Tales of a Foolish Brother

[Jai_V]

I still recall the first time I learned the important of Kumpania.

Come, gadje and didikai...join me by the fireside, and hear my story.

I was a whelp of barely thirteen summers. By the reckoning of my people, I was a man. To the shopkeep who'd just caught me liberating some food, I was just dirty Gurani scum, and likely not the first to bring him such grief. Held fast as I was by some friendly locals, I heard the shopkeep call for a deputy. I said a silent prayer of thanks to Dame Fortuna; by reputation, the vllage had a small jail. Escape would be an easy matter. By sun up, I'd be long gone; a fading memory of an annoyed shopkeep.

Sadly, luck wasn't with me that day.

The deputy arrived and clasped me in irons. The shopkeep told his side of the story, and the locals confirmed. He didn't even bother to ask me before showing me out the back of the shop.

I'd barely set foot across the threshold when his chained boot took me square in the small of the back. The sudden trauma forced me to piss myself, and I fell to the ground with a new understanding of pain. The big boot caught me in the stomach, the air whooshing out of me. Had I eaten that day, I'd have tasted more than the bile that rose in the back of my throat.

It wasn't long until the shopkeeper joined in. He had brought along a cattle herder's club, striking me in my arms and legs. Each of them avoided my head, which in my youthful vanity, I was thankful for. Now, I realize they wanted me clear of mind, to feel every blow. The beating went on for what seemed like hours, but was likely only a few minutes. In those awful moments, I was certain I would die. Between the sobs of pain, and empty wretching, I spoke my last rites in the language of my people. In those days, my grasp of the Gurani language was limited...but my mother had ensured I could never forget where I came from. I closed my eyes and slid silently into the dark.

But I didn't die, did I?

I'd later learn that the shopkeep and the deputy were cousins. And therein lies the lesson I had beat into me, that day: the importance of family.

[Jai_V]

An Aside

Anyone that's ever dealt with us knows that all Gurani view one another as family. So you may be wondering: "Ruslan, how did you come to be on your own at such a young age?"

In truth, most other Gurani I've met say I'm cursed. My mother was known to consort with the gadje; our word for any that are not Gurani. I don't know much about my mother, nor my father. I was raised by a kindly old widow in a small village near the Lake of Steam. She was known to be a shuivani, what the gadje call a hedge-mage, and she was very kind to me. Had she not passed shortly after my tenth summer, I may have stayed in the village with her. She had many books in her home, and it is by dent of her charity that I am so well-read and well-spoken.

What was I talking about? Oh, yes, my parentage.

What little I do know of my mother stems from an encounter with an "Aunt" shortly after my caretaker's death. She arrived by caravan with other Gur, likely what you would call my "blood relatives." A short, pair-shaped woman possessed of the same exotic beauty often afforded to my kind, she had lips both wide as a serpent and full as the puffer fish. Her hair was as dark as the night and fell just beyond her shoulders, tied with many decorative diklo. But her eyes are what I remember the most; they were sharp, expressive, and the color of darkened amber. They were like my mother's eyes...but they were nothing like my own.

She cast a disapproving glance toward me, "No. This will not do. I cannot take you," she said in harshly accented Common, "you will always be his son."

The caravan left shortly after. When I think of her words, it still hurts as much as it did that day.

No one can hurt you like family.

[Jai_V]

Tales of a Foolish Brother (Continued)

Pain.

Everything hurt. That was my first thought having realized the deputy and shopkeeper hadn't beaten me to death. Barely a whine escaped my lips when I heard a deep, resounding basso comment impassively, "You'll live. Wouldn't go filchin' no more if yor gon' get caught." I forced my eyes open only to find that I stared into an unending darkness. "Muh-my eyes! I can't see!" Panic set in, but before I could raise myself, a calloused hand bared down on my naked chest. "Stop." the voice said in a patient tone, "Yor fine. It's just dark in here. Be still. And rest." The last word came out in something of a bestial growl. I lost myself to darkness, once more.

I was roused with a sudden shudder. My eyes opened to a blinding brightness that soon shrank to a few tolerable daggers of light. I realize that I was moving, along with everything else. Looking around, I found myself in a very fitting place: the back of a wagon. Unlike a proper Gurani wagon, this one was made to deny freedom to it's occupants. Realization took my eyes to the space that voice had come from. I saw a large, gray-skinned half-orc with eyes like pools of cloying blood looking down upon me. "Toldja you'd live." he said in that same patient basso.

