[Flashback] And then there were Nine.

[Ash'eny]

Time Stamp: 52nd Day of Spring, AV 498

Dark brown beady eyes stared in awe as the hands moved in a slick whipping motion, and from the hidden palms spilled two cheap dice. The small cubical items scattered across the ground, making a series of rattling noises as they traveled the short distance on the stone street. Ash'eny watched in amazement as several men around him began to cheer and gasp, while the man who rolled the dice looked quite miserable, groaning. Ash'eny was no gambler, but even he knew that 'Snake Eyes' was not particularly a good roll in this game. Ash'eny, who was four days short of being eleven years old. It meant nothing, but to him that was pretty special. Ash'eny smiled, he wanted to play, but knew not how, and had no money anyway. But oh, the urges to play, to laugh with this foul smelling adults. If that wouldn't make him feel like a man, he didn't know if anything would. "Wanna play little Shyke?" Ash'eny looked up from the dice as a tanned muscular hand snatch them up. He followed up the arm and to the face of the man. He was smiling, a friendly look, almost comforting. Ash'eny frowned and nodded. "Yes, but I don't have any money." Naturally, this cause for several snickers and whispers, but the man with the dice, Huck "The Pick" Thurmick as he was called, tossed a single gold rimmed Miza on Ash'eny's lap, who stared at the coin in a dazed fashion, as if he had only heard about money in myths. "There yah go little Shyke. We'll start bettin' with one gold miza, and as long as yah win, you can keep playing. Here, we'll play it simple. One dice (the man was poorly educated, instead of calling it one 'die'), I'll roll. You say even or odds 'fore it stops and if it lands on a number that you called, you win my coin, if not, I get my coin back. Un'erstood?" Ash'eny nodded as he gulped. He was holding that coin in his hand now, firmly grasped in his left hand, all five of his fingers massaged the coin, as if it would bring him good luck. Huck dropped one die into his pocket and held the other in his closed fist and began to shake it. "Odds!" Ash'eny shouted out, and the words triggered Huck's hand to fly open, the die slowly fell to the ground, clattered against the ground, and began to spin...

[Ash'eny]

Ash'eny's eyes must have grown to about twice their natural size as he watched the die fall. Each time it hit the dusty stone ground, it lifted again, as if by magic, and fell once more. Time began to move very slowly as Ash'eny's face began to turn red and his chest hurt, yet his mind did not register he was holding his breath. This experience was so exhilarating that he couldn't control himself. The die had to fall on one, three, or five for him to win. And that's all Ash'eny wanted to do, to win, to play, to win, to play again, and just play. He didn't want the money, well, he did, but not bad enough to quit if he won a few games. No, he wanted to play, to be like a man, to grow up, and this gambling made him feel just like that. Ash'eny's chest deflated, expelling a load of air out as his eyes settled on the die. It was blurry at first, but then he saw the number. Five, he had one. Ash'eny, afraid Huck would be upset, slowly glanced to look up at the man, who was chuckling and handing him another gold rimmed miza. Ash'eny, hesitated a moment, and took the coin and stuffed it into his left hand, right on top of the first. Then, all of a sudden feeling very tired, Ash'eny spoke. "I should go now. Thanks for letting me play." Ash'eny smiled and nodded as he began to get up, but he couldn't, a firm hand reached over and pushed him back down on his rear. It was Huck from across the circle of men. Every single person was staring at him now, and they didn't simply seem entertained, but their faces looked twisted in grins, monsters they were. A very painful cold chill slowly ran through Ash'eny's little spine. "Leaving already little Shyke? No! You only played once. Rightfully, those are both mine since I gave yeh the first coin. But I'll tell you what. They are yours now, officially, but you gotta play more. You're our friend now right?" Ash'eny studied his face the best his ten year old mind could, it was obvious something was going on, something that made him uncomfortable. Huck then picked up the die and handed it to the person on his left. It was Ash'eny's next challenger. That person held up two gold rimmed miza coins. Obviously Ash'eny was playing double or nothing. He nodded weakly, knowing he had no choice, Huck wasn't planning on separating from his money so easily, and he would use the other men to get it back if he had to. The man began to shake his closed fist, just as Huck had earlier, as if shuffling the die mystically somehow. Ash'eny felt his trembling lips slowly part as he spoke. "Odds." His voice must have been heard, because the man dropped the die as it began to fall to the ground. Ash'eny could have sworn he felt his spirit falling about as quickly, if not faster than the die fell to the earth. He prayed now that he would lose, since that meant he could leave. This whole game was one big mistake.

[Ash'eny]

