"There can be no keener revelation of a society's soul than in the way which it treats is children." ~Nelson Mandela.
Cyrodiil, Nibenay Valley, Niben Bay, Bravil
16th of Rain's Hand (Hist-Deek), 4E 187
"Spare a coin for a poor young beggar?"
The hatchling sat in his usual spot on the barren, rain-soaked, muddy streets. On the empty corner between Dahnoud's and Briegiuis Opsata's houses. He sat on his ankles, his head halfway between lowered and raised. His arms stretched outwards. Palms faced upwards to the sky.
"Just one coin. That's all I need. One coin, and maybe I can buy breakfast…"
He reached a shaking hand up to his scalp to brush dirt from the soiled tuft of feathers adorning it. In vain, he brushed dust from the opposable horns of tan bone sitting upon his brow.
Growl.
He grimaced and pressed a hand to his growling stomach. Empty and constricting in on itself. He smacked his lips. A tongue dryer than sand licked the insides of a parched mouth.
He looked up at the sounds of doors slamming open, followed by a cacophony of footsteps at varying speeds. All around him, Bravil stirred to life. He sat up straight and crawled out of the shadows of the alleyway, emerging into the daylight.
"Ugh!" A short-haired, brunette, thin Imperial woman in a dark brown burlap dress clapped a hand to her nose. "What in blazes is that wretched stench?!" To her right, the hatchling flinched at the aggressive tone in her words. He withdrew from her gaze and shifted away in the opposite direction.
"E…excuse me, m-m-miss…" he held out his palms to her. His voice came out cracked, almost lifeless. "Can—can you perhaps sp-spare a coin?" The other townspeople walked and passed by them without sparing so much as a glance in their direction.
"Oof! What a stink!" The Imperial recoiled from him, waving an outstretched hand as if to ward him away. "When was the last time you took a bath, scaleskin?"
"Please don't call me that…" The hatchling murmured under his breath. "Can you at least spare one coin?" He asked in a small, timid voice. "Or—or m-maybe a slice of bread and a—a…"
He cleared his empty throat. It scratched and ached with each breath he took. "A cup of water?"
"Hmph!" The woman turned her head in the opposite direction and stuck her nose up in the air. "As if I would give anything of mine to the likes of an atrocious, stinking, homeless street orphan Argonian such as you!"
"Please don't say that…" The hatchling backed away at her words. His face creased into a painful grimace. "You're really hurting my feelings. I'm not an atrocious, stinking, homeless street orphan Argonian…"
"Quiet!" The woman snapped back in a vicious tone. The hatchling flinched on the spot. "Don't you have a Dunmer-owned farm to be working on right now, you walking talking gardening tool? Utterly disgusting!"
The hatchling had scarcely a second to process her words before she hoisted up her dress. She turned her back on him and walked away.
"Wait—!" the hatchling called out. But the Imperial woman had blended into the growing crowd and vanished.
The hatchling groaned and pressed his hands to his empty stomach once again. It growled and rumbled audibly underneath his palms. He grunted in effort as he pushed himself to his quivering feet.
"Oh, excuse me, sir! Sir!" He waved a frantic hand in the air to grab the attention of an Imperial man with a brunette mullet and a square jaw. He wore a rather expensive blue suit complete with blue swede shoes, and was exiting the Fighter's Guild. "Can you spare me a coin, or perhaps some food and water? Please?"
"Why, you poor little thing!" The Imperial trotted straight over to him, sneaking a furtive glance over your shoulder. "You look starved half to death, dear boy! Of course I can give you something, lad!"
He reached into a messenger bag that hung across his shoulder. From its pocket, he pulled out a small morsel of freshly-baked bread. "Here, you can have my leftover breakfast, if you'd like. I daresay I ate too much today."
"Oh, thank you ever so much, sir!" The hatchling's fingers wiggled as he reached out to take the piece of bread. "Divines bless your kind—"
"Fortillius Laenapter!"
Fortillius froze on the spot. The hatchling gasped and stopped halfway.
"Oh, no…" Fortillius' face folded into a painful grimace. He pivoted on his heels with a loud, anxious gulp. "Ildolles Flonidius!"
"What in the names of all the gods do you think you're doing, Fortillius?!" A round-faced, black-haired and bearded heavyset Imperial clad shoulders to toes in gleaming steel armor stormed towards Fortillius.
"Ildolles!" Fortillius stood up straight, shuffling to hide the piece of bread behind his back. The hatchling gulped and shrank back behind his legs. "I…I wasn't doing anything at all! Just taking in the lovely weather and the sunlight. Beautiful after the rain, don't you agree? Heheheh…"
He forced a half-hearted, innocent smile onto his face. Though it clashed with the undeniable sheepish embarrassment in his eyes. Behind him, the hatchling cowered, hiding his face in his hands.
"Taking in the weather and the sunlight?" Ildolles repeated, suspicious. Eyes narrowed into a dark scowl. He peered at the gremlin cowering behind Fortillius' legs. "And giving away precious food to lowly beggars on the street?"
"No, no, of course not!" Fortillius protested, holding up his hands. But he still held the piece of bread in his pam. "I was merely—"
"Do you even have any idea how expensive food is these days, Fortillius?!" Ildolles stormed towards Fortillius in a tame but building rage. He seized Fortillius by the shoulders and turned him straight around to face the hatchling, who flinched—for the second time that day—and withdrew from them.
Ildolles gestured with a condemning hand at the hatchling. "Giving away food with reckless abandon to these…" His face contorted into an almost hateful death glare. "Street urchins?!"
"I am not a street urchin!" the hatchling shot back at the tops of his lungs.
"I was only trying to help—mmf!" But Ildollles clapped his hand to his fellow Imperial's mouth.
"You can help by not helping!" He spun Fortillius around, turning his back to the hatchling. "You know our rules! We are mercenaries for hire! Not charity workers in humanitarian and welfare service!"
Fortillius wrenched Ildolles' hand off his mouth. "We are supposed to uphold the traditions of the Empire!" he argued, struggling against Ildolles' grip. "We are mercenaries fighting for the betterment of our own people! For Bravil! We are supposed to helping the people of this city! This Empire!"
"This Empire, Fortillius?!" Now Ildolles' rage came bursting forth, his voice deafening. Fortillius and the hatchling both clapped their hands to their ears.
