At'm 'Warfish' Corus - A Free Man

[theonewhostoodup]

Warfish, or 'Fish, as he's more commonly known, garnered a reputation as a name that would echo off the grime covered walls of prisons throughout Amn. Connected to a number of criminal organizations, primarily in Athkatla, 'Fish enjoyed what was to be a most harrowing stay in "the cage". While his survival in the prison was largely a feat of his own power, his subsequent release was that of a favor from a crime lord of some significance in Athkatla. It was to be a final favor for which 'Fish was advised to repay by finding bed and employment elsewhere. 'Fish complied.

This, to those familiar with criminal mythology in Amn, is what is common knowledge. What exactly happened afterward is shrouded in rumour, and admittedly, lack of interest. 'Fish was no longer an element to deal with, for his former associates.

His childhood too, is a point of contention for those who wish to argue it. His mother is certain; an elven prostitute in Athkatla, she was an exotic item until her marriage to a local sailor. Whether or not this sailor was truly his father is generally debated. Whispers of an older criminal of Athkatla which shares a similar name (although precisely what 'Fish's real name is, most either have never heard it, or do not remember it) is one of the most prevalent theories.

What is most important for 'Fish, however, is the moment. Ambition on getting a large amount of coin for an obligation back in Athkatla, and for personal greed, is what drives the young man now.

[theonewhostoodup]

Warfish inhaled. Long, and deep. He held it in for a moment - with his eyes closed and chin up he could feel the sunlight pouring down on him. A smile slowly lifted the corners of his lips... and he shouted. He hooped, hollered, jumped and laughed for quite a while. A moment of poor, unadulterated, almost bestial joy.

Out of breath and grinning open-mouth, he lifted his hands and looked them over, his eyes trailing over his densely tattooed arms "Still got 'em! Eh! HA! Out, an' in one peice!" At first At'm seemed only to be yelling to himself, but he soon turned around to continue his shouting at the prison. "Ayyyye! Free, ye bastards! Hahaha-HA!" As he cursed, rejoiced and yelled everything in between, some patrolling guards sneered, others shook their heads, others ignored him, yet some smiled and waved. With nothing but the clothes he entered into that prison with 5 years before, young At'm Corus ran down the road, away from the prison, shouting and laughing gleefully the whole way.

[theonewhostoodup]

The guards are never there when you need them. Every single one of them were in one group's pocket or another, so in the end they all just steered clear of most trouble. Cleaning up afterwards and stopping escape was about all they did.

The guards are never there when you need them. That's about all At'm could think of when the small man with the awful teeth pulled the red hot iron from the coals. It wasn't exactly an iron, per se, but rather seemed more likely a section of a pipe broken off then melted into a bluntish point. Struggling like a mad man, his teeth gritted and veins on his forehead popping through skin, Warfish never stopped fighting. Held down firmly by five men (one to each limb and another to his head), the sixth little sadistic inmate approached with the instrument. "Well, sonny-boy! You knew it was comin', didn'tcha? Yer a slippery one, in a lotta ways, but..." The little man emitted a clicking sound from the black and yellow tooth smile of his. "It was bound to happen. Bet you don't think you're so great now, eh?" At'm ignored the taunting as he continued to simply struggle in vain, groaning with exertion through his clenched teeth. The longer the men held him down, however, the more he became aware of the injuries he had already received instead of the impending one. He was suddenly aware that his entire body ached. Moisture began pushing from the corners of his eyes as his own straining seemed to pull every nerve.

What happened after that is a thing of legend in some circles. Truth be told, the wound probably would not have been so big had At'm not struggled quite so much. Instead of red-hot metal burning an eye, it burnt an eye and a fair bit of face. Warfish can still recall the smell above all. His own scream. The smoke. The light. The laughter. A loosened hand and a frenzied tossing of fists. A skull cracked. Bones broken, some his, some others. "Forget it, kill him! Kill him!" At'm hitting something until it felt like a thick stew. His body completely broken, his former physique and martial talent lost in over a year of a nearly vegetative state. The details of his recovery, and later his release are known to few. That one night, however, is nigh mythic to any Athkatlan prison denizen. The night the Fish was finally fried.

