To race against one's self

by **Pjeil** on September 11th, 2013, 8:16 am

Season of Fall, Day 10, 513 AV

Once again Pjeil could not seem to quiet his mind. It was not that he had no shortage of things to do, prayers to give, studies to undertake. Perhaps the right thing for him to do was to preserver and attend his duties but perhaps Izurdin would forgive him just this once; he tried so very hard. So instead he used what his father taught him to do: meditation through strength.

His passage out of the complex was taken with care, never slamming the doors and walking lightly on the balls of his feet. Wouldn't do to wake his uncle from his rest. Finding himself in the cool open space was a relief and the young isur breathed in deeply. His eyelids slid close with pleasure. It was freedom. Even if they were deep underground the vast cavern lifted above into darkness; as if the sky itself was not Semele's belly but a dark and void sky with no adornments to speak of. Of course his eyes were greeted with dim lights along the wall of the cavern marking the various highborn dwellings, the Church of Izurdin and the King's Palace when they were opened, but otherwise the illusion of a great ever-dark sky would be plausible.

A few steps took him around the block to one of the many parks. Statues and art pieces decorated the paths, long benches spaced at intervals with short benches studded the stone garden. As with all isurian creations they were beautiful and flawless. Carefully tended luminescent moss grew on some of the statues giving them a surreal and ethereal cast. It was here he could clear the rock hornets that buzzed angrily in his head.

Moist air and a cool breeze slide through Pjeil's short hair. Perhaps this particular park had a river running through it. He just barely could hear the bubbling of a brook or maybe it was fountain. There was no way to know and was only distracting him from what he came here to do. With a couple of twists he slid out of his jacket which was soon followed by his shirt and boots. He wrapped them up to form a neat package and tucked them under a stone bench before he got up and stretched.

Stretching was the most important ritual of the day and Pjeil automatically fell into a soft prayer.

"Oh patient father, look favorably upon your children for we strive for your perfection. Grant me a blessing over this enduring task so that I might cleanse my mind of impatient thoughts.

He could have gone on and on, his father gave him the gift or curse of rambling, but he was too energized to give Izurdin much more than a brief prayer. With a knee and both his hands on the ground he looked ahead of himself and focused, willing the distance to shrink upon itself. He tensed in this position, the position of racers, and relished the strain of tense muscles; aching with pent up energy. Time slowed and his mind sped ahead, his hornets humming lowly as everything fell away. With a great suddenness he was off. His muscled legs propelled him in bounding leaps that ate ground, leaving his modest belongings behind.

Truthfully, Pjeil was not the best runner. He was neither the fastest among his peers, nor could he outlast them. Although it was a holy task to throw one's self into it completely and strive to win, this was never Pjeil's motive. Instead the effect was that immediately his hornets were left behind. They did not follow him either, too practiced this movement was. He puffed along steadily, working for endurance as clarity and emptiness sharpened his mind. A meek thought would come from something he saw as he ran past the ethereal landscape and he would consider it and it would not buzz as he worked his legs and his body heaved through space. Perhaps there was a little to visualizing distances becoming smaller, for one moment he was in the stone garden and next he was out the entrance and turning along a broad blockpath.

He wondered what the others did to become so swift on their feet. Could he change how he ran to match them or beat them? He looked about for any other runners and saw none on the street. He was among the homes and the lamps cast dim light over all the entrances. It seemed his feet were taking him towards the center of the city. Not a bad place to go. Pjeil padded along at a steady rate, already starting to feel the tightening and burning sensation in his chest. He would not give up however, and pushed himself. He would get to the Plaza at least and then he would rest.

At least his mind was clear and not rattling with a hundred thoughts competing for his attention

by **Pjeil** on September 17th, 2013, 12:28 am

Pjeil was flagging now. His mouth was dry and a thin sheen of clean sweat coated his forehead, under his arms and down his back. There was that familiar sensation of always being out of breath that came with running for long. He knew that if he stopped, he wouldn't want to move at this pace again so he persevered.

