backhandtrebond

[backhandtrebond]

Fall

18 months after the Cage

We’re all going to die.

The thought echoed around Crow’s mind as he took in his surroundings. Maybe half a dozen prisoners to a cage, save the two at the back with tauric occupants. Low light from a few scattered torches, casting strange shadows. Stone walls, floor, ceiling, and stairs (a twinge of regret for passing on Alder’s elemental backup was shaken off quickly). Wall furthest from said stairs mostly covered in rack of torturer’s gear. One decent clear space towards that end of the room. Surrounded by a glowing circle of divine power. Some combination of a binding to keep him here, an alarm to call reinforcements, and a summoning to bring something straight here within moments of its activation. The last one scared him. It meant something big, and there weren’t many tiers above the Godsblood guards.

It was a trap, and he’d fallen for it.

Berate yourself later, get everyone out now.

Unable to leave the circle, he threw every scrap of knowledge he had about the cage doors and how to open them without a key into the minds of the prisoners. That would hopefully give some of them a chance, at least.

Good start. What next?

He also gave them the location of a Rebellion safehouse a day’s walk away. It was a place to keep refugees while they were checked for divine tampering and disguise, a policy they’d introduced after Verrier’s injury.

Not vital if they’re caught, but it’ll get them to safety if they can reach it.

Before he could enact his next idea of giving them a working knowledge of survival and fighting techniques, the summoning glyphs flared. A full squad of heavily-armoured Godsbloods now surrounded him, waiting for something.

For their master.

The final, larger glyph flared, revealing a towering figure as the light faded. Drawing himself to his full height, the figure barely fit under the ceiling. Drawing an elegant rapier from his side, Haelm the Trickster allowed himself a sadistic grin. “Hello, Scholar. You’ve given me quite the run-around this last year, haven’t you?” Barking a few words in the Celestial tongue, he seemed to be giving orders to the soldiers accompanying him. “If you were divine, I’d say you were worth hunting. But there it is, I suppose.”

Come on, Crow, think. Planning is the best weapon you’ve got.

The thought shaking him out of his stupor, Crow’s eyes darted around the soldiers, noting possible flaws in the plate and mentally thanking Mariah for insisting they all know how to find weak spots in armour.

No way of telling what their mental defences are like before the circle drops, but I’m guessing good. Even without the barrier, Mariah would call this an even fight. I’m a dead man.

“I can see your little brain working, Scholar. Trying to work out an escape route, or perhaps even a battle plan.” Haelm leant in, almost pressing his face to the shimmering barrier. “It won’t work, because there won’t be a battle. You’re going to take that knife at your belt and slit your own throat, and I’m going to laugh as you bleed to death. Or, if you’d prefer, I can have my children here drag each of the cattle in the cages over here and you can watch them all die. Then we’ll leave you here to starve to death.”

Crow’s mind spun, the world slowing as he retreated inside his own head. He’d had plenty of practice making illusions seem to last longer than they did. There was no good way out here. The circle cut off most of his power, but Haelm gave off truth in waves. He’d follow through on his threat, and enjoy it.

Thinkthinkthinkthinkthink.

“Need a demonstration, do we? Very well, would you prefer the little dwarf girl with the squint, or the limping centaur?

No way out, can’t break the barrier, can’t stun them from inside it.

“Playing silent? Very well, I’ll pick for you, just this once. Bring over the dwarf, she’ll make less mess.” As the girl was dragged over to the circle, Crow’s eyes snapped open.

One chance. Do not get this wrong.

A Godsblood sword rose into the air as Crow tightened his focus to a single point. As it fell, he clenched his fist.

I’m sorry.

Seizing the dwarf’s mind, he spun her body away from the blow with unnatural force, directing her to arm slap the blade away. Straight onto the circle’s glyphs. As the spell’s light fluttered out of existence, Crow shunted the dwarf away from the immediate fighting with another muttered apology. She twitched feebly on the ground, but he’d be able to repair the damage. He hoped.

Haelm’s eyes met Crow’s pitch-black gaze with a sneer.  “Very well then, you ALL die. I was rather hoping-”

Black smoke swirled around Crow, shrouding his form. One of the soldiers swung for his head, instead cleaving his fellow in two. As a pair of shadow-wings spread from his back, Crow’s face was hidden behind a roiling mask.

The Godsbloods collapsed one by one, forming a pile of convulsing bodies before the frozen figure of Haelm. The creature cocked its head towards the restrained god.

Killer. Torturer. Monster. We share many names, Haelm.

The immobilised god strained against his mental bindings, eyes darting around the room. Looking for reinforcements, the creature guessed.  Its brutal psychic assault shattered the god’s mind, one final message forced into the last parts of him still conscious enough to receive it.

Many, but not all. Kill and torture to PROTECT. Not enjoy.

The god’s eyes rolled up into his head as the creature’s message became a wordless scream of rage. His form dropped limply to the floor, leaving the smoke-wreathed creature to turn towards the stairs, from where the sounds of many heavy boots on stone reached it. Wings spreading, the creature drew shadows about itself like armour.

The Godsbloods barely made it into the room before it attacked.

[backhandtrebond]

Monster

15 months after the Cage

       Cliffsedge was the final straw. For all of Mariah’s urging and the Celestials’ ever-increasing brutality, it took one act of a single nameless mortal to send Crow over the edge.

The day began with one simple aim: for Crow, Mariah, and Kelder to escort a group of runaway slaves through the Briarback Valley.

       “Why are we here?” Mariah whispered to Crow, breaking the silence. Waving her arm at their charges, she continued, her voice sour. “Look at them. How many of them will fight? Having three of us escort them is-”

       “We’re here because they need our help,” the man interjected, “Even if none of these people join the fight, getting them away from those that held their leashes is everything we stand for.”

Unable to resist a dig at the Warrior, the Thief chimed in from the shadows. “And as for why it takes three of us for a simple escort, well, we all know whose fault that is, don’t we?” The hooded figure appeared a few feet behind the pair. Though his eyes were hidden, the impish smirk across his face was anything but. “If Crow’s finished his sweep, can we get moving?” He gestured to the open plain to their side. “I’d like to make tracks before a patrol comes over the flatlands after us.”

Crow refocussed his attention to the two-dozen ragged forms huddled in the shade of the treeline. As he reached out, his mind was assaulted by fear, hope, and uncertainty. Returning his gaze to the other mages, Crow nodded. “Nothing in their surface thoughts that suggests a problem.” He glanced up at the sky. “We’ve got maybe three hours of daylight left, I suggest we make the most of them. Mariah, if you could take point?”

Still muttering under her breath, Mariah stomped off towards the treeline to fetch their charges. “I’d feel a lot better about this if you’d read them properly, you know,” she called over her shoulder.

Before Crow could respond, Kelder placed a hand on his shoulder. “Don’t let her get to you. It’s good that you don’t, it builds trust.” His smirk softened into a warm grin as he started walking over to the group. “Hurry now, or we’ll never make Cliffsedge by sundown.”

