@latrocinari | Starter Call
The hefty, led-filtered stench that clings to this land reminds him of Daein in the most unpleasant of ways, as does the complex system of awkward, rusty streets that have likely seen better days. And when he inhales the smog-filled air, he can feel the way his dry throat threaten to close, but it pales in comparison to how his lungs throb and tremble with the painful task breathing has become. Out of instinct, his bruised fingers reach upwards to trail down the heavy fabric wrapped tightly about his neck before they wrap stiffly about the scarf to pull it up sluggishly. It does little to block out the smell, but it warms the frigid air kissing his pale skin. He can taste the familiar sting of blood on his tongue when it rises, but he swallows it before it has time to linger.
He had never once believed he would leave Daein, and most certainly not when a timer was looming over his head, but his worn, beaten boots made their way along strange roads in a country he did not know like his own. But, he supposed, the very reason he had ventured here had been a result of his failing health. Before he died; he had always desired to see a world untouched by Ashnard (for some morbid comfort that every crime he had committed by following that man added up to nothing when held against the weight of the entire world). It was fool’s errand, in truth, and every inch of this country only served to remind him of days he spent at the beck and call of a king hailed as mad by a nation (but not by Astor; no, Ashnard had been his savior).
Feeble lashes struck at deep bags etched upon his tired features, as onyx hues trail along the clustered buildings and empty streets. In the dead of night with snow licking at his socks through the holes in his shoes, he must have looked crazed for wandering about with only a thin cloak hefted up over his slender shoulders. But he couldn’t get sicker; couldn’t risk his life anymore than he already was by simply existing. Still, a hollow smile creeps onto his chapped lips; Ashnard would have held some strange, grave fondness for this place; Nohr, he could just barely recall the name. He shook the thought from his mind, reaching out to press a sturdy hand against the solid wall beside him; the movement making the knives tucked away beneath his clothes nip at his hip.
He should be near an inn, if he recalls the map he can’t be bothered to fish out from his cloak, and he should keep heading towards it if he doesn’t wish to press his ill luck with his health, but he lingers just long enough to hear the frantic smack of bare feet as they slip and stomp against the concrete, and he bites his tongue; it’s not of his concern. Yet, he’s turning to face the noise despite the way his own warning echoes within his head, and he’s moving before he really has time to stop himself. He claims its instinct, but he’s kinder than he would let on.
He rounds the corner into a thin alleyway that reminds him too much of home, and can just barely manage to spot the blurred figures of strange men; assassins (he knows his own breed when his eyes settle on their backs). A hushed curse falls from his lips, and he digs through his cloak to wrap his fingers about a knife. When he can bring his body to focus; to calm the aching of his raw lungs and sore throat, he can see a lone man tangled in a fight with the group; silver hair nearly the color of the snow beneath his feet as he keeps the group at bay on his own.
“Watch yourself,” is the only warning he gives to the outlaw in the center of this mess before throwing the knife into the shoulder of an incoming assassin; lodging the thick blunt of the blade into the soft flesh between rigid bone with enough force to send him stumbling back. It’s not enough to kill him (though it’s more than enough to severely hinder his usefulness). “I will not strike to kill, but I assume I am better than nothing regardless,” he admits; he will not go back on the oath he made after the war, even now. “I have no interest in the details of your fight, but I will aid you. My lord would never let me rest in peace should I allow harm to befall such a capable soldier.”
