A Beginner's Etude

[Joline]

A pair of screams matching on a perfect fifth pierce the dew-moistened air in Camelot as myself and Ciamath emerge on the other side of the portal, barreling through with the bike. Somewhere along the way, we had both fallen off. Suddenly I feel the need to do something, anything to break our fall--

For a moment the world blurs around me. Suddenly I have my boots planted on the ground and Ciamath is hurtling through the air towards me. I don't even have a moment to ask myself how in the hell (and what in the hell) I just did before she collides with my stomach, sending us both flying backwards farther. I spend the next few seconds shouting and trying to run against the power of the Worst Bike in the History of Anything Ever. Fortunately, it works eventually.

"What was that about not being fast not too long ago?" Ciamath asks teasingly. It occurs to me that I'm carrying her bridal-style, and I can't help but wonder how I did that, either, what with my piddly physical strength and being tiny on top of that. I put her down as gently as possible, my arms and legs trembling in the process as I heave and huff.

“Well, at least we haven’t had a dull moment yet,” she chimes as she makes contact with the ground again. “I suppose it won’t take you too long to figure out where we’re going.”

At that I stop wallowing in anguish and exhaustion to look around. Like I had seen from the other side, around the gate here was a neat little arrangement of not very little stones. Inside and outside the ring was a number of flowers, some of which appear trampled by hooves and shoes and other things. Deciding one of the flowers looks particularly nice - a bright-petaled purplish flower which seemed to shift shades of purple from time to time - I jump up, slip it behind Ciamath’s ear and stick out my tongue playfully. I then resume looking about.

“Cute,” she remarks, and thanks to the peace and quiet, I can hear her fiddling with it. Birds are singing and flowers are blooming - I can’t imagine what more I could ask for from such a beautiful scene.

...Well, maybe a tire swing would be neat, but that’s beside the point.

Past it all I then notice something particularly interesting: what looks like some kind of tower off in the distance. “Oh. Are we headed that way? Looks kinda small,” I observe. “Probably tall, but really narrow…”

Ciamath laughs a little, and I turn to her, my expression puzzled. “You might need a better view. Here - climb up on my shoulders.” She crouches down, putting one knee on the ground. Reluctantly I do as she says, making sure to avoid her spear and wobbling a little as I rise into the air. “Woah, hey, keep it steady--”

I spend a few seconds just gawking in awe. I can see, off in the distance, what looks like a massive fortress of some kind. I can’t help but let a little woaaaaaah out because of just how incredible it looks - I can’t help but smile as I make the connection that it’s kind of like the layered cake equivalent of a castle. Around it I can see a number of scattered villages and sprawling farmlands and even a castle or two, but the ones that are all over are so easily dwarfed by the colossus towering over them.

“That’s Minas Tirith - home of some of the finest smiths I’ve ever met. More importantly,” she starts walking toward the massive fortification, “home of one Jamven Falconsflight. Whatever you want from him, if it can be forged, you’ll have it by the next sunrise.”

I can’t help but be a little awed. “Woah-- wait… I need money, don’t I? I, er, don’t really have any.”

“Omnilium,” she responds. “Either you can hand over some of that or you can will it to be made into Camelot’s currency. Gold tends to be rather widely accepted, in my experience, so if you can shape a little Omnilium into golden coins, that might be a good start.”

I decide to do as Ciamath says, holding out my hand over her head and shutting my eyes. Even through my eyelids I can see the rainbow-glowing blob of a substance amassing before me. Over the course of a few minutes, the bright light fades to a dim one, and a dim one to a nonexistent one as a weight grows in my hand.

I open my eyes. Minas Tirith is just that much closer, it seems, and obscuring it is a light brown sack with a golden drawstring pulled shut tightly. A greenish diamond-type gemstone is embedded in the bag at the front. Out of curiosity I gently pull the top of the bag open, and my eyes meet with a number of bright, golden quarter-sized coins. A big smile of discovery crosses my face and I pluck one of the coins out, examining it. On one face is the visage of a man I don’t recognize, and on the other side is a sort of insignia I don’t recognize either. Maybe I didn’t make the coins right, but I can’t even distinguish any features from it. “Uh, Ciamath? Did I make these right?” I offer one so she can see for herself.

After some thoughtful hums and hahs, she hands one back. “Surprisingly, yes. Even if they’re unacceptable, I’m sure Jamven can smelt them down and get some other use out of them.”

I let out a sigh of relief. “Just don’t lose those. Omnilium is incredibly valuable. To lose those coins is to waste potential.” Nodding (and shaking my whole body a little in the process), I slip the coin I had handed over back into my coinpurse, then look for somewhere to hang it. “Where should I put it…?”

“You may want to just hold onto it for now. If it’s in your hand, you’ll keep your mind on it, and that way you’re much less likely to lose it,” she explains. Since that sounds pretty reasonable, I nod again and grip the bag in my right hand by its drawstrings.

I carefully prop my chin up on the top of Ciamath’s head and look around. In all honesty, I have no idea why I’m still on her shoulders, but I kind of like the view - up here I can see little animals running about on the sides of the road, birds fluttering from tree to verdant tree… people rustling around in farmlands with maze-like crops, and…

...Off in the distance, a carriage stopped on the side of the road. I point it out to Ciamath. “Yes, carriages are common in Camelot,” she responds. “People who know the lay of the land can earn a good living helping people travel. It’s probably one of the safest ways to travel here, past having a personal Prime bodyguard.”

I look to the coinpurse in my hand and the nonexistent lightbulb lights up over my head again. “So how much would carriage fare to Minas Tirith cost from here, do you figure?”

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“So you need a ride,” says the grizzled-looking man sitting on the front of the carriage. “I can give you one if you’ve got the coin, sure. Just tell me where you’re headed and get comfortable.”

I hop down from Ciamath’s shoulders, bracing for the rough landing. It’s not too rough - I can fall six feet and land without too much of a problem, I note - then point to Minas Tirith off in the distance. I then reach into my pouch, taking out about eight golden coins. “How’s this? We’re just heading that way - I’m sure you can figure out the rest.”

The man nods wisely, then gestures to the back of the carriage. It’s covered over by a tough-looking, thick black fabric of some kind, and it’s made out of a neat-looking dark wood. I walk over to one of the open sides, which from the looks of things I’d need to hop up to reach. As I rear up to do just that, I feel Ciamath's hands under my arms. I resist the urge to laugh at the odd sensation as I’m hoisted into the air and placed on the inside. “Up you go!”

That rings a bell. I’m not sure why, but it does.

Ciamath jumps up and into the carriage after me. I notice the interior’s rather empty - there’s a few empty barrels and boxes lying about, along with a few blankets and a pair of couches across from one another. If I had anything I needed to store, I’d probably make use of the boxes, but since I don’t have anything on me besides my coinpurse, I just take a seat. As I get comfortable, I wonder whether or not I should mention the feeling I just had, like what Ciamath had just said had some kind of significance, and how I would go about mentioning that.

I shut my eyes for a moment. It was such a simple, general thing that surely it could apply to anything. Why did I feel any attachment to it at all? Either it was a sentence I used frequently, a sentence I attached to something significant or it didn’t mean anything at all… and with how crazy I sound, just thinking about this, I’m thinking it’s probably that last one.

“Is something on your mind?” Ciamath inquires, and I open my eyes. She looks… concerned, if I had to describe her expression. The corners of her lips perk up. “If there’s something on your mind, I know I just met you, but you can talk to me.”

I relay what I was just thinking to her after a moment of thinking. Surely asking for her advice and getting nowhere would be better than never asking and risking not getting potentially useful help.

She, too, seems puzzled. “Perhaps… and you may take my word with a grain of salt,” she replies, “but I think… it may be an issue that you want to remember something, and it doesn’t matter what it is you remember in doing that - whether it is really something you remember or not doesn’t matter to you. Being without memory is a cruel fate, but filling your mind with vague or improper memories is a worse one.”

After a moment of silence, she concludes, “tread your path to recovery lightly, that’s my advice. Find what truly holds significance to you, even if that takes longer than you may like.” That… is actually pretty helpful, I think. Obviously I would’ve thought that I shouldn’t just assume everything that pops into my head means something, but I wouldn’t have put that kind of thought into it.

Well, maybe I ought to. I turn my attention to the pastures and fiefs passing our carriage by as we ride to Minas Tirith.

[Joline]

“Ciamath, it’s wonderful-- come see!”

Just inside the walls of Minas Tirith, I’m met with what feels like a glorious sensory overload. Grand and elegant architecture runs along both sides of the cobblestone streets. Stands and carts line the streets, staffed by people shouting their stock into the commuter-filled streets. A barrage of different smells, most of which were fortunately good ones, reach my nose along the gentle breeze. “I’ve never seen anything like this before! Is this-- normal for the Omniverse?!”

Ciamath kneels at the edge of the cart with me and smiles. “You may want to keep in mind this is home to one of the most powerful forces in the Omniverse. It may not be normal, but there are places like this out there,” she answers. “You’ll find that this world is very different depending on where you end up, and there are many more places you can travel to than just Camelot.”

I consider leaving the carriage, though based on the crowds of people moving about, I decide maybe that isn’t the best idea. “Do we have a plan for where we’re going? I… have no idea where we’re going.”

“We’ll be looking for Jamven’s smithy, called Falconsflight Steel. I know the way, so I can lead us there. Just take my hand and don’t let go.”

