Post by God Emperor Newman on Jan 20, 2014 1:22:13 GMT
Max Cain inhaled the warm spring air and held his breath. He could feel the chill, the subtle aching in his chest that meant a chapter of his life had ended. A threshold had been irrevocably crossed. Around the world, the old order was crumbling and spirits of all kinds were lashing out in the only way they knew how. Their panic would merely fan the flames. Cain exhaled through his nose and smiled.
Turn the page.
Smoke could be seen rising far to the east beyond the ruins of Tikong. The Demon of Stars had been unleashed. The dead Arbiter’s fear of war had restricted his capacity to make violence on the world for centuries, but now he was free. Now he was free, and he was enraged.
The Demon had been challenged, and in his fury he was mobilizing the greatest army the Dominion had ever seen for the express purpose of annihilating the Samari people and laying waste to their land. When Cain heard this, he had laughed and shook his head.
The Leaden Flame’s most recent and generous sponsor had supplied countless powder and steel weaponry for their operations in Samar, which were already being deployed to hidden staging points throughout the eastern front. For Maximilien Cain had a plan.
Hartwin stood on a hill near Tikong, watching the smoke. The hill had once been part of a great orchard, and his soldiers had set their camp beneath the screening branches of a mess of overgrown apple trees. The hill itself commanded an excellent view of the surrounding landscape without exposing the observer to distant eyes. Hartwin often came here to stare east, and to think.
He was troubled by the Leaden Flame’s strategy in the coming war. Hartwin was familiar with Maximilien’s past and he had frequently noted Cain's lack of warmth for his homeland or his people. It was in Samar’s name that his family was killed and many of the wandering tribes still revered the dead spirit Preica. Perhaps it was only reasonable that the bitter old man should care so little for a culture so antithetical to his own ideals. Even so, when told of the black demon’s plan, Cain had smiled.
Hartwin believed in Maximilien Cain. He believed in the importance of their cause. He even believed that the ends they hoped for were worth the blood price of this interminable chaos. But sometimes Hartwin wondered if Cain enjoyed paying that price rather too much.
Turn the page.
Hoka took a deep breath of the sour Eshnur air. How long? Two years and change, perhaps. It seemed less. Since her death…
She tried to think of something else. The rendezvous. Focus. But every focus led back to the gibbering madman, the flash of smoke and flame, the sudden pain, the blackness, the screaming…
Was it worth it?
…Yes, it was worth it. A god lay dead and more would follow. They’d talk to the Godslayers’ pet freak today and then, barring any bad jokes, they’d get out.
…Trumin was gone. She felt the realization hit her in the gut all over again. He liked cities like this, he said the smells could tell you everything. He was weird, but in a good way. A good man. They said he was the one who killed the Arbiter in the end.
With the weapon taken from the Godslayers. It’s worth it…
“Hoka?”
Hoka glanced down at Nero, her partner for the mission. They were standing in the same dimly lit street, lined with the same ruined mansions, plus two years decay. The one was just up ahead, but she didn’t want to go.
“Hoka, are you alright?”
She could see the peeling paint from here. A gust of air and she could smell the rot. The memories resurged and she struggled to stand upright. She didn’t want to go. “Of course I am,” she said. She walked forward. No games this time. She dropped her hands to her side. No jokes. She felt her coat. No cute fucking tricks with pockets. She ground her teeth. Not this time.
Turn the page.
Heorm had mixed feelings about returning to Havsgard.
As a child, he had been trained to fight for the glory of his clan and the Vuosaar tribe. He was eight when he accidentally killed his friend during a training session. His father was so proud. The family’s praise and encouragement helped suppress the nightmares that followed, but since then he could barely swing a blow without seeing those two, shocked blue eyes staring back at him. He knew it was weak, but he couldn't escape the feeling he had done something wrong.
He grew into a superb fighter, in spite of his dead friend’s ghost, and he was expected to inherit his clan’s knife when the patriarch died. He might have been great, but the Flame called and he had no choice but to answer.
That was long ago. His family would not recognize him now.