[theonewhostoodup]

A cheer of disgusted amusement breaks out as fist cracks jaw.
"Go on, ya! 'e's got no teeth left, leave 'im be!", one teenager cries.
"He still moves, so he ain't had enough!" another shouts.
In between the eruptions of cheering, jeering and violence, one can hear the water slosh against dock and boat, dockside merchants haggling, dockmasters shouting, sailors grunting in exertion, babies crying, animals of all sorts scrounging.
There, on the Athkatla docks, was where Warfish went through his formative years. As he watched the fight between two sailors continue, the young Warfish (a nickname he had earned only a year before) nearly jumped to attention when he heard the nearby import/export antiquary shop door open. First to come out was the first of the muscle, as usual. Littered in tattoos (this particular bruiser had tattoos wrapping about his shaven head; a bit of artwork that young Warfish had to remind himself not to stare at) and almost too big for the doorframe, the muscle did the look around which not only looked for trouble, but scared it off. Watching the fight only briefly, the bodyguard moved out of the way to allow the rest of the entourage through. Another bodyguard, then two men, dressed so nicely and covered in such fine, sparkling jewelry that they would be mistaken for nobles were it not for their scars, tattoos and surrounding. Another two muscleheads completed the train of people, and closed the shop door behind them.

Heads turned, and people scurried out of the way, but the docks went about its business, loud as ever. To Warfish, however, all sound was muffled. Blood spattering cobblestone and the shouting of his peers became a dull whisper. When the silver-haired faux-noble snapped his fingers and pointed at Warfish without even looking in his direction, the sound was like an arrow cutting through the air next to one's ears. Not loud so much as sharp, jarring.

Warfish immediately answered the beckon, dashing to the entourage of men.

Then he woke up. His eyes opened lazily. Tavern ceiling. With a sigh, he turned over in his bed, the sound of an empty bottle clattering to the ground ringing in his ears only for a moment before he immediately fell back asleep.

[theonewhostoodup]

"You do as you're told. You wanted this, you do the job you're asked."

After the silver-haired man completed his brief command to young Warfish, the fellow on his knees made a sort of grunting weep. The silver-haired man's eyes flashed in anger as his nose and forehead scrunched together in utter disgust and hatred.

"Too late. You're well beyond the point where pity would get you anywhere."

The words were practically spat at the man on his knees.

"...Rezius, please, I just... I messed up, I know, but-"

The silver-haired man's face practically appeared a few inches from the poor fellow's nose instantly, his face still a contortion of rage.

"Don't say anything. Don't sully yourself like that, Barreth. Most importantly, don't say my name, unless you want a pain that is unlike anything you could imagine. Don't."

To this, Barreth could only squeeze his lips together and squint his eyes as he held in tears. Rezius stood up straight, and ran his palm up his forehead and over his hair a few times, using the bit of sweat that had formed to keep his hair slicked back. Composed, he then only gave Warfish a glare, then exited the small, dimly lit room. The click of the lock on the door was muffled by Barreth's cries.

Young Warfish watched the man cry for a moment which seemed to drag on.
You're dreaming. Just wake up. Just wake up. You know what happens, just wake up. You've done this.
Young Warfish did not move. He only watched the beaten Barreth weep.
Don't let him say it. Just end it, or leave. Get out, or end it NOW. End it before he says it. End it before-
"I... I've got two kids... one just a babe."
Barreth finally looked up from his wheeping to crack out those words to Warfish.
"Please..."
WAKE UP!
Though young Warfish, deeply unsettled and nearly on the verge of tears himself, hesitated for a moment, he pulled out his blade. The flash of steel coming from its sheath made Barreth's weeping freeze in his throat.

