Before they even reached Acacero, however, the reapers began giving them warnings about something being strange with the city.
‘What in the world am I sensing?’ said Orolix publicly.
‘I sense it, too,’ said Juda’s reaper, name of Arigaja. ‘What is that? A forest? Impossible. We didn’t go in the wrong direction, did we?’
‘Even if we had, there still shouldn’t be a forest down here. At least, not that kind of forest.’
The uncertainty made little difference, though. Everyone already knew that they couldn’t turn back. Whatever was awaiting them in Acacero, they would have to deal with it.
When the city finally came into view, the reapers’ questions only seemed to increase.
The cave let out onto a ledge with a narrow, winding path that led down onto a major road below. But the view that the ledge provided was truly something else. Taj’s hazel eyes widened as he absorbed the scene before them.
It did indeed appear to be a forest in the middle of the city, trees as tall as any of the buildings. But they glowed green and white, illuminating the greater cavern in which the city sat, revealing many other tunnels high up on the walls and even in the ceiling.
There were great rocky pillars, too, but they were less apparent than in the previous cities they’d passed through. These ones were adorned with more glowing foliage, and not all of them reached all the way up to the ceiling, either. Some of them merely plateaued higher up and had buildings of their own on top of them.
In fact, one plateau in particular was more noticeable than the rest. Right there in the center of the city, it didn’t rise as high as the others, but an enormous structure sat upon it. What was that? A stadium? No.
He had to squint at this distance, but he could see turreted towers. Long banners hanging from battlements.
That was a fortress. A palace, even.
The trees all around its exterior made it luminous and verdant, the vibrant centerpiece of the entire city.
‘...This city is not how I remember it,’ said Arigaja.
‘I’ve never seen this type of flora in the Undercrust,’ said one of the other reapers, name of Elbadon.
Taj was as confused as anyone, but his mind was still consumed with a sense of urgency. “We can’t stand around here gawking,” he said, starting down the pathway. “Let’s go see things up close.”
A dark serial novel. Set in a modern fantasy world called Eleg. Mature language. Updates every night at midnight PST by ~400 words.
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Wednesday, July 31, 2024
Tuesday, July 30, 2024
Page 3643
It took another full day to get there. Perhaps they could have gone faster if they were taking a more obvious path--one of the bigger tunnels, for example--but they preferred to stick to the narrower ones. The abundance of the ardor in the rock made it more difficult for the enemy to keep track of them here, and if they got lucky, the bastards might even lose track of them completely.
That was the hope, anyway. It hadn’t exactly worked out so far.
Taj struggled to keep himself steady. On task. In charge.
There were only five others left, not including each of their reapers, but he could see the way they were all watching him now. Looking to him for leadership.
What a farce. He was barely old enough to withstand the heat down here unaided. He could barely protect himself, let alone anyone else. Four of the others were constantly fighting the heat, perpetually sweating and being clearly uncomfortable. A couple were even in visible pain, having to constantly materialize--or have materialized for them--a cooled metal coating.
The last one, Juda Mateen, was only better off because he’d apparently managed to snag a climate suit for himself before escaping.
At first, there’d been some noticeable resentment toward him from the others. Taj had thought that it was simple jealousy--and perhaps it was, in part--but after listening to an earlier argument, he realized that there was a bit more to it.
Juda wearing that suit meant that a non-servant wasn’t wearing it.
In other words, he’d taken the place of a non-combatant who could have potentially escaped down here with them.
But in recent days, that resentment seemed to have died off. And Taj could understand why. If it wasn’t clear before, it certainly was now.
Any non-servant that might have taken Juda’s suit would almost certainly be dead by now. And they couldn’t have afforded to slow down for them, either. If they’d tried, they would’ve all been killed a long time ago.
Or at least, that was how Taj saw things. Maybe he was overthinking it. Maybe the others were just too tired to fight among themselves now. He certainly wouldn’t blame them if that was the case. Even on the rare occasions when they were able to sleep, he never felt rested after waking up.
That was the hope, anyway. It hadn’t exactly worked out so far.
Taj struggled to keep himself steady. On task. In charge.
There were only five others left, not including each of their reapers, but he could see the way they were all watching him now. Looking to him for leadership.
What a farce. He was barely old enough to withstand the heat down here unaided. He could barely protect himself, let alone anyone else. Four of the others were constantly fighting the heat, perpetually sweating and being clearly uncomfortable. A couple were even in visible pain, having to constantly materialize--or have materialized for them--a cooled metal coating.
The last one, Juda Mateen, was only better off because he’d apparently managed to snag a climate suit for himself before escaping.
At first, there’d been some noticeable resentment toward him from the others. Taj had thought that it was simple jealousy--and perhaps it was, in part--but after listening to an earlier argument, he realized that there was a bit more to it.
Juda wearing that suit meant that a non-servant wasn’t wearing it.
In other words, he’d taken the place of a non-combatant who could have potentially escaped down here with them.
But in recent days, that resentment seemed to have died off. And Taj could understand why. If it wasn’t clear before, it certainly was now.
Any non-servant that might have taken Juda’s suit would almost certainly be dead by now. And they couldn’t have afforded to slow down for them, either. If they’d tried, they would’ve all been killed a long time ago.
Or at least, that was how Taj saw things. Maybe he was overthinking it. Maybe the others were just too tired to fight among themselves now. He certainly wouldn’t blame them if that was the case. Even on the rare occasions when they were able to sleep, he never felt rested after waking up.
Monday, July 29, 2024
Page 3642
In particular, magma pools were their best friends. The ardor that emanated from those things could sometimes be so strong that it entirely blinded reapers who got too close.
Of course, that also made the pools terribly dangerous for their own reapers. Multiple times, Taj had noticed Orolix visibly hesitate when they were near one. While reapers didn’t exactly feel “pain” in the same way that corporeal beings did, they apparently still regarded being incinerated in a pool of magma as quite a horrible way to die.
“Nightmarishly painful, just in a different sense,” was how Orolix had described it to him.
He hadn’t yet gotten clarification on that. Nor was he even sure that he wanted it.
Beyond that, there was only one other method of hiding that they had been using--and even then, they’d been rather reluctant to do so. Not only was it sometimes ineffective; it was also dangerous, for them and those around them.
Because it involved crowds.
When all else failed, trying to hide their souls among a large group of other souls was an option. Unless a soul was particularly powerful, reapers would often have trouble singling it out, even if they’d already memorized its soul signature.
But of course, if they still managed to--and if they were of Abolish--then a fight would immediately break out, and civilian casualties were all but guaranteed.
Taj and his kin hated resorting to that tactic. They’d been trying to avoid it as much as they could, but it had saved their lives in the city of Karetito. And it had gotten some hapless Hun’Kui passersby killed in the city of Noromonga.
It made for a difficult decision now, because according to Orolix, they were nearing another city called Acacero.
This current network of caves they were in had thus far proved quite barren. No magma pools to try to conceal themselves near, nor any convenient ardor-infused rock formations to provide cover for a while.
And hell, even if there were, the enemy had clearly grown wise to those tricks by now. They wouldn’t pass by any magma or large accumulations of ardor without investigating those areas thoroughly. Perhaps that was why their pursuit had seemed to slow for a little while there, as they’d become extra cautious.
Regardless, it wasn’t worth the risk. And being the strongest member of this group now, the others were looking to him to make that decision now.
So they kept on toward Acacero, where he suspected that things would either go well or very, very badly.
Of course, that also made the pools terribly dangerous for their own reapers. Multiple times, Taj had noticed Orolix visibly hesitate when they were near one. While reapers didn’t exactly feel “pain” in the same way that corporeal beings did, they apparently still regarded being incinerated in a pool of magma as quite a horrible way to die.
“Nightmarishly painful, just in a different sense,” was how Orolix had described it to him.
He hadn’t yet gotten clarification on that. Nor was he even sure that he wanted it.
Beyond that, there was only one other method of hiding that they had been using--and even then, they’d been rather reluctant to do so. Not only was it sometimes ineffective; it was also dangerous, for them and those around them.
Because it involved crowds.
When all else failed, trying to hide their souls among a large group of other souls was an option. Unless a soul was particularly powerful, reapers would often have trouble singling it out, even if they’d already memorized its soul signature.
But of course, if they still managed to--and if they were of Abolish--then a fight would immediately break out, and civilian casualties were all but guaranteed.
Taj and his kin hated resorting to that tactic. They’d been trying to avoid it as much as they could, but it had saved their lives in the city of Karetito. And it had gotten some hapless Hun’Kui passersby killed in the city of Noromonga.
It made for a difficult decision now, because according to Orolix, they were nearing another city called Acacero.
This current network of caves they were in had thus far proved quite barren. No magma pools to try to conceal themselves near, nor any convenient ardor-infused rock formations to provide cover for a while.
And hell, even if there were, the enemy had clearly grown wise to those tricks by now. They wouldn’t pass by any magma or large accumulations of ardor without investigating those areas thoroughly. Perhaps that was why their pursuit had seemed to slow for a little while there, as they’d become extra cautious.
Regardless, it wasn’t worth the risk. And being the strongest member of this group now, the others were looking to him to make that decision now.
So they kept on toward Acacero, where he suspected that things would either go well or very, very badly.
Sunday, July 28, 2024
Page 3641
There was an image burned into Taj’s brain now. An image of Jafar and his reaper, Karexa, standing there, facing down the enemy alone so that the rest of them could continue fleeing.
He didn’t think he would ever forget that man. In fact, if he somehow lived through this, he was going to make his cousin’s incredible bravery known to everyone he could. Somehow.
But that was a task for his future self. For now, he was still dedicating all of his effort to surviving their current predicament.
And while he was not one given to looking on the bright side, he knew that things were not yet hopeless. They’d managed to evade their pursuers this long, after all. And that was no fluke. His cousin and the reapers had taught him much about the nature of these sorts of chases.
The core problem, as one might expect, was the enemy reapers. Once they memorize their targets’ soul signatures, a chase becomes much more dangerous. It becomes virtually impossible to lose them via hiding spots in the topography, and when they focus, they can sense souls across truly vast distances.
In the face of such problems, the group had been employing various methods of countering. None had worked flawlessly thus far, but there had been downtime here and there. Opportunities to sleep and eat, even. Luxuries for servants in the thick of battle, Orolix said.
Their first method of counter had been to infuse their souls into the environment as much as possible. If the soul power and ardor in the topography were too minuscule to interfere with an enemy reaper’s sense, then the solution was to add more. As much as possible. Spread it around and lead them on a wild goose chase. It helped even more when they split up and sent the enemy in different directions.
But splitting up was dangerous, too, of course. And naturally, it couldn’t last forever. Infused soul power dissipated over time, and it also took considerable skill to infuse it into objects across larger and larger distances. So in the end, that trick wasn’t much use when the enemy reapers were already far away. In fact, it might’ve just made things worse, like leaving behind a giant trail of blood for them to follow. It was better for confusing the senses of reapers who were already close by.
When they already had more distance to work with, the better method was to hunt down localized sources of ardor. Which, mercifully, the Undercrust had in much greater abundance than the surface. He could understand why the decision was made to flee down here.
He didn’t think he would ever forget that man. In fact, if he somehow lived through this, he was going to make his cousin’s incredible bravery known to everyone he could. Somehow.
But that was a task for his future self. For now, he was still dedicating all of his effort to surviving their current predicament.
