As the first beams of morning light snuck through cracks in boarded-up windows, the young man sat up slowly, a splitting pain shooting through his head. His senses were immediately assaulted by the consequences of the previous night as well as the humid smell of sweat, fish, and cheap ale that seemed to be synonymous with all of the dingy buildings located this close to the docks of Highwinter. He always told himself that he would move out of this room into somewhere nicer, but, for some reason, he had never actually done it.
Jericho Dreaver was an attractive man with a young face getting older and older as a result of his hard life. Squinting through his deep brown eyes at the small room, he massaged his aching head with strong but nimble hands, tanned to an almond color like the rest of his upper body. As his arms flexed, the tattoos covering the entirety of his right arm – a mermaid representing foolish youthful dreams of piracy and a rose inscribed with names that had been pushed deep down into Jericho's subconscious – seemed to dance.
From the stirring next to him, Jericho could tell that he didn't have long to escape the room before he would be forced to deal with another of his previous night's consequences. Her name was Cerias, and this small, musty room was located just above the tavern that she worked in. She was pretty – in a common sort of way – and Jericho had made a habit recently of bringing her upstairs with him at the end of her shift. As he gazed upon her body, wrapped tightly in his blankets, he felt anger stir up from deep in his breast. Anger at her, anger at himself for falling into such a predictable rut, anger at the guilt that he inevitably felt, a remnant from his religious moral past... he didn't even know. All he knew was that he was unhappy with his situation.
Like usual, Jericho resolved himself to sneak out of the room. Taking care not to make any noise, he ruffled the messy buckskin-colored hair of his pseudo-mohawk into a halfway decent appearance and made his way over to the pile he had left his clothes in. He pulled a thin cloth shirt and brown leather trousers over his lean, 5'7” frame before sliding on his hard, leather boots and armguard. He slung his cutlass, Sabine, over his shoulder and took one last guilty look at Cerias. He shook his head, because, like his anger, he didn't even know what the source of his guilt was. Was he letting himself down? His God? Was his guilt towards the innocent girl who so dearly wanted to be actually cared for the first time in her life of poverty and struggle. He always hated himself when he told her that he loved her.
Of course he didn't love her. He hadn't loved anyone since Lyanna.
Lyanna... Had he indeed loved her? With hindsight he would often remember his times with the dangerous woman as warm and loving; however, their story was far from the ideal romance. Full of bickering and immaturity, the two had never even entered into an exclusive relationship. Lyanna was devious, even manipulating, and Jericho couldn't even be sure how she had ever felt about him. The mixture of the truth and the idealized version of his adolescence was too painful and confusing to attempt to rationalize. As a result, Jericho prevented himself from any sort of raw emotion that could reverse his intentional dulling of his sensitivities. If the strict morality and confidence of his past was buried along with his emotions... well...
The Architect wasn't part of his life anymore anyway.
Jericho put all of this retrospection behind him. He was expected at the docks by his superiors in the Iron Mountain Adventuring Company, and there were still a few things that demanded attention before months of expected absence from the city. That was a completely different lifetime anyway.
______________________________________________________________________________________________________________
Jericho's last necessities were collected: daggers fresh from being sharpened, a heavy cloth doublet, a hardleather shoulder pauldron and bandolier-sheath combination, a parchment sketchpad, and a quill enchanted to write without needing ink. His purse was near-empty, so he was relieved to be taking this job with the company. He wandered through the streets of Highwinter towards the docks, passing commotion aplenty. Fishermen shouted and cursed, tossing barrels of fish to each other. They were big, burly, and hairy and had clearly not showered since their night of smoking, ale, and women. Jericho cringed at the reminder of his own night.
Shrugging it off, he focused instead on the children playing. Little boys from all around the known world ran around together, play fighting with sticks and pipes and teasing little girls with their bouncing balls and cloth dolls. Jericho saw slightly older kids with slightly more devious passtimes, reminiscent of his own youth. A few children – clearly born of Sadian merchants based on their rich clothes – sat outside a small bakery, smoking something that less-wealthy, more-involved parents would never allow to fall into their children's hands. Further down the street, children were throwing rocks at a homeless beastman, a large, haggard fox, until the beastman chased them off angrily with a length of chain. As unsavory a sight that was, the next alleyway held something worse. A lifeless body of a... lady of the night... lay hunched up against the wall of a tavern. Though dead bodies were not a terribly uncommon sight around these areas, this one certainly gave Jericho a sick feeling in his gut. A senseless loss of life for a woman – no more than a girl actually – who was probably just a victim of some man who got carried away and who will never spare her another thought as long as he lives.
Highwinter was a place of many wonders and pleasantries from fine clothes and perfumes to delicious foods, but it was also a place of sorrow and hardship. For every rich merchant or nobleman trying on a new scarf and sipping fine wine from a crystal clear glass, there were ten people living in poverty, mixing their sorrows with cheap drink and violence. Jericho was glad to be finally arriving at the docks and the merchant ship that would take him away to the next chapter of his life: The Loyalist. Jericho walked up the gangplank towards two men, a halfling woman, and a golem.
