|.1st Autumn, 514
Zhol was tired. Despite the late hour at which he'd returned to his bed the previous night, sleep had remained elusive. It seemed to be the way of late: those nights that weren't plagued by insomnia were tormented by strange and twisted dreams that blurred in his memory and refused to be recalled; perhaps for the best. This morning it was the former that plagued him, too many thoughts flowing uncontrolled through his mind, too many urges and emotions that would not allow themselves to be silenced, and yet could not be allowed to be expressed either.
Shortly before the sun he had abandoned his efforts and climbed through the warrens to the Enclave, searching for answers amongst the shelves. He had not quite found them; but two tombs that he hoped would lead him there rested within the battered leather backpack currently slung across his shoulder. His hips rocked as Solo advanced down the Sanikas Road; he had two bells at most before he would need to return to begin his day of work. Ordinarily he would remain in the city on days such as this, but with preparations for market making Wind Reach far too abuzz with activity even at this early hour, he needed an escape; he needed solitude; he needed somewhere to hide.
Perhaps his decision had been too literal; but there was something about the so-called Hideaway that today drew Zhol towards it like a moth to a flame. The lava geyser was not difficult to find, but approaching it was proving to be somewhat less simple, particularly when convincing Solo to head towards a spectacle that clearly terrified him was required. Considerable urging, kicking of heels and tugging of reigns was required, and even then the best he managed was to spur the colt into a slow, reluctant walk up the path that led to one of the many scars that the Djed Storm had left upon the landscape.
Though the glow of the geyser could be seen from a distance amid the dim light of early morning, it was not until now that Zhol began to truly feel it's presence. Heat rolled from his destination in waves, and while they began as gentle breakers against the shore, with each passing step they became more intense, and Solo's reluctance grew. Zhol couldn't blame him, and cast his eyes around; a few dozen yards back he spied a tree that looked sturdy enough, and steered an all too willing Solo back towards it, retreating from the heat. The instruction to halt however, drawn back on both reins at once, was met with a whiney of protest. Zhol leaned forward, patting Solo on the side of the neck as he eased his boots from the stirrups and swung his leg free, slipping from the saddle and onto the gravel ground. "Don't worry friend," he assured gently, "I won't force you any further. Wait, yes? I'll go the rest of the way on my own."
Solo seemed perturbed; worried, even. Perhaps Zhol was merely projecting. He tried to push that thought aside as he led Solo towards the tree, lashing his lead to the sturdiest branch and carefully checking that it would remain secure. As Zhol stepped back and turned to leave, Solo took a step forward as if to follow. Zhol smiled, but shook his head, his fingers curling into the grassland sign for calm.
The path was more difficult to navigate without Solo's assistance, a route beaten by the feet of travellers rather than an explicitly carved path. It wasn't a frequently visited location, but then, what kind of a Hideaway would it be if it was? His tired eyes blinked against the dry air, his skin feeling as if every last scrap of moisture was being drawn from his body. Each breath was more of a challenge, each step more of a struggle; and as he crested the small ridge from which the geyser's glow peeked, the breath vanished from his lungs completely.
Awe quickly took it's place. He had heard the spectacle before him described many ways, but to call it a geyser, or a scar on the landscape, did not do justice to how it appeared in the flesh. It was an open wound, the blood of Mount Skyinata - the blood of the world - welling to the surface. This was not some mere fluid either: this was liquid rock, melted by heat so intense that it was impossible to comprehend. This was the lifeblood of Wind Reach, that warmed the hot springs, that provided heat to the commonrooms, that fueled the ovens and that had been bent to serve the needs of the Inarta. It was one thing to know that the baths were warmed by the mountain itself; it was another thing entirely to see how with one's own eyes.
Zhol wrenched his eyes away, wary of the toll that it might take on him if he stood here too long. Carefully he followed the poorly defined path that skirted around the bubbling pool of molten rock, breathing shallow to avoid inhaling too much of the fumes. His path drew him away from the heat but only slightly; that changed when the path took a turn, and led him to a small rend in a wall of stone.
