Stories of Mavarra

[JMDavis ((Silver))]

New Olym – named in honour of the late Divine Majest Olym the Wrathful – squatted like a massive, brooding spider. The entire city was built against the side of a mineral rich cliff face – the excavated sections of the mines having been reshaped and carved into elegant terraces with sprawling gardens and gorgeous pools, on a few of the broader terraces there had even been miniature forests set up and stocked with various wildlife from the farthest corners of the Imperia. Elf-slaves acted as game wardens at the boundaries of the forest, culling when the hunting season was low and caring for the animals that were considered too sporting to let die.

At the height of the Cliff City was the Marble Seat – the palatial sprawl of Governor Delayos Marva. As befitting such a noble station it was sat atop the very cliffs the miners now burrowed through in search of more iron, more gold – but most of all more of the elusive ore thorgrak, the same ore that had been forged by the dwarves in the height of their own imperial power and which had proved so devastating against the human armies until the ancient race had finally succumbed to the brilliance of the engineers and the mystical might of the templarum. The early discoveries of thorgrak, enough to arm and armour the entire city guard as well as sending off the appropriate tithes back to Ervingard had seen the wealth of New Olym boom.

Of course such wealth and attracted the attention of the darker elements that existed in the underworld of the Imperia. The warren of tunnels that spread across Mavarra having soon found their way into the workings of the mine system and a new city was carved out beneath New Olym. Where the power of the Marble Seat held dominant sway over all it could see, it was the power of the underlords that caused true fear. The so-called ‘dark nobility’ these men and women had carved out their own illicit holdings beneath the noses of the governors and governesses of the Imperia.

Here was haven and damnation where the only law was the law of the underlord whose territory a person found themselves in. Slaves who thought their lives could be improved struggled to get below the surface where not even the most hardened of veterans would venture without at least four templarum in tow. This was where Serena found herself running now.

The young elf maid glanced over her shoulder as her bare feet pounded down the smooth steps of the Tiered Straits, guards armoured in the natural black-gold thorgraki plate and mail chasing after her and shouting in a confused babble. One cried for civilians to get out of the way, another cried for someone to stop the slave, a third cried for the slave to halt and surrender herself while a fourth shouted for her head. Lords and ladies stood aside, staring in shock at the sight of this lone, slight maid running from nearly a dozen guards.

Glancing over her shoulder once more, eyes wide with fear, Serena stumbled and fell down three steps before quickly scurrying to her feet and starting to pound across the stone steps again – the adrenaline coursing through her allowing her to ignore the stinging pain from the abrasions she had suffered from her fall. Whistles blew behind her, and she prayed fervently to the Raven to quiet the winds and stifle the call of her pursuers – she could not escape from more than one group at a time. She couldn’t go back to the Steward’s Keep – she couldn’t bear to be around that man any longer, nor to see her father acquiescing to the demands of the horrid human.

Serena could only think of making it to the tunnels, of staggering down and hoping her life could be better in the underworld. The Raven had not heard her silent prayers, the shouts of other guards now echoing in her ears. Hitting the last step before the rough cobbles – the girl staggered and ran for anywhere she could – the flatter surface allowing her to quickly leave the pursuing guards behind. She started down an alleyway before pausing, two of the saireen stared at her – the tall lizardmen tilting their heads as they stared at Serena with unreadable faces.

The elf girl turned away, rushing from the creatures and down, sobbing to herself in fear that now she might be on the menu of two cannibals. The confused shouts of the guards eventually died away, Serena stumbling and falling in the muck of an abandoned alleyway, the girl quickly scrunching herself up to hide from any pursuit, arms wrapping around her legs and her wide eyes staring at the rectangular slant of light at the end of the long alley.

The saireen’s wandered by again, the two pausing to converse with one another in a hissing language. One of the creatures was over seven feet in height and as slender as a rail. Thick pelts adorned it: seal, walrus and bear and a massive spear seemingly carved from bone was gripped in one long hand. This saireen had changed, or at least in the girl’s eyes it had, when she had seen it before the creature was an unusual shade of green, now it was almost silver – add to that its eyes had become black and it alone made her shrink further back into the shadows.

The second was shorter, barely reaching five feet in height and stocky. Deer hide covered its squat form, and a vicious looking axe with a long hook draped from the creature’s belt. It turned its head, tan scales catching the light, and its yellow eyes stared down the long alleyway before it turned back to its companion, hissing something out as the two saireen started off again.

Serena let out a breath she hadn’t know she was holding, burying herself deeper into the rubbish at the back of the alleyway and hunkering down. With the adrenaline gone she felt every cut, every bruise and felt her body beginning to give in to exhaustion. Her green eyes slowly closed and she lost herself into a darkness of sleep.

~~

It was night time when Serena finally opened her eyes, escaping the grasp of her exhausted sleep. She was amazed to find herself still in the same spot, amazed no one had found her or accosted her in her sleep. Standing slowly, Serena stretched and began to limp toward the entrance to the alleyway, wincing with each step – she paid no attention to the bloodied footprints behind her, only the sting of each step she took from the soles of her feet and her bloody knees. The girl tucked her left arm against her body, the entire limb sore and stiff with pain.

She staggered to a halt as a figure started toward her. A wide-brimmed hat and long cloak hiding the person in silhouette against the moons, smoke-like shadows curling around the cloaked shadow as it started down the alley toward her. “You’re the escaped slave?” The voice was rough and masculine, the jackboots the man wore striking against the cobbles loudly – as he intended. “You’re the slave Baron Veller donated two thousand crowns to be retrieved dead or alive? This is so beneath templarum as to be laughable.”

