|.91st Winter, 513
A dull, pounding echo reverberated through the warrens; Zhol's pace quickened, his hand rising to the weighty iron key that hung around his neck, gripping it through his shirt to abate it's pendulum swing into his chest. The city had fallen into chaos, the Dek and Chiet rising up against the Endal and Avora over the famine that had ravaged Wind Reach's food supply. Thefts and mysterious deaths had been happening all season, but as winter drew to a close they had erupted beyond the city's ability to keep control of the situation. Those Endal and Avora who had any sense were seeking refuge in the safety of their aeries, while warriors roamed the warrens fighting to restore order.
And then there were the foolish, like Zhol, heading towards the danger as swiftly as his legs would carry him.
It was idiocy disguised as bravery, what he was doing. Once the riots had erupted, the realisation had dawned that beside the Sanikas Gate stood a living larder of potential food for anyone smart enough to think of it, and stupid enough to take advantage. The Skyhigh Stables were at last count housing several dozen horses, ponies, and mules. Some were owned by citizens of the city. Some were bred and raised for sale to the occasional traveller, or to Inarta who didn't have the advantage of a Wind Eagle to carry them on their journeys. Some were the mounts and pack animals that had carried the citizens of Thunder Bay and their belongings back to Wind Reach for the winter, and that would return them to their homes once the snows subsided. The most important however were the working animals: those that carried minerals from the mines and food for the gardens. They were not the spare meat that the Chiet and Dek would see them as: their deaths might feed a few starving Inarta, but at the same time they would doom the entire city.
"Hey!" he bellowed as he rounded the last corner, every ounce of effort he could muster dedicated to sounding as menacing as possible. His gaze settled on the two opportunistic rioters - Dek, at a guess - and and the chunk of wood sourced from gods knew where that they were slamming against the stable door like a battering ram. To the credit of those who had constructed it, the door was shrugging off the assault effortlessly: but as one of the few ways aside from the Sanikas Gate to gain entry into the city, the door was engineered to stop people breaking in, not to stop them from getting out. There was only so much strain those hinges could take; and it was only a matter of time before more rioters came to investigate the source of all that noise.
The Dek ignored him utterly; Zhol squared his shoulders and stood as firmly as he could, filling as much of the tunnel as his slender frame was able. He drew a breath, and unleashed his loudest voice again. "Hey means stop."
That caught their attention, though barely; the duo halted in mid swing, looking at Zhol and then each other, muttered words in Nari that Zhol couldn't even begin to understand passing between them. A few harsh words were cast at him directly; when Zhol didn't respond, the other Dek interjected, a suggestion perhaps. "You help?" he tried in Common, peering at Zhol for understanding.
"No," Zhol replied simply, shaking his head to emphasise his statement. His hand rose, pointing towards the door. "You cannot eat those."
A few muttered words were passed between the Dek. One grinned. The other laughed. "You cannot stop us," the grinning Dek threatened.
"What will you do?" the laughing Dek added, with a nod towards the basket-hilted sword that hung from Zhol's belt. "Fight us both?"
Zhol's fingers brushed the sword - a family heirloom, and one of the only things he'd carried with him when he'd left Endrykas to travel to Wind Reach - but fell away. "Actually -" he countered, his hands sliding the sleeves of his work shirt up past his elbows. His arms fell to his sides, muscles straining as he fought with all his will to squeeze a few drops of djed from his soul. Res coursed through his skin like ink, following the absent patterns of windmarks that he had never earned. His clenched fists slowly unfurled, the liquid bubbling and bulging until it rose from his hand as a near perfect, trembling sphere of deep, dark green. With a painful concentration that stabbed between his eyes like a dagger, he ignited the res with a thought, a ball of pure flame flickering in the palm of each hand. "- I thought I'd just set the both of you on fire."
