Post by Deleted on Jan 19, 2015 4:11:49 GMT -5
He had let himself feel at home--almost more at home than he'd felt in Cahalia City. He had a love which he was passionate about. Beyond that, he'd found a community which accepted him as a unique contribution to their skilled number. It was as if a forest of apple trees bearing fruit had sprung up around him--even though he'd been planted in unfamiliar soil, a branch broken off a much larger tree.
There was a pretty large city only a day or so from the forest's edge, where the hills took over the horizon and trees were few. They'd come upon it from behind a hill, but for some reason had allowed him to ride a horse, his Kell holding onto him from behind. She peered over his shoulder when they reached the hill's crest to see a sight familiar to her.
It was a magnificent city, and strange. It was built straddling a creek that ran between two large hills. The creek meandered down to where, in the distance, was the river they'd crossed a few days before. He didn't know its name, nor did anyone else. And no one seemed to care. But he'd decided to call it Wallton.
The city was surrounded by a wall which, from where the caravan stood, in front of a gate, was no taller than two men stacked. But as the gate opened, Rigel could see far, farther than he could ever see in Cahalia City; He realized quite quickly that no house was taller than the wall itself, and that they were all arranged in a grid pattern--or perhaps a series of circles within circles. He could see the opposite wall, through the cast-iron bars of some sort of gated garden.
He would come to find that it was some sort of mandated law--the wall was to be built to a specified level, two men's height above its highest point, and no building's chimney should exceed that height, but should instead attempt to meet it. Thus, in the center where the creek middled, an enormous tower had been built, with tiers separating floor-heights, and the entire city had been laid according to this plan.
No one seemed to mind much, but he found it the oddest spectacle he'd ever seen. His inquiring mind would immediately begin questioning how such an undertaking had gone about--how they had maintained the level so perfectly for the wall, how they could ensure such perfection in architecture. His mind took in the city, trying to understand the complexities of how such a marvel could have been made.
--OOC: Roll for learning "Architecture" which I guess means some applicable secret knowledge, or Masonry.--
--IC:
He followed the group until they reached where, no doubt, the creek was its lowest, as it was the edge of the wall nearest the direction they'd come.
"The market," Kell told him. It was plain to see--the crowds funneled in and out of staircases and shops, their keepers leaning out the small windows in the stone, showing the wares behind them.
"WELL," some bearded boulder of a man bustled out of his shop-hole, his voice as rough as his face, "IF IT ISN'T JEAN GOLDSADDLE AND THE CAHALIAN TRADERS!"
"Yes," said the soft-spoken leader, "More or less. Have any deals, Stonebrow?"
Never had Rigel heard a more appropriate name. "PLENTY FOR AN OLD FRIEND!" He had no concept of the word 'subtlety' nor any idea how he would pronounce it, if he ever learned to read. Rigel knew from a glance he'd been born to trade in less honest work, working the undercurrents and third parties, the in-between places and whispers at night, none of the open-air sales in broad day.
He wondered if the Hood had been right, after all.
"I have a stowaway," Goldsaddles said.
Those words spelled more than trouble for Rigel. They meant the severing of a family--a fire setting ablaze the orchard into which his lonely tree had been replanted.
"STOWAWAY?" Kell hadn't been paying attention, but the harsh voice alarmed her and the entire caravan. She clenched his abdomen and shoved her face into his neck. She felt like mother nature, wrapping her healthy vines around him, begging him to stay with the other trees.
"Oh, gosh," she said, "I knew it, I knew it."
"Knew... Kell, you couldn't have known."
"This is dad's horse," she said through sobs, "He must have said something to Jean. Like, that he wanted you out, couldn't bear to look at your face, something like that."
Henri thought upon it and decided that was very likely the case. He hadn't seen Dale since they'd left the forest. And since the night after Green Hood, she'd spent every night in Rigel's tent--though they did nothing but talk til morn and sleep all day.
Whatever was said between Goldsaddle and Stonebrow, he couldn't hear, but he could see. Stonebrow and two men were coming right towards him. He couldn't help but feel the branches snapping around him, smell the smoke of burning apples in the air. There was no time to protest about how he'd damn-near saved the ungrateful man's life; it wasn't as important. He would use all his breaths on someone he cared about, not a petty decision made without his consent.
He'd planted a seed of love somewhere in the girl's heart, and the only noble thing he could do was to slow its withering. "Kell," he whispered, "I'm sorry." She was crying into his shoulder. "I'll always love you, and keep you in my heart. I felt a home here." The men were close now and drawing closer. "But you're strong, and you'll be strong without me, So--"
With strong, practiced hands, they grabbed him from the horse, and punched his face... Dizzy... "Rigel!" the voice was swimming, but swimming... closer. She jumped off the horse and tried pushing away one of the men. "Rigel!" But they pushed her down, into the dirt.
He struggled, though his body seemed to struggle back. He'd always taken the hit and defended the weaker. But his vision went in and out, in and out. "Kell!" He screamed with a voice that seemed to come from another time, another place, as if he was only remembering all this in a dream.
In the dream, they were not in front of a market in Wallton. In the dream, they were in an orchard. The apple trees were black, barren stalks, turned away from the two. She was a goddess in a pool of moonwater, and he was... a tree? He could not move, only sway in the breeze. He couldn't hear much, couldn't see much, only struggle to grasp at the dirt.
