ROUGH DRAFT - Thousand Hands 1.2

This has not yet been reviewed by me or rewritten, obviously. Expect things to be very different when I do.

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Imperalis was many things. Oppressive, majestic, powerful and, as the name seemed to suggest, imperial all came to mind upon first look at it. Its walls were tall and strong, made of old stone, and groups of soldiers could be seen lining the tops of each one. The walls were so tall they blocked the view of the buildings inside, with few exceptions. The biggest exception was the castle, which was imposing in its own right. It towered over the city and everything in it. To those inside the city, it sometimes seemed to be looming over them or looking down on them, much the same way many of its residents did.

The city was about 3,000 years old, founded by King Rhoivandis, and in that time, it had grown into the biggest city of Karnalle with over three hundred thousand people. It was home to the Inter-realm Senate and the seat of House Lundreame, the long-standing rulers of the realm. It was known as the city of a thousand kings for good reason, as the original king’s line had ruled since its creation. And over the millennia, many of his descendants, some of them outright mad, had left their marks in strange ways.

In one of the gardens sprawled through the castle grounds stood a statue, created several centuries before, of the then current king. He and his pet pig, which stood tall enough to reach his waist. His pig had been well loved, well trained, and had been considered one of the royal family. When it had died, its bones had been saved just so the king could be buried with them upon his own death. It was a well-loved story that was still talked about, and the statue still received a fair share of visitors.

One such example was more random. A queen had ordered a street remade with yellow bricks over a century ago. No one knew why or even asked, but by that point no one was surprised by the request. The street had been made, as ordered, and ever since no one had bothered to change it. Every time repairs were made care was taken to ensure the yellow bricks were replaced with identical ones. And so, the yellow brick street had survived for over a hundred years.

There were multiple streets infested with stray and feral cats, but it was against the law to remove them in any way. Not only were the cats protected from being trapped and destroyed, but they couldn’t be moved to another place either. The reason given was that the cats kept the rodent population down, but many believed that the king who’d given this particular order simply had a soft spot for cats.

And on the impossibly strange side of things, there was one street that was aptly named “Silly Street”. It had been written law for several centuries that any who walked down this street had to do so in a silly walk. And while it sounded easy enough to simply not do it, that problem had been quickly solved by placing guards at each end. If anyone was caught walking normally, they were punished. Consequently, the street had become one of the least traveled in all the city. And the most sought after by the guards, for it was an easy assignment.

But alongside the heartwarming, the strange, and the downright weird, the city had been through its shares of pain. It had been destroyed, rebuilt, improved upon, and burnt down more than any other city in Karnalle. Many of the outer walls had visible scars where sections had been repaired and replaced. Buildings and streets had similar scars, and there were many that hadn’t been repaired at all.

That all seemed to have ended a thousand years ago or so, as that was the last time a strange law was put into place, or the city needed serious reconstruction. The time coincided with the dawn of the age of discovery. Whether the two events were related was still occasionally debated by scholars and historians. But since that point Imperalis had become much more stable as the kings of Karnalle had switched their focuses away from home. They had largely become more interested in affairs in other realms, as opposed to ruining their own.

As the city had grown, as had the castle that began it. It towered high above everything else, a gigantic sprawling mess of a Castle. Since its creation, the various kings and queens of Karnalle that had left their marks on the city had done the same to their home. Each monarch and their family had continually added to its design in unthinkable ways. After three thousand years of such treatment the castle looked like a spiraling architectural nightmare that could fall over with a stiff breeze. Most business was kept to the first few floors, for safety concerns as well as because the higher floors quickly lost all sense.

Dead end hallways, staircases that led to the ceiling and no further, and doors that opened to reveal a wall were just a few of the more common examples. There were warp pads scattered all over but instead of making navigation easier, it only made it worse as many of the pads didn’t take you where you wanted to go. Some rooms had not been explored in centuries, gathering dust in darkness with no one to disturb them. And many treasures had long been forgotten, even by those who lived within the castle. It was all too easy to become lost in the nonnavigational maze, and even easier to stay lost.

Just outside the castle lay Barion Heights, the noble district where all the lords of the city lived. This posh neighborhood was built on elevated terrain that raised it above the rest of the city. Like the castle, it looked down on everything else, though its looming presence was severely diminished with the castle towering over it. It was made up of extravagant manors and villas, many of which were guest homes that belonged to nobles from other provinces. And each duke and their families lived there as well, as did many of the provinces’ counts.

The city’s wealth didn’t extend much further than that, unfortunately. Across the river and past the holy district, lay Almalenna’s Grace. In startling contrast to the opulence of the royal district and the wealth of Barion Heights, Almalenna’s Grace was made up of broken roads and homes, and broken people. It was the biggest residential district in the city and the poor who lived in it struggled, with little resources and even less chance of getting more. It was ironically named after Almalenna the Loving, one of Karnelle’s most cherished queens. She had earned her name because she had been invested heavily in the lives of the poor and unfortunate. Some thought that maybe there had been other plans for the district, before it had fallen into its current state. Whatever those plans might have been had long been lost, as Almalenna’s charity works had died with her.