Serena began to back away, the shadows peeling from the figure and lighting him up. A narrow and cruel face regarded the young girl. An oily, curled mustache hid his mouth from view while a thick goatee of dark hair did the same for his chin. The templarum reached down, drawing a thorgraki dagger, the blade weeping shadowy tendrils. “Well, he’ll have pieces of you, at least…” The templarum hissed before taking a few quick steps to grab at the girl, simultaneously bringing his dagger down in a vicious overhand stab.

A hook caught his wrist, jerking his arm upward as a squat, pugnacious face screeched in his face. The templarum jerked away in shock as the thick form of the squat saireen landed in front of Serena – the same wicked axe held in one hand while a large hooked knife was clutched in its other talon. The templarum backed away in some surprise, before sneering as he raised a hand, a wall of semi-opaque shadows spawning between himself, the saireen and Serena. “A smarter opponent would strike from behind.” The templarum’s words were said through a sneer as he placed his dagger away and raised his hands, beginning to chant.

“A sm… sssmarter opponent would check for multiple threats.” A voice rasped behind the templarum, causing the sorcerous assassin to turn about, watching as a tulwar clove through his chest and out his left hip. The templarum’s eyes were wide in shock as his body split in two, splattering the larger saireen’s thick pelts. The creature kicked the body, the shadow wall dying away as it swung its blade up and over its shoulder, returning it to the leather slings across its back, before turning its eyes to Serena and the smaller saireen. “Elf alright?” It chirruped, striding over the body.

Serena scrunched herself up more, staring as the two saireen now stood above her. “I… I’m fine.” She managed in a tiny voice.

The smaller one had tucked axe and knife away and lightly shoved its larger companion back. “Step back Sha’g, the girl’s frightened.” As the taller saireen, Sha’g, stepped away the smaller turned back to Serena. “Sha’g didn’t mean to scare you, girl. He’s harmless.” The smaller saireen spoke with no trace of irony as its splayed feet were slowly beginning to be overcome by a spreading puddle of blood. “I’m Don’a of the North Islands; he’s Sha’g of the Frozen Expanse. We mean you know harm, little elf.”

As Don’a spoke, Sha’g had knelt down, beginning to take items from the corpse of the slain templarum. The dagger, bits of coin and gold, anything of valuable disappeared into the thick furs of the tall saireen, and as it stood it placed the wide-brimmed hat the templarum had worn onto its head. Serena swallowed, she had heard horror stories about the saireen before, but neither of these creatures was anything like what she had heard tell of. Swallowing, and realizing they had saved her from a templarum she spoke in a soft, low voice. “S-Serena, servant of House Veller, erm… former servant of House Veller that is.”

Sha’g chirruped something to Don’a who hissed in response in the basic language of their people. “What… what’d he say?” Serena asked softly, getting scared again.

“Hrm? Oh… Sha’g ask what you meant. I told him you’re a runaway.” Don’a offered what approached a smile for his race, holding out a hand for her to take. “C’mon, Serena. Sha’g and Don’a keep you safe.”

Serena stared at the thick, taloned hand before asking in that same small voice. “How… How do you know where I’m going?”

Don’a made a series of hissing chirrups; it took her a moment to realize the squat saireen was laughing. “Where all runaways go, the Underworld.”

[Jenny (Reffy)]

(( Beware the long sentences, for they will eat you up! First paragraph (and second). It made it difficult to really sink in. I think part of your problem is you get too excited and want to squish it all in and get as much detail in there as possible and then explain why because there's some history here but while doing that also try to draw the people reading in ... see what I did there? Your writing is much more enjoyable the longer your story is because by that point you've settled down to a simmer and have found the right pace and confidence.

Did you change tense in the 5th paragraph? I'm not sure and do it all the time so could be wrong. Also, personal opinion, I think it would have been nicer and would have given the piece some feeling (some texture and break from the setting creation) if you'd actually had the guards shouting their words, in speech brackets, rather than putting it in the paragraph.

The second half was much, more more enjoyable. The killing of the first guy was a little confusing and could do with a quick edit but it wasn't horrible. It's almost like you only wrote the first half to give us a reason for Serena being there and perhaps didn't want to write it? It was rushed but the second half wasn't.

Intriguing story so far and something I've made a mental note to keep reading if you plan on doing it as a long running story. I liked the characters and the lizard things and Serena has a lot of possibilities.

Edit: return the review with one/some of my flashies or something!   ))

[James]

Silver, Silver, Silver. Man, that was a tough start. I agree with Reffy that the second half was far better written so I'll just concentrate on the start.

You have to hook the reader in straight away. You have to make them interested. And what you gave us was some well-written but ultimately meandering description of a setting. You told us what the city was like. You didn't show us it. Furthermore, as Drall will attest, I always advise caution when giving the reader a whole new set of names and information. Ease them into it. Instead, you threw it at us. By the third paragraph, I had so many new names, places and people that I didn't really know what was going on. Essentially, my advice is that you should avoid the infodump. If you can't avoid it, though, don't put it at the start!

I think you should have opened with Serena making her escape from the guards. And then as she's running away, start easing into the descriptions, explaining where her was. Don't tell us that the dark nobility rule the undercity, show us it. You did this later by showing that Serena wanted to escape into the tunnels.

