Captain Storm

just your friendly neighborhood pirate captain | she/they

[captain-lannery-storm]

Finally got me one of these here communicators! This will make communicating with ports a lot easier, I hope.

The name here's Captain Lannery Storm, though plenty of folks call me Slippery Storm instead. All the same to me. I'm the commander of my very own Storm Fleet, but I support Admiral Brass's efforts to get us our own governance. There's nothing better for me and my crew than sailing, exploration, and the freedom that the seas bring.

Currently I'm in charge of the merchant vessels that the Admiral's having us send out, but at least that gets the wind in my hair and the salty sea air in my lungs again.

I'm looking forward to seeing who else has access to these neat little things!

[dusk-legion-diplomacy]

Kindred Spirits in a World Gone Mad

He doesn't know when he awoke.

He doesn't know how long he had been walking, wandering, following that stubborn tug and pull in his very being. He doesn't know for how long it had taken for him to see the surface again, nor why he was back, nor how. He was gone, then he was not.

He was surrounded by jungle. The light of the sun was just hitting the sky. He could not feel its warmth. He had no flesh to feel it with.

All he knew is that he had to get back. To make sure she was safe, that they were all safe. He had the terrible feeling that something was wrong, utterly so. He must right a deadly wrong. He must make sure they were safe. That she was safe.

He needed to get back. To follow that pull.

But how?

He didn't know. All he did know that he had to keep going. Keep… moving. Everything felt… distant. Not quite numb, simply not there. But he was walking, he thought. He had to climb at one point to get here, to see the sun again.

The sun…

He remembered chasing the sun. A different sun. A fabled one. Brighter than bright, one that would scour away sins and… and…

And now it was gone. That sun was gone, long gone now, but something else was here. Something… no, someone, yes, someone was here now, someone who was a savior, a savant, someone who could save them, someone who… who…

Who he… could not quite name. But the rose upon his armor was connected to them. To.. to her.

She? Was it her? Was it… oh, blessings of the… Why couldn't he…?

He paused. No. She was someone different. She needed to be found, to be made safe. No, no, the… the Blessed One did not require him, not now… not until he made sure others were safe, were alive, were not… not like he was now.

He had to move. To go, to find someone, anyone to help him. Help him find her, help him find them, the survivors, to understand what this wrongness was, to help him remember…

… remember who he was. Why he was moving the way he did, why he was the way he was, he needed to understand, to know, why didn't he know? How could he not know? He was of importance, obviously, but… but who was he?

He found one answer in the startled looks of the pale faces that stared at him as he finally broke through the high vegetation. It was stammered to him through frightened lips.

"Director?"

He responded with the only thing that came to mind;

"Where is she?"

The sight of a dead man walking was enough to unnerve even the most steely of paladins that still occupied Queen's Bay. The echo -- the spirit, the remnant, among plenty of other whispered names he had been accruing in his short stay -- wandered while someone was getting answers for him.

He knew his name now. Bartolomé del Presidio, the deputy director -- formerly -- of the Queen's Bay Company. Other aspects of his personhood were fuzzed, indistinct. It was the same feeling he had when standing too close to one of the braziers full of incense at a sermon.

Although, he noted, he could no longer smell. Or feel, really.

A set of finely dressed merchants approached him, all large, formless clothing with intricate patterning and impressive enough facial hair. One came forward, offering a low bow to him as he did so.

"We believe we have the information you are seeking, good sir," he said. "You seek the girl who came to us with the warning?"

"Yes," the spirit said, straightening a little. "Have you found her? Is she safe?"

"That we do not know, my goodly sir," he said, holding a rolled set of papers. The nonchalance in which he said it was infuriating. "All we do know is that the one you seek did give us the warning, which we did ferry to Torrezon shortly thereafter. It did not do us much good, however."

"What do you mean?" Bartolomé asked. He took a step forward. Some of the entourage stepped back. "What has happened?"

"You mean to say --" the merchant stopped himself, chuckling. Again, it was enough to rile him. "Of course you wouldn't, you've been deceased, my good sir. No, our home is at war once more."

"With whom?"

"With itself, of course," the merchant said, brushing out his thicker overcloak. Given the rising heat of day, Bartolomé was surprised he wasn't sweating enough to fill the Deoro. "As I said, the warning was too little, and too late."

Bartolomé was stunned a moment. He staggered a half-step, his mind whirring. So the schism has finally happened, he thought. The Church is cracking. My death meant nothing.

The merchant who approached him must've noticed how distraught he was. "We can assure you that your family-"

"What of them?"

"--has been very well taken care of by the Company," the merchant finished a little imperiously. "As far as we know, they are safe."

A little comfort. He squared his shoulders a little. Not all is yet lost. "Thank you," he said. He then looked to the open docks at one end of the settlement, casting his eyes at the horizon. The merchant was continuing to speak to him, but the words were falling on deaf ears. He was beginning to feel a pull, hard and distinct.

Come to me, something whispered to him. Rejoice with your kindred.

The merchant was trying to get his attention. He balled his hands into fists and took a step forward, disappearing into the open air.

A cavern, slicked with ice greeted him. Had he the flesh to feel it, he knew he'd be shivering. It was quite different to the warmer climes that he had trekked through just to make it back to the surface again.

At least there weren't goblins and gnomes and all sorts of myriad insects and other skittering creatures to greet him.

Well, that wasn't entirely true. There were plenty of other skittering things, but those things had wings and tiny eyes and were trying to convince him that they had a kinship.

He had been drawn here, and he wasn't alone. There were others like him. Spirits, shades, echoes.

They were being drawn like moths to fire. Something had called them here. Bartolomé understood what it was, and doubtless the others down here did too. It was the very thing he had died in vain to try and prevent from ever digging its claws into his home. But now it was trying to greet him and all the others with open wings, with promises of power and freedom, with promises of all things being right and proper according to his whims.

Heresy, blasphemy, and lies, all of it. But he would do as he did initially on that fateful journey into the Core of Paradise, into his grave; he would bear witness, be out of the way, be unassuming until the time was right to fight back.

The caverns were filled with thousands of bats. Demons lurked and moved among the shadows. They whispered in languages that Bartolomé should not understand, yet he did.

Welcome. Welcome, brother.

Welcome.

Freedom is at hand, brother. Welcome.

If he had a brain left somewhere, it'd feel as though something was snaking around it. He hid his intent as well as one could.

He saw traitors. Some of whom he recognized -- there was Albina, someone he served with on a handful of tours before the unification, alongside Fausto, not too far away from her -- and many whom he did not. He saw humans, some of them thralls, others nothing more than hapless peasantry that didn't have enough hands raised to protect them.

He had to keep himself in check. They would be mourned, and they would be most properly avenged. There was nothing good he could do for them now.

His eyes lingered on the traitors. Their bodies were warped, made wrong, blasphemies written into their very flesh now. They smiled and laughed as though they were not bringing ruin to their own home and people.

The main event was about to begin. Shadows and darkness gathered in the center of a massive chamber, and out of it came the incarnated form of butchery, savagery, and madness itself.

Welcome my children, it whispered to them all. Welcome to our new kingdom.

Screeching and cheers went up around the cavern, enough to be deafening. Bartolomé kept his face as neutral as he could. A good skill he picked up when he was becoming more accustomed to dealing with nobilites and merchants.

Soon, my errant daughter shall fall, and after her shall the people of the accursed sun, it went on. There was more chaotic cheering. Soon, very soon, all that light once touched shall be ours, as is our right!

Now that caused a stir. He could hear the beating of weapons on stone and fists on armor.

Privately, he formed the sign of the rose in one hand. He felt a few pairs of eyes staring at him soon after. He stared right back.

If we are to accomplish this, the whispers continued, then we will need strength. We will need only our most daring and strong for this conquest. That is why I call to you, as I call to all of my most worthy children.

More beating of weapons and armor.

Thanks to our hidden weapon, we know precisely where our erring brethren are going to be and how they intend to strike at us, the beast at the center of the cavern went on. My Antifex already has begun making designs for all of you. You will not be alone -- more will follow in the nights to come. We will stand as an army that is greater than any of flesh and metal that they can throw at us. We shall stand as an army immortal, an army of death, an army greater than any that this plane has seen before.

Something was creeping closer to Bartolomé. He remained standing and focused.

Is something wrong, brother? a demon asked, right in his ear.

"No," he answered. "Aside from you interfering with the words of our lord and master."

The demon pulled back, folding its wings in a display of apology, before it went on. If the thing at the center of the cavern noticed, it did not make a show of it.

There was plenty more grandstanding and encouragement and blood-stirring. The others in the cavern were eating it up. It made him sick. Surely, he couldn't be the only one who wasn't agreeing with this. But there were too many that were.

His mind began to click even as the Antifex began to speak. He was surprised at how... strangely normal she looked. Glamours? Did she reject the daemonification of the others? He was keeping track of locations she was outlining, of their own movements, anything and everything that could be of use later. They already had the compromised plans of the Legion -- how did that happen? The beast mentioned a 'hidden weapon'. Something to bring up later once he was out of here -- so he would return to the Legion with the plans of the enemy.

A draw wouldn't be pretty, but it was better than letting the enemy win. He had learned that several times while sitting on one side of a regicide board.

Some of the traitors were beginning to rally a number of the collected spirits to their sides. The demons were moving in to help. Bartolomé was going to be corralled like a sheep.

So he let them. Fleeing now would do nothing. He needed to remain beneath notice, and already he was worried he roused too much suspicion. He had to set things right. He had to make sure his death mattered. That was one of the most ignoble things to suffer; a meaningless and unremembered demise.

So he would wait. He would watch. And when the time came, he'd finally raise his arms in defiance to strike.

Revenant, they were calling him now.

Shade. Spiteful One. All sorts of titles he began to accrue.

Sometimes the names were spoken with reverence, other times with fear. He didn't care. All that mattered to him was the rebalancing of debt.

Bodies of traitors and the stolen and trapped essence of the dead and damned would be left by the gates of various bastions and at the walls of cities, as well as pinned warnings.

YOU HAVE TURNED ON YOUR FAITH, AND SO I HAVE TURNED ON ALL OF YOU.

REPENT AND YOU MAY YET BE SPARED THE WRATH OF THE RIGHTEOUS AND THE HOLY.

No one suspected him. No one expected him.

He was dead, gone, he was no great champion nor hero even in life. He was a paladin and soldier turned mercantile broker.

He walked the fields of his homelands by night, alone, going to where he felt himself being pulled hardest. From there, his job was simple; take as many as he could.

Unwinding the very aspects of the traitors, the ties to their heathen and debaucherous god, was made far easier when you were now formed as part of that essence. Tearing their very souls from their flesh had been a delicate and difficult thing to learn at first, but now he was doing it with a very practiced ease.

It was only a handful each night, but that was better than nothing. His heart broke when he realized the gravity of what he was doing, but he steeled himself against feeling such pity when they were the ones visiting destruction upon their home first. Of course, they wouldn't see it that way -- and they plead for him to listen to their perspective often -- and he found himself caring less and less as the nights wore on.

He made sure he had no witnesses. No one to linger, no one to breathe a warning and ferry it and get himself undone as he was doing to these traitorous bastards.

That was easy enough. He was able to make himself into a watchman and scout. The disappearances? Too many Legionnaires in the area. He fled at the first sign of them to give warning, but they would be gone by the time he retrieved reinforcement. He'd get chastised for his fleetfooted nature, of course, but never suspected of wrongdoing.

He spread himself as far across the continent as he could to avoid it for as long as possible. He knew it'd catch up with him, but he wanted to make sure the enemy would already have paid in droves by that time.

And yet, the whispers of a "revenant" still went up through the ranks. Some were worried the Blessed Saint had found a way to ultize echoes and shades in a yet-unknown manner. Perhaps she had been able to hijack a portion of their god's power?

Bartolomé wished that was the truth. Perhaps they had developed new techniques in regards to utilizing shades. He didn't know. All he did know was that he had to keep moving, keep working, keep spreading unease and fear in the ranks.

There was something more he had to do in order to properly atone.

The warning from Amalia had come too late, so he would ensure his own warnings came early. These, too, would be anonymous. Unsigned letters appearing on the desks of captains and commanders, as many as he could find close to where he had been "assigned", started turning up. Murmurs would travel up the chain fast.

In quieter nights, when he could wander alone, he sometimes heard the chattering and knew it'd be enough.

Even if no one knew it was him, he would be happy to perish with the knowledge his home would be protected and safe. That his family would be safe and sound.

That, wherever she was, Amalia would be safe and sound. That girl didn't deserve all of this, no more than his own daughter had.

Bartolomé looked to the sky that was beginning to lighten. Day was approaching. It meant the rest of the traitors would begin fleeing back to their darker and danker hiding spots, and that he would have to join them, too.

He looked at the tiny silvered jar he held, feeling the undying wrath and hatred of the latest victim of his own internal crusade from within. He took a step back and threw it over a stony wall, hearing it thunk off of a bit of armor. He was gone before the confused soldier could find the strange assailant.

He would be back at holy dusk, as he always would be. There were more souls to reap, more unheard prayers to hear, more hope to give to the hopeless. One bastard at a time, one night at a time, he'd continue for as long as he had.

And until he was caught, he had a veritable eternity to make them pay.

[captain-lannery-storm]

Homeward

Captain Lannery Storm stood on the deck of the Gallant Angel with her arms crossed. She had a cutlass on each hip and had made an initial attempt to brush her hair, though she had quickly given up on that front in favor of just tying it back.

Behind her was the Omenpath back to the Stormwreck Sea. Somewhere on that side, Andres and Cristomo were working on the last bits of paperwork for Andres to formally return to Torrezon and for him and Cristomo to be legally married by the Church of Dusk so that their child wouldn’t be born a bastard. Somewhere else, her half-brother and half-sister, Marciano and Evereth, were setting up protections to keep the Betrayer from sinking his fingers into Luneau. And in a third place, her cousin and her grandmother were keeping Jagged Teeth Island in line.

But in front of her, on this side of the Omenpath, was the towering metropolis of Towashi.

The elderly rat man Captain Storm was meant to meet stood at the dock with his hands folded behind his back. Gathered around him were five kids: two nezumi, two kitsune, and an ogre. Both nezumi and one of the kitsune were just seven years old, followed by the other kitsune at eight, and finally the ogre at nine. Children. Orphans. Just like Storm herself.

Storm jumped down off of her ship as soon as the gangplank was lowered. “Hey, Mister Silentsign,” she said, trying to sign as quickly as she spoke. Nezumi sign language was a little difficult for her, but she had been watching videos about it on her communicator and heckling a few people she knew used it. “Everyone ready to go?”

The nezumi signed back. “They’re ready. I’ll be coming with you to ensure that they settle in, of course.”

“Of course,” she repeated. It was what the old man had done the previous times that the kids went to Jagged Teeth Island to meet their potential parents. “Want me to stop anywhere so you can jump in to fight a fish?”

Silentsign’s left ear twitched in amusement. “Perhaps on the return trip.”

“Sounds good, old man.” That was, of course, said with the highest respect. Like pirates, Reckoners rarely made it to their seventies. Storm turned back to the kids. “Alright, let’s get on the ship! Any of you who makes Adrian tell stories about Durron gets the dragon’s share of candy before we make it to shore again!”

Storm hated returning to Jagged Teeth Island. It felt like everything she was supposed to want, and it just made her feel bad that she didn’t want it. Thankfully, she wasn’t here for an extended visit, because she would rather eat her own legs than listen to her grandmother talk at length about the cultural benefits of settling down again. She had gotten enough of something vaguely adjacent to that while dealing with Andres and Cristomo’s entire everything lately, when they weren’t trying to put a new hole in the wall of their cabin.

Honestly, she was about ready to find an extraplanar nunnery just to avoid all of it.

She kicked the gangplank down to the dock and slid down it just to show off, which turned into a short jog at the end. Her crew started scrambling to unload things, while Silentsign bid the orphans goodbye so that they could join their new families here. Storm recognized most of the people living on this island, of course, but her gaze drifted past the crowd to try to find two women in particular.

Mariah Storm stood like a solid pillar of stone with her shoulders squared. She was the head of the island’s trader’s guild. At a glance, she and Storm looked like sisters rather than cousins: same brown hair, same sun-crisped tan, same squared shoulders and commanding gait. Storm considered that to be because of the good genes from the sides of their family that they shared. The difference was, as always, in the details: Mariah bore green eyes rather than the brown that Storm shared with her half-brother and half-sister, and Mariah was a powerful geomancer like their grandmother while Storm had...nearly nothing.

And standing beside her was Tetsuko Umezawa, a Dominarian woman with black hair and a shaved undercut that Storm honestly was pretty jealous of. Even though Tetsuko now wore the same clothing as everyone else on the island, she carried a weapon she called a jitte rather than go without one. She was probably closer to Storm’s age than to Mariah’s, but Storm never bothered to ask.

Storm counted to three, then pivoted in time to catch an orc girl flinging herself at her legs. The child was probably eight or nine years old, but Storm couldn’t remember. Her black hair was braided carefully and laid over her shoulder; probably Tetsuko’s work. One of the women had obviously convinced her to wash up so her green skin wasn’t covered in dirt and sand like it usually was. “Heya, Dolly,” Storm greeted, hefting the girl into her arms. “You’ve gotten bigger!”