And while he was not one given to looking on the bright side, he knew that things were not yet hopeless. They’d managed to evade their pursuers this long, after all. And that was no fluke. His cousin and the reapers had taught him much about the nature of these sorts of chases.
The core problem, as one might expect, was the enemy reapers. Once they memorize their targets’ soul signatures, a chase becomes much more dangerous. It becomes virtually impossible to lose them via hiding spots in the topography, and when they focus, they can sense souls across truly vast distances.
In the face of such problems, the group had been employing various methods of countering. None had worked flawlessly thus far, but there had been downtime here and there. Opportunities to sleep and eat, even. Luxuries for servants in the thick of battle, Orolix said.
Their first method of counter had been to infuse their souls into the environment as much as possible. If the soul power and ardor in the topography were too minuscule to interfere with an enemy reaper’s sense, then the solution was to add more. As much as possible. Spread it around and lead them on a wild goose chase. It helped even more when they split up and sent the enemy in different directions.
But splitting up was dangerous, too, of course. And naturally, it couldn’t last forever. Infused soul power dissipated over time, and it also took considerable skill to infuse it into objects across larger and larger distances. So in the end, that trick wasn’t much use when the enemy reapers were already far away. In fact, it might’ve just made things worse, like leaving behind a giant trail of blood for them to follow. It was better for confusing the senses of reapers who were already close by.
When they already had more distance to work with, the better method was to hunt down localized sources of ardor. Which, mercifully, the Undercrust had in much greater abundance than the surface. He could understand why the decision was made to flee down here.
Saturday, July 27, 2024
Page 3640
It had been a complete madhouse. Explosions and earthquakes. Battles breaking out in the middle of crowds. Blood and screaming and running and fighting.
Worse still, he knew now in retrospect that he himself had been among the luckier ones, too. Not only did he manage to escape, but the timing of things could have been far worse for him. He’d only been visiting the Golden Fort for a few days, serving as an apprentice to his much older cousin, who happened to be Lord Hamza’s second son. If he hadn’t been at the Golden Fort, he would have been back in Zebul, most likely in his little hut along the outskirts of Qalatin Castle.
And Zebul was much closer to the border with Calthos than Kuros was. If things had been that bad at the Golden Fort of all places, then he couldn’t even imagine what Qalatin looked like now. He just hoped it was still standing. And that he would see it again, one day.
He’d been trying not to dwell on it too much, though. His reaper, Orolix, had been trying to keep him focused. News would come in time. Whenever they managed to get back up to the surface, most likely. It was more important to stay alert.
Logically, Taj knew the reaper was right. And he tried to listen.
But it was so difficult. He knew only too well that he wasn’t the correct person for this job. This wasn’t supposed to be his role.
Thus far, Taj had only ever been meant to observe and learn from his more experienced kin. And to do as he was told. Silently.
And most certainly, he had not been meant to end up in the custodianship of Ivan, the Salesman of Death.
But that is exactly what happened. Instead of returning home to Zebul, he’d been tasked with protecting a frozen head and thrown into a giant hole.
Far from ideal, to say the least.
Even now, he still didn’t know what had become of his Hahl. Of his cousins or even Lord Hamza himself. The group of people he’d managed to escape with into the Undercrust had been hounded incessantly by Abolish pursuers, and now, there were only a handful of them left.
At this point, he was the most powerful warrior in their little troupe.
Which was terrifying.
His elder cousin, Jafar Dagher, had been the one leading them until only two days ago, when their pursuers had caught up to them again.
Worse still, he knew now in retrospect that he himself had been among the luckier ones, too. Not only did he manage to escape, but the timing of things could have been far worse for him. He’d only been visiting the Golden Fort for a few days, serving as an apprentice to his much older cousin, who happened to be Lord Hamza’s second son. If he hadn’t been at the Golden Fort, he would have been back in Zebul, most likely in his little hut along the outskirts of Qalatin Castle.
And Zebul was much closer to the border with Calthos than Kuros was. If things had been that bad at the Golden Fort of all places, then he couldn’t even imagine what Qalatin looked like now. He just hoped it was still standing. And that he would see it again, one day.
He’d been trying not to dwell on it too much, though. His reaper, Orolix, had been trying to keep him focused. News would come in time. Whenever they managed to get back up to the surface, most likely. It was more important to stay alert.
Logically, Taj knew the reaper was right. And he tried to listen.
But it was so difficult. He knew only too well that he wasn’t the correct person for this job. This wasn’t supposed to be his role.
Thus far, Taj had only ever been meant to observe and learn from his more experienced kin. And to do as he was told. Silently.
And most certainly, he had not been meant to end up in the custodianship of Ivan, the Salesman of Death.
But that is exactly what happened. Instead of returning home to Zebul, he’d been tasked with protecting a frozen head and thrown into a giant hole.
Far from ideal, to say the least.
Even now, he still didn’t know what had become of his Hahl. Of his cousins or even Lord Hamza himself. The group of people he’d managed to escape with into the Undercrust had been hounded incessantly by Abolish pursuers, and now, there were only a handful of them left.
At this point, he was the most powerful warrior in their little troupe.
Which was terrifying.
His elder cousin, Jafar Dagher, had been the one leading them until only two days ago, when their pursuers had caught up to them again.
Friday, July 26, 2024
Page 3639
His flaws? Asad still didn’t understand. This was all too much. Far, far too much. He wanted to sleep. Or was he already sleeping? Was that not what was meant by resting?
Agh. He’d never felt so tired.
“Oh no. I fear I am failing to restore your strength and instead merely sapping it away. Damn my weakness. Even now, my failures continue to grow.”
Huh?
“This cannot happen. I will not allow it. Come along, Young Lion. You are not ready for where I am about to take you, but I do not see a better option. Clearly, you cannot stay with me, nor can I return you in your current state.”
Ugh, so many new questions were bubbling rebelliously into his exhausted mind. They were going somewhere new? Why? In fact, where were they now? What was wrong with this place?
“We will go to a place that I have found along the path of my great search. I do not know if things will be better or worse for you there, but I promise that I will do my utmost to protect you.”
Protect? From...? Hmm...
The voice sighed. “Alas, our ever-beleaguered kin. I fear you must abide these trials for some time yet.”
-+-+-+-+-
The blazing heat of the Undercrust was unfamiliar to him. He’d heard the stories from his cousins about this place, but actually being here for the first time was something else.
If only it had been under better circumstances.
He’d always intended to visit this place eventually, but never had he thought that the first time would be as a result of fleeing for his life.
From the mayhem at the Golden Fort.
Even now, all these weeks later, he still couldn’t quite wrap his head around it. Tensions had been building between Sair and Calthos for a while, but it had been so slow. Nothing ever really happened. At least, that was what it had felt like. It was just something that all the adults had been talking about ad nauseum, an ever-present fear that he and the other young Sandlords had grown accustomed to.
Grown to ignore, perhaps.
And then everything went to hell.
The seat of his people’s power, the Golden Fortress of Kuros, came under attack by the forces of Calthos and Abolish. By the fabled Mad Demon himself.
In his entire life, Taj Dagher had never been so terrified as he had on that day.
Agh. He’d never felt so tired.
“Oh no. I fear I am failing to restore your strength and instead merely sapping it away. Damn my weakness. Even now, my failures continue to grow.”
Huh?
“This cannot happen. I will not allow it. Come along, Young Lion. You are not ready for where I am about to take you, but I do not see a better option. Clearly, you cannot stay with me, nor can I return you in your current state.”
Ugh, so many new questions were bubbling rebelliously into his exhausted mind. They were going somewhere new? Why? In fact, where were they now? What was wrong with this place?
“We will go to a place that I have found along the path of my great search. I do not know if things will be better or worse for you there, but I promise that I will do my utmost to protect you.”
Protect? From...? Hmm...
The voice sighed. “Alas, our ever-beleaguered kin. I fear you must abide these trials for some time yet.”
-+-+-+-+-
The blazing heat of the Undercrust was unfamiliar to him. He’d heard the stories from his cousins about this place, but actually being here for the first time was something else.
If only it had been under better circumstances.
He’d always intended to visit this place eventually, but never had he thought that the first time would be as a result of fleeing for his life.
From the mayhem at the Golden Fort.
Even now, all these weeks later, he still couldn’t quite wrap his head around it. Tensions had been building between Sair and Calthos for a while, but it had been so slow. Nothing ever really happened. At least, that was what it had felt like. It was just something that all the adults had been talking about ad nauseum, an ever-present fear that he and the other young Sandlords had grown accustomed to.
Grown to ignore, perhaps.
And then everything went to hell.
The seat of his people’s power, the Golden Fortress of Kuros, came under attack by the forces of Calthos and Abolish. By the fabled Mad Demon himself.
In his entire life, Taj Dagher had never been so terrified as he had on that day.
Tuesday, July 23, 2024
Monday, July 22, 2024
Page 3638
He felt something stir within him. An unwanted notion. A sense of urgency that betrayed this otherwise overwhelming desire to rest.
“They need help,” he said. Which surprised him, because that wasn’t the voice talking again. Not Rasalased. That was him. His own voice. Singular and distinct.
“Yes,” came the voice again. “But I have been monitoring them. And they have been managing. Perhaps this scene looks worse than it is.”
Ah. Asad saw what he meant. The pursuers were giving chase, but they were also themselves being chased by more members of Hahl Duxan. Walls of materialized metal appeared, barring their path, shielding innocents, and skewering the pursuers. It was the work of that one fellow in the back, Asad was fairly sure. Such a familiar face. The Lord Duxan’s eldest son. What was his name again?
Malik Duxan. Yes. A formidable young man, Asad had always thought. It was a relief to see him there--and alive, for that matter.
And then there was Jada. She was defending herself but still not drawing too much attention--in part, perhaps, because Imas was drawing so much attention in her stead.
It was a worrisome sight, to be sure. But they were handling themselves well. As he might’ve expected. They were Sandlords, after all.
The sense of urgency abated, and he felt his weariness wash over him again, somehow even stronger than before.
“Ah,” said the voice. “Dammit.”
Mm?
“Well,” the voice went, “I suppose this is fine, for now. You do need your rest. But there are many more scenes like this playing out--and far worse ones. The ruination of our ancestral homeland is a matter that cannot be ignored, forgotten, or forgiven. I would have you recover quickly, Young Lion, and not only rescue our scattered kin but take vengeance for them, as well.”
So many words. Agh. Too much to think about.
The voice sighed.
Asad did not understand why.
“If your condition degrades much further, I fear I may need to do something quite drastic.”
Degrade? Condition? Was he not resting? How could anything degrade while resting?
“A complicated matter, that. You must stay with me in order to recover, but the longer you stay, the more my soul will merge with yours. Which is not my desire. You must become a conduit for my power, not a vessel for my soul. No matter what anyone says, I am not a god. My flaws are too great and too numerous. I would not have you inherit them.”
“They need help,” he said. Which surprised him, because that wasn’t the voice talking again. Not Rasalased. That was him. His own voice. Singular and distinct.
“Yes,” came the voice again. “But I have been monitoring them. And they have been managing. Perhaps this scene looks worse than it is.”
Ah. Asad saw what he meant. The pursuers were giving chase, but they were also themselves being chased by more members of Hahl Duxan. Walls of materialized metal appeared, barring their path, shielding innocents, and skewering the pursuers. It was the work of that one fellow in the back, Asad was fairly sure. Such a familiar face. The Lord Duxan’s eldest son. What was his name again?
