Celestus
04-23-12, 08:17 PM
Respite? How could anyone rest in these dark times?
Between his fellow hunters and his close friends, they all agreed that the “young” Arialidas needed a vacation. While few places were merry, he had been working his hunting skills as well as his crafting non-stop for a long time. There were people who needed a shoulder up! Someone they could turn to in times of trouble! Alas… perhaps it was his recent outburst about the gods to his friends which signaled that the dark times were taking a toll on his mind. Though he was less than two centuries old, history had been changing quickly in his younger life. There were also many mysteries about his gifts which were left unanswered.
To the south, the dark-skinned who would forget the gods plundered and took over with the power of the seas behind them. In the Lindequalmë, the undead still roamed and terrors beyond even the aged imaginations of the immortals walked in daylight.
… and his family was still unheard from.
Even if their reunion would be spiteful, or he would be haunted by the sight of their devoured body, to at least know what became of them during the war would bring him peace. He felt alone in the small crowd of Beinost. While the city was spoken with a small spit by most of Raiaera, it was the only city truly left intact to some degree. A place where one could stop and enjoy the sea, see colors and wonder, though rather haunting by its uniformity. Every step he took, he kept his head down to stare at the brick road under his soles.
His eyes rose to the sight of the harbor, an empty shell of what its glory could be. While the place was clean and sailors passed cargo through in large crates, there was a long walk between each masterpiece of a ship. Most of them rested on the harbor near one of two taverns working in the entire place, the rest of the buildings abandoned or empty. All Arialidas could do was stare at the scenery around him, something in his heart empty and lonely.
If the dark elves invaded here… would they truly be able to withstand them?
Why would the gods allow those who had forgotten them have the blessings of the sea?
Feelings welled up inside of him. However were his people going to rally from this? Those who had protected the caravans even turned against the ones they protected with their lives as pirates. Why did the sea so bless their enemies?
“Earlon? … Have we done something wrong? Do we even remember where the gift came from?”
It felt in him as his heart was in his stomach, heavy from the clean and soulless city. Everything was the same, though beautiful. Watching the people around them, they had their daily lives, and that was all. There was no time for wonder, or appreciation of anything but the pay of a hard day of work. All through where he walked, even in the marketplace, there was trade and banter. Where was passion?
“Do we… even remember?”
His lips parted in a thin opening. Something in him was rising and could not be contained. The salty wind of the ocean blew past his long braided hair as the only sound around him was the gulls in the sky. Every step he took was very deliberate and confident. Even he never understood this… magic… if it could be called such. When his heart was at its deepest in whatever he was feeling at the time, it would feel like the equal yet opposite of vomit. It would be where that tickle in the chest and throat told you exactly what was about to happen next and your inner being would spew from you.
He could not call it Turlin. There was something primal about it… as if it was a forgotten core of Song Magic. It was when his heart desired to connect with the gods that this would swell from his heart.
It was warm… as were the tears which filled his eyes.
Opening his lips, he lifted his arms to the sea as if he were waiting for the embrace of a friend who was returning from being years apart. Sunlight danced on the open waters as the waves went to and fro in a motion of lapping which had existed since they had.
There was joy in its release, and the chaos came from his lips in an unknown language. Chaotic as it was, it sounded like three or four voices were speaking at the same time, but all overlapping one another chords which made it lyrical. None of the voices made any sense to those listening with their ears, but the tones to those who listened with their ears would reach their hearts.
It was with the same passion that a rabbit caught in the claws of an eagle made. It had no words, but all who would hear knew that it died. That same passion which made people tremble in terror of the lions roar…
… in equal gentleness.
Opening himself, Arialidas didn’t even know if Earlon would hear him, but he would invite him anyway. Invite a god to sit with him in the tavern, to laugh with the sailors and their jokes. Opening his heart to the god of the ocean, he sang to welcome Earlon to taste of the daily catch with the children of the sea. Even simply feeling the wind through their hair and the content feeling of having sea legs; it was the simple pleasures he begged the god to join them in. These simple pleasures had been long forgotten to the millennia where the elves had lived… at least in the view of his own heart.
Having no idea how long time had passed since he had started singing, he noticed his arms shaking and sweat was dampening his entire body. Blinking as his voice started to slow in the song, the sun was over him where it once was behind him.
“He’s stopping!”
“Oh shit!”
After he fell silent, all he could hear was the harsh footfalls behind him, beating against the wood as he fell forward. There was a pressure around his neck as someone grabbed his cloak and pulled him back. He could somewhat feel his stomach being put over something hard and something grabbing his legs.
His eyes stung more from the salt in the water than its cold embrace. Coughing as he sat up, his breathing was ragged as he blinked at the crowd around him. One woman was holding a bucket while the rest appeared to be sailors and members of Tel Cirya.
“What was that?”
“You alright brother?”
“Where?... How long… was I-” Arialidas stuttered.
“Over three hours” the woman with the bucket replied.
