Some Kind of Red: Exordium

This my fic for Timaeus.

Some Kind of Red:

Exordium
-
i: Into the city:

Darkness clung to the land with its last vestige of strength; the night grew thin. The sun broke over the horizon, throwing forth its golden beams unto the world, a herald of things to come. The rods of gold tore through the gloaming, revealing the wonders that were nestled on the skin of the world. Hills, lakes, plains and life spread as far as any eye could see, and only those brave enough to venture forth from this chalice of paradise would ever lay eyes upon things such as those not here. In one place, on the side of the hill, the silence was permeated by laughter. A long, powerful laugh that spoke of things that had passed and things yet to come. Some would say it was the cackle of a madman, or the cheer of youth. Both were right.

This laughter that shredded the air, this cacophonous howl, roared out of a man’s mouth. He was tall, but his physique was hidden beneath a shroud of robes covered in a chequered pattern of black and white. He had sleek, black hair streaked with white. His eyes were a jade green, and were wide open and bulging with delight. At his side he clutched a round, wooden shield, the edge of which was rimmed with a jagged and bent blade that gleamed in the new sun. His most extraordinary features were his wings, which spread to at least twenty feet. His eyes danced in their sockets, flinging themselves in random directions.

Timaeus stopped laughing. Slovenly, his free hand reached towards his eyes and shielded them from the onslaught of light in the east. But the sun was the least of his worries. Word had reached his ear of many people disappearing lately, and Timaeus had tried to follow them to their nexus, tried to find where the people had disappeared. No matter how hard he tried, though, his insanity always got the best of him. He had learnt that he could not defeat the seed that had grown into a thorny bramble within his mind, and that he would have to learn to harness it, climb it. He could not go on laughing randomly at intervals of his day when his concentration was required at its full. His mind was not under his control, and he required it to be if anything was to go according to plan. He had spent too long in the wilderness, and now was the time to act. He needed to be around people, he needed to be in a civilised place.

Timaeus’ eyes closed slowly, and his brow furrowed. He moved his hands in a strange, tangled form.

When he opened his eyes, he was standing in an abandoned alleyway crammed among the slums of a city. Overhead there hung half-dried washing, moist shadows of water on beneath them the only imprint they left on the waking world. He walked past garbage and grime into a street. Either this was built very hastily, or it has been here for a long time.

Timaeus chuckled. “Probably the first.” The words were rough around the edges, but soft in a way that would make others stare, if there were such “others” in that place.

It was not a scenic walk, through the houses of the poor, the shantytown. The buildings about him slowly, but surely, grew bigger and grander with every step of Timaeus’ unshod feet. His ghost-pale skin held no lustre in the sun, unlike the black streaks of his hair, teasing the light about them. Already he felt more at ease, and his eyes were much less bloodshot and his walk was more regular.

After an hour or so of slow walking, Timaeus’ eyes beheld many more people, people that formed a throng and acted as a whole, writhing through the streets that were the veins of the city. The people were of all sorts, mixed together in a way that made every person an individual entity against the light backdrop of others about them. They were the entire centre of attention, but not as a whole. The individuals were the centres of everything in those streets, the reason the city was there.

Timaeus’ mind spun for a moment, extreme pain and shock reverberating through the vestiges of his cranium, and then it vanished. After that moment, that tiny instant, Timaeus breathed easier, saw clearer, felt better. It was an odd feeling though, that pain, and a shard of it remained deep within his mind. And it puzzled him, how that pain was the worst and the best thing all in a millisecond.

Timaeus knew something was waiting to happen in this city.

OoC: Feel free to comment, if you so wish.
BiC:




Some Kind of Red:

Exordium

-
ii: Down the rabbit hole:

Timaeus’ heavy steps landed on the ground amongst many people. He paid them no heed, and knocked those who were in his way and overtook those who were to slow. His intentions were not malicious, just to merely get to a tavern or pub; He needed the word of the people.

As he strode through the crowd, his face contemplative, he glanced across the street at the militia that stood guard over the more expensive houses and parliament buildings. They were stern-faced, and wore marvelous jade-green jackets and held long halberds that they leaned on as they did their job, which looked rather like nothing, to Timaeus. One stretched over and whispered in another’s ear. The listener’s eyes squinted and his grin expanded to cover more of his face before he burst into tears, laughing. Onlookers stopped for a few moments before dragging on, but the guards either did not notice, or failed to give a thought to those who it was their job to protect and police. They did not seem the intelligent kind.

The crowd slowly began to dissolve into the buildings that flanked the street as the sun rose to its height and stared down on the world with its complete strength and heat. Merchants in the street closed their shops and retired for the afternoon, taking with them their goods and trinkets. And suddenly, the street was bereft of life and the wind picked up, carrying dust to a new destination. Timaeus lifted his hood over his head and shuddered as the wind got cooler as it got stronger, like a gesture of forsaking.

On his left he could see an Inn, and he sauntered up to its doors.

Timaeus’ nose was greeted by the scent of smoke and mead, a sweet yet vile concoction. He gagged. He coughed. People looked. The awkward moment dissolved into time quickly, and everyone went on with their business, whether it was a binge or a half-drunken, all-but-smothered conversation. Timaeus straightened his physique, pulling his shoulders back and rising to his full height, wings folded.

One table in the haze hosted three young gentlemen whose garments were aged and well weathered. Timaeus came down on them, the enigma that he was. The conversation ground to a halt and slithered into the abyss.

“Who are you?” one man asked, his words barely audible through his lax jaw. His eyes had a look of resentment floating through them, like a cloud of darkness.

“You men shan’t turn your attention to such matters.” Timaeus spoke in his usual tone, impolite, yet respectful. The man that had spoken before raised an eyebrow questioningly. “I’d like to know if anyone has gone missing of late.”

One of the youths laughed slyly. “Are you a fool? You must be one secluded man to not have heard of such–” he burped, “things” Timaeus’ grip on the table tightened, and the youth started more carefully after hearing the table crunch. “A few people have disappeared, yes.”

“When?”

“It started a month ago.”

“Any certain type of people? Anyone in particular?” Timaeus leaned closer the speaker, the least drunk of the three men.

“Mages, mostly. Gypsy-folk and the like.” The man, obviously intimidated, shifted uncomfortably in his seat, moistening his lips. He uttered a hushed syllable, but hastily swallowed his words.

“Thank you for this very intelligent and deeply meaningful conversation,” Timaeus rose from his seat, “and I’m leaving now.”

The men at the table stared, confused, at the enigmatic figure that haunted the darkness. They squinted as light beamed through the door for the quick moment that it swung open as Timaeus left.



The sun had lost a considerable amount of heat in the time Timaeus had spent in the tavern. It was now three-quarters through its day-cycle. In a few hours twilight would take the city, when the sky would darken without complaint.