Solo The Banter of Wise Men

[Belugnir]

Fall 56th, Noon Upon a Meadow Before the North Ravok Outpost:

Einar was on the edge of dozing off into shallow slumber to escape the constant aches of his recent injuries when another party spoke up to make its presence apparent.

"You seem to have been through a great deal since we last met, lad."

The old man's voice was uncannily familiar, and thus alerting. Ein's head swiftly shot up from where he laid on the ground, atop the furs of wolf and boar. In the aftermath of his recent ordeals he was half expecting to see Rastmo standing before him, grinning in mockery, snapped neck and all. Ein was halfway through reaching for the dagger at his hip when the appearance of an old, blind soldier and caretaker he'd met some seasons ago became harmlessly clear.

"And you seem on edge something fierce.", Rizzak confirmed warmly.

For a moment the only reply was a sharp, somewhat disappointed, even, grunt. Ever sincr he'd last come to the outpost after his final ordeals with Rastmo and the Wolf-Fiend in the forests, Einar found that the outpost's residents seemed even less fond of him than before. Most folk would frown and skulk away when he'd passed by, others would outright glare at him as if he were not deserving of the breath in his body... ultimately, being shunned so drove him to go and seek an ounce of comfort in lonesome lazing and laying about outside the outpost's walls during daylight hours. At the very least, for the time being, he was settled as far matters of coin went. Though his mood was something rightly spiteful and gloomy.

"What do you want now, old man? If you're here to nag me about giving your brat charge another trashing you might as well bugger off."

"Come now, there is no need for attitude. I am here in good will... And master Motred is away on an errand."

"Then you'd be the first in a cockin' while.", Ein snorted in retort. "I'm surprised you trust that little git to wipe his own arse without supervision.", his memory of the young nobleman whom Rizzak was charged with was rather... sour.

The old soldier gave a surprisingly fond chuckle at his master's ridicule.
"I think he has grown since you two last met... Though I did not come to you to gossip about my young master.", Riz's tone remained pleasant, though it became far more focused. "He is not the only one who has changed since we last met."

Ein was taken a back. He wholly expected the old man to give him an earful over ill manners or some shyke like that... Though he wasn't any more happy about the nonsense that ultimately left Rizzak's gob.

"If you dragged yourself here to see how well you can nag me into submission with your old man wisdom hogwash or what have you, there's an old oak that way who'd likely make a better listener.", the scoffing was accompanied by a wholly dismissive weave of Einar's hand, before he'd realized that he was gesturing for an eyeless bugger and lowered it once again.

"My, why such enmity toward us old men and our wisdom?"

Of course, this old man was one of those, a tenaciously polite and kind bugger. The sort that makes you feel bad for raising a hand at 'em. The sort that Ein oft considered wholly scheming and dishonest... Or wholly stupid. For what man in a right mind sports good spirits for even the failing lowlives that pass him by, unless looking to exploit them somehow?... Yet Rizzak seemed, felt, different somehow.

"World's choke full of wise men scribbling fanciful hogwash onto parchment when they hadn't been out of their rich pa's pawnshop for over a cocking bell at a time. And wouldn't have lasted a chime if they had.", Einar found himself presenting, rather zealously, straightening his posture up into a seat.

"Is that so?"

"Aye."

"You speak belike someone who has been exposed to a great deal of the conventional wisdom you so dismiss... Have you been reading many books yourself?"

It took Einar a moment to catch up and realize that Rizzak's tone meant to deliver his words as a bit of a playful jab, though he didn't reply to it with anything past a brief snort of dismissive laughter.

WC: 730

[Belugnir]

''Wisdom is not the scribblings of withered men that you read upon a piece of parchment. It is what you take from it. It is what you take from what life puts you through.", as he spoke on, Rizzak settled into a seat himself, some comfortablr half a dozen feet away from Einar, He planned to stax a while, appareny. "Am I wrong?"

"Can't really argue with sound reason.", Ein sighed with an apologetic shrug after taking a moment to consider the old bugger's words.

"See? I know not how to read and I've never seen nor written a letter in all my years.", Rizzak admitted almost gleefully. "Yet you just acknowledged me as a wise enough fellow to speak with."

"Huh. Curious, that.", after dwelling on it for a moment it was a rather silly oversight that an eyeless man wouldn't be able to make use of books. "So you're completely illiterate?"

"Aye. I lost my sight at the age of... fifteen, I think it was. Not that a pit slave would ever have cause to learn how to read beforehand, mind you."

So he was indeed a fighting slave, and at a young age at that.

"Did they not remove you from pit fighting after you went blind?"

Rizzak paused at the question, as if the mere suggestion it posed opened a new view of the world to him, then he gave a hearty laugh.

"Goodnes, lad, no. I remained a fighting slave for well over twenty summers past that."

