Soul's Song (Chapter 1.1)

THE town of Kelsa had always had a strange aura about it. The populace went about their daily lives like normal, good folk would. The crying of wares at the bazaar could match the busiest this side of the Alasian continent; peddlers gripping prized items of interest shook them at passerbys to somehow coerce them to have a gander. It was a day like all days. The riverside bustled with labourers bending their backs to make the day's loadings and unloadings. Up and down stream, the steady lines of rivercraft bumbled on their way to foist off their goods at other cities along the Golden River. Dockworkers that were not on their prescribed shift, lounged on the hard salty boards of the quay. A bottle of warm mead in on hand, and throwing about dice with the other. Visitors took all this in stride, it was another trade town on another busy day. Locals went about their business in quick strides to keep up with the pace of the town. So normal it almost begged to be looked at twice.

Shifty-eyed and wary, the town's guards went on their rounds with little mishap. The occassional ruffian or quick-fingered riff-raff provide some form of entertainment for these old veterans of past scuffles under their clunky belts, and scars hidden beneath their pride polished chainmail. Residents show their appreciation with flashed smiles and offers of food and drink to tide the soldiers' over till sundown, only to be politely refused and responded to with a grateful but curt waves of grizzled hands.

But it was not the town guard, nor the peddlers, nor the lounging dock coolies that made this riverport city vibrate with an almost mechanical feel. Underneath it all, a palpable sense of reverence and fear permeated through the channels of people that streamed through out the town as its lifelines.

Darran felt this keenly in his consciousness. Donning the familiar white robe, with the crimson emblem of his order beaming on his chest, he flowed along through his birth town like a white stain on a muddy path. It was not just him, the Ariah's as they were called went through the city on their own business like normal folk would, but that's where the normalcy ends. Residents bowed quickly whenever one of his own passed them by. Windows would stealthily shut themselves without visual evidence of anyone closing them. Unconsiously, the streams of bodies would curve around these white robed figures to avoid any form of proximity.

"Pathetic beings. One would think by now that they would have adapted. Such a fallen race your kinsmen are," sniffed a disembodied voice a little to Darran's right.

"Peace Goza! By the Father's Light: you're the anomaly here. Act like one, and be still," snapped Darran in irritation.

The spectre called Goza chuckled dryly, "Feeling a little peevish today aren't we young master Darran?"

"Let's just finish what we came here to do so I can go back in peace to my notes."

An overly audible sigh escaped from the spectre, causing the surrounding people to jump in surprise; wide-eyed and fearful.

"Please don't do that."

"My apologies, the thought of your notes brings out such joy in me."

"Goza..."

"Sorry."