Death Touch Chapter 24

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Mia

After the freak lightning bolt struck, Mia stood over the prone form of her captor for a long time. Since the start of Project Lighthouse, Mia had felt like she was being pulled back and forth between her pride as a Starling and her only somewhat noble ambition. She fell to her knees and screamed at the injustice that plagued her. She should have been ending lives that threatened innocent people, but as she looked upon Sara, she finally saw where she was going wrong. As far as she could see, things could not get any worse.

She walked away from her latest victim, not even wanting to know whether she survived the lightning. Perhaps someone would have seen the bolt and looked in out of curiosity. That being the case, it was even more important than usual that she disappear. But before she left Resta City, she would have to confirm the completion of her mission. She had never wanted to go to bed more than she did now, but she wouldn’t even make it to her bedroom if she had failed Dinorah.

The more she walked, the less sure she felt of her plan. Did she even want to go home? How could she look her stepmother in the eye after years of deceit? She was no champion in the shadows. She was a killer whose crimes accomplished nothing more than the advancement of a political agenda. Under Dinorah’s authoritative influence, it had seemed like a good idea at the time, but the logic was completely lost on her now. She was trained to kill so that few could suffer the Starlings’ fate, but with three deaths, their mission would fail for good.

What good was fear supposed to do anyway? Sure, it had kept her alive more than once, but it also impaired her decision making. With this thought, her mind pulsed with the answer that had eluded her all along. I’ve made a terrible mistake.As she walked into the mist that surrounded Salica’s temple, it parted before her. With this growing certainty, it wasn’t long before the fog vanished completely. Now able to see, it wasn’t long before she realized that she was also visible. The surrounding streets had been cleared and filled with men in golden armor. Great. They’ve had ten whole seconds of unimpeded sunlight and their stupid armor is blinding me again!

Mia found cover behind a covered wagon that had apparently been overturned in the panic the fog had caused. Now able to see clearly, it wouldn’t be long before the soldiers regrouped and found their way to the temple. I have to be quick. Mia climbed onto the wagon and struggled to find proper footing on the canopy. Following a quick, deep breath, she leapt for a nearby house and climbed to its roof. Feeling the desire to climb higher, she located the fire escape for an adjacent apartment building and made a running jump for it. She just managed to grab onto the railing outside the second story window. She hoisted herself up and climbed the stairs to the fourth floor.

Atop the roof, Mia could see a cable that supported outside her line of sight which inclined toward a shop across the street from the temple. The only problem is that she couldn’t reach the roof from where she stood. She didn’t have her supplies with her; she might have lost them in the restaurant when she tried to run from Sara. So, she kicked out the nearest window and crawled into the building. To her relief, she found herself inside an empty sitting room that appeared to be recently occupied. She searched quietly for something that could be used to climb to the roof, but most people sadly don’t own rope and grappling hooks. She found a knife in the kitchen and cut the drapes into strips, which she tied firmly together and to a metal stepping stool she found in a closet. 

Once back onto the fire escape, she heaved the stool onto the roof and hoped it would latch on to something. On her third attempt, she found that it had snagged on something that supported her weight well enough for her to climb to the top. She found her cable attached to a billboard and threw her makeshift rope over it. With a hand on either side, she leapt from the building and sailed toward the shop. She let go of the rope before she crashed into the side of the building. Unfortunately, she had come in quickly and her inexpert drop caused her to roll headfirst into the door.

Stunned, Mia plopped to the ground and sat for a few seconds. She sharply commanded herself to stand and peered around the building. The area surrounding the temple appeared empty; she had managed to get there ahead of the guards. She sprinted across the road and into the temple to look for the queen, but she was not who she would find within. A splatter of blood would be the only evidence that any violence had occurred there. In the queen’s place stood her brother and, to Mia’s surprise, Mario. Just as before, both were engaged in discussion and failed to notice Mia’s entrance.

“It’s hard to believe I am paying for such incompetence!” Anthony hissed. “I can’t receive the crown without my sister’s corpse! Where is it?”

“That’s the least of your problems right now, your highness,” Mario replied in his most intimidating drawl. “Mia hasn’t reported in yet. You wouldn’t know anything about that, would you?”

“Of course not!” Anthony replied, genuinely affronted. “Do you really think I would betray her?”

“Why not?” Mario pointed to the Salican statue behind her. “Everything we’ve done has been a betrayal. Am I really supposed to believe you can betray an entire country, but not one person?”

Anthony began to laugh. “You don’t realize what’s going on! I would have thought your mistress trusted you more than that!”

“Where is Mia?” Mario snarled.

Mia slowly walked up to the altar and said. “I’m here.”

The men both rounded toward her with a jolt. A cold silence hung over the entire room, that was soon broken by Anthony’s anxious voice.

“There you are! What did you do with my sister?”

Mario ignored the prince and hissed. “Mia, we need to talk.”

Mia had never been less pleased to see Mario. “What are you doing here?”

Mario glanced at Anthony for a moment before responding, “I came to stop you. Lighthouse is a lie! We’re being used!”

The prince sneered. “Ignore him. He does not speak for your mistress.”

Mia began to glare at Anthony. “We’ve known her longer than you have! Why should I believe that?”

“I know that because Dinorah came to me! This was her idea!” Anthony exclaimed, his eyes widened with glee. “And neither of you had the slightest idea!”

Mario kicked the prince behind the knee, and floored him with a kick to the head. After confirming that he had knocked out his foe, he grabbed Mia by the shoulders and fixed a fierce gaze on her.

“Mario, what was he talking about?”

Mario hesitated and when he spoke, his voice was shaking. “I already knew that Dinorah was behind Lighthouse. She’s been manipulating all three of us!”

“Why?”

“I don’t know! I just know that we can’t allow it to happen! Dinorah’s been stocking up on arms and consorting with demons!”

“We’re talking about my mother here!” Mia insisted. “Where’s your proof!”

Mario sighed. “I can’t prove what I’m telling you. I just need you to trust me. She’s leading the Starlings astray! What did you do with the queen?”

“The fog hit before I could get her,” Mia replied. “I cut her, but I couldn’t see if I managed to kill her.”

