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NaNo Excerpt of the Day - 3
Excerpt schmecerpt, OBVIOUSLY YOU JUST WANT TO READ EVERYTHING.
Today's Word Count: 1745
Total Word Count: 5079
Title: Symphony of Metal and Trees
Summary: I'll let you know about that when I figure it out.
Things You Should Probably Know: Calais' name isn't pronounced like the French city of Calais (pronounced Cal-ay, as per French rules of dropping half the vowels and making up everything else). It is pronounced "Kah-LAY-is", and Syres is "SEAR-ez", in case you need to know. The city Filatsehren is "FEE-lat-SER-in". And no, I haven't spent too long on this, what are you talking about.
* * * * * *
Chapter 1b
* * * * * *
Their rooms are dark when they get back to them, and Calais hears Syres behind him murmur a small invocation to light the candles in the room, dismissing the tightly controlled ball of lava as he does so.
"Took ya long enough t' find him," comes a dry voice from the corner of the room, and Syres twitches hard enough that the flames on the candles flare and sputter. Calais turns towards the voice, half-fond smile on his lips. Sure enough, there's a lean young man on Syres' bed, clad in his customary black.
Surveying them with red, cat-slit eyes, Kain taps a slender finger on his knee. His entire body gives off an aura of impatience, as though he can't be bothered to wait for anything, much less people who waste his time. Short, satsuma orange hair is shaken as the tan boy stretches and scratches and stands, skintight clothing moulding to the shifting of his muscles as he does. Kain scratches at the red mark on his cheek, eyes Syres. "So, what was with th' fancy ball o' lava?"
"Practice, Kain." Syres laughs now that his panic has passed and bumps his shoulder compainiably with his fellow Pyromancer. "Holding it that steady is hard work."
"Work, shmurk," Kain grouses, playfully throwing a few punches at Syres. "Pain in the ass, more like."
Syres glances pointedly at Kain's arms, covered in black leather from bicep down to a tie over the middle finger of both hands. "Have you gotten those under control yet?"
Kain scowls and looks to one side. "Y' know the answer ta that. 'Course I don't." After a few seconds, Kain's eyes slid up over Calais's form, lingering on the bandage on his neck with a flat anger. "I shoulda killed 'em," he snarls, and there is a burst of heat from his direction as he clenches his hands. "Right then and there. Shoulda just roasted 'em. Dead. Wham, just like that."
Calais shakes his head. Stepping forward, he taps Kain in the center of his chest, ignoring the buffeting waves of heat that are richocheting everywhere. "You would be dead if you did that. They were trained assassins." When Kain shows no sign of backing down, Calais sighs. "They were professionals, Kain. I'm lucky they missed, and I'm just glad that Haleh was there to-" he stops abruptly, swallowing hard as he thinks about rage-filled multifaceted eyes and the black claws dripping blood.
"Yeah, yeah, I know." The heat disappears without warning as Kain flops back onto Syres' bed, arms thrown wide. "He kicked ass."
Chuckling, Syres sits next to him. He pointedly taps Kain's nearest arm, and says, "Come on. We didn't get practice it today."
"But it's late," Kain mutters in a low, sullen whine, but he pushes himself back up and starts unwrapping the tie around his finger, peeling back the soft leather to reveal smooth, muscled bronze skin covered in thin red lines. Calais studies the markings as Kain unwraps his other arm as well. Both of his arms are etched with the lines, red and stark like new wounds. But wounds aren't typically as carefully formed and smooth as these marks. There is a pattern to be seen somewhere in there. Calais shakes his head. He's not a Pyromancer like Kain and Syres. He wouldn't recognize it no matter how much he looked.
"Do you even know what they do?" he questions softly, leaning against the wall to watch.
Syres shakes his head. "Not a clue. But we're close to figuring it out."
Kain snorts and sets the arm coverings to the side before he stands up to face Syres. "Why doesn't Nickolai have to do this?"
"Because Nickolai's a Hydromancer. I wouldn't even know where to start with him. At least with you, we're learning the same stuff at the same time. Now, Kain, snuff the candles."
"What."
Syres rolls his eyes at Kain. "Hey, you want to know what they do too. Humor me. Kill the candleflames."
Scowling, Kain looks over at the unoffending sticks of wax, eyes red-hot and focused. Calais feels him gather strength, feels the sudden draft of cold in the room, sees the fires flicker slightly before they just... vanish with a slight popping noise. The sudden darkness is disorienting for a second, memory light spots bright on Calais' eyes.
Out of the dark comes Syres's voice, quiet. "Alright, light them again."
The soft glow of old embers flares from Kain's fingertips as the lithe Pyromancer traces a simple symbol in the air, the basic design for fire starting. The room is dimly illuminated from the sigil, Kain throwing a huge shadow across the room. He raises the spell to release it-
"No, don't. Hold it for a second."
