Putrid. Damp. Musty.
No other words could describe the scene as Bast sploshed through murky waters. He was in a tunnel.
Splosh. Splosh. Splosh.
"Fuck... this is disgusting," he mumbled.
Under the streets of Greyfair lay the integral sewer systems; a sanctuary he decided to clutch upon once patrols ran thicker; each turn becoming too much to deal with.
He opened a sewer hatch drowned in rust and was engulfed in darkness moments later.
Splosh. Splosh. Splosh.
Countless stories rambled on the atrocities these very tunnels held.
Monsters the size of daecans. Screams that echoed through different boroughs. A story on its existence would be whispered by parents and merchants alike.
His hand reached up to ruffle his nose--the scent digging into his skin.
"Nothing more than rats and piles of faeces," he muttered.
His feet trudged deeper in a pile he couldn't look at.
"...If you count that as scary," he continued, clearly not too affected by the musings of elders and thieves.
Splosh. Splosh.
"...Wait did I just say faeces?"
A chuckle came almost instantly.
Splosh. Splosh. Splosh.
"I've been laying too close to those carriages..." his lips mused, a frown present on his face. A sigh left those same lips moments after.
"Haah--"
Splosh. Splosh. Splosh.
The Coin had been silent ever since it took its first cost; a memory, that he couldn't even remember.
Who knew what the future held from now?
What costs it would take, and people it would hurt?
The power it could give....?
Splosh. Splosh. Splosh.
This wasn't the time.
His steps rang loud through the thin walkway; those same boots stained in brown and orange -- the smell causing a responsive jolt.
'The walls should be close...' he thought.
Now was the time to get out, to get out of Greyfair.
There was no staying.
He'd be imprisoned by the crack of dawn, or dead in a few weeks scrambling on streets away from his local diving spots.
Yes.
That was the truth.
Those 'guards'... they'd be monitoring everything: The Warrens, the Auction House, the back alleys, the groves... everything.
"Damn Veilguards..." he muttered, a tinge of venom present in passing. It was clear there was some sort of history, you could see it in those amber eyes squinting sharply.
That may have been because of the smell... but on second thought it was clear, there was no pleasant feelings about those lawmen.
'They call it order, when it's nothing but a leash,' Bast thought. A faint memory of someone being dragged away surfacing... before he shook his head dispelling its hold.
Splosh. Splosh. Splosh.
In this long tunnel there was time to think, whereas before action had taken reign.
'Get to the wall.'
'Sneak out.'
'Travel along the Ashen Causeway--'.
And then what? Food? Shelter?
A direction?
Action came easy in panic, but once reality caught up, once the current slowed... what then?
Splosh. Splosh. Splos--
His steps stuttered, resting on a pile of faeces. "Tov."
The name throbbed through him, less a memory and more an idea he clung to so he wouldn't sink.That little rascal. A head full of ideas and a face with a forever smile...
What would happen to him?
Splosh--
He came to a standstill.
"Shit..." he muttered.
If he went back now, he'd drag trouble straight to the kid.
The guards weren't stupid, they'd trace any connection he had, shake down anyone he spoke to or interacted with on a daily basis.
But Tov wasn't blood.They wouldn't find the kid easily. They couldn't.
Bast offered a light exhale, his lips curling. "Hhh-- he too's slippery anyways."
That calmed him down briefly, as he realised that the connection would only be discovered, if he led them there himself.
"Hell no... I can't do that," he whispered; his hand streaking across his messy, dark brown hair.
His jaw tightened.
'Sib.'
That old man with the crooked smoke pipe, and even worse back.
He's the one who told him to hide when the guards came.
He's the one who watched over him and Tov when he could; feeding them, patching them up.
A friendly old guy.
Tov wasn't grown, he was a kid... but that wasn't too young compared to Bast.
Still, if anyone could take care of him, it would be Old man Sib.
Bast breathed out slow, his eyes closing in response.
"He'll take care of him," he whispered.
Saying it out-loud made it seem real. Seem certain.
Any panic he had eased, just enough for him to move again. To move deeper through that dark tunnel.
Splash!
He froze. He had yet to take a step--so what the hell made that sound?
Behind him... something had shifted, before quickly going still.
Bast turned, those amber eyes flickering over the darkness, trembling just slightly.
"...Hello?"
His voice barely carried.
There was no response.
Nothing.
Only the sound of his heartbeat climbing up his throat.
His hand drifted to his pocket, to the coin -- instinct, fear and habit all merging at once.
'Don't tell me those monster stories were real....' his brain wracked.
That noise was too loud, to be anything small.
And nothing small would hide like that.
Skrrch!
A low sound echoed, followed by something wet dragging through the tunnel.
Bast's breath hitched.
"...Okay. No," he whispered.
It was then, two faint reflections appeared through the dark.
Eyes?
Glowing?
'Shit... monster?'
The shape stepped forward, water sloshing...
A rat.
A huge rat.
Half the size of a dog, fur slick with sewage, whiskers twitching like it was greeting him.
Bast stared.
The rat stared back.
"...Yeah, nope."
He turned and bolted.
SPLOSH! SPLOSH! SPLOSH!
There was no stopping him. His legs pushed so hard through the sewage it felt personal. Like a charge filled with vendetta.
Everything splashed as he continued to launch forward, stumbling and practically slipping over his own panic.
"I'm not dealing with that today!" he yelled, liquid disagreement splashing all over him.
SPLOSH! SPLOSH! SPLOSH!
Halfway down the tunnel, he risked one glance back as his chest heaved.
The rat hadn't moved.
Not an inch.
It just watched him flee.