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Location: Kikka, by the Coliseum
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The steady drum of the carriage as it rolled along the gravely road, its gentle rattling, and the echoing hoofbeats of the horses could have easily lulled some to sleep. Yet all the occupants of this particular vehicle were awake and alert, the youngest two playfully active.
“Hey, Sol, I’m good to go again!” Rhys chirped. Her cousin was 14 years old, on the tall and slender side. His shiny champagne hair fell in straight locks past his ears, framing his delicate face. His fringe fell into his bright blue eyes at times, though he didn’t seem to mind. He wore a tailored suit, and his demeanour was usually sedate and studious.
He was cheerful around her, though, since they’d bonded fiercely after that fateful day when a demon had been unleashed upon their home.
“Oh, yeah?” Solveig smirked. She’d been practicing with one of the two guards – a pair of mages working for the von Brandts – who sat beside them. Neither her father nor Rhys’s parents could make it today, unfortunately. Neither of them minded, either, because they knew how busy they were.
“Let’s switch it up then.”Franklin, a man using metal magic had been firing different sized projectiles at her at varying speeds, made of materials with differing melting points. Solveig had been holding a compact ball of flame between her hands, aiming to intercept and annihilate the attacks before they got to her. She’d been encouraging her flames to actively eat at the opponent’s magic, though this wasn’t working out as well as she’d like. One of her spells did feed passively on magic, but she knew the efficiency of it could still be improved by leaps and bounds.
Chelsea, a mist mage sitting next to her watched the proceedings with a dissatisfied frown. She’d intervened when necessary, but to Solveig’s pride, she hadn’t needed to do so more than twice throughout the entire journey.
Inhaling, she closed her eyes, transforming the fire ball into a long fiery snake which curled around her neck. It wouldn’t burn
her, of course. She held out her hands in front of her in a basic open-palmed defensive posture.
“Go!”Rhys didn’t immediately fire. He waited. He ignited his flames. The
hiss of his magic made her tense up briefly. He waited some more. Then, in a swift flaming strike, he sent the magic toward her. Solveig formed scales around a part of her palm, fending off the attack successfully. Practicing reflexes, defense,
and using two spells at once, even if one of them was passive, took a lot of concentration.
Even so, this went on for a while.
Around the time Sol was starting to sweat buckets, grimacing so hard one could uncharitably compare her to someone in the middle of a particularly hazardous nature’s call, Chelsea interrupted. Politely, of course, but with a no-nonsense attitude as was her wont.
“My lady. You must stop now, and rest. Else, you will be low on mana reserves by the time of the tournament.”“She’s got you there, cous,” Rhys chuckled.
Groaning, Solveig opened her eyes, and leaned back into the carriage seat with a loud exhale.
“Fine,” she whined only slightly. She knew this was the most sensible course of action, she’d just got caught up in the practice too much. With a sigh, she allowed her magic to dissipate.
If only she knew of a way to absorb it back into her body–!
“Khm,” the mist mage coughed politely.
“Oh, come on, I wasn’t doing anything,” she complained jokingly.
“Are you sure you aren’t a mind mage?”“Very sure,” Chelsea retorted dryly.
“I merely know you well enough,” there was a tiny smile there, a crack to her otherwise humorless self.
Solveig conceded with a nod and a smile, then turned to Rhys.
“C’mon then, tell me the latest on Kikka,” she urged.
She’d been to the city before, and knew the generalities, but her cousin was the one who was practically obsessed with this stuff. So, she leaned against the backrest, relaxed, and let Rhys’s voice wash over her as he enthused over facts, rumours, mercantile deals, and other information.
And thus, their journey to Kikka passed.
The line of carriages in front of them at the mouth of the city brought the final stretch of the journey to a slow trundle. Solveig was itching to go out, and walk the rest of the way, but stayed put for the sake of sticking together until they made it to their lodgings, at the very least.
Minutes later, they were finally parked in front of an in.
“Whew,” Solveig stood up, picked up her sheathed sword, and jumped out of the vehicle. She belted the blade at her hip. It was a practice blade, crafted from steel, its edges blunt; it would still hurt to be hit with it, but it wouldn’t kill anyone unless she aimed to crush their neck. Which she wouldn’t, obviously.
With her outfit, Sol could pass for a guard or mercenary herself, but the von Brandt family crest engraved into her breastplate loudly proclaimed her status to all who cared to notice. She stretched thoroughly once outside; the metal parts of her armour were few and light enough to allow for easy maneuverability.
“Joann, William, Samuel,” she called to the three other guards who’d accompanied them; two on horseback, one on a broom.
“I have a favour…” she grinned, a devious sparkle in her eyes.
A short back and forth later, she’d convinced the three to go intel gathering in the city rather than guard her and Rhys.
If there were any ill-intentioned folk out there who wanted to make an impact…An event like today’s could be used by them either as a distraction or to cause mayhem.
She knew her family’s three guards were barely a droplet in a sea of people, numerous of them Kikka’s guards. Yet, they might uncover something. One never knew.
The four of them stopped by a stall for snacks. Solveig had some heavenly satay, while Rhys took grilled veggies. They shared with each other, and the guards had their own meal as well.
When it came time for them to separate, Solveig cheekily claimed,
“Watch me win out there.”There wasn’t any winning per se. Some viewed being selected as a win. However, it was only the start when you were. For her, she’d simply do all she could to come out on top of whatever challenge was set in front of her.
As she waited in one of the lines, Sol marveled at all the people. Some were fighting, some were flirting, some were posturing, some were making new friends, and others, new enmities.
As for herself, it was enough for her to watch, at least for now. In time, it was her turn to receive a badge.
“Name, age, birth town?” the bored official droned out without even looking up.
Nonetheless, Solveig smiled at him.
“Solveig von Brandt, 16, Zagros.” He gave her a slightly startled look. Her smile didn’t falter, and he handed her a badge.
“Number 230,” he informed her. She pinned it to her belt, and proceeded onwards.
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