Ashan 7th Arc 721
“Thank you, and come again!” the vendor called, handing Rokas a paper bag with vegetables. They received no response in return, though they barely noticed; already addressing the next person in line.
Due to Lisirra’s plague, the market was less crowded now than it had been in a very long time. Around the stalls people flocked together in chaotic lines and groups of window shoppers, but every other bit of the market square didn’t contain half the crowd it had before the disaster. Seeing it so empty and abandoned felt odd.
Most Etzori were struck with a deep aching, a pit of sadness within their chest whenever the absence of people became too noticeable. Locations like these showed the severity of the culling, turning the unfathomable fathomable. Numbers were just numbers, after all. You could tell someone two-thirds of the population had perished, but the meaning of it would not sink in until they experienced it. At a market, when walking down the main street, in the taverns every evening.
Rokas himself did not feel the pain they did. Oh, he noticed it all the same, of course, but the sights elicited no sense of loss within his heart. If anything, he saw it as an improvement. Perhaps because he wasn’t born an Etzori citizen, having come from across the Om’del Sea decades ago. Perhaps because his heart was made of cold, dead stone. Perhaps because he did not like people.
Whatever the reason, the fact remained that a less dense crowd made for easier navigation of the market square, in fewer people standing uncomfortably close or brushing past, in no infuriating throngs of agonizingly slow walkers he couldn’t escape regardless of the method used. And in fewer people that gawked and stared, and cast their gaze down when he stared back.
On the flip side, there also were no crowds to blend in with anymore. Of course, he’d never been quite able to mix with crowds, no matter how dense their mass, or what clothes he wore. With a frame as large as his, Rokas stuck out regardless, head and shoulders above most others –literally. The layer of soil covering his skin also invited gawking, and broadcasted his identity to everyone who at least knew of him. To prevent recognition, he currently hid it with clothes and thick gloves and hood, and a ceramic mask often worn by those who’d suffered serious disfigurement of their face -- not an uncommon sight since the seige on Rhakros. Unfortunately, while the mutation was covered up, the mask itself wasn’t exactly inconspicuous, despite the increase in people who now wore it.
Since stealth was a non-factor either way, Rokas could at least appreciate the simple truth that he drew less attention now, if only because less people were around to stare at him. Also for the nice change of pace, the newfound ability to traverse certain parts of the Oh’Pee without frustration building every time he had to force his way through a mass of people clogging the way.
It would have been perfect, really, if only...
If only I could get rid of that shadow that isn’t my own.
They were still there, he could sense them --or more accurately, the elements could. Ever keeping an eye out for danger and threats, now becoming once again aware of the undesirable presence accompanying Rokas as of late. Presumably the same stalker who’d followed Rokas to Doc’s clinic and back, who might’ve been on his tail for longer than that. Keeping out of sight for the most part, evading notice from Rokas himself.
But not the elements, their awareness not limited in the same ways as that of mortals. Earth and air relayed information to Rokas, speaking of the lone figure appearing in his wake, staying close. Spoke of the single set of footsteps walking the same streets and alleys he did. Told him about the humanoid emerging from a side street to the market, one with a good view of the stall Rokas'd been buying from. Said they crossed the square now… and they were gone.
Well, not gone, gone. Lost. Out of sight. Mixing with the crowd in a way Rokas never could. Inadvertently exploiting the elements' inability to tell people apart, vanishing from their view once their attention drifted elsewhere. Like ants mixing in with other ants, becoming one with the chaotic movement of the crowd. The frequency with which it happened almost convinced Rokas that his pursuer understood the elements like very few did. Almost.
But the very fact that neither air nor earth could tell them apart from the Etzori mulling about refuted that notion. A non-Defier comprehending how the elements sensed the world was an impossibility. Without touching the ancient consciousness of earth, fire, water and wind one could not begin to understand the inner workings of them. The patterns to their minds, the vastness of their awareness, yet the absence of omniscience, the swirl of their moods and emotions…
Although a Defier could have told them. Could have simply said “hide in crowds to misdirect the eyes of the elements”. One did not have to understand to follow directions. But mages were rare enough, even here in Etzos, and few Defiers would expose such intimate knowledge to outsiders. Why tell the secrets of the elements to those who could not truly appreciate them?
