Post by WJChesek ((Evern)) on May 6, 2009 20:10:10 GMT -5
From the Fires:
Harbinger
Harbinger
Chapter One: Harbinger
The room they were in was dark, shadows covering each of their faces. The only light streamed through a circular hole in the ceiling, illuminating the table in the center of the room. The table had intricate designs that seemed to undulate and curve. An unprepared observer might get lost in the seemingly continuous patterns engraved in the stone.
“Ach, yer shure th’ bastid pirate cap’n won’t double cross us?” one voice said from the shadows, and a large meaty hand slapped onto the table, briefly illuminated by the light.
The reply came, the voice as smooth as the first speaker’s was rough, and feminine. “Aye, we are certain that he will not cross us. Ai’lebon knows what happens if he does.” A brief flash of white denoted a momentary grin, and a sound like the moving of gears and mechanical instruments accompanied a slight shift of the asymmetrical shadow.
“And what of the Order?” a third voice asked, one that had a sort of mystical power to it; to the point that everything fell dead silent in the room, waiting for an answer to be given. Such was his apparent status with these people.
“The Order?” A fourth voice answered this time, possessing a rough air of command, “They are weak, grown fat and happy in their peace. Their armies have been reduced to but a few battalions, and their members are more worried about politics than their duties. They teeter on the edge; with but a push, they will fall.”
“’Ey, Caulder, ‘ow goes th’ sword smith business?” The voice was almost, almost, drowned out by the ringing of a hammer against red hot steel and a solid iron anvil beneath; though it stopped almost instantly after; replaced by the sound of water vaporizing upon contact with the hot metal. The man holding the still vibrating hammer set it aside, removing the protective leather gloves and setting them on top of the iron mallet.
The rugged man shook his head slowly, examining the blade he had just dropped in the barrel of water, “What do you want, Rederick?” he asked the furnace, untying his leather apron and hanging it on a wooden peg.
Rederick grinned, his heavy rust colored beard spreading across his accusing features, “Because I care about your business, Caulder.” Sarcasm dripped over his sentence in thick juicy layers, “Besides, how else would someone try to buy your business?”
“For five years, Rederick, five years you’ve been trying to buy me out for a paltry sum, what is it this time? Three Emperors?” the smith laughed, extracting the blade from the rapidly cooling water by the hilt, testing its balance. The blade was heavy at the tip, a proper broadsword.
The grin vanished from the red haired man’s face, replaced by a frown, “O’ course ye’d ‘spect that. This time I’m serious, twenty Emperors- No! Twenty-five!” the grin returned, showing off the man’s yellowed crooked teeth.
Caulder shook his head, wiping his blackened hands on his white shirt, leaving smudges behind, “Twenty-five? Ha!” he laughed, “This building is worth at least three- “ he stopped mid sentence, the sunlight coated ground just behind Rederick having suddenly given way to shade, and there wasn’t a cloud in the sky not two hours before, “What the…?” He pushed his way past Rederick, transferring smudges to the other man’s shirt on the way, and stepped out so that he could satisfy his curiosity.
What he saw made him stare open mouthed, at the object between the entire town and the sun. To those who knew what the bottom of a ship looked like, and they were few, it appeared to be a massive sail ship, at least big enough for the whole town to fit inside, likely three times over. Floating above the ship was a massive oblong bladder, a symbol painted on the side- The symbol looked like a monochromatic pickaxe, a circle under one side of the blade, and an inverted teardrop resting under the other.
“By Ariea…” Caulder heard from behind, as Rederick saw it too, “What in the world is that?” he managed before something was launched from the flying thing. There was a loud whistling noise, followed by a crashing sound as the object, a smallish black round thing, crashed into the smithy that Caulder had just left. The subsequent explosion sent the two men flying in separate directions. For Caulder, the world grew blurry after he hit the ground, and all the sound seemed to leave it. He watched, a confused look on his face as people ran in every direction, mouths wide open but no sound he could hear coming from their frightened, confused faces. Then, even those images faded.