"The Empire is dead! A soulless shadow of its former self! We now fight for a broken, faceless, soulless shell of a city we once called 'Bravil'!"
He shoved the mercenary up onto the porch of the Fighter's Guild building.
"Sir, I—!"
The vigorous Ildolles seized Fortillius by the shoulders once again and shook him. His brown eyes were white-hot tongues of primal flame. Fortillius cried out loud, his head rattling from his superior's manhandling.
"And might I remind you that we work in the service of gold? Not humanitarianism!?"
He snatched the bread from Fortillius' hand to prove his point. Fortillius bobbed and weaved to try to take it back. Ildolles shoved it deep into a small satchel which hung from the belt of his armor.
"Hey, that's mine!" The hatchling clambered up the steps and leaped at Ildolles' satchl. "Mr. Fortillius was giving it to me!" Ildolles sidestepped the child and thrust his hands out.
They caught the hatchling in the chest and stomach and shoved him backward. The hatchling screamed and launched back. He rolled down the stairs and plunged into the rain-soaked muddy grass.
"Ildolles!" Fortillius seethed. Now he fed his superior his own cold, furious, teeth-gritted death glare.
"Now you get back in there and attend to your contracts, Fortillius!" Ildolles grabbed the handle of the front door of the Fighter's Guild. "I don't want to see you leaving headquarters again unless it's on a job! And you!"
His finger of accusation jabbed at the hatchling, lying in the mud, whining and crying to himself. "I don't want to catch you beginning on this street ever again, do you understand?! Or I'll toss you out of this city myself! Walking sack of lizard filth! Do you understand me?!"
"But—sir!" The hatchling cried out, his heart wrenching. Small tears sprang to and stung his eyes. "But—I!"
"No buts!" Ildolles countered. He wrenched open the door of the Fighter's Guild and shoved a protesting Fortillius through it. "Why don't you go to the Count and Countess if you want food and money? They'll help you out!" He sniffed once, then wrinkled his nose.
"And take a bath, would you?"
Slam!
The hatchling whimpered and sniffled as he pushed himself to his feet. He pressed mud-soaked his hands to his aching chest and stomach. Freezing soaking mud stained his sleeveless roughspun tunic and knee-length trousers.
He sniffed the insides of his armpits, and choked and gagged. He pulled back and stuck his tongue out at the stench.
"Ugh. Maybe they were right. Maybe I really do a need a bath."
Growling, he lunged himself at one of the wooden posts that held up the patio of the Fighter's Guild. His wicker sandal-clad foot whipped out to kick it.
"So mean!" He shouted aloud. "It's not fair!" A kick emphasized each word. "Kuuda!"
Cradling his stomach and smacking his lips, he retreated once more into the shadows of his alley.
"Maybe if I find the other beggars…" he thought aloud to himself. "They might be willing to share some of their food with me." He crept and slunk his way through the shadowed, narrow alleyways of the town. "I wonder where they ended up after the rain from last night?"
Suddenly, he stopped and dropped to a low crouch at the end of the alleyway. A passing quintet of city guards passed by him a yard away. Their solid riveted chainmail armor adorned their bodies. Imposing and authoritative, they seemed to tower over him.
He shuddered at the Silver Longswords hanging from their waists, and the large bronze-colored shields strapped onto their arms. Their eyes darted every which-way with all the attentiveness and scrutiny of a hawk on the lookout for its morning prey.
He watched them pass down the street to the intersection. One of them made a series of strange motions, then the group dispersed. Three turned down the left way, while the other two disappeared down the right turn.
A sigh of relief escaped the hatchling. Collecting himself, he broke into a half-sprint and bolted out into the light. Faster than an arrow released from a bowstring, he dashed across the street into the next alleyway.
Sitting cross-legged in the dirt and mud were three human beggars. He kept low in the shadows as he hurried his way to them.
"Shor's bones, boy!" exclaimed the beggar closest to him, an emaciated ginger male Nord with a scraggly beard and messy matted hair. "You look like you spent the night in a sinkhole!"
"Very funny, Mr. Sorkund," the hatchling plopped himself on the ground beside the Nord. He pulled his knees up to his chest and wrapped his arms around his shins. His tail coiled around his feet. "I tried begging on the street. But one lady called me…"
He gulped and blinked back tears. "An atrocious, stinking, homeless, street orphan Argonian. And this guy at the Fighter's Guild called me a street urchin."
"Well, I hate to break it to you, kid," a scrawny, skinny, white-haired female Imperial in ragged robes explained in a rather blunt tone. "But that's exactly what you are. You gotta make something of yourself. Or people of this gods-forsaken town will never see you as anything less than what you are."
"Yeah, what Epollina said, kid," Sorkund nodded in agreement, and the hatchling narrowed his eyes in utter disbelief. "Take our advice. If I were you—which I sure am glad I'm not—I'd hightail it straight back to the marsh."
"The marsh?" the hatchling repeated, tilting his head to one side in honest confusion. "But how could I even get there? I don't even know what the marsh is, let alone where!"
"That's the reality in living without home and money and parents, kid," Sorkund shook his head and stared down the alleyway, wistful. "Nowhere generation. That's who we are; what we're meant to be. Always and forever."
"Forgotten, abandoned, hopeless," Epollina added, staring into the distance in no direction, lost in thought. "The scum of the earth."
"Don't be so hard on the poor boy," a middle-aged Breton woman piped up opposite them. She pushed herself off the wall she had been sitting against and crept towards the hatchling. "It's not his fault he's living on the streets without a home or family."
She reached out to take the Argonian's hands in her own, filthy and coated with dirt as they were. "The boy's a victim of circumstance and there's nothing he can do about it, just like us."
"Thank you, Juliona," was all the hatchling could mumble out in response.
"Here, child," Juliona dug into her back pocket and withdrew a slice of bread. "You can have this whole thing if you like."
At this, the hatchling's face lit up for the first time that morning. "Wait—really?!" His eyes twinkled like stars.
"Really," Juliona's face broke into a broad smile. "Go on, take it! Make sure you eat the whole thing, aye?"
The hatchling moved to take the slice of bread, licking his lips—
"Hey!" "Umph!"
Sorkund's elbow shot into his side and lurched him sideways. Splat! He landed right in the mud.
