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Post by Iron Kaiser on Jun 16, 2014 11:24:13 GMT -8
This thread is for the actual story chapters that will make up the tale of Talland. This is where you'll post your story contributions. Discussion about the story should go in the Discussion Thread. The title of this thread will update with every new contribution to the story. |
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Post by Iron Kaiser on Jun 16, 2014 11:26:38 GMT -8
Prologue
Being a thief in Ridgewood used to be easy. Sitting right on the border of Amaranth and Dashale, Ridgewood used to see lots of tourists and important travelers, and their money, passing through. But over the last two months, since the monsters had started attacking, the tourists stopped coming and the natives were on edge, always watching the shadows for signs of danger. Of course, you couldn’t begrudge them for that – nearly a hundred people had died, and more have gone missing. And those monsters, while each unique in their own way, were all the most frightening things a Ridgewooder could imagine. The monster raids had been going on for months, without any sign of slowing down. And now, royal knights were here, in Ridgewood! That’s good news about the monsters, yes, but even more trouble for the shadier element.
Nowadays, even little pick-pockets couldn’t count on making off with the goods anymore. Indeed, one such character, a boy no older than seven, was busy in the bazaar eying a delicious ruby red apple. Before, he could have snatched that apple away without a single soul noticing a thing. Now, however, even a simple job like this was risky. He carefully eyed the vendor, who didn’t seem to see him there. In the blink of an eye, the boy grabbed the apple and stuffed it under his shirt. The vendor didn’t, but the boy failed to account for everyone else in the streets.
“Hey, he just took that apple!” He heard someone say across the street. That got the apple vendor’s attention, who suddenly noticed the cheeky lad standing suspiciously close to his merchandise.
“Hey, get over here!” He pointed at the boy. Panicking, the boy bolted down the road, with the vendor hot on his trail.
“Stop! Thief!” The boy could hear voices behind him. Up ahead, he saw a large gathering of people all standing around. No one seemed to know he was there. Perfect. The boy ran through the crowd, bobbing and weaving left and right. He could hear the commotion behind him, as the much larger adults desperately tried to pass through the crowd. Once the thief guessed that he was out of sight of his pursuers, he took a hard right into a nearby back alley. Cloaked in shadow, the boy calmed his heavy panting. He listened intently for any racing footsteps, but he heard none. Certain he was alone, the boy pulled out his hard-won apple and admired it. Before he took a bite, however, he heard footsteps approaching. Quickly, he hid himself. The voices grew closer and closer.
“…Over the last week my men and I have been at Ridgewood, not a single Amaranthian has been slain by these creatures.”
“But more have disappeared, sire! You don’t understand, the power of these beasts is more than you can comprehend. They rend limb from limb, and are given life by some unnatural force. The spilling of blood is their only purpose in life! Eighty-nine--“
“Yes, I know, Mayor. Eighty-nine Amaranthians have been killed by these beasts in the last two months, and nearly sixty have gone missing. That’s why we’re here: To find these monsters and to kill them.”
At this point, knowing that they weren’t looking for him, the little thief dared to peak out from his hiding place. He saw two men talking to each other. One was an elder, dressed in familiar local garb. The boy guessed that he was likely the mayor of Ridgewood. The other was a tall man, of stocky build, covered from head to toe in impressive plate-mail armor. A giant broadsword was slung across one shoulder, while a set of pistols hung around his waist. A cape with an impressive-looking symbol billowed out from underneath the sword. The boy had never seen anything like him – he had to be the royal knight that everyone was talking about. A third man, of similar build but not as impressive-looking, stood beside the knight, but he did not speak.
“Fifteen of my own garrison are dead because of these creatures.” The mayor continued. “They couldn’t find them, until it was too late. How will you do any better?”
“With respect to your garrison and your loss, mayor, the royal knights of Amaranth are specialists at warfare. We do not die. We kill. And now, we’re here. Give us time, and we will cleanse Ridgewood of this monstrous threat.”
The mayor seemed to shake his head as he turned and walked away. The boy couldn’t claim to understand politics or battle or anything like that, but he guessed the two didn’t agree on something. As the mayor left, the knight’s friend stepped up.
“Not very helpful, is he?” He said in a gruff voice. The boy noticed that he was larger than the knight, almost obese-looking, though it was probably more muscle than fat. A large blunderbuss was strapped to his back.
“No. We’ll have to rely on our own investigations.” The knight replied. “What have you found?”
“Of the eighty-nine killed Amaranthians, about half were women and children. Most of those were slaughtered in their own homes, while the men left to search for the beasts. The women and children also account for most of the missing, though some of the local garrison have also disappeared.”
The Knight spit in disgust. “Infernal creatures. So, they’re intelligent.”
“Moreso than most. Survivors of the attacks say that the creatures, quote, ‘come straight out of Hell itself, with the smarts and the strength of the Devil.’ Oh, that’s the other thing. Every survivor we’ve talked to so far says that the monsters have unnatural power, as if something else is guiding them and giving them strength. It could be paranoia, but-”
“No, I think not. If something, or someone, is guiding and empowering these creatures, it would explain why they have suddenly become so aggressive, and how they are able to coordinate their attacks so effectively. Besides, I’ve picked up a lead over the last week.”
Suddenly, the boy heard footsteps coming from the other side of the alley. Quickly, he dove back into his hiding spot. It sounded like the apple vendor and his friends, looking for him. The running footsteps soon passed, and the boy decided he was safe. Again, he peered out to hear and see more of the conversation.
“You don’t think that’s what’s causing all this, do you?” He heard the large one say. The thief cursed his luck – he didn’t get to hear what the knight’s lead was!
“Maybe, maybe not, but it’s a start. We’ll organize the men and head out in the morning. Perhaps we shall end this tomorrow. In the meantime, have the men on guard.”
With that, the two men nodded and parted company. For his part, the boy was glad to finally be alone with his prize. As he bit into the apple, he wondered if the knight had actually found the secret to stopping the monster attacks. He hoped so. Maybe then things could finally go back to normal for folks like him.
--
That night, the royal knight was woken from his slumber with the sound of a large crash. The cries of battle echoed from across the town. With a jolt he emerged from his bed, equipping his weapons and what armor he could strap on quickly, and rushed outside into the central plaza. From there, he could see the main gate, where the garrison and his men were under siege from the creatures. Vile, dark, evil, murderous creatures. He began running toward the scene of the battle, but before he could reach the gate something tackled into him, sending them both careening across the road. The knight recovered expertly, and his eyes fell upon his assailant – one of the creatures.
This monster was like a lion, though larger than any he had seen before, with a wild mane and sinewy muscles permeating from every part of his body. The lion fixed his gaze upon the knight and let loose an infernal roar that would have paralyzed lesser men with fear. The knight unsheathed his broadsword and made a cry equally as primal, equally determined to live and to kill. The lion leapt claws-first at the ready hunter, who deftly rolled out of the way. The lion twirled around to charge the knight again, but the knight’s sword smashed straight across the lion’s face. The knight jumped overtop the lion and followed his paralyzing blow with a downward strike, slashing deep into the creature. Once more, the knight struck. Twice more. Thrice more. Then, the bloodied knight pulled the monster’s head from its body, and raised it high for all to see.
“Behold, Amaranth! The monsters are not invulnerable! They can be killed! Onward, to the defense of your homes and your families!”
A cheer rose up from those at the gates that had heard him. He rushed forward, bloody sword in hand, to meet them and to aid them in the defense of Ridgewood, the elimination of these monsters, and the pursuit of glory.
--
Two weeks later and miles away, Prince Artor, the ruler of Amaranth, was sitting in the palace fields alongside his wife, Princess Fantine, as they watched their children play “knights and dragons.”
“Even at such a young age, they demonstrate good form.” Fantine noted. “See Miriel’s stance? And how Jonus uses his sword to gain position?”
“You’re right, my love.” Artor replied, smiling. “One day, they will be proud defenders of Amaranth and her people.”
From the corner of his eye, Artor noticed someone waiting for the opportune moment to speak.
“Myron, you have news?” Artor asked, turning to his chief advisor.
“My lord, my lady.” Myron replied, bowing before the royal couple, “Yes, I am afraid so. Your highness remembers that we sent Knight Pinnel and his men to quell the monstrous uprising in Ridgewood.”
“We do.” Fantine replied.
“I deeply regret to inform you that Sir Pinnel is dead.”
Artor and Fantine recoiled in shock. Myron didn’t expect them to react so strongly to the news. He wondered if Pinnel was perhaps friends with the royal family.
“Fantine, get the children.” Artor said as he sat up. “Myron, follow me.”
“Of course, my lord.”
As the princess regrouped with her entourage, the prince and his advisor walked away from the others, where no one else could hear their conversation.
“How?” Artor asked solemnly.
“About a week after he arrived in Ridgewood, the town was attacked by monsters. Reports indicate it was the largest assault they’d yet seen. Pinnel and his men aided in the fighting, and they successfully pushed back the monsters, but he was cut down in the fighting.”
“So… he’s failed, then.” Artor said, coming to a stop. He closed his eyes and simply stood in place, lost in thought.
“My lord?” Myron said after several seconds.
“I want you to send out a bulletin across Amaranth- no, across all of Talland. We’re going to put a bounty out on Ridgewood. Two hundred guilder for every monster killed in Ridgewood, and one hundred thousand guilder for whoever can find the source of these creatures and end it. We will tell everyone that Ridgewood is desperate for salvation, and that this is a battle for civilization itself.”
“Yes, my lord.” Myron said. He bowed low before departing for the palace, leaving Artor alone with his fears. These monsters were multiplying and growing stronger and smarter. Pinnel was Amaranth's best chance at resolving this situation peacefully and quietly. But Pinnel is dead. What else could Artor do? He could throw more knights at the problem, or even mobilize the army, but they were needed to secure the borders from external threats, and Artor didn't want to cause a situation with Dashale by placing so many forces right on the border with them. No, Artor reasoned that his best chance at saving Ridgewood, and perhaps even saving Amaranth, would lie in the hands of idealistic heroes and self-centered mercenaries. Whether they were motivated by kindness or by greed, they would come to Ridgewood.
And they would be needed.
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Post by Iron Kaiser on Jul 3, 2014 21:01:00 GMT -8
Second Wind[Suggested Music - Memories of the Past]For the life of him, Chres couldn't figure out why Grigs of all people wanted to see him. Grigori Tibbet had been a part of Chres' squad during the war. He was just a simple rifleman then, and as Chres remembered it, Grigs got himself stuck into tight jams more often than anyone else on the squad. Of course, Chres had always been happy to oblige, but one of the few joys of seeing the war come to an end was knowing that he wouldn't have to pry Grigori Tibbet out of one more tough bind. But from the letter he received several days ago, it was clear that Chres wasn't finished with Private Tibbet. Chres hadn't kept contact with the rest of his squad, so the fact that Grigori had been able to reach him at all was impressive. The letter was brief, but the sparse words only further conveyed the urgency of his message. "Come to Ridgewood," he had written. "Will explain there." Appended to the letter was one final note. "Bring everything." The whole letter bewildered Chres, but he knew that "everything" could mean only one thing: the tools of his former trade. And he had to admit, when he had first read that letter, he was genuinely conflicted about getting himself involved. Chres had left the army shortly after Dashale pulled out of the war with Kennisalia, and he was intent on leaving his old life behind. The small-town teacher had his responsibilities in Milltown to consider, and he had never intended to pull out his old weapons ever again. But it had never been in Chres' nature to ignore a call for help, let alone a call from one of his old brothers in arms. No, ignoring the summons simply wasn't an option. So there he was, saddled atop a black mare and on the road to Ridgewood. True to Grigori's wishes, Chres had brought everything from his old Kennis-fighting days. He even had his old uniform tucked away, just in case. And buried safely among his other possessions were a pair of armlets, wreathed in violet crystal. The ex-soldier wanted to keep them close by, yet he dearly hoped they wouldn't have to be unearthed. But he was going into an unfamiliar land to face an unknown threat for a man he hadn't seen in years. For Chres Harwick, hope was the only sure thing he had on this journey. -- As dusk began to settle along the horizon, Chres noticed an inn alongside the road. "The Riverside Respite" was the name that came into view as he got closer. It seemed a quaint little place, with only a few guests likely present. Chres' options dwindled alongside the day's light, and the inn seemed to be the best stopping point for the evening. He was rather proud of himself: though his mare had been quite jittery along the way, and Chres was long out of practice riding horses, he had made good time and was only a few hours away from Ridgewood. In just a short while, if Chres could stomach the anxiety of waiting overnight, light would be shed on the troubling questions Grigs' letter raised.