The man was tall, and slender. From a distance it might seem a stick had sprouted long legs and arms, and taken up the captaining of a ship. He was bare-chested, baggy pants slipped into the tops of his boots and his belt pulled tight around his waist, giving the pants a puffed out look that made his legs look thicker than they were. The only thing covering his torso was a shoulder sling that held pair of scimitars, and a flintlock pistol. The latter weapon had a plated silver handle, the short thin barrel was iron, and colored darkly, while the former shared a single sheath, fitting in perfectly side by side. His face, like his body, was long and thin, with black hair slicked back along his head. A few rebellious strands escaped the styling, breaking free of the mold to caress his face in the wind.
“Blink!” he shouted to his first mate over the roar of his ship’s cannons, “Take ‘er down, right on top of th’ li’l village.”
An answer came from a small woman behind the wheel, her dark, baggy clothes a sharp contrast to the sky behind her, leaving a great deal of her form to the imagination. A single rapier hung at her hip, simply looped through her wide leather belt, cinched tight against the cold, high altitude winds. Her long ruby hair blew everywhere in the wind, though her reply to the Captain made it through clear enough.
“Sure thin’ Cap’n!” She replied over the wind, spinning the wheel to starboard before shouting orders, “Yeh hear’ th’ Cap’n! Let th’ air out! Hold th’ lines tight an’ lower th’ ladder! Ready the raiding party!” The crew members all took to their stations all along the massive vessel. There were even shouts farther down the gun line so that the orders could reach everyone they needed to along the ship’s sheer length. Hundreds of men and women all along the ship’s upper deck loosened the ropes connecting to the bladder high above them, allowing the ship to sink through the sky. The crew members that were on portions of the ship attached to the bladder let the gasses out, just enough so the ship hovered a few dozen feet above the ground, in the center of the village. Grinning, the raiders dropped the ladders from their berths, sliding and climbing down and they began to set a perimeter around their entry points, their movements belying an almost military-like precision and organization. Once more raiders came out of the vessel; spreading out like locusts to a farmer’s field as they began their mission. The Captain smiled, leaning on the railings to watch as his raiders did their jobs, hauling survivors of the initial barrage up into the belly of the ship, where they would be brought to him up here for a nice little speech. His sponsor had brokered a deal with her compatriots, he, Captain Ai’lebon, would get a ship that could sail the skies, and in return he would bring several thousand people to a little island off most known charts. He didn’t know what the collective fate of the people was. But he would be the first one with such a vessel, and nobody would stand against him, now, or ever.
Aboard the ship, the prisoners were all awakened, then taken to the highest deck without getting too near the bladder. There, they were lined up, shoulder to shoulder, every surviving villager, man, woman, or child, that had managed to escape the barrage. A few sported cuts and broken bones, whether due to fighting, or the first attack, the captain didn’t know. Or care.
Cale Caulder shook his head, clearing the cobwebs from the edges of his vision, albeit, not effectively. Groggily, the brown haired blacksmith looked up. He was held in a standing position simply by the weight of the two bodies beside him, only was vaguely aware of wood beneath him, and that he was higher up than he should’ve been. Thick, furrowed brows came together as he tried to decipher the words flowing from a half-dressed man walking down the line.
“Welcome aboard the Harbinger. You are my prisoners for the time being,” he strode along the deck, making his speech, “We will take you to a facility where you will be tested for special… talents.” He paused in front of Cale, and looked at the smith, “These talents will be useful in the coming age.” And then he shouted, “Take them to the holding cells!” And through the nudging, jostling, and beatings that accompanied the trip down through the ship, to the lower decks, Cale lost track of everything.
Chapter Two: Incarceration
Ousiano Chewen shook his head slowly, forcing his way to the realm of the waking. As the world around him gained first light, and then color, he took in his surroundings. A small wooden box, with no windows- there were bars along one wall, as though he were in a cell of some sort. That had to be it… He struggled to remember, yes… He had been just outside Timberhall when they had come, aboard this- whatever it was. He had fought them, the… He guessed “pirates” was the best term, before one had come from behind with a club and, wham-o, lights out on the old paladin.
He grunted, running a hand through his mostly gray hair. Almost fifty, and it hadn’t started falling out yet. His usual grin at that thought faded as his fingers traced the bump. That had hurt. Slowly, he got to his feet, and strode to the bars, peering through them.
The hallway beyond had no light save a few oil lanterns hung in the center at each cell, no windows, no openings outside, just nothing but staggered wooden planks as far as the eye could see. What little he could make out involved the three cells opposite his.
