Joseph's origin. (SOLO)

[redrout]

(NOTE: I didn't know exactly where to put this, so I decided to make it a solo thread, even though it probably won't be that long, and I didn't want to put it in vignettes. PM me if you have a suggestion of where a backstory thing goes. cheers.)





The mead Joseph was drinking certainly had more of a bite to it than most he had tasted, but it made up for it with pleasant fruity notes in the aftertaste. He’d been drinking the stuff for a while now, and he planned on drinking it a little more still. After all, there was celebrating to be done. He had just closed a deal on some good fabric from Corone, and at the price he’d managed to negotiate, Joseph felt he’d have enough money to buy lots of mead. He smiled, perhaps a little inebriated, and finished his drink, motioning for another. A few moments went by, and Joseph’s buzz grew full as he leaned back in the stool, grateful that it had a back. Well, that makes it more of a chair, now doesn’t it, he thought as the next mug of the delightfully warm substance appeared before him. He briefly thought about ordering a round for the whole bar, before chuckling to himself. I’ll need to be a little drunker for that kind of thing, he thought, scooping the cup off the bar and tipping it back a little. He was vaguely aware of raised voices at the edge of the bar, but thought nothing of it. A sharp yell brought his fading attention up from the mug, though. He looked to the side just in time to see a body flying his way.

His reflexes were far too slow to dodge the man, and he suddenly found himself on the ground under a large dazed man with a pot belly. Joseph tried to make sense of the situation as another yell came from the man he’d been sitting next to, and the bar was thrown into chaos. There were yells and fists aplenty, and Joseph tried to make sense of a little of it as he slowly stood, coming face to face with an immense man in a hooded cloak. He seems angry, was the only thought that came to Joseph’s mind as the man grabbed him by his shirt, lifting him up and slamming him down on the nearest table. Joseph grabbed at his arms weakly, as his were too short to strike at the hooded man’s face. One of his massive hands grabbed Joseph's neck, squeezing tight upon it. Joseph struggled to speak, even to gasp, but nothing came. He flailed desperately at the man, all the commotion forgotten as he struggled to pull air into his already-burning lungs. As he swung an arm, it caught on the long hood of the robe, pulling it off. Joseph saw a square-jawed man, with close-cropped black hair and unkempt stubble, with a large scar marring one cheek up from his jawbone to well above his ear. He had the look of a hard man, perhaps even an evil man; but Joseph knew only one thing for certain: He would die if he didn’t get air. His hands slammed against the table, his lungs burning as his vision began to go dark. He fumbled, trying to find some purchase on the table, but it was too large and his hands could not find the edge. Suddenly, his hand closed upon a handle. Joseph knew not what he held, but anything was better than nothing, so he brought what little strength he had to bear on the instrument and swung at the man’s head.

Joseph’s vision slowly returned as the hand that pinned him to the table weakened, slipping off him. Joseph gasped painfully, pushing away the scarred man that had fallen on top of him in order to get more air into his lungs. He rolled over, landing in a heap on the floor. Joseph pushed up on all fours, reaching to his pained neck as his vision returned. He saw the distinct hue of spilled blood and looked to his tunic, which appeared to be covered in it. He looked to his side to see the man who had just been choking him, a knife protruding from his throat, his blood pooled on the ground he was lying on. His eyes, now lifeless, were fixed on Joseph, who nearly retched as he scrambled away, standing on shaky legs as the door to the bar burst open.

In came at least a half-dozen armored men, shouting above the brawl and pulling men off each other. The one with the fanciest armor looked at the man with the blade in his neck, then at Joseph. He barked an order that Joseph didn’t make out, and suddenly his arm was pinned behind him and he was pushed forward out of the bar. Joseph was still a little drunk, but he knew this wasn’t good.

[redrout]

Joseph hit the stone floor of the jail cell hard, looking up just as the door closed with a resounding clang. The sound had a sort of finality to it, the kind that scared Joseph. The guard stared him down with an iron gaze.

“You kill a man in Salvar, your life is forfeit,” He said, turning silently to walk down the corridor.

Joseph knew the law as well as any, and he looked down at his still-bloodied hands in disbelief.
Murderer? He briefly thought of pleading his case to the guard before realizing it would be fruitless to attempt what every other convict must have tried. The man’s blood was wet on his shirt. It, too, had a definitive finality to it, as if the blood itself was calling out for his punishment. He buried his head in his hands and fought the urge to weep as he collapsed against the corner of the cell, too spent and drunk to care about much of anything. He would die, and there was naught he could do about it.