But once we get past that rocky start, your story picked up. So don't take this too harshly!

Oh. I don't think you did switch tense in the fifth paragraph. I'm not sure which bit Reffy is referring to?

[JMDavis ((Silver))]

Thank you both! I'll definitely work on that beginning bit for next time.

[JMDavis ((Silver))]

The song still played as the buildings fell. It skirled and rang as the fires raged. Dancers’ shadows were thrown across the ruined city. Through it all the song played. A mournful song of chaos and death and loss.

~~

“Troupe Master! Troupe Master!” The youthful voice called out as a young man raced into the large, flamboyantly decorated and coloured tent of Troupe Master Zaun. A piece of parchment was clutched in one hand, and a grin was on his face.

Zaun only took a few moments to remember the boy: Varreg Ho – a boy from the southern badlands who was already a promising Actor. A smile split the forever-youthful features of Zaun as he extended a long-fingered hand the colour of fresh snow. “Now what, pray tell, is this you have for me, dear boy?” He asked in that feather soft, parchment thin voice.

The folded paper was placed into the proffered hand. Though he quickly recited the basics of the note. “We’re tasked with a performance at Daerenhaeg. The entire troupe is requested.”

Zaun’s eyebrows rose as he read the note’s extremely wordy and unnecessary contents. “The writer of this would give some of our poets a run for their purple quills…” He refolded the parchment and set it on a desk littered with so many different pieces of art it seemed to be a madman’s nightmare of culture. He lightly pinched the bridge of his nose, eyes closing as he let loose a small sigh. “The entire troupe? By the Great Muse that’ll be a task in and of itself.” Dark green eyes opening, he offered a resigned smile. “I suppose there’s no helping it.”

Rising from his seat, Zaun stretched out – he towered above most men and could have been mistaken for an ogre had he not been so skeletally thin. He glanced to Varreg, nodding his head. “Go on and rouse the lot of them. I’ll prepare to address a band of drunk and exhausted artists.” The rest of his sentence had barely finished before the young man was out the front of his tent.

It was not long until a chorus of angry shouts and jeers were calling for Zaun to answer for the rude awakening. The Troupe Master, as was his wont, flung the flaps of his tents outward as he emerged in the near-entirety of his ensemble. Garishly coloured robes that made the eyes hurt if looked at too long, stitched in reflective and sequenced silks, laced with silvers and golds. He was a walking eye sore, but only hoots and cheers left the gathered crowd at the majesty of their leader. “My friends! My fellow artists! No doubt you all wish to go back to your drunken stupours, but alas I cannot allow this! For we have been called upon for a Grande Performance!” He paused and there were gasps of excitement. “Gather your things! Ready yourselves! For such a thing has been too long in the waiting!”

The congregation scattered to the clutter of their camp to prepare themselves. Zaun smiled, turning to one of his chorus. “Fetch my marching robes. This occasion calls for as much pomp and ceremony as we can muster!” The young girl rushed off, the kindly gaze of the Troupe Master turning to sweep the rest of his chorus. “As for the rest, a song! A song to lift our spirits and ready us for the Grande Performance!” He cleared his voice as the singers began, his words booming to the corners of the camp. “Musicians an accompaniment! Dancers, begin your dance and distract us from the poets blathering!”

Laughs and jeers echoed through the camp as minstrels began to play and the dancers spun – leaving it for the stagehands to pack for the now occupied performers. Zaun laughed and clapped his hands. The vitality in the camp was never as it was before a performance.

~~

The rain slashed against the troupe – but the music, song and dance was undimmed through the treacherous weather. Zaun, sodden and smiling added his own deep voice to the song from time to time which sent the dancers into new flights of frenzy. Each night they would rest and then the following day the song would continue. This had gone on for more than a week before they had arrived at their destination.

Daerenhaeg – the site of their Grande Performance. Zaun reined his horse as a short, pugnacious man in fine military brocade marched toward their troupe. Soldiers in faceless steel armour flanked the small man, each one shifting near-imperceptibly as they came to a halt. “You are Troupe Master Zaun?” The voice was short and clipped, thick with the accent of the Midlands.

Zaun bowed in his seat, smiling wide at the small man. “I am indeed! I am to presume I’m addressing the esteemed High Lord Aldrech von Dorren, Field Marshal of His Divine Majest’s Crusaders?”

The short man flinched back as the Troupe Master bent low. He steadied himself, squaring his shoulders and giving a firm nod of his head. The motion sending thick jowls wobbling and the bristling black of his muttonchops to waving. “I am indeed. We expected you two days ago.” Aldrech replied tersely, the High Lord finding some nerve again as he stuck out his gut then his chest – the polished silver buttons of his red and gold uniform first to bursting around his belly.

“I should say that for one to expect a troupe of artists to arrive on time is the height of insanity.” Zaun slid from his saddle, smoothing the rainbow-hued robes down. He watched as the rest of the group dropped from saddles or fell down from exhaustion – a camp haphazardly being set up behind him. “Besides, we are here now so that is one less reason to complain. After a night of rest we’ll be ready for our performance.”

“Rest? Daerenhaeg was supposed to fall by today! I’ll be damned if I let you and your no good-.” He froze as the full weight of Zaun’s eyes fell upon the short man. The emerald of his eyes seeming to burn as he fixed the Field Marshal in his gaze. “R-Rest… yes. Yes. You know your followers better than I.” Aldrech gave a nervous titter as Zaun’s expression softened.

