First Reach - Old York

Towering walls shot upwards amidst a sea of decrepit desolation. A cocoon of steel spiral outward, wrapping the island of Old York tightly. Above the steel walls, skyscrapers blossomed skyward across First Reach. It was a bastion of life, surrounded by the fodder of decay and remnants of urban centers. Lights flickered atop the towers as dusk approached, breathing more life into the steel behemoths. Jack’s and Mary’s convoy, well… what was left of one bumbled down empty streets, approaching the Brooklyn Street Bridge. On approach, spotlights came to life, washing the black charger and dusty chariot with a brilliant white. The two vehicles slowed to a halt, waiting for the guards to spot the royal emblem atop the black humvee. A guard, wearing a leather tunic under purple epaulets, chest plate and helm approached the vehicle, spotting the dust covered royal emblem upon closer inspection. He hastened his step to the driver’s side window, lifting the face shield of his helmet. With a glimpse of the driver’s ID, he snapped quickly to attention with a crisp salute and waved the two vehicles in.

Grinding steel moaned and creaked as the massive doors moved slowly against the groan of two diesel engines. The doors parted way, revealing a bustling street lined with tilted awnings and carts. Neon signs buzzed, attracting pedestrians enticingly. A merchant pedaled protein food stuffs to the dim glow of candles and lanterns. Another woman worked diligently, threading silks and leathers into skirts and outerwear. Behind her a printer hummed, spinning carbon fibers into kitchen-ware. Jack made a left hand turn, following Mary’s charger down a side street. They passed a shriveled old man, hunched menacingly in a cart full of red plastic fuel containers. Jack scoffed as he read the hand painted sign. Two hundred full coins for a gallon of fuel! Thank goodness the governance here had a healthy fuel stockpile, immune to public pricing.

Since the fall, mankind had survived on remnants of the past civilizations. While some survived in the wilderness, others went to ground in the cities. A whole age had passed as man lived sparsely, like rats scavenging and scrambling at the first hint of a predator, trying to live just one more day in the dark. Eventually, they began to reclaim their cities and the empty monstrosities that towered high above. Somewhere beyond saving, listing lifelessly amongst the horizon, ready to collapse at any moment. Others had sturdy roots, evergreens waiting for the winter to pass. Men slowly emerged, breathing new life into the cities and these towering centers. The first to begin cultivating these old bones reached increasingly skyward, adding even more to their peaks. It became a symbol of status, where the most fortunate and powerful traders perched themselves comfortably above the rats of the city.

The convoy made their way through wide city streets, flanked by onlookers going about their day. Jack’s tension had melted away as soon as they passed through the city gates. Old York was fairly safe, with zero tolerance for the lawless in the city. In front of the convoy, a lone tower shined with staggered spotlights, caressing the tower with their warm glow. Steel was wedded with stone, ancient earthen gargoyles looked out with unbroken gazes. They dotted the tower as steel and glass reached upwards for almost 105 stories. Jack craned his neck uncomfortably to look upwards to the peak. As they drew near the base of the tower, Jack realized that their entourage was probably not what the King’s retinue expected. As the remnants of the convoy rolled up to the palace, Jack could see the looks of confusion and even panic on some faces. He realized that the bandit chariot and the charger missing a door probably set off some red flags. As the vehicles rolled to a stop, attendants scurried over. A long red carpet was rolled out, a remnant of pre-war money and elegance. A small stair was placed in front of the missing door.

The handmaiden, Shea, stepped awkwardly from the carriage. She extended a hand palms down and wrist cocked. Attendants clutched her hands as she put dainty, unsteady feet down onto solid ground. Mary emerged behind her, confidently stepping down and ignoring the blathering attendants. Despite being covered in a layer of dust, her chin was still tilted slightly skyward, shoulders set in a confident and regal fashion. The detritus of the world didn’t diminish her nobility even a smidge. Around her, the tension amongst the nobility faded as she stepped forward. Jack looked around and noticed his liege prince Aiden, King Dom, and the Marquee Ellisade front and center at the peak of the stairs lined with nobles. He stepped forward and took a knee at the base of the staircase. Mary gilded forward effortlessly, grazing his shoulder and giving him the most subtle of nods.

