Fantasy RPG Forum - Standing Trials

It was as lovely a trial as one could be, this time of arc, and the birds were singing, clouds were tearing apart for the rays of sun to pass through, and the land was as green and wonderful as it could ever get. At least, that was the case in the mind of the young skyrider. He wasn't sure what exactly that guy in the tavern gave him to wake him up, but it certainly did more than open his eyes. Well, it did open his eyes to a degree, but it also did some other things. His ears were so full of bird songs that he nearly got ran over by a carriage as he walked, and he hit a tree not once, but twice. But it would all be worth it, because he'd get to ride a jacadon. Well, maybe not to-trial, and maybe not in Astedia, but he would eventually, somewhere, get to ride a jacadon. Now, where was he, oh yes, somewhere in the woods between Andaris City and Drakengard, the capital of Astedia, where he was supposed to be transferred to. Showing up for the first trial on the job under the influence of some strange herb a random face in a tavern gave him, oh was Zane going to piss off his superiors.

"But who cares about superiors?" He asked the invisible squirrel that might have, or might not have been on a tree right above him. Oh, was he going to start a monologue now, how grand, he enjoyed the monologues he gave himself. Other people didn't though, at least that was what that big fella from a couple nights ago told him before throwing a barstool at him. He sure was a chatty fighter. The boy's thoughts flew everywhere at once as
he moved his hands, which didn't seem to be there, or rather, were in his pockets, closer to his torso. It was really cold, in reality, except the young skyrider didn't really see the reality at the moment. He walked through the muddy snow on the ground and looked towards the bright sky. It was too bright. Someone needed to blow away a couple candles or something. Did the sky have candles that turned up the brightness? And where in the seven bloody hells was his horse? He had rented a horse, right? Didn't he travel all this way by horse? The young head covered by messy hair turned around to look behind him, just to check whether there were any horses there. There weren't. Only muddy snow and brown trees. So he kept going.

"Superiors are like pushy older siblings, who constantly think they know what's right and what's wrong, and they are the ones everyone should listen to, just because they were born arcs before you." He continued, not noticing the walls that were now stretching into the sky next to him, as he walked towards the gate of Drakengard. There stood several other young men roughly his age, probably guards, he would have guessed, if he wasn't under the influence of psychoactive substances. Zane didn't do drugs, really, he didn't, it was only this once, and the once before now, and the once before then. Three times for his entire life. That was better than most. And it were never the drugs that would make him dependent on them, no, Zane had a rule, he would only take strange herbs from people he barely knew if they swore that he wouldn't grow addicted. At least not after the first dose. For each time he did drugs, he had a different drug, and they were all relatively light stuff, barely holding the name of hallucinogen, and yet they were just what he needed to get through long walks through the forest.

If he was completely himself, Zane would've known by the position of the sun that he was late by quite some time and that his meeting with baron Andaris was supposed to be several breaks ago, but alas, he was clueless, and thus he mumbled out a request to the guard at the gate, who let him pass with a strange stare after he was gone. The young skyrider was in paradise and the only way he could've been feeling better was if the baron of this city would tell him he would get to ride a jacadon right now. Finally, after another twenty or so bits, he found himself where several others practised their killing skills, and where he was supposed to see Xarend, was that his name, Andaris, about his task. He was only a lowly airman at this point, thus he would be with the other squires of moseke knights, doing mostly menial tasks that degraded him and made him feel like he would've been a disappointment to his father. Which he wasn't, he knew for sure. Because his father told him that, when he saw him, just the other season. Which wasn't a thing he should share with the lord, if he wanted to keep his job (which was already on thin ice, considering his lateness and state of mind), considering his father had been dead for twelve arcs.

"Ser, Lord Andaris! Black, airman Zane Black, reporting for duty from Andaris City! I believe my squad came early." He said, seeing how there were supposed to be at least three other airmen there with him. It was the only logical conclusion, after all, that they came early, not that he came late, because he forgot to rent a horse and made the journey on foot. He wasn't tired though, he was as ready as ever for any task Lord Andaris would send him on. Part of what the drug did was give him more energy, so why wouldn't he use it for something productive, such as probably cleaning the Lord's armour or even boots. Or caring for the horses. He wasn't expecting any real task to come from Xarend, if he was honest, but he would do it nonetheless, for it would get him closer to achieving his goal. "My apologies if I seem not myself to-trial, ser, I am feeling a bit under the weather." He said with a small, unnoticeable chuckle behind his words. It was funny because the weather was in the sky, and he was under the sky. This needed to stop, he decided. He would never take narcotics ever again. Much like he had said the previous time, and the first time. Hopefully, the lord Andaris wouldn't notice any abnormal behaviour, he thought, as an overwhelming urge to hiccup came over him, and he squeezed his face in order to stop himself from letting the air leave it. He wasn't like this usually, he would swear.