The fireballs were hurled in quick succession, one sailing between the two Dek to splash against the door, the other crashing into their makeshift battering ram. The magical constructs were weak and feeble, too far outside of Zhol's sphere of reimantic influence to cause any real harm, but they were enough: the two Dek recoiled away, their ram clattering to the floor between them. Zhol fought to maintain his composure, drawing in a breath to swell his chest and monopolise on the Dek's brief moment of uncertainty.
"They are just horses!" one of the Dek insisted, the uncertainty thick in his voice.
Zhol allowed his lips to curl into a menacing smile. "And I'm just a man from Endrykas," he countered, silently praying that the Dek were knowledgeable enough of his home to be aware of it's renowned love of horses, but naive enough to let their imaginations run wild over what that might mean for them now. "I suggest you leave my brothers and sisters alone, before I decide to find out what braised Dek tastes like."
That was more than enough convincing for the formerly grinning Dek, who muttered some dismissive comment in Nari to his compatriot before taking a few tentative steps towards the reimancer; Zhol stepped aside to let him pass, and the Dek took his opportunity to flee. The other Dek faltered for a moment longer before following suit; Zhol didn't understand what he'd shouted down the tunnel after his friend, but he was pretty sure he recognised a few of the words as curses.
Confident that they were out of earshot, Zhol allowed his shoulders to sag. His reimancy was fledgeling at best: even the most inept mage could have conjured a shield that would have thwarted his paltry pyromantic efforts. Still, it had been enough to startle a few simple-minded Dek; and with any luck it would be enough for his purposes now.
Willing his muscles - which had become stiff and begun to ache - into motion, he moved closer to the door and, careful not to make a sound, slid the key into the lock, turned it, and cracked the door enough to peer inside. The creature closest to the door - a seal brown colt, three stalls back on the left - started at the door's motion, no doubt on edge at the clattering commotion the Dek had been causing moments before. "Sorry friend," he said softly, slipping back into his native tongue, "I can't do anything to help you all right now."
With a heavy heart Zhol allowed the door to close, and twisted the key in the lock. He blew out a breath, and regarded the monumental task ahead of him. "But I can try and make sure you will be save."
A quick glance around him found the sturdy wooden bar that bolted the door closed; with an effort that his muscles protested greatly, he heaved it back into place within the iron loops that affixed it to the door. Hanging the key back around his neck, a hand delved into his pocket and pulled out a stub of chalk. Carefully, he set about drawing the first rune, delving into his memory for the way his mother had taught him to remember the shapes and patterns. He had been a terrible student, but she had been a patient teacher; each symbol was transformed into something he recognised. "A kneeling man with no head holds a plate in his hands," he muttered softly, drawing across and then up, diagonally down, up again, and then a line to cross the top, the sigil large enough to fill most of the upper half of the door. "A circle surrounds, and an arrow points north," he continued, the words descending into inaudible mutterings as he added a series of specific runes around the outside. He closed his eyes and focused on the symbol, imagining how it should appear in his minds eye; his eyes snapped open and for a split second his mind overlayed memory onto what he saw; close enough, he hoped.
Raising a hand, he placed it carefully atop the symbol, and with his eyes closed again reached into himself to draw out a few more precious drops of res, willing them through his fingertips into the sigil he had just created. It was a simple combination with a simple purpose: burn anyone who tries to open this door. His magic was not enough to harm, and anyone with enough knowledge could disarm it with little effort: but it was a gamble he was taking. The Inarta valued prowess: anyone with the necessary skills would, he hoped, be an Avora, and thus would likely not be hungry enough to go about trying to deprive him of a job just yet.
As the res left him, a wave of unsteadiness washed through him, each effort draining a little piece of him away. It would replenish in time, but until now he had been too fearful to make regular use of his abilities, and so his body and soul had not yet learned to recover fast enough. His mother had warned him about the dangers of over-extending himself, but still he pressed on, ignoring the dagger-point migraine that plagued him. More glyphs, and more reimancy, to protect the lock and the bar from unwanted tampering. He staggered as the last spell was willed into it's sigil, and caught himself with a hand against the wall to help him remain on his feet. His breaths were pants; darkness prickled at the edges of his vision. He turned his gaze back to the door, and considered his handiwork.
