[centre][h2]Sun On-Yee, the Rising Tiger[/h2][/centre] [hr] [hider=Post Summary] We’re introduced to Sun On-Yee, a rookie in the Tiger’s Fang triads. He is tasked with spying on some merchant to gather information that can be exploited. However, he’s not very good at it, and is spotted before the merchants drop any juicy details. Defeated, On-Yee heads towards his boss’s office. On the way, he is mugged by three thieves, off of whom he beats up. He gets into the office and is scolded for his insolence. Later, he and a pal head to the bar, chatting along the way. [/hider] [hr] [i]Central marketplace of Midta, provincial capital of Midland, Eastern Gu-Wei...[/i] “The marketplace’s louder than usual.” “Oh yeah, didn’cha hear? There’s apparently a musterin’ goin’ on. Heard they was heading out west.” It hadn’t even been a month. It was insane, really, how slow time went by when exposed to the new. Yet… Here he was - a nameless thug off the streets of Midta, not even a bei to his name, dropping eaves at the request of the kings of this city. “Out west? Grandpa’s coffin, has there been another raid? I swear, it’s been happening every year now.” The distant spice merchant put his face in his paprika-dusted hands, leaving his brow a rusty red. “If the supply is cut, I’ll have to close down shop.” “Nah, doubt it’s a raid this time - they can usually handle those. Still, I’m askin’ around for local farmers who grow rice. I’ll be damned if I’m switchin’ to millet this time’a year.” Behind the grain merchant, in a dank alley of the marketplace where one would think the worst of scum was crawling, a silhouette added to the already abundant shadows. Young and deceptively scrawny, it was - human, awfully so. Black hair dressed his dark scalp, and on account of his rank, he wore little less than baggy, patchy linen shorts and an equally ragged tunic - he looked about as insignificant as he was. “At least you have the option. What am -I- supposed to do? Use spice as currency?” “Is any of that even yours, anyway?” the grain merchant chuckled and the spice merchant looked away. “Let’s not delve any deeper into this, alright? [i]They[/i] might hear.” Shifty eyes scanned the stalls’ surroundings and the scrawny human youngster squatted down, extended forth a hand holding a cup and bent his head. When the merchants’ eyes fell upon him, all they saw was a beggar. Still, it was a poor disguise in the face of Middling veterans. Before he had the chance to look back, the scrawny lad could already that the merchants weren’t going to talk anymore that day. Eventually, he faced reality and stood up, disappearing into the darkness of the alley. Hearsay, yes - information - was the greatest resource on the market; neither spice, silk nor gold could outbid it. Living as a fly on the wall could potentially make you richer than a merchant lord. To hear that little slip of the tongue - an unpaid debt, an unfavoured competitor, a fear of walking alone at night - all could be prospected and exploited like a Shajiang gem deposit. That was what Sun On-Yee hoped he could have done, anyway, but now it seemed that he would go hungry another night. He groaned to himself - Alsamsan would likely scold him for his uselessness tonight. He could already hear it: “dog”, “leech”, “flea” - the usual treatment expected from a Lesser Pillar. The unswept corridors between towering shops and houses carried him past beggars, pipeweed addicts, thugs of rival factions and other types On-Yee felt no need to interact with. While he hadn’t been living this live for very long, the inhabitants of the shadows had learned not to stare for too long. Well, most of them. “Oi!” On-Yee’s quick pace slowed. Behind his back, he heard ragged soles slap against moist cobblestone littered with pools of urine. A hand like a boulder, down three fingers, did its best to grasp On-Yee’s shoulder tightly and spin him around. Without too much of a struggle, On-Yee complied and turned to face a mug with resemblance to a beat pulled fresh out of the ground: It was unnaturally red, dirty and covered with unsavoury growths. Another hand appeared between them and assumed a beckoning motion. “Cough it up, son,” said the thief. Sun On-Yee smacked his lips sharply and spat on the ground between them. “Cough up what?” “Whatever you’ve got - unless you’d like to sleep in the gutter for the night.” The beckoning hand became a thick fist. From behind him appeared a pair of forward-leaning, skinnier scoundrels armed with what looked to be shivs. On-Yee grimaced - of course even this lump had friends. “Look, I’ve got nothing - look at me, I’m not even worth selling to the Snaketongues!” “The Snuh--... What’s that? You know something?” the fat thief asked. Oh, perfect, the bluff fell flat. “Slavers, mate,” one of the scrawny ones said helpfully and ran a dirty rag over the somehow dirtier edge of his shiv. “Though I reckon they’d take anyone - even a shrimp like this. Might not pay handsomely for him, but bei is bei.” “Bei is bei,” the other skinny one agreed. The fat one’s grip tightened, his two fingers digging into On-Yee’s shoulder. “Bei is