Mary made her way to the top of the stairs, giving only brief attention to the nobles around her, as she ascended she gave a brief curtsy and looked up into the King’s eyes. King Dominic looked surprisingly indignant. He looked Mary up and down, a sooty layer of dust and dirt covered her noble blue. The King rolled his eyes disdainfully and squinted as he looked around at his subjects. King Dom grumbled as he looked at the group around him. “Aiden, escort the Princess to her quarters and see that she is cleaned up”.

Prince Aiden quickly stepped forward with a snappy bow. “Yes father, right away”. The Prince extended a gracious, gloved hand, head bowed towards Mary. Aiden wore a strapping black doublet over a white tunic. Golden embroidery danced down the length of his collar and sleeves, ending in silken white gloves. She looked around at all the waiting ears of lesser nobility and smiled. Mary swiped her hands on her hips, releasing a small cloud of dust before grabbing Aiden’s hand. “Thank you your grace, I’m sure Commander Storm can fill you in on the minutiae of our travels while I go refresh myself”. She bent her knees in a contemptuous curtsy, and with a muffled huff she walked away with the Prince.

The King barked towards Jack, “Commander Storm, step forward.”

Jack’s knee was sore as hell, it screamed at him as he placed it down upon the cement with a bowed head. Kneeling, Jack addressed the King. “Your Grace, I apologize for the tardiness and.... condition of Lady Mary’s arrival.” Jack shrugged uncomfortably in the soiled armor, wishing he had worn his knee pads.

A sharp voice snapped at him from his left, “Report Commander, we don’t want apologies, we want answers.” Jack looked up and grimaced. The Marquee was a snake-like man, tall and thin with an uneven posture. The Marquee and Jack were not friends. Ellisade Bandovan, the Marquee of Coldmar and Mary’s father tapped his foot disdainfully. Actually, Jack had no friends among the small crowd here. The assembly of scavengers that surrounded the King reminded him of the vultures out in the wastes, clamoring for position like fresh carrion on the dusty flats. The Marquee was the worst among them, a man who had long outlived two separate regimes and slithered his way into control of Ice Reach, the second largest capitol.

Jack looked around seeing impatient faces, “Marauders your highness, and well organized. They came in fast and hard, we weren’t expecting resistance”.

Ellisade hissed, “You lead a convoy through the barrens and expect no resistance? Perhaps we should have sent someone better equipped to retrieve my daughter”. Jack fumed inside, but he knew it would be a mistake to let any animosity show on his part.

“Your highness, the trade route is known to-”.

“Silence,” grumbled the King. He furrowed his brow, drawing jagged, wrinkly lines beside his eyes. The King had a weathered look as if he had spent long days in the sun during his youth. King Dominic was of his middle years now, having sat atop the throne for almost a decade. An immense golden crown rested heavily upon his forehead, covering thin streaks of grey amid pitch black hair. He rubbed his forefinger and thumb thoughtfully through his salt and pepper goatee. “How many were there?”, asked the King.

“Three war chariots and five battle chargers”, Jack replied. There was no need to exaggerate. There were few in the Reaches that could have bested so many Marauders with such a small entourage. It was no small feat.

The Marquee slinked towards the King. “Against three armored carriages? Did we send men or boys to bring my dearest daughter here?”. Jack stifled a grunt, fighting the urge to rebuke Ellisade’s comment. The King turned, giving the marquee a disapproving look.

“It was no ordinary attack, it was a well planned ambush. The first carriage fell immediately to a trap. It was not a coincidence, your grace”. The King caressed his facial hair again before waving a dismissive hand to Jack and the assembly. King Dominic turned, his retinue scrambling from their perches, following submissively. Jack watched as they bowed and scraped, vying for the King’s ear as he walked. He could see the King walking briskly now shrugging away the buzzing followers.

Jack sighed as he heaved himself to his feet. He looked up as Ellisade sneered, pivoting away with long uneven strides. Jack’s statement to the King echoed in his thoughts, the attack was not a coincidence. It had to have been planned, but by whom? Surely even the King recognized this fact. But who would stand to benefit from attacking Mary? He wasn’t sure of the answer, but he knew that he damn sure couldn’t wait to get his armor off.

