PM to join Amongst the rabble (Thalrick)

[Berend]

Timestamp 6th of Winter, 514 A.V. In the shadow of a ramshackle hut Berend sat, watching people move to and fro within the sea of tents. Here on the outskirts, where the good people of Sunberth shared ground with these foreign masses, it was like a whole different place with new rules he did not know. The way they shared, gossiped, laughed, and huddled by the fire had him scratching his head, wondering at their motivations. More than a few were even betting and drinking though it was scarcely midday. Not that he would not have minded doing the same, but he expected differently of these foreign folk. Perhaps it was this cold, which was even harsher because of the stiff winds that rolled through uninterrupted out here, blowing through his woolen layers. The chill of it had settled on his bones, making him thirst for a warm drink, and yet here he was, watching them. He could have one, if he went by their fires, but these were not his people. They were a different sort of community than anything to be had in Sunberth proper. They loved their shackles too much, out here, scrapping for someone to obey, someone to protect them. They needed each other too much to properly be free. Bringing up a water skin from its' place in his lap, he took a swig of it to wet his dry, cracking lips. He had been out here for what felt like bells, just watching people go by, and it was really starting to wear on him. Just waiting for one of those groups to abandon there place so he could rummage through their stuff, but it was beginning to occur to him that that wasn't going to happen anytime soon. From what he'd seen so far, when moved, others moved to replace them, so if he was going to get anything done today, he would have to move deeper. Maybe if he did, things would be different, and he could find some unattended valuables. Berend tugged at the hold of the dagger he kept in the waist of his breeches, and ran his thumb against the edge before pushing it back into place. Still sharp, which was good because he didn't know if he was going to have to use it or not. There would be a lot of sneaking about sure, but he didn't know these folk. They might recognize an unfamiliar face. He wouldn't know until he found out though. Planting a hand against the ground, he pushed himself up to his feet, lingering low for a few moments to dust off the worst of the mud from his legs. Sitting perched against the wall as he had been kept him from becoming caked, but not his feet were asleep from sitting on them for the last half bell. He bent at the knees into a crouch to rub some feeling into them while his eyes watched the tent men again. It looked like the best way to enter the grounds was to avoid the groups by the fires, and it might help to pretend to be about his own business. To that end, he settled on a particularly quiet spot, with little foot traffic, and starting heading for it once the feeling had returned to his toes. A hobble soon became a stride, and just as quick he was within the tent city. Away from the fires, there were still people of course, huddled in their tents or hauling something somewhere but mostly too busy for the likes of him. Berend sucked in a deep, cold lungful of air anyways, keeping his head down and hood up as he moved along them. He held his water skin in his off hand, and every so often took a pull from it. Avoiding the eyes of the many was hard though, so he tried not to seem to intent on the tents, focusing instead on the ground in front of him. He resorted to watching for any movement he could catch on the periphery of his vision, and spared the occasional glance at ones he figured uninhabited. Even finding those was not the whole answer though, for more often than not, there was someone walking nearby, so often that he finally got fed up with all of this sidestepping around them. There would be no ideal opportunity. It was between a pair of apparently uninhabited tents that he chose to make his stand, and he took to taking a drink whenever he felt like someone was looking to long at him. More or less the people around here seemed to still be content with their own business, but he'd rather wait then take the chance that they would notice him. He was in the thick of it now after all, and had no friendly faces in sight that could help him. His target was a shabby, old lean two across from him that looked like it had a few oddly shaped lumps under a threadbare blanket made of sackcloth. All he had to do was wait for his chance. He settled cross-legged onto the mush turf, and took another sip.

[Thalrick]

