Waking suddenly he lay completely still, life having taught him hard lessons about the danger of showing he was aware or even existed. Ears straining he heard the sound of rain spattering against his tent and the faint fading sound of the spirits whispering, whispering that faded more quickly when they noticed his attention. Even befuddled by sleep as he was that hurt in ways that still hadn’t faded in the years since he’d had his ability to bargain with them taken from him.

He opened his remaining eye. The stained, ragged cardboard over his head and the stench of garbage and fresh piss abruptly and unpleasantly reminded him this was not his long lost tent on the Oruc Plateau and that pattering sound was not rain.

The stream of piss hitting the cardboard he sheltered under stopped and footsteps moved away just before drunken voices were raised in one of the Polity Army’s marching songs.

Suddenly he was glad of the stained, soggy cardboard covering him, glad his harsh experience held him still right after he awoke and extremely glad he hadn’t been noticed. The soldiers of the Polity Army were not fond of non humans, at best he’d just avoided a nasty beating, at worst he would have been killed.

The war had ended less than three years earlier but coalition forces still garrisoned small towns like this that crouched at the edge of the southern jungles. The Half Fae Bastard’s demoralised troops had fled into those jungles when he’d been assassinated at the nearby town of Leesbridge and still raided regularly into border towns. Nobody would ever know exactly what had happened in Leesbridge that day three years ago because where the town had been was now a huge crater rife with raw magic, anyone without shielding of some sort risked severe corruption. But the rumour was that the Coalition had assassinated him because they were afraid if he lived he’d just use a cease fire to rebuild, then they’d be dealing with him again in a decade or two.

That army had included a lot of non-humans among it’s ranks especially among the Baas, as the Lexington Empire Army’s elite forces were called, there were half-Fae, beastmen, even a sizeable contingent of Raelian mercenaries.

If he was completely honest he could forgive the angry young men for their attitudes toward non-humans, they’d seen friends killed or maimed by them dozens of times.

But he couldn’t forgive them for the beatings and killings of blameless non-humans he’d seen in the filthy back alleys of this town alone. That wasn’t right. The non-humans were just trying to live their lives, lives that in coalition countries were still not particularly pleasant. Prejudice, disdain, dislike, distrust these were the normal lot in life for them. Most non humans had nothing to do with the Empire or it’s armies but all the soldiers saw was their constant nightmares and a target, for them… that was enough.

As the voices moved further away he relaxed and rolled over with difficulty, grunting at the effort, then he closed his eyes and tried to go back to sleep.

He tossed and turned restlessly on his cardboard mattress, but he couldn’t get comfortable and eventually gave it up as a bad idea. Forced into full wakefullness against his will he decided to get up and slowly dragged his reluctant body out of the cardboard box he called home. The alleyway it was in was damp, choked with trash, and thick moss grew on the walls. Where the moss didn’t cover them garish graffiti was splashed across the weather beaten bricks, in the poor filtered light of the far off streetlights they looked like scenes from his own frequent nightmares.

Other boxes and piles of cardboard rustled as other street dwellers and the ubiquitous rats moved around in them, disturbed by his movement. Pulling the makeshift cart of scrap lumber and mismatched wheels he used to get around toward himself he swung himself onboard. His weak arm wavered and collapsed under his weight, letting him down again as it had so many other times since that day. That nightmarish day seared into his mind forever, flashing scenes of hooves slamming down over and over as his arms and legs were destroyed along with the faint echoing memory of the pain and his own screams.

He shivered. Like he did every time he was reminded of the nightmares, awake or asleep.

It was a long long way from the respected warrior he’d been to face down in a puddle of piss and filthy garbage stinking water. He’d been a warrior of the Iniskirs Tribe, one of the strongest, laming him before they’d hurled him through a dimensional portal into this realm was to show the rest of the tribe that they couldn’t resist and shouldn’t even bother to try.

But flaying half his face, gouging out one of his eyes and the other permanent healed in scarring across the rest of his body, all of that had been to make absolutely certain they destroyed his ability to bargain with the spirits. Rendering his lifetime of hard won service to the spirits utterly useless. The spirits were fickle beings and would only treat with Shaman who were the epitome of health and beauty, which he was certainly not, not any more.

Cursing tiredly he pushed himself up and tried again to slither onto his cart,

This time his arm held for long enough, once he was on the cart he settled his twisted legs into the positions least likely to cause him painful cramps in their useless muscles and set off to begin his day. Begging in the Grand Square as he did every day.

He rarely felt pain in his twisted arm or legs baring the occasional terrible cramp from inactivity but that was not really a mercy. The Cadogan bloodmage who’d healed him had taken great joy in telling him he was deliberately doing it with the bones twisted and the muscles in the wrong places so his limbs would be perfectly healthy… and perfectly useless.