Dolly giggled. “Hi Auntie Lannie! Did you bring my new brother?”

“Patience, Dolly,” Mariah reminded her as she and Tetsuko crossed the dock to join Storm. It wassounfair of her to be taller than Storm. “Let them have time to get their things together first.”

“But I wanna see him again!” The orc’s cheeks puffed up as she pouted.

“Hey now, cannonball, don’t argue with your momma,” Storm laughed as she set Dolly back down on her feet. “He’s on his way.”

The other kids who had been adopted – the nezumi twins by an older human couple, Maple-Paw by a goblin family unit that had already taken in a bunch of other orphans of varying species, and Flower-Nose by a younger orc man and his siren spouse – made their way down the docks and to their new families. Finally, Takuroshi made his way down the gangplank. He was fairly tall despite being somewhere around Dolly’s age, and Silentsign had warned Mariah and Tetsuko at length that ogres never stopped growing, though the speed at which they did would slow down in time. Storm was just glad that they had gotten him moved to the island before he outgrew her ship.

The ogre boy had short beige fur, which made him look almost bald. His ears were pointed and pinned back a bit when he saw the crowd, like he had during previous trips to this island. But he carried his own luggage toward Mariah and Tetsuko and Dolly.

Dolly darted forward. “Hi Takuroshi!” she chirped. “You get to live here now! Wanna come see your room?”

Takuroshi hesitated and looked up at Mariah, who nodded encouragingly. “O-okay,” he agreed, letting Dolly grab his hand and drag him off.

Storm snorted once the kids were out of earshot. “Either she’s going to pull him out of his shell, or they’re going to be the most dynamic duo on this island.”

“Or both,” Tetsuko agreed. “So, any chance we can convince you to stay for dinner and update us on the Storm Fleet?”

Storm glanced back at her ship. Silentsign was signing rather aggressively to Avarett about something to do with bones, Marian was cursing a storm over her maps, and Udolf had already vaulted off of the ship in order to get their food stores replenished.

She turned back to her cousin and her cousin’s partner. She offered them a grin that felt more forced than it looked. “Yeah, absolutely.”

[dusk-legion-diplomacy]

Deadly Nightshade

It had been weeks. It maddened him still.

That damnable thing. That damnable jar, containing that damnable man. Why couldn't he just... decide? Why couldn't he just commit to a course of action? Why did he hesitate?

Afutue. He just couldn't. And it was driving him mad that he couldn't.

Night after night it remained, night after night did he speak with the spirit trapped inside. He had acknowledged that the man he once knew and loved was long since gone the moment he seized that damnable journal and went off on that hunt, whispering and preaching about the strange madness that had seized him.

In it, Mavren recognized a similar misguided altruism that had guided him toward Ixalan, the Immortal Sun, and the Blessed Saint. That want to fix the problems of home, the want to ensure that Torrezon would live on in peace and continue to prosper, to help usher in a beautiful golden age again. Faith had been atrophying within the continent ever since he was a child, let alone a true man of faith.

He understood it. But he did not condone it.

Death and divine nightmares came for them all now. An eight-winged harbinger of the end of things, one he venerated as its prophet and herald.

Hadn't his faith in it been waning in recent nights?

The thought was one he had been mulling over again and again when his mind was given the space between the million other tiny obligations he had. Speaking with the Kamigawans, placating Her Majesty and the baying of the noble families, trying to tame the famine and ensure that more and more of the farmland was being made workable, reaching out to other planes to learn of their peoples and to issue forth decrees and declarations for other diplomatic teams or to invite diplomats to Torrezon, if it was safe enough...

And that was just his responsibilities. Just thinking about balancing all of that on top of what the Blessed Saint was also tending to... it made his wings shiver.

But whenever he got a moment, he tried to think. Was there progress? Was it just... imagined? Was he being desperate? He didn't know. And it wasn't as though he could talk to anyone about this. What would he even say? "I am holding the Arch-Heretic but I am unsure if I am simply being led astray by his slow change of heart because he's desperate for me to love him again?" That would be a surefire way to have himself investigated and potentially voted to be removed.

And Torrezon did not need that right now.

He was trying to lead by example. But oh, this damnable thing. This damnable, damnable man. Why couldn't he just let go already? It made his mind and heart turn into tight knots. By the light of the Sun, Saint, and stars, he hated this.

Especially since he seemed like he was changing. There was regret in his words that hadn't been there before. There was melancholy and longing. But he didn't know if he could trust that damnable demon not to be fooling him. He couldn't.

And what made it worse was that he understood this. It made things feel genuine even when it could very well not be.

So why? Why? Why torment himself like this? He didn't know. He couldn't say. Or he could, but he was loathe to admit it.

How could he admit that there was a part of his heart and soul that longed for him nearly as much?

He couldn't. He wouldn't, because it could not be allowed to be true.

Yet it was. When Mavren saw him, that damnable and most pitiful thing, he could see the echoes of the man whom he had secreted away with for decades. He saw the years of secrecy and trust the two had built, and he saw the scars of it even in their small exchanges together. They were always the same sort of arguments. One trying to get the other to give in. Mavren had the upper hand, of course, and was trying to use that to nudge him in the right direction.

If he could repent, if he could fully and wholly forsake this god and admit that all he had done was just misguided and in vain...

No. He was just chasing a fantasy. He wouldn't, he was too devoted to that damnable bat.

But maybe he wasn't. Although he would speak with reverence, there was a greater devotion in his words when he would speak in the quiet hours of the night and share a memory the two had. Those beautiful, quiet, and intimate moments between them.

"It was our fifth anniversary. You were here, stirring everyone with your faith and devotion, while I was out afield, doing what we were told and believed was holy work. I still remember the letters you sent to me. I remember how surprised I was that they hadn't been read, especially with how eloquent you were with your wording. I kept them at my bedside on especially cold and lonely nights."

It dug at him worse than his hunger in the waning hours before the blessed madness of a Blood Fast. Saint and Sun, he felt like he was slipping back into that madness despite being relatively well-fed.

"I still have the gift you made for me when I was a century and a half old. Or, well... I did. I don't know if my old things were burned in the completion of my damnatio memoriae or not. I would not be surprised if they were. But I kept it in a chest hidden beneath my bed. Both it and the book of poems you made for me. A wonderful collection, Mavren. It inspired me to try writing my own, even though I never was the wordsmith you are. I suppose that is why you ascended to the position of Pontifex over someone like Theodors."

He hated his honeyed words. Long had he heard the silvered tongues of poisoned snakes throughout his lifetime, and he could always steel himself against them, their blasphemies, and their lies. And yet, that damnable little man stuck in that damnable little jar could still get to him. He hated it, he hated it, oh how he loathed it with every fiber of his being. He hated that he felt longing and misery, he hated that he felt the temptation to give in and embrace him one last time because he knew it would grow into many "last times" because of course it would and --

He clutched at his head. Maddening. It was maddening! He knew what the right thing was. Yet he couldn't do it, damn it all, he just... couldn't. There was still too much love there.

He remembered too well that final night between them, before all of this fell apart.

"I want to heal us. I want to help us, Mavren, we're suffering, we're starving, the stupid nobles are at our throats and Her Majesty is being more rigid than ever, but I think I have found something to help-- Just, please, listen to me -- the Saint has brought nothing but discourse and discord to our people, claiming we butchered her memory, but -- no, please, just listen to me, please, I know how we can be whole again. I know it, and I know it seems insane, but I am begging you, know that I come to you first because I love you and I want you to come with me. Please.

Please."

The look of desperation. Longing. Love. Fear. Conviction. Madness. Zeal. He saw every single aspect of him that night, and Mavren knew he had to turn away.

He had listened. He had let him rant and preach and rave, he spoke about that forbidden journal as though it held all the answers and wasn't anything more than the travelogue of a deluded man later canonized more for his acts of heroism and apparent piety rather than any holy theological writings. His writings had been redacted and sequestered with good reason, they were just... raving.

Yet that damnable book was what was being held as the ultimate truth. Mavren saw it for the falsehoods it had held, and now that damnation was hanging over all of them like the macuahuitl of the Sun Empire.

He should surrender the jar. Give it over to the condemners to deal with as they pleased.

But he loved him still.

And so his hand stayed.

He hated going around in circles like this. He let out a deep sigh, his eyes looking to that damnable thing. The man inside was quiet. He didn't rest. He didn't need to. But he still remembered Mavren and knew when he needed quiet.

He hated that. He hated that he still showed care. He couldn't trust him but he wanted to, he desperately wanted to. He just... he just wanted to let him out once just to end this game. Just to see what he would do. Just to see if his god would claim him or forsake him again or... or just... anything.

It had been weeks. Weeks of his resolve holding out. Weeks of not letting the dam break.

Mavren looked at the jar. The spirit within was looking back. He thought he saw something in his face. Acceptance? Hope? He didn't know.

Mavren looked back through the window over his desk. He drew the curtains. He stood.

He reached for the jar.

Still, the man within said nothing. No pleading tonight.

Because he already knew what was happening. He already knew that, in a sense, he had won.

Mavren's voice was soft. He didn't need to make threats, they had already both heard them at least a hundred times by now. He just... did it.

A soft, radiant purple glow enveloped his room. The jar was set aside. He knew the words to put him back, knew the way to bend and weave the power and conviction his faith had given him to slam him right back if he tried anything-

He felt the softest sensation brushing his face as the apparition reached up to cup his cheek. He knew that the confliction that had been destroying him would be more than apparent.

He looked into the eyes of his dead lover. He felt his heart melt just a little, his guard lowered but a fraction.

They came closer. Not a word was spoken. None had to be said.

Their lips met. It was strange. He had expected it to feel as though he were kissing the air, but... no. He could feel him. It was not like it was in life, but it was... something.

They pulled apart.

The candle burned beyond its first candlemark.

And that damnable, horrible, heretical man would be back in the jar in time for the candle to burn past the second.

[skarchomp]

the cursed amulet in my inventory attempts to corrupt me as she has many others. unfortunately for her, I'm a domme, so when she gets too mouthy i interact with the nearest merchant and hover the cursor over her gold value just to show her i can

[danco110]

“We should be checking the main rivers instead, Itotia! That will lead us to the Sunken Ruin!”

The lead scout looked up from their map, specifically to roll their eyes at the shaman swimming behind them in the small tributary. “Speaker Kumena. You are our leader with regards to magical and spiritual matters. However, I politely request you leave the navigation to me.”

“And why is that!” Kumena gestured angrily, first to the dense jungle around the group, then to the mundane sight of the river both up and downstream. “We have been searching for days and found nothing! Is this such an enormous island that finding this place is beyond you?”

Itotia’s hands clenched tight around the map, threatening to tear the enchanted paper. “If it were merely an issue of covering ground, then yes, we would have found it by now. But I have reason to believe there is some sort of spell at play, preventing its discovery.”

“And how did you reach that brilliant - and completely arbitrary - conclusion?”

“Because otherwise, surely the other factions would have found it by now!”

Finally, this seemed to stymie Kumena for a time. The shaman fell silent, earning a relieved sigh from Itotia.

“About time,” they grumbled, before casting a dowsing spell. A glowing arrow materialized before them, pointing down a branching stream to what appeared to be a dead end of a small runoff pond.

“Speaker Kumena, I think this is it.”

“About time. Go on, then.”

Itotia hesitated, then backstroked behind the shaman. “Would you care to do the honors, Speaker? Any magic should do, even a cantrip.”

“Fine. If you’re so nervous, I’ll take point.” Kumena waved his hand at the pond. Sparks flew from his fingertips. The magic coaxed a blue barrier into existence and, like a curtain, pulled it back, revealing the object of the merfolks’ search.

“Azcanta!” Kumena grinned over his shoulder. “I told you we’d find it here!”

“No, you-” Itotia stopped themself. “Lead the way, sir,” they growled, teeth gritted all the while.

[It’s interesting flavor for the River Heralds to be searching for Azcanta. Don’t they live on the island? I would’ve thought they’d already know where it is, especially since it’s on the water.]

[dusk-legion-diplomacy]

Dance of the Fire

She shot upwards, a thing of shadows and smoke, large wings beating on the air, a clawed hand reaching upwards while a wide grin painted her face. A predator leaping onto what would've been easy prey.

And then Guitirre rolled, just barely evading her grasp, feeling the brush of claws against his decorated breastplate, bringing up his weapon just in time to fend off a blow from his would-be assailant. Another followed. Then another, and another, and the two became locked into a swift and deadly rhythm.

A parry, a glancing blow, a parry, back and back and back again, the assault was stultifying to all but the most skilled when it came to singular combat. His attacker was forcing him lower and lower, back towards the flames, hoping to get some part of him caught in it to end this early. Guitirre wouldn't let it happen.

"Serpens," he whispered, and the blade, shining a brilliant crimson off the firelight below him, started to move of its own accord, affording him the time and space to get his other blade into his hand and start pressing back.

His opponent had not been expecting that.

Soon, he was able to start gaining space and altitude. The pace of their duel was furious and fast, but the two were now showing themselves to be even, despite Guitirre technically having the advantage.

"Should've known you'd try something," he shouted over the din. "What is it you call yourself now? Antifex?" Their blades locked for a moment, and his red-limned blade came around, pointed right at a soft spot under her arm. "I liked your other epithets better."

Vona kicked him square in the chest, wings beating as she gained herself space and height, battering away his dancing weapon with relative ease. The blade came to rest near his missing shoulder, and Guitirre pointed his other right at her.

"So, you could never master true exultation, and you decided to get angry and side with a maniacal god over the whole thing?" he asked. "Your wings don't suit you. And they are far more of a liability for flight. We've been cutting down plenty-"

She dove, reaching for his throat as she did so. Guitirre moved to dodge, but Vona had been anticipating the movement, catching him still and slamming him into the rough stonework of a building below. The watchtower, probably, considering the height of the ledge that just jabbed into his back.

"It seems as though you have new tricks, old man," she said, fighting to have a smirk on her face instead of a snarl. Guitirre's armor had taken the brunt of the assault for him, and it was probably mightily dented, but at least he hadn't split his spine over the stone. "Couldn't keep up with just one arm after all, hmm?"

"At least I didn't go running into the wings of a heathen god," Guitirre spat. His dancing blade came up and pressed itself to her throat. "What a sad and sorry sight you've become, Vona. Too proud to admit mistakes as usual."

"Oh, please, do not start preaching to me," Vona said with a scoff. She grinned more easily now, all fang. "Besides, there's no means of death that I have to fear anymore. I can fight and drink as often as I please, without some sanctimonious do-gooders telling me all that I did for them was wrong." She tightened her grasp on his throat. Then, a number of bolts came streaking through the air, landing home right into the bones and tendons in her wings. Vona let out a yell of surprise, turning to see who had dared to wound her, and Guitirre took the opportunity to kick himself free, legs once more dissolving into mist as he took back to the skies above.

"And that is why exultation still remains superior," he said, leveling his blade with her. She snarled at him and threw herself towards the skymarchers who were retreating, still in formation, so that they could reload. Others were taking their place, but they were moving a hair too slow. Vona would be upon them.

Unless, of course, they were not being led by the fastest skymarcher on the damn continent.

Guitirre threw himself in front of the line -- oh, what a beautiful line they had maintained, by the Saint was he proud of them -- and caught the worst of her attack himself. He felt her blade sliding across his armored ribs and her claws gouging the armor on his other side.

"That's how you got Andreas, isn't it?" he asked, elbowing her in order to make space again. "You went after the others. She went to cover them. You exploited that. That's how it went, isn't it?"

Vona snarled at him and beat her wings to stir up the smoke. Guitirre rose higher in order to get away from it, shouting an order to his skymarchers as he did so.

"Keep ranks solid, leave yourselves room, don't do anything stupid," he commanded. He kept his eyes on Vona all the while, keeping his blade pointed toward her, watching her. He was going to let her be the one to take point and lead until she was too tired to do so. For all her godly strength, and that filthy looking halo that crowned her now, he knew she could still tire. Even if it was by a fraction of a degree, she could tire.

Vona dove again. Guitirre went to move higher until he saw that she wasn't going for him, but rather one of the bowmen with him, and he quickly got back in the way, dancing blade singing as it caught her own sword.

And then Guitirre felt a very deep pain in his side, accompanied by a tearing of flesh. He grit his teeth, and Vona pressed the advantage, once more grasping him by the throat.

"You could've let him die," she said with a laugh. "But instead you'll pay for the--"

The red rapier came through and sliced her clean across the throat, silencing her before she could well and truly begin. Vona's eyes widened, the smile dying off her face. Once more, Guitirre elbowed her to give himself space, blackened blood now staining her golden armor and breastplate. His red blade returned to his side, and the High Marshal knew better than to think this would kill her.

He got altitude, then he, himself, dove downward, blade ready to stab it right through her throat. Vona's wings were beating less steadily, and right as he stabbed home, he disappeared.

