Tales Of Grimea

by Andrew Mowere

  Hwosh had just decided to set upon his slightly warm meal when Percy appeared from his right side, an annoyed frown still clouding his features, and pulled a seat next to him. The warrior was about to ask him what was wrong when the obvious cause leapt around to his other side in all of her grinning glory. Adra was dressed in a red vest, slashed vertically in places to show off high quality white linen beneath it, as well as red pants and brown hide boots. Her neck length curls were left as unkempt as always, and she had brown gloves tucked into a handy belt she always paraded around. “Heya, Hwosh! Hunt went well?”

  The warrior found her enthusiasm almost as infectious as her lover’s, and smiled in turn. “As well as planned,” he answered, “What’s up with spectacles over there?” Adra and Percy were the only two Hwosh felt remotely comfortable talking to that way. Aside from uncle Salim, of course.

  Spectacles grunted. “I can’t believe you’d let us wait so long for you, Adra!” he exclaimed.

  “Why, I thought she just got here after going to Hydra’s temple?” inquired Hwosh calmly, starting to understand.

  Adra tried to interject then, almost elbowing the warrior as she did. “Wait, that was be-“

  His friend laughed again, obviously having upset himself by way of memory. “Yeah! The goddess of luck! This one,” a finger scratched behind his ear, his other hand waggling in Adra’s direction in accusation, “has been gambling here for the past few hours! Leave us in hunger, she thought!”

  Adra looked suitably admonished, but still managed, “I said I’m sorry! I know I promised to come back earlier, but it was going so well!” Hwosh’s ears perked at that. Adra was an excellent gambler. Perhaps the luck, calculation and daring combination was part of what made her such a shockingly fine merchant, despite humble starts and a lack in funds. She always made more than she lost, and if she said it went well…

  “How much did you win?” he asked, then added, “What game was it?”

  “Oh, Baki.” Hwosh’s skills at the game’s strategy aspects were passable, and his knowledge of battle tactics aided him well, but he was never able to get accustomed to the game’s gambling and deceitful side. “Do you really want to know how much I made?” All of a sudden, Hwosh became less sure and he shook his head slowly, causing Adra to laugh. Then she turned to her lover. “Anyways, Purr,” she said, her voice sounding immediately different to Hwosh, “I said I’m sorry. Let me make it up to you.” Uncle Salim had once told the warrior that people’s voices go husky when in the presence of someone they had feelings for. He wondered if the old man in the blue robes knew about that little fact, or if he could even hear the difference in her voice. Hwosh’s senses were honed by training and frequent treks both to Ramlah and the wasteland out west.

  “Gah, fine. You’re a lousy appointment forgetting dummy of a merchant, but you’re my dummy… So, you’re cooking tomorrow, huh?” Percy cocked his tall starry sky hat backwards as Hwosh and Adra gave each other an incredulous look.

  “What!” they exclaimed as one, not quite believing their ears. “Do you want us to get poisoned, man?” added the black haired warrior, almost feeling a cold sweat coming down his chiselled back. Adra didn’t say anything, possibly agreeing with him.

  Percy grinned and defended himself by saying, “Hey, she wanted to make things better, okay? I love the girl, and so want to taste something she made.” Adra didn’t say anything for a second, but when she did it wasn’t about the topic at all.

  “You love me?” she asked, then added, “I mean, I love you too. Uh, um, what do you want to drink? I ate already.”

  That evening they played many games, ranging from darts, some more Baki, to arm wrestling. Percy and Adra, true to their nature, were much friendlier to others than Hwosh and so managed to strike up many conversations while he remained passive except with the two of them. Even a scholar from Indellekt can make more friends than me, thought the warrior, brushing some spilt beer from his tunic. Then again, it was no surprise, with how great Percy was. At some point, a slightly tipsy Adra clapped him on the shoulders and tried to get him flirting with a nice enough redhead in a complementing dress. It didn’t go well, for her mind was as blank as the cup she kept trying to get him paying for, and in a few minutes a bored Hwosh found himself jumped by the merchant again at the bar. He was talking to Murata about a breed of drakes they had far north when she exclaimed “Hey, Murata, how has the place been shaping up?”

