Tales From Sios: The Wishing Well Arc

Chapter 2: Gladén

Novi 8th 5-14980

Tunnels of Andqil in the Fae Realm of Undersios

Wings fluttered with a flurry of sparkling emerald and golden cadence that could not be seen in the dark envrionment. Gladén didnt have the fastest wings, nor the prettiest, but his motions of flight still held a pixie's splendor and grace. His mood however was not the typical cheery manner of his fae-kin, instead a looming sense of fear clung to him with constant embrace.
Gladén hovered at the cavern wall while large fae eyes darted nervously before affixing on to the meedil vine before him. Its faerie-head-sized berries held the notorious pink hue, giving them their namesake pink meedil fruit. Conditions are nowhere near how scarce one might think it should be in such a deep subterranean world, but the number of predators for a faerie are daunting to mention the least below the surface.
We faeries have no rights being under Sios. We belong in the open air, not in the pitch black!
Gladén considered the pixie's eyesight as his vision currently showed a colorless view of his surroundings.
Were it not for the spell I casted upon myself, a spell very few can even perform, I'd be heavily reliant on a light source...which in the dark any light source is dangerous this far from the city...since everything that calls this Migi forsaken place home can spot that light from a great distance off!
In the tunnels that stem off from the great faerie city of Andqil, Gladén's constant state of fear and anxiety are what won him his title of lead forage hunter although his skill in arcane magic is his true confidence, but the number of spells he knows is finite and the number of times he can use those in a given day are infinitesimal in juxtaposing merit.
Awh bat's butt! I need to be quick before something sees this goop!
Gladén shook his head, agreeing with himself, before digging into the pouch tied to his slender waist to protrude a blue luminescent, goo covered, hand. He smeared it across the wall next to the vine in an 'x' the size of his chest with motions hurried and little regard to aesthetics. The blood of the bëgul bug glowed indefinitely so it was an ideal marker as well as a natural light in the depths of the Andqil Tunnels. Although things in the deep dark tend to scope out the glow, when they realize it isnt edible they hunt elsewhere.
When he finished wipeing his hand against the rough stone, Gladén gently hovered backwards through the air and looked left and right pausing on his right-sided glance as he thought he saw a glint of motion. His heart froze in his chest as his eyes widened and frantically scanned where he thought he had seen the brief smear of movement in his vision. Still hovering he slowly turned his body to match direction of his gaze. There was only the winding tunnel before him leading further from his home.
His eyes narrowed where he thought the wall twisted around a bend while his fingers on his left hand bent like the claw of some avian predator and the tips began sizzling an orange spark. The sparks grew larger as they consolidated into the center of his palm and a whirring noise became audible. That noise grew louder and louder until it seemed to be the surrender of air being sliced open by the magical energy. Then once it reached its peak of violent whirring and those sparks were a concise orb of glowing energy radiating light and violently hot, Gladen relaxed his hand with a sigh of relief. The spell fizzled out when he did so.
"Gladén!" The sudden voice made Gladén seize his chest as his body stiffened and a high pitched scream broke from his lips. That scream was answered by an even higher pitched screech in return. Gladén spun to see another pixie hovering behind him that slapped him as he about-faced.
"Dont scare me like that!" Her voice was still somehow silvery as she scalded him.
Gladén was looking into two brilliant saucer sized faerie eyes, although his vision was black and white he still knew they were a pink hue. His own emerald green orbs bulged incredulously as he spat back, "Scare you?!"
The lady fae blushed on her porcelain face as her lips spilled innocence, "Yes, you scared me near to death, Glady."
Gladén flailed his arms as his head rolled from the effort of absorbing the audacity, "You are impossible P'lriel! You know I do not like it when you call me that. What are you doing here anyhow?"
P'lriel held out a circular pendant on a single strand unanchored. Its many gears exposed through the polished glass window under its face tick-tocking softly. It was the time-keeper Gladén had given her before they left the city.
"You said to find you when the little arm is on the 3 marker..."
Gladén didnt realize how much time had passed, since his companion held his only duration counter, something Nanaphee said dwarves called a 'pocket watch'. It was P'lriel's first time out of the main gathering group and among the forager hunters in addition to Gladén's first apprentice, so the experienced pixie deemed it profoundly crucial she had the trinket of time, though in retrospect...
Fiddlefart, I knew we both needed this gear!
"Yes I did say that, but remember it is called the little hand." Gladén corrected nonchantly.
"And why did I need to find you again?" The question asked held utter confusion and managed to burrow into Gladén's nerves, but he swore he wouldn't be too hard on the forage hunter in-training–though in retrospect he did fear his leniency might prove fatal for her, or even worse him, in the deep dark of Under-Sios.
"Because the spell I casted on you is going to wear off soon. We best-" Gladén suddenly turned as his keen senses picked up a sound from behind him.
His foraging mate showed no sign of noticing the intrusion and began puzzling aloud, "We best what?"
