by Niall Hammerfist on September 15th, 2013, 10:40 pm
Niall focused his gaze on her face as she spoke to him. He had to admit that it wasn’t hard for her to hold his attention. He’d always been a fool for a pretty face, and Vernadel was no exception. She had swum to Zeltiva from Akvatar, which made sense as her tail looked extremely serviceable for the task. The idea of Niall swimming farther than the breadth of a river scared him. Being an Isur his body was dense. Staying afloat was a problem when your weight was mostly muscle like his. When she told him of how she slept beneath the waves, Niall remembered a dream he had once where he was sleeping in the great lake in the Oathos Valley. He seemed to recall in the dream he had been dead, and he watched his own body as it gently drifted with the soft push of the currents.
He smiled a small genuine smile as she mentioned the city of Abura fondly. It sounded like a magical place steeped in Djed.
When she described what a painter was he leaned in closer to her listening fascinated. Applying pigment to a flat surface, amazing! Niall had seen a carpet woven, or clothes that had been dyed, but never something so capturing of a moment as what Vernadel described as a painting. He could see the limitations of it as well, though he speculated in his head on which would seem more life-like, a sculpture or a painting. Though Niall could imagine a hazy almost fuzzed out version of himself, or other people as they moved through the market, their lives full of color and purpose. She described a fascinating image he could see clearly in his head.
He sat back in his chair when she said she would like to paint him one day, and he suppressed another blush, though it didn’t do enough to hide the little patches of warmth that showed on his cheeks. “I’m sure there are far better subjects than myself, that you could devote yourself to capturing in a ‘painting’.” He said softly. He had never thought of himself as worthy of leaving something behind apart from his work. Weapons, Armor, Jewelry, and utility forged items. It always seemed enough to leave behind his work as testament to his life.
Niall was about to answer vernadels question about Kalea when a serving boy in simple clothes brought them a pitcher of water and two simple copper cups embossed with swimming fish. He poured the crystal clear water into Vernadels cup, a few droplets sloshing onto the wooden table staining the cracked surface with wetness. The water looked so marvelous Niall knew it would taste sweet. His anticipation wasn’t misspent. When he filled his cup he took a drink and sighed, his cheeks still partially filled. After swallowing the last bit and refilling his cup, he realized he’d been rude.
“My apologies, I’m parched.” He raised the cup to his lips considering her question. “Kalea is a hard land. It’s cold a majority of the year. It’s a great place to start a rock farm.” His eyes wandered through the memories in his head as he imagined his childhood. He took a sip of water and continued. “The ground is rich in ore, and the stone is cold and gray, not unlike the sky. Though when the day is without clouds you can lose yourself in the blue of that sky.” Niall seemed to be able to see it in his head, his mind travelling there now, over hill, mountain, and desert. “Many have described it as ‘The Unforgiving’ and they aren’t wrong. There were years it seemed, that the cold never left my bones.” He took a sip of his water and shivered a moment. He gasped as his mind came back to reality. “Not like here. It’s a very different place. “ He breathed in the warm air heavily, letting the heat soak his lungs, he hoped to drive away the imagined cold that he felt creeping into his soul.
“As for Sultros, I’ve never been to the great city. The way my father and the other Isur at the mining camp tell it, Sultros is an amazing place; vast in the depths of its mines, and high reaching in the height of its citadels.” Niall took a breath and a slight twinge of regret formed on his face, narrowing his eyes and pursing his lips. “I hope to see it one day. However, “ he said with a tone of finality. ”it’s time to stop walking for a while. I grow weary of the road and I hope that Zeltiva will be my last stop for a while.”
With a short tip of his cup he downed what was left in it. He let the cool liquid slosh in his mouth and down his throat, grateful for the relief it brought. “It was indeed a long way to travel. I walked a majority of it, and I must say that sitting down in a chair and sleeping in a bed is not over rated. I rode a fair distance from Syliras by Cart. That was a fortunate turn of events. I doubt I would have made it to Zeltiva had I not spent part of that journey sleeping in the back of a cart.” Niall said as he thought of the dangers of the trip.
“Leaving Kalea was the worst travelling experience I can remember. We left the mining camp in the shadow of Mount Oathos with twelve people and made for The Spires.” His face became grave and his voice caught a moment before he continued. “Only three of us made it. In truth, sometimes I think back to that time and I wonder if I didn’t lose a piece of myself in The Unforgiving.” His eyes seemed to be looking back again, to a time long ago. Niall seemed to come back again from the sorrow of his past and he locked eyes with Vernadel, a guilty look on his face. “I apologize Miss Vernadel, these are my scars, and my burden to bear.”
He ran the black fingers of his left hand through his hair and sighed letting the bad feelings go with his exhale. He shut his eyes to the pain and opened them again refreshed. It was then he realized that he had created an awkward silence. He gave Vernadel a toothy grin, hoping it would put her at ease.
“Let the past be in the past.” He said in a soft voice barely audible over the din of the street. His expression grew soft again.
It was then that mercy from his awkwardness arrived in the form of their server, bearing copper plates, and eating utensils.