Vir fortis ex multis iudiciis nascitur; vir belator ex multis proelis.
Leguntur pro infirmis ut aliquando convalescant.
Fortitudoa corde, et virtus a gladio.
(A hero is born from many trials; a warrior from many battles.
The legends are written for the weak that they nmay one day become
COLD!!
strong.
Strength from the heart, and courage from the sword.)
It was still dark. Of course, it was always still dark when Severuswoke up, even now in midst of summer. He yawned, pushing awayhis covers by stretching his limbs. He felt his bones creak, and hisjoints popped in turn. His too short clothes strained as he pushedhimself up, rubbing sleep from his eyes as he moved to the tinywashroom in the corner. He splashed water into the clay basin beforescooping up some onto his neck. The cool water shook free some ofhis sleepy thoughts. He breathed deep and plunged.
Severus reared back, gasping and shaking droplets from his mane of unkempt hair. He blinked water from his eyes, now fully awake. Instinct made him look outside. The barest edge of the sun was creeping over the horizon. Dread pitted in his stomach.
I'M LATE!!!
Panic filled him with speed as he threw on clothes that only smelled lightly of sweat. He gave a passing glance at the meager kitchen and his sparse pantry on his way out the door, his stomach grumbling, but he pushed it away and sprinted out, only pausing to check that the latch clicked behind him. Then he was down the road towards work, his long legs burning through what little fuel was left from dinner last night. The bright and burning sun was already illuminating the high points of the city. Úp on its hiltop, the Senate's domed helm and glinting spires already gleamed golden in the dawn, the light mirroring off the polished marble. In its shadow, the gray keep of military headquarters was still sleeping, much like the rows upon rows of homes and stores that Severus was sprinting by. It still took him a while to skid to a stop behind the one store he was looking for Just as the first rays of sun were glinting through the windows.
"Made it!" he gasped, slamming the door open to stop his momentum.
"VOU'RE LATE!!" The snarling, hardly-feminine voice was that of the store's owner, the "illustrious" Madame Collette. She glared at Severus through large, watery eyes as he swallowed hard and tried to locate his apron while keeping his eyes down.
"Sorry, ma'am," he mumbled, trying to sound at least halfway apologetic this time. She harrumphed, the action wobbling her cheeks like a bulldog. Which made sense, since she was a Bulldog. Severus wondered (for the thousandth time it felt) what sick god blessed this despicable woman with enough magic and energy to humanize. Which also made him wonder again if it was the same sick god that had given him the same ability. Yet here they were, Bulldog and Beagle, and all you could tell from it was their characteristics (like the Madame's eyes, jowls, and beefy torso) and the dog ears that sprouted from their skulls, Severus's large, floppy ones, and
Madame's small, twitchy ones.
"Perhaps you'd find incentive if | cut your pay," she hissed. Severus snapped back to reality as cold fear clenched his stomach.
"I'll be time," he assured her quickly. She snorted, obviously sure that he wouldn't be, and jerked her head towards the waiting crates of merchandise.
"Get to work," was her only instruction, but Severus leapt at the chance to no longer be under inspection. Tying the leather apron around his waist, he got to work moving and unloading the boxes.
This was his life. Wake up, rush to work, unload the days' crates and merchandise, restock the shelves, take a quick break to run across the street to buy day-old bread from the bakery for two copper coins and wolf it down with now-lukewarm water from the rain barrel out back, and then back to work until sundown signaled closing. It was boring work. So boring in fact that it let Severus daydream about what else he could be doing with his life. He dreamed of running away with a rich heiress and living the easy life, sipping on cool drinks and eating fine foods while being attended by fair maids. He let his imagination borrow the faces of a few of the prettier customers that browsed in the shop, but even those daydreams were fleeting as Madame barked orders at him and silky-smooth compliments to her customers. None of the customers ever really noticed him, and he never burdened himself with their names. He had no friends, and they were not seeking friendship from him. What rich heiress would want trash like me, he thought glumly as he refolded a stack of brightly colored tunics. Then he heard Madame inhale sharply.