bei,” the fat one agreed with a smirk. “You’re coming with us, son--UGH!” The thief keeled forward as On-Yee planted a powerful kick in his crotch long before he could react. On-Yee tossed himself forward, causing one of the scrawny ones’ strikes to stab the fat one’s arm instead, eliciting a squeal. On-Yee rolled to his feet just in time to toss himself backward to dodge a swipe from the third one; he then dodged another, grabbed a stool from a small food stall nearby and swung it as hard as he could. The thief, overcommitted to a forward lunge, had no way of ducking away. The first strike dazed; the second knocked out a number of teeth; the third left him squirming weakly on the cobblestones. “Argh!” “Mate, I’m so, so sorry, I--!” The fat one slapped the second scrawny. “Go kill him, you daft shit! Ugh!” Leaving the fat one to nuzzle his bleeding arm, the second scrawny gulped and slowly approached On-Yee with quivering steps. They had assembled quite a crowd now, all denizens of the alley peeking out of their homes or gathering in the streets to cheer on the spectacle. On-Yee smirked cruelly, squeezing his grip tighter around the stool he had taken as a weapon. His opponent appeared frozen, and On-Yee seized that opportunity to arm himself with the knocked-out thief’s shiv. His opponent hesitated even more now, but eventually lunged. The strike was undisciplined and desperate, adequate in speed and strength, but lacking in accuracy. It flew wide, right past On-Yee, leaving the knife’s owner to the fate of an incoming slam with a stool. The strike hammered him to the ground, from which he immediately tried to rise. On-Yee gave him not a second of peace, slicing at the back of his shins with the shiv. The thief squealed and howled in unison with the cheer of the crowds, but before On-Yee could finish him off, the fat one grabbed him from behind and lifted him up before tossing him to the ground again. The fall knocked the air out of On-Yee and he dropped the stool. The fat one placed his foot on On-Yee’s ribcage, but just before he could press his weight down and break it, On-Yee dug the shiv he still held deep into the thief’s thigh. The fat one once more squealed and skipped backwards before falling over and knocking himself out on the cobblestone. The crowds exploded into loud applause. On-Yee slowly got to his feet and winced. Seems that the fat one had managed to break a rib after all. He dabbed a moist spot on the back of his head. He looked at his fingertips and found them red. He looked down and noticed his head had landed right next to a slightly protruding cobblestone - a little more to the left and it could’ve been the end of him. He swallowed and whispered a silent prayer to his unnamed ancestors before giving the thieves a glare. He shrugged to himself and began looting their pockets. The one still conscious dared not do anything other than lie still and pray he wouldn’t bleed out. In the end, On-Yee found little more than a few bent coins and mouldy jerky. He pulled the mould off the jerky and gave it a half-hearted chew, then a wholehearted one as he realised it was tougher than expected. With lunch secured, he went on his way. The endless alleys eventually became a two-floored shack, in front of which was a suspiciously empty lot that told anyone too curious to approach to turn right back around. On-Yee gave the angles over his shoulders each a quick glance before approaching the shack’s door, which, by the way, was much too fancy in comparison to the walls around it. He gave the door three knocks, a kick and then another knocks. A slot slid to the side slightly above the centre and revealed a pair of squinting, dark eyes complemented by darker skin. “Crouching tiger...” came a stern voice. On-Yee groaned. “Gemlosan, it’s me! C’mon, it’s been a month, can’t we drop--” “Crouching tiger…?” On-Yee rolled his eyes. “... Hidden dragon.” The door gave a tired groan as it slowly swung inwards, revealing a tall man with a mean mug and roughly a hundred and fifty jin of muscle to back that up. “That wasn’t so hard, was it?” On-Yee huffed. “How much longer until you trust me, huh?” Gemlosan scowled. “Way longer than a month, kid. Now get in.” The man slapped On-Yee inside and shut the door behind him. Inside, three teens about On-Yee’s age sat squatting around a small fire, watching the slow broil of a skimpy trout on a simple gridiron. In the corner upon a small stool sat a one-eyed muckling, scowling harshly at everything in the room. The floor was unswept cobblestone - one would think one never had left the streets; the walls had seen better days, but at least the scent of mould had grown familiar; the roof keeled slightly downwards at the centre. All in all, with the exception of the door, the word shack fit perfectly when describing this sorry excuse for a building. Another two doorways led out of the room: One doorway draped in a curtain of threaded beads, above which hung a sign labeled “To the restaurant”, and another door, this one of plain wood with no label. The three lads gave On-Yee greeting nods, which he returned. Another slap pushed the