Flashback No time for caution [Elias]

[Achenar]

oocLeaving the timestamp up to you, Elias! Since I don't have a preference when this takes place. Also feel free to use the NPCs as you see fit!

East Street
Midwinter 511AV

“You want me to do what?” Achenar asked incredulously.

The group surrounding him chuckled. They were made up of wildly varied individuals forged by the flames of poverty and dust, bound together in a rag-tag group of pseudo-smugglers who sought nothing more than to ‘make it big’. Some were rotund and tall, others were short and thin, but the one that snapped his yellowed teeth together in a harsh laugh looked like he’d been birthed by a rat.

“Ye can’t join the group until ye proven yerself to us, mate,” the man drawled, rubbing the sparse whiskers on his chin. “Listen, we took ya in, especially when no one else could, ay? Watcha think is gonna happen when folks finds yer a horny whatsit of the gods, ay? Slavery. That’s what’ll happen. We doin’ ye a favor, and all ye’ gotta do,” he pushed a finger against the ethaefal’s chest, “is borrow something from someone.”

“Ye,” the bald round man sniggered in the back. “Like a kitten, I’d really like a kitten, Duncan.”

The mousy man rolled his eyes. “Shut up, Wart.”

Achenar’s brow twitched.

“In any case,” Duncan continued, slicking back his greasy brown hair. He stepped closer to the ethaefal. “Teach a man a lesson, ey, and they’ll come a runnin’. Borrow somethin’ valuable, crack some bones, and we’ll see ta it you don’t draw the eyes of anyone….. unsavory, ey?”

The ethaefal blinked. The concept was foreign to him, to be a part of a ‘gang’; aspiring smugglers in the maze of East Street. But perhaps this was really how the world worked. The only thing Achenar was familiar with was the vague structure of Kenash and its dynasties, and the heavy weight of a collar around his neck. Here, he was free, but heavy with a different kind of weight on his shoulders. Perhaps he’d made a mistake leaving the sanctity of Helena and her caravan.

“So basically you want me to rob someone,” Achenar said slowly.

Duncan guffawed and slapped a hand on Wart’s fat belly. “Well lookit here, he’s not such a dumbshyke after all! That’s exactly what we want, horny.”

The ethaefal inhaled. Rob someone, or be left out on the streets with nothing to his name and a thousand unknown scenarios just around the corner. One of them being the very real possibility of the return of pain and shackles and if this was the only way… There was far worse things he’d done.

“Fine,” He exhaled. “I’ll… do it.”

The men sniggered until Duncan turned to silence them with a sharp glare. “Very good,” he said with an unabashed smirk, clapping the ethaefal on the back. He led him towards the alley’s exit. Achenar had to quicken his steps to avoid stumbling. “Now head out there and get’um, boy!” With an unceremonious shove, Achenar was left alone in the dusty street. He glanced back to see the men receding into the shadows cast by the dilapidated buildings. He inhaled, and let out the air in a sharp hiss.

I am so petching stupid. Achenar shook his head, rubbing his face with a hand. Learning what made people tick was so much easier in the confines of a house. But in a city he may as well be a blind mummer. He felt the echoes of true panic settle in his chest as he walked down the narrow street, glancing from side to side like he expected the lash of a whip and a clap of irons. He paused in a shrouded corner by the mouth of an alley, and breathed. “You can do this,” he muttered to himself. All he had to do… was wait.

[Elias Caldera]

He just couldn’t wait anymore.

For weeks Elias now had been stewing in his own disheartening and tumultuous mental unrest. His mind had been left to drift in the banal and prosaic, and whenever it behooved his apparently delicate emotions to take him to such dark places, it always ended with the young foreigner trapped in the dark, somber memories of the home he had lost some years ago. Being ‘sad’ was something the Caldera was desperately tired of. He’d spent nearly year doing nothing else, and now that he was a mage, he had hoped such sullen annoyances were behind him, at least for the most part.

He had been wrong.

Learning the arcane arts had been particularly successful in distracting him during the seasons since he had been accepted into the Zeltivan College of Magic, but as a mage, his mind had become his greatest tool and weapon in such grand pursuits, a stark and curious contrast to the days of old where it was a sharp tongue and an even sharper blade that he often relied upon the most to see him through the day. Regardless of the sudden and drastic change in priorities however, Elias had believed himself more than capable of handling whatever was thrown his way. Yet, as he quickly grew to realize amidst a veritable storm of arduous lessons and challenging assignments, he was very much not at all capable. For a practitioner of magic and it’s like, a man’s creativity and genius was his greatest asset, and while the Ravokian may have humbly considered himself exceptionally brilliant, the arts proved beyond perplexing in their understanding, and now they were just down right baffling in any of his feeble attempts at mastery. Magecrafting specifically continued to bother him the most, and the deeper he delved into his thoughts to unravel the secrets the glorious discipline, the deeper his mind began to wander into the precarious and melancholy territories he’d so desperately hoped to avoid.

Elias needed help, or he was certain he was going to drown in his own damnable frustrations and despair. He needed help, and so the boy had come to East Street seeking it.

