#this started as me sketching wy doing his hair​

[kindness-ricochets]

Prompt: “Hold my hand until it’s over?”

Day 13! The unexpected Part II of “You love me as if I deserve you.” -------

Jesper woke with the casual and undeniable fact that he loathed himself. He knew from the hot, sore feeling in his belly, so familiar the question he asked himself was not do I deserve this but why do I deserve it this time. Because he did. He always did. He pushed himself to sit up. It was late to be waking. Gray sunlight lit the room—not the dark gray of predawn, late morning gray on a day of lazy Ketterdam rain. On the bedside table, Jesper found a bottle of water, which he drank; a cold cheese bun, which he ate; and a sketch of a simple smiling face, which he turned upside down so it would stop silently judging him.

Now he remembered. He had been drunk, and Drunk Jesper had promised Wylan a talk today. He groaned. Maybe… maybe it was already mid-afternoon. Maybe he was tired enough to go back to sleep. Maybe… Drunk Jesper needed to stop writing checks that Sober Jesper had no intention of cashing. He groaned again and, as that did him no favors, went to dress. The responsible and mature thing to do would be find Wylan and explain about last night. As he settled his guns at his hips—ornamental in Geldin District, but intrinsically a part of him nonetheless—Jesper knew beyond question that he would not look for Wylan. He knew it in the keen hurt burning a hole through him. Instead he headed outside, skirting the parlor where Marya Hendriks painted by the window. Jesper let himself out into the drizzly yard. There were some trees on the grounds, a fine place to wander, if one were so inclined. They gave cover, kept the worst of the drizzle off. Jesper wandered and stroked his revolvers. There was nothing here to shoot. Well, there was, but he didn’t think a freshly killed squirrel was a gift Wylan would appreciate. When he was small, Jesper loved adventures. He mightn’t have had many of them in his own simple life; his life was housework and farmwork and school and church. Outside of that boring stuff, he pretended the adventures his life failed to provide. He hadn’t a chance to slay dragons, so he pretended, had at the mighty dragon (there was a boulder out past the west field, good to climb and leap from, or to stab, or whatever he needed the dragon to do for his play). Another of his favorite games was to be an ancient hunter. There had been reproductions in his schoolbooks of cave paintings in Ravka, images of mighty beasts with tusks a boy might dream about sliding down. Jesper could only imagine living at those times, hunting those creatures—only for food, of course. He tried four sticks before he found one that bent without breaking, then sat on the wet ground and unlaced one of his boots. This would be a proper apology gift. Sorry about last night, but I brought you squirrel meat was pathetic. Sorry about last night, I slew a woolly mammoth for you had far better energy. “Jesper?” He looked up. Wylan stood nearby, bundled in his coat, scarf, and hat like he had wandered into a snowstorm. It was a thin wool coat in Mercher gray, and it brought out the smudges under his eyes. Jesper looked away from Wylan, to his unlaced boot and makeshift bow. “I’m going to hunt a mammoth,” Jesper said, because he remembered that he hated himself again and he didn’t want to. Wylan regarded him for a moment, then said, “Can I come, too?” “No, you’re not a hunter, I don’t want you to get hurt. I’m hunting a mammoth for you.” “I’ll stay behind you.” “The mammoth could sneak up on us and gore you with its tusks.” “I don’t think that’s going to happen, Jes. Mammoths are enormous. We would feel it approaching.” Jesper considered that. They probably would have advanced notice of a mammoth approaching, at least enough for Wylan to hide behind a tree or something. He nodded. “You can come.” Wylan smiled. A smile like that ought to be illegal. At the very least, it ought to be a carefully controlled substance, accessible only by permit. Since Jesper’s bootlace was currently a bowstring, he had to walk carefully. Wylan asked if they ought to go and get Jesper’s coat, but Jesper told him to hush, they were on a mammoth hunt. Never mind Jesper’s clompy steps with his unlaced boot. Just hush. Yet the longer he walked, the harder Jesper found ignoring the ache inside him. It was worse with Wylan beside him, his presence reminding Jesper of his promise, broken over and over with each step. He had promised they were talk. Jesper felt Wylan’s eyes on his back, drumming that reminder into him. Promise. Clompstep. Promise. Clompstep.  Promise. Clompstep. Jesper tried to remember the snowy tundra he was sure walking across, to imagine the mammoth tracks, but Wylan was there, each of his squelching steps in the wet grass saying, you promised, you promised, you promised, until Jesper whirled on him. “I know, okay?” he demanded. Wylan looked stung. The rain dripped softly around them, the noise shushing out the rest of the world. He didn’t have to say anything; Jesper bowed his head and slumped his shoulders. He didn’t mean it… “Breathe,” Wylan said, and Jesper obeyed. “Again.” And again he obeyed. Running his fingers along his bowstring, Jesper said, “I don’t belong here.” And it hurt. It hurt that it was true; it hurt to say. It hurt so much the ache in his belly burst like a lance blistering, spilling red-hot pain into him. Jesper dropped his bow. He sat hard, his hands loose between his knees. This time the wet feeling stayed with him as the damp soaked into the seat of his trousers. Jesper didn’t like this kind of weather, but Wylan did. Wylan thought it was peaceful. Wylan liked the hush of precipitation, the clean scent of it, the gentle rhythm of the raindrops. Wylan liked being inside and curled up with coffee or hot chocolate. Jesper put his hands over his face. He was burning. “Jes?” “I don’t,” he said, “I don’t… fit, and I hate it! I hate b—“ No, he didn’t mean that. He cut himself off. “I hate… I hate…”

What? What did he hate?

