The gentle billowing of the Flaurdrenn River soothed his mind as he sat atop the roof of the local adventurer’s guild situated on the west bank. People thronged as the congregation of ships appeared in the distance, still a few adventurers jostled through with heavy, bloody bags hanging from their shoulders. A foul stench slithered aloft, into Euthymius’s nostrils and filled him with nausea. Though he knew, she won’t be amongst them, with a hopeful gaze, Euthymius surveyed each maiden draped in modest robes.
He slapped his cheeks forcefully, leaving a red mark on the olive toned skin, and heaved his arms onto the tough oaken railings, sharpening his gaze as the ships’ masts became visible enough to see the peculiar insignias laced onto them, even as they flailed to the whims of the wind. A mesmerizing dragon different from the few he saw in the capital. Dragons whose muzzles appeared more feline with long whiskers, their scales a warm mélange of cherry or wine red, plum purple or magenta, citrine yellow or beaten gold, strawberry or rose pink. Their pawed and clawed arms resting on the precipice of the amber Illius, their long-necked heads slithered before it, staring right into his soul.
As he strained his eyes, he noticed movement on the front vessel. Slowly, a tall and wiry figure stepped onto the front waving his arms to the gathering crowd at the piers.
His stalwart form draped in golden and white robe with widening sleeves, a belt cinched tight about his narrow waist, beneath it a shendyth wrapped about, flowing down onto his honed legs, three sectioned loincloth cascading along the silky piece of far-southern skirt. Strings looped about his neck, holding marbly gems of emerald, jade and cinnabar, broad rings dangled about his forearm and wrists. About his neck a broad collar circled made of clustered scales, golden at center, a blackish-red on the sides. His head completely shaven to the smooth, lustrous skin. Runes were painted upon his scalp, though he recognized them not, his sixth sense revealed their nature laid in the world’s aspect of Time. The more he stared at the runes, the more unease spread within him, though he could not point out the reason for it.
For a moment, Euthymius questioned if it was truly one of the princeips, a child of the Elhyrissiar and not just some consul of a distant province. But the citrine yellow scales growing in crested streaks on his neck and nose, from the corner of his lips, like two curving fangs slithering and ceasing at the dark line of his beard.
“Drussaev.” He whispered the name he was given to report on. Wondered what meaning it had for the New Dawn to know about the return of one of the many sons of the Elhyrissiar. From what he remembered from the Square Criers, he was announced as the inheritor of the First Legion’s Legatius title, hence his tour around the isle, whereas per tradition he challenged many of his own siblings both in games of mind and mettle.
Though Naghig’s agents also reported of his efforts to form a separate militia, a small one formed from adventurers Drussaev knew himself throughout his long years away from Luth-Astaril. What more he could learn from witnessing his arrival, or what point laid in it, Euthymius could not decipher. But with a shrug and a sigh, continued watching as the ship anchored down at the pier. His mind wandered for a moment, noticing the absence of fish swimming by in the vernal season.
Children scurried out, mesmerized by the looks of Drussaev as he debarked from the long and broad vessel of a peculiar design stirring the imagination of youth.
First, he flaunted his muscles, kidded around to the surprise of Euthymius who first saw one of the draevhei being so jovial, genial to any other besides their kindred. Even a few harmless cantrips he cast, eliciting laughter from the children, smiles on their parents and siblings watching over them, beckoning them to give way as more debarked from the galley.
Drussaev threw off his sumptuous robes, let a few of the children hang from his flexed arms whilst a dwarf draped in fine linen a thicker, metallic Usekh collar of angular, diamond silhouette followed on the long and broad plank. Similarly, a triangular war skirt draped his broad stem of a legs, a single broad loincloth cascaded down, adorned with three golden disks, reached nearly the ground. On his arms folded over his bosom, long braces engrossed his whole forearm, riveted with flat pyramids, their trims inlaid with lapis lazuli against the scintillating gold.
