Interesting Backstories

  I let out a soft chuckle, brushing back the wisps of hair beginning to fall in my eyes. It is, of course, one of the most irritating predicaments, to have ones hair constantly crawling down his forehead, no matter how sticky or dry, and slowly manage to poke its way into his eye and wait there, like a prickly bush that just won't move. "That is a nice joke," I called to the one managing the reins of the horse-driven carriage. "How long did you say we would be again, until we arrive at the lodge where I will be staying tonight?" Journeying along the edge of Moriem's territory, where Achmund reaches the uncharted territories, the days and nights were quiet, and not many people were often to be seen, making it especially difficult to find shelter in times of need. I wondered how the people who lived here managed.
  "Not too much longer, sir," he called back in a quiet voice. "Do you see the water in the distance? That is River -placeholder #1-, and just next to it is a small settlement. The lodge is just on the outskirts of it."
  "-placeholder #2-, how many times have I told you to call me -placeholder #3-? We are just friends here."
  I thought I could see his shoulders shake slightly from suppressed laughter. "Well, sir, we are merely more than acquaintances, and I prefer to keep my business short-lived and formal. Making friends does not do when always on the move."
  "Understood," I replied, understanding what he meant. "And how close are we now to Erom?"
  "Just over the river, that is the borderline actually. You're very close." I nodded, even though he couldn't see me, and gazed outside the window for the rest of the ride.
  Just as we were passing between the houses, I caught a few glimpses of a man beating a boy horribly. The boy could hardly have been eight years old, and it was behind a fence. I assumed the man was his father, and I had no right to step in even if I got the chance. We were just leaving the street when the pair appeared at the back door of their shabby, torn house, and the man twisted his arm so that he had clearly broken it, before throwing the boy down onto the road and kicking him more.
  I opened my mouth to say something, to stop the man, to stop the driver so that I could intercede, but before a sound could escape my throat, the driver's sincere voice came drifting to my ear. "That's how it works here. There is nothing we can do about that. Just stay away from it all, and make sure you don't get caught up in it." And that was the end of it.

But still I couldn't push down the repulsion that invaded my mind. After paying the driver, and finding my room in the lodge, I couldn't help but find out what had happened to the poor boy. I left immediately in the direction I remember the house being. Fortunately, my sense of direction didn't lead me astray, and I found the house. The back door, which was visible and could be accessed from the front, opened up into a wide expanse of dust and desert.
  I didn't know whether to be thankful or horrified that I found the boy so easily. He was right where the man had pushed him down and thrown him in the dirt. The moment I saw his limp body laying there, my first thought was, Is he dead? I rushed toward him for a closer look, after a quick glance to make sure the man wasn't around. The boy was curled on his left side, arm crumpled under him, other arm stretched above his face so that it couldn't be seen. He laid in the tight ball, one of pain. Gently, I lifted his right arm off his face and set him so that his back was pressed against the ground, dirtying his already filthy shirt. He jerked back once I put him like his, his dark green eyes locked on me fearfully. He tried to squirm away from me, but he was weak and injured, and I hardly had to exert any force to hold him down.
  "Wh-who are you?" he stammered, his expression static as he gave up trying to struggle.
  I opened my mouth to tell him my name, then remembered my plans of not letting anyone know who I am. "I'll tell you after you tell me," I replied, unable to contain a small smirk.
  He looked uncertain for a few seconds, then shook his head. "Why would I tell you that?"
  "I want to help you," said I simply, not wanting to reveal anything, but also wanting to show that I meant no harm. He didn't quite believe me, though. He tried to escape from me again, and when failure resulted a second time, he stared at me warily.
  "How can I be sure I can trust you?"
  "You can't. But think about the odds of survival based on your options."
  That seemed to grab his attention more, and the look of fear was just slightly replaced by curiosity and helplessness. "Meaning?" he whispered.
  I hesitated. I had to phrase this right, or it would all have been for nothing. "Well, I'm guessing this house is where you live, am I correct?" When he nodded, I continued. "If you take my help, I could either ensure your survival, or I could turn traitor and kill you, or enslave you. If you don't want my help, and you work things out on your own, then either you will become well off, you will die, or you will have to go back and be tortured more. Correct?"
  The boy opened and close his mouth several times, thinking about what I had said. Finally he nodded, and I asked him which one seemed the better odds. "I guess you would...," he replied reluctantly after thinking it through several times. His brow was scrunched up into a frown.
  "Do you accept it?"
  He nodded. Without a moment to waste, I started to lift him up. When I touched his arm, he flinched and kicked me as hard as he could, and I realized that was the arm that had been broken. Apologizing, I started to pick him up again, using his right arm instead. As I held the arm, his long sleeve feel back off his forearm, revealing black marks branded onto his skin. "You're...a slave!" I exclaimed, staring at it in astonishment, not peeling my eyes off.
 The boy jerked back and tried to cover it up. His eyes were wide and once more fearful as he glared at me. "Are you going to send me back?" he asked, his voice filled with emotion.
  I shook my head and resumed lifting him off the ground as gently as I can, determined not to hurt him anymore, and cradled him against my chest. "No, of course not. Slavery is bad. I didn't know it still existed."
  My answer seemed to satisfy him enough, and he relaxed in my arms, letting his head fall back. "Well it does," he replied sourly, his voice full of malice that I wouldn't have expected from a boy of eight. "Who are you anyway? You never told me."
  I smiled to myself. "My name is -placeholder #3-. And yours?"
  "Elnair."


So yeah. A little glimpse into Elnair's past. Opinions? Ideas for names that could fit into the placeholders?