“We’re going to be late for the ceremony you realize?”
Cerion barely acknowledged his brother’s remark, concentrating as he was at his examination. Instead Azrael answered in his place.
“I’m sure Elstridge will forgive you for being late Orion, but we DO have to take care of this person you know… cause he’s dying.”
“But we’ll be late!” moaned Orion.
“I see that I also have to teach you something about priorities,” Azrael, noted as she turned back to Cerion. “How is he darling?”
Cerion took a deep breath before replying. “There’s some internal bleeding, but nothing that I can’t fix. Several of his ribs have been cracked as well, but thankfully none of them punctured his lung. I think I can fix him up, but we’ll need to take him inside.” Orion nodded emphatically to that last statement.
“Will he be able to stand the lifting?” asked Azrael, peering at the limp body.
“Shouldn’t be a problem, the ribs aren’t poking anything vital.”
The Hydromancer turned to regard his younger brother and gave him a pat on the shoulder. “Chill Orion, if you can these days, we still have plenty of time, the ceremony doesn’t start for another ten minutes!”
Orion was bursting with frustration. “Exactly, ten minutes isn’t that long you know.”
Even as they had been talking, Azrael carefully picked up the unconscious man and they hurried into the castle.
***
9.32 minutes later
***
“I think I’ve stopped the bleeding and set the ribs,” Cerion announced, tired as he was from the precise exertions and pressure he had just undergone.
Azrael handed her fiancé a soft cloth. “Good work honey. Do you think it’s safe to leave him here?”
Cerion looked around, “sure, the office of a Council member should be as secure as any other part of the castle. Now let’s get to that coronation… where’s Orion?”
Checking herself quickly in the many mirrors that hung in Cerion’s office, Azrael glanced at her beloved’s reflection. “Didn’t you notice? He left while you were operating, made some pretentious excuse about using the bathroom.” She paused to regard her own reflection and then turned around, satisfied with the result. “To be fair to the boy though, it’s not everyday one of your best friends becomes King.”
Cerion nodded sagely, also checking his hair in a different mirror. “How do I look dear?” he asked as he absently smoothed down some hair behind his ears.
“Fine darling, but we really should go, or we’ll be late.”
“Right right, in a mom…”
“Now Cerion.” The tone used left no room for disagreement.
“At once dear.” Cerion replied meekly.
***
The moment of truth had come, and Elstridge was still of the opinion that it was all a big mistake. A view that was not shared by his mother, or the troop of soldiers who were his “Honor Guard”. Try as he might, it seemed like fate had conspired to force him through this process. Even so, that didn’t stop him from persevering against all odds…
“I’m sure you can see my point Captain.” He concluded to the Knight in charge, even as they walked down the hallway to the Ballroom entrance.
“Of course, your Highness.”
“That’s good, glad to know we’re on the same page.”
“As am I, your Highness.”
“It would be most embarrassing.”
“I agree, your Highness.”
“So will you let me go to the bathroom then?” A touch of hope crept into Elstridge’s voice.
“Absolutely not, your Highness.” The answer was final and very deliberate.
The Prince sighed deeply, something he had taken to doing a lot more of recently. Commands, requests and even outright deceit had all failed to provide the necessary components for his escape, and now he could see the doors of the Palace’s grand Ballroom, where over 500 people waited for him to arrive.
“Ho Elstridge!” shouted a familiar voice, causing the dejected young Prince to lift his head. Catching sight of Orion, still with his strange new hair style, a smile touched the face of the Prince.
“Ho Orion! I would have thought that you’d be inside already with the rest of the nobles, waiting for me to clap that big crown on my head.”
Orion looked down at his friend from the second story. With a deft jump, slide and roll he vaulted over the banister and down one of the many marble columns that supported the Palace. He drew level to the Guard, all of whom knew him, and looked quizzically at the Prince. “Actually they put it on for you, you know, that’s why it’s called a coronation… a crowning ceremony.”
Elstridge rolled his eyes and stuck his tongue out at his childhood friend. “Thanks for the reminder.”
Orion flashed a grin, “you still upset about it?” he asked, already knowing the answer.
“Of course!” I don’t want to be King!” complained Elstridge, even as they were ten meters from the Ballroom. “Could you work some of that Wind Weaver magic to get me out of here?”
Orion raised his hands to show his good intentions as the attention of the Honor Guard shifted suddenly. “I’d love to help, but I haven’t had much luck with the Wind Weaving lately, and plus I wouldn’t want to upset your mother now. Azrael AND Cerion would kill me if I did.”
Elstridge sighed again. “Then all is lost, you were my last hope.”
Orion chuckled. “Don’t worry about it so much. One day we’ll look back at this and laugh about how stubborn and stupid you were.”
His friend’s reply was tinged with dark foreboding, “or we’ll all be homeless and starving, either one yea?”
Orion laughed again and then scampered up the stairs to enter the Ballroom’s balcony. “Good luck!” he called as he disappeared around the corner.
“It’s not me,” muttered the Prince with a mental sigh, “it’s the Kingdom that I have to run.”
***
“Phew I think we made it.” Huffed Cerion, hand placed on the lintel of the doorway leading onto the balcony. “I don’t hear any trumpets.”
At his words, the trumpeters that lined the red carpet leading to the throne began to sound their fanfare announcing the entrance of the King.
“I think you’re deaf dear,” said Azrael with a massive grin even as she breezed past her rather less fit fiancé.
“But…” spluttered Cerion even as he also walked in.
The coronation had begun.
***
Tuesday, June 5, 2007
Monday, June 4, 2007
Whoo... cliff hanger
The winds that whipped around the Central Steeple were vicious, cold like ice and fast like lightning. Still Talleth didn’t mind too much, he was used to standing in high places.
