The women in Chains  

       It was a night like any other on the outskirts of Falmis. Cool air rustled the trees as it passed by. The birds slept soundly in their nests safely away from the creatures below and the steam lantern’s bulbs in the town square began to fade, becoming one with the night as the muddy streets glistened against the moonlight. Though at the Kleon Plantation, a chaotic and important race was ensuing.  

The master’s hounds howled in hysteria as they pushed their snouts to the ground. Hergus Kleon’s men could barely hold the beast’s leashes as they pulled and yanked against them. The eldest of the mutts and most reliable, Truxie, was the first to get a good smell of the runaway. Truxie howled and yanked at worker Gunnder’s leash, pulling him towards the Falmis woods.  

Master Kleon and the others quickly followed suit and raced into the woods hoping their own mutts would pick up where Truxie left off. Their lanterns swung against the wind and the light from them smacked against every bark and bush around the pack of wild hunters, yet in all the excitement, one worker, by the name of Cillian Bolk did not notice the strange purple eyes peeking out from one of the illuminated bushes as he passed.  

It wasn’t Kei’s intention to be stationary, let alone entwined in the branches of shrubbery. To her credit she was running before, and she ran deep into the woods; her lungs felt like they were filled with ice formed from the cold night air. She wanted badly to keep running, but she froze with the thought of what would happen to the others she left behind.  

Crey, Tye’vor, Drunna. They flashed in her mind, and she froze, only to hear the dogs closing in and the shimmering golden light of the lanterns come across the trees. So, she chose the best place to freeze, amongst the thicket. It felt to Kei as if half an hour went by and the lanterns slowly dissipated into the background of the woods, it seemed that now was the time for running again, her only thought was in which direction, south back to Crey and her friends or north to freedom.  

She rattled at her mind for the solution until something large and bulbous gripped her silver hair and yanked her out of the shrubs. Kei fell to the forest floor and looked up to see Hergus towering above her with a nasty grin on his face. He was a burly man, with an equally burly red beard. He didn’t seem like the type to own a plantation and more like the type to work on one. 

 Hergus worked hard to create his own plantation. It took years, but after the first war of the divide broke out, Hergus found fortune providing rations to the Arkins. He was a proper businessman, coming from nothing he was not willing to let anything in the business slip. Kei…Kei was slipping.  

The red bearded man snorted and held a grin of contempt across his cracked lips. “Been searching the whole woods for ya, Pretty Cotton!” A cruel nickname he gave, no one could tell if it was given for his own amusement or simply because he never remembered his slaves' names.  

Kei was not paying attention what name he threw out. She was too busy eyeing the vial dangling by a metal ring on his belt. The vial held a bright blue fluid that seemed to be frosting the glass. Kei knew exactly what it was. He never went anywhere without it. To Hergus it was a trophy and a way to prove to Kei he held all power over her.  

Hergus spat down onto her, bringing her back to reality. “Wipe that grin off your face, Cotton!” He said leaning down to her. Kei turned to him with a menacing grimace as she raised herself up to his face. Hergus Kleon gave an airy chuckle. “I got two options for you, lady.” He said calmly, as he snatched one of her hands and raised it to his lips “you can come back home calmly, and I can take you to our fun room for the night.” He kissed the palm of her hand, with menace in his eyes, “or I can burn this whole forest down with you in it.”  

Kei looked at him a while longer, as he caressed her palm thinking of every which way, he would gain pleasure from her pain tonight. She thought of all the things he would do to her, and all the things he already had. She thought long and hard, if she went back, she would save her friends, what was her only family left from days of punishment for her escape. Kei couldn’t even imagine what Hergus would do to her, she was his favorite toy, and she didn’t know what he would do to a broken toy. Kei thought of one last thing in this moment. There was an option C, and Kleon shouldn’t have brought that vial. 

   Kei, with her free hand ripped the vial from his belt and smashed it against the ground; without a second thought Hergus slapped Kei to the ground in a rage. “The hell do you think you're doing, you rotten Rel bitch!” He screamed as she held her cheek beside the misty ooze of the shattered vial. For a second, she thought she saw a blue butterfly flap its wings across the liquid and shattered remains of the vial.  

 As his chest puffed up and down Hergus Kleon watched as the liquid turned to mist, and Kei slowly raised her body off the ground. The mist seemed to trail up her body like a snake wrapping its prey. Hergus slowly backed away stunned, the fear growing as the mist entered every orifice of her, as if it was a part of her finally retreating home. The remaining mist that didn’t seep into her mouth or nose, covered her eyes for a moment, until Kleon witnessed them turn a neon purple as the mist slipped underneath her eyelids. A small runic birthmark on her neck lit up for a moment the color of her eyes, as she gave a sigh of comfort she hadn’t felt in an awfully long time. She was whole.  

Her master, at this moment, fell to his knees in submission. “You thought I’d be the one to burn tonight?” Kei said with a sharp grin. Her fingertips lit up with purple embers emitting from them. She felt her power coursing through her like wildfire. Kei was overcharged with power, and this was the perfect moment to take advantage of it. She waved her purple fingertips along the tree line and in a instant they both were encircled in a blazing ring.  

   The bearded master could feel the ground beneath him turn from cool dew to hot ash in seconds, this was no normal fire, it was something from another plane, something unnatural. He watched as Kei turned her back from her ex-master and opened up a small gap for her to leave the hell fire.  

“Your god.” Hergus somberly said to the purple eyed Rel as she stepped towards the threshold of her escape. “Rowvick, you call him? He would hate you to leave a man to die, wouldn’t he?” He cried out, his one last chance to escape the inevitable.  

Kei paused for a moment, as if to give it thought. In that moment, something broke inside of Kei. She looked over her shoulder to the red bearded master on his knees with the fire’s smoke drying his wet eyes. “No god would leave me in your chains.” She answered with venom on her words, as the flames began to engulf the man.  

By morning, the small village of Falmis awoke to a burnt forest. It took two days for the Arkin guards to find all the bodies of Kleon’s search party. They never found Hergus, only a pile of ash at the center point of the fire. They only knew it was Kleon’s party when one Gunnder Fassel never came into town for his regular end of shift drink at the village tavern. They found Kleon’s plantation abandoned with all of his slaves and many of his crops missing. All that was left behind was the fiery rubble of what was once the beloved Kleon Mansion.  

The Good Bandit  

At the Bleeding Vine tavern, about six hundred miles away from Falmis in a little town, just outside of the main Arkin City known as Huxwell, was a lonely man at the bar. The man slurped down a powerful concoction he asked the barkeep for, ominously he stated it would “get him prepared for what’s about to happen.” It was a blend between moonshine and Nobay Whiskey, splashed with lemon juice, he called a “twin snake.” It ran down his disheveled face as he threw back his head for his third shot of one.  

The mysterious man was rugged looking, yet his demeanor and calm tone contrasted his renegade appearance. On face value, his unkempt stubble and beat up jacket would have you to believe he is some, dirty Casanova of the road, yet when he spoke it was in the speech of a educated man of stature. He loved to use this to his advantage, whenever he could, like convincing a bartender to waste his alcohol on a very ridiculous drink.  

  “So, friend.” The bartender said cutting through the silence between him and the lone man at his bar. “You were in quite the rush when ya came through those doors, now you're sipping that drink like ya got nowhere to be.” He stated curiously. 

The man at his bar took a swig of his wicked concoction, and with a breath he gripped onto a bag on his lap. “I’m waiting.” He softly said looking down to his lap, as if to make sure the canvas bag was still between his worn-down jeans.  

“And what’s that your waiting on, friend?” The bartender asked. He didn’t have to wait long for a answer as commotion rang out from the street outside.  

Large thuds and creaks of metal on metal, followed by the hiss of steam shook the walls of the Bleeding Vine. “Soren Malcoy! By the power of Tiso Reignly and the order of Vanslaught Forbe, we demand you exit this establishment and surrender!” A harsh voice wailed from behind the tavern doors. The barkeep, understandably, was left without words. The mysterious stranger who he now could identify as Soren Malcoy, also known as “The Wandering Wolf” or more commonly to Arkin loyalist as “That troublemaking pain.” Simply took one last swig of his Twin Snake and looked up with a coy grin on his face. 

  “That’s what I’ve been waiting for.” Soren said as he hopped off the barstool and flung the canvas sack across his shoulder. The barkeep did not seem as amused as That Troublemaking Pain seemed to be.  

Soren creaked the door open to reveal a small stoic looking old man with a maroon Arkin military issued Trench coat adorned with markings and medals of grandeur, and a large hulking copper monster. It was what Soren would call a “Tin man” a type of special soldier with a steam powered mechanical suit of armor. Usually, they were used on the battlefield, but today seemed to be a very special occasion. Soren never felt so special.  

 Soren sauntered out onto the taverns porch with a gleeful smile aimed at the man in the trench coat. “Colonel Krebs!” He called out to him. “I expected you, about twenty minutes ago, I suppose your tin headed friend has to do with your late arrival?” He said leaning against the railing.  

The Colonel gave a exhausted sigh. “Mr.Malcoy, you have been found guilty of stealing collected tax from the Arkin Republic, you will surrender the stolen tax and yourself to me.” He said as if he rehearsed on his way over.  

Soren scoffed at the disgruntled Colonel, who seemed exasperated with the whole ordeal already.  “Am I to surrender willingly or unwillingly?” Soren asked from the porch of the tavern.  

