The essence of bliss. Pure, simple, unshadowed by fear or doubt. An unnatural feeling. It was glorious, like the most potent orgasm purified and then magnified. The heavy drops of rain splashing on his face felt like forgiveness, peace, acceptance. Even the fetid stench of stagnant water and human waste couldn't penetrate the thick gauze of his sensual ignorance. He lay in the alleyway, awake yet dreaming. His dreams were formless, pointless, immensely satisfying.

The sun scratched the darkness away from the sky, rending clouds into bloodied strips of linen. Eleius' high was ebbing away like a heavenly tide. Unpleasant memories slammed against the thin barriers he had forced them behind. Aldia's delicate face, the hypothetical estate they would have owned, children and honest work; an endless cast of uncomfortable images jostled for centre stage in his mind. An overwhelming feeling of guilt rushed his thoughts, while a feeling of deep nausea invaded his body. He shivered, noticing his drenched clothes for the first time. He needed a fix, now. His pouch was empty. An unreasonable rage filled him as he got to his feet. He should have checked last night, made sure he had enough for at least one morning cut. 

He pushed his way aggressively, yet weakly, through the morning traffic that filled the streets of Tresil. He couldn't remember the last time he had eaten or slept. That suited him just fine. Thinking was not his favourite way to pass time at the moment. He reached the main street, near the inn he had stayed at before being thrown out by the innkeeper, and searched for his dealer. He stifled a scream. The peddler was not in his usual spot. Eleius stormed into the nearby alleyway. The peddler was there, selling rock to a group of mercenaries. Eleius eyed them jealously, hoping they had not bought the last of the rock. He ignored his instincts, which told him to attack the warriors. They left via the other end of the alley.

"Hey, hey, do you have more?" Eleius asked, his eyes almost intense enough to bore holes into the merchant's skull.

"Well, let me have a look."

"Don't fucking play with me," Eleius growled, grabbing the peddler by the shoulders.

"O-ok, fine, I have the rock. Just a sayin'. Six silvers."

"Six? It's three. It's always been three!"

"Demand's been high." The merchant shrugged. "Lots of folk tryin' to forget their troubles, what with the cult an' all. Take it or leave it."

"Fine," Eleius spat, rooting in his soiled pockets for silver peaks. His trembling hand emerged with only two.

"Sorry, mate. Come back when you have the rest."

"No, wait, you need to cut me a deal here!"

The merchant turned to leave. Eleius grabbed him roughly by the shoulder. The peddler spun, drawing a knife from his belt in a quick, practised movement. He dug the point into Eleius' neck.

"You cutters just don't listen. Try that again, you'll lose that hand."

Eleius trembled. He was beyond the point of being able to tell whether that tremble was born of fear or rage. He had left his largely ornamental sword in the alley. It had been handy to scare off thugs during a few confrontations, but he still had no real idea how to use it. He stared into the watery eyes of the peddler. A thud against the wall drew the dealer's attention away long enough for Eleius to retreat. An arrow. The peddler loped off towards the far end of the alley.

"Fury's tits." A rough female voice.

Eleius turned to face the speaker. Nira. She couldn't fully suppress a flinch when she noticed his skeletal limbs, his gaunt, milky face and the deep black pits surrounding his sunken eyes.

"What the hell happened to you, Scribe?"

"That man stole... stole my..." he pointed weakly towards the end of the alleyway, allowing his bony forearm to protrude from his ragged coat. He realised his mistake a moment too late, quickly hiding his scarred flesh within the soiled folds of cloth.

"Stole your rock? Good. That stuff's close to killing you, anyway."

"I need to go after him. Need to get it. Need some, now."

"Not a chance. You're coming with me."

He shot her a flighty glance, then bolted down the alley. He wasn't as quick as he thought he would be; the lack of nutrition had turned his legs into brittle stumps with all the grace of a pair of anvils. Nira tackled him to the ground effortlessly.

"Didn't want it to come to this." She sighed. "You're leaving me little choice."

Her fist collided with his jaw in a practised motion, knocking him out immediately.