“Will you aid me out with these my Sparkling brother?” Themmtryd asked when she noticed Isocrates nearing her. Without uttering a word, Isocrates nodded then leaned down to the height of the stout dwarf with a peculiar epidermis, a fusion of flesh, skin and the very soft and dark earth beneath their soles whilst her vivacious reddish hair flowed in curling waves even as most were bound into a high tail. His palm touched the metallic surface of the crate housing the necessary part of a tent in a space expanded beyond the natural breadth of the cubicle pushing onto the shoulders and head of the hogstol dwarf of near pure blood.
“Thanks, but I meant bringing those two or at least one.” She said while turning out and pointing at the stack that minutes before reached the textile ceiling of the tent erected by their superiors including the Draennith Praetoriir. “Sure thing.” Isocrates turned, then focused his mind onto the top two as he forced them into the air and ordered them to follow him as they headed for the shimmering aperture branching open, though before the two could have exited the place, a tall figure darkened by the soft, internal shadows creeping outwards the two faltered.
“Told you to save your strength Aeson.” The familiar resonant, high voice of Ephaias came and Isocrates felt a bit awkward as the aevhe reminded him that this challenge shall not just entail combat which they were experienced in, but in reality, entails how they can manage their supplies like mana and healing elixirs, their food rations. “It’s not that demanding of a spell you know that?” In the end he chose to retort. “And his other option is to exhaust his thin muscles.” Themmtryd leapt in with half a cheeky smile.
“I know, but at least two could have waited for us?” Ephaias said whilst he stroked his narrow temple above his prominent, slim eyebrows. “I mean I was planning, but then this one got sentimental missing his lady and went sightseeing.” At Themmtryd words his cheeks reddened as he felt awkward, though before he could retort Ephaias gestured him to stop before he the same event unfolded when their little group making rounds on the streets ran into Luelia. An event of Themmryd proving that her fist was as sturdy as the earth beneath them when it shattered the ward erected by Isocrates in the heat of the moment as he noticed its approaching in the left corner of his vision. He still felt the aching whenever the memory floated into his mind, even though it went down years ago.
And even now he recoiled a bit when he glanced down at the dwarf staring with a cheeky gloat at him. “Hover that one to me. Let’s go Skopas is waiting for the ingredients.” Isocrates turned away from the dwarf and commanded the hovering crate, relinquishing the inscriptions keeping it in the air to Ephaias’s will before the left the soothing temperate confines of the large tent guarded by two hastariir who smiled under their helmet as they listened to the three.
“The joys of youth.” Said the aurhe whose gilded breastplate followed the curvature of her shapely bosom. The other, a truscian man sympathizing with Isocrates nodded silently as his he rooted internally for the young man to bolster his strength and speak out his feelings to the one, he held dear – something he himself was incapable of even as the one dearest to his heart stood beside him guarding the same tent whilst he stared at the back of the three auxiliariir turning towards their yet to be raised tent.
**
“There is nothing more refreshing than frosted aurinthian wine and this!” Albron gestured towards the calm waters, his massive back bereft of his dark plated armor pushed against the robust trunk of the willow with golden foliage shimmering in the multifarious light of the Illius while sipping the sweetened wine from the continent’s heart.
“Personally, I much prefer the mead and beer of the Hogstol clan. The foam is so silky it practically strokes your throat flowing down.” Hektrahd said as he took the uncorked bottle crafted with a deep jade, dimly glassy hull of metal laced with chilling inscriptions keeping it refreshing in the warm season. Though his face still contorted as the saccharine beverage enveloped his tongue; braced against his tasting buds then flowed down in the steep precipice down his throat. He still preferred the bitterness of the hogstol’s beverages whilst his gaze swept across the picturesque vista of dawn warm shaded water and forest in the far distance, not growing stale even after five hundred years – give or take a few decades.
The two old friends remained in silence, listening to the soothing lullaby of distant birds soaring in the thickness of foliage or above in the skies, the moaning of the gentle wind breezing through their dark manes, disturbing the peace of trees and the water in tandem with the occasionally leaping fish and the few fisherman heaving their webs to catch the unsuspecting denizens while standing, balancing on their long and slenderly oval vessels of sturdy wood.
Albron turned his head slightly, staring into the scorching sphere far above and in the center of the world, integrating the many shades of red and green, even some rosy into its amber and golden yellows and strained his eyes, pouring mana into them as aethereal veins popped into the whites surrounding the dark slits resting in the center. He watched and waited as the shades grew dimmer, trying to not focus on the words of Mirayroth telling about their agent within the Legion. The one proving himself worthy of elevation, the one whose true name he almost uttered out one night of long and heavy drinking where he vented out his overt issues and the one who was clearly infatuated with his little sister which awakened within him an anger, he knew not a thing about before.
“I believe it is time to check on them.” Hektrahd’s resonant voice faltered his mind from reaching the same darkness that propelled him to twist the young man’s neck three or maybe four years ago when Mirayroth explained the history of the two to which he was oblivious to for a decade the least. “Aye.” Still his gaze remained on the soothing vista whilst his ears twinged from the sounds of the patrolling praetoriir of his. And the auxiliariir walking, talking as they reached the finish line of the first minor task of raising their own tents.