What did he want? Then Wylan was there, kneeling beside Jesper and wrapping his arms around him. “It’s okay,” Wylan lied. Jesper sobbed drily. Then less drily. He held onto Wylan, one arm around, and Wylan cradled the back of Jesper’s head in one hand and pressed his lips to his hair and kept saying ridiculous things about it being okay. “I love you,” Wylan said. Jesper felt the words, the heat of Wylan’s breath. He cried ugly into Wylan’s chest. This was not what he wanted, for so many reasons this was not who and where he wanted to be. But if it was, then he wanted nothing more than for Wylan to hold him until it was over. “Can you tell me? Tell me what you hate, darling.” What he hated? Well, Jesper hated lots of things! He hated leeks, the middle of the ocean, quiet libraries, and Wylan’s father. He hated being trapped inside for days on end. He hated himself. He hated being shot, the smell of old lager, and mulled wine because it was ridiculous and tasted like sour pie.

“I’m sorry I snapped at you.” “I know.” “I hate…” The words wouldn’t come easy. Jesper shook his head. “Please,” Wylan said. A crack in his voice, right down the center. A sniffle. “Please, tell me. Tell me what you want and I’ll get it for you, tell me what you need.” What if what I need is less of you? Jesper thought. At least, he meant to think it. He thought he thought it, until Wylan started to pull away from him. Jesper half-twisted to pull him closer. “No, I didn’t mean it, I didn’t—don’t. You know I say things without thinking sometimes.” “I know,” Wylan said, softly. “It’s okay, Jesper. I’m here.” “I don’t mind reading to you, Wy, I like that, what I mind is having nothing else. To you, I’m a partner, but to them I’m your secretary.” It was okay for Jesper to joke about being Wylan’s secretary. There were few things Jesper wouldn’t joke about, and that one never hurt because he could see the way Wylan’s eyes shone every time he looked at Jesper. It was almost scary sometimes the way he forgave Jesper’s mistakes, laughed at his worst jokes—it might be a groaning laugh, but it would be a laugh nonetheless. “I don’t belong at these parties, I don’t belong with merchers and I never will. They only see me as a part of you, and they’re not wrong.” Hearing the protest coming, Jesper asked, “What do I have outside of you?” He didn’t take work with the gangs anymore. Tried to avoid the tables. He tried to stick to the straight and narrow path of helping Wylan with the business, practicing with his zowa powers, and the occasional wonderful visit to Eil Komedie. It wasn’t enough. Hesitant, Wylan suggested, “Maybe you should start taking classes at the university again. Just a class or two, to see if it might be better for you now.” Jesper didn’t know if that was a good idea. He wasn’t sure it was explicitly a bad idea—a class or two, with Wylan to support him if he started to get twitchy again, that sounded okay—but he wasn’t sure it was a good idea, either. He just didn’t know. He didn’t know what he wanted, only that he didn’t have it. “I want to be your boyfriend, but I need to be more.” It was the best way Jesper could think to tell Wylan that he wasn’t enough. He didn’t blame Wylan, he didn’t want more from Wylan, he wanted more from himself. And that was terrifying. When Jesper followed his initiative, he tended to wind up drunk, broke, or otherwise in a ridiculous situation. He wound up in Fjerda. In prison. In love with someone who didn’t love him back. His life with Wylan was safe, but his life with Wylan was not enough. Safe was not enough. “I don’t know what to do now,” Wylan said, “but I’ll think about it. We’ll both think about it. Okay?” Jesper nodded. “I… I’m sorry I didn’t see it sooner. I know how special you are. You don’t have to come to the parties if you don’t want to.” Jesper didn’t know if that would help. He didn’t know if anything would help, only that he felt inexplicably better now that he had roughed up his throat and smeared snot on Wylan’s coat. There was something healing about a good cry. The wind picked up, blowing the rain sideways and shaking drops off the leaves to pelt them both with cold droplets. “Can we head back?” Wylan asked. Jesper nodded. He was okay now. Wylan picked the wet knot loose from Jesper’s bow and began working the lace back through Jesper’s boot.  There would be consequences from this discussion, Jesper knew there would. For now, he didn’t mind. For now, he could happily look at Wylan’s red-gold curls where they peeked out from beneath his cap, feeling the gentle pressure of his boot being set right, and be happy with them together.

