pretty sure I said I don’t write much anymore like… two days ago
My Worldbuilding Topic (Lore and More Stories Maybe Eventually One Day.)
Pronunciation Guide:
(Just the more complicated looking ones, pronounce the rest how you want I’m not judging)
| Word | Pronounciation |
|---|---|
| Izith | it-ith |
| Greteja | grey-ha |
| Fielnflaerreh | fee-illn–flare–ruh |
| Falvaarev | falth-aa-reth |
| Narindus | narind-us |
| y | ee (As in, the letter E) |
| mi | me |
| ivioera | ith-ee-œ-ra |
| Arasirikis | arah-siree-kiss |
Mudflats at Izith Greteja, 1018
Warm air gently sifted over the damp silt, sitting in a shallow but wide crater that stretched out to the edges of the horizon. The terrain here was flat enough to see over towards the foothills of the Rift Mountains to the east, and the slowly setting sun cast long shadows over Iri and Akos as they trudged through the mud. The prince felt the presence of Iri at his side and let himself relax as his fingers entwined with hers.
“It’s oddly beautiful? The change in terrain, nothing remotely like even the southern parts of the Regnum…” sighed Akos, watching two birds far, far above encircle them. “There’s so much-”
Iri interrupted him, shifting herself slightly with her hand hovering near the blade at her hip. “There’s someone there, look.”
The prince looked back down towards where Iri gestured, to where a lone figure stood unmoving in the mud. “One of ours? I don’t see how they approached us down-”
Despite the figure appearing unarmed, and standing far enough away to be no real threat, Iri tensed and drew her sword with a sharp sound of metal brushing metal. “Not ours, and surely not a farmer. Not local on this soil.”
Ahead of them, the figure moved, brushing a short cloak which for a moment fluttered in the wind as if it was a bird thrown through the breeze. A flash of silver surrendered the surprise, given away by the sun’s angle. Akos reached into the air for those cold strings, feeling past the new sharp feeling that pricked against his fingers, grasping them tightly.
Ice swept up before them, hiding the figure behind it. A split second later, there was a crack as something, thrown at an unnaturally fast speed, collided with the ice. Akos released the strings and the wall collapsed, and Iri faced ahead towards their assailant, who was suddenly within a few strides away, bearing two long dagger-like knives that caught the sunlight, glinting red.
He, for the prince could now see that the one to attack them bore the disposition of a male southerner, looked up, directly into the Akos’ eyes, where for a moment the prince dared even to breathe. Despite the main concern of the Royal Commission being enemy assassins during the Great War, there was one man still considered enough of a threat, to the point where his tutors had cast his description into Akos’ mind so heavily that this one glance froze him to the spot. The surface of the attacker’s skin was a gentle brown, yet beneath it seemed to shimmer scarily the colour of the liquid sunset. A thousand flares rose and fell as ash, falling away in a smoky cloud around his hands and face, where inset deep in gaunt sockets, two eyes of pine green and black, forested pearls, watched. Who the world knew as Fielnflaerreh — Icarus Fielnflaerreh.
“Falvaarev Narindus y mi ivioera.” whispered the prince, gently to the wind. Not in the tongue of the Arasirikis, yet good enough to call goodwill upon her.
Iri smiled slightly through her sharp gaze, never taking her eyes off of the enemy, gently pacing in preparation. As he stepped forward, she swiftly countered with an elegant and careful twist of her body, remaining in between Fielnflaerreh and Akos at all moments.
Akos grabbed at his own blade, feeling a sudden sharpness in his throat as the haze of smoke around Icarus surrounded him.
Burning skin… he thought grimly, trying to push past the nauseous thought. Between Iri and Icarus, the tempo of the fight increased. As ever careful and skilled as she was, there was something erratic, unpredictable, about him, ever shifting to another stance, striking from another direction, trying to get close, then dancing back far. Prince Akos stood carefully slightly back, avoiding getting in Iri’s way as much as he could, but then all of a sudden Icarus turned and lunged at him with a dagger, only just parried by a sharp upwards swing followed by a piercing icicle sprung out of the air downwards to force him back. Iri attempted to slice at his then-exposed neck, where a jade amulet tightly glittered, but again Icarus seemed to change the direction he moved in, deftly ducking under the slash. A third knife appeared, leaping towards Iri’s abdomen through the air. Pushing past his reluctance at those painful strings that flowed alongside those of frost, Akos grabbed a handful, feeling an immense power for a moment before his grip was lost and the power released, splitting the air in a crack that rocked down through his spine. The knife after Iri shattered, leaving nothing where it once was.
Something sprouted in Icarus’ eyes, and again, stances shifted. He drew a much thinner knife from some sheath inside his dusty cloak, some forged nightmare that appeared barbed almost — two arrowhead-like points stacked atop each other — and again went after Iri, who slipped slightly in her step. Akos noticed, and rushed towards her and Icarus, trying to block the strike, however Fielnflaerreh noticed, and turned on his heel in a swift motion.
Akos felt himself be pushed aside, knocked off balance by Iri who had leapt forwards to knock him out of danger and grab onto Icarus’ arm, wrestling to give her blade room. Again, Akos reached for the sharpened strings in the air, grasping through nothingness until he found one. Prepared this time, light burst forth along with ice, striking Icarus. It seemed as if he had retreated somewhat, but as the prince regained his bearings, he shuddered at the sight of Iri stumbling backwards, the thin blade protruding from her stomach, despite her sword still being held strongly before her. Icarus seemed to be smiling, whether from the fight or the hit against Iri…
Coldness rained down, along with sharp points of ice as Akos shifted towards his opponent, although every hit was just short or just parried, and none ever landed mark against skin.
"Hail, Prince of Frost. I rarely fight as hard as I did against her. The stories are true about you from the north. Tough as iron, and tougher still. "
He laughed.
The sun was still lowering in the sky, yet huge shadows seemed to cast across the flat mud. Wings. Akos spared a glance upwards. Along a ridge of rock a short distance away, they landed, spears of darkened iron not catching the light in the same way that his sword did.
Icarus was gone, when he looked back, and the cold air faded as more warm wind gently came in from the west. Amongst the winged individuals was Dulzura, who, bearing a golden halberd almost carved from the sun itself, rushed down through the mud towards Akos.
Iri was crouched low, her breathing heavy as Akos approached her.
“Iri you-” he began, but she grabbed his wrists tightly.
“Don’t touch the blade. Poisoned, I believe. Stings worse than any cold, my lord.” and she smiled slightly. “How fickle… fate is, no? With the war… and then this? Hear me, Akos. Hear me… stand. Quail, shiver, slip, but remain standing for me. I have ten thousand more words, and a thousand more days to spend with you, but if I am cut short, you must keep standing. Hail, Prince of Frost. May my love be with you forevermore.”
Iri closed her eyes and loosened the grip on Akos’ wrists enough for him to pry his hand free and place the back of two fingers on her lips.
“She’ll be in Grandia within the hour, fret not. Our scholars in medicine rival none but one another.”
Dulzura placed his hands over the prince’s shoulder, feeling him shiver below the touch as Iri was borne away by four Peacekeepers.