Shadow at the temple – Chapter 2

The afternoon sun has hit the landscape, bathing the world below it in a benign burning field of sunlight, akin to the brilliance of a hearth. Behind her, Eyren and her raptor companion leave the occasional racket of birds and the lapping of the river fish that accompany the ferries which sail into the ongoing climate, to instead come upon a terrain which oozes cacophony everywhere. With a gentle breeze blowing across Eyren’s face, she assists Razz in keeping after her as they cross the boards onto solid land. All around the pair, this district of civilization is brimming with noise, from nearby fisherman nattering away, to traders haggling over fish prices and dock workers enacting their duties of offloading vessels that have berthed from the south.

The tender waters of the northeast have carried Eyren along the central-western province, down roughly a few miles from rivers that flow into both Steorshlag and Ngoyamen, to a place called Dezasha. In spite of not being the most familiar with all of the aspects showcased by this neighbor of her home, Eyren has visited the city in the past and thus the nature and environment of these waters are known to her.
In certain sectors of the land, Dezasha is famed as ‘Teniyus wayward daughter’ in light of being a port of blues – blue-colored roofs and bridge walls, blue banners flapping upon the palisades, blue tabards, and blue window sills, all on account of the color matching the sky-blue flags of the ruling entity, the North River Freight Services. What it actually lacks is blue blood, although Shaim Xil itself has never placed any emphasis on nobility; a well-known trait for much of the north as well. Since this isn’t Eyren’s initial visit, upon making land, she has an inkling beforehand of where she might need to move off to get a meal. One of her favorites of the local delicacies is the ‘Shoo-nea dwom em khri-yoo’, a manner of steamed fish meal that’s spiced very nicely. Several of the seafood menus of Dezasha is generally a reason why some stop by, and it gathers people from many sections of the north, should they be keen to travel to Shaim Xil. It was in point of fact the region where she first heard of the riverlands’ impressions and superstitions regarding dragon horns too.

Dezasha is one of the largest cities of Shaim Xil and home to one of the Pillars of Concord, a term taught and grasped by many, albeit for varying reasons. It’s an age-old one, a powerful and unyielding institution of the ex-Empire of Ahterilio, one that refuses to perish. It is said that when the Empire conquered or assimilated various almost borderless regions of the continent under its rule, one of the foremost elements they sought to gain was centralization, a strict and easily maintained system of provinces that would feed like streams back into the capital. Thus, they crafted the Pillars of Concord: generally three or four nobles or powerful merchants who acted as governors for the provinces and enforced imperial law and ideas. Although the Empire fell when the Shadow Herd suddenly exploded from the sky, these seats have not been taken away, living on in spirit. Perhaps it is the safety of a better time that keeps them intact, or maybe someone hopes to one day form their own superiority, which stretches across the theoretical lines of regions. It is with this thirst for power and territory that myriad commoners are fond of demeaning them as ‘Pillars of Discord’, eternally entangled in a battle for dominance.

The North River Freight Services which presides over Dezasha is equally one of Sham Xil’s Pillars of Concord, and despite not sitting as one of the oldest, it remains a secure organism that handles transportation of wares and people in the north. Unlike the famed city in the west of the province constructed upon ground and ships both – Avevshou – Dezasha is rather like a ground-laid metropolis surrounded by a moat and better stone walls. It is still placed in the center of a river akin to its western neighbor, but it is not as manmade. A few bridges were built in the past to combine its landmasses, although for its safety, they can easily be folded up.

Relocating from the pier to the city proper, Eyren and Razz begin to pass through streets which naturally guide them past warehouses and certain living quarters, into the marketplace that make up a fairly considerable chunk of its length and not to mention where the civic attention is coalesced. Resembling what she’s expressed on a multitude of other occasions, Eyren isn’t an enormous fan of cities and their hustle and bustle, but given that she’s further accustomed to the level of vibrant movement this port provides, she does gain a slight perspective of home. It’s not quite the north, but close enough for her taste. She recognizes the stalls with boxes of vegetables and fruits, the fresh seafood that’s probably been pulled this morning or within the day, the skewered meats, the rice balls, and other steamed or fried goodies, as well as the leatherworkers, tailors and smiths hawking their craftsmanship.

Notwithstanding that taking animals through these avenues isn’t uncommon, a raptor isn’t the most regular instance in this particular hub and thus some people do commend her a bit of space, which Eyren admittedly takes kindly to. Not that Razz is a hugely fearsome vision with her big inquisitional eyes, happily swaying tail and enthusiastic grunts at anything fun or tasty that she spies. Eyren can’t relax through and through in this advancement over the present field, however, for filtering through the marketplace means the raptor will take distinct interest in anything that tickles her nose, and on more than one point, Razz tugs herself away to approach a stall where she can get a bite. Being that she has no grip on the concept of currency, she appears confused whenever an owner waves her off, and Eyren has to wrest the raptor back as to not snatch the goods, apologizing all the while.

