Galileo

[Atzar]

((This is a solo. As usual, I’d like to put out a request to all who read this, in part or in whole, as I write it: when you’re done reading, I’d greatly appreciate if you’d hit me up – either through PM or AIM, my handle is ‘Ark Ether’ – and tell me what you think. Constant feedback really helps me as I write threads. Thanks in advance.))



Nature herself raged around the city of Menka. Jagged lances of lightning stabbed downward from the sky, blowing holes in the sodden ground that instantly filled with torrents of rain. Blazing flames crackled and popped as they arced overhead, detonating with noisy bursts on rock or sizzling out of existence in puddles. Razor-edged shards of ice flew this way and that, shattering into crystalline dust whenever they struck the unyielding stone wall. And through it all, Atzar Kellon was bored.

He stood high on the sturdy outer wall of his city, gazing down on the would-be invaders far below as they threw everything they had at the defenders high above. A fireball flickered into existence and flashed upward at the mage. With a dull grunt, the young phenom stretched one hand out toward the incoming missile. The flame wheeled around in midair, travelling back the way it had come before its creator erased it with a wave. Without changing expression, the youth’s heavy-lidded eyes slid to the next threat. Atzar simply watched, not making a move as the lethal shard of ice flew ever closer. Fifty feet… forty… thirty…

“Atzar!”

The fragment exploded, and frigid powder settled slowly back to the earth. The mage turned to see Barlom bearing down on him with a scowl on his round, rain-soaked face. The young man groaned; he knew what came next.

“I wasn’t in any danger,” the mage protested. “I would have blocked-”

“This isn’t a game, boy!” The burly wizard’s tone was scathing.

“Barlom, I’m not going to get hurt.”

A peal of thunder boomed overhead, mirroring Barlom’s irate reaction. “Oh, you’re invincible now? You’ll have to share your secret with me some time. I’m thirty years more experienced than you, but I’m still quite mortal. Tell me, how have you learned all of magic’s intricacies when your balls haven’t even dropped yet?”

Atzar opened his mouth to deny that particular statement when a small stone hurtled right between them, falling with a crash into the city below.

“Enough.” The big man held up a hand to cut off any further reply. “We can discuss this later.” With one last poisonous glare, Barlom turned his shoulder to the young mage, returning his attention to the magical barrage beneath them. Another groan crawled up from Atzar’s throat as he did the same. With one sleeve he wiped with no real effect at the rain that ran down his face before sullenly reapplying himself to the tedious task of swiping fireballs from the stormy sky.

[Atzar]

The siege ended a couple days later, and Atzar made his way across the city to Barlom’s home as promised. The destruction left behind by the flashy display of magic was appalling. The wizard trudged over scorched patches of earth, around massive puddles and sinkholes. Windows were smashed, and roofs sported holes that gaped at him like the eyeless sockets of a long-dead skeleton.

This is ridiculous. The mage’s scowl deepened with every passing mark, every scar on the face of his home city. Absolutely ridiculous. He looked left to see a home that had completely collapsed. A young girl sat crying just beyond the wreckage, her visage stained by tears and grime. By the time Atzar reached Barlom’s own house, his temper had reached the boiling point.

He entered the home without knocking, closing the door a bit harder than he’d intended. The big man looked up from one corner of the room. A red-hot piece of metal lay on the rough stone table behind which he sat. One strong hand held a pair of tongs, and the other a small hammer. He wiped his sweaty brow with his forearm.

“Well, hello. Try not to knock my house down, though. I was lucky, and I’d like to keep it that way.”

“Sorry,” Atzar muttered. “You wanted to see me?”

Instead of answering right away, Barlom turned his attention back to the glowing metal in front of him. The light blows of his hammer rang out with small clinks as he delicately shaped the piece. “You’ve been acting strangely here lately, Atzar,” the man said finally, breaking the awkward silence. “What’s the problem?”

Like gunpowder in an open flame, the mage exploded. “This is ridiculous!” he shouted, beginning to pace back and forth. “Our fucking city is in ruins, our homes have been destroyed, and there’s no fucking reason for any of it!”

The young man fell silent as he searched for the words to express his anger, and for a time the room was silent save for the tapping of the big man’s tools. Barlom waited for a moment before quietly speaking. “This is war, Atzar. Win or lose, it’s never reasonable.”

Kellon snorted with disgust. “They’re puny. Fucking puny. I could take their entire force on by myself and they wouldn’t kill me. So what do they do? They spray their sad excuse for magic in every direction imaginable and destroy everything they see. Fucking cowards.”

“And what should they do?”

“They should lay down and die.”

Barlom couldn’t help but chuckle at that. “You know what I mean, though. They’re a hundred feet away, with no way to surprise us. We’ll see anything they throw at us – and vice versa, for that matter. I don’t like it any more than you do, but what else can they do?”

“Not much. But we can do more. Why do we just sit on top of our wall and play their fucking game? There are so many other things we can do. Why don’t we send a few parties outside the walls to surprise them? Get them to fight on multiple fronts. Call in help from some of the other cities in the area, if we have enough time – or hell, ask the damned goblins to help. This isn’t hard to figure out. And would you stop beating on that metal?” Atzar looked at the glowing plate, curiosity overcoming his anger somewhat. “What is that thing, anyway?”

Barlom used the tongs to hold the piece aloft, pride written clearly on his face. “Armor!”

“What does a mage need armor for? That thing won’t stop a lightning bolt.”

“Most armor won’t, true. But this is prevalida, and that’s a different story. Prevalida armor resists outside magic but strengthens its wearer. It’s special stuff, but it’s very rare, so it’s hard to come by. A friend was kind enough to supply me with enough for this project.”

“I didn’t know you were a smith.”

“Like you said, mages have little need for armor, so I don’t do it often. But being able to heat the metal without a fire makes the process a lot easier, and I’ve been told that I’m pretty good, so I try to stay in practice whenever I have the chance.” The pleased smile dropped from his face then. “But I’m not the one to talk to about our tactics, Atzar – you’ll have to go see Keyek about that sort of thing.”

The mage’s scowl returned. “He won’t even listen to me. He’s too afraid of change.”

For the first time that day, Barlom’s expressed displeasure. “Enough, Atzar. That’s beneath you. Go talk to Keyek about it, or stop bitching. I’ll have no further part in this discussion.” With that, he turned back to his work.

This time, the mage meant to slam the door behind him.