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Post by Drahcir on Jul 5, 2014 12:02:01 GMT -8
The Cast Shadow[Suggested Music - Mercy of the Living]Midday saw Aether Harrow still travelling on the road. His aim was fairly vague, as he was simply heading for Amaranth. The clouds in the sky above, sparse and thin as they were, did nothing to curtail the rays of the sun as they hurtled from unimaginable distance toward the ground on which Aether trod. Only the solidarity of objects with substance intercepted the warmth and light and even then, only very mildly. Shadows lay on the ground, shrunken and subdued as the sun hovered overhead, drastically reducing the scope and spread of the shade. As he walked, Aether had shed as much of his clothing as was decent and thought longingly of the freedom of people with less station who were not constrained by uniform or dress code. A pair of short trousers would have been a welcome change. He was fortunate at least to be wearing a white shirt, rolled to the sleeves, which reflected a good deal of what the sun had to offer. However his black, full length trousers gathered the heat with greedy intent to make Aether sweat as he walked. His pace, as a result, was leisurely--Carelessly strolling along, leading his faithful horse alongside him. ‘A beautiful day,’ he thought. After all, how could the world be as bad as his father had claimed? It was true, he was seeing the world at the height of some glorious weather, and everyone he’d met so far had treated him with the utmost deference and respect. This last thought, though pleasant, did nothing to cheer him. When they saw him, Dashalians did not regard him a simple man with ideals and good intentions. They saw the son of High Judge, Lord General Harrow. Or Lord Harrow, when no member of the Dashalian military was around. Even when they weren’t around, even in the privacy of their own homes, the inhabitants of the city of Harkenbridge didn’t dare call him anything less then Lord Harrow. His reputation was such that as far as the Dashalian borders, the name Harrow was well known. Known and feared. ‘Not in Amaranth,’ he thought bitterly. Though it was more of a hope then a real conviction. He suddenly realised that he was wearing a scowl and quickly hitched up a smile. ‘An outward appearance of civility,’ he thought, ‘will cultivate civility inwardly over time.’ Wiping the sweat from his reddening forehead, Aether decided to take in his surroundings in an attempt to derail his train of thought. He wasn’t interested in reliving his reasons for leaving. Not again. Unconsciously it seemed, he reached beneath the neck of his shirt and pulled a chain from its hiding place under the material. It was a silver chain set with a locket and a thin gold ring. He held the locket as he walked, his smile fading. With the reigns in his other hand, he fumbled to open the locket. Realizing what he was doing, he stopped himself. Hastily, he returned the chain and the items it held to where they had been and straightened up. The smile was back, more forced than ever before. Almost manic. In the distance, he spotted another lone figure. A man, if he was any judge, ambling slowly along on a horse of his own. All at once, Aether realised how isolated he felt. He was intolerably lonely and longed to be with people, to hear the noise of a crowd, and to seek refuge in his penance. He stopped briefly to adjust the packs on his horse and secure his overcoat across the horses neck before stepping into the stirrup and hoisting himself with ease into the saddle. “Well then, Raven,” he said aloud to the horse. “Let’s go and see about meeting some new people.” He suddenly realised that anyone going in this direction was likely to be Dashalian on a trade run or some sort of message delivery. Of course, it could be an Amaranthian returning home. But then, would that Amaranthian have heard of Lord Harrow and his son? Setting aside his worry, he urged Raven on to a slightly quicker pace, thinking that even if this one person was not someone he wished to speak to, someone who knew his or his father’s reputation, he could at least hurry on and so gain a new town in less time. --- Aether’s pursuit did not go according to plan however. He managed to keep the stranger in sight, but his quarry seemed in as much of a hurry as Aether. The man’s initial speed must have been after a stop to rest, followed by the slow warming up of his horse. Clearly then the man knew horses well enough not to simply take off at a great pace and run them into the ground. Aether had skipped lunch in favour of following this man on a fleeting, desperate whim, but now that dusk was approaching, he was feeling hungry and guilty at not allowing Raven to stop for a respite. However, he had closed the gap and was within shouting distance. Shouting was out of the question though. He did not want anyone’s first impression of him to be that of a mad man. This was a complete stranger after all. He contented himself to the idea that he’d at least made good enough time to reach an inn, though it was still a little way in the distance. A posted sign a little way back had labelled it ‘The Riverside Respite.’ Food, drink, rest and information. With luck he was not far from crossing the border. He thought with genuine pleasure of the idea of not standing in his father’s shadow, no longer bearing the weight of his name. There was also the possibility of meeting a representative of the Greenwood Rangers soon. With these cheerful thoughts, he urged Raven on toward the inn, no longer thinking of the stranger. Ignorant as he was, veiled in shadow, he had no idea of the mess he was blundering into.
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Post by mk on Jul 5, 2014 12:23:35 GMT -8
I Still Stink at Titles
The inn was the most beautiful piece of unstructurally-sound architecture Lenzen had ever seen. Since the debacle in the Dashalian safe house, Lenzen had run into the KMs five times in a week. The fifth time, when he’d heard the tell-tale click that unleashed their devastating laser, he’d wanted to drop to his knees in submission and simply accept his fate on the soft, bug-infested floor of the forest.
Instead, he’d dove out of the way and fought, earning himself a burn on the shoulder just serious enough to hurt whenever he moved, breathed, or thought, as well as a heaping extra dose of desperation. The net result of this was symptoms that he recognized as low-level paranoia, accompanied by acute insomnia and severe headaches.
The insomnia was the worst; he would run exhausted all day, hopping from cover to cover, wishing ardently for a rest, only to lie down and jump at every stirring leaf and find himself snap-awake. The old wood of the Riverside Respite wouldn’t be much defense against the bots, but at the very least it was cover and a hope of a small degree of anonymity.
Then again, that’s what the Dashalian military had promised him and Aram. Anonymity, safety, a lab where they could perfect their prototype…They’d listened, and Lenzen had still ended up on the run, sans his mentor and - well, not exactly friend – Aram was too cold for that. A true partnership, theirs had been; cold and completely professional, even after six years.
Lenzen shook his head. Whatever he might tell himself, he still felt Aram’s absence like a gaping hole in a one-room wall. Without him, Lenzen was exposed, and, to an extent, useless.
He was also completely conspicuous. He walked through the inn’s door, trying to ignore the innkeeper’s disapproving appraisal as he strode towards the counter. In the past week, he’d ripped his previously-spotless black pants and tunic. The fabric above his blistering shoulder was charred, signaling a run-in with magic or, as in his case, with advanced technology. In Amaranth, appearances like these were normal if you actually looked like a mage or someone who would get into such fights. Lenzen, of course, did not. Furthermore, his hair, so blonde it was almost white, and his skin, alabaster until the end of his days, would always guarantee that he would never blend in outside of Vehn. Here, he stood out like a – well, like a Vehrian runaway in an Amaranthian inn.
Thankfully, once he put down his money – the last of it – the owner didn’t seem to care.
“One room,” Lenzen said, trying not to wince at his Vehrian accent, which was still pretty noticeable despite seven years’ residence in Dashale, “And some food.”
The owner took his time counting out the money. When he’d finished, he said dismissively, “Upstairs, last door on the right,” the owner said.
“And the food?” Lenzen asked.
“Come back in an hour.”
He huffed aloud, but the owner didn’t seem affected in the least. Submissively, Lenzen went up the stairs and walked into his room.
Compulsorily, he inspected it carefully, looking for – well, he wasn’t sure. Anything that would indicate that the bots were onto him, or anything that would help him, should they find him here. He found nothing.
Eventually he gave up and sat hard on the bed, feeling some of his taut, sore muscles ache and stretch as they finally had an opportunity to rest. He took a careful glance at the door to listen for eavesdroppers, then pulled out the prototype and opened it up.
As he did, tiny shards of Vehrian silver fell like glitter to the floor of the room, followed by a slightly larger shard the color of soft sunlight. It was small enough that it made no noise when it hit the floor. However, this small piece was enough to make Lenzen want to yell out loud in annoyance. It'd cost Aram almost their entire grant to buy that specialized Vehrian crystal. The people of Vehn were stingy when it came to sharing their coveted crystals; Lenzen himself had been slightly rankled that Aram had found one at all.
And now it was broken.
Lenzen reached out with his good arm and plucked up the shard between his fingers. He tore a strip of cloth from his ruined pants and wrapped it around the shard. Though not whole, the crystal inside would still be good for a few more shots, if he didn't have a chance to fix the reverberation calibration and the silver mold around it. After he pocketed the shard and shut the prototype, he gave in to the urge to flop down hard onto the bed. Every spring below the mattress dug hard into his back, but he didn't mind. Anything was better than the filthy forest floor.
“Eleonara,” he muttered, covering his face with a sweaty arm, “You'd better be just as crazy as you were in Intro to Magical Creatures.” Only the Mage Emeritus of Magical Monsters would’ve dared to answer the call to Ridgewood when she was pushing her sixth decade, and only Aram would've selected someone as mad as that to be his confidant. For all his brilliance, he'd had been drawn to dangerous people like they were particularly challenging mathematical problems, and Professor Eleonara Praetheon was certainly one of the scariest, hardest, and enigmatic equations that Aram had collected. Perhaps that's why he'd trusted her so much. He'd never trusted Lenzen that way, after all.
He inhaled once, deeply and loudly, then let it out. By the second inhale he’d started a mental countdown to the time when he’d be able to get some food. The third inhale was a soft snore, for by then he had dropped, obliviously and silently, into sleep.
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Post by Cyphir on Jul 10, 2014 21:18:42 GMT -8
What Doesn't Belong
"Shouddit be twitchin' like that?"
Westle kneeled down and stared at the metallic arm that shifted under a fine layer of moss and dirt.
"I dunno," he said, reaching back and drawing a knife from his belt.
He gave the arm a good poke. It twitched in reply, so he poked it again.
The arm suddenly flipped over, eliciting an uncharacteristic yelp from his companion. In the dim light, Westle caught a glimpse of something dark and slimy slithering off to his left before disappearing down a hole some distance away.
Sheathing his knife, he brushed off a number of beetles from the arm and hitched it up in his grasp. Holding it up to his companion behind him, he said, "Well, there's yer answer."
Issa regarded the husk as if it would suddenly leap out of his arms and clasp its gawkish fingers around her neck.
Westle raised an eyebrow at her. "Cont'ry to talk, m'gal, these aren't possessed with the spirits of the tormentin' dead." He drew the arm back to himself, adding, "Well, not this one, 'least."
Issa shivered and stepped away, diverting her eyes to the forest around them. In turn, Westle turned the arm over slowly. It was heavy in his hands--a bulky thing, with layers of thick metal plates reinforcing it. Westle took special notice of the elbow joint. Or rather, what was left of it. The thick metal was torn and curled awkwardly, blackened all-around the rim and up to the wrist. Turning it over, he found that the innards of the arm were filled with small shards of crystal.
Westle brushed aside the thick greenery beneath him. Along the first ground, there were shimmers of a hundred tiny flakes. Maybe a thousand. Looking back at the arm, he rubbed a gloved finger against the blackened rim thoughtfully.
"I think I found th' rest of it."
Westle looked up to see Issa pointing to his left. He stood up and followed her gaze. There were trees, of course. That's what forests did--they grew trees, and trees could feel assuredly at home in a forest. The metal corpse hanging limp across a branch, on the other hand, was decidedly out of place.
It was a good walking distance away, and at least fifteen feet off the ground. For whatever reason, that didn't surprise him. It was definitely the owner of the husk of an arm in his grasp, and Westle noticed that its stub of a right forearm was similarly blackened to the limb in his hands.
"Y'think it's a warnin'?" Issa asked, her voice small and careful.
"Oh, f'sure." Westle looked down to his companion. "Might'o well put up a sign. 'Beware, folk o' the iron kind.'"
Issa looked away from the corpse, making a disgusted face. "S'not natural." She shivered, then turned to him. "Are we done?"
Westle looked at the arm in his grasp for a moment, then pulled his bag to his side. Flipping open its leather flap, he managed to stick the arm in so that only the tips of its pincer-like fingers poked out. Satisfied, he flipped the cover back and grinned up at Issa.
"Yer lead."
Issa hesitated, eyes lingering on his bag before she spoke, "Might be dusk by th' time we get out, but th' sooner we get t'Ridgewood, th' better." She turned and began heading through the forest. "I'd take a monster over 'em any day."
Westle quickly fell in step behind her. He glanced back one final time at the metal corpse draped across the branch.
She was right. He'd rather take monsters over these machines any day.
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Post by Mishael on Jul 11, 2014 13:29:56 GMT -8
HORRIBLE HOMECOMING
Kamina stepped up to the small fence in front of her parents’ house, resting her hand on the gate as she stared at her childhood home. Memories came sweeping back as she gazed on the familiar sight, the scent of honeysuckle causing her to breathe in deeply. Mixed feelings filled her heart as she saw the unkempt state of the garden. Her mother had always taken excellent care of the home, both inside and outside. Was she ill?
With a soft click, she unlatched the gate and moved forward onto the stone pathway leading up to the front door. She couldn’t see any movement within the house, and her worry grew. No one answered her knock. Trying the door, she found it unlocked.
“Hello?” she called into the house. Nothing looked out of place inside, except for the layer of dust coating the furniture. Kamina’s heart pounded. “Mum? Dad? Anybody here?” Freezing, she listened intently. Nothing.
Swallowing the painful lump that was forming in her throat, she hurried from room to room. There was no sign of either of her parents. As she passed by the entryway again, a sound outside caught her attention. After a quick glance around her, she grabbed a candlestick and crept closer.
Tightening her grip on the hefty metal object, she swung the door wide. There stood Lindi Kelna, who lived next door. Kamina heaved a sigh of relief. “Mrs. Kelna! I’m glad it’s you.”
An odd mixture of relief and disappointment crossed Mrs. Kelna’s face. “Kamina! You’ve come home.” Wiping her brow with a handkerchief, she stepped into the shadow of the doorway. “I thought I saw something over here and wondered if your parents were back.”
Kamina knew she should offer to have the older woman come inside for tea, but at the moment only one thing was on her mind. “Where did they go?”
With a sad shake of her head, Mrs. Kelna murmured, “I wish I could tell you, my dear.” Her eyes squinted anxiously. “They disappeared about a month ago along with several others, including Marta Benny and her two young ones.”
Marta was another neighbor. Kamina felt herself go cold. “Does anyone know why they disappeared?”
“Oh yes,” Mrs. Kelna nodded. “They all disappeared the night the monster attacked Moreton.”
Kamina whipped her head around. “A monster attack? Here?” She had heard rumor of them but never really thought they would hit home—literally.
Mrs. Kelna only nodded again. She had gone pale.
“Does anyone know anymore more about it? Has anyone tried to find where the missing were taken?” Kamina felt panic rising within her. If her parents had been taken, were they even still alive? Her head buzzed and her mind felt numb.
She must be dreaming.
“Some from Moreton have gone to Ridgewood to see what they can learn,” Mrs. Kelna answered her. “They have been dealing with monsters there more frequently and have more knowledge.” She wrung her hands worriedly. “That is where our hope lies.”
Only then did Kamina see the tears on Mrs. Kelna’s cheeks. “Oh...are you all right?” she asked softly, reaching out to place a hand on her old friend’s arm.
With a stifled sob, Mrs. Kelna dropped her head and covered her eyes with her handkerchief. “I’m sorry, my dear,” she apologized once she regained some composure. “It’s just...my grandson, David...he went with them to Ridgewood. That was two weeks ago. I haven’t heard anything since.”
Kamina remembered David. He was a sweet boy. She had a difficult time imagining him going off to chase monsters with the men of the town, but he had grown up just as she had. Only a few years younger than she was, he was old enough to make such decisions himself. Mrs. Kelna adored him and no doubt was as worried for him as Kamina was for her parents.
“I will find him, Mrs. Kelna,” she assured her.
Mrs. Kelna’s eyes widened. “You’re going to Ridgewood?”
“Yes.” Turning back into the house, Kamina replaced the candlestick and shouldered her pack once more. In a moment, she was back. “Please watch over the house for us. I promise I will come back with those we have lost.”
As she strode away down the road, she glanced behind her and saw Mrs. Kelna standing by the gate. The older woman stood unmoving, watching as Kamina disappeared once again.
