October 2014 Updates!

Heeeeeeey! I have a few updates for you all, mostly regarding Historical Tervik.

Regarding Historical Tervik, I noticed today a grave mistake I made. You've probably noticed that the last chapter I uploaded was entitled "Chapter 9", which was wrong because there was already a chapter 9 and a chapter 10. I mentioned before that my Google Drive is a chapter behind, because I combined chapters 2 and 3. That was part of the reason for the mistake. The other reason is because the previous chapter 10 was the old chapter 10, and had been rewritten entirely. Therefore, that chapter has been deleted and this new chapter has been renamed "Chapter 10". The blog is all fixed, so you don't have to worry about it anymore.

In other news, I've been posting all my poetry on the site Hello Poetry. You can find me at hellopoetry.com/pilotforhigh. Also, my devArt is now active and you can find me over there at devArt.com/pilotforhigh. Yeah!

That's all for now!
-Pilot

HISTORICAL TERVIK: CH 10

"I don't know what to say to him." Farah placed her head in the palms of her cupped hands. "I just don't know what to say."

"Just tell him the truth." Sitting beside her on a bench along the side of a major road was Aneurin. The sun had begun to fall, but was in such a position that it coated everyone and everything in a thin, glossy layer of golden light. Farah noticed how the sun was hitting Aneurin just right; it came from behind him, casting a small shadow on Farah's face, but creating a highlight on Aneurin’s black hair. Aneurin had his hair pulled back, but couldn't help the hairs that fell on top of his forehead. His icy blue orbs met Farah's, the calm expression on his face a result of his stoic demeanor.

Aneurin's arms were still bound, but the herbal remedies Farah had mixed earlier did manage to stop the bleeding. His abdomen hurt with every move, but the trained assassin was strong and could handle the pain. To prevent from irritating the wounds on his arms, Aneurin wore a men's styled sleeveless tank top. This tank top revealed distinct markings on his shoulder. The markings resembled tribal tattoos, in that they seemed to represent a distinct culture from an ancient era. However, neither Farah nor Aneurin knew where they came from. They were a part of Aneurin's skin, uniform and flush, and had been since Farah met him when they were children. Over the years, however, Farah had noticed them growing. Once just a few dots on his shoulders when Aneurin was a young boy, the markings spread from his neck to halfway down his arm. Yet everyone who knew him and had known him for some time did not question it, as the markings were a part of his identity. Aneurin himself no longer questioned it.

"I know that, but you know as much as I do that he's going to take the news the worst out of all of us." Farah was squinting in the immense sunlight. She filled her lungs with air, crisp and clean, taking advantage of this short moment to enjoy it as much as she possibly could.

Aneurin said nothing, knowing she was right.

Around them were thick crowds of people coming and going. Farah, who was a master of the shadows, liked to people watch. She loved to observe the way people were dressed, the way they carried themselves, and the kinds of people they traveled with. Farah liked to try and guess what kind of errands people were running, or where they were going. The chatter that surrounded these crowds was another great tool for her to use, individual conversations that numbered so greatly that it sounded as if the world itself were talking. Farah's trained ears were able to separate the voices and match each voice to the individual. Right now, however, she felt so heavy minded that she did not wish to do so. Farah felt a hand clasp her shoulder.

"Farah." Aneurin met her forest green eyes. "This is Gideon we're talking about. He'll understand." Farah was silent at first, then lowered her head in defeat. Besides, Aneurin did not have to remind her, losing people was part of the job.

"You're right." Farah nodded. She reached over and embraced Aneurin in a careful hug. "Thank you." Instead of saying anything, Aneurin returned the embrace. They sat like that for a moment, until Farah broke away from him and stood.

"Let's go then." Farah smiled, forcing the enthusiasm. She was of course excited to see her brother, but this meeting was not happening on pleasant terms.

Farah turned and thrust herself into the crowd. Aneurin followed suit, and they rode the crowd until the wave brought them to Phoenix's Wing, the inn that stood just before the gate on perhaps the busiest road of Armastus. Farah and Aneurin stood outside its doors, admiring the structure and wasting time. The building had been built to resemble a phoenix somewhat. From the sides of the building on top of every window emerged wooden wings painted a bright orange to resemble a phoenix's flaming body. From on top of the building emerged a wooden figure carved to look like the head of the bird, long and elegant with piercing eyes and a sharp, open beak. The sign displaying the name of the inn hung from the head. People swarmed in and out of its doors, mostly travelers from various parts of the world.

Faran and Aneurin removed themselves from the giant crowd of the streets and entered the building. They were immediately met by Lyra, Gideon's spunky assistant, who beamed upon sight of them. But when she took a closer look and saw the bandages and bruises on Aneurin's arms she frowned.

"Welcome back." Lyra placed a small notepad she was holding in the front pockets of the apron she was wearing. "I won't ask how the mission went, because from the looks of it you two had a really tough time." The noise level of the inn was astonishing. They were a packed house tonight, with waiters running hopelessly around the building to fulfill the needs of their demanding customers. A group of older men was sitting by the bar, drinking heavily and shouting heartily.