Directly across was someone known to him by reputation, if not by name. Timberhall’s smith, Calda-something-or-other, unconscious on his pile of hay. The cell to the smith’s right was either empty or the prisoner was hidden behind a wall. To the smith’s left, he could barely find a small form that was half obscured by the cell. From what he could see, she- it had to be a she- was a plain looking woman, probably just be coming into adulthood.
Footsteps could be heard, someone was making their way down the hall- Chewen straightened and waited for them to cross in front of his new “home.” The pirate did, dressed as- Chewen didn’t know pirates allowed women into their crews, something interesting to check up on if he ever got the chance.
She was dressed more conservatively than the rest of the pirates. She actually covered most of her tanned skin, except for her face, and lower arms. The rest was hidden beneath the same uniform. With a start he realized he’d seen it before, seen her, before. The top deck of the ship, when the captain gave his little welcoming speech, she had stood behind and to the right of the captain, she was obviously close to him, but in what way?
Just as fast as she came, she was gone, down the other side of the hall and out of Chewen’s vision. He ran a dark skinned hand, the arm attached still fit enough to defend his adopted home, over his face of the same shade, and found a comfortable corner to relax in, leaning his bruised head back against the wooden walls, and listening to the thrum of-something- that reverberated throughout the ship. After a few moments, he fell asleep, dark eyes closed while he tried thinking of any way to get out of this mess.
Captain Ian Ai’lebon grinned to himself, leaning back in the comfortable red chair in the corner of his quarters, enjoying the gentle sway of the ship as it soared through the skies. Few were the creatures that could damage his magnificent vessel. Fewer still were those that would survive the aftermath of its passage. None would dare it
Lanterns lined the walls to provide light, many clustered over the desk along the inner wall. On the desk were all the tools required for navigation, including the maps. The map currently on top was that of the Tiberian Monarchy and the neighboring countries. The course drawn on top in pencil had the ship heading along the coast, towards the Anglica Span; a massive ancient stone bridge that crossed the strait between the northern continent of Tiberia and the Southern Nations. From there, it was a matter of sailing into unchartered skies, and making their way to the location his employers- and generous employers they were to have given him such a fine ship- had set as his drop off point.
A knock resounded on the simple wooden door, a knock that Ai’lebon was quite familiar with, “Come in, Blink.” He called, placing his feet on the desktop, “Door’s open.”
He grinned when she opened the door; her hair tied back now, and strode to his desk. She didn’t seem to notice that he was grinning, “What is all this about?” she asked, a tinge of anger in her voice.
Ai’lebon had left her out of the loop, like all the rest of his crew, as per the conditions to get this ship. In truth, he knew precious little about what he was hired to do. Well… Now that it was over, he had raided all the towns he could without incurring the wrath of better equipped nations. Even if they hadn’t seen such a thing before, it was not hard at all to realize what held it up. “Alright,” his grin faded, “But I need to know that you won’t tell anyone else.”
Blink smiled, settling in to a chair across from his, “You have my word.”
He grinned at that, “Right now we’re heading west. There’s a small piece of real estate owned by our employer. There, we are to deliver our special packages.” Calling them people would be acknowledging that they have rights, and a basic humanity, and the last thing he could afford at the moment was a sudden and unwelcome attack of conscience. “What more would you like to know?”
The red headed first mate shook her head, “What’s the payment? And why do they want all these packages, even those from the last two trips?”
Ai’lebon smiled, “Eistelle,” the smile stretched to a grin when her expression changed from interested to angry; she hated it when he used her real name, “We’re sitting on our payment. And they weren’t exactly willing to tell me what their end goal was, or even if they had an end goal. Nor does it matter to us, since this should be our last delivery, after that, we’re free from them.”
Eistelle sighed, nodding slowly, “Sure thing, Cap’n.” And with that, Eistelle “Blink” Aundra stood, and left the room, without the usual flirtation that accompanied such visits.
Ai’lebon sighed, figuring that in a few days she’d be back to trying to get into his bed. It was probably wrong to even let her succeed sometimes, but a man needs what a man needs, and nothing short of the gods could change that.