He no longer whistled the tune that he had in the after, yet still the melody of that song ran over in his head, the one verse that his father had taught him as a child. It was a re-assuring comfort for the young man, almost like his mental ritual for relaxation.
Taking a look at the city’s clock tower just to his right, the soberly dressed figure counted down the minutes in his head. ‘Any moment now.’
Right on cue, a group of three individuals stepped out from a carriage at the foot of the steeple. All three wore masks, yet the burning red hair of the first to descend gave them away. Even in the dark, Talleth’s eye sight was sharp, and the colors stood out like it was day to him.
Straightening his cloak’s collar, he began to move towards the palace.
With a trade mark grin he began to walk down the roof. “Easy as…”
Suddenly a tile shot out from below his feet, sending the normally self assured young man flying.
‘Damn tiles!’ he thought as he tumbled over the edge. Far below he could see the ground rushing up to greet him. This would hurt a lot.
***
Prince Elstridge peered out at the gathering throng of nobles, politicians and important personalities who now moved with grace and pomp through the Palace ballroom. Drops of sweat, no longer content to bead on his brow, now began to form on his back and his mouth was suddenly very dry.
“Don’t fret at the curtain son!” Called his mother, calmly sitting on a plump teal couch, sipping tea from a porcelain cup, “come drink your tea?”
Elstridge resisted the urge to scream at his mother, and instead walked over to the matching chair which was off to his right.
“For the 100th time mother, I’m not fretting!” He exclaimed, defiantly taking a cup of tea from the table.”
“Is that so?” The stately woman replied. Turning her head slightly to look at her obviously stressed son she continued. “Then why are you shaking so much?”
The rattle of the tea cup hitting the saucer stopped suddenly as Elstridge willed his hand to stop moving immediately.
“I meant your knees son.”
With an increasingly red face, the boy realized that his knees were knocking together. Standing up suddenly, he almost spilt the tea on his shirt, putting it down just in time to avoid the splash.
“I don’t want to be King mother!”
Elmaria Nina Royale thought back to the days when she had been much younger. Although she wasn’t considered old at the age of 46, already she could feel her face changing, and the gray hairs were sprouting quickly matching the blonde that were there first. Still her memory was sharp. When she had been but 17, she remembered well the day of her brother’s coronation and how he too had railed against his own crowning. It was hardly coincidence that her dear brother Elliam had become the greatest ruler that Wilderia had ever known. Well, the enlisting of the alliance with the Keep had definitely helped, but that was only marginal, at least in her own mind.
“Elstridge Liam Royale!” She breathed in her most commanding and authoritative tone. “You have been chosen by the people of Wilderia to lead them into this next season of this country. You have been raised from birth KNOWING that this day might come. Now, at the age of eighteen you WILL ascend the throne that I have minded in my brother’s steed, and you WILL rule with honor, with valor and with the COURAGE that befits a member of our family!”
Elstridge sighed deeply, mouthing the words that his mother had been repeating for the last three months whenever he brought up the topic. He knew she was right. Yet how could he tell her that it was not his right to rule? Or that he didn’t feel up to it. She wouldn’t understand.
“But…”
“I will brook no argument Elstridge! The ceremony begins in 15 minutes!”
The Prince gave up, his shoulders slumping forward. “Yes ma’am.”
***
Orion loved the palace. It was one of the few places where he had grown up, playing and then later pestering his older brother. Despite the seven year age difference and the many responsibilities that Cerion carried, the older of the two brothers always found time to spend with his little shadow; patiently explaining to him the intricacies of weather art or having water fights with equal facility. Indeed the palace staff encouraged such behavior, out of respect for Cerion’s father if nothing else, but also from a genuine affection for Orion, one that everyone seemed to have.
Cerion had a rather more adult view of the place, though he still loved it just as much as his brother. The receptacles for all knowledge and training pertaining to Weather arts may lie in the keep, but it was at the palace where the majority of Wind Weavers and Hydromancers met during the day, completing assignments for nobility, communicating with their Council Members and, of course, gossiping like the other palace denizens.
However for Cerion, this building was where he had found the one thing that he had always sought, a beautiful woman to spend his life with. Azreal.
“You’ve got that look again Cer.” Commented Orion as he held the door for his brother.
“You wouldn’t understand Orion.” Stated Azreal, even as her fiancé offered her his hand with a charming smile. Her dimples made a brief appearance as she continued, “you’re just a bit young.”
Cerion chuckled at the small scowl that crossed his brother’s face. Better then anyone he knew that his brother hated to be talked down to, and even at the age of 24, he still treated his younger brother as an equal in all things. That would hold even truer now.
“Don’t tease him Azreal; my brother wants to enjoy the night! You never know, tonight he could meet someone special. Or one of his many “friends”, you never know with this boy. ”
Orion strove mightily to keep from returning that comment with a sharp smack on his brother’s back, so much so that smoke began to trickle out his ears.
Azreal laughed in whimsical delight. “You look so cute Orion! Would you like work in our kitchen? You’d be a great stove!”
His angry front crumpled under his own humor and so instead the new Embermage decided to retreat with a parting shot. “I give up, how can one so young compete with two wise old Council members? Maybe inside I’ll meet a long lost sibling or someone to help me get you guys back.”
Azreal and Cerion laughed good naturedly, and Orion returned their smile. As they began their ascent up the stairs, the wind began to howl more fiercely.
“Say dear…” began Cerion, raising a hand to his hair. Orion began to laugh even as Azreal sighed. “No problems darling.” She muttered, rolling her eyes slightly, even as she smiled along with Orion.
With only a thought, Azreal began to weave a shield around them to block the gale. The barrier was almost complete when Orion’s head jerked up. “Do you hear that?”
Cerion glanced at his brother before returning his gaze to the pocket mirror that he carried. “Hear what?”
