[Flashback, Bronze Woods] Fire and Rock

[Guido Faragas]

Timestamp: [Flashback] 60th Day of Summer 509AV

Stuck fast. In the dark. What a fool...
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Another one of Emilio’s expeditions. This time to the Bronze Wood. Tall trees, prickly bushes, scratching undergrowth piercing my skin, sharp stones jarring my feet....marching behind my father...the bastard...damn family loyalty ...damn Emilio.

“Come on boy, keep up! You’re slowing down - putting on weight – too much ale.” The deep, rough voice seeped through the bushes followed by a cackle of laughter. Emilio’s bearded face peered between a gap in the undergrowth. It was a weathered face – a dark tan spread over a landscape of potmarked, saggy flesh; a deeply rutted forehead mounted on a pair of wild, piercingly blue eyes. A sharp, angular nose, with a forest of bristly hairs escaping the confines of the nostrils. A man verging on the edge of....if not insanity, then at least eccentricity and obsession.

“Not long now, under a bell. By a large rock, I know it well.” He turned abruptly and his son followed. Guido Faragas – apprentice Reimancer, now reduced to lugging his father’s tools through the forest in search of another treasure, another rumour, another tavern tale floating in the wind.
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“Here, this is the place.”

Guido emerged into a small, rocky clearing in the wood. To one side stood a large, thin finger of stone. His father was excitedly stroking the stone with the tips of the fingers of one hand.

“This is it son. Start digging. ” He took not one glance at his son as he continued to paw the rock. Guido sighed, setting down his large backpack and the spade which he held firmly in one hand. The pack contained his father’s archaeological tools – in truth little more than a small handpick, battered axe, scraper, strong brush, chisel and knife.

“Set up camp, father, there is not much light left. I will begin the dig.”

Emilio appeared reluctant to leave the stone but he prised himself away after a few moments, moving to the far side of the clearing before setting down his own small backpack. “I’ll get some water,” he murmured. “We passed a stream a little while ago.”

Sighing, Guido inspected the ground beneath the stone. “All looks natural to me. No sign of anyone burying anything here.” Muttering to himself, he scraped the ground with the toe of his boot. Hard. Better start with the pick.

[Guido Faragas]

Emilio ‘s informant claimed that a stash of ancient relics had been buried under the shadow of the stone in the clearing. As far as Guido could ascertain, the informant was a drunk who would tell any tale for a few coins or drinks. Still, on occasion, there was a grain of truth in the stories and Emilio was convinced that one day such a tale would make his fortune.

Guido began by brushing away the debris in front of the stone: it was a mixture of loose twigs, bronze leaves and dirt. As he had suspected, the ground underneath was hard and unyielding, so he extracted the pick from the backpack. It was a small but serviceable tool. He planned to dig a small section deep into the earth rather than a wide pit. When he had first embarked upon his ventures with Emilio, his father had encouraged him to excavate huge sections of earth. This was not only wasteful of time and effort but risked destroying any delicate pottery or artefacts that lay beneath the surface. After a series of arguments, son had convinced father than a more measured approach was likely to succeed. So now, Guido generally began digging small test pits, inspecting the strata below for signs of previous disturbances or small finds.

He marked out a small square area immediately in front of the stone, lifted the pick and worked for a good few chimes hacking away at the rigid surface. It was slow progress but the surface eventually yielded to his blows and he cleared away the resultant loose earth and small rocks. There was no immediate sign of any disturbance and so he extended the area a little wider to the left. This time, he met with more success, revealing an unexpected small shard of pottery. Carefully, he brushed away the dirt from its surface using a small brush he kept for such delicate operations. The shard appeared to be from a relatively modern container of the type commonly used in Syliras - perhaps the side of some pot or pitcher. Not valuable in itself but still indicating some activity in the clearing.

Returning to the backpack he rummaged around until he found a small scraping tool: this was used to scrape loose earth away without the risk of destroying any finds. It was not long before he had uncovered the broken edge of the pot to which the shard clearly belonged. With a quiet hum of satisfaction, he began clearing the soil away from the edge.

[Guido Faragas]

It was a small pot, probably for some ointment or potion: not of any quality or worth, unless it contained something inside. He gingerly lifted it from the ground, taking care to hold the sides in place. Apart from the broken rim, it was remarkably intact, packed with soil and small stones.

“What have you got there, son? Told yer we’d find something.” His father’s voice echoed excitedly around the forest. He stood at the entrance to the clearing, a large water container in one hand, the other hand held aloft in the air as if holding some invisible implement. In the early evening light, his shadowed face appeared even more wild than usual: there was a maniacal stare in his eyes and a fixed expression of hope on his face.

“Just a pot, father.” Guido shrugged, spreading his hands wide. “A worthless pot.”

“No!” The voice rose in a howling tone piercing the gloom. Emilio staggered over to the rock, grabbed the pot and flung it to the ground. He fell on his knees, rummaging his fingers through the spilled dirt, yet finding nothing. “No, it cannot be.... it must be.” The he raised his eyes to his son. “You have taken the treasure. Thief, my own son is a thief.”

“But...”began Guido.

“Thief!” Emilio screamed, gesticulating wildly with his hands above his head. “Go, leave me, you are no son of mine. Thief!”

“Father..” Guido backed away to the edge of the clearing.

“Thief!”

