12th of Frost, Year 4622
Strata: A socioeconomic level of society comprising persons of the same or similar status, especially with regard to education or culture.
Stratum: The plural form of strata.
Stratified: Divided into social classes.
-ation: Suffix - Action or process flirtation: something connected with an action or process.
Stratification: The act or process of being stratified or of stratifying.
It was always unique when the life that one had planned ahead of them did not even come close to a fraction of an iota similar to the preconceived notion. When Ford set out to explore and learn about the peoples of the lands, he had not intended to find anything that could dictate the rest of his life. Fortunately for the Griscian, he had found a driving force that bumped him off course and veered him into an entirely different direction altogether, and that driving force’s name was Taelian. Known by other names to many others, Taelian had found the blonde adequate to welcome him into his life, and in return, Ford had begun to come into the person he had always meant to become.
What had been intended to be a simple interview had ended with a compliment and a request for coffee. What had been a coffee meeting to discuss his position and the ideas behind reporting to the Covenant with the particular task he had been interviewed for turned into an invitation to a date. From that point forward, it had been something out of a romance story. Absconding from duties to bask in one another’s closeness and foregoing all else that had come before to forge a new path for the pair of them. Neither of which had been something Ford had intended, and he often thought about as he was compiling reports for Miranda and delivering them to her.
All of it had brought Ford to where he was at that moment. Standing outside of a tavern, he chose to dress appropriately as a face and representation of the Covenant to offer to immerse himself into the common folk and to work his way up the social structure of Jorikford. His dealings with Kyng Uldred and his offspring were a memory but something he thought of quite often. His goal was not to deal with the Kyng, not at the moment anyways. His job was to work with the people of the Kyngdom to try and bring them under the Covenant for support and acceptance into their lives. His azure gaze had remained on a woman talking to him, but for his life, he had tuned her out due to her shrill voice and nagging about what mages could do for her that she couldn’t do for herself. The slightest flexing of his eyes had the reflections in light playing over the lens of his eyes until he felt something wet splash across his face.
Immediately, his eyes closed, and his body had frozen. No longer was there at least an amiable body language and the appearance of attentiveness. The muscles of his forearms flexed as his fingers clenched into fists. The light grey button-down shirt had its sleeves rolled up to just above his elbows, and the tanned flesh moved as his stance had previously been leaned against a wall just outside the tavern. Pressing up from his lean, his right, black booted foot that had its toe dug into the ground and his calf resting against his left shin, lifted and the sole of each boot planted firmly against the ground. His thigh muscles flexed under each legging of his black slacks.
”I’m not wasting my breath on those pampered babies!”
The woman in her plain brown dress, threads bare and fraying at the ends of the garment, turned and stormed off. Meanwhile, the back of Ford’s right fist drew up and across his right closed eyes, dragging his skin against the slick, dripping fluid slowly working its way down into the stubble-lined embouchure of his face. The woman had spat in his face as an added insult before she had hobbled off to wherever she had to be or had come from. Once the large fist had successfully wiped away the remnants of the saliva, he glanced at his hand and snorted.
“That was not nearly as pleasant as the last time that happened.”
With a couple of blinks to ensure he was good from any last bits of spit being in his eye, the leather-bound journal that had been nearby was flipped open, and his pencil slid down the length of a piece of paper where he had a list going with some words crossed off. There were words such as forward, old-fashioned, technology imperative. Along with those words, though, were kinder words such as close-knit, pluralism, and culture of poverty. The last term he had written had been particularly interesting. The Covenant was coming in to try and sway the people of Jorikford to accept their place and establish control and dominance of sorts, to establish their base of power. One thing he had taken note of when dealing with Kyng Uldred was how the Kyng had made sure to play on the fears and repressed anger of the people as well as respecting their sheer number, hence the showmanship at the Hippodrome.
Taking in a deep breath, he let it out slowly as he circled two of the words he had written down, and the journal slapped closed with a cracking sound of the leather-bound halves coming to meet. Annoyance showed on his face for the briefest of moments, but as he turned, he found himself heading back toward the Covenant’s headquarters. He had an appointment soon and had only stopped long enough to speak with the woman because she had mentioned something about magic, but it wasn’t something that was bound to pan out. Walking off, back towards the headquarters, he would keep his advancement quick and brief.
Upon the blonde’s arrival, he found his guest was already waiting for him, which ironically surprised him. There wasn’t really time to have anything else done, so he headed toward the Common Lounge, where a man of shorter stature than him and slightly older had been waiting. Before heading to the table, though, Ford had veered off to retrieve a tray with two cups and a small plate. In the following moments, Ford set the tray down and sat across from his guest. The man was not very distinguishable, able to be passed by without a second glance. Average height, dark hair with a light peppering of greying strands, and a matching beard. His attire wasn’t exactly peasant status, but he was no noble. There was a reason for Ford’s madness, and this particular man had come across his path when he had been setting something up for Taelian. He was a baker, and this was Ford’s repayment for his services.