His skin warm, a golden yellow kissed by the Illius. A handsomely haggard face hewn in the shape of noble diamonds of broad, sharp cheekbones sitting high, a pronounced chin hidden by long and flowing dark beard, lacquered and adorned with golden beads, strange hieroglyphics etched onto the enameled golden surfaces of each. Broad tapering nose, earthly cracks along them that flared with each sigh he took whilst throwing the robe over his broad shoulder and scolded Drussaev in a weird, patient manner at how he exposed himself needlessly to danger.
At least that’s what Euthymius thought as the dwarf reminded him a bit of old Mamerkhed who first scolded him after he tried pulling a cart filled to the brim with the precious alloys, they mined out that day. An exertion he made in folly after Isocrates over complimented his strength after a playful wrestling that morning.
The children seemed scared of the dwarf, but calmed once Drussaev knelt down to their level and somewhat corrected the first impression they have had of the stranger from the faraway lands of the far-south. Then their attention turned towards the third member to debark, an orkh whom floated above the planks, a serene, calm expression on his bony visage. Soft, billowing whiteness emanated from oblong apertures lining his head, nape and his spine below the scanty robes. It reminded Euthymius–and the gasping crowd–the clouds migrating above them.
A scanty raiment blue as the sky above, draped only half his torso, exposing the sand golden skin, runes carven into the flesh, healed yet a stark reminder of his previous status. On the robe themselves, clustered four strokes lined the edges of the uneven raiment, seamed in white, symbolizing the guiding gusts of the far-south. He kept his arms behind whilst approaching slow, then snapped his fingers upon arrival. A gentle, tickling wind swept through the youth, their chuckles reverberated through the bank. A few rose into the air, first surprised, a little scared then laughed as they flew above their worried parents, who calmed as they settled into their arms in the end.
A few more Euthymius spotted upon the peculiar galley, wearing a variety of plates, some fully covered, others scantily, and even a few magusos in long, flowing robes. Including the last who walked down the broad plank, a beauty of the south he etched into his mind.
Complexion, dark as sweet chocolate, smooth and lustrous as the silk, voluminous hair of hazelnut cascaded deep upon her body, eyes slender and wide adorned with regal pupils of deep blue lapis lazuli of the distant Za’arethi Mountains where they are mined and taken to become parts of the palaces in the colorful deserts. At least from what Euthymius heard. A face that seemed bewitching, mesmerizing from afar, with a straight, tapering nose starting from her narrow forehead, cheekbones high and prominent, lips voluptuous as her body, covered in golden paint gleaming magnificently as the lines highlighting her eyes, and a streak starting from the center of the lower lip, journeying down her throat, through the opulent amulet adorning her tapering neck.
An indigo-blue silky robe draped over her body; its deep hue shimmered opulently under the warm rays of the vernal season infused Illius. Along the edges, golden stripes in precise, elegant patterns and symbols of disks with mystic eyes woven into their centers, possessing a pronouncedly molten gold like luster compared to the expensive silken sheen of the blue whole. The heavy folds and the narrow, V-shaped collar shifted with each quiver produced by her steps down the plank, and a vulpine expression sat upon her enchanting dusky visage as she watched the whole occasion unfold from the galley.
Euthymius nearly forgot what purpose he came for, but the faux love hastening the pace of his heart broke when the sorceress turned in his direction, and could feel her gaze focusing on him. He quickly ducked below the rail, now seemingly his heart beaten wildly from the fear of discovery and what it may entail. Feeling he saw enough to report to Naghig, he tailed and leapt off from the roof, staying to the shadows he felt kinship with in the past few years he joined the New Dawn.
Though there were doubts in his heart, if it shall satisfy the grumpy orkh who still possessed a menacing image in his head, but Naghig gave him clear orders of watching and memorizing the folk manning the galley. Euthymius questioned nor cared not what importance the galley played. It was just another task which brought him closer to answers he needed not, but desired regardless. And in secret, the whole business of scouting, its dangers brought a thrill into his life he knew not he would desire.
*****
“What’s on your mind lad?” Mamerkhed asked. Euthymius emitted a weird yelp as he shuffled around facing the waning dwarf.