Malik Duxan. Yes. A formidable young man, Asad had always thought. It was a relief to see him there--and alive, for that matter.
And then there was Jada. She was defending herself but still not drawing too much attention--in part, perhaps, because Imas was drawing so much attention in her stead.
It was a worrisome sight, to be sure. But they were handling themselves well. As he might’ve expected. They were Sandlords, after all.
The sense of urgency abated, and he felt his weariness wash over him again, somehow even stronger than before.
“Ah,” said the voice. “Dammit.”
Mm?
“Well,” the voice went, “I suppose this is fine, for now. You do need your rest. But there are many more scenes like this playing out--and far worse ones. The ruination of our ancestral homeland is a matter that cannot be ignored, forgotten, or forgiven. I would have you recover quickly, Young Lion, and not only rescue our scattered kin but take vengeance for them, as well.”
So many words. Agh. Too much to think about.
The voice sighed.
Asad did not understand why.
“If your condition degrades much further, I fear I may need to do something quite drastic.”
Degrade? Condition? Was he not resting? How could anything degrade while resting?
“A complicated matter, that. You must stay with me in order to recover, but the longer you stay, the more my soul will merge with yours. Which is not my desire. You must become a conduit for my power, not a vessel for my soul. No matter what anyone says, I am not a god. My flaws are too great and too numerous. I would not have you inherit them.”
Sunday, July 21, 2024
Page 3637
His younger self did not reply.
Maybe he hadn’t really been listening. He recalled having quite a bit on his mind at this time.
From there, the scene faded to gray, then black.
“This moment mattered little to you,” said the voice. “But not to your brother. He took it to heart and has held it there ever since.”
Asad didn’t know what to think. Or if he should think anything at all. Was it not still better to simply watch? Less tiring, for certain.
“Rest is important, yes, but you need not suppress all emotion and thought while you do so. Ignoring everything will do you no favors.”
Mm. Perhaps the voice had a point.
Or perhaps it didn’t. Eh. He could figure it out later.
“You are beginning to annoy me, Young Lion.”
Asad missed breathing. Where had his breath gone? Was even alive, anymore? He wished he could feel his body, at least. He recalled that the ability to breathe had been so soothing, at times. It would’ve been lovely, right about now.
“Rgh. Let us move on.”
More speeding. Shifting and spinning. Beautiful lights and colors. Mm.
When the scene settled, he saw yet another familiar face. Two faces, actually. Who? It was hard to think.
Two women. They were running. And fighting. Not each other but a host of pursuers. And something in the sky. Something with wings. Bullets were flying everywhere, both at and from the fleeing women.
One was clearly younger.
His daughter. Jada. Yes.
And the older woman. White smoke billowed from her arms. A familiar sight.
His sister. Imas.
The pursuers closed in but Imas rebuffed them with a wall of smoke, which passed over two men like a tidal wave and left half-melted corpses behind.
Corpses which did not stop moving. They were clearly slowed, but their pursuit did not stop.
Where were they? Why were they fighting? And who?
“Remember, Young Lion,” said the voice. “The disastrous fight at Uego. You witnessed it in part. This is but one consequence.”
This was current? Jada and Imas were fighting, right now?
“Alas, there may be no such thing as ‘current’ in this place. But yes. They are still fleeing for their lives, even now. For their lives--and for the lives around them.”
Asad saw. They were not alone. There were other warriors. Other familiar faces. Sandlords. Hahl Duxan?
So hard to remember.
But there were non-warriors, too. Children, even. Also fleeing.
Maybe he hadn’t really been listening. He recalled having quite a bit on his mind at this time.
From there, the scene faded to gray, then black.
“This moment mattered little to you,” said the voice. “But not to your brother. He took it to heart and has held it there ever since.”
Asad didn’t know what to think. Or if he should think anything at all. Was it not still better to simply watch? Less tiring, for certain.
“Rest is important, yes, but you need not suppress all emotion and thought while you do so. Ignoring everything will do you no favors.”
Mm. Perhaps the voice had a point.
Or perhaps it didn’t. Eh. He could figure it out later.
“You are beginning to annoy me, Young Lion.”
Asad missed breathing. Where had his breath gone? Was even alive, anymore? He wished he could feel his body, at least. He recalled that the ability to breathe had been so soothing, at times. It would’ve been lovely, right about now.
“Rgh. Let us move on.”
More speeding. Shifting and spinning. Beautiful lights and colors. Mm.
When the scene settled, he saw yet another familiar face. Two faces, actually. Who? It was hard to think.
Two women. They were running. And fighting. Not each other but a host of pursuers. And something in the sky. Something with wings. Bullets were flying everywhere, both at and from the fleeing women.
One was clearly younger.
His daughter. Jada. Yes.
And the older woman. White smoke billowed from her arms. A familiar sight.
His sister. Imas.
The pursuers closed in but Imas rebuffed them with a wall of smoke, which passed over two men like a tidal wave and left half-melted corpses behind.
Corpses which did not stop moving. They were clearly slowed, but their pursuit did not stop.
Where were they? Why were they fighting? And who?
“Remember, Young Lion,” said the voice. “The disastrous fight at Uego. You witnessed it in part. This is but one consequence.”
This was current? Jada and Imas were fighting, right now?
“Alas, there may be no such thing as ‘current’ in this place. But yes. They are still fleeing for their lives, even now. For their lives--and for the lives around them.”
Asad saw. They were not alone. There were other warriors. Other familiar faces. Sandlords. Hahl Duxan?
So hard to remember.
But there were non-warriors, too. Children, even. Also fleeing.
Saturday, July 20, 2024
Page 3636
His younger self didn’t seem to be enjoying the view very much, however. He was hunched over and leaning on the railing, face buried between his hands.
He could see his tattoos--and Haqq’s, as well--so even though he couldn’t see his face, he could at least surmise that this must have taken place in his teenage years.
Ugh, too much thinking. Better to just watch.
“I don’t believe it,” said Haqq. He wasn’t facing Asad, but he was most certainly talking to him, as they were the only ones present.
His younger self made no response.
“It just makes no sense,” said Haqq. “My mind can’t accept it. Just like that? She’s gone? No explanation? Tiriala just releases her? I don’t buy it.”
Still, there was no reply.
“And because I can’t buy it, I can’t bring myself to mourn her, either. She can’t be gone. Not like this. She was... she is... it doesn’t...” The boy sighed.
Finally, the younger Asad decided to say something. “...This is how it always is.”
“What?” said Haqq.
“Historically. For our people. We’re lucky when we get an explanation. Frequently, we just disappear. Killed in action where no one ever finds us. Or killed in such a way that we’re reduced to dust. ‘Returned to the Great Sand,’ they used to call it. Qorvass told me about it.”
Haqq scoffed. “That’s his way of comforting you? Bastard.”
“No. It was a while ago. He’s been... perfectly nice to me.”
“Hmph.”
“...Do you think we’ll die like this?”
“She’s not dead.”
“Then do you think we’ll disappear like this, someday? Gone without a word or warning to everyone around us?”
“No. Our clan is too close-knit. This is extremely abnormal. Don’t let Qorvass try to convince you that it is.”
“That wasn’t what he was--I already said--agh. It doesn’t matter.”
And the two young men both fell silent for a time.
Asad felt like he was starting to remember this conversation. But only vaguely. Why was the voice showing it to him?
“This won’t happen to us,” said Haqq. “I can promise you that.”
“That’s a promise you can’t possibly keep. You don’t know the future, little brother.”
“Oh, but I do,” said the young Haqq with a chuckle. “It’s as clear to me as this conversation we’re having, right now.”
“Hah. Is that right?”
“It is. In the future, you become a great warrior. The likes of which our clan hasn’t seen in generations.”
“You’re just repeating the old stories about the Lion of the Desert.”
“No. I know it’s true. Because I’m going to help you every step of the way. Just like Mother wanted. Like she wants.”
He could see his tattoos--and Haqq’s, as well--so even though he couldn’t see his face, he could at least surmise that this must have taken place in his teenage years.
Ugh, too much thinking. Better to just watch.
“I don’t believe it,” said Haqq. He wasn’t facing Asad, but he was most certainly talking to him, as they were the only ones present.
His younger self made no response.
“It just makes no sense,” said Haqq. “My mind can’t accept it. Just like that? She’s gone? No explanation? Tiriala just releases her? I don’t buy it.”
Still, there was no reply.
“And because I can’t buy it, I can’t bring myself to mourn her, either. She can’t be gone. Not like this. She was... she is... it doesn’t...” The boy sighed.
Finally, the younger Asad decided to say something. “...This is how it always is.”
“What?” said Haqq.
“Historically. For our people. We’re lucky when we get an explanation. Frequently, we just disappear. Killed in action where no one ever finds us. Or killed in such a way that we’re reduced to dust. ‘Returned to the Great Sand,’ they used to call it. Qorvass told me about it.”
Haqq scoffed. “That’s his way of comforting you? Bastard.”
“No. It was a while ago. He’s been... perfectly nice to me.”
“Hmph.”
“...Do you think we’ll die like this?”
“She’s not dead.”
“Then do you think we’ll disappear like this, someday? Gone without a word or warning to everyone around us?”
“No. Our clan is too close-knit. This is extremely abnormal. Don’t let Qorvass try to convince you that it is.”
“That wasn’t what he was--I already said--agh. It doesn’t matter.”
And the two young men both fell silent for a time.
Asad felt like he was starting to remember this conversation. But only vaguely. Why was the voice showing it to him?
“This won’t happen to us,” said Haqq. “I can promise you that.”
“That’s a promise you can’t possibly keep. You don’t know the future, little brother.”
“Oh, but I do,” said the young Haqq with a chuckle. “It’s as clear to me as this conversation we’re having, right now.”
“Hah. Is that right?”
“It is. In the future, you become a great warrior. The likes of which our clan hasn’t seen in generations.”
“You’re just repeating the old stories about the Lion of the Desert.”
“No. I know it’s true. Because I’m going to help you every step of the way. Just like Mother wanted. Like she wants.”
Friday, July 19, 2024
Page 3635
Ah...
Who was that? Another familiar face.
“Your brother by blood,” said the voice.
Haqq. Right.
It was good to see him. After everything.
Everything? What was everything?
Eh... Too much work to recall.
Haqq was at a table, laboring over something as usual. Research notes, it looked like. The expression on his face spoke of frustration.
That, too, was quite normal, Asad knew. When it came to research, Haqq had always tried to keep up an appearance of ease and confidence, but Asad knew how hard his brother worked. How much effort he was constantly putting in.
And how miserable it made him, more often than not.
It was something that Asad had never really understood. Why pretend? Why not let more people know how difficult his work was? Personally, Asad had always appreciated his brother’s determination to keep pushing, even if he hadn’t always appreciated the inventions that resulted.
“You have never realized?” asked the voice.
Hmm? Realized what?
“Your brother believes that his reputation is everything. And where his work is concerned, he may be right. One is not regarded as a genius through hard work alone. One must achieve great results--and so much the better if it can be made to look easy in front of others.”
Reputation? Did Haqq really care about that so much? Asad had never gotten that impression. Haqq always seemed so detached from the world. So immersed in his projects.
“Ah. A pitiable blind spot, Young Lion.”
What?
“Your brother has lived beside the divine power of our clan for most of his life. Beside the new Lion of the Desert. Have you given not a thought to how that has impacted him?”
He was suddenly reminded of their youth, long before either of them became servants. Haqq had followed him everywhere, pestered him constantly, wanting to be involved in everything he did.