That forlorn urgency had set the young man on quite the adventure throughout the winding, salty streets of his adopted city; through the lucrative bustle and mayhem of West Street, to the prestige and pride of the Old Quarter. Elias had even gone out of his way to venture into overwhelmingly affluent Ancient estates of Zeltiva, where the rich and richer still relished in their coveted prosperity. The toil and back breaking industry of the Sailor’s quarter had been his last hope, for surely such hard working men and women were in dire need of relief, just as Elias was, but in the end even that too had failed to provide what the mage sought. So that, despite his best of efforts, left only East Street, which really, in of itself was the perfect description of what the place was and represented. One didn’t speak of it in pleasant company if one had the choice, and Elias had found that was how most of the port city treated their little stain on the otherwise ‘exceptional’ picture of the nation they so enjoyed painting of themselves.

It wasn’t as if the young reimancer was unaccustomed to dealing with the less… reputable and esteemed members of society that were rumored to be crawling all over the section of the city. In fact, it was precisely that familiarity that was what made diving back into such a world all the less appealing. His hope was to forget about Ravok, not rekindle even more deplorable bouts of nostalgia. Why he had actually expected to wind up anywhere else though, Elias didn’t know. Honestly, where else did he expect to buy his drugs other than the seediest part of town?

The thought of it still rolled around in his head awkwardly. Drugs. They weren’t something he had partaken in for quite a while, but he could think of nothing else short of a lobotomy that could help him now. It hadn’t been since his days as a petitioner had Elias indulged in such a pastime though, which was to say it had been quite a while. It had started with Temper of course. Like a lot of the other prospects in the stryfe, it was just a little something to keep yourself awake after countless, brutal days of training and the restless nights of chores that often followed. Then it was Warp and Poppers after that, just to keep from going crazy during the ungodly boredom that plagued him during guard duty. Being that he dealt so closely with the darker elements of Ravok on a day to day basis as part of his apprenticeship, it had been remarkably easy to get his hands on whatever he wanted, and no one, not even has family, had caught on to his use of the substances. Elias figured that discrepancy alone was testament enough to his own self-control and ability to keep his poise, whatever the pastime he enjoyed.

As he trudged through the grittier, harder parts of town, he wondered if he still had such restraint anymore, or if this was just another bad idea in a long line of bad ideas. The further he delved into the shady underbelly of East Street however, the more his concern began to mount. Silently, he cursed himself for not thinking to bring his sword, but at least his dagger was squared in his boot. The blade should have been enough if he did run into trouble, but that, plus his magic should keep him perfectly safe, just in case.

With his safety shakily reassured for the time being, the Caldera set himself to the scandalous task of finding himself a dealer. He stopped for a moment to look around, actually hoping his somewhat better than average clothes had given him and his intentions away to any opportunistic soul peering on in curiosity.

He searched and searched, eyes scanning every dark alleyway and shoddy crevice, but all Elias found waiting for him were the shadows of an unfamiliar place, and the endless dangers they contained.

oocHow about the 21st of Spring.

[Achenar]

There was a scent in the air that was distinct to East Street. It didn’t feel as clean and refreshing here as it did in the other districts of the city. And perhaps rightly so. For an area arguably considered a stain on Zeltiva’s pride, it was no wonder the place cultured an atmosphere that felt oppressive and destitute.

Achenar had to wonder yet again why he’d chosen to step foot into such a questionable situation. He’d parted ways with Helena only because of a stubborn desire to prevent dependency. Yet now he served the whims of shambling thugs. And for what, the ethaefal wondered. The promise of debilitating addictions and a shortened lifespan? He hated mentally debating with himself over this, solely because of the lingering echo in his mind that chanted the insidious benefits of slavery, like an enchantress that sought to corrupt the mind. Achenar smothered it with every breath he took, but it was sometimes difficult to ignore when he was left alone with his thoughts, staring out into the empty, dark corridors of East Street.

Only he wasn’t alone anymore, if the sounds of footsteps approaching was any indication. The ethaefal’s back stiffened, and he fingered the hilt of the tamo daggers he’d purchased out of sheer impulse. He had no prior experience with the thing and put most of his faith in its relatively wicked appearance to keep others at bay. Now, however, he wondered if it would be needed in a situation like this.

The footsteps drew closer, and in the wake of adrenaline, the daggers were forgotten. He reached out with a glimmering hand, grasping the young man’s shoulder and drawing him back into the shadow, where he was unceremoniously shoved into the wall.

“Listen,” he said quickly, his heartbeat pounding in his ears. “Don’t stab me or anything, okay. And stay petching quiet.” Achenar glanced over his shoulder. “I’m uh… I need something of yours. Something valuable.” He suddenly realized he wasn’t holding his daggers, and his hands fumbled on his pants as he drew one out of its sheath. Well this is petching awkward.

The ethaefal let out an exasperated sigh as he eyed the boy whose manner of dress was questionable. Perhaps he’d been looking for attention after all. With blade held aloft in a rudimentary attempt at intimidation, the ethaefal furrowed his brows. “Look kid, I’m not looking for a fight. Just give me what I need and you can go.”