Blood-Wish

Chapter 1 –
The sun was setting and a red-purple glow covered the sky as the merchant Nizak rode into the town of Gemini on an old broken down horse. Nizak was wearing an  eastern travel hat, mostly to keep the sun from his eyes, though also because he had some foolish notion that it made him look dramatic. He pulled  close his tattered beige cloak to protect himself from the wind.
His red hair only slightly past shoulder length. his cloak fluttered lightly in the evening wind. On his back hung a sack of swords, jewelry, and other merchandise he planned to sell. Despite the beautiful evening he had a dull, cynical look in his hazel eyes. He almost seemed annoyed. He could appreciate the beauty of the multi-hued sky and the gentle blowing of leaves on trees, but what he couldn’t appreciate was the buzzing of the mosquitoes the evening brought, and the bites they left. It dashed any hopes of him enjoying the night, outside at least.
A tavern was up ahead, one he was fond of. ‘The Sea-breeze Tavern and Inn’. he always enjoyed the irony that the tavern was located nowhere near the sea. In fact not even the bordering towns came close to it. Nizak had brought this up on more than one occasion, and to rectify this mistake, or to stop Nizak from bothering them about it, though he was unsure of which, they had made a mixed drink they dubbed ‘sea-breeze’. And disgusting was an understatement. It tasted nearly as bad as salt water to Nizak whom preferred ales or meads much over the rich mans drink.
His horse stopped some twenty feet away from the tavern, with some annoyance Nizak applied some pressure to its flanks using his legs, but still the horse stayed in place stubbornly. He had never once gotten along with this mount, but for some reason or another that never stopped him from keeping it. He dismounted it and patted its neck, scratching its ears. It shook its head  and sneezed, irritated by Nizak’s gestures.  The merchant shot it a narrow eyed look of irritation right back. “Sometimes I wonder horse, why I just don’t chop you up and make stew…” he told it, he’d always called it horse for lack of a better name.. Just then it snapped at his hand and he pulled it away with haste. “that’s right…if I tried, you would be the one having me for dinner wouldn’t you?”
He dismounted and walked off to the tavern alone, despite the natural dislike the horse had for him it had never run away, Nizak thought maybe it just liked to annoy him. Why had he ever believed the salesman when he said an old horse was more obedient? Just like humans when they got old they turned into bitter old bastards, he thought to himself as he made the short yet bothersome journey to the tavern. “That horse is probably sour anyway.” He muttered to himself. yes, sour grapes, sour horses, it was all the same to him.  “When you cant have something you just act like you don’t want it… and that’s the solution, but come to think of it I don’t think I’d even want a delicious horse.” Nizak always talked to himself, in quiet whispers. He found it easier to think when he could hear himself. He didn’t plan to sell anything tonight, he wanted to drink, then sleep. Then a day or two later when his hangover passed he would begin to pedal his wares.

As he entered, the tavern was buzzing with noise, people talking everywhere though it was so jumbled he could barely catch two words. The air was thick with smoke and the smell of alcohol, he spent much time in taverns and he had even grown to like these things over time, they seemed to put him in a dream like state, sullen yet still peaceful. “bring me a pitcher of ale.” He told the barmaid as she passed by his table. She smiled politely, and nodded, then went into the back room, coming back minutes later  with his pitcher.
A pewter mug had already been set on the table. He lifted the pitcher and poured it full. Lifting it to his lips he took a sip, it a was strong, it was always to strong in this place, but he tipped it back anyway and took a long swallow.
The girl who had brought him the ale was still standing there and after he had set down his mug once more she leaned over next to him. “You can meet me in my room in an hour for a price.” She whispered to him. He took up the mug again and sipped, his eyes moved to her, she wasn’t bad looking at all, dark hair, with a medium bust, she was thin and lean. But Nizak was exceptionally tired tonight.
“Lady, by the time I’m finished here, I would be to drunk to find my way in.” he told her, not referring to the room. his voice currently carried a lame note of boredom or maybe annoyance., she moved away from him and back to serving others. He bet it wouldn’t be long until she found someone that would go with her.
He continued on nursing his ale as time passed by. He had always been a heavy drinker. And he always seemed to act the same regardless of how much he drank, though it took a rather hard toll on his hand eye coordination after a few mugs full. It didn’t matter to him, he was much more comfortable drunk than sober.
As the night passed by many memories came to him, he had been abandoned at a very young age, well not so much abandon as handed over to another. At the time it had broken his heart but he was even thankful for it now. The now old man Midra had never treated Nizak like a son, he treated him like more of a friend or a student, he had taught him much. Most things useless that occupied the mind constantly, with seemingly no answer, that was his favorite kind of philosophy, it had often stopped boredom from creeping up on him.