Jesper smiled at the ridiculous, beautiful boy with his deft hands and generous heart, and not for the first time, he wondered, What did I do to deserve you? Like he had heard the question, Wylan said, “Thank you, Jes. It’s not every guy who would slay a mammoth for me.”

#six of crows #soc fanfic #jesper fahey #wylan van eck #wesper #angst #hurt/comfort #my writing

[medea10]

My Review of Arte

How did I get into this anime? Well, I had a few slots open for the spring 2020 anime season! Let’s read what this anime is about.

A girl during the Renaissance era in Florence, Italy wants to be an artist…

*ADDS THIS IMMEDIATELY*

I really don’t want to be disappointed with this. I have a horrible habit of adding animes where the main concept has to do with the art world. And have it go wrong when the anime is too boring or not enough love is given to it. But maybe this will go well! The manga is already getting high marks and praise. And for being a history piece, it got picked up rather quickly from a big anime licensor in the west.

Arte comes from a noble family and her family has plans for their daughter. It’s just that Arte is heavily into…well…art. They’re fine as long as it’s only a hobby, but it’s getting a little out of hand for Arte’s mother. Arte wants to become an artist! BIG problem! This is Italy during the Renaissance era. No women artists! But Arte persisted by asking all around to become an apprentice.

The only man to even give her a chance was an artist named Leo. After testing her endurance, he allows her to become his apprentice. Arte’s life is officially changing as she throws away her nobility to draw and paint.

BETWEEN THE SUB AND THE DUB: FUNimation grabbed this anime. Surprisingly, they didn’t give Arte a simildub. Quite possibly because this was one of those newer animes that arrived during the COVID-19 nightmare! Or they didn’t want to fuck with Italian accents this time around! The sub had a nice mixture of veteran and newer seiyuus. Color me surprised when I heard Rie Tanaka’s voice again near the end of the series. Here’s what you might recognize these folks from.

*Arte is played by Mikako Komatsu (known for Mairin on Pokemon XY, Seishirou on Nisekoi, Susamaru on Demon Slayer, Wy on Hetalia, Eternal Feather on Soul Eater NOT, and Tori on YGO Zexal)

*Leo is played by Katsuyuki Konishi (known for Kamina on Gurren Lagann, America on Hetalia, Tsumugu on Kill la Kill, Laxus on Fairy Tail, Tanaka on Durarara, Fuegoleon on Black Clover, and Arima on Tokyo Ghoul)

FAVORITE CHARACTER: Arte! This girl wants to pursue a career in the arts and will do whatever it takes to do so. She defies her mother’s wishes, cuts her long hair, almost cuts off her breasts, did all the impossibly difficult tasks other apprentices could never do, and so much more. You have to admire this crazy, little lady.

SHIPPING: In episode 3, Arte started feeling that light and fuzzy feeling many of us feel when we “fall” for someone. And she started to feel funny whenever she was around Leo. This would be fine and dandy except for a few issues. For one thing, Leo is her boss and she’s his apprentice. Best to keep things professional! Secondly, during this period in time, Veronica does have a point. It’s best that if you want to achieve in your craft in a man’s world, it’s best to stow the romance bags to the side. After that bag of reality was dropped on Arte, she mostly focused on her art work and no romance was ever brought up again.

Although, I do have an inkling about Yuri having the hots for Arte! But I know my girl Arte here don’t have time for this boy’s bullshit!

LEO AND ANGELO: No, this isn’t a shipping debate. Actually, there are fans of the show speculating if these two characters are in fact the famous artists Leonardo da Vinci and Michelangelo. Come on now, this story is absolute fiction with a few true details here and there. Yes, we still don’t know the full name to Leo to prove that he could be the fictionalized version of the real-life artist and the anime never once put up an advisory at the beginning of every episode saying that any character that’s similar to real-life people is purely coincidental. But it’s possible that these two could very well be those very artists. Both da Vinci and Michelangelo were living Florence around the same time. I’ll chalk this up to you history buffs and conspiracy theorists out there. I choose to believe the creator of Arte just used the names of these artists and that’s that!

ENDING: During the 7th episode, Arte is given an opportunity to go to Venice to become a tutor for a handsome man’s niece and to paint a portrait of his sister-in-law. At the time, Venice was seen as a staple in the art world (despite Florence’s rich history that we know today) and this would be a perfect time for Arte to spread her wings. I mean, she won’t be an apprentice under Leo forever, right?! Yeah, Leo’s words to Arte before she left for Venice played around her head a lot during her stay in Venice. Saying that it’s okay if she chooses to stay there longer than six months or even stay permanently!