Caulder groaned, gaining the attention of Chewen in the cell across from him. The blacksmith’s eyes slowly opened to look at the ceiling, the first coherent thought to enter his head was how bland the surface looked, the wooden planks seemed to march across the ceiling like an unorganized army. Then the memories flooded back to him, and he shot to a sitting position, back straight and expecting a beating. After a few seconds of nothing happening, he got to his feet, brushing the ash off a small portion of his pants. A hand made its way to his shoulder, where he massaged the sore join. The pirates must’ve dropped him was his only thought, and he shook his head slowly.
Chewen spoke first, “Hey, kid, what’s your name?”
Caulder nodded, slowly approaching the cell door, he wrapped an arm around one of the bars, resting his forehead against the cool steel, “Cale Caulder,” he answered, “What’s yours, old one?”
Chewen nodded, muttering the name again so he wouldn’t forget, “Ousiano Chewen,” his back straightened in his cell, “Former Paladin.”
Caulder raised a brown eyebrow in surprise, “Paladin, eh?” he rubbed his bruised shoulder again, “And what brings you on this pleasure cruise?” he joked.
Chewen shook his head, “Same reason you are,” he took the joke seriously, “I have no idea.”
That was the extent of the words the two shared in that moment, as each went back to nursing their wounds in relative solitude. Chewen, once he felt he had rubbed his tender areas enough, started exercising in his small room, first pushups, he counted them off, to the annoyance of Caulder, then sit-ups, followed by jogging in place. He must’ve done over a hundred each of the first two, and a few miles worth of the third.
The old dark paladin was forced to a stop when he heard a feminine voice ask a question, “What’s going on?”
Chewen glanced at Caulder, the smith looking confused as he couldn’t see the source of the voice. Then to the cell next to the smith’s, the girl, he could see her clearer now, stood at her respective door, brown neck-length hair coming down over her left eye, almost down to her chin. The right side was cut or held back, the end of a upturn poking up over the back of her head. Her brown eyes were curious and seeming far off, though there was not a trace of confusion or fear that should be there. Her shirt was jade, and her pants a shade darker than her eyes. Her shoes were caked with dried mud, as though she had been playing in the dirt before she was captured.
Chewen smiled, “We’ve been captured by pirates. What’s your name, lass?”
Her face was slightly marred by the frown that flashed on her face, before she saw the potential for… something, what that was he had no idea, “Edin Esherd.”
He nodded, this was a weird one, “Ousiano Chewen.” He pointed to Caulder’s cell, “The fellow next to you is Cale Caulder.”
Caulder realized what was happening and made his way to the proper corner of his cell, Chewen saw him smile as he spoke, “Hi.” Then, “So… Anyone have any ideas on how to escape?”
Chewen rolled his eyes, muttering something about upstart children being in a hurry.
Chapter Three: Uprising
Chewen frowned, peering through the bars of his cell, waiting for the proper moment. Over the past few days, it felt like another lifetime for Caulder. The three prisoners had traded few words. The former paladin seemed content to simply exercise, passing the time through physical exertion. Caulder simply sat there, resting his head against the wall joining his cell to Esherd’s, probably wishing he could see her. Instead he simply looked at Chewen, his brow furrowed, trying to figure out what was going on in the older man’s head.
He brought his hands up to his face, rubbing his eyes with the heels of his rough hands. He muttered a curse, thoughts turning to wonder at the time of day for the umpteenth time, when he heard the sound of footsteps coming down the corridor.
Over the past night, one of the pirates came to make fun of Chewen and his habit of exercising. So far, Chewen did nothing, merely continuing with his workout. This was the proper time for that pirate to come around.
Indeed, it was. Without fail, the pirate came down the hall, and stopped in front of Chewen’s cell, leaning in so that Caulder couldn’t see his face.
He could hear the reedy voice though.
“What’s the matter?” the pirate asked, “Too tired to exercise today?” he jeered, as the former paladin simply stood respectfully.
He did answer though, “Hm? No, I’m fit enough. Not tired at all.”
The pirate leaned in closer, almost sticking his skinny head through the gap in the bars, “Really? I’d think you were tired, you sure look tired.”
Caulder heard Chewen step closer to the pirate, and could almost hear the grin that had to be spreading across the older man’s face, “I’m not tired, boy. Why don’t you unlock this cage an’ Ah’ll show ye.” He dropped into what had to be an old, familiar, accent, especially if he was a paladin at one point. So distinctive- it had to be from the Sun Basin.