I would have been an awful lot more comfortable with this back when I wasn’t as small as I am now. But now, as I look around, I’m dwarfed by almost everybody I can see in this crowd. “Could I-- and you can tell me no if you’re not comfortable with this-- ride on your shoulders like earlier?”

She raises and eyebrow and giggles a little. “I suppose it would be all right,” she responds, then steps off of the cart. She rests her back against the edge of it, waiting for me. “Go on. If we don’t go quickly, the sun will be down before we get there.”

Following the request to hurry up, I carefully slip onto Ciamath’s shoulders and hold my hands down, which she meets with her own, helping me balance a lot better. We hand over our fare for the ride and Ciamath leads the way down the streets, making comments every now and then about the area. I point out a few interesting things I see thanks to my raised line of sight, noting a jewelry store, a bakery specializing in sweetrolls and a self-proclaimed ‘market of whimsy’. I make a note to visit each of these places later.

I summon a little notebook and a pencil. Visit jewelry store, sweetroll bakery and market of whimsy. Having nowhere to put either, I tuck the pencil behind my ear and just keep the notebook in hand with my coinpurse.

Before too long, we approach a rather large-looking building - at least by comparison to the others - which has a balcony on its second (and top) floor, where a large forge puffs out smoke into the air. A sign above the door says FALCONSFLIGHT SMITHY. “We’re here,” Ciamath says, reaffirming my thoughts. She takes a knee and I hop off of her shoulders, being careful not to catch myself on either end of her spear. “Jamven is nice enough. Just talk to him like you talk to me and you two should get along beautifully,” she adds.

As we step through the door, a heavy-sounding bell noise sounds above us. Not a cute little ding-ding like you might expect when you walk into a business and there’s a bell at the door - this sounded like the bell got pumped full of testosterone or something. On a less ridiculous note, the place looks pretty neat, with the walls lined by pretty much every weapon I can name off and then some. I note a stark lack of firearms, or at least firearms more advanced than a simple flintlock or musket, though I imagine not many people use guns around here. There’s even a bunch of different types of armor, from chainmail to full plate to hardened leather. Cool.

Then I notice, as my eyes reach a staircase leading up, a guy who towers over me is walking down. As I look at him, he’s not taller than Ciamath, though I also note Ciamath is beyond tall. She’s gotta be six and a half feet tall or something.

The man approaching, who is presumably the Jamven I’ve heard so much about, is bald on top with a long, gray beard. He has long gray hair at the back, as I look at him, big red eyes and a nose like a brick. His outfit’s pretty much just a tattered tunic and apron charred all over with a pair of gloves and boots, and he’s got a build that looks like two rolled up carpets leaning against an outhouse.

I may be just a little bit scared right now.

“Long time no see, Jamven,” Ciamath chimes. “You haven’t changed a bit. Are you keeping yourself well?”

“‘Course I am,” he shoots back, leaning against a nearby counter. “Business isn’t too great lately, but it’ll spike again. Always does,” he continues. “Always a need for good steel.”

He turns his crimson eyes to me and I almost jump out of my boots. “So who’s this, then? You lost?” he asks, then notices the bag of coins in my right hand and laughs a bit. “If you’re looking for anything your size, you’re definitely lost, lass.”

“Come now, Jamven. You and I both know you’re joking…” Ciamath narrows her eyes. “But she doesn’t. Besides, she can pay, so why not help her? You said yourself, business isn’t great for you.”

I step away from the conversation, wandering toward a wall covered from floor to ceiling by swords. My eyes glint with wonder, drinking in the beauty of it all. From a distance, it was just generally impressive, but up close, it was something else entirely. Rapiers and shortswords and longswords and scimitars and I swear I can see a shotel in here somewhere… a pair of hook swords that look absolutely masterfully forged, and a scimitar that looks bigger than I am--

“So you like what you see, eh?” I yelp and whirl around, relaxing a little at the sight of Ciamath nearby - though Jamven is closer. “Sorry about what I said, lass. All in good fun, right? Didn’t hurt your feelings, did I?” I pause for a moment. He does seem genuine, and I can’t bring myself to hold a grudge over something so silly and petty. Plus, he’s got a big, dumb grin on his face and it’s contagious.

“No harm, no foul, baldie,” I joke, laughing a little and offering a hand. “I’m Joline.” Jamven just bursts out laughing.

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“So you want a sword, right? Think I’ve got a few ideas for you… lemme look around a second, see what I can get.” Jamven paces around the building, stroking his beard thoughtfully. His eyes scan the numerous racks of blades about the store. I consider asking if I can help, but it occurs to me that I have a fascination with weapons and he has enough knowledge to actually make the things, and well at that. I stand back and let the clear master do their work.

Eventually Jamven returns to me with what appears to be a longsword. It’s big, heavy-looking and very ornate, almost more so in the former category than me, but I get the feeling it wouldn’t be impossible to wield. “I have my doubts, but try this one.” He offers it with one hand on the hilt and one beneath the flat of the blade, which fortunately for my nerves is sheathed. “Check and see if you like the weight first.”

I take the blade into my hands cautiously. Stretching out my arms to reach where Jamven had put his feels a bit uncomfortable, but it’s probably the most convenient way to hold a weapon of this size. It’s not unbearable, but it isn’t a comfortable sort of weight to bear. Looking the weapon up and down, I shift both hands to the hilt. “Position yourself like this-- turn to the side, right foot forward, left foot facing to your right… good, like that. Now hold it so the flat of the blade is facing up. Let it hang a little so you can relax a bit.”

I feel sweat on my forehead, and I haven’t even swung the thing yet. Knowing this, I can’t even imagine what armor might be like to wear. Noting Ciamath’s dressing choice, I decide armor isn’t a necessity, and might not at all be the case with speed like mine. At that, I make a mental note to ask Ciamath about my speed, as well. She had mentioned it, but something had taken its place as the more important topic. Maybe it was worth talking about.

“That might be a suitable weapon for someone like me,” Ciamath remarks, “but not for her. She’ll tear her arms off trying to swing the thing.”

“Which is why I said I had my doubts,” Jamven explains. “You never do know around here - once had a kid her size come in and ask for a sword that made that thing look like a toy…”

I giggle. “I’d like to hear a little more about the kinds of people you meet here, but-- maybe some other time, when we’re not focused on this,” I respond as Jamven walks off to find something else. He eventually decides on a pair of large curved daggers - one mostly black and one mostly white - which he hands off to me. “I don’t think you’ll have any issue with these,” he states and steps back. “The only issue with something like these is they don’t have much reach. They’re small, so they’re plenty light and aren’t too hard to use, but you might need to get closer than you’d like to make ‘em count.”

I find that twirling them about and changing stance with them is rather easy, and I can even look somewhat imposing while I wield them, though they don’t feel like they’re the right pick. “Two-weapon fighting might be a bit difficult for her, and it would be a crime to take only one weapon from a pair,” Ciamath comments. “Unless you think you’re up for the challenge?”

I shake my head. “Could be interesting, but I’d rather not get into something too complex. Ultimately what I want is something to fall back on if things go sour, right? Why would I want something really difficult to learn for that?”

Ciamath nods. “A wise decision.” Jamven walks off to grab something else.

He returns moments later with a shortsword - it’s wrapped with brown leather at the hilt, and as it’s passed to me, I notice that the sheath is made of some kind of wood. “Just remembered this one - forged the thing a while ago. Can’t remember for who, but whoever they were, they never picked it up. Wanted to call it Brug Hild, or something like that.”

The weight feels just right, I decide and gently pull it from its sheath. It produces a shwing noise, like the kind you’d hear from someone drawing a weapon in a movie or something. I grasp at the hilt with my left hand, feeling my fingers fit into little grooves in the leather. I shut my eyes, take a deep breath and open again. Without another moment’s hesitation, I try taking a swing. The sound of the air splitting before me, creating a high whistle in the air is like music to my ears.

“I think this might be the one,” I conclude, turning to Jamven. I sheathe the blade and hold it in my hands. “May I--?”

“She’s all yours,” he answers. “I think I can get you a few other things you might want, though - make lugging that thing around a little easier.”

Jamven steps behind the counter for a moment and roots around in some kind of box. I can hear him whistling something, though he stops as he lifts something into the air. “A-ha!” I look to his hand and see a pair of belts, along with a few extra straps. He returns to my side and kneels down. “Ciamath, lend me a hand, would you?”

In response she nods and ducks down in front of me. I instinctively straighten up and feel… a little bit awkward and embarrassed. I feel something tighten and click starting at my left shoulder and ending at my right hip, along with the same feeling at both my hips. I then feel Brug Hild’s weight ease onto my back. “This goes here, and that goes… like so,” Jamven mutters as I hear a few more clicking noises. “Good! That should do. Now, look over your left shoulder. Slowly, now.”

I do just that and see… Brug Hild’s hilt right there. I suppose I should have expected as much, but still, it is a bit surprising. “One more thing - how about we get you a shield? Best offense is a good defense and all,” Jamven declares. “And I’ve even got just the thing.”

He dashes over to a rack of shields in between some spears and axes. “Having fun?” Ciamath asks me, grinning. I nod. “Well, he certainly is, even though he might not want to admit it. Maybe we should drop by here some other time again?” I nod again and we laugh, though we pipe down as Jamven comes back, holding a small wooden shield reinforced with steel. It has what looks almost like a sun design on the front. “It’s a buckler - Beskyttende, I think it’s called. Means Protector, or Protective or something like that. I figure that second hand won’t do you much good in battle unless it’s got something in it, so why not have a shield?”