Her voice broke the silence along with Gladén's patience, but the sound he heard was nearing even as she spoke and now was nowhere near the moment one should berate a pupil of folly for that sound was one of scores of oversized spider's paws tapping fervently upon stone.
While the monstrous arachnids swarmed from ceiling, wall, and floor toward the two hovering pixies Gladén felt that all too familiar sensation of fear grip his chest as he heard P'lriel let loose a bloodcurtleing shriek when she must have realized the danger her mentor noticed.
'I knew I saw something! Curses, curses, teary curses!'
The spiders closed in on them from about 200 paces–roughly 100 human foot increments–away. Each spider was about 6 paces long in the body with hairy sectional legs that made the monster seem just as wide. From this distance Gladen knew they had only a marginal chance of escaping the coming onslaught in time.
"FLY P'LRIEL! GO!!" His shrill held his growing concern for both their lives and with that the student bolted down the corridor at top speed.
In a single fluid motion Gladén swung about to face the swarm while he put his left hand in his spell component pouch–on the opposite side of his hip from the marker goo pouch–and grabbed two tiny clay-like spheres, to squish each one in a closed fist before bringing them both to his breastbone while he muttered the incantation, "Augue CRE!" [aug chi-uh-ray]
As he bellowed the last part of the verbal portion he made both hands dance and flow upward, imitating an explosion, before throwing both hands, now free of the tiny orbed substances, out with both index fingers aimed toward the coming crawling horde, and the magical orange glow shot from both indexes through the air until it collided with the nearest spider detonating an explosion in the tunnel as a sphere of flames erupted off the floor about eighty paces from Gladen's placid outstretched arm.
The flames engulfed the rocky adit with a deafening boom before rocketing toward him as the sounds of agonized wails of the vermin caught in the explosion were snuffed out like the magical flames just as they licked hungrily at the faerie.
Gladén pulled himself away from the blast and flew backward several paces as the fireball dissipated. He did not delay and inspect the casualties, but instead soared with due hast to catch up with his companion.
It took very little time for him to come upon his student who had just cleared that passage where she met him and was halfway to the next bend in the connecting passageway as he called from behind, halting her retreat. P'lriel's face lit up when she saw him and her eyes went misty as she bolted back toward him and caught him hard in midair with a tight squeeze.
"Oh Gladey your alive!" Her words were stiffeled as she spoke a near sob into his neck. Gladén was taken aback by the sudden display of emotion and tried to quell his annoyance at the use of the nickname.
"Yes of course! Now let me go, we haven't the time to dally, quit your tears!"
P'lriel released her constricting hug and nodded meekly as finger knuckles went up to rub moistening eyes. He felt his stomach lurch as he caught the look of shame flash across her usually innocent features. Gladén bit his lower lip as eyebrows met above nose ridge before unexpectedly, even to himself, he grabbed her busy palm interrupting its drying duty and pulled it from her cheek. She stared with shock and mild confusion before looking from held hand back to her teachers face and then to hands holding once more before her lips moved and her thoughts grasped for words, but could only race past leaving her tongue sputtering. Gladén rushed to break the awkward pause.
"I'm sorry, P'lriel," his hand released and shot away like he grasped something too hot before continuing, "I just...I do not mean to be so hard on you...These tunnels hold grave danger and I couldn't stomach to see you get hurt. Now, please can we be off?"
The girl didn't speak, only nodded while avoiding his gaze. The silence drug on for the duration of their journey home–which Gladén would typically be thankful of, but something gnawed at him in the wordless flight...or was it someone?
The white and greys of his magically assisted vision began flickering and dimming and made him blink heavily several times before he realized the spell was at its limit.
"P'lriel stop." His words cut the air as his body slowed and came upright into a hover, the girl went past him a pace or two before doing the same  aerial movement.
"What is it?" Gladén noticed her tone held more fear than curiosity.
"Its noth-"
"Gladey my vision! Something's wrong!" P'lriel cut him off before he could explain the exact moment she was finding herself in.
"Don't call me that!" Gladén barked back fuming before explaining in full. When he did she went back to silence as the spell-weilding faerie went to work on his incantation.
From the spell pouch he procured a fine dust of an agate and split the pinches into both his fae paws before he went into the signs he needed to weave–starting with both hands in front of his face with palm angled toward him, middle and index fingers extended on both hands as they interchangeable moved out and back in as he spoke the arcane words, "Visio." [Vee-sea-oh] Immediately he sent the now glittering dust into his own eyes from each palm. The dust settled and P'lriel came into view with head weighted solemnly to the ground. Gladén let out a soft sigh before he closed the distance between them and began the spell anew, gently cupping her chin and lifting her eyes into view as he instructed, "Don't blink."