Heorm stood alone on a slippery pier. A cold wind was blowing down from a sky as clear as ice. He stepped slowly across the frozen planks, pulling his dark cloak tighter. He felt odd. The cold was nothing to him, but a chill he could not describe had pooled within his chest, inspiring an overwhelming sense of loneliness. He had expected this moment to be one of closure. He had hoped to embrace and be embraced once again by the land of his birth. Instead, he was an unwelcome stranger trespassing on an alien land.
He stepped off the wooden pier and onto the cracked stone of land. No voices greeted him but those of the gulls. An emaciated dog loped across the street in front of him without looking to either side. This was once the port town of Brinmar, but now it was nothing but a ruin. Heorm paced its bloody streets for a time, searching for something he couldn't identify. Eventually he turned back to the docks, where his small kayak floated gently above the skeletons of countless greater ships. He knew that freedom came with a price. He knew that change would only come through chaos. He knew it was for a just cause. But still he grieved.
He got back into his boat and hefted an oar. As his glance fell upon the surface of the cold, black water, he thought he saw a pair of bright blue eyes gazing back at him. He looked away.
Turn the page.
Cain gradually became aware of Naomi’s presence at his side. He looked down and smiled.
“Are we ready, Shochi?”
Cain looked back to the south. Sali and Catar. Enemies still, but they would come around. It was only a matter of telling them the right stories. Let them watch the Demon of War in his murderous rage. Let them see the spirits of Samar, both wild and tame, turn against the people when they’re needed most. Let them watch and learn and wonder at the depravity of Hell. They will come around.
He looked back down. “Yes, Naomi, I believe we are. Come.”
Naomi grinned and scampered down the path ahead of him. Down below, a modest but seaworthy vessel lay within a hidden harbor.
The rotting keystone of the Dominion had been broken, nothing could stop its fall now. The precautions taken by Hartwin, Hoka and Heorm would ensure the grand collapse occurred in a controlled and efficient fashion, but the fire - the fire would spread.
Cain's smile broadened as he followed Naomi down the trail. The fire was burning strong and for the first time in his life, he was winning. The sparks had caught. His duty was no longer to kindle the flames of freedom but rather to keep them fed, and to that end he had a plan.
Turn the page.
Smoke could be seen rising far to the east beyond the ruins of Tikong. The Demon of Stars had been unleashed. The dead Arbiter’s fear of war had restricted his capacity to make violence on the world for centuries, but now he was free. Now he was free, and he was enraged.
The Demon had been challenged, and in his fury he was mobilizing the greatest army the Dominion had ever seen for the express purpose of annihilating the Samari people and laying waste to their land. When Cain heard this, he had laughed and shook his head.
The Leaden Flame’s most recent and generous sponsor had supplied countless powder and steel weaponry for their operations in Samar, which were already being deployed to hidden staging points throughout the eastern front. For Maximilien Cain had a plan.
Hartwin stood on a hill near Tikong, watching the smoke. The hill had once been part of a great orchard, and his soldiers had set their camp beneath the screening branches of a mess of overgrown apple trees. The hill itself commanded an excellent view of the surrounding landscape without exposing the observer to distant eyes. Hartwin often came here to stare east, and to think.
He was troubled by the Leaden Flame’s strategy in the coming war. Hartwin was familiar with Maximilien’s past and he had frequently noted Cain's lack of warmth for his homeland or his people. It was in Samar’s name that his family was killed and many of the wandering tribes still revered the dead spirit Preica. Perhaps it was only reasonable that the bitter old man should care so little for a culture so antithetical to his own ideals. Even so, when told of the black demon’s plan, Cain had smiled.
Hartwin believed in Maximilien Cain. He believed in the importance of their cause. He even believed that the ends they hoped for were worth the blood price of this interminable chaos. But sometimes Hartwin wondered if Cain enjoyed paying that price rather too much.
Turn the page.