A golem.
You never knew what to expect with the Iron Mountain Adventuring Company.
Jericho Dreaver was an attractive man with a young face getting older and older as a result of his hard life. Squinting through his deep brown eyes at the small room, he massaged his aching head with strong but nimble hands, tanned to an almond color like the rest of his upper body. As his arms flexed, the tattoos covering the entirety of his right arm – a mermaid representing foolish youthful dreams of piracy and a rose inscribed with names that had been pushed deep down into Jericho's subconscious – seemed to dance.
From the stirring next to him, Jericho could tell that he didn't have long to escape the room before he would be forced to deal with another of his previous night's consequences. Her name was Cerias, and this small, musty room was located just above the tavern that she worked in. She was pretty – in a common sort of way – and Jericho had made a habit recently of bringing her upstairs with him at the end of her shift. As he gazed upon her body, wrapped tightly in his blankets, he felt anger stir up from deep in his breast. Anger at her, anger at himself for falling into such a predictable rut, anger at the guilt that he inevitably felt, a remnant from his religious moral past... he didn't even know. All he knew was that he was unhappy with his situation.
Like usual, Jericho resolved himself to sneak out of the room. Taking care not to make any noise, he ruffled the messy buckskin-colored hair of his pseudo-mohawk into a halfway decent appearance and made his way over to the pile he had left his clothes in. He pulled a thin cloth shirt and brown leather trousers over his lean, 5'7” frame before sliding on his hard, leather boots and armguard. He slung his cutlass, Sabine, over his shoulder and took one last guilty look at Cerias. He shook his head, because, like his anger, he didn't even know what the source of his guilt was. Was he letting himself down? His God? Was his guilt towards the innocent girl who so dearly wanted to be actually cared for the first time in her life of poverty and struggle. He always hated himself when he told her that he loved her.
Of course he didn't love her. He hadn't loved anyone since Lyanna.
Lyanna... Had he indeed loved her? With hindsight he would often remember his times with the dangerous woman as warm and loving; however, their story was far from the ideal romance. Full of bickering and immaturity, the two had never even entered into an exclusive relationship. Lyanna was devious, even manipulating, and Jericho couldn't even be sure how she had ever felt about him. The mixture of the truth and the idealized version of his adolescence was too painful and confusing to attempt to rationalize. As a result, Jericho prevented himself from any sort of raw emotion that could reverse his intentional dulling of his sensitivities. If the strict morality and confidence of his past was buried along with his emotions... well...
The Architect wasn't part of his life anymore anyway.
Jericho put all of this retrospection behind him. He was expected at the docks by his superiors in the Iron Mountain Adventuring Company, and there were still a few things that demanded attention before months of expected absence from the city. That was a completely different lifetime anyway.
______________________________________________________________________________________________________________
Jericho's last necessities were collected: daggers fresh from being sharpened, a heavy cloth doublet, a hardleather shoulder pauldron and bandolier-sheath combination, a parchment sketchpad, and a quill enchanted to write without needing ink. His purse was near-empty, so he was relieved to be taking this job with the company. He wandered through the streets of Highwinter towards the docks, passing commotion aplenty. Fishermen shouted and cursed, tossing barrels of fish to each other. They were big, burly, and hairy and had clearly not showered since their night of smoking, ale, and women. Jericho cringed at the reminder of his own night.
Shrugging it off, he focused instead on the children playing. Little boys from all around the known world ran around together, play fighting with sticks and pipes and teasing little girls with their bouncing balls and cloth dolls. Jericho saw slightly older kids with slightly more devious passtimes, reminiscent of his own youth. A few children – clearly born of Sadian merchants based on their rich clothes – sat outside a small bakery, smoking something that less-wealthy, more-involved parents would never allow to fall into their children's hands. Further down the street, children were throwing rocks at a homeless beastman, a large, haggard fox, until the beastman chased them off angrily with a length of chain. As unsavory a sight that was, the next alleyway held something worse. A lifeless body of a... lady of the night... lay hunched up against the wall of a tavern. Though dead bodies were not a terribly uncommon sight around these areas, this one certainly gave Jericho a sick feeling in his gut. A senseless loss of life for a woman – no more than a girl actually – who was probably just a victim of some man who got carried away and who will never spare her another thought as long as he lives.
Highwinter was a place of many wonders and pleasantries from fine clothes and perfumes to delicious foods, but it was also a place of sorrow and hardship. For every rich merchant or nobleman trying on a new scarf and sipping fine wine from a crystal clear glass, there were ten people living in poverty, mixing their sorrows with cheap drink and violence. Jericho was glad to be finally arriving at the docks and the merchant ship that would take him away to the next chapter of his life: The Loyalist. Jericho walked up the gangplank towards two men, a halfling woman, and a golem.
A golem.
You never knew what to expect with the Iron Mountain Adventuring Company.
