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Fikumin
Fikuminâs first gem
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Marshmallows.
He felt them in his old coatâs pocket.
Warm, soft bread and butter.
He touched the other one.
A piece of pork. Preferably in thin slices.
Fikumin sighed. He was missing the most crucial ingredient. One neednât be a famed cook, to know how to make a lesser hoagie. The latter was different than the great one, which had yellow cheese and vegetables on top of everything else. That type of meal of course, was fit for a king, not Fikumin.
Heâll just have to make do, with the lesser variant.
Or just eat what heâd found so far and call it a day.
Try again, on the morrow.
He moved behind a cartâs wheel, turned just at the right time to avoid the ox hauling it, ducked under a bored horse relieving itself in the middle of the busy market street, the pile created stinking something fierce. He ran into a side alley to reach the meat market, but bumped into a one-eyed dog heâd missed, almost crashing through the wall before its exit.
Fikumin recovered deftly, his little stubby feet quick. The fastest of the folk, old Bodmulir Blunthorn used to say back home. He much preferred handsomest truth be told, or the strongest, but one takes in life, what Luthos gives him.
In the end, the god of Luck always provided.
The butcherâs place stunk of blood and guts. The man himself, a right mountain of flesh and an exceptional hairy complexion, downed his cleaver shaking the large table without pause, having found his rhythm. A piece of leg, meat and part of bone, flew further, bounced once on the butcherâs tableâs bloody surface and then dropped, right between Fikuminâs short legs.
Hah!
He grabbed it with both hands, first looking right towards the busy street and the waiting customers feet, then left to the alley, heâd just came from. Decision made, he dashed for it. Zig-zagging to avoid a heavy boot coming down and the butcher cursing at his back, realizing a piece was missing. Someone yelled, a woman screamed and a couple of kids attempted to run after him, but he was fast and righteously determined.
Also extremely hungry.
Fikumin rushed back into the alley, the dog barking smelling food on him this time, but didnât give chase Praised be Luthor the merciful; out the other side, across a busy street and then a hard right, more a dodge, to avoid getting trampled under the hooves of a galloping madman.
This next small road led to a much bigger open square and he was about to cross over the other side and head towards Westport keeping the tower as his guide, when he spotted a shadow melting into a wall in a backstreet, separating two of the larger buildings. There were a lot of soldiers patrolling them.
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It took Fikumin but a minute to figure out, exactly where he was and seeing the shadow appear again, the moment a soldierâs back was turned and dash behind one of the government buildings, he went after it.
It wasnât a spur of the moment decision. Heâd caught a glimpse of blue hair, his eyes keen and sensed a hint of magic. As it happened, more than an amateur cook, the fastest of the folk and a devotee of Luthos; Fikumin was an adventurer. Heâd left his home years back, too many to count as the expression goes, but Fikumin knew they were forty seven just the same, in order to see the realm. Visit the places over the earth and below it, where legends once lived, gems were birthed and rivers of gold ran freely.
It was a work in progress.
Finding food in a human city the biggest obstacle.
So he kind of stalled, figuring it out.
Humans were a difficult species, not very prone on sharing.
The nobler creatures of the tales all but gone.
A foolish endeavor, his old mentor always said. Everything is dead now, and if something remains, a northern dwarf will never reach the lands of Eodrass alive.
Mark my words youngling.
Running after the creature, Fikumin smiled at his mentor proven wrong at last; as wide a grin as his hunger allowed him. His rich mustache danced at the corners of his mouth, great brown beard jolting up and down as he hurried that piece of pork still in his hands.
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The passage between the buildings was dark and narrow, the sun not reaching it. Cold, but that was more a pleasure for Fikumin, than a nuisance. It took him a moment to get his bearings, slowly walking further inside, the walls looming huge on either side. A rat decided to make a run for it and dashed right in front him, but he kept his clever eyes on a spot a couple of meters from his right shoulder, where the shadows moved ever so slightly, as if breathing.
His stomach growled loudly, the wait dragging.
âYou will not leave,â A female voice said, speaking in the common tongue.
âNot before I see ye.â
The shadows moved, a cloak parting to reveal her lithe body, a part of her face still hidden under a hood. She pushed it back and over her head, rich cobalt hair spilled out, parting in the mid. An elegant nose, large eyes the color of warm gold, sensual mouth, and skin like ivory. Fikumin breathed in, his senses overwhelmed. A right beauty, she was. And tall, unfairly so, but also graceful, her lips forming a small smile seeing his scrutiny.
âYou are of the Folk?â The Zilan asked. A real one, in the flesh, Fikumin thought and he would let out a cry of joy right and then, if his stomach didnât protest again, angrier this time. âWhat did they name you?â She asked, with a glance at the piece of pork, he still held in his hands.
Fikumin, knowing her raceâs culinary preferences well, wasnât worried. She appeared rather well fed and the Zilan favored the flesh of the Sinya Nore, with a celebrated passion.
âFikumin Flintfoot,â He replied and watched a striking blue eyebrow rise, a gloved hand sprouting out of her cloak towards him, extended fingers long as the legends described.
âIâm Lithoniela, of Baltoris. It is pleasant, making your acquaintance master Fikumin,â She sang to him, the spell washing over his tired muscles soothing and her eyes changing to a warmer yellow showing him her favor.
âThe first gem of Dawn. How fitting,â A mesmerized Fikumin, translated from the old dialect and this time the Zilan chuckled long and throaty, her brilliant white teeth sharp and pointy, bright pink tongue dancing underneath.
Found me first one, Bodmulir.
He followed her suit, tears in his eyes, their joy palpable and contagious. Two long forgotten and thought extinct races, sharing the once common spell of Bliss unseen in an alley, behind Castalorâs Vice Admiralty Courtâs main building.