During this time, Arte was able to find ground with this difficult child (Catalina) that she must tutor as these two do share something in common. Both girls have a certain passion that they want to hone as their own, but can’t due to family forbiding it, status in the world, and even gender. Arte did so much to get where she is now including disobeying her mother by leaving home and try in a profession that’s mainly for men. Arte was unable to do much with her relationship with her family (especially after her father’s death), but she was able to help Catalina and her mother with theirs and even hope for a future where Catalina can see a boy she likes again.

As we near the end of this series, we find Arte still wondering about her future. She’s still seen as the rarity as being a woman of nobility entering the art world when that profession is usually done by people seen as lower than nobles and majorily male. Plus, what Leo said before setting for Venice keeps replaying in Arte’s mind. It’s true that this time Arte has spent in Venice with Sofia and Catalina was life-changing. And Yuri ended up asking Arte to stay with the family permanently. Meanwhile, Leo is noticing that maybe, just maybe, he’s missing Arte. That or he’s annoyed by all the people in Arte’s circle bugging him.

In the finale, Arte has reached a conclusion on where she’s going to go after finishing up Sofia’s portrait. She got some decent advice from one of the apprentices she met in Venice. That Arte should use her nobility and gender to her advantage in a male dominated profession. Okay, he didn’t exactly say that, but you get what I mean. There’s a certain softness to Arte’s work that’s not seen with many male artists. She should continue doing what she loves despite what others may say or think.

So in case you’re wondering, she turned down Yuri’s proposal of staying with Sofia and Catalina full-time. She’s going to head back to Florence and continue as Leo’s apprentice. Yeah, Catalina is pretty upset by Arte leaving after spending over six months with them. But they promised to keep in touch with letters. Upon Arte’s return to Florence, she learns about Leo doing a special mural for the Easter holiday. But Leo got ill and has been bed-ridden for days.

Arte steps in and takes over the mural so that it could be completed in time for Easter. With a little help from her friends like Darcia, Angelo, and Veronica, she was able to complete it. And just in time for Leo to emerge to give his critique on Arte’s work. As usual, he told her on what she should have done, but acknowledges that she has definitely grown as an artist during her time in Venice and is happy to see her again. Surprisingly, that wasn’t the only shocking moment of the finale.

Arte’s mother was there for the unveiling of the mural and actually praises her daughter. I guess she’s come a long way from the first episode where she burned all of Arte’s drawings. So yeah, girls can be more than just bargaining tools for marriage or becoming nuns. So Arte’s going to continue working under Leo and we end there.

I can already tell you that many people were not digging this anime, but I liked it. But again, painting is my thing. And being a female, I’m drawn to stories of girls trying to overcome prejudice just because of their gender. Even when studying art in school, most pieces that were covered in the curriculum were majority (if not, all) male. Well, unless I took a class with a supremely feminist teacher, we would not learn anything about female painters. And if we did, it would just be for like one day or one week out of the semester before we get to the well-known names like Van Gough, Pollock, and Monet.

By the looks of it, Arte doesn’t look like it’ll get any kind of continuation. I know that the manga is still in publication and maybe if that ends we might get something extra. But I wouldn’t hold my breath on that one. Even FUNimation didn’t bother giving this an English dub. Then again, this aired during the height of the COVID pandemic (in Japan) In fact; it was one of the very few animes in the spring season that never took a week off due to COVID. I would like to see what happens to Arte in the future. Like if she ends up with her own workshop or if she takes over Leo’s place when he retires. It’s fun to think of what happens and I might just one day pick up the manga to see if any of that actually happens. Due to my particular love of painting, I’m going to recommend this series regardless. And while you’re at it, check out some other series like Honey and Clover or Hidamari Sketch.

If you would like to watch this anime, FUNimation and Hulu have all 12 episodes available for streaming.

#anime review #arte #leo #angelo parker

[imaginethebeautifulworld]

what are the girls like??

Belarus

She’s absolutely the girl who hoardes things, ranging from her knives, cool yo-yos, and books. 

She has a really sharp fashion sense, and absolutely loves playing with darker colours, as they compliment her skin so perfectly. 

She can be a bit of a drama queen, but honestly she’d rather everyone just chill for once. 

She would do literally anything for her sister, and they tend to go hiking a lot.

Belgium

She literally has a hair bow for every outfit she owns. 

She intentionally tries to get ‘Cat’ as her result on Buzzfeed quizzes. 

She has an on-and-off again bromance with England, but they’ve more or less come together after she gave him his little Scottish Fold. 

She considers herself kind of everyone’s big sister, and is always down for hugs, murder, and binge-watching if needed, no questions asked.

Czech Republic

She refuses to wear any kind of shoe that isn’t a pair of boots.

She has rage-quit Monopoly a few times, going so far as to even flip the board and throw the money everywhere.

She has spa dates with Luxembourg every other Thursday.

She makes and designs calendars each year, sometimes featuring photos she’s taken, other times with calligraphy and sketches for each individual month; it depends.

Hungary

The Vargases are her sons and if you touch them you will never be seen again.