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Post by Iron Kaiser on Jul 25, 2014 21:30:13 GMT -8
“Dinner’s ready.”
Chres jolted awake. He found himself sitting in a corner of the Riverside Respite’s lobby. The inn keeper was standing over him, drying off his hands.
“Mmm. Thanks.” Chres replied, wiping the lingering sleep from his eyes. With a small nod, the inn keeper walked away, presumably to inform the other guests.
How long was I asleep? Chres thought as he picked himself up from the chair. Stiffness coursed through his arm, no doubt from falling asleep on it. At least he hadn’t had to wait very long…
A minute later, and Chres sat a small wooden table, with a serving of ham and biscuits spread before him. For a brief moment, every thought of loneliness and apprehension fled from his mind. A quick prayer of thanks left his lips before the teacher shoveled egg into his mouth. The Riverside Respite may not have seemed like much on the outside, but the eggs were divine.
Chres noticed someone coming down the stairs of the inn. More precisely, Chres noticed the Dashalian officer’s uniform draped across his shoulder. A colonel. Chres nearly jumped out of his seat to salute the officer. Instead, he slammed his leg against the table, sending egg and ham flying. Chres scoffed at his state of affairs. This new adventure had awoken some old habits.
“Are you alright?” The colonel said as he rushed over to help. Chres waved him off.
“No, no, I’m fine, sir. Just a bit… animated this evening.”
Out of the corner of his eye, Chres barely noticed another guest coming down the stairs. He seemed to hug close to the shadows, but the perceptive onlooker would have caught onto his light hair right away. A physical trait of many Vehrians and ethnic Winter Mages. Either one was typically bad news.
“Ah, very good.” The colonel continued, brushing away at the mess across Chres’ shirt. “Still, your dinner…”
“Water under the bridge. Or egg over the table, I suppose!”
The colonel chuckled. It seemed that he had not realized the reason for Chres’ accident, which relieved him. While the teacher wasn’t hiding his military background, he thought it prudent not to advertise too much about himself to strangers in a foreign land. Or perhaps he simply wasn’t ready to wear the uniform again, even in his own mind.
“Please, allow me to pay for this.” The colonel said. As he gestured to the innkeeper, Chres examined his fellow guest. Though he outranked Chres, he looked younger than the teacher. From his mannerisms and the way his coat was slung over his shoulder, he seemed easy-going. Almost too eager to present an aloof, care-free demeanor. The black uniform suggested a position in strategic intelligence – a desk job which afforded many an officer an easy career. But the sword by his side and the rifle across his back, ready even at the dinner table, clashed with this image. Whether he was ready to fight at a moment’s notice, or whether he simply valued their presence, Chres couldn’t say.
“So where are you headed?” The colonel asked, sitting himself at Chres’ table. Caution and self-awareness flooded the young teacher again. The imminent danger of Grigs’ letter still rang in his ears. He caught the Vehrian staring intently at him from across the room, before quickly diverting his attention back to his food.
“Ridgewood.” Chres said after swallowing down another forkful of egg. “I have… personal business there.”
“Ah yes. Going to fight the monster threat there?”
“What?”
“Surely you’ve heard. Monsters have been besieging the city for the last few months now. I hear a champion of Ridgewood was killed just over two weeks ago. Lots of people dead, it’s been a real nightmare down there. If you’re heading to Ridgewood, I hope you’re prepared.”
“No, I didn’t realize.” Chres said curtly. He was as well-equipped as he’d ever be, but it was still technically true. He hadn’t prepared for monsters specifically.
“Oh! Well that won’t do! As it happens, I’m heading to Ridgewood myself, to defend the defenseless. I insist you join me on the way there. I can at least get you into the city walls. You should be safer there than alone on the roads.”
“I appreciate the offer, but…”
“Please. I couldn’t have it on my conscience if anything were to happen to you.”
Chres thought for a moment. The colonel seemed a little too eager to help, but Chres chalked it up to an idealistic sincerity. After all, hadn’t he once worn the uniform with as much pride, eager to live up to the highest Dashalian virtues? So long as the colonel didn’t slow him down, he couldn’t object. There was just one problem.
“A cottage home is better than a castle unknown.” Chres said with well-worn confidence.
“…I'm sorry?” The colonel replied.
“It’s an old Rignan proverb. It means that knowledge of your surroundings is sometimes more important than the details of the surroundings themselves. Think of the battles that have been won or lost because of knowing where and with whom you’re fighting.”
“Ah, of course!”
“For example, think back three centuries to—sorry, I digress.” Chres halted his sudden enthusiasm. “Point is, I don’t share the dusty road with anyone whose name I don’t know.” He extended his hand out to his dinner guest. “Chres Harwick. Colonel…?”
“Let’s not let titles get in the way.” The colonel responded with a smile before taking his hand. “Just call me Aether.”
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Post by Drahcir on Jul 30, 2014 16:38:52 GMT -8
The Tidal Shift
The pair of officers, though one was unaware of the other for the moment, sat at Chres’ table and ate in companionable silence. Chres was content to simply eat his meal, now that it had been refreshed after the loss of the first, and mull over the situation while Aether consumed his portion, looking all around the room.
It was not the subtle glance around an environment to gauge dangers or possible escape routes, as might occur to a person of military or at least battle tested background; instead, he seemed to simply observe the people.
At one point, Chres watched his new companion jump to his feet with a hurried “excuse me” and approach a man who looked down on his luck, leaving his meal half eaten. Aether sat with the man for a moment, patting him consolingly on the back. Then he not only bought the man a drink but also reached into his money bag to extract a Dashalian Half Sen. Quite a sum in this case, which he handed over to the unfortunate looking man.
The man, for his part, looked utterly astonished, then relieved, then quite overcome with emotion. He clutched at Aether’s right hand with both of his and wept openly. Once he’d finally calmed down, the man left with many a glance back at Aether and any number of God-bless-you’s, so loud that others turned to look. The man’s thanks were, apparently, unmistakable in their genuine gratitude.
Aether returned to Chres with a huge smile and an air of extreme content.
“Forgive me,” he said, returning to his meal. “But I had to see if there was anything I could do. The poor fellow was so down it seemed.”
Chres nodded. “Not when he left, by the sound of it.”
“True. He had been worrying over the loss of his prized bull. Apparently it was savaged not more then a day or so ago by something or other.”
Chres looked up, intrigued. ‘Something or other’? he thought. Out loud he asked, “like one of the monsters?”
Aether looked puzzled, then realisation flashed across his features. “Do you know… I think you might be right. Fool that I was, I didn’t think to ask him more on the subject. He was so distressed about not having a worthy cattle breeder to offer for his trade.”
For just a moment, Aether wondered if he should run after the man, and judging by Chres' quick glance over to the door, he had had the same idea. But the beggar would have had a head start on them, and there was no telling which way he had gone. His food would go cold, and they'd find out soon enough more details on the monster attacks.
So Aether let go of the idea and returned to his meal with enthusiasm. He was bolstered by his encounter with the cattle farmer. He'd not been more than an hour in the company of others and he'd already done some good. The thought hadn't crossed his mind that he may have been duped by a con artist, nor did he fully comprehend the dangerous import of a monster attack happening so close to the inn. Aether had helped a man reclaim a portion of his livelihood. Maybe Aether's half Sen would make the difference between starvation and survival. And now Aether was with a fellow traveller, a decent seeming man who, like him, seemed interested in investigating the trouble rumoured in the area. He was doing good, and that's all that mattered.
‘Yes indeed,’ he thought, perhaps a shade smugly. ‘I am no longer a Harrow.’
This pleasant reassurance of his cause was not at all marred by the thought that the man he’d just given money too might have been swindling a rich looking officer. Such a notion was unpardonable to bring against anyone who seemed so sincere.
What did interrupt his thoughts were the sounds coming from outside. Muffled as they were by the walls and roof of the inn and the noise of the bar area, which dulled the possibilities, they could easily be mistaken for shouts of revelry and shrieks of mirth. However, Chres had tensed, mid-way to taking his last bite of food to his mouth. He had heard it, too.
There was some sort of commotion going on outside and so far, Chres and Aether seemed to be the only ones aware of it. Then suddenly, an unmistakable scream of agony rent the merry atmosphere and left a momentary silence in the inn’s bar.
“What the devil?” an older man muttered into the silence.
Then, as one, the crowd parted, a portion dividing between each window and the door. Aether and Chres were on their feet, listening. Chres had drawn a pistol and was priming it for immediate use. Aether, unsure, only placed his hand on the handle of his sword.
“My god!” shouted a man on the east window. “What are those things!?”
Aether headed over to take a look, but Chres stood his ground. He was looking at the stairs to the upper floor and seemed to be deciding something. More shouts and more screams rent the evening and then, the small crowd at the east window surged backwards as one, driving Aether back with them.
A large mass hit the abandoned window, shattering it into fragments of glass and splintered wooden frame. The mass hit the floor on four legs and stood up, revealing itself to be some sort of predatory creature. Its body was vaguely wolfish, but it had a more cat-like face and a hint at a mane. Its fur was dark scarlet with darker details about its joints, mane and tail.
All this came to the notice of the crowd in less then a second as the creature took only that time to linger where it stood. With a hideous, shrieking snarl, it lunged at the nearest person to it, a young man that worked at the inn. With feral savagery, it tore him to the floor and made light work of mauling him into an unrecognisable form.
Panic swept the inn as most made for the door. But another monstrous shriek and the piteous squeal of another man told all that a second creature was at the entrance. Everyone was trapped.
Aether drew his sword, fighting to get to the beast that had got through the window. With him stood a man with a short knife and the inn’s owner wielding a heavy frying pan. The man with the knife, a rough looking person with tangles of black beard and a fair few scars, moved toward the thing and slashed at it.
The creature snarled and made a bite for the man’s arm, tugging him off his feet and flinging him across the room and over the bar. The inn keeper used the moment to bring the pan down on the thing’s head with a cry of rage and grief. The clang resounded around the room alongside a gunshot that told Aether Chres was dealing with the second creature.
For his part, Aether slashed at the things face, causing it to recoil for a step. Then it lunged at him with frightening speed and power, forelegs outstretched, jaws open. For one wild moment, Aether knew a chilling, primal fear as the thing bore down upon him, its breath putrid.
The creature came down as Aether thrust his sword instinctively outward. The blade drove into the beast’s chest from the force of its lunge as Aether fell backwards, aware of a burning pain in his left shoulder. Then the beast was lying across him, the blade driven between its ribs, buried to the haft. The handle was pressing painfully into Aether’s stomach while the weight of the creature pinned him to the floor.
The noise of screaming, growling and scuffling sounded all around, interspersed with a close gunshot now and then. Aether tried, without success, to push the monster off himself. The inn keeper and the rough looking man were nowhere to be seen.
Then Chres was there, hauling on one side, while Aether pushed. Gradually they managed to shift the dead hulk to the floor, freeing Aether. He bent to extract his sword and the shoulder of his left arm throbbed uncomfortably.
The inn was a mess. Several men lay dead on the ground, but the others seemed to have been able to make their way out. Over in a far corner, the other creature lay dead, bleeding from several pistol shots and a large slash in its abdomen.
“I need to retrieve my gear,” Chres said without preamble. His face was set and looked calm, though resigned.
Aether, who was quite shaken, just nodded. It was not unlikely that he was suffering the effects of shock.
“Will you watch my back?” Chres asked of Aether. But Aether wasn’t listening. He was staring at the young man who had worked at the inn. The inn keeper was kneeling at his side, clutching what was left of the mauled youth in his arms. Blood pooled around them both.
“My son…” the inn keeper said hoarsely, continuous tears flowing from the corners of his eyes. “My son…”
Chres took Aether by his good shoulder. “Get a hold of yourself. We need to get out of here and bring the fight outside. But I can’t do that without my gear.”
Aether looked at him, trying to focus. “Yes…” he said vaguely. “Yes, of course.”
“Will you watch my back?” Chres repeated.
Aether, coming back to himself, recognised the request as a matter of trust and honour and was flattered. Chres, though he had barely met Aether, was placing his trust in him. Aether couldn’t turn him down, he would not shrink away. He slapped himself mentally and cleaned his blade with the hem of his kama. “At your service.”
Chres turned without another word and headed for the stairs. They were both half way up when the sound of a yell met their ears. Hurrying, they found another creature, inexplicably already upstairs and trying to push open a door, whose handle had been clawed and bitten until it no longer held properly.
Something, or more likely someone, was apparently on the other side, trying to keep the door shut.
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Post by mk on Aug 8, 2014 15:50:35 GMT -8
What? Another Chapter? Why, Yes, I Believe So.
As soon as the glass shattered, he bolted. Up the stairs, through the corridor, into his room, right to where his prototype lay underneath a pillow.
They’ve found me again. Again! And this time they were mowing down more people in the process. Morwin Kennis was not subtle in the least, was he? Lenzen flinched as a scream rent the air, followed by a growl.
A growl.
Holding the gun limply by his side, Lenzen turned. KMs didn’t growl, and whatever was clambering up the stairs definitely wasn’t mechanical – or human.
The growl came again, this time from down the hall. Whatever it was had reached the top of the stairs and was making its way down the hallway towards him. Instinctively Lenzen grabbed his bag – his cable gun should be in there somewhere – and pulled out the small, rectangular gadget. It was a tinkering trifle, really, but he had gotten a lot of aiming practice from grabbing things from across the laboratory. He flicked his wrist, and the cable shot out and wrapped around the handle of the doorway. After another expert twist, and the door slammed shut just as a shadow had started to grow on the opposite wall.
Immediately the door thumped and bowed with sudden weight. Something scratched and clawed, sending shrieks through the wood, and – oh, that horrible growl! Lenzen was beginning to hate it as much as the KMs. He never thought that would be possible after these past few weeks. Whatever was behind that door was awful indeed.
He dove for his bed and wrapped the rest of the cable around the post twice, thrice. The bed was sturdy but not heavy; he was going to need as much help as possible to keep the door shut. He pulled the cable across to the other leg and –
Thunk. The cable went slack, the broken doorknob taking the clasp down hard on the floor. The creature had knocked off the handle completely, leaving absolutely nothing between it and Lenzen’s room.
He dove for the door, practically head-butting it shut just as a single, black paw lashed out from the crack in the door. He threw his whole weight on the door, scrabbling around the floor desperately with his hands. His cable gun lay out of reach where it’d fallen by the bed. If he could just find something else to hit hard enough –
Bam! Somehow, the monster managed to ram the door again even with its paw in the doorway with an impact that pushed Lenzen forward, almost completely off the door. He jerked back, digging his burned shoulder into the splintering wood. He looked around again. There was nothing to hit with, and the only weapon he had available worked against robotic maniacs only. Below him, he heard long, slow moaning – a keening for someone dead.