This was the Hideway itself; the geyser was merely a lawn ornament for the cave concealed behind it. A few steps inside and the heat was replaced by an unexpected chill. It was a strange and unexpected experience; not the dry heat of the air outside, nor the comforting warmth of Wind Reach's tunnels, but not the dank air of other wild caves that Zhol had sought refuge inside either.
He entered far enough for the dim dawnlight to fade behind him, and then waited for his eyes to adjust to the new dark, studying the contours of the shadowy space. There were signs that he was not the first person to have visited here: indications of where fires had been lit, where beds had lain, where idle hands had left markings and writing against the wall.
Carefully he slid the backpack from his shoulders, and stepped over to where a ring of stones had once held a campfire contained. Unfastening the buckle, he reached into the pack and delicately lifted out a crude hemp sack, laying it on the ground beside him. Unwrapping the fabric he lifted out a few handfuls of the contents: horse manure, but left to dry in the sun rather than sent to the gardens as fertilizer. With trees so scarce in the mountainous proximity of Wind Reach, this was what the Inarta frequently used as fuel, left to dry in stone troughs at roadside camp grounds and outside the stables. Not an enticing prospect perhaps, but it was efficient and the pellets burned well; and compared to the precious wood that the Inarta saved for their crafting needs, it was an easily renewable resource.
Carefully, he arranged the fuel within the circle of stones, and with closed eyes and a deep breath he reached into himself, ushering a few drops of res to collect at his fingertips. With intense concentration he commanded them to form a mist, which transformed into fire at his insistence and spread slowly across the fuel. Once lit, the fuel began to catch of it's own accord, and Zhol's res drew the fire towards it, leading the flames in a slow circle with Zhol's outstretched hand guiding the way. He waited to feel the warmth on his face before he opened his eyes, and after a moment allowing his vision to adjust to the new light he reached for his pack, and retrieved a cloth to wipe the debris from his fingers. A cursory effort towards cleanliness made, he retrieved the two tombs he had borrowed from the Enclave and set them down beside him, one in easy reach of each hand, and wondered where to begin: Meditation: The Art of Calm, or Shielding: A Novice's Guide?
Shortly before the sun he had abandoned his efforts and climbed through the warrens to the Enclave, searching for answers amongst the shelves. He had not quite found them; but two tombs that he hoped would lead him there rested within the battered leather backpack currently slung across his shoulder. His hips rocked as Solo advanced down the Sanikas Road; he had two bells at most before he would need to return to begin his day of work. Ordinarily he would remain in the city on days such as this, but with preparations for market making Wind Reach far too abuzz with activity even at this early hour, he needed an escape; he needed solitude; he needed somewhere to hide.
Perhaps his decision had been too literal; but there was something about the so-called Hideaway that today drew Zhol towards it like a moth to a flame. The lava geyser was not difficult to find, but approaching it was proving to be somewhat less simple, particularly when convincing Solo to head towards a spectacle that clearly terrified him was required. Considerable urging, kicking of heels and tugging of reigns was required, and even then the best he managed was to spur the colt into a slow, reluctant walk up the path that led to one of the many scars that the Djed Storm had left upon the landscape.
Though the glow of the geyser could be seen from a distance amid the dim light of early morning, it was not until now that Zhol began to truly feel it's presence. Heat rolled from his destination in waves, and while they began as gentle breakers against the shore, with each passing step they became more intense, and Solo's reluctance grew. Zhol couldn't blame him, and cast his eyes around; a few dozen yards back he spied a tree that looked sturdy enough, and steered an all too willing Solo back towards it, retreating from the heat. The instruction to halt however, drawn back on both reins at once, was met with a whiney of protest. Zhol leaned forward, patting Solo on the side of the neck as he eased his boots from the stirrups and swung his leg free, slipping from the saddle and onto the gravel ground. "Don't worry friend," he assured gently, "I won't force you any further. Wait, yes? I'll go the rest of the way on my own."
