Untitled
by Armon
      A warm wind blew from the south, giving flight to a piece of paper Arison Blaise was reading. He scrambled to his feet and snatched it from the air, grumbling because it was the third time that had happened, and sat back on the plain stone bench and read the paper. The paper was a sheet he had torn from a large book in an accident recently, a paper he almost always carried on his person. Every word was familiar to him, even the ones written in a language he could not understand, as he had read it time and time again, memorizing everything. He was sitting on a stone bench outside a large temple in Ba-ul Naran, a wealthy and well-known city. The bench was in the garden in the back of the temple, where there were a few benches like the one he occupied, as well as two matching tables. It was a very peaceful place, especially on a clear day like today was.
      "Arison! Boy, where are you? Get in here!" The loud voice startled Arison and broke his peace, and he quickly folded up the paper and put it in his pocket and walked towards the temple.
      "Grumpy old bastard," Arison muttered to himself. The priest sounded drunk again, no uncommon thing these days.
      He left the bench he was sitting at and went towards a large doorway. The large and elaborately worked marble doorway gave way into an enormous round room, with obsidian columns towering to the domed ceiling. Rows of benches made from a dark wood, and covered with thick velvet cushions, circled the outer edge of the room. Arison always liked this room; its beauty was incredible, like something from a dream. The ceiling was a dome made of a translucent red stone some 50 feet high at its peak, which during the light of day would bathe the entire room with a warm, slightly red light. Arison had heard people say the roof was made of the largest ruby ever found, but that wasn't believable and he dismissed it.
      Hearing his name shouted drunkenly again, he hurried through a side door into a small, yet equally elaborate room. The walls and ceiling were of a polished white marble, and a large wooden desk of elven make stood in the center of the room. Seated directly behind that desk was a large man, balding and with an ever-present frown on his face. Rich red robes made of fine materials covered his fat body. He was the priest, a powerful one, and a worthless excuse for one.
      "The temple is filthy. Clean it, boy. And hurry with it, I don't pay you for all of that sitting around you do." He continued with his drunken mumbling for a minute, mostly about how lazy and worthless Arison was. "Make sure this place is absolutely spotless, I have important guests coming over later today."
      Then why the hell are you getting so drunk, Arison thought to himself. He bowed quickly and turned and walked out of the room, towards the room where all cleaning supplies were kept. He loved this temple, even if he chose to worship no gods, but how he hated the priest. If he had any family or friends, he would have left long ago, but he had nothing. With a sigh, he grabbed a handful of rags and a small flask of polish for the wood from the cleaning room. Frowned at the rags, asking himself why he was still here. He was young and healthy and intelligent, surely it wouldn't take long to find a job somewhere, so he could get out of the temple and away from the drunken ramblings of a tired old priest. That same priest would probably never let him leave the temple though, so Arison thought it would be best if he just left without notice. Drunken bastard wouldn't even notice me until he wanted something cleaned.
      Carefully peeking around corners, so as to keep his leave unnoticed, Arison quickly ran towards his room. He had very few possessions, and those that he had were mostly worthless to him. He grabbed a few spare clothes and stuffed them in a small bag, which he strapped across his back. Once again peeking around every corner, within seconds Arison was out of the temple. A large smile grew on his face as he walked out onto the large cobblestone street.
      It was late morning, and the streets were slightly crowded, as could be expected for one of the main roads in the city of Ba-ul Naran. This close to the temple, there were men wearing velvet and silk with swords at their hip or on their back, and ladies in fine dresses walking, sometimes with a large bodyguard walking next to them, eying everyone suspiciously and keeping a hand on the hilts of their short swords or cudgels. Shops of all kinds lined the wide street, as well as pubs and inns. Hawkers shouting loudly for people to buy their goods and the low hum of conversation blending made for a noisy street, but at least the people were mostly polite. Those that bumped into him usually muttered a quick apology as they walked by. Arison stopped for a moment in front of a weaponsmith, watching a thickly muscled man hammering away at a piece of red hot metal. On an impulse, he spent a few silver on long and simple dagger for his belt.
      As he was leaving the smithy, two young boys ran into him, knocking him over. Before Arison could berate them for their rudeness, they were already gone. As he stood and dusted himself off, he noticed a problem with his belt pouch, where he kept his small amount of coin. Mainly, the problem was its complete absence.