Midra was a blacksmith and more than just good with a weapon. He was several rungs above excellent. And once Nizak grew older they had often trained together with all sorts of weapons. Nizak’s preferred weapon was the oriental Japanese sword, the katana. He had Midra create one for him and carried it with him even now. It had a sparkling red scabbard which made it seem expensive, and a worn out brown cloth hilt that made it seem worthless at the same time. But the blade itself was forged from good steel.  
He was on his third mug now and starting to feel the effects of it. he thought back to one of his best accomplishments when it came to philosophy. He had been given the question, ‘what creates wind?’  it had stumped him for weeks until he had noticed the expanding and contracting of metal while Midra heated and cooled his swords to shape and strengthen them. He thought on a larger scale such things could pull and push the wind. Midra was mildly surprised when Nizak had given him the correct answer after only a week or two.
By the time his memories faded he found the sky outside was black and all his ale was gone. When he made to stand up his vision swam and he plopped back down in his seat. A waitress, the same waitress who had offered him her bed for the night came to him delivering the bill. Nizak looked up at her, swaying in his seat for a moment. Everything was moving and it was becoming hard to focus. “tell mister barkeep Nizak is the one buying.” He said. Before Daytin the barkeep was a barkeep, they were drinking buddies. And that entitled him to occasional discounts.
The waitress made her way back after talking for a moment with Daytin, giving a falsely sympathetic look, even as drunk as Nizak was at the moment he could tell she was holding back laughter as she said “he told me to charge you double. Something about paying back credit.” For a moment Nizak was nonplussed by all this, he didn’t even know If he had enough money to pay double. And wondered why the man who had carried him for about half his drinking life would suddenly want to collect. Then it dawned on him, Daytin was of course a friend of Nizak, but he was also a greedy horses ass.
“Tell him I have a white flower for him.” Nizak told her quietly, leaning in  as to keep quiet. she gave a pout , apparently she didn’t like to be the messenger. But none the less she went off to tell him, which is when Nizak pushed himself from his chair and walked away keeping close to the wall for balance.  He stumbled outside, his horse was waiting just outside the door and shook its head as if it were disappointed in him. “you think I’m a lightweight?” he said to the uncomprehending horse. “you couldn’t drink as much water as I drink ale.” He patted the horses neck then leaned on it. it began walking at a slow pace and Nizak followed leaning and stumbling in its footsteps.
As he made his way to Midra’s shop, steering the best he could from aside the horse, he chuckled to himself at the naiveté of the waitress. Send them off making something completely false seem important, and they become to distracted in they’re job to notice you walk right out. She would probably be turning around to see him gone any time now. He would have to make a few sales be fore be visited the sea-breeze again, he was sure Daytin would make him pay then.
He arrived at the blacksmiths house minutes later, the moon was still high in the sky and Nizak guessed it was one o’clock at earliest. He gave an  un-rhythmic knock upon the door and waited. About ten minutes more he gave a louder knock and only then did the door open. And there stood a man in his late forties, his black-gray hair tied in a ponytail, wearing dark black or gray cloths, with no shoes.

Midra had just drifted to sleep it seemed, when a pounding came at the door. He thought he had heard something earlier but was to tired to think anything of it, but this knock seemed more persistent. In fact he was lured into believing it may have been something of real importance. He rolled from his bed and pushed himself to his feet, sleep still weighed heavy on him and sapped him of most of his coordination, still he managed to reach the door, and undoing the latch opened it up.
To his genuine surprise and…well some other feeling he couldn’t quiet place, though he was fairly sure it was related to utter confusion, he saw Nizak, a falling down drunk Nizak hanging on to the neck of a disgruntled horse for dear life.
“I’m not completely sure ‘come in I’ve missed you so much’ would be the proper greeting for this gem of a moment.” Said Midra, he was The one who had brought Nizak into the world of heavy sarcasm, making conversations on occasion very entertaining in a dry sort of way.
“your as charming as ever smithy, I don’t suppose a dried up old man like yourself would have enough room In that house for me with all the company you must get.” Nizak slurred, his sarcasm matching Midra’s evenly.
“oh yes. Yes come in my boy, I’ll make you a drink.” Midra offered as he closed the door before Nizak made his way in.
the merchant himself muttered something far to slurred to be comprehended by human ears, then collapsed on the cobblestone path leading up to Midra’s shop. And the horse went to graze in the yard. Midra made his way back into bed without so much as a guilty conscience and dreamlessly slept for the remainder of the night.