“She probably escaped.” Mario sighed with relief. “We need to get out of here. Once we’re clear, we can drop a message to the Inquisitor and explain the whole thing.”

ia frowned. “Fine. But once we’re done with that, we’re going to check on the shit you just said about Dinorah. If you’re wrong, I’ll kill you.”

Mario nodded. “Fair enough. Let’s--”

Mario’s dagger slipped out of its holster and buried itself in his torso from behind, guided by Anthony’s hand. Mia’s blood chilled with shock as Mario fell slowly to the ground. As his blood mingled with the queen’s, Mia turned toward the prince with a livid expression.

“This is your last chance,” Anthony said coldly. “Find my sister! Finish the job, or you’re finished as a Starling!”

Mia could not help but notice now what Sara had told her earlier. This entire mission had put her off her game; the unfeeling calm that she felt when hunting felt lost forever. What she felt now was white-hot rage. Thunder boomed outside the temple and loud cracks could be heard through the ceiling. The lights, dim as they already were, blinked rapidly and went out. In the faint light of the round window above the door, Mia could see shock registered in the prince’s face. Mia only remained still, oblivious to everything but her desire to kill, which was motivated by pure emotion rather than purpose.

Still, he was armed, and Mia was not, so she spent a long time considering her options. Mia could disarm and kill with her bare hands, but the royal family had mostly proven to be a higher caliber of prey, and each had their own line of defense. One had tried to hold her off with spellwarriors, another with rigid security, and the third with a compelling appeal. Could it be her luck that this would be the one who was capable of besting her?

Mia was saved the trouble of finding out as another bolt of lightning crashed through the window, narrowly missing them both. This sudden storm was all that was needed to send the prince running. He dived under one of the benches and didn‘t come back up. Mia followed him to see that the space he had chosen to hide was now empty. The hidden passage!

Before Mia could find where the prince had slipped to, the door burst open and a dozen guards poured in, followed by the Royal Inquisitor himself. The sounds of the dissipating storm would soon give way to a din of shouts.

“Get down on the ground!”

“Suspect acquired!”

“We’ve got a wounded person here!”

But Mia had eyes for only Mario, who had gone completely still. The last traces of that disarming smile had all but vanished. As one of the guards restrained Mia, she found that she no longer had the will to resist. Mario was dead and, if she took his word for it, everything she believed in had turned out to be a lie. For the first time since she lost her birth family, tears pooled in her eyes. They slid down her face as she looked up once more at the statue of Salica.

I would give anything for just one more chance to kill Anthony Clark.

Just outside the temple, it began to rain.

Next Chapter

Resta

Resta, Mortanis' Heartland to the East, is known throughout the continent as the Chosen Land. With Heron to its north, Tanis to its west, Galeon to its south, and only the various Midanian islands to its east, Restan citizens consider their lands to be the center of the known world. This, combined with their abundant access to gold and the majority of the world's most valuable metals and minerals, a ratio of arable farmland that rivals Galeon, and its frequent staging of historical events of theological significance, has contributed to Resta's moniker, the Chosen Land. This combination of rich resources and a rich history of divine intervention instills its denizens with a strong sense of significance that brings them to the forefront of theological and philosophical debate.

Resta's story begins in the very beginning of the First Age, when the first human tribes drew breath on the eastern shore of Mortanis. As mortal civilization began to form, it did not take long for its path to develop several branches. This ultimately led humanity to spread through Mortanis to the North and South and settle the lands of Eris and Pyris, or modern day Galeon and Heron. Those who remained in the Eastland did so because they couldn't abide the respective partisans that had driven their people so far apart. The people of the Eastland continued to lived as the first tribes did without much organization until tragedy split them apart in the 51st year of the First Age. Back then, barbarians and pyromancers of the long-defunct Brokamac clan had forcibly taken over most of a large section of the region, ending at the Pledge River. 

Those south of the river took a hard line against allowing the tyranny of the Brokamac spread any further. This led the remaining Eastland tribes to unite into a powerful resistance that fought tooth and nail to hold the Pledge's southern banks at all costs. They formed a city-state close to the Pledge which was dubbed Necros, so as to promise death to any Pyrisian who crosses the river. However, this fierce resistance did nothing to help the villagers trapped to the north. So, when the first arcanists wielded the power that would allow them to repel their oppressors from their land ten years later, the survivors would form a city-state of their own close to Necros. This city was known as Coronos, a name which symbolized their timeless endurance and boundless pride. While this victory pushed Pyris' border all the way back to the mountains, the people of Coronos couldn't reconcile the sense of betrayal they felt towards the people of Necros for abandoning them. They remained a separate state for over the entirety of the First Age, claiming ownership of the entire Eastland region north of the Pledge.

The people of Necros and Coronos enjoyed a cordial relationship despite this fractured trust since they still otherwise shared the same values. In both cities, they differed from the people of Eris and Pyris by prizing the unity of humanity over its excellence. While the rest of the world fought with each other in the War of the Gods, the two peoples of the Eastland determinedly avoided any participation in any hostilities. But this didn't keep them safe from harm. During the war's peak, a plague known as the Curse of Suffering swept through the Pledge River, infecting the people of both cities with a sinister pathogen that caused a strong and persistent depression and unbearable physical pain. The plague took a powerful toll on the populations of both civilizations that caused the people of Coronos to rethink their priorities. 

Left in a weakened state after the plague had run its course, the prince regent of Coronos proposed a union of the two countries through marriage by its respective leaders. This was done as a matter of pragmatism, with the people of both countries overwhelmingly believing that reuniting with their former Eastland brethren and forming a stronger nation was necessary to protect their non-involvement in the great war. But by the time their efforts to consolidate were complete, the war was over. Thus, the people of the Eastland found itself the lone superpower in a ruined world. With destiny perceived to be on their side, they chose the ancient Fadalian language word for destiny as the name of their new nation, Resta.

Theocratic monarchy has always been the rule of law to the people of Resta, whose traditions are considered beyond reproach in their culture. Foreigners observing this attitude from the outside have come to call this phenomenon Restacentrism, a seemingly in-built assumption by all Restans of their inherent favor by the Gods. While the people of Resta generally feel no ill will towards anyone, they have unfortunately cultivated an image of privilege and arrogance that provokes the ire of most of the international community. Nowhere is this disdain more pronounced than in Midania, whose undead leaders frequently denounce Resta for the kingdom's unfair treatment of those its society consider to be less than perfect. 

