The sound of tides crashing against the docks, seamen cursing and merchants trying to pass off their goods filled the air. That is to say, those sounds filled the parts of the air that were not yet occupied by the monstrous smell of fish. Pickled, salted, fresh, rotten, it did not matter. The homogenous mix of acidic stenches forced itself up Yis’akhár's nose, causing him great discomfort. How disgusting he found the animals, how uncommon they were where he was from. As he tried to get used to this large city, one he had never visited before, an Urbanite stepped up to him, hoping to usurp his attention.
“Welcome!” He began. “What brings you to this lovely city? Adventure? Wealth? Or some grand aspirations to elevate your place in society?” the words stung in the Kalamite's ears. He was not at all used to hearing the Common Tongue in this accent. In his nine years as a mercenary, he'd been taught to speak it by his comrades, but to hear a posh Heartlander speak posh words in his posh accent... Needless to say, you wouldn't find that in any Qalasheen companies.
Instinctively, Yis’akhár placed his hand upon Khopesh. The immigrants, tourists and merchants had wasted their afternoons staring across the seas, watching as the ship Yis’akhár was on got ever nearer to the city. Thinking himself too highly to watch over some blue lines at a city that would not go anywhere, the follower of Bahyweh had sharpened his sword, inspected his arrows and prepared his bow. These city types were not to be trusted, much like just about anyone on this godforsaken continent, so the man thought.
He let out a deep sigh, streams of air loudly brushing along his beard. His face was stern, his eyes peered at the man before him. He expected an answer, no doubt. As the both of them stood there, Yis’akhár simply stared the man down, embracing the momentary, quite honestly awkward silence that surrounded them. After five whole seconds or so, he opened his mouth, saying:
”I have no goal, no direction. Bahyweh is my shepard.” before the man opposite him could say a word, he seized the moment, saying: “And I have no bloody coin, either. If you're here to sell me useless trinkets, find another fool to bother.”
Tactlessly, Yis’akhár would place his left hand upon the man, shoving him aside savagely. The Rheshish would then occupy the space where the city-dweller once stood, treading the path to the city centre without giving him a second thought.
Recommended Comments