  “Oh,” answered the man in his extremely courteous yet well measured manner, “If it isn’t our little plain crusher.” The term was used to refer to Baki players, for the game’s goal was to crush the other’s hand of warriors in predetermined numbers of moves. Murata smiled slowly and said, “People are starting to call you a crimson princess because of how well you play, but I told them you’re more like a thorn in their sides than anything else.” The name seemed to catch Adra’s fancy and she grinned. Hwosh sometimes thought that the highly intelligent tavern owner and he had a few things in common, barring social abilities. None had a slur to sling the man’s way.

  “They just can’t play well enough,” she said, clapping the bartender on one shoulder, but Murata turned his attention to Hwosh. “Warrior, did you say? There’ll be success aplenty for a lad with that kind of head on dependable shoulders. It’s a shame you didn’t show up much earlier, and now only do with these two.” His grey eyes twinkled with fierce intelligence, and yet nothing in the bartender’s body language betrayed interest.

  The young man waved off Murata’s question, for privacy was to be treasured. “I only moved here a few months ago. Used to live east of Themra.” His words elicited a whistle from the man.

  “Rough parts, those are,” he said with a new air of respect, reading Hwosh’s implied meaning perfectly. The warrior hadn’t said where exactly he’d lived, and Qir wasn’t the only place east of Themra.

  “He had a good uncle to take care of him,” replied Adra before Hwosh could say anything. The warrior felt his heart skip a bit, then slight annoyance as Murata’s grey eyes twinkled ever brighter. He had no doubt the man from Regalia, as street wise as he was, knew exactly who Adra had meant. Many Baneen held high ranks, and were sometimes seen as agents of Salim Qamar for their undying loyalty to the kind old man. Some even called them an order or exclusive club dedicated entirely to him. As Hwosh thought furiously, he felt Murata’s eyes scan his fingers in a semi casual manner, looking for a tell-tale pinkie ring. Not finding anything, the man let the matter go. “Young man, I wonder if you’d be willing to do a job for me,” he said in measured tones, and Hwosh felt curiosity brimming in him, despite feeling he’d only been asked due to the new piece of information.

  The warrior leaned forward as Murata continued calmly, his lips barely touching each other as he spoke, “There’s a wine I need to prepare for some special guests coming in next month, and I’ll need some help with it.” Hwosh’s hand went instinctively to the string of beads hanging from his bandanna in thought, wanting to tell the man that he didn’t know anything about wines or brewing. Did people even brew wine, or was there another word for it? Before he could say anything, however, the bartender chuckled and clarified, “Don’t get me wrong, I’m quite proficient in the preparation, but the wine needs to be stored with a single high quality Scegel feather within the bottle. Normally I’d buy one from a merchant friend of mine, but I’ll need more feathers than that. I’ve been told to procure thirty bottles, so that’s thirty feathers, and at that point it’s easier to have someone get me the birds themselves. There should be ten magical ones per bird. You get me four, just in case, and I’ll reward you with fifty Regalians for the birds and the danger.”

  Hwosh didn’t know much about wine, but he certainly knew about beasts. Getting high quality Scegel feathers was not easy, and he was certain Murata could get someone else for the job, but fifty Regalians for four of them was excellent money. He wondered if the man wanted to secure trading agreements with someone who might be one of uncle
Salim’s Baneen, despite Hwosh’s apparent lack of a ring. However, he also knew that the shrewd man would undoubtedly make a large profit from the feathers, not the mention the carcasses themselves. This was a legitimate offer, not purely a political one. “Deal,” he answered with no hesitation, despite being slightly wary of the job at hand. He’d hunted the birds before, but never for feathers.

  “So what did you think of Percy?” asked Adra suddenly, “Enough of all that work nonsense, you boys can talk about it tomorrow morning!” Despite her words, Hwosh knew that Adra was a clever competitor herself and had listened carefully, perhaps taking notes for when she had enough capital for similar endeavours.

