[right]“You take delight not in a city's seven or seventy wonders, but in the answer it gives to a question of yours.”
[color=gray]- Italo Calvino, [i]Invisible Cities[/i][/color][/right]

Far outside of the walls of Sylann, in the mass of refugee shanties, spreading like a cancer across the fields that once belonged to the Snouters, there lay the scrap-wood hut of an unusual individual. They were unlike the rest of the refugees; far more local, and far more [i]distinguished[/i] by the standards of the city. Here was the master blacksmith Minesh, one of the fifteen Striders in the entire region.

Inside that little hut, Minesh clattered noisily, taking a stone hammer to a little bronze-clad statuette, red-hot with the heat of the crucible – a sad little mudbrick construction. Its tools were as pathetic as its lodgings, as pathetic as the hut that the strider could not stand straight up in, and perhaps more pathetic than the hungry crowds that milled by in the twisting, unplanned streets outside.

A voice emerged behind the master blacksmith, a familiar one, [color=#077303]“Remember when you had that smithery in the city square, the one with the anvil of bloomed-iron?”[/color]

The hammer slammed down on the statuette, a note of bitterness in its ring. Then, slowly, Minesh put down their hammer on the anvil, and began to let the statuette begin to cool. It turned around to the intruder; another of their kind, dressed not in the worn rags as Minesh, but soft, white cottons. They surely would have been mugged on the way, if it were not for the fact Striders were renowned for being able to disembowel any would-be thief with one strike of their arms.

[color=#806801]“Gishimmar,”[/color] Minesh said, a hint of sadness in its voice, [color=#806801]“I prefer not to. As you prefer not to travel here.”[/color]

One manipulator arm slipped out from Gishimmar’s robes, all-concealing to keep the sun from reflecting, and picked a glob of dirt that had stuck to the cotton, commenting, [color=#077303]“Fann’s an awful little shanty. I can’t stand such misery. I was worried you’d left the region entirely, Minesh, it was difficult to find where you’d been reduced to.”[/color]

Minesh chimed at that, once more a bitter note ringing out in it, [color=#806801]“Where else is there to go? Join the sycophants with that petty lord in the outlands? I’m still a Strider, and the only place a Strider can live is Sylann.”[/color]

[color=#077303]“You could stop making those statuettes and come back to Sylann. Your fineries are still the best in the whole gods-damned city.”[/color] Gishimmar spoke suddenly, taking advantage of the opening Minesh left. The sudden fury in the room from the blacksmith was palpable. Its voice raised, the rag-clad Strider shot back, [color=#806801]“If I don’t remember them, nobody will! A hundred and thirty five, dead! Nobody gave a shit except for me!”[/color]

Gishimmar’s rebuttal was cold, anger in it as well, [color=#077303]“Don’t accuse us of that, Minesh. You know full well we mourn all of them every day. You weren’t the only one who cared about Hazi–”[/color]

Minesh interrupted, [color=#806801]“No! You don’t get to use their memory as a [i]bludgeon[/i]. I would’ve–,”[/color] the blacksmith’s songlike lilt faltered, off-tune, [color=#806801]“we would’ve– gods, Gishimmar, we were going to spend the rest of our lives together.”[/color]

Sympathy flooded Gishimmar as the blacksmith seemed to deflate, a sad husk of a once-vibrant Strider. One haunted by the siege and the losses, haunted by the fact none would remember but them, and one day none would. Their sacrifices had gone unnoticed by Sylann, and now out of a hundred-and-fifty gathering of Striders, only fifteen remained. None had come in the following years, and that was unlikely to change. They did not reproduce as the smaller races did, and once one fell, their numbers reduced forever.

It did not matter if one Strider could fell a hundred men, when there were a thousand men, when there was [i]always[/i] a thousand men. Time was attrition and they lost every time. Misery and squalor filled the room as memories flashed in both of them. A long silence, only marred by the sound of the milling crowds going by outside, fell upon the hut.

When one of them spoke up, it was Gishimmar, its voice weak, [color=#077303]“I’m sorry, that was uncalled for. I – it’s simply impossible to watch you live in such squalor. You don’t deserve that. You lost the most out of all of us,”[/color] the strider stepped in, ducking their head down to fit, coming around to look at the unfinished statuette. By this point, the glow was dull, the heat no longer radiating quite as far as it once did. Gishimmar asked, [color=#077303]“who is that?”[/color]

[color=#806801]“Sagar,”[/color] Minesh replied, turning its head back to the statuette, [color=#806801]“out of all of us, I really thought they’d make it.”[/color]

[color=#077303]“They told me, before they went out, the beasts had found a weakness in the wall. If they didn’t go out, thousands could die,”[/color] Gishimmar echoed back, [color=#077303]“everyone they saved don’t know that, and neither will they care.”[/color]

The silence fell again. They both stared down at the statuette, and the stone anvil it sat on. It was a cheap affair, the bronze by far the most expensive thing in the room. Even such a small amount was worth a king’s ransom in Fann, one last vestige of wealth in the blacksmith’s hut from a Strider who had already sold everything else to keep making the statuettes. A hundred were done, and thirty-five remained.

