[Icewatch Barracks] Smell It On The Air [Kendall]

[Belgar]

81 Fall, 511

A pair of Icewatch mages had quarreled. Every bear could smell the remnants of res and shields all the way from the Barracks, hanging on the air like a sticky mist or a sour flame. Most did not care; it was the inevitable consequence of a long-brewing rivalry. Those that did only sneezed with passive resentment. When asked to clear the path and help the land recover, all of them quickly mumbled about their training and resumed it. The members of the Guard were not janitors, they said, let the perpetrators clean up their own mess. But the perpetrators would be in Whitevine for days.

Belgar took up the task because he had trained long enough, and he was tired of thinking. A little mindless labor would be good for his head. He donned his coat and gloves and walked the path from his home until he found the carnage: blackened splinters of trees strewn over the path so that no human foot could safely cross it. Beneath the wooden wreckage, the snow had been stirred up and used, leaving him a rare view of the gray-brown dirt beneath. And the blood. There was not a lot, only enough to smell and barely enough to see, but its mere presence was enough. Belgar lifted the back of his wrist to massage his wrinkled nose. As he dropped his hand his sigh bloomed white on the cold air. He could not fathom the sadness in it, but it still felt odd to see so much destruction and chaos in a place that had so recently been so clean.

The job would be a long one, but not difficult. Most of it could be moved with his human hands and muscles; there was no need to soil his tongue and teeth with the stench of magic. When he had accepted it, though, he had forgotten how he detested that smell, how it reminded him of a time he hated and yet would never forget... No one was dead, at least. The two guards were both older than he, and yet they were as reckless and volatile as bear cubs. Such was the way of humans.

He stepped close enough to the roadblock and wrapped his hand around one of the larger branches, its bark gnarled and curling. Its needles were long since stirred off, now a half-melted residue on the lowermost pieces. He tugged it from the pile and tossed it to the side of the path. By the time it had cracked loudly against the ground, another of its brothers was already in the air.

[Kendall Saarinen]

As much as Kendall was missing the warmer weather of Sylira he had to admit he was somewhat enjoying Avanthal. It was more open than Syliras and less intimidating than Ravok. Of course, it would never stand up to the memory of Zeltiva but what could? The Azenth walked down the streets as his gift from Ivak helped to keep him warm. He had yet to see the entire city so he decided to take the day to walk around a bit. After a bit he would look for a job, although he was not sure where he would want to work. From what he had heard, Snowsong would be the best place to look. They were known for their skills in music and poetry, amongst other things of course. While the blond did not know much about composition, he wouldn't mind the chance to try his hand at writing lyrics. If not, he could work at the stables again. He really did not want to be a stableboy again though. The work in Syliras was embarrassing enough to last him a lifetime. Of course, he was not as strong back then. For now he would not worry though. For now he would just walk. After a few chimes of strolling through the wintry city, Kendall spotted a man working near a large stone building. Curiosity nagged at him. He was not in Ravok anymore. Was there anything to fear? From what Kay'lan had told him, the city was safe and the people were friendly. Kay'lan had said a great many things though, not all of them true. Kendall walked to the man's side to see what he was working on. A tree had fallen and was blocking a path in the city. While the Azenth was not as strong as he wished he was, he didn't mind offering his help. It wouldn't hurt to get in good with the locals in the new city he would be staying in. His only worry was his looks. He clearly looked nothing like the citizens of the city. They were all tan skinned and dark haired. He stuck out quite awkwardly from them thanks to his light blond hair. He was not sure which was worse for blending in though. His extremely light hair or Hadrian's lofty height. "Excuse me, do you need help?" Kendall had a feeling the man would turn him down. Why would someone want help from another who was clearly an outsider. "I know I don't look like much but two people working is better than one, right?'

[Belgar]

Belgar sniffed heavily. He had smelled the man from a long way off; even without the wind to favor him, there was a peculiar heat in his blood. It was different than the comforting warmth granted to his people by their goddess, and it penetrated the cold air like fire. That smell, combined with the quickly dissipating djed on the air, felt like ash in his nose.

It was more than the scent that told him that the man did not belong. Even the accent, he could have excused. His own voice might not seem like it fit the language, either; it was deep and rough and it hit the consonants too hard. No, Belgar knew this one when he saw him. The color of the hair that reached out from beneath his hood was like nothing he had ever seen before, like fresh wood just after its green fades or old straw in Frostfawn stables. He did not think to appraise the man’s strength, to determine whether his claims about himself were true. He only looked politely down at the mismatched eyes beneath.