Quintessential behavior of a little brother.
Asad wanted to smile, but he wasn’t sure if he even possessed a mouth, right now.
“You have forgotten,” said the voice. “Perhaps that is not surprising.”
Forgotten? Forgotten what?
The world sped by again, but this time, when it slowed back down, Asad saw his younger self standing there. And Haqq, too.
They were on a balcony. A familiar one. Flanked by mounds of sand that twinkled in the morning sun.
Dunehall, he recalled. Yes. This was outside his childhood bedroom. One of his favored spots, growing up. The view of downtown Moaban from here was incredible, and the mountain of sand that covered most of the castle made this little balcony feel like a hiding spot, of sorts, what with the way it peeked out from a little hole in said mountain.
Who was that? Another familiar face.
“Your brother by blood,” said the voice.
Haqq. Right.
It was good to see him. After everything.
Everything? What was everything?
Eh... Too much work to recall.
Haqq was at a table, laboring over something as usual. Research notes, it looked like. The expression on his face spoke of frustration.
That, too, was quite normal, Asad knew. When it came to research, Haqq had always tried to keep up an appearance of ease and confidence, but Asad knew how hard his brother worked. How much effort he was constantly putting in.
And how miserable it made him, more often than not.
It was something that Asad had never really understood. Why pretend? Why not let more people know how difficult his work was? Personally, Asad had always appreciated his brother’s determination to keep pushing, even if he hadn’t always appreciated the inventions that resulted.
“You have never realized?” asked the voice.
Hmm? Realized what?
“Your brother believes that his reputation is everything. And where his work is concerned, he may be right. One is not regarded as a genius through hard work alone. One must achieve great results--and so much the better if it can be made to look easy in front of others.”
Reputation? Did Haqq really care about that so much? Asad had never gotten that impression. Haqq always seemed so detached from the world. So immersed in his projects.
“Ah. A pitiable blind spot, Young Lion.”
What?
“Your brother has lived beside the divine power of our clan for most of his life. Beside the new Lion of the Desert. Have you given not a thought to how that has impacted him?”
He was suddenly reminded of their youth, long before either of them became servants. Haqq had followed him everywhere, pestered him constantly, wanting to be involved in everything he did.
Quintessential behavior of a little brother.
Asad wanted to smile, but he wasn’t sure if he even possessed a mouth, right now.
“You have forgotten,” said the voice. “Perhaps that is not surprising.”
Forgotten? Forgotten what?
The world sped by again, but this time, when it slowed back down, Asad saw his younger self standing there. And Haqq, too.
They were on a balcony. A familiar one. Flanked by mounds of sand that twinkled in the morning sun.
Dunehall, he recalled. Yes. This was outside his childhood bedroom. One of his favored spots, growing up. The view of downtown Moaban from here was incredible, and the mountain of sand that covered most of the castle made this little balcony feel like a hiding spot, of sorts, what with the way it peeked out from a little hole in said mountain.
Tuesday, July 16, 2024
Monday, July 15, 2024
Page 3634
Searching, was it? Again, Asad didn’t understand. What purpose was there in searching? Everything was fine. Or soon would be. Or didn’t matter.
“Those are not your thoughts, Young Lion. Disregard them. Rest now, but do not forget yourself. Remember your own life, at least.”
Mm. His own life.
Hah.
He hadn’t forgotten that. Not one bit.
That was precisely why this place was great.
By comparison.
He remembered the stress. The worry. The constant fear and disappointment. In himself. In his accomplishments. In his wife. And yes, in his children, too.
Perhaps that was wrong to think. As a father, he should have been more understanding. More accepting. Of their faults. And their failures.
He’d tried to be. Had he ever succeeded?
He couldn’t recall. He could only remember the anxiety it caused him.
It was never enough. Nothing ever was.
“Stop,” said voice. “That is not resting. That is killing yourself. Do not do that. Especially not here. This is not a place to chastise oneself. And moreover, you have done nothing to deserve it. You have always been too hard on yourself.”
Had he? How would this voice know?
“Because I am Rasalased. And I have been observing you since the day you were born.”
Oh.
Huh.
Kinda creepy.
“I can only agree. This is not the afterlife that I had envisioned for myself. But here I am. And being able to stay connected to all our kin throughout the ages has been wonderful, in its own regard.”
Ah. So it wasn’t just Asad that he’d been spying on.
“Indeed. That is how I know that the Sunsmith will have need of your help.”
His help? Still, Asad didn’t understand. What help could he be?
“Ah. That is indeed the question, isn’t it? But that is alright. For now. I fear it may yet be quite some time before you offer it to him. He will have to manage on his own for a while longer. Unless, perhaps, you are able to surprise me and get your act together more quickly.”
Huh?
Huh...
Mm...
So tired...
“Yes, I thought as much. Let us move on.”
The world sped by again.
Asad just watched.
It was beautiful.
So bright and colorful. So much life and wonder. A moving painting. A living stream, filled with more than mere images. He could feel them as they passed. Touch them, almost. The temptation to reach out came over him, but he resisted.
Just observing was good enough.
“Those are not your thoughts, Young Lion. Disregard them. Rest now, but do not forget yourself. Remember your own life, at least.”
Mm. His own life.
Hah.
He hadn’t forgotten that. Not one bit.
That was precisely why this place was great.
By comparison.
He remembered the stress. The worry. The constant fear and disappointment. In himself. In his accomplishments. In his wife. And yes, in his children, too.
Perhaps that was wrong to think. As a father, he should have been more understanding. More accepting. Of their faults. And their failures.
He’d tried to be. Had he ever succeeded?
He couldn’t recall. He could only remember the anxiety it caused him.
It was never enough. Nothing ever was.
“Stop,” said voice. “That is not resting. That is killing yourself. Do not do that. Especially not here. This is not a place to chastise oneself. And moreover, you have done nothing to deserve it. You have always been too hard on yourself.”
Had he? How would this voice know?
“Because I am Rasalased. And I have been observing you since the day you were born.”
Oh.
Huh.
Kinda creepy.
“I can only agree. This is not the afterlife that I had envisioned for myself. But here I am. And being able to stay connected to all our kin throughout the ages has been wonderful, in its own regard.”
Ah. So it wasn’t just Asad that he’d been spying on.
“Indeed. That is how I know that the Sunsmith will have need of your help.”
His help? Still, Asad didn’t understand. What help could he be?
“Ah. That is indeed the question, isn’t it? But that is alright. For now. I fear it may yet be quite some time before you offer it to him. He will have to manage on his own for a while longer. Unless, perhaps, you are able to surprise me and get your act together more quickly.”
Huh?
Huh...
Mm...
So tired...
“Yes, I thought as much. Let us move on.”
The world sped by again.
Asad just watched.
It was beautiful.
So bright and colorful. So much life and wonder. A moving painting. A living stream, filled with more than mere images. He could feel them as they passed. Touch them, almost. The temptation to reach out came over him, but he resisted.
Just observing was good enough.
Sunday, July 14, 2024
Page 3633
The world. It was all around him. Streaming by him in a blur. Just waiting for him to look at it. All but asking him for his attention.
He couldn’t process any of it. But he could observe. Like an enormous television. And him, an unthinking couch potato. Passively watching.
Was he learning anything? Retaining anything?
Hard to say. Impossible, actually. Perhaps if he ever managed to leave this place, he would know. But here and now, no.
Asad Najir merely existed. Scarcely even aware of himself. A pebble floating in an ocean.
“That is okay,” came a voice. “Take your time, Young Lion. It is not as it seems, after all. There is much to do, and we cannot rush.”
He made no response. Could not make one.
But he could listen.
“We at last meet,” the voice went on. “This was not quite what I had in mind, but I suppose we must go through the doors that open to us. It is a relief merely to know that you have survived.”
Survived? Survived what?
Mm. Eh. Didn’t matter.
Ugh, he was so tired. Like he’d never felt before. And this place was so comfortable. A warm blanket.
“Good. Good. Yes. You need your rest. Worry not. And let me be your guide.”
Mm. Guide? He didn’t understand. Didn’t care, either.
“No, Lion. You must care. You cannot leave until you do. You must not become an incarnation of me. That is not the way. I have become convinced. You must retain yourself.”
What?
Oh, whatever.
“Rrgh. You are not going to make this easy, are you? Very well. Come along, then.”
For a moment, the world swooshed more quickly past him, and then it slowed. To a crawl, actually. Enough for him to get a very clear picture of the scene in front of him.
Who was that? A familiar face. Very familiar indeed.
“The Sunsmith,” said the voice. “You recognize him, of course. He toils daily, seeking the power to revitalize our people. And the wisdom to, as well.”
Asad saw.
Abbas Saqqaf was there, sweating profusely and panting with one hand on a giant glass orb. He looked like he might collapse.
And that orb. Such a gentle light emanated from it. Asad had never seen the like before.
“He is more adrift than he allows others to see,” said the voice. “His mind falters as much as his body does, and yet he pushes onward. Searching.”
He couldn’t process any of it. But he could observe. Like an enormous television. And him, an unthinking couch potato. Passively watching.
Was he learning anything? Retaining anything?
Hard to say. Impossible, actually. Perhaps if he ever managed to leave this place, he would know. But here and now, no.
Asad Najir merely existed. Scarcely even aware of himself. A pebble floating in an ocean.
“That is okay,” came a voice. “Take your time, Young Lion. It is not as it seems, after all. There is much to do, and we cannot rush.”
He made no response. Could not make one.
But he could listen.
“We at last meet,” the voice went on. “This was not quite what I had in mind, but I suppose we must go through the doors that open to us. It is a relief merely to know that you have survived.”
Survived? Survived what?
Mm. Eh. Didn’t matter.
Ugh, he was so tired. Like he’d never felt before. And this place was so comfortable. A warm blanket.
“Good. Good. Yes. You need your rest. Worry not. And let me be your guide.”
Mm. Guide? He didn’t understand. Didn’t care, either.
“No, Lion. You must care. You cannot leave until you do. You must not become an incarnation of me. That is not the way. I have become convinced. You must retain yourself.”
What?
Oh, whatever.
“Rrgh. You are not going to make this easy, are you? Very well. Come along, then.”
For a moment, the world swooshed more quickly past him, and then it slowed. To a crawl, actually. Enough for him to get a very clear picture of the scene in front of him.
Who was that? A familiar face. Very familiar indeed.
“The Sunsmith,” said the voice. “You recognize him, of course. He toils daily, seeking the power to revitalize our people. And the wisdom to, as well.”
Asad saw.
Abbas Saqqaf was there, sweating profusely and panting with one hand on a giant glass orb. He looked like he might collapse.
And that orb. Such a gentle light emanated from it. Asad had never seen the like before.
“He is more adrift than he allows others to see,” said the voice. “His mind falters as much as his body does, and yet he pushes onward. Searching.”
Saturday, July 13, 2024
Page 3632 -- CCC.
House Garza had been struggling to restructure themselves, which had been further compounded by the battle at Logden Prison, where apparently the two most obvious successors to Socorro had both lost their lives, putting the family into an even more confused state once the dust had finally settled.
Blessedly, there had not been many casualties from that mess of a fight--and none at all from this current defense of Ridgemark--but that was small comfort for the Garzas right now, Diego knew.
Their new head, Valero Garza, was even younger than himself.
