POV: Meneurmut Ironhoof

Just like every other evening, Meneurmut Ironhoof found this one quite miserable. Instead of enjoying food and drink with his Taurus clan, he was out in the cold, running errands that could've been done during the day. In fact, it would have been smarter to do it then, as over half the businesses were already closed, and the ones still open had owners and employees itching to go home.

Yet here he was, trudging through the streets of Castiana, banished from the warmth of the fires they made him tend.

"Better than looking at your cowardly mug."

"You should be glad you can do something for the clan."

Meneurmut had heard those kinds of comments countless times. It hadn't always been like this, though. There was a time when he was just another young Taurus, one without an array. Array-less. Everything changed when he reached adulthood and chose his array. Magic had always fascinated him - what other clans could do with it, even the humans, was amazing. But not for the Taurus clans. Those were clans of stubborn warriors, warriors who had lost their pride when they were forced to leave the Terr'den Federation, trying to reclaim it in the depths of Fallen's Cry.

"Pride my hoof!" he cursed under his breath. 'It killed so many.'

Meneurmut had attempted to explain this to his clan time and time again, but ever since he became an Ember Mage, he had felt that he had lost all his honor and worth. In a way, he was like a cripple now. Hardly anyone from the clan wanted to associate with him.

"If only they'd give me a chance," he grumbled as he walked through the magic-lit streets of Castiana.

The clan’s escape here was a double-edged sword - a blessing and a curse. In the Terr'den Federation, he would have had to leave the Taurus clans, hoping to find acceptance among other Terr'den clans. Now, in the Sahal Empire, he had no choice but to lean on his clan for help. It felt even worse. On the flip side, the humans didn’t care that he was a Taurus mage; all they cared about was how skilled he was.

─◇────────────────────────────────────────

Name: Meneurmut Ironhoof

Race: Taurus

Gender: Male

Age: 34

1st Array: Ember Mage

Sigils: 48 - ○○○○○

─◇────────────────────────────────────────

Unfortunately, he wasn’t much of a mage. The Ironhoof clan never cared enough to help him improve; their support always went solely to the clan warriors. Because of this, his peers had long since formed their second array, while he was still struggling, stuck halfway to the second array.

"Ugh, it's so unfair." He sighed deeply, staring at the list from the clan, his eyes landing on the last item: beads from Kade's Baubles & Gems shop. To the unaware, it might have seemed odd for a clan of warriors to want that. To an outsider, it might seem strange for a clan of warriors to want something like that. Yet, for the Taurus, beads weren’t just women's trinkets; it was a tradition. They hung them on long threads in their doorways, a makeshift curtain instead of a door.

"No doubt they'll be closed - huh? Wh-What was that?" He nearly jumped out of his skin at the noise a couple of streets over. Sure, Tauruses might be all muscle and not exactly known for their sharp hearing, but he wasn't deaf enough to miss that. Sounded like a scuffle.

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'What's going on? A tavern brawl?'

Nights in Castiana usually got quieter as they wore on. Sure, there were spots that never really slept - places like Labyrinth Square or the Velvet Streets of the 1st District. But, for most folks, it was more about catching some sleep before the next day, or - as seemed to be the case here - hitting up the alehouses, raising their spirits a bit, and eventually throwing a punch or two.

'Maybe I could...?'

Being a Taurus, Meneurmut was no stranger to stuff like that. Even though he was a mage, not a warrior, the thought of a brawl alone got his blood boiling - that was just the way Tauruses were. So, instead of dragging himself over to Kade's Baubles & Gems for some beads, Meneurmut found himself chasing after the noise.

'Maybe I wouldn't have to stand by and watch this time.'

But as soon as he turned the corner of the street, the noise from the brawl just died out, leaving Castiana back in the quiet of the night - a stillness that felt off. His disappointment at losing the one bit of action in this dull night twisted into a sense of unease.

'T-This... something isn't right.'

Brawls never just stopped cold like that. Didn’t matter who came out on top - there was always bragging, always a few cheers from the crowd.

'Is someone in trouble? A mugging?'

That dead silence made more sense. Too much noise, and the city guards might show up - the same men and women he’d been busting his back to join for months. His heart kicked up a notch.

'Could be a chance to see them at work... or even a chance to prove myself.'

Remembering where the noise originated, he picked up his pace. Yet, with each step closer, his unease only grew.

'Will I be there in time? What if someone’s injured?' Like any other mage of his sigil count, Meneurmut didn't know any healing spells. That was the domain of healers.

'Hooves! What if... What if I'm not strong enough to... to help?' Doubt pierced his heart, making him stumble. He didn’t fall, but the loud clack of his hooves on the stone pavement grated on him. Living in the city had its drawbacks; Tauruses belonged on the plains.

'No! No, if I don't want to keep living like this, I have to...'

"Move it, cowhead!"

Just as he steeled himself, Meneurmut's hooves took him onto 3rd Main Street, connecting Labyrinth Square to the Esulmor Gate. Typically, the quietest of the main streets, now plunged into utter chaos.

"Didn't you hear?!" the man, a human, barked at him again, his sword slicing through the air too quickly for him to react. There was nowhere to duck and no spell he could cast in time to protect himself. All he could do was lament his rotten fate. After all, even in his last moments, instead of the memories of his wretched life flooding his mind, one thought stuck with him: no one in the clan would even notice he was gone.

Yet, to his surprise, no pain came. No death awaited him.

"Why the fuck are you just standing there?" an armored man snapped, stepping in beside Meneurmut. His sword met the enemy’s blow with a sharp clang. "Get the fuck out of here!"

But Meneurmut just blinked, his eyes widening in shock.

[Sword Master: ₪₪ sigils]

'That man is a Master Guard.' The words nearly slipped from his lips as he watched in disbelief the fight between the man in the Castiana City Guards’ armor and the one in black. But it wasn’t just those two going at it. The main street was filled with city guards - dozens, maybe a hundred of them alone. Meneurmut would even dare to say most if not all the Master Guards, plus the best regulars Captain Rayden had. And of course, you’d have to be blind not to spot Lieutenant Rhys; his stature could rival even the burliest of Tauruses.

[Warden Master: ₪₪₪ sigils]

As Meneurmut watched him forge ahead like a relentless behemoth, a flood of questions hit him.

'Who were the city guards up against? Who was brave enough to challenge them? And why did the seekers just hang back?' While he failed to find any clues about the identity of the black-clad individuals as the fight pushed closer to the Esulmor Gate, he sure as hoof noticed all those eyes. They were everywhere - lurking in the alleys, staring down from the rooftops of the nearby houses.