Guido turned and ran headlong through the bushes. That is it! No more of this! I will suffer this no more. He ran and ran, panting, tears streaming down his face. Scratches on his skin, tears in his clothes, using the pick he still held to clear the way.

And then, in the fading light, he fell...over the edge of a small cliff he had failed to see with his tear stained eyes...tumbling head over heels down a rock strewn slope...tumbling again and again...eventually slowing... then, a sudden blow to the head...the forest faded from view and he felt the blood seep across his closing eyes.. .the mud sucked him down...

[Guido Faragas]

Stuck fast. In the dark. What a fool...

It must have been a couple of bells before Guido emerged back into consciousness, for it was almost pitch black. His head throbbed and congealed blood fixed shut the corner of one eye. He was waist deep in thick mud, unable to move or prise himself free. In what remained of the light, he could dimly make out the branch of a tree reaching out across the mud that laced the bottom of the canyon into which he had fallen. It was tantalisingly out of reach and, as he struggled, he only succeeded in enmeshing himself deeper into the mud.

He must have drifted in and out of consciousness for when he awoke fully, the pale dawn light seeped through the trees and he could now fully see his predicament. He was at the bottom of a long, thin canyon with steep sides rearing above his head. Most of the canyon was littered with sharp stones but where he had fallen was a deep pit of oozing mud, created presumably by a trickling stream that meandered down one side of the canyon. A lone tree stood to one side of the mud pool, its branches reaching out above Guido’s head.

The throbbing in his head had eased a little, yet he knew he was weakening. He needed to extricate himself or his energy would fade without food or water. He shouted loudly for a while but there was no response beyond the squawking of some hidden bird. He had run some distance from his father who would be unlikely to find him, should he bother to search. Emilio was probably still digging in the clearing, seeking the elusive treasure.

He had to think clearly whilst he could. The branch... if he could grasp it or lay it across the mud, he might pull himself free. Yet, it was firmly attached to the tree – if it were looser...fire.. .perhaps he could burn it free...cast a ball of light where it was attached to the tree...he was in no fit condition to practice reimancy – control would be difficult to achieve...yet, it was his only chance...fire...the one element over which he had a degree of control.

Fire.....

[Guido Faragas]

Relax and concentrate. He recalled Silven’s words. Come on, Guido, you know the routine. He always pictured his djed as a small bundle of multi-coloured strings of energy, deep within his body – snakes threading their way through his being, waiting to be called and transmuted – yet, containing a power that resisted being tamed - and, once loosed, pulsing with a power that could scarcely be resisted.

He had conjured and cast small balls of fire many times before. Thank Silven for the endless practice. Accuracy was the key to success in his present predicament, not power. As he prepared for his casting, his relaxation routine helped to sharpen his mind. Deep breaths, still thoughts and limbs, blanking out the ephemera of the world...His eyes focused on the precise point where the branch met the tree – there and only with a touch of power, to weaken but not sever – a difficult task...

Down to the strands, releasing them from their chaotic pit; pushing the coils forwards towards his right hand, palm raised above the muddy pool – fingers pointed to the branch. The res seeping from his palm, caressing his fingers, forming a small semi-transparent cloud – grey with a hint of red – the crimson colour of his inner fire – moulding to his wishes – a small swirling ball hovering over his hand.

Gently, he ignited the outer surface of the gaseous sphere – stroking it with his will, encouraging the surface to flame – it smouldered and then burned more brightly – with a flick of his wrist and a push of his will, the reimancer propelled it towards its target. It flies true. In his elation, he almost lost control but recovered in time to ignite the inner sphere of the cloud into flame just as it hit the tree..

A bright flash, a streak of flame into the sky; the tree moaned in complaint; creaking, groaning, sighing...the branch fell a little, partly tearing from the tree. Then, gravity took hold and the branch end fell close to Guido in the mud, the other end still half-attached to the tree. A potential bridge to safety.

I pray it holds to take my weight. He reached tentatively towards the branch.

[Guido Faragas]

The reimancer grabbed the branch, first with one hand and then the other: it complained just as its parent tree had complained about the impact of the fireball – the spot where the branch hung on to the tree still smouldered with indignation - wispy ,smoky tendrils easing their way across the mud.

Despite its protestations, the branch held in Guido’s grasp as he gently pulled. The mud anchored him for a moment but then yielded and he eased slightly forwards. Hand over hand, he slowly pulled himself to the edge of the pit using the broken branch as his guide. After a few chimes, he lay sprawled besides the tree - an exhausted, mud-caked figure, yet now free of his sucking, oozing prison.

The exertion from the conjouring of the res now took hold: aching limbs, befuddled thoughts, clouded eyes: his saviour, the tree, towering over his poor body, casting its shadows across his face. The branch gave a final crack as it parted form the tree, its work complete.

Some bells later, he scarcely felt the gentle hands, the comforting voices, the wonderful water that splashed over his face like some miraculous nectar. The long journey home, feverishly rambling about fire and rock, thanking his father.

It was, inevitably, not his father who had rescued Guido but some hunters, making their way through the forest, coming across the muddy body by pure chance. His father was still scrabbling in the dirt of the clearing, howling for treasure, cursing his son....

[Leviathan]

Thread Award! Guido Exp +2 Observation, +1 Archaeology, +1 Running, +1 Reimancy Lore Father's True Love Additional Comments Very touching. I liked reading this thread. As usual, you can always contact me about any questions or comments, and we can always work out a solution. Nice job and keep writing well!