      "Thieves!" He tried running through the crowd after the boys, but running through a crowded street is never easy, and after only a short moment he not only had lost them, but he had no idea where he was. Fishing through his pockets, he found that he only had one silver piece and a few coppers left. He knew he could get more money, but he would not like what he would have to do to get it. Arison started walking towards the center of the town, where the inns were larger, and people wore silk more often and ragged wool less. It took him but a few minutes to find an ideal place.
      The Three Lions was a large inn, standing three stories above the cobblestone street. Arison had heard of it, but this was his first visit. As he walked through the open front doors into the common room, he quickly noticed how out of place he was. His clothes were well made dark cotton, but he was amongst lesser nobles and wealthy merchants wearing expensive fabrics in rich colors. Quickly, he took a table in a corner where he had a view of most of the room. A barmaid wearing a very low cut dress asked him if he could use a drink or food. She had to ask twice, as his attention was directed elsewhere than her eyes.
      "Um yes," Arison stammered. "A mug of ale, please." He tossed his last remaining silver piece to her uncaringly, attempting to appear slightly wealthier than he looked. She laughed at him and walked away, towards the bar.
      Looking carefully around the room, Arison tried to find a victim. There was a man in a green coat embroidered with gold, wearing heavy gold links around his neck, standing shoulder to shoulder with others at the bar. He would have been a prime target, were it not for his shifty eyes and the large sunken knuckles of a brawler. Arison thanked the barmaid absentmindedly as she brought his mug of ale, and he finally found what he was looking for. Two tables away there were three men playing a game of cards, each man very drunk and very rich, made obvious by the large piles of gold in front of each one. They laughed loudly as they tossed their coins around during the game. Drunk as they were, this would still be difficult. He needed a distraction.
      His eyes went back to the large man with the shifty eyes. The man had shoulders the size of a blacksmith, and long black hair hanging in curls to his shoulders. He was sitting at the bar, on a stool next to other men, but he appeared not to know any of them. Arison fixed his attention on the man's belt. A large and elaborate sword hung there by a few golden chains. Arison concentrated on the belt, thankful that he was sitting in the corner. The sword jerked backwards, as if someone had grabbed it.
      The man stood up quickly enough to startle those next to him, and glared around with cold eyes. He shoved the man on his right, saying accusing words in a gravely voice. The other man, obviously offended, stood up and swung his fist at him. After only a few seconds, they were punching each other repeatedly, and causing quite a commotion. Now was his chance.
      Arison looked back to the table where the three drunken men were playing cards. Like everyone else in the bar, they were watching the fight. One of them was cheering the fight on, like a drunken idiot. Arison concentrated on one of the piles of gold, and slowly the pile began to move. A coin slid off the table to the floor, and then slid right to his foot. Then another coin. Then another. After a few seconds, he had a small pile of gold at his feet. He quickly reached down and picked them up, counting them as he filled his pockets. I never knew it would be this easy, he thought.
      A huge man ran up to the fight and punched each on directly in the face, knocking them senseless. Cursing loudly at them, he grabbed each one by his belt and began dragging them towards the door, while shouting a warning to anyone else that felt like causing trouble in the inn. The bar was still in quite a commotion, and so Arison, with a grin on his face, looked back to his table of men. He decided to try his luck.
      One of the men had set some of his possessions at his feet, in order to make room on the table as he stood on it when he cheered the fight on. His friends thought him very funny, clapping and laughing a bit too loudly. Arison quickly turned his attention to the pile at the foot of the chair, and it slid across the floor towards him. He unstrapped his bag from across his back and set it on top of the pile, hiding it. Looking around, he was relieved when he noticed that no one had seen him. Well, no one except the barmaid that had brought his drink to him. She was staring at him with open-mouthed disbelief, obviously to shocked for words. When their eyes met, she quickly recovered and ran to a large man with a white apron tied across his chest, who was most likely the innkeeper.
      Arison reached down and grabbed his bag and shoved the other man's items inside, and hurried out of the inn. As he was leaving, he heard a voice roaring from inside, probably the innkeeper yelling for him. Arison immediately started running, not caring when he ran into people. Voices shouted behind him, promising a lot of pain if he was caught. He ducked into a side street that was less crowded, and then onto a narrow alley. His eyes darted around and found a small ladder, which he set against the back of a small shop. After running up the ladder onto the roof, he pulled the ladder up with him, trying to be somewhat quiet. He lay back on the roof, breathing hard and laughing quietly to himself. It was a rush, using his gift after such a long time. It also brought back memories of all the trouble and pain his gift had caused him in the past.