Though he wished to regale his woes to the kind and elderly Mamerkhed who often took his load, he couldn’t. Naghig forbade him even whilst everyone in the Quarries were on the same mind in regards of the authorities since the revelation of Rhenathorhia’s possession leaked out and spread like wildfire. “You have the solemn look of a forlorn paramour.” His remark reddened his cheeks, as those kind, citrine eyes appeared before him like a haunting spirit. Even her poignant cedar scent manifested and mingled with the inflowing cold, dry air of winter.
“Nothing, my mind is emptier than my jug.” Euthymius dangled the jug, empty of the soothing water provided to satiate their thirst, to cool their flesh in the suffocating tunnels where elementals of earth and fire lurk and prey upon them. In truth he was pondering on his next task, waiting for the fellow member to slip him into the administrative towers of the Pits, where he would receive some package. A minor task, which seemed to bring him answers as promised by Naghig, whom mellowed a bit towards him.
“Sure lad!” On the dwarf’s face, a wide grin appeared and amidst a hearty laugh, slapped his back in felicitations before he began to bombard him with a few questions regarding the maiden who stole his heart. He continued his defiance, relying on his sore muscles that could still carry a few more sacks weighting more than his mass of body. Then Mamerkhed stopped suddenly as Myrtilos approached them, coming from the western chapterhouse of the mining guild.
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“Seems they arrived.” Euthymius looked at him first, noticing his inquiring gaze, Mytilos gestured with his head towards the stairs leading up to the bank.
There a group led by a mesmerizing Sylvan-Kin in lavish, golden robes fitting her slender form with white seaming stretching from hem to the high collar descended to the dirty pit. Behind her, six others followed in matching robes, voluminous cowls draping their heads, their faces hidden behind gilded masks of the Dawn Father. “What do they want?” Euthymius asked.
“Making amends.” Mamerkhed said, his voice deepened and raspier than usual. “Come.” Myrtilos patted his shoulder than walked along with the others, forming a long line where each and everyone folded their arms before the entourage. Even Euthymius who felt a little bad when he noticed the apologetic look on the Sylvan-Kin’s lovely, fair face. A smothering silence followed, not even birds flittered, warbled above in the interminable firmament, broken only by the clanking of the Custodians’ panoplies as they encircled the miners, their hands on their weapons, whilst unease and uncertainty manifested upon their faces.
One half pondered on whether to aid the miners if a fight broke out, the other simply wished for a peaceful resolution, whilst cursed the Septarch-Magistratos for coming down on a needless business. When she bent her head down deep, letting the luxuriant, smoothly flowing hair of a lavender purple reach down to the ground, they calmed in unison whilst half the miners looked on in surprise.
“I could utter thousand words of apology, but as many wise men said before, actions speak louder than words.” Her voice boomed through the pit, yet it was soothing, calm. A few seconds passed before her followers approached the miners.
“Hey, stay your hands!” One miner stepped back yelling at the figure approaching him.
“It is but a small thing, but let us start making amends for our short coming by alleviating the woes of your long days.” She held her palm out and a translucent sphere appeared in it, filled with ethereal dust. At once, she threw it up in the air, and as it exploded a golden dust showered the crowd and all their burning muscles, the varied agonies of arkhaine usage vanished in a breath.
Still there was hesitation in all the eyes, and though unease lingered in Euthymius, he believed those words to be of genuine kindness and regret as he stepped forth towards the Septarch-Magistratos of Iuanorh. “Thank you. May I ask your name?”
“Euthymius.” He said after a little pondering. Her soft palms radiated, the light brought serenity, peace upon his heart.
“A fine name, worthy to be noticed by the Deossos.” At those words he raised one eyebrow. She chuckled softly. “It is one of the gifts the Dawn Father bestowed upon me. To sense the dawning of those who shall bring great change upon our lives.”
He wanted to laugh, but knowing he would regret it, bit onto his tongue letting the pain nip it at the bud. “I wish not to be disrespectful against you my lady or the Dawn Father in whose light we can walk in safety, but I am an ordinary boy and miner. Nothing more truly.” She chuckled instead of him.