boy forward and he shot Gemlosan a glare. “What? What?!” “Boss wanted to see ya.” On-Yee huffed. “Couldn’t you just’ve said that? I know where he is.” Gemlosan flared his nostrils, a smirk revealing itself. “Do ya now?” On-Yee blinked. “What’s that supposed to mean? What’re you getting at?” The tall man tapped his temple smugly. “Let’s just say that you haven’t been the only one out spyin’ today. Enjoy your chat with the boss now.” With a deep giggle, he shuffled off through the doorway draped with the bead curtain. On-Yee swallowed and looked behind him towards the wooden door. He first stepped over to a basin of somewhat smelly water. He dabbed a piece of cloth in the water and began cleaning his wounds, then wrapped his ribs in a roll of linen. He dipped his hands into the water, rubbed his face clean and cleaned out his nostrils. He tugged his tunic until it looked somewhat presentable and patted his pants. As he grabbed the door handle, one of the lads around the fire said, “Good luck, bro Sun.” On-Yee stopped and looked at him, eventually smiling half-heartedly back. He opened the door and stepped inside. The room was dark, windowless. The only source of light was a single lamp left on the floor, valiantly making a stand against the overwhelming shadow. Squinting, On-Yee could barely see the outline of a pair of legs seated not too far away from the lamp, most likely in a seiza position. “Approach, Sun On-Yee.” On-Yee swallowed again. Slowly, he made his way over, his feet feeling a number of obstacles littering the floor. Avoiding them to the best of his ability, he eventually found a spot opposite of the outline to sit down. A hand dimmed the lamp’s already weak flame and On-Yee’s eyes eventually adjusted: The outline was weak, but it was evidently bearded and wildly uncombed, topped with the broad, bulbous hat of a Middling merchant. The clothes appeared baggy, but no details of their colours were revealed in the darkness. A while passed before the voice spoke, “Your failure at the marketplace. Explain.” On-Yee frowned. “W-well, I…” “Your spot was completely out in the open.” “I was in an alley, I--!” “Did you hide behind any clutter?” “N-no…” “A wall, then, perhaps?” “I-I tried, but the angle was wrong…” On-Yee felt himself begin to sweat. “Ah, I see, you thought you could trick them into believing you were just some innocent, loitering thug minding his own business, hmm? Is that it?” On-Yee didn’t answer. The voice drew a long, disappointed breath. “Sun On-Yee, the merchants who fall for that trick man no stall in Midta. If that’s the manner of behaviour you classify as stealth, then you will pack whatever garbage you own and leave for Bast or some other gullible riverland city tonight, is that clear?” On-Yee cleared his throat. “Y-yes, sir.” “What was that?” “Y-yes, master Alsamsan.” “That’s better. Don’t think that you are anything special just because the Lion took pity on you. You are a dog, do you understand? A flea, to be scratched off the skin of greater men.” On-Yee clenched his fists. A bubbling fury was roaring within him, with no valve for release. The insults kept hammering at his soul like a shower of stone. He never felt he had had time to build up a considerable sense of pride yet, but what he had was being pressured to the point of weapon’s grade hardness. Yet to lash out against a superiour would mean his death, and he was certain nothing would please Alsamsan more than to leave his butchered corpse in the gutter. “A month has passed, maggot,” the shadow snapped. “A month has passed and you cannot even drop eaves properly…” “With all due respect, master Alsamsan, I am not a spy - I’m a fighter and--!” “Oh yes, a fighter - exactly what made you so precious to the Lion to begin with! He must’ve seen a sweet little cub in you - meant to one day grow into the fiercest beast in all of the triads. Well, think again, you leech, for he placed you with -me-, and that means you’re on spy duty.” The watery trickle of something foul-smelling dropped into an unseen cup and Alsamsan drew another breath. “That will be all, Sun On-Yee. You’re going to the docks tomorrow. If you can’t get me anything of value, then you can leave your little finger on your way out.” On-Yee swallowed nervously. Wordlessly, he bowed his head and went back to the door. Once he was on the other side, he leaned up against the wall next to it and slid down into a squat. He groaned and buried his face in a palm. “Shit, what’d you do to piss him off that bad?” came a voice. On-Yee looked up to see the grinning face of Fabonsan Yogmir. At least there was some joy in this world - not even the suffering of the streets could sap the joy from that smile. On-Yee couldn’t help but smile back, even if the effort was weak. “I dunno. Maybe he was in a bad mood already?” “Sunny, the day Alsamsan isn’t in a bad mood is the day the Midland Sea will swallow the world and the mucklings will kill us all.” He held out a flat palm to the muckling in the corner. “No offense, by the way.” A gurgling croak was all the response they got, but the muckling’s expression seemed to indicate that