Young Warfish had only taken a step towards Barreth before the man, bloodied and bruised from previous beating, sprang to his feet and grabbed for the knife. Startled, 'Fish pointed the blade outwards and darted his arm away from the incoming palm and attempted to push Barreth away with his other hand. Barreth stumbled on his approach, and Warfish's hand clenched around the handle of the knife as it suddenly met resistance, then eased. Clutching Barreth's hair, he attempt to toss the man to the ground- resistance again. In an attempt to end the struggle, 'Fish raised his blade for a killing blow, only to realize that it was currently stuck in Barreth's hand. Blood began to trickle down his fist, tightly wound around the knife's handle.

The older man struggled in a kind of psychotic detachment, his eyes empty of consciousness as the hand not impaled by a blade gripped Warfish's throat.

Wake up.

Growling through clenched teeth, the frightened Warfish raged his entire body against the man. Pulling back on his hair, tilting Barreth's head back in a swift jerk was enough to set him off balance, taking them both to the ground. After the jolt of ground stopped their bodies, 'Fish pulled on the blade, hard. Something thick spattered one of his eyes, and 'Fish shook in surprise for a brief second. Using his arm to wipe his eye, 'Fish blinked, seeing Barreth's blood on his arm, on the blade, and all over the fallen Barreth himself. Still choking him with his other hand, Barreth continued to stare that empty, crazed glare. Trembling with adrenaline and fear now, 'Fish thrust his blade aimlessly, closing his eyes with the exertion. When he opened them but a second later, he saw the blade in Barreth's throat.
Slowly, Barreth's hand loosened its grip on Warfish's trembling neck. Slowly, Barreth's empty stare lost life. Slowly, 'Fish let go of the blade, and it remained in the crimson mass of Barreth's neck. Slowly, 'Fish stood himself up, his knees protesting and buckling the entire time.

Taking a step back and still trembling wildly, 'Fish surveyed the carnage. Barreth's corpse, on its back, blood already forming a sizeable pool in two places; one around his head and neck, the other around the mangled hand, which 'Fish now saw had been split and severed of a finger when the blade was pulled.

Time passed, and he still stared. His trembling began to stop. Then, Warfish's vision started to turn black. And he woke.

This time, his eyes snapped open. Tavern ceiling. The bed wet with sweat. His arm hanging off the edge of the bed, Warfish felt around for bottles. Finding three, 'Fish grunted in disappointment in finding they were all empty.

[theonewhostoodup]

((Just a little thing I wrote to explain 'Fish's absence, and his stunted martial progress, should he return.))

Clack-clack-clack-clack-clack-clack-clack-clack.

The sound was maddening. If only he could stop it.

Clack-clack-clack-clack-clack-clack-clack-clack.

Certainly he could try. Lift the arm from underneath the blanket.

Clack-clack-clack-clack-clack-clack-clack-clack.

Sitting up on a bed, his back against the wall, the pathetic Warfish pulled his arm from underneath the blanket draped around his body in its upright fetal position.

Clack-clack-clack-clack-clack-clack-clack-clack.

His hand, shivering, connected with his jaw and held it tight. His chattering teeth finally silenced their constant percussion.

The creak of the door may have startled 'Fish were his mind and body not in such a state of lethargic agony. The redhead that peeked her head into the dark room hesistated before speaking.

"War... can I get you anything?"
"Booze," Warfish huskily responded.

The redhead smirked dryly, before realizing he was quite serious.

"You've done so well, War. I'll help you survive this, but I'll be damned if'n I have to help you survive drowning yourself in alcohol again."

Warfish's response (a request for the redheaded lass to leave him alone, followed by a rather unsavoury epithet) was enough to get the woman to leave with a frown.

She doesn't understand, Warfish was certain. He did not need a lot. Just enough to numb him. He know he could not forget his obligations and his deeds. He just needed enough to be numb to them. Just long enough to get back on his feet and do it on his own.
Just long enough to live.
Or long enough to die.
Either way.

Clack-clack-clack-clack-clack-clack-clack-clack.