Coyir Veris

Background

• The Mouse's Tale

  Coyir grew up on the outskirts of the port city of Shrinar. There, his family was one of many that worked at the mills. The seventh born of ten children, it didn't help he was noticeably smaller than his brothers. Not able to help out with the harsher, heavier work he spent a good deal of his childhood with a broom in his hands. Never gaining the chance to catch the attention of any of his family, it came as no surprise he left home early.
  
  He took deeper into the city, finding life less forgiving than in the more rural regions. The law here seemed to be steal or starve. He slowly moved from loaves of bread to coin purses, but ran afoul of the local criminals. They saw the mouse as a competitor. But fearing for his life, Coyir chose to work for them rather than incur punishment. His skills gradually grew and life became a little less harsh. Once more he rose from mere cutpurse to a dependable lookout. His skill with a knife and small size were an asset in gaining the drop when it was needed.
  
  Things far beyond the rodent's control started to set into motion his eventual doom. Shrinar's corrupt officials were in need of another spike in finances. They launched an edict requiring guards to round up more criminals while also selling their miscreants into slavery rather than properly imprisoning them. This prompted a raid upon a deal between Coyir's fellows in crime and a narcotics smuggler. The scuffle was short and the mouse was left behind to be captured. There was no trial, just a sentence and chains. The mouse found himself segregated from many of the other criminals, heading to the docks rather than the quarries. He had to wonder why until it became clear the other slaves around him weren't suited to labor. Once again it seemed his build would come to haunt him.
  
  The first week was a harsh lesson. He earned a flogging after trying to run on the docks and a shiner while speaking up on the ship, along with a few more bruises. When he arrived at the distant port, he was a bit more cowed. He didn't speak, but he'd have to bite his lip to keep from attracting the back of a guard's hand. Those eyes still tell he clings to his independence, the fire in those irises burning with no direction.