Chapter Three: Papers II
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The guard bowed, "Acolyte Elijah."
The blue coat billowed shimmering with enlaced mail, soft patterns of sigils decorated the fabric tearing one's sight from all else. Dark cut hair did little to obscure the Acolyte's gaze as he approached paying no favor, fixated upon the box. As if it was his, a yearning spoke in the silence Elijah's face churned parting attention to me.
My feet were distant, the ground tugged as wind whispered me to run. There was a fundamental difference between normal man and mage, a different breed. At the root of this world, source everything was in magelords' palm an undeniable truth sorceries that bound time, took countless lives and moved soil to mountains, skies were solely by those who understood principles of magic, coveted it. I was, much that like a lamb in front of a lion.
"Take this man into cust--'
Then the world reminded, told it's own to those who dared. The mage was only a man, the look of confusion telling enough; an arrow downward had pierced crown through chin Acolyte Elijah stumbled, frantically blinked before stopping in a fading gasp the life in his eyes ejected the man dropped in a slump.
...
The sound of blowhorn's tore the sky, a swarm of humanoid creatures blotted, swimming on gusts of wind. Savage and manic, harpies flew. Sharp quills, retracting talons and untamed cruelty of creativity dozens held long spears crafted from bone and repurposed metal. I ran, as a traveler next turned pincushion their guts pilling muck the road; one descended talon first ripping a man's arm from its socket. As if it were bread. The harpies' plumage like mane fluffed up as it watched me, continuing its finger and elbow feast. The sides of it's uncanny face twitched, roused by wafting blood.
Shadows came clear, harpies perched and descended screeching wildly, I nearly tripped. On either side the creatures lay, some pulling bone, fighting amongst for scraps of flesh. From a blur overhead a larger harpie drew its feathers ruffling in front of me as red strokes drippled from it's beak. Two sets of slim eyes analyzed back, still unmoving as if reassessing me. It hissed flying to the sideline, as did the rest just watch my form and exposed back. For reasons that eluded, fickle it may come and go I urged my legs to move.
Bell towers rung, Freywyn's walls stirred as a regiment of unseen guardsmen ran to battlements drawing long bow's archers in unison rained down obscuring the skyline. Some deflected, rearing their wings and shielded by the corpses they held fury laced talons dug into the stone and earth; others let guttural cries as steel tips pierced through. One discarded its prey swallowing a man's head whole before charging the wall using it's hardened feathers kin to a shield, arrows doing little to detour the harpie. It begun to take off, feast atop the wall, yet whatever ran through its head was no more thought, but javelin the projectile pinned it down the fury and life plucked in a crater of its own blood.
Like stakes from heaven, to cast down the wicked five more whipped past me striking flesh and earth with dying cries the air quaked with each impact, more ballista's were notched, a crew of strongmen cranked wheels back as another lifted the tree trunk sized projectile into its slot.
Out from the pack, elongated talons and an overcoat of manhide. A grungy white mask of animal bone from a lopsided three horned beast the harpie donned, aided by a curved staff. It's feathers were darker, its eyes cunning and each step more decisive than the next, freezing chills rushed invading me, the harpie chanted unintelligible the words it spoke unheard all to but the wind. Carrying will, the harpie staff trembled, a vortex erupted colliding, welcomed the barrage of javelin's spurring wood chunks in all directions.
Slices of wind lashed out, rebounding against Freywyn's walls as an invisible barrier protected it. The flock hissed, the magics the harpie held frivolous however cruel.
Freywyn's gate remained open just like any other day. A wave of pressure came over me as I passed the gate barrier, a guard in full plate waved me over with another, stopping mid run; the streets already dispersed, but even in crowds you'd see the imposing and ideal. A robed mage, an Adept. A ruling force for all men, the adept walked through the air like a boardwalk unfaltering at the immaterial. An unbridled focus, I found myself soon parting away, my mind and sight swept in the movement. The adept's form changed in a moments glance robes drifting, blurring shapes and unknown hues.
In a blink's time the adept had gone outside, deathly silence took hold strangling the harpies cries the sounds of ballista's and archers void as I too realized my breathing went shallow unable to utter, if to give notice- To garner the attention of such presence. Some felt fear, but something more stirred it wasn't everyday an adept mage came out. Unregistered magi, sorcerers and even witches, at the next town burning you'd see them. But not adept mages who represent the pinnacle of man and magic.
I bit back my tongue, edging excitement to rush toward the gate and witness. But I far well knew, to the eyes who've yet to awaken it would be useless. Prying the truth held in hand's, soul and mind was not a matter I could do, not least now. The guards seemed to forget as I scurried past, encroached onto the dark alley's of Freywyn the cobbled walls a comforting security...
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Sludge, wet it downed to crevice and pore. Lying crumpled trash and other forgotten waste made home here out of sight, out of mind. Between the gaps of stacked buildings you could see Freywyn's layers, the undercurrents of ruins that laid by dating the foundations of stonework. Nothing begets over time, the crumbling had it's light. Copper pipes and exhaust vents plumed, jutting out from recesses whichever one could, I stepped aside slipping past smog and fumes much as possible. Unlike young ferrymen, seemed a profession short lived as their youth. Poison air corroded in, out corrupting the mind lusting to be left with gasping breaths and asphyxiation in sleep. Elixir's were no cure all, nor could average man purchase arcane experience. Gold was frivolous to mages however vain they might be, witnessed far often in the drudge, lower classes.
