Twelve bells and the sun was shining. Twelve bells and the streets were brimming. Twelve bells and Ravok, for what felt like the first time in a long time, was truly alive again.
Awash with more than just the remnants of the harsh rains and the dismal gray skies that heralded them, Ravok seemed to be breathing a long awaited breath of fresh air and everyone could feel it. By the time the clocktower had struck midday, the cries of hawkers peddling their wares was as loud and thunderous as the boisterous buzz of bartering and banter by all those who flocked to their stalls. People laughed, they swore, they swarmed and they laughed some more. The most holy Ravok had emerged from the storms not sodden, but shimmering in its jubilant rebirth. It was a thing to be marveled at, to revel in as only a Ravokian could.
Standing amidst it all stood Elias Caldera, squirming in his own skin.
There was a time when a day like this could have brought him no end of cheer and amusement. There was entertainment and opportunity without end in every direction. Where the boy in him would have sought one of those things out out of childish instinct, the soldier that boy was becoming would seek the other and find his own fun in the dogged pursuit. Today however, try as he might to ‘revel,’ try as he might to ‘marvel,’ all Elias could focus on was the number times he’d been bumped into since lunch.
It was thirteen.
He’d counted.
The mental tallying hadn’t ended there of course. How many times had some errant youth stepped on his shoes or splashed mud on his pantleg, all the while giggling in their absentminded merriment despite their victim’s mounting chagrin. How many times had some lowly merchant ring menace crossed his path without showing him the proper respect? How many hands in the crowd belonged to men who were trained to use them for things less scrupulous than handling coin or carrying goods. How many eyes were watching him? How many knives were just waiting for Elias to make that faithful slip?
The answer to that required no amount reckoning, for it was always the same;
Too many.
The mage, to his dawning dismay, realized he had grown accustomed to life outside these bustling streets and watery walls. The madness of the wilds and man’s pitiful places beyond had engraved in the Ravokian a sense of calmness within the isolation. He’d been away from home for too long, and despite the hope that swelled within his chest, the Caldera still struggled to find that sense of home he’d lost so many years ago. Time, he told himself, time would heal this wound as it had done all the others that now littered his pale and battered body, but how long was the exile returned meant to wait before he recognized the bleeding just was not going to stop on its own? Eventually, something had to change. Something had to give.
“
There’s that old biddy now.” A familiar but distracting voice shook him from his somber musings, but the words themselves held little interest to the aurist. His eyes were already firmly planted upon the frail old woman a mere twenty or so yards from them. Every once in a while the crowds would part like a gust of wind bustling its way through the Nykan fields of wheat, revealing the decrepit old hag and the stall she stood sentry over for just a tick before being enveloped again by the tide of human flesh. In those concise apertures, Elias had witnessed her do little else than her trade. With one hand she held aloft the plump and ripened fruits from her humble shop, shamelessly soliciting those that passed by with her ‘unbelievable deals,’ while with the other she held firm to the small of her hunched back, so senile was she that the very notion of standing at anything other than ninety degrees was inconceivable at this late stage in her life.
Elias admired the dedication in the act. His companion did not.
“
So, we doing this or what?”
Zeb was an antsy child, and in turn that made an already on edge Elias all the antsier in his presence. Practically the polar opposite of the ancient creature peddling her delectable wares across the plaza from where they stood studying her, Zeb was barely in his adolescents, maybe only fourteen or fifteen years of age. Elias was sure he’d asked before, but couldn’t quite recall if the uppity little punk had ever given him a straight answer or not. That annoyance was something the Ravokian was learning to deal with ever since their unlikely alliance had been formed. Young and brash beyond belief, the dark skinned Ravokian was the kind that was all too eager to begin making something of himself, all too desperate to prove wrong those who saw him as little less than an orphan or a beggar, and none more so than the face that glared back at him from the other side of the mirror. Elias knew all too well what that was like. The scars he’d earned when he was the same age were wretched testament to that, and even today still ached when it rained.
It had been raining a lot recently…
Perhaps that was why the Caldera had taken to the kid, tolerated his antics for as long as he had where anyone else would have been reduced to a smoldering stump long ago. The boy's temperament was that of triumph, not hesitation or pesky second thoughts. Cocky, but fearless and smart where it counted, Zeb may have been just a youth, but he knew what he wanted and he knew how to get it… or at least he did now that Elias had so courteously offered to show him the way. The mage may have been loath to say it out loud, but the boy reminded him of himself back before-….
Something crashed into him, or rather, found itself in a disagreement with his shoulder he should say, given the faintness of the impact. “
Fourteen,” he mumbled between clenched teeth, exasperation rising in tandem with the climbing number. That
had to be too many, right? Anyone would snap at that point,
right!?
Contempt followed in the wake of his stare as the brooding mage turned his gaze over his shoulder to behold the next unfortunate causality of his impatience, whoever it was. He found nothing but an empty space looking back at him. His frown deepening, Elias sought out the sound of the squeak he’d heard and eventually discovered the heap of auburn frills settling at his feet. She’d fallen, he now noticed, intensity dampened by the inconvenient realization, but whatever thought he had next, was forever lost to the Ravokian as he more earnestly laid eyes upon the one who now looked up at him from the cobblestone street. Behind a frayed veil of chestnut hair that fell about her soft features in cascading waves, emerald eye the likes of which Elias had never before beheld, met his own, and for a short and peculiar instant, he felt his breath catch. She looked numb in that moment, as if only just freed from a daze, but in the coming realization and her senses return, emerald eyes widened in shock and reality set back in.