“My apologies for my delay, Ser Einar. Hopefully, you were not waiting long.”
The man’s eyes had slid down to the tray before him, coffee and biscuits. They were different biscuits than the ones he would normally share. Mostly because he reserved and gave special significance to a particular biscuit for only one person to share. Regardless, his eyes showed a smile and kindness, and his posture was stern but warm and welcoming.
Immediately, the man's rashness broke across that politeness like waves crashing against the jagged edges of a reef.
”Nonsense lad! Now stop blowin’ yer hot air up me arse and tell me how yer lass enjoyed the items I delivered!”
Ford’s brows rose in surprise. The façade of the seriousness of their little interview had broken completely as he had not anticipated this being the start of their discussion. The man’s lips parted, and he glanced down at the coffee as he let out a single-breath chuckle and offered the coffee and biscuits to the man.
“Your merchandise was perfect; it perfectly hit the mark and was the perfect surprise to lighten his day.”
There was a moment of silence as the baker seemed to be toiling over the words that Ford had just answered him with. A twitching of his nose, and he reached down for the coffee to which he took a long, lightly slurped sip from his coffee and set it back down.
“I s’ppose he’s a big lad with how much you had me make! Good, good, and I’m sorry fer ya. Now, what did ye want with me? I ain’t good ‘nough company for coffee.”
The other man’s eyes looked Ford over at the apology, but it was given no mind. Ford was quite amused with this particular man. He was forward, perhaps a bit rude, but it was ideal for him to connect with someone to have a conversation, especially because of the words Eloise had offered him during their initial meeting. Taking up his cup of coffee, Ford took a sip and allowed that heated warmth to encompass his tongue before sliding down his throat for a swallow.
“I had a question regarding all of this.” Ford’s left hand had gestured around them to the lounge but more to the building itself and the people within it. There was the tiniest hint of a flash of a mark on his left palm, but it was left unexposed as he leaned back in his seat and studied the man before him. “You run a successful business with more than substantial goods. You work with people, both noble and those in poverty. You are a unique class in and of yourself. With the Covenant here looking to establish itself and bring the people of Jorikford under their protection….” They were not offering protection, but Ford had to make it look better than the Covenant, simply wanting more power for power’s sake. “…What are your views on it? Magic is like technology in my mind when it comes to Radenor. Some places are rooted in their old ways, uninterested in technological advances… The same could be said with magic. Magic is all around us; some use it to help others, some use it explicitly to hurt others, and some use it for the betterment of their and others’ lives. So really, I have two questions. The first is, What do you feel the Covenant owes the people of Jorikford as their headquarters? And my second question is, how do you see the future of magic becoming much more common and perhaps even more heavily concentrated around here in the future?”
The baker at first had no response. The questions were not the easiest to answer, and he was inside their headquarters. Any kind of opinion he offered could be heard by anyone and interpreted in any way. But, given the people of Radenor did not care how forward they were, he put his coffee cup down and answered Ford quite bluntly.
”What do ye mean what do I feel ‘bout it? What’re they doin’ to help me? Some o’them walk ‘round in their fancy clothes, lookin’ beaut’ful like a gem. Others walk ‘round like they are one finger flick away from blowin’ some poor sap’s head from his shoulders. Magic ain’t no diff’rent than a man wieldin’ a big ol’ hammer. They can say they are ‘ere to ‘elp, but they swing that big ol’ hammer around, and whatever it takes out in the process of them doin’ what they want, they don’t care!”
This exact response is what he had warned Eloise about. She did not care for the Commonfolks’ opinions. She cared about the influential, and Ford was also in the process of working with them to understand their viewpoints as well. And as much as they were influential, the poverty-stricken and the working class of Jorikford would always outnumber them. It only took the right amount of anger and vigor to amass a revolution. Perhaps it would be short-lived, but the Covenant being forced into a revolution due to someone’s blindness would not bode well. Before Ford could really fathom a response, the man continued.
”But if yer tellin’ me these folks ‘re ‘ere to help, then we need t’see it! They moved their fanciness here, and ya hear whispers, but what do we get that’s more than that? Not a damned thing.”
Ford’s politeness remained; there was no real reason to speak against the man’s skepticism; hell, Ford had enough for the pair of them, but he’d had to swallow his for the time being.
“So in your mind, without appealing to people on many levels, you feel the people of Radenor would reject the Covenant?”
Without skipping a beat, Einar had a quick retort.
”You got a fancy accent. You seen some stuff outside of the Kyngdom? When’s the last time ye saw the small folk walkin’ around with something from one o’the Empires? We like how things are. They work.