Once their vision was restored to its magical potency they were on their way yet again in utter silence. After several leagues they came upon the large chamber leading directly into the faerie city. Before they entered they were met by three pixie soldiers, whom P'lriel greeted as Gladén waved his hand dispelling their enchanted view. The large room was well lit with a grand, albeit makeshift, chandelier that a score of his kin could easily fit inside. Within the impromptu lamp were two bëgul bugs aimlessly biting one another spilling fresh blood as they did so.
Fresher the goo, brighter the glow.
"'Ello Gladey! Hell's sight, you look like bat's butt!" The guard laughed heartily after he spoke and didnt seem to notice Gladén's sneer at the dreaded sobriquet.
"Ran into some black crawlers five leagues out and Gladén put the flames to 'em." His pupil responded in his place as she picked her words carefully.
Another guard to the side jested in return, "Looks like they weren't the only ones he put the tongues of heat to!" The other two guards burst into a merry sound of teasing hilarity as P'lriel stiffened a giggle herself.
Gladén ignored their taunts and flew past as he patted his tunic and breeches trying to get the clingy black soot from his person.
One of the guards called to him as he passed under the hanging light, "Oh come on Gladey, we were just making a bit of fun!"
He didn't acknowledge the defense, but could hear his student coming to it, for him.
"I don't think he is in the mood for jests now Raiden." Her voice held sincerity when she guarded.
"When is he ever in the mood P'lriel?" The soldier named Raiden countered.
Gladén quickly left the chamber before he heard what she had for a response, but he assumed she folded her stance.
Those soldiers think they're soo funny. 'Stupid bow-wielding bug-brains! They just stand their all day with Faefeels in hand thinking of how to tick me off as I'm out there risking my neck for their bellies to be full!'
The pixie was grumbling thought as incomprehensible mumbles while he flew with casual intent into the final tunnel to Andqil from the chamber where he left his pupil. At the end of the blue luminescent tunnel–spotted by sconces with translucent stone jars packed full of bëgul goop–was a glyph filling the floor twice the size of him. The warding sigil was magically enchanted as a last defense for any would-be-predators granting only pixies an unmolested passage. Gladén did enjoy crossing over it, taking in the intricate designs of pattern and basking in the sheer capability of divine casting that Nanaphee wielded to make such a meticulously powerful rune.
Once through the corridor the walls opened up wide into an enormous cavern with a lake filling the center. That lake titled Mala Lake was always placid showing a perfect reflection of the faerie metropolis that mirrored in the body of freshwater. The sight is still breathtaking to Gladèn who had been there his whole life–exactly 350 years on his blossom day: Novi 9th of the 5th age on the 4980th year in the 10th millennium or shorthanded the year 5-14980 or with small abbreviation 4980vaxm, most commonly used on the surface world amongst the creatures with vastly finite lifespans compared to the fae.
We do not belong here, but sproutflower we are cursed good at adaptation!
Andqil was lit at the ground level with a splendid blue glow from bëgul lamps dotting the shore line as the giant towers converted from stalagmites extended down from the ceilings holding an ominous green luminescence about them from giant bowls of jade burning faerie flames in the upside-down open tower tops. The largest of these remodelled stalagmite towers was the Tearquarters, located in the north of the city, where the faerie operations were organized and overseen by the Faecouncil. Members of that council souly rule Andqil and have for the last 2,000 years. It is comprised of The High Cleric Nanaphee the healer, General Laraïd, Lady Niamh, Lord Deirdre and The High Mage Dranthid. Nanaphee is the eldest faerie, arguably the most powerful, and is the last one alive who experienced the surface world. A world unknown to him and his kin, a world forgotten by its once dutiful keepers of the green ground and blue skies.
The city was alive with faeries flying this way and that way bustling about with smiles everywhere. Pixies, notorious for their inability to swim, never ventured into the black waters, rather they flew across its surface and only seldom would they fish along the shores for the pale Mala Fish that called the lake home. Mainly because the Mala Fish weighed four times that of a grown faeman, but the pixies are a tenacious folk.
Gladén flew at a leisurely flow toward the Tearquarters as he watched several wingless faerie children, or faebabes, along the shore skipping rocks out on the wet surface laughing and occasionally having a splash-war break out.
Play while you can little ones...in two days some of you will become grown and your wings will sprout. Either way it'll be life of missions for the lot of ya.
He looked away as he neared the tower, having crossed the bulk of the colossal cavern some 9,000 paces or so from the main tunnel entrance. Tearquarters had four main sections of the tower, five if you include the Faecouncil chamber at the lowest point just above the jade bowls. Each section has four hangers–as points of entrance–on each side, except the forementioned fifth section which could only be accessed from within the tower itself. Gladén was enroute to the uppermost portion called the Foragers Den, just above the Magic Quarters where he also frequented for his tutelage in the arcane ways, to report to Lord Deirdre about his findings in the tunnels.
