A/n- Wow, that must have been the worst chapter ending possible.
(Chapter one) The reason was that I had originally planned to cut it, post
the first half as ch. 1, and go back and continue ch. 2. But in my rush to
post, I forgot that I hadn't /saved/ that cut version. Oh well, *picks up
fragmented remains of story* lets just try to fit these together again,
shall we?
And, of course, what would a fanfic be without its very own disclaimer? (Though I never saw much sense in these; aren't I already saying the charas 'en't mine just by posting them under /fanfic/?) Tortall, all bordering countries, and all those that live there at the time of King Jonathan's Reign including Immortals, do not belong to me. Happy?
A person wandering the streets of Greth would find almost anything they wished, if they were willing to look hard enough. To those that live there and know all the prominent people, the nicer landmarks, and the crisscrossed streets, any other place would be a pale shadow to their wondrous city. To outsiders, especially those not accustomed to the great multitude of individual and contradicting lifestyles, customs, and people, the city is chaos upon earth-a prime example of the disorder left in the wake of the Ematian wars. From afar, you do not see outstanding towers gleaming in the sun, or even a proud castle wall, nor parapets draped with flags.
There is but a mere low standing wall, the top wearing down visibly, and patrolled always with plain clothed guards and their trusty, if never impressive, home-made weapons. The buildings inside are made with chalk like clay, which is the only resource that area has to offer. They stand low, are supported with thick wooden beams, and all seem to be connected even across the biggest streets. From upper windows hang assortments of colorful laundry, plants, and charms galore. The whole city is so draped with small individual charms it would seem brighter than the sun to a magic seeing mage. Truthfully, most of them don't work half as well as the owners would like, but the city hosts a roaring trade in selling spell scrolls, among other things.
Many of the spell scrolls that adorn the walls of Greth come from the not so far east. About a few miles from the easternmost fields, lies the lake of Geissan [ jee-san]. On the north banks of this lake there is small fortress, maintained by the Guild of Acerum. The Haearn people that reside there, as the populace of the city has come to calling them, were thought to originally be a nomadic tribe like the many clans that roam across present day Tortall. The then small tribe has since grown, after settleing down in the area. They have perfected the art of weapon making, and are a power to be recconed with, for few other syndacates in the land have accumulated so many folowers.
By now, anybody that comes into service with the Guild, is labled discerningly as Haearn, and don the white cloaks with their mysterious masks whenever leaving their fortress. When this happens, the town's people, for that is where the Haearn go outside of their home, gather in groups to line the streets, only to shrink back elusivly when they pass. This is what the citizens on Greth tell themselves, and their children, who tell it to their children. They are content with the knowlage, and nobody ever thinks to verify this rumor.
This façade is acctually quite usfull to the youth of Acerum, who, as you have no doubt figured out by now, travel into the city quite often. They spend much of their free time there, because life in the fortress is cramped, stuffy, and doesn't boast such a wide variety of people. In order not to jostle their cover, they never use the gates, for the city is truly in the middle of nowhere, and anybody commng in or leaving would be stopped and questioned.
These youths are light-footed, trained in weaponry, and generally, all have been bought out of the city as slaves in their childhood. Many slaves, who never leave the fortress without breaking at least five of the regulations palced on them, run here in groups. They find means of buying their freedom. Alongside the city slaves, they are hardly able to be told apart, for many Haearn are Greth citizens by birth. The Lords and Ladies of the Guild don't often come here, and instead, they send plain clothed servants, or apprintices, to search for the yougnsters that stay out for an exceptionally long time.
In the spirit of chasing down a runaway, Ajax Simurawi strode purposefully down one of the larger streets of Greth. In his right hand a heavy, long handled Kama was gripped at the neck.
He was heading back towards the outskirts. In the outer circles he would find Magda. And hopefully, with Magda, he would find Jaro. Or perhaps become a little better acquainted with the whereabouts of the fugitive slave. He had thought the kama would serve as an helpful persuasion tool.
Jaro was the troublemaker. She was constantly trying to come up with ways to escape, turn the slaves against their masters, or just cause chaos. She was crafty at it too; after the big fight in the Yaranzo square, she had turned up missing. Three other slaves were dead, and she had a large debt to pay back still.
He would find her. He thought of the wry smile she wore when she was last seen. It would be the same smile she would have on when she was again caught.
Jaro never did any of it for any reason. It wasn't money, and it wasn't in spite of her Masters, but instead, the motivation behind these little escapades seemed simply a way for her to prove her cunning. But then that didn't seem quite right either; Jaro wasn't proud enough to want to show off. She sulked in corners and gave a cynical laugh to everything. Her life was nothing but a big joke, and she was dismissed as one of the slaves that would never get around to buying their freedom.
It was startling to see how much she had changed since the days he was a slave too, and kept company with the intractable girl. But when he thought back to it-she really hadn't changed much, and this was what scarred everybody. Why did she seem so different now, when what had really changed most of all was the way he saw her? Did he see her differently because he had risen to his new place, as a free man? He remembered how he had vehemently sworn to himself that even free, he would never abandon his friends. But it wasn't like that; everybody, even the slaves had become more distant with Jaro.
