Emeric
I'm not certain who I am anymore. Who I ever was. My faith mana has been shattered. I can't access it anymore, and I'm not the only acolyte with this problem. I was so certain of everything, growing up. Of the Collector. Of the future he had for me, and of the service I had for him. Then the truth about Lord Baldwin came out. His... divine magic. What he did to so many people's minds. And supposedly with the power of the Collector behind him. It didn't make sense. It didn't line up with the Collector I had grown up worshipping.
But I pushed my doubts down. I endured. I was doing good work. Protecting children. I believed I was, anyway. For the last few years, faith has been dwindling to nothing. The temples have been emptying out, with fewer faithful every day. But this wasn't a mere crisis of faith like the average noble might have. No, it was far more like the day after Baldwin's death. People didn't just question the Collector; they didn't remember ever really believing in him in the first place. Like they came out of a fog and left their faith inside. At first, I had the horrifying belief that there were more nobles like him, controlling people with what should be the Collector's divine magic.
It lined up at first glance. Nobles were being hunted by some serial killer. Some said a monster. Others believed it was an agent of the church. But as more nobles died, so too did more commoners lose faith. It was a clear correlation. But so too was there a correlation between the missing slaves and the loss of faith. And neither made sense, really. If nobles were controlling commoners, it wouldn't be to instill a love of the Collector. I couldn't make sense of it. That is, until the murder of Father Medici. A murder committed by one of Baldwin's victims, and one of my friends, apparently. The church was the first to spread the news amongst themselves. But what I found really remarkable was... people lost faith even faster.
The church is a mess, now. Too many secrets were held by one man. Too much power. We were like a tapestry with a loose thread, unraveling all around the country. Too many secrets stopped being a secret. Until too many ranking priests, without order or direction, got too careless, or too angry. It was confession. All along, it was confession. The Collector never had any common believers. Just slaves to the priests' divine magic. Divine. The magic of the Collector. I couldn't stomach it. Most of the acolytes couldn't. Most of us left. Many of us lost faith in the Collector altogether. And with it, we lost our endoaspect, and protection from the priests.
And of course, our kings. Our kings, in their disputes, massacred Tumult. Now, the slaves are returning. And with them, they bring a way to dissipate all mana in an area. Without a pre-drawn circle. They are angry. They want change. And the warmth of the Collector was nothing more than a brand the entire time. The priests are the only ones left who can fight them now. The knights are useless without mana. The guards were overwhelmed as soon as the former slaves met up with detractors in the city. The nobles are mostly too terrified to fight. They hide in their safe rooms. Surrender, or occasionally fight and die.
The priests would be the only ones who could stop them, if the temple weren't burning down before their eyes. If I hadn't lost my faith. I flare the fire mana around my hand as my former home lights up the city. I think I want to meet Lillith again. I want to thank her.
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Jean
The Chapman family has stood strong for a hundred years. It will not end with me. I am the Lord of this city, and a few upstart commoners too proud of their magic will not be stopping me. I don't care how many nobles have died. I don't care what this 'Mage of Mourning' can do. The rabble have grown too bold. Gathering outside my manor with their pitchforks, and torches and... maces and spears, apparently. Well, they are a well-armed mob, I'll give them that. My whisper sphere starts gently vibrating, but I ignore it.
"L-Lord Jean, what do we do? They've made it past the gate!" a frightened, sniveling little man reports as I fiddle with a chunk of magical ice.
"Worry not, worry not, it's all in hand. I swear, you guards are truly useless, aren't you?" I dismiss. So what if recruitment fell when the Mage of Morning was active in the city? So what if a few meaningless pawns died? Does that mean you all stop doing your jobs? It should not be the duty of the city lord to personally silence dissent. I'll have to see to it that their pay is docked even further. Why are we wasting money on a cowardly guard core? They haven't even managed to replenish our slave labor, and now this? Look at the fear on this man's face! "What have the other nobles been doing anyway? A half dozen barons should have ended this hours ago!"
"Th-they've been captured! Or fled, or surrendered, or..." He trails off and I roll my eyes.
"Your men can't even report properly now? Perhaps we've been losing slaves because we are too sparing with the whip, on the guards, and on the product. There are nobles in the city with multiple generations of mana accumulation. You expect me to believe a muddle of common slaves with their own makeshift magic circle managed to cow them? Speak some sense, you coward!" I release a deep sigh as my whisper sphere continues to vibrate. "Answer that for me, and tell whoever it is I am busy. I will see to this myself."
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I can smell smoke now. I can hear cries and chanting. These fools are actually out there setting fires and calling for my head. As I approach my front door, a brick flies through the window on its side. I frown slightly. I am going to have to find who did that, and make them eat the glass they broke. Perhaps that will help these serfs understand their place a little better. I casually open the door and step outside. There are dozens, maybe over a hundred rioters outside my front door.