Colonel Krebs seemed to have enough already and walked towards the steps of the tavern. “Willingly or unwillingly, you shall surrender the tax and yourself!” He grunted, fed up with the cocky rebel.  

Soren moved closer to the outer wall of the tavern. “You see, my dear Colonel, I only ask, because I’d prefer not to surrender at all, which leaves us in a strange and peculiar predicament.” Soren said, positioning himself between the window of the establishment and the Colonel.  

“Then you choose unwillingly.” Krebs stated, motioning towards the outlaw.  

“I choose unwillingly, unwillingly.”  

The barkeep, believed that with a Tin Man outside his establishment and a decorated man like Colonel Krebs, who’s positioning in this town as the new Chief of the Guard thwarted much of the crime; this situation would resolve quite quickly. So, he began to clean up the bar after his rebel customer and wiped down the area swiftly, this quick clean became much more of a job as glass from his window came flying across his bar counter along with one Colonel Krebs. He looked towards where his window once was to see the scruffy troublemaker staring back at him. “I’m very sorry about that!” Soren said with an awkward smile before dodging a blow from the mechanical soldier and rushing down the street.  

The Copper Soldier and Colonel chased behind trying to keep up with the young menace as he weaved through the townspeople along the busy street. Soren made a quick turn heading towards the entry of town and passed statue of Commander Hein that greeted every traveler as they entered, the plague underneath read “Armanster, Town of the Hero of Stone Hill.” They chased Soren all the way to a old farm on the outskirts of town. Quickly the tides turned in their favor as they cornered him in the rundown barn.  

  “There’s no more running from this Mr.Malcoy it’s time to give up.” the Colonel said as he began to finally catch his breath. “Hand over the money, and surrender.”  

    “Jeez, Krebs!” Soren said through his heavy breathing. “When will you get the picture that a guy just wants some alone time!” He said trying to muster a coy smile through his heavy breaths.  

“Give me the taxes Soren!” The Colonel cried out completely over this situation, and ready to go back to his comfy office back in town.  

“Really wish I could Ol 'Krebs.” Soren gave a wink as he pulled himself up from a hunched position, finally getting his breath back. “You should really know me by now though, the answer is always unwilling.” He motioned them to look upwards toward the rafters, to reveal seven armed men with guns trained on them. The Colonel and his soldier waved their own weapons wildly at the men in the rafters. “Time for yourself to give up Colonel, your outnumbered” Soren smugly said as he watched them anxiously dance their weapons around from one rebel to the next.  

“You bastard, you tricked us!” The Colonel said, his eyes locked on the enemies in the rafters.  

“Well, I assumed the decorated Colonel would want the praise for catching the ‘Wondering Wolf’” he said throwing his fingers up in air quotes. “And you’d most definitely bring your toughest guy with you for support. So, if I’m honest you played right into my game.” Soren chuckled to himself.  

“You stole from the Arki- “ 

“I stole from thieves!” The joke seemed to die quickly for Soren, his eyes turned to fire right before the Colonel’s eyes. “I stole from cowardly thieves, making another town one of their rackets to support their bloodlust.” Soren slithered his face inches from the Colonel’s and with his teeth clenched he spoke with anger seething from inside “I will not sit idly by while you leech another town dry of their freedoms, of their identity, of their hard-earned money. I will be shot down dead before I see one more town fall to this Empire.”  

Krebs tapped the Copper man on the chest and with a whisper commanded him to lay down his weapons. “One day, Soren, the Arkins will stop you.” The Colonel raised his arms up from his pistol on the hay covered ground.  

“Oh, I don’t doubt that.” Soren laughed, “I mean come on, I’m one man. When you do though, there will be another to take my place. There will always be another.” He spun around and retrieved a box hidden behind a bale of hay. “Today though, I’m still here, and tomorrow so will both of you be as well!” He said as he pulled a large rope out from the box. “Just not so much clothed or armed as you are at the moment.”  

In mere minutes, the Colonel and the metal man were stripped of their weapons and armor and tied to a post in the rundown barn. Each of Soren’s men lugged out the valuables as the humiliated Colonel cried out. “This is all for nothing! You damn mongrel! Nothing!”  

  Soren, with one foot out the doors to a peaceful night, swiftly turned around. He could never step away from a perfect opportunity to gloat. “Says the half-naked and tied up Colonel.” He laughed to himself as all his men carried on, toward a hidden dirt path into the woods behind the barn. “The people of this town, are soon going to see money, back in their pocket, as well as their ‘designated protector’ strolling into town in his under garments.” Soren said trying to hold back a giddy laugh.  

“It won’t matter.” Krebs answered.  

“Oh, dear Krebs it very much will, how do you plan on gaining obedience from a town that lost faith in your service?”  

“No, not that, your actions. They won’t matter soon, enough.”  

Soren blew raspberries before turning to leave, “yeah, alright, sure Colonel.”  

“The Tiso, he’s planning something. Rumor is it’s something big, something that will secure the Arkin rule. When it’s done, everything you’ve tried to do, sprouting these little resistances up everywhere you go. They will all be for nothing.” The Colonel said his face showing sweet pleasure from the announcement.  

Soren kept his back to the Colonel and the soldier who once wore the copper suit. He didn’t want to reveal even a shred of the fear that sunk in. And with that he walked away from the barn and vanished into the forest with the others.  

Soren’s Rebels camped in a small clearing near the west end of the Daring Woods, close to a small lake known locally as Blinding Lake. It was known for how the moon shining from it would bring a beautiful glow that lit up the area. It was a good hiding spot for the Rebels, due to the lack of a civil road near the west end of the woods, and the lake being more attractive and turning the eye from the woods. 

   “Good work today lads!” Soren cried out to his men as he emerged from the trees of the clearing. The men all cheered as he strolled into camp. Almost in anticipation, one of the men handed him a tankard. Swiping it, Soren dunked the tankard into a barrel of ale and lifted the tankard to the air as his men encircled him. “Tonight!” He said looking around him at his cheerful men. “We drink to you, The Rebels of Armanster, and to tomorrow, a day that will live in infamy to all Arkins!” The men roared with delight as they threw their tankards to the night sky.  

Around the fire in the center of camp a small gathering of men sang along with a guitar and a small drum. It was a tune familiar to Soren, a hopeful ballad he heard from many of the rebel groups he traveled to, and gave vision too. It was known commonly as “The Battered Battlements”  

I looked upon the battered battlements, and this is what I recall, not one man, nah none refused to stand upon its wall. Upon these here battlements, with cracks and bruises all. Everyman upon it, refused to walk from its call.  

Oh! I looked upon the battered battlements, and found only resolve, for the men of this fortress, never shall they fall! 

Watching over the joyful singing men, Soren saw Lexarr. Lexarr was a enthusiastic young man with a lot of heart for the fight. He was also known by the band of rebels in this camp, lovingly as “Pretty Boy” and for good reason. Lexarr, stood out among his peers. While most of the men around him, would be known to the civilized world as “brutes” or “dirty” Lexarr would be able to blend in with most of the socialites, given some cleaner and more posh clothing of course. This is all for good reason, Lexarr knew much of the higher society, he once was part of it.  

Soren met the Rebels of Armanster through Lexarr after some correspondence while Soren was in Goldresh. Lexarr’s education and cunning use of words seemed to work in his favor. He tended to be the unofficial leader of this group and when Soren got to Armanster, he became Soren’s second in command. Soren motioned over to the pretty boy, moving his body to the music, which went from patriotic and somber to something more primal and vibrant in tone.  

   “Enjoying yourself sir?” Lexarr said with a chuckle as he watched the tipsy Soren unnaturally shake his hips to the music as he drunkenly sauntered over.  

“Rule one of leading a band of Rebels, my dear Lexarr.” Soren felt the words fall from his mouth in a slurry. “Give yourself moments of enjoyment, otherwise it’s a dreadful time.” He said with a daring grin.  

Lexarr laughed again and looked the drunken man up and down before looking over their men with somber eyes. “I keep thinking of what comes next, you know?” Lexarr turned to Soren. “Not after tomorrow, but after everything. Hitting them small, it’s like flies buzzing in a ear, it’s only a nuisance to them. This won’t drive them out, only irritate them, and it certainly won’t end the Arkin reign.”  

Soren stood quietly for a moment, processing Lexarr’s thoughts and crafting his rebuttal. “It’s the markings of a leader to think bigger.” He began, “I won’t deny it won’t drive the Arkins out of Armanster, and of course their reign won’t be ended by a few virtuous deeds to a small, poor farming town like this, but we aren’t doing what we are doing here for the Arkins. We are doing it to gain the support of the people here, their trust.” Soren answered. The two stewed on the conversation in silence for a moment watching the men dance and sing around the campfire, until Soren broke the pondering silence with a subtle nudge to Lexar’s side. “Walk with me, please.” Soren said moving towards the woods lit by the lakes pure light.  

Lexar found Soren staring off into the lake. His boot rocked back and forth on a small rock along its shore, and one hand swirled a bottle of Nobay rum he swiped on his way out of camp while the other hand rested gently in his jacket pocket. As Lexarr approached Soren lifted the rum bottle up to Lexarr, continuing to stare out into the bright waters that swayed along the shore. Lexarr took a swig from the bottle and handed it back to the scraggly wonderer. “You’ll be leading them again, soon.” Soren said without a glance to Lexarr.  

