Circumstances and Beginnings

[Azlen]

Closed-


I

A Long Road

The orange glow of the sun peeked out from behind a long mountain range far off in the distance, lighting up the early morning sky. Birds cawed their way through the fluffy white kingdom, flapping onwards to northern territory. Winter had been over for roughly the last two weeks, and spring had come, bringing with it a leak. Rains would constantly bludgeon the poor villagers in the smaller cities. Their crops trying to contain too much of a good thing; the showers feeding the pitiful plants too much of its’ own nourishment. The rivers took on this over flow with ease, thanking God through its babbling.

No one had caught sight of any rain on this particular morn of spring. Though the wind cracked it’s cheeks while raging out on the sea, there was no rain. Spring is rain’s territory, his time of season. Wind had autumn and winter, but that is another story.

The boats that came into dock were grateful for the absence of rain too, that meant all the boatmen had to put up with was the wind, which was blowing for destruction. Some ships had fallen into the wind’s wrath worse then others, sailors having to put up with frothy white waves ramming and rocking the ship’s ribs. While on the inside of the ships belly tried to rest supposed men of valor, who were nothing (and knew they were nothing) compared to the ferocious white horse’s of the sea.

Azlen, had never liked ships, and after last night’s ride he didn’t enjoy them any better. Fear had crept into him after watching men be devoured by the rolling waves of thunder. As he saw land, his heart came up into his throat, and he wanted to leap with joy.

“Por’ ahead!” Tally shouted from the crow’s nest. The ship went up in flames of happiness, as the men heard this announcement. The small warning bell was set to ringing, and everyone that had been below deck, came running up to see what the big whoop was about.

Five months they had ridden on board this ship, some as stowaways, other as actual workers. Azlen had joined up as a worker, you see once he had departed from his clan he was in no position to get on a luxury ship. He didn’t have a large supply of money, all he had was the shirt on his back, sword, daggers, and the pants to cover his ass! So work was the only way to move from his current predicament. He had traveled far from home, to many places, and had not been on land in weeks. The pay was great, he had already racked up two hundred gold pieces, and this was the amount that he needed to get off of this ship. This was the maximum pay for any worker aboard the Tailwing. He had decided no matter where he was when the shipped stopped and if he had his two hundred; he would continue his quest for knowledge there. “Corone…” he mumbled under his breath, his eyes clouded over with tiredness, from no sleep the previous night.

He didn’t know exactly what side of Corone he was one, depending on the area, he would decide if he could find a job. He had got a pretty good description of Corone when the Captain Maharba had given the crew the run down on the country. He did that before every stop.

Azlen moved closer to the bow of the ship, cautious as he did so, knowing just one bump could throw him over. At least that is what fear told him. He took a deep breath of the precious sea air stopping in mid yawn, flinching when he felt a hand touch his shoulder. He frowned, hating when he was never able to complete a yawn. He smiled once again though as he turned his head to see it was the captain.

Captain Maharba had a serious look on his face, as if he was going to tell Azlen he had did something wrong as he had so many times before. “Yer’ kna, boi. We comin bac! Da’fifth full moon.” His voice was gruff and dry, his lips chapped and crusty. His breath smelled of stale bread and fish, Azlen’s probably did too so he didn’t care. Personal hygiene was not really a necessity in the middle of the ocean among ruff rowdy men. “Well sir, I’ll be sure to give you a hallo!” He said this with mock sternness, because he had already told the captain he would not be back on the ship. He had to stop somewhere, and Corone was it. He stared at the captain, level with the old sea dog’s face. They swayed back and forth, as the ship came in to port, grinding to a halt against the sand.

“We done docked, alhands on dick!” Shouted Tally as he came swinging from the crow’s nest, all smiles, landing amongst the throng of seafarers. Azlen politely excused himself from the presence of the captain, pushing past him as he walked towards Tally. A well-seasoned sailor, and his mentor at sea. He had to tell him goodbye, though he would be sad to do so. The fellow was in his fifties at least, and as nimble as a ‘young whippersnapper’ as he would say.

