He threw the last of his supplies into his worn, leather bag. Packed full of money, clothes, first aid, and various items, Sin didn't have any extra room. He'd been waiting for this day since his 18th birthday and finally it was here, the moment where he truly became a man!
His name was Sin Temuji, an inhabitant of Mandar, a territory of Gielinor. Mandar had become a territory during the Third Age and had failed to make much progress after hundreds of years. The region was technologically and scientifically behind that of the rest of Gielinor.
Its backwater nature aside, Mandar was a beautiful island to live on. Several beaches were open to anyone who needed sand, surf, and sun. Sin usually added babes to the end of that motto.
He took one last look at his room, with its cobalt blue walls and sandpaper flooring. Sin couldn't believe he'd lived in this tiny room for 18 years.
He was finally departing from the monastery he had been forced to live in after his father had abandoned him years ago. It had been on his fourth birthday when his father had stolen him away in the middle of the night to Mandar. Sin had questioned where they were going the entire horse ride to the shore, then boat ride to the island. His father had said absolutely nothing.
Sin's father justified leaving his only son on an island of monks by declaring that the experience would make a man out of him, and upon becoming a man, he could return to his rightful place beside him.
A scowl had unknowingly crossed his face; it happened every time he thought about his father.
He harbored unresolved and bitter feelings towards his father, Rorin. What father purposely leaves his son to rot on an island of monks? Sin had asked himself that question for years. Rorin had never even visited over the 14 years Sin had been on Mandar; his father had completely abandoned his only son.
As a kid, that was a hard lesson to learn: your father was a monster who has abandoned you, and there was nothing you could do about it. Naturally, he had replaced his father with the monk Geshu. The monk ran the monastery, and was also in charge of Sin's upraising.
Sin had had many fond memories with Geshu. Learning how to ride horseback, canoeing, sword fighting, fishing, hunting, and many other skills useful to learn in this world.
If the 18-year-old did not regret one thing, it was being raised by Geshu.
The tolling of a bell reminded Sin that it was nearly time to depart. The ferry was waiting for him, and it would not wait forever. As a birthday present from the monks, they had paid for his ticket to the mainland. They wouldn't be seeing him again, for it was his time to return to his father's right hand.
Sin's hand rested on the present Geshu had given him the night before: a sword.
Its hilt was made of metal, and was simply adorned, for the monks believed that over adornment was a great sin. The blade was silver and had been forged in the monastery's kiln.
Geshu had reminded him that a blade was not a weapon, but an extension of oneself. A blade needed to be treated and cared for as such. Sin had been taught never to value violence, but peace and inner tranquility.
Sin gathered his bag and strolled out to the gardens. The monks had gardens everywhere, but the one in front of the monastery was the most beautiful and extravagant. One would need to walk through it to reach the shores of Mandar, and subsequently reach the ferry.
He'd just reached the garden, when all the monks appeared from within the monastery. Side by side, in their dark brown robes, they looked like a long, brown wall. Geshu and a few of the elder monks stepped forward, meeting Sin halfway.
Geshu grabbed Sin's hands with both of his, tears flowing down his face. "The monks of Mandar will miss you, dear boy."
"As will I miss the monks, Geshu," Sin replied formally.
Geshu threw formality aside and threw his arms around Sin, bringing him into a giant, heartfelt hug, which Sin returned earnestly.
They broke away after a short time. Geshu and the elder monks shook the young man's hand, and wished him good luck in his travels. Refusing to cry, Sin turned his back on the only family he had ever knew, and headed for the dock.
A few short minutes later, Sin reached the only dock on the island. A small ferry was waiting beside the gangplank. Sin gathered his resolve and boarded.
The ferry departed, for it had no other passengers. What person, after all, would willingly come to an island of monks?
Sin passed his time playing chess with the ferry captain's first mate. It would be nearly half an hour before they reached the mainland; it seemed like a lifetime away to Sin.
What would his father say upon his return? Would he welcome his son with open arms and a tearful apology for abandoning him all those years ago? Or would he turn his son away, and say he never knew him?
These questions and more tossed and turned in Sin's mind, as he won every game of chess. The game of chess was a popular pastime for the Mandarin monks. When one found themselves following a vow of silence, chess could easily past the hours away. The monks weren't as strict as other monks were; hours of silence only occurred, at best, three times a week.
As a child, he had found it quite arduous to remain deliberately taciturn for long periods, and Sin had been castigated more than a few times. He had the habit of frightening the older monks, and on some occasions even replacing their pudding with mud. In due course Sin learned by trial and error, and became a model child-monk.
By his tenth birthday, the monks found him old enough to begin his training. This training is what really set the monks of Mandar apart from those on the mainland.
The monks followed the teachings of the deity Mandarin, which taught that though one should restrain from violence, sex, anger, lies, and worldly possessions and evil, you should also be prepared for tests from the gods. These tests had many forms: someone wishing to pick a fight, a beautiful and 'virgin' maiden, a lost bag of gold, or the stubbing of ones' toe.
There were two primary reasons, however, to why the Mandarin monks hid themselves from the public eye. Firstly, their deity commanded them thus. Secondly, in the eye of the common man, Mandarin did not exist and to believe as such was blasphemy to the other gods.
Sin had learned this the hard way. One day his curiosity got the better of him, and he rode the ferry to the mainland, in order to observe and take in the culture of his mainland brothers-his homeland. It wasn't long until a local gang of miscreants recognized his Mandar robes. Following him for several hours, they'd cast stones and called him vulgar names, until finally he turned to confront them.
This was Sin's second mistake in coming to the mainland: the locals did not take kindly to child-monks talking back. Sin had returned to the monastery covered in bruises and two black eyes.