Midra awoke early in the morning, six o’clock. It was late for him but most people considered this an ungodly hour to wake up in. the air was freezing cold and the birds would never shut up. He sat up with a grunt and rubbed his eyes, then pulled an other blanket over him and shivered. Back in his younger days he would find this cold exhilarating, but he was in his mid forty’s and this cold chilled him to the bone, making him feel weak.
He woke up so early because he had much work to do before the day truly came into being, he needed to make several weapons that were ordered from passing travelers, and since they didn’t have much money, he wouldn’t spend more than a day making all three. Nor would he waste his stronger metals. The weapons were standard issue long swords, almost an insult to the old mans skill, but he fancied a break once and a while.
Keeping the blankets tight around him he rose from bed and ventured into the main working room. The hearth had burned out some time that night and he set to work on restocking the coals and lighting them ablaze. He took a seat near the fire and held his hands out letting them warm. And after fifteen minutes the entire shop was beginning to get comfortably warm. Now he decided it was time for a lung full of fresh air to clear up the light grogginess he so often woke up with, and then on to breakfast.
Though old Midra was far from bitter, he wasn’t overly friendly and preferred his own company. though he far from despised the world like most thought he did. He saw things in a more realistic view, the miracle of birth was the after effect of sex, and fireworks were nothing more than customized explosives tossed into the sky, there was no magic to it. He sometimes regretted teaching Nizak these things, he must have taken years of his childhood away by taking away the magic from all that seemed wondrous to the once young lad.
He opened his front door and was hit by a cold breeze , yet the satisfying silence of solitude. He often found something different about the air before day had begun, it seemed fresher, and easier to breath. Though the cold displeased him, the morning atmosphere more than made up for it. he took another step out and stumbled, something , no , someone was laying at his doorstep passed out and smelling of stale spirit. “that’s right..” he thought aloud. “the lad came here drunk as a fish last night.”
Still he walked outside further and took a look around at the soft blue sky and the mist that would soon become a cloud, hovering at just tree length. He walked back up the pathway to his house and nudged Nizak with his foot twice, then wound up his leg and landed a swift kick to the merchants flank. Nizak yelped and rolled over to his back, then unsteadily forced his way to a sitting position. “You’re a real charmer old man…” The merchant grumbled.
“And you’re a horrible drinker, you could never hold your liquor well.” The smithy said as he pulled Nizak to his feet.
“I can drink more than—“
“Yes, yes, you can drink more than anyone in this town does in a week, but then you pass out and wake up with a massive hangover.” Midra told him. Bringing him in and sitting him down at his table.  “I don’t see why you take pride in that, boy.”
“Because I can’t do another damned thing.” Replied Nizak. talking softly in an attempt to ease his own hangover.
“its become apparent you cant do that either.” Midra was now re-toasting a loaf of almost fresh bread over the hearth, as well as two slabs of meat. “And where has your argumentive spirit gone? At a loss for words?” Midra asked, keeping most of the disappointment from his voice. Midra drank as well of course, but Nizak had always done it much more excessively.
“you discouraged me” he said, in a mixture of  sarcasm and annoyance.
“What brings you?”
“Can you believe it, I came all this way just to see your charming smile.”
Midra looked back with a mock smile, half rolling his eyes. Despite how they both acted they both enjoyed the argumentive nature of each other. Midra finally satisfied the meat was thoroughly cooked, set it on two plates with some bread, and water along side. “Eat up,  I would bet my life you haven’t had anything remotely healthy in days.”
“This doesn’t look remotely healthy.” the merchant complained,  prodding it with his fork, and hiding a light grin from reaching the surface when he saw a pinch of annoyance touch the older man.
“just eat it, your lucky I don’t poison the damned thing.” Midra replied crossly.
Nizak was going to push his luck further, and say he didn’t think he could stomach it with his hangover gnawing at his stomach’s constitution as it was. But then, knowing Midra, he might take it away. He cut a piece off using the side of his fork as a knife, and ripping off a chunk of toasted bread he ate them together. “are you mad…?” Nizak asked dully, “this desperately needs cheese.”
After his statement he had to just about throw his body protectively over his breakfast to keep it from being snatched away.
They managed to finish they’re breakfast without any further disturbances once Nizak ceased to poke fun the old man.
Nizak moved from a chair to a pile of firewood that was stacked against the wall. At first when he sat he almost fell from it, some of the wood had fallen and rolled from it, changing the pile from under him. But in a few moments it had regained its structure and he was sitting comfortably.  