Suddenly something hit the top of Azreal’s Wind Bowl, and then with a pop, the entire structure dissolved, bringing in a fresh wave of cold air and a body that collapsed into the middle of the three of them.
“That, I guess,” Orion said.
He no longer whistled the tune that he had in the after, yet still the melody of that song ran over in his head, the one verse that his father had taught him as a child. It was a re-assuring comfort for the young man, almost like his mental ritual for relaxation.
Taking a look at the city’s clock tower just to his right, the soberly dressed figure counted down the minutes in his head. ‘Any moment now.’
Right on cue, a group of three individuals stepped out from a carriage at the foot of the steeple. All three wore masks, yet the burning red hair of the first to descend gave them away. Even in the dark, Talleth’s eye sight was sharp, and the colors stood out like it was day to him.
Straightening his cloak’s collar, he began to move towards the palace.
With a trade mark grin he began to walk down the roof. “Easy as…”
Suddenly a tile shot out from below his feet, sending the normally self assured young man flying.
‘Damn tiles!’ he thought as he tumbled over the edge. Far below he could see the ground rushing up to greet him. This would hurt a lot.
***
Prince Elstridge peered out at the gathering throng of nobles, politicians and important personalities who now moved with grace and pomp through the Palace ballroom. Drops of sweat, no longer content to bead on his brow, now began to form on his back and his mouth was suddenly very dry.
“Don’t fret at the curtain son!” Called his mother, calmly sitting on a plump teal couch, sipping tea from a porcelain cup, “come drink your tea?”
Elstridge resisted the urge to scream at his mother, and instead walked over to the matching chair which was off to his right.
“For the 100th time mother, I’m not fretting!” He exclaimed, defiantly taking a cup of tea from the table.”
“Is that so?” The stately woman replied. Turning her head slightly to look at her obviously stressed son she continued. “Then why are you shaking so much?”
The rattle of the tea cup hitting the saucer stopped suddenly as Elstridge willed his hand to stop moving immediately.
“I meant your knees son.”
With an increasingly red face, the boy realized that his knees were knocking together. Standing up suddenly, he almost spilt the tea on his shirt, putting it down just in time to avoid the splash.
“I don’t want to be King mother!”
Elmaria Nina Royale thought back to the days when she had been much younger. Although she wasn’t considered old at the age of 46, already she could feel her face changing, and the gray hairs were sprouting quickly matching the blonde that were there first. Still her memory was sharp. When she had been but 17, she remembered well the day of her brother’s coronation and how he too had railed against his own crowning. It was hardly coincidence that her dear brother Elliam had become the greatest ruler that Wilderia had ever known. Well, the enlisting of the alliance with the Keep had definitely helped, but that was only marginal, at least in her own mind.
“Elstridge Liam Royale!” She breathed in her most commanding and authoritative tone. “You have been chosen by the people of Wilderia to lead them into this next season of this country. You have been raised from birth KNOWING that this day might come. Now, at the age of eighteen you WILL ascend the throne that I have minded in my brother’s steed, and you WILL rule with honor, with valor and with the COURAGE that befits a member of our family!”
Elstridge sighed deeply, mouthing the words that his mother had been repeating for the last three months whenever he brought up the topic. He knew she was right. Yet how could he tell her that it was not his right to rule? Or that he didn’t feel up to it. She wouldn’t understand.
“But…”
“I will brook no argument Elstridge! The ceremony begins in 15 minutes!”
The Prince gave up, his shoulders slumping forward. “Yes ma’am.”
***
Orion loved the palace. It was one of the few places where he had grown up, playing and then later pestering his older brother. Despite the seven year age difference and the many responsibilities that Cerion carried, the older of the two brothers always found time to spend with his little shadow; patiently explaining to him the intricacies of weather art or having water fights with equal facility. Indeed the palace staff encouraged such behavior, out of respect for Cerion’s father if nothing else, but also from a genuine affection for Orion, one that everyone seemed to have.
Cerion had a rather more adult view of the place, though he still loved it just as much as his brother. The receptacles for all knowledge and training pertaining to Weather arts may lie in the keep, but it was at the palace where the majority of Wind Weavers and Hydromancers met during the day, completing assignments for nobility, communicating with their Council Members and, of course, gossiping like the other palace denizens.
However for Cerion, this building was where he had found the one thing that he had always sought, a beautiful woman to spend his life with. Azreal.
“You’ve got that look again Cer.” Commented Orion as he held the door for his brother.
“You wouldn’t understand Orion.” Stated Azreal, even as her fiancé offered her his hand with a charming smile. Her dimples made a brief appearance as she continued, “you’re just a bit young.”
Cerion chuckled at the small scowl that crossed his brother’s face. Better then anyone he knew that his brother hated to be talked down to, and even at the age of 24, he still treated his younger brother as an equal in all things. That would hold even truer now.
“Don’t tease him Azreal; my brother wants to enjoy the night! You never know, tonight he could meet someone special. Or one of his many “friends”, you never know with this boy. ”
Orion strove mightily to keep from returning that comment with a sharp smack on his brother’s back, so much so that smoke began to trickle out his ears.
Azreal laughed in whimsical delight. “You look so cute Orion! Would you like work in our kitchen? You’d be a great stove!”
His angry front crumpled under his own humor and so instead the new Embermage decided to retreat with a parting shot. “I give up, how can one so young compete with two wise old Council members? Maybe inside I’ll meet a long lost sibling or someone to help me get you guys back.”
Azreal and Cerion laughed good naturedly, and Orion returned their smile. As they began their ascent up the stairs, the wind began to howl more fiercely.
“Say dear…” began Cerion, raising a hand to his hair. Orion began to laugh even as Azreal sighed. “No problems darling.” She muttered, rolling her eyes slightly, even as she smiled along with Orion.
