5th of Fall 513 AV.
The sun was setting lazily on the horizon as Niall walked along the quiet beach. The ocean slid up its sandy length in long drawn out rushes. It was as if the ocean was breathing, and his head rested upon her breast. He wore the new clothes he’d purchased in the market that evening. Fine cloth, leather, and metal plates rested lightly on his frame. A gentle breeze coaxed the hem of his cloak serenely, and Niall was struck by how perfect this moment was for what he needed to do.
The sand made a grinding sound under Niall’s boots as he walked. It didn’t sound like the silty grit he found at a rivers edge. This was very different. In the near distance he could see the masts of the ships docked in Zeltiva Harbor. The occasional boat headed out to sea, its sail filled with wind as it glided away to shores unknown to him.
His pack felt heavier than usual, which was odd. It didn’t carry any more or any less than it had before. Though, it felt as if it were a great burden upon his tired shoulders. He could feel the weight of what was left of his father’s arm. It was just a lump of Iron now, waiting for Niall to shape it into an instrument of his vengeance.
As he made his trek through the sand, he passed near a peninsula of loamy dirt that extended out into the sand. Its top was covered in a matt of hardy looking grass that grew low to the ground. He knelt near its edge and grasped at a tuft of grass feeling its hard texture. Yes, this would do. he thought to himself his eyes appraising the small peninsula of loamy dirt that had wandered its way out into the sandy beach. The Isur took a large step that raised him onto the solid ground above the sand and he took one last look at his surroundings. The grassy roll of the hills behind him, beyond the beach head, made a fair wind break. The ever present sea in front of him made him calm. Zeltiva to the north, and the rock formations to the south that made travel difficult gave him a feeling of safety. Though, Niall knew that Mizahar was full of false securities.
His thoughts were ablaze with anticipation of the evening’s events. It had been a long time since he had enjoyed mead, and he’d found a bottle in the market today. He removed his cloak and laid it out on the grass. His pack, he un-looped from his shoulders and laid it down with his cloak. He folded the cloak up and stuffed it into the pack to keep it safe, or to use later. When it looked secure he stood up and began to search for drift wood. Bits of plank from a ship, fallen lumber, and dried sea grass were all about. Niall gathered what he could. The drift wood in his arms was dry and held odd shapes. They had likely been on the beach for years, and Niall felt a twinge of guilt bringing them to their end. Though he knew he would need the flames tonight.
He laid the wood down in a neatly organized pile on the little berm overlooking the sea, and started a search for stones to build a ring. Before long, Niall had created a 1 meter diameter fire ring. The large stones were clean and smelled salty. The sand was still warm when he struck flint to tinder, tinder to starter, starter to kindling, and kindling to logs, just as he had many times before.
The fire crackled merrily as Niall sat on a large log of driftwood he had dragged to the fires edge to sit with a view of the ocean. He gnawed on a bit of jerky pensively. His eyes looked far away, where his mind was dwelling. Somewhere in his past a wrong had been done. A wrong that demanded justice! His attention crashed back to reality like so many cresting waves in the sea. His eyes travelled up past Zeltiva’s main dock and he cast an appraising eye upon the Denvali Quarter. Somewhere hidden in amongst the innocent, his quarry lay. Living their lives free of guilt over what they had done.
But that would have to wait. Tonight he would honor the ones he left behind. He dragged his bag close to him and unstrapped the top flap. Lifting the flap of leather over he looked at his meager possessions, and took what he needed. A sharpening stone, his old ragged clothes, some oil he bought in the market that day, and his crowned jewel, in the form of a jug of mead, were withdrawn in turn and laid to rest at his feet. The young Isur heaved a long sigh and took the brown jug of mead by its hanging loop.
With some loving persuasion by Nialls teeth, the cork in the top pulled out with a loud pop. He spat the cork into his hand and pocketed it for later, knowing he may have to replace it. He wiped the lid of any grit or dirt that might have been there, each circle of his finger making that soft rubbing sound of flesh on glazed ceramic. At last he took a shallow mouthful of the golden elixir. The tanginess of the fermented honey struck first loudly on his sensitive palette. Eventually the undertones of the clover and lemon followed. He sighed softly as the tangy liquor stung his tongue and savored the mouthful he had taken. It had been a long time.
Not wanting to waste time, he drew his sword and looked down its edge toward the fire. He searched vigilantly for imperfections in the blades edge. It looked worn evenly along the blade, which made sense. He had not had the need to use it for some time. Though the young Isur knew that he had neglected the blade in his travels, and tonight he would remind the piece of steel that he still cared for it. He sliced a sleeve away from his old clothes and applied a conservative amount of oil to his new rag. With great care he oiled the blade, giving the steel a soft sheen in the firelight. When the blade had been oiled properly he lay the rag down on what was left of his own clothes, and picked up the sharpening stone. He felt the grit with his thumb, testing to be sure it was of a certain fineness.
A sudden wave of sorrow washed over him and his shoulders slumped. He missed his father. He had been a hard man to know, but he knew that his father had loved him. Niall took a deep breath and squared his shoulders bringing the sharpening stone to the edge of the sword blade. With a long draw he brought the stone along the edge of the blade. The grind of stone on steel sang into the twilight.
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