Runeblade

Interlude 2: Visions of Normalcy

Some time in the near past…

Ianmus shifted his grip on his staff. Though its surface was smooth and comfortable to hold, it was still a little knobbly, and after so much walking those little aches grew tiresome if he didnt adjust every now and then.

He looked back, seeing the great wall of short mountains that sealed of Mystral’s peninsula from the rest of Vaastivar. If he squinted he could just make out the narrow gap between mountains that he had passed through.

The Arcanist’s pass, the only way to access the city state overland. He was glad to leave Mystral behind, now that he had graduated. Oh, he would be back. Mystral was and always would be his home. However, it was his time to make his fortune. No true scholar relied solely on dusty stacks to expand their understanding of the world.

Besides, lacking an academician type class, such an approach would offer him little in the way of power or growth. No, it was better to leave. To see the sights of the world, to delve the Depths outside of the stuffy stable passageways that the colleges had built themselves around.

He wanted adventure, and he had the perfect first stop in mind.

Selenar, the braggart and gossipmonger, might have been a dreadful pain but he did have his uses. Apparently, according to some of his international and politically inclined classmates, the Greenseed Dukedoms were gearing up for another sanctioned war. That was, what? The third one in two decades?

Ianmus shook his head at the nation's preposterous politics, silver locks catching the breeze.

Ridiculous as the Dukedoms might be, it represented opportunity. Their wars were much closer to sabre rattling and peacocking than any true confrontation of blood and steel. Far too regimented, with strict controls and regulations on numbers, locations, dates, and other such minutia. Hells, they had dedicated mid battle meal breaks for gods’ sakes.

Oh sure, people died, but it was as safe as mortal combat could be. If he could get into the under forty bracket, it would do wonders for his skill growth.

So he had taken his graduate’s staff and ring, packed up his belongings, and walked. He could have taken a caravan, but where was the fun in that? He wanted to see the world! To go off the beaten path, to scream ‘here is Ianmus, look upon him and wonder!’.

It was just unfortunate his feet hurt. He hadn't quite expected overland travel to be quite so tiresome.

Maybe he should have taken a caravan after all? Well, he was here now, may as well make the most of it.

Ianmus continued walking, his steady steps and sturdy leather boots taking him across the slow rolling hills and meadows that made up the expanse of the lowlands he intended to cross. Rocky outcroppings dotted the landscape, shooting up through the earth like great stone saplings. It broke up the visual monotony, though it did mean he had to rely on his staff to help him when he was forced to scramble over them.

The journey was meditative in a way he hadn't expected. Every moment he had spent in Sunspire had been devoted to study, practical exercises, and relentless self driven training. As a scholarship student he had to stay at the top if he wanted to continue receiving the priceless training that the college offered. The fact that being in the advanced classes offered merged skills of all things was reason enough on his own.

No, he had refused to fail out after a year or two like most pity enrolments. If the school had been tailored to students who had received a lifetime of tutorship before initiation, so be it. Life wasn’t fair. When he had to work three hours for every two bit lordlings one, he had done it. When he had to stay up late reading up on obscure nonsensical etiquette to avoid offending a pretentious professor, he had done it. When he had to bleed in the training halls, push himself harder and further than all of his so-called peers, he had done it.

In return? He got a better start than he could have ever dreamed of. And now he was free.

For the first time in years he felt like he could breathe easy. Nothing looming over him. Just the next hill to climb, and the next horizon to cross.

An awful screech yanked Ianmus from his musings, quickly followed by a panicked bleat. It sounded like the noise came from just over the next hill. He eyed the hill with distaste, the prospect of running long-strides up a grassy incline not his usual idea of fun.

He hiked up his robe with one hand anyway, taking off at a run. Immediately his legs began to burn, sudden exertion causing the muscles to protest. Sure, he had done his fair share of combat training, but he was a mage damnit, he wasn't built for it - even with Stamina bolstering his reserves.

Another panicked bleat carried over the hill, followed by an unnerving cackle.