"I hope that is enough, friends," he uttered softly, before turning back towards the warrens, to begin his journey back into the dangers of the city.
And then there were the foolish, like Zhol, heading towards the danger as swiftly as his legs would carry him.
It was idiocy disguised as bravery, what he was doing. Once the riots had erupted, the realisation had dawned that beside the Sanikas Gate stood a living larder of potential food for anyone smart enough to think of it, and stupid enough to take advantage. The Skyhigh Stables were at last count housing several dozen horses, ponies, and mules. Some were owned by citizens of the city. Some were bred and raised for sale to the occasional traveller, or to Inarta who didn't have the advantage of a Wind Eagle to carry them on their journeys. Some were the mounts and pack animals that had carried the citizens of Thunder Bay and their belongings back to Wind Reach for the winter, and that would return them to their homes once the snows subsided. The most important however were the working animals: those that carried minerals from the mines and food for the gardens. They were not the spare meat that the Chiet and Dek would see them as: their deaths might feed a few starving Inarta, but at the same time they would doom the entire city.
"Hey!" he bellowed as he rounded the last corner, every ounce of effort he could muster dedicated to sounding as menacing as possible. His gaze settled on the two opportunistic rioters - Dek, at a guess - and and the chunk of wood sourced from gods knew where that they were slamming against the stable door like a battering ram. To the credit of those who had constructed it, the door was shrugging off the assault effortlessly: but as one of the few ways aside from the Sanikas Gate to gain entry into the city, the door was engineered to stop people breaking in, not to stop them from getting out. There was only so much strain those hinges could take; and it was only a matter of time before more rioters came to investigate the source of all that noise.
The Dek ignored him utterly; Zhol squared his shoulders and stood as firmly as he could, filling as much of the tunnel as his slender frame was able. He drew a breath, and unleashed his loudest voice again. "Hey means stop."
That caught their attention, though barely; the duo halted in mid swing, looking at Zhol and then each other, muttered words in Nari that Zhol couldn't even begin to understand passing between them. A few harsh words were cast at him directly; when Zhol didn't respond, the other Dek interjected, a suggestion perhaps. "You help?" he tried in Common, peering at Zhol for understanding.
"No," Zhol replied simply, shaking his head to emphasise his statement. His hand rose, pointing towards the door. "You cannot eat those."
A few muttered words were passed between the Dek. One grinned. The other laughed. "You cannot stop us," the grinning Dek threatened.
"What will you do?" the laughing Dek added, with a nod towards the basket-hilted sword that hung from Zhol's belt. "Fight us both?"
Zhol's fingers brushed the sword - a family heirloom, and one of the only things he'd carried with him when he'd left Endrykas to travel to Wind Reach - but fell away. "Actually -" he countered, his hands sliding the sleeves of his work shirt up past his elbows. His arms fell to his sides, muscles straining as he fought with all his will to squeeze a few drops of djed from his soul. Res coursed through his skin like ink, following the absent patterns of windmarks that he had never earned. His clenched fists slowly unfurled, the liquid bubbling and bulging until it rose from his hand as a near perfect, trembling sphere of deep, dark green. With a painful concentration that stabbed between his eyes like a dagger, he ignited the res with a thought, a ball of pure flame flickering in the palm of each hand. "- I thought I'd just set the both of you on fire."
The fireballs were hurled in quick succession, one sailing between the two Dek to splash against the door, the other crashing into their makeshift battering ram. The magical constructs were weak and feeble, too far outside of Zhol's sphere of reimantic influence to cause any real harm, but they were enough: the two Dek recoiled away, their ram clattering to the floor between them. Zhol fought to maintain his composure, drawing in a breath to swell his chest and monopolise on the Dek's brief moment of uncertainty.
"They are just horses!" one of the Dek insisted, the uncertainty thick in his voice.
