TYRAM
As the curve of the planet disappeared Tyram could make out the acres of grain fields stretching across the surface of the planet he descended towards. The shuttle was moving towards a darker patch that must be Tragam, the village he was heading for, but it was the fields the drew his attention. From high orbit Trego had looked like such a pretty planet, blue-green like the tales of long lost earth. But as the shuttle descended towards the rural landing platform he saw that something was wrong. There were thick paths cut straight through the fields at random, angles and curves that made no sense for a harvest. Going lower he saw many of plants themselves were weak, not necessarily dying. Tyram had been raised on a farm, and seeing good fields like that almost caused him physical pain.
Some blight they were forced to cut out? Tyram wondered. But why cut so many random lines like that?
Landing in the fields brought no answers, and at least the town seemed to have something to sell. There were villagers waiting by the landing pad with sacks of grain to load, so he let them get to it and made his way into town. He drew a few curious looks as he went. Strangers in a small community will draw attention when things are going well, and when things are going badly any stranger might mean trouble. And judging by the fields things were going very badly in Tragam right now. They looked even worse at ground level. It didn't help that he was a good six inches taller than the average local, or that most of the town was blondes or redheads and Tyram's hair was glossy black.
He entered the town proper, a collection of houses built in the random grid that forms wherever settlers start with a ring of huts and spread outwards. He passed one house where an old man sitting on the porch called out to him.
“Hey there lad,” he said as he climbed from his heavy wooden chair. His face was craggy and his belly bulged, but he didn't look slow or weak. And there was a piercing intelligence in the blue eyes glittering above his round red nose and bushy white mustache. “You come here looking for work? You've got the tan to your arms of a boy who's worked the farm.”
They shared an amused half smirk. Nearly all worlds used the “standard timescale,” regardless of the actual length of a year or a day on the planet they actually lived on. Tyram had just turned seventeen standard, an adult in the eyes of most lands on most worlds but only barely. Compared to the old man he was a boy, but it was strange to be called that by someone who barely came up to his shoulders.
“I'm just passing through,” Tyram said. “I have some business to complete on behalf of my Grandfather.”
“Just as well,” the old man said. “I'd have told you to turn away. Time was a big strapping lad like you would have had the farmers fighting each other to have you work their fields. Now....”
“What happened?” Tyram asked. “My grandfather always said this was such a nice village. The fields look...well, they don't look good.”
“Bandit trouble,” the old man said darkly. “And getting worse all the time. Grandfather, you say. Are you old Torrim's grandson? You have a similar look.”
“Did you know him?” Tyram asked, brightening up.
“As well as I'd know anyone who came to the village once a decade,” the old man said. “Him and his other friends. Name's Chaddim. I'm the mayor around here, for my sins I suppose.”
“Tyram,” Tyram shook the man's offered hand.
“I suppose old Torrim's passed, and you're here to tell them all,” Chaddim mused. “If any of them come to the reunion this year.”
“That's the idea,” Tyram said. “If anyone shows up.”
“Old soldiers meeting again,” the old man sighed. “It's a good thing. I fought in the Ruin Wars myself, you know. I was a footman with Lord Oberlian's twenty first. We were a light laser unit. Saw my share of battles...”
“Don't bore the traveler, old man. You'll keep him from his business.”
The owner of the new voice wasn't any shorter than Tyram, and no less powerfully built. His eyes were a deep, emerald green and his hair a red lion's mane around his head. He wore a sleeveless shirt, open to reveal the muscles rippling up and down his chest. He looked like he'd worked a farm just as long as Tyram and significantly more recently, his arms covered in the dirt of a long day at work. He stood with the setting sun to his back, glaring at Tyram.
“I'm just...” Tyram began.
“Passing through, I know.” The man glowered. “Take my advice and keep going. We have enough trouble around here.”
“I'll go when I've finished my business,” Tyram said.
“If you want,” the villager snarled, “I could make you hurry.”