Then he appeared at her side, going for the soft spot right under her arm, striking and disappearing. The sound of clanging metal heralded another strike. Then another.

And another.

And another.

And another.

Faster. And faster. And faster. His dancing blade had taken on a mind of its own, keeping her sword arm busy enough that she couldn't stop each and every strike, even if she could turn just enough to feel Guitirre's mainhanded rapier sliding off her armor instead of getting a good blow.

Faster, and faster, and faster. He was practically blinking out of existence and striking, impossibly, from all angles. Vona's wings took the brunt of his assault, slowly becoming increasingly torn and bloodied under the attack.

Guitirre could not keep this up forever. He knew this. She knew this. But he needed to just keep it up enough to get her grounded.

And it was working. Soon, her wings were working less and less, becoming more and more useless. Even with the second grin across her throat, which Guitirre noticed even now was starting to seal -- taking the attention and energy from her wings, as he had hoped -- she was keeping up. He could hardly land a proper blow on her body, but she was gradually descending, until finally she decided to drop properly.

Guitirre fully manifested in the air above her, sweat now sheening his greyed skin, a bit of exhaustion in his eyes. He winked at her before he, too, fell with a catlike grace to the ground, getting himself into a proper stance, aiming his missing shoulder back and his sword hand forward.

There was naked hate in the eyes of the Antifex. But he also saw she was taking in the battle still happening around them, trying to gauge the extent of the flames.

And then she attacked.

She was all manner of a storm of fury, claws and blade raking in a strange concert that left Guitirre a little wrongfooted from the get, but he started to get used to the new pace. He still let her lead.

Yet, she was not beginning to slow. Not as he had hoped.

The slice across her throat was still wide and angry, but it was not as deep as it needed to be. That was going to cost him, he knew.

Up and up and over again, she struck and struck and struck. She kept pressing the distance and trying to close, even as the High Marshal practically danced and leapt in order to keep her away. He knew as well as she did that if she got in close enough, she might be able to finish him.

His limbs were beginning to feel a bit weighted. He felt the cost of his maneuver to get her down. But he brought her down with very good reason; not only to get her away from the skymarchers who were dealing with her smaller entourage, but also so his larger help could deal some damage of his own.

"I am so sorry for tearing you away so soon," he muttered. "I summon the silent blade. Stealth, rationality, and swift death. As Dokuchi aids Dokuchi, as human aids oni, so will you aid me. Rise," he spoke, fending off a crushing blow and jumping out of the way of her claws tearing through his armor again, letting his dancing blade give him the time he needed to bring his fist to his breastplate, "and make merry."

From the flickering shadows of firelight did he come, stepping right out of them as though he were moving through a doorway. It took little time for him to see who his target was, and he was on them, pressing the advantage of his unconventional weaponry in a foreign land to his greatest benefit.

Vona whirled around to face her new opponent, letting out a derisive laugh. "You're summoning demons now too?" she asked. "So we had heard. I didn't think you'd have it in you."

"He's no demon," Guitirre said, backing off and letting Zenkuro take the brunt of her attention for a moment, "he is an oni. A friend from distant lands. We've been making allies while you lot have been huddled in your dank caverns."

Vona and Zenkuro fought, and Vona was keeping the oni at bay despite being shifted now onto the backfoot. Black mist was gathering around Guitirre's legs as he prepared to begin striking at her again, but then he felt them seize and stop.

His blood was beginning to rebel against him. He could feel it beginning to boil in his veins. This was not a practiced craft that belonged to the church, no.

This was her doing.

A bolt cracked and splintered off his armor, and he more forcibly willed his legs to become mist. He then prepared a charge, and right before he could fully pull back, a hand was there, grasping at his armor, and throwing him right into the paved cobbles below. He felt something crunch, and pain bloomed across his face. Vona was able to get a kick at him before Zenkuro -- or perhaps the skymarchers overhead -- were able to press her enough to give him room to get up. Part of his vision in his right eye was obscured by the puffyness he saw on the edges. He shook his head, disliking the bit of wooziness he felt.

His dancing blade was still doing work, helping to try and flank the Antifex even as she continued to fight with the oni. She was scoring a few good hits from the look of him, but so too was he. He watched as she danced right out of his grasp on more than a few occasions, her wings now becoming more of a liability. He spat a bit of blood onto the streets before he started to circle her. He was going to start aiming for the wings.

He was going to carve himself a trophy.

But then, he felt that weakness, and he felt a cascade of something wet coming from both the gouge in his side -- which he had forgotten about -- as well as the new wounds in his face. His knees buckled and his attack faltered, only barely clipping the wing he had wanted. His vision swam and he fought hard not to go down entirely.

Zenkuro must've noticed, as Guitirre saw him pause, just long enough for Vona to make an excellent stab, her blade punching right through his flesh-that-was-not-quite-flesh in his arm. The oni let out a grunt, and Guitirre forced himself up, blade cleanly stabbing right through where one wing met her back.

"You should really have your god get you a proper armorer," he growled, tasting the iron of old blood at the back of his throat. Vona snarled and spun, her blow getting caught by Guitirre's dancing blade as he moved back, his other weapon clattering to the cobbles as he disengaged.

She went for him again and again, the dancing blade acting as his only means of defense while Zenkuro also tried to press and keep up. Guitirre could feel his body growing heavier, his movements slower, and Vona scored another good hit right across his face, narrowly missing the small unarmored bit between his jaw and throat.

Bolts started to fly. A good hail of them, trained expertly upon Vona as Guitirre moved and dodged as best he could. The oni was able to once more become the focus of her attentions long enough for him to make a scrabble for his fallen weapon while his dancing blade harried her.

He slid on his knees as he went for his weapon, and then his vision went white and he heard a loud ringing in his ears. He fell forward onto his hand, dizziness and nausea overwhelming him. She only got maybe two good hits, he thought to himself, what in the sweet fuck is this?

"High Marshal!" came a muffled voice off to his right.

"Someone bring a glorifier!"

Had he fallen overboard? Was this all but a dream?

No. He saw a blur of movement, gold and black, and somehow he was up and standing, his silvered blade matching that of the enemy, diverting it right before it could run one of his own right through.

"Still standing?" Vona asked. Guitirre spat again.

"You'll have to do better than a bit of blood sorcery to put me down," he said, though his words were definitely half-slurred. He could feel the oni's presence over his shoulder. Other Legionnaires -- proper ones, not traitors -- were beginning to gather, weapons trained on Vona. Guitirre shook himself out, his dancing blade returning to its spot at his shoulder.

Vona was surrounded. Both on the ground and in the skies. Other traitors were making valiant, though incredibly stupid, attempts to get to her.

"What a sorry damn sight you are," Guitirre said, keeping his blade pointed at her. "Choosing a bastard god because of what? Greed? Power?"

"We have been lied to," Vona said. "We were doing all of this in her name, and then she suddenly says it was all wrong. All of the blood we spent on her, all that we did in her name and honor, and she spits on it!"

"So you spit on your country? You spit on the people who depended upon you?" Guitirre sneered, wiping blood from his lips and spitting again. "Your family? Your friends?"

"They died," Vona growled. "They died, and we failed to properly punish their murderers. This is retribution that had been denied for half of a generation, Guitirre."

"So you think yourself noble?"

"I will never pretend to be such. Not as you and the rest of these ingrates do," she spat. Guitirre noticed a number bristling, and he subtly waved them off.

"So you admit to being a beast?"

"I care not for how you label me," Vona said with a scoff. Her wings spread. Guitirre noticed the tears had been mending. "Murderer. Betrayer. Call me all you wish, I do not care. I have found someone who appreciates my talents, and who will not force me to play nice with the sniveling weaklings I devour."

"Then you and yours will be starving within a decade," he said with a snort. "We need the humans, and they need us. I am sorry you never grasped such a basic concept, alongside that of deserved humility and the ability to admit wrongdoing. What a petulant child you are."

Her eyes narrowed. Blackened mist started to congregate around her, and Guitirre could make out reddened eyes in it.

"To all who blindly followed her," he said, raising his voice as weapons were loaded, ready to be fired upon her. "I tell you this now -- lay down your arms. Surrender yourselves, and your souls may yet be saved. Follow her, and meet your god in death. This is your choice, this is your first and only chance." He dared to take his eyes off of her, looking to the traitors who had been taken in by his own Legionnaires. "Surrender or die. These are your options."

A few had nasty words that died in their heretic throats before they could be fully uttered. Others were wiser and dropped their weapons, offering up their hands and bowing in a gesture of supplication.

My champion does not need your mercy, came a whispered voice. Do not expect for it to be given when next you cross paths.

Darkness consumed her, and in an eyeblink, the Antifex was gone.

"We should've captured her!" one of the skymarchers protested.

"She would escape no matter what we did," Guitirre told them. "We do not have the capacity to keep her bound. That was the doing of her patron's power, not her own. We'd have to limit his hold on her which is all but impossible unless we had a means of instantly transporting her to the capitol."

A number of the Legionnaires were still rankled, but others knew the High Marshal was right. Even with the five condemner-priests across the ships, with only two on his and no true expert in the newer binding techniques with them, it'd be a futile effort. Even then, she might bide her time, overhear where they were headed next, and prepare a greater and more coordinated ambush for them later on down the line.

Getting her to retreat was the best outcome.

The High Marshal let out a deep sigh, sheathing both of his weapons.

"Alright. You," he said, pointing to one of his Legionnaires nearby -- their face was getting fuzzed in his vision -- "make sure that the fires are dealt with. Zenkuro, I know I owe you greatly, and I will make up for it when I can reasonably stand without being underwater." He swayed a little on his feet. "And I am going to pass out now, so if you could catch me, that would be appreciated."

He swayed again, his knees buckling, and then he fell into strong enough arms to keep him from the ground.

[gesserith-the-broker]

Supreme Rectification

It was a bright, beautiful day in Capenna, one of those days where even the Caldaia has packets of sunshine beaming down into it. Gesserith woke up from the sunlight, stretching for the day ahead. It was a very special day, after all. And now, he had a reason to share it with someone. As he exited his bedroom, he noticed Shadowstep, his adopted daughter, peacefully sitting on the couch, practicing newly-learned pyromancy. He sneaked up right behind her, going “BOO!” and coming down from over her. They both had a nice laugh as he went to cook up breakfast. Haruko emerged from behind him, taking her place at the table, large as she may be.

Over the sizzling of pancakes, he started talking. “Heya kiddo? We’re gonna be heading out on a trip today. Thunder Junction! It’ll be a fun day, I’m sure you’ll enjoy it. Maybe we can do a bit of Omenport shopping once we’re done.”

Shadowstep looked at him with joy. She signed, About time! Can we go look at your Sterling Company stuff? I want to see what you do! Maybe we can go see Uncle Huck and Priscilla! Her earpiece lit up, beaming her thoughts right to the people (and kami) around her. A very utilitarian gift from Biilziebub. She was practically vibrating with excitement, something Gesserith found absolutely precious.

“Sure kid, why not! Can’t guarantee Huck’ll be there, but I sure hope we can see him again.” Under his breath, he whispered, “Not that he particularly wants to see me.”

Breakfast was finally ready: Pancakes carefully laced with blueberries with some chocolate milk from Snilliam, with some sausage on the side. The chocolate milk had set him back a pretty penny. Apparently an item in high demand. But for today, he would spare next to no expense for his daughter. A great meal for the adventure he had planned for today. High in everything a balanced breakfast could ever need.

As he went to get dressed and prepare his backpack, he performed one final weapons check. He called his halberd, Lightbane, which emerged from the air with strands of shadows. Still sharp. Still enchanted. Still ready to fight. It had been acting up recently, appearing as it wanted without Gesserith’s input. Th’ich’che wanted him to uphold his end of the bargain. He hoped the old god would be so kind as to grant him compliance today. He observed his gauntlets, one of which housing his custom hidden blades. He flexed his wrist, ensuring both the inner pivot blade and outer stronger blade both operated properly before turning the safety on. Finally, he quickly glanced over his custom Oasis Hawk, a thunder pistol of a somewhat more recent make. Hefty thing, but he could handle it just fine. He hoped, deep down, he would not need them today. He strapped his pack together and reemerged to his family.

The three set out from Nido Sanctuary out to the Omenpath. Haruko floated behind the two, keeping a condensed form to not take up the whole sidewalk. Though most days they would catch a bus there, today Gesserith decided to walk out there, giving him a reason to enjoy the day and catch some fresh air before they brave the sands of Thunder Junction. ‘Just trying to make the day better before it’s time,’ he thought.

Walking through the city, Gesserith pointed out a few locations they hadn’t visited together, noting down some particular places that looked interesting. Shadowstep even chimed in at times, wanting to stop at a tailor and an ice cream parlor. While he wanted to stop, he knew they had to keep on going, so they kept walking towards the Omenpath. Eventually, they found that the road ahead was blocked, so they had to take a detour. The sunlight slowly faded out as they reached an area far more separate than Gesserith would have liked. The paved sidewalk gave way to a bumpier mass of shattered concrete, and the buildings abruptly changed from a clean brick exterior to pipework that delved deep into the heart of the city, farther than the eye could see. Shadowstep tugged on his arm. I don’t like it here. We should go back, she signed. Nodding, Gesserith turned about face to get back to the main route.

A series of shadows covered the ground as a sneering voice emerged. “Well well well, what do we have here? A Broker, so far out of his territory.” A gang of Riveteers closed in on the trio. “Where are you off to, Contract Boy? ‘Cause it sure ain’t back to the Sanctuary.” They started to chortle. “You know, I’m feeling pretty nice today. For today, and today only, you just have to pay a little toll. Then you’re home free.”

Gesserith positioned his daughter behind him. Haruko silently grew among the shadows, blotting out the remaining sunlight, though Gesserith didn’t notice. “First off, that name is reserved for friends only. Second off, Omenport.” He rustles in his pockets, finding a few coins. “Here, that’s your toll, right? Now let me and my kid be off. We have a day ahead of us and I just want to spend some time with my daughter.” He chucks a small bag at the fiends. “Now take it and let us by.”

The head Riveteer counted the coins. “Sure, that’ll do. Just watch yourself and your kid. And whatever that… dark blob is. Let’s go, boys.” They all headed out, laughing at each other for the easy score they just got. Gesserith was nearly snarling under his breath. Shadowstep was audibly snarling. Haruko was… floating, as Haruko does, though the shadows soon receded back into her form. Taking her hand, he guided Shadowstep out of the darkness back towards the path to Omenport with Haruko closer behind. Nothing else would get in the way of their trip.

As they stepped through the Omenpath, the bright sun immediately shined down overhead, the first thing that welcomes any visitors to Thunder Junction. The second thing was the sand immediately buffeting their faces and lungs. Or what would be a face, in Haruko’s case. A harsh welcome, sure, but one that informs travelers to prepare for the desert or die trying. Fortunately, Gesserith was well and ready for the environment, handing out a hat and bandana to Shadowstep and securing them, much to her chagrin. I’m old enough to handle this, you know, she beamed.

“Yes, you are. You are very capable. However, Thunder Junction is a very harsh place. I just want to make sure you don’t get swept up or end up in a coughing fit or get heatstroke or get stung by a scorpion or wander into a dragon’s lair or-” He looked down. She got the point. He led her towards the main town, filled with enough shops and saloons to power a small government’s economy. Omenport would be in a good spot if people could establish one. It could be a place of potential, yes, but one of order and stability as well. But alas, Gesserith had other matters to oversee, like enjoying the day with his daughter.

Shops, saloons, restaurants, and more dotted the sandy streets. Smithies and tailors prepared the travelers for the environment, and expedition markets made a home for all sorts of traders. To begin with, they went towards the tailor, to fit Shadowstep for some decent clothes for the environment. She hated every second of it — needing to sit still, having someone constantly nearby and grazing her to take measurements. But she did, since she knew it would both help her later and make her dad just that little bit happier. She ended up getting fit for a simple leather outfit, rugged and strong. It didn’t especially feel nice on her skin, but it was better than the sand and sun.

Exiting from the tailor, they passed by a few shops on their way to the Sterling Company outpost for the area. Many times Shadowstep wanted to stop and check out the wares, and that many times Gesserith said no and that they would return once they were heading home. The outpost was a steely thing, standing tall above the nearby buildings. It was gilded lightly since everyone knew the embellishments would get worn off in a week. Showing his ID to the entry clerk, Gesserith moved inwards to the armory and the board. He was hailed by a nearby mercenary. Her flashy Fioran fit was accented by the traditional silvered Sterling Company accents. A custom thunder pistol sat on her hip. “Hey hey, if it ain’t the Broker? How’s it going, chief? Who’s the pretty looking shadow over there? And… who’s the kid?”

Gesserith met her, shaking her hand and patting her back. “As I live and breathe, Mia! It’s been a while! How’s the wife? How was the vacation?”

“Oh, it was great! Avishkar is so pretty. All the lights and nature everywhere, it felt so good to finally get out of here for once, away from all the ‘politics’ back home too. But enough evading.” She pointed to the entourage in an accusatory fashion, like a detective in an old noir flick. “Who’s with you? Who are these dangerous foes? ANSWER ME!” She put on a mean face. The twinkle in her eyes never left.

