70th of Autumn, 514 AV, Half-past 20th Bell
I tend to make people sad, don't I? Vard hadn't thought about it very much but the more he considered it, the more it made sense. If he wasn't frightening people or serenading them with melancholy songs then he was burdening them with his life story. Phobius had no need for his pitiful past, what the boy needed was companionship and somebody to make him happier. The Symenestra listened quietly to the story, and it quickly became more apparent how much Phobius had been short-changed in his life. An orphan in Wind Reach, which was hardly an unusual sight, those folk tended to be bad for commitments, but Phobius didn't have the fortune of most orphans. He wasn't pressed into work like the other fifteen year olds, where his obvious persistence would have led him to succeed, Vard was sure of it! Instead, the damned caretakers hadn't seen past his cheerful demeanour and naïve outlook to realize how smart he actually was!
When Phobius brought up the Dek, he grit his teeth in silent outrage. He'd seen plenty of timid workers going about their business in Wind Reach. Initially he'd thought nothing of it. When he had left a tavern one afternoon though, in the alleyway he had spotted a thin prickly man shouting and slapping a much heavier-set fellow holding a spade. It seemed so incongruous to Vard that he did a double-take. The bigger man was bawling and the stick man kept abusing him. "You're worthless, you know that? I can't believe I actually gave you this job! You are a FAILURE!" The Symenestra didn't think for a second, when he quickly walked into the alley and called out to them both. "What's going on over here? Why are you yelling at the man?" The stick turned and sneered at him, "It's none of your business you vagik! Get you gone..." He trailed off when Vard's face came to light, his pale skin glowing in the dappled light and his purple eyes shining. "That's hardly the way to greet somebody, didn't your mother teach you proper etiquette?" His tone was cordial, but the grin he sported excellently displayed his fangs. There would be no mistaking him for one of the Krova. The stick had hurriedly left, but the heavy man started after him. Vard grabbed him by the shoulder and stopped him, "Why are you going after him? I'd hope you would be pursuing him to beat him senseless with that huge shovel of yours." The man only quivered, and then dropped the tool before running after the stick man. That afternoon, the taste of bile had risen in his throat when he heard the jangling of chains. The man's wrists had been chained. He was a slave, a Dek.
This was but one of the things that ran through Vard's mind as he listened to Phobius describe what it was like being a Dek. He glowered silently, and didn't meet Phobius' eyes. The boy deserved none of it! He glanced over to his collar and looked away. It was entirely possible that somebody could quite efficiently cut off that dreadful accoutrement. Vard hazarded a guess that the chains that had bound him, while long ago broken, still held influence over his mind. Phobius all but confirmed it when he spoke about Tarrow. A glassblower, possibly a drunk or drug user. Still, a part of him thanked this Tarrow for sheltering Phobius, just as Verin had him. The glassblower must have known that there were far worse things Phobius could be than a glassblower's Dek. And then Phobius stopped, Vard could guess why. Something had happened between then and now which had led him to the present. Just like Vard. Well, maybe not just like Vard, his exit had probably been more explosive than the youth's. Definitely more incendiary. He certainly was his father's son, after all.
Vard turned to look at Phobius, and ruffled his hair. "Hey, now you've got a bunch of friends here in Alvadas, right? Who needs to focus on the forgotten past?" Yes, keep being positive. You can do this. "Pryzabius, in Symenos 'Pryza' means gift. You are a gift to the world. Don't you forget it." And with that, he stood up. His headache barely stung and his mouth seemed to remember how to produce saliva. He doubted the haze of alcohol would lift until he had had another long rest which was why he'd gotten up in the first place. "Pryzabius, words cannot describe my gratitude to you. Truly and utterly, you are the first member of a family I didn't know I could have. If ever you have need of me, call on me and I will come. If ever I have need of you, I trust that you will also answer my call. You're a brave person, whether you know it or not. Simply for talking to me, and seeing the person who I am underneath. I see you too, how you are far more than anyone would take you for. If I may offer some advice to you, never let anyone give you less than you deserve."