This time, it was Minesh who broke the silence, [color=#806801]“You never said what brought you here, Gishimmar. You wouldn’t have come looking unless something’s changed.”[/color]

The finely-dressed strider tilted its head in an acknowledgement, explaining, [color=#077303]“Things [i]have[/i] changed. The roads are being paved with a new material. Tabira’s grown fat with wealth from that work. There’s a new academy, too. Sylia decreed it, and now I get paid for my discoveries. I have a manor now – paid for by mathematically determining the circumference of Galbar.”[/color]

Minesh spared a glance at the squalid dwelling it lived in, and drily commented, [color=#806801]“I’m happy for you.”[/color]

[color=#077303]“You know I wouldn’t tell you this unless it was leading somewhere,”[/color] Gishimmar chided, [color=#077303]“I’m here on request of Tabira. Three quarters of the trade in the city now goes through her, and nobody’s noticed. She’s getting us all together, and has plans for a club. Her thoughts have been on nothing but you for the past week. She wants you back in Sylann, badly.”[/color]

[color=#806801]“She?”[/color] Minesh asked, and Gishimmar responded, [color=#077303]“She took that moniker last year. Helps her with business dealings. Emulates the goddess.”[/color]

The conversation continued as Minesh asked next, [color=#806801]“So what, we all get back together, and trade pleasantries? What does Tabira want a club for?”[/color]

[color=#077303]“The Assembly’s a bloated gaggle, they’re going to lead the city into ruin if left to their own devices. Bunch of warmongers, every day, all their solutions are invading their neighbors. We all hold positions of [i]real[/i] influence in the city, and Tabira wants to leverage that. We’re going to – manipulate is perhaps the right word, but the intent’s wrong. The city should thrive, and if that means we have to move things behind the scenes, that’s what we’ll do.”[/color] Minesh could tell from the tone of Gishimmar’s voice, this was genuine, and the Strider was a genuine believer.

Minesh cared little for politics; its love for them died in the siege, and the death of its kin and its love. The Assembly, the goals of the city, all of them could rot for all it cared. Its next question flowed naturally, [color=#806801]“Okay, and why would I care?”[/color]

[color=#077303]“You don’t have to,”[/color] Gishimmar admitted, [color=#077303]“Tabira’s going to give you your own manor, even got your old smithery back, renovated it back to how it was. She’s hunting down your old anvil now. She doesn’t care if you contribute; all you have to do is attend. We’re all firm believers Striders need to stick together.”[/color]

[color=#806801]“My statuettes,”[/color] Minesh mentioned.

Gishimmar looked at the crooked shelves that lined the huts, and the small statues of various Striders that sat upon them. It lilted, sympathetically, [color=#077303]“You can finish them. I may think they’re macabre, but – that’s not an indictment of them. We’re not going to take that away from you.”[/color]

Minesh fell into thought, the hut silencing once more as Gishimmar waited for a reply. The blacksmith’s antennae sagged, and it looked down with all four eyes at the statuette. When it replied, it said, in a tone that was simultaneously defeated and hopeful, [color=#806801]“Help me pack everything up. I’ll come.”[/color]

[hider=Summary]
In Fann, there’s a strider named Minesh. They’re a blacksmith, formerly one of the finest in Sylann. Formerly because they’re now living in poverty in Fann. They’re making a little statuette out of bronze on a bunch of cheap equipment like a stone anvil (a boulder lol) and a stone hammer.

They’re visited by another Strider named Gishimmar, a mathematician. They’re dressed finely and clearly aren’t comfortable in Fann. They comment on Minesh making statuettes, saying they’re wasting their skills, and Minesh lashes out.

Gishimmar counters with the fact that Minesh wasn’t the only one hurt, and it’s revealed that ninety percent of the Striders in the entire region died in the siege of Sylann. But when they mention the name Hazi, Minesh suddenly interrupts. It’s revealed Hazi was in love with Minesh and died in the siege.

It turns out that their sacrifices went largely unnoticed in the city proper, just more corpses of defenders on the pile. Here it is revealed the primary weakness of the Striders: they were rare to begin with, but as every other race has offspring, the Striders stay stagnant. They’re tough to kill, but when they die they’re not replaced, and over time their numbers continue to dwindle.

Both of them cool down, and Gishimmar apologizes. They take notice of the statuette on the anvil – it’s depicting Sagar, a Strider who died to save thousands in the siege. Their sacrifice also went uncelebrated except by the Striders in the know.

Minesh asks why Gishimmar’s in Fann, and Gishimmar admits that they’re there to pick up Minesh. Another strider, Tabira, is an immensely successful businesswoman (who has gendered herself as female to mimic Sylia to her advantage in trade negotiations), and is putting together a club to start steering the city under the nose of the Assembly. Minesh observes in the explanation that Gishimmar is a genuine believer, and genuinely wants the city to thrive.

Minesh doesn’t care about politics, however, and asks why they would care. Gishimmar offers a manor, their old smithy, and no obligations beyond attending meetings. This generous offer is explained as Tabira wanting the remaining Striders to stick together and watch out for each other.

It’s also here that the reason for Minesh’s poverty is revealed – they’ve stopped taking paying work, and instead have taken to selling belongings to finish the statuettes.

Minesh ultimately agrees, on the condition it gets to finish its statuettes. This is agreed to and they begin to pack up to leave for Sylann.
[/hider]