      Sorting around in his bag, he pulled out what he had taken. A belt pouch made from black velvet, with lots of golden trim, and it was full of large golden coins. A hooded cloak made of thick dark blue silk, embroidered with golden thread around every edge, and a beautiful clasp made of gold inset with dark blue stones. It had to be worth a fortune. And to his delight, he also had acquired a dagger, with a handle and sheath made of the same material, black in color and appearing to be snakeskin, but the scales were much to large, and it felt much stronger than any snakeskin he had every touched. When he drew it from its scabbard, the long blade reflected the sun almost like a mirror. The blade was around a foot long, and razor sharp on both edges. Smiling to himself, Arison attached it to his belt, removing the dagger he had bought earlier today. It suddenly looked very plain. He stuffed it in his bag, and pulled out a spare shirt. He removed his dark gray shirt that he was wearing, and put on a plain white one. After putting on his new silk cloak, which fortunately for him actually fit, he slowly crawled up to the front edge of the roof, peeking around.
      He recognized a few men from the inn, walking back towards it. Wealthy nobles and merchants obviously had no time to chase a poor commoner, and they would leave it to hired thugs to bring him back. Arison crawled back towards the back of the shop and let the ladder down, quickly climbing down it. He followed the alley he was on for a few minutes, walking away from the inn, and finally went back towards the main street. Some people gave him a strange look, wearing plain dark gray pants, an even plainer white shirt, and a cloak and a dagger fit for a nobleman.
      Giving thought to that, Arison ducked inside the nearest clothing store he could find. He replaced his shirt with a well-made dark red shirt in the latest style, mainly because it was the only shirt already made in the shop that fit him. His pants, while plain, would suffice. He walked back on the street, still without a clue as to where he was and what he was going to do. Looking around for another inn, he finally found a nice one, The King's Blessing.
      It certainly was a nice inn, nearly as nice as The Three Lions. The common room was around halfway full of people sitting at tables, and in a corner there were two men, one with a flute and one with a dulcimer, playing a catchy tune. Arison found the innkeeper, a round man with a wisp of gray hair on his head, and asked him for a room. The rooms were surprisingly expensive, but then Arison had to remind himself that he was in the wealthy part of the city, so it was to be expected.
      Once inside his room, he set his belongings down on a stool and lay back on the bed with his hands behind his head. He had been a fool, using his gift like that around so many people, but he was rather low on options at the time. He decided to count his newly found money, and was surprised at the amount he had. Where he was born, he could have lived for nearly a year on what he had just acquired in a few minutes’ time. His cloak did draw a bit of attention, when worn by a young man with plain clothing, so he decided to leave it on his bed as he stood up.
      He walked down the stairs back to the common room and sat at the nearest table to him. More people had walked in since he got here. A barmaid wearing a tight dress approached him, and he was careful not to stare at her when he ordered a plate of food. When she brought it, he found that this place had fine food, some of the best he had ever had.
      The sun had begun to go down, and the common room was filling up quickly, and a man sat down at his table. He nodded at Arison and gave a questioning look, as if to ask if his presence was welcome, and Arison nodded back at him. At least, he started to, but he stopped as soon as he actually looked at the man.
      He looked to be the same height at Arison, but with a slender, delicate bone structure. Eyes like large green gems set in a tanned long face looked back without emotion. His hair was brown and long, tied back at the nape of his neck, and he had pointed ears. The man shifted uncomfortably, and Arison realized he was staring.
      "You act like you've never seen an elf before," The man said. When Arison shook his head, the man surprised Arison by laughing. "Never seen an elf? Where have you been all your life?"
      "Well, I was born down south, in the village of Canatra, but I left there a few years ago and I've lived in the temple here since."
      "That must be a small village, even I’ve never heard of it. A few years ago? You can't be more than what, nineteen years old?" When Arison nodded, the elf continued. "Why would you leave so early? And for that matter, why would you live in a temple with the priest? Do any of you humans realize what a waste that man is?"
      "I'd rather not go into that subject, " Arison said dryly. "My reasons for leaving aren't exactly pleasant. I lived in the temple because I had nowhere else to go, and he allowed me to live there and even paid me a small amount, in return for me cleaning everything constantly. I don't care for him either, he's a disgusting drunken bastard."