Haruko floated forward and signed. Haruko, Kami of Restless Shadows. I am from Kamigawa, and I am bonded to both this idiot and someone else. She gently whapped Gesserith on the head. It is lovely to meet you. Haruko silently waved and bowed, projecting some very lesbian thoughts through the bond. Gesserith neglected to mention them.

“Hello, Haruko!” Mia gave a bright smile, dropping the act and shaking her hand. “You seem like a very lovely kami. Alright, Edmund. Clearly you’ve been around a little. Who’s the kid?” She gave a small wave to the young one behind the Broker.

“This, Mia, is my adopted daughter, Shadowstep.” He brought Shadowstep out from behind him. “Shadowstep, this is Mia. We’ve worked on a few bounties together. She is one hell of a shot. She could take the hat off a Slickshot here from across Prosperity.”

Mia laughed. “So THIS is the kid you’ve told me so much about. It is a pleasure to meet you, Shadowstep!” The two shook hands. “Alright, Edmund. Er, well, the older Edmund. What brings you out here today?”

“Any smaller bounties on the table today? Figured I’d show my kid here a little bit of the action. Something real small though. Trying to mostly relax today.”

“Here, I’ve got one. I was going to take it easy today, but you deserve it more, old man. You and your knees. One Slickshot, easy as pie. Take a look.” Mia called him over and brought him in close. She whispered, “Edmund, are you… sure about this? You could take the time off, you know. Relax, like you want to. Stay out of danger. Keep her out of danger. You don’t have to do this. Enjoy your trip and just go home.”

He gave her a glance. “I need to do this. I need to prove to myself that it will be fine. That it isn’t my fault. It’s just the one. I can handle this. I’ve gotten a lot stronger. I have learned quite a lot. I need to put this to rest.”

“Gess…” she whined.

“Don’t. She will be fine. I will be fine. Just let me take this job, and I’ll get it out of my system for good. Please,” he bargained.

A harsh silence stood between the two. Both stared down the other. Mia cracked first. “Fine. Take it. If I find you wound up dead, I’ll bring you back and kill you myself.”

“Wouldn’t have it any other way. Thanks, Mia. I won’t let you down.” He picked up the bounty note, waving it at Shadowstep. “Alright kiddo, bounty acquired! Let’s go find us a no-good dirty rotten scoundrel!” Gesserith took her out and back into Omenport main. All Mia did was sit and look out with pity as she scrounged the board for a new bounty.

They rode off to the bar where he’d been informed the bounty laid. As they approached, he made sure Shadowstep was sticking close to him. The crowd standing outside was a lively bunch. Lots of jabber filled the air, none of which was particularly important. Before he was able to enter through the swinging doors, he was stopped by some ruffians. “Woah now, pal, you haven’t paid the entry fee yet. Boss only wants customers that can spend a little cash.” That sneering tone was similar. Too similar. Gesserith made some room to see his face. It was the same Riveteer from earlier who caught him in the alleyway. Gesserith’s face was recognized as well. “Well would you look at that. Same knucklehead needing to pay the tax twice in one day. Ain’t that something, boys?” The rest of them laughed alongside the leader. He put his hand out, waiting for the payment.

Gesserith sighed, just done with these idiots. Rifling through his pockets again, he groaned. “Look fellas, I’m on an outing with my daughter today, so I’m travelling light. I was going to get ice cream for both of us, but unfortunately, I need to collect this bounty. So here.” He puts another bag of coins in the outstretched palm. “Now let me and my kid through.”

An oddly long time was spent carefully counting out each coin. The leader replied, “Well, I don’t think this is enough to let you in, sorry bud. Come back again when you’re a little richer.” He put the purse in his pockets and turned his attention elsewhere. He failed to recognize the hand moving towards his shoulder, spinning him around to face Gesserith. A hand closed around his ever-so-snappable neck.

“Look here, punk. I’m not someone you want to mess with. You’ve already drained me twice today, and I’m here with my kid. Now you are going to let me pass. If I see you again, I’ll pay you double the missing amount, okay? I’m a man of my word. We don’t need to get into a fight here, just let me through.” Gesserith’s eyes bore a hole through the Riveteer in his grasp.

The leader shoved him off, taking a moment to recuperate behind a few of his goons. “You know what, old man? Sure. Fine. You can go. Hope you don’t see us again. Let’s go, boys.” Him and his gang walked off in a huff, glancing back multiple times. Gesserith checked to make sure his daughter was still okay. She was just fine, almost looking like she was about to draw her dagger herself. He looked at that look in her eye with pride. Part of it was just her instinct. But he felt that part of it was his influence. Hoped, even. He debated bringing her in to join him, letting her have a go. But for today, he sent her to stay close to Maynard, his horse, and with Haruko. He didn’t want to risk her. Maynard could fend off a small army if he tried. Hell, he’d saved Gesserith a few times. Haruko was a kami old and revered enough to do anything she wanted to. Shadowstep would be safe.

It was well-lit for a place out this far. Dingy and rank, yes, but well-lit. The floor stuck to his shoes as he walked past a few bight signs dotting the walls. Bills of various planes were stapled to the ceiling, floor, and seats. The rattle of dice nearby masked most of his steps as the crowd cried out in a loss. They were getting scammed anyway. Die goes into the lap; they can never win. He moved toward the bar and ordered a small glass of something weak. Had to stay sharp, after all.

He spotted the mark across the bar. They weren’t paying attention, trying to glance at a darts game and down the round of shots in front of them. An easy takeout. Moving easily through the crowd, he approached unnoticed. With a single blow to the back of the neck, they fell at once. He went straight to the process of cuffing them, tying them up, and bringing them outside. The bar practically cleared the way to let him through. People looked at the Broker with varying reactions. Some fear, some disgust, some contempt, some shit-faced drunkenness.

Haruko started talking to him telepathically from outside. “You made that quick. I figured you would have drawn that out a little. Made them feel it. Maybe I would’ve joined if you let me,” she sneered.

He walked for a moment before he replied. “Lazaro’s condemnation makes me… unsure. I don’t want to do more than I need to. If I do this for the public good – which I am doing – then I’m going about it the right way. I just need to be merciful and let the proper people deal with it. You’ll have your time again, Haruko. When someone deserves to see your true potential. Don’t waste it on this lowlife.” He felt a twang of pride come through as he got back to his family.

Once he got back to his kid and kami, he boasted. “That is how it’s done! In and out, and that there’s-” he plops the body on back of Maynard, “-a bounty. Now c’mon kid, let’s go turn this in. Off we get, Maynard. Hi-yah!” Haruko sank into his shadow. Gesserith brought his ankles in and cracked the reins, and Maynard shot forward.

And so they rode back to the Sterling Company outpost, delivering the bounty for a small reward, enough to have some fun later. Mia had left earlier to pursue her own bounties, so said a note stabbed into a table with a very fancy knife.

Shadowstep sighed from boredom and tiredness. She signed, Dad, what are we doing now? We’ve done the clothes thing and the work thing. Can we go shopping now?

“While I would like to, there is one last thing we need to do. I need to do, more accurately. But I really want you to come with me. It’s really important to me. Please stick it out just this little longer?” He asked sincerely, though she didn’t have much of a choice anyway.

She glared at him for a moment. …Fine. But you owe me after this.

“I owe you anyway. Now let’s go.” He guided her out and set off on a lengthy journey out into the wastes. Gesserith sang a few Capennan swing tunes on the way out to keep the ears busy and the minds calm.

They rode for some time, eventually reaching an inconspicuous pile of wood and stone. The remains of some sort of shack were being reclaimed by the desert as the wind continued to tear piece after piece away from the rubble. Three years gone since the building was destroyed. Since his family was destroyed. They dismounted, and Gesserith opened part of his pack to pull out some food and water for Maynard. Then he brought Shadowstep and Haruko over to the small spot, carefully laying out a few items: a candle, a book, and finally a framed picture. “This… this is why I brought you out here today.” His voice was far shakier and more solemn than it usually was.

Haruko hovered opposite the father and daughter, knowing everything that was going on. Shadowstep looked at him with some level of interest. She signed, Someone you used to know?

Gesserith was doing all he could to not break into tears. “Yes, she was very close to me. Sit down for a moment.” She sat on the sand, and he did the same. “Do you remember that story I told you, way back when at the orphanage? About me and my friend, Nadine, when we took out all those bad guys and rode off together?” She gave a very timid nod and a worried look. “…I lied. That isn’t how it went. We got out here, but we were overwhelmed. We were beaten. Tortured. Treated like prey. When it got down to the last guy, he was quick. I was tired. I couldn't handle it after I took a shot myself. I tried to save her. Nadine… I… I… I watched her die, right in front of me. But I sparked, right then and there. Ripped away from her. I was forced to run away. I failed.” He finally let go, allowing this side of himself to show. The side he kept far away from anyone. The side that could have weaknesses. Just as he did a year ago, he wept.

And just as someone else did a year ago, they comforted him. Shadowstep said nothing, only hugging him tight. Haruko covered the two like a blanket, finding a cool warmth to envelop them. He embraced her back, and they stayed just like that until it had all left his system. Even the unwavering must let out their emotions sometimes. Better than letting them consume you, driving you to cruel and unjust actions.

“I’m sorry, Shadowstep. I know it wasn’t my fault. I know I did all I could. But still, it haunts me. It’s why I’m always looking out for everyone. Because I’m scared that if I don’t, I’ll lose them too. Lose you. I can’t see someone else that close to me die again. I’m sorry for dumping all of this on you, girl. I thought I could keep it together. This is a very important part of me, and I wanted to show it to you, without all of, well, this.” He let out a short chuckle, finally cracking a smile. “Thank you for tolerating me and all of this. But now you know.”

With that, he reached for the sketchbook he laid out earlier. Pulling a pen from his coat, he started drawing in the sketchbook, capturing a fine angle of his daughter to record for tradition. The sand shifted beneath him, the wind stung at his eyes, but he had found his muse. It was a bit easier to draw human features rather than a rat’s, but both were near to his heart all the same. A shadowy hand on his shoulder grounded him. This time, he took even more care into capturing every piece of the visual before him. His canvas may not have changed, but the intent finally did. Finally, after a painstaking amount of time, he finally showed her the finished product: a beautiful monochrome portrait of his beloved daughter. Her eyes bright and full hope, her hair back with the wind, a gleam in her pupils showing the thrill of the hunt. And most of all, an ear-to-ear smile, brimming with her boundless energy.

She gently took it from his hands, poring over each little detail, captured perfectly. Eventually, she closed it, hugging her dad once again. The sand started picking up once again, but Gesserith did his best to keep his daughter safe while still holding her close. But seemingly, the sand moved right through them. In a moment of realization, he let go. His brow furrowed as he gazed at his environment. “No. No it couldn’t be… could it?” He gathered himself, sitting cross-legged on the ground. “If there’s a chance, then let’s hope Gouvle and Vasro taught me well.” Both daughter and kami looked at each other with confusion.

Gesserith took the sketchbook back and began performing a slow and delicate ritual. Movements he had practiced in the dead of night, hidden from anyone who would ask too many questions. A light blue emerged from the ground, and a series of circles began carving themselves out of the sand. Around him, the wind began to pick up, swirling around him slowly. Haruko was in front of Shadowstep, ready to protect her from anything that might go wrong. With an intense focus, Gesserith continued the ritual. Not all the parts were correct. His training, though constant, was no match for genuine experience. The spirit’s cooperation, though, was what mattered most. The sand whipped faster, reaching further towards the sky, almost purposefully avoiding everyone nearby. Carefully, the Broker spoke out to the desert. “Last year, I tried this, with no knowledge or practice of what I was doing. I thought you were gone. But now I know. You will come back to me, I promise. Please, come back. Please.”

The sand swirling around him began to rush past him, swirling in a large ball right above his makeshift shrine. Gesserith concentrated, barely moving other than speaking some nearly audible phrases and slow movements in his hands. In the final move, he carefully brought down his hands and opened his eyes. Looking up, the sand before him began to condense, drawing from the world around it. An arm emerged from the sphere, then a torso, and finally a fully formed body and head. A soft smile came from the sand spirit.

“Hey there, old man. It’s been a while,” she teased.

Gesserith gave a nervous laugh as tears flooded his eyes again. “Nadine. Nadine tell me it’s you. Please.” He broke down as he ran over to hug the girl.

Nadine embraced him back. “In the sand.” Her voice shook a little. “Hehe. I’ve missed you, Gesserith. I couldn’t just leave you hanging like that.” They both laughed through the tears.

After some time, she decided to start the conversation first. “Who’s the girl?” She drifted over to Shadowstep, who was having a very interesting time analyzing the spirit before her.

He finally got back up, still shaky. “That, Nadine, is my adopted daughter, Shadowstep. Shadowstep, meet Nadine, my other adopted daughter, at least in spirit. Pun not intended, this time.” The two shook hands. “And before you ask, the other one is Haruko, Kami of Restless Shadows. Her and I, and someone else, are all bonded through Kamigawan magic.”

Haruko gently waved again before staring at Nadine. She signed, Hello, Nadine. You seem very nice. And pretty.

Gesserith looked over. “Easy, Haruko. I can feel the lesbian from here. You’ve already had enough for one day, sheesh.”

“Wait, did you say feel?” Nadine piped in. “You two are connected?”

“Yeah, it’s part of being bonded. A telepathic connection. Almost like acting as one, if it ever comes to it. It’s a story I can tell you later.”

Shadowstep, feeling left out, chimed in. How did you two meet? What happened? The message hit everyone’s heads a moment later.

Nadine gave a sweet laugh in return. “I could ask the same to you, kid. But we met a while back, before this whole Omenpath deal. My parents weren’t exactly there for me, so he took me in, taught me the important stuff. I overheard your conversation earlier, and yeah. That’s the deal. It’s kind of weird being a spirit. Gives you a lot of time to reflect on stuff. Well, Gess, you’ve taken up drawing?” She glanced over at her old sketchbook.

“Only because of you, Nadine. I’ve made it a ritual, almost. But I think I have a better idea for how to carry it on. Hey, Shadowstep?”

What? she replied.

He holds out the sketchbook. “You’re an up-and-coming artist, right? Why not have something to write your ideas down? Have some inspiration? Maybe show all your friends at school?”

She takes a moment to consider it. But isn’t this really important to you? I don’t want to take it away from you, she asks.

“It is important to me. But so are you. What better way to show both than to give you something like that? I will be fine. I’m strong, don’t worry. You just take it and have fun. Just don’t lose it.” She finally takes the sketchbook. After taking some time to flip through it, she motions for Gesserith and Nadine to get closer.

Nadine looked puzzled. “What’s up kid, you wanna get us together in there?”

With a nod for a response, she drifted into a position to the side of Gesserith, placing her arm behind him, with his going over her shoulder. With some small talk passing through, it took Shadowstep a few minutes to complete her drawing, occasionally flipping back through the book for reference.

Eventually, she stands up, going over to the two, showing a drawing shockingly accurate for such a short time. Gesserith’s glasses glinted in the desert sun, and Nadine’s sandy trail wrapped around the Broker. Both stood tall and proud. “Jeez, kid,” Nadine said, “some talent you’ve got there. You could do some good work with that. Maybe someday you can come back here, and I could teach you a thing or three!” Nadine moved closer to her level and started pointing out certain parts she liked and giving criticism to others. She was going to become a well and true artist, before she died. The skill persisted, though, and so did she.

As the teaching continued, Gesserith looked out on the horizon. The wind had finally died down, but a cloud of dust approached in the distance. It was unnatural, though. A sound of thunder came from beyond, consistently moving towards them. He made out a figure in the distance. Then another. Then more, all coming out in a rough formation. He couldn’t tell who they were, but they weren’t Sterling, he could see that much. He hollered. “NADINE! HARUKO! Come over here, quick.” As they drifted over, he started pointing out the threat. “Hostiles inbound. Gotta be about 10 or so. What do we do?”

Nadine let out a sigh. “No other choice but to fight. Can’t run anywhere, it’s wide open. Any chance you know who they are?”

“Unfortunately, I have a hunch. Ran into some Riveteer knuckleheads earlier. Told them off, hoped that would do the trick. But here we are. Fuck, I don’t want to do this. Not now, not here, not today. Not with her. Damn it all, how do I do this?” He started violently pacing.

Nadine spoke calmly. “Well, you’ve learned a lot, haven’t you? You’ve grown. You’ve gotten stronger, you said so yourself. Three years ago, you fought your hardest to get us both out. You did everything you could. So do it again.”

“Last time I failed. Last time you died, and I was ripped away. Last time we lost. We need to run, find a way out that isn’t through THEM.”

“You know damn well running can’t work,” she fought. “Even with just a couple of them, they tracked us down. A full force like this will get to you in minutes. You have to fight.”

“I can’t. I won’t. I will not risk my daughter’s life.”

“And running away won’t risk it? Are you deaf or dumb, old man? You can’t run.”