At this noise Lenzen flinched as the sudden reality of his own death – a realization always in the background thus far but never quite grabbing hold of him. The suddenness of it pinned him down and choked his sanity like a vice. Abandoning logic, he screamed for help, banging his hands on the door, the floor – everything. Somewhere between his own screaming and the freakishly loud sound of the monster’s breathing on the other side of the door, he heard footsteps. It was working! A few people – certainly more than one – were coming up the stairway.
“Someone help me!” He was almost sobbing by the time the last word came out of his mouth. The footsteps stopped briefly, and he heard muffled voices.
“Anyone!” Lenzen yelled again, hope rising. His throat and lungs burned, but he squeezed out every bit of volume he could. The conversation ended with an abrupt call from one, and then the footsteps faded away.
Below Lenzen’s feet, someone else screamed. No one else was receiving help – why should he? Who, exactly, was going to come up and save some Vehrian on the second floor when there was at least one other monster terrorizing everyone below?
Next to him, the paw inched further through the opening. Obviously this one was too intent on its prey to bother with new victims. Lenzen caught sight of a knobby knee covered in sodden black fur. The fluid dripped onto the floor. Blood.
He looked across the room. Just near his bed, its handle poking out from beneath the thin mattress’s shadow, lay his prototype, by all appearances a flimsy little steam gun. In actuality, that little device represented over five years’ worth of Lenzen’s life, not to mention the life of one of Talland’s best – and worst – researchers, who’d stolen and bribed and cheated to pour everything into this tiny creation. It certainly had its share of innocent blood on its innocuous-looking frame, and Lenzen had survived three bloody, desperate, filthy weeks trying to keep it safe, even when Aram had failed. It represented not only his life but the technological dawn of a new era – a fighting chance against a merciless dictator, but more than that also more than that. It was also the beginning of significance for a magic-less person in a world run by mages.
Lenzen set his jaw and tasted salty tears of panic. He couldn’t lose his life – and Aram’s life – just because of some slobbering, witless brute.
Bam! The forearm lengthened into a full leg as Lenzen went careening forward again. Beside him he could hear the hot, quick breaths of a predator about to feast. It was so loud that he almost imagined her heard the rumble of voices through them. It growled again, and he felt the vibrations through the door.
“HELP YOU IGNORANT SAVAGES!” Lenzen yelled in rage.
“Patience,” came a calm reply.
Lenzen had no time to react. One moment he was braced against the door, and the next he’d been sent head over heels into the frame of his bed. The door was gone completely. Off-balanced and disoriented, he staggered, tripping over himself and scrabbling desperately for something – anything to use against the monster that was no doubt barreling through his door.
I’m going to die. It’s going to eat me, and I’m going to –
He turned. Instead of a wolf-shape, like he’d expected, instead he found a shadow of a man. At his hand, he caught the familiar glow of a crystal activated at near-full strength. A mage?
“Down!” the voice went hard and commanding. Lenzen dropped back to the floor and banged his cheek hard on the wood. A huge gust of wind rifled through his hair and whisked his entire body back a few inches. Somewhere near his head, a heavy body dropped with a whimper.
“I got it,” the second voice was resolute but slightly shrill. Lenzen heard footsteps, a grunt, and a sick, wet sound.
When he dared to open his eyes again, he found that his hand was resting in a pool of blood. He shot up and shook it out, sending droplets spitting across the room. He was vaguely aware that his mouth was moving, spitting out phrases rapidly.
“Steady there, calm down – you’re alright now,” the second voice interrupted Lenzen’s spasmodic panic.
Finally, he looked up and found two men, one in plainclothes and the other in military uniform. Oddly enough, the plainclothed-man looked to be the calmer of the two. The ring Lenzen had seen earlier belonged to him. It was a wind crystal – a small one, but given it’s diameter Lenzen could approximate it’s optimum vibration–
“Are you alright?” the mage asked, rephrasing his companion’s assertion. He looked at the other man, who was wearing a Dashalian uniform and carried a bloodied sword, “I don’t think he understands us.”
“I do understand you,” Lenzen said indignantly. The two responded with blank stares, and Lenzen realized, with a mixture of frustration and deep embarrassment, that he’d reverted to Vehrian in his panic. He stammered, reorganizing his thoughts and trying to switch back, but he was too scatter-brained to form anything coherent.
“I –
Something crashed into his window. Lenzen dropped to the floor again as a throaty, wrathful squawk filled the room.
“Back!” the Dashalian officer darted forward and shoved Lenzen away from the window. Off-balance, Lenzen sprawled on the floor again.
“What are they?” the officer yelled.
Lenzen scrambled around. His window was now a mess of glass shards framing a mass of rust-colored feathers and a sharp black beak. This new horror squawked again, louder, and he covered his ears. Wood splinters flew as talons each the size of Lenzen’s hand beat at the frame of the window.
The mage shouted something, and the officer hauled Lenzen off the ground. Flustered, Lenzen hissed something at him and stumbled to the bed, which stood just beyond the window. He grabbed the prototype first as tiny prickles of glass rained down on him, He stuffed the prototype in his bag and grabbed the cable gun. He jabbed the retract button and the cable flew about the room like a whip, taking the doorknob with it. It smacked Lenzen’s hand hard, and his fingers went numb from the pain.
“Come!” the officer insisted frantically, and pushed him towards the door. Again, Lenzen shook him off and stumbled through himself, stuffing the cable gun, doorknob and all, into his pack.
By the time they were in the hallway, the mage had run ahead of them and down the stairs, holding up his ringed hand in preparation of what he might find. Almost as soon as he was out of sight he shot back up the stairs again.
“We’re in big trouble,” he said, “They’re beginning to surround the building – the wolves and those…birds. If we’re going to get out of here, we need to go now.”
“But there may be more people in danger,” the officer objected. Just as the words were out of his mouth a horrible crunch sounded from Lenzen’s room. The bird’s squawk became a screech, and all three men flinched. “We can’t just leave,” he ended, his voice going shrill again.
“It’s going to get in,” Lenzen interjected. Vehrian again. Frustrated, he shut his eyes, and through the squawking and growling of the monsters, the screams of their victims below, and the painful pounding of his un-numbed hand, fought for focus. For an impossible moment, it came, or at least enough for him to clear his head enough to sort out Dashalian declensions.
He opened his eyes. It had only been a few seconds, but he had already lost the thread of the conversation.
"So we will save the first one we stumble across and leave everyone else to their fate?!" the officer was arguing, bewildered.
"If we don't leave, we'll share their fate!" the mage snapped.
The mage was right; Lenzen realized that his position wasn't much better than when he had his back against the door with a wolf's paw next to him. He also wasn't going to get out alive without these men, and having both of them while they outran bloodthirsty monsters was going to drastically increase his odds of survival. Not to mention that they had both saved him once already and he owed them every panicky breath he heaved in.
"All of our escape routes are being cut, and we can't fight this many monsters alone," the mage insisted, "There's nothing we can do."
“There’s always something to do!”
“I understand you,” Lenzen interrupted forcefully, in near-perfect Dashalian. He pointed to his room, “More than you, actually. That bird out there is a razorclaw. They usually average a wingspan of twenty-five inches and that one has at least forty-five.”
The two men blinked back at him.
“They also haven’t been seen in Amaranth – or anywhere else – in six centuries,” Lenzen hissed. He looked at the officer, “You think that ordinary magic did that? You think that a few shards can summon a monster capable of ripping your throat out with a careless flick? What hope do you honestly think you have saving anything against something like that? I don’t even want to think about what those wolf-things are. We’re clearly dealing with upper-grade…some serious…really bad stuff and I don’t want to hang around to find out!”
Stars and all the midnight sky – Eleonara, you might have actually done me a favor for once. He’d learned that spout of nonsense during the only lecture he’d stayed awake all the way through, and that was only because the professor had stood in front of his desk and glowered down at him the entire eighty minutes. What he hadn't told his two blinking companions was that razorclaws had blue feathers and heads shaped like eggs and looked nothing like what was trying to break through the window.
For someone who hadn't been able to talk five seconds ago, his shameless lie had worked beautifully. Aether hesitated in the middle of his argument, and the mage looked grim with revelation. All this lasted about a full second before the crash of the razorclaw against the window shocked everyone into attention again. Lenzen gritted his teeth as more screams rent the air. Their way out was closing rapidly as the monsters mowed through more victims downstairs. Surely anyone could forgive him a lie in a situation like this.
“Aether," the mage said, voice dry. It was a question.
Aether looked torn and hurt, as if the decision that had fallen on him was an unfair punishment. He looked hard at Lenzen, eyes narrowed, and Lenzen felt his stomach fly into his throat. Just as he thought his nerve was going to fail, Aether put his hands over his face and let out a groan. It was only after he repeated it that Lenzen realized that there were words camouflaged inside.
"We go," Aether said, for the third time. It chilled Lenzen to hear his pain. How did you get like that - so compassionate for people you didn't even know?
"Alright then," the mage said suddenly. He grasped Lenzen’s forearm just below the elbow, a curious Vehrian gesture of friendship that suddenly skewed everything that Lenzen had thought about this man so far, "Chres Hardwick," he said simply.
It took a full second for Lenzen to realize that the man was introducing himself in a very bizarrely-timed fashion. He had just enough presence of mind leftover to keep from replying with his real name.
“Meinhard,” he stuttered back instead. He winced and looked over at Aether's uniform, reaffirming that even if it meant using his grandfather's name, it was worth keeping his identity hidden, especially from Dashalian military. He hoped.
Unexpectedly, neither of his new companions looked convinced, though it was hard to read into Aether's sightless glare. Perhaps Lenzen wasn't as adept at lying as he'd thought.
“Well then, Meinhard," Chres said, "how are you at running?”
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Post by Docboy on Aug 20, 2014 17:27:10 GMT -8
Saddle Up
Victor retrieved his bow and headed to his chambers to pack and prepare. There wasn’t much left to do; Victor made a habit of keeping his equipment at the ready at all times. He filled his water skins, and checked his food supply, already packed in saddlebags. Most of it was good, save for one portion that was infested with moths of some kind. In the past, he’d been that guy who had gotten on the road with his bags full of rotten food. Not that he hadn’t eaten every bite, of course; food wasn’t easily replaced on the road. It was just that every bite had been miserable. He wasn’t about to do that again. Victor replaced all the food with a fresh amount. Two more saddlebags, also pre-packed with miscellaneous equipment and also inspected before being packed up, joined the first ones. Ten minutes after he started he was done. “ A ranger is always ready.” Victor thought. “Though ‘ready’ is a bit of a strong word.” He surmised ruefully, looking at his gear. Most of it, especially his armor, was outdated and worn almost past use. He wasn’t a bad craftsman or smith, and he’d begun work on a new set, but it was lying in bits on his workbench, in various stages of completion. There was no time to complete it now, so he didn’t dwell on it. Instead, he turned his mind to the task on hand. Victor hadn’t asked for two hours to gather his stuff because that’s how long it would take to pack. He needed that time to finish some work, and he didn’t want to be rushed. Victor pulled a stone up from his floor and retrieved a key. Next, he grabbed a small chest that lie underneath his washbasin and put it on his desk. The chest looked reasonably nondescript on the outside, appearing as a standard wood locker rimmed with iron bands. Were one to heft it however, they would notice it was at least three times heavier that it should have been. Victor opened up the chest. Inside, there were two inches of plated lead that gave the chest its extra weight. Nestled in the space between the plating were four small glass bottles, packed in sawdust. Victor pulled them out, inspected their seals (still intact) and placed the bottles in a leather pouch lined with sheepskin, packing them carefully in leather and wool. “Safe enough for the ride, we hope.” Victor continued working at his station for the remainder of the two hours, mixing various substances together in a glass bottle before pouring the solution into a small leather skin, which he also hung from his belt. His preparations made as best as he could, he returned to his horse, mounted up, and joined the company outside. “Report?” “We’re ready to roll out sir. All are able and accounted for.” “Good. I assume you sent scouts to track this thing?” “Obviously.” The man smirked. “It’s not hard to follow though. Its tracks are deeper than bear.” “Figures. One stroke of luck at least.” Victor was trying to ease the knot in his stomach that kept popping up. If this was what he thought it was… Pointless to worry. We’re going to give the best shot we know how. He thought to himself, fingering the pouch that held the glass bottles close to his side. “Well,” he said, attempting a smile. “If it’s easy to follow, then we shouldn’t be too hard pressed to bring it down. Where’s it headed?” “Past Antarrey.” The man responded. “It’s following the ridge to the Morret Peak, by all accounts.” “Then we need to move. Morret is only a day’s ride from the post. We’ll have to take the road.” The man nodded. “Agreed. If we don’t catch it in time than stealth won’t matter much. I’ll tell the men.” “Please do. And one more thing, soldier.” Victor hesitated, then continued. “If some of us fail to…return home, I don’t want anyone happening to stumble on the remains to know where we are from. Have them men burn all insignia. Don’t tell them why.” “I copy. ‘Soldier’ is a bit too formal though.” The man grinned. Wouldn’t you rather call me by name or rank? I’m-” “I’d rather not, thank you.” Victor responded curtly. “You’ll know when I’m talking to you.” “As you say.” The man left.
“I already know your face. It’s enough” Victor thought to himself. “Men without names are easier to forget.” The column began to move, and Victor pulled out his map, intent on the task at hand. What was left after the monster was killed would be a problem, but it was problem number two, and problem one was at hand. Problem two would have to wait until problem number one was done being solved. |
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Post by Mishael on Sept 20, 2014 21:56:35 GMT -8
AN UNEXPECTED MEETING
Kamina stood at the intersection, staring at the people moving past her. Her mind was still in a haze. She had left Moreton in a white blaze of fury, ready to battle the monster herself; but now that she had reached Ridgewood, she could see the change from when she was last here, the impact these attacks had on more than just herself. Security seemed tighter than normal, and there was tension in the air.
What did she really think she could do? Throw a stick at the monster? She didn’t know how to fight.
More than that, the depth of her loss finally hit her. What would she do if she never saw her parents again? She hadn’t even had a chance to say goodbye, to let them know she loved them. She was effectively alone in the world now. The thought sent a chill through her, and the bright color of the world around her faded. The din of the town rang hollow in her ears.