I extend my hand and he offers the shield. I fit my right hand into the grip and wave it about a bit, making sure it handles well. The weight is comfortable - similar to Brug Hild’s weight. “I like it,” I decide. “I’ll take this too.”

A little bit more fastening and clicking later, Beskyttende is attached to my back as well. Fortunately, the weight’s not uncomfortable - it seems like something I’ll get used to in not too much time. “You know, even with just this,” Ciamath comments, “you have the look of a hero to you.” Jamven nods in agreement. “Here, you can see for yourself - think I’ve got a mirror upstairs somewhere…”

Jamven brings the mirror down and leans it against the least weapon-covered wall in the building, then gestures to it. “Go on - I’m not getting any younger,” he jokes, then steps aside. I step forward with my eyes wide--

“...woah.”

I feel like a whole different person. With a couple of belts, a sword and a shield, I feel changed in a wonderful way. “I look good.”

“Couldn’t have said it better myself, lass,” Jamven adds, putting a hand on my shoulder. “I’m feelin’ generous, so let’s say… twelve gold pieces for this? Normally I’d charge thirty, but this was fun enough, and you’re a friend. Why not?”

I beam and, without hesitation, pluck the necessary coins from my coinpurse. “Here you go, then-- and you’re sure you don’t want anything more? I mean, I think I’ve got plenty…”

Jamven scoffs. “Pah! I’ll be fine, lass, but the thought’s nice.” He gives me a pat on the back, which I can feel even through my shield and sheathed sword. “You two just enjoy your stay in Minas Tirith - and next time you come through, don’t forget about me, eh?”

Ciamath leans against the counter. “We should be here for another day or two. We can stop by before we leave for a quick goodbye if you’d like.” I nod and add, “sure, let’s do that-- we can talk then. How’s that sound?”

“Sounds like a plan, then.” He grins. “Well, better get back to the forge, I figure - steel ain’t gonna work itself!”

We say our goodbyes for the time being, I hang my coinpurse at my hip, then hop onto Ciamath’s shoulders and at last we head off on our way again.

[Joline]

“The sun’s going to go down before too long,” Ciamath observes, directing her gaze to the sky, coloured as though it was ablaze. There’s something magical about this place, something… other, something I’ll never quite catch. “Are you sure you want to look around now? We could always just get some rest and look around tomorrow.”

I shake my head. “I’m a night owl anyways. I’ll probably be up a few hours on the Dataverse before I can actually get any sleep. But, uh-- I feel like I should ask…” I shift a little on Ciamath’s shoulders as she walks. “Do we know where we’re sleeping tonight? Are we going back to Falconsflight-- steel? Or was it smithy…?”

This time Ciamath shakes her head. “I know a place - I doubt we’ll see it while we’re wandering, but if you catch sight of a place called Familiar Angel’s, that’s the place.”

“Okay,” I reply, beginning to survey the area. “But first, we have the bakery and jeweler’s to check out, then there’s that one whimsy-somethingorother…”

I feel Ciamath faintly shudder. “Do you mind if we not stop at that last place?” Immediately I’m tipped off - something’s wrong, and I want to know what. So far Ciamath’s been nothing if not accommodating - it would be odd for her to, without reason, request we not go somewhere. So naturally I want to ask.

“Iffen you don’t mind me asking…” I begin, only to hear her interrupt. “Please, believe that I wouldn’t ask this of you if I was not truly worried.”

I shift uneasily on Ciamath’s shoulders, feeling the sword and board strapped to me bounce against my back. It takes me a moment to piece things together. “I’m… not exactly defenseless,” I reply, “and neither are you. We’re both openly armed, and you at the very least know your way around a fight, I think, if you just casually wearing a spear means anything.”

Ciamath stops for a moment, only to laugh a little. “You’re… deceptively wise for a child,” she notes. “I will trust your judgment. But the moment something concerns you, alert me and we’ll leave in an instant.”

She chuckles and I raise a brow, curious as to what’s on her mind. “Way to kill the mood. What’s so funny?” I inquire, resting my chin on her head to pester her a little.

“Well, with your speed, you could probably just run out the door before anybody could so much as blink,” she says through giggles. “How does somebody like you, so young and inexperienced, learn to move like that?”

I pause for a moment. “I… honestly don’t know. Maybe I’ll learn someday.”

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Neither the jeweler’s or the baker’s were open today. Reluctantly Ciamath gave in and let me try leading us to the last place I’d specifically mentioned interest in, since it was still a little early to call it a night.

“Virgil’s Wonderful Market of Whimsy,” I mutter to myself, reading a sign above the door aloud. I then turn my eyes down to the building again and flinch - even in the dark, the eyesore-bright paint job hurts to look at. “Ow-- ow. Regretting everything. LIFE FLASHING BEFORE EYES.” I shut my eyes and violently shake my head, slapping myself with Brug Hild’s hilt once or twice by accident, then I step into the building.

Now that’s an entrance-bell-thing. A dainty little ding-a-ling echoes through the building, which is like a wide hall in how it’s built. At the very back I see a blue mop-haired individual - presumably the aforementioned Virgil - messing about with something or other on a desk with papers strewn messily about across it. Scrolls, quills, ink, stacked books and all kinds of other things populate the surface. Behind it I can barely see him, but he looks like he’s wearing a very roomy cloak.

For a moment I wonder if it doubles as a blanket.

“Ohhhhhhh!” he shouts across the very large room, raising his hands into the air. “How wonderful it is to see customers at this time of day!” In a puff of smoke maybe-Virgil vanishes, then reappears in front of me. I yelp, then smile and clap. “Neat,” I comment.

“Yes, yes - magic is the specialty here,” he notes. “Wonder! Excitement! Discovery! Trinkets of questionable value! That is what we provide here at Virgil’s Wonderful Market of Whimsy! At that, my lovely customers of juxtaposed height, I am Virgil the Unfathomable.” He offers an extravagant bow which doesn’t in the slightest seem official, royal or proper, but it’s charming, so I give it a laugh and a pass.

I catch a glimpse of Ciamath bearing over my shoulder. She carries with her a cautious air, and seems a little bit uneased. I keep that in the back of my mind, even though I myself am beyond interested and, in fact, happy right now. “My name’s Joline. This is my friend Ciamath. I saw this place earlier, and I thought it might be worth looking around. So what’s--”

“Oh, hold on a moment! Jojo, you said?” Virgil interrupts. In the form of purplish, opaque clouds, the word Jojo appears over Virgil’s head. “Nice to meet you, Jojo! As for what we provide here - we have a little process,” he explains. “First - crystal ball, over there,” he starts, pointing over to a table with a deep purple tablecloth over it, centered on which is a golden pedestal with a silvery white crystal ball on it. I feel a hand on my left hand and I hear a sound of surprise leave Ciamath’s lips as she steps forward. I soon find myself doing the same, being pulled along past rows and shelves of various objects with differing glows and strange visual properties to them.

I look to my left hand extended outwards before me - linking fingers with me is a spectral light bluish hand like how I’d imagine a ghost would look. I turn my attention to Ciamath for a moment, who looks… scared. Very scared. Her eyes are wide and locked on the hand linked with hers. Maybe she’s afraid of ghosts or something, I think to myself and hope for the hands to vanish soon.

They do as we approach the table. There are three chairs on our side of the table and one on the other, where Virgil plops down rather comfortably, emitting a creeeeeak from the chair below him. Noticing Ciamath regain her composure, I gently put my hand on hers for a moment and look her in the eyes. Even though I’m almost positive I can’t think at people, as cool as that would be, I try my hardest to. I’m here. It’s going to be OK. We can leave if you want…

“...Are you worried about me?” Ciamath asks, raising an eyebrow. One side of her mouth perks up a little. “And here I thought I was responsible for you.”

We both sit down at the table. I take a deep breath, feeling a little more relaxed knowing Ciamath is fine. “Hmm…” goes Virgil as he stares into the crystal ball. It reflects off his black irises, appearing almost ominous. “So… Jojo,” he adds, raising his eyes to meet mine. The reflection remains as though he hadn’t lifted his head, though. I jump. “I-- what’d I do?”

“Nothing, nothing, it’s fine!” he responds, “but I’m not getting anything on you. When I try to gaze into the reaches of your mind, I’m stopped at the gates. They’re locked and shut by thick chains,” he notes. “Locked by a word called ‘amnesia’.”

I shudder.

“Mind, there’s a couple things I can see. It’s a gate with bars, not a wall. I can see little thoughts and memories, frolicking away in the distance…” he gestures carefully and elegantly with his hands. “...some better than others. Ooh, lookit that one,” he remarks, his eyes now staring gleefully at the crystal ball.

“Hey-- let me see! It’s my head!”

Suddenly Virgil’s cheerful and carefree demeanor turns sober. “Oh…” he mutters. I can just about swear he looks like he’s about to cry. I start to worry about what he might have seen in my head, what he might have seen that I don’t even remember. I… don’t think anything awful happened to me in the past. If something had, wouldn’t I remember it?

...Wouldn’t I?