While Midania is the only country whose leadership openly condemns Restan culture, sympathies toward Resta aren't much stronger in the rest of the world. In Heron, Resta is considered to be a pit of decadence, elitism, and laziness while, in Galeon, Resta is seen as overly hierarchical, narrow-minded and distasteful for its self-centered culture. Only in Tanis are general sympathies towards Resta neutral, since their experiences with its people are infrequent and usually positive. 

Despite this, most official relations with Resta are friendly since, while its people remain oblivious to the inherent arrogance of their culture, they are especially generous in trade and their dispersal of magical research. This is especially evident in the existence of the Goodwill Company, a military organization that consolidates the skills of various Royal Army, Spellwarrior, and Templar soldiers into a combat unit with the sole purpose of lending military strength to foreign countries. Their services are rarely requested and always offered preemptively. While this further contributes to common perception of Restan arrogance, the Goodwill company has managed to consistently justify its existence since its foundation in 3E2.

As the only country with a foreign occupation and a population-culling plague in its history, the people of Resta has taken a unique path into the modern era of the Third Age. Intentionally isolated from the affairs of the rest of the world, their culture can be seen as ignorant and self-centered, but they are a people with generally kind hearts whose strongest motivation is reminding the world of its conscience. While their approach to doing so is usually seen as condescending and sometimes hypocritical, no one can truthfully claim that a Restan is stingy with their good fortune.

Society

The Festival of Autumn- A holiday that Resta shares with Galeon, in which intellectual pursuits are glorified in celebration of the positive effects of science on yearly agricultural harvests.

The Festival of Winter- A holiday that Resta shares with Midania, in which people are encouraged to reflect on their emotions and release them in a healthy way before winter comes to isolate them.

The Oculus Program- Excepts from The Restan Star, a news publication, celebrating a technological milestone for Resta.

Armed Forces of Resta- A brief overview of the four military orders under the control of the Restan crown.

Locations

Iris Isle- A small island located close to Galean waters but which is legally part of Resta. Iris Isle is significant to the pilgrims Resta because it contains a holy place known as the Bishop's Pinnacle.

Shaville- A once-idyllic village that has fallen into oblivion thanks to the wide influence of demonic corruption.

Stories

Death Touch- The current flagship tale of Comalan. When the Goddess of Death makes an attempt to sow fear and violence among all mortals, a group of Restan champions must come together to stop her.

The Magister's Rage- The memoirs of Gyanda Maloran, whose dreams of becoming a spellwarrior were disrupted by the unfortunate presence of a violent spirit.

Galeon

Artist's rendering of Galeon, built from stone and tile inlay along a wall in the Fides Ampitheater.

Galeon, formerly known as Eris, is Mortanis' southernmost nation, bordering Resta to the northeast, Tanis to the northwest, and the Lost Sea to the south. Geographically, Galeon is highly notable for its diversity of climate, and the fact that it boasts some of Mortanis' most fertile land. From olives and grapevines in the fertile west to greens and rice in the central wetlands, this agricultural center doesn't consider food a commodity, but rather, a public good that belongs to all. Many citizens in this land, where Crane is venerated, consider a society where basic needs are guaranteed to not only be the most humane, but the most rational.

Galeon is known for its culture of acceptance and open-mindedness, which has often made it a haven for those who experience repression or discrimination in their home nations. That being said, many of Mortanis' more conservative citizens have found traveling to the land to cause a high degree of culture shock. Restan traditionalists tend to see Galean culture as overly permissive and frivolous. The Heronite nobility has even used the threat of Galean influence to sow distrust of anti-feudal elements in their own citizenry. Among the most austere Heronites, Galeon is a symbol of decadence and degeneracy, destined to someday destroy Comalan with its "meddling" with the natural, God-created world.  

In the early days of Eris, the land was governed by what was known as the Council Republic, in contrast to the very loosely governed direct democracy that Galeon exists as today. It was to the credit of the Windlords, who used the power of their order to champion transparency and undermine the rule of the Council, that Galeon would become the nation as it exists today. The national capital of Galeon is Fides, a bustling city on the largest hill in the country. While there are some idealists from outside Galeon who see this democratic system as utopia realized, the actual people of Galeon are divided thousands of ways with regards to their own system. Issues of diplomacy, justice, and even the existence of the democratic system itself are still hotly debated among the Galean citizenry. Any outsider who spends more than a week in the Fides Ampitheater will come away hard pressed to consider the system utopian.

As a largely Intalan nation, it comes as no surprise that Galeon is Mortanis' center of science. The country contains a large number of schools and research centers accessible by anyone, as knowledge and its fruits are, like food, considered a public good. Like the Tanisians, Galeans consider equal access to education to be crucial to a healthy nation. This philosophy has yielded things like the famed Galean Monorail, which provides cross-country travel with ease. While most Galeans benefit greatly from many of these scientific advances, the field of scientific ethics has gained popularity in recent years as some question whether science can sometimes go too far. 

While most of the populace venerates Crane, Galeans value religious diversity, and have found great benefit in embracing religious minorities. Unique religious practices have grown from the merging of other religious traditions with Galeon's largely Intalan culture. For instance, Salican travelers from Resta would find the traditions and practice of the Galean-Salican retreat of Moon Lake to be quite unfamiliar, but still enlightening. Galeon is also the source of the Theian sect of the Serene religion, which seeks to synthesize Serene and Intalan beliefs into one humane, rational philosophy.

***

Society

• History of Eris - A societal and political history of the region, from its origins to the creation of the modern nation of Galeon.

• The Windlords - A thorough look at the Windlord Order.

• Galean Theatre - Some information on the performing arts in Galeon.

Folklore and Festivals

• Galeon's Winter Festival - The folklore and traditions behind Salica's holiday, as celebrated in Galeon.

• The Festival of Autumn - A little about Crane's holiday, as celebrated in both Resta and Galeon.

• Talib's Arrow - A short explanation on one of Galeon's most famous folk tales and the hero behind it.