“I believe you’ve missed old times Nizak but there is another reason you came. I know you better than that, and you don’t make unnecessary trips.” Midra stated almost matter-of-factly.
“I was afraid sounding selfish would ruin the taste of breakfast, or if not that, that  I might not have gotten any. “ Nizak replied, taking the katana from his sword belt and tapping his finger lightly against the rag covered hilt. An idle habit he carried even as a  child. Midra had trained him from a young age. “But you my friend, are an excellent craftsman and your swords sell like no other. If I might buy some to sell, swords, axes, anything of the sort, well just that has made me a rich man once before.” He continued on. “So  I’ve come asking—“
“how did you lose all that money?” Midra interrupted, a cynic grin playing on his lips. “Mostly I mean. And don’t tell me it was a hole in your pocket.”
“A hole in my chin actually.”
“so you drank it all away?” Midra seemed humored. “I’m having a rare attack of selflessness, and I’m going to save your liver from plight by saying no.”  the old man told him. “Why don’t you sell Kazin?” his gaze moved to Nizak’s sword in its ruby hued scabbard.  Midra had given it that name because he saw Nizak as an odd man, a backwards man one would say. And so his sword was rightfully Nizak spelled backwards.
“Sell this old junker you made me? Never.” The merchant replied. “It’s a better friend than you are.”
“And I was about to say I was touched.” Midra said dryly, and stood from his chair, “I have three swords to make before sunset. Try not to get in my way to much will you? In fact it may be better if you leave me for the day.” He took a few roughly hewn iron bars from a stock he kept in a chest and set them on the hearth, preparing them for shaping.  
“I’m not a child.” Nizak told him. He never minded the sarcastic banter he and Midra so often had but he was never fond at all of straight out insults. They were shallow and ignorant to a point that annoyed him.
“That isn’t what I meant boy.” Midra said, stretching out his arms and hefting a small but heavy mallet. “Your head may never forgive you if you stay.”  Though the iron not ready he lifted the mallet and clanked it on the bar.
Instantly Nizak winced as the sharp clanking sound pierced his hangover ridden head. Seconds later Nizak was on his feet and out the door.

The fresh air helped clear the merchants head as he strode through town. the feeling of it filling his lungs nearly made him forget the horrible pain lingering in his head…almost.
Walking about the town he glanced about to see what was new. Most of it seemed unchanged, aside from the people he had grown to know seemed older now. He purposely avoided the sea-breeze tavern for now. He doubted Daytin was angry but it was best not to take chances, more so when they involved financial losses.
After walking for fifteen minutes or so he stopped at a small lake at the end of town.  a few others were sitting on the distant side, fishing rods in hands. He plopped himself down on the due covered grass and looked into the water. A fish wading in the shallows stared right back at him. It was a small bass, and wouldn’t be full grown for some time yet, if it had the chance. Nizak figured most of these newborns would be caught by children, bemused by the fish they would try to make them pets and then the fish would die off. Even if they were let go it was more than likely they would die of shock.
“Well Nizak you’ve gone and depressed yourself  over a fish, good job laddie...” he said to himself aloud.  And with that he shut out any thoughts of misfortunate fish he had left.  He lay back and looked up at the sky, it was a cloudy day and no doubt it was going to rain later. After watching the clouds drift for some time he was relaxed enough to close his eyes and let his mind do the same.
He drifted off to younger times in his memories, it was a rainy day when he had been handed over from his parents to Midra the smithy. He remembered it with less accuracy than he wished to. He couldn’t so much as remember why they had given him away. The memory bothered him but still he let it play on in his head.
So long ago he had been walked down the street, pulled hard by the arm, his parents rushing to the smithy shop. They had been in such a hurry and he remembered the pain in his arm and his tired legs as he was practically dragged. Mud splashing up, ruining his newly bought clothes. He remembered asking why they wouldn’t slow, and asking again, and even yelling it, butt hey had never stopped until they were there. Standing soaking wet and mud covered at the shop of Midra the blacksmith.
The memories brought slight pain but he didn’t recall his parents enough anymore to grieve the loss of them,  just the fact that he was left by them was what was gnawing at his emotions. Yet he thought on, his finger came up to the hilt of his sword, and begun to tap it lightly with his pointer finger as the images past through his mind.
His parents were almost frantic as the old man opened the door, he remembered them talking with much distress or anger in they’re voice, though he couldn’t remember , nor could he remember at all what they were saying. Though he did recall looking up with fear at the man Midra. The solemn hard look in his eyes had frightened him. though sometimes touched with happiness or laughter, had never once lost they’re sullen authority. It wasn’t until later he understood that there was much hidden humor in the serious way the man spoke.