As they walked, Crow took a moment to admire their surroundings.  With the plains at their backs, the Areto mountains to the east, and the river a ways west, it was certainly a stunning part of the world. Sometimes it was useful to have something else to fight for, on those days when people disappointed you. Turning his gaze forward once more, his eyes narrowed. The forest that the river disappeared into hadn’t been anywhere near that thick the last time he was in this area. Reaching out with his mind, he caught Thief’s attention.

Kelder, do you see what I see?

With the message, he sent an image of the sparse woodland he remembered from a few weeks ago.

“Yeah, I picked up on it a little while ago myself,” came Kelder’s reply from the shadows. Stepping into the light to walk beside Crow, he shrugged. “I figured Rosa had been through here at some point. She had something out this way, right?”

“She hasn’t had a fight for over a month, she was complaining about it the day before we left.” Though he spoke to Kelder, Crow kept his eyes on the forest, sending out mental pulses in an effort to flush out potential ambushers.

“She doesn’t need to fight with them to affect plants like this. Not anymore, at least,” Kelder sighed, “We’re all getting more powerful, and you’re getting paranoid in your old age, my friend.”

“It’s not paranoia if it’s true,” Crow replied with a wry grin. Relaxing slightly, he glanced back at Kelder, meeting the other man’s eyes. “Whatever it is you want to talk about, you might as well spit it out.”

“Reading my mind is cheating, you know,” the Thief said, rolling his eyes. “But yeah, I did want to talk, preferably out of Mariah’s earshot.” He gave his companion a sobering look. “No point dancing around it, I suppose. I’m worried about you, Crow.” As the other mage opened his mouth to reply, he cut him off. “No, don’t wave it off as my imagination, or any of the other bullshit excuses you keep on hand. You’re getting worse, and you know it.”

Shifting his gaze to the ground, Crow took a moment before replying. “Depends how you look at it.”

The last traces of Kelder’s smile vanished. “I heard about Griam, I know about your visits to the prisoners there. Using illusions to screw with their heads? You’re better than that.”

“Only when I can afford to be.” Turning to face his friend, Crow searched for the right words. “The war’s getting worse. You know it, I know it. It’s getting ever-more important that we have the information we need as soon as possible, and Sonya can’t- or won’t- always deliver, Oracle or no.”

“That’s no excuse for-”

“It’s not an excuse, it’s a reason.” Quickly checking nobody was in earshot, Crow continued. “If we lose this thing, everybody’s dead. There won’t be a second Rebellion, they’ll build new slaves without the ‘free will problem’, and that’ll be that.  If preventing it means I must do things I’d rather not, then so be it.” For a moment, the image of a screaming Godsblood in Griam filled his mind, but he tossed it aside with some effort.

“You don’t think I know that?” Kelder lowered his voice to match Crow’s. “I know the stakes as well as you, but there’s a line. If we cross it, then we’re no better than them.” Sighing heavily, he wiped the sweat off his brow.  

“I hear you, Kelder, and maybe you have a point, but this isn’t the time or the place.” Crow gestured ahead of them. “We’re nearly to Cliffsedge, we can talk about it there.” With that, he lengthened his stride to catch up with the group.

It was mere minutes later when the silver-skinned Godsbloods came charging out of the forest. Forming a line between the ambush and their charges, the mages began felling their attackers in quick succession. Mariah gave a feral war-cry before charging into the fray, a gleaming blade materialising in one hand while she blasted energy from her other. The two men stayed further back, supporting Mariah at range while she carved a bloody path through the Celestials.

“Think she’ll remember to leave the trees standing this time?” Kelder asked, laughing as he stole a Godsblood’s weapon from twenty feet away.

Turning to reply with a grin, Crow froze at the sight that met him. Kelder’s face had gone pale, his breath coming in choked gasps. As the world seemed to slow around him, Crow’s eyes darted around, looking for answers. As he rushed over to his friend, they found the elven refugee who had thrown the blade jutting out of Kelder’s side, and a cold weight settled over him.

I scanned him. I scanned him and didn’t see this. WHY DIDN’T I SEE THIS?

With the flick of a wrist, the elf crumpled into a heap, eyes darting around desperately. Crow ran over to Kelder, pulling bandages from his pack. “Mariah! Kelder’s down!” As the Warrior bisected the last of the ambushers, Crow removed the knife and dressed the wound, the material glowing slightly as it touched the damaged flesh. Once he was done, he shifted his gaze to the prone elf, that same cold still clutching his chest. The Scholar strode over and picked him up by his hair.

I didn’t see this because I didn’t LOOK. Because looking is over some line we made up.

As he stared into the man’s unrepentant face, seeing nothing now but the devotion to his Celestial masters, something snapped inside Crow.

If staying this side of the line means good people dying, then it’s not worth it.

Closing his eyes for a moment, he gathered his power under their lids.

If a monster is what’s needed to stop this from happening again-

Crow’s eyes snapped open, now solid black orbs.

-then a monster I’ll be.

A creature of shadows and rage cracked open the elf’s mind and tore it apart to find the answers it sought. When it was done, the slim body fell to the ground, and the creature turned to the rest of their charges.

Who else?

Smoke began drifting out from under its hood, forming a solid mask.

Who else knew?

It tore into the minds of two more, leaving them prone and gasping, but alive.

WHO?

A blast of energy caught it across the face, causing its head to snap back, stunned.

“Get a grip, Crow.” Red hair. Mariah, that was her name. Barely-suppressed fury, held in check by familiar faces in her head. They had names, too. “Kelder needs someone who can do more than tie a bandage, or he will die, so calm down before I blast the tantrum out of you.”

The creature halted, gaze fixed first on her, then Kelder’s limp form. The smoke drifted clear and Crow blinked. He ran over to Kelder and, hands shaking, lifted him onto his shoulders. “Kaeda’s meeting us at Cliffsedge for the refugees. She can help him.” He went pale as he looked over to where the two prone refugees still lay. “And them. I hope.”

[backhandtrebond]

Necessity

13 months after the Cage

They were still mortal. It was an important part of who the First were, and what they stood for, but it had its drawbacks. Every so often, they received a stark reminder.

Rage flooding his veins, it was all the Scholar could do to keep his voice at a reasonable volume. “Verrier took a hit. A bad one. Haelm again.” Sonya glanced up from her book to fix Crow with an icy glare. “But you knew that already, of course.” The man stepped over the threshold, closing the door to the Oracle’s tower rooms. “So… What’s your grand excuse this time? Sonya stood as he stepped towards her, the white almost entirely gone from his eyes. “What reason do you have, I wonder, for letting your friends brush death again and again?”

Not batting an eyelid at the other mage’s display, Sonya met his gaze with her own softly-glowing eyes. “The alternative was worse, trust me.”