• Shamira's Comet - A beloved Galean folk tale, and an explanation of the holiday inspired by it.

Locations

• Isle of Qwara - About the mysterious island off the southern coast. Nobody ever goes there.

• The Rashara Operahouse - A cultural treasure, the most prominent landmark in the coastal city of Rashara. 

The Magister's Rage, Part 7

Click here to go back to Part 6

It took many years to find what I was looking for, owing partly to my obligations to my family and my duty as Palon’s Keeper of Lore, or resident historian, if you prefer. That was not to say that my quest was unimportant, but information was scarce and I feared that dedicating all of my time to finding it would consume the life I had built. I marshaled resources where I could and looked into any perishable lead I came across. Nearly a decade after breaking free of Samson, I learned that my quarry could be found in Galeon, the democratic nation located to the south of Resta.

When I finally found this crucial piece of information, Bellarose exhausted every effort to ensure that I would not go alone. She offered to accompany me, but we could not both leave the children. She offered to send for help from my brothers, but they had more important duties. She threatened to speak with my parents before I was forced to point out what could happen to me if another spellwarrior, and especially a templar, should discover what I was looking for. In the end, she reluctantly agreed that there was no one who could go with me. This was to be my final solitary journey.

I left early in the morning, chartering a flight to the Galean city of Rashara. It was there that I discovered a fascinating and diverse culture so unlike my own. Although I traveled under the pretense of visiting the local museums to enhance my understanding of the time before Resta’s founding, I had little time to absorb any such knowledge. I checked into an inn and hastily left the city’s boundaries.

In the hills of Galeon, I was haunted by two visions. Shortly before midday, I saw the halls of Hem Academy once more. My friends were with me, cheerfully talking as we were once known to do. Would I tutor Giselle so that she may finally master the cognitive enhancement spell? I thought I forgotten that name. Even since I returned to Bellarose, I had not spoken with her again. I agreed, only to be assailed by another request. I owed Jarek a favor and his mail was covered in blood. I suddenly noticed that I was already holding a damp cloth with which to clean it. Although the atmosphere was jovial, there was something wrong. Bellarose was clearly upset and never spoke, choosing instead to follow the rest of the group at a distance. And Miles…

Miles was pale, not as I remembered him in our days at the Academy, but as he had been after I made the fateful decision to allow Samson to turn him into a blood thrall. When I looked at him, he glared hauntingly. I tried to argue that his death had been certain had I not made the choice I had, but Jarek said that I should have tried harder to save him. Giselle piped in that the two of us had backup. I looked toward Bellarose, but she remained mute. I claimed that the three of us combined still lacked the power to defy Samson and Jarek called me a coward. Giselle shook her head sadly and said that I had the power to defeat him all along. Had I known that sooner, I could have spared my soul so much darkness. Still, Miles glared and Bellarose looked away.

I turned toward Bellarose and understood what I was seeing. Giselle and Jarek had gone their own way, unaffected by my choices, but Bellarose and Miles were not so lucky. I had condemned one to life as an aberration and the other to sharing the memory and burden of my misdeeds. It was then that I came to an epiphany. By choosing to run away from my friends instead of trusting them, I had fulfilled my original fear of tearing my group apart.

The vision ended then and I once again found myself in the Galean countryside. I appeared to have made some progress, as I had never stopped walking. An hour later, I witnessed my second vision. I stood before Samson once more in the fated inn, but felt an inexplicable compulsion to kneel. I pointedly refused, but that only caused my former mentor to laugh. He knew I was going to kneel, no matter how much I told myself I would not. His smugness angered me deeply for some reason, but as I considered striking him, I was suddenly overcome with terror. I could not help myself from giving in to my compulsion.

When I knelt before the hated man, the walls rapidly erupted in a burst of flames and a roar of primal rage shook the planks of every surface. Although this was far more objectively terrifying than anything I had ever felt for Samson, I oddly found myself emboldened and defiant. The flames surrounded me and I felt an agony that I can only imagine as comparable to the suffering I’d inflicted. With every shock of pain, I remembered every death that I had ever caused. My Hem Academy nemeses, and the templars who attempted to assist them came to mind as I recalled the sensation of being cut by Ethan’s sword. But the sensation was repeated in many places.

The flames, ever a sign of Chaos, signified that I was finally experiencing retribution for the blood on my hands. But as soon as I came to terms with this revelation, my heart was overtaken by a tranquil feeling. The words I heard then, spoken in an ethereal feminine voice, “It isn’t fair,” brought tears to my eyes. I forced myself to stand once more, but as soon as I did, my relief subsided. The flames continued to rip at me once more, but this time I recalled images of the people I hurt not as Garanda, but in my rebellious studies with Samson. The blood mage stepped out of the flames just then, wearing a deviant grin.

I continued to suffer my comeuppance for the blood I chose to spill. As I did, I began to get the sense that I felt exactly what I had done to them or caused to have done. When Miles came to mind, he appeared before me and watched as I continued to suffer. This time, there was no respite from the pain. This made the meaning of what I was experiencing quite clear. I deserved the Gods’ understanding and protection for anything I did as Garanda, but my own crimes as a blood mage could not be so easily forgiven.

When I finally felt the pain of my final victim, a harsh, masculine voice barked, “Never forget that there is no power greater than mine. You will forever carry the memory of your crimes and are doomed to keep them secret, lest the mortal kind you once hoped to champion turn on you.”

I know what you must be thinking, but I am being honest. To be directly spoken to by Gods is very rare, but not unheard of. I felt like I was owed this sort of contact from the beginning, but it was far different from what I expected. It was obvious to me that I had felt the wrath of Chaos himself, but for some reason, he chose to spare my life. For what, I couldn’t say at the time, but I was determined to learn from the experience. When I finally renounced Samson’s teachings entirely, I found myself once again in Galeon, standing outside a blood-streaked cave. I knew at once that I had found the place I was looking for and so, with a great deal of dread, I ventured inside.

The cave was not very deep, and was only inhabited by a single man whose back was turned to me. When I turned him around, I gasped to find a stranger with blood trailing from his neck. He recoiled at the sight of me and slumped to the ground. Faintly, he asked who I was. When I explained that I am a traveling historian, he seemed satisfied with my answer and deigned to tell me about himself.

