Timestamp: Fall 513 - Day 1
The dull thud of the old brass bell was a welcome sound, as tired workers found renewed vigor, gathering jackets and coats as they scurried off the docks towards the city. Wooden walkways and piers gave way to the more stable ground of streets and alleys. Should one be so inclined, they could follow those streets all the way up to the north-east part of the city, where the Denvali converged, planned, and plotted. Something was stirring there as if the arrival of Fall had set a fuse. Politically it was a powder keg waiting to ignite, bound to send fragments of chaos and chunks of upheaval across the city. None would be spared. None would be untouched.
But not everyone knew the impending troubles that for now paused on the outskirts with beady eyes and twitching hands. As fingers wrapped around hilts and staves, Denvali militants waited with a mix of excitement and nervousness, watching the unsuspecting Zeltivans going about their daily business as if nothing was different. If there was a sense of foreboding in the air, they didn't know it. They would come to mark this day though, as the day the Coup began.
Having gathered his own coat - that he admitted might be in need of replacing - Khazius climbed the steps from his loading dock and onto the paved walkway lining the city. Turning back to look at the ships, he wondered for a moment if he might ever be free of loading and unloading them add infinity. Maybe one day he would be loading himself on one of those ships, that would take him far, far away from here.
It was the same old story come the end of his shift. That pause as he transitioned from work to freedom, only to have it snatched away as the monotony of life reminded him that he wasn't free at all. There was father to consider, still as speechless and inactive as the day mother had passed. Without Khazius, his father would have probably ended up in one of those homes for the insane. He couldn't allow that. Not his own family.
But just as soon as he rued his lot in life, he at once countered with the relief of his 'other' profession. The life of a spiritist was a rewarding yet strange one, not so much the subject matter of course, but rather that for the most part he had to conduct his affairs in secret. Only a handful knew of his second occupation. Farris' granddaughter of course. Then there was Marina, as well as a few other ghosts who he had worked with but for now had not reincarnated. A few others perhaps, but very few.
Still, spiritism was restricted to the night time. He had a few hours before then, but presently he wasn't working with any ghosts or on any 'assignments'. In other words, he was completely free for the remainder of the evening. For others he worked with, this would mean hitting the nearest tavern to drink foul tasting liquor, or perhaps returning home to loved ones. As for Khazius, he didn't drink and had no loved one waiting for him at home. There had been women in the past, but with his effectively working two jobs and caring for his father, he'd watched his twenties pass by without ever advancing to the higher echelons of a relationship.
At that moment Khazius was drawn from his meandering thoughts as a passerby rudely brushed past him. It was more of a collision than an innocent brushing, and he turned to offer his protestations at the transgressor. But he noted with confusion that several others had also taken flight in his direction. He became aware of a commotion, a mix of shouts and crashes that only came together in the form of trouble.
"What's going on?" he asked of a young boy with a reddened face. The lad stopped, hands on his knees as he regained his breath, before looking back the way he came with a sense of urgency slapped on his face.
"Them Denvali folk mister. They takin' to arms and lookin' fo' trouble." With that the boy set off once more, almost getting flattened as two city watch guards came stampeding from the other direction heading towards the commotion. Khazius himself was no trained fighter, beyond the ability to throw a wild punch or two. In any case, his first priority was to ensure the safety of his father, and so he set off towards that humble cottage he called home.
The dull thud of the old brass bell was a welcome sound, as tired workers found renewed vigor, gathering jackets and coats as they scurried off the docks towards the city. Wooden walkways and piers gave way to the more stable ground of streets and alleys. Should one be so inclined, they could follow those streets all the way up to the north-east part of the city, where the Denvali converged, planned, and plotted. Something was stirring there as if the arrival of Fall had set a fuse. Politically it was a powder keg waiting to ignite, bound to send fragments of chaos and chunks of upheaval across the city. None would be spared. None would be untouched.
But not everyone knew the impending troubles that for now paused on the outskirts with beady eyes and twitching hands. As fingers wrapped around hilts and staves, Denvali militants waited with a mix of excitement and nervousness, watching the unsuspecting Zeltivans going about their daily business as if nothing was different. If there was a sense of foreboding in the air, they didn't know it. They would come to mark this day though, as the day the Coup began.
Having gathered his own coat - that he admitted might be in need of replacing - Khazius climbed the steps from his loading dock and onto the paved walkway lining the city. Turning back to look at the ships, he wondered for a moment if he might ever be free of loading and unloading them add infinity. Maybe one day he would be loading himself on one of those ships, that would take him far, far away from here.
It was the same old story come the end of his shift. That pause as he transitioned from work to freedom, only to have it snatched away as the monotony of life reminded him that he wasn't free at all. There was father to consider, still as speechless and inactive as the day mother had passed. Without Khazius, his father would have probably ended up in one of those homes for the insane. He couldn't allow that. Not his own family.
But just as soon as he rued his lot in life, he at once countered with the relief of his 'other' profession. The life of a spiritist was a rewarding yet strange one, not so much the subject matter of course, but rather that for the most part he had to conduct his affairs in secret. Only a handful knew of his second occupation. Farris' granddaughter of course. Then there was Marina, as well as a few other ghosts who he had worked with but for now had not reincarnated. A few others perhaps, but very few.
Still, spiritism was restricted to the night time. He had a few hours before then, but presently he wasn't working with any ghosts or on any 'assignments'. In other words, he was completely free for the remainder of the evening. For others he worked with, this would mean hitting the nearest tavern to drink foul tasting liquor, or perhaps returning home to loved ones. As for Khazius, he didn't drink and had no loved one waiting for him at home. There had been women in the past, but with his effectively working two jobs and caring for his father, he'd watched his twenties pass by without ever advancing to the higher echelons of a relationship.
At that moment Khazius was drawn from his meandering thoughts as a passerby rudely brushed past him. It was more of a collision than an innocent brushing, and he turned to offer his protestations at the transgressor. But he noted with confusion that several others had also taken flight in his direction. He became aware of a commotion, a mix of shouts and crashes that only came together in the form of trouble.
"What's going on?" he asked of a young boy with a reddened face. The lad stopped, hands on his knees as he regained his breath, before looking back the way he came with a sense of urgency slapped on his face.
"Them Denvali folk mister. They takin' to arms and lookin' fo' trouble." With that the boy set off once more, almost getting flattened as two city watch guards came stampeding from the other direction heading towards the commotion. Khazius himself was no trained fighter, beyond the ability to throw a wild punch or two. In any case, his first priority was to ensure the safety of his father, and so he set off towards that humble cottage he called home.