Tyram was surprised to feel the auram flow from the villager's body, and a sunburst of black lines to appear in his eyes.
Auram was energy produced by the soul, stabilized by the body, and shaped by the mind. Anyone who had trained their auram would be stronger, faster, harder to injure. Sometimes they could learn to use auram to manipulate the world around them. And if they trained that skill the auram inside them might form a Regalia, making them capable of truly incredible feats of strength and manipulations of reality. And of passing those skills down in physical form to their heirs.
Or that physical form could wind up in the hands of somebody like Holgg, who could summon the Regalia but who didn't know how to back it up with his own Auram. It was the Auram, the power of body soul and will, that was the real power. It wasn't unusual for someone dedicated to their work, regardless of the work, to build up a great deal of auram in their bodies or even form a Regalia. But normally acquiring the amount of auram the man across from Tyram was producing required decades of focus on a skill, unless like Tyram you underwent intense training for auram use specifically.
Tyram countered the villager's auram by calling on his own, the two of them glaring into each other's sunburst eyes.
“Andry, Andry!” The old man said, putting a hand on the village boy's arm. Insensitive to auram, he hadn't noticed their rising power. Anyone untrained would fail to notice until it was used. “This boy is old Torrim's grandson. He and your--”
“I knew he had to be one of them,” the villager—Andry—cut him off. “Don't go around blathering about pointless things, Chaddim. You probably call yourself a Knight, don't you? Well okay Sir Knight go and have your meeting. And then do us all a favor and leave.”
“I don't know what you have against me,” Tyram said. “I've never even met you. And I've never harmed this village.”
“You haven't yet,” Andry told him. “But if you hang around you will. Let's just say I don't like the look in your eyes.”
He turned away and stormed off into the village.
“You'll have to forgive the lad,” the old man said. “His own grandfather died not too long ago, and he's taking it hard.”
“What happened?” Tyram asked.
“....Bandits,” the old man said after a moment. “I suppose sooner or later someone's going to tell you more, but I've known Andry since he was a child I'll respect his wishes for now. I won't deny it's been hard times for the past few years. You know I still have my old laser from the Wars. If I were twenty years younger...”
He shook his head and started muttering, and sensing he'd been dismissed Tyram took his leave, heading down the road and deeper into the village, making his way to the Rusty Shield by his Grandfather's descriptions. When he stepped inside the place was almost empty, despite the late hour. Soon Tyram assumed the workers would come in from the fields desperately needing a drink, like in his own farming village. As soon as he walked through the door his eyes landed on the man with dark skin and golden eyes, who paused and throwing darts to look at back at him. Their eyes met, and Tyram made his way to the table.
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“Tyram,” He said, sticking out a hand. “Inheritor of the Dragon Regalia.”
“Verro,” their hands clasped. “Inheritor of the Eagle Regalia.”
“Are we the first ones here?” Tyram asked as he sat down, sliding his duffel bag under the table.
“First I know of,” Verro shrugged. “First ones at the place on the day, at least.”
“You missed the bullseye there,” Tyram pointed out.
“Not aiming for the bullseye,” Verro said. “Bullseyes get boring.”
Verro threw the last dart into the bottom right of the board, and Tyram realized if you drew lines between the darts it would form a perfect pentagram around the bullseye.
“Sorry,” he grinned sheepishly. “Should have had more faith. My grandfather was always telling me about some ridiculously perfect shot your master had made.”
“And mine was always saying Torrim was the strongest Knight in the order,” Verro said. “I take it he's gone? Well I'm sorry to hear that. It might have been nice to meet him someday.”
“How could you tell that?” Tyram asked.
“A twitch in your eyes,” Verro said, pointing at his own gilded gaze. “If I'm paying attention it's hard to hide emotions from me. Eagle eyes pick up on the little things. Especially when you have such an honest face.”
“Well that's just plain terrifying,” Fann said, appearing beside the table and pulling out a chair. “But I can't help but notice they seem to have trouble picking up the big things, like over five feet of pure sex walking up to the table.”