Tally approached him cheerfully, not betraying his true feelings in front of his friend. “Tis, sad to se ya go.” Azlen nodded, not wanting to say too much, knowing how emotional he could get. He embraced the bloke, who hugged back, and together they held each other for the last time. “I’ll miss you Tally.” Azlen mentioned to the man, as they stepped away from each other. Azlen ran his hand through his driftwood brown hair, untangling it in the process, feeling awkward to just leave like this. He didn’t know what to say though, and so he nodded and walked away leaving the bloke to stay on the boat.

Azlen practically ran down the gangplank, leaping the last few feet to the ground below. He dropped to his knees, curling his hands around the darkened earth. The White Calvary far behind him, having given up it’s charging, the wind dying down. He hopped back up on to his feet, and ran to the first person he saw. A vagabond, who happened to hang around the ship ports all the time. He would be seen begging for money from the men who would climb off and on the grand vessels. “Excuse me sir?” Azlen said as he walked up behind the man, the beggar, quickly turned around, his hands poised in front of his face, bread crumbs falling from his mouth, eyes wide, he tensed with anticipation for what was coming next.
“Where am I?”
“Rasdanthe!” He mumbled breathy like, continuing to stare at Azlen. “Thank you.” Azlen said gratefully and started to walk away.

He felt a pang of guilt, he knew he couldn’t leave the man sitting there with no money. So feeling pity he turned around and flinched. The little man obviously felt the same way as Azlen for there he was, right behind him, staring with those wide eyes and one hand with grubby little fingers held in front of him the other still poised at his mouth. Azlen sighed and pulled two gold pieces from the pockets of his long trousers. Without saying a word the bum power walked away to find his next victim. Azlen shook his head, the way he did when ever he was confused or frustrated and walked in to the welcoming city.

[Ataraxis]

Despite having a deep wealth of culture and city coffers so bloated they were bursting with coin, Radasanth was as vulnerable as any other metropolis to the plague of poverty. A casual walk on the thoroughfare usually consisted of a series of scenic historical landmarks, interspersed with a wine-nosed bum here, a brooding vagabond there and the occasional toppled disposal bin, spilling its garbage guts onto the curbstones – much like the beached whale of a drunkard snoring right next to it. They were pariahs, each and every one of them, mere tragedies unfolding without end or audience; the fact that no citizen would recognize these long-frequented roads in their absence was quite possibly their only measure of importance to the cold and insensate souls of the middle-class.

They were, however, only the surface of this scourge: people could at least tolerate their sight and existence without a fuss, but everything else that ruffled their twisted sensibilities threw their minds in denial. The blind children singing by the street corners do not have horrible burn marks around their eyes. There are no tykes and romps that learned how to lift a coin purse before they could even talk. The rumor of several week-old corpses found rotting in the alleyways was nothing but a hoax. Denial was their shield, denial was their smile – denial was their only way to live a happy life.

Lillian Sesthal had tried to do the same, but with little success. Though in large cities, she had made it a habit of weighing her coin pouch as she walked with every left or right sway of her hips, the sixteen-year-old girl had noticed a moment too late the lightening of pressure when the leather bag was snatched away by a waylayer. Though she had spun on her heels as fast as her reflexes allowed, the culprit had already scampered off into the sea of bobbing heads with her preciously saved money. It was thankfully not the sum of her life-savings, but it was all she had bothered to carry that day. The poor girl had skipped on her breakfast in order to save room for a meaty midday meal, the hearty kind of roast that could only be served at certain food-stalls in the marketplace, but she was now both skint and famished, with no true solution to either of her predicaments in sight.

And I’m running late for my visit to the local library, too. Things were decidedly looking bleaker and bleaker for the bookish girl. Her only reason for returning to Radansath in the first place was because she had caught on the wind the news of the library’s new wing being finally completed, fully furnished with new publications, revised editions of her favorite books and a handful of rare manuscripts recovered from the purported dwellings of the city’s greatest hero and namesake, Radasanth the Braveheart – whose magnanimous statue could be seen towering over the crowd at the other end of the boulevard, a few hundred yards away. Lillian had always found it charming how, of all the things that required cleaning in this area, the statue was the only one people cared to maintain. Something about holding on to the memory of better times, no doubt. Always a good reason to let the present slip and decay.

