Chapter 3

Discussion and debate of the Ki'dint; a dangerous race of insectoid abominations hellbent to destroy and raze all in their wake. A hopeful possibility, how shall the proceedings pan out?

“There is a power in this land and beyond it. This power is varied in its might, intensity, and affiliation, but it holds inherent, to an extent, one thing: Corruption” " R’diochaus of The Starhand.

The sun shone on his light-tone flesh as he basked in its glory. It was a beautiful day, warm and sunny and bright and happy and he had not a care in the world. At least, not for the moment, as he was not in his homeland.

“I advise you not to do that in my presence Mariat,” the footsteps of his approaching friend, G’hros, reached his ears. “Ahh-, my dear merchant companion, I see you have come out to enjoy the fabulous weather. The Morians are blessed to live in such a wondrous climate. It is so very cold where I am from.” The merchant joined him on the wall, seeming to perspire, quite obviously uncomfortable in the light. “I prefer the cold and damp and rough,” said the bulbous man. “I am sure you do. After all the cold is harsh and unforgiving. Fitting for one of your nature and profession,” Mariat chuckled while the fat man scowled slightly at his side.

“I did not come out in this abysmal sun to be berated by your horrid humor Mariat,” retorted G’hros to the companion who he only allowed his presence for its benefits and his own protection. Mariat was useful, but that did not mean that he had to like him.

“So, for what then my friend?” G’hros looked away from Mariat, his eyes on the horizon to the northwest. “When,” the stout man’s voice queried. Mariat’s smile practically slid from his face and he too looked to the northwest, though the tall bard’s gaze drifted till it faced east. “Soon, within the day given circumstances do not worsen,” it was the first time that the elf-ish male had been serious since they had arrived. G’hros nodded quietly, saying nothing in reply for a long while as the two stood in silence.

“I imagine they’d not be pleased if they knew I was here,” G’hros turned his gaze to the bard who simply shook his head, eyes still upon the horizon. The merchant looked over his comrade and shook his head, looking away. “Seriousness does not suit you, I must admit.” Mariat seemed to laugh, but it was not a warm sound. “It does not matter, for each thing has its time and its place.” With that the bard tore his eyes from the horizon and walked past G’hros. As the bard walked, G’hros followed his form until he felt inclined to call out.

“Do not wander too far bard, know that I require your protection, and that you cannot deny me my right.” The elf-ish bard paused in his step, but did not turn. He simply nodded and said; now with a lighter tone “of course my friend, I would not allow danger to fall upon you.” G’hros nodded, “very well, off with you then,” the merchant looked away, glancing again towards his home, the home of the Akbari dwarves.

The only race yet to have resisted the pestilence of the Ki’int and the only nation to have continually survived their onslaughts. Too bad no one knew.

- - - - -

Mariat strode away with an intensity in his eyes that he had hidden from G’hros with the cheer in his voice, and the turn of his back to the dwarf. Of course, it was unlikely that many knew the stout man as such; dwarves were almost indistinguishable from stout humans. Of course, had they seen the markings hidden beneath the man’s merchant garb they would have long discovered him for what he was.

Mariat was glad they had not.

As he walked, the man of elven visage felt the intensity building within him, and noticed it begin to spread from his form in an invisible wave. He gritted his teeth, turning into an alcove of the castle and entering a small tunnel that led out into one of the more secluded gardens. It was here that he knew he was alone. “Arcus, Heairmki saene,” his eyes were shut as he spoke the words of the ancients.

Quickly the powers that be responded in like, the Flow beckoned by his seasoned voice. For it had heard his call before…many times before, after-all, he was a bard. Yes, a bard, as the people of Elszris seldom, if ever, called their magicians, warlocks, witches, mages, wizards, or even sorcerers as their typical terms. Instead they had coined the term ‘bard’ as the magic of the Flow was much more like music than anything else, and music was far more comfortable and familiar than magic.

On that note, the forces that had before leaked now streamed forth from his surroundings and found release from his mortal form. It was like a swirling column of pure unbridled, yet invisible, power. Nonetheless there was silence and calm.

“Vast'i arcus aerim sorka ela custo znari suk nariakhan; you call me in tongues yet think nothing of the movements!”

Mariat said nothing as the presence thrummed in his mind. The presence of his aspect: that which allowed him such power. Yet, also the greatest threat to his being. As if to exemplify this, pain shot through his entire body and he collapsed against a nearby wall. Despite this his eyes remained tightly shut.

“Kal maghn aerim; Do not ignore me! Vh'er vast arcus shaa'ltak netmi; for if you call there is much to say!” The mortal regained his strength and the pain faded, replaced by a familiar joy as a smile moved to replace his pained grimace. ‘I hear you Heairmki saene, I hear you clearly and well,’ the elf-ish man responded mentally, for the presence could easily read his thoughts and sensations.

“Vios; good!” there was a happiness to the words and Mariat felt a smile from the expression, as if he could see the spirit for even a single moment.

“Why is it that you called me then!?” the formless presence shouted through his mind. ‘I felt the need, it is of course simple, I need only confirmation and small bits of wisdom,’ the bard responded humbly. There was nothing for a time, or at least no words, in sensation there was however plenty, for through him moved the flow and through it what knowledge he required.

Near instantly the specifics and the method through which they would negotiate with the Morians were known. It all brought a wider smile to the bard’s handsome visage. However, he was not truly delighted till the final words of his benefactor rung through him:

“You know what you know, but know you always knew, and yet knew nothing. There is dark where there is light, and there is sun where there is night. Keep watch, beware, the shrouded man cannot speak pure truth. For as with your ilk and you, his mind is not entirely his own.”

There was a strange silence. Then the presence faded and was gone, though never entirely. Regardless, it was no longer within the range of his perception. Such was the nature of the spirits known only as ‘Constellations’.

Righting himself and brushing off his clothes, Mariat turned to the sky and looked to the east once more, eyes opened now to again view the physical world. He smiled and laughed, humming a cheery tune to himself as he moved away, his gaze letting go of the horizon. Yes, they would be here soon, very soon indeed…he could feel them coming. For, how could one not feel so powerful a troupe of bards?

Reviews

[Kho-San]

Powerful. This is what this piece of writing is. Not just powerful characters, the the writing itself musters a strength and authority.
I have not read the first two chapters, but am hooked now, and will do so at the nearest opportunity.
Fantastic stuff Yosh

[Sacsen Foote]

I agree With the comments below. This is a very powerful write. The tension was nearly tangible and exceptionally well written in. You could feel the stagnant air in the room.
“Words are such fickle extrapolations of the mortal mind and its true meaning.”
^ One of my favorite quotes ever right now xD you are doing a glorious job painting a picture. My heart even quickened at some points in anticipation. I look forward to chapter 4!