He considered what he would do when he found her. Besides taking her back of course-would he say anything? Reminisce on old memories with a one time friend?
Banishing all thoughts akin to that last one, Ajax switched his scythe to his other hand, before picking up his speed. The wall was coming closer, and he would have to get past the patrol. He knew a way that was often used by his friends, and found a place to sit and watch the wall secretly. It was a tree he was aiming for, though he couldn't see it right then. The tree was dead and without any leaves, but also conveniently placed only a few feet from the top of the wall. That patch of wall itself was partially blocked from the view of anyone patrollers to the south, thanks to an especially tall shrine tower.
All he had to do was get the timing correct and he was over the wall and in the safety of its shadow. This was the Morning Adan, as the Haearn called it. In the afternoon, when the light would give away this exit, everybody would leave through the top of the more southerly Adan, which was accessed by the top of the butcher's roof. Nobody used the real gates, if you didn't want to get stopped and forced to admit you were from Acerum.
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
At the edge of the desert, the wind had kicked up again. The howling was echoed through the entire tower, and audible to everyone in the commons. The morning sun was blocked from the windows by the dense sand and everybody cast worried glances around the room. Paquet's face (towards which everyone had at some point looked) was smooth and discerning as usual, but she had stopped eating and sat thoughtfully looking up at the ceiling.
Not being able to tell anything from their reah, all the slaves turned immediately towards Regean, who was calmly taking a sip from her watered down wine. Lyra sat close by though, and could see that her eyes did occasionally dart up to the high table, and the unreadable face now watching her arguing friends again.
When she had sat down, Lyra could tell that Misao tensed, but she probably did herself. She was being silly; she knew of course, that Regean, in effect, was just a slave. No-one of importance, like Lyra herself. This was how it should be in theory. But in practice-and everybody knew this worked, if not exactly how it did-Regean was higher that the others.
It always happened this way, apparently. A reah among slaves. Most often to inherit the syndicate once they had gotten out of bond. Paquet already had an eye on her. The other slaves took orders from her almost as readily as from any one of their true Masters. And they all liked the girl too. She was very popular among her subjects, although to the untrained eye, no reason was there. The few that didn't fall under her august stride were the strange, outcast people. Sometimes, in Lyra's eyes, they were the brave ones, to decide not to follow the rules laid down by practice. Then other times she would just look down on them, for they were always distant and separate from others.
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
A/N- did that make any sense? At all? Please review! If you do, and leave you're fanfic bio page, I promise to go r/r you're stories! Whew, this was a long chapter though, and the rest probably will be shorter. Let me know what you think!
And, of course, what would a fanfic be without its very own disclaimer? (Though I never saw much sense in these; aren't I already saying the charas 'en't mine just by posting them under /fanfic/?) Tortall, all bordering countries, and all those that live there at the time of King Jonathan's Reign including Immortals, do not belong to me. Happy?
A person wandering the streets of Greth would find almost anything they wished, if they were willing to look hard enough. To those that live there and know all the prominent people, the nicer landmarks, and the crisscrossed streets, any other place would be a pale shadow to their wondrous city. To outsiders, especially those not accustomed to the great multitude of individual and contradicting lifestyles, customs, and people, the city is chaos upon earth-a prime example of the disorder left in the wake of the Ematian wars. From afar, you do not see outstanding towers gleaming in the sun, or even a proud castle wall, nor parapets draped with flags.
There is but a mere low standing wall, the top wearing down visibly, and patrolled always with plain clothed guards and their trusty, if never impressive, home-made weapons. The buildings inside are made with chalk like clay, which is the only resource that area has to offer. They stand low, are supported with thick wooden beams, and all seem to be connected even across the biggest streets. From upper windows hang assortments of colorful laundry, plants, and charms galore. The whole city is so draped with small individual charms it would seem brighter than the sun to a magic seeing mage. Truthfully, most of them don't work half as well as the owners would like, but the city hosts a roaring trade in selling spell scrolls, among other things.
Many of the spell scrolls that adorn the walls of Greth come from the not so far east. About a few miles from the easternmost fields, lies the lake of Geissan [ jee-san]. On the north banks of this lake there is small fortress, maintained by the Guild of Acerum. The Haearn people that reside there, as the populace of the city has come to calling them, were thought to originally be a nomadic tribe like the many clans that roam across present day Tortall. The then small tribe has since grown, after settleing down in the area. They have perfected the art of weapon making, and are a power to be recconed with, for few other syndacates in the land have accumulated so many folowers.
By now, anybody that comes into service with the Guild, is labled discerningly as Haearn, and don the white cloaks with their mysterious masks whenever leaving their fortress. When this happens, the town's people, for that is where the Haearn go outside of their home, gather in groups to line the streets, only to shrink back elusivly when they pass. This is what the citizens on Greth tell themselves, and their children, who tell it to their children. They are content with the knowlage, and nobody ever thinks to verify this rumor.
