Blitzz
A Friendly Brit
Darro opened his eyes just as the first of the sun's rays pushed through into the gloom of his tent. It was still dark for the most part, and Darro couldn't hear anyone up and about. It was too early. He had not slept well; he rarely did. How could he? The world he knew was gone, overrun by demons so foul even Oblivion would spit them back out. Now he was condemned to Stros M'kai, and with each passing day the tensions between its residents and its refugees pushed ever closer to breaking point. He watched the dust floating about in the light beams for what seemed like hours before the first refugees began to shuffle from their tents. Within an instant Darro was up and out.
The sun was peaking over the top of the city, bathing the camp in golden light. The residents of the city very rarely associated themselves with the refugees. They hadn't seen what he had seen. He hadn't seen snakes the size of bears hack men clean in two. Tsaesci, he had heard one man scream. Right before one bit deep into his face.
The camp smelled overwhelmingly of sweat and waste. It had only been a month or so since the refugees arrived, and already they had ripped the north side of the island down. Most of the farms that already existed were pulled down and the owners moved into the city, while the land was used to plant more crops to feed the growing masses of people. There had even been talk of pulling the ruins in the deserts to the ground so that the materials could be used. Darro had, of course, objected.
He made his way to the center of the camp where people were already beginning to take seats near the campfire. Their faces lit up as he approached; they were all hungry, and he was the one they relied on to cook. Water was already boiling in the pot. The logs around the fire that people used as perches were becoming more and more crowded, so Darro decided it was about time.
He was only to make a simple meal today, or he wouldn't have food for tonight. He pulled two loaves of bread from a sack, and began to slice them up. Someone else took over, a woman named Helen, while Darro began dicing tomatoes and leeks and out them into the pot. Soon enough the water turned a vile yellowish colour and began to thicken as more and more was added to the pot. Crude wooden trays and bowls were handed out, and everyone got a bowl full of vegetable soup and a slice of bread.
Everyone sipped contently. Darro didn't eat. He had trouble eating these days. He never had an appetite. instead he slipped away from the camp towards the docks. He sat a some 50 metres away on the sand and let the cool water lap around his bare feet in the morning sun. He laid on his side hoping to get some extra sleep in before he was summoned to make everyone lunch, and as he did so, spotted something.
About 20 yards away, still on the sand, was an enormous white bird. Darro stood and plodded accross the wet sand, feeling it rise up between his toes. It was dead; the smell told him that before he even got near it. He reached a long, pale hand down and plucked it from the sand. A few flies had begun to settle on the carcass but they scattered as it was lifted. A note was tied to its ankle, in a small silver tube decorated with traces of ebony. Fascinated, Darro spun it in his hands, analyzing it, until a dark hand shot out and snatched it from him. Darro whirled and saw the man, hooded and moving away fast. Darro called out but he wouldn't slow.
It was a good five minutes before Darro ran the man down. He didn't recognize where he was anymore. He had never taken the time to explore Stros M'kai in its entirety. All he knew was that this man had stolen from him. "Hey!" He didn't acknowledge Darro. "Hey! You!" He finally managed to get the man to look at him. He was a Redguard, but the majority of his head was hidden in a hood. "I don't know who you are, but that tube right there? That's mine."
The sun was peaking over the top of the city, bathing the camp in golden light. The residents of the city very rarely associated themselves with the refugees. They hadn't seen what he had seen. He hadn't seen snakes the size of bears hack men clean in two. Tsaesci, he had heard one man scream. Right before one bit deep into his face.
The camp smelled overwhelmingly of sweat and waste. It had only been a month or so since the refugees arrived, and already they had ripped the north side of the island down. Most of the farms that already existed were pulled down and the owners moved into the city, while the land was used to plant more crops to feed the growing masses of people. There had even been talk of pulling the ruins in the deserts to the ground so that the materials could be used. Darro had, of course, objected.
He made his way to the center of the camp where people were already beginning to take seats near the campfire. Their faces lit up as he approached; they were all hungry, and he was the one they relied on to cook. Water was already boiling in the pot. The logs around the fire that people used as perches were becoming more and more crowded, so Darro decided it was about time.
He was only to make a simple meal today, or he wouldn't have food for tonight. He pulled two loaves of bread from a sack, and began to slice them up. Someone else took over, a woman named Helen, while Darro began dicing tomatoes and leeks and out them into the pot. Soon enough the water turned a vile yellowish colour and began to thicken as more and more was added to the pot. Crude wooden trays and bowls were handed out, and everyone got a bowl full of vegetable soup and a slice of bread.
Everyone sipped contently. Darro didn't eat. He had trouble eating these days. He never had an appetite. instead he slipped away from the camp towards the docks. He sat a some 50 metres away on the sand and let the cool water lap around his bare feet in the morning sun. He laid on his side hoping to get some extra sleep in before he was summoned to make everyone lunch, and as he did so, spotted something.
About 20 yards away, still on the sand, was an enormous white bird. Darro stood and plodded accross the wet sand, feeling it rise up between his toes. It was dead; the smell told him that before he even got near it. He reached a long, pale hand down and plucked it from the sand. A few flies had begun to settle on the carcass but they scattered as it was lifted. A note was tied to its ankle, in a small silver tube decorated with traces of ebony. Fascinated, Darro spun it in his hands, analyzing it, until a dark hand shot out and snatched it from him. Darro whirled and saw the man, hooded and moving away fast. Darro called out but he wouldn't slow.
It was a good five minutes before Darro ran the man down. He didn't recognize where he was anymore. He had never taken the time to explore Stros M'kai in its entirety. All he knew was that this man had stolen from him. "Hey!" He didn't acknowledge Darro. "Hey! You!" He finally managed to get the man to look at him. He was a Redguard, but the majority of his head was hidden in a hood. "I don't know who you are, but that tube right there? That's mine."