Despite how bad the people of Almalenna’s Grace had it, though, there were unbelievably people who had it worse. Outside of Imperalis’s walls sat two shantytowns, collectively known as Scroungetown. Over a third of the city’s population, over a thousand people, lived in these rundown ghettos. Though calling it living was stretching the word. The people there merely survived, but even that was a struggle. Life in Scroungetown was so awful that just the possibility of moving inside the walls, making it to Almalenna’s Grace, was considered a step up in the minds of many residents.

Separated into North and South Scroungetown by the Bellepar Road, each section was further broken into three smaller districts. And with no wealth or royalty to worry about, no one cared for the ones who lived there. The only authority to speak of was implemented by the various gangs and the more unscrupulous of the royal watch. Though this authority was aimed more towards keeping the poor people poor, or making them poorer, and in the cases of the gangs, constantly fighting over territory.

Scadlan, the central district of South Scroungetown, was arguably the worst compared to the rest of the districts. Truly run down and desolate, it was made up of tents more than actual homes. The buildings that were there usually weren’t safe for occupancy, as most were literally falling apart. It was a hot spot for violence, from the gangs, guards, and the people themselves sometimes. They fought over food, what little there was, and they fought over the drugs that were sold on every street.

Many had simply given up years ago, accepting their lot in life and going about their days without hope. But there were those few that still dreamed of a chance to get out, get away. To either live inside the city or just get out completely. Chances to move into the city were few and far between, however. Chances just to get into the city were rare, as the royal watch usually found a reason to keep anyone lower than the middle class out. And moving away took money, or the skills to make money, neither of which the residents of Scadlan had. Many were born and raised in the district, and it was all they knew.

One didn’t have to go far into the district to find proof of how awful Scadlan was. Everywhere you looked you’d find either menacing looking gang members, corrupt royal guards, drug dealers pedaling their homemade drugs, or dejected vendors selling whatever they’d scrounged up at their old, broken-down stalls and tents. And if you looked closer, down the alleyways and hidden inside the few stable buildings, you’d find the poorer ones, the widows and orphans.

Down one such alleyway were two such orphans, two brothers. Coryn, the older, and Brant, just a few years younger. Neither old enough to be on their own, but they were all they had. They’d lost their parents some time ago. It hadn’t been their fault, they’d simply been in the wrong place at the wrong time, and that somehow made their deaths hit harder. And then they’d lost their home, a small run-down shack that at least had a roof on it. The two of them had been unable to fight back when another family moved in and pushed them out. Now, though, all they had were distant memories of their parents and their home. Now their memories were of being cold, thirsty, hungry, and dirty.

Neither had bathed properly since their parents died. A quick wash with the ragged remains of a towel and the water troughs that were never cleaned did little to make them any cleaner. It had been so long that now what used to be blonde hair, long past due for a haircut, was a tangled, dirt-stained mess. Likewise, their fair skin was also hidden under its own layer of dirt.

Not that regular baths would make much difference, when they spent most nights sleeping on the bare ground or dirty floor of whatever broken-down shack they’d risked camping in. There were plenty of those for the taking and they were better than no shelter at all. They’d even managed to find some clothes in a few of them. They’d need more soon however, because despite the malnutrition both boys were somehow still growing fast. The shirts they currently wore had fit just a few weeks ago but now were stretched thin on them. Getting clothes wouldn’t be too difficult, Coryn knew, and it was much easier than getting food. It was the only bit of luck they’d had since being on their own.

People in Scadlan were more willing to share blankets and clothes, things they could do without when faced with the pitiful, dirty faces of the brothers. But giving up food when they themselves barely had enough just didn’t happen. Not even the most generous person would do that. So, Coryn did what he could, had been since the day they’d run out of the meager food their parents had managed to stockpile. Stealing was hard, working for gold or food was harder. He often didn’t get enough for them both, which meant what he did get all went to Brant. That was starting to not work however because his brother had caught onto his lies and realized what he was doing. Now, Brant refused to eat unless he ate half of it, too.

And that’s what led to the situation the brothers were in, hiding in a dark alley. They’d ducked into it after stumbling upon a gang standoff. Everyone knew the gangs, the Filth Mongers and the Harpy Bros, were both vying for control of Scadlan and had been for some time. Neither boy was surprised when the sounds of violence suddenly erupted from the street, though the shouts, cries of pain, and clanging of steel made the younger boy jump.