He’d met him many times over the years, and yet Diego still felt like he’d never really gotten to known him. At most, he’d gotten the impression that Valero was a very humble, unassuming guy; and looking at him now with those wide eyes, that assessment seemed to be spot on. Of all the assumptions Valero might’ve made about the trajectory of his own life, becoming the new head of his entire House had probably not been among them. Especially at such a young age.
Not to mention with the war going on.
Diego felt for the poor fellow. What a time to be thrust into a leadership role.
To the man’s credit, though, he did manage to speak up and answer Lord Santos. “...I-I think th-that’s a sound plan, as well.”
And that was all, apparently.
Well.
It got the job done, Diego supposed. But he was pretty sure Lord Santos had been hoping for a bit more than that.
The Lady Evangelina Stroud filled the ensuing silence. “As for me, I like Diego’s idea well enough, but I still do not like the idea of staying in Vantalay to assist Graves. If he lets us leave without a fight, then I think we should just leave.”
“Then Evangelina and I are of the same mind,” said Rayen.
“It sounds like we are ready for a vote, then,” said Santos. “Assuming Graves passes our test, all in favor staying to assist him?” And he held up his right hand.
As did Grandma, Horatio, Dimas, and Valero.
Salvador, Evangelina, and Rayen did not.
“Five to three in favor,” said Lord Santos. “It would seem our course is set.”
Chapter Three Hundred: ‘O, enduring sands...’
Click to display entire chapter at once -- (mobile link)
What a strange place this was. What a strange feeling. A place and a feeling. Merged into one. Inseparable. Indistinguishable.
He couldn’t think. Didn’t even want to, really. It was so comfortable here. Warm and peaceful. And yet plenty busy, too. Plenty to watch and be entertained by.
Blessedly, there had not been many casualties from that mess of a fight--and none at all from this current defense of Ridgemark--but that was small comfort for the Garzas right now, Diego knew.
Their new head, Valero Garza, was even younger than himself.
He’d met him many times over the years, and yet Diego still felt like he’d never really gotten to known him. At most, he’d gotten the impression that Valero was a very humble, unassuming guy; and looking at him now with those wide eyes, that assessment seemed to be spot on. Of all the assumptions Valero might’ve made about the trajectory of his own life, becoming the new head of his entire House had probably not been among them. Especially at such a young age.
Not to mention with the war going on.
Diego felt for the poor fellow. What a time to be thrust into a leadership role.
To the man’s credit, though, he did manage to speak up and answer Lord Santos. “...I-I think th-that’s a sound plan, as well.”
And that was all, apparently.
Well.
It got the job done, Diego supposed. But he was pretty sure Lord Santos had been hoping for a bit more than that.
The Lady Evangelina Stroud filled the ensuing silence. “As for me, I like Diego’s idea well enough, but I still do not like the idea of staying in Vantalay to assist Graves. If he lets us leave without a fight, then I think we should just leave.”
“Then Evangelina and I are of the same mind,” said Rayen.
“It sounds like we are ready for a vote, then,” said Santos. “Assuming Graves passes our test, all in favor staying to assist him?” And he held up his right hand.
As did Grandma, Horatio, Dimas, and Valero.
Salvador, Evangelina, and Rayen did not.
“Five to three in favor,” said Lord Santos. “It would seem our course is set.”
Chapter Three Hundred: ‘O, enduring sands...’
Click to display entire chapter at once -- (mobile link)
What a strange place this was. What a strange feeling. A place and a feeling. Merged into one. Inseparable. Indistinguishable.
He couldn’t think. Didn’t even want to, really. It was so comfortable here. Warm and peaceful. And yet plenty busy, too. Plenty to watch and be entertained by.
Friday, July 12, 2024
Page 3631
Dimas took a moment before answering. “It seems a solid idea to me. And perhaps our only option, for that matter. But I also do not wish for us to split our forces again, and if the intention becomes to stay and assist Graves, what then shall we do about that? Will we all stay in Vantalay? Or will some return to Warrenhold?”
“Good question,” said Horatio. “I am also hesitant for us to divide ourselves again so soon after reuniting, but we have many non-combatants to consider, too. And Warrenhold is no short distance from here. It would be quite the separation.”
“That is a decision that must come down to each House,” said Santos. “If and when that time comes, every fighting man and woman among us should decide for themselves if they wish to stay or go, with the final say resting on the head of each House. At least, that is my view of it.”
“I can agree with that,” said the Lord Delaguna.
“I, as well,” said the Lady Octavia Redwater.
“And me,” said the Lord Dimas Sebolt.
“Here, too,” said the Lord Horatio Blackburn.
“Wow,” chortled Santos. “It sounds like we are already putting it to a vote. But before anything is finalized, surely we must hear from the other head at this table who has remained silent this whole time. Lord Valero?”
And all eyes turned to the very young, fresh-faced head of House Garza.
Of the ten Rainlord Houses of Sair, only eight heads were present, since both Zeff Elroy and Joana Cortes were missing, but there was little doubt in Diego’s mind that House Garza was in the most awkward position of all of them, at the moment.
Which was saying a lot, considering how awkward he knew the Blackburns’ position to still be, after their betrayal back in Sair contributed to the detainment of so many other Rainlords.
The problem for the Garzas was that their previous head, Lady Socorro, had been slain by Parson Miles back in Sair while the rest of them had already been captured by Sanko. Only a couple of their non-combatants had managed to escape, and neither of them was here, right now. Luciana and Elise Garza had remained behind at Warrenhold.
Perhaps they should have come along in order to help their family members come to terms with all that had happened, but it was too late for such thinking now.
“Good question,” said Horatio. “I am also hesitant for us to divide ourselves again so soon after reuniting, but we have many non-combatants to consider, too. And Warrenhold is no short distance from here. It would be quite the separation.”
“That is a decision that must come down to each House,” said Santos. “If and when that time comes, every fighting man and woman among us should decide for themselves if they wish to stay or go, with the final say resting on the head of each House. At least, that is my view of it.”
“I can agree with that,” said the Lord Delaguna.
“I, as well,” said the Lady Octavia Redwater.
“And me,” said the Lord Dimas Sebolt.
“Here, too,” said the Lord Horatio Blackburn.
“Wow,” chortled Santos. “It sounds like we are already putting it to a vote. But before anything is finalized, surely we must hear from the other head at this table who has remained silent this whole time. Lord Valero?”
And all eyes turned to the very young, fresh-faced head of House Garza.
Of the ten Rainlord Houses of Sair, only eight heads were present, since both Zeff Elroy and Joana Cortes were missing, but there was little doubt in Diego’s mind that House Garza was in the most awkward position of all of them, at the moment.
Which was saying a lot, considering how awkward he knew the Blackburns’ position to still be, after their betrayal back in Sair contributed to the detainment of so many other Rainlords.
The problem for the Garzas was that their previous head, Lady Socorro, had been slain by Parson Miles back in Sair while the rest of them had already been captured by Sanko. Only a couple of their non-combatants had managed to escape, and neither of them was here, right now. Luciana and Elise Garza had remained behind at Warrenhold.
Perhaps they should have come along in order to help their family members come to terms with all that had happened, but it was too late for such thinking now.
Thursday, July 11, 2024
Page 3630
The Lord Zabat wasn’t done. “If this is true, then even if we do choose to stay, he will undoubtedly find some other reason to keep us close after things here in Vantalay are settled. In fact, perhaps his promise to help us retake Sair could be considered part of that. It would give him an excuse to remain in our company.”
“Or,” said Diego, deciding to jump in again, “if the first reason is not true and he really does want our help, then he could still just be biding his time with us until Vantalay is secure. Once we’re no longer useful to him.”
“Also true,” said Santos. “In all likelihood, he is working multiple angles here.” And he paused to look directly at Diego. “Knowing all this, if we are to test him, then it must be on the matter of his trustworthiness, yes? And on something relevant to our current circumstances. Something which provides him with every motive to deceive or betray us. And if he still does not, then perhaps we can trust him.”
Geez. It felt like Lord Santos was already way ahead of him. “I was thinking,” said Diego, “that maybe we could just... leave. And see how he reacts. See if he actually lets us go. If he does, then maybe we could circle back and help him out. If not, then... well...”
“If not, then we are fighting him,” said Santos. “Interesting. If he tries to stop us from leaving, then he will give us no choice, but at least we will know his true character. And in such a case, we would have had to fight him eventually, anyway, whenever he finished whatever game he was playing with us. But it is still a great risk. And we would not be able to enact such a plan until our business with the RPMP is settled.”
“That won’t be much longer,” said Diego. “And I don’t have a better idea for a meaningful test, so unless someone else does, then...” He looked over the table.
As did Santos, until he landed on the head of House Merlo. “What say you, Lady Rayen?”
She leveled a stare at Diego. “I still think it would be best to leave and not come back, but... I do not hate this idea, I suppose.”
“And Lord Dimas?” said Santos. “You’ve said nothing at all so far. What are your thoughts?”
“Or,” said Diego, deciding to jump in again, “if the first reason is not true and he really does want our help, then he could still just be biding his time with us until Vantalay is secure. Once we’re no longer useful to him.”
“Also true,” said Santos. “In all likelihood, he is working multiple angles here.” And he paused to look directly at Diego. “Knowing all this, if we are to test him, then it must be on the matter of his trustworthiness, yes? And on something relevant to our current circumstances. Something which provides him with every motive to deceive or betray us. And if he still does not, then perhaps we can trust him.”
Geez. It felt like Lord Santos was already way ahead of him. “I was thinking,” said Diego, “that maybe we could just... leave. And see how he reacts. See if he actually lets us go. If he does, then maybe we could circle back and help him out. If not, then... well...”
“If not, then we are fighting him,” said Santos. “Interesting. If he tries to stop us from leaving, then he will give us no choice, but at least we will know his true character. And in such a case, we would have had to fight him eventually, anyway, whenever he finished whatever game he was playing with us. But it is still a great risk. And we would not be able to enact such a plan until our business with the RPMP is settled.”
“That won’t be much longer,” said Diego. “And I don’t have a better idea for a meaningful test, so unless someone else does, then...” He looked over the table.
As did Santos, until he landed on the head of House Merlo. “What say you, Lady Rayen?”
She leveled a stare at Diego. “I still think it would be best to leave and not come back, but... I do not hate this idea, I suppose.”
“And Lord Dimas?” said Santos. “You’ve said nothing at all so far. What are your thoughts?”
Wednesday, July 10, 2024
Page 3629
“I do share your trepidation when it comes to the Vanguard,” said Santos. “I do not think we should blindly trust in Graves.”
“Finally, you are talking some sense,” said Rayen.
An idea struck Diego, and he wondered if Lord Santos was already thinking the same thing. When the man remained quiet, however, along with the rest of the table, Diego felt that it might be his turn to say something.
“Perhaps we could test Graves,” said Diego, drawing everyone’s attention. He tried not to sound too stiff. “If his trustworthiness is the main question, then we should see about finding an answer to it.”
Lady Rayen snickered. “You play with fire, boy. What manner of test would you have us conduct on a Vanguardian field marshal, of all people?”
“Well,” said Diego, “the specific concern seems to be that he is attempting to manipulate us, yes? Moreover, he is notoriously secretive, even for a marshal, and yet we in this room now know more about him and the nature of his power than... just about anyone else in the world, I’d wager. So I’d argue that, if nothing else, he at least has a rather strong motive to not let us leave Vantalay. To keep us close so that we can’t go around spreading information about him.”
Salvador jumped in again. “Wait. You’re saying this is all, what? Just some scheme to keep us here? That he doesn’t actually need our help?”