      The elf chuckled. "I see a lot of anger in you, that's not good for one so young. Relax over a mug of wine with me, will you? Hey! Can we get some wine over here?" A barmaid quickly brought two large mugs of wine, and blushed when the Elf winked at her and slipped her a gold coin, which Arison suspected was much more than the two mugs of wine were worth. He held out his hand towards Arison. "Aeneas Lasair." Arison shook his hand and replied with his name.
      "So, young Arison. You ran away from home at an early age, lived in a temple with a drunken priest, and now you pay for rooms in a fine inn. I must get you drunk, your story is one I would love to hear."
      Arison was slightly offended at first, but then realized the Elf was making lighthearted jokes. The two laughed and talked over quite a few mugs of wine until late at night. Arison found that Aeneas had left his Elven city because they considered him too hotheaded and quick to act. He loved the society, but much preferred the energy and ever-present trouble in Human lands. Arison had a feeling the Aeneas got himself in a lot of trouble and was thrown out, but didn't want to admit to it.
      The wine had loosened his brain more than he thought, and Arison pulled out the paper he always carried with him and asked Aeneas if he was able to read parts of it, which he was, as much of the paper was written in elven script. The paper spoke of a rare occurrence when children were born with mental powers, able to control the elements with their minds. What Arison had never been able to read, but found out now, was that some in the years past had not been able to control their powers and had gone insane, killing hundreds and thousands of people by mentally ripping the hearts out of their chests, and other gruesome ways. Many years ago, all of the people who had the gift and were still sane had joined together in an attempt to learn more about their powers, and had recorded vast amounts of knowledge pertaining to it, but they were greatly feared, and many thought these people to be abominations, and they were all killed or driven into hiding. When Aeneas was done reading, Arison thanked him and tucked the paper back in his pocket.
      "From what book did you tear that from? Elves are great gatherers of knowledge, but I have heard nothing about that before."
      "Well..." Arison went on uneasily. His fear was anyone finding out that he had this gift, and the past repeating itself. "I was in the library at the temple once, just idly searching for something interesting to read, and I found a book that must have been hundreds of years old. I slipped and dropped it as I was pulling it off the shelf and this page was torn out, and I stuffed it in my pocket without thinking. The book was highly prized by the priest, I know that much." A lie of course. Arison had been looking for anything that would help him understand the strange power he had. "I didn't get to look through the book to see what else was in it, but one day I would love to."
      "So would I." Aeneas said. He gave a mischievous grin. "Would you like me to help you go steal the book?" The wine had put a twinkle in his eyes. Yes, this Elf definitely was kicked out, he didn't leave any city.
      Arison thought for a moment. In one day's time he had already stolen more money than he had ever seen before in his life, as well as a valuable cloak and a magnificent dagger, and that along with the ale in this body gave him a strong desire to go back to the temple for the book. Besides, he wanted to know what else was in the book. "Okay, you have yourself a deal. Let me get my things." Arison ran upstairs and grabbed his cloak, stuffing it in his bag and throwing the bag across his back. He thought for a moment, and then decided to wear his new dagger.
      He came downstairs to find Aeneas waiting near the front door for him. He was wearing a green cloak so dark that it looked black, and a shirt of the same color. His pants and boots were of black leather, and finely made. Why am I doing this? Arison thought.
      "One problem though, I don't really know where I am, so I don't know how to get to the temple from here."
      The elf laughed softly. "Did you ever do anything besides clean when you were at the temple? Don't worry; I know precisely where we are. Just follow me." Aeneas noticed Arison's dagger, but said nothing about it.
      They went onto the street, walking quickly towards the temple. Within a few minutes’ time, they were standing before the front gate to the temple. It truly was beautiful, made of various colors of marble, and with a large dome made of a strange red stone topping it. It was said to be made by dwarves, as they were the only ones skilled enough with stone to do something like this.
      Aeneas climbed the high stone wall like it was a ladder, and reached down to help Arison up. When they were on the other side of the temple, Arison lead the way into the temple, towards its library. They were careful not to make any sound, and to disturb nothing. It took longer than Arison expected, but soon they were in the library looking for the book. Arison described it to Aeneas, and after around half an hour, they were able to find it. Aeneas had tucked a few other small books under his arm. He shrugged and said they looked interesting.
      So with the book in hand, Arison slowly crept out of the library, with Aeneas right behind him. They were cautious and extremely quiet, and were almost out of the temple when they heard soft footsteps. They stopped at the end of the hallway they were at, both cursing silently. Within seconds, the priest himself walked by the opening of the hallway in the direction of the kitchen. Probably getting another bottle of whiskey. Arison breathed a sigh of relief when the fat man walked by without noticing them. They stood up and left the hallway they were in, and began walking towards the main room, when they heard a shout.