After a while, the jail had quieted and the guard was snoring quietly at the end of the long, narrow hallway that held his and many other cells. He thought over the events beforehand with a little more sobriety and a clearer head. He was cold. Such concerns seemed like they would hold little weight considering his impending fate, but still, he felt cold. Perhaps they would let him draft a letter to his father; they hadn’t spoken in some time, but surely they would extend him that courtesy?

Part of him wanted to escape, and if he was being honest with himself, he had considered it when he was thrown in here, albeit briefly. But now there was no escape. Even if he did get away, his face would find itself all over Salvar by the end of the week, and he knew far too many merchants who were far too shrewd to let an opportunity like the bounty that would be on his head go by. No, perhaps it is my time, he thought; and no amount of prayer or cunning could save him now. He didn’t regret that he didn’t do all the things he wanted, nor regret all his missed opportunities. Joseph’s mind instead contemplated more trivial matters. How would his affair be squared? Who would take care of his horse? Who would the Coronians trade with now for their iron? It almost seemed odd, even to himself. Of course, death was a foregone conclusion at this point, but that tends to shake a man more than near anything. What was a cold, damp cell now felt cool and the stone he leaned against fealt pleasant to the heat of his skin. There was a terrible necessity to death, he thought, feeling the bruising around his neck. The brute Joseph killed had his time, and now Joseph’s was nearing it’s end. He sighed.

[redrout]

A barking voice came from down the hallway, heavily accented.
“Oi! Whit are ye doin’. Yoo’re supposed tae be watchin th’ prisoners, not sleepin ‘till one uv em sneaks up on ye an’ sticks ye in tha chest!” a string of insults followed amidst hasty apologies as footsteps neared his cell. Joseph didn’t think they’d do the deed until morning, but Salvarian justice had a tendency to be arbitrarily swift at times. He stood, breathing deeply as the guards approached. A tall, thin man seemed to be in charge; he wore a thicker coat to ward off the cold and the other soldiers followed in step behind him. He approached the cell, staring at Joseph with an experienced eye, then turned his head to the soldier to his left.

“Well, I Cannae give ‘eem his reward if ye don’t open thae door!” He barked, smacking the man in the back of his head. He started, quickly fumbling with the keyring enough to get it open. The iron-banded gate swung inward on creaking hinges as the soldier in charge tossed him a large bag. Joseph barely brought his hands up in time to catch the thing, hearing the jingle of coin from inside.

“Wha...I don’t understand, why are you-” Joseph began before the man produced a large bag from the folds of his robe, tossing it to him. The bag jangled with coin as he caught it; it felt heavy, he thought, as his eyes returned from the bag to the captain, who now held an unrolled piece of paper which held the image of the man he’d killed, along with the word ‘reward’. There was an amount attached, but Joseph was sure it was incorrect.


“Sorry ‘boot the misunderstandin’, s’been a long tyme since we ‘ad a bounty ‘unter ‘round these parts,” he said, motioning for Joseph to exit the cell. He stepped forward on trembling legs, still quite unsure of what was going on; but the guards seemed to mean him no harm as his eyes darted from one to the other, so he stepped outside. The captain’s boots clicked as he walked briskly down the long corridor, lit by only a few torches here and there. As he followed, trying to keep up, he began to hear the other prisoners groaning, rising from sleep. Was I really here all night? he thought as he ascended a long, narrow stairwell, still following the accented man. They soon came to a door with light streaming out of it. The guard opened it and Joseph was blinded by the morning light, which streamed directly into the open doorway. He heard the familiar hustle and bustle of people going about their mornings, and smelled baked goods. The guard shoved a bag which contained his things in Joseph’s open hand, and while Joseph was still fumbling with it, he pushed Joseph out the doorway. He stumbled and fell, and with naught to catch himself with, crashed to the ground again. He turned to look back to the captain.

“Wait!” he frantically yelled, holding a now-free hand up. He tried to come up with something, anything, he could say to get the guard or captain shed some light on what the fuck had just happened to him. He uttered the only words that came to his frenzied mind.

“What do I do now.”

The captain guffawed. “Well it’s obvious ain’t it? Ye get out there and grab yerself another one!” He laughed again and slammed the door to the jail. Joseph managed to collect his belongings which had spilled from the bag and stood, blinking in the daylight.

What do I do now?