He was a member of HDL, Galeon’s domestic security force. He was tracking a wicked man who had been attacking people in outlying villages and draining them of their blood. As a result, many of his victims had gone on to do the same, always claiming that they needed to replenish their lost life force. It seemed that I had finally found who I was looking for. When I asked where the man in question had gone, he shrugged and coughed.

He was dying, I realized after he had told me everything he could. He wasn’t yet doomed to be a blood thrall, so I knew that it would be a simple matter to save him from that fate with my blood magic. But as I prepared to do so, I recalled my vow to Chaos. Even to save another man’s life, I was determined to never use blood magic again. So I was forced to kill a man for the last time. In my defense, he had begged me not to let him become like the others, but his death was still another unfortunate result of my own actions.

To this day, Miles continues to elude me and my efforts to stop him from harming anyone else. Therein lies my greatest regret: I have unleashed a monster onto this world that has defied any attempt to slay him. How many people he has harmed, and how many more will suffer at his hands remain a mystery to me. Although I have not yet given up on taking out my old friend, I fear that when I do, I will be overcome with the memory of the splendid man he had been before I submitted to the blood mages. So, here stands my confession; at least, as much of it as I care to remember. But this is not where my story ends.

Continue to Part 7!

The Windlords

A gentle breeze. The faint sounds of footfalls with unseen sources. These are the signs that only the most perceptive will uncover when a Windlord is around. They travel the many lands of Comalan in secret without any discernible number to their ranks or limit to their reach. Hailing from the veritable metropolis of Aeros Academy, these spies and champions of transparency fulfill what many consider to be a vital service to the people of Galeon: making the information that people need accessible to all. They are the watchdogs who inform people of any dishonesty of the people in power the world over, and the official intelligence agency of both Galeon and its Erisian ancestors.

The Windlords as a whole call themselves the Order of Aeros, which finds its origins in the First Age. Back then, many people of Eris had been inspired by a class of intellectual elites known as the Windtalkers to meditate on high, windy hilltops, which are believed to this day to be spots of communication with the Gods. They sought mental and spiritual enlightenment from the mind of Crane himself, as the Windtalkers claimed to have found. It is widely believed that Windtalkers would make up stories of their treks of discovery, but the people who followed in their alleged footsteps would find true enlightenment. What many would find telling of the Windtalkers is that those whose hilltop voyages could be corroborated reacted far differently to their experiences than these supposed prophets did.

Those who were determined to have actually meditated on the hilltops were Eris soon began to meet each other in secret, a revelation that was once made by an Erisian knight known as Artemis the Unrelenting. He reported that this secret group of true enlightened had mastered and comfortably exerted an unusual control over the air itself, a property that surely contributed to these people being dubbed the Windlords. From their discovery, the first Grandmaster of this group unveiled their intent to gather and share information for the good of their society. It was at this point, in the two-hundred-and-fiftieth year of the first age, that construction began on a massive tower encompassing an entire city worth of space that reached upward of fifty stories in height. They began to stock this tower with copies of any book, scroll, or document they could find in an effort to consolidate information in a timeless collection. They called this place Aeros Academy, a structure so large that it can be seen from almost anywhere in the western side of the country.

The Windlords had always had an adversarial relationship with the Windtalkers' who often consolidated information as they had, but always seemed to hoard it to their own benefit. While the Windlords worked constantly to provide information to the public, the Windtalkers actively discredited their social rivals to the point of campaigning for their arrest as menaces to society. This campaign of slander would, in turn, lead the Windlords to investigate the Windtalkers personally, leading to a decades-long power struggle.

At the end of this conflict, the Windlords stood victorious and would consequently guide Eris through its transition into Galeon and bring democracy to the country. For this, the people of Galeon felt a gratitude for the windlords that lasted less than a year into the Second Age. The reason for their downfall was equally simple and complicated: they had turned their skills toward a place Crane had never intended them to see.

The Windlords were said to have infiltrated the mythical Skyres city, an adventure that could only be corroborated by scant reports of inebriated windlords bragging of their intent to gather the secrets of Crane himself. This was the treasure everyone believed to be contained within the ancient city of dragons located somewhere in the sky. Whatever truly transpired on that year was lost to history throughout the entirety of the Second Age, when people could only gather that the survivors of that faithful mission had returned with complete amnesia and curse marks in the shape of Crane's symbol; a tattoo in the shape of Selon Res, the last dragon.

In the span of a single week, the Order of Aeros was completely decimated, without a single member able to retain an iota of the Windlords' legacy. Curiously, these curse marks were passed on to the offspring of these Windlords, a phenomenon which slowly developed into a cultural stigma towards the descendants of those who dared to steal the secrets of the God of Knowledge himself. It wasn't until the Third Age that the Windlords would find their redemption. At this time, Richard Blackstone--the First Avatar of Crane-- had visited Galeon and gathered everyone he could find who possessed one of Crane's curse marks. He had been charged with reviving their order with the specific intent of helping him to resist a powerful cabal of evil creatures known as the Knightmares. 

In the Third Age, Windlords retain the controversy of old, but on a larger scale due to their increased international activity. The people of their homeland generally regard them with positive feelings, although modern Galeans feel more concern about the secrets and power they hold compared to their Erisian ancestors. While they venerate the Order's stance on transparency of information, they critically speculate on the possibility that the Windlords might use their power to destabilize other countries. 

In Resta, they are considered professional rivals to their own organization of spies, Royal Army Intelligence. In their efforts to maintain the tactical superiority they had cultivated throughout the second age, RAI regularly spies on the windlords in turn. 

In Heron, they are feared for their perfect infiltration abilities and general air of invisibility. Heronite lords have a long history of using the Windlords' exploits to sew distrust in their rebel elements. It is not uncommon for the Lords to blame any information gathered on them by the Heronite resistance, a movement of feudal abolitionists, on Windlord intervention.

To the people of Tanis, windlords are generally regarded with indifference. To the elves, windlords provide a necessary service to their people. But since Tanisian society is inherently transparent, they feel the least fear toward the prospect of Galean infiltration. They often pride themselves on having nothing to hide, and will often welcome Windlords as honored guests.