Kain lets out a rough growl but does as Syres instructs. After a few seconds of holding his arm out with the glowing symbol in front of his hand, he hisses, "How long do I hafta hold this? It ain't doin' nothin' just sitting here."
"Until I say you can release it, obviously." Syres' voice is distracted, though, and Calais immediately slips around Kain to his twin's side. Syres is intently studying Kain's bared arms in the faint light. Gesturing at them, Syres murmurs, "Do you see it? I'm not sure if I'm making it up."
Calais turns curious eyes on Kain's arms, where the thin red lines were-
-moving. And growing thicker while settling themselves into a very particular arrangement. "The circle?"
Syres tilts his head. "Okay, so you do see them moving. Point for me. See the runes? It looks like..." He trails off and tilts his head to the other side. "Oh. OH, oh Daughter inside, that is amazing! If I'm right, that is. Kain! Drop the symbol in front of your hand! Focus it through your arm!"
"What the fuck are you sayin'?" Kain drops his arm, and the room plunges into complete darkness again. "After all the teachers have taught about doin' things right because the backlash can kill, you want me to invoke without a proper focus?"
"You have a proper focus! Trust me! It's a fire starter! What can go wrong?" Syres protests, and Kain growls at him, low and dark, but there's a rustle of movement and-
-a sudden blast of light as the candles flicker on all at once, a fiery sigil slowly fading from its encircled position around Kain's arm. Kain blinks down at his arm in bemusement, and Calais watches as the marks thin and fade from burning red back to their typical faded shade. "What the hell?" Kain's voice is strong, but there is an audible quaver under it. "What was that?"
Syres lets out a whooping laugh, pumps his fist in the air in triumph. "OH man, knew it! I am so good! I am awesome!" Calais shakes his head at his twin and instead surveys the room, noting a few small scorch marks that hadn't been there before. He hears Kain stride over and slug Syres in the shoulder.
"Stop your gloatin', Syr. What the hell was that?"
"That, Kain, was what your marks do. I'm fairly certain that you can use them as preformed focuses for difficult invocations. Like, your marks can probably draw up a huge and complicated spell with just a thought from you. You wouldn't even have to draw it out." Syres shakes his head, and Calais hears the undertone of amazement in his voice. "You're probably going to be the fastest casting Mancer in the world."
Calais brushes his dark hair out of his face. "Nickolai's marks probably do the same thing. That's why they look a little different. They're made to form a different language than yours are."
Kain snorts. "Yeah, not ta mention, they're blue. Big tip-off, maybe?" But he starts pacing restlessly, and Calais moves out of his way. "Is this why those bastard Hydras..." Kain swallows, bites his lip before shaking his head, clearly unable to keep saying it.
Silence falls over the three. Calais closes his eyes to shut out the images of shattered glass, Kain's eyes hollowed and soulless and blank, the bright flash of a knife at his twin's throat, the desperate crying to no avail. He nods after a few minutes of tense silence pass. "They said they wanted to make battle machines. Thoughtless, completely malleable Mancers made to fight and win wars."
Rubbing roughly at the skin of his arms, Kain growls. "Damn it. Can I tear these off already? Had 'em all my life and all they've brought is trouble. First, I set fire to my beds. Next, I get scouted to this fucking place. Then I get kidnapped and experimented on, and now look at 'em. One more thing to piss off everyone else. Fuckin' hate them."
"Don't say that, Kain!" Syres slings a friendly arm around Kain's shoulders, hugging him tightly. "If you didn't have those, you wouldn't be here! You never would have met me!" Syres rests his forehead against Kain's, stooping slightly to do so, and just grins at him, green eyes bright.
Kain stares up at him like a startled rabbit, a light flush suffusing his bronze skin with warmth. Raising an eyebrow, Calais just watches them, absently admiring the way Syres's dark blond hair mingles with Kain's orange. One of Syres' hands comes up to rest on the back of Kain's neck, stroking softly. Kain makes an almost inaudible noise.
But he doesn't move away
Interesting, Calais thinks, a small smile playing about the corners of his mouth. He coughs discreetly, and with that, the moment is broken, Kain stepping back like he had been doused with ice water. Syres just looks confused for a second before shrugging.
"Hey, it's late, right guys? We've had a long day -"
Kain interjects, "Yeah, with the assassination attempts and Kain's new freaky magic and Calais, oh, I don't know, almost dying. Yeah. Long day."
"Don't get snippy, Kain," Syres laughs, but he nods. "I call it bedtime. Let's all just. Go home, right? Time for sleep."
Grumbling, Kain allows Calais to escort him to the door. Right before he leaves, he turns around, pokes Calais right in the bandage covering the arrow wound. "This. Don't do this again." He whirls on his heel and strides down the hallway a few steps before pivoting again and rushing up to slap Calais in the shoulder. "Dumbass."
