Just a fool to believe; she's like the wind.
Be at rest once more, O my soul,
for the LORD has been good to you.
Sand scoured me from all directions, its fine granules seeking every crack and crevice. Remarkably, the heavy lengths of tan cloth kept me paradoxically cool under the relentless rays of an Aeroian sun. My teeth were clenched, partly to keep the grit from filling my mouth, partly due to my mounting frustration. I had hoped I had left these Shaddai forsaken deserts behind.
As I walked up to a weathered cave entrance looming out of the spinning sands and stepped screaming into a perfectly crafted illusion. My cries were abruptly cut off as my face slammed into a miniature dune underground. Spitting mouthfuls of sand out in every direction I hardly noticed a thin blade as it sidled painful against my larynx.
“Stay your blade, Sirocco,” said an obscured shadow, his tones cold and sweeping, with that distinct Aeroian lilt. “Our esteemed guest is none other than the renowned Pollo.”
“The jester that nabbed Old Willi?” queried the one called Sirocco, his auburn eyebrows shooting up in disbelief, “Impossible! This bumbling fool’s probably some unfortunate imbecile who didn’t realize he’s been trespassing on Anemoi territory.”
“Isch know whosch you are!” I protested, crunching through a gritty mouth. Spitting another mouthful of gravel from my mouth, I started again, “The Anemoi. Eight of the most deadly assassins in Aeronia, if not the realm. Folks would rather face all three of the shard wielding Windlords than cross one of your paths. I’m here to hire you”
Sirocco laughed hysterically, his reverberating bellows sounding like an unstable hurricane. “Are you hearing this, Maestrale? This sham head thinks he’s going to do business with us? You’ll be lucky to have your bones discovered in the next hundred years!” Sirocco continued to wheeze, doubled over with amusement as Maestrale stepped out of the shadows.
“Underestimating him would be your first mistake, Sirocco,” Maestrale’s frigid eyes gazed down from his thin face, as if critically deciding between cuts of meat at the market, “If the rumors are true, then this Pollo is the first and only to make Willi miss his mark. Smaller than I imagined him though, I’ll give you that. What is it you want here, Master Pollo?”
Brushing myself off, I rose to my feet. Sirocco immediately sprang into action, his wafer thin blade inches from face, body crouched into a battle stance. Maestrale lowered the sword with a single finger, despite a fierce scowl from its short wielder. Keeping a wary eye on the unstable Sirocco, I turned to address Maestrale. “I have a proposition, a job only a group as prestigious as the Anemoi can accomplish. I hear they can track any target, kill the most evasive of individuals, for the right price. I’d just need some guarantee you are the genuine article, not imposters”
Sirocco’s mouth gaped open, his face scrunching up in ire. A slight smile quirked the corners of Maestrale’s mouth. The lanky assassin crossed his long arms over his chest, tilting his head as if trying to see me in a different light. “Backed into a corner and still making demand. Odd. Very odd. Very well, follow me.
Ducking my away around small waterfalls of sand, I wound my way around rocky corridors and switchbacks, a veritable underground maze of stony tunnels. Our passageway widened to reveal a shallow cavern, its domed ceiling hazy with fragrant hooka smoke. Several characters loitered the area, some relaxing on chaise loungers; others huddled in quite conversation. All eyes focused on me as I entered the room. All but one pair. A rather corpulent man squatted, surrounded by overstuffed pillow, his squinty eyes shut as he took a long draw from the hooka. Letting the purple smoke flow lazily out of his nostrils he broke into a grin, motioning me over with his pudgy hand.
“Greetings Master Pollo,” the seated man said, his dramatic tones matching the swooping motions of his arms, “It is rare we see a visitor in the den. I trust that Sirocco did not rough you up too much. His only diplomacy lies in his blade. My name is Ostro, and I am the illustrious Head of Anemoi.”
“You’re trying to tell me that you are an assassin?”
“No man here is an assassin my good man. The Anemoi isn’t some assassin’s guild. The Anemoi is the assassin. We are just parts of its whole. No job can be completed without each of us and we each play an irreplaceable role. If you were referring to this,” Ostro said jovially, slapping his distended stomach with his gesturing hand, “you must realize that not all the Anemoi slit throats. My talents lie beyond the physical. What use is a blade if you cannot reach your target? And I always reach my target”
Just like that Ostro had been replaced with demure maiden like a million others you’d see in a marketplace. I found myself attracted despite his former appearance, shivering at the thought. In the blink of an eye, the girl melted into the obese Ostro I had originally seen was back, his yellowed teeth shining out from a wide grin.
“You see Master Pollo, the best place to hide is always in plain sight. Everyone trusts someone, my good man. I will become that someone, and so will they,” Ostro proclaimed, gesturing to his compatriots with a sweeping hand, “Though I am a Savant in illusionary magic, I also specialize in information, such as yourself. I have contacts in every city from Lydaer to the Great Sea. I have the strategies to cheat death and become the harbinger of it. The ornery fellow you met at the door is the Right Hand of Anemoi. Show him your skills, Sirocco.”