He remembered Midra reaching down to take his hand, saying “come here boy, and lose that look of fear or I may be tempted to bite your head off.” The words held no anger, just sarcasm wasted on the child.  The joke had the unwanted effect of frightening the child and he clung tightly to his mothers leg.
“That bastard…” whispered Nizak aloud  as he thought back on that, though the usual humor was missing from his voice at the moment.
The next memory tugged at his heart, remembering as his mother tried to gently pry his arms free, his father trying to explain something to him calmly, but in either anger or panic he lost the calming tone to something that unsettled the child even more. He clung tighter. The words were so blurred and distorted from time he really couldn’t remember any.
He was eventually pried from his mother, his arms tired and hurting from the strain. He tried to run back to her the moment he was pulled from her, but the middle aged Midra grabbed onto his shoulders and pulled him backwards, gently enough to avoid hurting the child but firm enough to keep him from resisting. He was held firm still as his parents said the one word that he could remember. “farewell” even with the frantic tone she had, he still remembered his mother to have a very sweet voice.  It was to bad he couldn’t do so much as remember her name. after that he remembered the door being shut, and the rest was tears and screaming, without any comforting from his new father.
He had thought about it much and came to the conclusion Midra was the type who believed no matter what the term oil, one needed to learn how to stand on his own or not stand at all, or he would become nothing but a coward. And as much as he had hated crying for hours without so much as an ounce of shown pity, though he was sure there was pity there that wasn’t shown. And coming home from school complaining of bullies, without any promise of the next day being better, he had to admit Midra had raised him better than most fathers could have hoped to.
In fact he remembered that the bullying problem was what originally started his training, both hand to hand and armed. After only a month, maybe two, he had begun successfully defending himself. his memory to warped by time  to remember how long it had taken.
His age at the time was eight, and After the daily class had ended he remembered the usual bullies gathering around him, as young as they were they simply wished to assert their authority by causing harm, assuring they’re respect as well as reverence.
It reminded Nizak of how things worked with politics, how one nation may put force on another to make them back down, and do it often to prevent any chance of an uprising. He thought it hilarious that children and the men governing his nation had the same mentality. And even so they were currently at war. Which is the only thing that could happen when you back the other nation, or child into a corner, they will fight back.
He decided that was enough of ridiculing the Solance nation and went back to his memories.  The three bullies had circled him, wearing arrogant grins. They were larger than the other kids, which is what he figured, gave them the right to do harm to the others. The biggest stepped forward first of course, and Nizak kept his emotions in check, he kept himself from grinning, but he knew today would be the day the bullies would fall to him. He wouldn’t allow his muscles to tense with anticipation, for he was taught that this slowed reaction time and could be vital. He looked at them with an almost unnerving calmness that raised irritation among the leader. He pulled back his fist, and let fly. Nizak swayed to the left, and once the bully was aside of him, braced himself and rammed his shoulder into the larger child.  It had sent the bully sprawling onto the ground, his knee  gashed open on the cobblestone road, he stayed down.
The other two came at him, it wasn’t until Midra taught him the ways of fighting that he had noticed how clumsy these three became when they fought, they’re motions unrestricted and unbalanced. He pushed aside the first child’s fist with his own hand, then arched his hand back to send the point of his elbow into the nose of the bully, it connected with a sickening crack and he fell to the ground crying as well.
Nizak dropped to his hands and knee’s and the third bully whom was diving with his punch to add more power, tripped over him, planting his face in the cobblestones as well. Nizak felt exultant  that day and rushed home to tell Midra all about the fight. The smithy’s response, he remembered clearly, “I’m proud” for he had finally stood on his own.
In the days that followed he had not only protected himself from the bully’s, but his friends as well. in a weeks time he started to become arrogant. Proud of the skills he worked for he began bullying the people who had once bullied him. After that the teacher had many times asked him to bring in his father for discussion. He never once had mentioned the teachers words to Midra.
One day Nizak had come home from school, and the smithy asked him why he had never told him of the teachers request. Nizak looked at him without fear in his eyes. “I was standing on my own.” He had answered.
“You were knocking others over from what I was told.” Midra replied, his voice somewhere in between stern and angry.
“They deserved it!” He replied defensively, which is when Midra had struck him for the first time. “what was that for?!” he asked misty eyed with great surprise as he rubbed his now red cheek.
“you deserved it.” Midra answered calmly. “have you learned your lesson?”