Zhol allowed his lips to curl into a menacing smile. "And I'm just a man from Endrykas," he countered, silently praying that the Dek were knowledgeable enough of his home to be aware of it's renowned love of horses, but naive enough to let their imaginations run wild over what that might mean for them now. "I suggest you leave my brothers and sisters alone, before I decide to find out what braised Dek tastes like."
That was more than enough convincing for the formerly grinning Dek, who muttered some dismissive comment in Nari to his compatriot before taking a few tentative steps towards the reimancer; Zhol stepped aside to let him pass, and the Dek took his opportunity to flee. The other Dek faltered for a moment longer before following suit; Zhol didn't understand what he'd shouted down the tunnel after his friend, but he was pretty sure he recognised a few of the words as curses.
Confident that they were out of earshot, Zhol allowed his shoulders to sag. His reimancy was fledgeling at best: even the most inept mage could have conjured a shield that would have thwarted his paltry pyromantic efforts. Still, it had been enough to startle a few simple-minded Dek; and with any luck it would be enough for his purposes now.
Willing his muscles - which had become stiff and begun to ache - into motion, he moved closer to the door and, careful not to make a sound, slid the key into the lock, turned it, and cracked the door enough to peer inside. The creature closest to the door - a seal brown colt, three stalls back on the left - started at the door's motion, no doubt on edge at the clattering commotion the Dek had been causing moments before. "Sorry friend," he said softly, slipping back into his native tongue, "I can't do anything to help you all right now."
With a heavy heart Zhol allowed the door to close, and twisted the key in the lock. He blew out a breath, and regarded the monumental task ahead of him. "But I can try and make sure you will be save."
A quick glance around him found the sturdy wooden bar that bolted the door closed; with an effort that his muscles protested greatly, he heaved it back into place within the iron loops that affixed it to the door. Hanging the key back around his neck, a hand delved into his pocket and pulled out a stub of chalk. Carefully, he set about drawing the first rune, delving into his memory for the way his mother had taught him to remember the shapes and patterns. He had been a terrible student, but she had been a patient teacher; each symbol was transformed into something he recognised. "A kneeling man with no head holds a plate in his hands," he muttered softly, drawing across and then up, diagonally down, up again, and then a line to cross the top, the sigil large enough to fill most of the upper half of the door. "A circle surrounds, and an arrow points north," he continued, the words descending into inaudible mutterings as he added a series of specific runes around the outside. He closed his eyes and focused on the symbol, imagining how it should appear in his minds eye; his eyes snapped open and for a split second his mind overlayed memory onto what he saw; close enough, he hoped.
Raising a hand, he placed it carefully atop the symbol, and with his eyes closed again reached into himself to draw out a few more precious drops of res, willing them through his fingertips into the sigil he had just created. It was a simple combination with a simple purpose: burn anyone who tries to open this door. His magic was not enough to harm, and anyone with enough knowledge could disarm it with little effort: but it was a gamble he was taking. The Inarta valued prowess: anyone with the necessary skills would, he hoped, be an Avora, and thus would likely not be hungry enough to go about trying to deprive him of a job just yet.
As the res left him, a wave of unsteadiness washed through him, each effort draining a little piece of him away. It would replenish in time, but until now he had been too fearful to make regular use of his abilities, and so his body and soul had not yet learned to recover fast enough. His mother had warned him about the dangers of over-extending himself, but still he pressed on, ignoring the dagger-point migraine that plagued him. More glyphs, and more reimancy, to protect the lock and the bar from unwanted tampering. He staggered as the last spell was willed into it's sigil, and caught himself with a hand against the wall to help him remain on his feet. His breaths were pants; darkness prickled at the edges of his vision. He turned his gaze back to the door, and considered his handiwork.
"I hope that is enough, friends," he uttered softly, before turning back towards the warrens, to begin his journey back into the dangers of the city.
"Pavi" | "Common" | "Nari"
This template was made by Khara. She was bribed with coffee and jammy dodgers.
This template was made by Khara. She was bribed with coffee and jammy dodgers.