“But that’s the thing,” Crow chuckled humourlessly, “I don’t. Haven’t for a while, but right now it’s damned tricky for me to think of any reason to keep pretending. I’m sick of you only deigning to help when the stars align, or the tides are good, or whatever ridiculous system you use. Honestly, I’m not even convinced you still want the Rebellion to succeed.” His eyes now solid black, he flicked his wrist at the Oracle lazily. Her body froze, but her breathing stayed even, eyes still holding Crow’s stare. “Time to stop pretending.”

He placed a hand on her forehead and closed his eyes, projecting his mental awareness at her mental defences. There was far more resistance than any normal mortal could have put up, like comparing castle walls to a picket fence. In no frame of mind to take the time finding a weakness to sneak through, he simply bludgeoned his way past. Sonya let out a muffled grunt, the first indication of discomfort he had seen from her since the Cage.

Let’s see what you’re hiding.

He blew past the early memories; nothing there would be helpful. She had only started her ’enigmatic puppeteer’ routine after the Cage, so he looked for that.

Here we are. Amazing how much difference a year makes.

Looking out of Sonya’s eyes, he saw the others each ask for and receive their magicks until it was her turn.

Did you see something, I wonder? A way to give yourself the best position in whatever’s left standing at the end of all this?

He heard Sonya’s voice, echoing oddly inside her memory.

‘To know what must be done.’ Always thought that was an oddly specific request.

And then he saw.

Crow threw himself out of her mind, recoiling from her in the real world as soon as he had control of his limbs, eyes losing all trace of the shadows. For the first time in almost a year, he felt the emotions in Sonya. Relief, tinged with sadness. “You… That was what you saw that night? But…” He trailed off, tears welling at the corners of his eyes.

Sonya collapsed back into her chair, a few tears of her own making trails down her cheeks. “Yes. So, you know why-”

“I understand. For the first time… I really do.” Crow slumped against the nearest wall before meeting her eyes. “For the Rebellion to succeed-”

“-I have to die,” the Oracle finished. “The first, most important piece of knowledge I received. There is no future in which I live and the Rebellion succeeds. Either I die, or the mortal races go back to being slaves, and worse.”

“So you started closing us off. Made yourself the egomaniacal one, drove away your friends.”

A wan smile appeared on Sonya’s pale face. “If the First lose their friend and comrade, it’ll hurt them. Break some of them. But if I’m just a resource, then they can keep fighting with their minds in it.” Her eyes hardened. “And you can never tell them. I refuse to be what keeps our peoples in chains.”

Crow nodded slowly, getting to his feet. “Knowing what had to be done. You really picked a crappy power.”

After a weak chuckle, she replied “It worked, didn’t it? We’re all still kicking in a war against gods. Hate to break it to you, but you’re not that good.”

Returning the laugh, Crow stopped at the door. “You knew this was coming, didn’t you? Knew I’d do this, that I’d find out.”

“Yes. It made it easier, honestly.” At his look of confusion, she continued “I always knew what had to happen, but I also knew that you’d find out. Means at least someone might remember me as more than the egomaniac in the western tower.”

“I will, I promise.”

“One last thing, Crow.”

He half-turned back to her, body numb.

The Oracle gave a weak smile. “I have to walk this road for us to win. You don’t.”

He gave a barely-perceptible nod, and walked away.

[backhandtrebond]

Shadows

9 months after the Cage

Torture was such a messy word; inelegant, even. It suggested dingy rooms and sharp objects, and while not an entirely unfounded impression, there was a sort of depressing artistry to it in Griam Prison. For all the skill Mariah and her assistants brought to bear, however, the Celestial creations known as Godsbloods had loyalty built-in, and proved early-on that pain would never be enough to pull information from their lips.

So, they turned to Crow.

“Hello, Jier.” Crow was already seated when the guards dragged in the Godsblood, pearly drops of blood adding to the lingering scent of ozone. “I hear you’ve refused to tell the Warrior and her friends here what Haelm’s up to.” A particularly cruel god of trickery, Haelm had proven elusive even by the already spectacular standards set by his ilk. They had one lead, and this was it.

The Celestial slumped into the hard chair, staring listlessly at the table between them. “I am Godsblood. My being is divinity and duty.”

“So we’ve heard. A lot.”

“I am Godsblood. My-”

“Yes, alright, I get the point. Crow took a moment to admire the network of fine scars across the other man’s skin- Mariah or James, for such precise work. “You won’t talk to us voluntarily, and Griam’s usual methods have failed to pry the secrets from you, so here we sit.” The gentle smile fell from his face, replaced with an expressionless mask. “This is your last chance, Jier. I walk out that door, and you will regret it.”

Meeting his eyes for a moment, Jier flinched from the soft glow he found there. “I am a Go-”

Crow didn’t bother listening to the rest. With a wave of his arm, the room seemed to vanish from around them. “Goodbye, Jier.” He too vanished, leaving the Godsblood in an empty void.

Looking around himself, Jier found only endless white in all directions. He tried to stand, stumbling slightly before realising that he was already on his feet. When had that happened? He put a hand out to where the table had been, heart thumping noisily. There was nothing there. He took a step, then another, then a few more. No resistance. Whatever the rebel had done, he decided, it must have gone wrong. He was free to escape this place and find his master.

Four days later, he had entirely changed his mind. The void was infinite. Without any landmarks, or even a horizon to navigate by, he couldn’t even be sure he had gone further than a few feet. He stopped even trying to get out after day two. There was no food here, no water, no people. Nothing but himself.

Sitting opposite him, Crow counted seconds under his breath. It would be so much easier to just climb inside the Godsblood’s head, he knew. But he’d made a promise, and this would at least give the man a chance to recover.

By day ten, Jier stopped trying to break his skull against what passed for ground. Instead, he just lay waiting to die, hoping that this place would let him.

“Twenty-nine, thirty.” Crow waved his arm a second time, and Jier started screaming. “I imagine he’ll tell Mariah anything she wants to know, if you could take him to her?” The guards nodded, grabbing the Godsblood’s arms and dragging his convulsing form from the room. Crow started counting again. When he reached twenty, he calmly stood, closed the door, and vomited into a steel bucket in the corner. Wiping the cold sweat from his forehead, he flushed Jier’s residual emotion from the room, holding back the tide of mental anguish.

His own was more than enough.

[backhandtrebond]

Uprising

Five months after the Cage

It wasn’t supposed to happen like this. Crow had been woken by the sudden surge in activity, even in his tower. Fear and rage carried a long way, he had learnt. His dark cloak flaring behind him, he stormed through the Warrens towards the meeting room. The plan was in tatters. Since becoming the first mortal mages, they had been able to escalate their work dramatically. He, Kelder, and Sonya in particular, had proven able to carry out operations they’d never dreamed of when all this started.

Several armoured figures practically threw themselves out of his way as he rounded a corner, their panicked thoughts swarming his mind for a moment. Footsteps echoing in the tunnels, he continued internally cursing Mariah in every language he knew. Another year or so of preparation, and they could have freed the world in a night. Just one night of struggle and violence for an eternity of freedom. Now… He didn’t open the door so much as he punched it, ignoring the crack and ache that followed.

