Kasvir sat up on a hillside looking out at the ocean and the cliffside that ran along its edge. The warm evening breeze lifted his long blond hair and cast it behind his shoulders. The sun shone brightest in the morning and evening, painting the sky a bright orange and red, much more beautiful than the pale yellow of the midday sun. Other dim lights surrounded the sun, and before one of them dipped below the horizon, Kasvir spoke a quick prayer, then resumed watching the sunset. As he looked out, a small section of the cliffside broke off. As it fell he saw a pale green light before it vanished out of sight.
This isn't the first time he’d seen parts of the cliff break off, but the green light intrigued him. It was something new, something that he didn't understand. He stood up and took a few steps but stopped. It was getting late and he had to help start the fire in the longhouse. He contemplated it for a second, then, kicking a stone, turned back and headed toward the village.
Lutvir, his brother, stood leaned against a fencepost on the main road, he was similar in appearance to Kasvir through a head shorter. “Was wondering when you’d be back. You know mother doesn't like you out late, could be monsters wandering the woods!” he said in a half tease.
“She worries too much, hasn’t been a monster around here for years. Besides, I could probably handle myself well enough, killing a goblin or two.” Kasvir replied.
“Oh but what about a Southern mountain troll! What if one of them came miles North to fight you!” Lutvir said mockingly.
“Well… I recon in that case I’d be dead. Fortunately for me there's the whole kingdom between here and the South. Anyways, probably should get on to it then, fire isn't going to light itself.”
The two made their way through the village and to their clan’s longhouse. Stepping through the door they catch the attention of Bronvor, Kasvir’s uncle. He was a burly man, his dirty blonde hair cut short so as to not accentuate his balding head. His beard was long and mostly matched his hair, though there were hits of red at the point of his chin. He was stooped down near the fireplace setting the kindling. “I was beginning to think I'd have to go find a flint, I can already feel the cold of night setting in.” he remarked as he stood up.
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“You could've gone to the Srughten clan and asked for help starting it, their chimney has been smoking for a while now.” Kasvir said casually.
“I’d sooner tame a dragon than ask a Strughten for even an ember!” Bronvor gruffed. Kasvir of course knew that this would ruffle his feathers. The Strughten Clan and his own, Rorik Clan, had long been rivals. From land disputes and unpaid dowries to, on rare occasions, small skirmishes. Though rivals, they had been on mostly good terms as of late, and Kasvir’s suggestion was taken as the banter that it was.
Kasvir made his way through the dim wooden hall and to the stone hearth. He leaned down and spoke in an ancient tongue “Ahk leust lewn dran ilut nie drak.” A small flame formed at the tip of his finger and he, reaching in, lit the kindling with it. As soon as the wood had caught flame, he stopped casting his spell, and flexed his hand. The skin of his finger had turned red like that of a slight burn. This was the price for wielding the power of magic. Though the amount of magic burn, what this consequence had come to be called, could be reduced, even the most skillful of mages are not impervious to it.
He then went and sat at a table, ate a small dinner, and talked with those in the hall. His reddened finger faded back to its normal color through the late hours. Seeing how dark the night was getting he decided to retire for the night. Recalling the green flash he saw earlier that day he decided it would be best to investigate it further when the sun was up in the morning.