He introduced himself a Fuolgrim, the pugilist. He explained our situation was dire. After they beat the sense out of me, the deputy had hauled me into the jail. That night, slavers had passed through and offered to buy out any decent stock from the local lock-up. They'd chosen Fuolgrim for obvious reasons: he was large, half-orcish, and a trained fighter. Their reasons for choosing me were less obvious, though he did notice some finger-waggler using their doka before deciding to take me. I mused that even cursed Gurani must be useful to someone. "I ain't finna be no slave." he snarled. He held up his manacled left hand and wiggled his fingers before setting it on the floor. "Break it." he grunted quietly. I looked up to him with a mixture of pity and fear, "B...but I can't break metal chains..." He growled low, but didn't move his hand. "My thumb. Slip the bond. Only need one hand to fight."

The whole plan seemed grazy, but when a angry half-orc who beats people to death for a living tells you to do something, you do it. I stood, well, stooped really, and drove the heel of my foot down on the offered thumb. There was an audible crunch and to his credit, I never heard Fuolgrim make a sound. Soon, his hand was free and he looked to me with an expression of pity. "Sorry, kid." he said in that simple, honest basso. The chain of his shackle wrapped around my neck and he began to choke me. "Gonna kill 'em!" he roared, "Gonna kill that bastard!" Instinct made me grip the chain and try to wrestle it away from my neck.

I might as well have been trying to wrestle a dragon.

[Jai_V]

Aside, again.

In my travels, I tried to meet and speak with other Gurani. Many that I met near the Lake of Steam seemed to recognize me, or knew something about me, and they would not even speak to me at length. One grows weary of such rejection after a while, but I couldn't give up. It seemed to truck with other Gurani was the only way to learn anything of my people, as all the gadje had to say were either false pleasantries or vulgar curses. I'd later learn that many of the gadje fear the deochi, or what many call "the Evil Eye." They believe that the Gur can curse you with but a glare. This accounted for the fake kind words. It's true that some Gurani can hex others, but it's not common.

The truth is no one really likes us. We're outcast. And me? I'm an outcast among outcasts, and cursed to top it all! This is why I'm called Thrice-Cursed Ruslan.

[Jai_V]

Tales of a Foolish Brother (Continued)

My vision began to tunnel and spots exploded into view. "Stop the Caravan!" a driver cried. "The pig's killin' the Rashemi!" It all happened so fast. The slavers were in the back with their cudgels when Fuolgrim launched me into one of them. We toppled to the ground, but I was so happy to breathe again, I almost hugged the slaver. With a series of quick combinations from swinging his manacle like a flail and utilizing the knock-out punch of his one good hand, Fuolgrim made short work of the other two slavers. With that good hand, he hoisted me off the other and delivered a single blow, straight down, with all his considerable bulk behind it. I was almost certain I heard the slaver's skull crack like an egg. With nowhere to go, the slaver's head absorbed the full force. Fuolgrim threw himself out the open back door and waved me to follow. "C'mon!" he beckoned.

I didn't need to be told twice. Faster than I thought was possible. I was starving, been nearly beaten to death one day, and choked to death the next...but I was free, again. Unsteady on my feet, I stumbled along at Fuolgrim's urging, just ahead of the half-orc and heading to the cover of a nearby wooded bog. A piercing whistle sounded and I heard Fuolgrim groan. Spinning deftly on my feet, I turned to see another crossbow bolt plink into the half-orc's massive upper torso. Then, another. I was about to run and help when he bellowed, "GO, GOD'S DAMN YOU!"

I'd like to tell you that I summoned a great courage and went back to help the first person to help me since that widow died. I'd like to tell you that we fought off the remaining slavers and freed any other captives. I'd like that...I'd like to tell you anything other than I left the closest thing I had to a real friend to die at the hands of those slavers. But I'm here to tell this story, and Fuolgrim...

Hopefully, Fuolgrim never has to worry about slavers, again.

I won't lie...when he told me to run, to forget about him? It felt as though a great weight had been lifted from me. I felt no regrets.

[Jai_V]

Another Aside.

The first Gurani that ever spoke to me, at length, I'd met traveling alone. He was a jolly old kak named Vasily, and he was on his ga kris. The ga kris is a sort of "last journey" some of the Gurani set off on when we're close to death. You wander the world one last time before returning home to die.