“Prepare your men for tomorrow, dear Lord! And try not to be so nervous, after all we are here for your entertainment.” Zaun turned, robes sweeping out behind him as he retreated into the mess of his camp.

The Field Marshal swallowed as he turned and marched away, the posture of the knights visibly relaxed now that they had left the presence of the troupe.

Though that night none of the soldiers received any rest as the troupe carried on in song and laughter well into the dawn. The Field Marshal even cursing vehemently about the lies of a need for rest.

~~

Dawn broke and the soldiers of the Imperia lined up, bleary eyed and irritable. The Field Marshal was horribly disheveled, his eyes were thick with black rings and he looked slightly sick from lack of sleep. At odds was Zaun’s rabble who continued to carouse and laugh as if they hadn’t spent the entirety of the night being a nuisance. The Troupe Master himself walked over to warmly greet the sleep-deprived commander. “A wondrous morning, my Lord! Simply wonderful for our performance!”

“Yes.” Aldrech snapped, lips a thin line. “Would you get on with it already?”

Zaun clucked his tongue. “Tut tut, my Lord. One can never rush art.” He turned away before Aldrech could reply, arms flinging outward as he cried out. “Musicians! Began your harmony! Dancers, to the walls!” Strings drew back, a soft melody, before they sounded in a quick succession followed by a flight of flutes as arrows whistled through the air. The volley of notched projectiles creating a sound all their own in harmony as the archers drew and fired again and again – every arrow a shrilling note that pierced the defenders.

Under the flight of symphonic death the dancers spun and twirled. The men could only watch as these men and women rushed to the walls. Thorgorak blades strapped to wrists, fingers, ankles and toes gouged the walls as the War Dancers writhed across the stone sides – scaling the walls in moments to leap and spin amongst the archers. Arcs and trails of blood following their wild and writhing motions as they cut their way through the lightly armoured archers.

Zaun smiled as the screams added the perfect pitch to the song loosed by the arrows and harp-bows. He turned from the Field Marshal, stalking toward his tent. “Now if you’ll excuse me, my Lord. I must dress for my own performance.” As the Troupe Master disappeared into his pavilion, Aldrech could only turn and stare at the bloodied crenellations and the corpses dangling from them.

The War Dancers continued their swaying, bloody dance even as no more defenders tried to ascend the walls. They were slaves to the music of the Harpers and could do nothing more than cavort to the orchestral death. Then the Harpers were joined in a low thrum of song. The choral elements of the troupe began a low and sonorous note. This note they held until they were joined by their master. Striding to the stage Zaun wore his war regalia. Muted blacks and whites, steel lined robes that hung about him like a funereal shroud. His arms spread out as Zaun lead his chorus in their song.

It was the powerful chanting of monks, a dirge that throbbed in the very bones of the earth. Rock shuddered and cracked as the Dirge sang their mournful song. The walls began to vibrate beneath the feet of the War Dancers who only laughed as they were driven to new heights of gamboling. Power sparked in the air. Glistening lines of light linking each singer to Zaun. The song reached its crescendo and the spell was unleashed. Air was hardened and released, smashing into the gates of Daerenhaeg and cracking the wood – yet they held firm.

A grin split Zaun’s face as the song fell into the second verse. The skeins of power between the sorcerer and his assistants becoming all the brighter as once again the spell was unleashed in a cracking of air and wood. The gate buckled and groaned, frightened screams from within at the supernatural assault giving strength to the Dirge. They had to go to the final verse. This truly was a Grande Performance. The song reached a new height, words which had been unsung for too long. The lines of power were too bright to look upon. The spell throbbed behind the eyes of everyone gathered. A constant and dull headache as if the charge before a storm. Zaun’s arms rose as he held the penultimate note before releasing the spell. The gates shattered, hurling backwards into the city they had sought to protect. Wood speared defenders and lanced through stone. The granite around the gates cracked and groaned ominously – a single note shouted as one forcing them to hold.

Daerenhaeg was wide open. Zaun need give no command as the Blood Poets set to their work. The men wore breastplates and greaves of steel. Outrageously feathered hats decorated their heads and accompanied the flamboyant clothing beneath their armour. With a war cry shouted in a hundred tongues the Poets charged. In one hand they carried their signature weapon: the hollow sword. In the other it varied, shields or daggers, axes or maces – uniformity was only required in their main weapon.

This was butcher’s work refined to an art form. This was gore condensed into verse. Block and slash and parry parsed down to brief spurts of inevitably anticlimactic duels. The hollow swords drank greedily of their kills. The thorgorak blades filled to overflowing with the blood of the slain – and in those moments the Poets paused and let their fellows continue on. Scrawling elements of their brief combat writ upon wall and ground in the lifeblood of their opponents.

With the Poets now engrossed and taking the attentions of the more heavily armoured defenders, the War Dancers retreated from the battlements and into the killing ground below. Dancing behind the Poets the Dancers finished off those forgotten to the ennui of their fellow artists.

Zaun’s chorus slowly dispersed behind him, filing away toward the city to unleash their own songs of destruction even as the symphony continued above their heads. Zaun turned his eyes toward the pale-faced Marshal standing behind the horrified lines of imperial soldiers. “My Lord – your men are free to follow any time they wish. I’m sure my Poets, Dancers and Singers will leave some for them.”

“That…” Aldrech cleared his throat as his voice cracked. “That won’t be necessary, Troupe Master Zaun. The uh… the matter of your payment is still up for debate?”