He never went back to the mainland after his beating.
His opponent, first mate Simon, was losing badly. Most of his pawns had been captured, and he was currently in check. This meant that Sin was closer to winning. The first mate's eyes constantly casting about, was another clue to Sin's eventual win.
Sin motioned for his foe to make a move, yet he himself never showed an ounce of the impatience his adversary had shown during Sin's turns.
He watched the first mate like a hawk watched a mouse-carefully and with great persistence.
His adversary took a long, deep breath, and moved his bishop two spaces. An imaginary clock ticked as the passage of time grew longer, for neither Sin nor the first mate had moved. Simon's breathing had become irregular. Had he just sealed his king's fate?
Sin, on the other hand, was the picture of nerves. He neither blinked out of turn nor breathed. His steady hand hovered over his own bishop, as if to encourage certainty in his opponent, when he knew with utter sureness that he had won this chess match.
Picking his bishop up, he placed it along the king at a 100-degree angle.
His face drew level with Simon's face. His lips began to form the words that sent chills down the first mate's spine. "Checkmate, my friend."
Simon let out an exasperated sigh. "Alas, it would very much seem that you've bested me at my own game!"
Chuckling merrily, Sin shook his head. "No, Simon, it was never your game to begin with."
Sin's companion stood and motioned to shake his hand; Sin accepted it firmly. They had had a splendid match, Sin thought. The monks at the monastery he'd left, were only a challenge for a short duration. The young man loved an opportunity to match his wits evenly with another.
Simon made as if to sit down and inquired of Sin, "Care for another game?"
This was not to be, however, for the ferry's captain shouted to them shortly that the mainland was not but a few minutes away. Sin sadly withdrew to his quarters and collected his belongings.
Living with monks, Sin did not own many things. The few items he did have were those he had brought with him on his exodus all those years ago. A blanket; a sackcloth man filled with straw, now looking very thin; a toothbrush; some coin; a book titled, "Journey of Captain Khan"; and some extra clothes were all he had to his name.
It wasn't like he actually cared whether the valuables he did have were great in quantity; Sin Temuji was a simple monk.
Over on the horizon was Port Sarim, home to hundreds of fisherman and the greatest pub this side of the ocean. It was the very same place he had visited many years ago. The exact place where he'd been set upon by vandals.
That was a lifetime ago, though, and Sin knew that it was impossible that anyone should remember him.
As the ferry neared the docks, more of Sarim was discernable. A great many fishing boats were moored signaling that a storm must be brewing deep at sea. No fisherman dared sail under such hostile conditions.
But as far as Sin could tell, there wasn't a single cloud in the sky nor on the horizon.
He smelled trouble.
The captain approached him when the ferry had safely docked. "This be where we part ways, m' boy. I hope ya'll find Port Sarim to be a fine place."
Sin assured the captain that he would, and departed. As soon as his leather boots scraped the harbor's bricks, the ferry pulled up and sailed away.
Normally Sin would be apt to ponder over such a hasty exit, but his excitement got the better of him, and he made his way to the closet tavern for information.
McGayver was the tavern's name, and Sin could tell it was a seedy place, if not for the name, then for its rundown exterior. Stepping into the bar, he found this to be true for the interior.
Four tables lined the wall closest to him and the door. Sin counted at least ten men and women using these tables. Another four were sitting on the barstools, though only four out of six were there. A smoky haze that engulfed everything, however, obscured anything too far away. A bald man with a scar running down his left eyelid, who ran the bar, stole a glance at who had came through the door, then returned to his business.
A few of the patrons gave him a once-over, then, too, returned to their individual conversations. For this, Sin was glad; he didn't have a desire to be noticed.
The bald man at the bar looked up as Sin approached. He wiped a dirty rag across a grimy glass and spoke in a gravelly voice, "What'll you have, stranger?"
Sin answered simply, "Information."
The bartender glowered. "Depends on what type," he responded icily.
"I'm looking for someone."
"Yeah, who?"
"Rorin Tamuji."
For a moment, the man froze, but he quickly continued wiping glasses. "And what would you do a dumb thing like that for?"
This time it was Sin's turn to glower. "Can you help me or not?"
The bartender glanced around furtively, then when he was sure no one was looking their way, leaned in and whispered, "Go to this address. Midnight. Ask for Devyn. Don't be late."
When the man had resumed his previous actions, Sin stole a glance at the bar. A slip of paper with an address was scribbled onto it in sloppy cursive: 104 Main St.
The words "Ask for Devyn" were scrawled below the address.
Sin placed a silver piece on the bar, and left.
Next order of business was finding a place for the night. It wasn't too difficult to find an inn in the sprawling port city, but finding a decent one was a different question.
A few inns later, Sin was checking his bag into the Daylight Inn. He'd been assigned room 6. Opening the door, he softly threw his bag onto the bed. This caused a flurry of dust to erupt into the air.
Apparently the inn wasn't as clean as Sin had first thought. He locked the door, placed the key in his back pocket, and headed to Main Street. It was nearing midnight, so not many people were out and about, just women of the night and their patrons.
The only sound was his heavy footfalls on the cobbled street. It reminded him of that day he'd first seen Port Sarim; it had looked more presentable in those days, compared to its squalor now.
It had taken him months to save up for a ferry ticket, an even harder job when the monks had not paid him as much. Little had he known that he would regret ever stepping foot in Port Sarim.
He came back to reality when he noticed he'd arrived, and exactly at midnight. Sin took in the derelict two-story warehouse, steeled himself and turned the doorknob until it clicked. He placed a hand on the door and pushed, wondering what exactly he would find.