Old York - Barracks

In a secluded corner of the barracks, Big Sug was wedged between a small stool that threatened to collapse at any second and a makeshift poker table. The table groaned as Sug leaned forward. An unlit cigar jutted from his cavernous mouth as he scratched his massive beard. His weight threatened to tip the oak table as he blustered over his cards, gnawing at the cigar. Next to him sat Cronan. His dark complexion and grizzled beard made for a stern looking man. Just over six foot of rocky, solid muscle, he was still overshadowed by Sug. Cronan’s face was steely, belying his tender temperament. “Call’ he muttered with a stone cold face. He threw some bullets into the growing stack at the center of the table. A mousey looking man jumped as the bullets clinked into the pile. Cro and Sug both turned to look at the newbie, Wilkerson, promptly nicknamed Rookie, or Rook for short. Cro chuckled delightedly and clapped the rookie on the shoulder. Wilkerson jumped again, letting out a squeak of nervous laughter. Wilkerson scratched at the brown, patchy stubble that covered his pale face. Dwarfed by the two larger men, Wilkerson was slight for a soldier. He had only just arrived at their unit this week, coming fresh out of the First Reach Martial Academy.

“I raise you fifty”, the new guy said. His face glowed red as he politely put out his bullets. Big Sug stared at him for what felt like an eternity. Sweat blossomed on Wilkerson’s brow as he avoided Sug’s glare, opting to bury his nose in his cards.

“I’m out”, Sug growled. The big man bellowed, “If you’re bluffing, I’ll tear your little bird arms off!”. He pounded the table, throwing his cards down in. Cro chortled, snorting and laughing heartily. Between guffaws, Cro threw in his fifty, calling Wilkerson’s play.

The tale has been taken without authorization; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident.

“Leave the rookie alone Sug, he’s no good to us without arms”. Cro turned to the rookie, “Don’t listen to him, he’s never torn anybody’s arms off...” Cro trailed off. “Not without orders anyways”.

The new guy stammered, looking at Cro questioningly, “Without orders?”.

Sug grinned, “Don’t worry rookie, it’s only happened once, and the last guy was an idiot”. Sug looked at him with feigned concern “You're not an idiot are you?”.

The smaller man’s red face drained of color, leaving a sickly pale look. He laid his cards on the table, standing awkwardly. “I think I need some fresh air”. Sug winked at Cro as they both exploded in uproarious laughter. A door opened and Commander Jack strode in. Wilkerson snapped to attention and with an exceedingly loud yelp greeted the incoming officer, “Commander Storm, Sir!”.

Cro and Sug stood too, “Commander” they said in a more subdued but respectful volume.

Jack looked at the recruit dutifully. “At ease,” he said with a quick salute back. “Where’s Xyla?”, Jack asked.

Sug looked to Cro with a knowing look, then to the Commander. “Training yard,” he replied. Under the table, Cro passed him a bullet. Jack turned to leave when the recruit spoke up.

“Sir, Wilkerson reporting for duty, sir!” The commander stopped and looked at him.

“Thank you for the introduction Wilkerson. You are aware that I chose you for this duty?” The rookie’s face flushed with color.

“Thank you sir, it’s an honor to be selected for the Ravens, sir.” The mousey man stood erect as a spire in the Reach, chest pressed out and chin tilted high. Jack looked him over once more with an appraising look, eyebrow raised.

“It’s a pleasure to have you Wilkerson. Hopefully you will last longer than the previous recruit, right Sug? Did we ever find his arms?”. Wilkerson’s jaw went slack as the Commander turned casually, heading towards the door. Cro and Sug were struck with another bout of roaring laughter, cackling and snorting as Jack marched out of the room.

Old York - Citadel

Mary stepped gracefully, her body slicked with water, dripping over the large brass tub. Shea, Mary’s attendant, grabbed a pearl white towel and began drying the lady. Mary gazed into the floor length mirror. She stood taller than most women, with long toned legs. Years of dance and training had shaped her, giving her an elegant strength. Curvy hips narrowed to a petite waistline. Her bust was small, but still bore the perkiness of youth. She had a long slender neck and a heart shaped face with deep blue eyes. Men had always praised her, squabbling over her beauty for years. But to her, there had only been one man she had wanted. Jack had always treated her like a woman, not a princess. He was respectful, but didn’t hesitate to throw a teasing jibe. Jack didn’t fawn and flatter with a barrage of empty compliments like all the other lords. Instead, he acknowledged her wit and intelligence.

