Lowblood Dualscar? (You write amazingly!!)
he’s not important. not to the empire; obviously, he doesn’t have to take a step outside to see the terrible situations around him. and active with him, of course.
at least he’s not a rustblood. he works mostly at the docks, getting whatever pay for whatever work he can manage, kissing up to highbloods and stealing enough fish to live. he practices sharpshooting, holding a splintered, barely-working rifle to his shoulder and shooting bottles and rotten fruit off of posts or the heads of willing wrigglers.
he gets tips for that, sometimes, though the highbloods usually get nervous around a bronze who knows how to defend himself. he tries not to complain near them; he’s heard recently that even just complaints about the road can be counted as treason, if you’re disliked by enough highbloods, and he doesn’t want to test that rumor.
he’s followed hive, someone stalking close behind him and into an alley, apparently thinking he can’t use his fists as well as his rifle, but they stop at the mouth of it, looking around. we’re alone. I have an offer, don’t shoot me and don’t talk. pretend you’re puking.
he blinks, but the heavy step of an indigo in boots makes him follow the order, gods forbid this is some insane lowblood trying to incite riots. we need you. he gags, and at least his stomach is empty anyway, so it won’t make a difference how real this is. we’re going to attack the empire. we need someone who can shoot, and teach others to shoot. we need someone to lead the armies. you can do it.
the rifle feels heavy, and he wonders for an instant if he’d get a reward for turning this troll in. more likely, he’d be tried and guilty of treason too, just to keep from having to pay him for anything. just to keep him weak.
yes. I can do it.