As he hurried along he passed a trio of black-armed Isur. They pressed into each other into what was not quite a huddle, but was close. These three looked about themselves warily and moved at a quick pace. Pjeil did not recognize these any of them but the one who held himself the straightest and wore the finest of the three smiled and nodded at him; obviously recognizing him. He politely nodded back, he would have gave a greeting but he neither wished to stop nor reveal his ignorance of the man's name.

The streets were either warren or labyrinthine but the effect was the same; he still hadn't found the main road to the Plaza. Eventually he would make it to the main thoroughfare, but until then he had a wasp chasing him.

Who was that man?

He was obviously a sentinel. Between the clothes and the way they warily stuck together it was probably those bare-minimum contingent left to Sultros. Pjeil was still young, so he did not understand the full details of what was happening, but he could feel trouble brewing. Perhaps if he could do something? Unlikely though.

The young Isur furrowed his brow as he panted and moved along a meandering alleyway that opened up into another small park, this one blanketed in a wide array of differently colored, glowing mosses. Statues sprang up from the moss like glowing monoliths, some still in the process of being overgrown and thus had huge dark splotches. He followed the darker, well kept path out the other side as his mind continued to consider the more recent events.

His family and other families like his were one of many reasons why the Pitrius still maintained their presence in Sultros. Though, they had severed ties with his own clan's city. His father and his eldest uncle were vocally against the laxing of the kingdom's policy towards outsiders. Even his brothers, who often kept their noses in holy text, felt strongly about it. Though in this case Carnos was for and Jerier was against. Which was unusual. Perhaps this was the reason for the man's knowing smile and nod? His sculpted lips turned down in consternation. This didn't explain how the man knew of Pjeil specifically. They probably did not know that he refused to hold this view, though, and he nodded to himself as he considered it, he would never betray his family's honor by vocalizing it in public.

He moved out from the middle of the street to let a cart past and realized at last he had found the main path. His heart lifted and his breath eased before he had a sudden burst of speed. "Oh, so this is what a second wind is like" He thought in a sort of detached manner. His mind sat back as his body took over, automatically padding along the busy path.

What would happen if the Pitrius, and now the Terras, really left the kingdom? Would there be war? It was a definite possibility and the Pirtrius had a monopoly over the arcane. Combined with the renown crafts people of the Terras? The other clans would have a hard time if it came to fighting. It was almost blasphemous; they were all children of Isur, Isur should not slay Isur. We were not like the outsiders. Even the outsiders no longer waged war with each other. Perhaps Isur would craft a solution for his children, or give them an idea of where to turn.

Pjeil got distracted for a moment by another cart hauling a load of rust and silver colored stones. Hemite. The orecart was moving slower then he wanted to go and there was no way past it on either side. So he smiled and vaulted over the cart. The driver squawked a low sound of indignation and Pjeil was off again.

But what of the Pitrius themselves? Surely there were not bad people. They provided a much needed service to the other clans. Balancing the monstrous powers of magic, giving instruction to those who have ability and using those abilities for the glory of Izurdin. Nothing was nobler then that. In fact it was not unlike his own clan's function; caring for the spiritual connections of an industry minded race was a full time job. But why did the Pitrius not share freely like the Vizerian? Was there something they hid? That really intrigued Pjeil, his curiosity was piqued and he would have to ask Uncle his thoughts later.

What if he joined the sentinels? He was young but far maturer then his peers. The Isur smiled to himself, finally reaching the threshold of the plaza. He slowed to a jog and then a walk and admired the many shops and stalls. He was breathing heavily but knew that it was not healthy to stop right away. Pjeil was hot and covered in cooling sweat and this was good. His uncle said that if he wasn't thoroughly tired or at least covered in sweat, then he was not working hard enough. He took in huge lungfuls of cool air and wandered among the Plaza.