The Tent City. A sea of tents, some small, some large, some white, others red and brown and green and black, all made of canvas and cloth and wood. There were humans and Akalak, Benshira and Drykas, and judging by the sheer amount of rats that scurried beneath his feet, there were Kelvic, too. There had been few occasions when a rat had scurried beneath his feet to distract him, while a passing stranger would reach for his coin pouch, or attempt to take an item that was loosely hung from his person. It had worked initially, and an elderly woman had managed to escape with two of Thalrick's gold mizas, but after that he became more wary of the Kelvics, and did not allow it to happen a second time. He even went so far as punching a short, bald man in the face, leaving him with a bloodied nose as he waddled away into the crowds. This is no place for a free man to be. . . And it wasn't. Everybody here relied on each other, nobody was bold enough to serve as their own commander. He saw the young suckling at their mothers breast, while the mother looked to another for food of her own. Everyone in this place was dependent on each other, and though they were free in a sense; they were not truly so. Thalrick had only been in the place looking for a man, one he had met briefly, years ago. Jack, of the Band of Brothers, an old man who had been kind enough to give him a fire and food not long after he came ashore following the end of The Widower and his old life that went with it. Rumours had it that Jack had split from his band, after they overthrew him for the unofficial title of leader that he never really had. He had taken to The Tent City ever since, finding a home amongst the locals. Thalrick could not fathom why he would want to linger in such a place for long, let alone call it home. He had dressed in a bone-coloured shirt, unbuttoned down the middle to reveal his scar-riddled body, which had grown a shade of brown through exposure to the sun. Brown, ragged breeches covered his legs, ones that seemed too worse for wear, and equally worn-in leather boots which extended half-way up to his knee. His jungle of curls had been tied back into a ponytail that fell down the back of his neck in one thick strand. His journey had left him with a thick curly beard that encompassed the lower half of his face, which more often than not made him scratch at it to kill the itches that kept arising. Thalrick felt out of place amongst the perpetual sea of people, but he did not look it. Many dressed similar to him, others worse, but none better. This place was not for the wealthy, only the poor and unfortunate. Wherever he went, Thalrick felt as though he was going in circles. The tents were so identical, that an hour of walking about felt like ten, and it always seemed to bring him to the place he began in. Or, so it appeared. He did not know where he was headed, nor where he had been. He'd came on a rumour, and a rumour was all he had to find Jack. . . ''Band o' brothers split, did ya hear? That Mit and Old Rick told Jack if he don't leave, they'd put him in the earth. Didn't take him more than a second to decide what he'd do. They're not no glorified bandit-killers no more, I heard they've become a brigand themselves, preyin' on the innocent and weak, stealin' all they own. It's ironic really, it is. Now Jack's taken to that tent city outside of Sunberth where he's tryin' to get some men to put a stop to his former brothers. Heard he's got an Akalak, a glory-seekin' Myrian and a few humans already willing to fight for him. The man's got a friendly face, he'd be easy to work for, I'd wager.'' The square-faced, bushy-bearded inn keep had told him weeks before. Thalrick had more than one bone to pick with Old Rick, even if he had spared his life. He'd sworn to himself to find Jack, and aid him in his cause. As Thalrick rounded a corner, squeezing and squirming through children and adults alike, he found himself face to face with a burly man, who stood nearly two heads taller than himself. The Tent City did not take kindly to outsiders, and this man seemed to identify Thalrick as one. ''You got business here, lad?'' He demanded more than asked. His roughspun vest revealed his bulky arms, which were covered in tattoos, veins, and scars. He was built as strong as a cannon, and could have crushed Thalrick with a single hand if he wanted to. ''I am searching for Jack, of the band of brothers. I heard he had made this place his home. . . Do you know of him?'' Thalrick asked. There were so many outsiders and residents both that he doubted he would know of him. Especially when all he had was his first name. ''Ol' Jack? Lad, the man's like a father to me, took me in and offered me a spot amongst his little bandit-hunting posse. What business do you have with him, then?'' The man demanded again, though his tone become less harsh, and he seemed to relax. As relaxed as a Drykas could be, at the least. ''He's an old friend of mine,'' Thalrick lied, he had only briefly spoken to the man, ''I heard he was here and so I came looking for him, could you take me to his tent?'' It was a stretch, asking a man for assistance when he much sooner looked like he would crush his brain inside his skull. Surprisingly, the Drykas smiled a near-toothless grin and waved a hand, nearly hitting a passer-by in the throat. ''Aye, I can take you.'' A quarter-hour walk brought them to a brown canvas tent, with an open flap and a man standing by it. He was shorter than Thalrick, though more broad, dressed in a tunic, breeches and leather boots. His curly blonde hair flicked around in the wind. A dirk hung from the band around his waist, and he clenched his hand around it as they approached. ''Vashin, you're back soon. Who is this?'' He pointed at Thalrick. The man had a hoarse voice, one that suited his appearance completely. Thalrick gave him a brief nod. ''I am Thalrick Levelle, an old friend of Jack. Is he here?'' He asked politely. The blonde man nodded. ''He is. But I have no reason to let you in there to see him. You could be an assassin.'' He glanced at the rapier at Thalrick's hip and bit his upper lip. ''Plan to poke him in the throat with that, then?'' He asked drily. Thalrick paid him no mind. Suddenly, the tent flap opened more, revealing an older man, with a stubbled face and a balding head. Jack had not had any hair last time they had met. ''The gods be good, you're that man, the one that had been looking for Sunberth.'' He laughed his hearty laugh, ''Seems you've found it, at least the outskirts of it. Har! Come in boy, come in. You look older than last time we spoke, more weathered. You must be thirsty, I'll fetch you a drink, please, come in!'' The Drykas named Vashin patted Thalrick on the back, and he followed Jack into the tent.