Despite his own brevity of numbness, his demeanor hadn’t changed into anything less frightful than how it had started, but the mage had noticed the branding on her arm almost immediately, and was unsurprised when the apologies came tumbling out of trembling lips as quickly and proficiently as they did. A slave, he noted absentmindedly, perfectly subservient and pacified, and one taught her manners it appeared, if not a better sense of her surroundings. She reached for something, hands fumbling across the stones nervously as she tried to find her bearings once more. Elias saw the basket she was aiming for, remembering its crunch against his shoulder earlier. He spotted the piece of parchment a split tick later and almost instantly, a droplet of res poured itself from his finger in quick thinking response. Imperceptible to most unless they knew what they were looking for, the tiny inkling of magic was for all intents and purposes harmless in its size, but still it carried the order of its maker as diligently as any other of his arcane constructs.
It bid the wind to follow.
And the wind obeyed.
The paper suddenly jerked from its resting place, brought to life by a trifling gust of air that saw it bounce just out of the slave’s reaching grasp. It bounced again, following the breeze that tugged at it, which in turned followed the res that compelled them both. Higher and higher it was blown by what would have seemed like nothing more than nature’s fanciful whim, odd as it was. The paper fluttered gently in its final approach, right into the waiting grip of the mage who lackadaisically unfolded it between two fingers and began scanning its contents, unabashed by the impoliteness of such an act.
To anyone else, what had just transpired would have seemed like just a simple accident, an unfortunate mishap that warranted little else but a few awkward laughs and a cordial send off by both parties involved. Elias Caldera however, was still looking for the angle that he was certain was there. Who was this stunning girl, and who had sent her? Had she tried to steal from him using their ‘accidental’ collision as a means to reach into his pockets unnoticed and unpunished, or was their something more sinister at play like always? He felt convinced the note would hold the damning answers he sought, but as his scrutinizing gaze fell upon the small piece of paper, what he found there was no detailed description of his person, nor his name or a promised bounty for bringing in his head, all he could find was a shopping list for that included yellow lily tea and a few new undergarments.
If his frowns had been compounding up until then, Elias would have look almost comically upset at that point. This was no killer clad in green, just some bumbling slave girl who had clumsily bounced off the wrong man on the wrong day. That
should have been a relief, a welcome coincidental reprieve from all the troubles he was made to ceaselessly suffer these past few seasons, but why then did the Ravokian feel such a pang of disappointment run through him upon the revelation?
“
Oi, you daft dame, what the hell do you think you’re playing at!”
Unfortunately for Shires -the name on her branded wrist- Zeb was less enthralled by her sudden appearance than he was…
ruffled by her brazen interruption. A great deal more ruffled than even his glowering counterpart let show. “
Have you got a petching death wish, you-” The outburst of ire had served well in potentially distracting the slave from Elias’s audacious reading of her shopping list, but when the young man reached out to take hold of the poor creature and drag her to her feet, the black clothed swordsman laid a hand of his own on the boy’s arm to halt his unruly advance. He stopped in his tracks, shocked that Elias, of all people, had halted him. Dried and cracked lips worked themselves into a tizzy as they tried to form the words and give voice to the boy’s indignation, but the one who had grabbed him spoke before the boy had a chance.
“
Be at ease, Zeb. This was simply a mistake.” Elias placated, trying to assuage the hostility bubbling within the boy with a stern but bearable tone. The pale man could hardly blame him for his crass reaction. Considering what they were here to do today, Zeb had been more nerves than he was human, and so to have such a flagrant distraction like the slave coming out of nowhere and shocking them into premature action as she had, it had taken a great deal of restraint not to lash out himself. Perhaps it was in hearing how Zeb was so loudly echoing his own thoughts that Elias found them as unwarranted and uncouth as they were.
“
We should show this bi-”
“
I said be at ease, boy!” Elias snapped, gloved hand curling into a fist around the captured shopping list with an audible crunch. As always, the kid had gone too far, almost saying something he would have regretted for the rest of his miserable life, but Zeb was too busy bristling with indignation to realize it, glare tightening upon the blue eyed man while his short and nappy hair practically quivered in fury. The mage turned away from him dismissively, reasserting his attention back on the girl hopelessly trying to find her footing.
A hand, its scars and ghastly pallor hidden beneath the black leather glove that adorned it, reached out towards the fallen slave with a graciousness and gentlemanly flair that belied the battle scarred face of the one who offered it. Zeb tutted angrily, sucking wind between his teeth in a vexing display of agitation, but Elias ignored him. He was more attentive instead to simply helping the girl back to the vertical world he had so crudely knocked her from.
“
Forgive him,” the mage pleaded humbly, “
He left whatever manners he may have had back in the dockside hovel I pulled him from.” Another irritated tut in response. “
Are you alright?”
“
Check your pockets.” Zeb hissed from over his shoulder, arms folded and scowl stiffening as he turned his back to the two of them. “
Who knows where them hands have been."