Opening his eyes wide, he never realized he got that wrapped up in his worship. Looking around at the crowd, he turned his attention over to one looming figure in particular. In a full set of winged azure armor and a plume on each side of his helm, a regal Bladesinger stood over him, offering a hand up.
“… That is a unique talent you have there, brother. I would have you come with me, though. As beautiful as it was, it still disturbed the peace.”
“Oh… I… uh… three hours?! Why didn’t you stop me earlier?”
“Your emotions were pure. I agreed to my men to arrest you after you were finished.”
“Oh…”
“Can you stand?”
“Wha? You’re gonna arrest him for singin’?”
“Bloody balls, man! I needed to hear that, whateva it was!”
The regal marine closed his eyes at the protesting crowd.
“Regardless of the intentions of this man, this is not natural singing. We have had to keep a tight reign over the laws of magic, and whether or not the intentions were pure, he used magic and swayed people’s hearts with it. As the Bladesinger of Port Authority, I have no choice to put this man under arrest even if the song was a benefit to the surrounding sailors. He did so without the authority of the Council.”
“Oh come on!” the woman with the bucket growled.
“Considering the case, I will likely release him after a long talk, but he appears unable to control his power. Can you stand, sir?”
Trembling overtook his body as he tried to place his weight on his arms to stand up. A small thud came upon the wooden planks of the port as he failed to find the strength left in his body to even stand.
“… That was dangerous to you, sir. If not for that sailor, you would have drowned to death after falling off the pier. This arrest is more for your safety than anything else. As a Bladesinger, singing for three hours straight is insanity. You, a civilian doing this… no sir, you need to be detained.”
“Ugh… yes sir. I comply … to the authority… of… the Council”
“Good man. Everyone, the show is over. Sir, if you could carry him back to the barracks for me, I would appreciate your time.”
“No problem, brotha!”
The muscular sailor nearby lifted Aralidas up, almost tripping on his hair braids as he followed the Bladesinger to the Marine barracks. Casting his weary gaze on the bladesinger, he narrowed his eyes with curiosity as he noticed the color of the Singer’s armor.
“You… wear the Marine armor as a bladesinger?”
“I am what you would call a duel citizen. Because the ports are marine territory and the mainstay of the city, I act as the local dispute solver. With so few of us, many take on multiple responsibilities. I was a sailor before I earned enough money for the school, so they know me here well. I would get some rest if I were you… you nearly killed yourself back there.”
“I… never knew I’d…”
“That’s why I have placed you under arrest. That is an order, civilian.”
“Yes, sir.”
Shutting his eyes, the colors of the port soon faded and Arialidas knew nothing but the wonder of his dreams.
Between his fellow hunters and his close friends, they all agreed that the “young” Arialidas needed a vacation. While few places were merry, he had been working his hunting skills as well as his crafting non-stop for a long time. There were people who needed a shoulder up! Someone they could turn to in times of trouble! Alas… perhaps it was his recent outburst about the gods to his friends which signaled that the dark times were taking a toll on his mind. Though he was less than two centuries old, history had been changing quickly in his younger life. There were also many mysteries about his gifts which were left unanswered.
To the south, the dark-skinned who would forget the gods plundered and took over with the power of the seas behind them. In the Lindequalmë, the undead still roamed and terrors beyond even the aged imaginations of the immortals walked in daylight.
… and his family was still unheard from.
Even if their reunion would be spiteful, or he would be haunted by the sight of their devoured body, to at least know what became of them during the war would bring him peace. He felt alone in the small crowd of Beinost. While the city was spoken with a small spit by most of Raiaera, it was the only city truly left intact to some degree. A place where one could stop and enjoy the sea, see colors and wonder, though rather haunting by its uniformity. Every step he took, he kept his head down to stare at the brick road under his soles.
His eyes rose to the sight of the harbor, an empty shell of what its glory could be. While the place was clean and sailors passed cargo through in large crates, there was a long walk between each masterpiece of a ship. Most of them rested on the harbor near one of two taverns working in the entire place, the rest of the buildings abandoned or empty. All Arialidas could do was stare at the scenery around him, something in his heart empty and lonely.
If the dark elves invaded here… would they truly be able to withstand them?
Why would the gods allow those who had forgotten them have the blessings of the sea?
Feelings welled up inside of him. However were his people going to rally from this? Those who had protected the caravans even turned against the ones they protected with their lives as pirates. Why did the sea so bless their enemies?
“Earlon? … Have we done something wrong? Do we even remember where the gift came from?”
It felt in him as his heart was in his stomach, heavy from the clean and soulless city. Everything was the same, though beautiful. Watching the people around them, they had their daily lives, and that was all. There was no time for wonder, or appreciation of anything but the pay of a hard day of work. All through where he walked, even in the marketplace, there was trade and banter. Where was passion?
“Do we… even remember?”
His lips parted in a thin opening. Something in him was rising and could not be contained. The salty wind of the ocean blew past his long braided hair as the only sound around him was the gulls in the sky. Every step he took was very deliberate and confident. Even he never understood this… magic… if it could be called such. When his heart was at its deepest in whatever he was feeling at the time, it would feel like the equal yet opposite of vomit. It would be where that tickle in the chest and throat told you exactly what was about to happen next and your inner being would spew from you.