He felt his heart drop instantly. “What was that?” He said trying to pretend those words were never said. This reaction was nothing new to Soren. More often than not, the guerrilla groups he worked with commonly and naively believed he would stay forever, or at least till a revolution was accomplished and won.  

“Something sits on the horizon.” Soren ominously said turning to Lexarr. “I’ll be leaving for Huxwell soon.” 

“What?” Lexarr said, his jaw hung in astonishment. “What about tomorrow?” 

“I’m honoring tomorrow of course, but afterwards I’m off for the city.”  

“What’s so important, that you’d leave like this? Krebs and his Arkin goons will retaliate, and these men are not prepared for battle.”  

   “Then make them prepared!” Soren quickly lashed out, throwing his head towards Lexarr who looked taken back from the quick show of aggression. Soren retreated his head back and turned his gaze to the waters again. With a sigh Soren continued. “I’ve taught you all that I can. It must be enough.” Quiet frustration road every word as they left his lips. 

“What’s happening in Huxwell, Soren.” Lexarr questioned him, as he came closer to the wanderer with a worried frown growing on his face.  

Soren took the last swig of rum from the bottle and looked down at it somberly. Quickly he returned to a grin and laughed to himself before meeting Lexarr’s worried gaze. “I don’t know yet. Maybe it’s nothing, but somethings telling me we need to get ready for a fight.”  

Morning came, and the smoke of the dying fire swept into the sky. Soren climbed up from his sleeping bag and wiped the misty film from his eyes. With his shoulders slouched over in tired fatigue and his vocal cords still waking up he began to kick his sleeping drunkards awake. “Come on you bastards! Up and at em, we got a town to prove something too!”  

The crew grabbed their morning grub and munched on the hard nutrition bars as they loaded their weapons and grabbed the cleanest pair of clothes each of them could find. Not before long they formed a circle.  

“Who are we!” One called out from the thunder of chants. 

 “The Republics enemies!” The circle responded in a unifying scream. 

 “What will we be!” Another man called out to the crowd.  

“The beginning of a new history!” The crowd wailed back in joy.  

Soren and Lexarr entered the circle standing in unison among the rowdy crowd. “Gentleman and women.” He began with a proud grin on his face. “Today we give back to a town with the growing boot of Arkin oppression weighing over it. Not two years ago, we were a free village, the Arkins were our government, yet they were never so bold as to enter our town and depose our leaders with their own. We used to vote for our leaders, we used to decide our own sheriffs, and our own laws. We have been taken over by people who were never born upon this soil. Today, we make our first major stand. We show them Armanster grit firsthand!”  

The men yelped and hollered in joy. Lexarr raised his hand and swung it towards the forests exit calling his men to follow. The band of rebels began their march first toward the Crowned Road. 

The Crowned Road was the main artery of all the Arkin Territory. It stretched all the way south to Lowry. and all the way north to Blightham. Most every road in the territory is connected to it. Armanster, sat on top of it.  

Soren and Lexarr walked ahead of the group, leading them down the Crowned Road as if they were generals of some army. Soren carried the bag of taxed coin on his back as Lexarr walked with purpose beside him. Yet both the men had vastly different thoughts on their mind as they marched.  

“Soren?” Lexarr said quietly as he kept his head straight ahead.  

“Yes Lex?” Soren asked, having no qualm looking to his right side towards Lexarr.  

“I’ve just noticed, you told us, we were going to spread the wealth, humiliate Krebs and his men, and all that. Yet, you never told us exactly what today’s plan was.” The well-made rebel pondered shyly.  

Soren’s eyes widened and his mouth made a sound of realization. “Ah, well Lex. That seems to be because I forgot to make one!” Soren made a small smirk appear upon his face to soften the blow.  

This was when Lexarr felt it appropriate to relieve himself of keeping a purposeful and strong stroll forward and turn his gaze to, again what the Arkins called That Troublemaking Pain, and what Lexarr was ready to call That buffoon who is sending us to death. “You didn’t make one!” Lexarr strolled closer to Soren, their shoulders only centimeters apart as they strolled down the Crowned Road seeing Armanster town square inching closer. “What do you mean you forgot to make a plan?”   

   “I didn’t think I had to elaborate on the concept of having no plan.” Soren playfully snipped back. 

“I didn’t know certain death amused you so much, Soren!” 

“Well perhaps you should’ve gotten to know me more. If you did you would have known, I would never send my men to the wolves like this.” Soren said as they approached the entrance to Armanster. “Just follow my lead and focus on why we are here.”  

The group began their final push before entering the small main square of the old town. The buildings had flair of color to them, as if meticulous care and pride went into the crafting of this square. This only made it more painful for Soren to see them in the beginning stages of disarray and decay. The square wasn’t abandoned nor was it not being used, yet the buildings that once held a barbershop and a butcher among many more, seemed to be slowly sinking into the liminal.  

Soren could see on Lexarr’s face the loss. It was the face of determination set on by pain, something Soren understood deeply. He spoke no words to Lexarr, knowing nothing would help, besides finishing the job they came here to do.  

From a distance the two saw a small group rushing their way. They came adorned with the colors of the Arkin Empire, maroon and gold, detailing their fatigues. At the front of the small squadron was a young man, with a very boyish face, and very short dirty blonde hair tightly pushed into his cap. Soren took notice at the lack of scarring, noting this man had not seen action and certainly had not been present for the War of the Divide.  

“Stop where you are!” The boy cried out aiming his rifle back and forth between Soren and Lexarr. His men quickly caught up to the excited young man and aimed their weapons among the rest of the rebels.  

“Way ahead of you friend!” Soren said standing casually tilting his head to the side in disbelief. Soren didn’t know how to take this situation. On one hand, this made his improvisation way less risky, yet on the other, this was a young man, already being infected with Arkin rhetoric.  

“Name and purpose.” The young man commanded whipping his weapon back and forth between the two. 

“Him or I?” Soren asked toying with the child.  

“Both of you!” He shouted.  

“Lexarr Waylon.” Lex announced without a second thought. “I come to help my people.”  

    “With weapons?” The soldier asked with a grimace.  

“If needed.” Lexarr coyly responded gaining his own slight amusement.  

The boy soldier tried his best to ignore the subtle threat and turned his gaze to Soren. Who he could see was more annoyed than anything at this point. Soren stared back at the boy soldier with apathetic eyes.  

“We wield our weapons for the same reason you wish to wield yours.” Soren stated. Lexarr could tell he must have been plotting some way to deal with this roadblock, and it was time to witness his plan come alive. “To protect people who cannot protect themselves, and to protect ourselves from anyone who wishes to harm us along the way. I believe you wish to do good with that weapon you bear, yet sadly I believe the people who handed you that weapon don’t have the same values as you.”  

“Yeah, why’s that?” The boy said. Soren could tell his hands began to faintly tremble. 

“Look around, kid!” Soren said with a scoff as he twirled looking at the empty stores and decaying landscape. “You want to protect this town, right?”  

“Y-yes…”  

“How can you protect something when it doesn’t exist?” Soren asked, leaning in to pronounce his point. “How do you protect it from the ones above you?”  

“You let us through.” Lexarr answered. Almost as if he just caught on and was surprised with himself. 

The baby-faced soldier's eyes went wide. Anyone in the square could easily tell he was in his own mind fully at this time. The young man's mind became a chess board, and upon it he saw a couple moves he could make. One such move involved him ordering his men to fire a warning shot. Yet he could see that could end in bloodshed, and the young man did not wish to die too early. Another move he could picture allowed him to live. Surrendering and laying his arms down was a good strategy, but would leave him with little respect, and even possibly being named a traitor. His last move was to simply run away. He didn’t like many of his moves. This brought him to a realization; he was in check mate before he even knew it.  

   The young soldier, at this realization, looked up to see what was from his perspective a demented grin across Soren’s face. It was as if Soren knew what the conclusion was for the soldier, as if he was steps ahead of them all. The baby-faced soldier dropped his head down in defeat and laid his weapon on the ground. Lexarr was not expecting such an easy end to this conversation. What surprised Lexarr more was the young, defeated soldier standing up from his gun and marching into the crowd of Rebels. “What are you doing kid?” Lexarr asked as the young man began to enter the crowd of rugged rebels.  

“You said it yourself, I wish to protect this town. I wish to see it thrive as it once did, and if I am part of that problem, then I must make up for what I’ve done.”  

Soren gave Lexarr a nod as if to tell him with a bob of his head, “This is why we do all of this.” And surely enough Lexarr already came to such a conclusion.  

The remaining troops, who were moments ago led by the young soldier, still held their ground. Lexarr could see though that their moral was wavering. They were outnumbered and their lead had switched sides, worst of all was the fact that the Sheriff was missing. 

  “What say all of you?” Soren called out to the four soldiers. “Your team captain has made his choice; you still have time to make yours!” The group stayed stoic. Their weapons kept a steady aim on the rebels, and each of them refused to respond.  

“You only get one chance to back down!” Lexarr brashly called out.  

“Easy tiger, dial back the vague threat meter, would ya?” Soren quietly muttered to Lexarr on his side. “We can all agree, neither party wants this to go poorly, right?” Again, no answer behind the aimed rifles. “I’ll take the fact you are not firing, as a yes!”  

At that moment, from behind them they could hear the sound of skin slapping concrete. The rebels parted and allowed a small greying figure to pass, being shaded from the sun by a large, towering man behind him. The rebels all began to choke as they fruitlessly tried to hole back their laughter from seeing Colonel Krebs and his bodyguard holding large bundles of hay below their waist as a makeshift self-censor tool.  