Fury dulled the pain, keeping his focus on the current disaster. Mariah’s patience had finally run out, and he sympathised, truly, but any other option would have been preferable. The First Warrior had been serving as the ‘concubine’ of a particularly brutal god that presided over an area to the north. Either he had crossed some line she had been unwilling to endure, or she had just snapped, but ultimately, it didn’t matter. The result was the same: Mariah had killed a god in bloody, spectacular fashion in front of hundreds of witnesses. It was as clear a declaration of war as he could think of, short of burning the Divine Palace. Pulling the details from the thoughts of passing warriors, he pieced together the situation.

They had handled the mad scramble fairly well, considering. The First had mobilised almost immediately, taking to the front lines in an effort to minimise the mortal casualties and clear a safe zone to shelter the inevitable refugees. Mariah made her apologies, then threw herself into the fray with gusto. Averaging out the differing accounts he gathered as he walked, he guessed she had added at least another half-dozen gods to her bloody wake. Though a considerable portion of his anger would be reserved for her, the majority was aimed at another.

“Sonya!” Bursting into the chamber that still held the now-dormant Cage, he homed in on her particularly organised surface thoughts. After a few moments, he found her in a dark corner of the room. He grabbed her collar and shoved her into the stone wall. “Why didn’t you tell us this was coming?” Catching her indignation before she finished forming the words to voice it, he snapped “And don’t pretend you didn’t know! That crap might work with the others, but you and I both know it’s bullshit!”

After taking a moment to compose herself, the small woman’s voice regained its usual self-assurance. “Because if I had, we would be in a worse situation than we are now.” As he opened his mouth to reply, she cut him off, “‘How could we possibly be in a worse situation? This is one of the potential loss scenarios we considered last year!’ I can predict your words too, Crow, and we both agreed not to. For our sanity’s sake, if nothing else.” She winced as he tightened his grip. “We both know that I don’t lie, Scholar, so let me go. We’re no help to anyone yelling at each other.”

“You are our Oracle.” Crow let her down, not entirely sure when he had lifted her off her feet. “Your entire role within the Rebellion is to warn us of future events. Not pick and choose what you think is best without telling the rest of us,” he growled, his face still twisted in anger.

“Without telling you, you mean?” A mocking smirk flashed across Sonya’s lips. “Aw, is the spymaster feeling left out? Don’t like being reminded that we have working brains too?” Before he could reply, Crow was grabbed by the nearby shadows and yanked away from the Oracle.

“Both of you, stop it.” How had he missed Kelder walking in? Or had he been there the whole time? “Sonya, stop antagonising him, you’re a genius puppeteer and we all dance to your tune, we get it.” Turning so he could see both of his fellow mages, Crow took in Kelder in full battle-gear, all dark leather and inky shadow.  “And you, Crow, should know better than to bite. At least try and act like the grown-up.” Stepping up behind the other man, he put a hand on his shoulder. “Take a breath, and stop soaking up everyone else’s emotions for a minute, yeah?”

Crow took a breath, several in fact, before stepping away from Sonya. He tried to ignore the waves of satisfaction that she gave off so heavily it could only be deliberate. “Come on, Kelder, let’s go and do something helpful. There’s clearly none of that happening here.” Not waiting for the Thief to follow, he stalked out of the room, heading for the upper tunnel levels. He was slightly pleased with himself for only slightly jumping when Kelder’s voice chimed in from right behind him.

“You can’t do that, Crow. Not here, not with us.”

“Don’t stab the Oracle, resist the urge to climb inside her brain for answers, I understand Kelder, can we move on?” From the waves of irritation he received, he doubted it.

A leather-gloved hand spun him around, the Thief’s eyes meeting his. The glow had faded a little after that first day, but not entirely. “No, we can’t. Whatever power trip she’s been on since the Cage, you cannot sink to her level. Every time the two of you speak, you do something stupid – if horribly creative – with your magic, and I have to scold you!” Holding Crow’s gaze, the glow in his eyes brightened for a moment. “I know how much the people out there mean to you, but keep your head, or you’re no good to any of them.” After a few seconds, Crow lowered his eyes and nodded slowly.

“You’re right, as usual. She just… Urgh.” Running a hand over his face, Crow did what he could to filter out the emotions and surface thoughts echoing through the Warrens. “Okay. Let’s go and fix this mess before I strangle any of our friends.”

[backhandtrebond]

Awakening

The day of the Cage

“This is by far the stupidest thing you have ever done.” Crow glared at his friend, wondering how many times he had said those words to Kelder. At least this would probably be the last.

The two leant against a stone doorway, one of many in the tunnel maze they called home. Older than either cared to guess, it spread into the mountain like cracks across glass.

“Did you misunderstand the word ‘reconnaissance?’ Here’s a hint: it doesn’t mean ‘steal the obviously magical orb’, it means ‘don’t let the Celestials know you were there, because they’ll follow you home and kill us all.’”

Kelder, far from chastised, simply widened his ever-present grin. “You worry too much, Crow. Besides, we’re going to have to actually do something if we want to get an entire world to rise up.” He began pacing back and forth. “I know we need to take it slow- of course we do- but this is the first action any of have taken in weeks, and even then, it was spur-of-the-moment!” Brushing his dark hair out of his eyes, he stopped pacing to face his friend. “I can’t just sit around doing nothing while the gods keep working people to death.”

“We’re not doing nothing,” Crow replied, “we’re gathering information, resources. Things we’ll need when this turns violent.” Putting a hand on Kelder’s shoulder, he continued: “Take a breath. Right now, they don’t know we exist, and we’ll need to keep it that way until we’re ready to topple them-”

“All at once, I know.”

“Exactly. As we are now, we have plenty of time to prepare, and preparation means fewer casualties. I keep smuggling knowledge from the Great Library, Sonya keeps plotting, Mariah keeps her ears open with her ‘owner’… Need I go on?”

Kelder relaxed a little, shaking his head. “No, you’ve made your point. But you should have seen this thing. Itwas like it wanted to be taken, you know?”

“I understand why, but we meet in this warren for a reason.” Crow rubbed his eyes. “I just don’t want this Rebellion to kill more than we save, okay?”

“Hey, I’m right there with you on that, it’s Mariah who needs-”

He was cut off by the doors creaking open. “Looks like the others have arrived. Let’s go and see what this thing is, shall we?”

The two men walked side-by-side into the room, squinting in the torchlight to find their fellow rebels. Joining the other eight, they formed a loose ring around the pedestal in the centre of the flagstone floor. Looking around the circle, Crow fought down the smug grin creeping across his face. They had come to the same conclusion he had, it seemed. Between them all, floating a few inches above the pedestal, was an orb the size of his fist. Though at first it seemed to consist entirely of faintly-glowing chains, closer inspection revealed dark glass beneath. Kelder had found the odd construct while mapping out the Divine Palace – the central hub of the Celestial rulership, where they kept their most valuable artefacts. “So,” he began, breaking the silence, “did anyone here work out what this is, or do I need to go and get my books?”

