Lords of RPG

The giant, green beam striking the earth gave the twilight a sickly, emerald pall.  Its green glow bathed everyone, even the living, in a maladous, cancerous aura. Elias imagined he could feel that aura slowly draining his life away.  He shuddered, but quickly composed himself, putting on an air of confidence and assuredness. 

The party had finally made it to the Slippery Whip.  It had been a long and tortuous journey.  The group kept to the rooftops when they could, slashing through hordes of undead when they were forced to ground. There seemed to be no end to the tide of the unquiet dead, but for the moment, there was a lull in the horror and death.

His companions began to enter the bar that was also their home, but Elias turned back to their Aerouni companions.

“Will you stay with us?  You are more than welcome,” Elias asked Balot in the Aerouni language.  Balot was a tall Aerouni.  His dark hair was silvered at the temples.  A large, crooked nose hung over his dark goatee, also flecked with silver.  He always seemed to carry a fierce, serious expression.  Whether that was due to his nature, or whether it was caused by the nature of this most unnatural day, Elias did not know.  He had only known the man a few hours; far too little time to fully discern the Aerouni’s temperament and disposition.

Balot said nothing at first.  Elias had noticed that he always seemed to contemplate his responses, weighing them for effect before he spoke.  He glanced back at the other Aerouni, then stepped in closer towards Elias, his voice low.

“I recognize you, now,” Balot said.  “You are the half-elf.  The one the People call Orphan.”

Anger flared in the young thief’s heart.  “Why shouldn’t the People call me ‘Yatim’ or ‘Orphan?’” Elias sneered.  “The People, my mother’s people, are the ones who made me an orphan when they killed her.  And I’ve never met the elf who made me a bastard.  So, yes.  I am Orphan, and wear that badge proudly.”

Balot raised one hand and shook his head.  “I meant no offense.  I simply stated how you are known among the People of God.  That you are known, that you have a reputation, is why I broached the subject at all.”

His temper mollified for the moment, Elias nodded in acceptance, and the man continued.  He straightened up to his full height, well over six feet and cleared his throat.  “I am Balot al-Rabbani.  I would greet you properly.  What is your Aerouni name?”

Elias’ face darkened as anger filled his mind once more, but it was tinged this time with feelings of sadness and loss.  He turned his head away from the older man.  “I have no Aerouni name.  I was cast out by them as a newborn for the offense of having elven blood.  The Blackwood Gang took me in and raised me, naming me Elias.  When I broke with them, I shortened my name to Black.”

Balot grunted.  “You have been treated shabbily by people who should have known better.  God’s People are far too few in this fallen world for us to have cast out any who are of our blood.”  He placed a hand on the young thief’s shoulder.

“I and my friends are in your debt,” he continued.  “You saved our lives, and fought with us to escape certain death.  In small payment of that debt, let me offer you two things.”

Curiosity and greed overcame his anger and Elias smiled.  “I am always happy to be rewarded for my efforts.  What did you have in mind?”

Balot gave a small smile in return.  “If you would have it, I would like to give you a proper Aerouni name.”  

Elias was stunned for a moment.  Of all the possible rewards that had crossed his mind, this was not on the list.  He shook his head to clear it, and thought strongly about the offer.  He had both loved and hated his mother’s people all his life.  Elias was being truthful when he had said he wore the name Yatim, or “Orphan” in Aerouni, with a certain pride.  He owed the Aerouni nothing.  They had killed his mother and tossed him away.   But in the deepest, most private parts of his heart, he knew he wanted their approval.  He deeply yearned for that sense of belonging, of...legacy that came with being an Aerouni, one of “God’s People.”   

It was with a sense of surprise when he heard his own voice say “I would have it.”

Balot nodded, then stroked his beard, his gaze unfocused as contemplated the question.  He smiled quickly, however.  Elias imagined that Balot was not one to mull a decision overlong.

“Yes, yes.  I think that ‘Hakim’ would suit you well,” he said, looking down at the young man.  “Does that name meet with your approval?”

Elias smiled and shrugged.  “I like it.  ‘Hakim,’” he repeated, as if trying it on for size.  “Yes, that would do nicely.”

“Then I name you Hakim al-Rabbani,” Balot stated firmly.

“I thank you.  I - wait,” Elias paused in shock.  “Al-Rabbani?  But that is your name.”

Balot nodded solemnly. “I think you would make a fine addition to the House Rabbani.  It is not an overly large or wealthy house, and some of us have fallen into ill repute, but I don’t believe that would bother men such as us.”

Elias realized he was staring at the man, mouth agape.  He closed his mouth and self-consciously tried to wipe the blood and gore off of his clothes.  He suddenly didn’t know what to do with his hands.  He was in a state of shock.  It was only then he realized he hadn’t answered Balot.  He gave him a deep bow.

“I would be honored to be a member of House Rabbani,” Elias said.  “I only hope that I can honor it in return.”

Balot gave a deep chuckle.  “Welcome to our House.  And let’s hope you’re not too honorable.  Which leads me into my second offer.  I’m sure by now you have surmised that I am a member of the Skakin Tawila.  Have they made inquiries to you in the past?”

Elias nodded.  “The Long Knives have dropped hints that I should join.  I had been a member of Blackwood for so long though, my entire life.  Once I broke from them, I found that I enjoyed my freedom.  I have been at odds with both guilds at times, playing them against one other at times, or simply trying to stay out of their way most of the time.”

“I thought as much,” Balot said.  “I would ask you to reconsider.”  He waved his hand towards where they had been and gave a sad smile.  “Assuming, of course, that these are not the prophesied End of Days.  And assuming we both live to see the dawn.”

Elias chuckled, but seemed hesitant.  “Yes, that is always the tricky part.” 

“Know that whatever you decide, you will still be a member of House Rabbani.  You have earned that.  I woud not have you feel obligated in that regard.”  He clasped his hands behind his back.  “But I am not above baiting the hook, so to speak.  If you wish to join, I will personally vouch for you with Hashan.”

Elias’ eyes widened in surprise.  Hashan was the fabled leader of the Long Knives here in Daruth.  He was rumored to be several centuries old and to have killed more men than cancer, but few have claimed to have seen him in the flesh.

“I thought him myth, or a tale to frighten even the most fearsome of men into obeying the guild,” Elias said.

“No,” Balot explained.  “He is more real than the mountains, more merciless than the sea, and more ruthless than the storm.”  Balot made a show of examining Elias’ slightly-pointed ears, his slim frame, and his smooth, hairless chin, all features of his elven heritage.  Balot smiled.  “And I am certain that you and he have much in common.”

A chorus of screams broke out a few blocks away.  Balot nodded to Elias.

“Our time runs short.  Consider all you have heard this day, young Hakim,” Balot said, and looked back to his Aerouni brethren.  “We will not be joining you here.  We will take Emir Bas to a place of safety before we head to the Fort.  It will be an eamal jayid, a good deed.  I fear that we will need all the good will that Aeroun can give us before this day ends.”

Elias gave Balot a broad smile and a deep bow.

“Go with God, Balot al-Rabbani.”

“And God be with you, Hakim al-Rabbani.”

Elias Black, now also known as Hakim al-Rabbani, ran into the Slippery Whip as Balot and his companions ushered Emir Bas through a city quickly being consumed by the dead.