The Crimson Glades (3)

Riniock walked through and crossed to the other side of the portal without hesitation – as he looked forward to it. And there, lo and behold, the crimson glades were everywhere around him.

 They were exactly as described in the books from his family's study. In fact, the glades were even more resplendent than the writings ever gave credit.

 He gave a stoked rub of hands, turned about in place, watched the scenery, and went ahead in exploration, grinning from ear to ear as he did. It was no exaggeration to say that the glades were leagues upon leagues of tall red grass, reaching as high as the average man's chest. Where the lands cut, streams of white rivers flowed and nourished the fertile soil. Majestic red leafed and whitewood trees sprouted amidst the open spaces, prickling the clouds in the clear blue sky. And lastly, exotic creatures grazed peacefully and about, enjoying the scorch of the tender afternoon sun.

 'Truly phenomenal!' said Riniock in exclamation, arms stretched, the feeling of soothing winds caressing his smooth skin.

 As luck would have it, there were no other people in close proximity to him. Whatever direction he faced, cardinal or otherwise, only wilderness stretched and played.

 Riniock was satisfied and plotted his next course of action carefully.

 'I must get my hands on some dangerous beast materials, preferably some that would earn me recognition and rewards from that professor,' Riniock thought to himself, mumbling his words. 'If I find smaller less dangerous creatures, I could still collect their drops. The professor made no mention of their being a limit to how many different materials we could bring forth.'

 Riniock glanced down at the wand in his hand as he organised his thoughts. 'Basic, but better than nothing,' he muttered. 

 The wand measured approximately 7 coigns and 1 qiu (around 35 centimetres or 14 inches) with a wand core carved out of oakwood – the least attuned of all magickal materials. Iron caps were mounted on each end, a similarly unimpressive choice for conducting magick. 

 'This must be a frost focus,' he noted, fiddling with the crystal embedded at one end of the wand. Its icy appearance hinted at its nature. 'According to what I've read, a focus allows its user to cast specific types of magick. This one must align with the frost attribute.' 

 For a newly fledged maegi like Riniock and the other applicants, a wand was a practical tool. It could channel stored odh to amplify magick and even supplement the user's own reserves. However, unlike spells cast purely from a maegi's energy, a wand's stored power was finite and required long hours to recharge once depleted. 

 High-quality wands mitigated these issues, but this one was clearly among the most basic and poorly made. Both the core and the caps were crafted from the lowest-tier materials. 

 'I'll need to be cautious with its use,' Riniock thought grimly. 'I might need it if I run into something unexpected – or powerful.'

 First order of business: he needed to find a creature to harvest. The glades were vast and sprawling, a place where one could easily become lost whilst searching for something that might not even be nearby.

 Yet Riniock remained unconcerned and perfectly calm. 

 From his hours spent poring over books and manuscripts, he had learned precisely what to look for, smell for, and listen for when navigating places like these. 

 Shielding his eyes from the blinding light with a hand above his brows, he squinted into the horizon: only trees and grass. No visible creature of interest. 

 Next, he focused on his sense of smell: no distinct odour. 

 Finally, he relied on the sharpness of his ears. In the distance, a cry echoed through a meadow not far from where he stood.

 The call was sharp, high-pitched, and unmistakable – it could only mean one thing. 'A verdack,' he murmured, a sly smile forming on his lips. 'An easy catch for a first.'

 Down a small hill, where two narrow streams merged into one, a black-plumed bird perched on a rock amid the tall red grass and clusters of cotton-like white flowers. Its sleek black feathers were accented by a vibrant red collar encircling its neck, with occasional streaks of white adorning its body. The bird's elegance was striking, even in its simplicity.

 Verdacks, like chickens, were flightless avians. When they crowed, their sharp calls rendered them practically deaf to all other sounds. And when they hunted, their focus was so intense that they became blind to everything but their prey.

 And Riniock meant to exploit this creature's shortcomings. Knowledge was power and, in this case, both were his hunting weapons.

 He knelt amongst the scarlet reeds and heeded the call of the verdack with careful attention.

 There it was, perched in the water within arm's reach, crowing incessantly, oblivious to the world around it. 

 Patiently, Riniock bided his time, waiting for the perfect moment. As the verdack darted its beak into the water, he lunged, his hand closing firmly around its long red neck. In one swift motion, he wrapped his legs tightly around its body to keep it restrained. 

 With practiced efficiency, he began plucking its feathers in handfuls, each motion deliberate and unyielding.

 The verdack struggled violently, kicking and thrashing in a desperate attempt to free itself from Riniock's firm grip. Its frantic cries echoed through the glades, voice cracking in a pitiful plea for help. 

 'Settle down, will you...' Riniock grunted, his tone low and strained as he wrestled to maintain control. Beside him, a growing heap of vibrant feathers rested on the dirt, ready for collection. 

 Then, without warning, the ground trembled beneath him. The sudden vibration sent a jolt through his body, and Riniock instinctively released the verdack. Clutching his gathered spoils, he leapt to his feet, scanning the surroundings with narrowed eyes.

 The verdack scurried across the white stream, vanishing into the underbrush, just as Riniock spotted a pack of xilaks stampeding toward him. 

 He cursed under his breath and bolted in the opposite direction. 

 The xilaks – large, white-furred herbivores resembling bovines, their curved horns glinting in the sunlight – halted their pursuit once Riniock had gained enough distance. The largest of the pack, a male with white fur and bold black spots, snorted loudly and scraped the dirt with its front hooves, issuing a clear warning. 

 'That – was – a close one…' Riniock gasped, clutching his chest as he came to a stop at the edge of a grove. His life had flashed before his eyes in those fleeting moments. 

 '…I'll have to act more cautiously than that,' he muttered, the near-death encounter leaving him rattled and short of breath. 

 Despite the toll on his nerves and stamina, all his worries vanished when his gaze caught sight of a new target in the distance. 

 'That's a kezok!' he exclaimed, excitement reigniting in his chest.