Quodeth, 19th, Adar, 2214
It was Finnris 26th Birthday, and he was bored.
Finnris sighed as he skulked back through the streets of the Tir-Paland district after his morning weapons practice at The Dawn Spire. Everyone was busy. Vorstag was applying himself to yet another greasy pole, this time commerce. Aeshma and Zerda were politicking and social climbing in Queen Deyane's court. Aeri and Tyarna were allegedly working, what nobles did for work though was a mystery to the Dhari. Finnris chuckled imagining Zerda talking about himself, perhaps that was work after all. Even Cassandra had her head buried in a book in the Onther Tower now that she could read.
Finnris wanted fame, fortune, and most of all, adventure. After all, there were plenty of quests available. He counted them on the fingers of a tattooed hand; a mysterious cult that lurked beneath the Dwarf City of Kal-Zinan; the lost Tower of Viondor that they had learned from an undead pirate lord, or even the urgent rescue mission to Marg, a city notorious for evil corruption. But his friends were busy, flapping gums, scratching backs, getting splinters in the arses, but he didn't want to adventure without them. Even that damned Hydra had got away, he thought.
Finnris idly swung the butt of his war spear at a pebble in the street. Sunlight gleamed off its long blade and the legendary weapon pulsed with divine power as it connected with the small rock, the little stone shot across the street as if propelled by a siege engine, hitting a shop door with a mighty CRACK! Hawkers stopped calling out their wears, several of them turned at the sound, Finnris gritting his teeth, winced. An ancient man emerged, squinting in the sunlight, his gaze went from the heavily armed barbarian to a gang of urchins on the other side of the street. The old silk merchant shook his fist at the children threatening to call the guard. Finnris suppressing a grin, frowned grimly at the scruffy gang of small children as he strode past.
At the sound of a soft footfall behind him, he narrowed his eyes and spun with blinding speed to face the would-be assassin. But there was no attacker. Street folk went about their business, there were a few raised eyebrows at the hulking barbarian poised to attack, but no assassin, no blade from the shadows, no danger, no excitement, Finnris sighed again, his mighty shoulders sagged.
Then Finnris saw the stalker, a fat little boy of about four years with a snotty nose holding a toy horse. The boy looked up at Finnris.
"Wanna play horsey?" said the boy, in a gruff raspy voice.
Finnris crouched, smiling at the child.
"Ok, Fat Urchin, let us play horsey," said Finnris, now grinning.
Finnris examined the wooden toy.
"A Narthan steed no doubt!" Said the barbarian proudly, before continuing. "Did you know the Highlanders of Nar have the finest horses in all of Thule, my Granma in fact..."
"Ok, you can be horsey" interrupted the chubby Urchin as he clambered up the Highlanders back.
"Oooff, you're hefty little fellow," said Finnris as the boy climbed aboard his makeshift steed.
"Giddy up horsey," exclaimed the boy, digging his heels into Finnris.
They charged up, and along the City walls, much to the City Guards disapproval. The guards jeered at them, telling them to get off the walls, but they knew the pit fighter well enough to not press the argument, Finnris and the Urchin just laughed and played on, completing almost a full circuit of Quodeth's high walls.
"More, more, giddy up horsey" cried the street Urchin in glee, again digging his heels into Finnris, to encourage his steed.
They galloped over countless bridges and through the docks, bawdy roars of laughter came from a unit of Vorzin marines. The day wore on, and Finnris grew weary. But the Urchin wanted more.
"Giddy up horsey," he squealed over and over in delight.
So Finnris, red-faced and puffing like a galley slave at ramming speed took the Bazaar at the canter to the delight of the Fortune Teller, who no doubt had wagered on this precise occurrence. Finally, Finnris returned to where they had started the day.
"Well, Chubby Urchin that was fun," said Finnris smiling, breathing hard and dripping with sweat. He ruffled the boy's hair and dropped a golden peacock into the boy's plump hand.
"See you tomorrow, horsey," said the little boy as he scampered off, leaving Finnris, panting in the dust.
…
A little later that evening Finnris staggered into the training camp of Urgak the Pit Master.
"What in the Hells' happened to you?" Growled the Katagian. Finnris looked as if he had been on the road for a week, he was covered in dust and streaked with sweat, his eyes shot red with exhaustion, his usually straight back bent as if he'd been broken by the lash.
"For the love of the gods Urgak, please I beg you, you must get me a fight!" Finnris exhausted, was bent over double, hands on knees, gasping for air.
"I must return to training in the camp."
The grizzled pit fighter trainer looked questioningly at Finnris.
"I must be off the streets, Urgak" pleaded Finnris, gesturing to a crowd of Urchins at the camp gates. The Urchins were capering around in the street on pretend horses shouting, "Giddy Up!"
"I fear they will be the death of me."
......
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