In the land of candy and rainbows, it was still sunny, and the birds were still singing, as the marshal of Astedia said his words. Had the slightly older man noticed that there was no horse on top of which the boy arrived, and was thus making a comment about the length of his journey. Or had he noticed the young one's lateness, and was thus making the comment about his fellow airmen's eagerness. Or did he, by any chance, notice he was as high as a kite and was thus...the point could be gotten from a mile away, considering there were so many wrong things about the young skyrider's arrival. It was his first trial on the job in Astedia, and probably his last, if the lord Andaris was as strict as some other commanders across the kingdom. Superiors, what pushy people so similar to older siblings. Oh, deja vu. The boy noted as his thoughts repeated themselves and nodded towards the baron. He would impress him, or die trying. Most likely die trying, or rather lose his job trying. Xander soon brought the two bows to the young skyrider, and he could swear that there was no difference between them. His eyes were playing tricks on him, and he looked even more closely towards the longbow, then the shortbow, inspecting them like an old lady would do to meat she wanted to buy on the market. There was no difference between them, he was sure. Was this some kind of test? The boy resisted asking, considering if it wasn't, he'd come off as stupid or uneducated. Or some other fancy word that meant he didn't have a clue what he was doing. But he didn't, which was the sad part.

Still, lady luck was on his side this trial, as he picked the shortbow up and grabbed the arrow with eagerness. He would've done that whether he was high or low, and as his muscle memory kicked in, he drew the arrow and looked towards the target. Or rather, one of the targets. "Yes sir." He mumbled out as the world began spinning after he closed one of his eyes. He couldn't tell which one, which meant he might've been shooting with his right eye closed, which wouldn't have been good. And it was spinning and spinning and spinning, into oblivion. Finally, it stopped, but now the damage had been done, and the boy couldn't tell quite where exactly the target was. It was either exactly ahead of him, or a couple degrees right of where he was aiming, or on the other side of the yard. He would never, ever, ever, take drugs instead of coffee ever again, he swore on his dead grandmother's grave. Which was ironic, since he had no idea who his grandmother was, or whether she was dead. And even if she was, he wouldn't know where to find her grave.

And out of nowhere, he shot the arrow, which, he wanted to ensure the baron, wasn't intentional. What Xander might have noticed, however, was that intentional or not, the shot was never going to hit the target. He hadn't even been aiming for the target, it was actually a couple degrees to the right of him. The arrow whizzed by and hit one of the weapon racks on which several swords stood, and it clanked against the metal blades. Still, though, the boy had confidence that he could impress his superior. Maybe if he was given another shot, he would actually fire the arrow when he decided to, instead of when his fingers slipped and let it loose. And if he was being himself, and completely honest, he would've known that even if he was given a second chance, he wouldn't have aimed for the target anyways. The world spinning had gotten to him long before he would decide to let the arrow go. Oh bloody hell, he was in for quite an afternoon. Or evening. Or whatever time of trial it was outside the candy and rainbows land.

"Might I try once more sir, I seem to have miscalculated the trajectory of my shot." Oh Vri's piss was he clueless.

Sixty trills make up a bit. Sixty bits make up a break. Twenty-four breaks make up a trial. Ninety-three trials make up the season of Zi'da, and there are six seasons in an arc. And of all of those moments in this arc, the young man of messy hair chose to-trial to be his trial of experimenting with substances. Couldn't he have picked the yesterday, or tomorrow? What could have possibly gone wrong if he said yes to that fellow in the tavern the last trial instead of this one, or if he waited until the next one? Not even the next one, considering he only needed to wait until his meeting with Xander was finished. Then he could've gotten drugged as much as he pleased. But honestly, he did not foresee anything major happening, not anything about him changing while he was under the influence of the narcotic. He thought, and was told, that it would just wake him up a bit, grant him more energy where he lacked some. Instead, he made the journey from Andaris City to Astedia completely on foot, making him be several breaks late to meet his new superior. And not only that, but he failed miserably to shoot the bow he was given. He could swear he knew how to shoot one, just the trial before this one he fired one in the barracks. But Zane assumed Xander wouldn't be interested in hearing what he could or couldn't do on another trial. It was this trial that mattered, after all, and thus it was what he could do this trial that determined whether he had a future in the Iron Hand. But did he really, truly, want a future in the Iron Hand? That was a question he wasn't bothered enough to ask since he decided riding a jacadon would be his new goal in life. Really, it was only after he enlisted as an airman that bad things started happening. And the young man had the slightest thought of dropping out, at least that was before he thought about it again, and decided once and for all that riding a jacadon would surpass anything else he could do with his life in coolness. And yet, as Xander spoke, some inner voice kept telling him he was doing the wrong thing, and that he shouldn't come clean, but instead quit it all.