Again five made its way to the top of the die. The men began snickering lightly all around the group, except for Huck and his friend of course. The man threw his two coins at Ash'eny, one hitting him square in the nose, the other somehow hitting his chin and tumbled down inside his shirt. He made no move to retrieve either coin, though the first was in his lap. He felt dizzy now as he tried once again to stand up, but Huck had expected this, he stood up quickly and grabbed a hold of Ash'eny's arm and tossed him to the ground, scattering his four earned gold rimmed coins across the stone ground. Slowly, one by one, each coin was picked up by one of the men in the group and tossed towards Ash'eny. They wanted to watch more. Huck sat back down again, that once comforting smile was faded now. This man wasn't kind, he was crazy. "Alright you Shyke, get your Petching money together. We're playing again. All of it! Petch! Call your numbers." Again, Ash'eny picked odds, thinking that eventually the die would not be able to keep up the game of picking his number each time. But the die failed him, one. The next game, five. Three, then one. Before long, Huck's face was beat red and Ash'eny had accumulated well over one hundred gold rimmed mizas from a dozen men in the group, and each of them were watching the boy like wolves watch a fatten rabbit. These men wouldn't give up though, it was an issue with pride now, not just the money, but their pride kept them from just taking the money and sending the boy away, which is something Ash'eny began to offer (or more so beg for). 'If I win this game, I will have earned two-hundred and fifty-six gold-rimmed miza, but I don't want to. I need to lose so I can just go away.' Ash'eny's skin felt cold. "Huck, I don't feel well. You can have the money, I don't want it. I need to-" Ash'eny was cut short as Huck lifted his hand, extending forth his palm, a command of silence to the boy, and he shut up. Already he had been pushed to the ground several times after trying to stand, slapped once, and cursed at constantly. Ash'eny seriously thought he was going to puke. "Call your numbers you petching vagik." Ash'eny's brown eyes focused slowly on Huck's enclosed fist. The die was inside his large fingers. Huck "The Pick" was a miner, and Ash'eny could see now the muscular, worn hands, hard as rock, firm as the mountains he picked away at. "Even..." Ash'eny barely whispered, yet everyone read his answer. Odds had won, miraculously, every single game so far, surely even, the notorious loser, would come through once again and lose right? Wrong. Four, the winning number revealed itself as Ash'eny's face went pale. What was this cursed luck? Where was it coming from? Had some God or Goddess conspired to get this little boy killed? What could he have possibly done to anger them? Ash'eny slowly looked up at Huck, just in time to see his face skewed and twisted in rage, he stood up, as well as three other men from the group. Huck reached behind him and grabbed something that would make Ash'eny truly and literally wet himself. The pickax. Huck "The Pick's" pickax was here, dull, and was going to be wielded, not as a mining tool, but as a weapon of torture, perhaps feverish murder. Never in his life had Ash'eny run so hard.

[Ash'eny]

Ten years, three hundred sixty-one days, Ash'eny had lived in Sunberth his entire life, born, somewhat raised, more or less raised by another group of kids, who for the most part looked after each other and banded together for strength. There was always strength in numbers, regardless of age. Those boys were now his objective, finding them, getting their help to hide him. Whatever they could do against the pick wielding psycho. Ash'eny, while running, risking his sight by briefly looking behind him, and what he saw nearly made him soil his trousers. Huck and his pick, with a face as red as a tomato, was slowly getting closer. Not a single person dared to get in the way of that madman, not even to help the little boy that was surely going to be killed. What felt like hours, when it was only a matter of chimes later, Ash'eny ran straight into a group of boys. It was his "friends". Some thirty kids from ages ranging between nine and eighteen were huddled in a large group, as Ash'eny dove in the middle of them, all conversation stopped. Before Ash'eny could even explain himself, Huck was glaring into the group of boys. His rough deep voice calling out, a subtle thread to each and every one that stood in his way. "Boys, I'm looking for a little shyke that come to you. I'd very much appreciate it if you handed him to me." Ash'eny's panting sounded like it was echoing throughout the entire city as he sat there on the ground, most attention was on Huck, and save for a few soft whispers in the back of the group, they were all silent. At first it appeared like his little gang was going to stand up to Huck. Surely thirty kids could take down one psycho with a pickax, but slowly, one by one, the boys began to move aside, making a large open pathway between Huck and Ash'eny, and to make things worse, they were on either side of him now, a tight wall-like formation so that Ash'eny couldn't run away. They had betrayed him to save their own skins. What kind of family were they to just let a little brother be at the mercy of Huck. Ash'eny was frozen in fear as the hulking old man came over to him, and Ash'eny ate the heel of his boot, causing the ten year old child to pass out instantly. From there, Ash'eny's limp sleeping body was dragged away. - - - Ash'eny woke up to a firm slap across his face and tears streaming out of the corners of his eyes and running down his cheeks. His first reaction was to call out for help, to fight, resist, flee, but it was no good. There were three men now, excluding Huck himself, and they were all restraining him with superior numbers and strength. Ash'eny knew his fate, he was going to die here, today, just like this, and he couldn't understand why. What had he done wrong? Did he deserve this? How could he? He was ten. It wasn't fair. Perhaps, but that didn't matter, not in Sunberth, not in Mizahar. "Spread your fingers you shyke. I want to see all ten of your finger." Huck spoke softly, yet a horrific rumble trembled through his throat. He wasn't amused anymore, he was ready to finish this. Ash'eny, of course, did not, which led to one of the other men throwing a punch, fist to stomach, winding Ash'eny for several seconds, and in that time, his hand was picked up and dropped on the table in front of him, and an older stronger hand resting on his wrist, holding it in place. Slowly, as he regained the ability to breathe, his trembling hands opened up and rested the fingers outwards, he closed his eyes, and waited for death. He wouldn't struggle anymore, it was pointless. "Ten fingers." Huck chuckled faintly as there was silence, but Ash'eny didn't dare open his eyes. There was the sound then of the pickax scraping against the stone floor, then it was picked up, Ash'eny imagined Huck heaving the crude weapon over his head, and finally the expected sound of Pickax burying itself deep into the wood table. Ash'eny opened his eyes to see blood, like a small explosion of his hand itself, and then Ash'eny passed out. "And then there were nine."

END

[Book__wyrm]

Ash'eny: 4 gambling XP, 2 escaping XP Lore: Loyalties of Sunberth gangs Ouch. Poor Ash'eny. Your writing is very well done, although I do think that winning eight times in a row (a 1/258 chance) is very unlikely. Otherwise, I think you're all good. Feel free to PM me if you have a problem with this.