“Kamina? Kamina Reede?”
The voice called out from across the street, and it took a moment for her to register that it had said her name. At that same moment, she recognized the voice.
She turned around just as a tall, handsome, dark-haired young man stepped up beside her. When he saw her face, he smiled. “Yes, I thought I knew that hat.” He made a move as if to give her a friendly hug, but when he saw her stiffen, he quickly changed it to a brief pat on the arm. Some of the people passing by gave them a curious glance, and Kamina felt heat rise to her cheeks.
“Good day, Jarren,” she said, curtseying.
Jarren chuckled. “There’s no need for such formality with old friends.”
She only nodded. Jarren was the son of Lord Galfrea and had attended one of the guilds with her when they were younger. They had, indeed, known each other for a long time.
She was already dealing with one hardship. Must she deal with this as well?
He seemed to sense her coldness and stepped back half a step. “What brings you to Ridgewood? I haven’t seen you in ages.”
She squinted in the glare of the sunlight, pulling her hat down a bit more to shield her eyes. That was when she noticed that her hand was shaking.
Jarren noticed it as well. “Is everything all right?” he asked quietly. She attempted to answer, but her voice wouldn’t work. Sensing her discomfort and yet her clear need for a friend, he moved close once more. “Here, come with me,” he said, putting an arm around her back gently and leading her down the street. “You can stay with us for as long as you need.”
“N-no, it’s fine,” she mumbled, but he didn’t seem to hear her. Not really having anywhere else to go and not wanting to make a scene, her protest died down. He guided her through the streets to the residential district. They turned down a street lined with stately townhouses fronted by pristinely manicured gardens. She couldn’t help gazing at them in awe. Jarren side-glanced at her as they walked.
“This is the one,” he said as they approached the entry gate of the fourth house on the left. He stood to the side to allow her to enter first then led her up to the door. Kamina closed her eyes and took calm, measured breaths. She had nothing to worry about. It was obvious that Jarren only wanted to help her, and at the moment she could use all the help she could get.
Once inside, Jarren led her to the front sitting room and helped her sit down. “Please, rest a moment. I will be back. Would you like some tea?” She nodded without thinking, and he left the room.
As she sat, she couldn’t help admiring the room. No doubt the rest of the house was equally as grand. She could see the Galfrea touch that she had grown familiar with so many years ago. In the hall, she heard the bustle and muffled voices as the servants passed by, going about their duties. Suddenly she dropped her head into her hands. What was she doing there?
“Kamina?” came a soft voice from the doorway. Kamina looked up and felt a comforting relief wash over her. Jarren’s sister Tessa entered the room, moving straight toward her. They had been fast friends when they first met, and Kamina still felt a special affection for the young woman. As she rose to her feet, Tessa embraced her. “Jarren told me he found you in town. I’m glad you came to stay with us while you’re here.”
Kamina opened her mouth to correct her, to say that she was only there for a quick visit before moving on her way, but she decided against it. Instead, she offered a small but genuine smile. “It is good to see you again, Tessa. I have missed you.”
“And I you.” Tessa took Kamina’s hands in hers. “You do look pale. Come, let us sit down.”
As they both sat down, Kamina asked, “Is there anyone else here?”
Tessa gave her a knowing look. “No, it’s just my brother and me. And the servants, of course.”
Kamina met her gaze with a slightly surprised one of her own. “Just you two?”
Tessa nodded. Just then, Jarren returned. The tea arrived behind him. He took a seat nearby. “I apologize for whisking you away like that,” he said to Kamina, tipping his head. “I figured it would be more appropriate to talk in private.”
Nodding, she gave him a tight smile. “I appreciate that. Thank you.”
“I hope you don’t mind if Tessa joins us. She was so eager to see you when I told her you were here.” He glanced between the two women.
“Of course I don’t mind,” Kamina said with another smile toward her. “I would always welcome her company.”
“Excellent.” He accepted a cup of tea from a servant with a mumbled thank you and waited for the others to settle in with theirs as well. Sitting forward, he fixed his eyes on Kamina. “Now will you tell me what has happened?”
Tessa’s eyes widened, and her golden curls bounced as she turned her head to stare at Kamina. “Something happened?”
Kamina stared down into her cup, unable to meet their gazes. “A monster attacked my home village recently.” She heard Tessa gasp. “I wasn’t there, as I’ve been...away, teaching. But when I returned home today, I found my parents’ house empty.” Her voice broke, and she took a moment to get it back. “A neighbor told me that they had been taken during the attack, along with a few others from the town. Nobody knows what happened to them...or if they’re still alive.”
Silence fell on the room. Kamina had to set her cup back down and clasp her hands together tightly as they started shaking again.
After a moment, Jarren prompted quietly, “And you came to Ridgewood...?”
Kamina stared at her lap. “I came to Ridgewood to see if anyone here might know more about it or might be able to help me find them.”
“We will definitely help you as much as we can,” Tessa told her, turning her eyes to Jarren imploringly.
Jarren nodded. “Yes, we will. I can try to find out who we should speak with for more information.”
“Thank you,” Kamina murmured.
“But for now, you need to rest,” Tessa said, and her tone brooked no argument. “You may feel a little better after you’ve had some sleep. At least, you’ll be able to focus more on the task at hand.” Kamina nodded. She was feeling rather weary and wouldn’t mind a chance to escape reality, even for a short while. “Come, I will take you to the room you may use while you are here.”
Jarren watched as the two women left the room. Then he stood, paced to the window, and stared down into the street, lost in thought.
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Post by Iron Kaiser on Sept 21, 2014 20:13:46 GMT -8
"Three... two... now!"
Chres and his two newfound companions burst through the front door of what was left of the Riverside Respite. Carnage welcomed them with open arms. Chres, Aether, and Meinhard had to jump over carcasses before having even left the patio. Cries of terror filled the air. Former denizens ran wildly, without aim, before being cut down by the rampaging beasts.
A new cry filled the air. Unnatural and bloodthirsty. A giant bird, equal parts raven and hawk, talons stained by the blood of the many humans it had already killed, dove toward them. But this time, the humans were ready. Hardly breaking stride, Chres leveled his pistol at the incoming bird.
"Target, three o'clock!" He cried instinctively. The bullet slammed into the bird's side, causing it to careen into the ground not three feet from Aether. The Colonel rushed toward the bird, skewering it to ensure its fate.
"He's down... Behind you!"
Aether raised his own gun and fired. Chres spun around to see a dark hound stumble and crash to the ground. He wasn't sure if it was dead, but it was definitely out of this chase.
"Keep going!"
Unlike the other guests of the Riverside Respite, the trio were not running wildly. They had a goal: the nearby stables. They were only a couple dozen yards away. Any other day, a trip from the stables to the inn proper would have been a leisurely stroll. In the midst of combat, it felt like an eternity.
To his surprise, Chres found that Meinhard had bolted away from the others and reached the stables first. He had dashed back and forth, in a zig-zagging pattern, somehow avoiding the predators. He didn't seem to have Aether's military skill, but Chres surmised that Meinhard had some experience getting out of tough jams like this one. If he survived the night, he'd have to learn more about this Vehrian.
Just as Aether reached the stables, Meinhard swung the doors open. Chres rushed into the barn behind them, barely avoiding a pair of roaring lions nipping at his heels. Aether jumped into the doorway and pushed them back with his sword, while Meinhard closed the doors. For just a brief moment, relative quiet surrounded the trio. The roars and screeches of the monsters outside were still audible, but they were muffled by the walls of the barn. The three weren't truly safe, but they had earned a moment's respite.
Meinhard looked rough. The nervous twitches and shaking hands indicated that adrenaline was flooding his system, and he didn't know how to deal with it. Aether was somewhat better, but his eyes betrayed a certain... uncertainty? As Chres examined his partner, Aether locked eyes with him.
"Okay, we're here," Aether said between gasping breaths, "now what?"
Chres turned to focus on the task at hand. That's when his fears were realized. The horses inside, their only hope of escape, were strewn across the ground, dead. The tell-tale marks of talons and fangs marked their carcasses. "Good heavens." Aether uttered as Meinhard gagged.
"No..." Chres dashed through the barn, hoping against all odds that even one horse had survived the attack.
"Anything?" Aether called out as Chres reached the other end of the stables. But he already knew the answer.
Chres scanned the surroundings again. His training had been pushing back against despair, but no matter how many times he reviewed the situation, he couldn't identify a means of escape. There was nothing but straw, feed, and dead horse here. Nothing useful. Nothing that would save them.
But then a glimmer of reflected light caught the corner of his eye.
"Aether, Meinhard, come here! Quick!"
As his partners ran up to him, Chres pointed to the mechanical object. To the more clinical-minded, it looked like a small cabin attached to a flat bed, suspended by tires. To Chres Harwick, it looked like salvation. "Is that what I think it is?"
"That's an automobile, Mr. Harwick." Meinhard said bluntly.
"Looks like a cargo truck." Aether added. "Chres, you've never seen one of these before?"
"O-of course! It was just a figure of speech... look, Meinhard, can you get it working?"
Meinhard hopped behind the wheel of the truck. His nerves seemed to calm, and confidence returned to him, as he handled the wheel. Perhaps it was because he could put his expertise to use, or perhaps it was simply because he was in the recognizable world of machines.
"Diesel. Looks like an older model," he said aloud, perhaps to steel his nerves. "Probably a six piston, maybe 500 rpm... found it." He tossed a crank at Aether. "Start up the engine."
"Sure." Aether said. "Ah... how?"
"Look for the cap in front of the truck." Meinhard said sharply. "Stick that in there, and turn."
As Aether prepared the truck, Chres jumped into the back and pulled off his bag. An old weapon of war, and a long forgotten gift rest inside. As he retrieved his tools, Meinhard opened a small window separating the cabin from the pickup bed. Worry was etched into his eyes.
"This won't work, Harwick. I don't think this truck is fast enough to outrun the monsters."
Chres' focus remained on the bag, until he pulled a small ammunition cartridge out and slid it into the rifle.
"Don't worry, Meinhard. It'll be fast enough."
--
Meanwhile, the morbid tranquility of silent death had overtaken the chaos that enveloped the Riverside Respite earlier. While several of the monsters still threw themselves against the barricaded barn, most were content to enjoy the spoils of their conflict. The dark energies that drove these creatures onward wouldn't allow them to forget the three humans hiding away, but a feast awaited them now. The final kills could wait.
One of the monsters, wolf-like in appearance, sat silently before the barn. He hungered for the blood of the humans still inside, and his primitive mind struggled to find a way to break through the barn. As he schemed, he heard a sound - a faint cadence, a whirring rumble. His ears pricked up. Perhaps this was the key to getting into the barn?
Crash!
The barn door split apart, coming off its hinges with a thunderous boom. For the briefest moment, ravenous hope filled the wolf's mind, before he was unceremoniously run over by the truck that had caused the noise.
Meinhard, driving the truck, took a hard right. The maneuver nearly caused Chres to roll off the flat bed, on which he was lying prone, and onto the ground rushing underneath him. It would have been a death sentence. The monsters' languid attention was snapped into focus by the rushing truck. A lethal posse soon stormed after the trio. If the truck so much as slowed down, they were finished. Indeed, even at this speed, the faster creatures would still catch up to them.
Chres knew this, because he was peering at them through the scope of his 57mm Magnus Ferrum sniper rifle. In his sights, a cougar-like creature with massive fangs rushed towards the truck. His training kicked in. Steady eye. Big breath in. Slow, steady exhale. Finger on the trigger.
Bang!
The cougar crumpled under the sheer weight of the bullet slamming into him. Neutralized. To his left, a second land-beast neared the truck. About forty meters out and closing...
Bang!
Eleven o'clock, a giant lizard stampeded toward the truck, its throat bloated and pulsing with venom.
Bang!
A flying vulture, twenty meters out.
Bang!
A second target.
Bang!
A third.
Click!
Out of ammo. Chres would have cursed his stupidity, if he had the time. He pulled out a second clip of ammo, and hurriedly tried to load it into his gun. The truck was suddenly rocked on its side. Out of the corner of his eye, Chres saw a vile gorilla throw himself onto the flat bed. A punch sent Chres flying back against the truck cabin. The ammo clip went flying, and Chres grasp on the gun barely held. The gorilla roared. Unearthly. Feral. Bloodthirsty. Chres roared back. He pushed himself off of the cabin and body checked the gorilla. The ape lurched backwards. His foot caught the edge of the truck, and his weight proved too much. The flailing creature fell off of the truck. His body careened into nearly every animal fast enough to still keep pace with the truck.
Nearly.
Chres glanced upwards to see three eagles, sickly purple magic alongside the malice in their eyes, soaring for the truck. He grasped the gun, but his sniper's eye had already noticed the obvious. They were thirty meters out and closing fast. There was no time to reload the gun.
The eagles flexed their claws.
Chres glanced down at the bracer now equipped across his wrist. An ancient weapon. A gift. He hadn't wanted to use it.
The eagles were fifteen meters out. They shrieked for victory and slaughter.
Chres' left arm glowed an iridescent violet. He reached out, as if to grab the birds from the sky. Lightning surged forth from the bracer and wreathed itself around the three predators. Their triumphant howls turned to cries of pain. The lightning, fueled not by physics but quintessence, flicked back and forth among the three. The birds quickly collapsed in writhing pain and tumbled across the ground.
Finally, Chres collapsed against the cabin of the truck. He scanned the horizon, and saw nothing. No monsters. Weakly, he wrapped his knuckles against the pane separating the cabin from the bed.
"We're clear." He managed to say between breaths. Meinhard nodded without taking his eyes off the road, while Aether craned his neck around to peer back at Chres and the still visible battlefield.
Chres looked down at his hands. Trembling. No doubt thanks to the adrenaline, still coursing through his body. Worse, a burning, aching pain writhed through his left arm. Just like the last time he had used the bracer.
He looked up into the stars. The moon shone so brightly tonight. Chres couldn't help but be thankful he'd live to see it another day. But as the truck carried Chres away, alongside two people he'd only met hours before, to a city he'd never visited, to help a comrade he hadn't seen in years, with weapons he hadn't used in at least as long, a second thought entered his mind.
What have I gotten myself into?
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Post by Drahcir on Sept 28, 2014 15:21:49 GMT -8
View Beyond the ShoulderSuggested Music - For the first 2 minutes or so.
