KENNEN JARMEZ IS TRAPPED. A web of forgotten secrets and buried history descends upon him. With a war looming over their heads, he has to crack the mystery surrounding a particular object in his care in search of allies. After triggering a hidden sp...
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2412, Xavem 20, Velpa
He rested his arm over his eyes, his back slouching against the back of the tavern's stool. A painful creak ripped through his ears, reminding him of what transpired just this morning. It's another dud, another failed quest to obtain his next meal. This wasn't his life, but for some reason, he felt the desperation and frustration rippling underneath this nameless thief's skin.
After rising so early in the morning, he went to stalk an unfortunate soul from the public market towards the random alley they go home to. Then, with the knife he was suddenly good at using, he slashed at the woman's woven basket, aiming to let some of the produce rain down bounty on him. Instead, what happened was his blade caught in the dried strands and stayed there, alerting the woman of his presence. A strong slam of her other basket against his temple later, he was wrestled off the poor damsel and thrown off the street. The only thing he could do was turn tail and retreat into a decrepit pub in the middle of a busy town.
The thief got guts, being able to withstand the dagger-like stares the other patrons and the tenders behind the counter kept throwing at him. Perhaps it's common etiquette to buy something in exchange for hanging out in this place, but with the thief's current financial situation, it's more than impossible.
A loud rumble echoed from the depths of his stomach. If not for the loud clatter of cups against tables or the clangs of metal ripping through the space, everyone would have heard it. His teeth ground against each other. It's another day of starving, then.
A shadow fell over him, and he removed his arm over his face in time to watch a man drop into the opposite chair which remained empty. He frowned. "What? Are you here to throw me out as well?" he asked, eyeing the newcomer's garb. Simple, yet somewhat stately. His tunic was free of scratches and frayed threads. His boots remained in pristine condition despite the dark splotches of something that could have been mud. Or blood. Or both.
This man was a soldier, that much the thief was sure of. The newcomer smirked and scratched his scalp. Bright orange curls stirred against his prodding. "Consider me a friend, then," he said to the thief. "I came with a proposition."
The thief could have scoffed at the man's face but held it in. Anyone who used the word "proposition" in a conversation happening in some backwater tavern betrayed their lineage. Perhaps, the thief would be better off stealing that alluring bag of versallis tied at the man's belt than hear what he had to say.
"If it's about cleaning dagrine crap, count me out," the thief waved a dismissive hand in the air. He'd had enough of patronizing businessmen looking down on him. "I don't have all day, so get on with it."
A strange twinkle gleamed in the man's eyes. "Seeing as you've been withering away in here for the last four hours tells me otherwise," he said before jerking his chin at the thief. "Have you eaten?"
"N—"
Another loud growl tore from his gut—a clear protest against its current state.
The man's smirk widened. "Thought so," he stood up and sauntered to the counter, much to the thief's horror. After exchanging a few words, the man went back to the table, bearing a steaming bowl. He set the bowl in front of the thief and pushed it closer. "Go on. This one's on me."