A fluke then, a happy accident. Either way, it worked. Allowing them to tail Rokas, whereas he found himself unable to gather crucial information. There was one thing he knew, and one thing only: he was being followed. Nothing more. Not how many they were. Only one? Maybe two or three, spreading out and making sure just one of them entered his sphere of influence? Not why –though he could make an educated guess. Not who they were or who they worked for. Only once he’d caught a glimpse of a pursuer, spotting part of a cloak in his periphery, owner behind him and to the left. Not quite enough to build a case around, to confirm or deny any suspicions.
Rokas pushed through a doorway, bell chiming above his head. The air juggled the scent of a couple dozen dried herbs being ground into paste by mortar and heavy pestle. Both instruments scraped and groaned, delighting in the smooth motion and the warm hands on their stone bodies. The girl working them turned, beaming a capitalist smile while she uttered a quick greeting.
He ordered an anti-inflammatory poultice as per Doc’s suggestion, though his thoughts roamed elsewhere. Dwelling on what action to take against his pursuers. Naturally, he wanted to get them off his back, but how to go about it? Acting without any intel was a foolish endeavor. At the very least, he required knowledge of the enemy numbers. If it was just one, Rokas could probably lure them into an ambush of some sort, but with others hidden he’d just put them on edge. Alternatively, he could catch one and interrogate them. Force them to tell on their comrades, if they did indeed have those. Though that'd only work if they weren’t the close-lipped kind.
Glancing out of the window, he scanned the people out on the square. Eyes drawn to the rooftops, and to the corners of the at the entrances and exits of the streets. Unsurprisingly, he spotted nothing out of the ordinary, not even a trace of the cloak he'd seen some time prior. Rokas frowned behind his mask, annoyed at the many uncertainties. Usually those did not bother him. He trusted the elements to have his back in any situation, trusted his experience to gauge whether or not he was outmatched, and trusted his own prowess –be it magical or physical—to get him out of sticky situations one way or another.
Yet unseen enemies always were a pain in the ass. Requiring a subtle approach in how to deal with them. Caution. Planning. Duplicity. Not quite his style, but nonetheless a requirement for dispatching them properly. Doubly so this time around, to keep Daggett from hearing about Rokas’s survival, prevent him from running and hiding and hatching a new, more troublesome plot. Unless he already knows. Maybe they’re his spies, which means he's already gone. Then why are they here still? To report on my every move?
But no, they couldn’t be. Daggett had no reason to suspect his plan had failed. Many things could be said about Lazy Daggett –he was weak, sweaty, cowardly, often behaved like a startled rabbit, and gave limp handshakes—but he wasn’t paranoid. Cautious, yes, but only when necessary. He wouldn’t waste resources on lookouts watching for someone presumed dead several season after the fact. Maybe the first dozen days or so, but no longer. Besides, Daggett operated in the North, while Rokas roamed the South to minimize the chances of running into him or his goons.
“Sorry for the wait!”
The apothecary girl returned from a back room with a small tin. She unscrewed the lid to show Rokas the green goop it contained, then closed it up again. Even in that brief couple moments, the scent wafting off of it infected the air in the shop. “You know how to apply it? It’s for cutaneous use only, which means you have to smear it on your skin. Don’t ingest it! Just spread a thick layer on a wound, and cover it with bandages. When you change the bandages, clean all the old poultice off and apply a new layer.”
Rokas nodded, paid and left, cutting off the apothecary’s cheerful voice with the closing of the door behind him. Then he stood back on the streets, amidst the swirling and cool wind, so very different from the dusty and perfumed air inside. It rushed across the cobbles, passing through legs, tugging at clothes and rustling hair. Spiraling back into gentle dormancy on Rokas’s shoulders, whispering of many people, the pursuer potentially any of them. Earth rumbled similar messages. Rokas himself couldn’t spot anyone suspicious either.
But that didn’t really matter. He had an idea. With a thought he posed earth a question, and the element responded quick, guiding Rokas through the streets and alleyways of the Oh’Pee. Since these shadows weren’t Daggett’s men, then there was little reason to overthink matters more than he already had.