Nizak nodded only to be struck once more, then Midra spoke again, his voice still calm, cutting off Nizak before he spoke. “and so had those people you hurt. I’ll have no more fighting from you unless its needed, understood? Being proud is one thing and being conceited is another. Protecting yourself and others is just. hurting others without reason at all, should never make you feel proud.”
After this Nizak had not spoken to Midra for an entire week, but even so Midra was told the fighting had stopped, and Nizak had learned his first lesson in honor.
Awakening from his memories he wondered how long it had been since they had begun, he looked at the cloud clad sun and figured it was somewhere around noon, the sun was almost perfectly above him. His hangover mostly faded but he still found himself weary. Noticing he hadn’t actually gotten any sleep he closed his eyes once more, set on ignoring his memories and thoughts, drifting into sleep.

Midra by this time had finished two of the three swords he set out to forge today, the second had just finished cooling and he had not yet begun on the third. He didn’t engrave his insignia on these swords, the winged fish mark didn’t belong on these blades of hurried craftsmanship and low quality.
He sighed and wiped the sweat from his forehead with his long sleeved shirt, and took a seat. He watched and waited for the sword to completely cool before he took it out, setting it against the near corner along the other.
Midra was a man who truly enjoyed his occupation, working hard to make each sword better than the next, stronger, sharper, he greatly enjoyed making custom blades. Though he couldn’t afford to give the best quality to those who could not pay for it, he would have never taken on such a job as to forge these junkers had he not been so desperate for money. It was rare now people came asking for  weapons, and he found it more often people would come asking for axes, used for chopping wood.  He didn’t consider it degrading like most sword smiths. He thought it a relief he wasn’t making a tool that would likely kill men.
The old smith stretched out his arms then put them behind his back and pushing. His back cracked loudly. “Your getting old Midra.” He told himself, wandering to the window located some two feet away from the door.  He opened it up and felt the breeze upon his face, it looked like it would soon rain though Midra always enjoyed the rain. Today  was far to nice a day to be cooped up in a shop working, and he had until sunset to finish the job. After a short debate with himself he stepped out.

Some hours after Nizak had fallen into a dreamless sleep, he awoke to the feel of raindrops on his face. It was no more than a light drizzle, and he enjoyed the coolness of the water for a few moments, it was refreshing. Finally he let his eyes open. a figure was standing over him. A woman dressed in form fitting clothes, dark blue pants and a matching shirt. Her hair was dark brown or maybe closer to black. As his vision cleared and his grogginess left him, he noticed it was the waitress from the night before standing over him. “Hail.” Nizak spoke in almost a mocking tone. And flashed a humorous grin at her.  
In reply she smiled and booted him in the ribs. He rolled over to his stomach and groaned. “That’s a tender spot you know, an old man kicked me in that very same place this morning.” He complained, as he forced himself into a sitting position.
“Then I’ve gotten lucky.” She told him. “You know how much trouble you caused me by making an exit like that? Not to mention you made me look like a fool.” She scolded him.
“I haven’t the slightest idea how much trouble I’ve caused for you, and you were a fool. A man drunk beyond walking outsmarted you.” That grin slipped back onto his face and he had to crawl backwards on his hands and knee’s to avoid another foot lashing.  
The woman sighed and sat down next to him. “I was fired after you left last night.” She lied, leaning closer and resting her head on his shoulder. “you should at least give me a nights job out of pity if nothing else.” She suggested, her voice holding a hint of seduction.
“That would be the just thing to do, but you weren’t fired at all.” Nizak replied easily. She hadn’t seemed troubled in the least, which would make her either an excellent actor or still safely employed and a horrible one.
The dark haired women slid her arms around his neck and ran her fingers through his almost shoulder length red hair. “pity me anyway.” She whispered, brushing her lips lightly against his.
“Of course. But I should pity you elsewhere, lest we risk corrupting the children fishing here. Your name?” He leaned in and they kissed.
“Glitter.” She told him, breaking the kiss.
They stood and walked together to her home.

It was late now, and the sky was turning a dark blue, Nizak and glitter lay in bed covered in  sheets. She had her arms around him still, her head laying sleepily on his chest. “I’m late for work.” She told him, her tone now sleepy and relaxed.
“its just as well.” Nizak replied, brushing his hand through her dark chestnut hair. “I’m out of coin.” He heard her giggle softly. If only she wasn’t a whore, she would make such a fine woman for him. Not only was she a dream in bed, but as he had discovered on their walk here, she was intelligent and charming as well.
It was just to bad that the only women the merchant ever met were whores. Most women didn’t find drunkards very attractive from what he had assessed. “That’s to bad, you were wonderful.” He heard her say as she leaned up and kissed his lips.