The Colonel’s eyes never moved from his feet. His whole being seemed to be turned in on itself, as if he was protecting himself from an attack. The burly shadow behind him acted as his guide dog, keeping one hand on the colonel's shoulder to move him through the crowd. The shamed colonel passed Soren and Lexarr without words or even a glance. 

  Soren had been fighting the Arkins for three years now. He picked up some understanding of “ends justify the means,” but even with that understanding, he couldn’t help but feel some sort of empathy for the humiliated old Colonel. Lexarr on the other hand was a different story.  

   Looking across the parting at Lexarr as the Colonel passed, Soren could see the sense of pleasure on Lex’s face. It looked as if Lexarr was reveling in it. As if this painful and disturbing walk the man and his bodyguard were in the midst of completing was a sort of treasure. It was as if the distributing of the taxes had somehow become secondary to Soren’s nominated next leader.  

Krebs made his way towards the four whose faces we’re stuck in an almost catatonic state of confusion and astonishment. The shamed Colonel finally found the will to look up from the ground under his bare feet and gave a stern and simple command. “Open fire.” 

  This command was enough to bring one of the soldiers back to reality. “S-sir?”  

“Open fire I said dammit!” The Colonel lashed out with pure seething rage “open fucking fire!”  

Soren took a deep breath. The four, from a distance, could see Soren had closed his eyes and garnered a gentle and peaceful smile. It was as if he awaited the soldiers' next move happily.  

The Colonel spat at the ground in front of the four soldiers and gave up barking orders wanting to finally cover himself with something that wasn’t a dry plant. As the old man hobbled nervously to his home, the remaining troops pondered on what they just witnessed.  

   Like their young leader before, they began to question their situation. Their own squad leader switched sides, they were outnumbered, and the sheriff had seemed to have completely lost his head. Finally, it began to seem like a losing battle. They could either die following orders or survive with their esteem broken.  

Soon, they came to a conclusion. Like any right-minded person, they gave up their weapons for their lives. Quickly they rushed far from the scene knowing that even if they tried to help maintain the crowd or try to do any kind of good at this point, would only rile the crowd more.  

The townsfolk who witnessed the situation unfold began to call out to the town, as if they were criers of the news. The band of rebels stationed themselves in the square. Soren and Lexarr stood handing out the stolen tax to the people as they arrived while their men made sure to keep peace.  

Soren could see the pure joy on every face that approached. “You’re the Wolf aren’t you, sir?” Said a small boy as he approached with burly older man. “My dad says you go all ‘round the territory fighting off bad guys, and freeing people like us!” The man next to him laughed and patted the boy on his back, hoping to stop his embarrassment quickly. 

Soren leaned down and took out some of the taxed coin, handing it to the boy. “You dad has heard right son, mostly at least.” Soren said tussling the boy’s hair. “I go around and teach people like your dad how to stand up against the bad guys. So, they can make a better world for you.” Soren said turning to smile at the boy’s father. The man gave a nod and mouthed ‘thank you’ to the kind rebel.  

As they left Lexarr came up behind Soren with a gentle smile across his face. It was something softer than what Soren had seen earlier. It was less villainous and more joyful, Soren hoped that gesture of ill was only something brought on by the heat of the moment. He wanted to leave it in the past, and kept quiet on the topic.  

 “The kids, they hear a lot of stories about you.” Lexarr said as he looked on at the joyous crowd that now began to celebrate in the square.  

“Over some time, I’ve began to notice.” Soren answered shaking his bag, checking in case their were any leftover coin. “I must admit, I don’t know if it brings me joy or sorrow to know children look up to a outlaw.”  

“They don’t look up to a outlaw, they look up to a symbol of hope!” Lexarr quickly turned his head from a group of children playing a game of pick up at the corner of the square. 

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Soren sighed, tired of such a overused phrase in his life. “Children shouldn’t be yearning for hope, that means they are hopeless.” He threw the coin less bag to the side and began to turn back towards the road to camp. Lexarr began to follow quickly behind. “That’s the painful truth that follows stories about ‘urban heroes’ it comes from a place of sadness and yearning, something no child should experience.” 

“Well, aren’t you chipper after a successful mission!” Lexarr sarcastically remarked. Soren continued on, giving a nod to the rebels as if to tell them “Heading back, stay as long as you wish” somehow it was understood.  

Lexarr halted at the edge of town as Soren pressed on. "Are you not going to stay? It seems to be growing very festive. I believe I even saw a man dragging out a barrel of grog!”  

Soren spun around to meet the curious eyes of Lexarr, and put on a solemn smile. “It’s time for me to head off, my friend.”  

“So soon? We only just won!”  

“The fight never stops, and I must see to the plight in Huxwell.”  

“You know nothing about this so called ‘plight’ you don’t even know if it exists!”  

“That’s why I must go. If something is happening in Huxwell, it will effect all of the territory. I cannot let that happen.” Soren looked through Lexarr and to the joyful people celebrating. Soren wished so badly that he could stay, that he could dance with the happy folks of Armanster, but like a shark he had to move forward, he had to make sure what the colonel spoke of was nothing more than rumor. He looked back to Lexarr; his eyes were spelling out every fear he had. “Lexarr, I leave you in charge of this merry band of misfits.” Soren said hoping to quell Lexarr’s nerves with a smile. “You’ve proven to me well enough that you’re a man of action, and a damn good leader of men. I have no doubt you will keep this town a free one.”   

Lexarr had no more words. He knew none of them would keep the Wolf that Wanders here anyways. He gave Soren all that he could muster, and all he knew Soren wanted anyways. A simple silent bow of his head as Soren began to turn away toward the road, and off to Huxwell, the capital city of the Arkins. 

The Paper maker 

 Huxwell was an exceptionally large city, situated a couple miles off the coast of the Silent Sea. It fit a population of nine thousand, not including their Rel slaves. Inside its tall walls was one of the most beautiful structures in the territory. The head of government and home of the Tiso himself, Kantara Palace. It was named after the first Tiso’s wife, Marianna Kantara, who by all accounts was loved by her people and her husband Tiso Hugo Lestare. 

  Its major exports were weaponry and textiles along with a plethora of luxury goods.  

The concrete streets, illuminated and functioning on steam power and brass cogs, were always crowded, with steam carriages and mounted Kelgrif pushing their way through the busy roadways.  

   Among the chaos of the busy city lived an unusually unassuming man. His name was Tucken Furnoon and he, as unassuming as he maybe, was the most important person in Huxwell. 

He lived in a cramped little apartment on the second floor of a butcher shop. He awoke every morning to the sound of machinery priming up and slicing through bone. He never minded it too much, as it became his rooster overtime. His wife though, would resort to taking a broom from their tiny kitchen pantry and leaning out their window to smack the butchers below. It never resulted in any change.  

Today though, as the saws began to buzz below and gently shake the apartment’s floor, Tucken was surprised with a thud at the bedroom door. He groggily wiped the grime from his eyes and turned to his wife beside him. “Ignore it, my love…just ignore it.” She groaned into her pillow. Another thud against their door and Tucken began to pull his body up from the bed.  

“If I didn’t know any better, I’d mistake our children for burglars.” He said rubbing the lethargy from his face.  

“They are burglars, burglars of my sleep.” Morrigan, his wife said stretching out along the bed with a sigh. 

Finally, the door burst open and two small girls swarmed the room. One with red hair and pale skin along with light blue eyes landed on Morrigan and the other with hair as dark as a crow pounced on Tucken.  

“My girls, my girls!” Tucken said gripping the black haired one tight in a hug. “Save us, this beast who has been banging on our door!” He joked coyly.  

“That was us daddy!” The red headed one giggled.  

“Who turned my innocent little girls into door bashing beasts?” Tucken said wrestling the one in his arms. The pair giggled as Morrigan climbed up from her rest. She held the red-haired one in her arms and brushed her hair with her fingers, trying to clean up what her daughter’s pillow must have done during the night.  

“Are you going on your walk today, daddy?” The raven haired one asked looking up to him from his chest.  

Tucken looked over at his wife cautiously, who only gave a subtle nod in retaliation. “I’m…why yes, Little Love, I might need to, today.”  

   “Can Clara and I come, today, we wanna see the outside of the city!” The little one asked hopping up and down on Tucken’s lap.  

“Oh, I don’t know about that, Abney.” Tucken replied as his heart sank slightly. “It’s not as safe as in here.  

“But it’s so boring!” Abney said, crossing her arms in aggravation. 

 “Miss Sojinger said fresh air might do Abney and me some good.” Said the redheaded Clara as her mom tugged at her knotted hair.  

    “Miss Sojinger is just trying to find a way for you to stop knocking on her door asking for more treats.” Morrigan jumped in as she began to wipe some unknown gunk off of Clara’s face.  

“Well, I think she’s right anyway.” Abney said, trying her best to put on a commanding and powerful tone before huffing and looking towards the window. She set her eyes on an advertisement placed along the cities wall for Darpington Industries new and improved Automaton helper. Abney remembered hearing of Darpington’s first Automaton a couple of years ago, from a girl who use to live on the third floor. Most people just bought a Rel from the market, it was much cheaper, and they didn’t break down as much. 

 Abney wondered what happened to that girl. She as well as the rest of her family just vanished from the apartment one night. Nobody ever seemed to want to talk about it when Abney asked about them.  