A snap breaks the silence. “I’ve got it!” Virgil declares proudly, then grabs me by the hand and starts to dash through the building. I squeal, stumbling out of my chair. I just barely avoid being thrown across a table of particularly pointy-looking artifacts as I’m dragged along, kicking my feet wildly against the ground in an attempt to stay on them. “STAAAAAAAAHP!” I shout hopelessly. The world feels like it’s spinning. Where are we? Where did Ciamath go? What little I know of my life flashes before my eyes. I’m gonna die and I won’t even know who I am--

“Oof!” I connect with Virgil as he stops, and as I do so, he stands tall and stiff, not moving or reacting at all to the impact. He let go of my hand a moment ago, I think, because I can put both my palms on the ground to help push myself off the ground. I stand up and sigh. “What was that all about?”

We’re still in the building. We just felt like we were going really fast… that, or moving felt really sudden after getting snapped out of my thoughts. I feel a little bit queasy after all that, too.

Virgil turns around, his eyes gleaming like he just discovered something great. He’s holding a rectangular black case about two thirds the size of me. “Here-- open this. You’re gonna like what’s inside!~” he muses, sounding giddy as a schoolgirl. “Ooh, this is gonna be good…”

Feeling a bit unnerved, I pop open the case and look into it. The inside is lined with deep red velvet, and it’s indented to fit a violin. As would make sense, a dark brown violin rests in the shade provided by the opened top, inside which is two bows to match. There’s a shoulder rest, too, which I figure I’m going to need.

I stop for a moment. “I… do know a bit about music, don’t I?” I half-ask myself, then pluck the violin from its case out of intrigue. I slip the shoulder rest on - wrong way, I think, then put it on the other way around. I smirk a little at the familiar feeling, then produce one of the bows, turning the octagonal prism at its squared-off end, tightening the horsehairs to a point of near-rigidity. Chills run through my scalp, then my whole body. I know this.

With a feeling like muscle memory, I lift the violin to my left shoulder, nestling it between that and my chin. I take a deep breath and run the bow gently along what I vaguely remember being the A string. I then clear my throat and try to match pitch with what I recall being an A. With my still-unfamiliar voice, it feels… odd. Relative pitch is still working fine, which is neat. I push it further by tuning my D, G and E strings with my already-tuned A. Meanwhile, Virgil is taking notes.

Turning ebony wood knobs and playing a few notes for a long time wasn’t exactly a feat of musical prowess, though. I wonder, for a moment, what I might want to play…

It doesn’t take much deliberation. Only one thing’s on my mind, and I’m not gonna get it out unless I’m playing it. I’m even humming it already. “...Hmm, I think… no shifting, not too technically complex - it should do.”

The words surprise me as they come out as much as they surprise Virgil and the currently-approaching Ciamath. Deciding there’s little left to do past actually playing, I take a deep breath and begin to do… just that. My fingers shift into place, feeling somewhat stiff and awkward in the beginning. I start out taking it slow, adjusting to the wrist-twitching, slightly discomforting sensation that I vaguely recall being called vibrato. However, with time, my playing gains speed. Volume. Power. My bow strokes become defined and purposeful, each note sounding more crisp and clear than the last with little trills. I can even imagine the accompaniment as I draw my part to a close.

...And at last, I take a bow. Ciamath’s jaw is just… dropped, her eyes wide. Virgil’s clapping like a lunatic with his eyes shut. “ENCORE!” he shouts.

At last Ciamath approaches me. “You… didn’t see any of that, did you?” she asks, her eyes wide and mad. I tilt my head curiously. “Of COURSE I saw all that. I was AWESOME!” I shout with a big grin, though I quickly turn serious again. “Er… Ciamath, are you okay? You look like you’ve seen a ghost.”

“We’ll talk about this later,” she decides. “For now I’ll just… keep an eye out for you.”

In the meantime, I notice Virgil approaching me with a brown bag about the size of my forearm across. Etched along the flap which keeps it shut is, in golden cursive writing, the words I shall bear the burden. Neat. “If you want that violin, I’ll throw this in, no extra charge! After all, you’re probably gonna carry it around a lot, and you already have something on your back.”

I stare incredulously at the bag. “You mean to tell me that can hold THAT?” I point to the bag, then to the violin case, which is easily five times larger. “Please tell me I’m right. I want to see that.”

“Virgil the Unfathomable does not disappoint!” he declares boldly, then throws the flap on the bag open. “Put the violin back in the case,” he requests, and I do so, then pick up the case itself and stick one end into the case.

And… it keeps going. And going. And half the case is inside and there’s only a quarter left and WHERE DID IT GO. I look into the bag and see… nothing, and now my head feels like it’s spinning. I groan and stumble backwards. “Owww…”

“That is a Sack of Greater Holding. It’s a little something I got in a while ago! It can carry up to at least a few hundred pounds of stuff - the Stradi-Various there is nothing for that thing!” Virgil explains with wonder in his eyes. Even if it’s silly, seeing the childlike sense of discovery he speaks with - the kind of discovery I’m feeling, even if I’m not really doing the best job showing it - does warm my heart a bit, though it does little to ease my twisted stomach.

I pause for a moment. “Stradi-Various,” I repeat. “So that’s what it’s called? I caught an emphasis there. Was that intentional? Or… what’s so ‘various’ about it?” I ask.

“I’m glad you asked!” Virgil replies, and I jump a little at how quickly he does so. “The thing that makes it so special, why it’s not out of place in a place with all kinds of magical stuff, is that it can change into ANY instrument the attuned user thinks of. On top of that, you don’t need skill in that instrument to play it - skill with the original instrument, in this case the violin, carries over as skill with musical instruments in general. I’d demonstrate, but I don’t really know how that thing’s case works…” he looks almost disappointed, but not embarrassed like I’d expect, based on how simple instrument cases typically are, and like the Stradi-Various’ is.

Instead I dwell on the name. “Stradi-Various. So like Antonio Stradivari,” I observe. “Wait… who’s that again?”

Ciamath makes herself noticed again at last. “Did you remember something?!” she asks excitedly, and immediately I draw parallels between the kind of amazement in her eyes with the kind in Virgil’s. “Anything could be of use!”

I shut my eyes. Antonio Stadivari, I think. Sounds… foreign, and… definitely out of the ordinary to me. Something to do with instruments? I continue mentally, then open my eyes again. “Hmm… no, drawing a blank,” I half-lie, frowning.

“Well, if you don’t mind me digging around more, I could always get some more stuff for you,” Virgil suggests, and Ciamath’s expression sours. “Maybe, uh… maybe not now,” I reply a little nervously. “The offer’s nice, but I’d like to figure things out on my own.”

I straighten up at a realization, then reach to my coinpurse at my hip. “I owe you,” I recall, producing a fistful of golden coins. “Will this be enough?” I expose the coins to the air and hold my now-opened hand close to Virgil.

“Sure,” he replies, taking the coins in hand gingerly. “Kind of hard to put a price on some of this stuff, so I’ll take what I can get.” He flashes a silly, toothy grin. “Anyways, it’s gonna get late out there soon. There’s an inn not too far from here, Familiar Angel’s, you might want to try--”

“One step ahead of you,” I interrupt. “We were already gonna stay the night there. If it’s nearby, though, it shouldn’t be too hard to find, right?” I let out a little oh as I notice Ciamath gently grab my hand.

“Bye! See you again sometime!” I chime, waving with my unoccupied hand. After a very brief walk past a few tables covered in magical trinkets, we pass through the door and Ciamath starts to walk. The streets are less busy now that the sun is down, so I don’t bother asking to ride on her shoulders - I can handle myself on the ground. I can’t help but feel a little awkward, though, as I rush to keep up with her. I decide I might have to go back on her request to not talk about whatever was bothering her about Virgil’s place.

[Joline]

Taking in a breath of the warm, humid air of an early midsummery night really does hit the spot, I have to admit, even if walking around in that same air wasn’t the most pleasant experience in the world. My light boots tap gently against the cobblestone path beneath Ciamath and I, though the steps of the significantly larger woman beside me wearing heels nearly drowns out my own steps completely.

Subtlety isn’t her thing, I decide, if it wasn’t obvious enough already.

She hasn’t let go of my hand yet. It’s not like I mind - she feels a little cold to the touch, but body heat’s starting to fix that issue. What’s more pressing on my mind is the fact that she seemed so uncomfortable in the store a moment ago. The last few minutes I’ve spent walking with her, I’ve been wondering how I’m going to talk to her about this, and I’m starting to think maybe it’d be best if we didn’t… or at least it might be best if we saved it for when we have a room or something.

The rest of the walk was mostly silent. A few times I would glance up at Ciamath, and fewer times I would catch a glimpse of her looking down at me with concern. However, she seemed to wordlessly play it off. Arriving at the place Ciamath had said we would go to, however, broke the awkwardness quite effectively.

“This is the place,” Ciamath declares. It looks nice enough, at the very least for a place not up to snuff with the modern world, or what I know as the modern world. Light pours out of windows, revealing shadows of people dancing and drinking and generally being happy and silly as some like to be during the night. A smile crosses my face. I would’ve never thought I’d end up in a tavern…

“...are you listening?” I feel a hand gently ruffle my hair. “Heeeey,” I complain, only to hear Ciamath giggle. “You’re a Prime, so I’m going to let you act like a grown-up. You have your own money, so I’m going to let you use it as you see fit. The only rule I’m going to make for you, however, is that I don’t want you drinking.”