He knew what I was before I could introduce myself, and greeted me as kumpania. It was the first time another Gurani had done so. The first village we stopped at on our travels together was small and unremarkable, but I vividly remember the rocking chairs outside the quiet, bucolic Inn. We shared a pipe. I'm not ashamed to say that, it being my first, it damn-near killed me. Since then, I've not been much of a smoker. We shared stories of our lives and of the open road as we continued to travel together. He taught me almost everything I know of the Gurani culture. He even imparted on me some folklore, and tall-tales.

After many weeks, I finally told him the particulars of my childhood. I remember worrying he'd send me away, but he just shrugged and said, "It sounds to me like your father was gadje. And likely more. I know not what spirits seek you, but your eyes...they're like the shigei." (Shigei is the Gurani word for elven.) "What is it about my eyes, Kak?" Kak roughly translated, means "uncle." It's a respectful term for an elder male in a Gurani kumpania. The old man puffed his pipe, exhaling a large cloud of smoke as he laughed. "It's clear as crystal for those with eyes to see." He shooks his head and said in a more somber tone, "I'm sorry, Ruslan. Likely, you'll never be welcomed at the caravans of your kumpania." I frowned, "But...what if I pluck out my offensive eyes?" I asked. Could I do that? Was I willing to sacrifice my sight for my family?

Vasily laughed again.

"Cursed, half-Gurani, and blind?" The old man smirked, his eyes alight with genuine mirth, "Dame Fortuna favors the bold, son, but that's just...d'nilo." It was crazy. I was embarrassed for even having thought it, and it showed. Vasily clasped a hand on my shoulder and gave me a gentle shake. "Forget those Gurani! Find yourself another family! Or better yet, meet many beautiful chavi, and start one of your own!"

Few times in my life do I remember feeling so at ease as much as my journey with Vasily. After several months together, he died quietly in the night at an Inn. I would have seen him home, but I didn't know where to go. I buried him in the shade of a gnarled-wood tree, and hung his beaded necklace from the sturdiest branch.

Safe journeys, Kak...

[Jai_V]

Tales of a Foolish Brother (Continued)

Away, I ran. But to what? My hands were still shackled, and as I didn't know the area, I was running blind. Into a swamp. So fleet of foot was I, the slavers gave up the chase. Or maybe they just decided I wasn't worth trudging through a swamp for.

There I was, in the middle of a bog, nearly beaten to death not long before, and likely close to starving. The sky darkened and I trudged on, cursing the murderous slavers that had brought me here. I cursed the ignorant yokels that had traded me to them, and even the hateful Aunt that turned me away. And I cursed my father, because even though I'd never met him, this was all his fault. Before I realized it, the bog had grown darker than my eyes could see. I knew I should keep moving, but I was so tired. Sleeping in the middle of swamp was the last thing I should be doing, as the possibility of waking up literally neck-deep in alligators was not out of the question. But...my strength was gone. I pressed myself against a weeping willow and prayed that whatever came for me made my death quick. As my eyes fluttered shut, I could have sworn a woman was seated next to me.

In my dreams, my mother carried me in her arms. She seemed so large, and I, so very small. "Just a little further now, Ruslan." she gently reassured me. Then, she began singing a lullaby in the Gurani tongue. So peaceful...I felt so safe...

"Boy!"

"Hey boy!"

"Boy!!"

Something unrelenting prod me in my side. I could barely open my eyes and ineffectively brought up a hand in defense. I should have noticed that I was no longer shackled, but I was near mad with starvation. "...food...please..." I croaked through a dry and bile-burnt throat. About that time, I lost consciousness. Again.

[Jai_V]

A short, musical interlude...followed by yet another aside.

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=pPoZWFNB8Jo

I know...I know...I know. By now you're thinking, "Ruslan, don't you do anything besides complain and faint?" Trust me: this story doesn't have some of my finer moments, but it's part of how I ended up here.

And that's what matters.

[Jai_V]

Tales of a Foolish Brother (Continued)

When next I woke, I thought for sure that I still dreamt.

A vision of beauty dressed in an angel's robe sat at my side, ministering my needs. A blink later, I realized that haze of sleep had worn off and I lay upon a straw mattress with an all-too-human girl beside me. While she was not unattractive, her mien was plain and not at all angelic. Simple, dirty-blond hair was pulled up into a messy bun, she had a round face but with a defined chin and thin lips on the beige side of pink. Her doe eyes were a deep and somber brown. She'd make a wonderful housewife and likely would never be overly fat, even after a child or four. From a wooden bowl, she fed me a weak broth that tasted of turnip stock and pork trimmings. Not that I was complaining, mind you...back in the bog, I wasn't sure I'd wake, at all.