It was the lord who appointed him as the lead forage hunter, declaring he was the perfect pixie for the task. A task that had lasted for the last 150, painstakingly-unnerving, years. Ever since that day when he was out with his gathering group in the eastern most reaches of the tunnels when a couple of unsightly beings wreaked havoc upon them. It was a monster disguised as a large stalagmite called a Wůamfala. The soldiers protecting the troupe of foragers were the first to suddenly disappear. Since they were in a ring on the ground, around where the gatherers picked the Pink Meedils on a lazy vine near the siosen floor, hovering at the edge of the light source. Gladén was the first to notice something amiss, but before he could sound any sort of alarm the Wůamfalas sprang into the light casted by the last soldier positioned closer to the gatherers producing the visibilty from a lantern of faerie fire. The stone-coned creature towered over them by about 12 paces and split across the front revealing jagged rocks as teeth and a snaking tongue as thick as a faerie but as tough as rock and as fast as a faebullet. The disgusting tongue shot out of that maw snatching the last soldier up from over 20 paces away. Two of the gathering pixies rushed off the ground in a panic and tried to escape when more tongues reached out into the air to seize them dragging them away into the darkness. Their screams still haunt him to this day. Now they have forage hunters...well A forage hunter since Gladén is the only one left standing out of the Faecouncil's trial and error program of finding a safer way to scope the tunnels before whole scores of faeries are sent out. They now also avoid the eastern most tunnels like the plague it is and that area is strictly forbidden.
A shiver woke in the nape of his slender neck and danced down his spine as his thought trailed and his memory seized the screams of his kin. He realized he was standing in the anteroom of the Foragers-Den, hand clutching his chest as sweat beaded down his jawline. A lone faerie woman stood behind an ornate couch, its feet were the heads of creatures he had only heard stories about from the world above. The waiting area was usually dead at this hour in lieu of the longer working hours of the actual gatherers, but Gladén's face held disbelief at the sight of the extremely aged faerie starring at him from across the room.
He managed to breath out a whispered word dripping with bewilderment, "Nanaphee?"
At that the other pixie's leathery face slowly shifted into a pleasant look. Leathery lips curled into a worn, but welcoming, grin as her cheeks rose and eyes squinted in effort. Her still gorgeous wings awoke into a flurry of flutter spreading actual glitter of purples and pinks into the air and she gracefully lifted off the ground and hovered over to him, going around the long odd couch to do so, with bare feet a mere finger off the ground when she did so.
"'Ello Gladén. It has been some time." Her voice was soft, but measured with a fluidity that defied her ancient age.
"Where is Lord Deirdre?" Gladén questioned immediately.
Nanaphee let out a chuckle as she finished her approach and wings slowed to a stop, setting her fragile feet lightly on the wooden floor of the room without a sound, before she responded, "Never one to dally are we." She stated matter-of-factly before explaining, "Òlin is away with his flowermate. They had urgent matters in Zataveet that could not wait."
Gladén knew she meant Lord Deirdre and Lady Niamh, since Òlin was a nickname given to the lord that meant 'Great Wing' in faespeak and Lady Niamh and the Lord are lovers, but to leave to the neighboring city of Zataveet was peculiar.
"What happened in our sister city, Nanaphee? Did they take the Pixie Portal? When will he be back?" The questions dumped out of his mouth without hesitation, but Nanaphee's worn wrinkly palm was up quick to cease the barage.
"That business is not your own young Gladèn..." Her tone held a seriousness that confirmed in her brilliant icy blue orbs. There was no arguing any further, Nanaphee had spoken.
"Understood." His voice was meek in defeat, but his mind raced...
'They must have taken the portals! I would have seen them and their fleet of roughwings who guard them if they traveled the tunnels. What happened in Zataveet though, what could be so important they had to use the pixie portal?'
His thoughts would go unanswered as Nanaphee spoke up once more, "Now what is the report in the west reaches, Òlin said you would be taking your pupil...um..." her words trailed while eyes squinted and her crows feet etched deeper toward her temples as she struggled to recall the name of his student. Gladén finally chimed in as he realized the elderly fae was lost in thought of remembrance.
"P'lriel."
"Ah yes! Migi bless you! He said it was her first time out on the forage hunt officially. How went it?" Her head cocked as one eye grew and the other seemed to shrink at her last inquiry.
Gladèn felt uneasy as Nanaphee's head bobbed while patiently holding that stare. After a slight stutter, he debriefed, "A-along the...the western reach there is a plethora of vegetation throughout the tunnels, but nothing edible save for some Pink Meedils about 5 leagues-"
"No! Tell me about your charge of tutelage silly. All that detail I shan't recall, you'll need to write it down and deliver that portion to Òlin's assistant so she can go over it and decide the next steps. I am interested in how it went with your first Apprentice." Nanaphee cut him short when she changed her look and went from a scalding demeanor to a peaceful reproach as she spoke.
Gladén quickly looked away–trying to hide his shame at the poor experience–but explained nonetheless, "Well we made it back..." His face held a nervous smile lamenting his own uncertainty at the weak answer.