“I was an ordinary girl myself once upon time, an ordinary caretaker of the orchard of Myelios, but as fate willed it, here I am now.” Though he wished to refuse more, he thanked her and walked back to the line, a cold tinging slowly spreading within him. After the amendment, he remained with the others whose distrust did not lessen, waited until the one fellow approached Euthymius for the small task.
*****
“Are you truly her?” Euthymius asked as the aevhen maiden before him bore not a hint of resemblance to the comely, kind Luelia of his memories.
The one who seldom visited them in the company of his dear brother. Whose smile shined as brightly as the Illius during the warmer seasons. Whose azure eyes held no secret, but compassion and interminable kindness as she often vanished the aching of his father’s sore muscles after a long day in the Quarries or mended the strained fingers of her mother, filtered out the harmful particles of mana still mingling amongst her soul after long days of sewing, lacing dresses, shirts, pants and many kinds of other garments.
Before him stood another, whose scarlet eyes told of wicked secrets, uncertainty and the balefulness of the shunned children of Dusk. Her dark hair tumbling down in shadowy silken tresses and locks evoked the oppressing shadows occupying the corners of the tunnels. The only positive thing he could glance upon her was the heart-shaped face with its faultless jawline resting atop the firm collars which silver inlaid edges pressed out like the plateaus of Luth-Astaril, except they tapered up to her jawline.
“I am, little Euthy. I am simply just draped in illusions for the sake of my safety.” She answered. And his conviction faltered, not because of the deeper voice, but because of the name that left those luscious lips.
He wanted to ask why, but kept the words in himself, knowing partially she was seen on by many on the dreadful day. Including members of the Order clashing with the enslaved within the walls, possibly the First Legion and the Custodians fighting with them as she and Isocrates entered the cathedral. The more he mulled, the less he doubted the one before her, and now guilt gnawed at Euthymius.
Noticing his uncertainty regarding the matter, Luelia assumed a kinder countenance, and wrapped her hands around his. The softness of her skin–and its tender warmth–made him blush as the onslaught of cherry, apricot and cedar scent of hers besieged his nostrils. “Look and witness.” She whispered and glowing, curving lines of a whitish blue appeared on her face, and at once the face he knew appeared smiling, just as enchanting the last time he saw it two years before.
“I am sorry it took this long to return, but truth be told, I was afraid to deliver the grim news you and them must know by now.” She said, the brightness faded and, in its place, gloom hung over her face.
“You must not be. We knew, or at least had the faintest of ideas he passed and that large slab of a memorial already delivered the grim news even to us.” Euthymius said, unknowingly caressing her hand. He had to mend this wound, as he thought she suffered even greater than them.
“I wish not to be the grim breaker of tender moments, reunions but time is not on neither of your sides. Am I right?” Naghig blew away the flakes gathering beneath the forming sculpture of a panoplied dwarf. He straightened himself, cracked his wrists and neck.
Euthymius felt the earth groan under the yoke of another’s will as the bricks parted open. Beyond it, a long set of stairs revealed themselves, torches lit the prudent gloom occupying the twisting, narrow space. “He is right, come Euthymius. You earned more than this reunion.” She said with a sisterly smile as her hands wrapped around his, and led him down the stairs whilst the grumpy orkh guided ahead.
“What more have I earned?” Euthymius asked, feeling a bit foolish as he had an inkling that now, after months of thievery, more grave tasks waited ahead of him.
The wavering of his heart lasted not long after thinking deeper on the matter. As he steeled himself, he loosened his tightened grip and matched the pace afraid to step on Luelia’s velvety boots. The last step ended in a damp, dim space, though the shadows scurried before Naghig and Luelia. Flames lit on the torches lining the walls, pale white glow flooded the room, coming from the large, rounded crystals embedded in the ceiling.