I immediately catch what she means. “Okay, so, booze is off limits. I had halfway figured that’d be the case here, but…”

Ciamath cuts me off. “I would, too, but it’s not enforced everywhere. Most places I’ve been to here won’t serve liquor to anyone under eighteen, which I think is reasonable. You look nowhere near that age, so I don’t think anybody’s going to be serving anything like that for you. With that out of the way,” she finishes, “I’ll get us a room. As long as you don’t cause any trouble - and I know you won’t - you can wander around as you please. I’ll find you when I have our room.”

I nod, conceding that sounds pretty reasonable. That, and the thought of dealing with people while I have a sword over my shoulder makes me itch a little. “Okay, sounds good. Now I guess I ought to figure out what to do…”

Ciamath pushes through the door and I follow. The sound of some sort of treble-type woodwind instrument I’m unfamiliar with reaches my ears immediately. Assorted sounds of talking and cheering and yelling and even some oddly powerful whispers come next. Figures of all shapes and sizes make the place look like a sort of organized chaos, and Ciamath seems to weave through it with ease. A few people even make way for her, though I do catch notice of somebody seem to go out of their way to try nudging her off balance.

A drunk-looking, fair-haired man with a very ragged-looking beard laughs at his failed attempt with people who are presumably his friends. Aside from looking less than well-kept in the hair department, he looks relatively well-off, with what appears to be slightly nicer clothing than most I’d seen in the day. At his hip I see an axe, which unsettles me, though it makes me realize maybe it’s not entirely peculiar to be armed around here.

Another glance around makes me realize not too many people openly bear arms, or many don’t at all, unless everybody somehow has the ability to stuff a sword down their shirt without issue.

I turn my attention to where the music is coming from. Someone who looks very well-kept, almost like a noble, stands on a slightly elevated ground acting as a sort of stage dominating one corner of the room. Not far from it is a number of tables, a few booths and on one wall is a staircase, which I’m guessing leads to a few rooms.

I feel a hand on my shoulder. I nearly jump in response, but I stop myself upon realizing from the slender black-gloved fingers that it’s Ciamath. “Come. Let’s sit down somewhere - you must be hungry,” she says.

I take her by the hand and lead her to one of the booths. She emits a faint noise of shock as she follows along behind me. I sit down on one side and she sits down in the other. I rest one elbow on the table and crack a smile. “So you got us a room? We’re not gonna be homeless?” I joke. “Nice that we’re getting some food, though. I don’t think I’ve eaten all day…”

Out of the corner of my eye, I notice the guy from earlier being a general bother to what looks like a waiter of sorts. I can’t discern any details from their conversation at the kind of distance we have, but based on the look on both their faces, the exchange isn’t pleasant. “Neither have I, though I’m rather used to undernourishment. A life of traveling does at times leave you lacking in supplies,” she explains.

I nod, though less from actual knowledge and more from common sense. I hope I can, at some point or another, learn a bit about traveling, though. “So you’re a traveler. Any stories you can tell me?” I ask, bracing for a flurry of a response.

Before I can get one, however, I notice something put down in front of me. “A menu for you,” says a baritone voice with an almost silky quality to it. “And one for you, as well. May I get anything for the two of you to drink, or anything to whet your appetite?” I turn my head up and see the same waiter from earlier - messy brown hair, maybe not even a foot taller than myself, though his features are rather squared and rough.

On instinct I almost ask for a root beer. It occurs to me, though, that I probably won’t be able to get a root beer here. “Uh… I think just water for me,” I answer. “I will have the same,” adds Ciamath.

“Please have a look at what we’re offering tonight. If you haven’t made your decision by the time I return, I may wait - the night remains young,” goes the waiter, and he takes his leave. As he does, I can’t help but look to Ciamath and comment, “he’s so polite! Is service here always so nice?”

She’s infected by my pleased demeanor as she replies, “it always has been, though I do make sure to stop by here when I come to Camelot. Like Falconsflight,” she explains.

All the hairs on my body stand on end as I hear a loud CRASH. What sounds like glass shattering and something wooden breaking reaches my left ear, and I see - what else - bearded blondie causing trouble. I see a tray, a few large broken glasses and what looks like some kind of booze spilled on the ground. Most notably, I notice a large wet patch on his collar and upper chest, along with some foam on his chin. Looking up a little farther, he is not in a good mood.

“Did you just waste my buddies’ round?!” he bellows. It takes me a moment - the waiter. He picks himself up off the ground. His palms look faintly bloodied, and suddenly my heart sinks. Oh, Gods, is he okay? I worry, only for the drunkard’s shouting to return me to reality. “Paid for that in advance, I did! Get me another one!”

The waiter’s hands clench at his sides for a moment, though he seems to quickly regain his sense of professionalism - seemingly without the notice of the axe-wielding fellow. “Yes, sir. I will be just a moment,” he replies, and begins to walk away.

Suddenly I see the axeman pick up a glass bottle. He looks nearly red with anger, and I get the feeling this isn’t going to go well if nobody intervenes.

Nobody’s going to.

I have to.

He lifts the bottle high and, in a flash and a blur, I find myself intercepting the swing of a bottle with Beskyttende. The impact is powerful, though I manage to hold until the threat of glass shards hitting me or the waiter is gone. I lower the shield and, not quite knowing what to say, I grin cheekily. “Careful with that,” I start. “You could hurt someone.”

For a moment I see fear in his eyes, though he quickly reaches for the axe at his side. “No place for kiddies,” he sneers. “Ain’t it about time for beddie-bye?”

I sigh, though I continue to smile. “Ah, yes. Height jokes, the pinnacle of originality against somebody like myself. Though someone with such dull wit as your own shouldn’t be expected of much--”

What remains of the bottle swings at me. I duck under it and, in a fraction of a moment, climb onto the nearby bar, draw my sword and press the flat of it to the man’s neck. “Your move,” I hiss. “I say we call this a draw. You return to your table, I’ll return to mine. Just know that this will never happen again.”

I feel… powerful.

It takes me a moment to realize an axe is coming at me. I stop the blow somewhat painfully with Beskyttende, then pull back my blade and hop over the man’s head, using the pommel of the sword to deal a blow to the nape of his neck. He tumbles forward, though perhaps not as fast or impactfully as I’d hoped. As I land, I sheathe my blade and hang my shield at my back again. “I think it’s safe to say you’ve had too much,” I bark at the axeman. “And if I was the owner of this establishment, I’d kick you out.”

The waiter picks up the dazed man by his collar with remarkable ease, lifting him up off his feet. “Get out before I throw you out,” he bellows. One look into his now-crimson eyes and I’m terrified and off my power trip. “If… you mean me as well, I understand, but--”

My former combatant’s body whistles past me and out the door. The waiter’s blood-red pupils flicker with thought. All eyes are on the two of us, and if not, they’re on the door. “I saw you with Ciamath. Am I not mistaken?”

I gulp. “Yes, but if you’re punishing anybody, don’t--”

“Your meal is on the house. A mark of my gratitude, for doing what I had been meaning to do for me,” he interrupts, then dusts off his palms. While they’re not perfect, they appear to be in good condition again. His pupils fizzle and fade into little black circles again. “I request that you not take up arms in my establishment again, though I am in your gratitude this instance, Prime.”

I nod, then laugh nervously. “Sorry if I, uhm, took it a little too far… still not used to this whole ‘with great power comes great responsibility’ thing,” I admit.

The waiter remains unfazed. “You hold power, though you lack polish,” he observes. “Much like myself. You can do better, Prime.”

I shudder. “Can we-- what’s your name? I’m Joline, but I guess somebody calls me Jojo now.” I offer a hand. He accepts it and we shake. “I am Granville, proprietor of Familiar Angel’s. It is a pleasure, Joline.”

I nod. “Okay, we’re not going Jojo. Whatever floats your boat, Granville. You… you don’t have a nickname, do you?”

. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

“...Spaghetti Bolognese powdered lightly with parmesan cheese for the Prime,” goes Granville as he places a bowl of pasta with a layer of thick, reddish sauce over it before me. “And, as is the usual, steak prepared medium well for the regular,” he adds as he places a plate covered with squares of broiled meat with hints of pink before Ciamath. “Call for me if I can be of any assistance.”

“Thank you!” I chime as he walks off. “Um, Ciamath… I wanted to say sorry for making a scene. I just saw something that needed to be done, and I did it. If you think less of me, or feel any sort of spite towards me--...”

Ciamath tilts her head. “Why would I think less of you, Joline?” I feel slightly taken off-guard. I don’t think she’s actually referred to me by name before, and if she has, she was really subtle and quiet about it - which is impossible, because Ciamath is not subtle. “You did what I would have done. If I were to think you in the wrong, I would be a hypocrite. But for you to have done what you did… using your speed to your advantage, that amazed me.”

I laugh awkwardly and nervously, tugging at my shirt collar a little. “Yeah, it amazed me, too. I don’t think I’ve ever really fought anybody in my life… I feel like if I had, I’d know, and… I just don’t. Moving like that just felt natural. Not like it was the only thing I could do, but like it was the thing to do. Do you get what I’m saying, or am I not making any sense?”

Ciamath nods. “Now I see. Fighting is a mix of instinct and strategy. Neither one is entirely relied on by any given warrior, but you… what you did was much more an act of instinct than of strategy or higher thought. You simply did. You did not think to do what you did or plan to do so, you simply carried out the actions.”

