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Cultivating Ink 1
🕑 Added 2025-03-29 23:59:56 +0000 UTCThe moon cast a pale glow over the beautiful walls of Eldermire, the gleaming silver adding an incredible beauty that made Alaric’s hands twitch to capture the beauty. The moonlight was gentle enough to hide the small cracks and broken texture of the walls that was apparent in the daylight, making it tempting to stop and paint the beauty of the walls.
His fingers twitched with the desire to create one beautiful memento of the walls, a masterpiece of his own before they collapsed even further, that even the moonlight couldn’t cover the faults.
Unfortunately, it was not possible at the moment for two reasons. One, the dawn was about to arrive, and once it did, it would chase away the moonlight, ruining the beautiful view before he could capture it on the canvas. But, if that had been the only problem, he could have just arrived earlier to catch the light as he desired.
No, the problem was the guards that filled the walls. They would never allow a slum rat like him to get near the walls while curfew was still going on. It was for that reason Alaric was behind a crumbling wall, five hundred paces away, watching like a hawk for an opportunity.
The wall belonged to an overambitious shack that had built too close to the walls, one that the guards decided too close and demolished. It wasn’t the only shack that suffered the same fate, but the guards had been particularly rough when destroying it, shattering many bricks.
Which meant, unlike the other broken buildings, the remains hadn’t picked completely to build a new shack farther away, creating a beautiful hiding spot for Alaric.
He waited for dawn in his little hiding spot, and soon, the golden light of the morning arrived, chasing away the gentle silver, revealing the scars of age and conflict on the wall. Alaric sighed about the missed opportunity. It wasn’t that the walls didn’t have their unique charm during the day, but he already had hundreds of the same painting during his practice sessions.
Instead, his attention were on the guards that paced atop the battlements, their armor glinting under the golden light of the sun, watching their movement. He knew the patterns by heart; including the fact that they would be switching guard soon.
Soon, but not immediately. The guards patrolling the city streets would pull back as the curfew ended, and at the same time, the guards at the walls would be replaced by the new shift. But, it was months ago that Alaric had realized the guards for the day shift usually had better relationship with their captain, meaning that they wouldn’t have too much trouble if they were late.
It was not a situation the night shift was happy with, but they handled it differently. Some continued to hold guard, while the others retreated into the guard house to argue about it. They were confident that, once the dawn arrived, there was no danger, whether from the occasional monster attacks, or from other humans.
It was a correct attitude regarding the common daggers — be it the nocturnal monsters, or raids from the other cities — but it gave Alaric an opportunity.
He waited until he saw the guard manning the tower to his friend, his arms animated as he complained about the delay in change. Then, he took a deep breath, and started running forward, his body low as he rushed forward, not willing to miss the opportunity.
He couldn’t afford not no. Not when several attempts of his had failed.
Alaric was a fast runner, which was a survival skill for any orphan that was unlucky enough to grow up in the slums … though Alaric was glad that things weren’t as bad back then, which meant the occasional kind person fed him some gruel, or allowed him to sleep in the stables during the worst of the winter.
Not anymore. Kindness was not an affordable luxury anymore, not with the harsher winters and more aggressive monsters.
Alaric shook his head, focusing on the moment even as he rushed toward the walls, where there was a nice broken section that was just small enough for his thin body to fit. He positioned himself in in a way he wouldn’t be noticed by an errant glance down, and waited patiently.
His patience was rewarded soon. A dozen carts, traveling from the nearby farms, bringing the daily produce to sell. And, since the gate wasn’t open yet, they pulled the carts near the gate. Alaric switched his position, and soon, he was hanging on the underside of the cart.
It was not supposed to work, but unlike the day shift, the overworked guards of the night shift never checked the underside of the charts. He shifted his legs to a comfortable position — as much as possible while hanging on the underside of a cart filled with freshly butchered meat — and waited.
From his position, he could only see two guards, their posture relaxed. Their argument was anything but as they complained about everything, from the schedule to increasing prices of the pills they used for their martial arts training.
Alaric couldn’t help but feel jealous. One of his greatest ambitions for life was to have a martial technique of his own … but it was merely a dream. He couldn’t afford even the cheapest technique on the market, and even if he could, he was too late.
He already passed the age where he could learn martial arts efficiently.
Alaric sighed. He was a slum rat. Just having a weapon to defend himself was ambitious enough. Though, there the bigger challenge was not to find a weapon, but the ability to bribe the guards to look the other way. The people of the slums weren’t allowed to carry weapons, but it could be solved by paying the guards.
It took some time before the guards finished their chatting and opened the gate. The cart moved.
“Here’s some moonshine, my lord. It goes excellently with the meat from our farm. The best cuts, of course,” he heard the cart driver say once it was his turn.
“Good, but it’s still three silver coins to get in,” the guard responded.
“Three, but it was two —” the cart driver started, only to stop. Alaric didn’t miss that the sudden silence coincided with the guard grabbing his sword. A naked threat.
Things were getting worse, Alaric realized. The official fee to enter the city was still half a silver coin. That, Alaric was sure, but it had been a long while the guards let someone enter the city using the official fee. The going rate had rose to two coins for a long while, with none of the commoners daring to make an official complaint.
Asking for three silver coins was pushing it.
Luckily, instead of curses — or worse, an argument — Alaric heard the distinctive clank of silver, showing that the driver decided to pay the inflated prices instead.
He tightened his grip as the cart moved further, until he saw a stack of empty crates near an alley. One advantage of it being dawn was that the streets were still dark under the thick shadow of the walls, allowing him to roll from under the cart without being noticed.
Alaric pressed himself against the cold stone as the shadows wrapped him, and he immediately took to the alley. He didn’t need to stop and assess his surroundings, as he was familiar with the area. He moved deeper into the alley until he reached an abandoned building — one of many, as the area near the walls were not the safest — and stood in front of it.
He wasn’t a good lock picker, mostly because he didn’t dare to ask anyone to teach him. It was a dangerous talent to have in slums, and not just because one would be the first target whenever something went missing.
Due to his thin stature, Alaric managed to avoid the recruitment from the gangs. The last thing he needed was to give the gangs a reason to change their minds. Luckily, no one had bothered to change the old and worn-out lock of an abandoned building.
Too bad the guards regularly patrolled the building during the night to catch stowaways during curfew, as he would have loved to live in an abandoned building instead of slums. Unfortunately, he wasn’t the only one with that idea.
And, he didn’t trust himself to avoid the night patrol when they weren’t bored and tired.
Reaching into his pocket, he pulled out a thin piece of wire with a hook at the end. A push later, the wire was in narrow slit between the door and the frame, his fingers deftly manipulating it until he felt the latch give way with a soft click.
Once he entered, he pulled the door behind him, listening for any signs of alarm. There was no alarm, just the distant murmur of the city waking up — drunken songs from the people that decided to spend the night in the tavern, the clatter of hooves from the travelers, the shouts from the first set of merchants…
“Perfect,” he muttered happily even was he carefully climbed the stairs of the abandoned building, careful despite his familiarity. The last thing he needed was an injury due to a rotten stairs.
Soon, he was at the roof, where his treasures lay. A small pile of coins, almost all of them copper, with only six silver coins mixed in, a tattered scholar robe … and his most important treasure.
A beautiful brush, and a canvas…