My fingertips tingled, regaining sense of touch as I pulled back my hair slick with sweat. The floor flashed with splatters of blood, mind played tricks, something I reserved, my heart wouldn't stop pounding had the death's of men, I hardly knew bother me? It never did before, world was a cruel place as chaos reigned in four leave clovers I had little thought to spare off other's well being. Out of control- That, my life tied by strings marionetted the monster which chased me just a symptom. A realization of my fragility, I had no fear of it. Deprecating it hung over me, still my focus was clear if not I'd rather rot.
The Labyrinthine of Freywyn backside was refuge, men and man-folk saw somber solace in the dim undercurrents from intrusive eyes. The backstreets opened. A courtyard of mazes misshapen signs, rickety fencing and cracked boardwalk an opening to the depths dwelled underneath- Faint thudding could be heard scraping away nail at a time, pounding pickaxes and crackling of chains. The coffins lay neath the drudges' the end corner of all drunkard's debt and criminals tale. It had use, nothing more, dwelling here was only brief. Those who only lay stained edged by complacency, wallowing grime knew nothing but dirt under their hands.
Even now as I stood, the inner walls, the towering divide that separated Freywyn by class of men and ambition. At Freywyn's center a gigantic spire dwarfed surrounding landscape; peered into skies above, locals spoke rumored at the tops obscurity. Piercing the heavens, one of the seven magelords lofted atop it commanding this citadel of man. A mage tower of otherworldly design, foreign it represented the intangible idealization-- To who built, what alluded my ignorance if one could count it's rings dot it like a tree. Thick coil's ran slack from its body extending towards the surface intertwined within a beehive of dirigibles dotting the lower floors. Airships often docked within the moving walls, varying in size but function over form ran it's theme.
Bells from the western gate rung, driving me from contemplation thrice the harpies had been quelled. Lanterns and candle light lit up the alley path's as I chose, a beggar boy topped in a worn jacket watched left ahead his eyes lingering, a bit too long before dashing out of sight. The Spire's shadow settled here, the drudge had its own hours against the outer world. A two story ramshack's windows flew open as waste and excrement splashed onto the street, Vicky one toothed nan, seemed to always time my arrival split a curling smile as I dodged past.
"Watch it old hag!" A peddler man spoke, fork in hand wiping muck off his cart. Petty squabble was norm, a disinterest to me.
...
I approached Thallow's Den. One of the more reputable establishments here between cracks and unseen it still kept full pane windows and iron shutters, the entrance was half receded into the ground mirroring a fallout shelter. Four base floors and two stories above, the brick and metal enough to keep the rabble out. Grime and wastewater trailed with me down slick steps dribbling through, resting at the storm drain, soft buzzing of mini crystals shone, reflecting hues of green upon the door's side.
Despite it's frame the door moved with ease, I walked inside greeted by rickety floorboards and the lingering smell of liquor. A raven stirred, jet black it's eyes peered back behind the bar top forgetting its cracker feast. Grendel came moments later, a heavy set woman whose appearance kept one wondering how many limbs that tree had. "You look a sorry sort." Grendel spoke, knuckle deep in a mug; the bar was quiet, how many had ran to the fields outside, scrapping bones and feathers? Chills dared to run my back and leg, fatigue mused me, I sighed resting my satchel and the box on the countertop.
I passed a coin, sliding it across the counter "Something to help me sleep." Grendel strangely smirked, "A lass came to see you, y'know there's a extra fee for more than one in a room.' She quickly pocketed the coin, began pouring the a black liquid. "I don't-' The raven cawed pecking the black box curiously.. 'Lass. Catch a name?" Grendel picked up the bird stroking its back neck, "This stray veered from you before. Have you done something to my darling, Asriel?" Grendel's half assuming gaze lasted a moment. "No name, lass had dark hair reached waist level if that helps. Her hand conspicuously outstretched evident enough, I passed another coin finishing the vilest drink I've had the pleasure to taste.
An acquaintance? Answers eluded trying to picture whom the woman might be, parting from Grendel I took to the staircase upward. It had only been a few weeks since I lodged here awaiting the entrance trials, but I kept too myself, it smelled of trouble. No one goes out of their way without wanting something in return. Sunlight cast down from angled windows, it might be day yet last night felt an eon away. Soon I reached the second floor, faint scratches and razor claws poked out underneath of the nearest door. Tiny paws desperate to snatch my boots as I went past, to the fifth door on the left my room.
The bolt turned with a clank, darkened oak trimmed with iron each door looked more kin to prison blocks than rent out rooms. A hanging lantern flickered as the air shifted escaping into my room, before it fully opened I peaked the door's top trim, a piece of string still held. The tiny security snapped by the door's full swing, the room was vacant side the scurrying steps of rodents in the walls. Just a bed and two dressers a small room but my own, daylight cast inward from the room's sole window out looking streets below.
I closed the door, the day hit me as I slumped onto the bed. Sleep would due well.