears, but whenever he tried to listen in on conversations, he’d either be sent off, or they would change topic. It left a bitter taste in his mouth to be distrusted so. It can’t just be because I am twelve… Yet he couldn’t think of much else. There was enough work for him to do, he had a roof over his head, food in his belly, and fresh clothes to wear. But what use is that if they won’t let me contribute? Why are they keeping secrets from me? In truth, he didn’t even really know for sure if they were hiding something from him, but it certainly felt that way. Their honeyed voices as soon as he stepped into sight were nothing short of gut-wrenching and an infernal anger had been building in the pit of his stomach.
With a sigh, he plopped down at the edge of the training room and gazed up at the jagged ceiling. The cool air eased his senses somewhat, but did little to stop his mind from jumping to conclusions. All of this was just a ruse, one day they’d snatch him out of bed, fetch a good price for him and sell to a captain in need of a crew. Or perhaps they were breeding him for another purpose entirely. As much as he owed The Sanctuary for taking him in, it didn’t feel like the home he had hoped it to be. This was a large, pleasant brick prison full of people who lived two lives. One as caring, cooing surrogate fathers and mothers and another as members of something ungraspable.
Puffing his cheeks, Timothy let out another long sigh and started picking at his nails. They were clean of course, Matilla had taught him to be proper at all times a long time ago. Even though he hadn’t always been able to, Timothy had taken the advice to heart. His clothes showed no wrinkles or dirt stains, his skin was clean, and he had attained a healthier weight. Aside from his hair stubbornly sticking out, people had a habit of ruffling it, much to his annoyance, there wasn’t a hint of the street urchin left. Not even his perpetual frown had remained the same. First it had faded away, but in recent days the crevices above his brow had deepened and his cheerful walk had muted to cross-armed sauntering.
This is pointless. I can’t do anything useful, and they won’t tell me anything. Maybe I should talk to Kavala…