I gulp down a mouthful of noodles and nod in agreement. “Sounds about right.”

“That can be very dangerous,” Ciamath adds. “When you were fighting a man drunk and blinded to reason, you could afford to fight more sloppily. Against those trained with a weapon in a clear state of mind, you will have no such luck.”

I have to admit that fighting scares me. It does more so as I realize I pulled a sword without hesitation. “If it helps any,” I reply, “I’d rather solve as few problems as I can with bloodshed. If I never need to pull this sword on anybody again, I’d be happy.”

Ciamath smiles. “That’s very noble of you,” she says warmly, though her expression drops to neutrality again. “Please, pursue that goal with caution. Primes have the blessing of Omni that they need not fear death - though I fear how long that may last. Take every step here with great care.”

I twirl a bit of spaghetti on my fork and grin. “I wouldn’t have it any other way!”

. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

“...Ooh, the room’s so nice!”

I step into the room after Ciamath. She steps out of her boots, and I follow suit, kicking mine to the side of the door. A large window with more panes than I’d bother to count vertically separates my bed and hers. A table stands under the window, and a dresser sits at the edge of both our beds. Closer to us is a sort of living room - a pair of couches, some chairs, a large table and an unlit fireplace lie in wait, covering most of what would be empty space. A shut door leads to what I would assume is a bathroom.

A shower would be nice, but I’m afraid of what I’m gonna see when I walk into that bathroom.

That aside, the regal purplish carpet beneath my feet feels nice and plushy, and I can only assume the beds - which match in colour to the rug - will be equally as comfortable. “How’d you score a place like this, Ciamath? Or is this your regular room?”

Ciamath giggles. “Where is your coinpurse?”

I check my hip and my heart sinks. “Shit-- someone took it!... Ciamath.” I go deadpan as she dangles the now-empty bag in my direction. “This is where I regularly stay. Your coin covered just over half of what we needed, and I paid for the rest. We have the room for two nights, though I asked the second night be written off for some time in the future.”

I shut my eyes and frown. “Gods, I have to keep a better eye on my money… that being said,” I warm up again and head for one of the beds, “this place is really nice. And if this is what getting pickpocketed gets me, I invite it, Ciamath.” I stick my tongue out in an attempt to bring across I’m joking.

Meanwhile, Ciamath is sitting on her bed, removing a few parts of what I can only hesitate to call an outfit. It’s then that I notice there is a degree of armor to it, it’s just that it seems to look very… not armor-y. There’s wristguards, the spaulders are the most obvious bit, what looked to be thigh-high boots is actually two separate things - a pair of ankle boots and light greaves, there’s the chestguard-thing…

...I really don’t understand this place. But I do have to admit Ciamath’s a total cutie in it, whatever it is, so I’ll let it pass.

“...What?” Ciamath asks. “Is there something on my… everything?” she manages to hold back a bit of laughter.

I find myself without words for a moment, and I feel a sort of hotness rush to my face. “I, well… I mean, I was curious… you’re… not sleeping in that, are you?” It doesn’t look like you’re carrying a change of clothes, so…”

Silence.

I decide to keep going. “So… I thought I might make you something. With Omnilium,” I add crucially, holding my hand before me and calling upon a ball of the stuff. She sits back and watches curiously. “If that’s the case, by all means - surprise me,” she replies.

I shut my eyes. Something comfortable… but maybe something cute, too. Something I won’t get funny looks for conjuring up, though. Something… like a sweater! Not something puffy or bulky, just something light, like Ciamath seems to like. Maybe white would look nice on her… maybe with a turtleneck. Maybe a ribbed sweater would be nice? What’s… what’s a ribbed sweater again?

“...Oh, how interesting,” Ciamath remarks somewhat gleefully. I open my eyes. Ciamath is holding a sweater as per my description up to herself. “Would you mind looking the other way for a moment?”

I do precisely that. About half a minute later, I get a tap on my shoulder. I turn around. Ciamath seems content to only wear the sweater - what remained of her outfit that wasn’t armor lay on the dresser by her bed. “So how does this look? Is it as you imagined?”

Suddenly I get a memory of something. Something I recall being asked to do at times when I was trying something new on… but who had asked me, I can’t recall. “Twirl,” I request.

Ciamath kicks off the ground with one foot and stands on her toes with the other, spinning a full circle once before stopping and sitting back on the bed. “Well?”

“Wonderful,” I decide, beaming and flashing a thumbs-up.

Ciamath matches my expression with one of her own. “Would you mind getting us a little more money in a moment? I might like to ask for something to drink later. Nothing I wouldn’t let you have,” she clarifies. “Besides, I already know you have plans to be awake for some time tonight.”

I shrug, producing my phone and flicking through a few menus to get to the Dataverse. “Sure, no problem. Let me know how much we spent on the room, and I can cover that, too.”

I spend the rest of the night messing around on the Dataverse a bit, along with getting enough coin to fill my coinpurse again, after taking it back from Ciamath. A little while after, Granville stops by with a mug of some kind of incredible-smelling tea for Ciamath, some of which he leaves at my bedside as well. I also decide to try messing with the Stradi-Various a bit, leaving its case at my bedside. A bit of messing around teaches me I can use it to sing - it vanishes into my throat, leaving my vocal cords feeling… a bit like jelly.

After a while spent toying with the Stradi-Various’ abilities, along with exploring the Dataverse and watching maybe too many random videos, I drift off to sleep.

[Joline]

“--ning.”

“...ood morning…”

I feel a groan slip between my lips. There’s… something pressing against my shoulder and moving me, but I just want to sleep.

...And then singing. Something I immediately mentally associate with morning, sung beautifully and… sounding almost like Ciamath, but higher than I could ever imagine she might sing. Vaguely the word soprano floats from ear to ear in my mind.

I peek an eye open and see, yes, it is Ciamath. She’s sitting on my bed near my right hip, letting loose a little tune and smiling. She looks almost slyly at me upon noticing I’m awake. “Well, weren’t you tired?” she observes. “It should be noon before long.”

I yawn and turn away, hugging my blanket close. “Really? Wake me up later, then…”

“Oh, no you don’t!” Ciamath shouts playfully, lifting me up and away. I squeak as I’m plucked away from the comfort of my bed and into the horribly chilly outside-my-bed air. “You have things you want to do, and we couldn’t do all of them yesterday because it got late. Do you want to have the same problem again?” she asks rhetorically.

“Okay, okay, I’m awake,” I lie. “Just… lemme get dressed--”

“It appears as though you already are, madam,” Granville’s distinct voice interrupts. Immediately I smell something unmistakable - bitter, steamy, but not without its perks. Coffee. A saucer with a cup of black coffee, alongside a container of cream and another of sugar, gets offered to me. “If madam has no interest, she may decline.”

What a change of tune. “You’ve… gone a long way since just calling me Prime yesterday, huh?” I point out, claiming the cup of harsh-smelling liquid as my own. “But more importantly, thanks. I’ll try not to cause trouble here any more than I already have.”

As I make myself an overly-creamed, overly-sweetened coffee, I notice Granville faintly smile. “I request simply that madam allows me the opportunity to handle issues before leaping headlong into them herself.” He takes what remains as I lift the cup to my mouth, blowing at it a bit and, eventually, sipping cautiously. “Your help is appreciated, but I can deal with those who are bothersome. If the issue escalated to full combat, I would doubtless request your aid.”

I sigh, looking to Beskyttende and Brug Hild. “Honestly, I don’t know how helpful I’d be. I’m still new to this whole ‘hero’ thing,” I note. “I don’t even know if I’m really comfortable fighting in the first place.”

Ciamath nods wisely. “What you choose is up to you.” Granville presses further, “however, there are many in this world who would give anything to have the power a Prime possesses.”

Food for thought, I admit mentally. “The thought of playing hero sounds pretty sweet, so I’ll have to give it time. See if I’m really cut out for this sort of thing. In the meantime, how about… something from a bakery?”

The corners of Ciamath’s mouth perk up. “My treat.”

. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

The streets of Minas Tirith are as busy as they were yesterday, if not busier. I consider asking what day of the week it is, but as I think on that, it occurs to me maybe days of the week are different here. Maybe that concept doesn’t exist, or maybe it’s something I can’t even comprehend.

The thought makes me want to ask even more. “So is it Saturday or something? Everybody’s out and about, it seems…” I look around, shifting slightly on Ciamath’s shoulders. I hold up a hand as a visor so the sun doesn’t get in my eyes.

“I’m afraid I couldn’t tell you,” Ciamath replies. “Traveling in the Omniverse skews your sense of time, and can completely destroy it if you do so too often.” I frown, then look around. Maybe one of the locals knows, but I’m a little too introverted and the topic’s not important enough to pursue.

What is important is the bakery. I squint as I scan the area for it. It’s all noisy and the world’s a messy blur of people and signs and different buildings… not too different from home, but an awful lot less suburban. I can’t see anything, but what I do see is…

...A woman on her knees in the streets, sobbing. Her clothes look charred and ashy and as I try to get a closer look, I notice a bit of blood on her hands.

A crowd is gathering. I mark a figure out in midnight black armor. “Ciamath, over there,” I say, pointing to the woman. Without a moment’s hesitation, Ciamath leads a charge through the crowd in her direction. I struggle a bit to remain on her shoulders, though I hop off as we draw close.