Once, at a court feast, an overzealous lordling had badgered her all night. Jack was on guard duty for the event, barely a recruit then. The intrusive lordling continued his boorish attempt to swoon Mary. She played the part of any reverent lady as not to embarrass the lad. Finally, his attempts crossed from bothersome to brash as he demanded a dance from Mary with a forceful tug at her wrist. Jack flinched in the corner, his lips drawing a thin, angry line. She offered the man a stern refusal as he pulled at her aggressively, leaning in an attempt to drag her towards the dance. He didn’t cease pulling as Mary demanded. So, her heeled foot found itself firmly planted firmly behind the huffing lordling’s. Mary twisted her hand deftly, breaking his grasp. The sudden move sent the man sprawling. With a growling yelp, he sprang to his feet. Anger flashed on his face as the hall snickered and laughed. He took one fuming step towards Mary. She simply smiled and curtsied, and with a casual, flourishing spin she left the man standing there defeated. Jack’s eyes met hers from across the hall as she strolled back to her table. He wore a grin and tilted his head approvingly towards her.

That was years ago now. Mary missed that young raven, all mystery and mischief. Jack had changed since then. He still maintained a brooding quality, but he had ceased the playful exchanges. She seldom saw his dubious grin anymore, nor his mischievous raised eyebrow taunting Mary with some unknown game. Duty consumed him now, always working diligently to employ his team of Ravens.

“My lady, please...” Shea fussed. Mary realized her maid was trying to get her dressed while she had been lost in her memory. “You’ll want to look your finest today if you are to spend time around Prince Aiden,” she swooned. “He’s strikingly handsome my Lady, you are very lucky”. Mary uttered a reply as Shea rambled on about the Prince’s kind eyes and intelligence. She was certainly right, the Prince did have a traditional charm about him. The man was very learned, perhaps the smartest of all the King’s court. He studied the classical arts like music and painting. Shea was not the only woman to succumb to the Prince’s many appealing qualities. But still, something chewed at her. He was missing something. A bit of flash perhaps, or a bit of thunder.

Old York - Training Yard

The sound of arrows plunking into the target hit him before he even walked into the yard. Xyla stood poised to kill, launching a volley of arrows with a zealousness that made Jack think the target had done something to personally offend her. Her stance was aggressive yet graceful. She stood taller than most women, with short black hair tied tightly in a knot. Xyla’s face was hard with concentration, eyebrows furrowed and both eyes squinting. Despite the combative look on her face and the lack of makeup, she still had bold, beautiful brown eyes. A tattoo peeked from beneath her open collar, dancing down her sternum and disappearing beneath her shirt. Tight leather wrapped around muscular legs and Xyla shuffled a bit in her boots, grabbing another stack of arrows. Jack was a little dismayed at her lack of uniform, but he supposed it was her free time. And she was training.

“Are you just here to stare at my ass or do we have a mission that you will actually bring your team on?” Xyla said angrily. She loosed another arrow with some extra vigor. He heard a snap as it split one of the arrows jutting from the target. Jack wasn’t upset by the lack of propriety; in fact, he welcomed the candor. No one higher ranking was around, and his team was family to him. She wasn’t wrong either, Jack had been staring longer than he cared to admit. When he left on the escort of Lady Mary, he had hoped to give his team some down time. Apparently, Xyla felt wounded at her exclusion from the job. He also knew that she felt more… more than just a deep camaraderie. Jack felt something too. He was close with Xyla, as he was with all of his team. But she was different somehow. Jack quelled the thought.

He had pondered the idea of putting Mary and Xyla together on a twelve hour carriage ride, but decided it was a terrible idea. So, he made the call and told his team to take some rest instead.

“I want everyone in the situation room at Zero Two Hundred hours”, Jack directed. Xyla relaxed her bow string and looked him over, for the first time noticing he was covered in trail dust and hadn’t taken the time to get out of his fatigues.

“What happened?” she asked with a hint of concern in her voice.

“I’ll debrief at the meeting” he responded gruffly.

She stepped up to him and brushed a stray hair from his face, her fingers trailing softly across his brow. Her eyes were a deep pool of brown. “You okay?” she asked softly. The aggression from a minute before had disappeared. Jack took a stifled breath. For an instant, he wanted to linger here. The fleeting moment passed, then his gaze rehardened again. He shoved the thought of her careful touch aside.

“Zero Two Hundred soldier, be there”. As he turned and walked away, he sensed an emptiness, a longing gaze followed him as he left the training grounds.