Sorkund lunged at Juliona to grab the bread. Juliona cried out, but in vain. Sorkund wrenched the slice of bread from her hands. Juliona also fell onto her back in the mud.
"Juliona!" the hatchling scrambled to his feet and ran to her side. "Are you okay?"
"I'm fine, kid," Juliona managed a reassuring smile and sat up. "Sorkund! What's gotten into you? I was giving that bread to the Argonian!"
"It's every person for themselves when you're a beggar!" Sorkund held the bread high up in the air and moved it left and right, out of the reach of a jumping and flailing Epollina. "We get whatever we can get to elevate ourselves above our fellow beggars! No matter who suffers on the side!"
"Hey, that's not fair!" the hatchling fumed, raising his clenched fists. "Juliona was giving that to me! It was supposed to be mine!"
"Well, it's mine now!" Sorkund shoved half of the bread into his mouth. The ravenous Epollina pulled the other half out of his jaws and wolfed it down. "You want bread, you get it yourself!"
"Give it!" The hatchling dove at the two beggars. But Sorkund and Epollina sidestepped him. He fell flat into the mud (for what would probably not be the last time that day) on his stomach.
"Fine!" The hatchling climbed promptly back onto his feet and turned away from the three beggars. Mud stained and dripped from his roughspun tunic and trousers. "That's what I'll do! I'll get it myself!"
"Wait!" Juliona called and reached out a hand to protest. But the hatchling had already broken into a sprint. He sped down the alleyway out of sight.
Breadsmith
Across from the Lonely Suitor Lodge, adjacent to the Archer's Paradox, there stood a bakery. The Breadsmith had unlocked its doors and opened its shutters. The crispy, yeasty, sweet smell of baking bread wafted out into the streets of the town.
The baker grabs the handle of his semicircular oven and pulls it open. A wave of smothering heat and lively flame washes over him. He raises an instinctive arm to shield his face with a chuckle. Grabbing the wooden paddle, he watches with meticulous eyes as he picks up his freshly-baked bread. The paddle makes smooth but noisy scrapes inside of the brick oven.
The baker pulls his first fresh loaf of sourdough bread out of the oven. A slight acidic, tangy, and sour smell wafts under his nostrils.
He pokes it with a mitt-covered finger. It crackles and compresses to the touch. He squeezes it in his palm. A symphony of crackles and compressions fills his eardrums. Almond slices are scattered within the dough. The baker chuckles and puts the sourdough loaf aside on a metal wire cooling rack.
From the oven he pulls four more loafs of bread, one by one. They all lay on the cooling rack to settle. The baker leaves his paddle in the rack underneath the oven.
He takes a swig from a flask hanging from his hip. Ice-cold mint tea washes over his mouth and down his throat. It cools his warm brow and face riddled with sweat from the sweltering oven. Pocketing the flask in his satchel, he picks up the wooden paddle again. With it, he proceeds to put a new batch of doughy unbaked brioche into the oven.
The fire roars to life upon immediate contact with the soft and pudgy dough. A yeasty vanilla scent permeates the entire bakery. On the other side, another fireplace crackles in a distant corner. He spaces out with meticulous care the new batch of bread using a spatula pulled from the pocket of his apron.
Ding, ding! A little brass bell above the door announced his first customer. Just in time, he thinks to himself. He put away the paddle and wiped flour and bread crumbs from his hands.
"Sala kha'jay!" An adult white-furred Khajiit with black masklike markings on his face entered through the open doorway. "Another day at the oven, eh, Statori?"
"Dras'kay, trevan Jakino!" a female Khajiit threw the baker a cheerful wave, her other paw occupied in her husband's. Her fur was a rusty gray, her masklike markings a sunny yellow with a vague tint of amber.
Behind his counter, Jakino Statori smiled back at the Cathay-raht Khajiit. "Good morning, Ayiheh, Shurassa!" He threw a leg out to push the lid of the oven shut. "Honest work means honest bread. And honest bread means honest coin! Now then!"
He clapped his hands together and planted them on his counter. "What can I get the lovely Tavakani couple?"
"Anything in particular you'd like, Shurassa?" Ayiheh turned and asked his wife, who stood beside him paw-in-paw.
Shurassa leaned down to inspect the tall glass cases sitting beneath the glass counter. A treasure trove of bread lined the wooden trays stacked within the glass, from crusty baguettes to fluffy brioche, and the newly-baked almond-riddled sourdough. Wheat and white bread flanked the sides, adjoined to dark earthy rye and coarse sweet pumpernickel. In both the left and rightmost corners, braided bread was stacked with garlic, potato, lavender, onion, and honey loaves.
"This one would love to try your new sourdough," Shurassa told Jakino, straightening up.
"Ayiheh will have the garlic bread, thank you," Ayiheh nodded, again taking his wife's hand, the other already pulling out his coinpurse.
"Fantastic!" Jakino clapped his hands and smiled from ear to ear. "I'll get those right away. And both of those will be 5 Septims each." He bent down to open the glass cases and fetch the specific breads his customers had requested. "The sourdough is just fresh out of the oven, so it might still be a little bit hot! Are you all right with almonds, Shurassa?"
"Jat," Shurassa nodded, removing 5 coins from her own purse. "This one has no allergy."
"Thank the gods." Jakino bagged each of the bread and passed them across the counter to the two Khajiit. They handed him their 5 Septims each in return.
"Great choices, my friends," Jakino couldn't stop smiling, a genuine, human smile. He watched the two Khajiit sit down together at a nearby table standing against the wall, bread in paws. "Enjoy your bread, and let me know if I can get you anything else!" He dropped their coins into a small chest on the counter.
Ding, ding!
"Hello!" Jakino beamed at the new customer. "Good morning and welcome to the Breadsmith—oh, my word!"
A short Argonian child had entered in through the front door. Mud and dirt coated his roughspun clothes. Pale string veins furnished his irregularly-shaped and discolored scales. He had a noticeable absence of muscle mass and fat all over his body. Body tissue barely clung to his glaringly visible skeleton. The purple feathers adorning his brow looked thin and brittle in the morning sunlight. The twin bone horns upon his forehead looked thin and dull. Tiny gaping holes and hollow spaces speckled them.