Zaun’s thin eyebrows rose nearly to the top of his bald head. “Debate? My Lord, there is no debate. For a Grande Performance we are afforded the regular sum of five-hundred thousand divines.” His fingers steepled beneath his chin. “If we take the city and shatter the resistance that price doubles for the cost of materials, manpower and training for those who must replace those who perish.” His mouth became a pale slit. “You wouldn’t be seeking to try and disvalue myself and mine own for all the work they’ve done would you, my Lord?”

Though Zaun’s tone was amiable enough the look in his eyes was one of dire threat. The ever present feeling of the imperial knights vanished from Aldrech’s back as even the staunch warriors retreated in the face of the sorcerous Troupe Master. Spluttering and mopping a grossly sodden brow Aldrech offered a nervous smile of acquiescence. “It is m-my fault, Troupe Master. I… I was so overwhelmed by your soldiers that I… I misspoke.” He licked his lips quickly, waiting to see what the effect of his words was.

Zaun’s expression shifted into one of bonhomie near instantaneously. “Artists, my Lord! We are nots soldiers, we are artists!” He folded his hands into his sleeves and bowed low. “No affront is taken either, my Lord. I can quite understand the awe our Grande Performance can have on those unused to our presentations. I myself am oft taken aback when I stroll through the streets and read what my wonderful Poets have written of their battles. Now! I must be off to see how the scenes progress. I trust to see you at the victory supper tonight.”

Without waiting for a response Zaun was off – marching toward Daerenhaeg and beneath the wall still held by his magic. The sounds of battle had mostly died away. It was not the oppressive silence of death that hung above the city. But the broken and battered silence of oppression once more restored.

All done in the name of art.

[Jenny (Reffy)]

Interesting! I liked it but it was a smidge hard to follow in places due to sentence structure or the way you described things. It wasn't particularly grabby either although it did start well!

[themuse]

This was a really unique premise! Im speaking strictly about subject matter. I will leave the technical aspects to those who are MUCH better than I am.
It was Fascinating!!

[JMDavis ((Silver))]

The Righteous Indignation wallowed as the massive ship hung suspended in the air above Gallanorn, the northernmost province within the Divine Imperia. The bloated form of the Iron Ark drifted lazily through the frigid air. A massive lion’s head was carved into its front. The maw of the iron animal opened wide, flames flickering in its gullet. Crew trudged across a deck rapidly melting ice and snow and slicking it with water. Rust formed around bolts from the constancy of the water. Heavy galoshes gripped the slick metal of the deck as men went about their work. Despite the heat from below, each corpsman was bound in thick furs. The icy winds of Gallanorn could all too easily disperse the fleeting warmth.

Chief Engineer Braddock clomped up the steps from below where he had been speaking with the ratings. The sudden transition into the winds, despite his own furs, caused him to gasp and stagger slightly. His circular spectacles instantly crystallized with chips of ice and beads of sweat froze to his skin. “D-Damn this place.” He cursed, binding his arms tight around him as his body began to shiver. He’d grown used to being unable to see since they first arrived in Gallanorn. Memory allowed his feet to guide him swiftly across deck, the blurred outlines of crew giving him the chance to not get into anyone’s way.

Once more Braddock sheltered himself from the cutting wind, the oaken door slamming shut behind him. Immediately warmth suffused him, swiftly turning to heat as Braddock hurried to divest himself of his fur. The frost on his glasses melted away, streaming down his red face like tears. “By the Majest it feels colder than ever out there.” He muttered, only a slight stutter in his speech. “Please, tell me we have new deployment orders.”

His plea was directed to a slender woman seated behind a rich desk of mahogany. A single eye regarded Braddock calmly. He was of average height and weight, and had the nervous tendency to rake his fingers through the thinning red hair atop his head. His thin nose caused his glasses to slowly slide down until a quick adjustment righted them. Lord Admiral Arabella closed her eye and sighed – the man was just an intellectual, after all. “No, Braddock, we have no new orders as of yet.” She replied tersely. “Just as we didn’t yesterday, or the day before yesterday, or the month before this. As I’ve told you since yesterday, and the day before, and the month before this – you will be the first to know once we do.”

Braddock groaned, not taking the hint of the dismissal as he collapsed into one of the chairs in Arabella’s quarters. Receiving a glare from Arabella, though he paid it no mind as he looked at her in defeat. Her white hair hung down over her missing right eye, hiding the burn wounds and scarification of the right side of her otherwise still youthful face. Thin lips were drawn into an even thinner line as her good eye narrowed into a slit. “Don’t give me that look, Arabella.” His words snapped at her. “You might be Lord Admiral, but the Righteous Indignation is still my ship. The fact She’s reduced to spending her days idling in this horrid climate irks me to no end. She was meant for grander missions than this!”

Arabella sighed. They’d been having this discussion for the better part of a year and it was the same thing every day. She agreed with his sentiments, but until the Chambers Militant sent orders they were to hold position in Gallanorn. “Braddock… you know I agree with you. You know I would love for nothing more than to send Her down upon the heads of a province deserving of the retribution of the Divine Majest. But our orders are our orders. To disobey them would make us no better than the insipid rebels we are meant to contain. Just… find something to occupy yourself with. You’ll be the first to know when we have new orders.”

Braddock frowned but nodded his head, pushing the chair back as he turned toward the door. “I’ll go down and talk with my engineers. I’ll see if we can’t increase performance of the furnace to allow us to move at faster speeds when needed. The small man donned the heavy furs he had left hanging up and bustled out into the chill winds that howled across the ship. Arabella was left to return to her writing, her hand scratching out the same message she had sent every two weeks asking for new orders.

