The Search Goes On

The tall, dark skinned man moved across the fields silently, as ever, wearing only a tasset and calf high boots, a long sword strapped to his back, bumping as he crouched and moved low and fast, under the eyes of the watchful scouts that littered this land around the imposing keep. As he moved he enjoyed the warm breeze on his scarred skin, reflecting in his thoughtful manner that the clothes he wore now were so similar to those he had worn so long ago when he had frantically tracked the order down, half out of his mind with terror, yet so different, finely made and not rags, feeling cool and light on him, the boots fitting his large feet well and comfortable.

Tecocoitzin paused, slipping into a drainage ditch as his sharp senses caught something. A scout, hidden to all eyes apart from his, scanning the land in his direction. The dark skinned one crouched in the ditch, waiting for the attention to pass by, musing as he did always.

He mused on those he was leaving behind, those he had left, and most of all on those who had left him.

Avalantes, master, first and foremost in his mind. Savior, the one who had shown such power over the demon god who shared his soul and body. Where was he now, where was he when he was needed the most to calm the fire that had been building inside since he went away? Master Ava would have known how to help him, would have spoken to him in the true tongue, understood him and put aside the time to work with him. But he was gone, vanished on his own errands, leaving his faithful slave behind.

Kyanth, the man who was at first seen as an upstart, an impostor, a hostile force to be reckoned with. Filling his master's boots with his stern and surly manner, so different to master Ava. Then parading his demon creature around, how hated, how detested, servant of Xotli from the realm that burned in Tec's soul. But the gently, though loud, shaman who spoke so strange to Tec's ears yet so familiar, bringing him and his foe together, letting an understanding in that the man wasn't evil, that he could grow to become a good and fair master in time.

But where did the promise go? The promise of helping Tec to write letters to his master Ava? Tec could never write them himself, his masters should know that, should know it was forbidden for him to record his thoughts onto parchment himself.

Then another change, just as Tec was getting used to the letter promising one. The priest. The weak priest of a god who binds his worshipers with chains of slavery as thick as any Xotli could. Tec had discussed long with another priest of these strange gods, master Tilrion, had seen past his flimsy rhetoric and brainwashing, to the heart of any religion. This other priest, how dare he tell Tec he wasn't going to teach him, that he was no longer a disciple! Tec had done nothing but work for his masters, translating runes and correcting books on the old sunken lands, expanding the study of articfacts and crystals with his own special view point on things. Then to be insulted by another in front of his masters and then told he wasn't to be taught.....only friend Justi and master Sof had kept him from leaving then....

Sofranith, dear sweet master, no, friend. The only one to break through his protective shell into his true heart and show him a soft and gentle path, her delicate face shining whenever he picked a pear instead of an apple from her tiny palms, his warm fingertips brushing on hers and sending his thoughts scattering. She understood him, even if they spoke in different words, she understood his fears. She understood the most about his homeland, sitting long hours on the banks of a river, finding the words to tell her coming more and more easily as her face lit up in awe.

A momentary rage filled him, the grass around him shiverling and crisping when his skin touched it, small puffs of smoke and flame, the power of a god coursing through his body unchecked for just a second as the memory filled him, finding out his friend Sof had vanished, that not many around the Keep cared even to look for her. Then his barriers clanged back up, rolling over to his belly, leaving the imprint of a scorched body in the long grass of the ditch, beating the ground with a fist instead.

Then silence, control, always control. To find that door inside him that banged open in his rage and let the power coarse through his body, the control to push it shut again while on the other side Xotli struggled to open it fully and forever, to claim him again. Laying in the trembling grass, taking breaths and becoming again just an ordinary slave, watchful and careful not to be noticed by the scout.

The eyes had turned away, turned their bored gaze to other things, allowing the dark shape to dart out again, moving light and nimble across the plains. Towards unknown and frightening things, but also towards his friend, his Sofranith. Crystal left behind, safety left behind, he'd find her, he had too. But first to head for help, his friend, the one who would know where to start in this still strange and confusing land.....