She has an apocalypse plan for literally any situation you can come up with.

She gets seasick every time she steps on a boat, even the ferries in Budapest.

She trusts Prussia with essentially everything, because he is one of the only people who has always been 1000% with her.

Liechtenstein

She honest-to-gods wants to become a rap god.

Switzerland is her brother, but she’s come to see Hungary as her big sister and role model.

She can’t actually cook that well, but she loves food.

She tends to play on a League server, and her language grows more and more aggressive and colourful as the hours drag on.

Madagascar

She is a marine biologist, and spends most of her time out on her boat.

She is a master volleyballer. She’s not passionate about sport overall, but volleyball is the one thing that she gets very competitive about.

Although twins, while Seychelles like to keep her hair long and flowy, she prefers to keep hers short, out of the way and less of a mess to wash after a dive.

She thinks America is a pompous douchebag, but she wants to ask him for surfing lessons. She’s just trying to summon up the strength not to smack him upside the head first.

Mexico

She leads a double life as a tour guide as well as a nation.

She, Al, and Mattie are constantly all competing with each other to see which is the superior sibling; they have all become kickass pilots, bareback riders, and dirtbikers for this reason alone.

She mastered the bottle flip on her first attempt.

She would unironically marathon Go Diego, Go! if she had the time.

Monaco

She absolutely served as a spy in WWII, and may-or-may-not have helped some certain refugees find safe passage out of Europe. I mean whaaaaaa????

She is fluent in at least ten languages, and can scam you in all of them.

Her favourite musical is Phantom of the Opera, and she has gone to see it over twelves times with France.

She can drink all of the Germanics under the table, and she has. Multiple times.

Seychelles

She has flirting contests with Romano, and 7 times out of 10, she’s the one who walks away with the girl’s number.

She makes all of her own clothes, and lowkey has a pseudonym that she has been using to start a fashion line.

She runs an aesthetic blog, featuring photos of her citizens and the amazing views near her house.

She always has a fresh batch of lemonade in the fridge, “just in case.”

Taiwan

She doesn’t fully understand the concept of personal space, and is the friend who will constantly be flopping on other friends.

She gets into intense political discussions with Macau and Hong Kong, all the time.

She’s dabbled in journalism a bit, but finds herself discouraged sometimes by the sheer number of other reporters out there, and how often a story is finished, only to be ignored in favour of the more highly shared fake news articless online.

She is a goddess at interior design, and can create ideal colour swatches at the tip of a hat.

Ukraine

She has a farm, and it is her biggest passion in this life. If she’s not wearing coveralls and muddy work boots or being followed by her small squadron of animal companions, she’s not happy.

She has an uncanny ability to predict the weather perfectly for the whole day ahead of her.

She often lights a bunch of candles in her house as dusk is falling, nostalgia for simpler times and a constant awareness of the electric bill being the root causes for the aesthetic.

She once broke Denmark’s nose for bullying Russia. Denmark still compliments her for it (’the only person more badass than me!’), and the poor girl has never lost her guilty complex.

Vietnam

She thinks The Beatles are overrated.

She can master pretty much any instrument she picks up, but keeps the fact hidden from most everyone.

She’s kind of a loner, whenever she can find some quiet time away from her brothers.

She spends a lot of time with Canada, bonding over common interests; they clicked during one of those nights where they both happened to be chilling at France’s house.

Wy

She is 1000% a fully independent woman, and if that means that she still clings to Australia whenever a storm rolls through, so be it. (He’s still her dad, no matter what.)

She tries to spend time with the other female nations, but sometimes she feels just way too young to form any real connections, even with Liechtenstein.

She is obesessed with Monty Python, and it constantly pisses Sealand off that she shares that with England.

She is taking vocal lessons from Finland. She doubts she’ll ever be into screamo or heavy metal or whatever, but it would still be ace to master.

I think I got everyone? If I forgot someone, lemme know; I’ll be sure to add them in!

#aph girls #female hetalia #aph females #women #gals #babies #aph belarus #aph belgium #aph hungary #aph liechtenstein #aph madagascar #aph monaco #aph seychelles #aph taiwan #aph ukraine #aph vietnam #aph wy #female nations #aph headcanons #imagine hetalia #imagine aph #hetalia scenarios #aph scenarios #hetalia ask #hetalia imagine #aph imagine #aph america mention #aph england mention #aph sealand mention #aph france mention

[azvolrien]

