Under an Open Sky

[Faradae]

THE PRAIRIE
45th of summer, 517 AV

When Faradae had first entered the vestibule, her eyes had been wide and her mouth agape. She had hardly noticed the sculptures lining the walls, too taken-aback by the large golem in the centre of the hall. She had stood motionless for several chimes before someone had roughly pushed her out of the way, muttering something about the stupor of pulsers.

Today, she strode past the likenesses of Alahea’s elite with purpose, a note stuck in her backpack, her first chance at a delivery. Sahova had little demand for a courier like herself; most of the jobs she would have taken in any other city were completed by golems on the island of the undead. While Faradae admired the artisanship behind the constructs, she felt uncomfortable in their presence, and she disliked the way they made it hard for her to find occupation. This note, however, was different. While the golems were restricted to the citadel, Faradae had been instructed to seek out a man in the middle of the prairie, who went by the name of “Belugnir”. It was not a task easily accomplished, given her lack of geographical knowledge and the countless dangers that doubtlessly waited outside the walls.

The weeks she had spent in Sahova had been enough to teach her a few basic things the nuits’ society seemed to run on: Intellect, experiment and a great deal of arrogance. Fara did not have much of a home anywhere, and as a general rule, it was always hard to be an outsider. This was especially true in Sahova, and with all the stories of people being dragged off, of crude tests being run on those who were considered expendable, she had decided for the very first time to restrict herself to her human form. It could be done for a day or two, but the experience became increasingly uncomfortable as the season dragged on. She remembered last season’s adventure, the treefolk’s magic that had bound her to her human shape, the constant itch to give in to her nature and shift as she pleased. She was not sure how much longer she could endure this place.

Getting outside the Citadel was her chance at some amount of relief, of unfolding her wings for a few bells. The day was clear and almost cloudless, much to Fara’s relief. It was also a very silent day, with nary a creek flowing in the distance, nor the slightest gust of wind or bird gossip. She was out on the prairie, a place unlike the vast forests and marshes she was used to. The climate here was much more arid, and with the sparse vegetation, surrounded by barren ground, she found it hard to tell how quickly she was passing.

She let her wings carry her for a while before she started to come up with a plan. The chances of finding a person who you only knew by name in the middle of a large half-desert by simply flying out into the blue were less than slim. Which route would a border patrol choose? She could not discern any paths or roads on the ground. There were breaches in the short, pale grass, but they might have been the work of rampaging creatures on their daily hunt or craters from failed experiments. Nothing she saw indicated the recent passing of a patrol.

[Belugnir]

''Right, and what's ye going to summon with that shyke?'', Einar pryed at a recently fully admitted sorcerer, oddly enough, this one was still human, just a very, very bookwormy and persistent one, judging by his pale tone and seeing as the bugger was missing his left eye and half the skin on his face, and that was just the visible mar on him, pretty obviously caused by one too many careless experiments. Yet here he was, a man in his mid fifties, unreasonably healthy for his look and his age, darting about the open plane, finishing one absurdly complicated circle of symbols, the meaning of which Ein could only guess at, since it didn't quite go along with his general understanding of glyphing.

''Thine purpose art not to question the Summoning, but to slay any Summoned who might seek to cause harm.'', the old man replied. Frankly, Ein was both amused and irritated by the sorcerer's poor attempts at preserving a cryptic tone about himself. Especially when the bugger would stutter to rethink a way of composing his sentences. Either way, at the very least he seemed less hazardous and not as dull and annoying as some of the apprentices Ein had to deal with. At the sorcerer's words, Einar just gave a squint and a nod, realizing that he won't get anything out of the man by asking about it.

The young warden went from idly leaning against his poleaxe to firmly gripping it and bringing his mind into a state of anxious awareness as the sorcerer brought a needle to one of their own fingers and delivered a drop of blood to the edge of his circle. He needed not know about the ritual, but Ein was introduced to the basics of how Summoning worked. Wizard composes a circle, delivers a drop of blood to trigger the summoning, tries to negotiate terms being provided service by a creature they summon. Sometimes gets shredded to ribbons by the thing he summons. - Sort of basics. He was just there to try and prevent the last bit from happening.

Only he'd hardly have the chance to do much work in that regard. Seeing as, instead of an unearthly intelligent creature, all that the wizard's Summoning conjured forth was an indescribably inconvenient flash of many-colored light, and a deafening bang that could've been heard for miles about. As he got up from the arse-to-the-ground stance in which the failed spell placed him, Einar held a hand to each of his ringing ears, meanwhile trying his best to focus any clarity into the color-blurred imagery his dazed eyes provided at the moment. He saw well enough, however, to realize that the sorcerer was pretty much doing the same thing.

''It is a belief of mine.'', Ein started in an awfully cynical tone as the unfortunate stun of the explosion of light and sound faded away ''That thine spell needest the slightest of tunings.''

The old man gave him a brief reproaching glance before cracking up a soft laugh and giving a shrug.

''None can ever live in success.'', he said with a vague fatherly tone and went to collect the bits of chalk he drew the circles with before tucking them into a sack that hung upon the hip of his robes. He was done for the day. The circle he drew took him about a bell and a half and was obviously with major flaws... ever more clearly pointed out by an awful smell of oil coming from the charred mess of dirt that the attempt at Summoning left on the ground.

''Wouldst thou accompany be back?'', the wizard turned to Einar with only the slightest bit of expectation in his tone. It occurred to the lad then that this bugger didn't exactly seem one quarter as arrogant as most other pricks on the island, though Ein didn't quite feel like taking a long stroll back to the Citadel in the suit of armor he was wearing right now, well, not under the height of the sun anyway.

''Nay, mate, I'll stay here and wind me boots out a bit, 'sides, that boom ye made with your sorcery's bound to have driven any self-loving monster within miles at least another two miles away.'', rather than weaving, Ein just brought his hand up for a parting gesture as he turned toward the nearest scarce shade of a tall, dried tree, just outside the reach of the fading stench of oil. And as the wizard gave him a reconciled nod and went on his way, Einar was already leaning against the tree's trunk, shoving his boots off of his feet, and relaxing the weest bit, putting his mostly hollow backpack beside him and proceeding to take out a water skin and drain a sizable gulp from the thing. Before shoving the rucksack under his head as he laid down, he took a thick slice of dried meat from it, and began lazily chewing on it with a gaze fixed idly onto the thorny, dry-leafed branches above him. He might as well spend a bell being lazy, to celebrate the fact that there'll apparently be no ungodly abomination participating in activities such as Maiming of the Sunberthian Scumbag anywhere soon this afternoon. Though, simply 'cause one can never trust a thing so simple as an overwhelmingly loud bang to keep the resident monsters of the Prairie at bay, Ein left his poleaxe close, his armor on, and his throwing knives strapped across his chest, just in case. In all honesty, sometimes he'd find himself forgetting that he was wearing the stuff.

By now the old man would've walked half a mile away from the scene, and faded from Ein's mind, meanwhile the young warden idly recalled the meditation exercise that the Sullins fellow had taught him, conjuring up the vague image of a lit candle in his mind, surrounded by naught but a black void, though he wouldn't let himself wander too deeply into the exercises of his mind, still somewhat expecting of an odd monster to pop up from the ground, just in case the gods really decided to wipe their arses with his good mood today as well.