Escaping the bustle their arrival had wrought, Cal had slipped away at the first opportunity. Roaming the streets haphazardly, the mage came upon a set of stairs unguarded. Grasping the golden prospect Cal all but ran up the steps, landing atop an unmanned section of the city ramparts. Happy to be away from the overabundance of humans the lone mage slumped along the crenelations. Back against a merlon Cal reached for the basket he had been lugging around, a tribute from Avidia. The human girl knows her place at least. Cal unravelled the contents, sweet fragrance of grilled boar bound by soft bread all too salivating. If only the other humans were similar thought the home sick mage.
His appetite satiated, Cal placed the staff atop his lap. Ignoring his mundane senses, Cal looked upon the threads of the staff, intertwined unto a weave of the objects very makeup. The mage willed his spin into the threads, and with but a thought the staff’s threads changed. Every, and all deviation from its base form drew more spin from the young mage. As the threads changed, the very nature of the staff transmuted in kind. The final act of magic completed the overlong pet project. A thin layer of exceedingly dense lignin wrapped around a rod of carbon, pure and perfectly homogeneous in structure.
Cal grinned at his handiwork, the carbon rod was exceedingly unnatural. As such the weave stood out from the world with perfect clarity. Once more the mage infused more spin into the staff, pliant to his will the dynamics of the homogeneous rod changed. With every subsequent changes to the weave consuming more spin.
The staff floated before Cal, ever so slowly rising. Reaching eye level, the once fallen branch took to the skies hurtling erratically akin to a bumble bee. Satisfied, the mage willed his staff before him. Standing upright half an inch from the very stone ground he sat upon. But mere moments after the staff held its subdued hover, a pair entered Cal’s periphery.
As one of the armed men reached for his sword, the other took the initiative “Sir Mage” holding his compatriot’s wrist firmly as to deny the drawing of steel. “The ramparts are prohibited grounds” he said, grip constricting ever tighter.
Without protest Cal stood up. And with the wicker basket in hand the mage walked past the pair compliantly, his staff following behind. Reaching the bottom of the stairs Cal heard shouting from atop the ramparts. So much for my reprieve lamented Cal as he made his way back to the town square.
Upon his return to the square Cal rejoiced at the sight before him. Most booths had already turned in for the day and the rest were in the process of doing so. Sensing the staff move slightly, Cal felt the familiar weave besides his creation. Turning around Cal observed as the Tristanese girl poked at the staff. Another weave, strikingly similar to the girl encroached upon his perception from the left. The newly arrived woman scolded the girl. Mother and child exchanging within their native tongue.
“I apologise for my daughter” said the woman.
“It’s of no consequence” replied Cal, what was her name again.
“How make you the thing float?” asked Avidia, oblivious to her predicament.
No sooner than she asked Avidia lifted gently of the ground, prompted by an invisible force. “Like that” said Cal. He observed the girl and mother as shock and awe struck them, the former turning to glee whilst the latter morphed to dread. Seeing fear grip the woman, Cal returned Avidia to her feet. “Nothing to worry about, it’s but a simple weave” said the youth.
“Again, Again!” the girl pulled at Cal’s sleeve, only to be dragged away by her ear.
Watching the pair stomp off Cal stood befuddled, basket in hand.
“Hahaha. Come now Sir Cal” said the amused man, rapping the walking cane on the cobbled ground.
Nell, no it was Ned quizzed the mage. “Are you done Ned, I wish to retire” asked Cal.
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“—and that my child is how our Lord and Saviour Herius Lars delivered us from the yoke of our inner sins” the priest finished.
“Guntr would win easily against your saviour” a smug Acleshen youth commented.
God give me strength pleaded Varius, “Valour of arms is of little consequence, Herius Lars spread the good word through strength of mind and spirit. For violence begets violence” he said before the small crowd.
“What of your holy wars then Larsian priest” asked an older woman.
“Ah, you have hit upon the very crux of an olden dilemma” Varius held his audience, “The world is oft cruel and unrelenting, and whilst Lars was pure of heart and soul from birth, death, rebirth and ascension. As we, the sinners strive to emulate his way, we have and will stumble. However, our fallings must never overshadow our faith—” articulating his impassioned mind.
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The day came to a close with the priest having brought not a singular soul to the path. Breathing a sigh, Varius watched as attendants lit lamps and candles with practiced hands. As dusk drew to a close the artificial light played across the statues of the heathen gods, inducing an ethereal veil upon the pantheon. Enraptured by the artistic foresight of the Acleshen Varius failed to notice as a priestess of Adia approached, handing him a mug of mild mead. “Thank you” said Varius as he accepted the brew.
“Do no misunderstand” the priestess scowled “We only entertain you per Lord Mats wishes” wrinkling her pristine countenance.
“Be that as it may, I am still thankful of the patronage of you and yours” replied Varius, This is going to be a long ten days thought the Larsian priest.