"Um…hello, sir." He walked on timid feet, his hollow eyes drawn to the glass display cases. "Do-do you have bread here? I really need something for my breakfast. Anything, please, sir…" He pressed a hand to his stomach, which grumbled noisily, and grimaced.
"Mor kha'jay!" Shurassa clapped her paw to her muzzle. "Smelly Argonian!"
"Saxhleel…" the hatchling corrected her under his breath. He hugged himself and inched closer to the display cases.
"Ziss!" Ayiheh shrunk close to the wall."When was the last time you took a bath, beastkin?" He waved his paw from side to side, as if warding away the hatchling's acrid stench.
Jakino bit his lip, furrowing his brow in thought. "I don't know, little one. Can you pay?"
The hatchling glanced back up at him, his eyes widened in abject horror. "I…I don't have any money on me. But maybe you could spare a sample? Or even half a loaf?" He reached out to the Imperial as if entreating and reassuring him. "I-I promise I'll find some way to pay you back!"
His heart sank when the baker replied with a nonchalant shrug. "I'm sorry, kid. But laws are laws. No coin, no bread."
"Please!" Tears now sprang to the hatchling's eyes. He clutched at his stomach and withdrew from the glass, stumbling back. "I'm so hungry! I haven't had anything to eat all day! No one will give me food or water! You're my last hope! Please, can you help me or not?"
"No, and that's final!" Jakino jabbed a disciplining finger at the hatchling, who flinched and withdrew even further away from the glass. "No means no!"
"I! Want! My! Bread!"
The hatchling dashed towards and leaped up at the counter. Jakino jumped backwards in surprise. The hatchling landed flat on his stomach and wriggled over to the other side.
He didn't even cry out from the impact. But only pushed himself back to his feet.
Jakino moved to grab him. But the hatchling ducked beneath his arms. Jakino lunged out a leg to trip him up. The hatchling spun around his frantic legs. He whipped out his tail to slap Jakino's ankles.
"Yowch!" Jakino crumpled and fell flat on his rear, holding ankles. A stinging pain shot through his body. "Gods, that smarts—Hey!"
The hatchling seized an almond sourdough bread from the display case. Then he jumped and wriggled onto the counter once more. Jakino climbed back to his feet, but in vain.
The hatchling fell from the counter and rolled onto the floor—all the way up to the Khajiit's table. Shurassa squealed out loud and backed away from him. Ayiheh held his bread up in the air and behind himself.
He didn't even give them a glance. The hatchling clambered to his feet and dashed straight out the door.
"No!" Jakino pushed himself up and over his counter and hurried out the door after the hatchling. "Call the guards!" he commanded the Khajiit couple. "That's my bread!" he bellowed down the streets of Bravil.
The hatchling sprinted at full speed through the dirty windswept cobblestone streets of Bravil. He clutched the warm, freshly-baked sourdough bread close to his chest. He bolted as fast as his wicker sandals could carry him.
Gravel, dirt, and mud kicked up in his wake. The irate voice of the baker slashed through the wind behind him.
The hatchling pushed villagers aside or dashed between them without breaking pace.
"Hey! Watch where you're going, street urchin!" A Breton snapped as the Argonian knocked him onto the wall of a house.
"Sorry, sir!" he apologized over his shoulder.
"Lanistar!" the baker's voice pierced through his ears once again. "Stop that Argonian, Mr. Arthsoric!"
"Don't you know it's bad manners to push people around, kid?" The hatchling burst through between a female Nord and her husband. She shot the Argonian a disapproving glower.
"Yes, ma'am! Sorry ma'am!" he waved in apology behind himself. The other hand still held the bread secure to his chest.
"Anskalla! Bathof! Stop him!" In the distance Jakino had turned the corner and called to the Nord couple.
"Get back here with my bread!" He waved his spatula around in the air. "Guards! Thief!"
The Argonian dared not look over his shoulder. He sped breakneck through the village streets.
Eyes stayed fixed forward. They blinked out the buffeting late morning wind drying them out. His pace only increased when the furious shouts of the Imperial baker pierced through the deafening wind into his reptilian ears.
Left, right. Up, down. Diagonal. He could not stop or slow down.
A clattering of metal boots had now accompanied the already earsplitting cacophony.
Oh, no! The Town Guard!
The heavy metal boots drew closer until they were almost on his heels.
A burst of adrenaline spiked in his veins.
No time to think about where it came from!
He bolted even faster over the long hanging bridge leading to the north square. Loud, harsh voices compelled him to stop. No good.
He hurried past the Fighter's Guild and The Fair Deal. He turned the corner at the intersection near the main city gate.
The Guards and the baker's voices receded into distant echoes. The Argonian slowed his pace down to a jog.
No one around here. He had emerged into a residential area empty of people. Where is everybody? Not a single villager was present in the area.
Then all his senses perked up. Shouting and metal boots on stone were coming his way.
He dashed behind the nearest house. He hopped and crouched down behind a closed wooden fence. The bread he still held close to his chest.
The group of guards rushed by him. The baker tailed close behind them. They stopped him in the center of the street. Their tall and lengthy shadows cast over the fence and muddy grass around him.
"Did you see him run this way, Mr. Statori?"
"I…I think so, Officer Breman," the baker sounded out of breath. The hatchling could hear him panting and gasping. "But now I'm…not so sure. He's a…a quick fella…for an Argonian."
"Could've sworn to the Eight I saw him dash off in this direction, Captain…"
"Don't you worry, Mr. Statori. We'll keep looking. We'll help get your stolen bread back."
"Everyone split up. If you see the thief, give a holler. Breman, take your men and check on the east side. Accantea, search the west side with your group. Statori, you're with me; we'll search everywhere else."
"He's a small Argonian hatchling. Child-sized, malnourished, thin. Can't be any taller than your waist, Captain Gemanius…"
He watched and listened until they were out of sight and earshot.
If I can make it to the alley on the other side, I'll be in the free and clear!
He mustered his strength and burst out of the wooden gate. His feet carried him to the other side.
He looked over his shoulder for a split second—
"Whoa!"
His sandals caught in a thin crevice in the cracked and split cobblestone. He lurched forward—
"Oof!"
-and flopped onto the dirty street on his stomach. The bread flew out of his hands and landed flat on the stone.
He lifted his head and collected himself. Again he blinked the wind out of his eyes. He reached up a hand to wipe stone sediment from his face.
