A Cellar Somewhere in Salvar

[Breaker]

Closed to Paladin. All bunnying approved. Warning, contains spoilers pertaining to The Enchanter's Children (http://www.althanas.com/world/showthread.php?22615-The-Enchanter-s-Children).

The avenging sun of early spring glistened along Salvar's great perspiring glaciers. Mountains cast vast shadows upon the plains and valleys, salvaging shrinking sections of snow and ice. The upper reaches of the higher hills and mountains still wore the winter fashion, but their commonfolk were setting newer trends. Of growth and grain, of fresh leaves and rain. Wind whipped about the peaks and dove among the caverns, swept along the cliffs and danced amidst the dirt, a freshening force high and low. Though the northern reaches of the nation that bordered on Berevar would be frozen for months more, the farm folk who supplied the market at Knife's Edge would already have risen to plant. Salvar was still recovering from a civil war years past, but the scar tissue looked healthy and free of disease.

On an anonymous snow capped cliff face several leagues from the great pass at Sulgoran's Axe, a lone figure in Coronian-tailored black clothing stood alone. The wind teased his cropped brown hair and split-backed jacket, ruffled his loose-fitted trousers. Flame sparked betwixt his cupped hands, and the wind snapped at the sulphuric smoke. The match winked out an instant after finding life, but he caught the flame with his breath, inhaling sharply through the cigarette. Tobacco filled his lungs, heavy and pleasing and all too appropriate to the setting. He had never smoked more than the days after Kristina Rythadine had given her life defending the Salvic Royals from their own citizens.

Joshua Cronen held the smoke in his lungs until it all but dissipated, as if he could preserve NIna's presence with the flavour. Finally he pursed his lips and exhaled the ghostliest of grey tendrils, and flicked the ember off the cigarette and pocketed the butt. Enough to remember, but he wanted his lungs and mind clear. He ground the sizzling ash into a slush puddle with one of his black metal boots. The Enchanter who had designed them lived in a well concealed cottage on one of those mountains, and he needed to remember where...

Drawing a deep, savouring breath of mountain air, Cronen forced his mind back to his life before ascension, though it was like looking through thick tinted crystal. Just another hot-headed kid making a life out of death. I sailed to Salvar seeking the civil war, knowing one side or the other would have gold for fearless fighters. He shifted, crunching on the gravelly peak, shielding his eyes with one hand. I remember navigating those bloody goat-paths to get from Tinker's cabin to the city. If he hadn't given me these boots I'd never have made it... A shadowy memory of the mountains, no more visceral than the smoke he'd exhaled, floated across his vision. It had been winter then, when snow drifts loomed off icy precipices, but the shape of the passes remained the same.

The heavy flap of an arctic tern launching from its roost wafted the memory away, but Joshua had recalled his destination. I can't believe Jake put me on the right mountain, he reflected, admiring the tern's spiralling descent. He had spent the better part of two hours that day in Corone, describing the architecture of the rocks he now stood upon. Even with a sheet of ice and snow changing the elevation, he got me here. Jake is the best traveller I've ever met, but he's not that good. Am'aleh must have spoken true. Salvar will anchor my soul in the physical realm until I fulfil my promise to the Rythadines. Josh let out a joyful laugh as the circling tern folded its massive wingspan and dropped out of site behind a rise in the landscape. And here I've got a half-day's hike ahead of me just to get to the old man's house. Or... well, Tinker Rythadine may be the best alchemist in Salvar. And he advocates testing new theories in isolated mountainous regions...

A boyish grin split Cronen's weather-beaten face, skin stretching beneath the coarse stubble and Y-shaped scar. He rolled his broad shoulders and cracked his neck, one side then the other. He reached for the Eternal tap and spread its electrifying power throughout his body and the air around him. He bent his knees and leapt off the cliff face, arching his arms into a swan dive over miles of empty space.

Meet you in 3-4 posts!

[Paladin]

It has often been said that the entirety of the Sway's teaching could be summed up in one line. Those who wish to walk with the Sway must have purity and strength in body, soul and mind. This philosophy of strength and purity in the three governing features of a man were found in almost all actions and words of a church and most believed it was there duty to not only uphold those tenants amongst themselves but to help their fellow countryman do so as well. Many followers shunned things such as alcohol and tobacco so as not to taint or weaken their minds. In fact such indulgences were strictly forbidden among most official ranks of the Church. Many more still, even those who's titles or lively hood did not depend on physical strength, exercised regularly so as not to become fat or lazy which they believed would cause them to be looked down upon when they finally met the sway.

These principles were reflected in the laws of the church as well. For instance were a man to commit an act that violated the body such as an act of rape that man's punishment would reflect their sin and they would be beaten and castrated. The fact that, in administrating the punishment, a violation of another's body was being committed was not lost on most followers of the church and most of those who had the unfortunate of burden of enforcing the church's laws prayed to the Sway for forgiveness or that it would be understood that their actions were for the greater good. Others saw themselves as martyrs. They were willingly sacrificing their chance at walking the blessed path when they died so that others would be dissuaded from such acts and thus would get their chance to walk with the Sway instead.

However, in the days following the Civil War, a bloody and violent conflict between the church and the crown that saw fathers killing sons and brothers killing brothers, it was the tenant of the soul that seemed to be steadily losing ground. Though the war was over and the wounds it had inflicted upon the nation of Salvar had begun to heal and its cities had begun to rebuild themselves there was still some bad blood that had not yet been washed from the surface. Even now if one were to wander into the wrong area, or stumble upon the wrong group of people while wearing the wrong symbol too proudly they would likely find trouble. It seemed that many were having a hard time accepting what the priests and politicians were now telling them about how they should put aside their war spawned grudges so that they may do their part to help heal the nation of Salvar.

The hooves of Valino Darashan's white mare Isabel clopped loudly on the cold cobblestone road that ran through the market district of The Knife's edge. The youth sat high atop his horse clad in freshly shined armor with his shield strapped on one arm and his sword at his side near the other while he rode through the rows of merchants, shops and stalls. He was reaching the end of his apprenticeship and would be an official paladin, or holy knight, of the church in just a matter of months and as the time grew nearer his responsibilities steadily increased. Though his current duties were not what anybody would ever call glamorous the young man appreciated them as they were vastly more pleasant than most of those that he'd been given during war. Back then he was considered too young to see combat so all too often they'd put him in charge of helping tend to the wounded or disposing of the dead.

Valino shook his heads at such thoughts not wanting to be bothered by them. Today was a good day for him. The weather was fair and warm by Salvarain standards and the paladin in training had been tasked with patrolling the upper end of the district while his sire was out hunting. So far he'd had no trouble, allowing him to take in and enjoy the sights and smells that came from all number of fanciful items that were sold in the market. Everything from exotic meats, spices and perfumes to fancy clothing, ornate weapons and armor, and rare art work and antiques. The market district was one of the safer areas of the city, not that there all the others were that much worse, but with the amount of money the merchants brought into the city by selling exotic (or “exotic” in some cases) goods to travellers from other nations both the church and the crown, which were now on peaceful (though uneasy at times), terms made sure to keep it safe less the wealthy travelers that occasionally came from nations like Corone or Alerar decide their money would be better spent else where. However this did not mean that the area was not without its occasional bouts of trouble and a sudden gust of wind brough with it a loud, panicked, and distinctly female scream.

“No please! Stay away!”