The Hawk Steppes - Chapter Three

Part three, in which things get spurred along a little.

~~~

           “Problem with these makeshift flasks,” said Calburn, “is that you’ve really got to improvise a bit when it comes to decanting. All right, lads, let’s get you out of there…” He squared his shoulders and grasped the valve wheel in both hands, carefully giving it one complete turn. The valves beneath the flasks creaked open, letting the green, viscous spell-fluid spill out into the waiting trough below. When the flow stopped, Calburn opened the flask doors one by one and the completed constructs stepped out into the workshop, leaving slimy green footprints on the concrete floor.

           “Aren’t they beautiful?” said Calburn, beaming.

           Rhona glanced up from checking over the filter masks he had put together. The twelve constructs were about the size of the pit ponies they were to replace, but looked less like horses and more like miniature versions of Mostol, with stocky limbs, heavily-muscled shoulders, and short curving horns. Each one had the required summoning stone embedded in its forehead, but the stones were rough and irregular, far from the smooth ovals of Mostol or Tyren.

           “Where did you get those stones?” asked Rhona, nodding towards the nearest.

           “Just picked them up off a spoil heap,” said Calburn. “Summoning stones just need to be crystalline,” he elaborated, taking a cloth to the coarse blonde fur of the first construct and cleaning off the worst of the remaining spell-fluid. “Tyren’s is brown granite; Mossy’s is a bluestone dolerite. Wy’s Rathus has a bit of peridotite. These boys have all got quartzite. But having them a nice smooth shape is just for looks; it still works just fine if you leave the stone rough.”

           “I see.” She lifted the mask to her face, testing its fit over her mouth and nose. “What did you name them?”

           “Well, normally I’d be a bit more imaginative, but Kedran requested something easy to remember,” said Calburn. “So they’re just numbered one to twelve. This is Seven,” he added, pointing to the one he was currently cleaning. “He’s my favourite.”

           “Careful, you wouldn’t want Mossy and Vrand to get jealous.”

           “Nah, they’re much too mature for that.”

           Rhona set the mask back on the workbench and peered at the nearest construct. “Have you ever wondered why all your constructs have horns?” she asked.

           “Can’t say I ever really have,” said Calburn, moving on to cleaning the next construct. “I don’t do it on purpose. It just kind of happens. How’s the dust lung going?”

           “The miners all seem to be responding well to treatment,” said Rhona, “though you should have seen the look on Kedran’s face when I told her I wanted to build a steam room for administering the medicine!”

           “Gods, I can imagine.”

           “And you say these masks are non-magical?”

           “Yeah, it’s just a simple filter design,” said Calburn. “Any artificer should be able to whip up a few.”

           “Good. You know, this could help with dust lung rates in mines all across Stranatir, not just here on the Hawk Steppes. You should keep the designs somewhere safe – you might be able to claim royalties.”

           “Suppose,” said Calburn. “But I’d better show Kedran her new pit ponies first, before I get ahead of myself. All right, lads, let’s go meet your new boss.”

           The constructs followed him out of the workshop and towards Kedran’s office like a train of oversized ducklings.

           “I’ve imprinted a few simple voice commands in them,” he explained to the overseer, handing her a list scribbled on a sheet of paper. “Forwards, back, stop – that sort of thing. They’re stronger than horses, too, so they’ll be able to haul more trucks than the ponies.”

           “They look like solid work,” said Kedran, nodding. She turned to Rhona. “And the miners? How’re they faring?”

           “Improving greatly,” said Rhona. “That steam room is working well for medicine inhalation, and I’ve been holding healing sessions for everyone who’s taken the medicine. Calburn made these masks, too, to stop further dust inhalation.” She held the mask up.

           Kedran nodded again. “Good work. Are there enough for everyone?”

           “Not yet,” said Calburn, “but they won’t be hard to produce.”

           “That’s good. I hear you’ve been teaching that elf kid in the evenings?”

           “Roxy, yes,” said Rhona. “It won’t eat into the work we’re doing here.”

           “Nah, didn’t think it would. Evenings are your own time – you can do what you like. I suppose you wizards-”

           Whatever Kedran supposed about wizards was abruptly drowned out by a dull rumble and the shriek of metal under stress. All three of them rushed out of the office, just in time to see the mine’s huge headframe topple and collapse with terrible, unstoppable slowness. The colossal winding wheels broke away and skidded through the rising cloud of dust to crash into a warehouse, slicing clean through half of the building’s support beams.

           “Great gods,” breathed Calburn, holding the collar of his tunic over his nose against the dust. Rhona strapped the mask over her own face. “What the-”

           Kedran broke into a run towards the wreckage. “There was still a shift underground!” she yelled. “They’ll be trapped!”

           “Oh, gods!” Calburn tore Mostol’s stone from around his neck, summoned the construct, and swung himself up into the saddle. “Rhona, you coming?”

           “Of course.” Rhona summoned Tyren and mounted up. “They might need a Healer.”