"To be truthful with you sir, as I know I should be, I am as clueless as you are as to what exactly is in my system." Zane said with the slightest hint of a smile piercing his serious facade and reaching the sunlight. It was rather sunny, at least in his eyes, too sunny for a Zi'da trial. But then again, Zi'da did just begin, maybe he wasn't going completely crazy by thinking there was sunlight showering the green floors of Idalos. "See, I have these friends of mine, in this tavern back in lowtown. And one of 'em offered this thing to me, since I wasn't feeling all that great, and 'e said it'd wake me up just alright, and make me be myself." He explained, if Xander was willing to listen, not paying any attention to his tone or the stupid look in his eyes. "But me, iself, don't think I'm really all that bad. It's just that something keeps playing with the image in my eyes. They're not really all that great. After all, they're just a poor commoner's eyes." He said, not realising that everything he was thinking actually exited his mouth. It was something he was planning on telling the people back in the capital, when he retold the story, but seeing how the marshal's last name was a nobleman's, he doubted he would like the words. His whole mind was now all fuzzy and blurred, and every thought of his came out in random words that meant nothing. It was really hard to concentrate, and he would have to have a long talk with that fellow Jim that gave him the drug about what waking up means. Clearly, the two wouldn't have agreed if they were asked about the definition of the term. But Jim's opinion wasn't currently important, it was Xander's. And yet, and yet what? There was another thought in Zane's mind that wanted to pop out of there, take the form of words in the wind, but he wouldn't let it. He wasn't planning on being fired. If he wanted to leave the Iron Hand, he would quit on his own accord.

Xander being who he was, a self-proclaimed man of equality, Zane was still one of those boys that always stood by the road as the carriage went by, hoping and dreaming that one day he would be inside it, sitting on the soft cushions, enjoying the tumbling of the wheels, instead of breathing the dust the horses made fly with their hooves. Xander could believe what he wanted to believe, and nobody would judge him for it, but all people were not equal at birth, and the deeds of a person weren't the only thing that brought fortune and misfortune. People were born with a destiny, unfortunately, and Zane was destined to live to the end of his trials with the eyes of a commoner, in the shadow of greater men, while Xander was destined to see far and wide with his nobleman's irises, riding the horse the young man could only groom. The young man of messy hair thought about answering the noble Lord about his remark on eyesight, but decided against it, considering it might've just gotten him fired. If everything else he'd done so far didn't. He was walking on ice as thin as the surface of an eye, without realizing it, and he needed to slowly back off and make this conversation end if his dream of flying were ever going to become reality. And the one thing he needed to not do was talk back at the man of a higher stature, seeing how it would surely be Xander's ego that acted before his ration, and the boy would suffer consequences.

"Have you been of any other social status to check whether your eyesight changes, me'lord? Because I've lived a poorer life than you, and I can quite clearly see less further than you, which leads me to believe those two are intertwined in some grander way than you give them credit for." But unfortunately, the one thing the boy wanted to do, was also the one thing he shouldn't have done. He provoked the lion. He poked the bear. He stole the pup from the wolf. Whatever analogy made the most sense at the time. Zane could see a storm on the horizon, moving against the brightness of the perfect weather he was experiencing in his little world. And that storm was quite clearly caused by Xander's disbelief in people's birthrights. He was born with a nobleman's eyes, and had seen the world only through them, thus he couldn't know, so Zane didn't blame him.