He finally crested the hill, his breath coming heavy in his chest. Even as he bent over to rest his weight on his staff he eyed his surroundings, looking for the source of the loud interruption to his walk. The hill he had just climbed was taller than most, giving him a good clean view of the area.

Rocky hills covered in swaying grass and protruding granite continued on into the distance, though far off to the left he could see an impressionistic green smudge that stretched across the horizon. Most likely the start of the Arboreal Sea.

It was what was happening below him that caught his attention. A goat yanked on a crude rope snare in terror, one of its rear legs caught up tight in the hunting trap. Its flank was coated in blood, even from halfway up the hill Ianmus could see great rents in its flesh, leaking red all over the grass below.

In front of it, looking up in his direction, was a squat grey thing covered in a thick matt of wiry thin fur. Wrinkled and twisted, greasy thin strips of mottled hair hung down from a squashed skull to lay limply over rough clothing made from rotting rawhide. Black beady eyes, wide set and too lopsided to be anything other than the result of some god’s mistake, stared up at him.

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The creature hissed, revealing pointed teeth. It tried to menace at him, waving a bloody and crude stone knife in his direction.

A boggart. Disgusting creatures. Bred like vermin, and were too cruel and stupid for their own good.

If he chased it off it would simply fetch its tribe and try to ambush him while he slept. Not that he would let the vicious little pest survive. They had a habit of settling into an area before hunting it barren. The little idiots didn't even try to move on when that happened, preferring to descend into cannibalism - too cowardly to think of roaming so far from their home nest.

If he was closer to town, he would be duty bound to return and report the sighting. Out in the wilds though, he would have to be satisfied with culling this one and putting a few leagues between him and the rest.

He drove his staff into the ground and stood up straight. The sunstone orb at its tip began to glow as he channelled his mana through the staff and back into Sunbeam, the instrument speeding up the flow of his mana.

The boggard hissed again, before its brute aggression won out over its cowardly instincts and it began to lop up the hill towards him.

A moment later he felt the drain on his mana peter out, his spell clicking into place in his mind forcing him to hold it under tension, lest it go off undirected. Nôv(el)B\\jnn

He released the spell.

A beam of glowing light snapped into existence, connecting the tip of his staff to a point on the boggarts forehead, before winking out moments later. The monster collapsed bonelessly, the sizzling hole his spell had left in its wake leaking fluid.

**Ding! level 3 Boggart slain**

Ianmus smiled at the kill notification before his gaze flicked to the goat, its pained bleating redoubling at the frightful flash of light.

“Oh you poor thing, let me see if I can fix you up.” He said softly, beginning to walk down the hill.

….

“Kenva! Get over here!” The voice of the caravan master echoed out over the tawny grasses of the steppe to the patch of shrubbery that she was crouched behind. Kenva huffed, annoyance washing over her as the voice of the caravan master caused the little leapers to startle, sending them bounding off into their burrows.

Cute little things, she’d always loved them.

“I’m coming Bistot!” She called back over her shoulder. She picked up her bow from where she had lain it down next to her and rose to trot back in the direction of the slowly moving caravan. It sprawled out far to her left and right, a great chain of brightly coloured carriages pulled by teams of lystrodonts. Each and every one was crafted almost entirely out of wood - an impressive expense in the arid steppes.

She thought the lystrodonts were far prettier in all honesty, in an admittedly ugly sort of way. Bigger than a northern ox, they were heavily muscled creatures with stout tails. Thick brown skin, covered in sparse bristles, covered the beasts while two large tusks poked free of their strangely squashed looking heads. Some people found them intimidating, but she knew the big teeth were just to root around for tubers and grubs. She’d never met one that didn’t love a good scratch.

“Kenva!” Bistot called warningly again, drawing her attention away from the magnificent beasts.

She redoubled her pace, her feet slapping rhythmically against the tough dirt, already hardening in the late ‘spring’ heat. She skidded to a stop in front of the caravan master, her breath still coming easy despite the half frantic run.