~~

It had been two months since Braddock and Arabella had last spoken. Braddock had finally seen sense in her words and had busied himself below decks with his staff. Though she had finally succeeded in her battle for quiet on that front, she was now swamped with multiple crew deaths. The first had been a week after the talk, Zerriah Mengk who was one of the marines on watch had vanished. The crew had claimed he’d been a bit drunk before going on watch, but none of them could find it conceivable he’d stagger over board.

Not bothering with it more than to give an order that there was to be no drinking of alcohol an hour before watch Arabella had hoped to have stopped the problem before it got worse. A week later an engineer vanished under similar circumstances, except the corpsman on watch hadn’t seen or heard the girl after she vanished. Braddock, incited at the loss, accused the corpsman of having raped then murdered the girl before throwing her overboard. With no evidence pointing to the contrary, Arabella had reluctantly agreed to placing the man under arrest and chaining him with the other workers to shovel coal into the furnace.

Five more had gone missing since then. The fifth, an Arad Duman, had reportedly screamed before he’d vanished. But it had been after the second that Arabella had realized that these were no accidents. “We’re being hunted.” Her words were spoken in a firm and low voice.

“Hunted? What in the world hunts humans at this height?” Belliger Kreg snarled the words through his thick blonde beard. The man was a native of Gallanorn and looked every inch the barbaric sort the province bred. He looked out of sorts within the immaculate silver braid and dark green of his uniform. Huge fists knotted and pounded on the armrests of his chair. “If you’re going to fill my head with the same babble as my soldiers of ‘demons’ I’ll chain you up below decks myself!”

“Belliger!” Braddock gaped in shock at the commander of the ship’s marines. “Have some sense man, Arabella is commander of this ship – she would never be one to give into such superstitions!” Braddock had only grown more haggard since the disappearances started, his skin white and thick bags under his eyes from fear-driven insomnia.

“Unless that is the truth.” The words were a sibilant rasp from the last pair of onboard leaders. Kassarina von Feldu folded thin arms across her flat chest and tilted her head to one side. The light of candles reflected from her smooth shaven head, and the angular tattoo-scars that traversed every inch of her skin. Kassarina stepped forward, Ombur at her side in his hulking war plate, his wings folded. “We at the Ten Temples know that such creatures lurk in the dark places of this world. It may be that one found its way onboard the Ark when we weren’t looking. It may also be that one is following us, as sharks follow a ship.”

“Just how would one manage such a thing?” Belliger snapped, rounding now on the Templarum of Wind. The barrel-chested commander was undeterred as the much larger Ombur interposed himself between the slight Kassarina and the angered Belliger. The marine commander looked like he was ready to take on the Hussar until Arabella spoke.

“Enough!” The Lord Admiral’s chair was flung out behind her as she rose. Her hands were planted firmly on the desk in front of her as she raked both Belliger and Ombur with a vicious glare. “Belliger, sit down and shut up. When you become an authority on supernatural phenomena you can speak. Until then the only person I want speaking besides myself is the Lady Kassarina.”

Kassarina gave a small bow of her withered head. Her cool blue orbs focusing on Belliger as the irate commander returned to his seat. “As I was saying, the fiends we of the Ten Temples have encountered do not have a true uniformity. We have encountered creatures that lurk under the world that are akin to spiders in appearance and manner. A colleague of mine encountered one, before his death, that looked like a bloated centipede. It is possible, though we’ve yet encountered any, for some demons to be winged creatures.”

Arabella frowned at the response. A possibility wasn’t entirely what she wanted, but it was better than the idea of drunken corpsmen falling from her ship. “After this many instances I suppose… we can entertain these ideas. At the very least it will give the crew something to prepare for, though I’m going to became stricter regarding alcohol rations if this thing is real.” There were nods of assent at this, no matter how the crew might grumble if they were dealing with some sort of predator everyone would need their wits about them. Now, we just-.” Her sentence ended as something screeched in the distance. Shouts were picked up soon after, sounds of confusion and fear. “Everyone, on deck now!” Arabella snapped.

The command group hurried into their furs and out onto the deck. Crew pointed and babbled in confusion at the dark cloud that had boiled out from the mountains. It looked like nothing so much as a bloated storm cloud, yet it moved far too quickly and left behind it an inky trail of darkness. “What in the world…” Braddock murmured, just as the cloud arced and jettisoned right toward the Righteous Indignation. There was the sound a whip cracking, and a corpsman vanished into the cloud. A thick gust of wind sent crew scattering across the deck, flailing and stumbling to the ground.

Kassarina righted herself with the help of Ombur, the only one still standing after the sudden gale. “By the Divine Majest no…” Kassarina breathed as the cloud banked. “They are myths…” she stammered the words, Ombur standing behind her like a massive shadow of steel. “Lord Admiral, we need to run. We need all power to the engines and to run from this.” Kassarina was pale with fear, not even the bite of the northern chill enough to bring colour to her frightened features.

“Braddock! Below decks now. All power to the engines.” Arabella snapped the commands, recovering from the awed confusion the cloud elicited. She didn’t pay attention to the mousy engineer as he rushed below, already moving onto her next orders. “Belliger, prepare your marines. Ombur, I want your hussars ready to fight if they’re absolutely needed. Kassarina, turn this dark cloud from us and buy us some time to escape.” The animal fear of terror that still clenched her heart was being shoved aside. “I want cannons, ballistae and reapers ready! If we can hit this thing then I want us to hit it hard. Say your prayers to the Majest, commend your souls to Her Light. If you die today, then die with a curse for the enemies of the Imperia on your lips and a weapon clenched in your hands!