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Walking in the wide space of greenery covered road brushing against the shins of their plated greaves, Albron’s eyes raced over the short tents of thick textile walls of crimson with trims embroidered in golden patterns mimicking the finely contoured scales of the Heavenly Host. On the steep roofs frills flailed in the wind, while the entrances clung onto each other before they were disturbed by the auxiliariir and hastatiir stepping forth halting in a straightened posture with their fists beaten against their chest upon noticing the two superior officers.
Their small number were made up of men and women of the proud central tribes of truscianii and grecianii, the overly proud aevhei and aurhei populating the heart and far-south of Elhyrissian and the stout and diligent dwarves of the Hogstol and Phaegoorn clan respectively from the mountains of the same areas on the pan-continent. A congregation of the proud, triumphant races who birthed the Empire before Albron’s time, but way into his adored uncle’s.
All draped in crimson of a refined velvet textile. A velvet which glistened in the Illius’s glow with the sheen of coagulated molten glass and knitted with the perfected symmetrical angularity of aevhen style including the collar spiraling around their neck, bifurcating at its center. The trims themselves ornated with golden seam of the same textile, resulting in an almost regal, disciplined look.
“Not again.” Hektrahd sigh brought his attention to the tent at the far corner close in the shadow of the forest where Isocrates, source of some of his personal woes laid on the ground stroking his chin while Themmtryd stood over him with her fist possessing a firmer earthen texture. “Told you to hold your words.” Skopas said with a wide smirk. A dashing truscian well into his thirties, only a few years the elder of Isocrates with a matching dark hair brushing against his nape and shoulders and proper thick beard adorned with brass beads engraved with arkhaine runes.
Noticing the two approaching superiors though, he assumed a more affable attitude towards his comrade beneath in standing, reaching his arm whilst Ephaias calmed temperamental Themmryd who like many of her kin are prone to using their fists even for the smallest of things. “What happened here?” Though this fiery attitude of her quickly vanished when Hektrahd firm voice echoed through the camp and the two suspects assumed a meeker stance.
“Just the usual teasing getting out of hand!” Ephaias answered before the two and whilst Hekthrahd stroked his forehead as he felt the approaching of headache, Albron tensed his facial muscles from springing his lips into a wide smile and assume the same stern expression on his friends’ face.
The usual which entailed Themmryd teasing Isocrates until he could no longer hold the dam from breaking. A weakness of his own incapability of self appraisal from the own appraisal of Albron which includes not just his inability to harden his resolve in the face of a little ball breaking, but his recognition of love bordering on obsession which when he is faced with by others, he responds with foolishness to.
“I’d like if the two of you could refrain from doing so, especially as both of you know of each other’s limits by now surely.” He stopped for a moment, calming his scorching senses. Then turned at Ephaias and Skopas, who went back preparing the meal. “And you two from now on I expect you to keep the discipline of the team, and stop the kettle from boiling over from now on. Though at least the tent is in proper shape.” The two sprung into a saluting stance as they answered and apologized for their shortcomings firmly. At least one of them for the latter.
“Well a little bit of pain never hurts. Especially for those vying to be a veneficiar.” Albron stepped in when he sensed Hektrahd said what he wanted to say. The two before him seemed to forgot their mild griefs as his shadow enveloped them. Themmryd simply because her dream was to join the Draennith Praetoriir, Isocrates because he felt the same respect for Albron after witnessing him arrive with Augermil during the battle, and witnessing how easily he mowed down cultists in the intervening years since his benefactor left to retrieve the Chosen of the Almodo – he heard from Naghig after much nagging as he grew worried at his first elevation.
“I’d agree if it would not resolve in the loss of cohesion.” Hektrahd retorted as he longed for the headache soothing – illusory – effect of more alcohol. “True cohesion… no unity births itself in the face of dire adversity. Which I’m sure they shall experience in the coming days ahead.”
Isocrates raised his brow and while he wanted to hold back the words, he could not stifle the way he was, is and shall be. “If that is true, wouldn’t we be more… less prone to this?”
Albron chuckled a little as he stroked his beard. “It is true the capital is dangerous these days. But only for the common folk, for us including all of you it is a playground where you can experience what it feels like extinguishing the life of another. But here, in the Wilds there are things more dangerous than most of the cultists whose knowledge, proficiency in maghia never passed beyond simple spells like conjuring water lacking the properties to even smother you to death. And their martial proficiency… well you all stand here triumphing over at least a hundred of them.” Though seeing their confused expression, Albron stopped then pondered his next words.
“What he means is that all you experienced so far, what you believe is the fear of death, of the end was all deceptive. But here, you shall face threats born into a world ruled by the law of Wilds, the law of be killed or kill from the very first moment since the light of the Illius or Lunarius shone on them.” Hektrahd came to his aid with firm words and at that the four seemed to understand, or at least Isocrates faked after facing off against Hunra and later against the warlock.
Though these words still proved enough for him and Themmryd to apologize before the two. Which blossomed a mild regret in Albron as they walked away to continue their investigation. As the day went on, and dusk approached Albron’s mind still laced with anger, disgust wandered to places, formed thoughts and he came to the conclusion of sharing the information with the group, even if it shall result in their demises…