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Jul. 12th, 2008 06:49 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
maderrSeconds should be around at some point. I need to fight with the end a bit.
In the meantime, here is start of new idea.
Pyromancy, Galen thought, was the art of divination by fire.
Azar of Tallarah certainly looked like a master of fire divination. He looked like fire.
His eyes held the deep gold spark of magic within their depths, eyes that seemed blue or red or violet by turns, but never one color long enough for him to discern which was the truest. His ash blonde hair was neither long nor short, but fell just past his ears, cut rough and uneven, with myriad bells, bobbles, medallions, and coins woven through it and dangling from the ends.
A leather cord was strung around his neck, from which hung a diviner's medallion – in gold, which marked him as top level.
He was dressed simply, compared to his fellow diviners – dark brown hose and knee high boots. His tunic fell to mid-shin, split up the sides, sleeveless, with an undershirt the same color as the hose. It was dyed a deep red, trimmed with strips of plain brown. He bore no crest or sigil across his breast, which was odd, but Galen was not surprised.
Despite the cool weather, he wore no cloak.
Given the nature of his divination, Galen supposed Azar did not require one.
He watched as Azar chose a seat tucked into the corner of the tavern and ordered an ale from a passing wench.
Ordering another of his own when the same wench passed his table, he kept a surreptitious watch on Azar.
It was certainly no chore. The Tallarah diviners were as known for their beauty as their talent. Beautiful like a blade, or a hawk. Diviners were usually a soft, flashy lot – theirs was the telling of fortunes, the craft of balancing good news with bad and making coin of it. Equal parts charlatan and true mage, most diviners.
According to everything he heard, the Tallarah diviners were the real thing. Not a single drop of charlatan to be found, if his initial impressions of Azar were to be trusted. There was no flash in his dress, his manner. Beyond the hair, which was common to the region – not a single person save himself in the place had hair free of trinkets.
He shifted his gaze to the wench as she delivered his new ale, then slid his gaze back to Azar's table – and froze to see that Azar was blatantly watching him.
The impulse to drop his gaze was strong, but Galen was not so weak as that. He met the flickering eyes unflinching, confused when Azar smirked at him and then slowly shifted his gaze to just past Galen's shoulder.
Realizing he was meant to follow the shifting gaze, Galen looked over his shoulder.
To see the other Tallarah diviner.
Like his twin brother, Darya of Tallarah seemed an embodiment of his magic. His hair was more exotic, done up in what must be hundreds of little braids, each one secured at the end with a bone-carved bead. Like Azar, his eyes never quite seemed to settle, but at turns seemed blue, red, and violet.
He was dressed exactly like his brother, save that he wore gray instead of brown, and blue instead of red. The only gold he wore was the medallion strung from leather around his neck.
Hydromancy, Galen thought, was the art of divination by water.
Darya walked across the tavern – and sat down at Galen's table. He shoved back his braids and smiled. "Captain, you're looking well this evening."
"Well indeed," Azar said as he joined them. "Have you eaten? The food here is not bad."
Galen frowned. "You knew I was coming." He did bother to ask how – that was the dumbest question anyone could ask a diviner, never mind twin diviners with opposing powers.
"We've been waiting a long time, Captain," Darya said with a nod. "Let's discuss the reason you have come, and then we will discuss more important matters."
Diviners. Galen shook his head. "Let's have that food first."
In the meantime, here is start of new idea.
Pyromancy, Galen thought, was the art of divination by fire.
Azar of Tallarah certainly looked like a master of fire divination. He looked like fire.
His eyes held the deep gold spark of magic within their depths, eyes that seemed blue or red or violet by turns, but never one color long enough for him to discern which was the truest. His ash blonde hair was neither long nor short, but fell just past his ears, cut rough and uneven, with myriad bells, bobbles, medallions, and coins woven through it and dangling from the ends.
A leather cord was strung around his neck, from which hung a diviner's medallion – in gold, which marked him as top level.
He was dressed simply, compared to his fellow diviners – dark brown hose and knee high boots. His tunic fell to mid-shin, split up the sides, sleeveless, with an undershirt the same color as the hose. It was dyed a deep red, trimmed with strips of plain brown. He bore no crest or sigil across his breast, which was odd, but Galen was not surprised.
Despite the cool weather, he wore no cloak.
Given the nature of his divination, Galen supposed Azar did not require one.
He watched as Azar chose a seat tucked into the corner of the tavern and ordered an ale from a passing wench.
Ordering another of his own when the same wench passed his table, he kept a surreptitious watch on Azar.
It was certainly no chore. The Tallarah diviners were as known for their beauty as their talent. Beautiful like a blade, or a hawk. Diviners were usually a soft, flashy lot – theirs was the telling of fortunes, the craft of balancing good news with bad and making coin of it. Equal parts charlatan and true mage, most diviners.
According to everything he heard, the Tallarah diviners were the real thing. Not a single drop of charlatan to be found, if his initial impressions of Azar were to be trusted. There was no flash in his dress, his manner. Beyond the hair, which was common to the region – not a single person save himself in the place had hair free of trinkets.
He shifted his gaze to the wench as she delivered his new ale, then slid his gaze back to Azar's table – and froze to see that Azar was blatantly watching him.
The impulse to drop his gaze was strong, but Galen was not so weak as that. He met the flickering eyes unflinching, confused when Azar smirked at him and then slowly shifted his gaze to just past Galen's shoulder.
Realizing he was meant to follow the shifting gaze, Galen looked over his shoulder.
To see the other Tallarah diviner.
Like his twin brother, Darya of Tallarah seemed an embodiment of his magic. His hair was more exotic, done up in what must be hundreds of little braids, each one secured at the end with a bone-carved bead. Like Azar, his eyes never quite seemed to settle, but at turns seemed blue, red, and violet.
He was dressed exactly like his brother, save that he wore gray instead of brown, and blue instead of red. The only gold he wore was the medallion strung from leather around his neck.
Hydromancy, Galen thought, was the art of divination by water.
Darya walked across the tavern – and sat down at Galen's table. He shoved back his braids and smiled. "Captain, you're looking well this evening."
"Well indeed," Azar said as he joined them. "Have you eaten? The food here is not bad."
Galen frowned. "You knew I was coming." He did bother to ask how – that was the dumbest question anyone could ask a diviner, never mind twin diviners with opposing powers.
"We've been waiting a long time, Captain," Darya said with a nod. "Let's discuss the reason you have come, and then we will discuss more important matters."
Diviners. Galen shook his head. "Let's have that food first."
