Human behavior. Like a book it could be studied. Like a puzzle it could be assembled. And like a puppet manipulated. For the study of literature, all you need is to understand the language spoken. To Keter, the Hawk’s words rang clear indeed.
“I’m am pleased by your visit, Elder Shaman of Hollow’s Maw.” Keter spoke with a regal air, closely watching all the twitches and jerks that crossed the man’s body. A strange thing, that people tell most of themselves through motion instead of voice.
The Shaman’s eyes lit up with an eager gleam. He licked his cracked lips and rose from the floor with a stutter. “Your pleasure honors me immensely, oh divine Master Maker.”
Keter gestured him to a chair opposite of him with a wave. The relieve was evident on the man’s face. Still, Keter could not wholly trust his limp; his weakness. It was his first rule of combat – always appear less competent than you are. This, unfortunately, went directly against the primal aspect of assuming an authorities position. In this, you should always appear in control.
Hawk set himself down with a suppressed groan while still gripping his ivory staff, polished to a glowing smoothness. Keter pulled his eyes away from what was perhaps the cleanest object in the whole of Hollow’s Maw, accept for perhaps the Hospit’s operation table and tools.
“As you might have already guessed, Elder, my limited vocabulary and injuries I had been inflicted with in my battle against the Winged Speaker have prevented from accepting your proposal to convers up until now.” Hawk smile, showing blackened and crooked teeth, lining his gums in an almost crisscross pattern. His dislike towards Silva had clearly driven him away from seeking medical aid. A foolish move; it proved this man had an immovable ego. Something Keter could easily exploit.
The Shaman fluffed up with happiness. “Please, Master Maker, do not worry yourself with inconveniencing me. Your mere presence is the greatest honor I can ever achieve!”
“Yes.” Keter said with casual brutality.
The ensuing silence was broken by a harsh wind blowing at the roof, raining down a spilling of dust from the creaking rafters. Keter knew he had to show he was in charge. Appearing weak or feeble may or may not be his own undoing. He’d rather play it safe, then.
“I have heard, Elder Shaman,” Keter started flatly, “that you are the only person in this village that can call upon the arcane. Does this ring true?” The man shifted in his chair, perking up slightly again.
“Yes, Master Maker. Although I have an acolyte under my guidance, I remain alone in the divine ability. That is, apart from you, of course.” He seemed keen on proving his use, just like Virrah. The man needed him, no doubt. And being indispensable was the best way to stay alive. Now it was only a question of figuring out what the Shaman needed him for.
“But you use magic differently, do you not?” There was hesitation in the Shaman’s posture. A nervous shuffle in his chair.
“Yes, Master Maker.” He answered carefully. “You can cast your mantra in silence; not relying on language or… Other means.” Keter’s nape tingled and shot a quick glance at the door’s frame. Saw the afternoon sun cast a faint shadow, standing there. He had to suppress a smile then. For all of Virrah’s knowing, she could not listen in for the life of her.
“What other means are those, then?” Keter asked while pulling his gaze from the curious little shadow. But, Hawk, too, knew he was being overheard.
“These matters are quite sensitive,” he said, his eyes flitted around the room, as if he could find someone hiding. Then, he hurriedly added, “Of course, I would be overjoyed to share my knowledge with you, Master Maker. It’s just that this knowing is not… for everyone.” Another glance over his shoulder, twitching uncertainly. Knowledge means power, and the Elder Shaman was easily the most powerful individual person in the village, meaning that any slip of info on his part would see a decrease in his authoritative position. Especially if this was leaked to his nemesis, the Owl.
“I understand your concerns, Elder Shaman.” Keter said, smiling thinly. “We can continue this conversation on another time. Perhaps, tomorrow morning in your tabernacle?”
The man sighed quietly in relief, some tension in his knotted muscles lessening. He bowed his head low, touching the table’s surface with a soft tap. “I am most grateful for your understanding, honored Master Maker. I will prepare myself and God’s abode for your gracious visit.”
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He straightened himself and Keter had to stifle a sudden laugh, building up in his gut and straining his cheeks. “Yes, Elder shaman.” He said, trying to keep his voice even. “I will see you then. Virrah will guide you out.”
The man bowed again, although less deep this time, rose from his chair with a grimaced groan and left the room. Keter heard Virrah gasp slightly upon seeing the Shaman, then clear her throat with some difficulty and lead the old man out through the front door.