More than eager to display his prowess, Sirocco unsheathed his blade, slicing it down in a quick arc and sheathed it again in a lightening quick motion. I watched as the lengths of heavy burlap cloth fell from my shoulders, sliced clean in two, revealing my jester’s outfit beneath. Sirocco’s aim had been so precise that not a fiber was disturbed from the costume beneath.
“Maestrale is the Anemoi’s Left. When Sirocco’s is the blade you see, Maestrale’s is the one you don’t. Perfect in stealth and impenetrable in interrogation, many have fell to him, but few see his face before they perish. The rest are all Savants, as I am, unique in their affinities towards Wind based magic.”
“The Anemoi’s eyes belong to Zephyrus, the Diviner. His often misuses his talents for whore mongering, visions of the past make a winning combination his own natural charm. Despite his womanizing, the Anemoi would be blind without his aid.” The golden haired vagabond nodded at his introduction, flashing a glimmering smile.
“Levanter is next” Ostro continued, shifting his gaze to a square jawed adolescent, hands tucked behind his head as he relaxed on a chaise lounge, “The Anemoi’s Feet. A truly unique ability, the Gusting Path, allows Levanter to walk on thick air. Its usefulness is endless as you can only imagine.”
“Who is he?” I interrupted, pointing to a bearded and dark haired individual, crouched in corner, his heavily tattooed arm upraised and his lips moving silently.
“Ahh that is Gregale, Voice of the Anemoi. His Savant talents lie in wind whispers. He crafts artifacts that he can communicate with, sending and receiving messages as fast as the wind can blow. He insures the bonds of the Anemoi, making certain we always act in unison.
“No offense, Ostro,” said a barrel chested man, sinewy hand resting on the chubby man’s shoulder, “But this isn’t exactly the time for introductions. I’d personally care to know what target this jester is offering us and if it is of the caliber for the Anemoi.”
“Very well, Tramontane. He’s always keen on action, you see,” Ostro explained, his expression both pained and apologetic, rubbing the spot where Tramontane’s hand had gripped him, “What target do you offer us, Master Pollo, and how do you expect to compensate?”
“The target and the reward are one and the same. I offer you the chance to eliminate your most sworn enemy. I offer you the head of the Snow Queen.”
So I've passed my first two medical exams. I'm now typing to you from my new room in my new townhouse. This is the first time since I was 11 years old that I've had an entire room to myself, a room that I could really call mine, not borrowed or shared. If you'd like my new address for any reason please call/email/privately contact me any way you'd like and I'd be more than happy to give it to you. I just don't feel entirely comfortably posting it on a public forum such as LJ. Hope your summers are all going well.
for the LORD has been good to you.
Sand scoured me from all directions, its fine granules seeking every crack and crevice. Remarkably, the heavy lengths of tan cloth kept me paradoxically cool under the relentless rays of an Aeroian sun. My teeth were clenched, partly to keep the grit from filling my mouth, partly due to my mounting frustration. I had hoped I had left these Shaddai forsaken deserts behind.
As I walked up to a weathered cave entrance looming out of the spinning sands and stepped screaming into a perfectly crafted illusion. My cries were abruptly cut off as my face slammed into a miniature dune underground. Spitting mouthfuls of sand out in every direction I hardly noticed a thin blade as it sidled painful against my larynx.
“Stay your blade, Sirocco,” said an obscured shadow, his tones cold and sweeping, with that distinct Aeroian lilt. “Our esteemed guest is none other than the renowned Pollo.”
“The jester that nabbed Old Willi?” queried the one called Sirocco, his auburn eyebrows shooting up in disbelief, “Impossible! This bumbling fool’s probably some unfortunate imbecile who didn’t realize he’s been trespassing on Anemoi territory.”
“Isch know whosch you are!” I protested, crunching through a gritty mouth. Spitting another mouthful of gravel from my mouth, I started again, “The Anemoi. Eight of the most deadly assassins in Aeronia, if not the realm. Folks would rather face all three of the shard wielding Windlords than cross one of your paths. I’m here to hire you”
Sirocco laughed hysterically, his reverberating bellows sounding like an unstable hurricane. “Are you hearing this, Maestrale? This sham head thinks he’s going to do business with us? You’ll be lucky to have your bones discovered in the next hundred years!” Sirocco continued to wheeze, doubled over with amusement as Maestrale stepped out of the shadows.
“Underestimating him would be your first mistake, Sirocco,” Maestrale’s frigid eyes gazed down from his thin face, as if critically deciding between cuts of meat at the market, “If the rumors are true, then this Pollo is the first and only to make Willi miss his mark. Smaller than I imagined him though, I’ll give you that. What is it you want here, Master Pollo?”
Brushing myself off, I rose to my feet. Sirocco immediately sprang into action, his wafer thin blade inches from face, body crouched into a battle stance. Maestrale lowered the sword with a single finger, despite a fierce scowl from its short wielder. Keeping a wary eye on the unstable Sirocco, I turned to address Maestrale. “I have a proposition, a job only a group as prestigious as the Anemoi can accomplish. I hear they can track any target, kill the most evasive of individuals, for the right price. I’d just need some guarantee you are the genuine article, not imposters”
Sirocco’s mouth gaped open, his face scrunching up in ire. A slight smile quirked the corners of Maestrale’s mouth. The lanky assassin crossed his long arms over his chest, tilting his head as if trying to see me in a different light. “Backed into a corner and still making demand. Odd. Very odd. Very well, follow me.
