By Montrose
Word Count: 586
Rated: G
Summary: Tsuna, the Tradehood’s Master of Arms, rides to meet with the Supreme Prophet Paliens.
Zanzibar might have been entering into a long spring, but snow still clung to the rocks, gorse bushes and coarse grasses of the Eirnovar highlands. Settled in the southern lee of the great peak against which it had crashed, the wreck-city of Ivorsa Fallen huddled in the last of winter’s gloom, shielded from the spring sunshine that bathed the north face of the mountain.
The creak of wood and cracks of flapping canvas from the shanty city was carried by the chill breeze out across the open downslopes that lay beneath it. Assembled there beyond the city limits, gazing a touch mournfully at the shelter afforded by the wooden warren above, stood one thousand Ubayime soldiers. Beneath the watchful gazes of their officers, they stood unnaturally close-packed for their kind – the need to ward of the chill trumping at that moment their individualist natures. They had been there since dawn, and were growing restless, were not used to standing still.
At last, a crowd emerged from the city and started towards them: Novarites of all manner of persuasions, dressed for the weather, following behind what could only be the Supreme Prophet Paliens and his bodyguards. Curious, the Ubayime soldiers turned in the direction of the coast and saw a smaller delegation of their own people. At their head strode Tsnua, the Tradehood’s Master of Arms. Come to take them home from this frigid, boring campaign. It had been no joke to spend more than a year, including winter, out in this terrain, with only a single skirmish with the phantasmal Kobolts to show for it.
They tracked Tsnua as he brought his delegation around their position and towards the massed Novarites opposite, clearly heading for the Supreme Prophet. Some diplomatic nicety, no doubt, hopefully it wouldn’t take long. One of Tsnua’s pages was fumbling with something – a gift? No…
Without warning, without really seeming to break stride, Tsnua had thrust his arm forward in a shot-putters motion and launched something through the air – a pie of some kind. Breaths held, more than two thousand pairs of eyes tracked it as it arced gracefully over the distance between them, appearing one or twice to kink slightly as if correcting its course. It landed, with a wet and very audible sound, right on Paliens’ face.
Laughter bubbles up out of the crowd, thin and incredulous at first before filling out into the cruel, heckling hilarity of mob laughter. And it went on, loud and long, longer than many in the crowd felt natural or deserved. Even as they fought for breath, mouths still fighting smiles, suspicious eyes sought out the Ubayime sorcerers with their psychic magic. It hadn’t been that funny.
Their leader, meanwhile, looked deeply stung by the reaction. Abandoning his bodyguard he strode silently towards the Ubayime delegation, and Tsnua set out to match him. The two met between their respective entourages, watched by a thousand Ubayime soldiers and as many Novarites, if not more. They faced each other briefly, but whatever words they shared were snatched away by the wind. Then Paliens turned on his heel and, without a backward glance, marched back into Ivorsa Fallen, his people parting before him. Tsnua watched him go, and then with a motion to the officers turned back towards the coast. The assembled soldiers happily broke into a chattering crowd as they began the long awaited march, working blood back into their limbs as they analysed, with the informed enthusiasm of Kasi worshippers, their new commander’s successful prank.