it was rather used to being described as a lowly savage. It returned to polishing an unproportionately long knife, the motion making On-Yee a little nervous. Fabonsan clapped him playfully on the cheek to regain his attention. “So, what’d he tell ya?” On-Yee hesitated. “W-well… He said that, uh… He said that if I fail to get anymore information, I’ll be out of the triads.” “Down one finger?” On-Yee flexed a held-up pinkie. “Down one finger.” “Yikes… Someone needs to get that guy a sense of humour - and maybe a night with Fasurdor or someone. Man doesn’t get out enough.” On-Yee giggled quietly. “Shit, man, don’t say that kinda nonsense when I just got out of a bad scolding, a’ight?” Fabonsan nudged him lightly in the side. “Oh please, if I wanted to get us in trouble, I’D SPEAK A LITTLE LOUDER ABOUT ALSAMSAN’S NEED TO--!” “SSH!” On-Yee demanded and covered Fabonsan’s mouth, unable to stop cackling to himself. There was silence, save for the three lads grilling their trout and the muckling’s sharp tugs of cloth over metal. Then came an approaching sound from behind the wooden door. On-Yee and Fabonsan looked at one another before they sprinted into the restaurant behind the curtained doorway. The restaurant was abuzz with activity, the majority of the clientele being the unsavoury type - a bit like they themselves were: They all had at least one sharp object on their hips; their eyes looked as though they had seen a thousand battles and their fingers, a hundred thousand purses; and speaking of fingers, the average number of fingers per two hands appeared to be roughly around nine. Ducking and dodging their way between tables and occupied stools eventually brought the pair to the doorway, which, too, was curtained with beads on string. They exited into the open streets of Midta, Carpenter’s Lane, and drew deep, panting breaths. The crowds around them quickly lost interest for why two young men suddenly had burst out of a humble noodle restaurant, and went about their days. On-Yee and Fabonsan looked at each other and snickered. “You ass. I’d be dead if he’d come after us.” “Pfft. He never leaves his room - like he’d chase down a pair of rookies over some banter. Come on, let’s get a drink. The Drunken Muckling should be opening now.” “Huh, so it should,” On-Yee agreed and followed Fabonsan down the street. Lining the road sat a number of beggars, human and muckling, side-by-side. A muckling sage was chanting in their guttural tongue, the beauty of the melody wasted on human ears. In its hands, the muckling rubbed pieces of bone. On-Yee frowned curiously at the creature before Fabonsan pulled him along. “Don’t stare too hard, Sunny - auguring Mucklings ain’t nothing to stare.” “Auguring?” Fabonsan nodded. “My ma used to say the Mucklings got this special sight they can use when they talk to their gods. Lets them see what’s yet to come. However, if you distract them, they’ll look at you, and they’ll see how you die. Then, they’ll tell you.” On-Yee looked back. The Muckling sage’s eyes were fixed firmly on the bones, though he could feel that, somehow, it was glaring fiercely at him. "By the way, how's your back?" Fabonsan asked. "Huh? Oh, that. Yeah, it stings a bit still." As if to prove the point, On-Yee rubbed one of his shoulders. "That's normal. The ink needs time to settle and grow familiar with your body. You want it to sit, after all. What’d you pick?” “Huh?” “What motif, dumby! What’d you pick?” “Oh, uh… A tiger.” Fabonsan gave him a frown, then a long, drawn-out, monotonous hum. On-Yee blinked. “What?” “No, it’s just… Not very, uh… Original, ‘s all.” On-Yee huffed. “What do you mean? It’s the animal of the triads!” “Uh, yeah! Exactly. Wow, you actually went with--... Is it because of the Lion? Are you going to be the Lion’s Tiger, is that it?” On-Yee blushed so much that a pair of bypassing ladies giggled at him. “N-no! ‘Course not! It’s just--... I really like tigers! They’re strong, fierce, beautiful.” “Uh-huh, uh-huh,” Fabonsan replied and sighed. “Ugh, here I was hoping you’d pick something more… Personal. Something other than the actual animal of the triads. You could’ve been the Shark, or, or… The elephant!” “There’s already an elephant, though,” On-Yee protested. “Yeah, but for every elephant, I can guarantee you that there are twenty tigers.” On-Yee rolled his eyes. “Ugh… Why didn’t you tell me before?” “Because I didn’t think you’d actually pick a tiger! Well, either way, now you’ve gotta live with it. Look on the bright side - the Lion may have a soft spot for clichés?” On-Yee rubbed his eyes and groaned. Fabonsan patted him supportively on the shoulder. “D’aaw, cheer up, Sunny. We’re here.” On-yee looked up to see the red doors of the Drunken Muckling winehouse, the outside littered as usual with drunkards and vomit and drunkards in vomit. On-Yee took in the smell and cringed. Oh yeah, this was familiar. “You’re buying the first round, right?” Fabonsan asked with a grin. “Wait, why?” “‘Cause you’re the one that got scolded, of course. Loser buys drinks.” On-Yee frowned. “I didn’t know this was a competition.” Fabonsan smirked. “It is now.”