But he'd felt the vertigo as they tossed him up, and the gravity as they brought him hard to the ground. His ears rang, his breaths were gone. A bag over the head gave him black he'd known at night, and a sudden sharp pain on the side of his head gave him a black he'd only known in sleep.
The orchard was ashes.
There was a pretty large city only a day or so from the forest's edge, where the hills took over the horizon and trees were few. They'd come upon it from behind a hill, but for some reason had allowed him to ride a horse, his Kell holding onto him from behind. She peered over his shoulder when they reached the hill's crest to see a sight familiar to her.
It was a magnificent city, and strange. It was built straddling a creek that ran between two large hills. The creek meandered down to where, in the distance, was the river they'd crossed a few days before. He didn't know its name, nor did anyone else. And no one seemed to care. But he'd decided to call it Wallton.
The city was surrounded by a wall which, from where the caravan stood, in front of a gate, was no taller than two men stacked. But as the gate opened, Rigel could see far, farther than he could ever see in Cahalia City; He realized quite quickly that no house was taller than the wall itself, and that they were all arranged in a grid pattern--or perhaps a series of circles within circles. He could see the opposite wall, through the cast-iron bars of some sort of gated garden.
He would come to find that it was some sort of mandated law--the wall was to be built to a specified level, two men's height above its highest point, and no building's chimney should exceed that height, but should instead attempt to meet it. Thus, in the center where the creek middled, an enormous tower had been built, with tiers separating floor-heights, and the entire city had been laid according to this plan.
No one seemed to mind much, but he found it the oddest spectacle he'd ever seen. His inquiring mind would immediately begin questioning how such an undertaking had gone about--how they had maintained the level so perfectly for the wall, how they could ensure such perfection in architecture. His mind took in the city, trying to understand the complexities of how such a marvel could have been made.
--OOC: Roll for learning "Architecture" which I guess means some applicable secret knowledge, or Masonry.--
--IC:
He followed the group until they reached where, no doubt, the creek was its lowest, as it was the edge of the wall nearest the direction they'd come.
"The market," Kell told him. It was plain to see--the crowds funneled in and out of staircases and shops, their keepers leaning out the small windows in the stone, showing the wares behind them.
"WELL," some bearded boulder of a man bustled out of his shop-hole, his voice as rough as his face, "IF IT ISN'T JEAN GOLDSADDLE AND THE CAHALIAN TRADERS!"
"Yes," said the soft-spoken leader, "More or less. Have any deals, Stonebrow?"
Never had Rigel heard a more appropriate name. "PLENTY FOR AN OLD FRIEND!" He had no concept of the word 'subtlety' nor any idea how he would pronounce it, if he ever learned to read. Rigel knew from a glance he'd been born to trade in less honest work, working the undercurrents and third parties, the in-between places and whispers at night, none of the open-air sales in broad day.
He wondered if the Hood had been right, after all.
"I have a stowaway," Goldsaddles said.
Those words spelled more than trouble for Rigel. They meant the severing of a family--a fire setting ablaze the orchard into which his lonely tree had been replanted.
"STOWAWAY?" Kell hadn't been paying attention, but the harsh voice alarmed her and the entire caravan. She clenched his abdomen and shoved her face into his neck. She felt like mother nature, wrapping her healthy vines around him, begging him to stay with the other trees.
"Oh, gosh," she said, "I knew it, I knew it."
"Knew... Kell, you couldn't have known."
"This is dad's horse," she said through sobs, "He must have said something to Jean. Like, that he wanted you out, couldn't bear to look at your face, something like that."
Henri thought upon it and decided that was very likely the case. He hadn't seen Dale since they'd left the forest. And since the night after Green Hood, she'd spent every night in Rigel's tent--though they did nothing but talk til morn and sleep all day.
Whatever was said between Goldsaddle and Stonebrow, he couldn't hear, but he could see. Stonebrow and two men were coming right towards him. He couldn't help but feel the branches snapping around him, smell the smoke of burning apples in the air. There was no time to protest about how he'd damn-near saved the ungrateful man's life; it wasn't as important. He would use all his breaths on someone he cared about, not a petty decision made without his consent.
He'd planted a seed of love somewhere in the girl's heart, and the only noble thing he could do was to slow its withering. "Kell," he whispered, "I'm sorry." She was crying into his shoulder. "I'll always love you, and keep you in my heart. I felt a home here." The men were close now and drawing closer. "But you're strong, and you'll be strong without me, So--"
With strong, practiced hands, they grabbed him from the horse, and punched his face... Dizzy... "Rigel!" the voice was swimming, but swimming... closer. She jumped off the horse and tried pushing away one of the men. "Rigel!" But they pushed her down, into the dirt.
He struggled, though his body seemed to struggle back. He'd always taken the hit and defended the weaker. But his vision went in and out, in and out. "Kell!" He screamed with a voice that seemed to come from another time, another place, as if he was only remembering all this in a dream.
In the dream, they were not in front of a market in Wallton. In the dream, they were in an orchard. The apple trees were black, barren stalks, turned away from the two. She was a goddess in a pool of moonwater, and he was... a tree? He could not move, only sway in the breeze. He couldn't hear much, couldn't see much, only struggle to grasp at the dirt.
But he'd felt the vertigo as they tossed him up, and the gravity as they brought him hard to the ground. His ears rang, his breaths were gone. A bag over the head gave him black he'd known at night, and a sudden sharp pain on the side of his head gave him a black he'd only known in sleep.
The orchard was ashes.