Tucken looked over at his wife again, hoping for an answer to this situation. Morrigan sighed and looked down at Clara as she dragged her thumb across her cheek. “Abney, maybe your old enough to go with your dad.” she said hesitantly. “But Clara, you and I are going to spend some time together, I think we might need to take a trip over to the emporium, get you something to clean up with.”  

“Woah!” Abney said with a gasp of awe as the cities hatch door creaked open revealing the greens of nature outside the walls. Tucken pushed into his satchel their passes and thanked the Hatch Officers before carrying on with Abney.  

“Pretty cool, huh?” He said pulling Abney in tight as they walked  

“Clara is gonna freak when I tell her about all this!” Abney shivered with joy.  

Tucken chuckled, “well, don’t make her too jealous, I’m sure she isn’t too excited about spending the day having your mom rant at her about how dirty she gets.”  

Abney laughed imagining such a thought. “Clara just likes breaking down her toys and remaking them, Daddy. She never really thinks about how dirty it can get her.”  

   “Well remind me to stop buying her the expensive toys then. Her little projects cost me a lot of coin, Little Love.” Tucken carried on down the Crowned Road with Abney in tow. The pair passed the Cities large metal hulks of industrial farms, smoke bursting out the top like geysers, along with small shanty villages sprouted up along the road of the poor who couldn’t cut it in the city. These were the parts Tucken hoped to hide from his daughter.  

They came upon one of the small shanty villages with a crudely painted plank of wood doing its best to play the role of a sign. The wood read “Huxwell’s Slops.” By the seedier and regulars, it was typically simply called “The Slops.”  

The Slops was one of the larger of the shanties. The makeshift housing of the impoverish was at the front of the town but spanned into the trees behind it. The housing seemed to make a dirt road that travelled towards a thousand year old concrete structure from the time of The Ancients. Most buildings like this fell apart hundreds of years ago and by this point we’re mixed thoroughly into the soil.  

   “Abney.” Tucken said as he gripped her tight walking down the dirt path, and keeping his eyes to the ground as they passed The Slops population. “I’m gonna need you to promise me something while we are here, okay?”  

    Abney’s stomach travelled to her throat as they pushed through. “There are some things your sister doesn’t need to know. Hell, not even mommy needs to know all the details.” He said solemnly. “Mommy knows I go on walks, and she knows what I bring back, and why.” His eyes grew very serious as he stopped her near the front of the archaic building. “She doesn’t want to know where I stop on my walks though. Okay?” He said needing a response.  

  “Wh-…Where are we, dad?” Abney said, not shaking from joy or excitement anymore, but of true fear. Tucken pulled her in for a hug and told her to wait by the front door, before entering the run down warehouse of the past.  

   Abney kept her eyes to the broken and battered concrete floor. Two grimy men who wore ragged and torn clothing stood by either side of the molding makeshift door. One with a hacking cough spoke up to the frightened girl. “Your father…he’s a good man. Don’t be worried for ‘em, little one. Nobody inside would hurt ‘em.”  

“Yeah! Ain’t no fools in there! Your dad is safe and sound. So are you kiddo, we got your back!” The second guard with a large wound on his face added. Abney nodded, still keeping her eyes to the ground and tugging gently on her sleeve for comfort.  

The hacking guard knelt behind her and could hear her silently yelp in fear as his knee hit the floor. “We ‘kinda scary too ain’t we?” He said as softly as he could with his gravelly voice. “In ‘dat city of yours everyone usually looks a little more clean, I bet. We ain’t monsters though sweetheart, I promise you. We all just down on our luck, just a ‘lil more so than ya daddy.” Abney didn’t understand that. How was her dad “down on his luck?” He was an Events Bowdlerizer, whatever that was. Before she could think any longer on this, she heard his voice appear behind her. 

   “Get away from her!” Tucken tried his best to put on a steel bodied exterior. For the two guards this did nothing to have them fear him, but they kindly backed away from young Abney. For Abney, it was one of the very few times she heard her father speak without a soft and warm tone. She turned to see him holding a large bag over his shoulder. He looked back and forth between the two guards with daggers in his eyes. “We’re leaving.” He said, gripping her hand and pulling her from the warehouse.  

“Daddy what’s in there?” She said looking at his back as the bag jostled on top of it.  

  “It was a bad idea to bring you here.” Tucken muttered to himself as he kept at quick pace out of The Slops. 

“Daddy?” Abney said worryingly 

“Little Love, I’ll explain later, okay?” He said darting his eyes to her.  

Abney turned away from his piercing emerald eyes. Her father had never been so serious with her before. Tucken was always a father filled with love, she couldn’t comprehend this version of her father. 

   Morrigan and Clara stood side to side in the cramped little kitchen cleaning dish ware and preparing for dinner later in the day. Morrigan poured a very calculated amount of water from a bucket on each dish as the rambunctious little red head vigorously cleaned.  

Clara wore a blue dress with a tan leather belt wrapped around her waist. It was new, one of the three they bought from the emporium just an hour earlier, yet already the oblivious child had flung enough dirty water around with her frantic scrubbing that she had already dirtied it up. Morrigan found herself with a raging headache beating her temples as if they were marching drums, formed from pure frustration. Just as the pressure in her head grew the two adventurers of her family swung the door to the small apartment open.  

Morrigan peaked her head out from behind the kitchen wall and toward the entrance. Instantly she saw an odd scene. Abney quickly rushed to her and Clara’s room holding her body tight and her head down. Tucken, on the other hand, held the large bag in one hand and a grim face of consternation and concern.  

   “What happened?” Morrigan said with grit teeth.  She walked out of the kitchen and into the living room toward Tucken.  

“She’s fine just shook up.” Tucken said hoping to ease the woman he loved.  

“What happened to my baby, Tuck?” Quickly she turned back to the kitchen entrance and saw little Clara peaking her eyes out from the threshold. “Go check on your sister.” Morrigan demanded. Clara sprinted toward her and Abney’s door and closed it.  

“She didn’t get hurt or nothing, she just was spooked, I swear.” Tucken was exasperated by the whole ordeal. He never wanted to seem like a bad guy in his daughters eyes. He felt as if he shattered something deep in his daughter and only hoped it wasn’t her innocence. That’s something he knew he couldn’t repair. “I kept her outside while I traded a couple small bits of knowledge to Kinstrom. I didn’t want her seeing how I got anything. And the guards, I think….kinda scared her.” 

“Well of course!” Morrigan said dumbfounded. “She hasn’t seen how bad things can be here. How tight coin can be. You should have been by her side the whole time!” Morrigan said with frustration pounding her head harder than before.  

“What and have her see her father trading city secrets for some damn food!” Tucken couldn’t begin to think on that. No way was his daughter going to know he sold guard patrol intel among others to bandits.  

“If it meant her feeling safe, then yes, dammit!” Morrigan said, throwing her foot to the floor, trying to look bigger than Tucken. “I just wanted her to see the outside for once. Get air that wasn’t soaked in smog.” Morrigan’s voice slowly deflated into a sad croak as her head fell to look at the floor.  

   “Then she shouldn’t have come with me.” Tucken replied, grabbing his work ID from the coffee table. He turned back to his wife and gently glided his fingers across her folded arms. “She’ll be okay. When I get home, I’ll talk to her, she knows she is safe with us.” Tucken said as his lips touched her forehead. “I love you, Morrigan.”  

“I love you, too.” She said as her lavender eyes moved up to meet his. 

Tucken traversed through Huxwell’s streets. He always felt tiny between the large concrete buildings. Some shot steam and smoke from their chimneys, others were simply decorated with brash and boisterous Arkin sigils. Nothing in the business district of Huxwell was very original. Every stone was the pale and bland color of concrete, every building held the same nationalistic emblems. Everything was Arkin.  

   Tucken never really thought about that. Usually, Tucken was tunnel visioned on getting to work, looking through the next day's articles and highlighting what he believed the Arkin Republic would wish to be removed before print. That was his job, and nothing else mattered until he got home. Today though, today something was different. He noticed the vapidness of the structures around him, the conceited emblems, sigils and flags that hung from every building. 

 Finally, he noticed something he never had noticed before today. Something buzzed around every street corner he turned, something that the flow of traffic around him seemed to not question as they went about their day. Tucken heard a staticky voice speaking. 

“Remember to listen and follow all orders given to you by a patrolling soldier, they are here for your protection. If an order by a patrolling officer is not followed, the officer has authority by our honorable Tiso, to enact his power over the unruly citizen.” 

It was uncanny, as if a veil had drifted off of Tucken’s eyes and ears as it continued.  

“Citizens remember, all who work today must report in by your designated time. All supervisors have been instructed and trained to interrogate any late arrivals if a patrol officer has not done so. This is to protect our city from insurgents and societal leeches. If you love our city, you will take care of it through your occupation, through your work.”  

All around him, as it buzzed in his ear, nobody stopped moving. He half expected to see someone in the crowd looking as startled as he did, or holding their ears trying to keep the loud static voice from seeping in. All he saw was bodies, marching down the street like ceremonial soldiers. Their eyes were glassed over, and their feet almost seemed to step to the drum of each other’s. Tucken let the crowd whip by him, creating a small hole in the crowd that was only home to him. He wondered, when he was tunnel visioned on the way to work, did he look like this? Did anyone else ever notice?  

Tucken tried to hold onto this thought and push back into the crowd to race to work. This was important to think about, but so was making coin for the family. He would have to think about it later.  