"All of you surrender now, and submit yourselves to slavery. Or you, your wives... Actually, you seem to have brought your wives with you. How quaint. Your children then, all of them will die. It will be slow. It will be painful. So surrender now," I order. A stone flies from the crowd and strikes my head, causing the world to spin a little. "I fucking warned you, you little shits!" I snarl, summoning all of my ice mana to crush them in a freezing death. Or... I try to summon it. It doesn't come. I can't feel any mana at all. The rioters advance.
I take a step back, then another. What did these cowards do? Too afraid to fight fairly, are they? Another rock flies and hits me in the chest. Then another in the leg. "Stop this! Stop this now! Do you have any idea what you are doing?" I demand.
A voice comes from behind me as if in answer and I look to see my terrified guard holding the whisper sphere.
"You. Will. Not. Be. Safe." the voice threatens. I look back at the crowd, and my eyes widen.
"No..."
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Jax
We don't have the numbers that some of the other cities have. Lord Anscom has been particularly cruel. Particularly brutal. Quick with punishment, and twice as severe. Only eight of us volunteered to return to our home and fight for it. Only three joined us when we arrived. No riots in the streets here. The people are too afraid. Too wounded. But if the Mage of Mourning taught us anything, it's that we don't need any more than that. We can't make a big scene. But we can still end the suffering here.
We grip our riot spikes as we creep through the lord's estate. Lillith is right. The biggest mistake the Lords and Ladies of Potestia have ever made is arrogance. Pride. Building massive, luxurious monuments to their names and wealth. Everyone in a city knows where their lord lives. Everyone. They won't let us forget it. They smear it across our faces as they tell us to live in the dirt and pretend to be happy and grateful. They hire and enslave us to maintain the beauty of their homes. They tell us all where they live. And now? Well, now they have no way to defend themselves from us.
I worked in this mansion, when I was a slave. I lived every day in fear. Terrified when I passed the ornate doors leading to Anscom's office. When the doors opened, one of us always felt the whip or the cane. It never mattered what we did. Someone would be made an example of each day. As we round a corner, a patrolling guard startles, but we are on him in a moment. We have been practicing for this, and my sword bites into his neck and Andrew's hand covers his mouth. We lower him slowly to the ground and let the blood pool. No one needs to speak a word.
And there it is. The dreaded office. The beautifully carved doors that always opened to pain. Well, they will again. One more time. I flex my trembling fingers around the hilt of my sword. Just a little further, and this city will know hope again. As we approach, a voice echoes through the door. My breath catches, but I remain calm. We were prepared for the possibility. If another guard comes, we will deal with it. For now, we just need to know how many we are dealing with inside. I steady my breath and listen. The voice is muffled, but feminine. I hold my breath and creep closer to the door, until I can finally make out the woman's words.
"A few years. Weeks. Hours. Breaths. Even if you kill or enslave every rioter in the country. Even if you get your foot back on our throats and grind your heel, it will be too late. Because this is not revolution. This is insurrection. If ten people still want a better world, they will fight for it, and you won't be safe. If five people still want a better world, you won't be safe. If one person is willing to fight. You. Will. Not. Be. Safe."
I haven't actually interacted directly with the Mage of Mourning many times. But I still remember when she pulled me out of this city. When she killed the man who bought me from Anscom like some kind of cattle. I know her voice. He is on a whisper sphere with Lillith of Endings. I don't know why, but it's enough. He is alone. It is his turn to fear the opening of this door. I don't need to kick it in. I don't need to tear through the building. So I calmly approach the door, and drive a riot spike into the wall. Slowly, like I'm hanging a painting. I activate it and turn the handle. Inside, Anscom sits at his desk and looks at us with surprise. He thrusts a hand out at us and... nothing happens.
"Hello, master," I greet.
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Troy
"Do not fear these common slaves. These terrorists. Do not fear what they will do. They are weak. Emboldened by the Mage of Mourning. Pushed beyond their means by a single brash woman. But do you know why we don't have to fear them?" I ask, addressing the soldiers under my command. "Do you know why they will flee from us? Why we will have them back in chains where they belong without a single casualty on our side? Why I know they are nothing more than bluster?" My assistant tries to get my attention but I ignore him. Now is not the time.
The rank and file are nervous. We have never had an uprising like this before. Hopefully, we never will again. But they are listening. "Because the man they sent to help set our city straight is a hero. The mage they sent to heal the wounds caused by the Mage of Mourning is fearsome and terrible. He is not just a noble, worthy of respect. He is not a simple mage, fresh from the academy as he may be. He is a warrior. A man to be feared. And he is. Feared by all of his opponents. To include Lillith of Endings, or as you may know her, the Mage of Mourning. He is, in fact, the only man she ever fled from. The only mage she was too afraid to fight. And he is here with us today," I announce to cheers.
Again my assistant waves at me, moving up to me to try and whisper in my ear but I wave him off, trying to finish rallying the troops. "And soon, soon he will join us, and help us put these far too brave children back in their chains!" No longer willing to be waved off, the man I have been ignoring finally just announces his news out loud.
"No, Captain Troy. He is not. That is what I have been trying to tell you. Lord Ralf has fled the city."