“Damn it, I KNOW! I just, I can’t do it again. See it happening again, all in front of me. When I sleep, I still see your face, your arm reaching for me. I can’t handle that again. If she dies, I… I…”

Haruko stepped in front of the two, staring square at Gesserith. She spoke through the bond, but signing as well. “Listen to yourself. You’re refusing to work on the problem. You’re already scared to make the same mistake again. But the times have changed. You’re stronger. Much stronger than them. Show them why this is their last mistake, to underestimate you. Make them pay for threatening your family again.”

Gesserith gazed out at the incoming force, then looked at his family. His family. The people he cared about, and who cared about him. The people he loved. He swore to protect them, forever and always. As long as he drew breath, he would keep them safe from harm. That’s why he sparked, after all. From a sheer will to protect and serve others. He had never run before. He was always first to the lines, offering support where needed, whether in a medical uniform or geared for fighting. He was first to engage a threat, leading the charge. Even when he became the aggressor, throwing his force against the people who didn’t deserve it, he only relented when his friends knew he was wrong and dragged him back from the brink. Today would be no different. He would keep his family safe. No matter the cost.

He went over to his daughter. “Shadowstep, listen to me very closely. Things will not end well. I’m going to keep you with Maynard, away from the action. You are to stay there and away from everyone else. Keep your dagger ready. If I can’t make it out, take him and run towards Omenport. Find someone, get home, and call Vasro. Under no circumstances are you to follow me. Okay? Promise me.”

She started signing. But I can-

“No.” His voice ended it there. “You will get out of here alive, no matter what. And if the gods or angels or whatever cosmic force wills it, so will I. I swore I’d keep you safe. I will.” He pulls her into a hug, gently kissing her cheek. “I love you more than anything else, in this world or any other. Please, live.”

A small whisper came from her lips. “I love you too. Come back.”

“I will. But first, I need to make sure this doesn’t happen ever again.” He wiped a tear from her cheek, and rose, wiping his own face once he was out of view. As he walked out of earshot, he summoned Haruko and Nadine for a pre-battle plan. “Make no mistake about why we are here. This is an extermination. I ask that you let me command your power, both of you. I need to make sure they stay dead and gone. I will show them why they should have left us alone. Haruko, I need this to be me in control. Whatever we need to do, I need to put enough of myself into this so they know that they made this mistake. So I can show them what it means when they threaten my family. So I can feel the hope of escape leave their faces. So I know I can do this.”

Nadine turned in shock. “This isn’t like you,” she pleaded. “You don’t need to kill them all. What happened to the Gesserith that at least showed some mercy? What changed?”

Haruko floated in front of him. “Your condemnation,” she scolded through the bond. “You can’t. You won’t, or else Arturo won’t get to have anything left to eat.” She joked, but both could feel the hands of the vampire dads resting on his neck.

He debated for a moment, then turned to the Nadine. “I’m not sure what you’ve heard, Nadine. Whispers from Capennan visitors. But I tried that once. Killing everyone. Because I thought it would help. I was wrong, and I only stopped because some friends went into my head and pulled- no, forced me back. I got a second chance.” He paused, stroking his beard. “And now I’m paying for it slowly. A… an acquaintance of mine has put me on a… program. That I can’t kill anyone unless absolutely necessary. So if I come to a situation where I can leave someone alive, I will try. But I make no guarantees. If I don’t think it’ll be safe to run, I will continue until it is.” He flexed his wrist, observing his hidden blade still in its sheathe. “Nonlethal is not an option here. Not as it stands, not with this many.”

“…Fine. Just, please be in control.”

He let out a chuckle of a man seeing the noose before him. “I’m always in control,” he lied. “Now let’s get this done.” Nadine fell into the sand around her. Haruko retreated into Gesserith’s shadow.

Shortly after, the gang arrived. Gesserith took a deep breath before approaching them. As per usual, the Riveteer leader was the first to engage. “Well hello there, old pal! Gosh, it’s been so long since we’ve last seen each other. Say, my memory is a little fuzzy, remind me of our deal we made?” He flipped a hefty-looking knife around in his hand.

Gesserith looked at him, deadpan. “Next I see you, I pay double your tax.”

Some applause came from the peanut gallery. “Well done! Your head’s still there in your old age. Now, whatcha got? Where’s that bounty you collected from the one you nabbed from our turf?”

“I doubt whatever I have isn’t enough to cover what you want.”

“Good point. So let’s get right to the point.” He took out a cigar from his pocket and lit it up, taking a long breath. “You’ve got two options here. Option one: We take you and your kid back to Capenna, you work off your debt, and you’re home free. Option two: You resist, we beat you to a bloody pulp, and we take the kid with us, and we have a new initiate on our hands. That, or some hands to work in the steel factory. So what will it be?”

The Broker stayed calm. “Before I give you my answer, can I get your name? Just so I can make that personal connection. Helps with decision making, y’know?”

He shook his head, smile reaching across his long face. “For your last wish, sure. Name’s Ridill. I just know how to get things. Money, people, you name it, I can get it. But back to business. What’s your choice?”

Without a moment’s hesitation, “Option 2. I’m not going down without a fight.”

Ridill laughed. His posse started to expand around him. Gesserith looked at the uniforms surrounding him. Riveteers. Hellspurs. Slickshots. Must’ve taken a lot of pay to get them to work together like that. Though, for his reputation, some of them might have done it for the hell of it. Ridill tossed the cigar on the ground, blowing smoke out into the wind. “Final answer? We’ll make this hell if you don’t make this easy for yourself.” His boot landed on top of it, crushing out the weak flame.

Gesserith counted their numbers. Thirteen of them. It really was three years ago all over again. He straightened up. “Don’t you know thirteen is an unlucky number? You should turn around. I just wanted to spend a day with my kid. Don’t make me do this,” he challenged.

“There’s only one of you. Unlucky or not, we’re not going to lose this. Any last words, you sad excuse for a father?” The gang began to prepare their weapons.

The sun beat down upon Gesserith. “Before you all die, let me tell you who exactly I am. I am Gesserith Edmund, chief advisor for extraplanar relations of the Brokers.” He summoned Lighbane, his halberd. “I am bonded to Haruko, Kami of Restless Shadows.” Haruko emerged from his shadow, forming large dark objects on either side of him, her mask affixed to her body climbing ever higher with the shadows blotting out the light. “I am a planeswalker, who has witnessed the multiverse on a scale known to so few.” He affixed his bracers, turning the safety off on his blade. “On this very plane, I felled an archangel and stole its essence through my contracts and music.” He took a few steps forward. “I tried to remake Capenna in my own image and was stopped only because my friends were strong enough to make a difference.” He loaded his thunder pistol and turned the safety off. “I forged a deal with an old god out of a desire for power and recompense.” Lightbane hummed with an old power, its etchings glowing a bright purple and green. Shadowy tendrils lashed at the remaining light. “But above all else, I am a father. I saw one of my children die here, in my own arms, three years ago today.” Sand began swirling around him, creating a whirlwind of pellets. “I will not make the same mistake again.” At this moment, the void objects from earlier took form, attaching themselves to his back. With a beat of his wings, he rose into the sky. “You have threatened my family.” His arms stretched out to his sides, dust continuing to whip around him. “I am the angel of your death. Witness true strength unleashed.”

They brought up their weapons and fired relentlessly. Effortlessly, he brought up a shield and dove towards them, spear aligned with his body. Right as he got near the ground, he vanished with nothing but feathers of shadow left in their path. Shocked, the gang whipped around, scanning the area for the threat. Confused murmurs rang out. Suddenly, he emerged from the shadow of the Slickshot in the back. Rising, he swung his halberd along her spine, slicing straight and clean. She fell immediately. One.

Throwing the spear into the ground, he propelled himself to it with his Lightbane’s power, slamming into the sand. As the ground was torn up beneath him, it started whipping around him, throwing some of the gang to their feet. Through the gaps, he took aim at a Riveteer who was trying to get a clear shot. They were too slow. Two.

Taking hold of his halberd again, he charged towards a minotaur Hellspur. The minotaur held his ground, tanking the first blow. But before he could block another, his ankle was cut from underneath him from the halberd’s hook. With a kick to the knee, Lightbane’s tip pierced his head. Three.

Now he found himself back on the edge of the fight. A shot rang out, blazing past his ear. He could feel the heat come off the shot as it whizzed by, striking the rock behind him. He returned the shot by throwing his halberd, hitting square in the chest the same Slickshot that fired at him. Four.

With a beat of his wings, he flew forward and used the momentum to punch a viashino Riveteer in the jaw, knocking him away for some time. A fellow family member retaliated, finding a spot to kick Gesserith firmly in the chest. His head whipped around, grabbing the leg and tossing them up before throwing them back into the sand. The viashino recuperated, slashing out in a wild fury and drawing blood from Gesserith’s arm. He took the opportunity to yank an arm forward, breaking it and pulling the viashino close. A deep stab from his hidden blade cut deep into their scaly flesh. Five.

A cactusfolk Hellspur charged alongside another racoon Riveteer, melee weapons at the ready. Gesserith recalled his spear from the nearby corpse, throwing it past the both of them. The racoon jumped off the Hellspur, aiming for the head. Gesserith grabbed him out of the air, with his eyes fully glossed over in a Halo-tinted darkness. He tossed it aside to Haruko, who emerged from his wings and grabbed the raccoon, disappearing into the nearby shadows. Gesserith held a defensive position, amulet glowing bright with shield unwavering. Haruko soon reemerged and attached herself to her bonded human. The Riveteer did not. Six.

The cactusfolk spun around, sprouting thorns around Gesserith. Staying calm, he recalled Lightbane, but rather than bring it towards his hand, he let it move just barely past him. He brought his arm around again and again, with the halberd following along to the movements. Sand began to swirl around him in a vicious whirlwind. Taking flight once again, the sand swirl followed. Ridill gazed at the storm approaching and dove into cover nearby. But he wasn’t the target. Gesserith dove at an aven Slickshot, woefully unprepared for the target to also be flying. Gesserith kicked her in the chest, bringing her to the ground and following up by meeting them at Ground 0 and knocking her into the thorny swirl around them. Over the whipping of the wind, her screams could be heard as the thorns and sand tore into her skin and wings. When the storm subsided, all that remained was bone and scraps of feathers and skin. Seven.

Shocked by the efficiency seen before him, the cactusfolk started firing off thorns and thunder salvos in Gesserith’s direction. He effortlessly conjured a shield, marching forward with fury in his eyes. By the time he reached the Hellspur, they were exhausted. Dodging an extremely slow swing, Gesserith cut relentlessly until the cactusfolk before him was naught but prickly juice. Eight.

By this time, the tossed Riveteer from earlier had gotten back up, flanked by more family members. Ridill had found his place in the back, occasionally launching globs of nailbombs at Gesserith. He yelled from the back, “WHAT THE HELL! THERE WERE THIRTEEN OF US, HOW ISN’T HE DEAD? SOMEONE KILL THIS FUCKER!!” As he aimed another shot, his launcher was sniped out of his hand by Gesserith’s thunder pistol, causing him to take cover yet again. The guy up front had an improvised fist weapon with an attached jackhammer. Credit where credit was due, it was creative. But also vulnerable. As he made for Gesserith, the Broker was met with multiple pokes as he advanced and was forced to retreat. He took a swing, but because of the unwieldiness, it missed, diving itself into the sand. As the jackhammer pounded sand, Gesserith brought an axe kick down onto their back, followed by the halberd’s tip. Nine.

He took to the skies again. Out of ranged options, the Riveteers below could do nothing but hold a defensive position with the remaining four. Gesserith flew higher, using the sun to obscure his movements. At once, he dove, snatching one that was blinded from looking up and hauling them upwards once again. Once at the apex of his height, he began to spin, building up momentum to eventually slam them back down to the ground below. Ten.

One of the final few was a druid, bending what parts of the environment they could into a weapon. A pillar of sand shot up, trying to grasp Gesserith. But as it approached, is simply began to swirl around him, forming a protective spear. He threw Lightbane at Hellspur commanding it, causing the channeled sand to fire right at him. The halberd struck the ground and the sand rushed right behind it. Though the halberd missed, the sand found its way in. It filled the druid’s lungs as they collapsed, being choked from the inside. Eleven.

Without hesitation, he dove back down, performing an crisp stomp on the final one that wasn’t Ridill. The inertia plus the impact against the ground sealed the deal with a crunch that echoed across the battlefield. Twelve.

He stood up straight, wings outstretched in a manner Falco Spara would be proud of. Slowly, he walked forward, eyes locked with Ridill. “I should kill you where you stand, you whimpering dog. You aren’t deserving of a warrior’s death. But. I made a deal earlier, so I will give you three chances.” He kicked him over and willed the halberd to hang out right over Ridill’s head. “Run, I kill you. Piss me off any more, I kill you. Threaten to do anything other than what I tell you to do, I kill you. Now. You have three chances to explain to me why I should not consider you a future threat and let you go. Talk.”

Ridill continued to whine and whimper out of sheer fear. “P-p-please, please, don’t, please…” He shriveled up into a curled ball.

“Please? Please WHAT?”

“Don’tkillme don’tkillme don’tkillme don’tkillme don’tkillme PLEAAAASEEE!!!!!!!”

Gesserith knelt and smacked him hard across the face. Grabbing his shirt collar, he leaned in close. “Listen to yourself. Sniveling, begging for your life. Where’s that arrogance from earlier, hmm? Where’s that will to fight?” He dismissed his halberd, grabbing Ridill by his hair and pulling him to his knees. He took a step back, reloading his thunder pistol. “Ridill. I am giving you a chance to live. Why should I let you live? WHY?!” His rage was only tempered by the channeled spirits within him, and only barely.

Ridill continued to stutter. “Becau-cause I did-did-did-didn’t mean to- “

The pistol came to his forehead. “Didn’t mean to? Really? Sending a whole posse after myself and my daughter was just an accident? Telling them all to quote ‘kill this fucker’ was just a slip of the tongue? Bullshit. That’s chance one. Next excuse?”

“I’m young! Stupid! I don’t have anything to learn from! Haven’t been in school since I was 12!” Ridill started crying and shaking while staying as upright as possible under threat of a clean shot through his seemingly useless skull.

Gesserith hesitated. “Okay. Sure, I get that. Riveteers probably aren’t big on education unless it goes right back to their benefits, right? Right?” Ridill nodded, or did a motion as close to nodding as he could manage. “But it doesn’t take a genius to understand that when a man is trying to spend a day with his daughter, he doesn’t need to be jumped or extorted or attempted to be killed. Congrats, you’re down to your last chance. What’ll it be, Ridill? What will make your life worth sparing?” The pistol charged up, staying firmly on his head. Gesserith’s trigger discipline was the only thing stopping him from firing. He didn’t let Ridill know it, though. “Answer the question, Ridill? Why should you live?”

“I make things! Things people like! I can do more for people?”

“Like what?” Gesserith raised an eyebrow.

“Li-like parks! Yeah! I made one recently. Down in the Caldaia. The kids, they, they love it! I’ve done other things too. The uh. The bridge on 37th and Olorco? Yeah, I helped with that! See! I can live! Right? Please?”

Gesserith let out a little noise of curiosity. “Hmm. You like public works projects? Do you like seeing the joy it brings everyone?”

He nodded vigorously. “Yeah! It’s great! Please I promise that if you let me go, I’ll make more! A nice big shiny park! For you and your daughter! Real pretty! PLEASE I’M BEGGING YOU LEMME LIVE!!!”

His arm stayed firm as he breathed, slowly and deliberately. He locked eyes with the assailant. He saw fear. True, unadulterated fear. Something deep within him saw the opportunity. To push on the opening. To finish this. To make them pay. But then he felt a pair of eyes, far away from where he was. Eyes filled with hope. With ambition. With love. With a future that could be saved. With a future that could be shared. Together.

He lowered his pistol. “Here’s what you’re going to do. You are going to run straight home. You are going to inform Ziatora herself of everything you did. Everything. And if I don’t hear anything about a park or anything of that sort in the next two months, I will find you and kill you. I have already assassinated a Riveteer before. Do not think I cannot track you down and hunt you and kill you. Do we have a deal?” Ridill didn’t move. “Get the fuck up and look at me.” He grabbed his neck, hauling him up to stand and staring into those terrified eyes. They stared back. “Do. We. Have. A. Deal?” Ridill extended his hand, and Gesserith met it, letting go of the Riveteer. “Then it’s settled. Now go. If I see you again before I leave, you won’t.” Ridill bolted off, occasionally tripping over himself, never once looking back.

At this point, Gesserith finally loosened up, taking a sigh of relief. He then promptly collapsed, exhausted from channeling Haruko and Nadine, as well as pure physical exertion. He glanced over at his arm, still bleeding from the viashino’s slash earlier.

Shadowstep came running over, his pack with the medical kit slung over her shoulder. She rifled through the bag as she made her way to her father. She knelt and started attending to the wound, applying a cleanser that resulted in a lot of unsavory words coming from Gesserith’s mouth. Eventually the bandages were applied, and both rested for a moment, finally safe.

Gesserith spoke first. “That’s it. They’re gone. You’re safe. We’re safe. It’s okay. It’s all going to be okay, I promise.”