With only a thought, Azreal began to weave a shield around them to block the gale. The barrier was almost complete when Orion’s head jerked up. “Do you hear that?”
Cerion glanced at his brother before returning his gaze to the pocket mirror that he carried. “Hear what?”
Suddenly something hit the top of Azreal’s Wind Bowl, and then with a pop, the entire structure dissolved, bringing in a fresh wave of cold air and a body that collapsed into the middle of the three of them.
“That, I guess,” Orion said.
Sunday, June 3, 2007
The charecter development thickens.
Talleth wandered down the row of shops, smiling broadly and whistling the tune that his father had taught him so many years ago. With his thumbs tucked into his belt and the happy mood he projected, many of the market’s patrons stopped to give him a smile or a wave. One store keeper, a big man with a cheerful grin, even went so far as to toss the tall youth an apple, one which was deftly caught.
“Thank you my good man!” he called, taking a big bite of the juicy red apple.
With an even broader smile, the young man continued down the market, no longer whistling, as he savoured the tasty apple. Things tasted sweeter when they were free.
Behind him a commotion began, resolving itself into the shape of several armed men running down the street. With a glance backward, Talleth stepped to the side, letting the City Patrol pass by, even casting a curious glance after them.
“What do you suppose the fuss is?” He asked a woman to his left.
“It has to be that bandit, Varako,” announced the rather rotund lady, nodding sharply. “He’s been robbing banks, stealing from the city’s treasury, and even had the nerve to steal the Prince’s gift for his sweet heart, the lovely Gabriella.
Talleth’s eyebrows rose slightly. “I heard that the Lady received the present.” He replied offhand, before taking another bite from the apple.
The woman nodded. “Aye, that she did, with a note saying that it was from a secret admirer, one who would always cherish and protect her.” The old lady’s voice crackled with derision. “The nerve of that villain!”
Talleth laughed good naturedly, “Right you are Ma’am, perhaps it’s time something was done yes?”
“High time indeed!”
With a tip of his cap, Talleth moved on down the street, following the flow of people who filled in the wake of the Patrol. With his roguish smile and confident manner, many of the young ladies rewarded him with coy glances and lowered eye lids. It helped that he was quite handsome too, with well groom mid length black hair and a striking green doublet.
The city’s Bell began to tool.
“Ahh,” sighed Talleth knowingly, stepping smoothly into a side street. “The Prince has come.”
Walking further down, the broad shouldered young man glanced around quickly to make sure he was along. Then without a word, he vanished.
***
Cerion stared hard at the mirror, trying to figure out what was wrong with the way his hair was arranged. Short spikes were out of the question, too much like his brother, yet that only left him with long hair that covered his face, something that his fiancé despised.
“You know, if you stay in her any longer Cer, you’ll start putting down roots.”
Not surprised by the intrusion, Cerion stepped to the side to put his beloved Azreal into view.
“Am I really that late?” he asked, sounding slightly plaintive.
“Not really, however I know how long you like to stare at your captivating beauty, so I thought I’d drop by. The bells will sound in a few minutes.
“Minutes!” Spluttered the hydromancer, fumbling desperately for oil to add to his already slick plumage.
“Relax dear, let me,” suggested Azreal as she began to work her wind weaving.
“I thought I told you that I didn’t like it when…”
“Hush dear,” said Azreal as she called a mask into the room from the wardrobe behind.
“Why do I have to wear a mask?” He whined
“Because it’s a masquerade dear.” Replied his beloved calmly. “What is it with your family, you guys love to complain.”
“Really?” How’s Orion? Still learning to control the fire?”
“I think he’s getting the hang of it. I haven’t had to suffocate him in about three days now, and he promised not to combust while we’re at the party.”
Cerion chuckled. “Party? It’s a coronation ceremony my darling! You know, the biggest social and political event this country has seen in almost a decade?”
Azreal laughed lightly, a rippling and extraordinarily pleasing sound that made Cerion’s heart beat a little faster.
“I’d hope so; I don’t do my hair like this everyday.”
For the first time since she had stepped into the room Cerion actually took notice of his soon to be wife. At that moment, he resolved to do so more often.
Azreal was beautiful, nay exquisite. Her gown was deep blue velvet that managed to shimmer in the light of the candles which surrounded them, yet it didn’t shine so brightly as to detract from the lady herself. The hem crumpled into the floor, yet even the crumples seemed like waves from which she was rising to display her remarkable beauty. Her long black hair was delicately piled in soft braids that seemed to intertwine with remarkable complexity and grace, and it ended in a cascade of brilliant curls which both reached long past her shoulders, yet hinted at the curve of her neck. Small diamonds and pearls were woven into her hair, and at her throat was a brilliant sapphire pendant, cut in the shape of a diamond, with a swirl of white gold as the setting.
“All done honey,” said Azreal as she broke the three minute long silence. “You can pick your jaw up on the way out.” Without another word, the Wind Weaver left, leaving the swishing of her gown behind her.
Cerion rubbed his chin ruefully as he strode out of his private bathroom. To himself he thought. ‘I am the LUCKIEST man on earth… and let no one forgot it!’
***
“Thank you my good man!” he called, taking a big bite of the juicy red apple.
With an even broader smile, the young man continued down the market, no longer whistling, as he savoured the tasty apple. Things tasted sweeter when they were free.
Behind him a commotion began, resolving itself into the shape of several armed men running down the street. With a glance backward, Talleth stepped to the side, letting the City Patrol pass by, even casting a curious glance after them.
“What do you suppose the fuss is?” He asked a woman to his left.
“It has to be that bandit, Varako,” announced the rather rotund lady, nodding sharply. “He’s been robbing banks, stealing from the city’s treasury, and even had the nerve to steal the Prince’s gift for his sweet heart, the lovely Gabriella.
Talleth’s eyebrows rose slightly. “I heard that the Lady received the present.” He replied offhand, before taking another bite from the apple.