He could not call it Turlin. There was something primal about it… as if it was a forgotten core of Song Magic. It was when his heart desired to connect with the gods that this would swell from his heart.
It was warm… as were the tears which filled his eyes.
Opening his lips, he lifted his arms to the sea as if he were waiting for the embrace of a friend who was returning from being years apart. Sunlight danced on the open waters as the waves went to and fro in a motion of lapping which had existed since they had.
There was joy in its release, and the chaos came from his lips in an unknown language. Chaotic as it was, it sounded like three or four voices were speaking at the same time, but all overlapping one another chords which made it lyrical. None of the voices made any sense to those listening with their ears, but the tones to those who listened with their ears would reach their hearts.
It was with the same passion that a rabbit caught in the claws of an eagle made. It had no words, but all who would hear knew that it died. That same passion which made people tremble in terror of the lions roar…
… in equal gentleness.
Opening himself, Arialidas didn’t even know if Earlon would hear him, but he would invite him anyway. Invite a god to sit with him in the tavern, to laugh with the sailors and their jokes. Opening his heart to the god of the ocean, he sang to welcome Earlon to taste of the daily catch with the children of the sea. Even simply feeling the wind through their hair and the content feeling of having sea legs; it was the simple pleasures he begged the god to join them in. These simple pleasures had been long forgotten to the millennia where the elves had lived… at least in the view of his own heart.
Having no idea how long time had passed since he had started singing, he noticed his arms shaking and sweat was dampening his entire body. Blinking as his voice started to slow in the song, the sun was over him where it once was behind him.
“He’s stopping!”
“Oh shit!”
After he fell silent, all he could hear was the harsh footfalls behind him, beating against the wood as he fell forward. There was a pressure around his neck as someone grabbed his cloak and pulled him back. He could somewhat feel his stomach being put over something hard and something grabbing his legs.
His eyes stung more from the salt in the water than its cold embrace. Coughing as he sat up, his breathing was ragged as he blinked at the crowd around him. One woman was holding a bucket while the rest appeared to be sailors and members of Tel Cirya.
“What was that?”
“You alright brother?”
“Where?... How long… was I-” Arialidas stuttered.
“Over three hours” the woman with the bucket replied.
Opening his eyes wide, he never realized he got that wrapped up in his worship. Looking around at the crowd, he turned his attention over to one looming figure in particular. In a full set of winged azure armor and a plume on each side of his helm, a regal Bladesinger stood over him, offering a hand up.
“… That is a unique talent you have there, brother. I would have you come with me, though. As beautiful as it was, it still disturbed the peace.”
“Oh… I… uh… three hours?! Why didn’t you stop me earlier?”
“Your emotions were pure. I agreed to my men to arrest you after you were finished.”
“Oh…”
“Can you stand?”
“Wha? You’re gonna arrest him for singin’?”
“Bloody balls, man! I needed to hear that, whateva it was!”
The regal marine closed his eyes at the protesting crowd.
“Regardless of the intentions of this man, this is not natural singing. We have had to keep a tight reign over the laws of magic, and whether or not the intentions were pure, he used magic and swayed people’s hearts with it. As the Bladesinger of Port Authority, I have no choice to put this man under arrest even if the song was a benefit to the surrounding sailors. He did so without the authority of the Council.”
“Oh come on!” the woman with the bucket growled.
“Considering the case, I will likely release him after a long talk, but he appears unable to control his power. Can you stand, sir?”
Trembling overtook his body as he tried to place his weight on his arms to stand up. A small thud came upon the wooden planks of the port as he failed to find the strength left in his body to even stand.
“… That was dangerous to you, sir. If not for that sailor, you would have drowned to death after falling off the pier. This arrest is more for your safety than anything else. As a Bladesinger, singing for three hours straight is insanity. You, a civilian doing this… no sir, you need to be detained.”
“Ugh… yes sir. I comply … to the authority… of… the Council”
“Good man. Everyone, the show is over. Sir, if you could carry him back to the barracks for me, I would appreciate your time.”
“No problem, brotha!”
The muscular sailor nearby lifted Aralidas up, almost tripping on his hair braids as he followed the Bladesinger to the Marine barracks. Casting his weary gaze on the bladesinger, he narrowed his eyes with curiosity as he noticed the color of the Singer’s armor.
“You… wear the Marine armor as a bladesinger?”
“I am what you would call a duel citizen. Because the ports are marine territory and the mainstay of the city, I act as the local dispute solver. With so few of us, many take on multiple responsibilities. I was a sailor before I earned enough money for the school, so they know me here well. I would get some rest if I were you… you nearly killed yourself back there.”
“I… never knew I’d…”
“That’s why I have placed you under arrest. That is an order, civilian.”
“Yes, sir.”
Shutting his eyes, the colors of the port soon faded and Arialidas knew nothing but the wonder of his dreams.