“Thank you, and come again!” the vendor called, handing Rokas a paper bag with vegetables. They received no response in return, though they barely noticed; already addressing the next person in line.
Due to Lisirra’s plague, the market was less crowded now than it had been in a very long time. Around the stalls people flocked together in chaotic lines and groups of window shoppers, but every other bit of the market square didn’t contain half the crowd it had before the disaster. Seeing it so empty and abandoned felt odd.
Most Etzori were struck with a deep aching, a pit of sadness within their chest whenever the absence of people became too noticeable. Locations like these showed the severity of the culling, turning the unfathomable fathomable. Numbers were just numbers, after all. You could tell someone two-thirds of the population had perished, but the meaning of it would not sink in until they experienced it. At a market, when walking down the main street, in the taverns every evening.
Rokas himself did not feel the pain they did. Oh, he noticed it all the same, of course, but the sights elicited no sense of loss within his heart. If anything, he saw it as an improvement. Perhaps because he wasn’t born an Etzori citizen, having come from across the Om’del Sea decades ago. Perhaps because his heart was made of cold, dead stone. Perhaps because he did not like people.
Whatever the reason, the fact remained that a less dense crowd made for easier navigation of the market square, in fewer people standing uncomfortably close or brushing past, in no infuriating throngs of agonizingly slow walkers he couldn’t escape regardless of the method used. And in fewer people that gawked and stared, and cast their gaze down when he stared back.
On the flip side, there also were no crowds to blend in with anymore. Of course, he’d never been quite able to mix with crowds, no matter how dense their mass, or what clothes he wore. With a frame as large as his, Rokas stuck out regardless, head and shoulders above most others –literally. The layer of soil covering his skin also invited gawking, and broadcasted his identity to everyone who at least knew of him. To prevent recognition, he currently hid it with clothes and thick gloves and hood, and a ceramic mask often worn by those who’d suffered serious disfigurement of their face -- not an uncommon sight since the seige on Rhakros. Unfortunately, while the mutation was covered up, the mask itself wasn’t exactly inconspicuous, despite the increase in people who now wore it.
Since stealth was a non-factor either way, Rokas could at least appreciate the simple truth that he drew less attention now, if only because less people were around to stare at him. Also for the nice change of pace, the newfound ability to traverse certain parts of the Oh’Pee without frustration building every time he had to force his way through a mass of people clogging the way.
It would have been perfect, really, if only...
If only I could get rid of that shadow that isn’t my own.
They were still there, he could sense them --or more accurately, the elements could. Ever keeping an eye out for danger and threats, now becoming once again aware of the undesirable presence accompanying Rokas as of late. Presumably the same stalker who’d followed Rokas to Doc’s clinic and back, who might’ve been on his tail for longer than that. Keeping out of sight for the most part, evading notice from Rokas himself.
But not the elements, their awareness not limited in the same ways as that of mortals. Earth and air relayed information to Rokas, speaking of the lone figure appearing in his wake, staying close. Spoke of the single set of footsteps walking the same streets and alleys he did. Told him about the humanoid emerging from a side street to the market, one with a good view of the stall Rokas'd been buying from. Said they crossed the square now… and they were gone.
Well, not gone, gone. Lost. Out of sight. Mixing with the crowd in a way Rokas never could. Inadvertently exploiting the elements' inability to tell people apart, vanishing from their view once their attention drifted elsewhere. Like ants mixing in with other ants, becoming one with the chaotic movement of the crowd. The frequency with which it happened almost convinced Rokas that his pursuer understood the elements like very few did. Almost.
But the very fact that neither air nor earth could tell them apart from the Etzori mulling about refuted that notion. A non-Defier comprehending how the elements sensed the world was an impossibility. Without touching the ancient consciousness of earth, fire, water and wind one could not begin to understand the inner workings of them. The patterns to their minds, the vastness of their awareness, yet the absence of omniscience, the swirl of their moods and emotions…
Although a Defier could have told them. Could have simply said “hide in crowds to misdirect the eyes of the elements”. One did not have to understand to follow directions. But mages were rare enough, even here in Etzos, and few Defiers would expose such intimate knowledge to outsiders. Why tell the secrets of the elements to those who could not truly appreciate them?
