…..:::::|. Ladi Gru Has .|:::::…..
Gru Gate was indeed as large as she had imagined from over the ledge. Impossibly tall grey posts, two grey beams upon them and brightly coloured banners billowing longer than the beams stood. A primitive fear ran up her tailbone. Her ears reeled backward and she snarled at the looming thing.
“Just the Dread of the Loom, pup. You’re fine. I won’t let it get you.”
She ripped her gaze away from those posts to mitigate her instinctual reflexes and focused on the city beyond. It was only at that moment she’d realized how sweet his comfort sounded, this Siin. She squinted at him. He used to say those words to her on their runs through the woods when something humongous would pop out of its cave or hidey-hole.
As much as he wasn’t wolvkin he never made her feel wrong about it, like so many of the world’s cultures did. But he was a different thing. He was subkin. A kin of the sub-natured pixies. Zhuer. A deatheater. Their kind had been historically looked upon as the world’s worst denizens; no matter how old their race had become or how high a political standing they’d manage to claim. Somewhere in the quiet whispers of the world’s government halls, people still spoke in ill-will toward the ‘first race’. Halycind smiled warmly, inside her memory. His kind may have been the world's worst but he'd been her best; her best friend and protector. She looked out, then, to take in the view as The Ladi would have intended.
Further passed the great gate stretched a path of peach, grey, and white coloured cobbles, designed with flare and lined with winter flowers. This wide main road branched off into five others winding into the rest of the city. And it was a surprisingly large city already. She could tell these main roads must have stretch along the mountain plateau for hours. She saw one of those roads led to a thicket of grey trees far on the other side of town. Halycind made a note to visit those trees during her time here.
Valiant timber broke her attention of the woods. “Arrangements have been made for your inn-stay already, Cashtiels. Including some furs from Ashok... “
“The rooms are so nice, too.” The happy mess of braids clapped one palm on the back of her friend's hand as she leaned against her as well.
Halycind flicked the hand she landed on, accidentally, to shoo one of the many enchanted troll gallstones hanging in the air. It had startled her it was so close to her face. Why the planet had been littered with these Grui right at their eye level, she never knew.
“Yeah, they're all the way up here too.” The happy mess sagged. “You'd think they wouldn't be netted all the way up a mountainside but here they are...hanging in our faces.”
Halycind addressed the very manly one to question. “Do you really still use these things?” She growled as a few stones bobbed and moved from their path as they progressed.
“Only if immediately necessary.” He answered flatly. “We have many means of communication. The Grui are our least favourite option.”
“Oh,” she shied away from more questions. He seemed bent about it and she didn't want to incite the ire of the golden-haired man in cloaks cutting bright blue eyes at the hanging stones.
“Does the Villa still use them?” Halycind asked, stashed neatly upright into the meatiness of her childhood friend's side. Siin had indeed grown into something comfortable to nestle into.
“The Villa has been investigating ways to deaden the network.” He informed.
She’d forgotten already how incredibly handsome his voice sounded.
“They’re transmitting far too much information for Dureyr’s governments to monitor accurately anyway. So we’ve been commissioned to find a way to…un-write them--as it were." Siin continued.
"What's that take?" One of Kodlaa's nostrils pinched as her head tilted in question.
"We're not entirely certain. The mages and numberists have worked on the commission for a few cycles now. We've even resorted to calling upon Volliandre's scientists. But we've come upon nothing substantial, so we're looking into more minds. Possibly a White Era augur to read the intent of their make. A master machinist or smith to discern their designated system or function. ...Maybe even a necromancer to source what killed most of our Dureyrn trolls who left these things behind, anyway?"
"Ew, a necromancer." Kodlaa reeled.
"Yeah, that's the unlikely bit. Necromancy is the one thing the Villa doesn't deal in."
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"They shouldn't have involved Vollilandre." Percival flouted.
"To this, I agree, Percival. But that city is a marvel and Buraamira simply does not have some of the technology they house. You worry. There's a lot of magecraft yet to be discovered, we'll sort these things out." Siin smoothed and flicked one of the hanging gallstones as they passed.
"Sounds complicated, nonetheless." Halycind's blank eyes stared out at almost nothing. She half didn't even understand the words he spoke, much less any of their meanings.
"I'm a mage, I fancy complicated gestalts. We'll figure it out. For our own means of communication, however, we’ve been using Kawa Stones. Same as the Agency.”
“O-oh…” She stuttered. Siin was a dummy. A child with no schooling, uttering a nonsense mix of languages he had picked up from cycles of living as a vagabond and a vernacular comprised of thieves cant. But this Siin sounded learned and well-read. What had happened to him in the last ten cycles they’d been apart?