Meanwhile, the people of Midania typically hold more distrust for Windlords than anyone else. While the human citizens of the country's satellite territories hold superstitious attitudes toward their perceived lust for power, the sai'mul of the mainland are brought up on tales of Erisian sabotage of what was once the Akisian empire. Their oldest citizens, who lived through the First and Second Ages, stand as the only people who can testify to the dangers of Windlords intervening in the affairs of other countries.

All in all, the Windlords' reputation is one they defy every day. While they do not discriminate in the subjects of their investigative endeavors, the Order of Aeros has a very strict policy against unnecessary intervention. While Aeros Academy is rife with all of the world's secrets, they curate all of the information they gather and release only what advances their core ideals of an open and just world. They have many critics who question the value of their judgment in this matter, but with their mastery of stealth and wind magic, no one can stop them from doing what they do.

Death Touch Chapter 23

First Chapter

Previous Chapter

Seth

Warriors had a saying that Seth never understood. “There’s no greater reward in victory than the homecoming.”

In his case, nothing could be further from the truth. His panicked flight from the village had apparently drawn enough attention that it was a vivid memory for nearly all of his neighbors. When he returned home, everybody avoided him save those brave enough to chide him for suddenly inheriting his mother’s reputation. Being practically a quarter of the way from saving the world could not sustain his morale after the tenth chorus of “Silly Seth” sang by children and adults alike. It was like the “Loopy Ruby” phenomenon all over again only he couldn’t punch the offending mockers without killing them.

Seth had taken to wearing gloves at all times, but even that presented further tests to his patience. His rage was close to boiling over on a daily basis as it was and he always showed it. So, the fact that no one could ignore so much as a pair of gloves, which was apparently unfashionable in summer, did little for his sanity. Ah, the comforts of home and hearth.

But these were just the minor annoyances of his day. The worst part of being home was in knowing that he was no longer free to be his usual self. He had already had several close calls while joking around with Clint in which the two had nearly touched. Every missed beat due to what should have been an unreasonable fear of killing his friends was just more fuel for a growing fire within him.

Still, he was home, waiting for word from somewhere about what to do next. Whether he stood a chance at breaking his curse or not, he longed for the sound of Maula’s rattling breath or, more specifically, the last one. He wasn’t sure how killing a goddess of death was supposed to work, but he spent most of his waking hours imagining the myriad ways in which he would maim her.

When the time came to put together the weapon they were building, there was no question that Seth would be the one to wield it. Even if Ragos hadn’t insisted on that being the case, he would have given any of the other champions the brawl of their lives for the opportunity. To prepare himself for this, he had taken to practicing with Nicholai’s blade in the yard. It had more weight than most of the swords he was used to, but he persevered under the very reasonable assumption that the final weapon would be heavier. He had made a goal of mastering the sword before they set out again and was well on his way when Maya emerged from the back door that would lead into his kitchen.

When he caught sight of the witch, he lowered the sword gently into the grass and smiled for the first time all day. If there was truly one positive thing about his new life, there she stood, holding her overflowing book bag and looking exhausted, but pleased with herself. In a world where he could no longer hug his sister, punch his friend, or enjoy an invigorating brawl, Maya was his one unbreakable link to what he had lost.

“Hey!” he said breathlessly. “Think you have enough books, there?”

Maya smiled wryly at her bounty. “Not even close. I wanted to engage in a little functional reading to catch up on what my father’s been hiding me from.” She dropped the bag with a grunt. “But Sam told me that we’d be heading out soon and I had to buy as many as I could, because who knows when I’ll get another chance, but there were so many I couldn’t get!”

Seth eyed the bag nervously. “How did you get all of these?”

Maya lifted one of the books, a thin paperback guide to fey creatures, by the spine and turned it in her right hand.

“I started reading in the library…”

Just then, the book disappeared. With a flick of her other hand, the book reappeared and flew up into the air.

“Learned how to make money performing what is referred to as ‘Street Magic’…”

 She slapped it with her left as she put her right hand behind her back. This caused the book to

vanish once more, only to reappear when she revealed it in her right hand.

“And stretched out that money with what I learned about budget shopping,” she concluded.

Street magic was often considered by professional magic users to be the lowest form of magic, but Seth knew that sleight of hand takes more skill than theoretical knowledge and was duly impressed by Maya’s performance. After a jovial applause, she stared silently at him, prompting him to ask,

“What?”

“I think this is the part where you give me money.”

Seth let out a snort of laughter and opened his wallet. He pulled out a silver chip and handed it over. “Fair enough. That was worth paying to see. But, you know, there will be other bookstores out there, probably selling copies of the same books you bought.”

Maya clicked her tongue impatiently. “I wish someone had told me that before.”

“It shouldn’t be a problem. I’m thinking of getting a sky rug anyway since there’s more of us now. I can help you carry some of the burden in the mean time.”

Maya glanced at the sword lying in the grass with her eyebrows furrowed. “Thank you, but isn’t that going to be hard with the sword?”

Seth shook his head. “Nah! I can just think of it as extra training. This sword belonged to the last champion of Ragos. I’ll need to bulk up a little if I want to fill his shoes.”

Maya considered the sword and frowned. “I don’t think you should try to fight like Nicholai. I read that he used to swing that sword without care. It’s been stained by the blood of at nearly as many of his allies as his foes. The way you fought yesterday was pretty scary and that was without hurting any of us.”

Seth sighed and propped the sword against the house’s outer wall. “I didn’t realize. Honestly, that’s not how I normally fight. It’s just… well, I’ve always enjoyed a good fight. When I’m out there, it’s like there’s an entire drum line within, pumping my blood very quickly. It’s one of the most exciting things I’ve ever felt. But back in Lightning Ridge, I didn’t feel any of that excitement. I just felt terror and rage. I was only able to feel good about it all when it was over and we’d won.”

Maya placed a hand on his shoulder and clasped it comfortingly. “These feelings are what kept you alive and what you were chosen for. You’ll succeed just like Nicholai before you. Just don’t become too much like him. I’m sure I speak for everyone when I say we’d all like to live to see you do it.”

“I’m going to tear her apart,” Seth replied.

