You can call me many things: a coward, a thief, an abomination if you’re from one of those circles, but you can never call me unambitious. If I wasn’t at least willing to do the stupid and dangerous, I wouldn’t be where I am now. Could’ve laid down and died many years prior, but I’ve lived through an age of confusion and madness, a leap in technological wonder that surpasses some of the magics I hold, and I am witness to a possible apocalypse.
Tonight I stand upon the main attraction of that industrial jump, the iron beasts that scream upon linear constructs of wood and metal, tirelessly dug and nailed into the unwilling soil and grassy plains. The front car pushes aside the tall grasses and singes the heads of swamp growths with billowing smoke and discarded ashes. Bridges of stone were erected over lakes and other holes in the ground. After that first age of madness, these tracks started covering the middle of the country, with more coming to the north if they can solve the whole construction in the snow problem. Still not touching the Southern Reaches though, and I’m ok with that. Alas, I am not on one of those trains with luxury seating or nice windows to peer out of. This dozen-cart snake of metal only has three roofs to offer, and I am out on the flats of bolt and wood. A stylish red cloak is no longer fun to wear when it's pouring rain outside.
A simple sabotage quest seemed to be just the refreshing trip I needed after walking up and down a land of a thousand watchful eyes with my companion - a professional attention grabber and conductor of sliding locks, hasty fortifications and panicked whispers. At stalls, the eyes of the street would burn into the back of our heads while the ones in front looked downwards during direct questions. Standing in front of the bulletin board to collect notices, the jangling of homemade armor would stop upon witnessing our presence, followed by useless whispers. Leaving the town gate, a couple bow strings become drawn with no attempt to fire, save for a few times before being sent back just close enough for warning. Now with a report from Gina, a scout from the Guild of Gold Intent, Morrigan and I surveyed under the veil of night with somehow a more comforting trepidation to myself. Emerging from the tree we sulked under, the giant by my side threw me to the empty back of the train while she grappled her way to the front. If the white haired scout was correct, this should be a mechanist platform - no fleshbound souls to command the transport. A simple confirmation was all we needed for now, the sabotage was just assumed if a Warden train is speeding through the night from Sarengound.
“The days are just quiet enough to make me think the thoughtless might have their ire on Gurvan.” Gina declared as she drew on Morrigan’s map splayed on a tavern table.
“And what makes the silence prick up your ears all of a sudden?” Morrigan asked, towering over Gina and I, her shadow obscuring the black marks on parchment until she moved.
“Expeditions I’m guessing.” I interjected, noticing the smokestacks of the Central Strip from a trip a week prior.
“Cleansing in their own terms.” Gina responded. “All of that has been going north and to the east.” She pulled out a drawing of a set of chain links as well as other little inane objects, explaining that a large supply of them in carts was more than simple furniture and toys. Morrigan and I knew right away what she was getting at and simply asked when the train would leave its caged station.
I know nothing of the western settlement Gurvan, a place that lies at that end of tracks laid so far. What I did know was that Sarengound was a devout settlement, being willingly collared to the Wardens and denouncing everyone who didn’t follow in step, kiss their boots and offer lips to their belt buckles. Ever since Mad King Jeremiah fell, those shiny armor bastards sold hope in their few magic tricks while spouting reform and recovery. It only took a month for the rot of madness to be remembered under a different name.
Three villages south of Sarengound proudly declared themselves unbound since the men and women in silver and blue made themselves protectors of the casters and siphons - as long as those with power submitted their own for the ultimate power of the Guiding Light. Before the neighbors further on could remember their names, ashes were all that remained of these collections of homes and industry. Those who survived these horrific fires returned to their protectors by default, while the few that knew of this transgression swore of a sight in which that legion of guardians held knives to their neighbor’s back.
As I landed on the rain soaked planks, I slipped and caught myself with a quick stab of my dagger. Six of the carts were empty, which already aroused suspicion. This train would’ve had to pass through a few other cities in order to get to Gurvan. Either they dropped something off before we jumped on or they planned on teleporting their load to the vacant carts.