The Republic Information Building was a smaller building compared to the other government structures in the city. It was also the least up-kept one, being considered one of the lower priorities of the Republic. Security being the highest priority there is, Arkin Education and Nationalism being second followed closely by a strong economy and several others until you get to public information. The Arkin Republic of course knew the power of information though, and it was Tucken’s job to take in that information and decide what the people were allowed to hear. He would sometimes freshen up a event, make it more palatable for the people, or entirely black out a whole event. It all depended on severity. If Tucken got it wrong, he had no clue what would happen.  

Tucken only knew of one other person who failed to keep the people happy by not hiding something. That person was his old colleague Cullian Vantis. Cullian worked at the desk next to him and they typically worked together on their work, helping each other find the right way to touch up the event. One day Cullian was tasked with more events than he could handle and rushed through them too quickly. He must have skimmed through too fast a very important event log and didn’t black out major details, because the next day Tucken found his desk wiped of any trace of Cullian. Supervisors only stated that they were told by the Arkin Head of Information Cullian was “sent out of the city for field work.”  

Tucken walked up the cracked concrete steps and into the building. He clocked in with the front desk and climbed the stairs to the Bowdlerizer Offices. It was a small office space with only a few private offices. Three offices were held by the Arkin Overseer Harrik Grumsby, a military man who watched over the whole operation, Tucken’s manager Shea Rivvs who of course did as most managers do, hire, fire, distribute projects handed down to him by Grumsby, and plan the office parties no one wanted to come too. Lastly was the Lead Supervisor Phrenna Yung, her job was to make sure everyone completed their projects and stayed on task. She was the face most Bowdlerizers saw every day.  

Tucken entered the employee desks area, surrounded on all sides by his superiors' private offices. On the far end he could see Harrik Grumsby looking out the window to the Kantara towering above all Huxwell.  

“Mr.Furnoon.” A soft voice said close behind him. 

“Miss Yung, good morning!” Tucken said quickly, turning around.  

“You did really clever work on your events yesterday. The Armanster tax riot could have had the public stirring!” she said with a breathy laugh.  

Tucken gave a uncomfortable chuckle and rubbed his neck awkwardly. “Thank you, Miss Yung. I hope there isn’t any more bad news out of Armanster today, is there?”  

Phrenna Yung quickly skimmed through a large folder she held close to her chest before looking back up at Tucken. “Looks like it’s all quiet at the moment, not much today that Shea gave me to hand out, besides more intel on Willem’s Falmis forest fire event. Grumsby did want to talk to you personally though. Think he might have something special!” She said as she began to step away with a wink.  

Tucken knew what that wink meant. It was not uncommon in his workplace to fear a conversation with Grumsby. It was a wink saying ‘Good Luck with that’ in the most sarcastic of ways. There was usually no good luck talking to Grumsby, and Tucken feared the worst.  

Tucken turned back to the old military man staring out the window. He noticed now he held his wood carved pipe to his mouth and was coaxing a fire out of it. His other hand palmed the top as he slowly baked the tobacco inside. Tucken puffed up his chest and stirred up the energy he had into courage and pulled his feet forward.  

The smoke began to pour out of the pipe. A whiff hit Tucken as he tried to wave the fumes away before they reach his nostrils to no avail. It smelled of dark honey and a tart berry. “Officer Grumsby.” Tucken said as he approached, trying not to choke.  

The Officer took the pipe from his lips and kept his eyes out the window. “Ya see that down there, kid?” The Old Officer said gesturing to the street below. Tucken looked down to see a man stopped on the street by two guards. Whatever conversation they were having seemed to be strongly heated as the guards were inches from the man’s face. “Factory worker, you can tell from the dirt and sweat, ‘long with that jump suit. You missed it. Earlier the worker was trying to help a Rel they ‘musta overworked. Enforcers came and took ‘em. Probably put ‘em down if he’s not worth anything.” He took a puff of his pipe, Tucken held his breath. “Waste of a slave if you ask me. ‘Coulda least put him behind some desk, hell maybe ‘coulda got rid of you ‘long time ago!” The old veteran laughed heartily and jabbed Tucken’s shoulder hard. Tucken gave a smile and nodded, trying his best to seem agreeable. “Either way, worthless sods like this man, it’s why we do what we do. Keep the people from agreeing with the damn idiots, right?”  

“I thought what we did was inform the public, but in a positive way that keeps them happy.” Tucken answered as the Officer began to finally turn to face the unassuming man. He took one last draw from his pipe, releasing the toxic cloud from his lips toward his shrimpy worker.  

  “Well, yes, I’d agree to a degree.” The butch military man said with his teeth grit, yet his lips trying their best to form a smile. “Yet, also to keep the people in line, to keep them agreeing on what’s good, you understand?” Grumsby asked waving his ember ridden pipe at Tucken.  

“Of course, sir.” Tucken knew it was not worth it to question motives anymore. Be agreeable, that was always his strong suit. 

Tucken was never one to make a problem with his superiors, nor anyone for that matter. Today he met his limit for the year with Abney. That was about all the disagreeableness he could handle for awhile. At this point Abney was beginning to way heavily on him, and he was worried whatever point Grumsby was heading towards would way on him as well. Did he learn what Tucken did outside the city walls? 

Grumsby put the chamber of the pipe up to his lips and gave a good blow to it. Ash and hot embers flew out of the pipe like a volcano and clouded the air around the two. The old officer pulled a small pouch out from his pocket and began stuffing the pipe once again with wet and sticky tobacco as he let out a thick cough. “Well, at any rate, you did some good work on that Armanster event. How did you word that one in the public release, again?”  

“I stated that the people of Armanster came down with a manic episode caused by the pressure and stress of the insurrectionist approaching the towns boarders.” Tucken stated with waning pride.  

Grumsby gave a thick and cough ridden laugh. “Yes, that’s right! Perfect for stoking the people against the rebels, as well as pushing more of our smaller and independent towns into full unification. Wonderful work.”  

“Sir, arnt all villages and towns in the territory under the Tiso?” Tucken asked in genuine intrigue.  

“Well, yes of course, but for decades we allowed them to run independently, especially after the War of the Divide. The Republic had to bolster our manpower before we could hold full control over our dominion. We simply allowed them to temporary control for some time. Now we are unifying once more.” Grumsby explained with joy. “None of that is of your concern though, I got a task for you.” He said presenting a folder holding the Arkin insignia embossed into it and lined with the colors of the Republic, gold and maroon. “This folder comes from the Kantara’s confidential library. Where events in progress and events that have passed which the Tiso wishes to hold confidential are kept. The Tiso is allowing one folder, Folder twenty-two to be released to the public.” Grumsby said with a stern and aggressively serious voice. “I am choosing you too look over, censor and touch up the contents inside.” The wrinkled hand holding the pristine folder reached out. “Can I trust you with this, Furnoon?” The hands owner asked. 

   Tucken was stunned with the offer. He was stuck between worlds, one where he learned he was a very vital asset for the Republic. Someone they trusted enough with such a sensitive document, and in the other he could see how this could go horribly, terribly wrong if he made one tiny mistake. “You can trust me, sir.” Tucken said, taking the folder from the wrinkled man’s hand. Instantly his body recoiled from his own actions, and his stomach sank. “Why would you do this to yourself? What the hell is wrong with you?” He asked himself, wanting to beat his own head. “Am I really that curious? That recklessly curious to know what’s inside?”  

“I knew you’d be up for it. Good lad!” Grumsby said giving a manly thud of his fist to Tucken’s shoulder. Grumsby nodded and walked away toward his office all along the way relighting his whittled pipe.  

Tucken held the folder for a moment longer and looked out to the situation on the street below. The factory worker laid on the cold ground, bloodied and half unconscious. Tucken could make out a twitch of his left leg and right arm, as if his body was trying it’s best to stay awake, but just couldn’t make it to the finish line. His nose was rapidly becoming a flowing river of blood. Tucken knew that if this happened earlier during the morning rush, they would give him his own personal circle.  

  As he stared out to the body and watched as the guards picked the body off the bloodied ground something caught his eye that he found most curious. Upon the blood flowing nose of the factory worker a beautiful deep blue butterfly landed to rest. It flapped its wings and for some odd reason Tucken felt something. It was a feeling he didn’t quite understand, a cold comfort that raised the hair on his arms. It was grim, yet loving, icy yet comforting. Something inside Tucken told him that this butterfly was for him. Not the man it laid its wings upon. A commanding thought pierced into his brain as if it was a foreign, internal threat.  

Look at the number. It rang inside his head ricocheting between neurons. Look at the number, look at the number. As it grew louder and louder Tucken flipped over the folder and found a dry stamp in the bottom corner, Folder Number twenty-three. The ceaseless thought subsided instantly. He looked back to the street and found the scene empty. The guards and body had seemed to have left the scene with only the bloody cobblestone to tell that they were once there.  

Tucken looked back at the folder, that was supposed to be Folder Twenty-Two. Fear began to grip him. The two worlds that he held before became one, the worst one. Maybe, Grumsby misspoke, maybe he held the right folder or maybe he held secrets that were never to be seen, secrets only for the Tiso and his advisors' eyes.  

Tucken could have spoken to Grumsby. He could have asked him if this was the right folder, never having opened it, never having looked at the secrets not meant for a simple man’s eyes. He could have burned them, torn them to shreds, thrown them to the wind. Tucken did none of these things. In his hands was a curiosity. Anything could be in there. They could be nothing at all. Reports on financial plans, or what food the Tiso prefers when company is over. Yet it could be something that holds the legs of the Republic firm. The only way for Tucken to know was to open it.  