“I don't know how many times I have to tell you girl, don't go running off to stare at bugs without asking someone first!” Bestot said with a huff, looking down towards her with his arms crossed.

He was a large man, and his bright red and gleaming silver outfit did little to detract from his wild black beard and towering countenance.

“Yes, Uncle Bestot…” Kenva grumbled.

“Don’t you ‘Uncle’ me. You’re on your Path now, that means it doesn't matter that you’re a Zhdan and it doesn’t matter that I'm one too.” His chastisement continued unabated.

“But I was right there! I was just watching some little leapers!” Kenva protested.

Bestots eyes softened, his brow unfurling.

“Kenva..” He sighed. “Look, this is the toughest part, alright? I know it's hard to adjust, to not have the leeway you are so used to. You’ll see though, being free of family obligations is a blessing.” He crouched down, seeing her eye to eye. “Everyone from a dynastic clan goes through it, at least here in the tribes.”

Her eyes drifted down, staring at the yellowing grass and compacted earth as the caravans slowly rolled past the trio.

“I know… I just wish I could be out there already.”

Bestot clapped a steadying hand on her shoulder. “Aye, I understand. The steppes might be home, and the Hiwiann my people, but there are broader horizons than this sea of yellow. Why do you think I founded this trading caravan after my own path?”

Kenva nodded in agreement with her uncle. She loved the steppes, her clan, her tribe, and her people. Never tied down, always moving free. Yet even the visits to the temple cities on the solstices and equinoxes weren't enough to dampen the growing feelings of monotony of just seeing more endless grass.

“We’ll be at the frontier soon enough, you’ll see.” Bestot said softly. “Just do me a favour alright? Try to keep your little excursions to when we make camp and try to let someone know first. If you do, I'll see if I can call in a favour to get you paired up with one of our forward scouts, at least every now and then.”

Kenva’s eyes brightened. The forward scouts sometimes ranged days ahead of the caravan, switching out regularly to bring back news of the path ahead, and any potential dangers.

“Really!?” She said with excitement.

“But that's it, okay? I’ve already gotten some odd looks by letting you travel with the caravan as a worker at this low of a level, it’s pretty blindingly obvious I only did it so you could save your weaning gild for the frontier. Even then, we’re all gonna have to pretend it's because of your Farsight again, alright?”

Kenva nodded hurriedly.

“Alright, good. Because if I do anything more I'm gonna start getting hard questions about unnecessary favouritism, and I would like to avoid an uncomfortable chat with the elders when I next meet with the tribe.”

“Thank you uncle Bestot!” Kenva said softly, throwing her arms around her Uncle's broad shoulders.

Bestot chuckled, holding her in a brief hug before setting her back on her feet.

“This is the start of your real life, you’ll see. Now go take over for Ostovir, put that skill of yours to good use.” He said, pointing off towards one of the larger carriages, a raised platform built into its already tall roof.

Kenva groaned, but ran off to take over for the lookout dutifully. Once more Kenva was grateful for Farseer. It wasn’t her only merged skill, but it was her clan's greatest treasure, a merge of ten ocular skills that made them some of the best scouts, archers, and trackers in the United Tribes.

A valuable enough skill that her uncle had had enough of an excuse to pretend she was a valuable enough worker that she didn't have to pay for passage. Something she hoped would one day be true, she wanted to be known as the greatest bearer the clan had ever seen, known across Vaastivar for being able to spot a raindrop from thirty leagues away.

Though, she supposed up north she would probably get enough attention simply flaunting the skill. She’d heard strange tales of powerful merged skills being kept under wraps up there. She didn't quite understand it, it wasn’t as if she could tell anyone how to get the bloody thing. Everyone in the tribes had to swear on one of the bloodstones not to share clan secrets without explicit uncoerced approval from the head- surely they had something similar?

The scouting carriage drew near, and Kenva was drawn from her thoughts. She ran up to the bright blue ladder that was built into the side of the yellow outer wall - a garish combination in her opinion- and hopped to hook her leg onto the first rung.

“Hey Ostovir! I’m here to take over!”