The woman nodded. “Aye, that she did, with a note saying that it was from a secret admirer, one who would always cherish and protect her.” The old lady’s voice crackled with derision. “The nerve of that villain!”
Talleth laughed good naturedly, “Right you are Ma’am, perhaps it’s time something was done yes?”
“High time indeed!”
With a tip of his cap, Talleth moved on down the street, following the flow of people who filled in the wake of the Patrol. With his roguish smile and confident manner, many of the young ladies rewarded him with coy glances and lowered eye lids. It helped that he was quite handsome too, with well groom mid length black hair and a striking green doublet.
The city’s Bell began to tool.
“Ahh,” sighed Talleth knowingly, stepping smoothly into a side street. “The Prince has come.”
Walking further down, the broad shouldered young man glanced around quickly to make sure he was along. Then without a word, he vanished.
***
Cerion stared hard at the mirror, trying to figure out what was wrong with the way his hair was arranged. Short spikes were out of the question, too much like his brother, yet that only left him with long hair that covered his face, something that his fiancé despised.
“You know, if you stay in her any longer Cer, you’ll start putting down roots.”
Not surprised by the intrusion, Cerion stepped to the side to put his beloved Azreal into view.
“Am I really that late?” he asked, sounding slightly plaintive.
“Not really, however I know how long you like to stare at your captivating beauty, so I thought I’d drop by. The bells will sound in a few minutes.
“Minutes!” Spluttered the hydromancer, fumbling desperately for oil to add to his already slick plumage.
“Relax dear, let me,” suggested Azreal as she began to work her wind weaving.
“I thought I told you that I didn’t like it when…”
“Hush dear,” said Azreal as she called a mask into the room from the wardrobe behind.
“Why do I have to wear a mask?” He whined
“Because it’s a masquerade dear.” Replied his beloved calmly. “What is it with your family, you guys love to complain.”
“Really?” How’s Orion? Still learning to control the fire?”
“I think he’s getting the hang of it. I haven’t had to suffocate him in about three days now, and he promised not to combust while we’re at the party.”
Cerion chuckled. “Party? It’s a coronation ceremony my darling! You know, the biggest social and political event this country has seen in almost a decade?”
Azreal laughed lightly, a rippling and extraordinarily pleasing sound that made Cerion’s heart beat a little faster.
“I’d hope so; I don’t do my hair like this everyday.”
For the first time since she had stepped into the room Cerion actually took notice of his soon to be wife. At that moment, he resolved to do so more often.
Azreal was beautiful, nay exquisite. Her gown was deep blue velvet that managed to shimmer in the light of the candles which surrounded them, yet it didn’t shine so brightly as to detract from the lady herself. The hem crumpled into the floor, yet even the crumples seemed like waves from which she was rising to display her remarkable beauty. Her long black hair was delicately piled in soft braids that seemed to intertwine with remarkable complexity and grace, and it ended in a cascade of brilliant curls which both reached long past her shoulders, yet hinted at the curve of her neck. Small diamonds and pearls were woven into her hair, and at her throat was a brilliant sapphire pendant, cut in the shape of a diamond, with a swirl of white gold as the setting.
“All done honey,” said Azreal as she broke the three minute long silence. “You can pick your jaw up on the way out.” Without another word, the Wind Weaver left, leaving the swishing of her gown behind her.
Cerion rubbed his chin ruefully as he strode out of his private bathroom. To himself he thought. ‘I am the LUCKIEST man on earth… and let no one forgot it!’
***
Thursday, May 31, 2007
Finding that call
Before the torch he stood, eye closed, but ears clearly hearing the sounds made by the guttering flame. Shadows that he couldn’t see flickered along the wall beckoning silently to anyone who would notice. Ignoring the room around, dark but for the light of that one torch, the young man, tall and lean, braced sandaled feet on the ground.
He could feel the heat on his face, the swirl of the air caused by the convection current… but he couldn’t sense what he sought, where the targets stood.
With a disheartened sigh he let his shoulders sag, slowly opening his eyes to see the circle of wooden poles around him, each topped by small sheaves of grass.
“It’s no use, I can’t see them ‘rael, I don’t think it’s going to work.”
Stepping from the shadows outside the circle, the woman named Azrael pulled back her hood, revealing her loosely tied raven black hair which subtly reflected the light. A slight smile played around her lips as she addressed her whining charge.
“You’ve been saying that for days Orion, yet there isn’t any doubt, you’ve been tested and you will use your power. We’ll stay here all month if need be.”
Pausing to regard the young man who, at 17 years of age, could look over her head easily, she sighed. “Just remember what I taught you, feel the world around you…follow the air.”
Orion looked doubtful, but he shrugged once more with resignation and turned to face the torch again. Ever since he had started to feel the convection current flowing up off the fire, he had thought that something would happen. Yet that had been a week ago, and nothing had changed in the last 10 days.
“Remember, follow the air!” Azrael called as she stepped back into the shadows.
Once more Orion closed his eyes, feeling for the heat and the flow of the currents that moved around him. As the hot air rose above the torch, it pulled in cooler air from the sides to replace the vacuum. This created air flow through the wooden sticks.
As Orion followed the air flows upwards, he suddenly had a new idea. Instead of tracing the air up and waiting for it to come down, perhaps it would be quicker to follow it down and outward from that. Sure it would be harder, moving between air points instead of simply following one, but at least it would be less boring then waiting for air to cool.
Beads of sweat started to form on his back as he laboriously forced his mind back down the air flow, towards the source of heat. He could feel the air streaming from the sides, and even further… just beyond his mind’s eye… obstructions.
The momentary distraction caused by that sense of achievement was all it took. Without warning, his consciousness plunged into the flame.
“ARGH!” He screamed, his mind surrounded by heat… and fire that scorched his soul.