“We worked it out alright.”

Surprised, Crow glanced to his left. “Really? You never struck me as the scholarly type, Mariah.”

A feral grin appeared on the woman’s face, visible even in the gloom. “Not me, dolt. Sonya and Verrier got it figured out.” She let out a low bark of laughter. “Though I still say it’s cheating when the damn thing tells you what it does.” At Crow’s furrowed brow, her grin widened. “Oh, yeah. It was being downright chatty after a few minutes alone with them. You won’t believe what it does.”

“It hates, mostly,” Sonya’s breezy voice chimed in. “It went on a bit of a rant about the gods trapping something inside it. Or trapping it inside the orb, I suppose.”

US.

Startled, Crow and Kelder stepped back, suddenly tense and alert.

THEY TRAPPED US INSIDE.

Sonya held up a soothing hand. “Calm down, both of you. It – sorry, they – aren’t our enemies. Quite the opposite, in fact. There’s a bargain to be struck here, but only if we all agree.”

Cautiously stepping back into the circle, Kelder kept his eyes on the orb. “It never said a word while I was carrying it.”

YOU WERE UNKNOWN.

“Killing gods was mentioned near it, and it started speaking,” Sonya explained. “But as I said, what it’s offering is what matters.” Narrowing his eyes, Crow leant over to examine the artefact. “And what would that be, exactly?” He ghosted a fingertip over the more prominent runes, trying and failing to decipher them. “Even with everything I’ve read on the Celestials, I’ve never heard of them binding anything like this. Much as it pains me to say it, I have no idea where we’d even start to free you.”

WE DO NOT SEEK FREEDOM.

“Then what? Mortal souls? Eternal servitude? Blood of virgins?” Crow continued his attempts to read the glowing text, keeping up his questioning almost automatically. “The whole point of this little enterprise is to stop crap like that, so this negotiation might be a little tricky, given that there’s only so much we can offer a disembodied voice stuck in a ball.”

THE CAGE IS POWERFUL, BUT IT WILL BREAK DOWN IN TIME.

“Good for you.”

UNTIL THAT DAY, WE SEEK BUT ONE THING.

“Can we cut the small-talk and get to the good bit?” Mariah cut in. “This place is freezing, and I’m getting bored.” After a moment of nine glares being sent in her direction, she rolled her eyes. “Oh, like you weren’t all thinking it.” There was a long pause before the voice from the sphere continued.

WE SEEK THE DEATH OF THE GODS, AND IN RETURN OFFER POWER TO RIVAL THEIRS. SPEAK YOUR DESIRES, AND BE GRANTED MAGICKS TO ACHIEVE THEM.

The sarcastic comments and disparate conversations immediately stopped.

After several hours of heated debate and frantic research, the ten leaders of the Rebellion found themselves back in that same circle around the Cage, only this time there was a palpable tension in the air.

“So,” Kelder murmured, “who wants to go first?” He bounced slightly on the balls of his feet, shooting frequent glances at Crow.

“You brought it here,” Alder’s deep voice echoed. “It called to you, and we’d never have had this chance without your sticky fingers, so…” He tailed off with a shrug.

Kelder shuffled his feet, then took a deep breath. “Alright then.” He stepped forward and placed his hand on the sphere’s chained surface. “Ready to go, friends?”

WE ARE. SPEAK YOUR DESIRE, MORTAL, AND BECOME THE FIRST OF YOUR KIND TO WIELD MAGIC.

There was a moment of stillness, as if the world held its breath, and Kelder spoke. “I want to find everything the Celestials hold dear, every last thing, and I want to take it from them.” Leaning to his side slightly, Crow could just make out the cold fury held behind the other man’s eyes. “I want to make them afraid to ever put anything down, and then take those things right out of their hands.”

THEN TAKE THIS POWER, THIEF, AND MAKE THE SHADOWS YOUR HOME.

There was no dramatic flash of light, no runes scrawling across his skin, no great clash of thunder. Even Crow almost missed the slight glow in Kelder’s eyes, but no one missed the way the room’s shadows now seemed deepen. As he stepped back to his place in the circle, his steps were silent.

And so it went, one by one, each granted powers to achieve what they asked for. Alder stepped back with flames dancing in his palm; Verrier and Aberash’s clasped hands played host to contrasting light and dark energies; Rosa’s footsteps cracked the stonework as plants sprouted in her wake. Sonya’s simple request of knowing what was necessary was met with a few raised eyebrows until she was proclaimed ‘Oracle’. The solemn atmosphere had some of the earlier tension returned to it when Mariah stepped forward and spoke just one word.

“Vengeance.”

TAKE THIS POWER, WARRIOR, AND BRING RUIN.

Crow couldn’t help but feel a little uneasy at the wording on that one. Finally, it was his turn. Closing his eyes, he tried to formulate everything he wanted out of this endeavour into something less than a week-long speech.

“Knowledge. I seek knowledge, and the means to acquire it. I want to learn as much about this world and the people in it as I can, and then I want to use every single scrap of it to free the mortal races. I want to know what I need to know to win.” The pause after he finished seemed a few seconds longer than the others, but he concluded he was just noticing it more.

TAKE THIS POWER, SCHOLAR, AND USE IT WISELY.

Overwhelmed by the influx of surface thoughts he could suddenly hear, the meaning behind those words did not have a chance to sink in properly. Later, he regretted not seeing them for what they were, and what no one else not even Mariah had received.

A warning.

[backhandtrebond]

Aftermath

18 months after the Cage

Silence was a tangible weight pressing down on the room. Shifting in its cloak of smoke and shadow, the creature surveyed what was left of the dungeon.

What had once been an area filled with restraints of wood, metal, and rune was now mostly empty, the equipment destroyed or blasted clear in the struggle. The back wall still held the remnants of what had been racks of interrogator’s implements, each broken and charred. Besides a narrow pathway to the staircase, the rest of the stone chamber held row after row of twisted steel cages, all rippling subtly with glimmers of the divine.

Drifting out of its corner, the creature swept an arm across the room, moving the numerous twitching bodies into a neat pile against the wall and leaving streaks of silver blood across the floor. It cocked its hooded head to one side, like an animal sniffing the air.

Fear

It moved, in its smooth, silent way, towards the cluster of cages near the entrance. The stench of mortal blood and urine hung most oppressively here, outweighing the newer ozone tang of Celestial blood. Inside each one cowered several humanoid forms, all different ages and from a wide array of species.

Why is there fear?

As a whimper cut through the air, the creature’s covered face snapped to regard the source with an inquisitive tilt. One hand checking that the cage locks had all been destroyed, the creature used the other to reach through the bars and brush against the temple of the front-most prisoner. Direct contact always helped it understand.

Your jailers are gone. Your torturers punished, your prison open.