Trying to distract him, Coryn pulled a roll from his pocket. “Here,” he whispered, his voice scratchy. His throat was sore after being grabbed by a watchman earlier that day and talking only made it hurt worse. “I hid this from the guard this morning.”

Brant looked at the roll, eyes widening, and automatically reached for it. But then he remembered, and he pulled his hands back. Looking up at his brother, he whispered back, “Do you have one, too?”

Coryn wasn’t surprised by the question and was nodding before it had even been completed. “I ate before the guard got me.” The lie came out easily, smoothly, but it wasn’t enough to convince Brant.

He tucked his hands behind his back, shaking his head vehemently. “No, I don’t want it. I ate that apple yesterday. You need it more, especially after the guard beat you up.”

“I’m fine, Brant, don’t worry about me.” Coryn’s reassurance might have been enough had he not been covered in bruises. That was Brant’s thought, too, for he silently pointed to his brother’s neck. Coryn knew what he was pointing at, he couldn’t see the bruises but he could certainly feel them. Ducking his head down, he held the roll out towards Brant. "They’re not that bad, honest. I’ve had worse. Just, please, eat it. For me.”

“No.” Brant shook his head again and crossed his arms. Coryn recognized the look on his face, the determined and stubborn expression. He’d seen it often enough before, when his parents were alive, and knew there was nothing he could do to make him change his mind. He had to try though.

Coryn stepped closer and pushed the roll into Brant’s chest. “If you trust me, you have to listen to me and believe me when I say I’m fine. So just listen to me and eat it. Please.”

Brant’s face softened but he still didn’t touch the roll. His hands gripped his arms tight, as if locking them in place so he didn’t impulsively grab the roll. “And if you trust me, you’d tell me the truth.”

Anger flashed through Coryn. Shutting his eyes tight against the sudden burst of tears, he shoved the roll at Brant’s face. “Just eat it, already! Don’t you know what I went through to get it? Eat it and stop being such a-“ He stopped midsentence when his brother whimpered fearfully. Opening his eyes, he wasn’t faced with Brant’s stubbornness. Instead, he saw wide, tearful eyes and fear. His anger vanished instantly, and shame took its place. Then realization hit him and he spun around, terrified that he’d given them away to the gangs. He quickly poked his head out of the alley to check, and to his relief, they were still busy fighting. He couldn’t tell who was winning, couldn’t even tell the two gangs apart, but it didn’t matter so long as they were busy with each other.

He fell against the wall, sagging tiredly, and breathed out a heavy sigh. He shoved the roll back into his pocket and dropped down to the ground, hard. He wrapped his arms around his legs and buried his face in his knees.

“I’m sorry, Brant, I’m sorry,” he apologized, his voice choking in his throat. Tears fell, burning his eyes and face. Then, a familiar weight settled at his side. Lifting his head, he wasn’t surprised to see his brother copying his position, with his knees drawn up and hugged to his chest.

“It’s okay. I’m sorry, too,” Brant whispered back, leaning against Coryn’s shoulder. They both fell silent then, listening to the fighting out in the street. After a moment, right after someone yelled out in pain, Brant whispered, “I wish he was back already.”

Part of Coryn agreed with him, but he pushed it away. “We can’t rely on him for everything.” His quiet reply was just as much to convince himself as it was to convince his brother. As much as he believed that they were on their own, that his brother was his responsibility now, he couldn’t stop a part of him from hoping. Hoping that the only person who’d really tried to help them, to help everyone, would come back soon and help them all again. They all needed it, needed him, and he was the only person who ever did anything.

Coryn had quickly figured out he couldn’t be relied upon though. He was often gone for long periods of time, long enough that some began to think he’d finally given up his hopeless endeavor to save them all. But then he always came back, laden with food, clothes, and whatever else they needed. It made up for the long times without him, they could all tell he was only gone as long as he had to be, and he came back as often as he could. Everyone loved him for it, for all the work he did. But then he would leave again, and things would soon go back to normal. It was a never-ending cycle, he’d come, things would be good for a while, he’d leave, and things would go bad again. It sometimes made Coryn think they’d be better off without him giving them useless hope.

With those dark thoughts in his head, Coryn started to speak again. “He’s probably off on some grand adventure now and he’s forgotten all about-“

He was cut off when a new voice entered the cacophony coming from the street. The boys reacted instantly. Brant jumped up and rushed to the alley entrance. Coryn stumbled after him, his face burning with shame. He felt bad for doubting, even in his own thoughts. He copied his brother and stuck his head slightly out of the alley to get a better view. Both brothers’ faces beamed when they saw him, as if summoned by their thoughts. Coryn was quick to school his face into uncaring, but he couldn’t stop his lips from twitching upwards.

The fight had stopped instantly when Rinzer’s voice had boomed out over the ruckus. No one moved in the sudden stillness as he approached the two gangs. Whispers could be heard in the quiet as word began to spread, from hiding place to hiding place, that he had returned. And then the whispers turned into exclamations when everyone saw the cart he’d been pulling behind him. The boys were no better, their eyes were bugging in their heads just looking at it.

