Nomads' Odyssey

A rugged coastline stretched into the distance, where calm waters gently lapped against weathered rocks.

The late summer sun cast a golden glow over the landscape, painting the sky in hues of soft orange and pink as it began its descent towards the horizon. Wisps of salty breeze carried the faint scent of Mediterranean Sea spray, mingling with the earthy fragrance of a nearby forest.

Tucked away from the bustling world, a secluded cove exuded serene tranquility, broken only by the occasional cry of a seagull or the rustle of leaves in a gentle breeze. Smooth pebbles lined the shore, warmed by the sun's lingering touch, they invited bare feet to sink into their cool embrace.

Clusters of vibrant wildflowers peeked out from crevices in the rocks, adding splashes of color to the muted palette of the scene.

A small wooden boat bobbed lazily down a nearby stream, its oars resting peacefully against the vessels' sides as it followed the current out, into the sea.

Shrill cries echoed out from two figures, chasing after the toy boat. 

One of the figures was a teenage girl, her blond hair tied in a neat bun as she sprinted ahead of the larger teen behind her, a plain-looking boy with short, roughly chopped hair and grass-stained pants. 

The boy, Marcus, looked at Seyda's golden hair, which flashed as she ran along the side of the stream ahead of him. They had met five years ago, and instantly became friends. Since then, they had explored every bit of the country around Italy's capital city, Naples.

Rising over Seydas' head were the Azul marble towers of the Blue Palace, where the Martino royal family, the current rulers of Italy, lived. 

Looking at the girl running in front of him, Marcus broke into a wide grin. He was sure that they would get married, he would take over his father's translation business, and they would live a happy life together. 

But for now, he had to catch up to that boat. 

They spent the rest of the afternoon climbing trees, chasing birds, and watching sea serpents diving through the water far out at sea. 

After they were tired of exploration, the pair set off, heading back towards Naples.

They walked along a quiet dirt road, kicking a small stone forward while they went.

"Wanna come over for dinner?" Marcus asked, his hands stuffed in his pockets. 

"Sorry, Marcus, you know I have to get home before the sun sets." 

Seyda's parents were very strict, apparently, but Marcus still didn't understand why she insisted on going home before sunset and only meeting up on weekends. 

They walked, side by side towards Naples, passing carriages pulled by Oxen, Giant lizards, and Ostriches. Seyda stopped to look at one particularly fine carriage on the main street into Naples, pulled by a Slepnir, a beautiful breed of eight-legged horses. 

She seemed so interested in seemingly normal things. 

Traveling knights, hedge mages, and even merchants seemed so exciting to her, so unfamiliar.

Making their way into Naples, they passed under walls manned by tall, armored guards bearing the Martino family crest. Whenever Marcus looked at the city guards, he felt safe, glad to be under the protection of a powerful family like the Martinos.

As they walked, Sedya described everything she saw with wonder, as if she was reading a definition from a textbook, she loved to talk about magic, particularly. 

"Marcus, you know how I told you about all the different forms of magic, like the ones that channel the power of the sun and stars into deadly attacks, or those people from the west who train their body to become as tough as metal?" 

"Yes yes, I remember," Mark replied, more focused on Seyda's freshly brushed hair than what she was saying.

"Well, look there! It's an Eastern shaman! They channel the power of spirit animals, which alter their body and give them strength!" 

Marcus did glance over at a young man walking along the side of the road, two wings folded neatly behind his back, but he quickly lost interest.

"My favorite non-humans are the dwarves, I really admire their hardworking spirit," Marcus said, thinking back to the time he got his first dwarven beer with his father.

They continued walking, with Seyda talking on. She seemed well-versed in every subject, and their conversation would easily flow without any trace of awkwardness or anxiety. When they conversed, she made Marcus, an exceedingly average boy, feel intelligent and... heard. 

Walking along the harbor, they stopped to grab a fresh loaf of bread from one of the many street vendors. Marcus handed two copper Senis to the vendor and happily retrieved the fresh loaf. 

They passed the gulf of Naples's harbor, which was filled with vessels ranging from small fishing boats to sea serpent-pulled battleships. Heading towards Marcus's house in the merchant district, they walked by a large building with a freshly painted sign marked, "The Golden Goose." 

Marcus's eyes flashed upon seeing the scrolls up for display. He pressed his hands against the glass, his breath forming mist on its' surface. 

While he was indifferent towards most types of magic, Marcus loved the Olympian form.

The Olympian form was limited to the aristocracy in Italy and Greece. It was used mainly by the nobility, or those with pure bloodlines, because only the descendants of gods could practice the forms' techniques. 

For example, the current rulers of Italy, the Martino family, were descendants of Zeus, with the current head of the family, Tacitus Martino, being Zeus's great grandson. 

This lineage allowed the Martino family to wield aspects of Zeus's divinity, such as controlling the weather, harnessing lightning, and even controlling time. 

Of course, these powers are much weaker among the common folk. Stores like The Golden Goose sold specialized techniques for the lower classes who possessed only wisps of divine blood.

Marcus's eyes scanned the various scrolls and techniques catered to each god. 

"Negotiation, charm, battle aura," Marcus lost himself in all the different techniques, committing them to memory. 

His rampaging imagination screeched to a halt as a gloved hand clasped his shoulder. Marcus turned around to see a towering guard, clad in plate and chain mail. Two angry eyes stared down at Marcus through slits in the guard's helmet.