“I'm a sniper,” Verro laughed. “Laser focus is my thing. You are?”
“Fann,” he said, dropping into the chair and putting his feet up on the table. “Inheritor of the Bat Regalia. And you're Tyram and Verro. Eagle eyes got nothing on Bat ears. My master, sorry to say, is still alive. Probably still right where I left him, cursing my name and calling me a cowardly useless apprentice. Like usual. Well I won't apologize, a screaming fit like that is probably good heart exercise for the old man. And now free drinks, so the day is looking up!”
“Free drinks?” Verro asked, but Tyram had lost the ability to speak. The barmaid carrying a tray of drinks to the table was nothing short of a vision. Her hair was pale green streaked with black. Her figure was thicker than an hourglass, the curve of her breast promising softness and warmth, the swell of her hips promising a comfortable fit for a pair of hands wrapped around them. And her face was pretty, button nose and sparkling eyes, but none of that mattered. Or perhaps only the eyes did. It was like the sparkle from them covered her whole body, encompassed her entire being. Physically, she was attractive. To some sixth sense she was more than beautiful.
“Hey there!” she said, placing mugs down at the table. “These are on the house. Dad's orders, I'm not supposed to take no for an answer.”
“Your dad's the barman?” Fann grinned. “I bet he doesn't give you that instruction often.”
“Hands to yourselves,” she said, without the good humor ever leaving her face. “It's not that kind of bar.”
“Don't worry,” Fann snickered.
“Just call me over if you boys need anything else.” She smiled at them.
“Thank you,” Tyram said, immediately feeling like an idiot. He'd just felt the need to form some kind of connection, even an ephemeral verbal tether to the beautiful girl. Dammit he'd never had an trouble talking to girls before—but then, most of the girls he knew were from his village, he'd grown up with them his whole life. Or they'd been passing through town and he could start with business, or something about the farm.
And somehow, despite the months of travel through space it had taken him to get here, it was not being able to think of what to say to the beautiful barmaid made him realize just how far from home he really was.
“No problem!” She said, and walked off into the bar. More customers were starting to come in now, she was going to be busy. Tyram sighed in disappointment.
“I know what you mean,” Verro said, his head turned to watch the barmaid leave. “I could eat her up with a spoon.”
“I'd be more worried about this one,” Tyram said, gesturing to the door, where another obvious outsider had walked in. Tyram was completely unsurprised when she stopped at the table.
“I smell auram, testosterone, and lust,” she said. “The auram and testosterone were probably inevitable but the lust is kind of disappointing.”
“Who are you?” Fann asked.
“My name is Sasha,” she said. “Inheritor of the Wolf Regalia.”
“Making you a dog?” Fann said innocently.
“Making me a hunter,” Sasha said. “And what's your Regalia? If it's anything to do with comedy you'll be dead in the first battle.”
“Can't you tell?” Fann said. “It's the Personality Regalia. It grants the user the most sparkling, most wondrous, most engaging personality in all the universe.”
“Then you'd batter activate it,” Sasha sat down at the table. “You need the help. Well I've introduced myself, so what about all of you?”
Verro handled the introductions. While he was doing that villager from before, Andry, walked in. He glared at their table but ignored them to walk behind the bar. The locals had started coming in for real now, and the bar was filling up. Watching for outsiders in the crowd became a game that they called off the instant the next Knight arrived. The huge blonde haired man with scales on his face had to stoop to get through the door, he made watching for outsiders in the crowd feel like watching for elephants in a dandelion filed.
“Greetings to all of you,” J'vann said, bowing with fingers to palm. “I am J'vann, inheritor of the Verdant Regalia.”
“Aw you broke the combo!” Fann complained. J'vann blinked in confusion. “We were all animals until you showed up!”
“Why does that matter?” Sasha rolled her eyes.
“We had a theme!” Fann complained.
“Well I am very sorry,” J'vann said with a smile. “But I doubt there's an animal that doesn't appreciate the trees, one way or another.”