Tucken rushed over to his desk and hurriedly opened the folder. Adrenaline coursed through him like fire on gasoline. He read faster than he ever had before.  

His eyes grew wider with every sentence he read. Reports from the War of the Divide, letters from the Tiso to his Generals from them and now, total causality reports. Nothing was good here. Tucken found documents that laid bare the true anatomy of the Republic he called home.  

The Arkin Republic made the war seem glorious. From Tucken’s knowledge It was a war to stamp out an aggressive force trying to expand east into Arkin Territory. The Pearse Confederacy against the Arkin Republic. It was a lie. In the documents Tucken found, he found the truth written by multiple higher parties. Reports, letters, even journal entries written by the Tiso, Advisor Cullo and even famed hero of the war Commander Aldous Hein. The aggressors were the Arkins.  

  The Arkins wanted more. The farms were not producing enough on Arkin soil, and the population seemed to be out growing their own production. There was more though. Tiso Wilhiem Reignly believed he held true divinity over the expansive west. He believed the Arkins held destined rights over what they saw as “The Empty Wastes” in the Tiso’s own words “Expand our territory for the sake of our destiny.” Tiso Wilheim Reignly luckily died near the end of the war at the battle of Raging Knox.  

Tucken felt reality around him shatter and go silent. Pure silence formed around him as the voices of the office grew quieter and quieter until there was nothing left but him and the folder. There wasn’t much more left in the folder. A couple reports recording the peace talks that ended the War of the Divide, and field reports detailing a gruesome end to the western soldiers inside the Arkin Territory who were executed as they were being escorted back to the border. There were also some papers detailing the full treaty. It explained that both parties would send ones deemed “Exile” to the Divided Mountains as a Picket to keep either side from invading the other, a hopeful way of never enduring a gruesome war like this one again.  

  There was one last document for Tucken to read. He didn’t know if he could read anymore though. He almost felt sick by this point. His brain felt like mush swirling inside his head. Though, he felt it was his duty to read the last hellish document. 

One last document dated two months ago on the 24th of Frellish newer than any other document that sat inside the folder. It was a plea sent from Talion Reignly, son of the late Wilheim Reignly, to all the clans of the Isles of Severos 

To all the great Clans of Severos, Neftar, Gulech, Frie and Kulhket, of the Cold Shores of Severos.  

I lay a decision before you, which I hope you and your Grand Elder will agree is mutually beneficial for our lands. I ask for your great power over the sea join with the might of Arkin fury, and attack the western lands lorded over by Jacoba Pearse and The Confederacy of Free Cities. It is with a naval might of yours we may journey safely to the Northern Bay and surprise the capital of Kroy. I am more than willing of rewarding your alignment with land and the ability to take whatever plunder accrued in battle without scrutiny. I await the decisions of the clan and your Grand Elder with humble ardor.  

There it was. Before Tucken’s eyes a call for war. It seemed so simple, so apathetic. As if it meant nothing to call upon brutes from the cold southern shores of Severos. They were beasts of nature who fought like devils against each other for sport. 

And right below the young Tiso’s call to action, a response. It was dated only days ago.  

Young, Tiso Reignly, fourth of name. The heads of the clan families have decided the Grand Elder must initiate our oldest of traditions and call a Summit of the Clans for such a request. This of course may take a week too many until unity amongst the clans is struck on this decision. We shall send word of our decision as soon as it is struck. The Summit shall start on the 17 of Availnoch.  

Signed Elder Koth of Neftar Clan. 

Tucken slammed the documents shut in a quiet rage. Another war, for what? To follow in his father’s footsteps? Was it for glory? Revenge? To prove ourselves after a failed first war? Tucken tried to map a conclusion, yet every trail in his mind landed at the same conclusion. The young Tiso was a mad man, and mad men have no need for reason. 

At this moment many would simply walk away from the situation, try to forget what they saw. They would hand the folder back, say they noticed it was the wrong document and act as if they never read a word until their mind slowly forgot all about the incident. Tucken though, had not been feeling his unassuming self since this morning. This reading, only served to push Tucken to his very limits of sheepish shadowing. Tucken was exiting the shadows in a very aggressive way.  

Tucken got up from his desk and moved toward the window again to peer out at where the blood-stained pavement was again. He hoped maybe the blue butterfly had returned, maybe it could guide his mind once more. He stared down at the bloodied concrete, repeating what he saw earlier in his mind again. Tucken didn’t need the blue butterfly. Memories of earlier in the day, memories from his life in this city, were all he needed for what he was about to do.  

Tucken turned his head to Grumsby’s office. He had one last chance to turn around and carry on with his life as normal. The Officer’s door was wide open, it was a policy Grumsby took very seriously. Tucken didn’t take his last way out. Instead, he headed toward the stairs of the building, following a sign towards “Speaker Control and Operations.”  

Speaker Control and Operations was a small room, with only a few small desks covered in stains and papers. Long tubes rose through the ground and raised above their heads to hang over a table in the middle of the room. Documents scattered along the desks and tables all describing breaking news and new laws and decrees to announce to the public. All announcements came from a small desk that faced a window out towards the street. Upon the desk sat a small microphone connected to a dozen wires that split the speaker's voice along every sidewalk speaker in Huxwell. This is where those voices that Tucken drowned out came from.  

Two men rushed around the room gripping cannisters of paper as they flew out of the tubes. Each one quickly scanned the document with their eyes and rushed to another young man with sunken eyes huffing a cigarette as he spoke into the microphone solemnly. They slammed the papers down into an unkempt stack and rush back to the cannisters bickering and hollering to each other about which paper took priority of which in the lineup.  

   The small office door swung open shooting a gust of fresh air into the muggy room. A lanky and unassuming man with spectacles entered with a folder tucked behind his back, as he witnessed the cacophonous chaos ensuing before his eyes.  

No one gave notice to Tucken. It was as if they were in a trance of madness and bureaucracy. Tucken had a odd respect for the three. He loved the game of red tape and administration, but these buffoons obviously had no decorum about such a thing. Tucken kept his work area in fine shape, and this was a far cry from Tucken’s work area.  

“Excuse me.” Tucken stated to the room, hoping for a reply; None was given. “Excuse me.” Tucken said after clearing his throat and giving himself a tone with more bass. Yet again their was no reply. “All the speakers in the city are run from this room and these three, dirty little pinballs bouncing across it.” Tucken thought to himself. His respect oddly grew for them from that thought.  

He noticed the solemn looking one ash his cigarette and pull from a large stack before reading out the paper.  

Tucken coyly motioned through the labyrinth of stacks of paper and trash before reaching the desk and setting down the letter on top of the solemn speaker man’s stack. Tucken turned around to sneak out of the pandemonius office only to be faced with one of the men closely behind him flinging his arm towards Tucken.  

Tucken quickly dropped his body to the ground in hopes of dodging what seemed to be a blow, only to find the hand of the man held a envelope that he plopped onto the cigarette smoking man’s stack behind Tucken, before quickly rushing off to take care of the canisters yet again.  

With that Tucken slipped out of the cramped office. Tucken put a rush in his steps as he headed back to his desk. He grabbed his satchel and stuffed the folder inside. He then turned himself toward the stairwell to the exit and with a big breath pushed forward.  

A large tight bun of jet-black hair came into his tunnel visioned focus, stopping him quickly in his tracks. “Miss Yung!” Tucken said, as a lump formed in his throat.  

“Going for lunch?” Phrenna replied with a calm and naive demeanor. With the knowledge Tucken now held, everyone felt much more untainted and gullible.  

“I was yes.” Tucken released his lie through a gritting smile.  

“Wonderful, I was heading downstairs anyway!” She said turning toward the stairwell. They began to walk together, Tucken with a guilt filled hobble and Phrenna with her usual upbeat step. “I was very curious about this assignment you’re working on.” She said as they began to descend the stairwell. Tucken kept his eyes forward and focused on the Arkin propaganda lining the brick walls around them. “Grumsby usually only checks our work, he never personally assigns items.” 

“He probably shouldn’t.” Tucken said with a coy whisper. “I’m not sure Grumsby even understands what he gave me.”  

“Oh?” Miss Yung turned to Tucken with a curious gaze. “I suppose its very juicy then?”  

Tucken began to regret his last few words. Whatever he just set in motion, he didn’t want Phrenna to get caught up in it. What would the Arkins do if they learned she knew? What would she do if he told her? Could she go to the guards? Tell them what he had done? No, it was too risky to let her know. He had a family to protect. A family that he wasn’t with right now and The speaker could read that letter at any moment.  

With that realization, Tucken’s eyes grew wide with fear. Without a word to Phrenna he rushed down the steps leaving the upbeat supervisor bewildered. Quickly Tucken rushed out the doors of his office building and into the sea of glossed over eyes.  

“Remember a good worker, is a time efficient worker.”  

Tucken breathed a sigh of relief. The speaker hadn’t yet got to the letter. He still had some time. He began to push through like a fish going against a current. Block by block he pushed through the crowd, trying to keep an ear to a loudspeaker keeping up with what was said as he slowly moved through the crowd.  

   He began to feel as if he let his emotions take over. How stupid was he to act so quickly on this knowledge? To not get his family out of the city before he released it. Yet, the people in the west, won’t have such a luxury when the invasion comes. Who is he to get his ducks in a row when others lives are on the line?  