The elven man recoiled from the touch as best he could, arms stretched out to his sides to keep the rest of his group behind him.

There are no more gods here. Why is there still fear?

The creature stilled the quivering elf with a passing thought, securing its grip on the man’s face.

If there is still danger, it will be turned aside. Show it t-

The creature recoiled, yanking its arm back through the bars. Whipping its head around the room in stuttering motions, it took several steps away from the cage. It threw its awareness into the senses of the other prisoners in turn, growing increasingly agitated as the same image burned at the forefront of its mind again and again: a lone figure standing in the ruined dungeon. A man of average height, black smoke swirling out from under his dark hood to form an oblique mask. Rather than dissipating, the smoke clung to his back, giving the impression of two twisted wings in the haze.

The creature stormed over to another cage, seeing only the same man in their minds. Slowing after the third group, it examined one shadow-wreathed arm for a moment before realising what it kept seeing.

Fear… Of me?

The smoke slowed its emergence, leaving its wings to ebb away. Movements becoming gradually more natural, the figure moved back to the first cage. Two blue pin-pricks of light shining from behind the fading mask, it met the gaze of the elf who had attempted to defend his fellows.

Why fear your liberator? Your protector?

“Please, just leave.” Though his voice was shaky, the man held his protective stance, keeping his body between the creature and the other prisoners. “We’re just slaves. Whatever the Infernals want with the war, we’re not involved.”

Infernal?

The smoke had almost entirely dissipated, leaving just the creature’s lower face obscured.

You thought, “that I was Infernal?” Exhaling heavily, the cloaked figure let go of the last remnants of the creature.

Crow blinked. He glanced around, taking in the room, the cages, and the prisoners with his own eyes before turning back to the elf. “I assure you, I’m quite mortal. And here to get you all to safety, so let’s move, shall we?” Gesturing for them to follow, he strode over to the stairs, opening cage doors as he went. Halting at the foot of the staircase, he turned to see that not a single prisoner had left their cage. “Today?”

“You’re one of them, aren’t you?” Crow turned to see an older woman with bone crests at her temples. “The rebels. The godslayers.”

“We tend to go by The First,” Crow replied with a nod. “And you’re all here to be tortured to death. Now that we’re all acquainted, can we leave? The Celestials will send more, and soon.” Stepping from her cage, the woman turned to look at the pile of Godsblood bodies twitching in the corner.

“Oh, child,” she began, starting towards Crow before stopping herself. “We’d heard whispers, stories, but this…” The fear was still there, but Crow could feel an unexpected wave of pity underneath it. “What did you do?”

“What I always do: whatever I have to.”

[backhandtrebond]

Nightmare

     When prisoners were brought to the Warrens, almost every single one was certain that they were special; that they’d be the one to hold onto their information. That nothing would break them. They would be clever enough to outwit interrogators, have the courage to withstand the many and varied instruments of the torturers’ craft. They had been trusted with information vital enough to warrant its extraction, and their resolve would not waver.

     Of course, most soon lost these delusions after mere minutes of the hooded figures’ craft, what petty secrets their masters had seen fit to trust them with spilling forth from their lips as quickly as they could be transcribed. A few though, those who had received training, augmentation, or enchantment to resist such methods, and whose potential information was deemed too time-sensitive to slowly wear down, were taken from the dank prison. They would be led via a spiral staircase to the highest room of the east tower, seated unchained in a comfortable chair, and a man would talk to them.

     The two guards stood either side of the cell door, shooting nervous glances at each other and the cell interior. The third of their number was inside, shackling the cell’s occupant in preparation for their transfer to the tower. Or, rather, adjusting his bindings to let him off the wall and allow the minimum necessary movement.

     Even after a week’s stay, sticky with silver blood and less savoury substances, the prisoner was a magnificent sight. The eerie perfection of a Celestial’s creation in his features, softly glowing skin, and a certain pride in his posture even here- everything about him screamed ‘leader’ to those more inclined to follow.

     “Poor bastard should have talked when he had the chance,” the left guard murmured. “The higher-ups want the leak’s name yesterday, and if he’d just given it to them-”

     “You know damned well a godsblood won’t give up its master,” his partner interrupted. “All the thumbscrews and flame runes in the world won’t change that. It’s what they are.” Though he nodded, the look of regret held fast on the guard’s face.

     “Still… Can’t help but feel sorry for him, whatever he’s done. What goes on up there…” He broke off with a shudder. “He ready? Let’s just get him to the Eyrie so the Crow can do his work.”

     At the third man’s signal to the affirmative, the armoured trio led their semi-conscious charge to the staircase and began to climb. Partway up, the (slightly) fresher air roused the chained godsblood enough for him to realise he was climbing. As the increasingly liveable surroundings penetrated the mental haze only a blend of pain and isolation can bring, a small spark of hope began to smoulder in his chest. Was this a new tactic, he wondered? Let him see a glimpse of the sun to tempt him, lend weight to an offer of freedom for the name? Whatever the reason, it would be a welcome sight, and he was steady in his loyalty. Why not let them attempt to buy him for a while?

     It was only when it became apparent that the ground floor had long since passed that a story came unbidden to his mind. A suggestion of a whisper of a rumour, but it still passed from campfire to campfire, as all good tales do. That there was one among the mortal mages who, while the others had stolen the power to raise storms or burn armies to fuel their rebellion, had pursued a different branch of warfare entirely. If there was even a shred of truth to it… The spark of warmth gave way to ice-cold fear.

     As three sets of footsteps and one set of drag marks echoed up his tower, the Crow sighed. Another attempt to save a life, most likely in vain. His was a thankless role, truly.

     “You’d think someone with enough willpower to resist the lower levels would be eager to throw off their chains,” he mused, reaching for his tea. “Not cling to them like a child to a favourite blanket.” Sipping delicately, he shifted an armchair so it was opposite the larger couch. “That should do. Comfortable, but not overly familiar. Does he drink tea, I wonder?”

     A nervous knock at the door interrupted his musings. After one last check of the room- fire warm, but not hot, seating arranged properly, tea within easy reach- he strode over to the door and let his guests in.

     Dark eyes noted and quickly filed away details. The guards were more uneasy than usual. Not new, so why? First godsblood? No, shaken by the thought of a traitor. Understandable. Silver at the prisoner’s temples, wrists, back. James’s work? No, too precise, even for him. Mariah, then. Edge of fear to the pride. A man used to command, or at least more autonomy than most. No marks of enchantment, and Mariah’s a master of her craft. A die-hard loyalist, willing to take the pain to hide the leak. No defiance in the eyes, just quiet certainty. For how long? Cracks, there and there.

     Satisfied, he gestured for the prisoner to sit in the armchair. As he lit a fire under the small kettle, the guards went through the long process of removing the shackles, waiting for the Crow’s signal to remove the last of them. The oldest of the guards’ eyelids were heavier than they should be, he noted. Dark circles, as well. Losing sleep. Too experienced to be the work, so why?