* * * * * *
Today's Word Count: 1745
Total Word Count: 5079
Title: Symphony of Metal and Trees
Summary: I'll let you know about that when I figure it out.
Things You Should Probably Know: Calais' name isn't pronounced like the French city of Calais (pronounced Cal-ay, as per French rules of dropping half the vowels and making up everything else). It is pronounced "Kah-LAY-is", and Syres is "SEAR-ez", in case you need to know. The city Filatsehren is "FEE-lat-SER-in". And no, I haven't spent too long on this, what are you talking about.
* * * * * *
Chapter 1b
* * * * * *
Their rooms are dark when they get back to them, and Calais hears Syres behind him murmur a small invocation to light the candles in the room, dismissing the tightly controlled ball of lava as he does so.
"Took ya long enough t' find him," comes a dry voice from the corner of the room, and Syres twitches hard enough that the flames on the candles flare and sputter. Calais turns towards the voice, half-fond smile on his lips. Sure enough, there's a lean young man on Syres' bed, clad in his customary black.
Surveying them with red, cat-slit eyes, Kain taps a slender finger on his knee. His entire body gives off an aura of impatience, as though he can't be bothered to wait for anything, much less people who waste his time. Short, satsuma orange hair is shaken as the tan boy stretches and scratches and stands, skintight clothing moulding to the shifting of his muscles as he does. Kain scratches at the red mark on his cheek, eyes Syres. "So, what was with th' fancy ball o' lava?"
"Practice, Kain." Syres laughs now that his panic has passed and bumps his shoulder compainiably with his fellow Pyromancer. "Holding it that steady is hard work."
"Work, shmurk," Kain grouses, playfully throwing a few punches at Syres. "Pain in the ass, more like."
Syres glances pointedly at Kain's arms, covered in black leather from bicep down to a tie over the middle finger of both hands. "Have you gotten those under control yet?"
Kain scowls and looks to one side. "Y' know the answer ta that. 'Course I don't." After a few seconds, Kain's eyes slid up over Calais's form, lingering on the bandage on his neck with a flat anger. "I shoulda killed 'em," he snarls, and there is a burst of heat from his direction as he clenches his hands. "Right then and there. Shoulda just roasted 'em. Dead. Wham, just like that."
Calais shakes his head. Stepping forward, he taps Kain in the center of his chest, ignoring the buffeting waves of heat that are richocheting everywhere. "You would be dead if you did that. They were trained assassins." When Kain shows no sign of backing down, Calais sighs. "They were professionals, Kain. I'm lucky they missed, and I'm just glad that Haleh was there to-" he stops abruptly, swallowing hard as he thinks about rage-filled multifaceted eyes and the black claws dripping blood.
"Yeah, yeah, I know." The heat disappears without warning as Kain flops back onto Syres' bed, arms thrown wide. "He kicked ass."
Chuckling, Syres sits next to him. He pointedly taps Kain's nearest arm, and says, "Come on. We didn't get practice it today."
"But it's late," Kain mutters in a low, sullen whine, but he pushes himself back up and starts unwrapping the tie around his finger, peeling back the soft leather to reveal smooth, muscled bronze skin covered in thin red lines. Calais studies the markings as Kain unwraps his other arm as well. Both of his arms are etched with the lines, red and stark like new wounds. But wounds aren't typically as carefully formed and smooth as these marks. There is a pattern to be seen somewhere in there. Calais shakes his head. He's not a Pyromancer like Kain and Syres. He wouldn't recognize it no matter how much he looked.
"Do you even know what they do?" he questions softly, leaning against the wall to watch.
Syres shakes his head. "Not a clue. But we're close to figuring it out."
Kain snorts and sets the arm coverings to the side before he stands up to face Syres. "Why doesn't Nickolai have to do this?"
"Because Nickolai's a Hydromancer. I wouldn't even know where to start with him. At least with you, we're learning the same stuff at the same time. Now, Kain, snuff the candles."
"What."
Syres rolls his eyes at Kain. "Hey, you want to know what they do too. Humor me. Kill the candleflames."
Scowling, Kain looks over at the unoffending sticks of wax, eyes red-hot and focused. Calais feels him gather strength, feels the sudden draft of cold in the room, sees the fires flicker slightly before they just... vanish with a slight popping noise. The sudden darkness is disorienting for a second, memory light spots bright on Calais' eyes.
Out of the dark comes Syres's voice, quiet. "Alright, light them again."
The soft glow of old embers flares from Kain's fingertips as the lithe Pyromancer traces a simple symbol in the air, the basic design for fire starting. The room is dimly illuminated from the sigil, Kain throwing a huge shadow across the room. He raises the spell to release it-
"No, don't. Hold it for a second."