“Then trust us, and we’ll help you see it through.”

Seth’s blood began to pump once more with the drum-like rhythm he described, which reminded him of something Maya had said.

“Speaking of, you said Sam told you we’re moving out? What gives?”

Maya’s eyes widened. “Oh, right! She told me Clint wanted to see you. He says he finally heard back from the other Champion.”

“No plural yet, huh?”

“There were… complications. He knows the details.”

“I’d better see what’s going on, then. Can you seal this thing for me?”

Since they recovered Nicholai’s blade, Clint had decided that the safest thing to do with it was to keep it under a seal to prevent Maulans from finding it. Seth had argued for using the sword and keeping it close, but Clint had refused to back down. Finally, Seth had consented to the seal, but would break it when Clint wasn’t around. So, he hefted the sword back to its place on the mantle as Maya recast the spell that would hide it from view.

***

Seth would find Clint in the village infirmary and curse Clint for his choice to be there. Even nearing the place where he had discovered the curse filled him with anxiety. The palm where he was curse was introduced ached as he opened the door. When he saw the other Champion sitting unusually close to his sister. Upon spotting Seth, the broke apart, looking guilty.

“Don’t bother. You’re busted, man.”

“Seth! Mate, I was going to--” Clint blustered

“Save it. I don’t care.”

“Told you,” Alexis chirped.

“And I told you, it could have gone either way!” Clint retorted.

“Ridiculous!” Alexis snapped impatiently. “It’s not like we need--”

“Cut him some slack,” Seth interrupted. “With everything between us, finding this out COULD have gone either way. But the ache in my hand is a pretty strong reminder that I have more important things to worry about. Speaking of which…”

“Oh! I was just going to come find you.”

Seth rolled his eyes impatiently. “Well you weren’t going to find me inside my sister’s mouth! What’s going on?”

“You know what I mean! Anyway, Sara just sent us a message. She found the other champion, but…” Clint trailed off hesitantly.

“Ugh! What?” Seth demanded.

“The other champion’s the same person who’s been knocking off Doc’s siblings!”

“Gods!” Alexis gasped.

Seth could already feel his head pounding. “So, we have to somehow find and work with an assassin who has it out for the royal family? No way that‘s going to work!”

“It gets better,” Clint said. “Sara captured her alone. Apparently they had it out and this girl fried her with lightning before escaping!”

“Damn it!” Seth hissed with gritted teeth. “We need to go back this other champion up. If getting this potential psychopath to cooperate with us is part of getting to Maula, we’re going to do it even if I have to drag her into battle!”

Alexis and Clint traded disturbed looks, after which the latter said, “My friend, I agree that Sara needs help, but maybe I should go while you take a day to calm--”

“One of these days, Clint, old pal, I am going to pound the crap out of you for telling me to calm down. Then for good measure, I’ll get you once more for every day I have to wait because of this fucking curse!”

“I love it when you talk dirty to me,” Clint joked in response.

With a snarl, Seth stormed toward the door.

“Seth, where are you going?” Alexis called after him.

“To get a damn sky rug!” Seth shouted back. “Get ready to go!”

Next Chapter

The Crowmont Rose

The old story of the Crowmont Rose seems to follow with the widespread idea that the Crowmont family bears daughters that are the most radiantly beautiful in all of Heron. Even in modern times, this is a common conception - it isn't unusual to find the odd scoundrel in a tavern bragging about how he once bedded a Crowmont girl, or to see young women trying to emulate the style or appearance of the Crowmont daughters. 

In the legend, the Lord Crowmont’s seven daughters are known far and wide for their beauty and grace. They draw hundreds of suitors to the Estate from all across Heron, who all beg the Lord for the hand of the daughter of their choice. The Lord was exceedingly picky, believing his daughters deserved nothing less than perfection when it came to a potential husband, and believed almost every suitor he encountered to be entirely unworthy. He quickly grew tired of these suitors coming to his door to beg at his feet, reciting poetry beneath his balconies, and sending minstrels to serenade his daughters as they strolled through his garden. He had gone to great lengths to make sure that the estate was heavily guarded, but the suitors always found some way to slip past, and more importantly, the increased security had created a prison-like atmosphere that his daughters greatly disapproved of.

The Lord Crowmont knew that he had to do something to keep the unsuitable suitors away from the castle, while still keeping his daughters as happy as possible. The Lord, who prided himself on his beautiful garden, had an idea. He bred what would become known as the Crowmont Rose, a flower with thorns that were long, sharp, and covered in an oil that would leave anyone stung by it with a painful, itchy rash that would last for weeks, and blooms that were large and of the most brilliant scarlet that were beautiful enough, he hoped, to appease his daughters. He planted several bushes of the flower in a massive hedge that bordered the island that the castle rested upon, so that only suitors who met the Lord’s approval would be able to enter. 

Though the story is largely unverified, and nobody can say which past Lord Crowmont the story refers to, the Crowmont Rose hedge still stands today, bordering the small island that the main estate sits atop. The Crowmont Rose is the sigil of the Crowmont house, and is frequently used in the decor of the estate. Despite their beauty, these flowers are not generally given as gifts due to the nasty effect of their sting, as well as the hefty price one would need to pay to obtain them. One usage of these flowers that isn't commonly referred to outside of the Crowmont family is as an ingredient in some particularly deadly poisons. 

It Comes for Those Who Don't Run Part 5

Previous

It takes a step

Aennin felt sick for the entirety of his walk home. He had just given up on the only place that mattered to him besides the clock shop in a fit of passion that, in hindsight, simultaneously felt liberating and terribly wrong. By the time he reached the front door, he had already discarded his fifth plot to talk himself out of what he had just done and was thinking of another. Before he could ponder the details for much longer, he opened the door to find his mother standing in the kitchen, with a brass mail tube open on the counter in front of her. Upon seeing the boy, her eyes narrowed into slits. Aennin was unnerved to notice that she appeared to be sober, causing him to marvel at the sights he missed during the day.

"Tell me, Aennin," Anera growled imperiously. "There must be a reason you're back so early in the day. Should we talk about that?"