She signed back, You’re going to be okay. You are going to be okay, right? The worry was translated flawlessly by the earpiece.

He placed his hand on her shoulder. “Yes. In no small part thanks to you. Are you holding up okay? Are you hurt?”

Yes, Dad, I’m fine. Maynard and I stayed back, just like you told us to. I didn’t know you could do that.

He moves to stand up. “Thank you. Now, let’s go ho-urghhhh. Ough. Oww. Oh shit, everything hurts. Oh angels, why can’t I move?” He looked at his arms and legs, and by sheer force of will, commanded them. “Come on, up, let’s go, here we go, aaaaaand UP!” His ascent was quick, but staying up was harder. He clung to his halberd for support while slowly making his way to Maynard. Helping his daughter up, they mounted and rode off back to Omenport, practically sprinting the journey.

As he rode, he had to keep himself awake and vigilant, constantly trying to keep himself from falling unconscious while riding his horse back home. The occasional knock on the back of the head from his daughter didn’t hurt either. Well, it did, but only a little. The motion of Maynard’s gallops gave something else to latch on to. Anything, at this point. Haruko and Nadine were both silent. Nadine’s presence in particular slowly faded as they rode away from the ruins of Gesserith’s greatest failure and greatest success.

Riding past the Sterling outpost, they saw Mia on her way out to another bounty, seemingly already finished with her one from before. As she galloped over, she hollered cheerfully, “Heya chief! Haven’t seen you all day. How did that bounty… go… what happened to you?” She got close, carefully examining him, seeing every bit of torn clothing and bits of dried blood adorning his person.

Slowly losing the will to remain awake, he carefully answered, “Ambushed. Had to take care of them. Make sure she didn’t get hurt. I won. It just cost me a bit of flesh, blood, and the will to do anything else. Could I, uh, maybe use the Sterling medical unit?” The pain coming from his voice implied that it wasn’t a question.

“Oh gods, please, yes, let’s fix you up.” She glanced over at Shadowstep. “Alright, cooler Edmund. If it’s alright with you, I’m going to take your dad in for some repairs. Shouldn’t be too long. Is that okay? You can come in, if you’d like! We have snacks!” Shadowstep glanced at her dad, weary and barely able to sit upright, then gave a hasty nod. “Good, great. Alright chief, let’s get you in. Off we go.” She carefully guided him off his horse, taking him inside into the medical wing.

As she sat him down, she carefully examined the wound. Whatever the viashino did, it certainly left a mark. Aside from the flesh wound, it must have had some kind of poison excreted from it or something. The gash had already begun to fester in the short time it took to retreat to Omenport. “How in the world did you manage this? What did you even do?” As she unwrapped the bandages, he winced as his injury was exposed once again. The flesh was dark and off colored, with various bits of stuff leaking. “Who did this to you?”

“This is the most I’ve seen you worry about me, I think,” he joked. “I assume you’re looking for the longer version?”

“Please. FYI, this is gonna hurt.” As soon as the last word left her mouth, she dumped a disinfectant right onto the wound. Instant searing pain coursed through the area. A harsh scream nearly got out of his mouth, but he held it in and kept himself contained as to not startle Shadowstep. As he tried to contain his emotions, the lights and medical equipment began to shake around him. Mia gazed around with a mixture of curiosity and fear.

After the pain subsided, Gesserith carefully opened his mouth. “First of all, fuck you. Any warning would have been nice. Second, I’m bonded with a powerful kami. I’d bring her out, but she is probably extremely exhausted, as am I. I channeled both her and Nadine’s spirit at nigh maximum power. Third, the story. Some Riveteer fucks cornered us and extorted us back home. We got away, came here, did some stuff, ran into them again after we met. Lo and behold, they came after us with more people. It was either slavery or death. So I fought. The last one, their leader. I told Nadine I would consider saving the last if it made sense. So I made sure he was worth the saved shot. I hope he was.”

Mia stopped for a moment. “Okay, woah, slow down. Nadine?! Didn’t she die?”

“She did. A year ago, I performed a ritual to bring her spirit back. She disappeared soon after. I thought she was gone forever. But I guess it was just because she was newly summoned and because I wasn’t trained. So now I have a forever friend here. Dead, yeah, but better than dead and gone, I hope.” He pulled out a locket from his pocket. “Family’s just been a shaky thing for me, recently.”

“Says the man who fought off an army to save his daughter that isn’t even his own blood.” She finished up the stitches. “There, all done. SHADOWSTEP, YOU CAN COME IN NOW! And you, Gesserith, can have a drink from the cupboard. Consider it the treat for being such a good patient. And a good father.” She handed him a small bottle of gin.

Shadowstep emerged from around the door. Mia encouraged her to come in, pushing away the medical carts lying about with a variety of sharp objects. Shadowstep would’ve loved to grab a few, but alas, she was being watched. Old habits die hard. Are you feeling okay? she signed, thoughts reaching the room. I heard a lot of shaking going on.

He nodded his head in agreement. “Yeah. Blame her for not giving me any warning before doing stuff. Jerk. Anyway, I’m all patched up. I know I promised you some shopping today, but could we go home? I’ll make it up to you later.” The weariness in his eyes suggested he didn’t have much left in him. “But we should head back for now. Mia, thank you for this. It should nip this in the bud, minus the scarring. Next time, we’ll take a bounty together, all right? I’ll ease up on the solo missions for a while.”

Mia patted him on the back. “Atta boy. Now you two get on home. And Gess? Please, for your own sake. Take a break and relax for once.”

“YEAH, THAT’S WHAT I TRIED DOING TODAY.”

“Okay, yeah, true. Fine then, maybe go somewhere with more laws. Regardless. Have some fun, old man. Go live a life with your daughter. And Shadowstep? Get him up and moving sometimes, make sure his joints don’t rust over!” Both women started cracking up. Gesserith stood up, looking done with everything. Mia smiled. “Have a good night, you two. Sleep easy.”

“You too, Mia,” he responded, taking Shadowstep outside of the medical room, and outside to Omenport main. By now, the sun had nearly set, and the cold desert wind had begun to set in. The moon was barely visible. Shadowstep grew restless. She looked up at her dad with what looked like a primal fear in her eyes. “Right, that. This plane’s moon shouldn’t have any effect on you. Same as home. You’ll be okay. But I’ll hobble faster. We’ll bring Maynard back to the stables and then straight home. Is that okay?” She nodded and smiled, which was more than enough to keep his spirits up until they got home.

Through the Omenpath they stepped, and the sights and smells of Capenna circled them once more. A car horn blazed in the distance. A blinking sign ushered people to a nearby bar. But most of all, his daughter was with him, safe and sound.

Once they got home, he clicked on the lights. Pudge perked up, crawling from his little home to greet his dad. The furniture was just as clean as when they left. The dishes in the sink, less so. Not that he cared. The great window overlooking the city invited a host of miniscule lights to gaze out on, and many opportunities to ponder. If you could make it here, you could make it anywhere. He had already made it enough.

He dropped his pack, cleaned off his weapons, and poured some of the gin he had rightfully earned. Once Shadowstep had gotten into bed, Gesserith went in to say goodnight. As he took a seat next to her on the bed, he sighed, “Today was a very long day, huh? I promise, it’ll be better from here on out. No more of that, or so I hope to whatever powers may be.”

You were very cool today. I wanna learn how to do that someday, she signed slowly, falling to sleep.

“Someday, maybe. But that’s for another day. I’ll teach you to defend yourself right. Maybe Haruko can teach you kami channeling. But remember: That’s what I’m teaching you. Defense. What I did today only happened because it was either us or them making it out of there alive. If I ever hear you started a fight, not even Falco Spara will stop me from drop kicking you from here until tomorrow. Okay?”

Okay. I love you.

“I love you too. Goodnight, Shadowstep. See you tomorrow.” He turned off the light and closed the door behind him. He fed Pudge, gave him some scritches that had been sorely missing today, brushed his teeth, turned off the lights, and put on his sleepwear.

His bedroom seemed so much barer in the darkness. Only silhouettes of things like his dresser and desk were able to be seen. As he pulled shut the curtains, the light from down below slowly drained away as something deep within him began to pull him asleep.

He sat on the bed and looked at his hands. He had killed before. Many years ago, he did so out of duty. 3 years ago, he did so out of protection. He had done so recently, out of vengeance and spite. And he had done so once again, out of protection. He would’ve loved to talk to Haruko. But the channeling had left both kami and human exhausted. His own company would have to do. “Well. You’re home safe. She’s home safe. Nadine is still out there. A good day. You did what you had to do, Edmund. Your daughter is alive because of you. Talk with people in the morning. Talk to Lazaro. Sleep now. You’ve earned it.”

The exhaustion finally won over. His head and muscles gave out, Haruko fell out of his body, and sleep took him away. That night, he dreamt of a bird, soaring across the sands, over the place of his most recent triumph. That night, he dreamt of his friends. Of Nadine. Of his daughter. Of Koda and Haruko. They all looked at him with pride and acceptance. Some looked more disappointed than others, a feeling he knew all too well. Gouvle glanced over, seeing the sorrow and the joy laced in Gesserith’s face, and simply smiled in response. Lazaro’s gaze fell upon his sin-stained body. There was a deep contempt, but a hint of understanding behind the priest’s scowl. Arturo’s eyes narrowed in hunger, prepared to finally feast on the Broker who had wronged his son, his husband, and so many countless others.

But of everything he could feel, the only thing he remembered once he woke was love.

[voldarens-bane]

All His Fault

Their unit was positioned at the top of a ridge looking towards the coast. Cecurro peered across the way at the last of the so-called Free Cities. Free to be a bunch of heretical, faithless savages if you asked him. And as the condemner assigned to this unit, the paladins listened to him.

Vona slid into position next to him. “Bet you we could burn it down today,” she said with all of the bravado in the world. She had earned it, being the Butcher of Magan and all. Her gaze was hungry. Like his was. “We could put an end to this, drink our fill, and celebrate all the way back to Alta Torrezon. Then hunt down the rest of them over the waves.”

He smirked. “We could do it,” he agreed. He lowered his voice. “It would really only take you and me. The rest of these guys are dead weight.”

Her grin was all fang. “Exactly.”

Cecurro turned back to stare out at the city rather than his closest friend. It had been around a full century since they met on the vanguard to unite the continent. Neither were particularly invested in the whole unity thing, but blood would be shed, so that was where they both wanted to be.

Vona knew the truth about Cecurro’s Rite and hunger. And she embraced it. So he did too.

“We should split up the unit,” he suggested, keeping his voice down. “Attack high and low, make sure they don’t see all of us coming.”

“You could take some of the paladins and draw the guards off, and we could get in down low,” she suggested, already in sync with his idea. They had fought together long enough for this to be natural for both of them. “Then we’ll already be inside when you circle back around and we can squeeze the life out of them.”

Cecurro nodded, trusting her call. “Then I’ll take three of the skymarchers,” he said, turning and sliding back down to the hidden side of the ridge. Vona wasn’t far behind. There wasn’t a question of which three that Cecurro would bring with him: the fastest they had in the unit. The perfect bait, in other words. “Sergio, Alondra, Vera! You three are with me. We strike at dusk.”

Always dusk. That was the proper way, after all. And if Cecurro had learned anything from being his grandfather’s prodigy, it was that things were done the proper way.

Prayers first. Blessing weapons, blessing armor, blessing paladins. Cecurro considered it a point of pride that he of all people could get Vona to wait until the prayers were done before heading off into battle. It was akin to honing the edge of a blade already desperate to be wielded.

Cecurro kept low to the ground with the three paladins he had called for. None of them charged yet. They needed to get farther from the rest of the unit first. Cecurro counted the steps and gave the orders quietly. Make a big distraction but don’t get hit. Simple. Easy. Surely the paladins wouldn’t be able to fuck that up. Once they were in place, he silently counted to three, then gestured for the distraction to begin.

The three paladins Cecurro had chosen worked together well as they took to the sky. Arrows and spells of fire flew towards them, but the former were bashed aside by shield or glanced off of armor while the latter was simply dodged. Sergio, Alondra, and Vera were good. They landed on the wall, blades flashing as the last light of day bled from the sky.

Cecurro stayed low, watching the defenders scramble to take down the paladins. His job was also simple: overwhelm and incapacitate the heretics. According to most rules of engagement, he should have been working in tandem with a glorifier who would be draining the strength of the enemy and healing the paladins with it. According to his own ego and the training he had dabbled in just to prove that he could, he would be just fine handling that alone. There were some bruised egos in the Order of Glory that would tell him to not intrude on their disciplines. Besides, the glorifier with their unit was still with Vona. So if Cecurro did a little healing...no one would bother ruffling feathers.

His hands and his faith did not waver.

But the paladins did.

Sergio became the focus as some of the heretics managed to bolster themselves against the fear that Cecurro was sowing through their ranks. He bashed away more arrows with his shield but took one to the other shoulder. Even from where he stood, half-sheltered by stone, Cecurro saw the man grimace in pain and fall back. Cecurro cursed Sergio under his breath and yanked the life force from a heretic that was trying to run. Sergio fell back enough to sheathe his sword and yank the arrow out before the healing kicked in, then drew his blade once more and dove back into the fight.

Cecurro’s gaze flit over to the other paladins. Vera was still holding her own, diving to strike and then retreating before the heretics could reach her with any polearms. She was targeting archers since the elementalists weren’t in view. Alondra favored a more brutal strategy: swoop down, grab someone by the throat, rise back in the air, and drop them from a greater height to dash them on the stone and wood that the city was using for defense.

Something’s wrong.

The thought struck Cecurro suddenly. He was expecting more mages wielding elemental power. But so far, only a handful of mages with fire alone were targeting the paladins. Where were the heretics who could use the winds to slam paladins down into the ground? Where were the ones who could drown a man on dry land? Where were the ones who turned the very earth against them and drowned them in stone? Even the fire mages seemed to be weak, sending small balls of fire instead of great conflagrations.

Cecurro focused as he sent more fear through the ranks of the heretics. He tried to seek out the bundles of power he had noticed, the ones that spoke of connections to the land and its elementals. He pressed forward, straining his magic more and more-

Something slammed between his shoulder blades.

Lightning coursed through him.

All he could do was let out a choked gasp before he dropped to the ground. His muscles were no longer his own. His magic snapped.

Even with half of his face in the dirt below, he could see the illumination of more lightning shooting up into the sky. He heard Alondra cry out in pain. He heard Sergio hit the ground. He heard Vera curse and shout to fall back.

Then another wave rolled through him and his vision went black.

Cecurro coughed louder than he expected to. The ache in his body was the first thing he noticed. He breathed just to use it to ground himself. He was cramped; he could tell that much. His back was slumped against cold metal bars, the temperature biting through his robes. His wrists were bound in front of him. His ankles were bound too. Rope? It was really sturdy if it was. Or maybe he was still weakened from the lightning.

Then he breathed in through his nose, and his heretical hunger flared. There was blood nearby. The blood of his fellow vampires. It smelled delicious.

He forced himself to open his eyes.

They weren’t by the coast.

The cave ceiling was only a few feet above where the metal bars ended. Even if Cecurro managed to reposition himself, he’d be stuck on his knees because of how small the cage itself was. There was a pool of liquid beneath Cecurro that he quietly hoped was just water. And his wasn’t the only cage carved from jagged metal and stone; as his eyes adjusted and granted him proper vision, he saw many, many more.

His throat seized on an old reflex that he couldn’t quite kill.

There was blood.

It was close.

It was dripping from Alondra’s body.

She was slumped against the bars. Her armor was dented and torn from combat. Her eyes were glazed over and looking at nothing. Blackened blood dripped from the deep gash across her throat.

Cecurro’s hunger snarled desperately.

He leaned forward to follow it.

Pain lanced through his body like a second electrocution.

He did not cry out. He had enough self-control to keep his voice under his command. Despite that, he slumped back against the bars of his cage as his strength gave out.

Voices. Cecurro went still and pretended to still be unconscious. He strained to hear whoever was approaching. He picked up fragments of two people having a conversation.

“...been a while since we put one of their priests in the pit...”

“...different robes...”

“...new entertainment...”

Pits. Cecurro had seen a few with their conquering. Gladiatorial arenas used in bouts of heretical shows of strength against wild beasts. Now, captured Legionnaires or glorifiers were forced to fight there. Condemners were typically just killed outright.

But Cecurro had been captured.

He cracked open an eye and tried to ignore how delicious Alondra’s blood smelled. If he could just get upright when those damn heretics appeared-

His train of thought was cut off by Vera’s scream, which devolved into gurgling. That wasn’t too far away. How deep into the mountain did these cages go?

And what had they been used for before they held dying vampires?

Cecurro tensed as footsteps drew closer. His hunger growled and made its presence even louder, but he himself didn’t. He was the grandson of Theodors Ayere; he did not snarl like a caged beast.

Two men. Both human. Both taller and broader than Cecurro was, closer in stature to the paladins. Both savage, heretical bastards that Cecurro would tear the throats out of.

Especially the one that knelt down in front of the cage and smiled. He knew this one as one of the so-called lords of the Free Cities. Edgar Storm.