Nanaphee's thin blonde eyebrow popped at his words as she eyed him with full uncertainty.
"Gladén, she is your charge. There are endless corridors spreading from this city and you are but one faerie. It is viably crucial that she becomes our second forage hunter so you may take another under your wing and someday she takes someone under hers."
Gladén weighed her words before mustering the courage to counter, "I don't see why we can't make for the surface and leave this dark hell?"
He expected her to erupt into a chastizing frenzy upon him but she merely lowered her head and sighed.
"The world above is just as fraught with peril as below–except down here we are a simple food choice of convenience–where as on the surface, we are hunted for our tears." Nanaphee clarified the pixie's plight before she turned and wings lifted her back to her raised pose of hovering flight.
While she departed she recited the cleric's farewell nonchalantly, "Migi be with you."
Gladén spoke the customary reply, "Forever with her tear."
With that the elder healer left the room, leaving Gladén alone with his thoughts.
'We are doomed to be down here then.'
He made an audible exhale before thinking once more, 'Best get heading to the scroll room and get my report to Elièn.'
It took the lead forage hunter the rest of the day to format and file his report of the day's findings. Once he completed the monotony of transcribing his account, he hand delivered it to the intended recipient and finally went home. His time piece read 11...the hour had grown late.
Most of the city air was empty save for a few stragglers and Gladén. The shore line was barren but the city was still alive in the middle-set regions of Andqil where the taverns had music and merriment spilling out into the cavern through glassless windows.
Gladén was pondering what to do for the rest of his night as he glided toward the easternmost quadrant of the city where his home lay high up near the ceiling in the faerie suburbs called the Drips.
Sproutflower I need a drink. I guess I will head to Dimblebee's and get some ale.
With that Gladén pivoted to his left, the lake peacefully on his right, as he made a pitstop at Dimblebee's Fine Meads and Decent Eats. He did not intend to spend long at the establishment, simply get a couple drinks and a few bits of bread in him before he would call it a night...that is until he entered and was met by the soldiers from before.
They were gathered around a circular table, lacking in any form of seating, with each pixie in attendance at the single table hovering–a common trait for soldier faeries–however, there was another in their company who Gladén immediately locked eyes with as he entered.
"Gladey!" P'lriel's typically velvety voice was slurred as her cheeks held the rosey hue of intoxication while she hovered with the soldiers at the table.
Gladén was too exhausted to combat the use of the unwanted epithet and simply waved lazily from the doorway giving a weak smile but made no move to visit. Instead, he hovered over to the bar top where he greeted the drink tender and ordered a jar of Bugeye Ale.
Once he got his drink, before he could even put it to his thirsty mouth, a hand landed heavily on his shoulder and P'lriel's face popped into view.
"Go how it with Lord Deerdee.." her face scrunched up as she digested her own mispoken words, but shook her head and continued without provocation, "does he smell to you?"
Her breath was warm, but reeked of mala meed.
"He wasn't there, I met with the High Cleric in his stead." He pulled his hand to his nose and spoke into it, trying to save his senses from the awful stinky assault.
Her eyes seemed to awaken at what he said and they appeared to sparkle as she confirmed, "You met with Nanaphee the Healer?"
Gladén shrank back from her foul-breathed words, before answering, "Yes. What did you drink faesoil? Smells like something died."
P'lriel showed no sign of embarrassment or offense taken by his question or comment either. Instead a grin filled her face as her eyes squinted with joy as she explained, "I ate the fisheye bottom bottle of." Her finger pushed the tip of his pointed nose as she seemed to brag about her feat of drunkenness.
"Good for you. Now you need to go home and get some sleep, P'lriel. Tomorrow is the blossoming ceremony, you will be expected to be there with me." His tone was unamused, but he straightened and removed his makeshift smelling guard before he spoke.
P'lriel dropped her head as some symbolense of guilt came over her with his words. Her response was solemn, "Yes master."
She moved to turn but her face went green as she fell hard from her hover. When she hit the ground she immediately threw up while laying face down. Gladén was quick to react, landing next to her and rolling her over to expose a vomit-covered face and hair of an unconscious P'lriel.
"Sproutflowering curses!" Gladén swore aloud as his pupil remained motionless when he lifted her upper half incline her between laying down and sitting.
"She okay?" The concerned drink tender looked over the bar top at them on tiptoes.
"Yeah, she needs an Oopsie Chalk though." His voice was indifferently concerned as he spoke to the worried barkeep without looking away from his alcohol poisoned student.
After just a moment the lady came around the bar holding a grey stick in her hand. Gladen seized the oopsie chalk and forced it into P'lriel's mouth. After only a heartbeat of time, her eyes popped open and lips parted to expel a black and green foam that climbed out of her mouth about the length of her torso before it broke and fell with a nasty splat on the floor.
"That'll be 550 speck for the chalk and 200 for the mess." The once helpful lady spoke crudely as her hand outstretched awaiting payment.