"Unfortunately, yes." Farah felt as though she was yelling just to be able to hear herself. "We're fine but we can't say the same for Sadia."

"Oh no!" Lyra gasped, covering her mouth with her hands. "Please don't tell me..."

"In the care of Det." Farah confirmed, bowing her head respectfully.

"I'm so sorry to hear that." Lyra bowed her head as well. Her eyes revealed great sadness and concern. "I'm also sorry to report that I don't have good news for you either. Gideon isn't here."

"What?" Farah's heart skipped a beat.

"He took the day off." Lydia looked at Farah as if it should have been obvious. "You guys should, too. It sounds to me like you worked very hard and could use some rest." The blonde smiled brightly at the two, hoping to restore the mood.

"Take the day off...?" Farah repeated, staring blindly at the woman in front of her as though this was a new concept.

"It might be a good idea, Farah." From besides her, Aneurin spoke up. "Let Lyra deliver the news. He'll understand." Farah, who looked uncertain, opened her mouth to object.

"Don't worry about it, Farah." Lyra smiled, trying to be as cheerful as possible given the current situation. "If he does get upset, I'll take the blame."

"Well, alright." Farah smiled sadly, and thanked the woman. Her and Aneurin made their exist, and stood helplessly outside the inn doors. They hadn't stood for more than five minutes when she opened her mouth to speak again.

"You know Aneurin," Farah looked over at her male companion. "Thinking about Sadia... There's still so much bothering me. What were the Ray’as doing in Carius in the first place?"

"A lot of unanswered questions. I know." Aneurin sympathized with her. "But what can we do about it?" Farah thought hard for a moment before daring to respond. She cast her eyes to the ground and frowned.

“I guess there’s nothing we can do.” Farah sighed, burdened heavily by these unanswered questions and wanting more than anything to do something about it.

“Don’t let this bother you too much, Farah,” Aneurin took a step closer to the female assassin, “This is all part of a day’s job.” Farah forced a smile and nodded, knowing he was right. Even though Aneurin seemed emotionally removed from the situation, Farah more than anybody knew this was not necessarily true. Of course the events bothered him, as they bother her, but this was indeed part of their job. As part of their job people die all the time, questions are hardly ever answered, and it shouldn’t bother them. But this time, as opposed to all other times, it bothered Farah.

“Let’s go.” Aneurin motioned for her to follow him.

“...Are we going to go train?” Farah questioned, following faithfully after her dear friend. Aneurin nodded in response, and Farah let out a relieved sigh. “Good!” She exclaimed, smiling. She felt no need to explain, nor contain, her excitement as Aneurin knew her well and felt the same.

********************************************************

When metal clashed against metal, not a word was spoken. Both Aneurin and Farah were left speechless by the thrill of a good fight. Bodies in perfect form and minds in complete sync; their swords clashed and their gazes locked. Each assassin tried desperately to find an opening in the other’s defense, the opportunity that would give them the win. They fight to disarm the other, and when a sword hits the ground the battle will be won. Though this seemed like too much for training, to Farah and Aneurin this was how they improved their skills. They could find no better training partner than each other, no other assassin in their branch of the league that would take it as seriously as they. The way they saw it, taking training seriously was the only way they would perform their best Performing their best and pushing their limits were the only ways they were going to get better.

They trained in a building in the slums of the city. The building was simply called ‘the gym’, and was once an inn that was repurposed when the inn went bankrupt. Needless to say, it was owned by Euphasia Trading Co., as it was the assassin’s league that had the real authority in the city. It was a common place for the assassins of the upper ranks to gather, as many of the lower ranked assassins were still too nervous to be in that part of Armastus. This place was, however, Farah and Aneurin’s favorite place to train because of the fact that the lower ranked assassins would not get in their way.

“It looks as like they’re dancing,” One assassin remarked to another, “How do they do that?”

“Years of experience, I’d say,” The other replied to his partner, with slight contempt rather awe. “They’ve been at this since they were kids, remember? That’s when they were brought here from Ray’as imprisonment.”

“...Right.” The first shifted uneasily where he stood, sheathing the sword in his hand. Farah and Aneurin’s imprisonment as children was not something discussed so openly. More so than Aneurin and Farah’s own anger, it was Father Arin’s anger to be feared the most. Dropping the tone of his voice, the assassin opened his mouth to speak once more. “But Gar, you know that Father Arin doesn’t like us to talk about that.”

“But doesn’t that seem a bit suspicious to you, Merit?” Angry, Gar swung his sword in front of him before sheathing it. “Farah and Aneurin are first rank. We’re the same age as them, and we’re only ranked third. You don’t think there’s something wrong with-?”

“-Sh!” Merit thrust his hand over Gar’s mouth. “You know what Father Arin would do if he heard you questioning his authority, Garret.” Gar grabbed Merit’s hand and removed it quickly from his mouth.

“As as Euphus as my witness, you know what I’ll do to you if you call me ‘Garret’ again.” Gar turned his back and began to gather his belongings. “Let’s go!”

“There’s no need to bring Euphus into this, you know.” Gathering his belongings now, Merit hastily trailed his partner out the door.

