and horror in the halls of stone
Jahin has always been drawn to the idea of peace. In his years of constant raiding and fighting for the Davke horde, he’s grown weary of war and the never ending casualties war brings with it. He wishes he wasn’t this way--introspective and dabbling with philosophical concepts far beyond his meager level of Davke education--it would be far easier if he was simply content to live his life as he always had: on the fight and tempting death. This line of thinking is what had ultimately earned him exile from his people and Avdotya’s timeless scorn, but fighting has never been enough for him and he would be lying to himself if he continued to pretend otherwise.
Now that he’s left the blood-stained sands of Davke battles behind, he can’t help but feel restless and uncomfortable in this shiny, new Capitol skin he wears. What business does he have, parading about the Capitol as Regent, when he’s participated and lead countless raids on Capitol caravans and spilled his fair share of Capitol soldier blood? His head ought to be lodged on a pike, displayed for the entire city so citizens can launch rotten fruit and vegetables at his remains and curse his name.
Instead, he is free and living a relatively peaceful life. Peaceful, albeit empty. Makeda is gone, bones crumbling to sand in the desert, and he no longer dreams of a domestic life surrounded by their children in a house he built for his family. While Avdotya lives, Jahin is as dead to her as her own sister. He’s not sure the trade was worth forfeiting his relationship with Avdotya. Can anything be worth losing Avdotya’s respect? But self-pity rarely achieves anything worthwhile, so he tries not to dwell too much on the fact that he doesn’t belong anywhere anymore. Instead, he attempts to make the most of what he is here and now, knowing the only way to ease the pain and guilt plaguing in his heart is to ensure that it is all worth it in the end.
He patrols in his spare time with his spear secured to his back. Pacing the Capitol walls and manning the watchtower makes him feel useful; a feeling he has sorely missed. When he hears the blood-curdling scream of a Teyr, he can hardly believe it. He freezes in his tracks, his own blood pounding almost joyfully in his ears as he frantically scans the sky for a glimpse of the winged creature. Why would a Teryr be hunting so far outside of its normal range, and so near civilization to boot? He doesn’t have time to dwell on the abnormality of the situation, catching sight of the beast perched on the gate parapet screaming its rage and promising death.
Fortunately, Jahin is near one of the alarm bells that is situated in one of the flanking towers near the entrance. “Ring the bell!” he shouts over the Teryr cries at the stationed guard. The guard leaps to attention, ringing the massive bell with all her might. The bell’s warning rings out clear across the city. It’s too late to gather an organized attack; he can only hope the bell provides enough warning for unarmed citizens to take cover before the Teryr carries out its promise of destruction.
Readying his spear, Jahin bounds to the top of the overlooking watchtower, adrenaline sending a thrill unlike any other through his veins. How I have missed this...
The Teryr has already initiated the fight and is making a low, soaring dive through the streets. Something below the rampart walls catches the light of the sun, flashing in his eyes like a desperate signal mirror. Wincing, he struggles to identify the source amid the throng of scrabbling bodies below. Two silver daggers and a collar flash in the sun. Teiran? What is she doing back? Another shriek from the Teryr and he loses sight of her in the mass of hysterical citizens. He focuses on the Teryr as it swoops through the streets, steadying his pounding heart with focused, deliberate breaths. He's not in a good enough position to make a throw yet, so he waits, holding his spear ready in case the Teryr should made another pass close enough to do some damage. If there is one thing Jahin can do in this world without a shadow of a doubt, it is throwing his spear true and strait.
J A H I N
look at last on meadows green
and trees and hills they long have known
Now that he’s left the blood-stained sands of Davke battles behind, he can’t help but feel restless and uncomfortable in this shiny, new Capitol skin he wears. What business does he have, parading about the Capitol as Regent, when he’s participated and lead countless raids on Capitol caravans and spilled his fair share of Capitol soldier blood? His head ought to be lodged on a pike, displayed for the entire city so citizens can launch rotten fruit and vegetables at his remains and curse his name.
Instead, he is free and living a relatively peaceful life. Peaceful, albeit empty. Makeda is gone, bones crumbling to sand in the desert, and he no longer dreams of a domestic life surrounded by their children in a house he built for his family. While Avdotya lives, Jahin is as dead to her as her own sister. He’s not sure the trade was worth forfeiting his relationship with Avdotya. Can anything be worth losing Avdotya’s respect? But self-pity rarely achieves anything worthwhile, so he tries not to dwell too much on the fact that he doesn’t belong anywhere anymore. Instead, he attempts to make the most of what he is here and now, knowing the only way to ease the pain and guilt plaguing in his heart is to ensure that it is all worth it in the end.
He patrols in his spare time with his spear secured to his back. Pacing the Capitol walls and manning the watchtower makes him feel useful; a feeling he has sorely missed. When he hears the blood-curdling scream of a Teyr, he can hardly believe it. He freezes in his tracks, his own blood pounding almost joyfully in his ears as he frantically scans the sky for a glimpse of the winged creature. Why would a Teryr be hunting so far outside of its normal range, and so near civilization to boot? He doesn’t have time to dwell on the abnormality of the situation, catching sight of the beast perched on the gate parapet screaming its rage and promising death.
Fortunately, Jahin is near one of the alarm bells that is situated in one of the flanking towers near the entrance. “Ring the bell!” he shouts over the Teryr cries at the stationed guard. The guard leaps to attention, ringing the massive bell with all her might. The bell’s warning rings out clear across the city. It’s too late to gather an organized attack; he can only hope the bell provides enough warning for unarmed citizens to take cover before the Teryr carries out its promise of destruction.
Readying his spear, Jahin bounds to the top of the overlooking watchtower, adrenaline sending a thrill unlike any other through his veins. How I have missed this...
The Teryr has already initiated the fight and is making a low, soaring dive through the streets. Something below the rampart walls catches the light of the sun, flashing in his eyes like a desperate signal mirror. Wincing, he struggles to identify the source amid the throng of scrabbling bodies below. Two silver daggers and a collar flash in the sun. Teiran? What is she doing back? Another shriek from the Teryr and he loses sight of her in the mass of hysterical citizens. He focuses on the Teryr as it swoops through the streets, steadying his pounding heart with focused, deliberate breaths. He's not in a good enough position to make a throw yet, so he waits, holding his spear ready in case the Teryr should made another pass close enough to do some damage. If there is one thing Jahin can do in this world without a shadow of a doubt, it is throwing his spear true and strait.
look at last on meadows green
and trees and hills they long have known
