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 Posted: Sun May 03, 2015 9:45 pm
His former master was kind enough to leave him quite a bit of...items...to choose from. Of course the man had no say in the matter as his slaves had turned on him the moment they'd heard of their freedom. What was the saying....whip a Radaku long enough and even the most cowardly will bite back? Illian was surprised that there was even enough left of the man for them to know who he was.
It was probably the amount of fat and useless tattoos on his bones and skin that gave his identity away.
Illian brushed his hair out of his face, eyes pointedly meeting each and every staring Oban as he walked down the market path. He knew where their eyes rested, what made them look again when they were sure he wasn't paying them anymore attention. The twin scars on his neck, the ones that wound down his bare torso. The vivid ink that stood out against his skin. The fact that he was a Shifter. Any one of these things marked him as someone different. The scars on his neck told that he'd been a war prize.
The joke was on them that they'd had to resort to scavenging the battlefield to collar him.
Oh he knew that he should be thankful that the cowards had done that, because it meant that he lived. But he stopped being thankful the night his 'Master' had told him in no uncertain terms just what he was forcibly reduced to. It clashed with everything he'd had to endure under his fathers reign. Even with the balancing his mother, his siblings, and his uncle had done, he'd still tipped too far to one side.
His Master did a wonderful job in setting him back on the path that his father had started laying down.
At his side was a simple pole arm, unadorned and worn and the thing that kept the more cocky Obans from trying to 'show' him his place. Which, if it were up to them, would be back in chains and possibly on his knees. He was no ones living furniture and he sure as moonrise was not going to be forced into being someone's play thing again.
Not ever, he would rather die then go through all that again.
Huffing to himself the hardened youth slipped down a side path onto a more quieter street, then down another tiny path. He was careful as he winded his way around buildings and down alleyways, even going so far as to scale a few walls to get to the other side. He didn't want trouble to follow him home, or what passed as his home.
Once he felt safe enough he headed back to the place he rested at night, rapping quietly in a pattern before pushing open the weather worn wooden door. Inside the smell of stew made his mouth water and his stomach remind him just how long ago it had been since he'd eaten last. At least a day had passed since he'd been back, but getting work was hard when there were so many suddenly freed slaves. While it was true that many had fled, and even more had stayed with their former owners, there were enough that had actual worth and self-respect and the means to get themselves situated.
Sure Illian could get an easy job as a gladiator, or something that demanded the rigorous training that he'd gotten under his father, he didn't want it. He didn't want to stare into the eyes of an opponent whose only hope was to shed blood to get by. Criminals, former slaves, cocky Obans, even some of the other tribes could and had popped into his ring while he was fighting.
He would rather slay animals then have the blood of another innocent on his hands. He was already covered in it, there was no need to continue adding more.
The soft sound of metal striking metal pulled his attention back to the present. Standing hesitantly by the open doorway was a slender matori, her orange eyes continuously slid from looking Illian in the face to the space just over his shoulder, to the ground, before she jerked it back up. Kadan, as he had been told was the youths name, had just stopped speaking one day. Everyone in the household knew what the other had been forced into, and the few times Illian tried to intervene had not...gone well for either of them.
But it had strengthened their bond.
Jerkily Kadan told him that their supper was ready, her hands forming the shapes that she used to communicate with. It was the reason why she was still here, with him, rather then back across the border looking for her family. They relied on each other in more ways than was strictly good. He knew it as the coping mechanism that it was and couldn't bring himself to do anything about it.
He was still hurting over the fact that two of his brothers had been within Oba, within reach of him, and he'd missed them. Kadan was hurting over the things she'd seen and had done to her. Things she still wouldn't put to words. It was a terrible relationship but he wouldn't break it for the world, not until she was ready.
Mentally sighing Illian gestured for Kadan to lead the way, setting his weapon off to one side before following her through the short, cramped entry hall into the tiny kitchen it widened into. He could see a pot of rice steaming off to one side, and the pot of stew held on metal prongs off the table. Peering into it gave him a glimpse of dark liquid and chunks of meat, with a few roots bobbing in the broth. Currently over the fire was a pot of water that had just come to a boil and Kadan was busy filling their small kettle with dried leaves for tea. He couldn't see anything that could be sweet and wondered if Kadan had bothered to make anything extra, or if the tea would get a bit of sugar added to it.
Humming a song that he remember from his childhood, Illian went about gathering their wooden bowls and spoons and filled them with rice and the stew. By the time he sat down, pushing one bowl next to him, Kadan was placing a mug in front of him. It smelled sweet and fruity and reminded him of better times.
Word Count: 1,085
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Posted: Tue Jun 09, 2015 11:03 am
Illian ran a hand down his face, feeling disgusted with himself. His legs dangled off the edge of a bed, the owner of it snoring away, sprawled out and sticky with sweat. He shot the man an annoyed look and slipped off, wincing as his bare feet touched the fur situated near the bed. It was too hot for furs, for sheets or even sleeping clothed, but here he was having to endure it for scraps of pleasure.
