November 2020 Patreon Snippet: Talarae
A bit shorter than the others, but I hope it gives you a bit of a taste about certain parts of the story! If you've played the Novik Desert background, you'll notice a few things too
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Kenorath tells her to keep still, keep silent, keep watchful, keep wary, and to do, above all, especially when caught in an elemental storm. Perhaps his careful demeanor was the reason she left his employment and went on to master her own form of harvesting—becoming a harvester in her own right by her own code. She was not the careful type, and never could be what Kenorath tried to teach her to be. Maybe that’s why she is more successful than he is?
After all, he’s never held a magical weapon in his hand, has he?
The glimmer of magic is obvious, the sheen of the weapon glinting with it. Her hand buzzes just from the proximity, but this is not the first time she’s held such a weapon, and it won’t be the last. She’d been young then, thinking she could sneak and steal like a thief in the night, and get away without consequences. Her savior, of all people, had been a child, but she is not bitter, she doesn’t have time for that not when she’s holding something of such value in her hands time after time, because of them.
Her collection grows, and though she does report her work, she keeps a bit on the side for herself—only the good stuff, of course. She flickers her wrist and the dagger slips between her fingers, sharp and pointy, magic buzzing, until it becomes hot to the touch. She grows familiar with it: is it fire magic? Electricity? If she moved her wrist just so, would she scorch a trail of embers or could she cleave an entire tree in half with a thunderous boom?
She wants to try it. She is hyped on adrenaline, excitement, obsession…
She swings the blade in an arc, up, away from her face, and the magic erupts on command like she knew it would. Flames, she thinks, with a smirk, as fire leaps from the dagger’s point following the path of her blade. She cannot hide her grin. Again and again she lets it fly, the magic spiraling out as easy as breathing. Is this how it feels to know magic? To be able to think and command it at will so effortlessly? She’s jealous of The Enchanter, for being able to do something like this without blinking.
When she has had enough (it will never be enough, but she can temper her excitement for a little while), she brings the dagger to her lips and kisses the blade. Her lips burn and she laughs delightedly, in love already with the feel of it, the danger. She’ll have to keep this one. She can find another to bring the to Council. She can engender it, after all, she’s don’t this a number of times already before.
Kenorath would not be pleased to know what she does, what sorts of dangerous excursions she engineers to get the things she wants. Harvesting is an art, a careful art, he used to tell her. Your safety is always the first priority.
There is a storm over the horizon, in the sands of the Novik Desert just over the hill she is climbing. She grins with all her teeth. Shall she run head first into that torrent? It won’t be the first time, and it won’t be the last.
