Ilirl of the Chant
He knew Idocrase. Everybody did but maybe Iliril had a bit more experience with them than the people in his little section of the School of Chants. Once, some mages from Idocrase had visited his teacher. Iliril had mostly lurked in the background, ease dropping on their conversation. He hadn't thought much of it before this day, but it really was a disappointment that they hadn't spoken of anything important. Merely simple pleasantries and bows as a small group of people met at the only crossroads that their lives would ever join at. He wondered what had happened to those Idocrase mages. He didn't want to wonder what had happened to his teacher.
"W-we're one of t-the s-small-ler d-div-vis-sions," Iliril said, somewhat uncomfortably. "N-not t-too m-man-ny p-peop-ple f-from ot-ther s-schools k-know ab-bout us." He had always thought that the reason for that was because the rest of the School of Chants were ashamed of them and could easily imagine what the common mentality could have been. Yes, these people are lunatics and they are our lunatics so we'll be proud of them, but damn if anybody else knows that.
In any case, even telling Enelen where his school was located was a bit of an awkward experience. It was the equivalent of telling somebody from some shiny, prestigious university with an overly long name that he lived in a cave. Which was admittedly true, so that just made it worse. It was not helped at all by the fact that, look, they were very nice caves. And Iliril found himself desperately missing the little things like the constant, muffled echoes of people simply being, and having random silica showers whenever nature decided that it was going to just be another difficult day.
If the sky were any more azure, he was going to get sick.
He did start when Enelen mentioned how this world was paradise. Because oh, oh, didn't he know? More aggressively than he meant to show, he all but spat out, "If t-this is t-the onl-ly w-world y-you've b-been t-to, t-then y-you m-must h-have h-had all of t-the l-luck in t-the ent-tire w-world." And because it felt like spitting on the graves of all of those people who hadn't made it, he added angrily, "I w-wasn't al-lone at f-first!"
Ranara had gone out into that dead world alone when the rest of them were asleep, so he hadn't really seen her die. He hadn't seen the deaths of Ulumul or little Helehe, or those other mages whose names had gone right over his head because when it came down to it, there would always be those people that would be automatically marked lower in priorities because there were more people who were more important that he actually knew and-
Maybe they had gotten lucky. Maybe they were still okay. It had only been a few weeks, but if Iliril thought too deeply about empty reassurances like that, then he would have had to remember that days were like years and weeks had been like centuries. That was enough time for personal angers to die down.
His voice dropped down suddenly as he kind of huddled into himself. "T-things w-were r-reall-ly b-bad. Y-yeah. I g-guess t-this is l-like p-par-rad-dise. B-but I c-can't h-help b-but w-wond-der w-what w-will g-go w-wrong n-now."
He knew Idocrase. Everybody did but maybe Iliril had a bit more experience with them than the people in his little section of the School of Chants. Once, some mages from Idocrase had visited his teacher. Iliril had mostly lurked in the background, ease dropping on their conversation. He hadn't thought much of it before this day, but it really was a disappointment that they hadn't spoken of anything important. Merely simple pleasantries and bows as a small group of people met at the only crossroads that their lives would ever join at. He wondered what had happened to those Idocrase mages. He didn't want to wonder what had happened to his teacher.
"W-we're one of t-the s-small-ler d-div-vis-sions," Iliril said, somewhat uncomfortably. "N-not t-too m-man-ny p-peop-ple f-from ot-ther s-schools k-know ab-bout us." He had always thought that the reason for that was because the rest of the School of Chants were ashamed of them and could easily imagine what the common mentality could have been. Yes, these people are lunatics and they are our lunatics so we'll be proud of them, but damn if anybody else knows that.
In any case, even telling Enelen where his school was located was a bit of an awkward experience. It was the equivalent of telling somebody from some shiny, prestigious university with an overly long name that he lived in a cave. Which was admittedly true, so that just made it worse. It was not helped at all by the fact that, look, they were very nice caves. And Iliril found himself desperately missing the little things like the constant, muffled echoes of people simply being, and having random silica showers whenever nature decided that it was going to just be another difficult day.
If the sky were any more azure, he was going to get sick.
He did start when Enelen mentioned how this world was paradise. Because oh, oh, didn't he know? More aggressively than he meant to show, he all but spat out, "If t-this is t-the onl-ly w-world y-you've b-been t-to, t-then y-you m-must h-have h-had all of t-the l-luck in t-the ent-tire w-world." And because it felt like spitting on the graves of all of those people who hadn't made it, he added angrily, "I w-wasn't al-lone at f-first!"
Ranara had gone out into that dead world alone when the rest of them were asleep, so he hadn't really seen her die. He hadn't seen the deaths of Ulumul or little Helehe, or those other mages whose names had gone right over his head because when it came down to it, there would always be those people that would be automatically marked lower in priorities because there were more people who were more important that he actually knew and-
Maybe they had gotten lucky. Maybe they were still okay. It had only been a few weeks, but if Iliril thought too deeply about empty reassurances like that, then he would have had to remember that days were like years and weeks had been like centuries. That was enough time for personal angers to die down.
His voice dropped down suddenly as he kind of huddled into himself. "T-things w-were r-reall-ly b-bad. Y-yeah. I g-guess t-this is l-like p-par-rad-dise. B-but I c-can't h-help b-but w-wond-der w-what w-will g-go w-wrong n-now."
