Chapter One: A New Lease

The air was pleasantly cool just before the sunrise.
Shops were being opened by a motley assortment of
shopkeepers along the wide thoroughfare that was Caravan
Street. They and their assistants swept, wiped down
counters, and raised canopies over open shop fronts. They
were the majority of people on the street at this hour;
very few pedestrians were about. Those that were out were
rather nondescript, for the most part.

There was one man worth noting, however. He was an
intimidating figure, just over seven feet tall and well
muscled. Scars laced his hands, and likely his arms, although
they were not visible because of the long-sleeved cotton
shirt he wore. He was bald, and each of his ears came to a
short point, speaking of his half dwarven heritage. A long
scar stretched from his left temple, over his brow,
across his arching nose and to the right side of his jaw.
The slight and unfriendly frown he wore completed the
image, and strongly discouraged most from attempting to
strike up a conversation with the rather scary looking man.

If someone were to take the time to really look at him,
however, they would be surprised by his youth.
His cheeks had not yet lost all their boyishness, and his face
as a whole had an underdeveloped quality to it, as if it
wasn't quite ready to take the final step from adolescence
to adulthood yet. His eyes were an odd mixture of green
and honeyed gold, giving them an oddly gentle somberness for
someone so intimidating.

He walked alone down the street, his booted feet
hitting the firmly compacted dirt, with a soft
thud accompanying each strike of the heel. The sun was still
below the horizon, and he was nearly halfway to his destination.
He was making good time, and so he let his mind wander. He liked it
just before dawn, it was as quiet as the bustling city of Tyr
ever got. He continued walking, passing someone sweeping the
front of a shop.

"Hey, kid, catch!"

Something flew towards him, and reflexively his left
hand shot up from his side and caught it. He brought it up
to chest level and inspected it quickly. It was a roll of
fragrant brown bread, the top encrusted with little white
seeds. Surprised at the gift, he looked up to see who had
thrown it.

His attention was drawn to the shopkeeper he had
vaguely been aware of moments before; he was grinning.
Giving him a proper look now, the large man saw he was a
short, stocky human in his middling years. He had ruddy
cheeks and a brown scraggly beard. His brown eyes were
lively beneath bushy eyebrows.

"Mornin'," he said with a simple nod.

"Good morning," the big man responded, with a great
deal more trepidation.

The shopkeeper leaned his broom against the wall
behind him. He wiped one hand on his apron, and extended it
to the big man, taking a step towards him.

"Name's Rickard, what's yours?" he said with a warm
smile, pronouncing "Rickard" as "Rickerd".

The big man just stared at the offered hand, unsure as to
what to do with it. He looked into Rickard's friendly
brown eyes, and after a moment, he slowly put his own hand
out.

"Darus. My name's Darus," he said softly.

Rickard grabbed Darus's hand and shook it firmly,
clapping his free hand over the top of both briefly before
letting go.

"It's great to meet ya." he said, unperturbed by
Darus's discomfort.

"You're in the Tyrian Guard, aren't ya?"

Darus shifted awkwardly, "I am," and he looked down at the
roll in his hand, "Why did you give me this?" asked Darus
suddenly, looking sharply from the roll to Rickard.

Rickard looked right back at him, his smile gone.
After a long pause he opened his mouth and shut it again.

Thoughtfully, he started, "Every day, twice a day,
you walk past my shop. Once in the mornin', going one way, and
once in the evenin', goin' the other. Always alone.
Always with the same 'don't mess with me' look on your
face," he paused again, "and always with the same sadness
in your eyes. Why?" without pause, he continued, his words
flowing faster, "I see other guards. Groups a'em going to
the bar, or where ever, after their shifts are over.

You're never with any of them. A young, healthy, not
half bad lookin'," Darus's eyes widened at that, and he
started to stammer, looking thoroughly uncomfortable, but
Rickard glared at him, "What? It's true- ya got a roguish
thing goin' on with that scar that girls'd love if ya
weren't tryin' so hard ta scare 'em away," he
said pointedly.

"As I was sayin', a young, healthy, not half bad
lookin' man who has never, in the near about, oh, year I've
been seenin' him walk by my shop, gone out with friends. Not once!"

By that point he was almost shouting, although his
expression hadn't really changed. Darus flinched and took a
step back, looking away.

"I saw a young, healthy, and deeply lonely man.
One suspicious of kindness, and unused to compliments. I've
seen that every day, and today I decided to try and change
that. That's why I gave ya the roll," Rickard finished, his voice
soft and inviting.

Darus looked back to Rickard.

"I'm sorry. I am not used to kindness from freem- from
other races," he stammered.

Understanding filled Rickard's eyes.

"You were a slave." It wasn't a question.

He really should have guessed that; there hadn't been
many free mul before.

Darus nodded, and looked away, ashamed at his past.
He felt a hand on his arm, and looked back, surprised.
Rickard had placed his hand there, too short to put it on
Darus's shoulder.

"Kid, I wantchya to know three things. Number one, " he said, counting
off on his fingers, "not everyone who's been free their whole life is a bigot. I
ain't, and others of us are good people too. Number two,
you're young, and free, you should live like it. Number
three, everyone needs friends, and I do mean everyone.
Do you have any?"

He looked deep into Darus's eyes, speaking quietly
but with great meaning.

Darus stood still. Did he? He worked with the same two people
every day, but he had never gotten to know either of them. Not that
they hadn't tried, asking him to go out with them after their
shift, or even just trying to start up a conversation with him,
early on. He hadn't trusted it, so he had turned them down, and
shut down every conversation. Eventually they had stopped trying.

It hadn't bothered him until now.

It had actually been a relief when they had stopped trying to
befriend him. If he had learned anything in the Brickyards, it was
that people were temporary, and it was best to live without relying
on anyone but yourself.

He looked into Rickard's eyes. He was almost a total
stranger, but he had been so kind. Of course, it was only a roll, but
a roll was more kindness than he had ever been given in the
Brickyard. Could he call Rickard a friend?

Brown eyes. Warmth, honesty, concern.

Slowly a smile crept onto Darus's face. It was weak,
and felt strange, but it was there. Rickard returned the
smile encouragingly.

"I think I have at least one, now. Maybe a few more,
if I try, and it isn't too late."

Rickard grinned broadly, and squeezed his arm.

"I'm glad, Darus," he said, picked up the broom from where
he had leaned it against the wall, and started sweeping
again.

"Now go, and live," he told Darus with a wave.

Darus nodded thoughtfully, turned, and started walking
again. This time, a little different.

A/N: In case you haven't noticed,
there are/will be/might be
some kind-of-divergences
from the world/story canon when it
comes to the time line and such. I've
read the Prism Pentad books by
the wonderful Troy Denning, but
I'm not going by the timelines and canon
set out in those books, or any of the other
setting-specific books.

Rather shamefully, in fact, I'm just
using the 4e (don't shoot me, previous edition elitists)
Dark Sun Campaign Setting book,
and a little online research.
So there was a lot of room for my imagination
to run free on how the setting works, because
the setting book leaves a lot of room
for the user to make up stuff. Then
again, D&D encourages the tweaking of canon
to suit the individual user's needs.

Disclaimer: D&D and the Dark Sun
Campaign Setting don't belong to me,
obviously.