In Unlikely Places

Fionnbharr strode carefully through the torch-lit streets of Saliasoa. The streets were for the most part empty, most had found their ways home of into a tavern. That only made the sullen, shadowed, corners all the more dangerous. There were as many that might gut a man as soon as they might look at him at the witching hours. He shivered at the thought, imagining himself lying on the filth stained cobblestones, the ichor of his life spilling out onto the cobblestones with the only one to comfort his final moments would be the pale mother Mora and her sisters. Fionnbharr could feel his finger turn numb as the thought chilled his blood, in truth that could have been the chill of the air as winter approached.   He found himself out upon this particular night, crossing the breadth of the city, for one particular reason. Several of the younglings in the Soot Quarter had fallen ill with Sombre Cough. Most of them would not make it through the night without a remedy of Azimy root. He had volunteered to make the trip for it. Unfortunately, there was but one apothecary in the city that held such a herb, near the edge of the Pearl Quarter. Prayers to the gods that he was not out. Prayers to the gods that they had gathered enough coin to purchase all that they needed. Prayers to the ones up above if the herbalist did not have enough for all of the children.   Stopping for a moment at a fork in the road to think, Fionnbharr turned down the road to his right, Shire Street. The road to his left was more properly lit as it leads to the market, but it was slower. While he would have taken it normally time was not on his side, so he turned down the back alley. The road here was torn up and cracked more than usual, and the shadows on either side of him seemed to grow darker. To be honest, it was the smell upset his stomach the most with its revolting reak of filth and more than numerous relations with women of the night. The only remotely respectable establishment on Shire Street would have been The Burned Man tavern. It was not a bad watering hole during the day and just about anyone who tried to hurt the establishment found their legs broken at best and found themselves floating off the coast at worst.   The tavern was an especially blessed sight in tonight of all nights, catching sight of one's fellow compatriots in the windows. Holding his breath for but a moment before calling out as he grew closer to the light. "Seosamh!" The call was not strong but it was enough for the one who was called to turn, with the largest smile and rushed from the establishment. In all likelihood, Seosamh would not be paying for drinks that he reeked of tonight.   "Blondie you fuckin', bastard. Come here." Seosamh stumbled out a moment later, wrapping his arms around Fionnbharr's shoulders. “What has brought your scrawny ass to this part of town, come on in and have a drink,” Seosamh offered, pulling his friend towards the bar.   Fionnbharr pulled back rather effectively, “no I was hoping you could come with me, it's safer to move in numbers.” He did his best to beg with his tone.   “Come one where could you be going tonight that's important,” Seosamh counter with an argument that was barely legible, “I saw this patina gal who fills her dress quite well and I think she would like you.”   Fionnbharr shook his head in disagreement, “I need to get to Fenrics at the pearl quarter. He raised a hand seeing that his friend was going to make some counter, “some children have come down with the Sombre Cough.” The words instantly sobered tavern patron, his face turning pale.   “How many?     Fionnbharr gaze turned downcast, “seven.”   Seosamh gave his companion another well slap on the back, “well then,” he gave a grin as if nothing at all was wrong. “I suppose I can be persuaded to keep your skinny ass safe blondie,” he finished with a wink.   Fionnbharr did not relax until the two of them had found their way out of the Pearl Quarter. The two of them had tried to move as quickly as possible, both knowing that is was never wise for their kind to venture into the districts of the upper class for long. It was best to complete their business and leave, during the night especially for any noble could do as the lord or lady could do as they pleased without so much as a few prying eyes. They could do as the pleased normally to the lower class but most cared about the taboo of their actions being seen. Nevertheless, Fionnbharr and Seosamh had the herb, bundled, in hand and were making their way into the safety of the ashen quarter.   