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Eve of their departure upon them, Cal followed the priest to a tavern. A melancholy tune welcomed the duo, minstrel bringing the drama to a close. Tragic ballad ended, the entertainer picked up a merrier tone. An epic of Guntr, of a young god of war fateful meeting with the goddess of fertility.
“To Sir Cal!” the guard commander stood as he saw Varius and the mage, “Praise the Lord for delivering him in our time of need” said Victor aloud with mug upraised.
“To Sir Cal!” echoed the room. Scores of Tristanese guards cheering in unison within the packed hall, sole patrons upon this night.
Escorted to the table of honour, the young mage found a mug of ale in hand before he realised. All his dismissals had been blatantly ignored and now Cal found himself in the rowdy establishment. Coming to terms with his quandary the mage steeled himself for the evening before him, downing the ale in a single draught. As the surrounding men cheered on, Cal repeated the act, slamming the second mug upon the table with his final gulp.
“Some moderation now” said Varius.
“Nonsense” the serving girl chimed in, “Let the lad drink” she placed a fresh mug before Cal with a sultry wink.
“How’s an old goat like me supposed to get any attention in such esteem company” said the commander with a toothy grin, making a faux attempt to grab the passing wench whom dashed away dramatically to entertain him.
Shock evident “Victor, some class wouldn’t kill you every now and again” said the priest, “By Lars, I had hoped that age would bring wisdom” nursing his own drink.
“What’s with the gloom, priestess chewed your ears of again?” asked Victor, earning a groan from the Larsian priest. “And let me guess, not a single convert. Right?” a grin plastered on the tanned face.
“You try to teach the good word day after day to these warmongers” said Varius.
“If you would stop arguing with his holiness, maybe you wouldn’t be stuck as a simple priest” said Victor, locking eyes with Varius “And maybe they’ll stop sending you to these god forsaken lands”.
“Enough, let us not ruin the night”, Varius patted the guard commander on the shoulder. “So, still intent on staying, or have you had a change of heart?” the priest turned to Cal across the table.
“For the umpteen time, I’ll take civilised life over the road any day of the week” said Cal. The flame from the scented candle chased his index finger as he twirled the digit absentmindedly in a figure eight, fiery serpent eager to claim its prize. “Why are going to the border anyways?” the blazing serpent sprouted wings.
“We’re going to the fort at the border” said Varius, hailing for another serving “Pretty sure I mentioned it before”.
The flaming snake flew back to the candle, “Did you. Why though?” coiling around the top.
“We have shipments of high grade mage reinforced arms and armour, not much, but apparently worth enough to warrant the journey” replied Victor.
As the night grew old the Larsian guards sang alongside the minstrel. Their chaotic cacophony little worse than the inebriated musician. The host entered the chorus, and as the falsetto receded to a low Cal climbed the table. Standing with his hands raised the mage bellowed, “—and he raised his trusty aaaaaxe!” blue lights coalesced in the raised arm forming a battle axe. As the ephemeral weapon approached completion a ripple ran across its length before the axe burst onto a blinding sun. Knocked off is feet, Cal was sent crashing to the floor.
“Enough magic out of you” said Victor, rubbing his eyes.
After a moment of silence Cal brought his upturned mug to his face, still lying upon his back “Another!” he lifted the vessel. The entire room broke into laughter, merry making resuming in short order.
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Varius awoke to a splitting headache, hangover striking in earnest. With tenacious effort the priest pushed from the moist, clammy table. His fellow countrymen strewn across furniture and floor alike. The early rays of dawn was his only relief, for at the very least he was spare the sun’s brilliant glare as of yet.
Finding his feet, Varius scanned the room. The mage was nowhere in sight, and the only other soul awake was the minstrel. Slowly, Varius made his way to the musician, asking the man for Cal. Thanking the musician he crossed into the living quarters.
Varius stood before the bedroom door. Tentatively the priest knocked, and after a moment with no response he pushed the door open. The unbarred obstruction moved on oiled hinges, revealing the young mage sound asleep. A young lass at either side. At the sight Varius silently closed the door, Young people nowadays he prayed internally.
Upon his return to the mess, the guards had begun to stir. Drunks aided the drunker out the building. Seeing as none of the men were willing to wake their commander, Varius gave his friend a good kick to the shin.
“Oh, it’s you” said Victor, a perfect line of spittle running across his chin and neck.
“Get a move on, we depart today in case you forgot”, every word stabbed at Varius’ head.
“Where’s the mage” asked Victor, “Has he left already” looking about the hall.
“I will send someone for him later” replied the priest.
“Okay…” the commander undid the knots along his spine and neck, “Oh!, rat bastard got his prick wet”.
Two hours after his departure from the tavern, Varius was at outside the town gates. The traders set for departure, their wagons loaded and lined. Their supposedly disciplined guard detail faired much worst by contrast, not that he was one to judge in his state.
Avidia broke her teary farewell from the mage, finally releasing Cal from the eternal hug. The girl had grown attached to the mysterious youth over the last two odd weeks.
“Be well, and may God light your way” Varius clasped hands with Cal, “Lars willing, we shall cross path again one day”.