“The thought has crossed my mind as well,” said Lord Santos. “We do indeed know far more about Graves than most, but in the end, what we’ve learned is still precious little. To my mind, he could have been playing up his disadvantaged position for two reasons. First, because he wants us to underestimate him. Personally, I find this quite believable, though not for entirely logical reasons. He simply strikes me as the type of man to do something like that.”
“A constant schemer,” said Rayen, the agreement strong in her tone.
“Indeed,” said Santos. “And the second reason why he might’ve been playing it up is because of what Diego just mentioned: he wants us to stay of our own volition, rather than having to fight and recapture us.”
Whoa. Diego hadn’t exactly said all that, but he had been intending to go in that direction. And yet Lord Santos just blurted it out like it was no big deal.
“Finally, you are talking some sense,” said Rayen.
An idea struck Diego, and he wondered if Lord Santos was already thinking the same thing. When the man remained quiet, however, along with the rest of the table, Diego felt that it might be his turn to say something.
“Perhaps we could test Graves,” said Diego, drawing everyone’s attention. He tried not to sound too stiff. “If his trustworthiness is the main question, then we should see about finding an answer to it.”
Lady Rayen snickered. “You play with fire, boy. What manner of test would you have us conduct on a Vanguardian field marshal, of all people?”
“Well,” said Diego, “the specific concern seems to be that he is attempting to manipulate us, yes? Moreover, he is notoriously secretive, even for a marshal, and yet we in this room now know more about him and the nature of his power than... just about anyone else in the world, I’d wager. So I’d argue that, if nothing else, he at least has a rather strong motive to not let us leave Vantalay. To keep us close so that we can’t go around spreading information about him.”
Salvador jumped in again. “Wait. You’re saying this is all, what? Just some scheme to keep us here? That he doesn’t actually need our help?”
“The thought has crossed my mind as well,” said Lord Santos. “We do indeed know far more about Graves than most, but in the end, what we’ve learned is still precious little. To my mind, he could have been playing up his disadvantaged position for two reasons. First, because he wants us to underestimate him. Personally, I find this quite believable, though not for entirely logical reasons. He simply strikes me as the type of man to do something like that.”
“A constant schemer,” said Rayen, the agreement strong in her tone.
“Indeed,” said Santos. “And the second reason why he might’ve been playing it up is because of what Diego just mentioned: he wants us to stay of our own volition, rather than having to fight and recapture us.”
Whoa. Diego hadn’t exactly said all that, but he had been intending to go in that direction. And yet Lord Santos just blurted it out like it was no big deal.
Tuesday, July 9, 2024
Page 3628
“If the rewards can be deemed worth it, then yes,” said Santos. “The money we could procure from this venture would be what allows us to rebuild our nation and protect it. And moreover, from the sound of things, the Drylands will have an even greater need of such funding. We may need to take stewardship over them while the Sandlords remain broken.”
“Just as they did for our people,” added Evangelina.
“And so our finances will be stressed even further,” said Santos.
“Hold on now,” said Salvador. “Abbas Saqqaf yet lives. Whatever else is uncertain, that much is not.”
“Of course,” said Santos. “And I am sure all of Hahl Saqqaf will wish to fight alongside us, but they alone cannot hold the entirety of the Drylands. Until more Sandlords return or make contact with us, we should plan to aid the entire nation, not just the Wetlands.”
Horatio Blackburn decided to jump in now. “I do not know if that is wise. Would it not be better to focus our efforts on the Wetlands first, establish a foothold there, and then worry about expanding into the Drylands if and when it is deemed necessary? I feel we may be biting off more than we can chew, otherwise.”
“You’re right, of course,” said Rayen. “Our subjects must come first. Taking a long view of things is all well and good, Santos, but the grander we make our plans, the longer they will take to enact. The fact of the matter is that we may never feel fully prepared to return. It is always going to seem a great risk. But we have a duty to take it--and sooner rather than later.”
Santos made no response.
Damn. Diego wanted to help, but he wasn’t sure what to say here. He wasn’t even sure if it was his place to say anything. Truthfully, these big meetings with all the heads still made him feel knots in his stomach.
Fortunately, Grandma picked up the slack. “We also have a duty to our own Houses. Our families. And to each other. I am leaning toward Santos’ perspective of preparedness here. This is a critical time for our people. A cautious approach would be best, in my opinion.”
“Relying on the Vanguard again is not the cautious approach,” said Rayen. “If Zeff were here, I am certain he would be agreeing with me. And loudly so.”
Well, she was probably right about that, Diego thought.
“Just as they did for our people,” added Evangelina.
“And so our finances will be stressed even further,” said Santos.
“Hold on now,” said Salvador. “Abbas Saqqaf yet lives. Whatever else is uncertain, that much is not.”
“Of course,” said Santos. “And I am sure all of Hahl Saqqaf will wish to fight alongside us, but they alone cannot hold the entirety of the Drylands. Until more Sandlords return or make contact with us, we should plan to aid the entire nation, not just the Wetlands.”
Horatio Blackburn decided to jump in now. “I do not know if that is wise. Would it not be better to focus our efforts on the Wetlands first, establish a foothold there, and then worry about expanding into the Drylands if and when it is deemed necessary? I feel we may be biting off more than we can chew, otherwise.”
“You’re right, of course,” said Rayen. “Our subjects must come first. Taking a long view of things is all well and good, Santos, but the grander we make our plans, the longer they will take to enact. The fact of the matter is that we may never feel fully prepared to return. It is always going to seem a great risk. But we have a duty to take it--and sooner rather than later.”
Santos made no response.
Damn. Diego wanted to help, but he wasn’t sure what to say here. He wasn’t even sure if it was his place to say anything. Truthfully, these big meetings with all the heads still made him feel knots in his stomach.
Fortunately, Grandma picked up the slack. “We also have a duty to our own Houses. Our families. And to each other. I am leaning toward Santos’ perspective of preparedness here. This is a critical time for our people. A cautious approach would be best, in my opinion.”
“Relying on the Vanguard again is not the cautious approach,” said Rayen. “If Zeff were here, I am certain he would be agreeing with me. And loudly so.”
Well, she was probably right about that, Diego thought.
Monday, July 8, 2024
Page 3627
“I cannot believe we are even debating this,” said Lady Rayen. “After all we have been through because of the Vanguard’s machinations? They cannot be trusted.”
“This is not just about them,” said Grandma, which surprised Diego a bit. “There are multiple reasons why we might decide to stay and help. Not the least of which being that Graves was right about us. About what we all feel. The pull. You know of what speak. And I know you feel it, too, my dear.”
“Do not talk to me like one of your children, Octavia.”
“Have no fear of that. My children would never be so ill-behaved.”
Uh-oh. Diego noticed Rayen glance in his direction.
“Easy now,” said Lady Evangelina from across the table. “We have just been reunited. Let’s not ruin it by picking needless fights.”
“My apologies,” said Octavia with a slight nod in Rayen’s direction.
And after a moment, Rayen returned one of her own. “Mine as well.”
“Whatever else might be said, this is an opportunity for us,” said Evangelina. “Now we must determine whether it is worth taking or not. The first matter of concern to my mind is, assuming we were to refuse and return to Sair forthwith, do we even think that we would be able to retake the country with our current level of strength?”
A brief silence fell over the table.
“It may not be pretty,” said Rayen, “but yes, I believe we could. We do not need Graves’ help.”
Lord Santos spoke up next. “If the Mad Demon is still there, then our odds of success are virtually nil, especially with the Sandlords scattered, too.”
“All reports have suggested that Morgunov has departed that war front entirely,” said Octavia.
“Reports are only so trustworthy,” said Lord Salvador. “They also told us that Graves was no longer in Vantalay, and we see how that turned out.”
“Agreed,” said Santos. “We should not return without the expectation that we will have to fight anything less than the Mad Demon himself. Better to be overprepared than under.”
“Not when time is of the essence,” said Rayen. “Our people continue to suffer while we sit here, talking.”
Santos wasn’t done, though. “Even if we do manage to retake Sair on our own, we must have enough strength left to hold it. Even now, we’re still recovering.”
“And so your solution is to wade into another battlefield?” said Rayen. “Where our strength may be further depleted?”
“This is not just about them,” said Grandma, which surprised Diego a bit. “There are multiple reasons why we might decide to stay and help. Not the least of which being that Graves was right about us. About what we all feel. The pull. You know of what speak. And I know you feel it, too, my dear.”
“Do not talk to me like one of your children, Octavia.”
“Have no fear of that. My children would never be so ill-behaved.”
Uh-oh. Diego noticed Rayen glance in his direction.
“Easy now,” said Lady Evangelina from across the table. “We have just been reunited. Let’s not ruin it by picking needless fights.”
“My apologies,” said Octavia with a slight nod in Rayen’s direction.
And after a moment, Rayen returned one of her own. “Mine as well.”
“Whatever else might be said, this is an opportunity for us,” said Evangelina. “Now we must determine whether it is worth taking or not. The first matter of concern to my mind is, assuming we were to refuse and return to Sair forthwith, do we even think that we would be able to retake the country with our current level of strength?”
A brief silence fell over the table.
“It may not be pretty,” said Rayen, “but yes, I believe we could. We do not need Graves’ help.”
Lord Santos spoke up next. “If the Mad Demon is still there, then our odds of success are virtually nil, especially with the Sandlords scattered, too.”
“All reports have suggested that Morgunov has departed that war front entirely,” said Octavia.
“Reports are only so trustworthy,” said Lord Salvador. “They also told us that Graves was no longer in Vantalay, and we see how that turned out.”
“Agreed,” said Santos. “We should not return without the expectation that we will have to fight anything less than the Mad Demon himself. Better to be overprepared than under.”
“Not when time is of the essence,” said Rayen. “Our people continue to suffer while we sit here, talking.”
Santos wasn’t done, though. “Even if we do manage to retake Sair on our own, we must have enough strength left to hold it. Even now, we’re still recovering.”
“And so your solution is to wade into another battlefield?” said Rayen. “Where our strength may be further depleted?”
Sunday, July 7, 2024
Page 3626
The table fell quiet again as they waited for Graves’ response to that one.
Diego was quite uncomfortable. Frankly, he felt those demands were rather unreasonable to be asking of Graves, and by the look on the Lord of House Zabat’s face, Diego was getting the feeling that the man had still more demands left in mind.
“...Parson Miles is not under my command,” said Graves. “I can petition Lamont or Sermung for his removal, but the decision will ultimately fall to one of them. Which I’m sure you already knew, Lord Santos. So why are you asking me for things that you know I cannot provide?”
“Fourth, reparations for the nigh incalculable damage that the Vanguard has helped bring upon Sair and its citizenry.”
Graves closed his eyes and sighed. “I see.”
Diego did, too. Or at least, he thought he did. Santos had built up the severity of their case and was now going to steer the conversation in the direction of money. Whatever other demands Graves failed to provide could potentially be made up for by adding even more zeroes to the money offered.
Or in other words, it was a way for Santos to drive up their price.
A shrewd strategy. And one that Diego expected would not sit entirely well with everyone. Personally, he was all for it. He’d always felt that they should be trying to turn a profit whenever they could, but he knew only too well how strongly some of his kin felt about mercenary work. “Unbefitting of Rainlords,” were the words that often got thrown around.
Would they see this differently? Maybe. If Lord Santos could convince them, too, perhaps.
Hmm. Knowing him, maybe he could pull it off.
