Marisk II

Marisk continues his trudge through the streets of Polaris. With his hunched back and bent walking stick, each step is dragging himself forward. Even with his body covered by his cloak, any onlooker could identify him as elderly. And with the cloak they would identify him as a beggar or a vagabond; as, or so he hopes, a person to be pitied. He has no way of knowing how they would actually view him. He’s heard that tourism isn’t too uncommon in Polaris, and certainly if he had the time he would like to visit the grand libraries of Polaris himself, and he has heard that powerful mages in this kingdom are treated with the utmost respect. However, in his own life, he has seen travelers only treated very poorly and mages only as something to be feared or fought against. But surely he’s conjured a story with enough sentimentality to move strangers to aid him.

As he walks, plenty of people, more than he would have expected, approach him themself, rather than require him to ask. He tells each of them the same story and asks the same questions, but not one of them has an answer. The sound of his walking stick hitting against the stone grows more and more aggravated with each failure to answer. If he didn’t want to live, he would just sink the city and all its people.

As he walks he sees a young man, tall and sturdy, with brown skin and light hair, and a dirty young boy, covered in grime and blood both, hanging from his curved arm. Marisk presumes the young man to be of the southern lands, just as Lama is, and decides that it must be a better bet than random people off the street. Though the young man is speaking quite brashly.

“I don’t care! Don’t go around stealing! Especially when you’re this bad at it! Come on, let’s get you to the monastery while the blood’s still wet! I’ll show you a much better way to get food!” Marisk approaches him.

“Excuse me, young man. Might I ask something of you?”

“Ah…” Callidus looks down at the boy in his arm. “I’m bringing this kid somewhere, so I can’t do much if you need help.”

“To a church, if I heard correct. Might you bring me along, and might I ask some questions as we go?”

“Fine, fine, let’s go then, old man.” The two of them start walking.

“My name is Marisk.”

“Ah, I’m Callidus.”

“Well, to get right to the point, I’ve been looking for my granddaughter. She’s just a little, little girl. She has dark skin, like yours, and her hair and eyes are purple. She might be wearing a cloak a bit like mine.” There’s a part of Callidus that wants to rebut Marisk and say that her skin is quite a bit darker than his.

“That’s terrible, and I’m terribly sorry to say that I’ve not seen her. How long have you been looking for her?”

“Well, let’s see now, it must have been a year or two now. She came to me all alone from the southern lands, and I knew her at once as my own son’s daughter. But she’s disappeared once more, the only family I have left.”

“I see. I hope you can find her soon. I’ll pray for you, seeing as we’re going to a church and all. Do you think somebody might have taken her in? She might be quite well off right now.”

“There would be no greater relief were that to be true, but even still, she’s my own flesh and blood. She ought to be with me.”

“The adopted son is no different than the son by blood.”

“I’ve heard that this is what you say you believe here, but I hardly believe such a thing myself.”

“Fair enough. You can’t change the family you were born into, I suppose. But you’re not from here then?”

“No, heavens no, I’m from the northern lands.”

“What’s brought you down to Polaris?”

“My granddaughter has quite a potential in magic. I figured that were she captured she might have been brought here, to the heart of magical inquiry.” Callidus holds back that the northern lands are what he should be worried about.

“I see. And that’s why you need a guide? What are you doing at the church anyway?”

“Another young man told me that if he heard anything he would tell me through the church, so I imagine I should learn where it is.”

“That’s just right, isn’t it. Let’s get a move on, then.”

The three of them, Callidus, Marisk, and the boy, reach the monastery and see the pious and the preachers looking at them. Callidus ducks into the first open church he sees and Marisk follows. Before a priest can come to them, Callidus puts down the boy and Marisk bows his head.

“This ought to have been enough, Callidus. Thank you. I’ll be on my way now.”

“Well, I’m wishing you luck, old man. Let me help you down the stairs.”

“Thank you, thank you, what a considerate young man.”

Callidus puts his hands on Marisk’s shoulders and helps him down the few steps. On one, Callidus walks a step too fast and pushes Marisk off balance. Callidus wraps around Marisk and shoves his hands up his cloak, putting his hands on the frail body beneath it. Callidus then lifts Marisk up and places him at the foot of the stairs. Marisk nods and waves as he begins to hobble away off into the city.

As he walks back into the church, Callidus unclenches a fist and looks at a metal ring in his palm. The boy peers at Callidus’ palm himself.

“Did you just steal that? And you were telling me off for stealing!”

“Not so loud! Neither of us stole anything, and if we had, I am simply much better at it than you. Let’s get you washed and fed now, and not talk about anything that might be a ‘crime’ or ‘immoral,’ alright?”