           The headframe looked as if an earthquake had hit it. The base of one strut had been completely severed; without its support, the rest of the huge girders had twisted out of shape and several had snapped altogether, while the hoist had been yanked halfway through the wall of its housing by the fall. A tangled web of metal had crashed down over the mine shaft.

           Kedran rushed forwards and grabbed a fallen grating in both hands, swearing under her breath as she strained to lift it out of the way despite the girders still pinning it down. Blood started to seep across her skin as the metal bit into her fingers.

           “Pick it up, Mossy,” said Calburn, dismounting and patting the side of Mostol’s neck. Mostol grunted, stepped forwards, and wedged his horns under the grating. Girders slid away with a crash as he lifted his head and tossed the grating aside as if shooing a fly.

           “Going to need a bit more muscle than just this guy,” said Calburn, and took Vrand’s summoning stone from inside his tunic.

           “Vrand?” asked Rhona, looking up from healing the cuts on Kedran’s fingers. “Not your pit ponies?”

           “Them too, but they’ll need a bit more managing.”

           “What do you need?”

           Everyone turned to see Ernak, Roxy and a dozen of their tribemates approaching on horseback.

           Kedran stood up. “You’re here to help?”

           “I think people probably saw that,” Ernak gestured towards the fallen headframe, “from miles away.” He stood up in his stirrups and climbed down from the saddle, pushing back the hood of his cloak. “What can we do?”

           “Help me clear a space above the mine shaft,” said Kedran. “Then we can lower a cable to get the miners out.”

           Calburn stepped back from the wreckage and held Vrand’s stone above his head. “Keep at it, Mossy.” The construct grunted again, lowered his head, and set his horns against metal. “You might want to keep a hold of those horses,” Calburn warned. “This could freak them out a bit.”

           Ernak closed a precautionary hand around his horse’s bridle.

           “I don’t understand,” said Kedran.

           “You will,” promised Rhona as tendrils of light began to spread out from the stone, sketching out the shape of something enormous.

           Two minutes later, when the rest of the mine workers had arrived to help clear the wreckage, there was a single blinding flash and the hovering outline of light vanished, leaving the solid, blond-furred form of the titanic winged construct in its place.

           “All right, big lad,” said Calburn as he scrambled up into Vrand’s saddle, some fifteen feet above the ground. “Time to earn your keep. Vrand, up!”

           Vrand reared up onto his hind legs, spread his wings with a snap like an unfurling sail, and sprang into the air with surprising grace for his immense size. Immediately, Ernak’s horse whinnied and tried to buck, but the chieftain kept it under control as Vrand’s talons closed around the topmost girder of the heap and lifted it away as easily as picking up a twig.

           “Well?” said one of Ernak’s riders, an elderly woman astride a sturdy, placid black horse. “Are we going to let those constructs do all the work, or are we going to help?” She clapped her hands sharply. “Hop to it!”

           Ernak grinned and waved for the other riders to get to work. Before long, they had rigged up some makeshift harnesses for both the horses and Calburn’s pit pony constructs, and the miners quickly constructed a framework for a rudimentary pulley. Little by little, enough of the twisted metal was heaved aside to reveal the dark pit of the mine shaft, just enough to admit a person or two into its depths.

           Kedran knelt by the edge and squinted down into the blackness. “Can anyone down there hear me?” she yelled. Her voice echoed off the sheer walls of the shaft.

           A few seconds went by before a voice shouted back from somewhere far below, too faint to hear what it said. Kedran rubbed her fingers through her hair. “If anyone is hurt down there,” she called, speaking as loudly and as clearly as possible, “shine a light back up here!”

           Another few seconds passed, before a glimmer of light appeared at the bottom of the shaft. Kedran straightened up. “You,” she said, pointing at one of the mine workers. “Go get a harness from the storeroom. And you.” She pointed at Rhona. “You’re going to be wearing it.”

           The worker ran off towards one of the buildings. Rhona sighed and took her healing kit from Tyren’s saddle.

           “Do you know how to abseil?” asked Kedran. Rhona shook her head. “Fine. We’ll use a pulley. At least this place has no shortage of rope.”

           Rhona stood stock-still as the overseer fastened the straps of the harness around her waist and legs. Above, Vrand landed on the roof of the most solid of the remaining warehouses. Calburn shaded his eyes, watching carefully from the construct’s back as Kedran pulled the belt tight and clipped on a rope.

           “Tug the rope twice when you’re ready to get hauled back out,” said Kedran. “Good luck.”

           Vrand stepped awkwardly down from the warehouse roof to settle on the ground, watching with what appeared to be interest as Rhona was carefully lowered through the gap and into the mine shaft. Calburn folded his arms and sighed.

           “Don’t you worry about your young lady,” said the old woman on the black horse, guiding her mount to stand alongside Vrand’s neck. “Those ropes can hold a lot more weight than her.”

           “My y- Rhona? She’s not-” Calburn shook his head. “I mean, I love her, but not like that. She’s like a sister to me.”

           “Is that so?” The woman patted the side of Vrand’s neck, curiously running her fingers through the construct’s thick blond fur. “Well, she’ll still be fine either way.”

