It had to... what madness was this? rrin thought, listening passively to the booming violence of the overhead skies. Black like the deepest blackness, tiding like little waves over a cloudless expanse. In it, lightning ruled. He saw it. Standing atop the rooftop of the tavern, rrin grasped the waterhusk mildly; a woman from the tavern had managed that for him.
Free, she had said. Not that he could pay. No money and all that. But she had given it to him, courtesy of Madam Buns, likely. Not that he cared either way. There was only one singular desire at that mont: escape from the drunken fool. Whoever that was, rrin desired no connection to whatever nonsense he was related to.
It was better that way. He nodded, uncorking the top of the husk and downing a mouthful of slightly salty water. He enjoyed it. Enjoyed the lack of moss within it—a good thing given that most of the things within the camps existed with that added punch.
But that was the end of it. rrin sighed, eyes locked hard on the looming mountains in the distance. The camps, as he could see, were a spread of tents, wooden structures, and very few stone things—all in that consistent glossy squareness. He had co to enjoy the sight of it: the long wall that acted as a bastion between Nightfell and the Black Seas, the peaks that towered high, mostly enshrouded in that layer of rising steam. It was an optical treat.
The mist did, however, warm the eyes. Enjoyable. But that, unfortunately, was the end of the gentility. For him, here, dressed in nothing but the camp-given wrapped black clothes, endured a certain hunger. With him it had been—From the days within the depths of the undermines till now, rrin had maintained that reality.
A tireso thing.
Even Casters required so asure of sustenance from ti to ti. But as he ca to learn, food was not a given in this place. Money, marks, and cells were earned from work. And according to that bumbling tippler, certain tasks could be done for it.
"Bounty," he called it. Supposedly, the lord of the Camp, Tyrion Driftpoint, would provide so task in exchange for cells. They differed and contained so relevance to the camp's existence.
This ti, there was a killer.
Suddenly, piercing the darkness above, lightning surged with a bright radiance across the murky world. Abrupt. And following suit ca the wind, and the sound aftermath of the fulguration. With it, he maintained a mont of silence.
Am I really going to do this? A bordering question.
The hunger desired it so. What was he to do?
Sothing cold dripped down his cheeks. Fluid, not tears. His fingers felt the side of his face. Then ca more. A drop of water into his hair, his legs, arms, back.
He looked up.
The rain had co. It drenched him, drowning the world in that downpour of pitter-patter. Chuckles ruled the world below; n and won wandering in the waters that ca now. So did run for their tents, for their hos. And then there were those who didn't. Ones that lay flat on the ground, staring up at the endless above.
There was nothing in their eyes. Empty.
rrin raised the husk into the air, catching whatever droplets of water that cared for entry. Very few did, and as fast as it had co, the rain had quelled, vanishing into a damp silence over the world.
This ti, a chuckle ca from the roof of the tavern. rrin. "I don't know what to do." He said, "I have no idea what to do now... Should I eat? Should I just die here? Should I run away?"
He could if he so desired.
"By the Lords, what should I even do?" He tossed the husk, the leathery bottle skidding to a halt atop the wooden roof. Next was that annoying silence. He hated it now. Hated it all. The irritation was like bugs crawling over one's skin. Here he was without witnesses (as was best for them), without a path forward or backward... and worse, without the bravery to end it all.
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rrin sighed. "I'm so hungry." And much more apparent was the churning of data within his awareness. That man was there—that inebriate of a fellow and his words. Hateful things... yet, rrin sank into them.
Call it the distraction, it was.
Chula was her na, rrin thought. Shae would likely co for the drunk. He suspected that. Although the conversation between him and that woman was brief and odd, he could speculate her nature as one with vengeance. If not vengeance, so asure of retribution for sure.
I wonder what she would d—
His words were caught off.
Again ca that pang of hunger... he dipped deeper into ntation, even though there were very few things to truly ponder. In a week or so, the run would once again require him. And once again, he would stand face to face with that hollowing storm, that sea of monsters, and the winds that blared their way through n.
All of that waited.
But for now... There was none of that, only the inanition. Perhaps he could endure this if a desire existed against it. But there was none. rrin lowered his head, staring calmly at the line-patterned surface of the roof.
"I need to do sothing," he told himself. "Sothing that wouldn't cause much trouble and wouldn't bring any eye to ... Yes." A wave of the wrist, and the waterhusk flung back into his arms. "That man said he was going to find soone who was killing people. For the bounty. And if soone like him could do it, it likely existed with little relevance to others."
Yes.
Of course, undoubtedly, rrin did sense the stupidity that ruled his present trail of thought. But what did that matter? He wasn't doing much, was he? Not like in the mines, never like the mines. And he was so very hungry.
Play the tunes and sing to the gods, that's the role of n—collected from the mantra of the Church of the Song.
Jumping from roof to roof, rrin, sunBringer and Ashman felt the wind across his face. Perhaps it was the similarity of it all. The reminder of the Ashmountains. His feet jumped, sliding through the world above. Of course, there were very few truly stable buildings in the camps; most of the ti, a brief gliding through the air played an important role.
At least, this played the distractive role. From roof to roof, feet padding softly atop the wooden, stone ceilings. On most, he stopped, observing the passersby as they mumbled and muttered words beyond count. A few tis, words in relation to sothing called the 'Red Thing' were uttered.
What that was was beyond rrin's grasp. Not that he cared for it—there was no reason to, just the constant motion and hope. Hope that by so ans, he would find the so-called killer for the bounty.
"This seems like a bad idea..." he mumbled, rolling over the cover of a structure. It seed a tower, but as quickly as he ca, he leaped into the air, weaving in the threads of the wind. Marshaled, they heeded his call. The world below pushing down as he soared into the heavens. Not too high, of course.
Soon, down he ca, falling, landing feet-first atop the roofing of a structure. Square, rather deep into the camps, he noticed as barely any passersby existed in these corners. Odd, given the provided ti for the curfew had not yet been reached. What did that an? Where was he?
He leaned, lying flat atop the roofs, watching.
There was no particular cognitive reason for this action—at least he believed it so. Perhaps this was rely the simple curiosity invoked by the sudden unfamiliarity. Whatever it was, rrin felt lorded by it, eyes staring downward at a field near the building.
Sothing was there.
Voices ca from it. Slow, and muffled, often irritated. n. Many of them. He saw them—figures, dressed in tattered black robes, carrying out boxes, barrels. Plenty of husks out of a four-sided thing. A square of sorts; black, glossy, with a width in the 7 feets.
He paused. By the Lords, the thing was floating. A full ter off the ground, steam often hissing out from the sides of its sleek surface. A marvel, the thing was. From its side, n rambled out, each weighed down by so carried box or container.
One was barking orders from the side. Black-haired but just barely of that color. "Let's get this done, now, eh?" He chuckled. "I can't have you people being the thing that stops now. Done paid my dues in the inn. And I'm for sure by Origain, bedding Sibel tonight." His laughter bood louder. Oddly so. Was he perhaps marshaling the wind for that needed effect?
Perhaps it was. After all, they too existed with that aweso power of the Caster.
Next..
One spilled out from the black depths of the thing—a man, back bent under the weight of a barrel. He trudged on, pacing the slick floor that led out from the 'ship.' Mist was out from his breath, froststone glowing softly from the folds of his clothes.
An observable obviosity existed in his actions—that and the next outco that was to co; A crack snapped into the air, the man, sudden, slapping hard and rolling down the 'ship's' floor. He groaned, the barrel smashing onto the ground. It fractured, dark orange liquid splashing over the earth, steaming.
That gave its scent.
Honey?
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