The bread had landed beneath the low awning of what seemed like a long-abandoned store, safe from the dirt. He crawled on his stomach to retrieve it. But then—
"There you are!"
A pair of rough strong hands seized him by the back of his shirt collar.
"Gotcha, you thieving little twerp!"
"No!"
Dirty calloused hands lifted him off his feet and into the air to Jakino's eye level. The Argonian thrashed his scaly arms around and waved his feet in the air. He flailed and fought against the baker's grip, though futile.
"Let me go! Let me go!"
But the baker growled and tossed him aside.
"Ow-houch!" The hatchling slammed hard on the cold solid cobblestone. "Ow…" his injured groan mixed with a pained whimper.
"Back into the dirt where you belong, thief!" Jakino roared. "Maybe now you'll think twice before stealing from my bakery again!"
The Argonian pulled himself up from the painful landing and lay on his side. "No! Give it back!"
"No!" Jakino glared sharp daggers at him, eyes burning like white-hot fire. The same primal flames the hatchling remembered from Ildolles Flonidius' eyes. "A thief is a thief, lid! If I catch you in my bakery ever again, I'll chop your scaly hands off!"
"That's my bread!" The hatchling protested as he climbed to his feet. He clenched his fists and narrowed his eyes in heated anger at the baker.
But then the color drained from his face. He froze in place as the Town Guards swarmed him from all sides.
"Is this him, Jakino?" Captain Gemanius asked, pointing at the hatchling. "Is this the one who stole from your bakery?"
"Aye, Captain," Jakino bent down to pick up the sourdough, heaving with bottled fury. He brushed dirt and sediment off the almond-speckled loaf. "He's the one."
"Herisius! Florin!" The Captain gestured to his men, then again at the hatchling with the same finger. "Grab him!"
Two armored officers seized the hatchling's arms and pulled him backwards.
"Get off me!" the wild hatchling fought back against them. "I'm not a thief! I only took it because I was hungry! Please! Let me go!"
"Shut up!" the furious Jakino snapped at the helpless Argonian child already being led away by the guards. "Shut your mouth, you wretched little street rat!"
"Give my bread back!" the Argonian screamed at the tops of his lungs.
"Silence!" Slap!
Jakino had raised his hand and slapped the hatchling across the face. He cried out and slumped defeated in the guards' arms, whimpering from the blow. His left cheek stung and burned.
"Please…"
"I've had enough of this!" Jakino turned his back on the pathetic sight. "Guards, take him away!"
He didn't even fight back as the guards towed him off.
At the town square, they at last released their grip on him.
"Wait a minute…" he thought aloud, rubbing his cheek where the baker had struck him. He looked round at the guards in honest confusion. "You're not even going to take me to the dungeons?"
"Are you kidding?" the forlorn Captain Gemanius didn't even laugh. Instead he shook his head with a somewhat empathetic albeit vaguely hopeless expression. "Little troublemaking rascal like you? You're too young to go to prison, kid."
He dropped to one knee to talk to him. "Listen, little one. I know this might not make any sense to you, and I completely understand that. It's normal for you to be confused. We'll let you go since you're only a child."
"Wait…" the hatchling shrunk beneath the gaze of the taller, armored, helmeted Imperial captain. He gulped at the sight of the longsword hanging on his waist, and the shield strapped to his arm. "Really? You mean that?"
"I do mean it," Gemanius nodded, his smile warm and his eyes soft and genuine. "You won't go to the city prisons, and you won't be tried in the city court as a child. Don't worry. Just don't do any more stealing ever again, all right?"
The hatchling whimpered with fresh tears rolling down his cheeks. But he nodded without a word.
"Take care of yourself, little one." The captain stood up and walked away with his guards in town, leaving him alone.
Completely, utterly, helplessly alone.
"There's the bread thief!"
A furry clawed paw grabbed the back of his shirt. Another paw clamped around the front collar. They both spun him around.
"Aaahhh!" He screamed out loud. The paws had turned him face-to-face with a rusty gray female Khajiit.
"It's your fault!" Shurassa's eyes blazed. She dug her claws into the hatchling's shoulders and shook him. The hatchling screamed and yelped, but could not pry himself away from the furious Khajiit. "Shurassa and her husband didn't get to enjoy our bread in peace because of you! Jakino Statori almost lost business today because of you! We wasted 5 gold each on precious bread today because of you!"
"It wasn't my fault!" the hatchling shouted back. "I stole the bread because I was starving! I haven't had anything to eat all day! And you and your husband still got to eat your bread!"
"Mor kha'jay trajir jer!" Shurassa hissed, her eyes narrowing and her fangs baring. "Dran khassa!" she cursed. "Ziss! Jetwijiri! Fumbadhassa!"
Hist, I'm so glad I can't understand that, the hatchling thought to himself. But he scarce had time to complete the thought before Shurassa stood up straight.
"H-hey!" Shurassa lifted him up into the air. The hatchling flailed his arms and legs. "Put me down! Lemme go!"
"It's all your fault, sakhliit!" Shurassa's voice rose to a full-lunged shout in his ears. The hatchling clapped his hands to the sides of his head. His eyes widened with terror. "You're the reason why this city's getting poorer and dirtier by the day! You and all the beggars of this city bring your filth and poverty here to this place! It's because of you that the gods abandoned Bravil!"
"I didn't do anything!" the hatchling demanded, now gritting his fangs. "I didn't make the city this way! Why can't you see that?"
"If the guards didn't punish you…" Shurassa's voice trailed off. She looked to her left.
The hatchling followed her gaze. The color drained from his countenance.
"No…Please…Don't do this…"
Shurassa turned back with a cold glare, her eyes hardening.
"Jer vara draj. Jer vara ma'i! You go be in the filth where you belong."
She turned to walk towards the canal.
"No!" the hatchling swung his arms left and right, up and down against the Khajiit's grip. "No, don't throw me in that Bok-Xul! Please!"
"You bring nothing but filth and disease and squalor to our city!" Shurassa spat at him interspersed with hissing and yowling. "So you deserve to live and die among them! Jone and Jode curse you for all your days! May the Hist or whatever you call it reject your soul's return to its fold!"
She flung the hatchling forward.