“Don’t get distracted now, girl”, she tells her animal companion in Foerngu-en, concurrently with rubbing her feathery face. “We have a goal to get to in here and it’s not for you to munch on all the snacks you can get your claws on.” Razz grumbles in response, granted that it isn’t an unpleasant or irritated rattle per se. “You remember Minhai? One of the guards who’s under the hire of North River? She handed you a couple of fried bird scraps last time”, she tries to remind the raptor of, and though there’s something which awakens in Razz’s lemon yellow sight, Eyren would suppose it’s more concerning the mention of dinner than their acquaintance’s signature which enthralls her. “Anyway, she’s around here somewhere. She’s our contact for the gig we got offered.”

Although Razz’s investment in this rendering for their current affair is lacking, she does take note of the terrain pretty well, particularly as a modicum of ruckus swells when they pass by a certain district. Once they ambulate a few meters outside of the core of the shopping region, Eyren spots how there appears to be people accumulated around a defined corner, but one that doesn’t consist of any wares or exchange of money whatsoever. From a first glimpse, Eyren can make out a man standing up on a stage, although from this distance she can’t really catch his features. All around him there are dozens of people positioned, heeding his utterances with deviating levels of heedfulness, but to be fair, most of them do appear pretty involved.

At this particular moment, the man appears to be holding some form of speech before the crowd, speaking in Ahteron.
“My friends, oh ye loyal to the most imposing of godly colors, ye believers of the world’s true composition – heed my words! I have spoken before you in the past, I have enumerated a medley of foul deeds which the man who keeps this city and his lackeys have perpetrated against not only you, but towards the sheer holy nature of the most sacred tinges which this world is made up of. The North River Freight Services, as they so derisively dare call themselves, despite doing every single one of you a great disservice, is nothing but a pack of thieves and exploiters! They take what valuables they can attain from you and foreign interests, ignoring the plight of the least forfended of the city, defile the rites and names of the Shades, all under the authority of their own greed and coffers! Sadek wun da Tziyon, the man who dares to call himself the head of your wondrous Dezasha, is an impious man, a wretched faithless dog who cannot apprehend the will of the Shades. He looks only to profit and acquisition, regardless of the foul means he shall have to stoop to in order extract them. For too long, you have been unable to walk the righteous path, the path set out to you by the Shades, because Sadek stifles every thought of your privilege to salvation! Crawling on the streets and begging for scraps is insufficient to survive on when one cannot live by the tenets and a virtuous, clean and glorious enlightenment of the Shades of Creation! Sadek opposes even the most minute notion which the Temple attempts to reward you with, to spread the Shades’ gospel and bring you, their trusted flock, into the fold and save you from the inevitable fate of being tossed into the darkest pits of Mannaze, where only the blackest souls linger in rotten shadows!” At this, the noise and voices of some of the people launch into an abrupt ascension. Some start yelling words or clamoring, while others simply scream in unison, or in opposition; not at Ozdemir, but at the claimed and putative verdict of Sadek. “There can be no doubt that you’ve all seen it, yes? How the Shades one by one disesteem these lives which you are all pressured into leading? You are being drawn away, further and further off from their light! Forsooth, Woerdinn is by and large the foremost of these detractors, trying desperately to steer every one of you correctly. Oh yes, I discern the daze upon your faces. Did you somehow fathom that the Shadow Herd was random? That the ‘Woerdinn’ mark which the Temple alert you of, was a mere curse? Oh no! It is a blessing, a harbinger from Fate’s Shade of their truth!” A gasp races across the masses, and murmur ensues. “Solely by throwing yourselves at the mercy of the Shades may you be forgiven and repent. Should you uplift your voices, dedicate your souls to condemning Sadek and his fabrications, he shall in time yield to his own wrongs and Dezasha will be led down the righteous path. But time is short, my friends. We must act quickly and decisively, and with honesty! Come, join me once more in prayer to the Shades. Let your hearts sing to make the Shades hear that you are remorseful to them, and for the soul of Sadek!”

Eyren doesn’t stick around overlong, for she hasn’t really grasped what recent events might’ve brought forth, nor the exact politics of this burg. Generally, a plethora of organizations and sentiments tend to lurk beneath the shadow of those who sit at the top, and whether they brawl with one another or aim at the peak itself, it’s quite a mess to get into, something Eyren isn’t intrigued by. What does stand out in this solitary case appears to be the angle of the Temple to the Shades of Creation, and these followers, whoever they may be. It isn’t bizarre to stumble upon outliers in any place you come to, but Eyren can’t help wonder whether this one might’ve lit a separate kind of fire, what with the masses stacked around it. Another topic to discuss with Minhai, then.