"Bullshyke.", there was no way in hell that a blind bugger made it through two decades of pit fights without a solid pair of eyes in their skull. "You could have lasted a fight or two at most."

"Honest, lad. I've no cause to lie.", the old man rolled up his one of his sleeves to the elbow, revealing a forearm so netted with faded scars that hair had likely refrained from growing there for decades, rather in contrast with the old man's thick, bound beard and the mane he kept neatly bound in a bun. Then Rizzak pulled back at the collar of his shirt, revealing equally severe marks of old trauma running about his chest and making way across his neck ever so often. "The masters I've been swapped between have brought me plenty of harm, but I hardly recall any of them raising a hand to strike me themselves.", the old man explained.

It was hardly often, if ever, that Einar found himself invested in a converaation that hadn't ought to do with bickering over a contract or with pricely merchants.

"I suppose a spot of glorified murder is all the same to the rabble, regardless of whether or not the folk dying are blind or crippled.", he succumbed to a sudden urge and spat one hearty mouthful to the side on account of slavers.

"I suppose it is indeed."

And it was rarer yet that Einar's curiosity, skeptical though it might be, was teased by the personal tales of another.

"Pray tell then, how'd you manage it, fighting sightless for twenty summers?"

"Ah, that is a peculiar subject, indeed. As much as I'd like to boast it was by my own merit, for the longest time, I was able to overcome my adversity by boon of divine grace."

Ein's skepticism was swiftly kindled anew, with the old man coming to the doorstep of preaching and advertising the otherworldly, his sentences dragging on longer than they needed to be... Had it been two weeks ago, Ein would have ended the conversation then and there. Yet in the span of those two weeks he too had... 'survived' things that mortal men had no right to live through, and was aptly scarred to besr the marks of starfire, wolven claws, and blades that had skewered and pierced him. Things he ought to have died to regardless of dumb luck and ferocioius spirit.

"But I am no prophet or preacher.", Ein's quiet skepticism, diminished as it was, somehow seemed to be a given to the blind man as he spoke on. "And I doubt speaking of my gods would be of much interest to you, especially if you are indeed an outcast of Rhysol's flock as they say."

This time Einar was taken a back. An outcast of Rhysol's flock? Say cocking what?

"I don't know what hogwash you nordlings pass between each other, but I haven't an ounce to do with your Rhysol or any of the fanatic nonsense that goes on in this city.", Einar's tone conveyed rather well the insult he felt at being affiliated with any sort of god or deity... Even though he may have been more involved with 'fanatic nonsense' than he'd prefer, it was not entirely of his own will and intent.

"...So you are not a Druvin then?", Rizzak sought to confirm, light surprise and relief apparent in his voice, albeit the question only seemed to irk Einar further, giving him pause.

"A Druvin?", at this point the young mercenary was more confused than annoyed.

WC: 845

[Belugnir]

"...You do not know who the Druvin are?", the old man inquired, surprise now plentiful and genuine in his voice. After all, he knew Ein was around Ravok for at least over two seasons by now.

Frowning, Ein took a moment of dwelling on an answer.

"I recall hearing from folk's banter that they have something to do with the local god, that Rhysol, what have you, that you mentioned.", frankly, it was apparent Einar hadn't a clue as to why or how the old man made a connection between him and some zealous fanatics.

"Aye, that is part of it, I suppose, though they enjoy vast boon and privilege in Ravok. They stand atop the Ebonstryfe in the city's authority if memory serves."

"Hah.", now this was true, heartfelt laughter at some proper nonsense. "And how in tarnation did you figure I was one of those high and mighty buggers, laying here alone, lording over the dried shyke hidden in autumn grass, Prince Vagabond in his robes, worn, stained and tattered?"

''Easy now.'', Rizzak was ultimately amused with the irony Ein pointed out, but not as appreciating of the lad's aggravated tone. ''I only know what I've heard from passing by gossip. That you came back some days ago, walking proud, yet beaten and wounded, half of your face and body burned beyond the rights of mortal men. With half a scalp of hair and a single eye grayed out into dull silver.''

Einar spoke nothing to this, merely giving the old man a confused frown.

''Rhysol's Druvin posses opal eyes and their god's favor grants them prowess and restores them from suffering wounds enough to end half a dozen men, among other things.'', Rizzak added an explanation, realizing that Ein had next to no insight on the matter.

Among other things?, he wished to scoff at the absurdity of the claim... but then, finally provided with all the pieces, his mind placed them together effortlessly. That's what Rizzak meant by 'outcast'.

''They think I'm some sort of botched Druvin? That I tried and failed to properly stick my tongue in their god's arse?'', that would certainly explain the disdain he was treated to recently. An outsider provided the chance to win the favor of their god and failing at it would certainly be worse than just a plain outsider in the eyes of local folk.

''Aye... aye I suppose that is what they think of you now.'', Rizzak confirmed after another ounce of heartfelt laughter at Ein's profanities.

WC: 420