"Nooo—!" He screamed at the top of his lungs as the Khajiit launched him through the air. The sudden gust of cold wind in his mouth stopped him short.
"Die, Argonian!" Shurassa bellowed at the falling hatchling.
The hatchling tumbled down the canal walls. Silt and sludge clumped and streaked across his clothes and body.
"Thtachalxan!" he cursed back in his own tongue. "Greel Hajhiit! Nalpa kuuda—!"
SPLASH!
"Shurassa!" Ayiheh came hurrying abreast of his wife. "What in Jone and Jode's names did you do?!"
"I did what the guards should've done about that bread thief," Shurassa scowled, cold and glowering. "I disposed of that scaly garbage."
"He's an Argonian, Shuraassa!" Ayiheh protested, pointing at the canal and then at his wife. "His kind can breathe underwater!"
Shurassa narrowed her eyes at him, but did not respond. Ayiheh let out a sigh of resignation. He glanced around at the streets.
"Come on, Shura." He grabbed his wife's paw. "We should flee the scene before the guards get here!"
Beneath the waters of the Larsius, the hatchling had begun to sink.
Sewage engulfed his body and dragged him under. His gills and lungs burned and froze all at once.
Burning filth flooded his gills. Stinging foul liquid poured into his mouth. His head ached and his heart pounded in his ears.
Tsona! Come on, swim! Swim!
A surge of adrenaline shot through him from head to tail to toes. It burned like an inner fire in his veins and arteries. Hotter than all the blistering refuse swallowing him.
A golden fiery radiance enflamed his cyan eyes.
His blood ignited. His vessels and capillaries glowed blinding golden. A sudden inferno of invigoration coursed through his muscles and joints.
Before he knew it, he had launched into a breaststroke towards the surface.
He broke the surface without a single breath. He spit out the sewage from his mouth. He choked and coughed on repulsive acrid stenches and bitter stinging tastes.
As if on instinct, he pushed himself towards the nearby dock. He grabbed the wooden posts and hoisted himself out of the water, soaked to the scales and dripping from head to toes.
He punched his fists repeatedly into his stomach. His mouth and throat vomited sewage back into the water.
At last, the hatchling fell flat onto his back on the dock. His fatigued legs and tail hung off the side, dangling over the water. His muscles and joints ached with an indescribable pain.
He summoned the strength to stare out at the world surrounding him.
Buildings, trees, statues. Bridges, birds, sky. Earth and rock and water. Wood and stone. All the world glowed with the same golden fiery radiance. As though the planet itself had been set ablaze.
He didn't dare blink.
It disappeared as quickly as it came. The radiance faded from his eyes.
He rolled over onto his stomach and gazed out over the water. In his reflection, his eyes regained their normal cyan tint.
He glanced back up at the world. All had returned to their normal colors.
He heaved a sigh of relief and flopped spread-eagled on the dock.
What just happened to me?
He looked down at the water again. The same stenches that had come from the Larsius River now emanated from his entire body.
Well, that explains why everyone said I smell so bad. That's the last time I try to take a bath in here. No more drinking, either. On the upside, at least I'm not covered in mud anymore.
Grrrowl.
His hands pressed to his stomach. He let out an exasperated, resigned groan. Must be time for lunch.
He looked up and scanned around the city. But where can I go?
"Why don't you go to the Count and Countess if you want food and money?" The memory of Ildolles Flonidius flooded his mind. They'll help you out!"
"Brilliant!" he exclaimed out loud. "Maybe they will help me!"
He hurried out of the dock and emerged back onto the street, still dripping wet.
"Take that, Miss Shurassa!" He shouted to the winds, grinning from ear to ear for perhaps the first time that day. "You couldn't even keep me down!"
He dropped into a crouch and half-sprinted across the street. Back into the alleyways he knew so well. Perhaps too well.
"Time to do what I do best."
Castle Bravil
A sudden inkling to disappear shot through his mind. He grabbed the nearest stone fence and swung his body over it.
He dropped to a prone position. The stone fence and tall green-yellow plants flawlessly concealed his diminutive body. Giant triangular banners emblazoned with a gold deer—the seal of Bravil—flanked the castle entrance.
He watched in silence as a group of no less than six guards exited the entrance. His eyes followed their movements. Captain Gemanius walked at the frontmost of the group.
They walked a full yard and then stopped. Gemanius motioned with two fingers to the left.
"Herisius, Accantea, that way," his words sounded in the hatchling's ears. Two guards split from the group and walked off in that direction.
He motioned to the right the same. "Breman, Florin, over there, please." Two other guards broke away and paced off to their commanded route.
"Aprollaise, with me." He nodded at the final guard, a female who responded in kind without a word. They walked away over the castle drawbridge and out of sight.
Out of sight, out of mind. The hatchling exhaled in relief and pushed himself onto his hands and knees. He shut his eyes, focusing his hearing on the distance.
The armored footsteps receded down their appointed directions. Yet he could still hear them in vague echoes, even over the ambience of the city. At last, they faded into silence.
He snapped his eyes wide open. Immediately, he grabbed the stone fence and swung back over it once more. Keeping low, he crept into the castle garden.
No one around here. Are all the other guards at lunch?
He leaped behind another stone fence when the left castle door opened. Two men emerged, chattering animatedly amongst themselves. One an Imperial in a rich blue satin tunic with matching suede shoes. The other a Breton in a modest set of hooded green-and-brown mage's robes and leather sandals.
They too disappeared down the drawbridge. Hopping to his feet, the hatchling spun around behind the door they'd left open behind them.
Whoa.
A luxurious and brightly-lit throne room opened itself before him. His eyes glowed in the blazing torchlight. His jaw dropped at the expensive fabrics that decorated the floor. Polished stone staircases on either side rose high. They met at a lengthy stone balcony that made up the second level. Ahead in the center of the room, a pair of fancy yet imposing thrones sat empty.
Yep. He confirmed his own theory. Everyone must be at lunch. Explains where all the guards are, too.
He glanced left and right. No guards flanked the front doors.
Wisps of invisible aromas suddenly flooded his nostrils. Some saccharine, others pungent. A significant few crispy and grainy. Butter and mint, leafy and spicy with soupy nuance. Herbs and peppermints, chamomile with lavender, and green tea leaves completed the collage of teasing scents that made his mouth water.