Gladén rolled his eyes as he pulled out a third pouch on the back of his waist. After a moment of shuffling through it he groaned.
"I only got pebbles on me..." his tone held sorrow.
"Well look at you money bags! A pebble will do. We can call the rest a commotion tax and my tip." The sky gal cocked her head with a grin as she moved her arm to rush an agreeance.
"Ah faesoil! Fine." He reached in and pulled out a piece of onyx shaped into an egg the size of his fingertip. Knowing a pebble, or egg, is worth 1,000 specks, or chips, Gladén realized he over paid by about 250 chips.
P'lriel is gonna owe me.
His student began to sit up on her own as her hand went to her head and she swayed uneasy.
"Come on I'll take you home." He slid his arm under her and fluttered his wings with all his might to get them on their feet where he held her in one arm to the side with her enfeebled arm around his neck.
The two of them slowly made their way to her hovel, conveniently next door to his in the Drips, where she has lived for the last decade since her promotion to apprentice forage hunter under his mentorship. Luckily P'lriel was only 20lbs, so Gladén didnt struggle with the flight too much. After about a half hour they reached her home, where she got herself inside the quaint apartment.
I'll have to make sure she is up early on the morrow so we arent late for the ceremony.
With that thought Gladén retired to his own place just 40 paces away in the largest of the houses on that stretch. The homes were all made of the same siosen clay marked with unique individual patterns of bug goo ranging in colors from purple to green to blue. Their shape is that molded into the dome-like structure similar to a hornet's nest, lacking a door and windowless. He wasted no time and took his gear off and placed it on the table before flying up to a hammock in the corner where he gracefully landed on all fours before dropping onto his stomach making the hammock swing with effort to hold him, gently rocking him to sleep. Despite his day, he rested peacefully.
When he awoke he pushed off the netting and rolled his shoulders as he yawned then he tucked his left side and rolled free of the hammock and his wings went into action floating him down to the floor while the back of his faepaw wiped sleep from his groggy eye. Listlessly he strolled to his pantry and pulled out a few dried diced pink meedils and placed them in a ceramic bowl before he procured chilled bat's milk from an odd chest on the counter, pouring it over the fruit. He ate the concoction with a scooping utensil called a fadì in silence as he sat in the only chair in his home.
Once he concluded his fast breaking Gladèn took off his typical forage hunting attire that was soiled and singed and put on an impressive tailed coat with no shirt underneath, just a toned youthful torso peeking out, with long shorts that gripped his calves but had loose weighted material that flowed as he moved– this being his finest clothes and his new ceremony attire. The coat was a deep forest green with a golden brooch of a Faeflower fastened to his upper collar–a pin of honor representing a member of the blossom brigade. Below that on his lapel was a ruby eye atop a golden pentagram–a medal of bravery and courage given to him after that day in the tunnels were all his fellow pixies were slaughtered and he barely survived. His bottoms were a yellow with a likeness of gold, a black sash tied around the waist to anchor them.
He finished his start-of-waking routine by gathering his pouches and ensuring the component pouch had the essentials for the day...
Before the next outing I'll need to stop by the emporium and get some more agate dust. Now to see if my pupil is up and at 'em.
Gladén left his home without a word and went over to P'lriel's where he looked from the open entryway inside. His student was curled up on her tabletop in the middle of the apartment with random remnants of food sprawled out around her. He attempted to shout from the doorway to wake her but she didnt budge. Gladén let out a sigh as he passed over the threshold, crossing the room to the table where she lay snoring lightly–littered crumbs scattered all about the floor remained undisturbed as he hovered over to her.
"P'lriel it is time to wake..." he gently shook her shoulder as he made an attempt to stir her from slumber. It was ineffective.
"P'LRIEL WAKE UP!" The mentor shouted while his shake went from apprehensive to out right violent. She waved her hand at him before groaning and rolling away.
So be it.
Gladén dug in his component pouch and produced a tiny spherical bell and a spool of fine silver wire. Quickly he slid the bell down a stretch of the metal wire and placed each end on parrelling sides of the table in front of his pupil. He broke off the line at the edge and returned the spool to pouch. He then raised his hands for the arcane weaving as he spoke the spells magical words, "Tog-An-Inneal-Rabhaidh." His left hand held out flat with a raised angle slightly turned palm-in while his right hand–in a pointing position–wacked the left's palm, rapping it twice, with index finger. A white light seared off the wire for a brief second and mentally Gladén spoke, "Make it loud, never fear." Setting the volume of his alarm and password for allies to pass undetected, a requirement to complete the incantation.
The mystical light faded signifying the spells completion. With that he grabbed her by the wrist and positioned it above the harmless wire, a sly grin creeping on his features as he released it and immediately threw his hands over fae sensitive ears.