He paused after heaving an armful of smaller branches into the growing pile on the side of the road. His face was flat when it met the foreigner’s, but not stern. “I do not need it.” Though he did not move, there was a shrug on his tone when he added kindly, “But I will not stop you.”

With that, he bent to gather up the last of the debris where it had been stirred from the larger pieces. For nearly a minute he paid no mind to the curious stranger, eager to fall back into the mindless tedium of his work. But when he wrapped his hand around a large branch and he tugged it, it tugged back. It was attached to something beneath, probably a piece of trunk. He pulled on it again, but it would not loose even with his ursine strength to guide it. Instead of foolishly insisting, he stepped back and paused. Only then did he remember the pale face on the other side of the wreckage. He had been rude, he realized. He should not have stopped talking. What if the man had said something? He could not recall hearing it.

“Where are you from?” He said suddenly, rubbing his hands together to rid his gloves of the filth that had accumulated there. It was idle conversation, but it took all of his concentration to think of the right words. “I have never seen a person... of your race. Ah...” What was the phrase? Something like, “Please excuse my ignorance.”

[Kendall Saarinen]

The man's dismissive words made Kendall feel embarrassed. Why did he even offer to help? Why would an Avanthalian want his help? He was just some strange outsider. He was in an odd situation. Did he help anyways? The man said he didn't care whether or not he helped, only hat he didn't need the help. Kendall wanted to walk away but he felt as though it would be rude not to help since he had offered. Reluctantly the blond began to pick up the debris, keeping quiet as he worked. He was too embarrassed to try and speak again. When the man started to tug at a larger branch Kendall could tell he was having a bit of trouble. He was worried to ask the man if he wanted his help again. What if he said no? Kendall watched as the man stepped back from the tree trunk. "I can help you… if you need." He knew the man wanted to work on his own but if he was having trouble maybe he would finally agree to let Kendall help. The blond's eyes widened slightly when the man asked him a question. "Zeltiva, in Sylira." He looked strangely at the man for a moment. His race? The man had never seen a human before? "Avanthal doesn't see a lot of humans?" Weren't the Vantha human? Maybe the man meant that Avanthal did not see a lot of blond people. He could think of a million reasons as to why the man would say what he did but Kendall tried not to dwell on it. "You aren't ignorant. Just asking questions shows you aren't. You want to know more. That is intelligent, at least in my opinion." Kendall was not sure if this was the best time to get philosophical. Not everyone liked to hear about what he thought. "I'm Kendall by the way." He smiled shyly at the man hoping that he did not find him to be strange. He was no longer in Zeltiva. In Taldera people worked to survive. They didn't run around with their noses in books, studying nonstop. He was out of his element but he was trying.

[Belgar]

Intelligent. A smile danced over Belgar’s face at the compliment, but it soon fled to something straight alongside a modest chuckle. He always worked hard to seem so, no matter what the truth of his mind’s power really was. And now he learned that what he thought had been a mistake, a result of foolish instinct, was actually an intelligent observation. Though his hardened countenance had barely bent to show it, there was a warm pride welling in the core of his chest.

“And I am Belgar,” he replied. “I would shake your hand...” A glance at the wreckage between them would explain why he could not, and so he did not waste his breath with meaningless words. His fingers twitched at his sides, itching for some idle business. He hoped Icewatch’s latest guest would not mind if he worked, while they talked; he began to clear the debris from around the large branch that had caused him trouble earlier. The quiet, snow-lined air was suddenly filled with the cacophony of snapping twigs and whining wood, pausing just long enough to permit the lyric of their voices.

“Avanthal is full of humans,” Belgar went on with a shrug, oblivious to the confusion he had incited in the human across the brush pile. “Vantha humans do not typically have light hair until they are very old. You do not look very old, though,” he added hastily, eager not to offend. He resorted to making observations, to asking questions, because that was the intelligent thing to do. “You are strong; you are in your prime. The men of Avanthal have families at your age. Have you brought anyone with you from...” He paused to remember. “Zeltiva? Perhaps it is not the best season for it, but children should see the world nonetheless.”