  His mind was more split than ever, on every topic. Every option, every avenue had to be weighed. What was most on his mind was why him? Why did he have to be given this knowledge, why did he have to bare this weight? It was too late to question. The deed was done, the papers signed, stamped and delivered. He held lives in this folder of secrets, and he had no idea what to do to save them.  

  Tucken was almost home. Luckily Vault Street was mostly clear now that he was in the residential side of the city. The speaker had to be close to reading the letter, he was running out of time.  

He began to form a plan. If he could get his family to Morrigan’s mothers, he could try to sneak out and pull some strings with his connections in the shanty town. Maybe they will know someone who could sneak them out. It was a long shot, but it was something.  

   There was a foreboding quiet on the street. It was the kind of quiet that ate at you, that made you look behind your shoulder. Just as the paranoia began to set in he began to see figures moving at the end of the street. He cautiously creeped forward. There was no mistaking the Maroon and Gold plated chest pieces. It wasn’t the city guards, but Royal Arkin Soldiers.  

City Guards wore the emblem of the Arkins, of course, but the uniform was much more flexible. There were no glimmering chest pieces, but a slightly thick blue and red coat, under a vest of hardened leather and silk. Arkin Soldiers on the battlefield wore helmets similar to what the ancients called Brodie Helmets along with a more muted grey wool jacket with red trimming, embroidered with a golden sigil of the Arkin Republic on the collar and left shoulder.  

Tucken could tell the two were Royal soldiers due to their helmet and color pattern. Royal soldiers, sometimes called “Tiso Men” wore a much more flamboyant outfit than the rest of the Arkin Military. They wore helmets with face masks that worked as a way to protect them from gas and other hazards as well as to distance them from the other Tiso Men. If one died in the line of duty or was treated wrongly by the Tiso’s staff or himself, you as a Royal Soldier would feel less to a mask than a man, and your focus would stay steady on the Tiso’s protection.  

Their helmets had a crown finely etched into them, and they wore the colors of the Arkins brightly on their jacket that was clamped tight by copper elbow guards. Their chest was reinforced by a ornate copper cuirass. The cuirass itself held the Arkin symbol finely carved into it.  

There was no other possible way to go, if he was going to get there before the message went out. Tucken sucked in his gut and took a big sigh, hoping it would calm his nerves enough, before approaching the Tiso Men.  

“Turn back, sir.” One of the guards said through his copper face mask. It resembled a sculpture of a very plain and emotionless man.  

   “What is happening here? I live on Hudseed and I must be getting home!” Tucken exclaimed with aggravation on the back of every word.  

“The Tiso is gracing his people with his presence, be happy for the opportunity to see your leader.” The one of the men said stepping forward to Tucken, forcing Tucken to step back from the barricade. “Once our leader passes, the barricade shall be lifted.”  

“He isn’t here yet, why don’t I pass through before his arrival?” Tucken said, solving a problem the soldiers didn’t ask to be solved.  

  “Once our leader passes, the barricade shall be lifted.” The other soldier repeated his companion sternly.  

As the soldiers pushed Tucken back from the road their ears caught the latest from the loud speakers.  

“A Letter, from Tiso Reignly to The Elders of Severos.”  

Tucken felt his heart sink. He tried to plead with the soldiers to let him through, but the words didn’t come. He was frozen with fear.  

“Dammit!” One of the soldiers growled. “We have to regroup with the Tiso before the city gets out of hand.  

“What do we do with this one?” The other asked waving his hand toward Tucken who stood like a statue made of fear and regret.  

  “Likely only to join in, I suppose, might as well take one out while we have em.” The other Royal Soldier said before wielding the stock of his rifle toward Tucken and punching it into his forehead like a stamp.  

A small, fine point of Tucken welcomed the slumber. It was a moment in the last seven hours that wasn’t riddled with anxiety. He dreamed of a blue butterfly weaving through darkness as if it was light. The butterfly guided him through this empty abyss for awhile never stopping to make sure he followed. Something about it seemed to know the unassuming man had a list for whatever knowledge, whatever clarity this butterfly could bring. Until they came to the end of their journey, and Tucken had gained no more knowledge or clarity as he did when he entered.  

Tucken stood before two entities. One was a deer standing calm as a blue fire engulfed it, next to the fiery deer sat a bear with a cloak of shadow washing half its face from the deer’s flames. Behind the two in the distance another bear slowly limped towards the entities with despair written on its face. Tucken understood none of this. He watched the butterfly flurry around the entities joyfully before resting upon his nose, the wings blocked his vision, in the quiet darkness he finally began to hear noise once more.  

The sound of screams and destruction creeped closer and closer, whistles of patrol men and glass smashing. His eyes opened and his head throbbed greater than it ever had before. All around Tucken he saw the scurry of hasty feet. As he sat up, he could see a flurry of activity. The rioting had started.  

There was no time for guilt, no time to feel stupid for causing this chaos. Tucken had to get to his family. 

The streets felt like a brand-new war zone. Looters busting store windows, steam carriages toppled and smoking. One thing stayed the same though. The crowd may have been angry, they may have been rioting, but they were just as tunnel visioned as ever. They still moved as one, and their eyes were just as glassed over. The only difference was who the master was.  

Tucken got to his feet. His body was rickety; he almost fell back over as a rioter knocked into him before tossing a large brick shattering an apartment window. He planted his feet to the ground, getting his balance back and moved his groggy body towards home.  

The streets were filled with screams of anger and pain. No one wanted another war, the loss from the first War of The Divide still hung in the air ten years after. The loss was still fresh to so many. They had enough, the Arkins had enough too.  

Streets over Tucken could hear chants against the war silenced over gunfire. Over the loudspeakers at every corner a new voice had taken over announcing a curfew.  

Tucken carried on, pushing closer and closer to home through the city that was now on fire.  

 He stood outside the apartment building. With his heart in his throat, he moved one foot up the small steps to the door, then another, until he was slowly moving up the stairs. Tucken knew what would happen, somewhere inside he knew the truth of the matter. He remembered what happened to his desk mate, and others he met. 

Through the tight and dirty hallway, he came to face facts. His eyes began to well up more and more as he approached the door. He knew this whole race was for nothing, why did he even run it? Hope. 

  The door creaked open and Tucken found an apartment that looked nothing like his. The walls were busted as if someone pried them open, the couch was ripped apart like a wild animal was let loose, and all the kitchen drawers and cabinets were open, some even broke off their hinges. Tucken could only imagine an angry drunk and a dog going through the apartment, but he knew better. He knew exactly what happened.  

His wet eyes began to drip, and his lips tightened as a whimper of pain yelped out of his mouth before his legs gave out and he fell with a thud onto his knees. The whimper turned into a wet wail as he bashed the floor with his knuckles. Tucken pulled his body up and gripped one of the flipped chairs bashing it against a wall with painful scream.  

As the chair shattered Tucken could see in the entrance doorframe a small older woman holding a somber face.  

“Miss Sojinger…” Tucken said with pain. His children loved their next-door neighbor, even if they acted like she was some annoying old lady. She loved them too, her own grandchildren died at the very end of the war, right before their team got the announcement. The messenger was three minutes late that day due to a false alarm at his base. She treated the two girls as her own grandchildren.  

  “Tucken…I.”  

“Don’t.” Tucken said, his eyes frightened to meet hers. 

“I…”   

“Just tell me where they are.” 

“Oh, darling…” The old women said letting her head fall. “Where ever they are, you don’t want to be there.” 

Tucken wasn’t a man who usually hit the wall with anger, but in this moment, he felt like he deserved it this one time. He wasn’t the strongest of men, yet the wall gave way to his fist and cracked around his knuckles. There was a silence in the room for a long moment before Tucken spoke with a voice Miss Sojinger never heard before. It was deep and filled with hate, his teeth were grit together and his tongue slithered behind them. “I did this to them…” 

Miss Sojinger motioned into the apartment with a sigh and began to tidy up the ransacked apartment. Tucken didn’t move. He stayed leaned against the smashed wall turned away from Miss Sojinger. “I didn’t mean for this, I should have been more cautious, more calculated.” He said to the wall. Miss Sojinger overheard and turned to him. 

“Those poor girls…” She said with pain cracking through her voice. Tucken flinch at the thought. “They didn’t deserve this, none of you did. You’re going to make it right though, aren’t you?” She said walking to the kitchen and finding the broom.  

“How could I possibly make this right?” Tucken said finally turning with disdain to the wrinkled woman. 

   “By finishing what you’ve started, of course.” She said brushing some of the remnants of Morrigan’s favorite vase up from the floor. “The sun will still rise tomorrow, and the deed still will have been started. Don’t leave it half done.” She said taking out from her cardigan pocket a note and handing it to Tucken. “The beast never goes back into the box. Finish it for them, make what’s happened worth something.”  

Tucken took the note and read through it. It was short, yet to the point.  

If you are, who I think you are, then you have Information I need. Meet me at the Emerald Eyes Tavern on Hogs Street. Back table. 

It was signed, “A New Friend.” Tucken looked up from the letter moving his emotions from Grief to confusion. “What…what is this?” He said looking towards Miss Sojinger who had now made the destroyed room seem a little cozier.  

“Someone who wants to help you finish the other half.” She said with a smile as she looked up from her cleaning. “Meet with him, he’s your only hope of surviving Huxwell now.”