A Journal Unwritten - Artemis Black

A collection of extended memories from Artemis Black's Past

From letters to journals to thoughts and everything in between, certain character story development requires free-form writing as it does not happen in a particular location. Thus, this little corner of Khy'eras can be used to jot down ideas and stories.
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Artemis Black
Character
Black of the Night
Level
04
48 / 48 HP
36 / 36 MP
0p / 0g / 1s / 25c
Race: Human
Class: Rogue
Posts: 358
Joined: September 30th, 2019, 12:06 am
Has thanked: 13 times
Been thanked: 14 times

A Journal Unwritten - Artemis Black

Post by Artemis Black »

Stealing from The Cook
Year AoN 278 - Age 12
Streets of Fellsgard, East District, Near the Market

-
His stomach rumbled and he frowned down at the offending sound. He knew he was hungry, he was always hungry, pointing it out was the same as saying the tide would come in. He didn’t need some stupid sounds attracting attention as he shuffled through the crowded market street. He tried to will his roiling gut into silence and, after a final bubble of defiance, things became peacefully quiet again.

He was wearing his best, which wasn’t much given the recent brawls, and had even taken a bath. It was important to look somewhat decent when you skulked about for coin purses. Walking around carelessly attracted far too much attention as a grime-covered urchin. So Artemis had his pants with only one tear in them and his tunic with most of the moth holes patched. He was even wearing his good boots, the ones where the water only leaked in on the left side. He looked like a proper respectable destitute fisherman’s son rather than the homeless street urchin he was.

Despite all his preparation, it was spitting rain, not enough to actually stop shopping, but enough that everyone was in a foul mood and didn’t take kindly to bumping or folks that seemed poorer than them. Artemis often relied on both of those things, and his complaining stomach was doing nothing to help matters. He grit his teeth and stepped out from his alleyside stoop, deciding he needed to toss his dice before he got any weaker.

He’d picked a big target, the kind that often had their bellies filled with cheap ale this time of the week. Sailors were an interesting lot, right penny pinchers to the poor, but indulgent wastrels for drink and whores. Artemis shivered slightly at the thought of the fate that he’d have gotten if he’d been blessed with nice tits. He refocused his mind as another soft gurgle began in his stomach. He need to move quick, make the grab, get away.

He almost gave up when he got close to the man. His mark was massive, bigger than Artemis’ had realized, and he didn’t stink of liquor. He smelled like herbs, and something bittersweet. He had a light sheen of water on him, maybe rain or maybe sweat, and his bald head reflected the lamplight from high above. Artemis let the moment of indecision pass between his steps and moved in for his grab.

The move was clean, one of his finest he might have thought were the straits not so dire, and Artemis’ hand came away with a full three coppers before his boot hit the ground. He pivoted ever so slightly as his heel struck, turning his direction as if avoiding bumping the man, and made his way towards the next alley. He’d duck in, stay out of sight for a minute, check his reward and start again until he could get some scraps and maybe sit by a fire for a bit.

He slumped against a rotting crate and pulled his clenched fist out of his trouser pocket. He felt a wave of nervous excitement as his prize clinked faintly in his hand. When he opened his palm his excitement turned to confusion, and then fear. He wasn’t holding three coppers. He was holding a wooden token with some sort of leaf, a silver piece, and a small silver bear.

“What the-” he managed to get out before an ominous shadow loomed over him.

“It’s not polite to take a man’s things without asking.” The voice came from very far away, and had a gravely tone, like the speaker was talking through a pile of collapsing stones. Artemis looked up, the ice cold fear in his gut telling him what he already knew instinctively. He’d lifted from someone very dangerous, and now he was going to pay the price.

The dull thrum of raindrops seemed far too loud in his ears as he looked up at the mountain of a man. His thoughts seemed frozen, like the sea foam along the chilled rocks. All he could do was examine the figure before him with a strange detachment. The man was wearing some sort of armor on his shoulders, a dull bronze gleam marred with gashes and stains. Between the plates there was leather, and beneath that man’s shirt lay open, revealing a broad chest covered in extensive and detailed tattoos. Artemis only vaguely recognized some as sailor’s marks but many were a mystery.

“I know you’re not deaf boy, but I haven’t decided if you're stupid. What was the plan then, why’d you pick me?” The man’s scraping stone voice was disconcerting and sent a shiver down the young thief’s spine. It sounded distant, and yet right beside his ear in the same moment. Artemis gulped, offering out his shaking hand with the strange collection of trinkets, his mind not caught up to the spoken words. The man looked down and shook his head. “Not what I asked, what was the plan? Why me?”

Artemis’ thoughts finally clicked over and he lifted his head and opened his mouth to reply; he was afraid the man would grow angry and violent if he didn’t. His first attempt got him a soft cough as his bone dry lips fought against his swollen tongue.

“Sailor, payday,” he managed to whisper out after another gulp to wet his lips. He raised his eyes to meet the man’s and saw curiosity and mirth gleaming there. Artemis made a decision to speak with more confidence, figuring if he was to be an amusement he’d play his part.

He cleared his throat, figuring he could talk the talk and see if he could maybe slip away. “Moving like the rain didn’t bother you. Likely meant you were drunk, and you smelled like the herbs the whores use to hide the diseases.” He shrugged, looking back at his plan and wonder what he could have done differently. “Guess I picked wrong, should have checked the eyes, the step, but the rain makes it tough and I- I’m hungry.”

He frowned at the admission, it had come entirely unbidden, but it was also the plain truth. He’d gotten careless because the hunger gnawed at his belly. He was likely going to die now, either to a beating or the guards. No one cared about another gutter urchin lying broken in a flooded alleyway.
Word count: 1108
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