Storms of Truth (HIATUS)

1 (Revised)

"In the Age of Gods, certain individuals were granted the hearts of dragons,

"Those aligned with the sun, with the burning passion of Ase'Soliria,

"These people are tempered in flames,

"Forged by volcanic fire."

~ Passage One: Dragon Soul of Sunlight

Falora

County of Crackjaw

Grey clouds littered the sky above the harbor town. Falora stood at the edge of the pier, almost able to imagine the boat where her parents left, so long ago. Never to return in the haze of a horrible storm. Fishermen tied up their boats against the wooden docks, where the waves lapped at the white stones.

"Thanks for your help today, Falora," Ujurn said from his boat. "I had a nice haul today. I probably couldn't carry it by myself."

"It was no problem." Falora shrugged as she stepped off the pier and onto the harbor proper. Light showers slicked the cobble streets and flickered the embers reflecting off the drops. Hand up to her brow, she trudged through the fisher's market, away from the delectable smell of dead fish. Braid behind her ear, she reached main street. Carts rumbled through, powered by the fire runes etched into their wheels.

If I don't smell that fresh, ocean smell every morning, it'll be too soon.

Acolytes of the nearby temple assured those afraid of a little rainwater. Their headdress curled beside their temples, a pale visage of Ase'Soliria. Falora shuffled past one girl, who listened close to the older priestess who went about her daily calls and prayer in the street.

It's the same every time. Falra rubbed the bridge of her nose. The amount of times I've heard 'may they find peace in Asen'Tharalon's ream, and may Asen'Orilion burn in in the pit of the Elder Ones...'

Everyone acted the same during storm season. They lived on the coast, it shouldn't have been much of a surprise.

"Falora."

Emraine, the herbalist's daughter. Falora faltered off the sidewalk to wait for her outside the shop she had bustled out of. Her skirt hugged her knees, while a stray, scandalous button hung loose at the top of her shirt.

"I thought you'd be working the counter today, Emraine."

"I was coming to check up on you." Emraine flashed out a piece of paper, the real reason Emraine would bother her. "Okay, well, that's half the reason. Mother wants to replenish her stores of pyrelilies. You know people don't like going that far down the coast when there's a storm coming. We're running out, and they're blooming. Mr. Bensen has been complaining again." She blinked her owlish, grey eyes at her. "You know how he gets. Mother is willing to pay you the usual."

Falora pocketed the list. "Anything you need me to get while I'm down there?"

"Other than be careful?" Emraine asked. "They say this incoming storm will be a big one."

Falora sighed. "They said that last time, and it turned out to be a small shower."

"Are you going to go on that fishing thing of yours again?"

"It's a cloudsweeper, and yes," Falora said. "I'll have you know it's a family heirloom, and it's sturdier than most fishing boats."

"You know I'm teasing." Emraine pressed her lips together. "Not many people in this town have a cloudsweeper. People talk."