He smiled. In any other context, it would have been described as either crooked or roguish. Right now, though, Cecurro recoiled and pressed himself weakly against the back of the cage. Edgar’s smile didn’t waver. “He’s a damn pretty one. Shame we can’t keep him.”

The cage unlocked. Cecurro’s words died in his throat.

The hunger was all-consuming.

The ground responded to the hunger.

No matter what he drank, it wasn’t enough.

Not after he ripped Sergio’s throat out with his own teeth.

Not after he drank from Alondra and Vera’s cold, still bodies.

Not after he fell upon his own captors and drank as many of them as he could.

Not after he found another group nearby and ripped into them, desperate for more blood.

Even after his soul burned and the world changed, growing darker.

There was a stone in his hand.

Then there wasn’t.

He kept moving, kept searching, but the hunger continued to tear him apart.

Until he finally sank his fangs into something with blood that was so sickeningly sweet.

[patronsaintofmistakenidentity]

"cigarette" implies the existence of a much larger "cigar"

[patronsaintofmistakenidentity]

i recovered by the time i hit post but when i first had this thought i had genuinely forgotten cigars exist

[danco110]

“What’s going on here!”

Captain Lannery Storm burst onto the deck, to the sounds of shouting, and crackling fire. One of the deckhands pointed over the railing, to another ship in the fleet burning across the way.

“Captain Storm! It’s the Dagger. Something set it ablaze!”

“Did anyone see what!”

A goblin dangled into view upside-down from the rigging overhead and gave Storm a salute, albeit inverted from her perspective. “Aye, cap’n. Sun Empire…sunbird. Flew right over the deck before shooting towards the Dagger.”

“Over our deck?” Storm rolled her eyes before grabbing into the ropes herself. “Marvelous. Everyone, brace!”

Before any of the crew could react, a burning cannonball shot from the Dagger and crashed into the hull of Storm’s ship.

“What was that!” cried the goblin deckhand, as the force of the impact sent her falling to the floor.

“Broadside,” Storm sighed. “Chances are, no one was looking at the sunbird. So they think we shot them. Another one incoming!”

This time, the crew was able to hold onto various parts of the ship before the second volley landed. Though the boat rocked violently back and forth, no one was thrown to the floor like before.

“All right, sound off. Who’s not dead?”

A groggy chorus of affirmatives rose from the deck. Storm nodded at her reeling crewmates before breathing a deep sigh.

“I understand why they’re doing what they’re doing - we’re not exactly the most…upstanding sort. But we’re trying to move past all that!” Storm seemed to speak more to herself than anyone else, as she moved to take the wheel from a panicking orc. “The score of a lifetime is right here! And you think we’re petty enough to broadside you unprovoked?”

Unfortunately, Storm’s question seemed to receive an answer, as a third shot struck her ship. And another sigh rose from the weary captain.

“I suppose so. Man the cannons!”

As the crew scrambled to their stations, Storm looked up and saw the sunbird, flying back to shore.

“I never liked birds, anyway.”

[Yknow, I never realized Sunbird’s could hit the same cmc! I always thought it used cascade rules for what you could cast! The more you know!]

[sometiktoksarevalid]

[dusk-legion-diplomacy]

La Vie Est Hell

"I need a confessor cell, and I need a condemner, and I need them now," Guitirre said as he walked into the cathedral. Despite the fact that most of it was made of wood instead of the usual stonework for such holy gathering places, his voice still carried far enough for the priests occupying it to hear him.

"High Marshal-"

"Now, please," he said, all but growling the words. "I will meet them in the cell, thank you." He brusquely walked past the priests that were in the nave, towards a hall that snaked behind the pulpit to where the confessor cells were. Usually, these would be below ground or more separate from the rest of the cathedral, but there was only so much room on a ship.

The cells were just large enough for the one needing to confess and the priest attending them to fit somewhat comfortably facing each other. A bench was on either side of the room, and the door could lock and seal itself for privacy's sake. Sometimes it was necessary, sometimes not.

Guitirre sat himself down and felt his fist clenching and unclenching. He was too tense. Too flighty and too fighty. He needed to have something done about this. His teeth were bared in a snarl by the time the condemner entered. He was dressed warmly and thickly, making him meld into the shadows cast by the lamp that hung overhead.

"High Marshal," he greeted with a calm, placid voice.

"Condemner Astelo," Guitirre greeted back. There was some strain in his voice, and he was starting to grip his thigh to keep himself in check. Oh, his hunger was up and high, and the cosmium had only barely dulled it. That was bad. That was very bad.

The condemner's dark eyes looked at him, then gently locked and sealed away the door. "Can you contain yourself?" the priest asked.

"Just enough," Guitirre answered, digging his nails in a bit tight. The pain was helping him ground himself, though his jaw was working as though he were a fish gasping for air. "And, before you ask, I just had some cosmium from the ship. It isn't working as well as it should. My hunger is up, and it has been for a few days now, to the point where I don't know if I can --" he paused and involuntarily snarled, gritting his teeth together. "If I can be close to the humans right now. I can hear their pulses too keenly. I fear I'm finally going mad."

"The indulgence from the equinox was not enough?" the priest asked. Guitirre hated how unaffected he sounded. He knew why he was this way; they had to be. Neutrality meant they could keep level heads even when dealing with men like him growling and snarling and struggling against their worst aspects and instincts.

"No," he said. "It was enough to take the edge off, but just. I can't..." he snarled again, shaking his head. "Bastard..."

"What do you want to do?" the priest asked calmly. Guitirre snarled and growled, fighting to keep his temper and hunger in check. But oh, it was clawing now. Oh, Saint and stars, it was bad.

"I need to sink my fangs into something," he answered. "I need to tear at someone. I need to fight, I need to feed, I need to--" he paused, gritting his teeth hard and pressing himself against the wall, hissing. The condemner made a warding gesture with his hands, closing his eyes and speaking a soft prayer. Guitirre felt some of the ache ease, allowing for a bit more sense to come to him.

"I see now," Astelo spoke softly, eyes still closed. "You do have much burdening you, High Marshal."

"When don't I?" he snapped. He winced internally, but the condemner knew he wasn't of a good temperament right now.

"Would it help if I gave you leave to air your grievances?" Astelo asked, opening his eyes. Guitirre snorted.

"Half of them would be treasonous or blasphemous," he growled. He grit his teeth and suppressed a very deep growl.

"You may speak them," Astelo said, keeping his voice light and even. "I will not see you punished for speaking them. None can hear us, and nothing shall leave this cell."

Guitirre looked at him, still gripping his own leg tight. He felt a bit of blood welling beneath his claws. An easy enough mend he could see to later.

"I need Her Majesty and the Pontifex to get off my damn throat," he growled. "I need everyone to realize that just because I have the most seniority does not mean I can solve every damn problem that we come across. I have to organize this summer offensive against the Betrayer, now I have to organize a garrison on other planes, now I have to help my grandson seek clemency through the Church before he has a child because it is already going to be enough getting the marriage verified as is, I have to coordinate this next resupply, I have to admonish my officers for fucking off, I have to do everything," he said harshly, gnashing his teeth together, "and I cannot tell anyone else this because apparently we have no one else left to turn to for all of these problems."

His small tirade hung in the air for a moment. His chest and clothes felt tight. Too tight. He grasped a hold of his leg harder, feeling his arm starting to tremble.

"And that is not even taking into account the fact that I am the one who is organizing and training these greenhorns when I explicitly requested only veterans for my fleet, but that couldn't be done because the majority of them are dead because of this damn interplanar invasion, and now we have a secondary invasion to watch for, that I am going to get dragged into again, and I--" he slammed his fist on the bench "-- am going to go mad if I don't get to vent this in the only damn way my body is properly telling me how."

The condemner listened to him without much of a reaction. It was driving him mad. He should be saying something. Disagreeing, admonishing him, something, anything, this was maddening, he needed--

The priest held up a hand and he felt his body going rigid. He was forced against the wall, almost painfully.

"Is your mind your own?" the condemner asked, the sonorous ringing of higher authority entering his voice. Guitirre's face was pressed against the wooden wall. He could feel it twitching.

"Yes," he said, swallowing thickly.

"You were about to lunge at me," the priest told him. There was no judgement, it was just stated as fact. "Do you feel the need to do so now?"

Guitirre waited. His hand was still flexing, his jaw slightly open. "No," he answered. "Not at you."

"Then at who?"

Prey, his hunger told him. He closed his eyes and growled at it to be silent. "Something I can feed from," he answered. "Safely. I do not wish to commit a blasphemy."

"You have already fed."

"It is not enough," the High Marshal snarled. "Can't you see it? I just need to indulge it just this once. You know I'm usually better than this."

"I do. Which is why I wish to make sure your mind is truly your own," the priest said.

"The bastard has been influencing us all," Guitirre snarled. "Of course he's going after me a bit more harshly."

Blood of the Venerables, was his hunger bad. He could feel the icy claws of it raking over him, and he found himself growling deeply. He could feel the priest's eyes raking over him. He knew the priest was doing more than just seeing his physical state. Some part of him prayed that he wasn't about to be condemned and discarded.

What an ignoble end that would be. Driven mad by the line of duty.

But that wasn't what happened. No, instead, the priest slowly stood, then reached over and gently gripped the High Marshal's face, forcing their eyes to meet. Pain, like icy needles just beneath the skin, began to radiate through his body. He began to shake from it, gasping from the agony, but letting it run its course.

After an eternity, it was over, and he was released. He slumped heavily against the bench, stunned for a moment before he slowly pushed himself more upright.

"Condemner," he said, his voice feeling thick and frog-like, "please. I'll forgo for a week if I must. I just... let me indulge my instincts this one time. I know we brought a small surplus for this reason, and I made sure to get more cosmium as well, but - please."

The priest sat back down across from him, folding his hands over his lap. Lingering traces of black smoke danced around his fingers "Your mind and soul are your own," he said. "I see no deep-rooted claws from the Betrayer in you, though he does stain you as he stains us all." The priest made a warding gesture. "Your confessions are heard and received."

"Astelo," Guitirre said, forgetting himself for a moment. "Please. I can't be near the humans. Even now, I can feel their pulses nearby. It is going to drive me to a very deep place I do not want to go. Just one is all I need." He was trembling, though he wasn't growling or snarling nearly as much. The condemner had drained much of his strength with his soulseeing.

A precaution when dealing with someone like him.

Astelo gave him an even look, seemingly weighing his options. He then smoothly stood. "Wait here." He unlocked and unsealed the chamber, stepping out and closing the door behind him. Guitirre rested his head against the wall, looking up toward the lantern swinging above him.

He wanted to howl. He wanted to run, to chase, to prowl and feel the fear of the humans before he could finally be upon them, putting his fangs to their throats, and feeling that warm, succulent lifeblood flowing into him so easily...

He was grasping tightly to the bench by the time the condemner returned. A blindfolded petitioner was with him. Guitirre's eyes snapped onto them the moment they entered, wide and wild, his jaw slightly parted, his fangs glinting in the light.

"For the crime of murdering his daughter, I bequeath his life unto you," Astelo said, closing the door and sealing it behind him. "Do as you may."

This wasn't quite how he wanted it, but his hunger was so insatiable he didn't care. He leapt on the poor soul, tearing at his throat and making an absolute mess of himself while doing it. He just needed to allow himself to be violent as he fed, that was all. It was regretable, and he knew the condemner was already planning his penance for the act, but he couldn't help it.

He would've gone down a very, very deep chasm. He could feel himself teetering on that precipice, and this act saved him from going over.

There was not much of a body once it was over. He had devoured flesh as well as blood, something rare but not unheard of among the paladins. When Guitirre got like this, his hunger craved and demanded both, and he was finally feeling satiated for the first time in weeks.

There was a whispered laugh, cruel and mocking, in his ears once he was done and wiping the blood from his face.

"How long am I going to be paying for this?" he asked, licking the blood off his hands.

"Considering everything you confessed to me, I will allow for this indulgence just this once," the condemner answered. "So long as this remains the only time, High Marshal. If the need arises for this again, you most certainly will have to travel a path of repentance and faith."

"Bless you mightily, condemner," Guitirre said, sitting himself on the bench. He closed his eyes and exhaled, feeling the weight that had been crushing him slowly abating. Oh, Elenda's sacred teeth did that feel good. He shuddered and shook himself out a little. "Will I be paying for any that I confessed?"

"As I stated, I will let the blasphemy and treasonous language be forgiven. I have searched your heart of hearts, and I know you to be faithful and loyal," the priest told him. "If I had sensed ill-intent, then I would have acted."

"Bless you again," the High Marshal replied, relaxing against the wall. "Though I do need to actually speak with you about the 'clemency for my grandson' bit."

"What sort of clemency is he seeking?"

"He left the Legion after he was abandoned by a superior officer and became a captain for the Storm Fleet in the Coalition," Guitirre explained. "He's seeking clemency for his actions. He wishes to come home and settle with his soon-to-be husband, and he wishes to be wed."

The priest tilted his head. "That is quite unusual."

"Not unheard of. I know we've taken turncoats before," the High Marshal replied. He flicked off a bit more blood. "And, if need be, I will pull on the fact that the Church and Crown owe me for me doing as much as I have been."

"He seeks to settle and marry?"

"Yes."

"I suppose that should be simple enough," the condemner said, tapping a finger on his furry chin. "A renewal of vows of faith and loyalty, a renunciation of his past..."

"I should also mention that he is traduco, however the Coalition hasn't... changed anything for him," Guitirre added. "Because of this, he is pregnant. He is looking to be wed before the child is born. He was already considering marriage to his soon-to-be husband long before, but this has solidified things, obviously."

Now the priest's brows drew together, and he frowned. "That is more of something the glorifiers and hospitalers can deal with rather than someone such as I," he said. "In terms of fully making him a man, I mean. And dealing with the child. I shall see what we can do, though it may be difficult with us being sea-bound until our rest and resupply point." He paused. "The proper one."

"We do have means of getting messages across to the mainland and its priests," Guitirre said, raising a brow. "Weren't you granted some of the new enchanted stock?"

"I was, but I was told it was only for emergencies."

"Well, now would be a brilliant case. I need this done and hopefully over with by the time the voyage is over, if not only a few weeks after. That way he isn't too encumbered by the child he's carrying and I can see what properties I can settle him into," Guitirre said. The priest gave him a strange look, then a slow nod.

"Very well," he said slowly and carefully. "I shall see what I can do for you."

"You have my appreciations and thanks," Guitirre said, offering him a small bow. He looked to the mangled corpse. "I'll--"

"I will have it dealt with, High Marshal," Astelo said with a raised hand. "You can clean yourself right down the hall before you return to your duties. I will reach out to my fellows and superiors and see what must be done for this grandson of yours to seek clemency."

Guitirre smiled at him. "That is all I need. Thank you kindly, condemner." Astelo dipped his head, then unlocked and unsealed the door and let the High Marshal out. Guitirre stepped over the remains of the corpse, feeling rejuvinated and properly satiated, and a bit more like he could actually handle things.

He'd need to keep an eye on his temper and his hunger, that was for sure. But surely he wouldn't have need for an episode like this again.

He remembered well the feeling of dangling over that deep, abyssal madness. He had felt it several times before, and he remembered clawing, straining hard to remain in the realm of sanity and coherency. He knew he didn't want to go back.

He re-adjusted his cloak over his shoulder as he went to go cleanse himself. The water was cold and brisk. Refreshing against his skin, which no longer felt too tight and clammy. Warmth was returning to him, proper warmth. His will was being renewed. He still felt terrible that it had to be this way, but everyone had to make sacrifices.

He wasn't going to go back to that point, he told himself. Not while he'd have anything to say about it. And the only time he wouldn't was when he was deep in the ground.

He wiped everything clean, or as clean as he could make it. He knew there were small alleyways that he could slip through to get back to his quarters unnoticed so he could change into less-bloodied clothing. Astelo would keep this secret, as he was bound to do, unless his superiors demanded it of him, which they wouldn't.

Even if they would, there was not much he could actually say. Confessions stayed between the priest and the one confessing.

He sighed once he made it back to his cabin, rolling his shoulder. His mind wandered to Andres and that orc Cristomo. A few times in his long life he had wondered what sort of life he would've led if he had settled for a man instead of a woman. Every once in a while, there would be one who definitely interested him, but he remained steadfastly loyal to his beautiful and beloved wife. But the thought remained.

The temptation remained, too, but it was cold as buried ash. He did not regret his life. He did not regret the great and beautiful family that he had and loved and fought for every day of his everlong life.

But his mind still wandered. Still wondered. That part of him was still there, silently watching and wanting, left cold, dead, and unexplored for centuries now.

Could he ever explore it again? No, he told himself. He was loyal and faithful. He shook his head and busied himself with getting dressed in something warm and befitting of his station.

He loved his wife. He truly did. Even now, his heart ached and longed for her, to be able to be home with her and their family.

He shook himself out again. No. This was just temptation. The Betrayer, most likely, just trying to get a new, stranger needle into him. A different want and hunger that he had long abandoned.

No. He would not consider this line of thinking anymore.

