Groggy, Cal awoke to the sight of a rugged sun beaten face, a far cry from his fair servants. That life is behind me now reminded the mage as he returned to his slumber. Again the tormentor persisted, and for the second time in his life Cal’s sleep was interrupted prematurely. Once more the mage attempted to return to the sweet embrace of the abyss. Alas, it was not to be for he was roused once more. And with a scowl Cal turned to his tormentor, “Geh weg”.
“Wake up Sir Cal” replied the priest.
“Sei weg, let me sleep” said Cal, slowly sitting up.
“Sadly we are moving soon, camp had been broken an hour back” said Varius, rubbing his chin “Herius, how do you weave whilst unconscious…” the priest mumbled to himself.
Irritated, Cal forced himself off the thin padding. A warm sphere of water formed before the mage, bobbing mid-air in defiance of the natural laws. Cal removed his shirt “You may leave” he said dismissively, plunging his hands into the floating sphere.
“Very well” Varius placed the folded attire down, “If you could, meet me after breaking fast” said the priest before leaving. A warm gust rushed in as the tent flaps parted, only to submit to the unnatural chill shortly after.
Refreshed and donning his blues once more, Cal left the tent only to be met by a small girl in his path. Ignoring the trio of guards breaking up the tent Cal focused upon the platter within the petite girl’s hands. It was his first encounter with such a young human. He had read about his birth species, even seen various drawingss in the bestiaries, but the real thing was a unique curiosity. Cal’s hunger brought his attention back to the platter, a steaming bowl of stew accompanied by a slice of smoked meat and dried bread. Plain, but the weeks of eating roots are over at least thought the mage, nearly drooling.
“Food for you mister” offered the child.
Accepting the proposed meal a stump of earth rose from the ground, hardening into an uncomfortable sit. Eying the mug of water with apprehension Cal addressed the girl “Mayhap you have something more substantial to accompany the meal”, earning a confused look from the child. After an uncomfortable silence a familiar man walked towards the girl. Ruffling her unbound hair.
“Apologies Sir Cal” the man adjusted his weight with a cane. “Avidia’s Acleshen is still a bit rough around the edges” said the newcomer, earning a pout from his daughter. The act drew a warm smile from the man, “Sadly I can’t help with that, Father Peyton should have some nice white though” he finished.
Parent and child assisted the guards in loading the camping gear as Cal ate, the group slipping into Tristanese as they spared nary a thought to the mundane task.
Wisps of multi-coloured light danced around the girl, drawing delight as she would attempt to catch one of the ephemeral spheres. The simple act of weaving distracted the child as she guided Cal to the priest, her persistent chatter brought to an end. As they reached their destination, the mage dispelled the wisps. As the streaking spheres faded from existence the child deflated, shoulders sagging as she muttered something incomprehensible in her home tongue. Having no desire to deal with sulking thing, Cal picked up a tiny pebble. Altering the rock’s threads Cal transmuted the hunk of silicon and oxygen. The child stared curiously at Cal, the priest having joined in the gawking without the mage’s notice.
A blue pulse radiated from the pebble, growing in intensity before dimming. In turn a yellow glow pulsed, then green, then another, randomly alternating between various hues. Satisfied of his handiwork Cal handed the stone over, “Here, this is yours girl” he said. The child hugged Cal deeply before accepting the gift, and before she could resume here prattling “Go back to your parents now” Cal added. Clutching the shinning pebble the girl thanked Cal in high spirits before running back from whence she came.
“That was kind of you, I am sure Avidia will treasure the artefact” said Varius, returning the mage’s staff.
“Artefact? It’s just a glowing rock” replied Cal as he dusted off his hands.
Following Varius’ lead the mage took a place upon the coach bench, unpadded plank a soar reminder of the simple luxuries he had taken for granted. “Does your Lars forbid comfort?” asked Cal as he tried to find a comfortable position.
Holding unto the reins Varius kept the pair of draft horses in check as they followed the leading wagon. “Sir Cal, our martyr Herius Lars brought the good word of God to the world of men—”.
“Enough priest, let us not argue theistic philosophy” interrupted Cal, the discomfort of the ride waging a futile battle with lethargy.
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“Ah, the young ones. Always quick to dismiss the Lord’s guidance”. Cal shot the priest an annoyed glare, “I will desist, for now” said Varius with all but a smirk. Coercing the steeds back on track, “Sir Cal, if I may be so bold, from where do you hale. From your accent it is quite obvious that Aclesh is not your birth land” asked Varius.
“Richtig, I come from the Everlasting Spires” replied Cal, eyelids growing heavy with the swaying tempo “Zuhause”.
“Surely you jest Sir…” the priest held his tongue as soft snores broke his train of thought.
Soft taps rapt Cal’s forearm shedding the leaden veil of the void. As the blinding bloom diminished an all too familiar girl came into focus, once more holding a platter with a smile. A piercing pain raced along Cal’s spine, forcing the young man to his feet. In his haste to relieve the pain Cal nearly fell of the wagon, barely maintaining his balance in thanks to the girl’s assistance.
