Impetuous Youth

by **Alin Smithe** on March 16th, 2014, 7:08 pm

Impetuous Youth.
9th day of Spring 514

The sun sank behind the surrounding hills of Zeltiva as the Bonesnapper reared it's toothy maw with enough cold to warrant Alin moving from his silent perch on top of a wooden pylon at the edge of the pier. At the end of the day, he'd taken to watching the light recede as night fell upon the city, admiring the shades of russet color playing upon the ivory obelisk. Those accusatory, skyward pointed fingers were only recently uncovered at the behest of a wilder, more untreated force. Like the waters of the bay, so stirred within Alin the feeling of potential energy, as if his skin were some pallid container concealing a source of great power. He deftly hopped to the pier, his knees aching with the strain of movement after having been motionless for so long. He relished the feeling as his footfall, brisk and purposeful, sounded in the cool evening.

The drudgery of the family business felt like a distant dream to him the past few seasons. A much needed move away from the familial hen-peck had given enough freedom and solitude for him to realize he'd experienced very little of either. The luxury of the boredom he'd all too often experienced in his cloistered youth had been supplanted with the undeniable touch of the storm, as well as the steadily growing sensation of his world unfolding into a state of perpetual flux. Those quiet days and nights spent alone in his sparse flat and devotion to the longsword and calisthenics raised in him an awareness more corporeal and visceral than he'd experienced before. There was a developing sense of acuity within the very sinew that so precisely hung upon his slim yet toned frame. There was also the approaching warmth of spring with it's signature scent on the air, the cool iron of his kukri; these were the simple reassurances of his ever unfolding present. the stiffness dissolved, as the blood flowed to his limbs once more, giving him a lift to his step. Determined , he turned resolutely toward the lower, outlying foothills of the city. A smile played upon Alin's lips as he realized there were no commitments to fulfill and, pulling his collar to the wind, contemplated a drink at the Quills Rest before turning in for the evening.

Turning on to East street, Alin readjusted his posture, focusing his eyes on a middle distance as he passed by the alley ways which quickly terminated into darkness. Never having had a problem with traveling in this part of the city before, he'd become convinced that any man that took a running jump at him may as well find himself passing through the other side. Such was his feeling of unobtrusiveness on his environment. A gentle soul at heart and patient in deed, Alin thankfully hadn't had to employ his rudimentary swordsmanship toward another human being with malicious intent. It was a discipline he'd decided to undertake with the intention of being better equipped for an amorphous future. With the recent coup d'état, there were no shortage of reasons to be prepared.

Turning a corner, the young man noticed a figure in his peripheral traveling parallel to him nearly out of sight. A slight quickening of the stranger's step pursuant to his own elicited a rush of adrenaline.

“Evening m'lad! Couldn't spare a copper for a brother in need?” came the voice edged with well lubricated malice. Ignoring the man, Alin turned a corner quickly enough to see another had joined his pursuer. His two escorts showed no sign of losing interest in what they must have seen as an easy mark. Furtively glancing over his shoulder at his antagonists, Alin was stopped short by the imposing bulk of a man looming in front of him. A barrel chested behemoth towered five inches over his comparatively small stature. All he could see was a mess of matted hair that framed a pock-marked face accentuated by teeth that glinted dimly in the lamplight.
“See 'ere lad, just turn out your pockets and we'll see you don't have anything to cry about, yeah?” growled the thief as the mixture of fear, adrenaline, and vulnerability pounded through Alin's veins. Wide-eyed and screaming silently in his mind. He Brandished his kurkri, wheeling around to face the two men behind him. “S-stay away!” he stammered, his voice cracking to his disappointment. A hand infinitely stronger than his own wrapped around the wrist of his knife hand and he felt his blade slip and clatter to the ground. Full instinctual panic set in as, without a thought, Alin slammed the heel of his boot into the kneecap of the man behind him.