Alas, there would be no enjoying her sarcasm today, or at least not at this moment. She needed to eat, as the idea of fainting from inanition in the middle of a crowd that cared not even for corpses was nothing too pleasing. The prospect that someone would find interest in an unconscious and thus defenseless girl, however, was even worse. Round she spun, hoping to get some stroke of genius from the dizzying blood-rush or some inspiring detail in her surroundings. All she could see, however, were enquiring looks and a tempest of swirling brick walls…

And the melodious strum of a guitar. Lillian angled her eyes to the source of the music, finding a short and stocky man with a thick, grizzled beard sitting against the dark grunge of a wall. His case contained a few dozen coins, a bountiful loot considering the usual impassivity of Radasanthian citizens. What caught her attention, however, was the wooden musical pipe that was stashed away in his front pocket. “Excuse me, sir!” she called out excitedly, gracefully tiptoe-running through the crowd.

“Yes, pumpkin?” said the old musician with a crooked yet genuine smile, thrumming the strings with one hand while drumming the wooden body with the other, all of this to a rather upbeat tune. “What can I do fer ya?”

“I was wondering if you’d let me borrow that flute,” she asked timidly, her face already shifting from one apologetic expression to another. “Having two instruments but only playing one slows the business down, doesn’t it?”

“Well, Wyron’s Bullhorn, she knows her math! Ah, I’m only playing with ya, pookie. I’d love fer us to try a duet, but are ya any good? Making it sound like squawking ducks with broken necks can be bad fer business too, y’know?” When she gave him the most endearing ‘trust me’ look he had ever seen, the man wondered what monstrous beast could ever refuse granting any favor to such a sweet girl. With his drumming hand, he removed the pipe from his pocket and quickly dipped it into the rainwater he collected in a cup at his side. He gave it a vigorous shake, then swept the embouchure across Lillian’s dress. That came as a surprise, but considering the amount of filth and grime and dirt on his clothes, it was a truly considerate act. “Play away, lassie. If this works out any, I’ll give ya a third of the gains.”

“Thank you very much, though… a fifth will be more than enough,” Lillian said in a conniving whisper, winking as she brought the flute to her lips. He smiled, and decided he would continue smiling even if she proved a comical dunce as a flautist.

When she began playing, his smile had indeed never faded, but his reasons were different. Wyron’s Scaly Tail, girl’s as far from a dunce as the moon is to a skittering packrat! The musician began playing in earnest, and their melodies began meshing into a mesmerizing web. There was simply something magical about the companion sounds of a flute and a guitar, and this was not lost on the bystanders who suddenly began to swarm and flock about the two musicians. Coins were already plinking and plunking in the case like the first drops before a rainstorm.

“Think I might just go buy myself one of those juicy roasts after we’re done, lass. It’s been too long.”

Sir, you just read my mind, Lillian thought to herself amusedly as she kept playing, every note brightening the lively gleam in her sapphire eyes. It could have been the hunger, or it could have been the music, but she was beginning to think that Radasanth was not such a bad place to be after all.

[Azlen]

The city life gripped Azlen tightly as he fell into step behind other travelers stepping through the gate into the town. As he traveled forward, his long brown hair bobbed behind him, his brown button shirt almost matching the color of his hair. His pants a color of light brown, which tucked into his-surprisingly-dark brown boots. His broadsword was strapped carefully to his back in an intricate tie, and a horn (which he used for his clan) hanging on the side of his right hip, swung with every step he took. Azlen could see the town opening up into a large metropolis, he was overwhelmed. The different smells permeated the air, bakeries cooking bread or making sweet dough to be cooked into steaming rolls that the town’s folk loved to eat, the smell of sweaty bodies intermingling in groups around the market place, gathering to see what could be bought today. The sounds, the shouts of different languages all around, the screams of children’s laughter cutting through the air, or the clip-clop of hooves traveling down the cobbled road with merchants selling their produce as they went along. “Market Day.” Thought Azlen as he came closer to the town. The size of the city alone amazed him; he was custom-made for: the-secluded-lonely-very-small-insignificant-forest dwelling-villager lifestyle. He didn’t notice but his shoulders tensed up as started into the throng of people. “Excuse me, pardon me.” Was spoken many of times as he bumped into or touched the bottom of one to many women and men.