Old York - Citadel Streets

Jack was storming down the crowded street, a flurry of thoughts barraging him with every step. Who was behind the convoy strike? Did the King think there was something more going on? Why was Xyla so… Jack stumbled headlong into a passerby and knocked him down awkwardly. As he was about to bend down and apologize, the man on the ground exploded with a litany of curses. Chad. Of course it was fucking Chad.

“You stupid peasant, I’ll have your head!” Chad screamed from the ground. Two burly guards in sleek armor stepped forward brusquely. They hoisted the lordling to his feet, turning wary heads toward the dirt covered man who had knocked down their boss. Jack realized they were inside the first ring around the citadel. The first ring was a clean area, the markets here selling fine silks and overpriced armor. Theoretically, the prices drove away most of the vagrants, but occasionally the guards were called to reject beggars.

The guards palmed their swords, seeing now the dangerous man lurking beneath a haze of dirt and grease. Jack watched the asshole rise to his feet, still cursing and swearing to the heavens.

“Real graceful for a lordling”, Jack taunted. Chad’s face reddened and he stomped forward, malice painted across his face. The lordling’s eyes widened with recognition as he approached the dirty bum.

“How dare you!” Chad stammered. “You’ve crossed the line, my father will have your head for this” Chad spat.

Jack grinned mockingly, looking down at the shorter man. “Yes, tell daddy that a mean man bumped into you on the street. Oh the horror..” Jack smirked.

Chad turned beet red now, a flustered but dangerous look on his face. Chad screamed, “I’ll have you dragged through the streets and flogged!“.

Jack just looked over at the two hulking figures flanking Chad. They were big for sure, but Jack knew by their posture that they lacked any real experience. The guards were mostly for show, intimidating enough for most people. Jack looked Chad straight in the eye and spoke with a low, deliberate tone, “You and what army?”.

Chad sputtered, clamoring for the right retort. He finally calmed down and turned to his guards. “Kill him” Chad squeaked, his voice cracking. Both guards looked at each other in hesitation. They didn’t know what the hell was going on, but killing a man in broad daylight didn’t seem like a great idea. Jack knew ever more now that these weren’t hardened fighters. Their hands tightened unsteadily around their pommels. One of the men even slid the sword slightly from his scabbard. Jack stood in a deceptively casual stance, lowering his hand to the .45 katar on his waist. He shrugged innocently, thumbing the action back. The two bruisers hesitated again.

“Kill him. Kill the little Raven”, Chad insisted darkly, his fists clenched in anger. The guards froze. Over the din of the crowd, Jack heard one of the men mutter “blood raven”. Collectively, they looked Jack over once more. Jack could see the realization seeping into the guards. Both men took a step back, releasing the grip on their swords.

Chad coughed, squealing once again, “Now damn it, I command you to kill him.” Jack looked back at Chad and smiled. The two men raised their hands in concession, nodding apologetically towards Jack, the Blood Raven. Jack gave them both a nod of understanding, then he turned and walked away.

As Jack made his way through the crowds once more, he could hear the lordling barking, threatening to have the guards dismissed. Jack would likely get an ass chewing later as soon as Chad’s father the Marquee heard about this. He wasn’t worried about the Marquee’s threats though. What did concern him was the Marquee’s sway over the King. If that snake managed to whisper the right words into the King’s ear, Jack might be in real trouble. But it would be a cold day in hell before he let Chad best him.

Old York - Barracks

“So is he always so serious?” Rook Wilkerson asked? Sug gave him a look that suggested his low opinion of the man's intelligence. “Is the Blood Raven always serious?, the answer is yes, yes he is” “He wasn’t always like this'' mumbled Cro. Rook looked over at Cro with a question in his eyes. Cro looked to Sug who just shrugged and went about cleaning his Claymore 50. Cal. “what do you know about the myth of the blood raven?” Cro asked. Rook thought for a moment before speaking. “There was a short rebellion in Coldmar, they sent in the ducal heir Chad to sweep it up. The bloo- captain decided things were taking too long and he murdered everyone in the night. When everyone awoke the sky was filled with ravens and the smell of blood. Chad wanted the captain hung, but the prince intervened and he was simply sent back to Old York in disgrace.” Cro nodded slowly. “Like with anything there is some truth to it, probably more than most want to believe. But that wasn’t the whole story.”