"Oh, wow…What I wouldn't give to have just a taste of all of that."
He followed the scents to the door at the right of the gate. He reached out to push it open, his hand trembling. A cacophony of clashing voices issued from behind its wooden body.
"…My dearest Countess Augussandra," the unmistakable low baritone of the Count reached his ears first when he swung the door open. In between, the hatchling heard the din of metal utensils and the resting of goblets upon a wooden tabletop.
"I don't mean to be at all rude. But would you kindly remind me why you ordered all the guards in the palace to stand watch over us while we dine?"
The hatchling returned to his low crouch from earlier. Each step measured soft and silent upon the rough unpolished stone of the dining room.
"Because!" the harsh, authoritative voice of the Countess stabbed like a knife in the hatchling's eardrums. He winced at the sound and dropped further down. "I don't want someone to sneak in and steal my food! Or anyone could barge in here and attack me while I'm dining! And then they could steal my food! I don't understand why I need to explain that to you, Cavocus!"
The hatchling stopped at the end of the stone wall and peered out from behind.
Smatterings of guards stood on each side of a wide and luxurious dining table. The Count and Countess sat closest with their backs to him. Count Cavocus on the left side, and his Countess Augussandra on the right.
Whoa! The hatchling focused on the foods upon the dining table. Thick butter with a spreading knife sat in a porcelain bowl. Mint leaves and a variety of teas in steaming kettles stood on either side of it. There were vegetable and tomato soups, beets and radishes, and an assortment of fruits. Freshly-baked wheat, pumpernickel, molasses, and almond bread occupied the spaces in between.
So this is all what I must've been smelling! Probably got the breads from the Breadsmith, too!
The hatchling licked his lips. His eyes widened. So close…he could almost taste all of it.
The movement of one of the servants drew his attention. He was a young Imperial, more than a decade and a half older than the hatchling. He placed two goblets of red wine upon the table. An intense and curious smell of cherries teased the the hatchling's nostrils.
"Can you get me the butter knife, Granuarius?" Augussandra asked, picking up her slice of molasses bread.
The servant muttered something along the lines of, "It's right there, why don't you just get it yourself?" He gestured to the butter knife standing upright, stabbed into a block of butter. They both sat upon a chopping board in the exact center of the dining table.
"Maybe I should do that, too!" Augussandra exploded. Both Cavocus and the hatchling flinched in unison. "Every time you ask me, 'Countess, may I have a drink?', I'll say, 'It's right there, why don't you just get it?' Maybe I should start doing that, too!" She repeated the servant's words back to him in a venomous, vindictive tone. The servant said not a word in return, and only passed the Countess the butter knife.
"So ungrateful…" Augussandra murmured. She spread butter on her molasses bread while glaring daggers at the servant. "So oppositional…and disobedient…" Cavocus only turned his face away and facepalmed himself, sighing in resignation.
The hatchling stood up straight and took a deep breath. He exhaled slowly through his nose. Then he cleared his throat.
"E…e-excuse me?"
Everyone stopped halfway through their motions. Cavocus froze, a forkful of sliced radish halfway to his mouth. Augussandra slammed her fist on the tabletop. Cavocus flinched but kept his grip on his fork. The guards all began glancing around the dining room. The servants followed suit.
The two soldiers in front of the hatchling whirled around. They made to seize the hatchling—
"Wait!"
The guards froze, as did the hatchling, his hands halfway up to defend himself.
"Aaahhh!" The hatchling cried out loud. The guards clamped their hands around their shoulders and pushed him forward, into the light.
"Ah-ha!" Augussandra pointed a finger at the hatchling, who shrank beneath her gaze. "I told you, Cavocus! I told you someone would try to sneak here and try to steal our food! What did I tell you?!"
She rounded on her husband. He slowly placed his radish-filled fork back onto his plate in resignation. "These wretched, lowly, good-for-nothing beggars! They're a plague upon our streets!"
The hatchling grimaced at her words. But he cleared his throat once more. A shudder ran down his spine from the cold unfeeling stares of the soldiers.
"H-hello…" his voice quivered with timidity. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean to intrude. I was wondering if maybe you could share some of your food with me?"
He took a couple steps up to the dining table. "No one has given me anything to eat or drink all day. And your food sure looks delicious, and I'm starving…"
"Ugh!" Augussandra withered at the sight of the hatchling approaching her. His mud-stained roughspun rags clashed with her immaculate black-and-burgundy outfit. "It's horrid! A beggar in our royal halls! He smells something revolting, too! I suppose you want to take our entire feast, do you? So what'll it be, then?!"
She glowered darkly at him. "Cup of water? Crust of bread? Spot of tea?"
"Tea sounds nice!" The hatchling perked up at the mention, hope glimmering in his eyes.
"Augussandra, please," Cavocus reprimanded his wife in a low voice. "Don't embarrass us."
"And why, pray tell," Augussandra held her goblet of wine close to her chest. She pushed her plate into the center of the table. "should we give anything to a disgusting little beggar like yourself?" The Argonian winced, shrinking again. "Feed one beggar, you might as well feed them all!"
Augussandra slammed her goblet of wine on the table. The sudden noise made the hatchling jump. His heart leaped in his chest.
"I'll bet you'll tell all your beggar friends about our excessive little feasts here? Won't you?" Augussandra turned to the side in her chair and leaned down over the Argonian. Her initially scrutinizing expression now turned to scornful disdain.
"And then they'll all come swarming in here to gorge on our food like the gluttons they all are! Why, if we shared our food with the lot of you, there'd be none left for us! How about that?"
"Augussandra…for gods' sakes…" Cavocus dropped his face into his hands.
"You've got worse table manners than Mr. Sorkund…" the hatchling murmured under his breath in disgust. "How did you even get to become the Countess?"
"Get out!" Augussandra roared. Cavocus scrambled and flailed in surprise. Augussandra pointed out the dining hall. "Get out and take your suffocating stench with you! Never sneak in here again! Or it'll be the dungeons next time for you!"
"Hey!" The hatchling wriggled and writhed against the guards' vice grips around his shoulders.
"Augussandra!" Cavocus too rose his voice to a disciplinary shout. He watched in terrified disbelief as his guards hauled the hatchling away. "What are you doing? By refusing this poor beggar, you risk tarnishing the good Magium name!"
