FANN

WARNING: FLESH MITE INFESTATION

Fan stared at the sign for a moment, scratching his head. First of all it obviously wasn't an official sign, painted crudely as it was on a plank of wood. Second it was also old. And third, he had no idea what a Flesh Mite was, nor was he particularly interested in finding out. Then again, or fourth if he wanted to keep up with the counting, it looked like somebody had handled the issue already. A solid acre of grain field had been very deliberately burnt, so unless Flesh Mites could breathe fire chances were the infestation was over.

Fann had obviously been born short and slender, but he'd also obviously worked hard to build what power he could in that slender frame. His skin was pale, but there was boundless energy in his glittering almond eyes and his mouth curved easily into a smile. He wore a white shirt and black pants, baggy at the knees but wrapped tight to the lower half of his shins going into his soft soled shoes. His glossy black hair had been pulled back and wrapped in a dark brown leather strap to create a topknot that went down past his waist. And at his hip he carried a katana, its handle and sheathe a matching glossy black.

Someone screamed. If it had been anyone else standing there but Fann they never would have heard it, not across all those acres of windswept field. Fann heard it clear as day, and bolted for the source of the scream. He moved faster than he should have been able to, dashing forward with each step as if every footfall made him accelerate. Where his feet landed there was a small strange burst of dust and dirt. It only took him a few seconds to cut through the fields and find the source of the screaming.

The building had been a farmhouse, once. Now it was a dilapidated wreck, with holes in the roof and walls and rot in every piece of wood. The screaming was coming from inside the building. Fann drew his sword and stepped inside to find two small children, a little girl and a little boy, backed into a corner by three bugs the size of a large man's foot. They had round plated bodies, long skinny multi-jointed legs, bulging green compound eyes and surprisingly animal-like mouths full of razor sharp teeth. They lashed tails with stingers on the end at the children, but the boy was up holding a piece of rotted wood.

“Get away!” He insisted, flailing at the creatures with his makeshift weapon. They hissed and backed away, but only a few steps. “Leave us alone!”

Fann darted into the room and cut all three of the creatures in half with a single swipe of his blade. Their corpses bled green, their ugly limbs still twitching. The children stared up at him in awe.

“Wow,” the boy said. “That was amazing!”

“Thanks mister,” the girl said, getting up. She leaned heavily on the wall, her ankle apparently hurt. “Bobby was trying to protect me, but he's kinda useless.”

“Hey!” the boy said. “I'm not the one who sprained my ankle when we were running away!”

“I only tripped because I was turning around for you!” The girl huffed. “If I coulda stood up and fought I'd have beaten them.”

“I assume those were flesh mites,” Fann said. “I saw the sign. So Bobby and...I don't think I heard your name. I bet you're not supposed to be playing out here.”

“It's Cinda,” the girl said. “And there's not supposed to be any more flesh mites! They burned the nest out months ago!”

“Well I've never seen a flesh mite before,” Fann said, walking slowly across the rotted farmhouse floor. “You might have guessed already I'm not from this planet. But scritchy little nesting critters like that always seem to find a way to come back. Hold on a second, I've got to take care of something really quick.”

He raised a foot and stomped the floor, the boards giving out beneath them. The children yelled and ran to the edge of the hole, but Fann just closed his eyes and let the Auram flow through his body, shrouding him in his Regalia. He landed in the middle of a horde of flesh mites. His blade flashed in the darkened cellar, and green blood flowed everywhere. It was only a minute or so later that he leaped back out of the hole, his Regalia dissipating around him.

“That should set the infestation back until someone can come out here and take care of it,” Fann said.

“That...was...AMAZAING!” Bobby said, his eyes wide with shock, and then both children started in with rapid fire questions.

“Where did you get that sword?”

“How did you not get any bug blood on you?”

“Was that a real Regalia?”

“How are you so good!?”

“Wait wait!” Fann held up a hand. “Give me time to answer. Let's see, in order...yes, yes it was. My teacher had it made for me. Skill, pure skill. Yes, it's real, and because I'm just that awesome!” He wiped the green blood of his katana and sheathed it again. “I'm actually a Knight.”

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“Like in the old stories?” Cinda said excitedly. “Cool!”

“But you didn't even...” Bobby shook his head. “You had your eyes closed the whole time!”

“That's my special secret trick,” Fann winked. “Any chance you two live in Tragam? I'm supposed to meet some people there.”

“Yeah,” Bobby said. “Our moms are gonna be super pissed. We're not supposed to leave the village anymore.”

“Because of the flesh mites?” Fann asked.

“Because of the bandits,” Cinda told him.

“Come on I'll carry you,” Fann said. “While we go you can tell me more about these bandits.”

VERRO

Verro's eyes always picked out the little things.