     Discreetly, he took a feel of the emotions in the room. There was the prisoner, all terror and wounded pride behind a veneer of calm and dignity. The other two in armour, mostly normal. Ah, there was the problem.

     “How’s the family, Travers?”

     After a moment of blind panic at being addressed and another of astonishment that the Crow of all people knew his name, the man gave voice to his worry.

     “Not so good, truth be told. The little one’s got a cough, won’t shift no matter how much air she gets.”

     Swamp sickness most likely, brought back by the brother. Lucky to catch it before it spreads. The Crow shifted over to a cabinet on the far side of the room, retrieving two small pouches. “Here,” he said, holding them out to Travers. “Make her a tea from the ones in the green pouch once a day until it clears. If it persists beyond three days, tea from the blue pouch will deal with it.” He took a moment to enjoy the stunned look on each of his guest’s faces- including the godsblood, he noted- before accepting the guard’s grateful handshake.

     “Thank you sir, we’d almost given up hope, and the healer couldn’t figure out what it was, and-” Travers stopped, realising he was babbling. “Thank you.”

     “It’s no trouble. Let me know if anyone else in the camps has caught it, and I’ll get them the herbs.” Another warm smile was accompanied by an arm swept towards the door. “Now, if you could leave me to my work? We have much to discuss, Gordian and I.”

     Travers gaze bounced from the Crow to the prisoner and back again a few times before the words clicked. “Gordian, is it? I’ll let them know downstairs, for the records. Good day to you, sir.” With that, the armoured trio departed, the heavy door swinging into place sounding like a portcullis to the bewildered godsblood.

     “How could you possibly-”

     “You know who I am, yes?” At the mute nod that was Gordian’s reply, the Crow’s voice lost much of its warmth. “Then you know how. And you know that you have two options in this room.” Taking the steadily increasing waves of fear emanating from the man as acknowledgement, the human continued the speech he had given variations of dozens of times. “You have information I need, and the hospitality of the lower levels has been unable to part you from it. So you and I are going to have a chat over tea like civilised people. By the time the tea is finished, I will have the information, and you will be free to go. These things are all certainties.” The Crow took a sip from his drink to give Gordian a moment to process this. “As for your options: you can simply give me the information, proud in the knowledge that you resisted the best torturer the Warrens can throw at you and walk out of the tower a free man.” Another sip, never breaking eye contact. “Or you can decline the offer, out of pride, or loyalty, or sheer bloody mindedness. It doesn’t matter why, in the end. I will get the information either way, and you will be free either way. Alive, and in fairly good health, even.” He leant forwards, his unblinking gaze seeming, to Gordian, to stare inside him. “The only real difference is whether you walk out that door a proud man, or are carried out as a shattered ruin.”

     The Crow finally blinked, releasing his hold on the godsblood, and delicately cleared his throat. He stood, walking over to retrieve the boiled kettle and allow Gordian an attempt at gathering his thoughts.

     Was that magic? Would I know? I could just tell him. Like he said, I withstood the torture, I can be proud of that. I could leave, find a hole and stay in it until the smoke clears.

     He glanced over at the turned back of the Crow. The thought of making a run for it briefly occurred to him, but was immediately quashed. He’d never make the ground floor before he was caught. Attacking never even presented itself as an option. Even the Celestials were wary enough of the mortals’ unexpected affinity for magic to avoid going one-on-one. Gordian would be crushed by the least of them. The thought, for reasons that eluded him, gave him new resolve.

     He could erase me with a thought. But I am godsblood. Sacrifice in the masters’ name is what I am for.

     The Crow sighed. Another one. One day he would find out how such mindless loyalty worked. Until then… “You’ve decided.” Not a question, a statement. No point in hiding that now.

     “I have,” Gordian replied, stone-faced. “I am godsblood, Loyalty is-” “What you are for. I know.” The Crow gently set down his tea before moving to stand before the other man. “Then I’m sorry, but it’s time for you to go. Your body will be cared for, against the unlikely event your mind ever recovers enough to be aware. Goodbye, Gordian.”

     There was no dramatic change, as Gordian had expected, no skeletal wings or great scythe of darkness. Just a slight change in posture, and a face without emotion. In his last moment of consciousness, he remembered the name in the story, the one that sparked frightened whispers across the world. The Celestials never called him Crow, never saw the smiling man with his healing herbs and tea. They saw what he made them see, and called it Nightmare.

    No two minds were the same, but godsbloods’ were depressingly similar. Full of worship for his masters, and pride at both his creation and being entrusted with secrets. The Nightmare shredded what was unneeded, sundered what stood in its way, and stored what was useful. It took what had been Gordian and reduced it to scattered ribbons of thought, wisps of being, until it found the name it sought. Then it withdrew, back into the room, and back into its own mind.

     The Crow stood, rung the bell to call for someone to take Gordian to the bed he would never leave, and strode over to his herb cabinet to inspect his supplies.

     “Must remember to gather more Gul nettle to ease the sickness,” he muttered. He checked the smaller pile of blue pouches. “Also Eversleep, to deal with the carriers if it proves untreatable.”

[backhandtrebond]

Ink (Redraft)

It flows across them Like oil over water, Or paint on canvas. Stories, told in patterns Across their skin.

A flame in his palm, For pain and rage; For learning not to burn, But blaze, a beacon In the black.

Wings spread across her shoulders, A story of broken cages And how they met.

Some they share: A message down the spine No deos, No dominos. A message and a promise.

Fate’s own luck In crooked dice, An ace of hearts To ward off snakes.

Scorpions, for getting stung: Once bitten, twice as fierce. Fool them now and it’s not shame But fangs in you From this pack of two.

Blades, for fighting back. Shields and shattered hearts, For oaths held fast And broken. Every design another time The Reaper turned away.

The vines that link their arms, From hers to his, are for When monsters in human skin Set their world aflame: They fought while others froze; They stood, when no one else would.

Back to back and boots on the ground, Hands clasped tight at the end of the world.

[backhandtrebond]

Muse

     Light: mirrors in wires, the whole world connected, information free at a click, faster than ever.      It smiled as the man’s face lit up, watching as he scrambled for paper. It was good to bring happiness- to sow seeds that improved lives. It preferred light to metal and smoke.       A new note, echoing for decades. Towards the sun. The world flew by below, a silent, blurred background against the Call. Slowing, it was drawn to the train. A woman in red. It drew from itself and gave to her, giving her the glimpse she needed.       A world of magic; glasses and a scar.       She cocked her head, as if considering. It stayed long enough to watch her start scrawling notes.       There was not music this time, but a jarring discord. It winced, as much as it could, and tried to resist. It hated these Calls. Giving in, it flung its essence over the water, dancing in the air to mitigate the sadness.       The tower, the one in the suit. It tried again to resist, but the spark pulled itself away.       Steel: the knife in the drawer, in the shower to wash away the blood. Body in the  trash.