How did I get to this farm, anyway? What had happened to my bonds? These were mysteries that, to this day, I've yet to solve.

The next two days passed much like the first: I was fed weak broth, twice daily. The girl would help me up and walk me to the outhouse, every so often. Once, I caught her peeking at my manhood as I was relieving myself. At seemingly random times, she'd disappear, presumably to see to some chores around the homestead. Eventually, I was well enough to see to myself, and that's when the older man reappeared. He asked me questions about myself, to which I lied, pretending I'd forgotten who I was and everything about my life up 'til waking on the isolated farm. He offered me one more night's stay, but in the morning, said he'd "prayed upon it" and offered me to stay, sleeping in the hay-loft of his barn and to feed me, if I'd help with the chores.

I didn't know the first thing about farming, but I knew I wasn't strong enough for the road, yet. So I stayed, working alongside Declan, and (as it turned out) his niece, Isolde. I'd soon learn that I was ill-suited for farming, but for the time, it was just nice to be part of a family.

[Jai_V]

A vision...and an aside.



"I have this...recurring dream.

A city, floating in the sky above a verdant, rain-soaked valley. A shadowy figure stands at the edge, staring down on me. I stand on the ground, a quiet storm raging around me, but it never touches me. All I hear is my mother's Gurani lullaby, echoing in the eye of the storm.

The dream began after my night in the swamp. It's this dream that led me here...

I don't know if the Sundered Valley holds any answers, or just more questions. But I'm here. Buy me a drink?"

[Jai_V]

Tales of a Foolish Brother (Continued)

The process was slow, but eventually, I became competent enough to help Declan with his farm. I'd been there for nearly a whole moon when I was awakened one night by Isolde. She joined me in the hay-loft and taught me yet another physically exhausting activity in which I had no experience. With this particular "chore," however, I was a quick and attentive study...and based on experience, I'd taken to it much quicker than pig-farming.

And so it went. Some nights, Isolde would sneak into the hay-loft and we'd lay together. It wasn't long, being a healthy of lad of fourteen summers and she, a fertile lass of sixteen, that she found herself with child. I knew we couldn't keep this from her uncle, but I didn't want to be the one to tell him. Isolde seemed less concerned. I had quietly considered suggesting to Isolde we leave, but I had no place to take her, and no way to take care of her in such a state.

While this was the first child I'd ever fathered, it would not be the last. And each time since, I've learned it's better leave before things become complicated. By my reckoning, my oldest should be about three autumns this year.

But my child with Isolde...

I decided to tell Declan, as he'd done right by me so far and if were were to be kumpania, it was obligation.

The next morning at breakfast, I told Declan. He looked between the both of us, chewing his porridge thoughtfully. I was somber and tired, while Isolde seemed amused and maybe even a bit proud. "That's that, then." he said after a pregnant moment of tension. (No pun intended.) "What do you mean, Uncle?" Isolde asked, a note of uncertainty creeping in her voice. Declan gave an apathetic shrug which seemed to further darken Isolde's mood. "We'll talk about it after work's done." he said, and he shuffled out of the house and toward the barn. Declan was a rather taciturn man; we rarely talked as we worked. That day, he was even less open to conversation. The day passed and chores came and went. At supper, he still seemed in no mood to talk. "Best we leave this conversation for tomorrow," I said to Isolde, who seemed more concerned than usual, "it seems he still needs time." We cleaned up the table and all went off to bed, as we usually did. I lie awake, waiting for Isolde to creep in to the loft, but she never came. Thinking nothing of it, I began to drift off to sleep, when I heard a scream from the house.

I was frozen, some purely animal part of my mind telling me to hide and wait. But as a second scream came, and I recognized Isolde's voice, I leap from the loft in only my leggings and sprinted to the house. I'd only a handful of times been in the house after dark, and I never realized how pitch black the place could get. Luckily, the moon was full and Selūne's blessing gave me enough light to see by. I made my way through the kitchen and common room, set for the bedrooms. I heard Isolde speak quietly, as if she were crying and unable to get a complete breath, "...but you told me you wanted a child...I thought..." I crested the doorway of her room to see Declan, silhouetted by moonlight in front of the ephemeral white curtain. He was holding his pig-sticker, which glistened with a black liquid. Only, it wasn't black. It was red. The coppery and musk smell of blood permeated the area. And Isolde lie on her back in bed, facing away from Declan, her throat cut so deep that the back of her head was flush with side of the bed. Her eyes looked to me, but they didn't. They were staring off into whatever awaited her after this life.