The alarm roared with a ringing that blasted from the enchanted bell with sound like a toll that mass destruction was upon them. P'lriel screamed but couldn't be heard as the deafening toll made her fly back off the table, without the use of her wings, spilling herself all over the floor when the alarm suddenly ceased. Gladén broke into a laughter at her unwanted tumble and freight. The merriment was natural and kind-hearted, a laugh P'lriel had never heard him make before. A laugh Gladén had not heard in nearly 200 years from himself.
Silence fell just as quickly as it erupted and Gladén bore a new found embarrassment in its wake. His pupil looked perplexed forcing him into an abrupt swivel, spinning 180 degrees, mid-hover. When he took his leave his voice broke out with heat of unwarranted shame and through gritted teeth a snarl found her from her masters leaving figure, "Your running late! Hurry up!"
P'lriel's head snapped back as if he had pushed her in the forehead, but she didnt breath a word despite the unexpected change of attitude.
Gladén waited for her to be ready outside, hovering well above the house fuming over his own cruelty.
You are a faesoil of a teacher. She shouldnt have to deal with these mood swings...She must go through  a lot being under my wing. I'm not as cheery and easygoing as the others....my mentor was never this way. What is wrong with me? I guess I just don't want to seem weak...this world eats the weak.
The unspoken monologue sent a shiver flowing down his spine, like the tendril of a first waterfall crashing upon his faebutt and sending a malfunction to his legs and they twisted from the sensation. His arms folded about his chest in a nonsymetrical fashion making him look like an aloft coat rack with golden balloon breeches on when his body convulsed and then tightened. He shook off the experience like an animal would water and remained patient while he waited.
P'lriel finally came out and when Gladén looked down to see her come into view, he felt his own jaw drop. She wore an outfit nearly identical to his, but the coat was pink and adorned no medals while her bottoms were a silky red angled skirt exposing a slender gorgeous leg on one side. Her hips curved well as the black sash was fastened toward the same side as them, a sign of a forage hunter in the ceremonial dress. A black diadem with alexandrite stones rested upon her forehead, the marker of one who uses a rare pixie ability called the alluring cavort. Only a marginal few fae have this gift and Andqil has only two amongst its 250,000 souls that possess it, P'lriel and Nanaphee.
While his student looked left and right for him, Gladén decided it was best if he just flew out and let her see him so he could avoid speaking to her and making things worse. After a few seconds of flight, Gladén looked to see if she followed and did so discreetly as he bluffed to make it seem like he was casual scoping the city, but her eyes immediately found his and his heart began to race in his chest forcing him to look away and breath heavy like he exerted himself.
What in the sproutflower is wrong with me?!
He shook his head in morbid disbelief of self and with that they made their way to the Blossoming Tower, yet another silent endeavor between the two pixies. When they made the tower they entered on the west side opposite of their approach, as they went around thousands of faeries were slowly entering through openings all over the tower. The tower itself was made up entirely of two seperate sections, the lower of the two was a room where the faebabes were blossoming from their faeseeds floating on ivory pedastals with rainbow glowing plinths beneath the translucent seeds. The floor, big enough to fit one thousand of those pedestals in a twenty-five by forty blooming-stand spread, was 120 paces wide and 200 paces long and had a chamber height of nearly 100 paces with rows of pews etched into the stone walls stacking to the ceiling from the ground. This room could seat about 10,000 pixies and it was nearing capacity, luckily Galdèn and his understudy were going to the upper portion that held the gathering for the wing sprouting ceremony.
The sprouting ceremony was on a floor section nearly three times the size of the lower blossoming room's but could seat 100 times more faeries, which it did. Pixies still flew in to get good seats as others gave up the fight and hovered around entrances. The north end of the room had all members of the Faecouncil in attendance sitting in ornate stools of marvelous wooden carvings and designs. Nanaphee was attending the proceedings below while the High Mage Danathid and General Laraïd sat in fine ceremonial clothes–jackets teeming with pins and medals–Lady Niamh and Lord Deirdre, to Gladén's surprise, were still not in attendance.
What was so urgent in Zataveet that the Lady and Lord Fae would miss the annual blossoming ceremony?
As he thought he quickly moved to the side of the diaz and came to a stand next to Loafi, the lead arcanist and Danathids star pupil, and Àine, the lead soldier and assistant to the General. On the other side of Loafi was the lord's assistant Elièn and to her right was the lady's assistant Gåley. P'lriel took her place next to him as Àine whispered to him, "You are late, Gladey." The lead soldier kept a rigid stare unerring as he spoke from the side of his mouth.
Gladén blew air from his nostrils at the soldiers reproach before responding in a low tone with a straightforward gaze, "I realize..." while out of the corner of his eye he saw P'lriel give him a guilty look.
Although the proceedings had not begun yet, Gladén knew all too well the six pixies, known as the Faeagents, were supposed to be on the floor second to only the Faecouncil.
Luckily Lord Dierdre isn't here to see this blunder. I'm sure one of the council members will bring it up to him and if not Elièn will mention it for certain, so I'll definitely be getting an ear-full when he returns either way. Teary-Curses!
