Fuirra
Being a thief had consequences, so Fuirra would learn from Geoff. In order for him to have all the food he wished, he would have to live nomadically and sometimes acquire no food for days on end. Thieving also meant he could not make friends. Which wasn't such a heart-break for Fuirra, he wasn't such a social person anyway. If he was he wouldn't be a thief.
But there were other reasons why Fuirra was forced into the harsh life-style of a thief, but Fuirra rarely shared memories, especially ones that might give access to people who wished to gain information on him.
Wham!
Fuirra ran rather hurriedly into a wall due to his eyesight being focused more on what was chasing him than where he was going. Fuirra regained consciousness quickly enough to finally learn what was chasing him. And it was no other than the Svalmarden local militia after him once more. This time because he stole some sourdough bread. On a normal circumstance, Fuirra could handle the situation without any acts of violence. But because of his mishap he would have to resort to it.
With incredible speed Fuirra turned 180 degrees to meet eye-to-eye with his predators that had caught up to him. He grabbed a hold of a close-line hanging roughly 4ft above him and smashed his foot into the militia-man's face, mean while turning around and climbing into the nearest window he could reach from where he was. As spears attempted, but failed, to soar into the window Fuirra was already out the other end of the house and heading towards the plaza hall. There, he could hitch a ride out of the urban part of Svalmarden and into its reduced part of town, where all the Gypsies lived and the homeless thrived.
Fuirra kept running toward the plaza, thinking rather foolishly that he was safe now, until an observation crow let out a frustrated caw letting Fuirra know he was being watched and monitored. And about 5 seconds later two armed guards jumped from behind some wannabe pillars and blocked Fuirra's preferred route. Instead, he veered right and led himself into the local pub. Fuirra got what he wanted, a building full of people drinking and cheering all the while Fuirra slipped his way to the back of the pub and out through the back door. Fuirra couldn't run anymore. He was weary from the chase and that observation crow was bound to be looking for him. So Fuirra sat for a second and broke a part a bite sized piece of bread for him to replenish on. Oh, and did Fuirra choose wisely this time. The bread felt and tasted great, unlike the Olive loaf he unfortunately snatched in a flurry on his most recent escapade.
When he caught his breathe, Fuirra pushed himself off the sand-stone ground and crept his way between the two buildings. One loud and boisterous filled with laughter and merriment, the other, silent and unvoiced. With no windows or close-lines packed with damp clothes. Fuirra would commit this spot to memory. It would make a nice hiding point next time.
The rest of the walk was pleasant enough, aside from the constant hiding and jumping into alley ways. But when Fuirra felt most safe was when he rounded the corner to have his favorite person waiting for him, Geoff.
"Boy am I glad to see you," began Fuirra. But instead of the usual reply received, he was given a hard slap across the face.
"You stirred up more nonsense didn't ye'?" Geoff roared, "Ye' went and hurt another guard? Well next time I come here and see this much fuss cause' you went and hurt somebody, I'm turning back!" Geoff was allowed to be angry with Fuirra of course, but why did he hit him Fuirra thought. It had been a long time before since Geoff hit Fuirra. He normally didn't even yell at the boy. But Fuirra resisted from crying. He learned long ago that crying got you nothing. "Now," said Geoff in a softer term, "I hope ye' got some good bread this time."
Fuirra smiled as they hopped onto Geoff's Kern-Ibex and strode off into the lesser ward, eager for dinner.
The bay-leaf aroma filled the air as Geoff slowly cooked some left-over beans. Fuirra's houses, whether temporary or not, always smelled like burning sage or bay-leaf or something herbal. Geoff had a taste for that sort of stuff. One of Fuirra's first lessons was; never think food is the only thing you're allowed to steal. Geoff taught Fuirra that thieving was the black-sheep path, so to speak. It was what people did if they had no other choice or had a sick sense of humor. He taught Fuirra, half the people you steal from don't deserve it. But the other half, they do. He also taught Fuirra to never steal with somebody else, or trust somebody else you're stealing with. He said he was the only exception.
"But why not?" Fuirra would persist, "I steal with you, why not anybody else? I trust people enough to believe they won't rip me off, especially considering the position I'm already in. Nobody is that cruel."
"That is where you're wrong. You trust too much in people. You believe people would help you if they could, but they won't, they're monsters lad. They believe that we are scum, which should be stepped upon."
The room's fragrance changed into a pine-like aroma. Fuirra found that coincidentally odd. As Geoff's mood changed, the aroma did as well, he thought. He remembered that in his early, and only, years in school he was taught that aromas and auras are linked in a celestial-like way. Only true mages could tell you that information he was told. Fuirra's dream was to become a mage, but since he was born without any magick in his blood he was bound to a different path. Geoff always told him he would probably end up as a Rouge.
"Do ye' understand yet?" Geoff had obviously just finished quite the speech that Fuirra fortunately missed.
"Yes, I do."
Treyy
It was so hot; Treyy couldn't even conjure up saliva in his mouth. Breathing hurt his lungs and swallowing hurt his throat. Treyy would walk five steps, fall dramatically to his knees, take a sip of water from his bottle, and then get up and walk some more.