If he by some miracle managed to scrape up the money for a healer it wouldn’t do him any good, the limbs needed to be completely regrown and healers capable of that were far beyond what he could ever hope to gather.

Trundling over the rough stone flags he headed toward the Grand Square as the steel grey sky gradually lightened toward dawn. Not many people around this early and the few he did see apart from the regular guard patrols were roughly dressed workers hurrying to start their days or a few people in wilting finery on their way home after a long night out.

Reaching his usual position he hoisted his cart awkwardly over the gutter as he did multiple times a day and moved into the sheltered spot beside Jerri’s stall.

Jerri was originally from the Lexington Empire and had no problems with non-humans which was the only reason he dared to shelter beside his tent. Also as an ex-Empire citizen he’d had his own troubles with prejudice from soldiers and others but since he was a full-fee paying Kalstrasian citizen now, even verbal harassment would land the harassers in very real trouble with the law. But what likely kept him safer than his citizenship was the protection of a smaller subset of the locals, they couldn’t care less where Jerri was from and would not be happy with anyone who harassed him… because good honest fences were very hard to come by.

The cool morning air held the scent of the coming day’s scorching heat already and he didn’t expect to need the shelter of Jerri’s tent wall to protect him from the rain in this season but it was one of the few places the stallholder wouldn’t have him moved on. The amount he received was always lower in this less trafficked part of the market but today he didn’t have the energy to keep moving around in the better parts.

Not many of the market stalls were open yet and there weren't a great number of people moving through the tent lined avenues of the Grand Square. Later the market would be swarmed and almost painfully noisy but for now the stall-owners and the very few early bird customers greeted each other with low tones as they moved around.

Placing his roughly carved wooden bowl on the ground he settled himself in as he enjoyed the temporary peace.

Jerri was not one of the early birds. His stock of potions, nostrums, salves and ointments... and his other 'services' were in high enough demand but were more for the evening crowd.

As the day truly began Martuk watched the brilliant band of the sun move slowly down the face of the plateau cliffs edge, a looming backdrop seen from everywhere in the town. The town of Gremant existed in the narrow strip of cleared land between that cliff and the thick jungles that choked southern Kalstrasia and provided a barrier between them and the Empire.

Mind wandering and not paying attnetion because of lack of sleep, Martuk was startled and he tensed when he heard the tromp of booted feet on the other side of Jerri’s tent. But he relaxed when he saw the dark green and red piped uniforms of the Guard come around the corner instead of a group of coalition soldiers.

The Guard were a branch of the Kalstrasian army but they weren't part of the coalition forces and had almost as much dislike for the soldiers as non-humans did. They were the ones who had to deal with drunk and often violent soldiers with great regularity, soldiers who mostly viewed them as hiding from 'proper army duty' by being in the Guard.

Surprising him, the Guard Captain stopped in front of him and without a word dropped four platters into Martuk's bowl. The large silver coins rattled as they landed and Martuk's eyes widened in shock. This was a double dose of strange, Captains didn't patrol and while some Guardsmen did give him a few coppers here and there, those four coins were nearly a week’s wages for a low paid labourer.

The Captain came to a parade rest and looking into the middle distance said, “You'll be pleased to know that Sephrina Hanovan and Harry Filles were run out of town yesterday evening. A lot of good folks in the town were conned by that trash and it was decided the sale of their seized goods would be used to raise a reward. Your aid was invaluable in swiftly finding them before many more citizens could be hurt by their schemes. So please, take this small reward with the thanks of the citizens of Gremant.” He paused and looked directly at Martuk with an apologetic grimace, “I hope you can understand why this isn't being done with any great ceremony.”

“I... I... I don't know what to say, other than thanks to the people of Gremant and to the Guard, and yes... I understand, I'll keep it quiet.” As the Captain nodded and led the detachment away, Martuk quickly picked up the coins and hid them away.

He truly hadn't expected any reward when he'd passed his information to the guard, he’d only been doing as he felt he must. Those disgusting con artists had boasted about tricking the elderly and the mentally infirm where Martuk could hear and that was not something he could let pass. Preying on the weak and helpless was an abhorrent act, so he'd watched them very carefully and once he'd had their routine memorised he'd given it to the guard. Most people paid no attention to a ragged beggar for either good or ill so while the citizens of the town ignored him so had the criminals.

As the sun slowly climbed toward midday the market came alive around him. Servants scuttling to provision the manses they worked in, labourer collectives spruiking their member's virtues for any who had work that needed to be done and other stall owners of every stripe setting up their stalls and loudly advertising their wares. All vigorously trying to capture some part of the money flowing into and through the Grand Square.