PIGEON - a Grishaverse OC story

Epilogue

Elias Fristsröm, just a humble fisherman trying to earn a few Kruge to bring home to his family in Fjerda, crouched down and dug his fingers against the wooden floor.

It was stained with seawater and worn down in specific patterns, creating odd designs. The darkness of the night concealed what was potentially hiding in the shadows of the corners, despite the warm glow of an oil lamp. Money was scarce to use for something even as simple as a light to see.

Thats how poor most of the fisherman who ended up doing trade with the gangsters of The Barrel were. There was no other choice but the 5fth Harbour.

Elias gained some leverage and grasped at the box underneath him. He managed to lift it, the usual ache in his old and rusted back greeting him. He rose to a standing position and attempted to navigate through the smelly mess of crates.

It was a busy night at Ketterdam. After a grand ship containing tourists and pleasure-seekers had sunk, there had been a quiet moment. Well... quiet for Ketterdam. Elias new the laughs and shouts and brawls of the barrel all to well.

Now there was money to be made, and lost in the city. Elias wanted to leave this place as soon as possible, but his crewmates had fallen for the gambling addiction. And they seeked pleasure their wives could not offer.

He had once entered the gambling club Emerald Palace, but had exited with a chipped tooth that was still ailing him to this day. Spilling tea and soup upon his lips whenever he had the chance to enjoy such luxuries.

Now he was unloading all the fish he and his crew had caught to be sold the next day at the canal markets. He hated that part. The bargaining and drunk men who had no regard for his self-esteem or respect for his hard work. And any time he wasn't at sea was just, in general, quite uncomfortable for Elias.

It sure was difficult unloading the dead sea creatures. Because a tourist-ship that had finally docked was streaming already drunk and greedy visitors into the streets of ketterdam. They took up so much room along the alleyways it was hard to find anywhere to place the boxes of shrimp and fish.

Elias groaned and took careful, heavy steps along the boat floor. It was creaking under him and the Grisha witches keeping the tide high must have purposely sent waves his way. The boat rocked him along and he was relieved to transfer the box over to his crewmember on the barnacle covered dock.

Water sloshed at the edge of the boat and he cursed the witch who wasn't doing his job correctly. Elias could never be happier that The Fold was hard at work, killing those unnatural drüsje.

The yellow lights of the barrel were muffled by the large crowd dressed in ridiculous costumes. Elias disapproved of this city. He didn't like all these young people causing trouble, wasting their money and killing one another. They swore and carried weapons, the stone streets blocking any contact to natural earth. Elias enjoyed the water and cold whiteness better. The only reason he was contempt with doing business here was the picture he held in his mind of his starving wife and daughter.

Eventually, the smell of the fish must have shooed the tourist's away because Elias was now standing proudly in front of their altogether catch of the day. A runner boy was waiting there, young, grimy and covered in signs of violence.

He scribbled a note on a piece of paper, asking Elias the amounts of it all. All Elias could say in Ravkan was numbers, and some vocabulary related to selling and bargaining. The fisherman was suprised the runner boy could even read or write, he himself had never learned.

His family was shamed, half the reason they were declined financial help. Elias's father had been denounced during Drüskelle training, forever dooming his blood-line. Sometimes Elias tried to imagine what he himself would look like in the black colors. He could rid this world of the Grisha himself. Make real Djels wish.