There was still a small tension in the air nevertheless, for they still had to make it back. The only sounds were the gentle wind, the scattering rats, and Seosamh blathering away like the half-drunk that he was, “I hate going near that quarter. It smells like a bunch of prissy flowers and whale snot,” he was grumbling about just about anything now. He did not seem to truly mind the actual trip, he merely needed something to do, “I hear that they actually wear the stuff, the whale snot that is.” he shook his head like a disappointed father, “and they think us savages.”   “I think they call it a perfume,” Fionnbharr managed to raise a point as he checked that the bundle was tightly secured with twine.   “Don’t care what they call it blondie,” Seosamh growled with a wrinkle of his nose, when I smell it, I just want to sock one of them pansy gits.” He stopped the thought, looking at the blood-curdling horror that now plastered the face of Fionnbharr, “don’t worry Foinn I am just blowing the steam, you know that I am not that dumb, or that drunk just yet.”   “Wait stop,” Fionnbharr started to slow down, the hairs on the back of his neck rising as he perked an ear up higher. There was an echo growing ever louder in the distance. Seosamh stopped, doing the same a moment later. It was a clicking like rocks skipping against cobblestone with the undertone of something that Fionnbharr could not place! “Sounds like horses,” was all that Fionnbharr could get out before Seosamh yanked him from the road, “what are you doing!” He exclaimed for going quite at seeing Seao putting a finger to his lips.   The sound grew stronger as they waited, until it was clear that it was the sound of a carriage and the gallop of the horses pulling it. What a noble was doing out of there quarter at this hour, could never be good. Fionnbharr found himself holding his breath as he watched the gaudy ivory painted and gold trimmed, horse-drawn palanquin rode by, four house guards in steely plate manning the front and back of the vehicle.   All seemed well as the carriage passed on further down the road, they were safe Fionnbharr thought. That was until a rock came flying from the alley on the other side of the road. His heart dropping like the stone as it clanged against the armor of one the guards, who yelped in surprise. The driver quickly pulling on the reins trying to bring the horses to a speedy stop.   Glinting his eyes and peering into the dark saw a pale-skinned boy, dressed in rags. He was skinny and stooped, a sign of poor health, his torn clothing and lack of shoes showed he was a gutter rat. Another stone was clenched tightly in his hand and yet he seemed to be unable to move, his face covered in fear and twisted in anger. Dropping the package in Seosamh's hands, Fionnbharr broke into a sprint across the road. He stooped low, hoping not to be seen by the guards still bring the horses to a stop.   Fionnbharr managed to grab the child’s wrist and drag him into the alley a moment later. Cursing at the boy as the child brought his fist against the older man’s eye, “darvet!” He blinked harshly, “you are going to get yourself killed.”   “They killed my mother!” The child spat, still clenching the rock in his hand as he struggled to break free from Fionnbharr’s grasp, “they are not allowed to come down this street after what they did.” The child’s eyes were filled with tears as he tried to jerk away but Fionnbharr’s grip was stronger, the boy resolving to slam his fist into the man.   Fionnbharr snapped a moment later his voice filling with anger, “ and do you wish to join her?” He stared at the boy with anger, the words breaking the last bit of will that fueled the fire of the child’s anger. As the child dropped his battering fist, giving fully into his tears, Fionnbharr sighed and hugged the boy tightly, wiping the tears with a thumb, for but a moment than standing up and taking the child’s hand.   “Come on we have to get you out of...” Fionnbharr was not able to finish as he was slammed into the wall next to him. A loud metallic clang echoing from the guard's shield. He bounces off the wall and landed on the ground before feeling a large weight suddenly press down upon him as the guard’s boot pinned him.   The knight went to grab the boy, the child frozen in fear, the stone still clenched in his tiny fingers. With the last of his will, Fionnbharr gripped the soldier's boots, “please don’t,” the young man pleaded.   There was silence among them all until a weak, distant voice called from the road, it was elegant and well practiced, “how many of them are there?”   The guard looked between the child and Fionnbharr’s begging eyes, an understanding passing, before nodding. Feeling a weight lifted off his back, Fionnbharr was yanked from the ground and held up. “Just one my lord,” the guard called back, dragging Fionnbharr out into the road.