"Oh, as if your name is all you care about!" Augussandra rounded on her husband, who glared back, his eyes flaring. "What about my name? My reputation? My wealth and riches and decadence? Do you want those on your conscience, Cavocus?"
"You're the real gluttons!" the hatchling hissed, his words like venomous arrows shooting from his mouth. "And one day, you're gonna pay for it!"
"Oh, I'll be the judge of that!" Augussandra seethed, practically spitting. "Now get out!"
"No—!" But the dining hall door swung shut in front of the hatchling. He thrashed against the guards. They kicked the castle doors wide open.
"Whoaaa—Oof!"
He landed flat on his face and stomach outside the castle. A messy shuffling of boots signaled the departure of the guards.
"No, no, no!" He climbed to his feet and rushed to the doors as they swung shut. He pounded his fists on the wood. But no response came.
He slumped onto his back against the castle doors. He slumped onto his side and curled up into a fetal position. His throat constricted. A lump formed in his throat.
Hot tears sprang to his eyes. He tried to blink them back. A single stray tear traced down from each eye. They traced clear reflective streaks down his scaly face. He wiped them away.
Mustn't cry. Mustn't look weak. Mustn't…lose…control.
Not even the steady stream of liquid now trickling down his face could cure the thirst growing in his throat. His last vestiges of hope slipped from him like water through his fingers. His heart sank in his chest. It beat lifeless in his chest, hollow and drained of effort and blood.
Alone in the castle garden, he allowed his tears to fall freely. He allowed himself to shout, to rage, to vent, to wail and howl. Each one a screaming testament to his hunger, his thirst, his desperation. The fear he'd tried to hide behind his eyes. The hopeless grief he'd kept contained in his heart for too long. The confusion of never knowing from whence or when his next meal would come.
If it would ever come at all.
"Mr. and Mrs. Glodidicus?"
He knocked at the door of the house where he'd first begged that morning. Mid-afternoon had now settled in around him.
"Aquibierius? Adriarma?"
Hope leapt up in his heart when the door opened—
"You stinking, pathetic, beastly little creep!" The voice of the woman who'd earlier condemned his smell issued forth. Her words stabbed him like daggers. "Get lost!" Slam!
Panting with desperation, his eyes shot around the street. He dashed over to a house to right of the Fighter's Guild.
"Excuse me? Hello? Anskalla and Bathof Jargarnasen?"
"Hey, you're the bastard child who ran into me and Bathof earlier! You've no right asking for food from us, you thieving devil lizard! Not after what you did to innocent Statori! I'd see you rot in Oblivion for your crime if I had my way! Now get off our porch afore we call the guards!" Slam!
"Mr. Lanistar Arthsoric?"
"A swiping, pilfering, shoplifting hatchling like you has no business knocking on my law-abiding door! You won't get a cent from me for your lunch or your supper! And you smell like sewage! Yuck! I always hated beastfolk!" Slam!
"Hello? Mr. Laenapter? Mr. Flonidius?"
"You again?! I told you to take a bath, you pathetic street urchin! And keep your sick beggar fingers off my food!"
"For the last time, I am not a street urchin! The river is so dirty! It's so full of sewage and filth! I couldn't take a bath in there!"
"Is that my problem?! You want to get out of the gutter?! Do it yourself!"
"Dahnoud—?"
"Nope! You can't come in! You've come to the wrong house!"
Slam!
"Briegiuis Opsata?"
"Nobody home! Nobody has food! Nobody wants you!"
Slam!
His arms hung loosely by his sides as he stumbled into the town square that night. His posture stooped. He walked in short stumbling strides to the feet of the Lucky Old Lady.
The same problem. The same reactions. The same outcomes. And of course it's always my fault! Isn't it?!
Masser and Secunda neglected to shine their lights on the ten-year-old Argonian hatchling. He dropped to his knees and flopped onto one side. Dust, grime, and water stains speckled his clothes. His extremities trembled. Stomach twisted into knots.
He broke into uncontrollable shivers in the bitter cold. His body lay on the small bedroll that had been left there by an unknown person next to the statue. A pilfered collection of this week's daily copies of the Black Horse Courier made up his blankets.
"The Great War Won, but at What Cost?";
"Sale at A Warlock's Luck: 30%-off This Weekend Only!";
"Andions Lirasnus to Release New Entry in Renowned 'Runes of Aetherius' Series";
and "Lady Luck: Myth or Material?".
"So hungry…"
Neither a single drop of water nor crumb of food had entered his mouth all day. Nothing had fallen into his stomach. Yet his hunger and thirst ebbed and flowed.
The craving fought against itself. His thirst suppressed. The empty gnawing in his stomach; the persistent itches in his throat. Both turned to deafening silence. But they didn't feel like him.
His skeleton. His muscles. His organs. His scales. His tail. His mind. His horns and feathers. Something strengthened all of them.
Something not himself.
Something not Argonian.
He had had nothing to eat that night. The Larsius River had not sufficed for a drink. He rubbed the spot on his face where Jakino Statori had smacked him. It still stung with a fresh searing pain.
If I can just fall asleep…
He shut his eyes tight. Perhaps he could convince himself to fall asleep at will. But he shook both from the cold and his own silent sobs. His throat ached from his soundless cries into the apathetic night sky. He laid his restless on his pillow. His hands clutched a copy of Who and What are the Thalmor?
"Mom!" he found himself calling out. "Dad! Where are you!"
No.
"No…" he voiced the thought aloud. "No. They're gone. They're dead. They're never coming back for me. I've spent all this time depending on people. Can't do it anymore. No more getting help from anybody. That's it. Done. I've gotta fend for myself now."
He had leaped to his feet before he even realized it. He clambered down to the ground below the statue.
"Hear me, Bravil!" He raised his voice and a fist into the night sky. "This is my life! I intend to live it! No matter how much you put me down, kick me around, toss me into the water…I'm going to keep standing back up again! Starve me! Dehydrate me! Slap me! Throw me! Hurt me with your words and your hands! I don't care what you do! I am not giving up!"
He turned and stepped back up to the Lucky Old Lady once more. Hands clenched into fists. Determination overcame sadness. His eyes glowed a fiery golden yellow.
"My name is Sal-Gheel Calidaseer! And I am going to pull myself out of the gutter! Just you wait and see!"