It’s now that I notice a cart drawn to a stop beside her, and a man stepping off to offer a raggy handkerchief. “Miss, are you gonna be…”

“Fire… everywhere…!” she chokes, and dissenting murmurs spread about the crowd. I faintly recall the bystander effect as I step forward. “Excuse me,” I begin somewhat nervously. “Can I help you?”

The armored one I saw earlier advances as well. “Bandits, likely,” a tinny voice interjects. “Usually guards and wandering types like myself can handle them. However, she may not have been so fortunate.” A metal-plated hand gestures to the woman on the ground.

“They robbed us… b-burned what they didn’t want… killed, and took over the rest…” the woman continues. “I had to run… I couldn’t do anything…!” she pounds a fist against the ground and bursts into tears again.

There are many in this world who would give anything to have the power a Prime possesses.

One of my hands has already wrapped around Brug Hild. “Excuse me, Miss. I’m a Prime. Tell me where these bandits are - I’ll unleash Hell on them.”

Silence.

Ciamath puts a hand on my shoulder. “Joline…?”

I puff out my cheeks. “You said it yourself. I’ve been given this power, and I’m going to use it to help people. This is my responsibility,” I explain. “If you don’t want to come, Ciamath, I understand.”

The armor-clad individual opposite myself rests a hand on what looks like a rapier. “A Prime, you say? Well, this should be an interesting experience. With guts like those, you either have to be fountain fresh or a lot tougher than you look.”

I don’t answer, but take the ‘fountain fresh’ comment as a bad sign. “Come, then. I assume you’ll be taking your friend along, as well?” the armored hand gestures to Ciamath. I look to her, and she nods. I don’t like the idea of Ciamath putting herself in danger, but I suppose the other way around is true as well.

“While there are many nearby villages, figuring out which one is far enough to be targeted shouldn’t be hard, especially given a fire must still be going on. That gives us a pillar of smoke, which makes finding our little friends even easier.” The explanation feels like something I could come up with, if I were given a minute or so. “The only issue will be getting where we need to in good time.”

I clear my throat. “Faster than a speeding bullet,” I begin in my best ‘movie trailer guy’ voice. “I should be able to handle that. You’re okay with me towing you guys in a cart, right?”

I trail off, noticing the woman’s still not in good shape. Frowning a bit, I produce my coinpurse and pour its contents into her hands. “Familiar Angel’s. Down the street, take a left. Can’t miss it. Tell the guy behind the bar Ciamath and Joline sent you.” I force a smile, and the woman seems to smile back. “Please… if anyone is alive--”

“I’ll bring them back here, I promise,” I finish. “Now, we don’t have any time to waste!”

[Joline]

I huff and heave as I stumble to the ground. The cart I was just towing presses against my back, bumping against me and stopping. Ciamath and the armored individual from earlier are both sitting inside - and, as I look over my shoulder, they look pretty silly, given how small the cart is and how big they both are - given the black knight sort of person looks to be around five foot eleven.

“Gods,” I breathe. “You guys… look ridiculous. Oh man I need a minute-- I think I dropped a lung on the way here,” I whine.

I hear a tinny scoff. “Some Prime you are,” goes the armored one. “Winded before battle even begins. You, the one with the spear - keep an eye out for her. I’ll go deal with what I can and search for survivors on my own. You two can work together on this one.”

As if I needed somebody ordering me around, I think. “You’d be tired if you had to lug some guy in armor about,” I shoot back bitterly. With a few harsh, hot coughs, I stand and rub at one of my temples, surveying the burning landscape. As I do so, I hold out a hand, forming a vaguely cylinder-shaped object out of Omnillium. It should be a water bottle soon enough.

The blaze is by far beyond control - and if it was controllable, the damage would already have been done. Very few buildings remain standing, and those that do are nearly ash, aside from stone foundations and some glass here and there. I huff and puff for air, struggling not only from what I can only imagine has been the most physical exertion I’ve ever felt - but also from inky smoke polluting what would otherwise be lovely summery air.

Whoever did this is about to get a can of whup-ass opened on them.

“...Joline?” A black-gloved hand waves in front of my face. “Jojo…” the world snaps into focus again. Ciamath. The water bottle’s finished in my hand, and without a moment’s hesitation I crack it open and chug it. In my haste I spill a bit on my chest, but I’m really in no mood to care. Nor am I really in any particular mood to care that I’d really prefer something with a distinct flavour.

I discard the water bottle and turn my attention to Ciamath. She’s giving me a funny look, probably because turning my attention away from somebody who was just trying to get it is incredibly strange. I wonder for a moment why I didn’t put that together, chalk it up to me being socially unobservant and shrug it off. “So it seems to be you and me here. That knight ran off,” Ciamath reports. “Where should we head first?”

“I… guess there’s no way to go but in,” I reply, gazing over the flame-licked village. It’s just big enough that it feels like a maze, but small enough for me to wonder, what reason would anybody have to attack a place like this?

I stand and rest a hand nervously on my blade’s hilt. I feel my mind wander as we walk along the cobblestones, two sets of clacking footsteps drowned out by crackling fire all around. Struggling to remain focus, I tighten my left hand around Brug Hild and narrow my eyes. I look to each building and, for a moment, see glimpse of what could have been - that which is now ashes at my feet.

That… which lies dead before me.

A portly-looking man, his eyes wide, lies on his back with burn marks all over him. The rise and fall of his chest clearly stopped long before we arrived. His clothes are torn at here and there as though he had been checked for valuables, all pockets turned inside out and oh Gods he has a hole in his chest.

The sickening smell of burnt flesh reaches my nose. Immediately I feel the urge to vomit, stumbling back and clutching at my water-filled stomach. Suddenly I feel as though the whole world is shaking the faintest bit--

A hand grabs my own. I jump a bit, only to find it… faintly familiar. It’s Ciamath’s. I grip it tightly, desperate for some sort of comfort. “It’s going to be okay,” she whispers soothingly and repeats, “it’s going to be okay. I’m here for you.”

My free hand clenches into a fist. A maelstrom of emotions brews in my chest, mixing unsettlingly with the sickening smell and the horrible smoke.

I let go of Ciamath’s hand and continue to walk. “Someone has to be alive here,” I say. I’m not sure whether I’m trying to convince Ciamath or myself. “I just have to find out where they are--”

“JOLINE!” Ciamath interjects, and I feel the hand once wrapped around mine shove hard against my back. I tumble forward and save myself from a rough landing, rolling on instinct rather clumsily. I stand and whirl around, nearly falling over in the process, where I see a fireball collide with Ciamath’s chest and knock her off her feet. She flies easily ten feet before hitting the ground and colliding with a nearby wall with an unnerving crunch. My stomach sinks, my jaw drops and my eyes widen. I can barely pry my fearful eyes from the only person I know in this world to search for where the fireball came from.

A figure clad in ragged robes, little embers dancing on ashen gloves, emerges from between a few buildings, approaching Ciamath. Instinct kicks in. I have to do something. I barrel forward, blinking between myself and her in what feels like a fraction of a second. I offer only a long, disdainful glare at the individual whose face is hidden by a shadowy hood as I produce my sword and shield in a mere moment.

I notice a mace hang in the figure’s offhand, just faintly glowing with flames much like those burning throughout the village. I take not a moment longer to assess my enemy - if I tried, I would only see red.

I look at this person one last time, knowing I may have to kill him. I don’t know if I’m ready, but I don’t have the luxury of preparing or waiting. The time for talk is over.

With a furious battlecry, pained and desperate, I blur forward, frantically swinging at my opponent. I have the speed advantage, and yet I can’t manage to get past a number of expertly-executed parries. I lunge, putting my full weight on the offensive, raising my blade and bringing it down with everything I have. Brug Hild’s edge connects hard with the grip of the mace, which puts up enough resistance that I have to try and grip my blade with two hands. But even as my arms tremble from the pressure, my legs heave and my boots grip at the cobblestone, trying to knock my opponent off-balance, I know it’s not enough.

In that moment I feel my weapon fly to my side. I lose my footing, knowing for a moment as I struggle to grasp for it what helplessness feels like.

Next comes the sensation of something cracking in my abdomen. Pain flares up in my ribs and the wind leaves my lungs as I feel the head of the mace connect with me from below. It feels hot and itchy in a painful sort of way - it takes me a moment to realize the word I’m looking for is burning. I try to balance myself, only to realize there’s nothing for me to balance on: I’m just off the ground, which would explain why I suddenly feel a bit taller. I grasp with my left hand - nothing’s there. My eyes flick lazily around and catch Brug Hild beside Ciamath, her eyes shut and expression pained.

If I give up here, I think, Ciamath may be as good as dead.

The trembling, sickening feeling boils up again. I can’t let that happen. I can’t…

Everything hurts. I have no weapon. My mostly wooden shield is nearly useless against an opponent that manipulates fire. The odds are stacked against me.

This is my moment. I get to be the hero today.

I stamp my boots down as they hit the ground. I feel so weak. Every fibre of my being is begging me to give up. My right arm gives, letting Beskyttende fall off as it can no longer bear its burden. I feel sick. I can’t breathe. It hurts.

Everything is awful.

I need a weapon.

