Looking Beyond the Gates (Mattias)

by **Leila** on March 24th, 2013, 1:59 am

Timestamp: Spring 48, 513 AV

Leila stood still, rigid with fear, as Shaco pulled on his leash excitedly. If she took just a few steps further, she'd be leaving the city for the first time in her entire life. It was terrifying. For years her mother told her stories of monsters deadly and bandits dangerous running around just outside the city, kept at bay for the Wave Guard and the good people of West Street. But she knew that outside was more wildlife, true wildlife. Herbs, plants, flowers, all things that grew in abundance outside of the city, just waiting to be discovered and harvested. And these things were the reason she was now at this impasse, trying to overcome the fear instilled by her mother, and become her own person.

She wish her father would come, help her make her first steps into this new world. But ever since his herbalism shop had failed, ever since he felt emasculated, and lost nearly all purpose in life, he avoided that part of his life like the plague. Maybe if she could prove to him that she was successful where he'd failed, he'd come back to the lifestyle. And with that thought dead set in her mind, she took her first step outside of Zeltiva.

Then she took another step. And another. And another, walking Shaco up the bush line that indicated where civilization ended, and wilderness began. The first plant she came across was one whose bounty was ready early this year. Among the vine of thorns, she plucked a big, juicy blackberry, and tossed it in her mouth. Crunch, squish, squirt, it was the most liberating taste she'd ever experienced. Shaco was also in heaven, busy marking on everything he could raise a leg to.

"Eh, eh miss, do you have any mizas you can spare fer an ol' beggar like meself?"

Leila looked over the blackberry bush, and saw a man in dirty rags, holding out a gloved hand, asking for alms, approaching her. What she didn't see was that his other arm was out of sight, nor did she see the knife he held in that hand. She reached down into her coin purse, and grabbed a spare golden miza, her kind nature outweighing her reasoning.

by **Mattias Plavoski** on April 1st, 2013, 6:59 pm

The rosy glow over dome of the sky made spectacular rainments for the clouds; shifting colors and hues of reds, pinks and orange, the faint feathery touches of Syna's golden glory at the edges of those nebulous courtesans greeting their shining monarch of the sky. But of course this was all lost on the young man as he walked through the pass out of the city. He rubbed his eyes and glowered at the sky as Syna's fingers filtered among the ridges and rocky outcroppings, stabbing into his eyes painfully. "Ugh.." He groaned causing a group of his fellow foot traffickers to look at him queerly.

Mattias did not like to get up so early.

A hand came to the craftsman's mouth as jaw cracked from the force of the yawn he let loose. Up to survey the forests for some birch and to inform his master's lumberjack friends; as if they could not do the job themselves. The master that he was apprenticing under certainly had his sadistic pleasures and knew Mattias loved to sleep in. Why should he have to do this? It was not like he knew a much about living trees. With a slight grumble he brought out the book on trees he had on loan from the university. Abriculture: A guide to classifying and growing trees. It was a short book, easily fitting one's pocket and with a detailed ink drawing of what the caption said was a Vain tree illustrated on the cover. He flipped through a couple pages and skimmed through table of contents and then to the back of the field guide to view the index. It seemed it was organized by region. Useful he supposed, it even had a lengthwise map on the opposite page at the beginning, opposing the table of contents. Interestingly, this short field guide was one of the few that the Library had several copies.

Reading that book and grumbling at things he could not control helped him forget his grief for his late father. It was a little over a season since he died of consumption, what a way to go. Mattias tried not to think of the way the disease shredded his father's lungs, phlegm and blood and bits of lung constantly being coughed up in spurts of red and black, gooey semi-solid liquid. He concentrated on the designs of the first entry of his book for his region.

The easiest way to distinguish a Zeltivan Oak from other trees and from among other Oak trees is the aggressive method in which competes with other growing plants. Brush, weeds and small saplings quickly die out due a mature oak's poisonous roots. Thus a tendency to have small rings of soil or small poison resistant plants in range of the roots.

The guide then went on to explain in detail the various statistics of the tree, naming acorns its fruit and that it was a hard, dense wood, prone to splintering if unfinished. -Huh. A carpenter must have had a hand in this book- he thought to himself. Matt turned the page and studied the leaf print there, not that he would be able to remember it the first time it couldn't hurt to try. In all, it successfully distracted him from thoughts of his father's death.

As Mattias walked he idly read through a few more entries, particularly interested in the beautiful depictions of the entries fir larch and alder and featherwood. When he finally looked up Matt found himself already out of the pass a young woman with a dog in front of him fetching something. Mattias had seen this traveler along the road a couple times this morning, always ahead of him, but he did not think anything of it. He towered over her and she had what he found very pretty hair. Not far ahead of the lady was a man that he instantly did not like. There was something about him, the way he moved or that greedy glint in those beady eyes, or perhaps those crooked, rotten teeth peeking out from a smile that Matt could only describe as wormy.

Matt tucked his book into his pocket and put on a big smile, "Ah. There you are love, come along, you know we have places to be. Let the next set of travelers give to the needy, we must be off." He offered his arm to the stranger, facing her and away from the beggar and whispered, "His intentions are not honest, we must be off. " He repeated, "look at the way he holds his arm and moves."