From there, the meeting continued for a while longer, and it played out about how Diego expected it to. Lord Santos kept hashing out terms with Graves, but ultimately, before anything could be formally agreed upon, there was yet more work to be done--work that no longer involved the marshal, who eventually excused himself.
Several of the Rainlords dispersed as well, but the heads all remained in order to continue negotiations among themselves. Diego had the opportunity to leave--and maybe go enjoy the casino floor, since it was technically his day off--but he didn’t take it. He wanted to hear everything Santos was going to say and be here to back the man up, if he needed it.
Diego was quite uncomfortable. Frankly, he felt those demands were rather unreasonable to be asking of Graves, and by the look on the Lord of House Zabat’s face, Diego was getting the feeling that the man had still more demands left in mind.
“...Parson Miles is not under my command,” said Graves. “I can petition Lamont or Sermung for his removal, but the decision will ultimately fall to one of them. Which I’m sure you already knew, Lord Santos. So why are you asking me for things that you know I cannot provide?”
“Fourth, reparations for the nigh incalculable damage that the Vanguard has helped bring upon Sair and its citizenry.”
Graves closed his eyes and sighed. “I see.”
Diego did, too. Or at least, he thought he did. Santos had built up the severity of their case and was now going to steer the conversation in the direction of money. Whatever other demands Graves failed to provide could potentially be made up for by adding even more zeroes to the money offered.
Or in other words, it was a way for Santos to drive up their price.
A shrewd strategy. And one that Diego expected would not sit entirely well with everyone. Personally, he was all for it. He’d always felt that they should be trying to turn a profit whenever they could, but he knew only too well how strongly some of his kin felt about mercenary work. “Unbefitting of Rainlords,” were the words that often got thrown around.
Would they see this differently? Maybe. If Lord Santos could convince them, too, perhaps.
Hmm. Knowing him, maybe he could pull it off.
From there, the meeting continued for a while longer, and it played out about how Diego expected it to. Lord Santos kept hashing out terms with Graves, but ultimately, before anything could be formally agreed upon, there was yet more work to be done--work that no longer involved the marshal, who eventually excused himself.
Several of the Rainlords dispersed as well, but the heads all remained in order to continue negotiations among themselves. Diego had the opportunity to leave--and maybe go enjoy the casino floor, since it was technically his day off--but he didn’t take it. He wanted to hear everything Santos was going to say and be here to back the man up, if he needed it.
Saturday, July 6, 2024
Page 3625
Grandma decided to interject with a question that gave Diego pause. “Precisely how bad are you saying that things are for you here, Graves? Mevox is out of line, but he touches upon a relevant point. You are sounding like you think you will lose this warfront without our help.”
The aerial view of the watery battlefield finally shifted back to the normal chamber again. “Well, only fools assume victory before it is achieved,” said Graves. “Which is especially relevant in a war with so many involved parties who might show up unexpectedly at any time. But no, truthfully, I do not think I would lose the warfront without you. Rather, I think it would be woefully prolonged and cost many thousands more lives. Much of whom would be civilians.”
“Of course we would like to help you,” said Lord Salvador. “But as we have already said, several times now, we have our own obligations. Our own people to consider.”
“Yes, and I have already offered to return this favor,” said Graves. “Do this for me, and when you are prepared to retake your homeland, I promise that I will be there to help you do so.”
“The delay is still an issue,” said Lady Rayen. “And the Vanguard is the reason we lost our land in the first place.”
“Then I should be honored as the one to begin making amends on the Vanguard’s behalf,” said the marshal.
“Would it be making amends or returning a favor?” said Lord Santos. “It cannot rightly be both.”
Graves returned a nod. “A fair point. Perhaps there is some additional thing you might wish from me, then? I believe I have already made my desperation embarrassingly clear, so if you have terms, then you can at least be certain that I will listen to them carefully.”
“Oh, I indeed have some extra terms in mind,” said Lord Santos. “I do not know if you will like them, however.”
“Well, if they are within my power, I will probably like them just fine.”
“You tell me if these qualify, then. First, the immediate unfreezing of all Rainlords assets.”
“Mm. I can do that, but it wouldn’t be immediate. The Vanguard used proxies for that little trick, so it will take a bit of time and finesse to see it undone.”
“Second, a formal contract, signed by Sermung--and Sanko, for good measure--agreeing that members of the Vanguard will never again enter any region of Sair without the expressed, written approval of the local ruling House.”
“That... will be more challenging. You did hear the part about these things needing to be within my power, right?”
“Third, the complete and utter disavowal of Captain General Parson Miles. Or alternatively, the deliverance of him and his reaper into our custody.”
“Ah...”
The aerial view of the watery battlefield finally shifted back to the normal chamber again. “Well, only fools assume victory before it is achieved,” said Graves. “Which is especially relevant in a war with so many involved parties who might show up unexpectedly at any time. But no, truthfully, I do not think I would lose the warfront without you. Rather, I think it would be woefully prolonged and cost many thousands more lives. Much of whom would be civilians.”
“Of course we would like to help you,” said Lord Salvador. “But as we have already said, several times now, we have our own obligations. Our own people to consider.”
“Yes, and I have already offered to return this favor,” said Graves. “Do this for me, and when you are prepared to retake your homeland, I promise that I will be there to help you do so.”
“The delay is still an issue,” said Lady Rayen. “And the Vanguard is the reason we lost our land in the first place.”
“Then I should be honored as the one to begin making amends on the Vanguard’s behalf,” said the marshal.
“Would it be making amends or returning a favor?” said Lord Santos. “It cannot rightly be both.”
Graves returned a nod. “A fair point. Perhaps there is some additional thing you might wish from me, then? I believe I have already made my desperation embarrassingly clear, so if you have terms, then you can at least be certain that I will listen to them carefully.”
“Oh, I indeed have some extra terms in mind,” said Lord Santos. “I do not know if you will like them, however.”
“Well, if they are within my power, I will probably like them just fine.”
“You tell me if these qualify, then. First, the immediate unfreezing of all Rainlords assets.”
“Mm. I can do that, but it wouldn’t be immediate. The Vanguard used proxies for that little trick, so it will take a bit of time and finesse to see it undone.”
“Second, a formal contract, signed by Sermung--and Sanko, for good measure--agreeing that members of the Vanguard will never again enter any region of Sair without the expressed, written approval of the local ruling House.”
“That... will be more challenging. You did hear the part about these things needing to be within my power, right?”
“Third, the complete and utter disavowal of Captain General Parson Miles. Or alternatively, the deliverance of him and his reaper into our custody.”
“Ah...”
Friday, July 5, 2024
Page 3624
“With respect to the Lady,” said Graves, “I do not think you do get it. These battlefields that I have shown you. Just involving Vantalay alone, how many do you think there are?”
She did not grace him with an answer.
He didn’t wait long. “Thirteen. One involving Czacoa, two with Naos, two with Yena Maria, this one here in Ridgemark, an additional one near Vantalay’s own capital, four more with Lyste along the western border, and then two others out in the Luthic Ocean regarding trade routes and pirates. So to your question of why I want your help: this is why. Out of the five active war fronts on the continent, this Vantalayan one is by far the messiest. And while it is very fortunate that I can be in more than one place at a time, thirteen is still a bit beyond me.”
That argument seemed to have struck a chord, because the Rainlords fell briefly quiet.
It was the Lord Santos Zabat who picked up the slack. “But the fact remains that there is not a single soldier on any of these battlefields who can stand against you.”
“Would that were so,” said Graves. “I have already died six times since my arrival in this country. Whenever I show myself, I become a point of great focus for the Vantalayans. Even I have trouble dealing with constant barrages of soul-infused missiles and machine gun fire. Which is to say nothing of the VAF’s elite unit of assassins that is constantly stalking me and waiting for even the slightest perceived opening to try and kill me permanently. Not to mention, there are actually a couple of warriors within the VAF that can threaten me on the battlefield if I am not careful.”
Huh.
Damn.
Diego didn’t know the guy had it that bad. He’d always figured that the marshals had it kinda easy, considering how powerful they all were. But yeah, he supposed being the guy with the biggest target on his back might not be so fun in a warzone.
And when the Rainlords grew quiet again, Graves’ tone shifted to one of confusion. “Are you really that surprised? Who do you think I am? Sermung?”
Mevox chose that moment to chime in. ‘Wow. I never knew marshals could be such whining pussies.’
“Okay, who let that reaper talk again? I thought we agreed last time that he would stay silent.”
“Sorry,” said the Lord Salvador Delaguna.
She did not grace him with an answer.
He didn’t wait long. “Thirteen. One involving Czacoa, two with Naos, two with Yena Maria, this one here in Ridgemark, an additional one near Vantalay’s own capital, four more with Lyste along the western border, and then two others out in the Luthic Ocean regarding trade routes and pirates. So to your question of why I want your help: this is why. Out of the five active war fronts on the continent, this Vantalayan one is by far the messiest. And while it is very fortunate that I can be in more than one place at a time, thirteen is still a bit beyond me.”
That argument seemed to have struck a chord, because the Rainlords fell briefly quiet.
It was the Lord Santos Zabat who picked up the slack. “But the fact remains that there is not a single soldier on any of these battlefields who can stand against you.”
“Would that were so,” said Graves. “I have already died six times since my arrival in this country. Whenever I show myself, I become a point of great focus for the Vantalayans. Even I have trouble dealing with constant barrages of soul-infused missiles and machine gun fire. Which is to say nothing of the VAF’s elite unit of assassins that is constantly stalking me and waiting for even the slightest perceived opening to try and kill me permanently. Not to mention, there are actually a couple of warriors within the VAF that can threaten me on the battlefield if I am not careful.”
Huh.
Damn.
Diego didn’t know the guy had it that bad. He’d always figured that the marshals had it kinda easy, considering how powerful they all were. But yeah, he supposed being the guy with the biggest target on his back might not be so fun in a warzone.
And when the Rainlords grew quiet again, Graves’ tone shifted to one of confusion. “Are you really that surprised? Who do you think I am? Sermung?”
Mevox chose that moment to chime in. ‘Wow. I never knew marshals could be such whining pussies.’
“Okay, who let that reaper talk again? I thought we agreed last time that he would stay silent.”
“Sorry,” said the Lord Salvador Delaguna.
Thursday, July 4, 2024
Page 3623
“This will not sway us,” said the Lady Evangelina Stroud. “Terrible though this may be, we have a responsibility to our own citizenry--one that is just as urgent, if not even moreso. Many among us feel that we have already tarried too long here in Vantalay as it is.”
“Moreover,” followed up Horatio Blackburn, “what need would you truly have for us? It seems to us that the famed Field Marshal Graves has proven himself more than capable of handling whatever remnants of Abolish may remain in this region by himself. If anything, I believe we are collectively of a mind to leave even sooner than we were originally anticipating.”
“Ah, that is news to me,” said Graves. “Well, well. I seem to have become a victim of my own success.”
“This is ridiculous,” said Rayen Merlo, apparently not in the mood for japes. “Stop wasting our time.”
“My apologies. Allow me to address your concerns in rapid succession. Please observe.”
And the scene before them shifted. It zoomed up and out, giving everyone a view of the battlefield from far above.
“See the battle lines?” said Graves, and the vision darkened, save for a few select areas which remained highlighted.
Indeed, Diego could see columns of soldiers forming up in the distance, flanked by tented encampments and standing behind large walls for cover.