Aennin's heart sank as he prepared himself for the coming censure. He had been hoping to sneak by his mother and hide from her until his attack had blown over completely. He had pursued his education partly because his mother had wanted him to, so he knew walking out of the school in the way he did would particularly upset her. Still, avoiding her wrath took luck he didn't seem to have that day.

"It was the same guy yesterday. I found out he was stealing from the shop," Aennin grumbled defiantly.

Anera swatted the mail tube to the floor and snarled, "You sabotaged your place in school for that? Fuck the shop!"

"It's not about the shop," Aennin said without looking at his mother. "He stole from us."

In truth, Aennin felt stung by Anera's dismissal of the family business. She had never had any more regard for the shop than Kana had, but Aennin had never criticized for his devotion to it before. As far as he had known up to this point, the store was the pride of their whole family, even if they rarely showed it.

"Your father's money is not worth your future!"  Anera snapped angrily. "If you were to graduate, you could have applied to be reassigned to a new caste! You needn't be stuck in this hellhole!"

Aennin frowned and shook his head. "Why would I want to move? This neighborhood isn't the greatest, but I love the work I do!"

Anera pounded her fist on the table. "Fuck. The. Shop! It's not worth being tainted by this greedy caste! I gave up an important part of myself when I married your father that you still need to find for yourself! You are wasting your life in this cesspool!"

Aennin turned his back on his mother, having officially heard enough. "I don't have to listen to this. I take pride in everything I've ever crafted. If you want me to give up on this life, I hope you're prepared to strain your voice on wasted words!"

He made for his room, but Anera grabbed his wrist and wheeled him around to face her glare. "You wish to be like your father so badly? On the road you're going, you'll end up gambling with your family's future too! Gods, I hope you never have children to raise in this city!"

Aennin felt as if he had been slapped in the face by Anera's final remark, but the rest of what she had said required clarification. "What are you talking about?"

Anera threw her arms up and began to pace the room impatiently. "Oh, you are so in love with those damned clocks that you don't even realize what your father's doing with you and your sister!"

Feeling no desire to comment, Aennin looked quietly at his mother and waited for her to continue. At this moment, he was overcome by an unusual sense of foreboding.

"Oh? Finally decided to listen to your mother for a change? Well, he's using BOTH of you and I can't do anything about it because the son of a bitch has turned you against me!"

"How is he using us?" Aennin said with his eyebrows knitted in confusion.

"Your father hasn't taught you damned thing in over a year, has he? Did your father ever tell you that the store makes most of its money from the clocks YOU make? He's been working you at making almost all of the merchandise, selling it off in his ratty establishment, and keeping most of the money your work has earned for him! It's what merchants do!"

Aennin shook his head in disbelief. "He's preparing me to take it over!"

Anera laughed at this weak rebuttal. "If he gave a damn about the store, he wouldn't be dipping so deeply into its coffers for money to waste at the card tables. I don't care what he says, that man is miserable at Towers!"

"He wouldn't do that! The shop is his legacy! Our legacy!" Aennin sputtered in denial

"He's going to lose that gold trap by the end of the year, with the way he's going! I'm sorry to have to tell you like this, but that boy you attacked isn't the one destroying the shop. By the time you turn twenty, there won't be a clock shop for you to take over! All because your father is a greedy fool!" Anera gasped as she tried to tone down her shouting. "Marrying into this caste was the biggest mistake of my life and, by wasting your opportunity to join another, you have just made yours."

Without a word, Aennin tried to leave again, and this time, Anera left him. He climbed the stairs in silence, pondering the true weight of this lecture. He had always enjoyed the work he did with his father, but if there was any truth to what his mother said, what was the point? It was tempting to ignore what she had revealed; to write it off on the poor value of her word in general, but his denial was hard to maintain. She had damaged her credibility many times over with her mountain of drunken mistakes, so why was he so ready to believe her?

Just before the boy could step into his bedroom, his older sister poked her head out from her own room. Beckoning quietly to him, she stepped back and waited for him to enter without even considering that he might be tempted to ignore her and go lay down. These temptations were very real at that moment, but he accepted Kana's invitation with a click of his tongue regardless. When they stood alone in the room, Kana dropped onto her four-poster bed and Aennin closed the door.

"It sounds like mother finally told you what an asshole our father really is," Kana said quietly, her voice devoid of any trace of her usual mischievous charm

"You know, she doesn't really have much any more credibility with me than father does with you," Aennin replied stonily.

"Mother has an illness," Kana said with a scowl. "One that has caused her to make a lot of mistakes. She's not a bad person. It just feels that way because you only think of how her drinking affects you."

If Aennin had been poorly prepared for his conversation with his mother, this defense of her character was a complete stunner. He hesitated to say anything, which seemed to annoy his sister.

Kana sighed and rolled her eyes. "Well, if you don't believe her, believe me. I know more about what he gets up to whenever he isn't here or at work than anyone else!"

Aennin looked up from his toes to meet his sister's eyes. "She says that father uses my talent to enrich himself with money that he keeps losing at the card tables."

Kana nodded sternly. "That's completely true. Now he's so far in debt that he had to get a loan from fucking Katim of all people and he's not paying it all back!"

"How did you know about that?" Aennin asked as he sat down on the bed beside her.

"Everyone keeps their eye on Katim and if you're not watching out for him too, you are taking a stupid risk," Kana said in a firm and serious tone. "People notice who he and his thugs shake down!"

Aennin's heart felt like it was about to stop. Hearing about his father's deeds from his sister essentially confirmed them as truth. How selfish could a man be, the boy thought, to give someone a dream, only to destroy it with their own vices?

"I was there when he came by yesterday," Aennin mumbled in angst. "He and those other guys came in and just destroyed hours of our work to make a point!"

Kana's eyes widened and she instinctively threw her arms around Aennin. "Shit! Listen, brother. Katim and his gang are dangerous people. Do not get involved with them in any way if you can help it. If you ever find him nearby again, get the hell out of there."

Aennin nodded bitterly. "You don't need to tell me that! I just wish someone had told our father."

Kana squeezed her brother gently and said, "I'm glad you're smarter than he is. If I were you, I'd prove it by going back to the school and begging them to take you back."

Aennin turned to his sister with a look of despair and said, "That's a good idea."

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