Beckoning a flame in my hands, I inspected what I could from the carts. The craftsmanship was certainly from the Warden centerpiece, carvings of blades wrapped in tethers and dragons composing the sun. Trenches of iron divided the wooden platforms down the middle, hiding a jangling set of chain links I found by pressing my ear to the floor, able to hear the clinking noises against the relentless rainfall. The bits of chain were black as the night and vibrated violently between my fingers as I pulled them towards me, welded by the center to the trench. The object’s own vibrations were enough to hurt bone as they curled over my knuckles -a braid plain and simple, a small construct that held tethers or bound a source for a siphon.
“Shit, how far away is Gurvan from here?” I said to myself. “And is it destruction powder or a storm?” Running over to the other carts confirmed my fears: every single cart had a braid in the trench, and the platforms themselves had to be at least eight feet across both ways. Any amount of these empty carts accompanied by a large bomb or anything else equates to nothing good.
Her voice came to chime in my head. “Alu, what do you see?”
I replied internally as well. “Six carts laden with braids. Gina was definitely right. If Sarengound is really doing this, they won’t even need to reach the city.”
“Blasted-” Flustered, she swore a few more times before humming. “Do what you can to separate them from the carts. I’ll be there in a moment, I’ve got some company.”
“But what if my flame spreads ou-”
“Just do it, Lulu! We’ll be fine!” And her voice faded from my mind, like a cold, passing wind.
“I told you not to call me that.” I muttered to myself.
Acting quick, I set my flame to the welts holding the chains in place. It gave way in an instant, the chain threatening to slip to the edge. One, then two, then three, I stacked the chains in my hand, afraid the package might spawn above my head at any moment or explode from my hand itself. As I moved to the fourth cart, an explosion came from the front of the train, blowing a passenger car to pieces, chunks of metal and fabric flying over my head. Another came right afterwards, shaking the train back and forth, sweeping me off my feet with my fire in hand. Holding on for dear life by the inscribed edge, my lit palm touched the wood paneling, instantly setting it aflame, unbothered by the torrential downpour coldly soaking my body.
Fuck.
As the train landed back into place, I pulled myself up, boiling skin without feeling the pain any other man would. Hurrying, I disengaged the other chains, with the fire spreading to carts nearby. The only passenger car remaining opened its door to find my partner crouching down to fit through. Morrigan’s ghostly white skin stood out on even the darkest nights, glowing as bright as my fires. Cursing and running over to me, she grabbed onto my collection of braids before levitating them in the air, muttering to herself and sending them far into the distance, towards a lake her giant eyes could see on the horizon.
Without missing a beat, Morrigan beckoned me to follow her back into the remaining train cars. “What took you so long?” I asked, trying to ignore the flames still spreading.
“They had some security on this train.” The bodies of said security came into view, singed and pinned against the ground by improvised stakes. “A breath of lightning wasn’t the best choice.” She feigned a smile before the scowl beneath made itself known.. The men on the ground weren’t true Wardens, wearing what could be best described as repurposed scrap metal and silverware for arm plates and ale belly protection.
“You find anything useful up here? Proof of prejudice? A machine’s true heart?” I said, trying to only look at her backside and scenery outside of the bodies. Even then, the smell made me gag and bite hard on my lip to hold the bile’s attempt to rise to my throat before I gave a harsh swallow.
“No.” A reply too simple for her excitable self. “Just an instruction piece on the braids and a suggested time to leave the train.” She turned around immediately, my face suddenly meeting her midriff. Her hand ran through my red hair, smiling as I looked up at her, into those piercingly blue eyes and black pools around them. “Anyways, there’s a certain smith we’ll have to visit after we turn in this quest.”
“What about the train? We can’t let it go into Gurvan with a fire like this.” I stepped in front of her, making my way to the controls, slamming the brake, the train screeching and halting over another of the stone bridges. The giant simply nodded her head and jumped outside the train. Once we were both on the soaking, sinking plains, she held out her hand before clutching it into a fist, summoning the stone from the bridge pillars before discarding it to the ground, letting the whole structure collapse with the train cars.
“I’ll do what I can.” She softly spoke, raising her hands to the flames still torching the train and spreading to the grass. A blue light emerged from her frame, enveloping the destructive force and fading it from view. This was a practice she’s done a few times for my sake, simply moving the everlasting to something similar, the spires that came after the dragons fell: wells of unlimited energy that Siphons like her took most of their power from, a two way route that remains connected as long as she breathes. The flames won’t die but they’ll be smothered by the wells of lightning and ice she knows so well.