The faebabes were last to enter, filing in from the north entrance after the last of the audience settled in. Across the floor opposite the diaz 100 faebabes ushered inside, the children a medley of giggles and an excited hum of whispers. About one-fifth of the young fae boasted fresh wings sprouting from youthful backs, varying in colors of blues, reds, silvers and greens. The majority were lacking the pixie's blessing still, and it caused the chamber to erupt in gasps and hushed murmurs, for this is a bad omen of war in the fae culture.
Gladén stole a peek at the general who's frown burrowed heavily into his still youthful looking face.
P'lriel turned and whispered to her mentor, "Have you ever seen so many nilin?"
Her question was not entirely misplaced but did merit a glare from him as he replied in a scalding whisper, "Look straight!" He paused after her beratement before adding softly, "No, no I havent."
Once the last of the faebabes entered and stood in formation of rows, the High Mage rose from his seat. His royal purple wings beating to gently lift him onto his feet, the assortment of pins and medals clinking while he did so. The room fell silent. Danathid spoke with a magically enchanted volume and his voice boomed beyond its means.
"Children of Migi, heirs of Sios, my loved kin. Welcome to the blossoming ceremony!" The once normal cheers did not erupt at his greeting and instead more hushed words were exchanged amongst the crowd.
Danathid didn't miss a beat and immediately addressed the dragon-in-the-room.
"Be not dismayed by some folly of fiction. Now is the time to rejoice in your brothers and sisters coming of age!"
With that the audience went into an uproar of delight as the faebabes gave confused looks to the High Mage's opening, but it quickly turned into smiles at the overwhelming cheer from the stacks.
"Those of you whom have not recieved the faerie's blessing are not by any means lesser. Be you not disheartened for you are bestowed the great honor of being the guardians to those next to you with wing now. All of you are our future!"
Again the crowd cheered their joy as the new adults on the floor joined in the euphoric praise.
Danathid waited for the cheering to die down before he raised his hand and a thin black wooden box appeared on his once empty palm. He opened the container with his other hand and Gladén could not see the contents from where he stood to the side.
"I have the privilege of declaring not one, but four wielders of the Alluring Cavort this year!"
The younglings erupted into another explosion of glee, but fell silent when the crowd remained unmoved and whispers sounded once more.
Another omen?
Fear started creeping into Gladén's chest as he contemplated the news.
The High Mage motioned to the fae standing before him, a rehearsed sign for those rare four to come to the stage. Each one made a slow journey to the stage on foot from different sections of the group. Once each one was crowned with the four black diadem from the box, they returned sheepishly to their spots, looks of confusion in place of excitement.
"Migi be with you all!"
The crowd, faeagents and new faire adults chimed in unison, "Forever in her grace!"
The ceremony had come to a close and the postevent mood was dour to say the least. The new adults were the first to leave then the Faecouncil followed by the faeagents before the audience could depart. Gladén, once outside the tower and clear of his peers, was immediately assaulted by questions from his young student.
"What happened in there? Why was everything so awkward? Is it cause there won't be many gatherers? Is the excess of nilin such a bad thing? How can there be four gifted? I thought what I have is supposed to be rare?"
Her words came out in a hurry as her tone became more perplexed and steadily flustered with each question.
"To have so many no-wings isn't such a bad thing, but it is a bad omen of coming war...and the number of allures is uncanny and a sign of imminent doom. Oh and don't call them 'nilin' either, they will sprout there wings...they are just late bloomers is all."
"What about Dryke?"
Gladén knew the faerie she mentioned, the only pixie to ever not have their wings come in. People often called him Nilin which meant wingless in faespeak, but never to his face. For he is the inventor of the faeshoe and titles himself a cobbler. The faeshoe mainly worn by members of the gatherers or soldiers, but a growing trend since he came up with them nearly 700 years ago.
"Still you shouldn't use that word, it isn't polite."
P'lriel hung her head and muttered, "Yes master."
After the short conversation, Gladén took his leave letting his understudy know he will go and collect supplies for the outing tomorrow and left her to attend her arcane class with Danathid.
Gladén in truth just couldn't keep seeing her dressed in such a provocative manner, though completely commonplace for some reason he felt uneasy looking upon her gorgeous features and pretty face. The teacher spent the rest of the day collecting supplies at the emporium for the next day and then went on a little shopping trip for his self since his pantry had been low last he saw.
Gladén spent the evening pouring over maps of the tunnels as he tried to keep his mind off the ceremony...and his attractive pupil. He was unsuccessful in both regard. His mind was hazy from endless hours of preparations and battling unwanted thoughts of the day's past events. When finally he retired,  burdens of horror plagued him of past traumas and would prove a long and painful sleep. A fitting way to end his day and mark the 9,480th Blossoming Ceremony, one rife with volatile omens, in the Fae-scrolls of History.