“Orion!” Gasped Azrael, leaping forward and beginning her Wind Weaving. Without thought, her tendrils of air locked around his limbs, as she prepared to pull him towards her.
Then she stopped… amazed and truly frightened.
Orion’s hair, black as the night sky, was slowly being changed, from the roots up. A bright blondish orange climbed the straight and spiky hair, reaching all the way to the tips.
The boy’s back had begun to arch back, and his arms were flung out to the side, fingers curled into fists.
“AHHHHRG!!!” Screamed Orion again, and with that sound, his hands unfurled, bursting into flames.
“What in the world…?” exclaimed Azrael as she watched helplessly. She knew that pulling Orion away from the torch could be dangerous, yet the boy seemed to be in a tremendous amount of pain.
As suddenly as it began, Orion suddenly went limp, and dropped to the floor, all fire gone from his body. Smoke streamed from his clothing, from his fists, still orange hair and back.
Azrael quickly moved in to check his vital signs. His pulse fluttered slightly, but it still beat strong enough to show he was in no danger of dying. His breathing was rapid but steady and there were no burns on his skin.
Standing straight, the Wind Weaver called once again on her art, and using threads of air, she carefully laid the boy on his back and lifted him up. It was close to effortless for the small woman, so easily did the flows come, but still she concentrated just like she taught her students, and slowly began to walk out of the room.
To the naked eye, Orion’s limp body floated behind her, no longer smoking, as she made her way to his bed chamber. Once she reached the spartan room, she laid him down, tucked him in and left. Sleep, she hoped, would revive him. Anything else, she was afraid to try.
The next morning Azrael rose with the Sun and went immediately to check on her pupil. Surprisingly he wasn’t in the room. Despair and anxiety coursed through her veins for a split second, before she heard the sounds of sandaled feet padding around the garden outside.
Walking outside into the morning sunlight, she took a moment for her eyes to adjust.
There stood Orion… dressed in his customary black Acolyte’s uniform. His bright orange hair, caught the sunlight… and it almost seemed like his head burned with a torch’s fire. The young man was staring hard into the small pool in which several fishes swam. It became clear, as Azrael approached, that he was looking at his reflection.
“Morning Orion.” She greeted him, stopping a few feet away.
“Am I dreaming Az… Ouch!” He declared, rubbing the place where Azrael has flicked his ear.
“Morning Azrael!” The teacher remonstrated, crossing her arms and glaring at her student. “Training in weather arts isn’t the only thing I’m meant to teach you know.”
“Sorry, morning Azrael,” Orion mumbled before quickly continuing on. “Have you seen this?? Look at my hair!! What happened?? Is this some sorta joke? I don’t remember passing out last night…”
Azrael looked thoughtful for a moment. “You had an accident during training. You caught on fire. I don’t know how.”
Orion’s answering looking was pure astonishment, touched with suspicion. “You’re serious right? This isn’t like the time you told me that the male Acolytes roomed with the female ones.”
Azrael was torn between laughing at that memory and the gravity of the situation. As a result, only a slight smile touched her face, “I’m serious Orion… I think you’ve become an Embermage instead of a Wind Weaver.”
Understanding slowly dawned on the young man, followed swiftly by an expression of awe. “There hasn’t been an Embermage in 200 years!” he declared.
“Correct,” nodded Azrael, smiling at the reaction her charge had plastered on his face. “and as such, there isn’t anyone who can teach you how to control your gift. As your teacher, I will try. However a lot of the work will be your own. I wonder if you’ll be up to it.”
Orion considered his teacher for a moment, then smiled. “My brother told me that life was very simple. We make choices and don’t look back.”
Azrael raised her eyebrow “That doesn’t really answer my question.”
Orion smiled, “that’s what I used to think… but it does in a way. Once you make a choice… it’s your job to follow it through. I’m ready to learn. After all, my brother is the greatest Hydromancer in this City, maybe I’ll be able to show him that I can do things too.”
Azrael smiled again, this time a secret and knowing smile. Sibling rivalry was one of the strongest motivations between brothers, or sisters for that matter. She would have to tell Cerion the news. Her fiancé would be proud of his younger brother, though he would never admit it.
“Alright, take the day off, and I’ll do some research. There are plenty of manuals at Aeris Keep, I’ll see what I can find. Until then, try not to burn things down, and don’t tell anyone ok?”
Orion grinned broadly, showing a startling but not uncommon resemblance to his older brother. “Sure thing ‘rael, you can count on me!”
Azrael sighed deeply. How many times had she heard that phrase… it always meant trouble.
He could feel the heat on his face, the swirl of the air caused by the convection current… but he couldn’t sense what he sought, where the targets stood.
With a disheartened sigh he let his shoulders sag, slowly opening his eyes to see the circle of wooden poles around him, each topped by small sheaves of grass.
“It’s no use, I can’t see them ‘rael, I don’t think it’s going to work.”
Stepping from the shadows outside the circle, the woman named Azrael pulled back her hood, revealing her loosely tied raven black hair which subtly reflected the light. A slight smile played around her lips as she addressed her whining charge.
“You’ve been saying that for days Orion, yet there isn’t any doubt, you’ve been tested and you will use your power. We’ll stay here all month if need be.”
Pausing to regard the young man who, at 17 years of age, could look over her head easily, she sighed. “Just remember what I taught you, feel the world around you…follow the air.”
Orion looked doubtful, but he shrugged once more with resignation and turned to face the torch again. Ever since he had started to feel the convection current flowing up off the fire, he had thought that something would happen. Yet that had been a week ago, and nothing had changed in the last 10 days.
“Remember, follow the air!” Azrael called as she stepped back into the shadows.