He raked a hand through his tangled, sweat damp hair and thoughtlessly snagged a ribbon from the mans dresser to tie his hair up and off of his skin. His skin was pale in the darkness, but Illian knew where each and every scar was on his bare arms, and felt his stomach clench. He swallowed back bile and forced himself to touch each mark on the soft flesh of his wrists, over the dip of one palm, up the length of one finger. There were crescent shape scars dotting his left arm and the hot feeling of shame curled through him.
It didn't matter that the one who gave him said scars forgave him, he couldn't forgive himself.
He swallowed thickly and pulled on the pants he'd folded up earlier, securing it with the blue sash that tied easily. Another glance at the man on the bed assured him that he was still out cold and Illian quietly left the bedroom. The Oban didn't live in splendor like others of his tribe did. Instead choosing a small three roomed home with a kitchen and bathing chamber. One room held weapons, another was storage, and the third was the one Illian had just come from.
He made his way to the armory and picked out his staff, it was easy to find, settled right next to the door along with a longer one leaning next to it. He ran his hand over the length of wood, feeling only dents in it from a multitude of beatings and the parts that hadn't felt combat was sanded to a smooth finish. The wrapping around the middle was only a few weeks old, and already dull looking from handling.
Smiling to himself Illian left the house and retreated to the backyard where the training dummy was stationed. Outside was just as sticky as being inside, the heat rising from the ground negating any coolness that came with sundown. He groaned softly at the feeling of a short breeze drifting over his skin and settled down.
He started by stretching his muscles and warming up. He moved through the few martial moves he'd picked up from other fighters, the basic stretches his father had taught him, and the more complex ones his handler at the coliseum had shown him. He kicked his foot high in the air and flinched when a hand caught his heel and raised it higher. He twisted around to stare at the grinning Oban who held him.
"You always do that, kick up and stretch without holding your ankle. How're you going to stay flexible if you don't do it right?" The man said, tapping at his thigh which trembled with strain. After what felt like a small eternity Illian was allowed his leg back, which he gladly lowered to the ground.
"I've been your handler for going on what, almost five years now right? Even without you doing the fighting in the ring you always come back here to train." The Oban said, adjusting his pants and re-wrapping his feet. He was a broad man, with wide shoulders and slender hips, every inch of him muscled. "You'd think by now you'd notice when I came to check on you."
Illian offered him a rueful look, knowing that he let his guard down around Kalics's home far more than he should. It would be terrible if he got snuck up on. "Now, lets see you go through those move again." Kalics said, moving off to one side as he went through his own warm up stretches. It was one of the few things he liked about the man, no matter what time it was he was always up for a sparring session.
The moves were rhythmic as he worked his body, flowing from one form to the next. Martial training wasn't something he utilized often, but whenever he was disarmed it came in handy. It was also great for keeping all of his muscles in shape, instead of the few he used to train with his lance. Eventually he ran out of forms to shift to and from and stood there quietly as Kalics finished a set of leg stretches. The large man rolled his shoulders and went to pick up his own spear, which was as plain as you could get without it being raw wood and un-worked metal. The most fancy thing on it was the colored grips, which at one point in time, had been a vibrant blue.
Illian watched as Kalics swung his spear around, getting a good feel for the weapon and the way his body moved with it, and subconsciously mimicked him. His own spear felt heavy in his hands, the wood denser as he was still unaccustomed to it. His last one had been much lighter, even with the beads that were a favored accessory to the shaft weighing it down.
The two circled each other, Illian's face blank while Kalics's showed his pleasure. He always enjoyed it when Illian came around of his own free will, as it showed him that the young shifter was serious about his training. If it wasn't for the fact that Illian had told him about his goals, he would have had the younger male move in with him, so that he could pass down as much knowledge as he could.
Kalics thought that Issao had been fairly good at teaching him the basics of spear work, though the methods used were vastly lacking. No praise and all criticism didn't promote healthy growth and Kalics found himself straining to undo most of the damage that had already had time to heal. It was daunting, but as the man gave praise to well executed block, or a particularly clever trick, Illian found his words sticking to a part of him that had never truly stopped hoping he was worth something.
The two continued to trade blows until Illian felt his leg buckle under a particularly well placed blow. He let himself fall to one knee, ready to follow up with a low sweeping motion that would have had Kalics jumping back, but the feel of metal pressed against his clavicle stopped him. He heard Kalics rumbling laugh though his lips never parted. "Good, good. You're getting better imp, your reactions certainly doesn't need honing but you can always improve on them. Come lets get cleaned up and back into bed. You're heading out to the next city to look for your brothers aren't you? You'll need all the sleep you can get." Kalics said as he offered Illian a hand up.
The shifter grimaced at the reminder, and knowing them their spar had taken up more than a few hours. But it wasn't as if he'd been forced to do more strenuous tasks while being sleep deprived. Surely finding one informant wouldn't take all day.
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Posted: Thu Jun 11, 2015 4:05 pm
Illian watched as Kalics sucked on the carved pipe with the fragrant leaves inside it. He watched as he measured precise amounts of coin into one bag and filled another with tradable goods. He could smell the faint scent of spices just under the smell of pipe weed, but couldn't really place them. All he knew was that they were used frequently in traditional Oban meals. Spicy, traditional Oban meals. The sort of food he'd grown a taste for once he'd learned that the stuff he'd been given before, had been considered bland to his Master.
