Chapter Sixteen: But a Small Fire
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Crescent dunes, a shadow sprawled the desolate waste, piercing the sky an outstretched beacon ruins of a age cemented beneath sand and blood. A megalithic construct, a dying last breath of ancient knowledge by woven steel and lost magic. The essence of a people, knowledge those foreign lacking insight unable too grasp. A world wreathed in magic, to a sputtering wasteland barely to sustain itself, otherworldly invaders struggled to breathe.
Freywyn's Spire.
Ushered, the convergence planes of existence opened like a unstoppable tidal wave, etched themselves into this world. Wills of men and creature-alike, of power magnitudes far greater than history known, stripped the land taming trolls to dragons and the elements. Mountains moved, currents shifted and yet-- The world itself woke. Etherina's will, backwater may be subject all under a deeming ire. A unrelenting all-pervading force. A world's consciousness not sentient in the sense of a human life, but a force of nature all at once, cursing any it deems with unrelenting fatigue and dismissive favor. At worst rapid aging, or outright death.
Tred lightly, a step too brazen will find themselves choked by winds they deemed too control. A balance had to be met, actions that threatened the consciousness of Etherina are done with swift.
...
Eyes linger, all from edges of the unseen and abandon-- A boy. A hollow body and torn tunic no more than ten, a small boy whose appearance fit amongst the dredges of Freywyn's lost orphans. A single grain amongst the stack, but he saw and he knew worth of knowledge and the price it carries.
Bare feet smacked along the cobbled back alleys, the boy ran to point of exhaustion the months of smog and filth tearing lungs and skin. After rasping breaths, numerous streets down the boy stood before a metal door. A path he'd taken before, stalking the goings of a man, a doctor. The man had starved off skin rot, blindness for the surrounding orphans, supplied by their vigil.
The door was etched with a mass of snakes, flowing like a surging sea amongst land and hill. Viper fang, toxins to some and medicine by others, a brutalist decorum side the door. The building was more barrier than residence, smoothed featureless rock. The door had no handle only a dangling rope of bells by it's side. The boy stopped as he held the rope, a audible click and moving of gears the still snake etchings coiled almost becoming alive, slithered outward from the door as it opened. Hard footfalls of boot, the confines swayed as a figure emerged draped in a dark coat inlaid with reds. The man strode in silence a hand running along the edges of his brim hat.
"Doctor, a fire there has been a fire! The boy rasped, only earning a parting glance, till the boy continued "A fire on burrows clinic."
Tremors of uncertainty felled one's gait, it had been a nuisance more than worth, Morgan grimaced. Running down the winding streets, 'Of all times, was it retribution? May so, that lass was trouble incarnate.' The boy led his mouth fast as his legs could, darting and sputtering a young man had left alone starting the fire. Whose hair had streaks of white, battered in blood.
A man in tatters. A description lost, much to the dark and storm he had to see himself the state of it, had it all gone asunder?
A band of men waded through the black remains of a building, the fire having since creased. The leftovers of important goods tossed in a pile, soot and ember clogged the senses it was a lower trouble, a issue to settle amongst themselves a fire limited to just one building was no attention to any official or mage. Especially on an unmarked residence, by rapport of the more unsavory denizens of Freywyn.
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The fire had burned a lit underground far longer, quelled slower than the surface marking the ground bleak as one descended, the depths still trenched in a low smoke unable to find escape. Bounds of records and any goods not stored behind the vault were irrecoverable. Morgan already consoled himself, material things could be bought even if lost- The arcane and lives were a other matter. Two heads rubbed together coin faster than one, still parting no words to his men it was easy to count. Heads missing, other than in some brothel, there was no reason to not be here. A means to end, they were that to him but nevertheless a trust was earned. Much to no surprise when bones cracked beneath his boot.
Like trapped lemmings, bodies discarded all in one place, yet it was not fire that killed them. Crushed skulls, severed limb no flame did this but man. Pushing a door past its crumbling frame Morgan came too another chamber, a large charred body sat in shackled chains decapitated, deformed skull between their legs.
..
Lay, waste wading past grime, debris flame charred my boots feathered in soot. Not a quick nor pleasant feat- It gave rise to thought an anguish of the bastard who set it all a flame. Morgan itched his coat pocket, flicking back a small pipe 'All it served now was a coffin.' Asriel was either buried deeper, or the stranger of the night took him... The rat boy spoke of only one leaving, means of detection not visible to a child's eyes was easy. By the third account, grating voice of a rasping child scampering off Morgan stood in silence as his men chucked waste into piles.
No one took the time to set up displays of the dead, nor delved into arson without reason or a unhealthy amount of insanity-- It was a message, a personal one at that.
'It was a critical error' Morgan gripped the remains of a wooden railing, as it fell charred muck the bleak floor. And far too coincidental, she had sent a hound blondie was, too cunning for her own good. Too neck deep to realize the shit she was in, had she waited it would have been easy enough to dump the boy at her doorstep; she'd have her corpse, Morgan laughed. It was never an easy thing, the mind of a deranged woman.
She had sent a dog to fetch the boy, a mongrel whom scampered off with the relic, the claymore runes were of another class, nothing like the local artisans by sheer density alone. A thy must've seized it. Another bone to chew on, infuriating as it was Morgan's anger subsided to his own apathetic nature, the mistake was ultimately his of leaving it with the buffoon. It was a blunder, but no one made a mockery of Morgan and kept both their legs either. Stirring his grimace Morgan barked a few commands and issued the hunt to his men, they'll find her. And his due reward.
'Thee Fetishes will be the demise of you.'
A wordless exchange from behind, a small dog walked out from the unseen. A forced telepathic connection, Morgan showed little restraint at his disdain for such magic. To a man of security, prying back thoughts and secrets, just by recollection around such focused practitioners was common-place. A unfocused mind, dissecting one while they slept it was no doubt effective. Skin crawling Morgan spread out his awareness to no avail, half tempted to kill the dog; as it froze head cocked. Lingering no doubt on Morgans last thought.
But Morgan wouldn't have kept them around if they were useless mules.
'Always with the cloak, nestled between somewhere.' Morgan openly thought, the dog huffed 'Quite the little arsonist, another pleasure's quarrel?
'mind parasite-- No, soothsayer I in fact may require those services of particular. A man with streaks of white hair, is in possession of a interest to me, a runic artifact. An Asriel may be with him, deem at your discretion the methods snuff them out and be quick about it. A horse pulled carriage trotted past the scorched building, Morgan parted his way the mental connection fizzling at each step the range of magic dwindled. There was no more to be said, than what was already unspoken.
"To the lower markets!" Morgan bellowed to the coach driver, boarding the carriage, chances may that claymore could be already sold. Morgan caught the dog prance to an narrow alley, just as the carriage turned away.
'May dues be met Morgan'