And it was his eyes strangers always noticed first about him, too. His pupils were perfect black circles surrounded by what looked like liquid gold. A closer look would reveal larger circles within the gold, different shades of brown and yellow. They were raptor eyes. Eagle's eyes. The result of his Regalia, which was one of the ones that permanently altered the user's body, but most people thought he was just some kind of crossbreed. Those were common enough.

But they normally had more alien features than just a pair of strange eyes. If he'd had something like horns or an odd shaped face they wouldn't have stood out so much but in every other way Verro Kashemm was obviously human. Five foot ten with skin like dark chocolate, broad shouldered and muscular but lean. His hair was shaved down so far as to almost be nothing but fuzz at the top of his head. He wore brown pants and a green vest with pockets, leaving his arms hare. The vest had a hood on it he could pull up but he'd left it hanging down. It didn't do much to hide his eyes in broad daylight anyway, and it might have made him look like he was trying to hide.

And now was not a good time to look like you were trying to hide in Tragam,

His eyes picked up on the little things by nature, and he picked up on the little things by training. On the surface what was happening in town was a perfectly ordinary market day. Locals with the money they'd gotten from the harvest buying supplies from shops that almost certainly bought them from the capital where Verro had first landed on the planet, the universe moving as it always had. But there were tight muscles in every jaw, twitches to every cheek. These people were terrified of something that wasn't happening right now. In Verro's experience that was the worst kind. Both to live with, and to walk into.

Something is very wrong in this town, he thought as he made his way through the streets. Asking about it would not be a good idea. People this nervous tended to be paranoid as well. Becoming an obvious stranger with weird golden eyes asking questions was a good way to get into trouble. He wondered if any of the other knights would pick up on the atmosphere, or if he'd find himself baling one or more of them out? No way to know, he didn't know anything about them. Have to deal with it as it came along.

The Rusty Shield Tavern was right off the main square, an actual rusty shield bolted to the wooden sign. Verro wondered if it was the original shield the tavern was named for or if they got new ones every so often. Not that actual metal shields like that were in common use. But rust was decay, wasn't it? Shouldn't the shield rust away to nothing? Was there some way of maintaining a traditional degree of rust? Or did--

Verro's train of thought ended when the door to the tavern burst open and someone tall, muscular, and topped by a flaming mop of red hair hurried out. The door caught Verro in the chest, knocking him to the ground and feeling like an utter fool.

“Andry!” someone inside the tavern was shouting. “Andry!”

The big red headed man didn't respond to whoever was calling, just looked down at Verro and sneered in disgust.

“Let me guess,” red hair said. “Knight.”

“Yeah,” Verro said, getting up and dusting himself off. “Although I'm not feeling very impressive right now.”

Red hair made a sound that was one part chuckle and two parts derisive snort before turning away and walking off into town. Verro shrugged and made his way into the tavern. It was pretty quiet. In one corner a man with a guitar across his back slept in a chair with a hat over his face and half a mug of beer on the table. The man cleaning cups behind the bar was fat but had once been powerful, and the graying hair around his balding pate had once been a deep red.

“Come in come in,” the fat man said. “Please forgive my son. He's had a hard time since his Grandfather died.”

“It looks like everyone's having a hard time around here,” Verro said.

“That's true enough,” the fat man sighed. “Bandit troubles. You'll want that table over there.”

Verro followed the man's gesture to a table at the far end of the room, tucked in next to a wooden support pillar and near the empty space cleared for anyone who wanted to throw at the dart board on the wall.

“Why that one?” Verro asked.

“It's the one the Knights always liked,” the barman shrugged. “I got to meet your master once every ten years boy, don't forget. You don't look much alike, but you do have her eyes. Well you would, wouldn't you? I remember she said they were from the Regalia.”

“Yeah,” Verro smiled. “They are.”

“Thought so. She still alive?”

“Last I checked,” Verro said. “But I've been traveling for over a year now. Probably.”

“Good,” The Barman nodded. “I liked her. I guess it's finally happening then? That grand quest the old men always talked about?”

“That's the idea,” Verro said, running a hand over his short clipped hair. “Assuming anyone else wants to go.”

“Well we'll see when they all get here,” the barman sighed, looking at the door. “Though I'd say for sure you've at least lost one. But I guess that's only half mine to say, and I prefer to let people speak for themselves. Go on, sit. I'll have some drinks brought around in a bit, and maybe when the others get here we can tell a few old stories your masters might not like you all to know.”

Verro nodded his thanks and made his way to the table. Nothing to do now but wait. As he passed the dart board he grabbed the darts off it, and when he sat down he raised one between his fingers. With a flick of his wrist he threw a perfect bullseye. Then he threw another, burying the point of his second dart perfectly in the tail of his first. He stacked five darts that way before getting them off the board and starting over again, and he was on his eighth stack when the door finally opened and he was no longer the only Knight waiting in the bar for everything to begin.