“Now we're just waiting on two,” Tyram said.
“Only one,” J'vann corrected. “I came with one other. I do not know where they have wandered to now though. I'm afraid they might be getting into trouble somewhere.”
“What did they look like?” Tyram asked. “And how did you end up traveling together.”
“Well--” J'vann began, but a new voice cut him off.
“Jeeze, I know knights aren't supposed to be too obsessed with the rewards but you are like, super broke.”
Shock quickly turned to fury on Sasha's face and she whirled, jabbing her elbow at whoever was standing behind her. A small figure ducked under the blow and vanished under the table, coming up at the other side to sit as Sasha snatched her pilfered wallet off the floor.
The boy couldn't possibly have been more than ten years old. His hair was an unruly mass of reddish brown. In fact unruly described everything about him, from the hooded jacket he wore to the mischevious sparkle in his eyes.
“You little brat!” Sasha snapped. “What do you think you're doing?”
“Stealing your wallet,” the child snickered. “It could have been worse, my first idea was to go for--”
“Rimni,” J'vann said. “Stop that. What would the master say?”
“A bunch of boring stuff,” Rimni sighed, settling down in his chair. “Now there's an old stick.” For some reason this set Rimni off into a fit of giggles. “But okay, okay.”
“Who are you?” Verro demanded.
“I'm Rimni,” the boy said. “I inherited the Rat Regalia.”
“I already knew you were a rat,” Sasha glared. “Regalia or no Regalia. Did you know wolves actually eat rats more than they eat deer? Try that again and I'll show you.”
“He's telling the truth,” J'vann said. “When his own master was dying a few years ago, he was sent to live with me and mine.”
“So he's the one you came with.” Tyram said. “J'vann is a Zandir name.”
“My mother was Zandir,” J'vann told them. “But it has been a long time since I have seen her. I was raised mostly among humans.”
“Does anyone have a problem with that?” Rimni glared around the table. Tyram could feel him gathering auram. Not consciously, but because he wasn't in control of his emotions.
“Of course not,” Tyram smiled. “It's just unusual.”
The barmaid appeared again with more drinks on a tray. Again Tyram started finding it hard to focus. Her smile was dazzling.
“Fresh drinks for you three and new drinks for the rest,” she said. “And milk for the boy.”
“Awww!” Rimni said.
“No complaining,” the barmaid grinned. “A boy your age needs the milk anyway.”
“Thank you,” Tyram said. “But we should start paying for these...”
“My father says it's a big occasion,” she shrugged. “And he's doing it in memory of old friends.”
“Oh you're the barkeeper's daughter!” Sasha said.
“We did that already,” Fann pointed out.
“She wasn't here yet,” Verro countered.
“Adopted,” she said. “But my father and brother are as real to me as family can get.”
“Well thank you again,” Verro said. “Now we're only waiting on one more.”
“No, you're not.” Andry's shadow fell over the table as he walked up behind the barmaid. “Aurina, I think they've taken up enough of your time.”
“Andry...”
“Why don't you take a break, sister?” Andry glared at her.
“Ugh fine,” she said. “But you've become absolutely awful since grandfather died, you know that?”
She gave the table an apologetic smile and stormed away. Andry sat down in the last empty seat at the table.
“I don't recall anyone inviting you,” Fann said.
“And considering how rude you just were to that nice girl,” Verro chimed in, “I don't think anyone is likely to.”
“I've already got my invitation,” Andry said, catching Tyram's eye. “And I think that one might be able to vouch for my credentials.”
“What's he talking about?” Rimni asked.
“He's the one we're waiting for,” Tyram sighed. “All that auram he pulled up before makes a little more sense. But now I have new questions.”
“My name is Andry,” Andry said, for the benefit of most of the people at the table. “I inherited the Lion Regalia. And I'm the last person who will inherit it. I won't pass something like that down to any children I might have one day, or to any apprentice I'd think was worth my time. And I have absolutely no interest in joining you all on this ridiculous quest.”