Isolde, the mother of my child, one of the few people who took any interest in my well-being, had been gutted and bled like one of the pigs.

[Jai_V]

A final aside.

Isn't it astounding where the mind goes in times of distress?

To that point, I had never questioned where a young girl, sequestered from the outside world, gains the carnal knowledge she imparted in me as I clumsily learned to please a woman. She had to learn from someone...and who else was around?

Socro-bori: to lay with kin. Some of the more wretched of the Gurani practiced this, in an effort to "keep out of the influences of the gadje." But though we are all kumpania, and we share the same ancestors, we do not breed with our closest kin. To do so is to entice beng, spirits of great evil, to come upon us, or to invite weakness and infirmity into the family.

[Jai_V]

Tales of a Foolish Brother (Finale)

"She was my baby brother's only girl." he said, quietly seething with rage. "Sent her to me when he reckoned he couldn't afford another mouth. I loved her like my own..." He smoothed back his thinning chestnut mane, slick with the blood of Isolde that covered everything in the room. "S'why I ain't 'bout to have some damned, dirty, half-blood Gurani infesting this pure family with yer mud blood!"

He threw himself over the fallen girl and her bed, hefting the pig-sticker high above his head and intent on driving it into me. The murderous pig-farmer roared in hatred as he bore down upon me like I was one of his herd. The blade fell and it was only by ill-fortune for Declan that I avoided my end. For in his haste, he had marred his shod feet in Isolde's blood and in that last moment, he slipped. The blade instead notched the door frame and I wasted no time in counting my fortunes. Scurrying down the dark hallway like a frightened mouse fleeing a cat, I did the best I could to make up the distance. Declan, however, was in excellent shape, even for someone of his girth and age. And he knew this house as if it were a part of his body. He closed the distance on me and with a quick kick, I fell to the floor.

I barely had time to turn face-up when he came down upon me. The blade was aimed for my right eye and my arms shot up in a purely instinctual defensive motion. I managed to hold his one arm with my two, but the blade was creeping down toward me, and as soon as he was able to bring his other arm to bear, I was going to die. I looked up at him, fear coursing through me and robbing me of all reason. For a mad moment, I had an idea. I began to sing my mother's lullaby, but instead of using to soft, dulcet tones, I made it sound more guttural and hateful. Then, I locked eyes with him.

As I mentioned before, the Gurani "evil eye" is known far and wide. I doubt I was able to use it, but it hardly mattered. I could see his eyes grow wide with fear, and that lapse in concentration was all I needed. I bent his wrist around the shaft of his pig-sticker, and stabbed him with his own knife. And then again. And again. He tried to back away, and was likely done with the fight, but I was blood simple and possessed with a murderous rage. I rose up as he dropped the pig-sticker and took it for myself. And then, I flung myself upon him and stabbed him until I was covered in his blood, and my arms had grown too tired to continue.

That was the day that I learned self-reliance. I grabbed a few things from the house that I thought would fetch some decent coin, washed the blood from myself, and dressed out to leave. But before I did, I doused the place in lantern oil and set it ablaze.

Leaving all that behind me, I set out to find a kumpania of my own.

A new family.

[Jai_V]

Sundren, Day 1

I've never been a big fan of meat.

Especially pork, because it reminds me of things I'd rather forget.

Typically, I opt for cheese and bread. Fresh fruit and vegetables, as well, when they can be found. The trip to Sundren was my first experience with fish. As I've recently discovered, no two fish are the same. Sometimes, the texture is firm and chewy, while other times it's slimy and limp. Still others, it is somewhere between the two. When cooking fish, the aroma is often pungent, and many fish seem to taste as musky as they smell. Some fish are unsavory, able to freely masquerade as many different meats.

When I stepped off the ship and onto the docks, I immediately felt faint. I felt this worth mentioning because, unlike many of my travel companions, I never experienced what the sailors called 'the sea sickness.' As I'm to understand, it was a specific kind of disorientation caused by the Bitch Queen's domain. Many of them could not acclimate to the waves, but I am Gurani. Gurani are constantly in motion; be it on their feet or in a caravan, we learn at a young age to balance ourselves against the world.

That being said, nothing can prepare you for a time at sea. You are hated there, by everything. The very water that gives you life wants nothing less than to swallow you whole and never release you. The sailors are right to pray to Umberlee...the Bitch Queen is a merciless mistress.

On the docks, stricken as I was by sudden vertigo, my last meal was violently tossed over the side and soon floating down into the shallows. I'm certain the crabs and other bottom-feeders ate well.