A fluke then, a happy accident. Either way, it worked. Allowing them to tail Rokas, whereas he found himself unable to gather crucial information. There was one thing he knew, and one thing only: he was being followed. Nothing more. Not how many they were. Only one? Maybe two or three, spreading out and making sure just one of them entered his sphere of influence? Not why –though he could make an educated guess. Not who they were or who they worked for. Only once he’d caught a glimpse of a pursuer, spotting part of a cloak in his periphery, owner behind him and to the left. Not quite enough to build a case around, to confirm or deny any suspicions.
Rokas pushed through a doorway, bell chiming above his head. The air juggled the scent of a couple dozen dried herbs being ground into paste by mortar and heavy pestle. Both instruments scraped and groaned, delighting in the smooth motion and the warm hands on their stone bodies. The girl working them turned, beaming a capitalist smile while she uttered a quick greeting.
He ordered an anti-inflammatory poultice as per Doc’s suggestion, though his thoughts roamed elsewhere. Dwelling on what action to take against his pursuers. Naturally, he wanted to get them off his back, but how to go about it? Acting without any intel was a foolish endeavor. At the very least, he required knowledge of the enemy numbers. If it was just one, Rokas could probably lure them into an ambush of some sort, but with others hidden he’d just put them on edge. Alternatively, he could catch one and interrogate them. Force them to tell on their comrades, if they did indeed have those. Though that'd only work if they weren’t the close-lipped kind.
Glancing out of the window, he scanned the people out on the square. Eyes drawn to the rooftops, and to the corners of the at the entrances and exits of the streets. Unsurprisingly, he spotted nothing out of the ordinary, not even a trace of the cloak he'd seen some time prior. Rokas frowned behind his mask, annoyed at the many uncertainties. Usually those did not bother him. He trusted the elements to have his back in any situation, trusted his experience to gauge whether or not he was outmatched, and trusted his own prowess –be it magical or physical—to get him out of sticky situations one way or another.
Yet unseen enemies always were a pain in the ass. Requiring a subtle approach in how to deal with them. Caution. Planning. Duplicity. Not quite his style, but nonetheless a requirement for dispatching them properly. Doubly so this time around, to keep Daggett from hearing about Rokas’s survival, prevent him from running and hiding and hatching a new, more troublesome plot. Unless he already knows. Maybe they’re his spies, which means he's already gone. Then why are they here still? To report on my every move?
But no, they couldn’t be. Daggett had no reason to suspect his plan had failed. Many things could be said about Lazy Daggett –he was weak, sweaty, cowardly, often behaved like a startled rabbit, and gave limp handshakes—but he wasn’t paranoid. Cautious, yes, but only when necessary. He wouldn’t waste resources on lookouts watching for someone presumed dead several season after the fact. Maybe the first dozen days or so, but no longer. Besides, Daggett operated in the North, while Rokas roamed the South to minimize the chances of running into him or his goons.
“Sorry for the wait!”
The apothecary girl returned from a back room with a small tin. She unscrewed the lid to show Rokas the green goop it contained, then closed it up again. Even in that brief couple moments, the scent wafting off of it infected the air in the shop. “You know how to apply it? It’s for cutaneous use only, which means you have to smear it on your skin. Don’t ingest it! Just spread a thick layer on a wound, and cover it with bandages. When you change the bandages, clean all the old poultice off and apply a new layer.”
Rokas nodded, paid and left, cutting off the apothecary’s cheerful voice with the closing of the door behind him. Then he stood back on the streets, amidst the swirling and cool wind, so very different from the dusty and perfumed air inside. It rushed across the cobbles, passing through legs, tugging at clothes and rustling hair. Spiraling back into gentle dormancy on Rokas’s shoulders, whispering of many people, the pursuer potentially any of them. Earth rumbled similar messages. Rokas himself couldn’t spot anyone suspicious either.
But that didn’t really matter. He had an idea. With a thought he posed earth a question, and the element responded quick, guiding Rokas through the streets and alleyways of the Oh’Pee. Since these shadows weren’t Daggett’s men, then there was little reason to overthink matters more than he already had.