Stopped dead by a blow to his face, he reeled in shock, his senses were overcome by the taste and smell of blood. Infuriated, terrified, and wired, Alin jabbed wildly at what was only a dim silhouette of his assailant and was rewarded by the blow having connected with the face his attacker. Alin stumbled bleeding into East Street having doubled back in his flight. His attackers on his heels, Alin Scanning manically down the street. Recognizing the distinct blue of the Wave Guard uniform, he plaintively waved his arms and managed a hoarse cry for help.

by **Ricky Maze** on March 17th, 2014, 5:49 pm

Now where was he to start? Maybe it was with the fact the air alone held the chill of winter as the winds still kept true to their name, but spring had only begun recently so it was only natural that the cold still clung like a dying leech waiting to saturate more and more color. It wouldn’t be long till the warmth finally kicked this weather to the curb and found itself settled with the heat of summer to follow, but then again with the temperamental weather the mountains were known to have rain was indeed a possibility one couldn’t count out. That pointed out the evening itself also no longer felt Syna’s grand kiss to blanket Mathew’s Bay, instead Leth’s cool embrace is what soon filled the night sky as he chased after Syna with no end. Such was the cycle that never ended between them, as with everything else in the world of Mizahar. Zeltiva wasn’t the only one that’d experienced the same internal affairs, much of the other settlements had to somehow deal with pressing matters that threatened its peace.

For Ricky he could only hope that was the case, because if not then sure enough his home was doomed, doomed to forever remain in a cycle of political struggle and endeavor, doomed to forever be caught in a never ending repetition of danger followed with its own downfall of destruction… That was something he’d considered possible for days now after not just his encounter with the pirates around a quarter into last year’s summer, even more so he feared it to be possible now since the Coup was staged by the Denvali afterwards. Though slow in progress his training couldn’t have kicked off any better, mostly of course he’d focused on one of his secret talents that needed to be honed. The capabilities of a Shielder were something he were far unaccustomed to, as he knew only so little about Shielding in general other than it was a defensive personal magic. Sure enough his focus had extended to another skill he’d thought to practice, but for now his primary focus was that magic skill only because he needed it. He needed to unlock it’s secrets, it’s potential in the event he needed to actually rely on use. Especially if he wanted to keep his family safe, and see that nothing would ever bring harm to his wife and son.

The fisherman looked up to where the Old Quarter resided, several of the buildings just only slightly towered over the ones surrounding him, he could only imagine what his Telion and Martin were doing right now. Most likely waiting on him. They always greeted him the same loving way each time he returned home, the baby always excited to see his father a returned “hero” for the city. Yet such ideals were what led Ricky to believe that he had to set an example in this city, be the better man and see his son could proudly learn from his father in the years to come. Queue the entrance of a helpless man whose tail was being hounded, the rasp cry for help the quickest and obvious indication that danger had showed it’s ugly hand tonight. Roi’ on time. The smile faded into a serious look as his hand reached for the iron longsword at his waist, a firm grip on its hilt led to a pull as the blade became unsheathed. The ring of the metal was but a sigh of the blade itself as it was released from its resting place, and called out to restore order to the chaos that unfolded before him. Ricky motioned for the weary innocent to get behind him, so that he could in turn guard the man and settle this matter diplomatically.

"Inne name o’ de Wave Guard I command ye bastards t’ ‘old! Stand yer groun’ an’ don’t make a move, less ya dare threaten an’ officer o’ de law!" He demanded in a bold assertive tone, he intended to have made it clear that he was the authority here. Sure enough the predators of crime were faced with the fisherman and a well handled blade, a dominative stance held with experience as he wasn’t afraid to defend another with his life. One could tell that he was very well experienced with his weapon, several years of practice dedicated to it tended to improve one’s capabilities. Either way Ricky wasn’t going to let whatever was conspired to go down tonight, and even if it went against his principles he wouldn’t be afraid. If he had to injure a man tonight then so be it, nobody of course would be killed while he was here.