[backhandtrebond]

Edge

Flickering flames Flying free In the wind, Fallen banners On a thousand battlefields.

Crawling-walking-running-flying Flame-blades-guns-bombs: Progress in eyeblinks, Mistakes for ages.

Eureka! Lightning strikes and lottery wins “There was nothing we could do.”

Some buoyed up and some dragged down ‘Always’ never lasts: People rise and nations fall Stone feet in the dust.

Life and death On a never-ending coin toss, And always the voice That whispers ‘Edge.’

And in it all, Among-behind-around Dancing and spinning And BEING: The beginning and end And everything in between, The decider that never decides.

No why Or where Or what for Just the dancing Diving Soaring, Chaos.

[backhandtrebond]

Wings (Inspired by Pratchett's 'Going Postal')

It began with a horse, Coated in boot polish A prime specimen Until it rained.

He moved to games Of chance and skill, Taking those who Would take him. Not conning, he told himself, Not theft, Just outplaying players.

Next, it was diamonds Nearly, anyway- Sparkling, shining glass Sold to greedy hearts For a tenth of its ‘value’. He never said it was real.

Banks were inevitable, But not stripe-clad at midnight, That was for thieves. He walked in smiling, Left them the same. A week’s work and a bribe Bought him a month Before they found The marks of forgery.

He was a ghost, In the wind for years: Blowing through A city a week, Leaving with everything The greedy held dear.

The world over, portraits of An unremarkable face: His greatest tool. ‘Wanted’ only went so far When there were four Of him per street.

The one mistake he made Was looking back. An old face Lead him to the noose As surely as the masked And hooded headsman.

A short drop and a Sudden stop.

Vision returns- A desk and The man behind it. “I am dead?” Not dead yet- Words he’ll learn To live by.

A respectable job: Postmaster General. Five fresh corpses With the same badge, The long reach of ‘Guiltless’ Gilt. He chooses a hat.

Tarnished gold, Wings shining again- Rain nor fog nor Hail or dog A beacon in the black.

The night it burned And the banshee’s Scream echoed through The ash-filled halls He made a promise- The first in a long time.

A great race And a wager- Unwinnable, but that Was the point.

There was a plan, And a ledger, Heavy with the Arithmetic of Death.

It went wrong.

Anyone else would Have fallen, Trodden under the Heel of bloody ‘Progress’.

He soared.

Not falling Flying, Winging it- Hope In a suit of gold, Wielding the Names of the dead Like a midnight scythe.

Afterwards, There were questions And notebooks And pressed flowers to carry. Dear hearts overflowing With gratitude.

But before the masses, A moment alone With just his Spike-heeled Smoke-wreathed Dearheart.

[backhandtrebond]

*Sigh*

No more promises for when stuff will be up here. Ever.

[backhandtrebond]

Delays

So, those reviews on the Cultural Exchange. The ones I was going to upload last week? They're not quite done, still. Being ill sucks. On the plus side, I managed to attend three out of the four I was booked in for, so the things WILL materialise this week, hopefully tomorrow or Friday. I even enjoyed one of them a great deal, so they won't all be rants. In the meantime, there should be another prose piece up tonight/some stupid hour of the morning, and possibly a poem idea that's been bouncing around my head. Apologies again for the delay.

[backhandtrebond]

DMU Cultural Exchange 2015

So the Cultural Exchange is next week, and we (my class) have been asked to review the events we go to. Expect the next several posts to be either reviews or information on the events.

[backhandtrebond]

'Imposture' Piece

As espionage missions went, this had not been Kira’s best. Oh, it had started perfectly well. She’d made her way across an entire country without drawing attention to herself, reached Fort Kasbaal a day earlier than expected. She’d scaled the wall in the dead of night, swiftly knocked out the guard before he’d seen her (not killed, she wasn’t here for that). She’d been within a hair’s breadth of the documents the Order has sent her for when six and a half feet of claymore-swinging platemail had blocked her path. The visor and close range had meant none of her powders were guaranteed to work, and the plate excluded more drastic options. Reasoning that she liked living, she’d surrendered without too much complaint, and they’d thrown her in a particularly sturdy cell.

That had been several hours ago, now. Kira assumed they were trying to decide what to do with her- an unknown agent in their stronghold could have done any number of things before capture. Intel could have been left for collection later, or already gone with a partner. Sabotage could remain undetected for days before it took effect. ‘So,’ Kira mused, ‘it really comes down to HOW they want to torture me. They’ll want to find out who sent me, what I was doing, whether I was working with anyone… All information they can’t have. What can I do about it?’

An idea gradually bubbled up from her subconscious, as they often did in these situations. It was utterly insane. Any competent interrogator would call her on it in a heartbeat. But these people were practically frothing at the mouth, crusading for an ‘ordered’ world. She was a good enough actor to make the show work, at least for the time she needed. She’d have to be.

The cell door burst open, a cloaked and masked figure flanked by two in armour- muscled thugs for the beating. Curtain up.

“You’ve got balls, I’ll give you that.” The trio halted, staring blankly at each other. “I must admit, I thought you lot were just another bunch of cultists.  No different from a dozen other chanting circle who want to remake the world.” It was clear this was not how said cultists were used to prisoners acting. The masked one tried to regain control of the situation, brandishing a knife.

“Who do you work for? Tell us or-”

Time for the kicker, before they regain their senses. “I mean, willing to piss off the Reavers, well…” The bright smile across her face was more at their clear distress than their bravery, but no need for them to know that. It was a true joy to watch every scrap of colour drain out of the thugs’ faces, and, though the mask hid much, it could not hide its wearer’s sudden freeze.

“The Reavers? You work for…” Mask tried to recover. “They’re warriors, not spies.”

“How did you think they pick their targets? Reading the stars?”

The three stared at her for a long moment before scrambling for the door, yelling for their leader. To Kira’s slight annoyance, one had the presence of mind to lock it behind them. Ah, well. They would have to verify that, which would take a few days. Long enough for her to put the sliver of metal they'd missed to use on the mass of rust they called a lock…

[backhandtrebond]

Ballad of the Wanderer (redraft in alternate form)

Along a lonely, winding road Lie footprints in the dust. They’ve been there since before the trail, An imprint on Earth’s crust.

The one who left them is as old As the sun high in the sky. All he does is watch and wander From place to place and cry.

Sometimes he’ll weep for what we’ve done, For innocents long dead. For all the times when fools rushed in Where devils whispered “Tread.”

But other times he’ll weep with joy For heroes and saved days. For every time someone said “No” And stood against the blaze.

The things he’s seen on his long road All fade and fall with time, But they live on behind his eyes, In memory sublime.

He’s seen stone become dust, Watched creatures crawl from seas. Smiled sadly at dust in sunlight, Laughed as apes fell from trees.

Some call him Loki, the Trickster, Others just “that strange man”. But he’s no god and no hero, A shadow with no plan.

This lonely soul, who never asks For shelter, fire or food, Will wander on for evermore, And stand where we once stood.