  “Quite right, red thorn.” remarked Murata with another calm chuckle. “He’s a good man, and extremely smart. I’m happy for you, finding a kindred fun loving spirit.” Hwosh found it curious that the man with the unkempt grey hair had spent so long chatting with them and ignoring other costumers. Naturally, he hadn’t missed a beat in his work, pouring and taking money as only a natural service person could, but he was known for spending his time with costumers equally, chatting well-meaningly and patiently with each of his patrons. He hoped it didn’t interfere with the man’s business.

  “He’s pretty great,” agreed Adra wholeheartedly. “Some people bug us because of the age difference, but I don’t really mind. Fact is, I’m happier with him than I’ve ever been, so what are forty som- oops, you weren’t supposed to know that.” For once, the merchant looked embarrassed. In the orange glow, Hwosh even wondered if her heart shaped face had acquired a pinkish tinge.

  “He’s gotten into a few issues here at times, but seems potent in befriending people. These days, with tensions between Indellekt and Regalia being what they are, I’m glad to see us getting along so well. I apologize for the least of my countrymen.”

  “That’s alright,” grinned Adra, “It’s hard to get into a fight with a mind reader who doesn’t want to do it.”

  Murata froze as she clapped his shoulder playfully. Slowly, he looked from Hwosh to Adra in disbelief. “He’s a psion?”

  “Um, yes,” answered the woman, starting to look slightly worried from the man’s expression. “Haven’t I told you before?”

  The tavern owner put his elbows on the bar counter, gesturing the two closer. With their heads close together, and the two starting to feel wariness and confusion, he whispered, “Luckily no one was focused enough to hear that, but you two need to understand that psions are rare. The ability to know what a person is thinking can be more terrifying than cold steel, especially in Lor. This isn’t Indellekt. I’m sure he knows that, but you two need to be careful. People don’t trust mind readers, and it would be best if people think him a simple scholar.” The sounds all around seemed suddenly subdued in the seriousness in Murata’s tone, and Hwosh thought Splinter’s owner had enough intensity in his eyes to burn a hole through him.

  Adra looked upset at Murata’s words. “That’s not how it works, though,” she said, perhaps wanting to defend Percy.

  “I know that, but they don’t.” The man’s pointed all around in a vague manner. “And just in case, he can’t be here when you play Baki. My business relies on the gambling more than anything else, and I can’t have people thinking their hands are being read.” Adra bristled, and the man added, “Or do you want me telling everyone that you scratch your right thumb whenever you get two archers and a tank in one hand?”

  Immediately the fledgling merchant went deathly quiet. Hwosh was impressed with Murata’s speedy analysis and decisions. That way, Adra could still come and play, and nobody would lose. He looked at the man with newfound respect, and remembered what uncle Salim had said about his gambling skills. He suddenly understood why no one wanted to play against him anymore. The warrior could tell Adra was wondering if that was actually a thing she did subconsciously. At length, she asked, “How did you know that?” and the bartender smiled.

  “I’m not one for violent enforcement,” he stated, and Hwosh remembered he’d heard of something similar about Murata. “However, I have my own tools to get costumers in line.” Adra grumbled, but there was truly little to do against the man from Regalia and his sharp mind. Good spirits were kept however, and in a few minutes Percy joined them at the bar counter.

  When the three left Murata’s tavern far later than Hwosh intended, Adra grumbled to her man about what Murata had said, but Percy took it in good humour. “I can see his point,” he said brightly as they made their way through the darkened dusty street. “People don’t know much about psions, and there’s hostility towards us all the time. He’s just trying to protect me and his business at the same time. Nobody wants to lose customers.” Far behind them were the lights of pubs and taverns, and there was little music lingering in the air. There were fewer Lorians to be seen now, because there were always those who slept early in order to wake up for their sunrise prayer. Still, there were enough passers-by in all manner of clothing and looks to remember what city you were in.

  “If you say so…” murmured Adra. “I just wish they’d take the time to understand you instead of just being so...”

  “Ugh?”

  “Exactly.” The two were now walking a bit ahead of Hwosh, and he gladly gave them space. It was true that they were his only friends here, but they belonged to each other first. The thought gave him a pang and thoughts of melancholy chased each other around his mind’s confines haphazardly.

