Till the World Seems Right

Tilling the ground stirs up more than the soil.

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This shining population center is considered the jewel of The Sylira Region. Home of the vast majority of Mizahar's population, Syliras is nestled in a quiet, sprawling valley on the shores of the Suvan Sea. [Lore]

Till the World Seems Right

Postby Zikiro on November 2nd, 2014, 5:31 am

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35th of Fall, 514AV

The day was cool, even with the sun shining down upon his bare back. Zikiro was kneeling in the earth, his crimson hand clawing into the tilled dirt. He was not long from leaving the farms, only a few days longer until he makes the walk to Syliras to start the next step of his life. Till then, he felt he needed to pay his way. With not a copper miza to his name, he had to pay with pure labor. The earth beneath his hand was his payment.

He had been scooting backwards on his spread knees, creating ruts in the dirt. Between the ruts, he digs his hand down into the softer soil and drew back, digging a small, almost perfect hole. He knew his method lacked skill, but it was not exactly skill he was after. Eighty four, he counted.

He scoots backwards once again, placing his right fingertips to the pile of soft dirt he had made. At the base of his hand, his left fingers dug into the ground again, a proper distance from the previous hole, just as his stepfather had taught him. Eighty five. Only fifteen more for this row. Only eight more rows for this section. Only three more sections before his stepfather's farm was ready for planting.

Resting his weight on his bare heels and digging his toes into the soil behind him, Zikiro cast his hazel eyes across the dirt to the others, doing their part. His young stepbrother was pulling an old wagon with a bag of seeds and a barrel of water. He was in front, dropping a seed in each hole. His father pushed the wagon when Orikiz got stuck, but mostly spent his time gently covering the seeds with the soft earth and giving each a light pat, as if putting them to bed.

Their chatter was lost on the autumn breeze, but he could still hear their laughter when it came to life. He barely knew the two, yet they made her mother so happy. Happier than she's been in a long time, in fact. Turning his eyes back to the task at hand, he still contemplated these thoughts. Even now, when there was backbreaking labor to be done, this man that claimed her heart had left her asleep.

When his mother left him in Sultros, he had expected her life to become only mildly easier. One less mouth to feed meant less financial struggles... but she turns around and remarries and even has another child! He felt he should be angry at this man, to despise him for taking his mother from him... Don't be a fool, he scolded himself. She has a proper family now. She's happy, a queen of her own castle.

His hand slid into the soft dirt to dig another hole. Zikiro's mind related this hole, as with every hole before it, to the chasm left by the loss of a father figure in his life. Though his teacher had been a good filler for a short while, that is all that he was, a filler. And sooner or later, the filler just would not be enough.

As more shallow holes were dug, row after Row, Zikiro's thoughts churned in circles. He had no reason to hate this new man. In fact, he respected the half-Isur. Though he did not possess a skill of crafting, Zikiro knew by experience how difficult working a farm could be; the time it took to plant, the time it took to harvest, the detailed and backbreaking labor to maintain, and the delicate care whenever something goes wrong. It was, without a doubt, just as difficult as working metal.

His thoughts shifted to this new trail, comparing farm work to Metalworking. In Metalworking, it was one item after another, hammering out a shield, then hammering out a sword. Farmers, on the other hand, did everything at once over a longer period. It would be like working on a hundred shields at the same time for a whole season. So little yield for so long, it was hard to consider spending time so awkwardly.

Continuing his backward scooting, Zikiro dug another hole. He felt grass under his toes now, meaning he'd finished the row while deep in his thoughts. It was a good thing too, his legs were starting to grow stiff. With a light grunt, he jerks his body back and onto the balls of his feet before extending his legs. The muscles felt stiff and his back twinged as he straightened up. They aren't kidding about the Back-breaking part.

As he moved to the next row, Zikiro again peers back to his step-family. His little brother and a father not much older biologically than himself. He aged slower than humans, but faster than Isur. His mind finds a dark path to take with that information: At least if he dies, Mother will inherit a farm. Or so he thought. He had little clue of the workings of land owners. Grim thought, either way.

Kneeling in the soft earth, his back turned the other way, his hand sank into the soft soil. Zikiro lifts the handful of dirt to create a hole and a hill. One. It was a routine now. He dug a hole, then scoots back on his knees, measures and repeats. Two.

The work could have been worse. He considered other professions his stepfather could have been into. Not that any job was bad - perhaps excluding Mercenary - but farming was one of the easier to simplify. Plant the food, take care of the food, pick the food, repeat. Easy enough.

At the tenth hole, Zikiro paused for a short break. It felt like his mind had roamed all over creation while he worked the field, and all before the break of dawn. Others were filing out of the outpost towards the farms, now that they could see. Their nightvision being less adequate than an Isur's, or even a half-isur, they needed the morning sun to simply navigate. Being human must be a nightmare. A new trail of thought.

No, too much thinking. So many thoughts makes my thinker hurt... Zikiro rubbed his temples with dirty fingers. He'd confirmed this "Roland" fellow was good for his mother, and that his work was in it's own right respectable. The fact that she could try for a normal family was great, especially seeing as it meant he would not be leaving her alone when that time came.

Twenty two. Almost a quarter of the way down the row, he realizes how many farmers were scattered around. Some were even filing into his stepfather's section with tools in hand. Zikiro decided he'd finish this row and call it a day. He still had to finish clearing his room, after all... and his trinkets were simply all over the place. "Foot-Getters" his mother called them.
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Image
This is the hammer of Intelligence.
Those who lack intelligence shall be hit with it.
Those who do not learn shall be hit again.
Repeatedly.


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Zikiro
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Joined roleplay: October 27th, 2014, 8:01 pm
Location: Syliras
Race: Isur
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