"However, your suggestion is noted and much appreciated, with gratefulness. Coffee it shall be." He would continue, hoping that it would make Xander forget his first remark. The boy inhaled the cold air that did not match the sunny sky he could see, and suddenly an even deeper urge was awakened within his system. Why he joined the Iron Hand, Xander asked. It was the urge to be free. The young man of messy hair valued freedom over all other things in life, and thus when he recalled the first reason he decided to sign up for this shitshow, his impulses started poking the insides of his bones. He needed freedom, especially while as high as he was.

"Now, me'lord, I've done a dozen different jobs, all different from the last, but none of them could grant me what I desire most." He would say, with a slight wave of his hands to increase the suspense of his story. He was going full-on, all hands on deck, ready to drop the bomb of surprise on Xander's smug noble face. It was true, nothing was worse than an unmotivated fighter, but the noble wolf, or rather dragon now, would soon discover that the motivations behind the dirty, smiling face of Zane's were not, what you could call, usual ones. "I desire not gold, nor glory, nor titles nor lands. I simply desire to fly, and the freedom the flight brings. And what better place to fly than among the skyriding soldiers of pride that guard the heavens of Rynmere." He said, finishing his grandiose speech, which one might call a monologue, as he looked at Xander once more, with hopes of seeing some kind of positive reaction. Though one might only wonder, why would he search for freedom where men only follow orders. A strange being, Zane was at his core.

Annoyance. What a strange word with an unexpected number of vowels. Zane knew annoyance. Unfortunately, he was currently unable to feel it. Whether it was due to the lovely weather Astedia was experiencing in this usually cold season, or the narcotics flowing through his blood, he didn't know, but he simply could not bring himself to feel annoyed. Nor could he bring himself to feel compassion for the baron's annoyance. When one is unable to feel, one is also unable to understand those feelings in others. Hence why sociopaths and psychopaths are so disliked. At least according to Zane's inner logic. He wasn't the most logical, rational person, but he knew that when he tried really hard, he could bring break down his barriers and do some thinking that made sense in the grand scheme of things. The nobleman's words were well-met in the boy's mind, and he agreed with him completely. An opinion is what everyone had the right to, well, everyone but slaves. And little children. But mostly anyone could feel free to feel whatever they wanted. And say whatever they wanted. Well maybe not, but maybe mostly everyone could feel free to say almost but not quite whatever they wanted. Yes, a free country, after all. Except it wasn't, if you were an Avriel. So many damn exceptions to the rules, Zane wasn't pleased with it. Once he was king, he would change them. Wasn't that how it worked? Every man got to be king for one trial, right before their death? At least the boy thought so. If it wasn't how it worked, he would make it so, one trial.

The young man of messy hair nodded as the marshal of Astedia talked about coffee. He could use some coffee, right about now. It had been breaks since he left Andaris City, a long time indeed, and it was probably even longer than he thought, due to him thinking he was on horseback for most of the journey. But then the nobleman kept talking, and everything became all fuzzy and the world started spinning once again, and by the ground was back below his feet, the boy was gazing into the clear, sunny sky. It was simple, what the noble asked of him. He really only wanted the boy to not come to work on drugs, but in the boy's mind, it was all just a tad bit exaggerated. It was too much, they were pushing it all too far, and he really couldn't see most of the problem. Maybe it was because his right eye was closed once again, maybe because he was high, no one would ever know, he supposed.

"Well, I suppose you aren't the best of marshals then either, me'lord." He would say calmly, still slightly looking towards the sky, although most of his gaze was focused on his superior. He spoke about being attacked, and yet he was disregarding everything else and talking with a lowly airman. Who would do that during an attack? In fact, he felt so strongly about that that he was going to express his issues in words. As soon as he learned how to speak again. When did he forget how to do that?! "We're being attacked and all you're doing is teaching me a lesson, sir, I think there would be more pressing concerns right now." He finished, with the slightest of smirks on his face. He was probably going to be fired for his funny remark, but it was worth it. Totally worth it, giving up his dream (whim, actually), just to get back at a nobleman who had better things to do than talk with him. As the conversation neared an ending, though, Zane grew tired, and as Xander mentioned sleep, he became dizzy. Sleep would be nice, he supposed, and walked off in a general, westward direction, chasing the setting sun (when did it get a chance to set, wasn't it morning just a bit ago?) in hopes of a bed waiting for him. He would sleep, and he would feel regret. Not real regret, that shakes a man's bones, but tiny regret, that barely makes a ripple in the lake of life. Zane wasn't a regretful person.