Regaining what little dignity left Cal shared a meal with the child, lunch apparently. As he ate the mage noticed that his mundane act of weaving had been made the centre piece of a neckless. Is this really that special? wondered the mage, subconsciously happy that the girl remained silent whilst eating. And as the pair finished the child said a short Prayer in Tristanese before leaving. It would seem that she understood the mage apathy, which made her presence all the more baffling to Cal.
His trusty staff in hand the young mage strolled leisurely, the wagon convoy preparing to depart once more. The weeks spent in wilderness had made Cal oddly attached to the wooden sceptre, long since transmuted beyond what nature intended. Water had been but a trifle to condense from the atmosphere. His life of comfort however, had left him ill equip to forage as near all vegetation was alien to the mage in their natural state. Even hunting proved futile for the pampered youth knew that meat came from living breathing animals only in theory. The one time Cal had dared to make a hare edible had ended poorly, and the mere recollection of that fateful day made the youth queasy.
A guard dispelled the reminiscence, “Are you feeling well Sir? You look a bit green” asked the Tristanese.
Cal’s iron grip on his staff loosened, the blood returning to his digits. “I’m fine” he replied, regaining his posture “Where’s the Larsian priest?” Cal added.
“Father Peyton is with the commander Sir” replied the guard. Leaning against his poleaxe the man scanned the treelines, satisfied he faced Cal “Shall I take you to them?”.
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Varius and the guard commander trailed the vanguard detachment, thirty yards from the lead wagon. The commander’s bandaged foot seemingly to have little effect on the man, his lack of armour implied the opposite though. “Shouldn’t you be resting?” asked the priest.
“It’s just a flesh wound” replied the man. Observing the questioning countenance of the priest, “Enough about that. Learnt anything about the mage” he quickly added.
Relenting, “Not much. He claims to be from the Everlasting Spires” Varius said.
“The land of dragons and giants”, the man traced a shallow razor cut on the smooth chin “He could have come up with a better story”.
“I must profess, it is a dubious tale. His accent though…” Various turned silent, clearly contemplating some deeper thoughts.
With a slight shove to the priest’s shoulder, “Hey, what of his accent?” asked Victor.
“Oh, sorry” Varius had a self-deprecating smile, “I was just thinking of how I could spread Lars’ teachings to an atheist” he finished. With the defeated look in Victor’s eyes, “Yes his accent. I’ve never heard the like in all my travels” the priest returned to the topic at hand “His mother tongue is equally baffling”.
“Still, no man lives in the Everlasting Spires” cursed the commander as his left foot trodded a loose stone. “Which brings us back full circle, where is he from and why is he hiding it” Victor insisted they keep walking.
“We should not be so quick to dismiss it out of hand, in my last pilgrimage through Aclesh I heard rumours of dragon worshippers” said the priest, “Unlikely as that may be”.
“A spy maybe” asked the commander.
Varius turned flabbergasted towards his friend, “Victor, this is not a military campaign” the priest rubbed the ridge of his nose “What would a spy want with silk and spices?”.
“Extrapolate data of Tristan private exports—“.
Varius interrupted the man “Enough of your paranoia, is it so hard to believe in the good intentions of man?”. Forestalling the commanders rebuke, Varius gestured to their back “His coming our way, might as well ask directly.
Seeing the mage’s approach accompanied by a guard, Victor appeared restless “You know God damn well that I’m not comfortable around mages”.
“Rubbish, the boy means no ill” said the priest.
“I have seen those hellions on the battlefield” the commander took a deep breath, “Both as friend and foe, I have seen what they capable of”.
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Streams of sunlight pierced the tin canopy. The wide, travel packed road tracing a ribbon of solace along the foreboding wilderness. Within the sweltering corridor Cal reduced the moisture of air close by, dispelling any discomfort the accursed forest all too eagerly compelled.
Having guided Cal to the priest and commander, the guard bade farewell and backtracked to the wagon train. Introducing himself to the commander Cal addressed Varius, “So priest, how far are we from civilisation?”
Victor answered in the priest’s stead, “We should reach a hamlet in two to three hours” the man’s speech was rather stifled “After that, one or two small settlements a day. In five days we should arrive at a town proper”.
“Eager to leave our company” asked the priest, shaking his head towards Victor.
“A soft bed and spiced wine or a rattling cart” Cal lamented “Real tough choice”.
The aged pair were silent for a span. Varius eventually said “I think you should temper your expectation Sir Cal”.
“Sir” addressed Victor, “Father Peyton informed me that you came from the Everlasting Spires”. There was a pause “But you look surprisingly Acleshen” said the commander.
“I was born in this country, apparently”. All this walking is getting tiring thought Cal. “Priest” a slight drizzle intruded, and Cal raised his hood in kind “I heard you had some decent wine”. The mage urged Varius back to the convoy, leaving the commander to his own device.