After breaking free of the carnage, the journey from the Riverside Respite was one of silence, contemplation and steady breathing. The trio sat, oblivious to one another, all immersed in their own distractions. If Aether had been paying much attention, he might have noted Chres favouring his left arm. Certainly the colonel had been too busy to see his companion’s use of a wondrous bracer. If Aether had his wits, he would have noted that Meinhard was equally absorbed in operating the strange contraption in which they all escaped. Aether was neither capable or inclined to give attention or utilise his wits. The shock of the past events was fresh and sharp, piercing him along with the images seared into his mind with frightening clarity. It was not the crisp image produced by modern flash cameras but the callously pure remembrance of a horror that etches itself with unparalleled detail upon the inside of one’s skull, woven into the fabric of the soul. Sights that cannot be unseen, sounds that can not be unheard. Even the smells, the tastes. The heat of fires, the wet stickiness of blood. Of blood. Dripping, dripping… Dimly, Aether was aware that his eyes were so wide open that he began to fear they might pop out of their own accord. He was also conscious that he’d not blinked in quite a while. Minutes. Or hours? Maybe days had slipped by, unblinking as he sat there, gazing at his hands. Years. Mechanically, he spoke. “We ought to pull over soon. Let Chres into the cabin. He’s surely getting cold out in the open.” Meinhard glanced briefly in Aether’s direction before returning his eyes to the road. He seemed to deliberate the point for a moment prior to saying tersely, “Yes. But after more miles.” Aether did not argue. He didn’t think he could. He was glad that he was able to maintain that mask of calm he’d constructed in the Respite. It was one of confidence, self assuredness and necessity. It kept a stiff upper lip and shone with purpose. But it was a mask. A brittle one. Cracks were forming on the inside of it and threatened to continue to the outer surface. He stared out of the windshield without seeing. His hands rested lightly on his knees palms down. He fought the urge to grip them with difficulty and felt that he was slowly unhinging. His demeanour was faltering, and the mask was on the verge of shattering. He tried to calm himself mentally, going over a mantra in his head. ‘I must remain calm. A leader remains calm. He does not give into fear. Fear is the prelude to catastrophe… catastrophe…’ It didn’t help. The memories bore down on him like weights being slowly added to his mind’s stability; and it too, like the mask, was beginning to crumble under an immense strain. ‘A leader remains calm. A leader remains calm. A leader… would not abandon innocents to death…’ The miles dragged by slowly, the time drawing out like a knife from a wound. All the while he stared, all the while he chanted in his head and all the while his facade lost ground. ‘I must remain calm. I must. Remain calm. Remain calm. I must… I must remain calm. Calm.’ Finally, Meinhard, steered toward a patch of shrub infested trees that curved around with the road. Chres called out something inaudible from the back. A question, perhaps? But Aether was getting out anyway. He turned to see Chres jump down from the back, gun in hand, looking puzzled and annoyed. “We shouldn’t stop. We need to keep moving.” Aether made an effort to maintain his illusion and found himself able to keep his voice from cracking. “I know. But I thought it best you get in the cab. I dare say it’s cold up there.” “It is, but that’s not that big of an issue-” he broke off suddenly, then asked. “Where are you going?” Apparently, unconsciously, Aether had been backing toward the trees. Not wanting to make a scene or arouse suspicion, he incorporated it into the reason for his asking to stop the automobile. “I ought to… um… -go-, before we move on. I’ll be right back.” Chres frowned but said nothing. Was it disapproval? Aether didn’t know. He found that he also didn’t care. He turned and walked calmly into the trees, through the scrub. He kept walking, kept moving, slowly and calmly. Then, unable to contain his anguish any further, his face screwed up in an expression of unendurable grief. He broke into a run, leaving the fragments of broken mask strewn out in a line behind him as he ran, panicked through the trees. Tears fell to join the pieces of his carefully constructed character. He felt a sob rise in his chest to pass his lips and prayed he was far enough away that he wouldn‘t be heard. It wasn’t an issue as he couldn’t have gone further if he wanted to. His knees gave way and he seemed to fall for an eternity, before he clutched at a nearby tree trunk for support. Without pausing for breath, he vomited between the large, protruding roots of the tree, winding himself as he tried to sob and fight the urge to be sick again. Another span of time passed. Once again it seemed to fly by in the space of a blink, while containing all the misery and pain of lifetimes of turmoil. Then, with another effort, Aether got to his feet. He had let go his emotions and released some of his burden. Not a great deal, but enough to replace the mask. He collected the shattered remains and placed them together one by one. But he didn’t find all the pieces and they didn’t all seem to fit correctly any more. And yet they seemed to be made of something slightly stronger. As a result, his mask was less likely to break. But it wasn’t as alterable as it had been. It was colder, more bitter and with less of the genuine drive behind the smiles. Now they had a hint of force behind them. And his eyes. His eyes were deeper, wiser, haunted. The eyes of a man who has tasted a slice of life and found it sour on his tongue. He returned to the truck without incident and neither of the other two questioned him. He supposed he had already looked the worse for wear after the escape. What was a few more scratches and scrapes? But Aether was not paying attention. And his wits were still dull. If not, he might have notice the exchange of a glance between Chres and Meinhard. But he didn’t notice. Aether didn’t care to.
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Post by Lenor on Sept 29, 2014 15:08:31 GMT -8
Amaranth“This is the border, miss.” Brandia had already lifted her pack from the wagon bed. The road marker told well enough that Dashale––and her paid ride––were at an end. The farmer agreed to drive her under the condition that he not enter Amaranth. Ridgewood sat only a few hours over the border, and rumor was that the “demon beasts” were leaking out. Referring to animals, dangerous monsters though they were, as demons seemed a gross overstatement to Brandia, but she understood the farmer’s fear of nearing Ridgewood. She didn’t argue with his stipulation. The wagon lurched to halt, and Brandia slipped her arms through the straps of her bag and leapt down. “Thank you, sir.” He nodded his head. “Alright. You be careful, miss.” “I’ll do my best.” The farmer turned his mule-drawn wagon and drove away, wondering about the chances of this genteel-like, yet simply clothed woman who planned to fight monsters in Ridgewood. She took two steps and crossed the stone line in the dirt road. The three members of her tiny resistance group were now divided into three different nations. Gyldan, with the bulk of Brandia’s money, was back in Ryn, fighting alongside his own people. Cler, who’d always seemed a shy, unimportant maid-in-waiting to the world, would be seen as a suspiciously reclusive personal confidant the instant her mistress disappeared, so she left a week before the others, heading for a refugee camp in Dashale with her cousin, an able young man in Brandia’s employ. And now, Brandia herself stood a few inches inside Amaranth. Ridgewood wasn’t far, but the sun’s rays were shooting orange and sideways, and she had no intention of approaching the city in the dark. Fireless dinner and a knife-holding sleep tonight. When the sunlight shafted in from the opposite direction, then she’d make for the city. ~~~~~
“Name.” “Amaya Raingazer.” The registrar’s disbelieving gaze flicked up, just briefly. Brandia knew the Ryn name didn’t fit with the Kennisalian accent she couldn’t shake, but the less said, the sooner she’d be forgotten, along with the rest of the countless fighters the clerk registered. The man looked back to his book and set the black stone of his ring against the page. Ink spidered out across the paper, spelling out Brandia’s alias. “Age.” “Thirty.” The numbers slid into place. “Nationality.” Brandia’s stomach jolted as a man in a neighboring registration line pushed his hood back from his brow. In the half-moment before he turned, revealing a large, aquiline nose, he looked like Vic Mulliston, a ruthless upper-level officer in Kennis’ police force. But the nose––and the eyes that didn’t act like they were hiding something cruel––was nothing like Mulliston. She threw her attention back to the clerk. “Ryn.” Although he asked no questions, the registrar’s grey eyebrows twitched as he essenced the word into the record. That had been the sixth or seventh time Brandia’s tense mind had mistaken someone for a Kennisalian no-good. She felt exposed away from the midnight alleys. When in crowds, and in daylight, she was accustomed to carrying the shield of her nobility and the medal of her father’s name. She pulled the gauze of her traveling scarf a bit nearer her chin and cheek. Reading upside down, Brandia watched the essence crystal spell out, “Hair: blonde,” and “Eyes: green.” With his ring still pressed to the paper, the man stuck his hand in a sack and pulled out a metal tag. “Your number’s…” he peered at the numbers impressed on the disk, “…6039. To collect reward money, you’ll need to match your recorded description, give your name, age, and nationality, and bring that i.d.” The man’s monotone was growing worse. “Amaranth and Prince Artor thank you for your aid and wish you well in your endeavors. Do you have any questions?” “No, sir,” Brandia said, adjusting the strap of her bag. “You may continue.” The clerk handed her the i.d. tag, his eyes already on the monster hunter next in line. Again drawing her scarf a bit closer, Brandia walked past the small registration table––one of many––and started across the square, toward The Pine Log Travelers’ Tavern. Probably, its rooms were full, but that vantage point over the swarm of new arrivals merited a try. To start her time in Ridgewood, she needed to watch for familiar faces and listen for telltale accents like her own. She also wanted to wash the unaccustomed chalky feeling of dirt from her hands as soon as possible.
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Post by Mishael on Oct 2, 2014 15:04:20 GMT -8
WHAT NIGHT MAY BRING
Tessa heard the front door open. There was a murmur of voices, and the door closed once more. She rose to her feet, intending to see who it was, when Jarren walked into the room. In a swift move, he removed his cloak and collapsed wearily into the nearest chair. “Oh, Tessa, this isn’t good.”
Tessa moved close and sat near her brother. “Did you find anything?”
Jarren ran a hand over his face. “No,” he replied with a sigh. “Not yet, anyway. But I wasn’t out for very long. I couldn’t leave you here—” Halting mid-sentence, he locked eyes with his sister. “I have heard stories, Tessa, stories that would freeze your blood. These aren’t simple animal attacks. Battle-hardened soldiers have a hard enough time standing their ground against these creatures. They are ruthless, and apparently they are fearless.”
Tessa paled. “Then Kamina’s parents...”
Jarren shook his head slowly. “If they’re still alive, then I will be very surprised.”
“Oh Kamina...” Tessa moaned softly. Standing, she crossed the room to the window and stared up into the sky. It was dark; cloud cover hid the stars. She shuddered. How many of those monsters were out there? When would they next attack? Why did they attack? She put a hand up to the cool glass separating her from the night...and the nightmares that lurked in the shadows
There was the muffled sound of cloth against cloth behind her, and then Jarren was at her side. Placing his hands on her shoulders, he gently moved her away from the window. “It’s not safe,” he murmured, drawing the drapes together to shut out the night. “I would feel better if you stayed away from all windows and doors.”
Tessa stepped back obediently, feeling a brief flare of defensiveness rise within her. “If the house was attacked, that wouldn’t matter, would it?”
Jarren stood unmoving, his back toward her, his hands still gripping the thick fabric covering the window. “No. It wouldn’t.”
She clasped her hands tightly in front of her. She had never seen him this scared before. Had he seen something?
“I was thinking on my way home,” he said quietly. “I want to send you away, somewhere safe, somewhere far from all of this.”
A chill ran through her. “Is there anywhere safe?”
He turned around slowly and closed the gap between them, drawing her into his arms and holding her closely. “I don’t know. But I am going to find out. There has to be somewhere—or someone—who can keep you safe until this is all over.”
Tilting her head, she looked up at him with wide eyes. “But who will keep you safe?”
He only gave her a grim smile and kissed her forehead. Then he brushed past her to return to his seat, muttering a soft, “Away from the window,” as he did so. Even though she thought he was being a little too overprotective, she followed him and sat near him on the other side of the room. Now was not the time to argue.
Silence descended on the room. Tessa stared at her hands where they lay in her lap. Her thoughts drifted to her father and mother. If only they could be here with them. The tick tick of the large clock in the corner seemed unusually loud. She shivered.
“Is she still asleep?”
Tessa had taken Kamina to one of the guest rooms a few hours ago, and it wasn’t long before the other girl had fallen into an exhausted sleep. “Last I checked, yes. I think she’s emotionally drained.”
Jarren grunted. When Tessa glanced at him, his head was thrown back against the headrest and his eyes were closed.
“Why did you bring her here?” she asked quietly.
Opening an eye, Jarren peered at her. “I couldn’t just leave her there looking so forlorn. Besides, she’s an old friend.” Tessa stared at him. He gave in first, closing his eye again and turning his head away. “Come on, Tess. I don’t want to get into that right now.”
“Very well.” This talk had put both of them in a mood, and Tessa wanted nothing more now than to bury herself in her blankets and shut out all the dark thoughts whispering at the edges of her mind. “I think I’m going to bed myself,” she said, standing to her feet.
Jarren stood as well. “I’ll take you to your room.”
**********
It was the worst night she had had for as long as she could remember.
It wasn’t the bed’s fault. In fact, this bed was the most comfortable and warm she had ever felt, and she wished she could stay cocooned there forever.
No, it was her dreams that kept her restless. Dreams of her parents and the others in her village who had been taken. Monsters with dark shapeless forms and glowing red eyes haunted every shadow, grasping at her with long, clawed fingers as she ran through the streets, calling desperately for those she had lost. Every time she woke up, it took ages to calm her heart back down. And every time she finally cried herself back to sleep, she ended up in the same place.
When morning came and a beam of sunlight touched her face with a warm greeting, she had had enough.
Tessa had let her borrow some nightclothes, since Kamina hadn’t thought to pack clean clothes before she left home. It hadn’t been important at the time. Shuffling over to the vanity, Kamina sat heavily on the stool and peered at her reflection. Her eyes were red, either with crying or exhaustion. Or both. Her hair was a mess after all the tossing and turning she had done. Frowning, she leaned closer. Then she stood and put her face right up to the mirror, running a hand through her hair.
“What...?”
She turned her head this way and that, allowing the sunlight to catch it. Her hair was already a lighter color, but there was no mistake. A significant streak of white hair could be seen on her right side. No doubt it was because of the stress over the past day.
Finding a brush and dampening it in the bowl of water beside the mirror, she carefully brushed out her hair. The white streak was definitely noticeable. “Great,” she muttered. Using the brush, she moved her hair around, parting it on the far left and pulling hair over the top of changed patch. Then she looked around for her pack. It was slumped against the foot of her bed. As she dug through it, she realized that her clothes were missing. Where had they gone? What was she going to wear?
After only a moment of panic, she remembered that last night Tessa had offered to have her staff wash Kamina’s clothes for her. She wouldn’t really allow Kamina to object to it, so Kamina had relented quickly. Hopefully she would get them back soon as she forgot to hold something by for her to wear this morning.
