In any city with a long and storied history to it, there is always knowledge that is lost to time. As newer buildings are made, old maps are redrawn, and history moves forward. That forgotten knowledge turns into a safe haven for those who avoid the light. Slums, forgotten alleyways, passageways that have been built over… over time it turns into an intricate maze that only those who are from it know it.
But that day, in one of those forgotten alleyways, robed figures gathered one by one as small lamps illuminated the dusty passages. One such individual was a man named Jeroh, a lowly serf by birth, who made a living from gathering scrap from the trash of nobles and the well-off. It was amazing what the wealthy threw away; metal that could be melted down, broken ceramic that could be grinded into dust and mixed with concrete or plaster. It didn’t sell for much, but it was enough to afford him a meal a day.
But…. today was going to change all of that. He was approached by some of his friends that also scavenged at the garbage piles. They told him that something was going down, and that real change was going to happen. And now… he was stuck down here surrounded by disease and mold.
Jeroh was nothing special. He wasn’t good at magic. He had never killed anything bigger than rats or squirrels, so he didn’t have his system unlocked. He could never afford to go to a school. He didn’t know how to read or write. He was a skinny, grimy, unliked ibex beastkin scavenger with no future and dull brown hair and eyes.
A man in a pale blue mask with a black drama-like smile creepily sprawling across it spoke to the gathering. He, too, was wearing a robe so others couldn’t see what he had on or what body type he had.
“Gather your bombs,” he growled, voice gruff from years of smoking, “We’ll make the rich pay attention to us. They can’t ignore flames and rubble. Grab one mana gunpowder bomb from the pile and set it up off in the market streets. Aim for the nicer ones. When it’s about to go off, get away from it and watch the show. It’ll start blinking. That’s when you know to get away. I won’t be responsible if you lot get yourselves killed. This is a risky job, but you’ll get paid and we’ll force the rich fuckers to listen to us. They’re having this festival of passing, some opulent shit, while we have to live off scraps!”
The man shuffled as one brave soul asked where they got the bombs, “A disgruntled butler of some noble man. Somebody pissed at their master, pissed about the archduchess. Doesn’t matter. It’s in our hands now. We can get this done. Harm them as they’ve harmed us!”
Jeroh didn’t know this was the plan, and some of the other commoners grumbled their uncertainties about this brutal concept. They were drowned out, however, by a mass of cheering revolutionaries that were emboldened by the plan and more than a little excited for the violence. Jeroh was scared… but all these people seemed to know what they were talking about. They were so excited, enthusiastic, eager… Maybe something could really change, and only rich people were going to be targets, right? He could just place a bomb in some overpriced shop - no one had to die. He had to trust these people knew better than him.
Jeroh and many others surfaced from the passageways into the harsh light of day. The festival was in full swing, dancers entertained the nobles, silks flying through the air. Children giggled and ran past stall after stall of concessions and knickknacks. Young courted lovers used the festival as an excuse for a date. For an event honoring death, it wasn’t sad. Bittersweet for some especially, but for the common person it was just another noble change that mattered little to their everyday lives. Even what would change wasn’t significant to most people - it wasn’t as though the king died.
The festival was a place of joy in honor of the gods, in honor of life and death.
The first explosion changed the atmosphere in an instant.
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There was a pause of fear and shock, a hushed quiet that fell over the city, before seconds later the screams started. Another explosion. More screams. One after another explosions rattled the crowded roads of the festival. None of them were near the noble platform. No one dared risk trying to get close enough to the knights to plant a bomb there. They’d have gotten caught for sure if they tried.
Sounds of chaos shrieked and screamed as loud as could be, people running like scared ants, scattering with no direction. A total of 26 bombs went off in quick succession before they came to a stop as swift as they had begun.
A squadron of knights surrounded the platform in a defensive shape at the barking order of their commander, the (now rather angry-looking) small black dragon Takrok, whose form was quickly growing to the size of a horse.
“King Augustus! Queen Isabella! Stay in the center. Same with the rest of you. Don’t do anything stupid!” he growled, “If any of you with combat expertise would accept the risk, I ask you to go with the knights to neutralize the risk. As your duty to the nation, protect the royals.”
Beast King Kendrick stood from his mound of food he had collected with a grin on his face, “Finally! Something fun to do!”
“Dear, remember not to cause too much damage?” Bloodsoaked Queen Saana sighed, seating herself closer to the King and Queen, “I’ll be staying here. I’m not dressed for combat, and if I get this outfit covered with blood my seamstress will be so irate with me.”
Kendrick summoned a large woodcutting ax with his name carved on the side and leapt off the platform with a mess of pink feathers that sprouted from his now-winged back, “Let’s have some fun!!”
Duke Xalo wasn’t far behind, his purple eyes gleaming with excitement and a fanged wide smile across his lips as he tossed his jacket aside and bounded off the platform into the air onto a nearby roof, red curly hair fluttering in the air as he went.
“Show-offs,” Blas muttered, looking to Alliana.
“Go ahead… be careful, though?” she answered softly, barely audible over the din of shouting bodies.
“Of course. I wouldn’t dare do otherwise, my dear,” Blas said, giving a quick kiss to Alliana’s hand before he ran off alongside Marabell who was now brandishing a club out of nowhere.
Alister was stunned quiet throughout all of this. He had been passively watching the entertainers, thinking about Demerieth and what to do about that whole mess. He had no idea this was coming.
Yes, his Uncle Reese, who was shouting about his conspiracies being right, had called it, but he didn’t expect explosions or violence to come about. The festival was fun, relaxing even. And now he found himself pulled into his mother’s lap protectively, trapped by her arms, watching the smoke rise in the distance.
Wisteria wasn’t much different. She was tucking herself against Alliana in fear, looking off with wide eyes.
“It’ll be alright,” his mom assured the two, hugging him with one arm, petting Wisteria’s back with the other, “Just stay put. It’ll be over soon.”
“Mom I can help,” Alister tried to argue.
“Absolutely not. I’m not letting you out of my sight.”
Wisteria nodded, “We should stick together!”
“But…,” he sighed, realizing he wasn’t going to win this argument. She wasn’t going to let her child go fight terrorists. Alister wriggled out of her arms, “Fine. At least let me help from here. I can do something long ranged.”
“You are not to leave the platform,” his mother warned, “This is serious, Alister. You’re a child, magic and memories or not, and I won’t lose my only son.”
“I-Yes, mom,” he nodded, letting go of his pride for the moment, “I’m strong though, so helping in whatever way I can is important.”
“Yes yes very touching, brat,” Takrok sighed, shaking his head, “If you want to be useful, fine. If not, fine. Either way don’t get in our way. Queen Isabella, King Augustus. I sense a group of people approaching. There shouldn’t be enough to get past the knights or myself but please stay down just in case. I can’t just blast them away without getting civilians in the mix.”