Dream Child

Preview

Rain gently thumped again the small crude window, which was the only source of natural light in the dank domicile. The sound of other denizens starting their day, caused the wretched being to stir in his linens. Dragging himself to a sitting position, he rubs his face with his fleshy fingers. He flinches silently as one of his claws nicks his cheek, a familiar sensation for someone of his breed; however rare he is. A loud banging at the door echoes through the dimly lit room.

"Awaken Nisca! Jorn will flog you again if your late!"

The voice's owner hurries away, probably to make it on time to their own work on time as well. Nisca forces himself to stand and hurries to the bathroom with a sigh. He examines himself in the mirror to inspect his new cut for the day as it will probably be the subject of today's scorn. Being a sphinx is as hard as it is to be born as one. With cat society centers around fur patterns, Nisca is practically naked even when he has clothes on. A living embodiment of shame. Nisca clumsily throws on his shirt and trousers nearly slipping on his blacksmith's apron. As he grabs his apron and pushes his bony tail through its trouser loop, he pauses to stare. The heirloom sword he carries around hoping that one day, his parent might recognize it, and hopefully tell him why they just didnt smother him as a baby. He hesitates to pick it up as he wonders if theres even a point anymore.

Leaves, shining and flickering with sunlight from a massive tree decend slowly

The scabbard is redwood with gold colored buttons snaking up to the handle where 3 mattalic rings dangle from the hilt. Its a bit wide for a sabre and also heavier than the average longsword but Nisca is used to the weight. The sword is grabbed and the door closes on dwelling as he heads out in the drizzle.

"Hey skin-tail! A little slow at rising arent you"

A shopkeep jeers as Nisca plops through the mud in the center of the street. He clicks his tongue and pays the shopkeep no mind.

"Skintail!"

A group of gaurds roughly jostle past him. Nisca takes a deep breath, its only morning. Binka is a small town in the southern reaches of the province of Lalu. The province is managed by Sanje Nikindi, of the royal Nikindan family. Its a mix of crime, desperation, beggars and poverty but Nisca has lived here since he was dropped off at the orphanage as a kitten. The only thing found with him was the heirloom sword to which he carries to this day. His thougjts were interrupted by a fresh load a bread thrust in front of his chest. Puck, the baker's girl looked at him sternly.

"Yo look worse for wear, did ya cut yerself agin?"

Nisca sighed.

"It'll heal, are by chance offering me this bread?"

"Five Nips" she chirped.

"I have three" Nisca grumbled as he pulled out a small clinking pouch.

"Ill take that" as she snatched the pouch and shoved the bread into his hands.

The forlorn cat took a bite of his newly aquired bread and continued on to the craftmen's district. The smell of smoke and ash filled the air, loud bartering, and hammers striking material rung through the area. At the corner of the street was Jorn's Smithy, his gainful place of employment.

"Yer late" the beast squatting at the forge rumbled.

"Well Puck sto-"

"Save it" as a ladle with a hole in it was tossed at Nisca. Nisca stares a bit before sitting down and getting to work. Jorn was easily one Binka's stoutest cats. Born in the slums of Binka's entertainment district, even Nisca wonders if he had ties to the crime lords there. Everytime he asks Jorn about his past, he avoids the question. Sporting a large scar that runs down where his left eye used to be, his natural grey longhair coat makes him even more intimindating.