At last she found was she was looking for. Returning to the mirror, she clipped a hair piece into her hair, holding the normal-colored hair in place over the white. A quick inspection showed that it appeared to work. Did hair that changed under stress ever go back to normal? She hoped so.
There was a knock at her door. For one anxious moment, she searched frantically around the room for a robe, only to find it hanging near her. Throwing it on, she answered the door.
“I believe these are yours, miss,” said the maid on the other side. Under her arm was a basket of clothes.
Kamina recognized them immediately. “Oh yes! Thank you very much.”
The maid looked very surprised when Kamina took the basket from her, but Kamina didn’t care. She gave her a smile and then closed the door. The sooner she got dressed and packed, the sooner she could leave.
And the sooner she would hopefully find out more about what happened to her parents.
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Post by Iron Kaiser on Oct 22, 2014 21:44:05 GMT -8
Welcome to Ridgewood - Part 1
[After being brusquely stopped by patrols near Ridgewood, Chres, Aether, and Lenzen finally arrive in Ridgewood. Chres has split off from the trio. This part of the story will be edited back in alongside Part 2.]
---
Chres wasn’t sure what he had been expecting Ridgewood to look like. One part of him expected that the streets would be lined with weeping widows and candles lit for the dead, mingled with fear of the future. Another held some anticipation of a leader rallying his troops for a final stand, much like Rand the Hammer’s defense off the western shore six centuries ago. And with all of the harrowing, tense action of the last few days, a part of Chres honestly expected something like the camp, back from his old battalion days. Whatever expectation held sway in his mind, though, was shattered by the reality.
The commotion of economy. Merchants wheeled their carts to and fro along the city cobblestones, hawking wares to anyone who would lend an ear. Men in shimmering robes held up vials of purple hue, promising increased strength and magical protection. To Chres’ left, he noticed a young patron examining a spear, all under the approving eye of a burly vendor. Chres doubted the young man’s gaze could actually pick up any defects in the weapon. Alongside weapons and potions of dubious value, Chres noticed sellers of food, garb, armor, items of quintessence, camping supplies, maps, and even note-making services for those who couldn’t read or write. The town square was filled with everything an unprepared soldier might need, at a price.
The idealistic side of Chres bristled somewhat. How could Ridgewood not be more… morose, or defiant, or feel like the great tragedy that it is? But he wasn’t surprised. Prince Artor’s bounty had inspired mercenaries from across the world to come here, and only an idealistic fool would imagine that some… most were inspired more by the money than Ridgewood’s cry for help. The smarter among them simply chose a different tool for prying gold from a bad situation.
“Is there something I can help you with?”
Chres, startled out of his musings, turned to find a big beard staring at him. Backing up, Chres got a better look: a tall, axe-wielding fellow. He was clothed in rugged leather and hard fur. Scars covered his arms, though they didn’t appear to be from a weapon. They looked more like the marks of claws and talons. His accent betrayed that he wasn’t from Ridgewood. But above all those minor details, the man exuded confidence. His appearance was more feral than the average Dashalian back home, yet his demeanor emanated that mixture of self-assured cordiality that few urbanites could claim.
“Ah… yes.” Chres replied, catching himself. “I’m looking for someone.”
“Ah, fresh meat!” The axeman laughed. “Well, if you’re looking to join up with one of the hunting parties, then head to the Billowing Brim Tavern after you’ve registered with the officials.”
“No, I’m not here to hunt monsters. I’m looking for a friend who came here to fight. Grigori Tibbet. Maybe Grigs?”
The axeman frowned in thought. Chres wondered if there wasn’t some disapproval in his countenance, but set the thought aside.
“Mm… the name doesn’t ring a bell. I suppose, if you’re looking for someone, you should go talk with the officials. Keep going, past the merchants. You’ll see a couple of clerks underneath a few white banners, with green dragons in ‘em. That’s the banner of Proyos, Lord of Ridgewood and the area, and those are his men. They’re keeping track of all the hunters coming in and out.”
His last words were said with a twinge of sadness that Chres recognized all too well.
“Thank you.”
“My pleasure! If you happen to be stickin’ around for a fight, bring your friend and come on over to the tavern! We could use a few good men!”
---
“Name?” The clerk asked, eyes fixed to his lists. His disinterest was palpable.
“Chres Harwick.”
“Skills?”
“No, I’m not here to sign up for the hunting.”
The clerk locked eyes with Chres for the first time.
“Then why are you here?” He asked. Disdain dripped from every syllable, as if his time was far too valuable for this.
“I’m trying to find a registered hunter here in Ridgewood. Grigori Tibbet.”
“Grigori Tibbet?”
“Grigori Tibbet.” Chres nodded.
“Why, are you a relative?”
“In a manner of speaking.” Chres replied.
“Well, ‘in a manner of speaking’ isn’t good enough. I’m afraid that information isn’t available. Next!”
Chres pulled away from the clerk. He could feel his face flush red with anger. He didn’t want to cause a scene, but his patience had just snapped.
“Okay, let’s try this again.” He said, sliding back up to the clerk, all manner of cordiality now drained from his voice. “I’ve just come all the way from Milltown. In Dashale. I’ve been ambushed by these infernal beasts of yours on the way over, and only through blind luck made it out with my life. I’ve been stopped by your patrols and treated like a common criminal. And now I’m here, and I’m not going to let some milquetoast cushion-warmer tell me that Grigs isn’t available!”
The clerk recoiled from Chres’ temper. Bewildered, he opened his mouth to say something, but was stopped by a voice from across the room.
“Don’t worry about it, Jairm. I’ll handle this.”
Spinning around, Chres saw an armored knight approach the line.
“Oh, good! Maybe you can pry open the incorrigible dam that is Ridgewood bureaucracy!”
“Lt. Harwick, I presume? Please, let’s step outside.”
Chres laughed spitefully.
“I’m not going anywhere until I learn where Grigs is!”
The knight shook his head.
“I’m sorry to tell you, Lieutenant. Grigori Tibbet is dead.”
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Post by Mishael on Oct 28, 2014 14:51:44 GMT -8
GETTING OUT
The trick was escaping the house without being seen. She might be able to avoid Tessa and Jarren; she knew where their personal rooms were and other areas of the house they frequently used. But the house staff were less predictable, at least to her. She was not used to such a lifestyle despite her past connection with the family. If she happened across anyone, she had better have an excuse ready.
After leaving a note on the dresser thanking the siblings for their hospitality, Kamina listened carefully for the sign that the hall outside her room was empty. As soon as she felt confident, she opened her door and glanced out. No one. Down the hall she saw Tessa’s door standing open, a sign that she was not there. She was most likely in the dining hall or sitting room. If she knew the house better—or at all—she would find a way out besides the front door. As it was, she would have to pass by both rooms. Taking a deep breath, she stepped out into the hall.
She had always been excellent at staying silent on her feet, even instinctually knowing how to maneuver creaky areas that every floor was bound to develop. She made it to the stairs without a sound and without having to duck into doorways. Still keeping her guard up, she peered down to the foot of the curving staircase. The sound of movement below reached her ears, quiet voices of the staff and some clinking as dishes were transported between the dining hall and the kitchen in the basement. She saw nobody.
Rehearsing a reply in her head in case anyone came out as she descended the steps, she moved forward and down, holding herself as confidently as she could. If she looked like she was sneaking, no excuse would override suspicion.
Amazingly, she made it to the bottom without anyone seeing her. She could see down the main hall now. It was still a bit of a walk, in addition to passing by rooms in which anyone might see her. She knew both Jarren and Tessa would not let her leave the house, at least not alone. She didn’t want anyone with her as she searched for more information in town. Not now, at any rate. If she needed help getting people to talk with her—
Stopping, she shook her head. No. She would not, could not use them like that, like a privilege pass. Regardless of their history together, that was not an option.
Straightening her back, she started down the hall. A sudden sound on her right made her dash into the nearest room, which she saw was thankfully empty before she pressed herself against the wall. A couple maids and a footman went past, murmuring softly together as they disappeared into a service stairwell. Releasing the breath she hadn’t realized she was holding, she glanced into the hall again. Empty. Quietly, she resumed her mission to reach the front door.
As she reached the dining hall, she peeked inside before passing in front of the doorway. Neither Jarren nor Tessa were there, although it seemed their departure was recent. The other footman was clearing dishes to take back to the kitchen, his back currently toward her. She quickly moved on before he could turn and see her.
Her heart raced as she neared the front door. She almost made it! However, there was still the sitting room where at least Tessa would most likely be found. She could not reach the door without risking a chance that Tessa might see her. Moving slowly, she approached the doorway and glanced inside as surreptitiously as possible. She could see the familiar golden curls as Tessa bent over something in her lap. She was not looking in Kamina’s direction. Kamina needed to move quickly. She slid past the doorway expertly, freezing on the other side for any sound that indicated she had been seen. There was nothing. Kamina grinned.
Her grin faded. How would she get the front door open without Tessa hearing her?
A male voice spoke, coming from the sitting room. Jarren! He was in there, too. Kamina hadn’t even noticed that. Had he seen her? She strained to hear what he was saying, but his voice was too low for her to understand from where she was. However, there was no sound of movement. This might be the perfect opportunity for her to sneak outside. With only a moment of hesitation, she opened the front door and slipped through, quietly latching it behind her.
Now she only had to get down the path and through the gate without being seen. Going by the sitting room door was the simple part. Tessa was sitting in a chair, but for all Kamina knew, Jarren could be standing by a window, watching everything that went on outside. Her success could be snatched away at the very last instant.
Her eyes strayed to the side. The hedge between this house and the next was not that tall. If she moved against the house in the opposite direction from the sitting room, she might be able to get to the hedge and over it without being seen by anyone in the sitting room. She was running out of time. The longer she stayed, the more likely she was going to be caught.
Hoping desperately that the neighbors wouldn’t see her and question her actions, she cleared the house and pushed her way through the hedge, hurrying to the gate and out onto the walkway lining the road. She continued moving, her ears pricked for the sound of chase behind her.
She was safe. Even if the neighbor saw her and reported it to Jarren or Tessa, Kamina would have a head start. She felt bad about sneaking out like this, but in the end it was for the best. She just hoped she’d be able to come across someone who could help her find anyone from her town who might be here. If she could find David, she could let him know how worried his grandmother was, maybe even convince him to return home. Even more, she hoped to learn any information about those who had been taken by the monsters. If her parents were still alive, she had to do something to bring them back.
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Post by Iron Kaiser on Jan 1, 2015 13:38:15 GMT -8
As he walked through the streets of Ridgewood, the thought rang through Chres’ mind once again. The idea made sense, of course. He was both a soldier and a scholar. The history of Talland was filled with death, and he had born personal witness to its crimson record. But the fact - the fact that Grigs was dead, despite everything Chres had gone through – seemed impossible. No, Chres Harwick had seen too much death, held himself responsible for too much death, to allow this to be true.
The eastern streets he now walked were different from the central square before. The cool whisper of the wind and the chirping of distant birds chimed alone in the sun-setting sky. The few people Chres spied along his walk hung their heads low, the weight of the world seemingly on their shoulders. He understood their grief.
“The eastern part of the city was hit particularly hard.” His guide murmured.
Chres had been fortunate to meet the well-armed Amaranthian. Once his anger had passed, Chres had quickly learned that the swordsman was none other than Julian Barden, Lord Proyos’ personal Champion. The serpentine emblem emblazoned across his chest gave testament to the power he wielded in Ridgewood, while his confident gait and battle-worn armor testified to his martial prowess. Chres would have counted himself lucky that Sir Barden was an empathetic man, and neither threw him in the dungeon nor decked him on the spot. But of course, Chres neither considered himself lucky nor deliberated upon the champion’s many qualities. Sir Barden, Amaranthian Champion, interested him far less than Julian, Grigori Tibbett’s last comrade.
“How?” Chres finally managed to ask.
“Where to begin?” Barden replied as the two walked. “Grigori had been in Ridgewood for several months, fighting monsters long before anyone else had arrived – before the prince even sent out the summons. He was a good hunter, but a better man, led by his conscience. I can’t say that for most of the people flocking into the city. Lord Proyos and I came back to Ridgewood about a month ago-”
Chres eyed him inquisitively. “You mean you weren’t here from the beginning?”
“A Knight’s duties often extend beyond his personal realm, and I was only recently summoned to Ridgewood. Proyos had another of his champions here, but she fell…
“Anyway, I was summoned to Ridgewood with one purpose – find the beating heart behind these infernal spawn, and cut it out. I sought out a group of hunters, and Grigori was one of the first to join me. We made good headway together. Carved up a lot of the vermin. Then, two weeks ago, something changed…”
Chres glanced up at the broad-shouldered knight, confused.
“What?”
“I don’t know. He became… distant. He was less enthusiastic, less talkative, more cautious. I saw him leave the scribal guild’s den one night. I’m not sure if he was sending letters, or reading something, but he was doing it in the cover of darkness. The next day, he didn’t show up at the tavern, the usual gathering spot for us hunters. Later, we found his mangled body at the foot of the Knotted Palisades.”
Confusion mingled alongside stoic pain in Chres’ face. In response, Barden pointed out, toward the northeast. His finger rested upon a group of forested mountains in the distance.
“We were going to explore the Palisades later that day,” Barden continued, “But when we couldn’t find Grigori, well…”
Barden shook his head morosely. The silence said enough. After a short walk further, he stopped before one of the many houses along the cobblestone street. The thatched roof and dirt walkway were characteristic of the medieval style that characterized Ridgewood. Barden gazed at the house, deep in his thoughts.
“I just don’t understand why he was out there, alone. What wasn’t he telling us? Why?”
The Champion turned his attention to his walking partner. The words simmered in Chres’ ears before he realized that the questions weren’t rhetorical – Barden was asking him, hoping for some new lead.
“I know nothing.” Chres shook his head, pulling Grigs’ letter from his pocket. “He simply sent a letter, asking me to come here… to bring everything.”
Barden’s glanced at the letter, then fixed onto Chres. Silence filled the moments as he stared at the Dashalian. For the briefest moment, Chres was reminded again of the power and strength of the Champion. Is there something Barden’s not telling me, Chres thought, or is he wondering if there’s something I’m not telling him?
“And you came.” Barden finally said, a subtle smile crossing his face. “That was a brave thing, Lieutenant. You and Grigs must be cut from the same cloth.”
“You… know who I am?” Chres responded, equal parts relieved and confused.