We were fine without this Covenan’, so we will be fine after it.”
The conversation between Einar and Ford had continued, the baker painting a picture of the hearty yet stubborn culture of Radenor. It was easy for them to cling to what always worked rather than embracing something new. One of the few things that Ford had gleaned from his dealings that day was that the people of Jorikford, and perhaps most of Radenor, would need proof that the Covenant could and would be an improvement to their lives rather than merely accepting them.
Even Kyng Uldred, in all of his rashness, had attempted to use the people and resources of the Covenant for his gain. The Covenant’s resources he had intended to use and abuse, however, did not allow that to happen and had solidified their place and intentions in front of all of Jorikford to see. Upon his goodbyes to the baker, Ford cleaned up their coffee and took care of the dishes while the baker prepared to head off. Escorting him to the door, Einar abruptly stopped Ford and spoke to him again, with bluntness as his weapon.
”What’re ye doin’, lad? I see some o’them walkin’ with no souls or lookin’ to what they can figure out next. Yer talkin’ to the poor and cranky bakers. Ye don’t belong here with ‘em. The people would like ye’ y’know. You got one o’them faces that people wanna talk to.”
The Griscian welcomed the compliment, and he chuckled.
“In truth, Ser Einar… The gentleman I mentioned earlier was my husband. He is… My everything. I would do anything for him. I may not be made out for this life, but my life is meant to be at his side until there is no longer life left for me to breathe. We might see a change of scenery one day, but for now… As much as I might have been out of my element among the Covenant, there have been welcoming arms and smiles from some. I gave them a chance, and although there are rocky times, there have been really great ones. It was worth getting to know the Covenant and its direction.”
This time, Einar did not have a quick reply. His grey-green eyes seemed to study Ford for a moment, searching the cheery face for signs of a lie or malice. Instead, he found nothing but purity.
”Bah! You and yer lad! Come order more cakes. If he’s half as big as you, he’s gonna need to eat to keep up with ya!”
With this, the baker bid farewell and left the Covenant’s headquarters. Politely, Ford watched the man head off, but the smile had slowly bled from congenial to something quite passive. Ford had meant every word he had said, but to accomplish his goals, he had to play the game. Sociology was never quite about completely discovering the truth about social norms or even defining social structures. The research and those paying for it always had a goal in mind, something the sociologist would always have to get across as a bottom line, even if it was never openly said. Ford had made the man talk to get an idea of his opinions and feelings. What he’d also done was give the man a prime example of something positive the Covenant could offer… Him and, by proxy, Taelian. Eloise may not have been nice to him, nor had she even had anything pleasant to say during their meeting. One thing she’d had, though, was enough foresight to know what Ford could offer the Covenant. He had a kind face, a generous heart, and a personality that was beginning to tiptoe the line between morality and immorality. His goal was not simply to talk to the man but to give a positive image of the Covenant and what it could mean for the people and give him something to talk others about.
A Griscian man openly admitting to marrying another man who was a mage in a Covenant while serving mages.
The Covenant could be proven worthwhile, even with the contradictions Ford had painted clearly for the man. A Griscian taught to hate and despise magic. Taught to further their families and bring bloodlines in elevation to noble status with heterosexual pairings and offspring without homosexual pairings receiving blessings. A society built to be intolerant of those who were different, to breed mage-hunting individuals to eliminate magic users and demolish all other forms of religion…
…If the Covenant could welcome someone like that into their ranks and showcase their efforts to work with those in such a stark contrast, it was worth the reputation he could spread by allowing his name to be attached to it.
As Einar finally disappeared from his blue-eyed gaze, the journal was firmly gripped in his hand, and he headed off to his and Taelian’s room. Once there and behind closed doors, the journal had been tossed to the desk, and the chair pulled out. Easing himself down onto the chair, not quite sure where his husband had gone, he paused as he finally exposed the palm of his left hand. The mark inscribed onto his flesh was perhaps one of his most cherished keepsakes, even if it was part of his body. The deer antler design was stroked over with the middle finger of his other hand, tracing the markings of his Arlaed bond with Taelian. It didn’t matter what happened; regardless of anything, he was there for himself and for Taelian; all else came second. A smirk on his features as he remembered something that had come up prior, and he let out a soft laugh as he turned on the resonance radio and dialed it in to Miranda. He had a report to give. One by one, Ford was working his way, spreading the word, aiming higher and higher.
Ford may not have had magic… But he embodied something quite magical. Something that his husband had been more than adamant about pointing out each time they found themselves in a situation.
Ford was a light in a darker world. His light was evolving, turning and morphing into something different, something he perhaps would not expect, but it was what it was always meant to be.
Miranda’s voice cut in, drawing him from his reverie, and politely, he greeted her to deliver his report.
