20th Day of Spring, 510 AV Heads turned at the tall, paper-thin man clad in red as he strode quickly through the crowds. He stuck out like a sore thumb. The throngs parted before him, perplexed by his mystical appearance. Dyrdas ignored the attention as he bustled through Zeltiva, so intent was he on reaching his tiny cottage in time. A small child ran up alongside of him, tugging on the edge of his cloak. Dyrdas grinned down at the boy, and patted his head before sending him away. Ah, up here. Dyrdas turned a quick right. He was in the housing district now. It wasn't much further until he got there. Dyrdas glanced around at the people walking past. He found his gaze wandering towards a beggar. A poor man, with long, matted hair caked with dirt that hung over his eyes. His equally tattered and dirty clothing offered little, if any, protection from the elements to his bony form. Then his eyes were drawn to the beggar's right arm. His forearm was missing. The stump that was left was shriveled and black. The man must've been an unskilled laborer, put out of work by a tragic accident. As Dyrdas whirled by, he tossed a few mizas to the man. "Buy yourself some food," he said. Nearly three-quarters of the way there, Dyrdas slowed his pace a bit and allowed himself to catch his breath. He focused now on the task soon to be at hand. The man was going to give him a wring, and he would have to Glyph it... how best to do that, he wondered. A focus, surrounded by a barrier, with a trigger. The actual effect absorbed by the focus would be his Reimancy... a thin mist of Res, transformed into warmth. Simple enough. And here he was. Arriving at his tiny abode, he fumbled in his pocket for a moment. Finding his key, Dyrdas unlocked the door and went inside the cottage. He sat at the table, rehearsing his Glyphing process over in his mind, and waited for the carver, Talhar, to arrive. |