I take in a long, deep, smoky breath. It’s uncomfortable, even agonizing as my lungs fill, but I need it. My opponent seems to be standing their ground, waiting and watching curiously from the short distance between us. I try to clear my mind. If I’m going to live, I’m going to need a miracle.

Various blades flash in my mind at that word. A colossal vault of different objects, varying from mundane to mythological, blur and focus seemingly at random in my head. There is no rhyme or reason, not enough time to truly process any one thing. And yet, I grasp at one. Two.

Their names call out to me. Blades of yin and yang, black and white. They’re beyond me and I know it. Something I shouldn’t be able to reach, something which doesn’t belong to me. But for this moment they can be mine when I need them most.

Everything is awful.

Kanshou. Bakuya. I let my hands outstretch nearly uncomfortably. Something hot and light and alien rushes through my body, pooling painfully at my fingertips. I grit my teeth.

“Trace…”

Everything is awful, and I’m going to fix that.

“...on!”

The immense power building in my hands floods out into the air, setting it ablaze with teal light, a powerful contrast against the billowing orange fires everywhere. I stare forward and screams of anguish boil up in my throat, a wordless foretelling of the end for the robed figure before me. Something’s forming in my hands, something barely tangible and yet so real. Their names call out to me again. Kanshou. Bakuya.

This is not the world you know.

I blur forward, hacking dozens of cuts into the figure before me in a matter of seconds. There is no more fire. No more parrying, no more struggle to win. Only justice, doled out by the steel in my hands.

“Gods…!” I barely recognize the voice over my shoulder. Ciamath, looking at me in shock, the teal light crackling around me reflecting off her faded crimson eyes.

“Ciamath,” I whisper airily before pain washes over me again. Numbness follows, and my legs give way. The blades I never did get a proper look at vanish from my hands as everything blurs and fades to black.

[Joline]

I’ll be watching…

...and waiting.

I think I heard that… maybe a day ago…? Omni… the name Omni rings a bell.

...ning.

...ood morning…

“...can’t take this anymore!”

A pointed, heavy bit of something cold and hard connects with my stomach. I gasp and gag, my eyes flying open and letting the world come into focus. Droplets of rain land all over me, making my clothes just the slightest bit weightier. I notice a black, metallic boot drawing back from my stomach as I gasp for breath, clutching at my horribly pained stomach.

“By the Lords, did it take you long enough to wake up,” says a distinctly feminine but unfamiliar voice. I look up, following the metallic boot to a leg and a torso and eventually a head of blonde hair, with a pair of faded golden eyes training on me. They look almost beady, intimidating, like they want something from me.

“Elise, of Carim,” the woman says, offering a metal-plated hand. “You’ve proven yourself, sorcerer. What shall I call you?”

I flinch at the word ‘sorcerer’, first fearing it means something bad, then realizing I was just called a sorcerer. “I-- uh--” I clear my throat nervously and take the hand. “Joline. Some people call me Jojo now, though, so you can just call me that, too, if you’d like. Sorcerer works, too, I guess.”

Not taking a moment to let the topic change, I add, “so. Sorcerer. What’s that supposed to mean, anyh--” I cough and hack violently, reaching my free hand to my ribs as I’m pulled to my feet. “--ow. Okay, that, and then what happened? And where’s Ciamath?” I add, my eyes flicking from side to side, surveying the lightly smoking landscape.

“Oh? Yes, she’s asleep, as well. Primes take wake-up kicks better than Secondaries, I find,” she explains. “Further, Miss Joline, I suppose you’re ignorant toward the nature of what you just performed? It was doubtless sorcery. You should speak to a proper mage of some sort.”

I look to my hands. My fingertips are lightly charred, and through my sleeves my forearms seem to faintly glow with a tealish light. “Excuse me, what? I’m magic?” I say with complete and utter confusion. “Right. This is a dream. Pinch me.”

“I’ll do you one better,” says Elise, and something hammers me in the gut. I feel the urge to vomit. “Awake yet?”

“Now I am,” I wheeze, my eyes wide. I clutch at my chest. “Owwwww. Lemme just… I’ll wake up Ciamath,” I say as I walk over in her direction, coughing and hacking the pain away. As I do so, I try to soften my voice. She deserves a better awakening than I got.

She doesn’t look to be particularly badly injured, past a burn on her stomach. She looks as though she’s in-between being barely conscious and barely unconscious - through her eyelids little flecks of her crimson eyes can be seen now and then. Her back is to the wall, in what looks to be the same place she was knocked into.

I take a knee beside her and gently shake her shoulder. “Ciamath,” I half-sing, half-whisper. “Time to wake up…”

I get a sort of grumbly moan in response. “Ciamath,” I repeat, and open my mouth to repeat her name again--

--only to hear “Okay, okay” over and over rather lazily come from between her lips. I light up as one of her eyes peeks open, a weak flame reflecting off the faint scarlet in them.

“You took quite the hit,” I remark and smirk a bit. “How’re you holding up?”

Ciamath frowns. “I would say the same for you,” she replies, reaching a hand out and poking at my stomach. I flinch, and she draws back. I notice it felt… almost bent inwards where she touched. “That’s a nasty wound.”

I puff out my cheeks. “Yeah, taking a mace to the chest does that. I’m not bleeding, though, am I?” I ask, looking down to answer for myself. “OH, GODS, I’M BLEEDING.”

Wild-eyed and feeling sick to my stomach, I produce a sphere of Omnilium in hand and press it to my chest. Maybe I can make myself more blood, or a new stomach, or PLEASE NO MORE BLEEDING.

...And it seems to work. Something does, anyways. It feels numbing and very, very gradual, but it begins to work its magic.

Ciamath chimes in. “Omnilium is interesting, isn’t it? How it just comes to you naturally?”

I raise a brow. “Did you know I could do this? Er, we, I guess - Primes in general?” I correct myself hastily, nursing my chest-wound uncomfortably.

“No, not from experience,” she replies. “I have read and heard about such things. How Omnilium functions seems to just ‘come’ to the user. It’s not so much something you learn, as when the application becomes necessary, you simply know.”

It’s weird, I think, rubbing the rainbow substance gingerly into my gross-looking injury, but I can’t help but be grateful.

It’s not just having been hit there - I feel as though my stomach has been flipped upside-down just looking at the wound. Being hurt like this, I ponder, hasn’t really happened to me before, at least not in a long time. Being attacked is a first - even if not one to celebrate.

Being attacked, my mind echoes. As the pain fades, it starts to occur to me just how much has happened in such a short time. I grip at my stomach. It feels like not only it, but my whole world has been turned upside-down.

I shake my head and look away. The sky’s murky, like somebody mixed a bunch of colours of paint together, and it’s drizzling a little all over the remaining fire here and there. “As I think about it,” I say, feeling rather annoyed, “we didn’t really do anything here, did we…?”

“That’s not entirely true,” replies Ciamath. “There was that pyromancer. Unfortunately, I think they got away. You certainly did a number on them, but it wasn’t enough to kill them.”

I feel a weight on my shoulders lifted, but only slightly. It still irks me that, even if only for a moment, I was perfectly fine with the idea of ending somebody’s life. With a shudder I look to where I once stood, where Beskyttende now rests on the ground. “It’s not entirely wrong, though, either.”

The wood is damp, and raindrops slide along the steel reinforcing it. A half-dozen steps away, Brug Hild lies picked and chipped at but still shining on the cobblestones. I grab them both and return them to their place on my back, finding the burden of wood and metal on my back growing faintly familiar and almost welcome.

Elise looks over me, her snakelike eyes uneasing me and urging me not to do anything funny. “A shield does not suit a sorcerer,” she remarks.

My brow twitches with irritation. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“It means what I said,” she shoots back, sounding faintly irritated. “A sorcerer burdened with a shield will find somatic components a struggle at best, excruciating at worst. Rid yourself of that thing.”

I shake my head. Even though I’ve not had it particularly long, I’m already fond of it - and even if I wasn’t, I wouldn’t just throw it away. Somebody worked hard on this. Probably Jamven, as I think about it. “And if I refuse?”

“Let whoever you fight alongside complain about your shortcomings,” she says with a shrug of her spaulders. “Like the spearman there. Ciamath, is it?”

I turn my head to Ciamath. She blinks in confusion. “I beg your pardon?”

I groan and roll my eyes. “I think I’ve had just about enough about this ‘sorcerer’ mumbo-jumbo. Somatic this, mace-to-the-ribs that--”

I wince. “Still hurts, by the way,” I comment, then continue bitterly, “forget this. I need to take my mind off things.” With a puff, I turn tail and begin to walk a way I presume is out of the village.

“Joline?” goes Ciamath over my shoulder. “Where--”

“Go with her!” I shout irritably. “Go sort out this sorcerer crap! I DON’T CARE.” With how the past day’s been, I am so done. That’s gonna change, I guess, but I need a walk. I need a breather. Something. Anything.

Before I know it, the pair are out of sight. It’s raining and the faint, reddish mace-tears on the front of my dress wash out, looking pinkish again. As I plod along, my boots thump-thumping against dirt and beaten paths and grass, my hair starts to soak through and get heavy. Eventually it seems like my clothes have changed entirely.

...And I feel like my whole body is starting to get heavy. Heavier, at least. And the ground looks farther away, and my skin looks faintly darker, and my humming deepens just a bit…

I step through the portal to the Nexus with an exasperated puff of my cheeks. I hope I can find Ciamath again. Just…

Not now.