This façade is acctually quite usfull to the youth of Acerum, who, as you have no doubt figured out by now, travel into the city quite often. They spend much of their free time there, because life in the fortress is cramped, stuffy, and doesn't boast such a wide variety of people. In order not to jostle their cover, they never use the gates, for the city is truly in the middle of nowhere, and anybody commng in or leaving would be stopped and questioned.
These youths are light-footed, trained in weaponry, and generally, all have been bought out of the city as slaves in their childhood. Many slaves, who never leave the fortress without breaking at least five of the regulations palced on them, run here in groups. They find means of buying their freedom. Alongside the city slaves, they are hardly able to be told apart, for many Haearn are Greth citizens by birth. The Lords and Ladies of the Guild don't often come here, and instead, they send plain clothed servants, or apprintices, to search for the yougnsters that stay out for an exceptionally long time.
In the spirit of chasing down a runaway, Ajax Simurawi strode purposefully down one of the larger streets of Greth. In his right hand a heavy, long handled Kama was gripped at the neck.
He was heading back towards the outskirts. In the outer circles he would find Magda. And hopefully, with Magda, he would find Jaro. Or perhaps become a little better acquainted with the whereabouts of the fugitive slave. He had thought the kama would serve as an helpful persuasion tool.
Jaro was the troublemaker. She was constantly trying to come up with ways to escape, turn the slaves against their masters, or just cause chaos. She was crafty at it too; after the big fight in the Yaranzo square, she had turned up missing. Three other slaves were dead, and she had a large debt to pay back still.
He would find her. He thought of the wry smile she wore when she was last seen. It would be the same smile she would have on when she was again caught.
Jaro never did any of it for any reason. It wasn't money, and it wasn't in spite of her Masters, but instead, the motivation behind these little escapades seemed simply a way for her to prove her cunning. But then that didn't seem quite right either; Jaro wasn't proud enough to want to show off. She sulked in corners and gave a cynical laugh to everything. Her life was nothing but a big joke, and she was dismissed as one of the slaves that would never get around to buying their freedom.
It was startling to see how much she had changed since the days he was a slave too, and kept company with the intractable girl. But when he thought back to it-she really hadn't changed much, and this was what scarred everybody. Why did she seem so different now, when what had really changed most of all was the way he saw her? Did he see her differently because he had risen to his new place, as a free man? He remembered how he had vehemently sworn to himself that even free, he would never abandon his friends. But it wasn't like that; everybody, even the slaves had become more distant with Jaro.
He considered what he would do when he found her. Besides taking her back of course-would he say anything? Reminisce on old memories with a one time friend?
Banishing all thoughts akin to that last one, Ajax switched his scythe to his other hand, before picking up his speed. The wall was coming closer, and he would have to get past the patrol. He knew a way that was often used by his friends, and found a place to sit and watch the wall secretly. It was a tree he was aiming for, though he couldn't see it right then. The tree was dead and without any leaves, but also conveniently placed only a few feet from the top of the wall. That patch of wall itself was partially blocked from the view of anyone patrollers to the south, thanks to an especially tall shrine tower.
All he had to do was get the timing correct and he was over the wall and in the safety of its shadow. This was the Morning Adan, as the Haearn called it. In the afternoon, when the light would give away this exit, everybody would leave through the top of the more southerly Adan, which was accessed by the top of the butcher's roof. Nobody used the real gates, if you didn't want to get stopped and forced to admit you were from Acerum.
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
At the edge of the desert, the wind had kicked up again. The howling was echoed through the entire tower, and audible to everyone in the commons. The morning sun was blocked from the windows by the dense sand and everybody cast worried glances around the room. Paquet's face (towards which everyone had at some point looked) was smooth and discerning as usual, but she had stopped eating and sat thoughtfully looking up at the ceiling.
Not being able to tell anything from their reah, all the slaves turned immediately towards Regean, who was calmly taking a sip from her watered down wine. Lyra sat close by though, and could see that her eyes did occasionally dart up to the high table, and the unreadable face now watching her arguing friends again.
When she had sat down, Lyra could tell that Misao tensed, but she probably did herself. She was being silly; she knew of course, that Regean, in effect, was just a slave. No-one of importance, like Lyra herself. This was how it should be in theory. But in practice-and everybody knew this worked, if not exactly how it did-Regean was higher that the others.
It always happened this way, apparently. A reah among slaves. Most often to inherit the syndicate once they had gotten out of bond. Paquet already had an eye on her. The other slaves took orders from her almost as readily as from any one of their true Masters. And they all liked the girl too. She was very popular among her subjects, although to the untrained eye, no reason was there. The few that didn't fall under her august stride were the strange, outcast people. Sometimes, in Lyra's eyes, they were the brave ones, to decide not to follow the rules laid down by practice. Then other times she would just look down on them, for they were always distant and separate from others.
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
A/N- did that make any sense? At all? Please review! If you do, and leave you're fanfic bio page, I promise to go r/r you're stories! Whew, this was a long chapter though, and the rest probably will be shorter. Let me know what you think!