“We are not slinking elves who cower from danger. We are the men and women of the Imperia! We are descendants of those who slew the giants. We are the children of the first Majest, whose Light showed us the way in the darkness of ignorance and fear!” Her hand dipped, drawing the saber tucked at her belt beneath her thick furs, leveling it as the cloud banked around for another pass. “For the Divine Majest! For the Imperia! Bring that thing down!”

Cannons were run out, loaded and primed. Ballistae were readied and tracked across the sky. Finally, the deadly arquebus-reapers were loaded and aimed. Kassarina stood away from the sides of the Ark as Ombur reappeared from below. Six other hussars gathered around the Hussar Lord, and behind them emerged Belliger with his complement of two-hundred marines. Ombur and his six gathered around Kassarina who began chanting, her eyes closing as she meditated and channeled the latent energies of the world. A pressure built up behind the eyes of all gathered, and the winds seemed to blow stronger as they were concentrated on the center of Kassarina. Just as the cloud drew close, Kassarina unleashed the energies of her spell. A violent whirlwind unleashed to disperse the smog cloud – and reveal the creature beneath.

It was a horror of nightmare. It’s revelation releasing screams of fright and shock as crew fell back to get away. Its body was sinuous, serpentine, a broad upper torso lined with thick muscle trailing down to a long, whip-like tail and up into a thin neck. A head like that of an eel reared back, a rack of elk antlers crowning the top of its skull. Four wings, two large forewings and two smaller hindwings kept its trailing body aloft. It screeched again, the sound sharp and warbling as it dove, crashing into the deck and scattering the marines who had managed to stand their ground.

The tail of the dragon coiled and lashed out. A dozen marines went flying from the attack. A ballista shattered, a reaper span through the air. Crew were impaled by spears of wood splinters or the spiked tail of the serpent. The six hussars let loose battle cries, charging the dragon in righteous anger. Its jaw distended, black fire billowing from its maw. The charging hussars were captured in the blaze – and their screams were short lived. When the flame cleared they were fused hunks of ashen metal. The dragon’s head swiveled toward Kassarina, wolf-like eyes narrowing. It knew who had dispelled its miasma. It half-slithered half-crawled across the decking.

Its twisting bulk was nearly atop the fear-struck Templarum. An undamaged ballista bolt slammed into the dragon’s side, pitching it off the side of the ship with a screech. Kassarina collapsed against Ombur’s side, her eyes shut tight. Whimpers of fear left the elderly woman, mixed with tears of relief. The Ark shuddered, the furnace must be hot enough to power the ship. Another shudder. The body of the dragon arced over the side of the ship. It’s emaciated bulk blotting out the sun before it vanished over the side.

Sinuous coils slammed into the decking. Metal groaned and buckled. Crew were crushed into bloody pulp. Four more times did it arc and coil. The bulk of the Righteous Indignation bound tight. It slither-crawled across the deck, the coils of its body pulling tighter. Arabella could only stare at this thing, her saber clattering to the floor as she shrunk away. Childhood nightmares conjured by its appearance causing the head to swivel toward her. Kassarina was momentarily forgotten as the fear-scent of prey reached the dragon’s nose. It stalked toward Arabella, a low hiss-growl of hunger leaving drool-soaked jaws.

A knifing blast of wind sliced into the dragon’s side. Scales shattered and a roar of pain left its throat. Its head and neck snapped away from the frightened Arabella, golden eyes narrowing on Kassarina. Now it remembered why it had gone for her first. Half-bounding, half-gliding it arced toward the chanting Templarum. Maw opening to swallow the elderly woman whole. Four-hundred pounds of steel crashed into the side of its skull. The heavy form of Ombur growling in pain as his right pauldron dented inward. The Hussar Lord crashed to the deck, his pinions of iron and leather pressing tight against his back. The Hussar Lord rolled his bruised shoulder and glared at the dragon. The dragon’s neck had whipped outward from the collision. The sudden contact having caused it to make a whip crack sound.

Ombur let out a wordless roar, charging at the stunned dragon. His footfalls made heavy, metallic clunks as he charged across the deck. As he drew closer, the dragon’s head twisted. A contemptuous flick of its left forewing slammed into Ombur’s chest. Plate crumpled inward. Flesh split. Bones shattered. Ombur was propelled backward, his body denting a wall of the Ark. The broken form of the Hussar Lord lay in the ruin of his armour. His wings crunched and broken. Blood oozing between the cracks of his plate.

The dragon turned back toward Kassarina. Another knife of win stabbing into its scales. A shriek of pain leaving its maw. She had been the only one to hurt it. Its coils loosened as pain rippled down its muscles. “I reject you, Child of Nightmare! I cast you out and deny you this place!” Kassarina’s voice roared out, amplified by her magic. She began to summon more energy to her for a final attack. This one would behead the best. “I walk in the Light of the Divine Majest! I fear no dark-!” Her proclamation was ended as the dragon recovered. It lunged forward, jaws snapping shut on the Templarum. Everything above her knees vanished into its maw. Her lower legs remained standing for a few moments, spurting blood. A blast of the northern winds sent them flying, falling over the edge and into oblivion.