Halycind freed her now strengthening body from her living crutches and stretched a long stretch as she wiggled her shapely form into limberness. Something in her frisky nature embellished the stretch but then instantly reprimanded her own instincts again, as she was not actively looking to entice her childhood friend turned warmage.
The aBn made a hum. His playmate had filled out more than he’d thought she would, pleasantly so. Her walk was inviting and her posture, prim, as one of royal blood would be. He then took notice of the tools strapped neatly to her left hip and thigh. The rig looked familiar and a sourness hit his heart.
Her adopted father would never have let them out of his sight, if he were alive. He, then, knew his childhood friend had seen some bleak unpleasantness in their years apart. He’d opted to inquire about the old stainpull at a time other then now, so not to drudge up any unwanted pain.
Halycind, happy in her reunion, passed an eye to the happy one, wishing it had not been two cycles since they'd last met. She walked ahead of the group a few paces, ready now to take in the city.
“Why Ladi Gr-gru Hah? Haz?” She scoffed, “It's so hard on the tongue. What even does any of that mean?”
“Well, transliterated from Gaennish, it means 'Lady Guard Up'. Which makes absolutely no sense.” Answered the manly voice walking next to Veygornne. She remembered liking this man when she was younger. He’d often visit with Veygornne in the forest palace. It was one of the few reasons she even visited her own castle-home itself. It surely wasn’t because of her birth father. This man’s hair was strange, though—bright golden, like the sun—but she thought he had a warm looking face, even though it was paler than most she’d ever seen during her travels. “However, we translate it as meaning the Lady’s Guarded City; considering her military founders.”
“You mean we translate it as 'Lady’s Pants Down', amiright?” The messy one in colours nudged the plushy coverings of her superior with her elbow, the gleam of his knowing smile caught a chuckle in her throat.
He looked to her as if he were going to agree then tilted off that response for another. “I am engaged.”
“Your loss, boss.” Happy braids flapped about as she raised two haphazard arms in the air walking up to pair with her kinsman.
...
Halycind was staring off now at the city before her. Grey in its entirety but not as gloomy as she thought that colour might imply. In-fact the air of it seemed all too jovial. Vibrant.
She took immediate notice to the odd terraced structures all leaned into the angle of the great mountainside from its plateau.
Stacked treats at a birthing feast jumped to mind. Yummy, yummy stacked cakes.
Grey cookie houses stuck to a stone grey pyramid-shaped cake. All the buildings looked as if they had a grey swooping slatted—what looked to be—shield, built onto the sides of them; from foundation to shingle, circling straight up like a scoop. She wanted to dollop a round of creamed ice on the side of each and shove the whole bit into her mouth. Shields for the windstorms, she’d been informed prior to coming; there in order to course the gusts and blizzards the city was often prone to getting. In addition to those, all the buildings also sported elongated eaves buried deep into their stone foundations, staked into the ground as if to hold the homes and shops and city structures in solid place from any threat of being blown into the valley below.
Even in all this ashed wood and oddly crisscrossed scaffolding, Ladi Gru Has was a gorgeously ornate city. Amongst all the grey buildings, there sprouted a red or orange or striking lime structure dotting the cluster. She really wanted to eat them, strangely. Painted flowers decorated their eaves and strings of fresh flowers hung from beams over the porches of some of those loudly painted buildings. The trim on the windows and doors—of which there were many around the city—were all painted the colour of whipped cream, as if all The Ladi’s inhabitants had mutually agreed to paint their house's trim the same colour at some point in time.
Halycind instantly understood what fun this place must have been and snapped a hungry look to the happy mess of braids. “Goldcrests you say, Kodlaa? How 'bout mounded cream cookies?”
“All the cookies and cream you can feast.”
Both girls clapped softly to themselves and the three men made scrutinizing faces behind them.
The Guarded City was indeed shaping up to present itself as a hive of lively individuals slinging strings of flowers about the necks of entering visitors. They had all but ignored the biting cold as their fashion was all lined in fur, but unlike the mud browns, and dusty oranges, and dark greens Halycind was used to back home in Cashtiel Roams, these folk wore floral trimmed robes of bright oranges and screaming pinks and royal violets. Their calf length tawny red hair braided in intricate patterns. Their mapley-brown wrists and ears decked with gleaming silver and polished brass coloured jewelry. Halycind was unsure if all of Gaen a Nce wore such lavish attire or if it had been just a custom of the two places she'd visited thus far but she was slowly gaining an interest in the styling of this country.