The year is 1954.
When Tarys thought about it, life had always been been one hell of a mess. No-one really knew what they were doing since the civil war. Everything had come too quickly; dead youths lying upon the land of a dead land was all Anemos was.
The Great Empire of Anemos. The name left a bitter taste in the mouth when you thought about how many people had died for it. People like him; people he'd known. Hell, people he'd liked, even.
When the Empire collapsed, there were veterans like him all over the streets. When the war had ended in 1946, he'd been, what, 17? He saw his country, the same country who'd promised to 'treat heroes as heroes', stab him in the back and disappear in 1951, leaving him, amongst millions, desolate and without a life to speak of.
Some people had tried. Some people had searched for work, earning their meagre keep as taxi-drivers and newspaper sellers, anything to make money. Nobody had the money to spare to be able to afford taxis or the papers though; their jobs disappeared. When Tarys had been shown the door in 1953, he had exactly 34 filerins and 12 nasyrs. Enough to buy a small loaf of bread for three days.
He did that. When his money ran out, he turned to the small government subsidies. They disappeared within the week as the Anemonian economy entered the most severe state of depression it had ever known. Then he turned to the bins, but soon they were empty, those families who could afford food too scared to throw anything out.
December 4th, 1954
25th Street, Anemos Rei
"Happy Enthronement Day, sir. Please, help the needy." Tarys stepped forwards, his hands outstretched, but the man in front of him barely paid attention as he walked on, one of the few people who still walked the streets. Stepped back, slowly, as if unable to believe the fact that he would not be eating today, Tarys looked at his hands. These same hands had carried a rifle during those all-so familiar teenage days. When he still had enough to eat.
The wind whipped around him, and flakes of snow danced through the skies. The grey sky seemed to reflect the city's mood; the steady decline from affluence to unimaginable poverty. It was the same everywhere; only in Anemos Rei, it snowed in the winter. Tarys would have left, but he didn't have the money. He couldn't.
Another man came by. "Happy Enthronement Day... sir." The man simply shoved past him, protectively clutching his wallet. Stepping back again, Tarys heard a scream, then some blows. Another beggar had gone for gold, and had been caught. Every day, more and more people resorted to thieving and murdering. But there wasn't anything else, was there?
His prophecy had been accurate; he didn't get anything to eat that night. Trudging through the back alleyways he knew all too well amidst the thich darkness of the night, through the ashen layer of snow, he heard something catch up with him. Did it really matter if he was mugged or killed? He was a beggar, one of millions.
"No work, no bread, huh?" he heard.
"What did you expect?"
"I dunno. I mean, five years ago..."
"... What do you want?"
"Pfft. The question is, what do you want?"
"Piss off, mister. I don't have time for this crap."
"You have nothing else to do, do you? So I'll ask you again; what do you want?"
"Bread, shelter, water, warmth... We all want it, don't we?"
He felt something pressed against him, and looked down to see a white package in his coat pocket. Bread.
The stranger patted the package, and murmured "We watch out for each other. How about you come to 44th tomorrow? Yellow door, you won't miss it."
"... I know you guys. You're the mob... the Solestyr Brotherhood."
"What difference does it make? You have nothing to lose... mister." The stranger walked off, adjusting his hat as he trudged through the snow. Tarys looked into the grey sky.
He was right. He had nothing to lose.
OOC: Ok, so I'll wait three days for any sign of interest. RP other people who are stuck in similar situations; all Anemonian, of course, and from there we can carve out a tale of intrigue, of suspicion, of behind closed door deals and silent deaths. Of contracts on lives and the silent suffering of a city. Of the spilling of the blood of others in exchange for enough to live through today.