“Thank you.” I didn’t want this but it’s one of the few things that’s kept me alive to this day. It’s also the thing that’s made others contest my insistence on living.
In the distance, a pulsating green erupted from the plains, spreading a burning sludge that set fire to the grassy expanse before utterly dissolving and extinguishing itself under the ceaseless rain.
“They’re not getting any subtler with their knives.”I said aloud, seeing the train sink further into the lake - the image of those militia bodies being water-rotted before anyone finds them desperately clawing to the front of my mind before I shake them away.
“The knife has always been there, they’re just trying to keep everyone’s neck close before another move could be made.”
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The Guild of Gold Intent had been around for as long as people could give away money to eager questers and traveling entrepreneurs. The collective was dedicated to giving structure to that idea for decades, while also providing a sense of home for the adventurers in several cities. Business had been booming in recent years, with quests like our own tonight being plentiful, those given out by the owners themselves. No one’s going to dole out requests and treasure hunts if everyone is miserable fighting wars and wondering when their next meal will show up.
The fishing town of Fahren provided Morrigan and I with our abode for the time being, the Guild erecting a ginormous building that towered over everything the humble village ever built. No one ever minded that blatant display of decadence however as it was also the most festive watering hole for miles, bringing tourism to the area from many eager drinkers whose own lands could only provide the most vapid bits of intoxication.
If you spot this tale on Amazon, know that it has been stolen. Report the violation.
As soon as you’d enter through the massive oaken doors, the hanging lights and jaunty music from the band playing above the bar would assault the senses, pulling you away from the dull reality outside to embrace the neverending party within. Look towards the ceiling for the bridges that connect the lodges and rooms, the nets where one could lounge above the commotion, and wonder how much gold had to be poured in just to make this behemoth of construction that touched the sky.
“Well if it ain’t my favorite dynamic duo!” Shouting from above, a familiar ghost haired mercenary flipped over her hammock and landed perfectly on the ground, scaring a few guys with overfilled beers. Dancing over the spills and skipping towards us, she wrapped an arm around the shoulders she could reach around...which meant mine. “So, was my intel good? We discover a long dead bastard behind the beast that screams with steam?” A cheeky smile and a squeeze of my shoulders was all she got in before Morrigan coldly removed her hand from my frame.
“Yes, Gina, you were right about Sarengound’s intentions. But your tall tales about Mechanists lead us to unwanted killings - you understood this well. Or so I generously thought.” Stepping in front of me, Morrigan towered over Gina, her shadow eclipsing her form and more, frightening a gaggle of men unfamiliar with this patron.
“You’ve never had a problem killing before, giant.” Gina spoke softly, trying to sound confident but failing. “Going soft?” The volume in her voice increased, bringing several eyes upon us.
Undeterred, Morrigan brought herself down to Gina’s eyes. “I’m not going soft. I’m just having less patience for sniffer hounds that get left on the curb for a damn good reason, only to come back claiming improvement, but bringing back the half-assed efforts that left them starving the first few times.”
Scoffing, Gina turned away before forcefully taking a seat at the bar, ordering another beer to chug down. One of the bar maidens called us over by name, saving a table by the stairs, which became custom over the months. They all knew our names but I’d struggle to remember more than two of theirs, defaulting to buddy, hun, and other filler names whenever a conversation lasted for more than two sentences.
While I sat at the table, Morrigan went down to the end of the Guild that sold off maps and bottles for her potions and remedies. The band over the bar started their next song, slowing it down for now, which made all the thoroughly plastered start swaying and singing lyrics they did not know, but tried their best to keep along regardless.
“You’re not getting anywhere with her, Alu. Why are you still hanging off that wretch?” Gina snuck back over, keeping her eyes on Morrigan as she was distracted by the shopkeepers and their fruitless offers.
“What? Do you think I’d get further with you and the road again?”
“I just don’t want you getting into more trouble than necessary. How about this?” She paused before passing me a beer for myself. “Why is she with you? Doesn’t strike me as one who keeps friends around.”