[Berend]

It was a nice looking tent, all things considered. Big enough to fit four comfortably, and he could only make out a few holes in its’ canvas. Inside, he could see plenty as well, a water skin, some bread crumbs, and he even could spy some bones hanging above the lumps within. Whomever they were, they must have enough to eat, and that meant enough to steal. When the man down a way’s at last turned his back, he went for it, crawling forwards, and immediately snatching at the cover. He stopped though, sitting there with a fistful of it, feeling something solid and warm under the thin fabric. Somewhere within, someone groaned, and he couldn’t back up fast enough out of there, stumbling as he did into another tent that was thankfully empty. Berend didn’t take the time though to see more than that, scrambling to his feet as fast as he could, and darting away. “Not for sale now” The occupant muttered aloud, and then went on to say something else but he was beyond hearing her clearly then. He did not look back, he just kept on running, forcing himself to breath in through his nose, and out through his mouth while the wind whistled around him. It would continued to be much of the same, for perhaps even half a bell, but suddenly his foot found a loop of rope, sending him crashing hard onto the ground. His arms went up as he did, skidding on the dirt before the rest followed, and he rolled onto his back to find himself between some tents. People moved inside, but they paid him no mind for the moment, so he contented himself to just lay there for a moment. The first thing that occurred to him was how fast his heart was beating and how out of breath he felt, with him heaving with every breath. Muddy it might have been, it still felt hard when you fell on it right, and looking around, he was just thankful he hadn’t landed on any of the odd bits the tents were tied down with. Some of them were your regular pieces of wood, but some were rocks, some decaying tools, and still others were equipment like a frayed harness you might saddle a horse with. They must have ate the horse, he figured. He laid there for several moments, just catching his breath till at last, feeling not so sore, he pushed himself up onto his knees first, then feet, feeling very shaken for it. His legs and arms already ached from the fall, so he rubbed at them while taking a good look around. The tents were almost as high as his chest here so he couldn’t make out much, but he could hear people. He could hear them cause they talked excitedly, and loud, but he couldn’t quite make out where over the din. There was some much else going on he couldn’t tell if it was even normal for this area, so he settled himself with the fact that for the moment at least, no one was paying him any particular attention. Berend forced out a long, slow breath, before taking in the cold air through his nostrils, and starting hobbling between the tents, no longer so keenly looking into the tents. He had already drawn enough attention, or at least it felt that way out here in the middle of all this, after all of that frantic running. What if those voices were discussing him? Did they make him for an outsider to here? At that, he spared a glance over his shoulder, only to see no one watching, but his hands clenched all the same. It wasn’t safe here, out deep in this strange place with nothing to go on but gossip, but he needed the money, and he wasn’t going to get it back in the Quarter. Surely there was something out here to pick over. Every tent seemed to have an occupant though, or someone nearby fiddling about with their own supplies. A close community this, just as he expected, which only made him grit his teeth even more as he slowed down and dared to look within the tents again. The empty ones looked barren, the filled ones filled, and he was quickly running out of options. There were fewer tents clustered around now, which meant he was probably coming to another edge to this encampment, and then he’d probably have to make another pass at it. That would only make him look more suspicious for sure which would certainly make things hard for him, but so be it. Forcing one foot in front of the other, he kept looking for his mark.