Treyy was furious with himself as well, he shouldn't have left, he kept thinking. Why did I leave? He going to get himself killed out here and he knew it. Wandering into the Sanded Sea alone with only two wine bottles full of water and some wheat. His grandparents did this to him though, he would repeat to himself. They would push his limits. It was their fault.
But what really happened is quite different.
Tremstent, the city by the Sanded Sea, was a medium sized city. It probably wouldn't exist if the King's brother didn't die there, thus making it one of the kingdom's land marks. Tremstent was a dry city with few trees. The only suitable water source in the city was a large oasis where children would play and grown-ups would talk and drink. The population averaged around 300 people, including women and children. Strong winds were always whipping against their skins and faces and spraying sand into their eyes. So the civilians wore turbans to protect themselves. The sky was always empty and most assumed it was a dry as the ground they walked upon. Only the local geographer and the scholars really knew why their city was dry. And now, Treyy knew too. It was something called rain-shadow. The affect was caused by a near-by mountain or mountain range acting as obstacles blocking the clouds from reaching the other side of that mountain, which happened to be where Tremstent and the Sanded Sea lay. When Treyy found this out he wondered why the children or grown-ups weren't told of this mountain range. Obviously, Treyy figured, there was something over or on that mountain that kept the people of Tremstent from exploring or visiting this mountain range. When Treyy told his grandpa and grandma his plans to reach the mountain they were rather displeased. When Treyy persisted, they locked him in his room. That's how Treyy ended up here, in the desert, with no more than two bottles of water and his twin-bomber, the only reason he felt safe from enemies.
A twin-bomber is a large boomerang, or two large boomerangs, attached by a chain. They release from one another easily so that they can be thrown with accuracy and attach to one another easily so that they can be used in close combat. A weapon like this is only found in desert regions and sometimes rare there too. The individual boomerangs also have razors on their curved sides so that they can cut through most obstacles in their path. They were truly dangerous weapons. Few can use them; only Aviests can master them.
Treyy, he was an Aviest.
Rerick
Rerick's rapidly beating heart and stressed breathes were heard over all the rustling of Vasille's immense and ever-lasting foliage surrounding him. Fright and shock had taken over his body leaving him immobile and solid as rock. The forest seemed to overwhelm him physically and mentally. Possibly spiritually. It was forbidden to enter the Forest of the Wingless, but curiosity took over Rerick's body and mind as the forest had done and he stumbled in their with only a wooden sword and shield for protection against whatever may lay in this dark void of lifelessness.
A garden variety of noises filled Rerick's ears making him dizzy. His head was spinning faster than usual and he could only see green and brown blurs when he attempted to look at the trees. But suddenly, Rerick felt a hot, sharp something running down his back. He was terrified of what might be behind him, scathing his back. He almost lost hope. His knees were beginning to weaken under his weight. The claw was slowly pushing into his skin, deeper into his soul, and clawing away at his physical existence. Rerick saw thick, black smoke rising and twisting from behind him. As the claw pushed deeper, the smoke grew thicker. Rerick fell onto his knees, breathing smoke with rough gasps. Then, the claw, with extreme speed, withdrew from his back and the smoke resided.
Rerick gathered himself quickly, eager for revenge. He rose and turned to see a demon with smoke rising from its coal-like skin. It was fighting with a hunter equipped with a bow and a quiver full of arrows. The demon had thin wings, full of holes and tears of all sizes. They certainly didn't look capable of flying or hovering for that matter.
Rerick was almost amazed. This was The Wingless, the beast that haunted these forests. The creature everyone feared. But the thought was instantly destroyed when the creature leapt onto the now unarmed hunter and dug his claw into the man's ribs. The hunter was screaming beyond belief with agony and pain, well aware of what was happening. Rerick couldn't take it anymore,
He swiftly picked up his sword off of the ground and charged.
"Run!" The hunter kept screaming over Rerick's enraged battle cry. "Run!"
But Rerick continued his assault. When he reached the proper range he hurled the wooden sword into the creatures back. The Wingless let out a cry. The noise its self was so excruciating nobody could describe it in words. The Wingless continued to wail and moan, releasing its claw from the hunter's ribs in the process. But it was far too late, the hunter was still. No more screaming or cries for help. He was simply still, and white as sheet. Rerick saw no blood, but expected the worst. So he ran.
He ran away. He didn't care whether he was going deeper into the forest; he simply knew that what he saw was death. And people that see death, they become warriors. Rerick's intention was not to become a warrior, but a sorcerer. A mage. Someone of more significance than a man who fought for all the wrong reasons. But those who see death, they loose most of their magick that runs through their veins and are instead filled with hate and thirst for something they couldn't even explain. A warrior's path was not Rerick's first choice. But on the brighter side, Rerick would still obtain some of the magick in his blood.
And while he ran, his path was being chosen. His destiny predetermined. He would inevitably rise as Rerick Istl, the Paladin of Vasille.