The air in the windowless cellar was thick and stagnant, even the wind that blew in the tavern reached not beyond the undone precipice. It clung to his skin like the silk shirt Isocrates wore and drenched often in his sweat after long and arduous days of research in the plebeian’s academy. The excited expression of his lingered in his mind, when he discovered his affinity to lightning. As if thunder struck him and filled him with life after dreary long years toiled away in the mines. Yet that mood faded too, but Euthymius himself knew not about that.
“Tell me boy, do you know the One and the Eight blessed every single mortal with an affinity, a tether to the myriad principal elements of reality?” To Naghig’s sudden question, he simply shook his head.
Though the question felt familiar, as he heard Isocrates talk about it in his dreams after the long nights of studies. The snap of his fingers, the howling of the stone further accentuated the emptiness of the cellar, whilst excitement sparkled in Euthymius’s eyes. A pedestal arose in the center, an opaque sphere of hardened molten glass of tinctured reds and blacks rested, surrounded by silky violet and black pillows.
“Place your hand upon it.” Luelia said, beckoning her with a faint gesture towards the opaque sphere.
Deep down, Euthymius found the piece quite ominous. “You will feel a slight twinge, like the sting of a dozen flies. But fear not, it shall only take a minor sample to know your magnitude and the aspect embedded within your arkhaine points.” Her words soothed his worries, and with bold steps, approached the pedestal and touched the orb with both hands.
Two, distinct tones appeared after a prickly feeling permeated his palms. It wasn’t unpleasant, but it was strange regardless. The right side gained an earthly tone he himself recognized and expected to be the element of earth, fitting for a miner he thought contemptuously. “Interesting.” The other was utterly black, he even found a bit foreboding, whilst Naghig and Luelia both seemed thrilled, proud in a strange sense.
“No need to be worried, Euthy.” Luelia said, in soothing tone. “It is a fairly useful element, one of the easiest to master to one’s limits.”
“What element is this?” Though he asked, Euthymius had an inkling of a feeling what it was.
“Shadow.” Naghig answered. “Funnily, it seems to confirm an age-old belief that second sons born with an affinity to it.”
“Why?” Euthymius baffled, could not help himself but utter the question which surfaced quickly.
“The Deossos are a fanciful bunch. Though no one really knows why, nobles simply had their second children act as spies and assassins if they possessed the affinity.” Luelia said. “But in your case, it could be one of your ancestors possessed the affinity. Have you ever felt drawn to shadows ever?” She added with a shrug.
Euthymius cudgeled his brains, and recalled the few instances he watched the shadows racing along the walls of the edifices lining their lane, dancing on the rugged walls of the tunnels as the torches sputtered, though in each case at the time he paid no mind to it. Just thought it was the fancy of his youth. But even now, he felt drawn to the shadows. Still he felt a bit dejected as his childhood dreams crumbled a little now knowing he had no affinity to the romantic elements of old heroes who could bewitch flames to burn evil away, to rely upon the light of Dawn to banish the gloom of Dusk.
“I have been, even now truth be told.” Euthymius said with a faint smile. “Still, I wish it was one of the heroic elements.” Both looked at him with raised brows but chuckled at his innocence.
“Believe me when I say this Euthy.” She began. “There were many heroes of the past who relied on the aid of Shadows, as there were villains who brought tyranny upon freedom with the aid of the Dawn or Fire. There are even nekromancers who raise the dead with the aid of light, which often entails an even more cursed existence to the remnants of the dead.”
“She speaks the truth. Even my folk began worshipping Dusk, and favored the cycle of Night because of monsters striving in the light of day.” Naghig joined in. “Favored by the shadows could save your lives, aid in escapes if the need ever arises.”
Their words seemed to sway his heart and now felt foolish for his feelings on the matter. “Now, come Euthy. I shall teach you the basics.” He nodded. Watching her open the walls, Euthymius sensed something in the earth. Possibly her will burrowing into the constituting elements. But he pondered not on that, but whether he became sensitive to this after the revelation of his affinities. Or was it something else.
He shrugged and followed, but kept the question in his mind, waited to utter it as they entered, leaving behind the smiling Naghig who watched them disappear. Then recommenced the sculpting heading up the stairs.