“Maybe I just charmed her with my natural warmth.” Was about the only response I could think of.
Gina just laughed before mocking my response and giving a quick goodbye. Likely leaving with the naive thought of how things were better when she was my companion and we were out between the trees with thieves and cutthroats you would only call friend if you thought it would make you less of a target.
Morrigan sat down a few minutes later, her bags and purchases hogging up the entire table. The idea of walking up the stairs with all of that was about as unappealing as lightning burns, so she slumped herself on me, with my head barely able to be on the same level as her bicep, her weight threatening to shove me off the seat entirely. The vocalist of the band, a giant like Morrigan, sang of the cold north in such a soothing matter, that the threat of slumber made the floor appealing enough to let me be pushed off.
To mother, and father, and mentors alike,
Your daughter, no longer fearing her plight,
A pilgrim, a scholar, beyond the snow,
A warrior, a builder, her bounds are no more,
A wanderer,
I’ve found everything I need,
A scavenger,
I lived out my heroes,
But I still need…
Her elongated note brought tears to the eyes of every man in the pub as the perfectly acted sorrow was displayed on her face.
A hero, a lover to call my own…
A dreamer, who will dream with me…
An ever...last...ing light for me…
The applause was loud but short lived as the oaken doors slammed open, the light of the hundred lamps glistening off the over polished armor of the men who came in, boasting about with weapons unsheathed and improperly held. I condemned myself for a moment after laughing at the hope that they would slip on the beer spills and impale each other with their swords.
Fahren wasn’t a Warden town, but that didn’t stop their prophets and architects from coming through the city anyways. They fashioned themselves as saviors after the dragons could no longer fill that role, but Mayor Morkaue refused them at every opportunity. Being a siphon guaranteed being forced into their legion, toiling away as a caster that does menial, restrictive work all day while some pompous general manages the town instead.
“Greetings!” The leader of the trio stated, a blonde smirker holding his sword over his shoulder and turning back and forth in his frenzy. “What ladies of the night wish to accompany my boys after vanquishing a horde of the Vacuous?”
My eyes glazed over to the beer maiden that ducked her head to be obscured by Morrigan’s slumped form. “So who lost the bets this time?”
The maiden simply sighed. “Darcy and Amy this time. Hope I don’t have to break the news.”
“No need.” Morrigan stood straight up and walked over to the yearning boys.
Slowly the group readied themselves into what could charitably be called a fighting stance, their blades too close to their partners. “We don’t want your skin, giant.”
“We don’t want you in our town.” With a curl of her fingers, the steel of their swords bent and wormed their ways around their necks. “Leave, or I continue.” The soldier's pupils were wide with terror, with the leader of the group attempting to grab a powder bolter from his waist. A spark in her eye was followed by a push of her curled hand, pulling the men off their feet by their curved blades. Tossed to the ground outside, the men tried to raise themselves only for Morrigan to stomp her foot on the ground and send blocks of the ground to the sky, launching them a house length before crashing into the dirt. Stepping outside to their battered forms, the leader pleaded while the other two limped away in a wordless haste. Morrigan grabbed the whimpering knight by his chest plate, ripping it off and clutching the fabric underneath, bringing her face to his. “Don’t come back. You don’t stand a chance against me or my friends. Even if I’m not here, we won’t take anything from your cult any longer.”
“Saviors of the new age, you witch! After we give you our tether boxes, this is how we’re shown gratitude?! May the Vacuous taste your repugnant ski-” She stepped on his chest, immediately breaking a rib under her weight.
“Protected we are, but we never needed you.” Removing her foot and kicking his side with the other, the crying man hobbled as quickly as he could, listing off vague threats as he faded in the distance.
Upon returning to the halls of mead and ale, no applause greeted Morrigan but there were plenty of approving nods and smiles directed at her. Yawning and downing the rest of the beer that I didn’t drink, she led me up the stairs to our unfortunate room all the way on the 5th floor.
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The more you did as a quester, the more luxurious your room became at the Guild’s lodging. It had only been a few short months since we began staying at this lodge after being on the road for a few weeks, traveling south from the Center Strip. The bigger room and bed big enough to fit three of me and one and half of her became a minor luxury whenever we had to haul our gear up every set of stairs at the end of a long day.
