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A Whole New Life

There is, of course, no doubt that the gilded halls of the Blackheart nobles are perhaps the premier luxury in Elyria, and frequented by most interesting and important people, who must perform accordingly interesting and important actions within them- calling the drums of war to beat, levying taxes to collect wealth untold from the thronged masses below them, marrying one another and feasting in lavish ceremonies.

Such excitement would make the mind of any average nobody whirl with intrigue and suspense as to the doings of their superiors- and of course, it does such- but the dirty crowds on the city streets were as likely to see the interior of those jagged and bejeweled palaces as they were to meet a friendly canis rabbit in the center of Ironheart city.

This story does not take place on those golden terraces, nor inside those gem-encrusted bedchambers. Nor does it take place on the battlefield, nor even in the cozy warmth of a tavern, frequented by adventurers of any and all caliber.

Rami tripped over the cobbled stones. The few muttered curses did little to help repackage the contents of the bag that had just previously sat precariously on his upper back- a motley assortment of tools, mostly made from cheap iron, and some broken or rusting.

As per usual, no one paid the boy much attention. In a land of Dras, a To’resk- especially a child- was easy to miss underfoot. His clothes did little to separate him from the rough-hewn pavement of the outer district, either- mottled brown and sagging off his frame, despite his already stocky stature. Perhaps in another community, he would be of average build, but in Bindings he was as wide as they came, and already stronger than the other wards of Belleholm, who were as lanky and ghostly as presumably their parents before them.

This is not to say that being a To’resk in this kingdom was without its disadvantages. The little boy’s nose, which had probably once resembled the rest of his kin, with wide nostrils and pronounced bridge, had been visibly broken in the past, when a few less amicable youths had kindly attempted to fix it.

But it’s not as if any of this crossed the boy’s mind while he dove to the street, crawling on hands and knees to retrieve the miscellaneous tools that were now scattered on the cobbles. He sneezed, then looked ruefully at the little bronze calipers he had packed so carefully into the rucksack. One of the sides had snapped off- so much for precise measurement. Cheap bronze will do that, but a ward of the state rarely has the opportunity to purchase fine equipment. Good thing the two hammers were okay, though- one smaller, heavy, flattened, and the other larger, lighter by comparison, and rounded. Rami slipped the two back into the backpack, snatched his only pair of tongs out of the path of some carefree citizen, and surveyed the rest of his surroundings. One of his swages- a sharp, crude looking bit of black iron- was wedged between the stones underfoot. After a short struggle, culminating in a cut thumb and a chipped cobblestone, Rami was back up and ready to continue down the street. The great shadow of Belleholm Keep loomed before him, but he rarely ventured close, being content to play with the other children in the outer streets and creep around the merchant’s quarter.

As he walked, the buildings around him grew bigger, taller, and more closely packed together, until it was hard for him to see them with all the traffic along the thin streets. From every direction came the babble of Lazu, occasionally broken by the harsher Neran dialects, of which Rami had heard often, but understood none. Slipping between the thin figures on the street, he finally found himself near the heart of the town, staring up at the ever-impassive walls of his future home. Smoke poured from the second story, mingling with the smell of sweat and the sound of the hammer. Heat poured off the building in waves, permeating the surrounding street. The sounds of metalworking were only broken by a gruff huffing noise, emanating from the massive figure sat by the forge- white-skinned, like all Dras, but built more like a Brudvir, culminating in possibly one of the largest figures to walk Elyria- Yosla, the blacksmith.

Rami took a deep breath, then prepared to face whatever hell was the suitable punishment for lack of calipers. Today was the day he would join the untold masses seeking to do something- anything- with their meaningless existence.

“Time for a whole new life.”


Night gathers, and now my watch begins.

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