A thick, pointed tongue lapped at bloody fangs. The cloying smog of the dragon began to return. The thick, shadowy miasma that surrounded it oozing from its scales. It had eliminated the greatest threats. Corpsmen, realizing they couldn’t run, charged at the beast howling. Everything from chair legs to cutlasses clutched in their hands. The dragon’s head turned, shrieking at the men as they drew near. Their blades dulled their edges against scales. Thick clouds of its shadowy disguise wafting into noses and eyes. The fear-racked men and women fell back, coughing and wailing. The smog had blinded them. It clogged their lungs. They fell to the ground, hacking and crying.

They made easy pickings for the dragon as it began to snap up the crew. “Get up, girl.” The words snapped Arabella from her glassy-eyed stupor. Belliger had her arm in one hand. His ice blue eyes focused on the beast. “Up! Unless your pretty words were that and only that.” He spat at her.

Arabella shook her head, then glared at Belliger. “That’s Lord Admiral, Belliger.” She snapped. His tone and words enough to remind her who she was. Her hands retrieved her saber, and she rose on shaky legs. “Also, if you hadn’t noticed, it just killed a Templarum and seven hussars.” A bloody blade skittered toward them. Its edge looked as if it had seen days of hard fighting with no maintenance. “Blades are useless. The ballista bolt didn’t even seem to chip its scales. How are we going to kill it?” She snapped.

Belliger gave her a hard look, hefting his weapons. A boarding axe and a fat-bladed long knife. “That’s steel, Arabella. Our blades are thorgorak. I’m willing to bet they’ll give it a scratch at the least.” He turned back to see the dragon as it glutted itself on a marine. “Now are you with me, or are you going to wait until it remembers you?” His answer as the lithe form of Arabella darting past. A grin split his features as he charged behind her. Neither made a sound as they charged. They needed the dragon focused elsewhere. Entering the cloud of its poison made them falter. But neither was dissuaded. The axe blade cut through scale and into soft flesh. The knife pierced and sawed. The saber hacked and sliced.

Thick blood the colour of pus oozed from the wounds. The dragon shrieked in pain. Not even the sorcery of the Templarum had cut through it. Neither relented. Hacking, stabbing and slashing at its hide. The dragon writhed and thrashed. It uncoiled from the Ark. Its wings snapping awkwardly as it took to the skies. Freed from the toxic cloud, Belliger and Arabella collapsed. Hacking up thick phlegm flecked with blood. “C-Cannons!” Arabella cried out in a ragged voice. The ratings below deck following her orders. They hadn’t been able to fire when it had coiled, but now they had shots.

Crack-booms! Followed her orders. Fire and smoke leaving barrels to send shells hurtling through the air. Arabella staggered to the side of the ship. Her eye was red and sore. She could make out a blurred image of the cloud which surrounded the beast. Belliger joined her. His own voice calling out hoarsely. “Ballista crew, conserve ammo. Reapers, see if you can annoy it!” Tiny, glistening shapes joined the larger cannon balls. If the dragon suffered any harm it wasn’t seen. The cloud of toxin protecting the beast as it arced around. Belliger and Arabella staggered along, following its course.

The black cloud banked. It was flying right toward the prow of the Righteous Indignation. Arabella shook her head. It wasn’t deterred. It wasn’t going to rest until they all died. The ship juddered beneath her. In her mind it was the death throes of her vessel. Her hand clenched into a fist and she began a prayer to the Majest. The juddering increased. The dragon closed. A volcanic eruption of flame was unleashed from the lion-maw of the ship’s figurehead. The flame belched outward. The black cloud was engulfed in heat. The dragon within had no time to shriek.

Its smog burned away, the blackening outline of its corpse could be seen. The fireball that had been the dragon spiraled downward until it crashed into the side of a mountain. A black smear left on the flanks of rock, slowly smouldering into nothing. “That’s what you get for touching my ship.” The voice jolted Arabella and Belliger around. Braddock stood next to him, his face stained with soot. His glasses were cracked. His right arm was kept awkwardly in a sling against his chest. A bit of blood coated his skin and clothes, none of it his. He looked over at his compatriots and sniffed. “Wanted to come on deck and witness the end result. I can get the furnace hotter and potentially allow for instant vaporization.”

“You… you killed it.” Belliger mumbled, before grinning. “Aha! Braddock you genius, you killed it!” He whooped, clapping his hands together excitedly. His fierce gaze directed toward the remains of the dragon. “By the Majest, I could kiss you right now, Braddock!”

Braddock adjusted his glasses. “Please don’t. Arabella, if you wouldn’t mind, the Righteous needs to dock for repairs. Given the nature of our assailant I assume we have cause to now leave this Majest-forsaken place and go to a more hospitable climate?”

Arabella just nodded her head. “Yes… Yes we do. Give her all she can take, Braddock, and get us out of this place. I have a letter to send that I’m quite sure will get a response.”

[themuse]

WOW!!!! Again, Im speaking strictly on content, but that was FANTASTIC!
The only things that gave me pause were a few of the names you used for various people and the positions they held in the story. But I also assume those are part and parcel to the fabric of the world you have created and the reader comes to understand them and their place in that world as they (the reader) becomes immersed in it.
Your pacing was good and held my attention all the way through.
I have to say I like the way you are giving different storylines all set in the same world. It leads me to think that there is SO much more to come from all of these characters and that someday, someway, somehow they will all meet and intertwine into a HUGE epic!