Untitled history

Sitting in a mallet without metal but crystal borders and nails, in front of an incandescent fire whose light wasn't seen from afar, in a forest with pine trees and shrubs sparsely populating the black and rich soil. It wasn't past 16:50 when the fire snuffed out in the silence and the dark embracing trait of this pinewood labyrinth settled camp again, and yet it was still in silence after all. Time to get moving.

That brutal silence of discussion and embroidered excuses that made up the fabric of the air who was warm as ever, gestures could be heard still, the sound of clothing moving against itself, the sound of metal clinging against the wood, shrieking. «A cord to never pull is patience and patient is the sick, never pull sickness, never attract sickness nor be attracted to patience, because from it comes inactivity as so does the sickness.»

He wasn't broad of figure, rather than not he wasn't anything but tired, ravenly looking, rarely actually looking at what was being done there but rather listening, the sounds of wind against hair and the sound of pages being turnt unpromptedly. He put a piece of the wood chopped in the corner of his book and continued to read seismically as his hands tinkered around a large chunk of the gray and dried pine. Long nails who found every little crack and forcedly reduced the chunk into smaller pieces, almost as in trance, he reads a page and grabs a new log.

His name is not that much of a name, he has one but he only knows, he has a title that holds respectfully and honorably zero prestige or relief, Qüas, Leo — or Leon if you happen to know him — Leo Qüas is the title given by the master Ex-Leo Delafar, a preacher of virtue who weld on thin air. Important of notice, Delafar is not a Watcher which makes him a surprising disgust to others and his company, Qüas included. 

What honor could a title of a witch have on a watcher? Certainly none. Leo, title of courage, given by servitude in dire needs and a master like Delafar for most of the cases made Qüas drift into annoyance most of the time, not because of the title itself but who he wears it after, as if he was mocked into accepting it. 

Qüas is tender and rather slick in the corners, carefully picking each word to think and say every time to prove his personal theory of growth to Nasilv, her sworn protector. Nasilv by herself is a pretty petulant individual who carries herself the links of magnets, her hair is short and pointy, naturally blonde, her face seems sunken in somber temper and her clothes are covered in ash and tattered underlayers, she honestly looks like a god’s forgotten sister of the curse to Qüas, yet he still swears glory and service to her. Except the cold air is given their latest discussion, again as always, it’s a discussion about writing their knowledge.

-What should we do then? Engrave everything everywhere and lend it out there as nothing? -

- Maybe we should.-

-No! We should not! -

-Under no circumstances we should let commoneers have access to books, imagine having to deal with all of those pesky curses and moratoons. -

- Imagine having a day off.-

- Imagine having a week off.-

- Imagine being home for once, that’s what I am saying, why being here in this creepy forest walking from kilometers west only to retrieve the singular copy of “Mac’s Velvet Colorthurgy” when there could be a whole library to it?-

-Imagine everyone using Colorthurgy too then! How does that sound? A life off, since you’d be dead in that case. - 

- Who are you calling dead? Ghoul!-

The words struck there for a moment until the look of Qüas turned to see a furious Nasilv, as always, she got angry at the insolently assault of zero value of preservation his watcher got, this was her second one, and it was rather a thing to not mention fully, better said, this was her second time with a watcher and she was clearly unprepared for how different they are compared to witches, simply because she would have been slapped and put in shame for even remoting into asking such a question as “Don’t you think we should have more than one book of any?” Poison to a witch's heart!
Truly, all of it said, Nasilv was angry yet also curious about the results, an idea of everyone preaching and cursing was too daunting to her, in a sense of danger, like when the fall seems big enough that your body wants to fall. And certainly her’s wanted to dive deep in that air surrounding the tall thought of it, the formation at which she decided herself that the magnets, always attracted to poles, should directly go to the manifested pole, the pole that was decided by her consciousness alike, this pole was a book, short print, really short, a thick and rather small book about reds effects on healing preachings, nothing more than that can be known about the pole from this distance, and her magnets decided to guide them deep into cursed land, a pinewood forest with grim atmosphere. No fog, nor light, only wood, moisture and rocks laying around precisely in patterns that are so large to her eyes, she cannot explain or prove them.

Meanwhile Qüas was a not so tall man, he was not so much of a man either but he was manly enough to put up for it, weirdly still he cannot be described as anything else but a dark toned male, bruised and with a crow-ish black hair that was starting to get long after he embarked on the Cursed soil with Nasilv. His clothes were damping wet from the leather and metallic boots to his knees, his tunic was loose and it needed at least two washes to get his real color back, but now it was brown with riveted metal on the sleeves, his looks would’ve told you he was a monk but in reality his posture looks like if he was kicked in the back multiple times by a horse, not pleasant to look at and Nasilv really found a knack on slapping him on his lower back to straighten him.
Both of them were exotic in their own darkish way, but that’s how every watcher and every witch are, not so dirty but clearly as unusual.

An ashen up and cut down blond tall and thick girl and a hooked down and dusty moor walks up to a bar. That’s how this joke starts. 

Untitled History Chapter I