#wispen

Another short story. This is meant to be read before part 2 of Broken Skies: Wispen.

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Long ago in the grassy plains of what would one day become the Stormlands, lived a group of nomads. These nomads were from a scarce species called Humanity. Though there were several tribes, each numbered only around twenty, or so. They lived incredibly harsh lives without peace. Many died to the great storms, and those who were lucky fell not in brittle age, but in glorious battles in their youth. There only respite from the never ending winds was when they found thin turf to dig under. Eventually these place of thinner turf became known as, “Dom” a word given to the nomads by a speaker of the old tongue.

Humans are a simple species. They can rarely use magic, and their constitutions are not so grand. Even so they aspired to be great, and because they sought greatness only the strongest could lead them. The strongest came to be known as, “The Storm Master” to show that they could lead their people through the most perilous storms.  Each of the tribes, of which there were exactly sixteen, would meet every five years to, select, or replace the Storm Master. Originally, all tribes were one, but differences appeared over time between their views, and they splintered. The Storm Master is considered the highest position to these nomads. To be Storm Master, is to be the greatest of the nomads, to represent strength, and to live for the people. All band under this personage of the sky. It can never be said enough how important this person was to their people. The nomads worshiped no deity above themselves. This was not from pride, but from fear. You see, they did not worship a deity, but they acknowledged one. Tlaloc, the everlasting storm that tormented them. The name stood for another, a god that once lived here. Tlaloc was betrayed by a human. The human sold his location to his killer to satisfy his own greed. Tlaloc cursed these lands with his dying breath, “For he who has sold me for avarice, I bring prosperity.”

According to legend, prosperity did come. It rained, even in the farthest deserts, it rained even in lands that were so parch they lacked life. The sky poured its sorrow for its master's death. Tears of prosperity. There was so much food that everyone was fed. Even the poor could drink wine, but the rain did not stop. Rivers and lakes bore forth from already inundated earth. Crops died, buildings washed away, forests flooded, and people cursed the sky. Humanity became nomadic, wandering the everlasting storm lost in it. To leave one, was simply to enter another. The landscape washed away, and with it went the gratefulness of humanity. They cursed the sky for its piety for its lord.

The Storm Master was originally intended to calm the sky, but he failed, and the title began to represent a new ideal. One who could defy the sky, one who displayed the will to lead through the storm. Such was the new hate for the sky that had taken so much from them that their language itself change. No longer would they admonish each other in the name of Tlaloc. Everything for the people, not the lord's will. The latter half dropped out of common vernacular in time, but the former remained, even in modern times it is a symbol of strength. The Storm Master represented this ideal.

It was a shocking day when humanity first discovered a dwarven city. In the middle of this almost endless rain stood a single great city. Hope for peace welled up in their hearts for the first time since their fall from grace. With haste they met with the city’s leader, and discussed plans to stay. However the dwarves were more clever than the nomads. They signed a contract to stay in exchange for work. The humans could finally settle down, though only as something unfortunately close to slaves. Rights did exist in name, but were often never enforced.

The humans were thankful for peace, and would exchange it for nothing… all except two that is. Vencor and ----, the two prime candidates for the now absent title of Storm Master. Both were currently around the age of fifteen.

----, was staring into a massive body of water. A lake that resided in a large indentation in the landscape. Several smaller bodies lay around it. These lakes are known as the crater lakes, a marker of some long forgotten time.

Behind him stood his best friend, and the only person he trusts, Vencor. A boy of the same age. He, like many humans during this time was wearing rags without any shoes, a marker of their social status. Humans are forbidden from wearing proper clothing.

Vencor placed his callused hand on ----’s shoulder, “Why do you stare so intently into this battered plain?”

---- exhaled deeply with solemn eyes, “The elders said they come from a time before ours… don’t you ever wonder what could have made such destruction?”

Vencor rolled his eyes staring off with his friend. He did not share ----’s sense of sentiment for the past, nor for its mysteries, but he would often humor him.

“A fight between gods maybe, or a giant’s tantrum.” He said while looking off with disinterest.

“Maybe…”

Patting his shoulder before lifting his hand, Vencor declared, “Don’t worry about it. I think we should concentrate on helping the others.”

“You’re right… We have to figure out how to change things for the better.”

Vencor lifted his hands in the air, “Exactly! I can’t stand the way those filthy toe biters treat us!”

“Vencor! I agreed to help fix the situation, that includes both sides!”

“Yeah, yeah. I’m sorry, it just slipped.”

“...”

---- stood up and looked to the distance, “Do you really think another negotiation will be enough?”

Vencor smiled, “Of course! They’ll listen eventually.”

The two of them have, on numerous occasions made negotiations with the governor of the region, who lived in their town. Normally an adult would have such talks, but none but them cared to improve humanity’s standing.

The governor’s estate was the largest building in the as of yet unnamed town. It was built from various materials mined from the mountains to the south. Many of the human houses were constructed from turf, so it, and the other dwarven abodes, really stood out in comparison.

Governor Barrick is a very short, very fat dwarf. Other nobles mocked him by stating he was, “Two feet tall, and five feet wide.” Of course those measurements were false… mostly. With a very serious, judicial expression he glared at the two humans across his desk.

Vencor spoke first, “We would like it if you could provide better hou…”

Barrick interrupted him, “I’m gonna have ta stop ye there. We ain’t gonna fix up da livin conditions of ya humans at the present moment, an’ we have no plans ta do it later.”

---- spoke up, “But why? It won’t even cost that much!”

Barrick partially rolled his eyes before reorganizing his gaze, “Listen ta me smooth neck, we ain’t do’in it cause we got no incentive ta. If ye wan’ta change dat, then ye betta start bring’in in ta grass clippins.”

Vencor let out sigh of frustration, “How are we supposed to do that if no one will pay humans reasonably!”

Barrick stood up, and began shooing them from his office,”Git outta er’! It ain’t me problem! Jist git da clippins, or bare ye lip ta da swamp wolves! An’ don’t come back er’ either!”

Vencor, and ----, sat in an alleyway adjacent to the town square.

“What now?” asked ----.

Vencor sighed, and looked at the sky that was oddly clear today, “I don’t know.”

“We still have the armor, we stole from my father.”

Vencor shook his head and sighed once more, “The Storm Master’s armor is worthless without the title.”

“...”

Vencor’s eyes widened at a sudden thought, suddenly everything became clear, “We could stage a rebellion!”

“What?”

“Yeah! There’s no way we could convince the others to help, but we might not have to…”

---- showed immense worry on his face, “We can’t do that! There’s no way humanity could recover from that!”

There's a chuckle, fingers brushing wayward hair from eyes. They're both just a little tipsy. Well, she is. He's been drinking it, but what good would it do when he'd been drinking since he was a wriggler? He was so over it now he barely got buzzed. But it didn't hurt to act it, especially in the company of such an attractive woman. 

His fingers brushed down, the backs of them gliding over her cheek, feeling the soft warm skin beneath before finally resting them at her chin; and tilting her head up to meet her eyes he smiled.

It wasn't a kind smile, certainly not one you give friends, it was one that was more of promise, that with whatever came next his former challenge that by the end of the night she'd be lying beneath him begging would be coming true. Oh yes.

The smile tilting more into a smirk he breached the distance between them, pressing his lips to hers, fingers sliding to cup her cheek while his other arm moved to wrap around her waist, pulling him close to her all in an attempt to deepen the kiss and drown in her scent. 

When the kiss breaks after however long they are both breathless and his grin is back in place. He's still holding her close to him, and his words come out like a breath, barely a whisper.