At first it had been a way to snub the man, to eat the food he favored. Then it became something he liked, once he'd gotten used to the way his mouth felt on fire and his nose constantly ran. He wanted to introduce his brothers to it, in a more mild manner of course. Not that Illian could cook anything not over a campfire well. Perhaps he could persuade one of his brothers to try their hand at the dishes....
This was assuming he'd ever find them again, or they were even alive at this point.
Kalics weighed the pouches in his hands for a moment and nodded as he shoved them at Illian. "Takodahanma owed me a lot." He said,"So you're lucky that you're my favorite. His property was finally sold the other day and what hadn't already been picked over by you vultures took its time being bid on." He grinned at Illian, the whiteness of his teeth sharp against the darkness of his skin."Needless to say I didn't have anyone to oppose my claim when I went to collect."
Illian was positive that Kalics had just tripled his wealth by making sure whatever family his Mast- Takodahanma had, hadn't said a word against him. He was known amongst the family as a worthy opponent and not someone you wanted annoyed at you. Which is why he wondered the intentions of the Oban. He blinked as the pouches were thrown at him, landing on his side and near his arm, having made no move to catch them from where he lounged on the mans bed.
"I owe you a lot more of that." Kalics said, gesturing towards the money. "You have no idea how much trouble you're saving me by coming around as often as you do. Not that I mind your company, or the chance to really pass on my knowledge, but life would be a lot more stressful without you here."
It suddenly clicked into place, why Kalics was paying him and he shot the man a disgusted look. Laughing the man raised his hands in surrender, "Don't look at me like that. Do you know how many marriage proposals I've had to fend off before you came around again? Pup, you're a life saver. I've no interest in siring children and well," He shrugged, "You don't look half bad, for a shifter."
"So you've got them thinking I'm your bed warmer." He said, disdain dripping from his words, "Better that then letting them think I'm your intended."
Kalics gave him a measuring look, "See here pup, I do like you. I don't let just anyone share my bed, even if it's for something as chaste as sleeping. It's a sign of trust, one I don't intend to betray. Your virtue is safe with me." He waved the matter away, as if it were an errant fly. "Besides, you know I don't go for the pretty ones. Even sullen sons of Janarim like you."
Illian snorted and nudged the pouch off his hip, "Just don't let it get out of hand." He said, heaving himself up. "I'll be back home if you need me."
Upon arriving 'home' Illian found Kadan sitting on the roof of their dwelling, skinny legs kicking at empty air. She had a needle and thread and appeared to be either mending something or putting something together. That part didn't surprise him, it was the fact that she was actually outside of their little home of her own volition was. It boded well for her, that she was starting to break out of the shell she'd built to protect herself.
It meant that he didn't have to feel bad when he broke the news to her that he'd be going to a different town to try and find his brothers. She never once asked if he would be bringing her with him, knowing that it would be out of the question. Instead he told her that if she had any problems, to leave at night and head to Kalics home, that he would protect her. The Oban knew how important she was to him, as so long as she was willing to put up with the ruse that Illian played with him, she'd be welcomed.
Illian had to wonder just why the man went the lengths that he did to avoid getting married. He wasn't bad to look at, his personality was good and he was loyal to a fault. Any man or woman would count themselves lucky to be tied to him. At one point in time Illian himself wished the man would look his way, if only to save him from his Master. He was glad that the other hadn't, except when it came to his training and overall health.
He just couldn't help the niggling feel of worry as he packed up the things he needed for his short trip to the next closest town.
Word Count: 922
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Posted: Thu Jun 11, 2015 5:46 pm
Illian laid stretched out on his bed, the room rented from one of the more seedier inns in the lower class area of the town. His head spun from all the excitement of the day. First a brawl which had gifted him two people, one whom he knew well and had missed dearly, the other someone who could potentially become more than a friend, if he'd been reading the situation right. His gut churned as he thought of Jelanii, of how stronger his hands had been as he eased Illians pain. He rolled onto his side and stared at the far wall.
Then there was Istanell. Older brother, golden child, the one whom he could never live up to. He'd butted heads with his sibling from the moment they'd started to speak again, showing that the elder had both changed and stayed pretty much the same. It was a relief and an endless cause of stress. Illian knew that he wasn't the most affectionate of his siblings, choosing mostly to observe the rest from a safe distance. His words were most often taken in a mocking light and his wit held notes of sarcasm.
Compared to Istanell though, he was downright cuddly. A smile curled his lips as he closed his eyes. He'd missed his brother a lot more than he thought he had. Despite the fact that they'd argued without really arguing the moment the adrenaline wore off and the pain set in. Despite the fact that Istanell still treated him as a child at times, even though they were only a year apart. It was the fact that he was there, in the flesh with him that made him happy.
...It probably helped that the cute Matorian boy was there, watching them as they interacted that helped Illian keep his cool. Otherwise he was sure that Istanell would have tried to throttle him.
Word Count: 315
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