Hoka took a deep breath of the sour Eshnur air. How long? Two years and change, perhaps. It seemed less. Since her death…
She tried to think of something else. The rendezvous. Focus. But every focus led back to the gibbering madman, the flash of smoke and flame, the sudden pain, the blackness, the screaming…
Was it worth it?
…Yes, it was worth it. A god lay dead and more would follow. They’d talk to the Godslayers’ pet freak today and then, barring any bad jokes, they’d get out.
…Trumin was gone. She felt the realization hit her in the gut all over again. He liked cities like this, he said the smells could tell you everything. He was weird, but in a good way. A good man. They said he was the one who killed the Arbiter in the end.
With the weapon taken from the Godslayers. It’s worth it…
“Hoka?”
Hoka glanced down at Nero, her partner for the mission. They were standing in the same dimly lit street, lined with the same ruined mansions, plus two years decay. The one was just up ahead, but she didn’t want to go.
“Hoka, are you alright?”
She could see the peeling paint from here. A gust of air and she could smell the rot. The memories resurged and she struggled to stand upright. She didn’t want to go. “Of course I am,” she said. She walked forward. No games this time. She dropped her hands to her side. No jokes. She felt her coat. No cute fucking tricks with pockets. She ground her teeth. Not this time.
Turn the page.
Heorm had mixed feelings about returning to Havsgard.
As a child, he had been trained to fight for the glory of his clan and the Vuosaar tribe. He was eight when he accidentally killed his friend during a training session. His father was so proud. The family’s praise and encouragement helped suppress the nightmares that followed, but since then he could barely swing a blow without seeing those two, shocked blue eyes staring back at him. He knew it was weak, but he couldn't escape the feeling he had done something wrong.
He grew into a superb fighter, in spite of his dead friend’s ghost, and he was expected to inherit his clan’s knife when the patriarch died. He might have been great, but the Flame called and he had no choice but to answer.
That was long ago. His family would not recognize him now.
Heorm stood alone on a slippery pier. A cold wind was blowing down from a sky as clear as ice. He stepped slowly across the frozen planks, pulling his dark cloak tighter. He felt odd. The cold was nothing to him, but a chill he could not describe had pooled within his chest, inspiring an overwhelming sense of loneliness. He had expected this moment to be one of closure. He had hoped to embrace and be embraced once again by the land of his birth. Instead, he was an unwelcome stranger trespassing on an alien land.
He stepped off the wooden pier and onto the cracked stone of land. No voices greeted him but those of the gulls. An emaciated dog loped across the street in front of him without looking to either side. This was once the port town of Brinmar, but now it was nothing but a ruin. Heorm paced its bloody streets for a time, searching for something he couldn't identify. Eventually he turned back to the docks, where his small kayak floated gently above the skeletons of countless greater ships. He knew that freedom came with a price. He knew that change would only come through chaos. He knew it was for a just cause. But still he grieved.
He got back into his boat and hefted an oar. As his glance fell upon the surface of the cold, black water, he thought he saw a pair of bright blue eyes gazing back at him. He looked away.
Turn the page.
Cain gradually became aware of Naomi’s presence at his side. He looked down and smiled.
“Are we ready, Shochi?”
Cain looked back to the south. Sali and Catar. Enemies still, but they would come around. It was only a matter of telling them the right stories. Let them watch the Demon of War in his murderous rage. Let them see the spirits of Samar, both wild and tame, turn against the people when they’re needed most. Let them watch and learn and wonder at the depravity of Hell. They will come around.
He looked back down. “Yes, Naomi, I believe we are. Come.”
Naomi grinned and scampered down the path ahead of him. Down below, a modest but seaworthy vessel lay within a hidden harbor.
The rotting keystone of the Dominion had been broken, nothing could stop its fall now. The precautions taken by Hartwin, Hoka and Heorm would ensure the grand collapse occurred in a controlled and efficient fashion, but the fire - the fire would spread.
Cain's smile broadened as he followed Naomi down the trail. The fire was burning strong and for the first time in his life, he was winning. The sparks had caught. His duty was no longer to kindle the flames of freedom but rather to keep them fed, and to that end he had a plan.