The pirate leaned even further into the paladin’s cell. Thick, meaty arms wrapped around the pirates neck, twisting past the point that should’ve been humanly possible. A strangled cry escaped the mediocre jailor’s mouth before he collapsed to the ground, slumped against the cell door. Chewen’s face wasn’t grinning as Caulder had thought, though a small smile did break out as he checked the corpse’s pockets.
Caulder gasped, jumping to his feet, “You didn’t know if he had the key!?”
The older man did smile at that, “Yeh’d rather wait until they arrived wherever they’re going? Be my guest, boy.” He said, deftly removing the pirate’s key and blade, unlocking his own cell first. He smiled to himself, stepping across the hall to Caulder’s cell and unlocking that before doing the same for Esherd’s.
Caulder gasped when he saw the girl next to him, about his age. He reined it in, and nodded at her to cover it, before turning to watch Chewen unlock the rest of the prisoners. It was a full ship. At least two hundred former prisoners were rallied behind the three, and Chewen had declared himself their commander, with no argument from the rest of them.
“Alright!” Chewen’s commanding voice boomed over the gathered prisoners, “All those able to fight, follow me!” then the dark skinned former paladin turned to Caulder, “Take half and find some weapons, girl!” Esherd stepped up, “Take care of the rest, make sure they’re safe.” He turned to those who stepped forward, those willing and able to fight, “Half of you will follow me, the other half will follow Caulder.”
Caulder stammered, “I- Uh… I mean… You’re sure you want me to lead?”
Chewen shook his head, “No… But I know you better for the past three days than I do the rest of these babes.” And then he was gone, an entourage of untrained civilian prisoners behind him, and Caulder found himself faced with at least fifty people looking to him for leadership.
The young blacksmith sighed, “C’mon… Let’s find some weapons.” And he led the gathering off in a different direction from Chewen; up some stairs, and leaving Esherd alone with her charges.
“Captain!” Eistelle shouted through Ai’lebon’s now opened door, forcing him up from his enhausted stupor, his night’s sleep interrupted yet again, “The prisoners! They’re trying to take control of the ship!”
“Shit,” came the tired, monosyllabic reply as the captain stood up, sliding his sheath over his shoulder. Shirtless, and almost having forgotten his gun, Captain Ai’lebon jogged out of his quarters, “Get everyone around the wheelhouse and the engine rooms, now!” he ordered Blink, heading to the lower decks of the ship. Not every prisoner would be able to fight, especially not those who had been there for a week or more. He would find these, and use them to stop whoever was in charge of the escape.
Chewen emerged from the bowels of the ship, stopping only to turn and ensure his followers would issue forth from his hole like the tide of death he could only hope they would be. He had encountered minor resistance in the halls, and had been able to deal with the two lone pirates himself, with only a scratch or two to show for his efforts. He swung his commandeered blade forward through the chill night air, and a roar poured from his mouth, all but drowned out by a peal of thunder. The wind instantly picked up, and the prisoners, using the arms they had come across on the trip through the armory, swung their weapons with untrained ferocity. If they were lucky, they wouldn’t be able to get to any of the pirates, and the pirates unable get to them. In this manner, making their way across the mile-long deck quickly, they met up with Caulder and his followers, who had come up on the other side, just as fat wet drops of rain started to fall onto the ship and its passengers.
“Goo’ tae see yer still breathin’, boy!” Chewen called out, running his blade through a pirate who thought him a weak old man, a fatal mistake, “‘Ow was th’ tri’?” his accent thickened with his anger and frustration.
Caulder, who handled his own captured blade rather well, the paladin had to grudgingly admit, answered, ducking under a pirate’s twin flails, “It was rather pleasant, old man. Ran into a few brigands on the way, but they were easily dealt with.” He sliced the hand of his current enemy, causing the pirate to drop his left hand weapon.
“Aye.” the paladin replied, slicing the throat of one pirate and turning to block the blade of another, “What’ye say tae cleanin’ oop ‘is ‘own?”
The young blacksmith smiled, “Let’s do it!” he punctuated his sentence with a thrust through the one handed pirate’s chest.
Ai’lebon grinned to himself, poking his head around the wooden corner of the hall to take a look at the group he’d found. He watched from his hidden position as a pretty young girl strode from each collection of people to the next, tending to their wounds or offering kind advice. This one was in charge- she had to be- she was the only one in this entire group that looked fit enough to fight, yet wasn’t trying to take one of the more important stations on the vessel.