Once more Orion closed his eyes, feeling for the heat and the flow of the currents that moved around him. As the hot air rose above the torch, it pulled in cooler air from the sides to replace the vacuum. This created air flow through the wooden sticks.
As Orion followed the air flows upwards, he suddenly had a new idea. Instead of tracing the air up and waiting for it to come down, perhaps it would be quicker to follow it down and outward from that. Sure it would be harder, moving between air points instead of simply following one, but at least it would be less boring then waiting for air to cool.
Beads of sweat started to form on his back as he laboriously forced his mind back down the air flow, towards the source of heat. He could feel the air streaming from the sides, and even further… just beyond his mind’s eye… obstructions.
The momentary distraction caused by that sense of achievement was all it took. Without warning, his consciousness plunged into the flame.
“ARGH!” He screamed, his mind surrounded by heat… and fire that scorched his soul.
“Orion!” Gasped Azrael, leaping forward and beginning her Wind Weaving. Without thought, her tendrils of air locked around his limbs, as she prepared to pull him towards her.
Then she stopped… amazed and truly frightened.
Orion’s hair, black as the night sky, was slowly being changed, from the roots up. A bright blondish orange climbed the straight and spiky hair, reaching all the way to the tips.
The boy’s back had begun to arch back, and his arms were flung out to the side, fingers curled into fists.
“AHHHHRG!!!” Screamed Orion again, and with that sound, his hands unfurled, bursting into flames.
“What in the world…?” exclaimed Azrael as she watched helplessly. She knew that pulling Orion away from the torch could be dangerous, yet the boy seemed to be in a tremendous amount of pain.
As suddenly as it began, Orion suddenly went limp, and dropped to the floor, all fire gone from his body. Smoke streamed from his clothing, from his fists, still orange hair and back.
Azrael quickly moved in to check his vital signs. His pulse fluttered slightly, but it still beat strong enough to show he was in no danger of dying. His breathing was rapid but steady and there were no burns on his skin.
Standing straight, the Wind Weaver called once again on her art, and using threads of air, she carefully laid the boy on his back and lifted him up. It was close to effortless for the small woman, so easily did the flows come, but still she concentrated just like she taught her students, and slowly began to walk out of the room.
To the naked eye, Orion’s limp body floated behind her, no longer smoking, as she made her way to his bed chamber. Once she reached the spartan room, she laid him down, tucked him in and left. Sleep, she hoped, would revive him. Anything else, she was afraid to try.
The next morning Azrael rose with the Sun and went immediately to check on her pupil. Surprisingly he wasn’t in the room. Despair and anxiety coursed through her veins for a split second, before she heard the sounds of sandaled feet padding around the garden outside.
Walking outside into the morning sunlight, she took a moment for her eyes to adjust.
There stood Orion… dressed in his customary black Acolyte’s uniform. His bright orange hair, caught the sunlight… and it almost seemed like his head burned with a torch’s fire. The young man was staring hard into the small pool in which several fishes swam. It became clear, as Azrael approached, that he was looking at his reflection.
“Morning Orion.” She greeted him, stopping a few feet away.
“Am I dreaming Az… Ouch!” He declared, rubbing the place where Azrael has flicked his ear.
“Morning Azrael!” The teacher remonstrated, crossing her arms and glaring at her student. “Training in weather arts isn’t the only thing I’m meant to teach you know.”
“Sorry, morning Azrael,” Orion mumbled before quickly continuing on. “Have you seen this?? Look at my hair!! What happened?? Is this some sorta joke? I don’t remember passing out last night…”
Azrael looked thoughtful for a moment. “You had an accident during training. You caught on fire. I don’t know how.”
Orion’s answering looking was pure astonishment, touched with suspicion. “You’re serious right? This isn’t like the time you told me that the male Acolytes roomed with the female ones.”
Azrael was torn between laughing at that memory and the gravity of the situation. As a result, only a slight smile touched her face, “I’m serious Orion… I think you’ve become an Embermage instead of a Wind Weaver.”
Understanding slowly dawned on the young man, followed swiftly by an expression of awe. “There hasn’t been an Embermage in 200 years!” he declared.
“Correct,” nodded Azrael, smiling at the reaction her charge had plastered on his face. “and as such, there isn’t anyone who can teach you how to control your gift. As your teacher, I will try. However a lot of the work will be your own. I wonder if you’ll be up to it.”
Orion considered his teacher for a moment, then smiled. “My brother told me that life was very simple. We make choices and don’t look back.”
Azrael raised her eyebrow “That doesn’t really answer my question.”
Orion smiled, “that’s what I used to think… but it does in a way. Once you make a choice… it’s your job to follow it through. I’m ready to learn. After all, my brother is the greatest Hydromancer in this City, maybe I’ll be able to show him that I can do things too.”
Azrael smiled again, this time a secret and knowing smile. Sibling rivalry was one of the strongest motivations between brothers, or sisters for that matter. She would have to tell Cerion the news. Her fiancé would be proud of his younger brother, though he would never admit it.
“Alright, take the day off, and I’ll do some research. There are plenty of manuals at Aeris Keep, I’ll see what I can find. Until then, try not to burn things down, and don’t tell anyone ok?”
Orion grinned broadly, showing a startling but not uncommon resemblance to his older brother. “Sure thing ‘rael, you can count on me!”
Azrael sighed deeply. How many times had she heard that phrase… it always meant trouble.
Thursday, March 8, 2007
Choices
Griffin sat perfectly still, eyes shut tight, deep in his meditations. Beneath the shade of a massive oak tree the young man pondered the wonders of the universe, the beauty of nature. Cool wind blew through the leaves, causing the branches to rock every so faintly, lifting his spirits.
Suddenly a gunshot echoed within the park, causing the young man’s steely eyes to snap open even as he dived to the side. A bullet of bright silver burned through his spiky black hair, burying itself into the bark just above where his ear had been moments before. The smell of melting wax and burnt wood began to waft into the air.