  The warrior said goodbye to his two friends at their door and then walked over to his own place. Whereas Percy Verde and Adra rented a one bedroom apartment with an extra living room, Hwosh’s lacked that extra space. The man lived simply, and the only high quality piece of furniture in his room was his bed. A man can’t live without a comfortable bed boasting pillows large enough to sink into. He changed into sleeping clothes –which were actually just old clothes- and took his ring and money pouch out of his pocket, placing them on a rickety writing table that hadn’t been written at for years, or so it looked. After triple checking that the door was locked, Hwosh laid himself upon his bed and tried hard to silence his mind. It was only after an hour of tossing and turning that the warrior remembered the day’s worries had completely made him forget about uncle Salim’s warning for Percy.

  Five minutes before eight, Hwosh was standing outside Splinter as agreed, feeling more than slightly nervous. He hadn’t mentioned it to anyone other than Percy and Adra, but the man had only ever done jobs for uncle Salim before. What if he botched it up? How was he supposed to act around his new employer, and how was the new dynamic supposed to work after –and if– the job was a success? The sun was starting to think about glaring earnestly and people bustled about in true Lorian fashion around the warrior, paying him little heed.

  Hwosh Ru’ub was about to turn around when he felt a slight push against his mind. He whirled to find Percy coming from the left, possibly bleary eyed and less cheerful than usual but still in all his blue glory. Hwosh fought hard to keep his glad look off his face when he said, “What are you doing here? I thought you never wake up before ten.”

  “Adra told me about this new job with Murata. Sceggle feathers, huh? I thought you’d like to have a friend around to go inside with you.”

  “Oh. I, uh. Um… thanks. I was starting to get worried.”

  “I know, buddy.”

  “Mind reading? I thought you couldn’t do it like that easily.”

  “Can’t. But I don’t need to be a mind reader to know my best friend. Other than Adra, of course, but you understand that she’s friend number one.”

  “…You’re my best friend too.”

  With that said, the two friends then squared off side by side and went inside.

  The agreement with Murata went much more smoothly than Hwosh expected it to. All the bartender really wanted was four Sceggles with their beaks intact (in order to preserve the magical properties present in their feathers.) The man even joked about getting Hwosh on to do more work out we
st if all went well, and foregoing some of his usual suppliers. The two then made their way back to their apartment, Hwosh to get ready and Percy to get some extra precious hours of sleep.

  “I think I’ll go today,” deliberated Hwosh, eliciting a surprised glance from the Indellektian.

  With a hand scratching under his neck, he asked, “This early? Murata said he needed the feathers in a week.”

  The warrior thought about how to put what he thought, then said, “It’s just in case. I might find something better than expected.” He didn’t mention that despite Percy and Adra being the only people besides uncle Salim whom he liked spending extended amounts of time with, the warrior was better made for alone time. “Oh yeah, I forgot to tell you. About the poison,” his voice went low, and the warrior found a near bench under a palm tree. The two sat in the shade, listening to children playing around a cat shaped statue. Despite its silly rounded shape, that cat statue represented a guardian spirit of the Niner god Serip, ruler of knowledge and keeper of secrets. “Uncle Salim didn’t tell me who it was for, but he told me that the only reason someone would use that sort of poison is to get caught. He… also told me to warn you.

  “Warn me?” scoffed Percy, “Of what?”

  “I don’t know, but if it came from him then it’s serious. I’m worried.”

  “A natural state,” remarked the man then smiled by the way of apology. Nearby a fountain could be heard, mingling with the playfulness of youth. Hwosh had rarely been like that as a child, for after his parents had died and his uncle took everything owned, the then young boy was left as a pauper. Only Uncle Salim’s mercy had saved him, and Hwosh learned early that sometimes, laws needed to be enforced and protected. That was what first spawned his stubborn fascination with swordsmanship. He’d asked uncle Salim to punish him by way of beatings, and had gone out of his way to incur the old man’s wrath, although the wizened man never did things out of anger. It took only a few months for the man to understand Hwosh Ru’ub and apprentice him to a warrior hunter, and it had satisfied the young boy’s ambition enough that he stopped looking for beatings by way of disobedience. Uncle Salim was his first home, and he finally had a second by the name of Percy Verde. Now, that home was under unknown duress.