"City Guards," she hissed. Severus leapt away to the corner of the shop and flung a canvas cloth over a pair of boxes. He turned as he heard the familiar clink of armor and promptly tripped over a sack of potatoes. Flailing wildly, he emptied at least two shelves of their contents as he crashed noisily to the floor.
"YOU CLUMSY OAF!!!" she bellowed, eyes bulging wildly. Severus sheepishly began to gather spilled merchandise as he saw two City Guardsmen shake their heads and chuckle at the massive Bulldog berating him. After amoment or two more of watching and looking, they seemed to lose interest and stepped out. Madame kept berating him until the sound of their armor had fully vanished. Then she harrumphed and cast a begrudgingly satisfied eye on him.
"That was quite an act there," she admitted. "I almost believed you tripped for real. Now, get this cleaned up! There are more boxes arriving soon, and | want them stored properly before | close."
"Yes, ma'am,' Severus muttered, relieved to not be reprimanded for the destruction. Thankfully, nothing had really been damaged and went quickly back to its rightful place. He glanced back down the road towards the vanished City Guards and felt cold hate drip into his stomach. The vultures were everywhere, and most were only good for putting armored bodies on the street. Most were known to be abusive bastards who only wanted to shake down store owners and petty thieves on the street for a little more silver to line their pockets. Every time he saw the glittering emblem dangling from an Olander neck, it made him sick with rage. Still, now was not the time for anger. There were goods to reshelve.
An hour later, the sun was beginning to set, and Madame closed and locked the doors. Severus waited patiently as she locked each of her seven strong-locks methodically. She noticed him waiting and grunted. Rustling in her bag full of the day's profits, she withdrew two silvers and seven coppers.
"Don't be late tomorrow, boy," she snarled, and Severus nodded quickly, too tired to fight the angry woman. She slapped the coins into his waiting palm, and then he was racing home.
About halfway there, he slowed his pace to a meander, feeling a familiar ache settle into his bones. He was exhausted, and each day seemed to sap a little more from his life. As he passed the different bars and inns and various houses of entertainment, he could hear raucous laughter and the babble of good conversation flowing out onto the street. The sounds only depressed him more. In a flash, he imagined himself amongst the crowds, talking, laughing, eating, drinking. Just living. But there was no one to do that with; no friends he could join, no woman to hold.
A spike of jealousy and hate rammed into his heart. Why not him? Why could he not have friends to join? His jaw worked into a snarl of determination, and he pivoted to enter a nearby tavern. He felt his meager handful of coins bite into his skin, and that made him pause. He still had bills and debts to pay. Most of his remaining rations would be stale, if not moldy at this point. He couldn't afford a tavern, not if he wanted to eat in the morning. Even as he thought this, his determination slipped, and he turned back towards home as the streetlamps were lit to ward off the night.
As he walked up to his door, a slight figure slipped out of the shadows into the light of the streetlamps.
"Hey, Snooper,' the figure sneered. Severus sighed. He would recognize the nasally voice of his landlord anywhere. He could just barely make out the signature floppy ears of the Olander in the dark. At a passing glance, one could mistake Olanders and Dogs as the same, but closer examinations would reveal distinctions between the two, such as Severus's distinctly doglike details versus the Olanders' very human-like visage. The Olanders had made and ruled the Empire, and the Dogs were merely one of many different species that had sought to be a part of their great nation.
"Hey, Consus,' he answered. The thin dog-man took a menacing step forward, his small eyes glittering angrily.
"Your rent's overdue," Consus said. Severus gulped nervously and fished one of his two silvers from his wallet. Consus snatched it eagerly before Severus could even offer it to him. The shiny coin quickly disappeared, and Consus refocused his attention on Severus.
"Try to be on time next time," he snickered. Severus nodded, unable to say anything as white-hot rage boiled in him. But it faded just as quickly as it had come, and he slipped inside his home as Consus swaggered away, chuckling softly to himself. Severus grabbed a stale half-loaf of bread from the kitchen before flopping onto his bed and biting glumly into his hard food.
| hate my life, he thought and choked back tears as he did every night.