His eyes met hers and he almost smiled.  The dim moonlight drifting through the window shown off her features perfectly, and made her seem almost innocent. he was tempted to ask her to run away with him, to promise her riches and gold, and a life of happiness. It was then he realized how foolish he would sound. He was an alcohol addicted merchant without a penny in the world, he couldn’t do her justice.
When he thought that, he really did smile and almost laughed. He couldn’t do a whore justice? No…she really didn’t deserve to be called a whore. “I would like to see you again.” He whispered, still stroking her hair.
“I hope you will.” She replied, her voice as soft music.
“I’ll make a point to have coins by tomorrow.” He said as he watched her sit up slowly, then reluctantly did so himself. He kissed her lips, and then down her neck lightly. The smell of her perfume and the way she cooed made him wish he had more money, and she hadn’t had work for another two hours. But alas it wasn’t the case.
Unwilling to leave her side, he forced himself to stand and dress. He felt the need to say something romantic, charming, or sweet. In fact he felt oddly warm at heart. But it was really to bad…he thought as he walked out the door. That the women he’d so quickly become so fond of, was no more than a whore pleasuring him for money.

Midra was returning home, the night had cleared up and clouds were scattered throughout the sky, still rain fell lightly as he walked the dirt road. He had stayed out much later than intended and the sunset was long gone by now. Though he had close to tripled his money in a card game, he still felt light guilt weigh on him. He would have to explain the last sword would not be ready until tomorrow, and then be forced to deal with complains he could do nothing about. Considering they had even waited for him this long.
The  blacksmith peered up ahead, and saw three figures standing outside of his shop. Even from far away he could tell by their gestures that they were tense and annoyed.
Finally he approached the trio of wanderer’s, and not yet saying a word to them opened the door and stepped inside. “I’m sorry” he apologized as he retrieved the two swords. Carrying one of them in each hand he distributed them to two of the men. “But the last sword wont be completed until tomorrow afternoon.” He told them forcing his best smile despite the sneers he received in return.
“It isn’t a problem.” The swordless man spoke up. “You have plenty of weapons  already made inside your shop.” He was deep voiced, a big man with taught muscles. His hair short, almost non existent.  The man on his left was younger, and more lean, he had a scar on his left cheek, and longer hair, bangs coming down to his forehead. The third man was the smallest though built similar to the last man.
“What is your name lad?” Midra asked with a light smile, showing he wasn’t at all threatened by the young brats sneer.
“Grenel.” The burly wanderer answered.
“Well Grenel, I’m afraid you don’t have enough money all together to buy one of those swords.” Midra told him coolly, trying to keep his manners about him, though he always found that difficult in the  presents of ignorance. “So I advise you wait until tomorrow and—“
“We wont wait.” Stated Grenel stepping forward. The rain soaked warrior was angry and restless. Though Midra doubted the man would act different even if he hadn’t been standing in the rain for hours. “We’ll take a sword now. You wouldn’t stop us, would you old man?” the warrior smiled grimly, attempting intimidation.
“I’m  afraid he would, you see, Midra is a stubborn old man who values his work over his life, though actually his swords are worth more than an old man with a bad back, who cant even cook a decent breakfast.”  The voice came from behind the three warriors, and the smithy instantly knew its owner. It was Nizak.
“Kazin old boy, you’ve never once shed blood. I hope you have the stomach for it if these men don’t skip along the merry trail back to  under the rocks where they came from.” The merchant continued, and Midra noticed by the slur, if not by the fact the man was talking to his sword, that he had been drinking.
The three wanderers turned around to greet the drunken bum, who was horribly unsteady on his feet at the moment. The merchant pushed back his travel hat. under it, his hair was soaked and his bangs fell down coming close to covering his dark hazel eyes.
Grenel laughed, the sound was booming, and annoying to Nizak. It may have held some fear to most men but it was wasted on the drunk man who’s unusual bravery and selflessness was fueled by the intoxicating liquid that filled him. In return Nizak let out a drunken laugh that broke here and there, making it irritating for all whom heard.
“What’s so funny little man?” asked the burly  traveler, nonplussed yet angry from the ignorant laughter.
Nizak grinned through his rain soaked bangs, and his fist crashed hard into Grenel’s jaw, and without time to prepare for such a blow the warrior was thrown into the wall close to the doorframe.
“Kill him!” the stricken man shouted, fury in his words.   And the battle had begun. The two men’s swords came up, standard Solance style military long swords. They flashed down towards the drunken merchant.