From across the room, Farah and Aneurin had barely noticed the men’s short discussion, as a break in concentration meant a break in their form. As Merit and Gar exited the building, Aneurin was building up his chance to strike. Ignoring the pain in his abdomen, he knew that Farah’s greatest weakness at that moment was the fact that she hardly ever used a sword in combat, as she specialized in the bow and arrow. Aneurin planned on using this weakness to his advantage.

Farah knew that Aneurin was planning on using this weakness against her, as she picked up on the slight change in Aneurin’s form from a neutral one to a much more offensive one. She knew that Aneurin was going to try and disarm her, but while Aneurin had offense on his side Farah had speed. She knew that as long as she could dodge the charge, that there would be a short opening in the second that Aneurin’s back would be exposed directly following the attack. Farah also knew that Aneurin was still injured from the fights earlier on that day, despite the fact that he healed fast he would still be in pain. If Farah could be fast enough, she could dodge the charge and counter attack at the last second.

Aneurin made his move as soon as he saw an opening. He charged forward with his own sword at his left side, and as Farah stepped right to avoid the attack Aneurin swung his sword out at her. Caught off guard, Farah recoiled. Quickly recovering from the attack, Aneurin charged forward again while Farah was struggling with the recoil. Aneurin swung his sword for the last time, despite a surge of pain that shot up his side, and Farah’s sword dropped to the ground. Farah stared at the man in amazement for a second before opening her mouth to speak.

“Wow,” Farah stared at the man in amazement. “I knew you were going to charge but...”

“... But I knew you were going to try and dodge and counter attack.” Aneurin finished her sentence with a satisfied smile, wiping the sweat off his brow. As he sheathed his sword, Farah picked hers up off the ground.

“But even still, usually I’m fast enough to avoid it.” Farah pondered a moment as she sheathed her sword. “You’ve been coming here on your own, haven’t you?”

“Maybe,” Aneurin shrugged his shoulders, neither acknowledging the fact nor disproving it.

“I knew it!” Farah smiled, pointing at him. “But that means I’m off my game now. I better step up.” Farah did not mention Aneurin’s injury. The fact that Aneurin could move so quickly despite his own injuries was a testament to both his own will and his ability as an assassin. But, Farah knew that Aneurin was not completely healed yet and he should have been hindered at least in speed. His ability to recover from injuries so quickly bothered Farah, but this was something Farah would not bring up. At least, not now.

“Yeah, you better.” Aneurin teased, maintaining a smile. “But that’s enough for now. Let’s get some food and water and call it a night.”

“Food sounds pretty good to me right about now.” Farah chimed as she and Aneurin retrieved their gear from the side of the room. Aneurin retrieved his metal claws, and Farah her trusted bow and arrows. As the two exited the building, they were met by the early evening moon and the fresh, flowing breeze. As the air began to cool their hot, sweating bodies, neither could pass a chance to admire the beautiful night that had been given to them. For a second, they forgot how hungry and fatigued they were and, for the first time in a while, they were able to focus on something calm and relaxing. As they walked, Farah and Aneurin exchanged relaxed glances, Farah smiling. It was the post-workout feeling of having worked their muscles that made every drop of sweat worth the pain, and it was nights like this that made their job worth it. Making their way through the slums of Armastus, the two companions passed by many buildings that were either abandoned, burned to the ground from house fire, or falling apart. Trash and rotting food littered the streets, a grim reminder that there were many who were not as fortunate as Farah and Aneurin. The slums were not only dangerous because of the high crime rate and the underground drug trade, but they were also grotesque. Beautiful, because it certainly was a painted canvas of sorts that represented an entire class of hard-working people in less-than-fortunate situations, but also horrible as it was the grand city’s sore thumb, the true face of the lower class, and the voice of the voiceless.

Farah and Aneurin had not yet made it out of the slums when they were stopped by a messenger bearing the emblem of the Euphasian Trading Company. Farah and Aneurin recognized this emblem immediately, and stopped in their tracks to greet the man.

“First Rank Farah Adair and Aneurin?” The man, dressed in leather, prompted. When Farah and Aneurin nodded in response, the messenger saluted.

“Father Arin is demanding your team’s immediate presence at the village of Pelgra, two miles east of here. Your teammates have already been notified.” The messenger produced a card out of the leather bag hanging at his side. He handed Farah and Aneurin a single postcard, which only contained Father Arin’s personal seal to prove that the messenger was, in fact, sent by Father Arin himself.

“Tell Father Arin we’ve successfully received his message.” Aneurin handed the postcard over to Farah.

“Yes, thank you.” Farah took the postcard, and as soon as she was finished speaking the messenger ran off. Farah and Aneurin exchanged a quick glance, before nodding in silent agreement. The two broke out in a run, under a silent agreement that if Father Arin demanded their immediate presence somewhere then whatever was happening was of the utmost importance. Despite not knowing anything about what they were getting themselves into, because the order came from Father Arin directly this became their number one priority. Suddenly, the tranquil mood of the calm night was ruined and their hearts fluttered with the thought that they may be engaging in battle within the next few hours. Food, it seemed, was going to have to wait.