Kain lets out a rough growl but does as Syres instructs. After a few seconds of holding his arm out with the glowing symbol in front of his hand, he hisses, "How long do I hafta hold this? It ain't doin' nothin' just sitting here."
"Until I say you can release it, obviously." Syres' voice is distracted, though, and Calais immediately slips around Kain to his twin's side. Syres is intently studying Kain's bared arms in the faint light. Gesturing at them, Syres murmurs, "Do you see it? I'm not sure if I'm making it up."
Calais turns curious eyes on Kain's arms, where the thin red lines were-
-moving. And growing thicker while settling themselves into a very particular arrangement. "The circle?"
Syres tilts his head. "Okay, so you do see them moving. Point for me. See the runes? It looks like..." He trails off and tilts his head to the other side. "Oh. OH, oh Daughter inside, that is amazing! If I'm right, that is. Kain! Drop the symbol in front of your hand! Focus it through your arm!"
"What the fuck are you sayin'?" Kain drops his arm, and the room plunges into complete darkness again. "After all the teachers have taught about doin' things right because the backlash can kill, you want me to invoke without a proper focus?"
"You have a proper focus! Trust me! It's a fire starter! What can go wrong?" Syres protests, and Kain growls at him, low and dark, but there's a rustle of movement and-
-a sudden blast of light as the candles flicker on all at once, a fiery sigil slowly fading from its encircled position around Kain's arm. Kain blinks down at his arm in bemusement, and Calais watches as the marks thin and fade from burning red back to their typical faded shade. "What the hell?" Kain's voice is strong, but there is an audible quaver under it. "What was that?"
Syres lets out a whooping laugh, pumps his fist in the air in triumph. "OH man, knew it! I am so good! I am awesome!" Calais shakes his head at his twin and instead surveys the room, noting a few small scorch marks that hadn't been there before. He hears Kain stride over and slug Syres in the shoulder.
"Stop your gloatin', Syr. What the hell was that?"
"That, Kain, was what your marks do. I'm fairly certain that you can use them as preformed focuses for difficult invocations. Like, your marks can probably draw up a huge and complicated spell with just a thought from you. You wouldn't even have to draw it out." Syres shakes his head, and Calais hears the undertone of amazement in his voice. "You're probably going to be the fastest casting Mancer in the world."
Calais brushes his dark hair out of his face. "Nickolai's marks probably do the same thing. That's why they look a little different. They're made to form a different language than yours are."
Kain snorts. "Yeah, not ta mention, they're blue. Big tip-off, maybe?" But he starts pacing restlessly, and Calais moves out of his way. "Is this why those bastard Hydras..." Kain swallows, bites his lip before shaking his head, clearly unable to keep saying it.
Silence falls over the three. Calais closes his eyes to shut out the images of shattered glass, Kain's eyes hollowed and soulless and blank, the bright flash of a knife at his twin's throat, the desperate crying to no avail. He nods after a few minutes of tense silence pass. "They said they wanted to make battle machines. Thoughtless, completely malleable Mancers made to fight and win wars."
Rubbing roughly at the skin of his arms, Kain growls. "Damn it. Can I tear these off already? Had 'em all my life and all they've brought is trouble. First, I set fire to my beds. Next, I get scouted to this fucking place. Then I get kidnapped and experimented on, and now look at 'em. One more thing to piss off everyone else. Fuckin' hate them."
"Don't say that, Kain!" Syres slings a friendly arm around Kain's shoulders, hugging him tightly. "If you didn't have those, you wouldn't be here! You never would have met me!" Syres rests his forehead against Kain's, stooping slightly to do so, and just grins at him, green eyes bright.
Kain stares up at him like a startled rabbit, a light flush suffusing his bronze skin with warmth. Raising an eyebrow, Calais just watches them, absently admiring the way Syres's dark blond hair mingles with Kain's orange. One of Syres' hands comes up to rest on the back of Kain's neck, stroking softly. Kain makes an almost inaudible noise.
But he doesn't move away
Interesting, Calais thinks, a small smile playing about the corners of his mouth. He coughs discreetly, and with that, the moment is broken, Kain stepping back like he had been doused with ice water. Syres just looks confused for a second before shrugging.
"Hey, it's late, right guys? We've had a long day -"
Kain interjects, "Yeah, with the assassination attempts and Kain's new freaky magic and Calais, oh, I don't know, almost dying. Yeah. Long day."
"Don't get snippy, Kain," Syres laughs, but he nods. "I call it bedtime. Let's all just. Go home, right? Time for sleep."
Grumbling, Kain allows Calais to escort him to the door. Right before he leaves, he turns around, pokes Calais right in the bandage covering the arrow wound. "This. Don't do this again." He whirls on his heel and strides down the hallway a few steps before pivoting again and rushing up to slap Calais in the shoulder. "Dumbass."
* * * * * *