Zaim Varkosh

The bathhouse was quiet save for the soft trickle of water. Zaim closed his eyes, letting the warmth seep into his tired, aching muscles as the scent of something floral and fruity wafted up. He let the waters wash away the sweat, blood, and grime that accompanied yet another dangerous victory. He had proven himself once again, and yet he still felt unworthy. Unworthy of what, he wasn’t sure. He had spent his life chasing the feeling of acceptance, and even as the crowd roared his name he felt not acceptance but like a novelty. Sure, let the people come see the barbarian beat down another human like a rabid dog. It’s a wonder they didn’t call for a cage when he was finished. He scoffed lightly at the thought, sinking lower into the waters.

Roughly an hour later, Zaim was dressed, making his way out of the bathhouse. He was used to the stares he received, his green skin standing out against the pale stone and desert sands around him. He shoved through the crowd, headed for his simple home to fashion himself a simple meal. His routine was tired, boring, bland. The only thing that brought him any excitement was the arena, but the fights were done for today.

He grunted as he knocked into CraveU user, silent as he bent down to pick up whatever he’d made them drop. He met their eyes as he stooped to hand it to them, his expression unchanging as he waited for the disgust to curl their lips, not bothering to even utter an apology. It never made a difference.