And so, when she walked past his hiding spot, he leapt out, acting as usual on some sort of half-formed plan, wrapping his left arm around her waist, while his right drew his twin blades, as one scimitar, and placed them at her throat, below the lowest hairs on her pretty little head. She didn’t even have time to scream before he shifted his left hand to her mouth, pulling her even farther back. Now all he had to do was find the true leader and break his spirit with this little girl.
Caulder cursed, dropping to one knee, sword clattering out of his hand to the ground. The young blacksmith watched helplessly as it was kicked across the deck, skimming through a puddle of water forming from the rain. The pirate who had disarmed him grinned, making a show of spinning his short sword in his hand before lowering the point to Caulder’s throat. Lightning flashed, unusually close to the flying vessel, distracting the pirate as he readied for a fatal swing at the smith’s neck.
“ATTENTION!” the call came after the thunder died off, and an amorphous shadow made its way into the full view of the carnage of both man and nature, “Whoever is the leader of this pitiful assault, please, step forward.”
Nobody moved, and a part of the shadow seemed to break away, only to be reeled back in by the rest. But not before a shout, one from a familiar voice, reached Caulder’s ears, “Don’t do it!” then the shadow moved closer to the edge of the ship, becoming more defined as two shadows, two people.
“Please, step forward, or it will only get worse from here.” The first voice, Caulder vaguely remembered it belonging to the speechmaker at the beginning of this hell-cruise.
Blink blinked, looking on in awe as the captain, her captain, had seemingly come up with a masterful plan to get them out of this mess. And continued to watch as not one, but two people found their way out of the crowd, one looking injured, but young, and the other a tired, but uninjured, old man. She grinned to herself and pushed a lock of her matted wet hair out of her face, tucking it behind her ear.
“Two leaders?” Ai’lebon asked, inching closer with his prisoner, and Blink’s grin spread wider as she saw recognition on their faces, “There should only be one.”
The old dark man frowned, ignoring the lightning, thunder, and rain, “Let her go. I’m the one you want.”
“No!” the younger one cried, stepping closer and holding his arms akimbo, “He didn’t do it, he’s just an old man. It was me.”
Ai’lebon shook his head, “An old Skalderian and a young boy? The old one I believe, but since you can’t seem to make up your minds…” and he pushed. Esherd, for that’s who it had to be, stumbled to her left, tripping over the edge and tumbling with a scream that rapidly trailed off into the rainy night air.
“NO!” Blink was unsure which one shouted, but they both charged forward, the old dark one sprinted faster than she’d ever seen anyone move, and before she could get in between the younger one and her captain, his blade had already met Ai’lebon’s.
The younger one, however, was unarmed, and when Blink stepped in front of him, he skidded to a halt, looking around for something, anything, to fight with. He came up blank, and ducked Blink’s horizontal swing. She didn’t exactly grin, but it was almost too comical to her that she was fighting an unarmed man over the death of a girl, she shrugged, not her problem.
His jaw set, he dropped to the ground to avoid another strike, as she laughed, “Enjoying our spar?” he rolled to the side, dodging a third strike that would’ve missed on purpose, and giving Blink full view of the conflict between the dark man and her captain. Her captain with his blades separated and in different hands was winning, his own adversary lying on the ground as well, “I’ll let you join her very soo-“
An explosion rocked the ship, and a new sun was born where the gas bladder had been but a second ago. Searing heat and flame pressed against Blink, and everyone else on the ship. So much that a grand majority of the ship caught fire, from the mast, to the wheelhouse, to the center as the ship sheared in half.
And that was all before stomachs flipped in every living body on the ship.
Winds rushed upward, and the first mate felt like she was going to fall up. The rain seemed to stop too, only a drop here-
It was as though it were falling in slow motion, no, she realized, looking up at the burning rope ends whipping wildly around the air, the bladder had exploded. They were in free fall. She gasped, and released her grip on her rapier, that even seeming to- it flew upwards, nearly decapitating her on its way up. Then her feet left the deck, and the ship listed relative to her, presenting port, then bow to the ground. She watched helplessly, not even the urge or strength to scream as she flew straight into a mast.
All became darkness.