While shuffling through the herb garden, Hawk attracted some odd looks and troubled gazes from the working girls; prompting muffled laughter from some. Virrah entered the room quietly, her white-blond hair swinging with her steps, and a mischievous grin on her face. She looked at the table, at the spot where Hawk’s forehead had touched, and the river-scar had left a bright red stain, effectively blotching the man’s pate a vibrant crimson.
--The Frontier City Of Solace--
Another turn and Rin was spinning inside her own billowing dress, crossing the dance floor round and around, her partner in ready pursuit, matching his footwork with hers. Not a day went by where a noble did not ask her hand in dance. Yet today she accepted, and for once not out of necessity.
“A whole section spell-burners?” She asked, her breathing quickening for the tempo Gourun send her in.
“Yes,” he breathed; sweat glistening his face as he caught her, “and a two platoons filled with eager foot soldiers to support them.” Gourun’s rank in the Frontal City’s nobility was not of any great value. Making it so he had some difficulty courting girls. Even Rin, who was of the lower nobility herself, was above his station.
“All going to the Northern dominances of Barathon with the Regidana family. Or, at least, their three sons.” This made him tend to do anything in order for the dance to last longer, and his chances of courting her to increase.
Around them, the gathering partook in their own chatter which in turn mingled with the music and the clatter of silverware from the dining tables. Loud enough to hurt her ears. The spilling faux-light bright enough to sting her eyes. The perfume pungent enough to prick her nose. Yet Guorun did not seem bothered. No one was but her.
“But why?” Rin asked as she was spun again, her white dress flowing playfully around her. Guorun grimaced, glancing sideways. Thinking.
“I’m not certain about this, but,” the reason why she took his offer… “I’ve heard it’s a combined effort to scout beyond the newly aquired cities after the Battle Of Right, as well as the Regidana’s desire in establishing themselves whithin this new territory. This all could improve their standing with both the church and the All-king.” The reason she took his offer was because she heard he had information. Things her father would undoubtedly wish to learn. And if he heard it from another before her…
“Is it not dangerous?” she asked innocently. “to explore the unknown?”
Guorun smiled as it was easy to answer this. “It is, my lady. The quest at hand is fraught with peril.” This could be important. Yes, shed ask him now.
“Do you think they will send…” Rin had to swallow before uttering the name. “Their Runeclad with this expedition?” She almost shuddered at the thought of those creatures. It took some effort from having it show on her face. Guaron, too, blanced as she spoke the name.
Behind the dancing crowd, the song quieted, trailing towards its end. Guorun was unhappy to see it so. “I don’t think so…” He stammered uncertainly, searching for something to keep the conversation from sputtering to a halt. “Losing that much military power is very dangerous, after all.” Yes. A single Runeclad could annihilate a company, a battalion, even an army for things such as limitations were unknown to them. Few things deserved as much fear as a Runeclad. Rin knew this well enough.
The song wisped to its end, and the dancers left the hall’s center to enjoy other noble frivolities. Guorun, too, had to let Rin go. Their hand separated, and he accidentally slipped off her ring. There was an immediate burn inside her skull, sundering all the way down her back. She almost cried out but was able to mask it with a strained gasp.
“Pardon me, my lady!” Guorun said, mistaking her pain for a woman’s distress at losing her precious jewelry. “Here let me…”
Rin quickly snatched her ring back the moment her vision cleared, putting it right back onto her finger. In that moment, the hurt was smothered, the previous biting cold all but gone, and only a soft, pleasant burning remained, tingling her finger.
“Sorry, Sir Guorun. It seems that it is time for my departure.” She tried to level her voice again, but it was hard. So very difficult to keep her legs from giving in before that warm glow had once again spread through her body and replace the cold.
“Yes,” Guorun muttered sadly, cursing his own error, “of course.”
Rin left the floor, everything always too bright, too loud, too smelly. Always. It was her curse. Or, at least, what her family cursed her for. She could not blame them, however. Because of this, her worth went down to her looks and status.
She fingered her ring, watching the force coil within the imbedded crystal, like blue smoke and lightning. Perhaps, if she had not been born, her family would fare higher. Perhaps, if her worth had been greater, she would not need to do what she does. But life is not perhaps, it simply is or isn’t.
She hurried to her servant, who would bring her home. One worth of her now was the information she could gather. She would need to tell her father of what she had learned quickly. Even if this meant her other worth would be put to use.