He needed to focus on something else.

He decided to quickly visit his writing desk to give responses to the crown and to the pontifex. He had left them before he had gone for the resupply. The last message from Pontifex Fein stared at him in the pontifex's elegant script.

How many ships will you need for the operation?

Guitirre pulled out the chair and sat down, retrieving the pen from where he had left it and writing his response.

Get me a proper fleet, Pontifex Fein. I want to rival and surpass the Coalition. Give me that, and I will crush the bat at sea.

He paused. A few moments later, ink bloomed across the page.

Consider it done. Is there anything else you would require?

Guitirre took a moment to think. He once again thought back to Andres. Astelo would surely be hopefully getting the word out, but just in case...

I seek clemency and safe harbor for my wayward grandson. When can we speak to secure it?

He stared at the page in anticipation, bouncing a leg impatiently. Once more, ink wrote across the page.

After my evening sermonizing, if the cardinals do not have need of me. I shall call you.

Guitirre let out a slow sigh, wrote his thanks, setting his pen down and standing. He stretched, feeling a bit stiff from the soulseeking that the condemner had done. He always hated when they did that, but he was glad he turned up clean, unlike his fears.

The bells started tolling. He'd be needed out on the decks for midday drills.

He closed his eyes, inhaling and exhaling slowly, before he went to tend to the rest of his duties as High Marshal.

[crabussy]

I bet it feels real good to be a sailing ship when they tighten the rigging

[crabussy]

wrong. everyone get more perverted about marine vessels now and I'm not kidding

[crabussy]

this post reaching Actual Ship Captains is beyond delightful holy moly

[dusk-legion-diplomacy]

Progress

"I thought something had happened to you."

Mavren did not dignify the shade in the jar with a response. Not at first. He allowed to heavier cloak to come off from around his shoulders, flexing his wings carefully a couple of times to ease a bit of the stiffness. The winds were starting to change. Spring was near. Enough water was running in the streets that children were beginning to become menaces to all that was clean and orderly.

"You look paler," said the voice again. "Have you been eating?"

"As much as one can," came Mavren's response. He hung his cloak in his wardrobe before peeling off his other items and effects. There had been a time where he would have attendants for this sort of thing, and he still did for his more official regalia, but he felt it unnecessary for when he was acting in a less public manner. Many preparations were underway for the equinox. Most of the planning had fallen to those in lesser rank, but there were also several more complicated things that required his more direct attentions.

Nothing that he would tell to his captive, of course. But he knew he would try to pry anyway.

"What has kept you?" he asked, right on cue. Mavren put the rest of his clothing away before grabbing something more comfortable to retire in.

"Nothing that I am sharing to you, ear of the Betrayer," Mavren answered a bit curtly.

"I have told you before, he isn't hearing me. For if he were, I would long since be rid of this prison," the shade said. Mavren scoffed. "It is true. I have to find a way out on my own to get his notice again."

"Is that why you have been trying to convince me to let you out for an hour?" Mavren asked. The shade seemed to be flustered for a moment.

"No," he said. "I feel offended that you would dare suggest such a thing."

"Consider what you have just conveyed to me, and then re-think what you have been asking of me," Mavren said smoothly. He walked over to his writing desk, seeing the half-finished treatises scattered across it, as well as plenty of supplementary documents. He had selected one to be finished in time for the equinox, removing it and its associated sources and taking up some new paper and a pen.

"I already told you I would not flee."

"You just said --" Mavren pinched his nose and exhaled. "You just told me that he is waiting for you to find a way out again before he will contact you. Do you think I was born yesterday, Vito?"

Immediately he knew that he said something he shouldn't have. The Arch-Heretic had been condemned officially to damnatio memoriae not too long ago. No longer would his name be officially recorded, and all evidence of him was to be selectively removed. If he must be referred to, it is only as the Arch-Heretic. Already, archivists were working to track down his bloodline and see whom else would need to be informed and potentially investigated.

But that was not the reason why him speaking the name conjured the pit in his stomach and made him cringe and put his face into his hands. It was due to the captive in the jar perking up like a mastiff before a meaty piece of steak. Even though he wasn't looking, Mavren could already see the look on his face.

"What would it take to convince you?" he asked. Mavren let out a very long exhale, but did not answer, deciding instead to devote his thinking to something that felt a bit more worth his time at the moment.

There was a period of silence, where there was no other sound aside from the scratching of pen on parchment and the occasional shuffling of paper. Moonlight streamed down from the window, though it was starting to wane.

"There must be something."

"I already told you," Mavren said, taking a moment to refill his pen. "A full renunciation of your ways and you have to beg for some form of mercy. If I believe you actually mean it, then I may decide to let you out."

"For an hour?"

"Need I remind you of your sins?"

"None of us are blameless."

"I am not the one seeking to worsen things, now am I?" Mavren asked. "I have been working tirelessly to keep us united as a church and as a country and undoing all of the damage you have wrought."

"This argument again," the shade muttered.

"You keep pressing this issue, not me. I tire of saying it as much as you tire of hearing it."

Silence reigned again. Mavren returned to his writings, not letting the shade in the jar bother him too much.

"... could I make a compromise?"

"No."

"A small one. Please?"

Mavren rolled his eyes. He stopped his writing. "If it will get you to be quiet, then fine. What is your compromise?"

"Can I..." the shade paused. "You were gone for a number of nights, now. I was growing worried. Could I... at least see you a little more regularly? Or could you tell me when you aren't going to be here?"

"Do you think I can predict that every time?"

"Well... no, but... still. I had feared he had made a move for you, since I am no longer in his ear, pleading for restraint."

Mavren snorted at that. "You? Pleading restraint?"

"He would rather see you killed at this point. He thinks you are too loyal to Elenda."

"I am loyal to her until my final breath," Mavren said. "This is why I was able to achieve the status of Venerable."

"I know," the shade said. "But, regardless, I was cautioning him against acting so boldly against you. The wings were a compromise."

"As you have mentioned."

"Then you should know what I say is true."

"Your point?"

"I missed you and I feared the worst," the shade said. "I... oh, for the love of... Mavren, I still have feelings for you. I still love you, you know."

"And you know what it would take for me to consider taking you back." Mavren continued his writing.

"I know you feel similarly. You wouldn't have called me by name otherwise," the shade pointed out. "Or you would've had me turned over. I know you do. You must."

Mavren did not dignify that with a response, instead continuing in his writings. He grabbed a new sheet of paper.

"Just... just, look, Mavren, please. This prison is stifling and-"

"Then you should have thought about that before betraying your country, Vito," Mavren said sharply. "I already told you that you need to begin making progress for me to begin considering offering you better treatment. All that this conversation is doing, other than being something we've had numerous times before, is reinforcing the fact that I cannot trust you to have reflected in my time away."

"I have been!" the spirit protested. "I-I've just... also missed you, and I've been thinking about what we used to be."

"Then you are reflecting on the wrong things," Mavren said with a huff. He set down his pen to begin reading over what he had written.

"I've been thinking on what you have been saying, also."

"I see little proof of that."

"I-" the spirit made a dejected sounding huff. "What would it take to prove it to you?"

"Perhaps if you stopped acting as though you were still giving heed to the Betrayer and telling me he is awaiting the time you free yourself from that prison you're in," Mavren stated. "Maybe then I would actually begin to listen to you."

"I did not mean that in the way you are taking it."

"In what way was I supposed to take it?"

"In the sense that I am not his spy," the spirit answered. "I realize now that it sounds as though I am trying to get out to re-establish my connection with him."

"Aren't you?"

There was a pause. "... no," the shade said quietly. Mavren paused, the chair he was sat within creaking a little as he straightened.

"What?"

"I... I am not. I think you may be right about... about his views on me," the shade said, as though it was physically burdensome to speak it.

"How he sees you and all beneath his wings as nothing but tools and pawns?" Mavren asked with a scoff. "Moreso than the Church ever has? Moreso than the Blessed One would?"

"Yes," the shade said with something resembling a slow exhale. A difficult feat, since he had no flesh to speak of. "I... I realized that he wasn't coming for me. And I realized that... I missed and longed for you more than I had been praying for him to help me be free of this place."

Mavren was staring at the jar intensely. He adjusted it so he could see the spirit contained within, who was looking right into the set of lenses that let him see out and Mavren see in. He was dressed as the Hierophant he was in life, as he had been for a while now.

A hand was pressed to the side of the jar. He had been doing this for some time, seeking for a physical connection, of sorts.

"You're growing thin," the shade said softly. "Your cheeks look more hollow, and I can see that look in your eyes. Are you fasting for the equinox?"

"Not intentionally," Mavren said, his voice lowered. "I have been busy, and there has been an increased demand for blood and cosmium. The Betrayer has been influencing us, we fear. It is subtle, but it is here."

"Do you feel his call?"

"No. Nor do any of the traitors who surrendered to us on the Darkest Night," Mavren said. This was information he did not care if Aclazotz knew, for doubtless the god did already know of it. "I am managing, as are we all, before your god sees this as an opportunity to strike again and break our agreement. We're more than prepared for that eventuality."

"I am not--" the shade pinched the bridge of his nose, rubbing his face. "Fine."

"Whether you are an intentional spy or not, I cannot tell you everything," Mavren said. The shade stared at him, then let out another sigh.

"I suppose I cannot blame you," he muttered. There was yet another small stretch of silence. "... do you believe me, at least?"

"In part," Mavren said carefully. "I do not know how much of this is legitimate and how much is just your wanton desperation for us to be together again."

"It... is more the former than the latter, though I must admit it is my love for you that is guiding me," the spirit admitted. "Would you... at least be willing to let me out just long enough to embrace you again?"

Mavren took a moment to consider it. He looked back to the treatise he was writing.

"Not tonight," he said. "If you continue to show actual improvement, then I may. I cannot reasonably trust you right now, Vito."

The spirit seemed to deflate a little, taking his hand away from the side of the jar. "I understand," he said quietly. "Could you at least make sure you eat tonight? For me, if not yourself? Or, if not for me, then for everyone relying on you?"

"I cannot."

"Why not?"

"We are left to ration everything until the equinox," Mavren answered.

"An exception can surely be made for you," Vito said with a small snort. "You are on the edge of a Blood Fast."

"I am not yet there," Mavren said with a sigh. He let out a yawn and stretched his wings, being careful not to knock things off his desk as he did so. "I would sooner sleep, but I still have plenty of work to do."

"You should. At least for a while. I can try and wake you," the spirit offered. Mavren rose his brow at the jar. "You misspelled your own name in your signature, Mavren, I can see it from here." Mavren turned his attention back to the writing desk only to see that the shade was right. He cursed quietly and rubbed a hand over his face, yawning.

"Perhaps I do need to rest," he murmured. Everything did feel heavy.

"Go. I'll wake you in a few hours, at daybreak. I promise," the shade said. Mavren once again gave him a look, and, perhaps foolishly, decided to trust him.

"Very well," he said, pushing himself up. It took a great amount of effort to keep his wings from brushing the floor too much, and an even greater one not to shuffle and fall face-first into his bed. Blessed Venerables, when did he get so exhausted?

"Rest well," the shade said from the jar. Mavren mumbled something that was hardly coherent and got under the covers, feeling sleep crash over him like a wave.

The last thing his mind turned to was the fact that it seemed to be working. There was something in Vito's voice that told him there may yet be hope in saving him.

May. Perhaps.

Though the question of if he was even worth saving still lingered. But that was a question for another eve, one where he was fed and rested and more tolerant of the spirit's prattling and begging. Tonight was not that night.

But who knew what the morrow would bring?

[captain-lannery-storm]

The only good thing about being at port was that you didn’t have to account for the rocking of the ship when you were throwing up into a bucket.

In theory, his vampirism was supposed to mean that Andres Sturm, once upon a time known as Ondina Peralta or – later, to spite his father – Ondina Guitirre, couldn’t get sick and only occasionally drank enough to regret it the day after. But here he was, curled over a bucket and throwing up food he never ate. His hunger – sharp, far too sharp – whined inside of him. It wanted to feed again, to make up for what they had lost. He could barely keep up with it.

“Andres,” a woman’s voice said, cutting through his thoughts.

His own voice was far closer to a groan of pain. “Lannery.” His hunger yowled at the idea of blood being so close, but his body responded by making him retch into the bucket again.

“I brought you another bucket,” she said, setting it down. “And your ship’s doc just got done with those Kamigawan tests.”

Andres pulled his face out of the bucket to switch to the new one instead. Sweat dripped in first. “What did they figure out?”

He didn’t like the way Lannery exhaled before she spoke. “You and Cristomo need to put a lot more active thought into settling down,” she finally said. “Across the three different tests, all of them said that you’re pregnant.”

Andres’s mouth dried out as though he had shoved an entire rock of cosmium in and bit down. He swallowed past a tongue that felt like lead. “What?” he croaked out.

Lannery leaned against the wall with her arms crossed. She didn’t say anything else just yet.

Andres dry heaved into the bucket, trying to brace himself against it. Pregnant. He and Cristomo had spoken about trying for a family, but always in a nebulous way. Always as something they wanted but knew wasn’t feasible. Torrezon would never accept an orc and a traitor. The Coalition wouldn’t accept a vampire outside of the Storm Fleet. Cristomo’s own family would likely disown him when they found out that Andres was a vampire. And Andres’s family...

His grandfather’s voice shot through his thoughts. I’m more surprised you don’t have broken legs, lad. Am I to be expecting small bastard great-grandchildren?

At least his grandfather would take the news well. His grandmother and his mother might genuinely kill him. And to the Grim Captain’s locker with what his father thought.

He looked up at Lannery, who was studying him. She looked rough, considering what the other fleets had her running around doing to “make up” for her keeping vampires among her fleet without their knowledge. She was exhausted, and it showed. But she still offered him a crooked smile. “Hey. Whatever you decide, I’ll fight for ya. Just like I did during the trial.”

His exhale shook. Breathing wasn’t necessary. But it was comforting. “Thank you, Captain Storm.” He licked his parched lips. “Can you...contact my grandfather?”

“I’ve done it before, I can probably do it again. How much do you want me to tell him?”

“...Everything. Please.” Andres forced himself to lean back away from the bucket. He repositioned himself on the floor to sit cross-legged instead. It had been a few months since the Darkest Night, and he was still getting used to the fact that he had a peg leg for a lower right leg now. “Because I need help, and we need options, and he should know anyway.”

Lannery nodded. “Will do. Want me to finally let Cristomo in? He’s been pacing a hole in the wood ever since you started retchin’.”

“Yes, please.” Andres silently stared at the wall as Lannery left, the door softly closing behind her. Pregnant, his mind repeated. He shouldn’t be as surprised as he was. And yet... His hand settled low on his stomach, as though he might feel the difference already.

The door opened again. Andres tore his gaze away from the wall to meet Cristomo’s. His partner knelt down beside him and wordlessly opened his arms. Andres closed his eyes and leaned against the orc, listening to his strong, steady heartbeat.

“...I’m scared, Cristomo.”

“I know, Andres.” Cristomo’s lips pressed against his forehead. “I know. But we’ll make sure they’re safe. Even if we have to leave the plane, or if you have to return to Torrezon, or if I have to tell my family... We’ll figure it out.”

“We will,” Andres repeated softly. “Somehow.”

But even as he said that, hunger gnawed at him, warning him that it would not be easy no matter what they did.

[danco110]

“Captain Fein! Do I stop her, or save the equipment?”

“Both! No, wait, just the-”

Before the vampiric zealot could regret his wording, there came a series of splashes from the sea below the ship. A Brazen Coalition infiltrator had just thrown the last of the vampires’ navigation equipment overboard, partly thanks to the closest vampire’s indecision, and Mavren Fein’s muddled command.

“Do…Do we kill her now, sir?” asked the undead deckhand.

“Well…” Mavren drummed his claws against his scabbard, in pristine condition and clearly a stranger to combat. He then glanced to the boarder, who eagerly hefted a cutlass in one hand and a flintlock in the other. “No. The damage is done. And, one human’s worth of blood is barely a drop in our reserves.”

“But sir-”

“That’s an order.”

Mavren’s underling begrudgingly lowered his own weapon, allowing the pirate to hop overboard. Curious, he looked over the railing, and saw a small dinghy push away from the ship. “So that’s how she got away. Orders, sir?”

“Take stock of whatever charts, tools, or spyglasses she left untouched.”

One quick peek into the cabin revealed a barren room. “I think she took everything, sir.”

Mavren’s claws balled into fists. “As expected…”

“Sir…what do we tell the others? Without those tools, we’re-”

“Silence! I am thinking.” Mavren gripped the railing with enough force to crack the wood. “Gather the men. I have an announcement for them.”

“Sir?” The deckhand blanched. “In the rapture of my Blood Fast…I decided to destroy the navigator’s tools.”

“Sir!”

“I will steer the ship to shore by faith alone.”

“Sir-”

“You already said that!” snapped the priest.

“Sorry…But, surely the others won’t believe that?”

Mavren gave the younger vampire a knowing look. In return, he earned a resigned expression from his subordinate.

“I’ll spread the word.”

“Thank you,” Mavren sighed in relief.