The bed was round with a purple set of sheets, the walls painted a dark black, and the light a cage with glass birds shielding the candlelight. Two desks adorned the right wall, consisting of my barren but often used station filled with daggers, bits of cloth and sewing kits, while Morrigan’s was busy with stray pieces of paper, small arrangements of grains and materials for recipes, and loads of textbooks plucked from places we passed.
As if on cue, when the bags hit the floor, our bodies hit the bed. Limbs were not an option in this tired state, worming our way up to the pillows was the only way.
Face down in the fabric, the threat of suffocation convinced me to face Morrigan, whose tired eyes failed to dampen the smile on her face. “That was fun.”
“Shoving those Wardens out the door?”
“That,” A giggle interrupted. “And taking that pale head off her high horse.”
“That’s gonna get us in trouble sooner or later.” I said, averting my gaze, knowing her eyes would glare at me.
Her hand guiding my eyes towards her followed. “You say that like we’re going to stay here much longer.”
“You just never know.” I shrugged my shoulders. “Those maps serve you well?”
“Perhaps.” With a hidden burst of enthusiasm, she rose out of bed with minor stumbling and made her way to the wall above her desk. A vague shape was inked on the paper that hung there, purporting to be the land we stand on. The bodies of water on all sides were simply called the Endless, suggesting danger and that nothing else existed beyond. The continent could generously be divided into three sections: the Mainland, where we are now, the biggest chunk of land by a wide margin. The Narrow North, a spear shaped mass of ice, snow and giants. Last, and thankfully least heard, the Southern Reach, the home of the Colossi and whatever horrid things they consider predators. Most giants stood a little taller than three men combined, a Colossi was as tall as the Guild building.
Morrigan rolled out her maps, cross referencing what they inferred as landmarks and routes, determined by whoever traveled out to document the landscape. Some city names were crossed out with black powder as she drew the rivers on her own parchment with sticky blue dust. A silver marking appeared mostly in the Middle Expanse area, with only one route going solely north. Still no tracks going over the Scar and border to the Narrow North. By boat, it would take weeks at best to transition between waters and stay in the towns nearby. That is assuming, nothing happens and we don’t get our throats slit by the zealots.
When Morrigan was done drawing, omitting the details that were inconsistent by other traveler’s hands, she stood back from the map and sat back on the bed with me. “Think we finally have an ideal route to get up North.”
“Finally going to see your mother again?”
“We, Lulu, we are going to see my mother.” She wrapped an arm around my body. “After so long, you get to meet the family!”
A smile came upon my face, but with doubt tugging at the edges. “You sure she’d let someone like me stay near you for more than a minute?”
A giggle escaped her lips. “She’d probably think I’d gone mad to be spending so much time with a human.” Taking my hands into her, flipping them over to the black marks in my palms. “Might have to show your abilities to keep her happy.”
“And they won’t dismember me up there for this?” A small flame danced on my pointer finger.
“They never followed the Warden creed, you might even be set for life up there, seeing as you conjure instead of taking from the spires.” Permanent furnace duty didn’t sound like the worst job in the world.
“Surprised you didn’t want to take your chances going north sooner.”
A dark look settled upon her brows. “The Vacuous makes everything harder than it needs to be.” I simply nodded my head before letting myself sink into her. “We will do the Guild one more favor on the way up there however.”
“Hand in a resignation so someone else can have the room?”
“Naw.” As much as the stairs were a pain, it’d be nice to keep the room in case we came back down. “On that train, I found the proof of purchase for those braids. We’ll be going up the Skurr River to start our journey and stop by this old coot, confirm it and then convince them to stop trying to supply Wardens.”
I simply nodded my head, and considered how much I’d have to pack to even start the trek across the continent before realizing it wouldn’t be much. While she held a hundred vials, papers, powders, confiscated braids, improvised potions, books, pens and whatever else she needed for her bibliophilic tendencies, I merely had the few sets of clothes on my back, the daggers and a small braid she gave me a month ago - a simple homebound spell similar to the tethers and agreements held within the chains from our mission.
Packing would be for the morning however, we both agreed, slumping into the pillows at haphazard angles as the candlelight died and the darkness became a familiar comfort.