“Grigs used to talk about you. ‘Lt. Harwick,’ he’d say, ‘always had me covered back in Ryn.’ You’ve got the look of a soldier, and the way you spoke about him, and took his loss… that’s a warrior’s bond.”
Chres chuckled bitterly. “Lucky guess, then.”
“I’ve forged bonds and suffered losses too. It’s just… something you can sense.” Sir Barden glanced over at the house, before locking eyes with Chres. “And it’s because I’ve been there that I’m going to take another lucky guess. Grigs was a good man. One of the best. He was here to help these people. From what he said of you, and because you’re standing here in the heart of Ridgewood with nothing but a banner brother’s summons, I’m guessing you’re one of the good guys, too, and you’ll want to make sure he didn’t die for nothing.”
Again, Barden pointed out toward the verdant mountains along the horizon.
“He was going to help us press into the Palisades. We can use warriors out there...”
“No, no, no.” Chres shook his head vigorously. “I’m not a soldier, I’m a teacher. I carry books, not a gun.”
“I don’t believe in chance, Lieutenant.” Barden pressed on. “Grigori’s death brought you here. His work is undone, but you can help us finish what he started. A lot of innocent people – my people – need your help.”
Chres scoffed wearily. His eyes turned to the mountains, but his thoughts turned to the Ryn. “That’s not me anymore, Sir Julian. I’m retired.”
A few silent moments passed. Julian pondered Chres words, and shook his head understandingly. He turned to walk away, but stopped mid-stride.
“You know, Lieutenant, you can hang up the sword, but those bonds… I don’t think they retire so easily. ‘A warrior’ might be exactly who you are.” The knight shrugged his broad shoulders. “But I can’t say. Just- if you change your mind, meet me at the Bristling Brim Tavern. We leave at noon tomorrow.”
Chres thought about defending his view, or at least thanking him, but instead he simply nodded. That simple gesture, which the knight returned, somehow said everything that needed to be said.
Barden gestured to the house where they had stopped. “This was where Grigori stayed. Spend the night here. He would have wanted that.”
Julian was soon headed back to the town square, and Chres was left before the house of the late Grigori Tibbett.
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As he walked through the house, Chres was struck by the simple dignity of the place. Only the barest of furniture and accessories adorned the cottage. There was certainly nothing of value. But while Grigs seemed to be living in near poverty, what little did adorn the cottage appeared to have been placed with a purpose. Everything was clean and had an air of belonging.
The one exception to this arrangement was a small, ornate wooden box upon a plain wooden table, off to the side. A sunflower design was engraved upon the box. Curious, Chres opened the box to find a beautiful quill pen, a vial of ink, and several sheets of paper. He recognized the paper. It was the same kind as the letter he had received only days ago.
As he handled the box, another item appeared in the corner of his eye. In the bedroom, folded up in the corner atop a dresser, was an old Dashalian private’s uniform. Chres’ thoughts were immediately transported back years, to the times past he had seen that uniform. In his mind’s eye, he remembered the young Mr. Tibbett standing alongside him in Dashale during rollcall, as green as he was and with even less training. “Private Grigori Tibbet, Sir!” A smile played across Chres’ lips as he remembered Grigori’s exuberance. It hadn’t taken an hour before he’d picked up the nickname Grigs. In a flash, Chres’ memory rushed from Dashale to the Ryn Desert, as Chres cursed Grigs’ stupidity while once again giving him covering fire. He remembered Grigs’ consolations and support when Captain Yardley was killed, and the young Sgt. Harwick was thrust into command.
Chres turned from the uniform, lest his mind linger in the sands of the Ryn any longer. Yet by the very act of denying his memory, he remembered. A brief flicker of brooding fire passed across his face, as he grappled with his own regret.
Without thinking, he clutched the ink quill. As he did, a shocking sensation filled his mind. He felt a magical presence. The aura of quintessence called out, ever so faintly, around him. He glanced down, and saw the pen radiating essence, ever so faintly. A faint luminescent trail lingered in the air, from the box to the uniform… no, underneath the uniform. Chres could sense that, underneath the floor, the same essence was radiating.
The Dashalian quickly scrambled over to the uniform. He brusquely pushed aside the dresser, and noticed a loose wooden plank across the floor. He uncovered a small compartment, and within it resided a leather-bound journal. As the leather binding slid across his hand, Chres again sensed the magical energy of the book. But as he thumbed through it, he found no spell or power, but simply a series of recollections. It was just a diary.
So why is this diary laced with magical energy? And why is it hidden under the floor?
Chres fell into a nearby chair as these questions danced about in his mind. And as he thumbed through the pages, a third emerged once more and moved to the forefront of his thoughts.
Are you still a warrior?
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Post by Docboy on Jan 19, 2015 21:58:53 GMT -8
Engage, Part 1
Victor woke up at around five in the morning, stiff as he always was when sleeping outside. It wasn’t the hardness of the ground; Victor had made a habit of sleeping on his stone floor several nights a month. He guessed it was the unevenness of it – the little bumps and irregularities on even the most seemingly flat ground. Sleeping outside was not the most comfortable thing on earth. Surprisingly, although he could never sleep as long, Victor felt as if the sleep he’d gotten was better somehow, as if an hour’s sleep outside counted for two in a bed. The few hours he’s gotten last night had been most refreshing, and despite the soreness, Victor was wide awake. The first thing he did was get dressed, which consisted of replacing his linen undershirt with a fresh one (the outer garments were rarely changed) and swapping his sandals (which he slept in – a Ranger did not always have the luxury of putting on footgear before action was necessary) for his boots, which came up to the middle of his calf. The watch was inspected and found to be alert; camp was struck by a third of the group while the other two thirds kept watch and prepared breakfast. Breakfast was a quick affair, mostly cold with the exception of the coffee. Ravens had been coming in every hour, carrying with them the scout’s reports. The beast was making steady progress, best as they could tell. It’s trail was apparently easy to follow and getting easier, which concerned Victor, but he was confident they could find a way to bring it down. The reports indicated that the best spot to intercept the beast was atop the ridge it was traversing, bordering on a mountain slope with a sheer cliff on one side and a sharp drop along the other. This was a risky proposition; a beast with no escape might well make one, he had learned. There was nothing for it though – just along the ridge was a small mining town, one the beast wasn’t likely to leave alone. Five hundred souls were worth the risk. It was dangerous to corner one of these, but it was even more dangerous to let it escape. The troop was set into motion. The troop commander had taken to riding with Victor at every opportunity, trying to engage him in conversation. Victor had taken a liking to the young man – he could see a much younger version of himself in him. He was green though, and desperate to prove himself. That never fared well on the field, and especially not in a situation like this. This was in all likelihood the man’s first command and first mission. No matter how well trained, that always had to potential to turn sour. He would have to be careful; these men would be used to standard training and procedures. They would expect these to work now, even against a unique foe. Victor knew otherwise, but there was no time to teach or practice something unconventional. It would have to be a delicate balance – using the men in conventional ways to do unconventional things. Risky, but doable if he didn’t change things up too much. The bulk of the work would have to fall to him, he decided. The young commander wanted badly to befriend him, Victor sensed, so he had adopted a somewhat cold and standoffish demeanor. This was not the time for getting to know people. They had to focus. They had a job to do. “What’s the report look like? Any more sightings? The young commander’s uniform was immaculate, his uniform’s dye was clean, his cloak was green on the outside but crimson showed through the openings. The he fur that lined his hood wasn’t tangled in the least, both his sword and his boots gleamed of polish. “Another young soul ready to prove himself.” Victor smiled inside; it reminded him of his earlier days. “Scouts sent word last night. Same story, the beast keeps moving toward the post. We’re going to have to move fast if we want to catch him before he reaches it.” “I know,” Victor sighed “And that’s put me in a tight pinch. There’s not a lot of good options.” “Seems simple enough to me.” “And it always will. Or nearly always, at any rate. The man blinked, but said nothing. “Let me ask you,” Victor continued. “What would you do?” “Same as we did with the last one. Catch up, surround and kill. They're tough, but we’re trained. We can handle it, if you let us. We already did once.” “Yes, yes you did. Come take a look though.” Victor pointed at his map. “If we follow its pattern, it’s avoiding the river. Which we expected, because the river is populated, and its target is something else. We, however, can short-cut this loop and save a day. It moves faster than we do, so we have to move ahead and ambush. Its only path lies along Morret ridge. If it reaches Morret Peak, we’ll lose all our time in tracking it, because it can move up steeper slopes than we can. So, we have to hit it along the ridge somewhere. The ridge is narrow, and it’s a sheer drop on one side and a cliff face on the other. That’s a problem for us.” “I don’t see how. We took the last one without a problem.” “So you did. Ever watch a bear baiting?” “Once” The officer’s tone was uncertain as he tried to figure out the abrupt shift in conversation. “Who won?” “The dogs, obviously. I don’t see how that applies here though.” Victor nodded. “I know. But think about this – If bear baiting took place inside of a root cellar, now who wins?” “I suppose the bear.” “And therein lies our problem.” Victor indicated the narrow pass. “Root cellar.” “I see.” The young officer nodded, understanding. “So what’s the plan?” “The way I see it, we can’t let him get to the mountain. We have to block it. There’s no time and nowhere near enough manpower for a barricade, so we will have to do. It could easily crush us in that narrow confine though, so we have to cut its mobility somehow.” “Ideas?” Victor looked up from his map. Even been on a ship? How do you keep it from moving around in a storm?” “Drop the anchor, obviously.” Victor smiled. “Exactly.” ~~~~~~~~~~ The ride to the interception point took the better part of the day; the sun’s lower edge was barely touching the mountain peak when they got in position. Victor had the young commander the bulk of his men along the ridge facing the beast’s likely approach. On their left was a sheer drop of almost two hundred feet. On their right was the slope of the mountain – a hard climb that the beast would not want to attempt while being peppered with arrows and whatever magic the rangers had between them. That left two options; either going back the way it came, or straight through the men. The young commander was sure that it was a perfect spot for an ambush, but Victor wasn’t convinced. The former constituted a failure of mission – it would go into hiding and they’d have to try to trap it later, and that was a waste of time, considering there was still yet another beast to be caught. Best case scenario the beast would underestimate them and try to plough straight through. That was unlikely, Victor decided, so he began working on an alternative. Fortunately, the rangers had with them the materials to assemble three ballistae. Not enough to kill it since there would be no time to reload them and unless they got a lucky shot it wouldn’t do much internal damage. There were alternatives though. Victor sent for the engineer, and upon confirming that they did have several strands of cord and chain, Victor placed the ballistae with their backs to the mountain, angled towards the cliff. Next, he had the men drive anchors for the cord deep into the mountain and then fasten the other end to two of the bolts. With any amount of luck, they could anchor the beast to the mountain and then kill it. The last anchor he fastened to a large boulder near the cliff’s edge. He’d operate this one personally. The rangers worked quickly and moved to their positions. The young officer sat on his horse, steam rising from its nostrils. It was cold, but there would be no fires, no blankets, no stamping of the feet to get the blood flowing. The hurry was over, now it was time to wait. The officer moved up and down the line, checking to see if his men were ready. They were. There was no speech of encouragement; that had happened before they even set out. There was only the job at hand, and it was time to work. It was time to be focused. They first glimpsed the monster through the trees, moving quietly but quickly. The officer expected for eyes to appear through the shadows, but there was nothing to look at. The presence though, was foreboding. The beast stopped at the edge of the forest and waited. The young officer’s eyes narrowed. “It’s not supposed to do that…” He looked at Victor. Yes, he’d noticed too, and was taking the situation in, stonefaced per the norm. “Does he ever smile?” The monster shifted in the jungle, apparently retreating. They’d come so far, they couldn’t let it get away now! The man glanced at Victor again. Still stonefaced, now working with some sort of quint. The young man checked his gear once more. It was almost time. Time to show the world what he was made of, time to show the others what it looked like to lead. ~~~~~ Victor glanced back into the woods. The monster wasn’t behaving at all like normal. Something was up, that was sure. It didn’t advance or retreat, which made no sense. He needed to see what was going on. He unbuckled the protective cover around the quint on his bracer, but then hesitated. “Not yet. Better start small. The handstone will do.” He pulled a small orb out of his pocket. It was also a quint but clearly of a lower quality. Cracked, clouded, and irregularly shaped, it was big enough for small tasks. Victor didn’t want to tip his hand yet, the orb would work. He clasped it and began to channel its power. Because of the imperfections, it took longer than most other quints, but that was OK. He’d be able to see through the dark in a minute. Victor waited until he judged the orb was sufficiently charged, then let his sight slip inside. It was always an eerie feeling, this night-sight. Depth perception was hard, unless he used two orbs, which was a waste of energy. Everything was always so distorted too, but that was the price you paid for seeing in the dark. Still, there was something odd about this time. Everything had a sheer blue tint instead of the magenta he’d been used to. And why was there a shadow down the ridge? Night-sight was supposed to see through fog. “Disturbing to say the least.” Victor funneled more power into the orb, trying unsuccessfully to pierce the fog. “What the-“ As if it sensed someone trying to pierce it, the shadow was thrown off like a veil, and a set of several eyes, cold, blue and hard, met his own. Their wills touched for just a moment, and Victor knew. He dropped the orb, his sight leaving the orb and moving back into his eyes which had a look of disbelief mixed with fear. "Light it up! Light it up!" He screamed, almost frantically.They needed to push before the monster gathered even more power than it already had. The rangers obeyed, sending a small volley of fire arrows into the ground, which they’d strewn with oil. The ground seemed to falter for a moment, then the flames took hold and the sky was alight. No longer able to hide, the monster charged, pausing for just a moment to size up its opponents. Silhouetted by the firelight, Victor was able to confirm what he’d glimpsed a moment before. This wasn’t just a large monster. “Bohemoth! He shouted to the other group. They heard but they didn’t need to be told – the monster was so immense, it couldn’t be anything else. Almost shaped like a lizard, it had a long, narrow tail that dangled in front of its face, moving and twitching menacingly. There were no lips to cover its teeth, which were jagged, staggered, and filled every inch of its mouth. And it was huge beyond huge. The rangers were terrified. All of them, even Victor. Some froze, dropping their weapons as they lost control of their hands. Trying to mask his fear just for a moment, the young man decided it fell to him to rally the troops. As boldly as he could, he stepped out of the trench and hurled a spear towards the monster. “MAGNUS!!” The spear bounced off the monster’s hide, doing no damage but it was all the encouragement the monster needed. It charged. |
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