Vard began to limp slowly down the street, brushing past the passersby. And he whispered to himself, "You deserve everything, and would that I could, you would get it my friend." Would that I could... He stopped only a couple paces out of the alley and bowed his head. He was beginning to remember, he was beginning to recall how he had come to be drunk! The flood of memories hit him like a tidal wave and he fell against a shop front. He couldn't hear the loud complaints of the shopkeep, he only heard a sly voice gently speaking to him. "You didn't think I would stay away forever did you?"
Class, is accepting your heritage.
When Phobius brought up the Dek, he grit his teeth in silent outrage. He'd seen plenty of timid workers going about their business in Wind Reach. Initially he'd thought nothing of it. When he had left a tavern one afternoon though, in the alleyway he had spotted a thin prickly man shouting and slapping a much heavier-set fellow holding a spade. It seemed so incongruous to Vard that he did a double-take. The bigger man was bawling and the stick man kept abusing him. "You're worthless, you know that? I can't believe I actually gave you this job! You are a FAILURE!" The Symenestra didn't think for a second, when he quickly walked into the alley and called out to them both. "What's going on over here? Why are you yelling at the man?" The stick turned and sneered at him, "It's none of your business you vagik! Get you gone..." He trailed off when Vard's face came to light, his pale skin glowing in the dappled light and his purple eyes shining. "That's hardly the way to greet somebody, didn't your mother teach you proper etiquette?" His tone was cordial, but the grin he sported excellently displayed his fangs. There would be no mistaking him for one of the Krova. The stick had hurriedly left, but the heavy man started after him. Vard grabbed him by the shoulder and stopped him, "Why are you going after him? I'd hope you would be pursuing him to beat him senseless with that huge shovel of yours." The man only quivered, and then dropped the tool before running after the stick man. That afternoon, the taste of bile had risen in his throat when he heard the jangling of chains. The man's wrists had been chained. He was a slave, a Dek.
This was but one of the things that ran through Vard's mind as he listened to Phobius describe what it was like being a Dek. He glowered silently, and didn't meet Phobius' eyes. The boy deserved none of it! He glanced over to his collar and looked away. It was entirely possible that somebody could quite efficiently cut off that dreadful accoutrement. Vard hazarded a guess that the chains that had bound him, while long ago broken, still held influence over his mind. Phobius all but confirmed it when he spoke about Tarrow. A glassblower, possibly a drunk or drug user. Still, a part of him thanked this Tarrow for sheltering Phobius, just as Verin had him. The glassblower must have known that there were far worse things Phobius could be than a glassblower's Dek. And then Phobius stopped, Vard could guess why. Something had happened between then and now which had led him to the present. Just like Vard. Well, maybe not just like Vard, his exit had probably been more explosive than the youth's. Definitely more incendiary. He certainly was his father's son, after all.
Vard turned to look at Phobius, and ruffled his hair. "Hey, now you've got a bunch of friends here in Alvadas, right? Who needs to focus on the forgotten past?" Yes, keep being positive. You can do this. "Pryzabius, in Symenos 'Pryza' means gift. You are a gift to the world. Don't you forget it." And with that, he stood up. His headache barely stung and his mouth seemed to remember how to produce saliva. He doubted the haze of alcohol would lift until he had had another long rest which was why he'd gotten up in the first place. "Pryzabius, words cannot describe my gratitude to you. Truly and utterly, you are the first member of a family I didn't know I could have. If ever you have need of me, call on me and I will come. If ever I have need of you, I trust that you will also answer my call. You're a brave person, whether you know it or not. Simply for talking to me, and seeing the person who I am underneath. I see you too, how you are far more than anyone would take you for. If I may offer some advice to you, never let anyone give you less than you deserve."
Vard began to limp slowly down the street, brushing past the passersby. And he whispered to himself, "You deserve everything, and would that I could, you would get it my friend." Would that I could... He stopped only a couple paces out of the alley and bowed his head. He was beginning to remember, he was beginning to recall how he had come to be drunk! The flood of memories hit him like a tidal wave and he fell against a shop front. He couldn't hear the loud complaints of the shopkeep, he only heard a sly voice gently speaking to him. "You didn't think I would stay away forever did you?"
Class, is accepting your heritage.
Class is remaining true to yourself
No matter the cost
No matter the cost