Solo seemed perturbed; worried, even. Perhaps Zhol was merely projecting. He tried to push that thought aside as he led Solo towards the tree, lashing his lead to the sturdiest branch and carefully checking that it would remain secure. As Zhol stepped back and turned to leave, Solo took a step forward as if to follow. Zhol smiled, but shook his head, his fingers curling into the grassland sign for calm.
The path was more difficult to navigate without Solo's assistance, a route beaten by the feet of travellers rather than an explicitly carved path. It wasn't a frequently visited location, but then, what kind of a Hideaway would it be if it was? His tired eyes blinked against the dry air, his skin feeling as if every last scrap of moisture was being drawn from his body. Each breath was more of a challenge, each step more of a struggle; and as he crested the small ridge from which the geyser's glow peeked, the breath vanished from his lungs completely.
Awe quickly took it's place. He had heard the spectacle before him described many ways, but to call it a geyser, or a scar on the landscape, did not do justice to how it appeared in the flesh. It was an open wound, the blood of Mount Skyinata - the blood of the world - welling to the surface. This was not some mere fluid either: this was liquid rock, melted by heat so intense that it was impossible to comprehend. This was the lifeblood of Wind Reach, that warmed the hot springs, that provided heat to the commonrooms, that fueled the ovens and that had been bent to serve the needs of the Inarta. It was one thing to know that the baths were warmed by the mountain itself; it was another thing entirely to see how with one's own eyes.
Zhol wrenched his eyes away, wary of the toll that it might take on him if he stood here too long. Carefully he followed the poorly defined path that skirted around the bubbling pool of molten rock, breathing shallow to avoid inhaling too much of the fumes. His path drew him away from the heat but only slightly; that changed when the path took a turn, and led him to a small rend in a wall of stone.
This was the Hideway itself; the geyser was merely a lawn ornament for the cave concealed behind it. A few steps inside and the heat was replaced by an unexpected chill. It was a strange and unexpected experience; not the dry heat of the air outside, nor the comforting warmth of Wind Reach's tunnels, but not the dank air of other wild caves that Zhol had sought refuge inside either.
He entered far enough for the dim dawnlight to fade behind him, and then waited for his eyes to adjust to the new dark, studying the contours of the shadowy space. There were signs that he was not the first person to have visited here: indications of where fires had been lit, where beds had lain, where idle hands had left markings and writing against the wall.
Carefully he slid the backpack from his shoulders, and stepped over to where a ring of stones had once held a campfire contained. Unfastening the buckle, he reached into the pack and delicately lifted out a crude hemp sack, laying it on the ground beside him. Unwrapping the fabric he lifted out a few handfuls of the contents: horse manure, but left to dry in the sun rather than sent to the gardens as fertilizer. With trees so scarce in the mountainous proximity of Wind Reach, this was what the Inarta frequently used as fuel, left to dry in stone troughs at roadside camp grounds and outside the stables. Not an enticing prospect perhaps, but it was efficient and the pellets burned well; and compared to the precious wood that the Inarta saved for their crafting needs, it was an easily renewable resource.
Carefully, he arranged the fuel within the circle of stones, and with closed eyes and a deep breath he reached into himself, ushering a few drops of res to collect at his fingertips. With intense concentration he commanded them to form a mist, which transformed into fire at his insistence and spread slowly across the fuel. Once lit, the fuel began to catch of it's own accord, and Zhol's res drew the fire towards it, leading the flames in a slow circle with Zhol's outstretched hand guiding the way. He waited to feel the warmth on his face before he opened his eyes, and after a moment allowing his vision to adjust to the new light he reached for his pack, and retrieved a cloth to wipe the debris from his fingers. A cursory effort towards cleanliness made, he retrieved the two tombs he had borrowed from the Enclave and set them down beside him, one in easy reach of each hand, and wondered where to begin: Meditation: The Art of Calm, or Shielding: A Novice's Guide?
"Pavi" | "Common" | "Nari" | "Symenos"
This template was made by Khara. She was bribed with coffee and jammy dodgers.
This template was made by Khara. She was bribed with coffee and jammy dodgers.