It was overfilled with goods, baskets, bags, and barrels. Fabrics peeked out of a few of them, clothes and blankets presumably. Coryn knew from experience that the others were full of food, clean water, and other essentials they needed. And just like the times before, Nellie was sitting at the back of the cart. She had her arms crossed, looking just as irritated as she usually did when the boys saw her.

Rinzer brought Coryn’s attention back to him when he suddenly yelled at the gang members. He was famous for being kind, polite, and quiet. So, when he yelled, it was because he was really pissed off. “What the fuck did I say about this shit?” He stomped into the middle of the group. The ones who were familiar with him moved aside, ducking their heads to avoid his gaze. He stopped in the middle of them all and slowly turned to look at them, one by one. “Knock off the turf war bullshit, or I’ll fuck you all up.”

One of the newer gang members, a younger, blonde man from outside Scroungetown, had never dealt with Rinzer before. Cocky and eager to grab at the chance to prove himself, he stepped towards Rinzer. He assumed he would be like other adventurers he’d met before, that he could be easily paid or scared into minding his own business. He shrugged off the members, both from his gang and the other, who grabbed and hissed warnings at him. He ignored them all, completely ignorant of who he was dealing with.

When Rinzer stepped up to meet him, he got his first good look at the adventurer. Taller than him, with well-worn armor, and those heavy gauntlets, he didn't look so impressive. Expecting this to be an easy fight, he pulled his fist back. A second later, one of those gauntlets smashed into his cheek. He dropped like a lead weight, hitting the ground hard, where he lay unconscious. No one moved, no one spoke. Everyone collectively held their breath, waiting to see who’d make the next move.

The stillness was broken when a few other members, those who were particularly perturbed over Rinzer butting into their business again, tried to use the moment as an opportunity. They thought him distracted and unaware, focused solely on the one he’d just knocked out, but they quickly learned their lessons, too. Rinzer severely outclassed them all, using his own perfected techniques against their untrained street skills. Their punches were weak compared to the monsters he dealt with, and their swords couldn’t cut through his gauntlets. One got creative, though, and tried jumping onto his back. That one managed to cling for a few seconds, but then Rinzer simply dropped backwards. He fell on his back and crushed the gang member under his considerable weight. He rolled and jumped up immediately, leaving the crushed member gasping and choking on the ground. He wisely didn’t try to get back up, not that he could have anyway.

Once those few were on the ground with the first, the rest of the members were thoroughly dissuaded from trying anything else. Rinzer looked at the ones left standing, the smarter ones. The anger in his face, in his eyes, was terrifying in and of itself, but there was an extra sense of terror because it was such an alien look on his normally relaxed face. It was enough to scare even the most hardened gang members off, and it did just that. He waited and watched, no words needed, as the fallen members were collected and dragged off.

As soon as the gangs were gone, his face did a complete turnaround. The anger disappeared and he was smiling again. He cupped his hands around his mouth and called out, “The trouble is gone! It’s safe to come out now, everyone!” For a moment nothing happened. But then an old woman made her way out of the shadows, hobbling towards Rinzer as fast as she could with her hand carved cane. She reached her free hand out to him, and he was quick to step forward and grab it. “Hello again, Granny,” he murmured, his smile softening. He helped her over to the cart and pulled a blanket out of the nearest basket. He draped it over her shoulders, covering her holey shawl.

“You were gone a while this time, weren’t you, child?” The woman replied, meeting his smile with her own. Rinzer ducked his head at the kind scolding. She tutted and patted his cheek. “I knew you’d come back to us. You always do.”

“I always will,” Rinzer replied. He straightened up and, pointing to the cart, said, “I’m here to help, and I’ve brought plenty for everyone.” That seemed to be the signal the people had been waiting for, because they began popping out of their hiding places. They came from the alleys, from inside their ramshackle houses, huts, and tents, and even from the sewers underground. They crowded around the cart with hands raised, their excitement and impatience poorly contained. Rinzer turned to lift the first barrel from the cart, and as he did so, he caught Nellie’s gaze. She’d been silent and stone faced the whole time, trusting him to take care of himself. She couldn’t help but match his smile with a small one of her own. She did, however, pull her scarf up to hide it. She had a reputation to keep, after all.

Still in the alley, Brant grinned at his brother. “We can always count on him! He always comes back!” He grabbed Coryn’s arm and shook it excitedly, practically hopping in place.

Coryn sighed, fighting back his own grin. He pulled Brant’s hands off him and reluctantly admitted, “Yeah, we can. Come on, let’s go before it’s all gone.” Holding his brother’s hand, they sprinted out into the street to join the still growing crowd.