           Calburn looked down at her. “Are you Chief Ernak’s mother?”

           “His aunt,” she replied cheerfully. “The old chief – his father – was my younger brother. I would’ve been chief myself, but circumstances intervened. Only just got back from a long time in the Imperial City, and you can’t exactly lead a band across the Steppes if you don’t live here!”

           “How long were you in the city?”

           “Oh, the better part of a lifetime. I saw an opportunity that I thought could help my people – the Yaigan – and grabbed it with both hands.”

           “And did it?” asked Calburn, leaning on the front of Vrand’s saddle. “Help the Yaigan.”

           “Eventually,” she said with a grin. “But where are my manners? Aysel Darehyin Yaigani.”

           “Calburn Sayer. I’d shake your hand, but my arms aren’t long enough.”

           “I think I like you, Calburn Sayer.”

           Calburn smiled back. “I think I like you too, Aysel Darehyin Yaigani.” He climbed down from the saddle to stand between Vrand and Aysel’s horse, which did not seem to mind the construct’s presence. “I’ve never been to Kiraan itself,” he said, “though a couple of my friends visited for the new Emperor’s coronation last winter. Is it as impressive as they say?”

           “And more,” said Aysel. “The markets, the temples, the Arena. People, constructs, beasts. You can find just about anything you want there, if you know where to look – I suppose that’s the whole point of having an empire.” She reached forward with both arms, stretching out her upper back. “But I’m glad to be away,” she admitted. “Too crowded for a Steppe girl like me.”

           “I’m more of a city boy myself,” said Calburn, “but Stormhaven isn’t anything like as big as Kiraan. I’ve heard there are more people in the Imperial City than in the whole country of Stormhaven, let alone the city.”

           “That sounds about right, my boy.”

           After several hours of shifting wreckage, marshalling constructs, horses and humans, and building pulley systems, all of the miners and Rhona had been successfully retrieved from the bottom of the shaft. Kedran took a quick head count and, stone-faced, marched towards what remained of the headframe’s supports to inspect the girders still embedded in the concrete base.

           “This was no accident,” she said.

           “You sure, boss?” asked one of the miners.

           Kedran rubbed her fingers against the shattered concrete of one support and held up her hand to reveal dark dust staining her skin. “Black powder,” she said. “Probably stolen from the stores here – we use it for blasting sometimes. This was deliberate sabotage.”

           “That too,” said Roxy, galloping up on her little dun horse. Ernak had sent her to inspect the perimeter of the mine a couple of hours ago. “But I don’t think they were aiming for the mine itself.”

           “Explain,” said Kedran.

           “It was a distraction,” said Roxy, pointing over her shoulder. “The iron ox is gone.”

           “Longstride?” said Calburn.

           “And its drivers,” said Roxy, nodding. “There were signs of a struggle in the train shed. I found these.” She held up a fistful of brightly-coloured braided cloth, a dark scowl on her face.

           “Charek work,” said Ernak, holding one of the braids up to the light. “Any prints?”

           “None that I could see,” said Roxy.

           “Calburn, take that beast of yours back aloft,” said Kedran. “See if you can spot anything from the air.”

           “Right.”

           Vrand landed again ten minutes later, after flying several increasingly large circles around the mine. “Nothing,” said Calburn, shaking his head. “Not even a dust cloud. It’s like they’ve vanished into thin air.”

           “Maybe they have,” said Rhona suddenly. “Ernak – do the Charek have any Portallists among them?”

           Ernak wrinkled his nose in thought and looked at Aysel, raising his eyebrows.

           “It’s… not beyond the possible,” she admitted. “What do you think, Ernak?”

           Ernak sighed. “This is worrying,” he said. “The Charek have never stolen an iron ox before.” He looked at the sky for a moment and pulled the hood of his cloak forwards, shading his eyes. “We should ride for Khan’s Kurgan and tell the Great Khan what’s happened here. He’ll know what to do, or he’ll help us find someone who does.”

           Kedran nodded. “You wizards go with them,” she said. “Between the masks, the constructs and the healing you’ve already done, we can manage without you for a while. Might help the Yaigan’s case to have someone who understands magic along for the ride.”

           “And it’ll help Roxy to have her teachers along,” said Ernak, ruffling the girl’s hair to a grimace of teenage embarrassment.

           Calburn cracked his knuckles, looked around, and sighed deeply. Vrand vanished in a flash of light, leaving only his summoning stone lying on the ground. Calburn picked it up, clicked it back into its holder, and tucked it back inside his tunic. “Better pack what I can carry, then,” he said.

           “Come to the camp at dawn,” said Ernak. A small smile appeared on the nomad chieftain’s tattooed face. “You can help us take the tents down.”

~~~

I’m quite fond of, of all things, the intermittent mention of concrete in these stories. I feel it often gets avoided in fantasy for being too modern, but the Romans had concrete - the dome of the Pantheon in Rome is made of it, and still the largest unreinforced concrete dome in the world. There’s no reason they can’t have concrete.

Of course, it’s fantasy and they can have whatever technology I say they can, so nyeeeh.

#az writes stories