Darkness springs up in the most unsuspecting of places. A story of a life turned upside down by a chain of strange events, like always...
Before the Storm, My Calm
In the deepest core of his eyes you could see the very galaxy: soft, tiny stars infiltrating the edges of the pupil from the very center. The irises also likened to the stars. They were a deep cerulean peppered with gold and silver lines. He was the very epitaph of eloquence, and, likewise, the very epitaph of death.
Criar Millian was a portly, red-faced fellow who seemed to always find a way to curse the heavens for some unholy character of the weather every single day. He could find nothing better to do with his languid afternoons than sit on the front porch and mutter about how hot it was, or why it should rain today, or what in the blessed earth happened to that wind. It was always something.
This was precisely the reason why Nimorian Tendil hated him so much. It was bad enough having to live fifteen years beside the man, but ever since he had reached the ripe age of sixty-two, the town had assumed the job of taking care of him to the only family he had left: his next-door neighbor. Who, wouldn't luck have it, was Nimo himself.
Nimorian had raised himself. His father had died in the Gredalian War ages ago, a good two months before he was born, and his mother had packed her things and left the house when he was four years old. He, being a young child, had gotten into terrible trouble. However, upon learning of his blackened misfortune, the townspeople softened up and provided him with the necessities. It seemed that, despite their kind concern for him, they had never taken up the responsibility of schooling him, teaching him right from wrong, or providing him with any basic guidance whatsoever. He had done all of that himself. All the while wedged in a deserted house between Mr. Weather's-Bad and Mrs. Gossip.
Mrs. Gossip referred to the young wife on the other side of his house who had now grown to the age of thirty-five. All Annicaden Houzen knew how to do was spew forth rumors and claim them to be facts of life whether their validity was clarified or not. Her golden blond hair was always pulled up like a ball on the top of her head, and every time Nimorian looked over at her house, he could see her standing there, leaning to a friend in idle gossip. Nimo liked to think of it more as a hunt than a gossip. Reason being because every time she said something, a poor soul died somewhere.
After he had been handed the job of looking over the old man, Nimo's life had disappeared. He could only watch the carriages go by his and his neighbors' houses with a longing to jump inside. On days he could be going out to the town square and finding something fun to do, he found himself sitting in Criar's living room, watching him sleep. He only left the house briefly to obtain food from the stands in the village market just outside the square.
However, tonight he was absolutely positive he'd get away. Truth be told, Criar held up on his own better than people gave him credit for. He could do everything. In fact, Nimorian had watched in hushed awe as the man took a nice long three-mile run around the Bildomi Lake on sunny afternoon despite his chubby figure. He was perfectly healthy and undaunted by the uncertainties of life. Nimo wasn't needed, and he was ready to escape. Therefore, he'd decided to leave tonight as the old man slept as to avoid any long-winded interrogations.
He slipped the last piece of wheat bread into the makeshift rag-sack and tied it tightly. The last preparations of his grand escape was forming in his mind as he slipped off into his room and awaited his hour of freedom.
"I absolutely will not here of it, Xornathian! Do you understand me!?"
Baron Trabidar Elligal de Xornathian waved a tan hand at his associate to dismiss her. Of course he knew that rugged old woman wouldn't approve of his tampering with the Lance Capital's magic, but it was more than a little fascinating to him. He went down to the Capital all the time in order to seek out the secrets of the enchanting spectacles. The Lance Capital was an organization which ensured the safety of the Kingdom of Quartienta, right? Surely the magic couldn't be all bad.
Magic, however, was exactly why the Capital was frowned upon. Become and honorable knight there and you would be treated as if you were a gypsy! None of the townspeople or the royalty associated themselves with such a place. Only the desperate would turn and throw their lives down to the feet of the Capital. The magic had done great and terrible things in the world already, and yet they continued using the accursed tool as if it were any other weapon.
Trabidar smiled. He was an honored young aristocrat who was simply enjoying his position in the world. He had long curly blond hair that fell to the bottom of his shoulder blades and misty grey eyes. He was a tall boy, a good five-foot-ten, and very lanky in frame. His long face accentuated this, and with everything put together, he could easily be compared to a stork or a phantom. His high cheekbones jutted out slightly, and his tan skin out of place compared to the rest of his figure. He was outgoing and mischievous, just like any other aristocratic gentleman of his age.
And he was absolutely entranced by the wonders of the magic. The Capital itself was like a heaven to him. His family had the Capital to thank for their rise to aristocracy, and it was the Capital who had led him through days of hard and terrible trials when he was young. Becoming an aristocrat wasn't hard to do provided you were a strong soldier. One needed only to work your way up the ranks, and eventually your good deeds would be noted.
When he was a boy, he'd been one of the most impoverished citizens in all of Quartienta. However, his father had quickly scaled the ranks in Lance Capital during the first stages of the Gredalian War, and he'd lifted his family up to the bows of aristocracy. While they had been in league with the Capital, they'd been provided food, shelter, and safety. Surely people could understand what they did was good.
It was all just a matter of time before Trabidar proved to them all that this was indeed a very good, not to mention essential, part of their society. He was going to make Lance Capital the leading organization in Quartienta.