Ducking my away around small waterfalls of sand, I wound my way around rocky corridors and switchbacks, a veritable underground maze of stony tunnels. Our passageway widened to reveal a shallow cavern, its domed ceiling hazy with fragrant hooka smoke. Several characters loitered the area, some relaxing on chaise loungers; others huddled in quite conversation. All eyes focused on me as I entered the room. All but one pair. A rather corpulent man squatted, surrounded by overstuffed pillow, his squinty eyes shut as he took a long draw from the hooka. Letting the purple smoke flow lazily out of his nostrils he broke into a grin, motioning me over with his pudgy hand.
“Greetings Master Pollo,” the seated man said, his dramatic tones matching the swooping motions of his arms, “It is rare we see a visitor in the den. I trust that Sirocco did not rough you up too much. His only diplomacy lies in his blade. My name is Ostro, and I am the illustrious Head of Anemoi.”
“You’re trying to tell me that you are an assassin?”
“No man here is an assassin my good man. The Anemoi isn’t some assassin’s guild. The Anemoi is the assassin. We are just parts of its whole. No job can be completed without each of us and we each play an irreplaceable role. If you were referring to this,” Ostro said jovially, slapping his distended stomach with his gesturing hand, “you must realize that not all the Anemoi slit throats. My talents lie beyond the physical. What use is a blade if you cannot reach your target? And I always reach my target”
Just like that Ostro had been replaced with demure maiden like a million others you’d see in a marketplace. I found myself attracted despite his former appearance, shivering at the thought. In the blink of an eye, the girl melted into the obese Ostro I had originally seen was back, his yellowed teeth shining out from a wide grin.
“You see Master Pollo, the best place to hide is always in plain sight. Everyone trusts someone, my good man. I will become that someone, and so will they,” Ostro proclaimed, gesturing to his compatriots with a sweeping hand, “Though I am a Savant in illusionary magic, I also specialize in information, such as yourself. I have contacts in every city from Lydaer to the Great Sea. I have the strategies to cheat death and become the harbinger of it. The ornery fellow you met at the door is the Right Hand of Anemoi. Show him your skills, Sirocco.”
More than eager to display his prowess, Sirocco unsheathed his blade, slicing it down in a quick arc and sheathed it again in a lightening quick motion. I watched as the lengths of heavy burlap cloth fell from my shoulders, sliced clean in two, revealing my jester’s outfit beneath. Sirocco’s aim had been so precise that not a fiber was disturbed from the costume beneath.
“Maestrale is the Anemoi’s Left. When Sirocco’s is the blade you see, Maestrale’s is the one you don’t. Perfect in stealth and impenetrable in interrogation, many have fell to him, but few see his face before they perish. The rest are all Savants, as I am, unique in their affinities towards Wind based magic.”
“The Anemoi’s eyes belong to Zephyrus, the Diviner. His often misuses his talents for whore mongering, visions of the past make a winning combination his own natural charm. Despite his womanizing, the Anemoi would be blind without his aid.” The golden haired vagabond nodded at his introduction, flashing a glimmering smile.
“Levanter is next” Ostro continued, shifting his gaze to a square jawed adolescent, hands tucked behind his head as he relaxed on a chaise lounge, “The Anemoi’s Feet. A truly unique ability, the Gusting Path, allows Levanter to walk on thick air. Its usefulness is endless as you can only imagine.”
“Who is he?” I interrupted, pointing to a bearded and dark haired individual, crouched in corner, his heavily tattooed arm upraised and his lips moving silently.
“Ahh that is Gregale, Voice of the Anemoi. His Savant talents lie in wind whispers. He crafts artifacts that he can communicate with, sending and receiving messages as fast as the wind can blow. He insures the bonds of the Anemoi, making certain we always act in unison.
“No offense, Ostro,” said a barrel chested man, sinewy hand resting on the chubby man’s shoulder, “But this isn’t exactly the time for introductions. I’d personally care to know what target this jester is offering us and if it is of the caliber for the Anemoi.”
“Very well, Tramontane. He’s always keen on action, you see,” Ostro explained, his expression both pained and apologetic, rubbing the spot where Tramontane’s hand had gripped him, “What target do you offer us, Master Pollo, and how do you expect to compensate?”
“The target and the reward are one and the same. I offer you the chance to eliminate your most sworn enemy. I offer you the head of the Snow Queen.”
So I've passed my first two medical exams. I'm now typing to you from my new room in my new townhouse. This is the first time since I was 11 years old that I've had an entire room to myself, a room that I could really call mine, not borrowed or shared. If you'd like my new address for any reason please call/email/privately contact me any way you'd like and I'd be more than happy to give it to you. I just don't feel entirely comfortably posting it on a public forum such as LJ. Hope your summers are all going well.