One thing made him stop suddenly, the smiling face of an Elf stared at him in the form of a statue. It was about ten feet high off the ground, and on the base of the statue was the words Radasanth the Braveheart, with a few Elvin words that he could not translate. “So this is the hero that started it all…” He said with reverence, he knew what it meant to be a hero. His father was one; they were forced into positions everyday were they had to make a decision. Some were drastic, others not so much, most times they were drastic. They were constantly being put under stress by the world, city, village or just family and friends in general. These people expected their hero to solve all problems and give them all wants. Townspeople didn’t understand! No real hero ever wanted to die for his or her country! No one wants to die! They died because of the stress that they were put under everyday, daily they were killing themselves with the world’s problems! All they needed was that little push from: A sword, an arrow, fire, or explosives.

Azlen was sure Radasanth didn’t want to die…if he was dead. He sentimentally touched the statue, but was quickly brought out of his reverence by a bump to the shoulder from a large man making his way past. Azlen muttered an apology and moved on past the hero. Music drifted towards Azlen on the air, the strumming of the guitar and the sound of the breathy flute reached out among the crowd, drawing in watchers. Azlen was one of those watchers and he pushed his way to the front of the crowd to see whom it was performing. A young woman and an older man were the ones who were harmonizing, and as they did generous people were clinking plenty of coppers and gold into the case of the man’s instrument.

Azlen did not recognize the tune, so he decided they were just improvising, until the guitarist, a short stump of a man, carried the melody more towards his favor. Azlen shoulders relaxed, his brain clicked and he started humming along, tapping his foot to the rhythm, the girl who seemed to be around fifteen playing beautifully right along. “I will…all of my days…plenty of apples for me and you…” He started to quietly sing snatches of the song that he thought sounded familiar. By now, everyone who was standing around watching was clapping and rocking, some of the children moved around in a circle to the rhythm. A young man who was around the age of twelve strode out of the crowd, a small drum hanging from his neck. He looked quite smug at the aspect of being able to show-off for this audience. He started to pound out a rhythm, which engaged the audience even more. A shout went up, and women and men immediately started dancing as the music started to climax, and Azlen finally knew what the song was as it came to the chorus, and just letting himself go, he ran in front of the crowd and started to sing.


…And if you won’t share your love,
You’ll still be the one that I want!
I’ll share my love, and we can be forever young!”
Love is great in the eyes of the young,
About our love it will be sung,
And it will always stay forever young.

It surprised Azlen a to no extent; he had never let anyone hear him sing before, this was a first! The voice he carried was surprisingly stunning, for he didn’t look like the singer type but he definitely sounded like one. The guitarist finding that he had a singer on his hands, went right back into the hook, allowing Azlen to sing once more. Azlen quickly looked at the girl to see what she was doing, not knowing if she approved of this or not, she seemed to caught up in her music.

As the song came to a great finish, Azlen jokingly made a sweeping bow, he heard the young man playing the drums laugh. He then turned to clap for the instrumentalist, and everyone whooping and hollering for the performance of the likes they had probably never seen. Finally seeing they weren’t going to get another performance, the crowd started to disperse, moving back to their original activities. Some did stay; these folk hesitantly dropped different types of coins into the box, hoping to entice the old man once again into playing. Azlen shook his head in amaze at what he had just done, and then he turned around to look at the group of players. Once again clapping for them with a large smile on his face and he walked towards them.

“Well! Will have to do that again sometime now won’t we?” his voice boomed from excitement, he looked at the girl and frowned, she looked very faint and had signs of fatigue. He was taught these different symptoms at a young age, and it was very common in his clan, he knew what it looked like. “…And this girl needs food?” He asked nicely, leaning close to her. The young man with the drum was walking away, but Azlen quickly grabbed him by his shirt and pulled him back, plucking his moneybag out of the boy’s hand. “This young man will be paying…with his own money!” He said authoritatively looking at the boy in his eyes, the boy looked down smiling.