      "Get your asses back here! Thieves! I'll kill you!"
      The priest was running towards them with a butcher knife in one hand and a bottle of whiskey in the other. Arison would have run, but the priest was surprisingly quick and was getting very near. Almost without thought, Arison found the nearest bench and concentrated on it, making it slide across the floor towards the priest, causing him to run straight into it and fall to the ground. He sat on the ground wide-eyed, drool running from his mouth. Yes, he was definitely drunk. Aeneas was staring at Arison in wide-eyed disbelief.
      "You." The priest pointed at Arison. "I know what you are." He shouted. "You are cursed! Damned by the gods themselves!" The priest quickly stood up and ran towards Arison, with obvious intent to kill. "I absolve thee!" He raised his dagger high above his head.
      There were numerous large candle stands around the room with candles burning day and night. Arison made the two nearest ones crash into the priest, and the bottle crashed to the ground. Almost instantly it caught fire, completely covering the priest in a matter of seconds. The priest screamed in pain and ran at them in a last attempt, but crashed onto a bench dead. The fire ran from his body on the bench, igniting the cushion and burning the wood also.
      Arison and Aeneas gave each other equal uneasy looks. This was not supposed to happen. They turned and ran out of the building as the flames began to engulf the benches. When they reached the wall, Aeneas helped Arison over, and then drew his sword.
      "I have a really bad feeling about this," Aeneas said with a grimace. He looked over his shoulder at the temple. A steadily growing stream of smoke was rising from inside.
      Almost before he finished saying that, a city guard came running towards them, yelling for them to drop to the ground. Aeneas told Arison to leave for the inn; he would catch up to him later, and took a step towards the guard. Within seconds the guard was on him, swinging his axe with expert accuracy. Aeneas knew his way with a sword, fending off every swing of the axe, and finally slashing the guard across the face. The guard screamed and dropped his axe, clutching his bloody face. Aeneas grabbed Arison's arm and pulled him along, running full speed down the streets. It was past midnight, and the streets were almost empty, so there was nothing to hinder their movement.
      "He'll be okay, but he'll have a scar. I wanted to avoid killing him. I steal, I don't kill."
      Suddenly Aeneas yelled out and fell to the ground. Arison tripped over him and fell also, and when he looked at Aeneas, he saw a small arrow sticking out of his back. He looked back and saw the city guard still sitting there with his face in his hands, but two more guards had come to his aid, and one had a bow. He was quickly readying another arrow.
      "Take this." Aeneas undid his belt and handed his belt, scabbard, and sword to Arison, as well as a small canvas sack that he had stuffed a few books from the library in. "Use it to defend yourself if you must." He coughed up a small amount of blood and struggled to his feet. "Run, if you want to live! We'll meet again, I give you my word. And use your gift wisely!" With that he stumbled into a side alley. Arison turned to run.
      A sharp pain filled Arison's shoulder as an arrow sliced across it. Had he not just turned, that arrow would have taken his heart instead. Wincing in pain, he gathered up all that Aeneas had given him, and turned and ran down the street, ducking into the first alley he could find.
      He ran for what seemed hours, and finally slumped against a wall, exhausted. Examining his shoulder, he saw that his wound was not too deep, but the arrow had been extremely sharp and the wound was bleeding profusely. Arison took a spare shirt from his bag and tore a strip from it, to bind the wound and slow the bleeding. He took the time to stuff everything in one bag, so he could have a free hand, and strapped on the belt and scabbard. The sword Aeneas had given him was a beautiful sword, long and slightly curved, and sharp on one edge. The handle was strange, textured leather. Upon closer examination, Arison noted that it was the same odd snakeskin-like material that his dagger had as a handle. I'll admire it later; I have more important things to worry about now. Arison slowly walked out to the end of the alley, peeking around the edge. Only a few people walked the streets at this hour, and none of them were wearing heavy armor and wielding axes like the city guards, so he decided to risk it and began walking down the street.
      After a while, he began recognizing a few of the buildings. It dawned on him that he was near the inn where he had met Aeneas. Soon enough, he found it and walked inside and to his room. He collapsed on the bed, exhausted.
      He had stolen gold and a dagger, valuable books, and aided in killing the priest. He had made a friend, who was now most likely dead. And yet he was still alive. Arison wasn't sure whether to laugh or cry.