Awakening, Quickening

Lord of Grebefal part 1

                Lord Harlan Grebe of Grebefal propped himself up on his elbows in his bed, and stretched his aura outward gently, flexing it and spreading it open like a carpet unrolling, until its edges touched every item in his room. There was the wall, with the open window-slit; his ready-table, with a basin of warm wash water, set there by the housekeeper; there was his writing desk, with Harlan's rudimentary 'books', and research notes, which he had invented his own form of raised writing for. There was his table and chair, his clothes, hanging neatly in his wardrobe; there was the dresser, his shelves, and the door, set ajar, with a bit of cool air flowing through the frame. No one had disturbed his warding sigils, and the air flowing in through his window was warm and smelt fresh, hinting faintly of flowers and grass. He lifted his legs–the good one first, and then the short, scarred stump–and rolled on his side, using his strong upper arms to lift himself to the edge of the bed. The wide double bed was a constant source of annoyance to him; both a reminder that he was considered in need of assistance, and a reminder that it was just too big for one person–it was meant for two. But he was resigned to the fact that he would never share a bed with anyone; after all, who would marry a blind invalid? People in Blackwall considered disabilities and scars to be cursed, wicked, ugly–and he preferred solitude to being mocked, feared, or 'assisted' by his own people.
             He shook his head at his morose thoughts, and drawing in deep breaths of the fresh air, he expertly looped a mana-cord out to pull his ready-table towards himself. It had small wheels at the bottom, an invention which had caused Captain Jaksson to swear in admiration when he had seen them. Harlan smiled at that memory. Jaksson was funny; he was good company, didn't judge, and didn't mind being Harlan's eyes and ears in the town. His visits were always a bright spot in Harlan's day. He brushed his hair, washed himself and wrapped his stump in soft fabric; then using the same mana-loops, he lifted his prosthesis from its peg on the wall, strapped it onto his stump, and activated the sigils which connected it to his body.
            Then he stood up, walked slowly to the wardrobe, and felt through the textures of his clothing until he found a shirt and pants that he liked. He took these back to the bed and carefully put them on, feeling for the buttons and pulling the drawstrings to make it fit comfortably.
           A soft knock at the door was preceded by the warm aura-touch of Mistress Fyn, his housekeeper. "Master Harlan, your breakfast awaits. Ye would do well to get down to it before it gets cold." Harlan grimaced in the direction of the round, warm aura. "Yes, Ma'am. Is it eggs, again?" Mistress Fyn lifted the water basin and night basin onto a smaller rolling cart, which she pushed out the door. "Nay, this morn the cook saw fit to grace us with some fresh strawberry rolls and roasted meats. I know ye don't care for meat, but ye do need it, for yer strength. Do yer best to eat it, will ye?" Her rough, friendly voice and warmth faded as she exited the room. Harlan stood and reached out his aura again, feeling for his position on the floor. There was the golden stripe. He followed its glow to the door, flung his aura outward and let it drip down across the floor to the walls on both sides of the hall. This was the way he "saw" the world; with aura light and scent, feeling his way along the railing in the hallway. He no longer needed the rail, but he liked to feel it, with the familiar smooth know halfway down, the rough patch where he had notched it with a sword, when he was young; and the extra smooth part, just before the end, where he would stand and hold it while listening to his father speak to visitors, just beyond the curve of the wall. Here, he was still hidden from view; past here, they would see him and would know what he was, how he looked. Past here, was the open floor of the Great Room, where the table was set with breakfast for just one, now. Just one, where once there had been two.