As the torch lights dimmed, I could feel the mood shift. I leaned against the wall, slipping the lock of a nearby window for some fresh air. The cool late-night breeze brushed against my sweaty face, massaging my thoughts into a pool of icy seriousness. I tipped my cap forward, the tinted light setting a forsaken over-cast upon my face, sharpening the features around my pointy chin. I smiled as the horde of people settled into the remaining dance, each overly dressed man taking the hand of their own overly dressed woman.
“Alone for the night, my lady?”
I looked over, confused. “Excuse me, usher, might you tell me you're age?”
“Same as you, ma’am.” The usher answered, ignoring my height joke.
“That’s strange, you look to be about the age of-”
“Seventeen, ma’am, same as you.” The usher interrupted me.
My eye started to twitch, and I stumbled up from the wall, leaving the window cracked. “Am I really that obvious?”
The usher grinned. “No ma’am, old for your age, as always.”
“Hah, and still a foot short for your own, I see.”
I moved in front of the usher, and gripped both his shoulders, smiling ear to ear. He was wearing a silk-black over coat, white hole-gloves, brown logging pants, and a makeshift rain cap. It’s been three years, and he’s still the same short little random kid from before. My smile swayed back into a downwards curve as I noticed a large pale scar going from ear to cheek on the sweet, well mannered blonde boy from my past.
“Oooh?” I mused, looking into his eyes.
He flinched, and moved back into the wall. “K-Kide..?”
I stepped back and laughed, pointing at his scar. “So, you were nabbed?”
“Nabbed?” His brow arched into a ‘V’ shape, his blue eyes gleaming. “Of course not.”
“So..?” I pressed, “Please do explain.”
“Well, I happened upon a cat fight a year ago, and I put my nose where it did not belong…”
“Cat fight, huh? Sounds real dangerous.”
“Oh… She was…” He whispered, grinning.
“You wish.” I laughed, slipping a pair of gloves from my coat pocket. “You going to tell me what really happened?”
“When we have time.” He replied.
“You busy too?”
“Very.” He answered.
“I see…” I said, my disappoint evident on my face. “Guess we’ll have to talk later.”
“Later” He agreed.
Sliding the gloves over my hands, I moved forward from the window, passing by a large white-marble pillar. I looked back at the usher, and nodded my head. He smiled at me, his eyes filling with sadness. I blinked once, and the boy was gone, the window where we stood now wide open. I turned to face the crowd, forcing myself to forget the short reunion with my old friend.
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Later my ass.
As the puffy bright crowd became increasingly fast, the music began to rise into a loud, thumping rhythm, warming up my chilled mood. I walked forward, with a sliver of grace in my step, removing my tattered dockcap, my short brown hair falling to my neck, my bangs draping over my eyes. I tilted my head, forcing my hair out of my linesight, and made my way through the crowd of over-jubilant dancers. I reached the middle of the ballroom floor, and looked around. The smell of riverwine tickled my nose, sending a blur of red and white through my vision. The dancer's began their way to chairs, turning for the podium near the front of the hall. I moved with the crowd, settling back into a dark hallway with a view of the room.
Riverwine? That’s hard to come by…
Choirboys hurried to damp the torches, leaving the ballroom and its guest in complete darkness. Clanks and whispers accompanied a sudden bang at the front of the room, and seconds later, the ballroom torches flared a bright shady green. The guest clapped enthusiastically, cheering and chanting. Then, from the illuminative shadows, a man appeared at the podium. A suit of guards, armed with top-of-the-line pike and blade followed the man out, and lined themselves up along the front of the podium, and at every exit in the room.
The guards were expensive, I could tell, for each of them wore the garb of a ranking officer; triple finned helm, four-piece chest armor, shoulder plates, and a long blue cape. One of the guards turned to consult the man standing at the podium, his cape fluttering out behind him. On the back of his cape, a emblem depicting a broken sword, melted by golden flame from the dragons of lore, intertwined with silver forest, charred and burnt on the edges...
Fre’iia Guards, all the way in Solr?
This is dangerous… each of these men have slain at least one creature of lore, earning themselves the right to wear that bright blue cape, dyed with the blood of a raven and threaded with the silk of a newborn lichworm. They’ve all been beyond the Cut, and they all must have incredible strength. Not to mention their numbers, this is not only uncommon, but almost impossible. Twenty of them, twenty of these monsters, guarding one man. You're lucky to find more than one Fre’iia Guard within a hundred leagues of each other. Only one man could possibly organize the Fre’iia Guard so well, and that’s-