Moving swiftly back and out of the way of one blade, Kazin arched up still held in its ruby scabbard, knocking the closer blade off to the side. Instantly Nizak pressed his body to his opponents and spun, stepping all the way around the confused fighter until he’d reached his other side, jamming the scabbard clad sword hard into the mans stomach, just below the chest. The air was forced fast from  his lungs and he doubled over, his blade falling soundlessly onto the mud covered road.  
Nizak then stood statue still, watching the second armed man, whom was eyeing him carefully, looking for an opening that should have been easier to find on a drunken man. The rain had grown heavier and it was now pouring down from the sky. Nizak held his sword by its scabbard instead of its hilt, the strangest technique his opponent had yet to see.  It was as if he was using it as a small staff instead of a sword…it was mad, hell, it didn’t make any sense at all!
And yet the man found himself backing away. “When we find Bloodwish, We’re going to enjoy your death! All of us!” The cowering man promised with an unmistakable violence in his voice.
“Bloodwish?” inquired the drunken merchant.
“Bloodwish.” The man answered without any further description. A threateningly sadistic smile playing on his lips before he ran down the road, leaving his fallen comrades behind.
Just as Nizak slid his Kazin back into his sword belt, from the corner of his eye he saw the muscular man ‘Grenel’ charging at him.
The drunk turned and sprang forward, swaying unsteadily aside of a brutish punch before hammering his forearm into the neck of his assailant, knocking him roughly back against the wall and holding him there. The man sputtered and coughed. Nizak let the pressure off Grenel’s neck, but kept it in position. “Bloodwish.” Nizak said. He had now become curious of this thing they talked so confidently of.
The man tried to laugh. Not so booming anymore, Thought Nizak as the man began to cough and sputter again. “you think I would tell you, do you? You worthless drunk?” Grenel asked rhetorically.  
Nizak used his thumb to click Kazin from its sheath just an inch or two. “Worthless drunk with a very sharp sword.” He replied briskly. “What is Bloodwish? I suggest you tell my laddie, as completely wasted as I am, I may kill you and not so much as remember come the morning.” Nizak’s voice easily remained calm, without anger, though extremely intimidating to the big man, most likely scared more by the sword than the man himself.
“A sword…a legend…” Said Grenel, his voice unsteady from the pressure on his throat. “A sword with the power to grant one wish, for every thousandth man it slays.” He continued. “Its east of here that’s all we know, we haven’t been searching long enough to find any leads.” He coughed again, and Nizak eased the pressure, and let him go.  
“Run off and take your friend with you.” Nizak told him, and was more than surprised when he had actually listened.

Midra watched as the merchant made fools out of these three wanderers, it was hard to place what he felt, the emotion wasn’t exactly surprise, though Nizak seemed a low life at times he was no coward, not when it mattered. Maybe what he felt was luck. Had the merchant not come around, Midra would have had to take on three men eager to fight, two armed, and him without a weapon. Put in that circumstance there was no way Midra could have broken their courage as Nizak had.
It may have been pride, Nizak had truly grown up to be strong, intelligent, and though a cynic, he was sometimes, though rarely, a hero as well.
He was speechless as the fight took place. Before he knew it, one man had been struck down, and another had fallen, the third had ran, and there was no courage or eagerness left in the trio.
Nizak still stood in the rain as the two bruised wanderers made they’re way back into town. he turned to Midra and waited for the question he knew as coming.
“what the hell did you think you were doing? Did you think you were fighting three small women? They were well armed men!” Midra’s scolding came from concern alone, which is why they only made Nizak grin.
“They fought like one small women.” He replied. “Now let me in before I get sick, I have a whore to see tomorrow.”
As Nizak stepped in, Midra voiced one more question. “Why so curious about this…Bloodwish?” he asked.
“I’m standing on my own.” Answered Nizak, and Midra looked nonplussed. The merchant sat himself down by the hearth and let the warmth of it cascade comfortably over him. “ if you wont help me destroy my liver, I’ll find Bloodwish.”
“and you plan to slay one-thousand men, for riches?” there was a touch of sadness in Midra’s voice. It didn’t sound one bit like the Nizak he had watched grow up.
“like hell I will. Old man that legend is ridicules, but there are small brained creatures in this world called romantics and dreamers, and a wish will sell for a lot.” He replied with a sly grin. “Come with me.” He offered.
“Do you think me a fool, Nizak?” Midra asked.
“yes” the merchant answered with an amused smirk.
“I’m an old man in my late fifties and I’ve never left Gemini.” The old man stated. “it would be a crime not to ever have one small adventure.”
“That, and you’re a fool.” Chuckled Nizak.
“Be that as it is, we’ll prepare for the trip in the morning.”