Still moving from his dive, Griffin continued to roll, stopping only when he had found a large rock to hide behind. Back pressed hard against stone, a snarl touched his face as the former assassin reached for his pistol, realizing as he did so that he no longer carried a gun wherever he went.
His right hand then rose up to his left shoulder, fingers feeling and then grasping the moulded handle of his custom made Japanese throwing knife secured there under his short sleeved shirt. Drawing it smoothly from the sheath, he raised it slightly above the rock, angling the reflection to survey the direction from which the shot had originated. At the distance he sat, nothing appeared out of the ordinary, most likely because the nearest cover was almost 50 meters away.
Looking around, the young man took quick stock of his surroundings. The tree where he had previously sat stood on a small hill in the middle of a large green hill. Hiding as he was behind this rock, he was half way down the incline, with the woods directly before him. If he could just get amongst the trees, he had a good chance of escape. That or he could go for the long barrelled Beretta that was stashed in his Crumpler bag hanging from a branch in the tree.
Which do you choose:
A: RUN for the hills… ehh trees!
B: The best defence is a good offence!
Suddenly a gunshot echoed within the park, causing the young man’s steely eyes to snap open even as he dived to the side. A bullet of bright silver burned through his spiky black hair, burying itself into the bark just above where his ear had been moments before. The smell of melting wax and burnt wood began to waft into the air.
Still moving from his dive, Griffin continued to roll, stopping only when he had found a large rock to hide behind. Back pressed hard against stone, a snarl touched his face as the former assassin reached for his pistol, realizing as he did so that he no longer carried a gun wherever he went.
His right hand then rose up to his left shoulder, fingers feeling and then grasping the moulded handle of his custom made Japanese throwing knife secured there under his short sleeved shirt. Drawing it smoothly from the sheath, he raised it slightly above the rock, angling the reflection to survey the direction from which the shot had originated. At the distance he sat, nothing appeared out of the ordinary, most likely because the nearest cover was almost 50 meters away.
Looking around, the young man took quick stock of his surroundings. The tree where he had previously sat stood on a small hill in the middle of a large green hill. Hiding as he was behind this rock, he was half way down the incline, with the woods directly before him. If he could just get amongst the trees, he had a good chance of escape. That or he could go for the long barrelled Beretta that was stashed in his Crumpler bag hanging from a branch in the tree.
Which do you choose:
A: RUN for the hills… ehh trees!
B: The best defence is a good offence!
ATTACK!
‘The best way to survive any encounter is to keep your opponent off balance.’ Those were the words of Griffin’s mentor many years ago. ‘If you focus too much on yourself, you neglect one whole half of the fight.’
Griffin smiled briefly as he recalled the situation in which he had learnt those fateful words. With a kick flip, he stood up and sprinted towards the tree. Approaching quickly, he flung his knife from almost 10 meters away. It nipped through the strap holding up the Crumpler. Slowly the bag began to fall.
Leaping into the air, the agile youth pressed off the side of the tree springing up to catch the bag.
As he landed, Griffin curled into a roll and extricated the pistol within all within seconds. With huge tug, he ripped it from the holster within and levelled it at the direction from which he believed the shot had been fired.
It was then that he saw the assailant, dressed all in black; heave up an RPG on his shoulder about 40 meters away.
“Ahh crap.” He muttered realizing his immediate peril.
However a small part of his imagination kicked in and he sank to a crouch where he stood.
“That’s a rocket.” He reasoned. “Rockets explode.”
Even as the trigger for the RPG was pressed, Griffin began to fire.
The second shot hit the rocket. It made a very big explosion.
Griffin smiled briefly as he recalled the situation in which he had learnt those fateful words. With a kick flip, he stood up and sprinted towards the tree. Approaching quickly, he flung his knife from almost 10 meters away. It nipped through the strap holding up the Crumpler. Slowly the bag began to fall.
Leaping into the air, the agile youth pressed off the side of the tree springing up to catch the bag.
As he landed, Griffin curled into a roll and extricated the pistol within all within seconds. With huge tug, he ripped it from the holster within and levelled it at the direction from which he believed the shot had been fired.
It was then that he saw the assailant, dressed all in black; heave up an RPG on his shoulder about 40 meters away.
“Ahh crap.” He muttered realizing his immediate peril.
However a small part of his imagination kicked in and he sank to a crouch where he stood.
“That’s a rocket.” He reasoned. “Rockets explode.”
Even as the trigger for the RPG was pressed, Griffin began to fire.
The second shot hit the rocket. It made a very big explosion.
Running
Griffin cast around hurriedly for something to use as a distraction, yet the area around the rock was fairly barren. This presented a slight problem to the trapped young man. Faced with no other options, it seemed that he was going to take the risk. After all, the sniper had missed a stationary target once; hopefully he’d miss a moving one.
Squirming back into a somewhat crouched position, Griffin slid his weapon back into its sheath, and took off a sprint.
A fair few seconds passed and he didn’t hear any sounds. It seemed like a good sign.
Suddenly, there was a noise, though it sounded more like the whoosh of a speeding train then a bullet. Griffin didn’t look back though, he knew the secret to these things.
Without warning a massive explosion took place to his left, the shockwave expanding far faster then his puny running speed. A second later, all which remained of the coward was a charred crater.
Squirming back into a somewhat crouched position, Griffin slid his weapon back into its sheath, and took off a sprint.
A fair few seconds passed and he didn’t hear any sounds. It seemed like a good sign.
Suddenly, there was a noise, though it sounded more like the whoosh of a speeding train then a bullet. Griffin didn’t look back though, he knew the secret to these things.
Without warning a massive explosion took place to his left, the shockwave expanding far faster then his puny running speed. A second later, all which remained of the coward was a charred crater.
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