There were large clusters of forces. One to the east and one to the west, judging by the position of the sun. And considering the geography, the one in the west must have belonged to the Vantalayan Armed Forces while the east belonged to the Czacoan Defense Force.
And their names, Diego realized, were unfortunately quite apt, what with the VAF being pluralized and the CDF being singular.
The CDF was clearly outnumbered here. Maybe by a hundred to one. Hell, maybe even more.
It made sense, of course. Vantalay’s population dwarfed that of Czacoa. And the VAF was comprised of multiple military organizations while the CDF was really just one group.
“This is but one of the Vantalayan battlefields,” said Graves. “Here is another.”
The scene shifted again, this time blacking out first before revealing a different landscape with an apparently similar story unfolding thereupon. The battle lines were highlighted again, though this time there was a large stretch of open water in the middle and scores of warships included in the mix. “This one is farther north, and it is largely between the Vantalayan and Yena Marian navies, though I have also noticed a few groups scattered along the coastlines. Perhaps scavengers. Hard to tell for sure. But we must speed this along, allow me to show you another.”
And again, the scene changed. This time, it was almost all sea, with land only on the horizon. Dozens of warships dotted the shimmering waters, and active missile, torpedo, and cannon fire was visible. “This one is Naos--”
“We get the idea,” said Rayen. “And still, it makes no difference.”
“Moreover,” followed up Horatio Blackburn, “what need would you truly have for us? It seems to us that the famed Field Marshal Graves has proven himself more than capable of handling whatever remnants of Abolish may remain in this region by himself. If anything, I believe we are collectively of a mind to leave even sooner than we were originally anticipating.”
“Ah, that is news to me,” said Graves. “Well, well. I seem to have become a victim of my own success.”
“This is ridiculous,” said Rayen Merlo, apparently not in the mood for japes. “Stop wasting our time.”
“My apologies. Allow me to address your concerns in rapid succession. Please observe.”
And the scene before them shifted. It zoomed up and out, giving everyone a view of the battlefield from far above.
“See the battle lines?” said Graves, and the vision darkened, save for a few select areas which remained highlighted.
Indeed, Diego could see columns of soldiers forming up in the distance, flanked by tented encampments and standing behind large walls for cover.
There were large clusters of forces. One to the east and one to the west, judging by the position of the sun. And considering the geography, the one in the west must have belonged to the Vantalayan Armed Forces while the east belonged to the Czacoan Defense Force.
And their names, Diego realized, were unfortunately quite apt, what with the VAF being pluralized and the CDF being singular.
The CDF was clearly outnumbered here. Maybe by a hundred to one. Hell, maybe even more.
It made sense, of course. Vantalay’s population dwarfed that of Czacoa. And the VAF was comprised of multiple military organizations while the CDF was really just one group.
“This is but one of the Vantalayan battlefields,” said Graves. “Here is another.”
The scene shifted again, this time blacking out first before revealing a different landscape with an apparently similar story unfolding thereupon. The battle lines were highlighted again, though this time there was a large stretch of open water in the middle and scores of warships included in the mix. “This one is farther north, and it is largely between the Vantalayan and Yena Marian navies, though I have also noticed a few groups scattered along the coastlines. Perhaps scavengers. Hard to tell for sure. But we must speed this along, allow me to show you another.”
And again, the scene changed. This time, it was almost all sea, with land only on the horizon. Dozens of warships dotted the shimmering waters, and active missile, torpedo, and cannon fire was visible. “This one is Naos--”
“We get the idea,” said Rayen. “And still, it makes no difference.”
Wednesday, July 3, 2024
Page 3622
The entire chamber went briefly dark, and when light returned, it looked and felt as though they had been transported to a completely different location.
It was a scene quite similar to the one that had just been on the screen--so similar, in fact, that Diego at first thought that it was simply the same one recreated--but as he looked further, he noticed different buildings and street markers, and the reddish sun was in a different position in the sky.
Ash and smoke choked the air, and it felt like Diego could actually smell them. The scent of blood and death hung thick here. An all too familiar scent.
Diego couldn’t help standing to his feet.
They had all been told about the illusive capabilities of Graves by Zeff, and indeed, Diego had even caught a few glimpses of it firsthand on the battlefield since then, too.
But this was still quite a new and different experience for him. An illusion this realistic? It boggled the mind.
“This is not an illusion,” arrived Graves’ disembodied voice from all around them, as if in response to the thought that had just been in Diego’s head. “This is a projection. A live feed, if you will. From one of the many townships on the outskirts of Denbohlt. This is what will soon become of the capital city, if action is not taken in its defense.”
That information made Diego look over the scene anew. A live feed, was it?
So that flaming pile of the rubble there was burning as they spoke? Those rotting corpses along the sundered roadside were still there, right now?
And even that lone child wandering the street in the distance, face smeared black with soot and grime...? Even that was...?
Unconsciously, Diego raised a hand forward and took a step toward the child.
“...Ah.”
A hummingbird appeared before the child, drawing his or her attention. And Diego watched as the child began to follow it.
“Not to worry,” said Graves. “I will guide her to a safe place.”
Diego didn’t know what to say.
The Lady Merlo certainly did, though. “Perhaps you could show us a live feed of Kuros. Or Zebul, perhaps. Or just about any of the major cities in eastern Sair, for that matter.”
“Alas, I cannot,” said Graves. “That is much too far. And the reason I am able to share this scene with you is because I am also in Denbohlt, actively monitoring things there, just as I am here.”
It was a scene quite similar to the one that had just been on the screen--so similar, in fact, that Diego at first thought that it was simply the same one recreated--but as he looked further, he noticed different buildings and street markers, and the reddish sun was in a different position in the sky.
Ash and smoke choked the air, and it felt like Diego could actually smell them. The scent of blood and death hung thick here. An all too familiar scent.
Diego couldn’t help standing to his feet.
They had all been told about the illusive capabilities of Graves by Zeff, and indeed, Diego had even caught a few glimpses of it firsthand on the battlefield since then, too.
But this was still quite a new and different experience for him. An illusion this realistic? It boggled the mind.
“This is not an illusion,” arrived Graves’ disembodied voice from all around them, as if in response to the thought that had just been in Diego’s head. “This is a projection. A live feed, if you will. From one of the many townships on the outskirts of Denbohlt. This is what will soon become of the capital city, if action is not taken in its defense.”
That information made Diego look over the scene anew. A live feed, was it?
So that flaming pile of the rubble there was burning as they spoke? Those rotting corpses along the sundered roadside were still there, right now?
And even that lone child wandering the street in the distance, face smeared black with soot and grime...? Even that was...?
Unconsciously, Diego raised a hand forward and took a step toward the child.
“...Ah.”
A hummingbird appeared before the child, drawing his or her attention. And Diego watched as the child began to follow it.
“Not to worry,” said Graves. “I will guide her to a safe place.”
Diego didn’t know what to say.
The Lady Merlo certainly did, though. “Perhaps you could show us a live feed of Kuros. Or Zebul, perhaps. Or just about any of the major cities in eastern Sair, for that matter.”
“Alas, I cannot,” said Graves. “That is much too far. And the reason I am able to share this scene with you is because I am also in Denbohlt, actively monitoring things there, just as I am here.”
Tuesday, July 2, 2024
Page 3621
Graves cocked an eyebrow. “...Ettol, you say? That is the name of an Ancient Melmoorian trickster god.”
“Yeah, dude, my reaper may’ve mentioned a thing ‘r two about that,” said Leo. “But I’m more interested in the modern day. So have you ever heard of a psychic who goes by that name?”
“I’m afraid not,” said Graves. “But even if I had, what would you do with such information? Please tell me you do not intend to go after this person without some sort of plan.”
“Plans come later, daddy-o. Once the gatherin’ of intel is complete. Or further along, at least.”
“Mr. Leonardo. I may not be fully apprised of your circumstances, but I do know something of the dangers you’ve described. Please trust me when I say that if it happened once, it can absolutely happen a second time. This does not sound like someone you should pursue haphazardly. I implore you to be exceedingly cautious.”
“Ooh. If you’re the one saying that, then maybe this fellow is even scarier than I thought. ‘Preciate the warning, pal.”
The marshal’s gaze lingered on Leo for a few moments more before returning to the rest of the table.
Diego felt the whole room relax a little. Phew.
“Well,” said Graves, “with that out of the way, I’d like to return to what we were discussing before. Czacoa.”
“Still?” said Rayen Merlo. “I should think we have made ourselves quite clear by now.”
“You have,” said Graves. “But permit me this one last courtesy. Then I shall not trouble you with it again. Fair?”
The Lady Merlo glanced across the table and saw a few nods of affirmation before relenting and giving one of her own.
“Thank you,” said Graves. He stood and produced a pair of tablets from his overcoat, fiddling with them briefly before sliding them over to the people on his right and left, who happened to be Rider, one of Santos Zabat’s sons, and Delia, one of Evangelina Stroud’s daughters. “This footage was taken from Denbohlt just yesterday. I’m sure I don’t need to worry about your sensitivities, but even so, allow me to warn you: it is quite graphic.”
The tablets passed along the edges of the table, and soon enough, one of them reached Diego’s hands.
The scene unfolding on the screen was of a type that he’d witnessed before.
Razed buildings. Smote ground and smoldering piles of rubble. Smoke and ash filling the sky. Bodies littering the ground.
Diego passed it on to his grandmother.
“I well know the noble spirit of the Rainlords,” said Graves. “I know you all have within you that most valiant of instincts to intervene and protect the innocent. But I’m sure that mere video footage will not be enough to sway you. So allow me to create an even more vivid depiction of what is happening over there, right now.”
“Yeah, dude, my reaper may’ve mentioned a thing ‘r two about that,” said Leo. “But I’m more interested in the modern day. So have you ever heard of a psychic who goes by that name?”
“I’m afraid not,” said Graves. “But even if I had, what would you do with such information? Please tell me you do not intend to go after this person without some sort of plan.”
“Plans come later, daddy-o. Once the gatherin’ of intel is complete. Or further along, at least.”
“Mr. Leonardo. I may not be fully apprised of your circumstances, but I do know something of the dangers you’ve described. Please trust me when I say that if it happened once, it can absolutely happen a second time. This does not sound like someone you should pursue haphazardly. I implore you to be exceedingly cautious.”
“Ooh. If you’re the one saying that, then maybe this fellow is even scarier than I thought. ‘Preciate the warning, pal.”
The marshal’s gaze lingered on Leo for a few moments more before returning to the rest of the table.
Diego felt the whole room relax a little. Phew.
“Well,” said Graves, “with that out of the way, I’d like to return to what we were discussing before. Czacoa.”
“Still?” said Rayen Merlo. “I should think we have made ourselves quite clear by now.”
“You have,” said Graves. “But permit me this one last courtesy. Then I shall not trouble you with it again. Fair?”
The Lady Merlo glanced across the table and saw a few nods of affirmation before relenting and giving one of her own.
“Thank you,” said Graves. He stood and produced a pair of tablets from his overcoat, fiddling with them briefly before sliding them over to the people on his right and left, who happened to be Rider, one of Santos Zabat’s sons, and Delia, one of Evangelina Stroud’s daughters. “This footage was taken from Denbohlt just yesterday. I’m sure I don’t need to worry about your sensitivities, but even so, allow me to warn you: it is quite graphic.”
The tablets passed along the edges of the table, and soon enough, one of them reached Diego’s hands.
The scene unfolding on the screen was of a type that he’d witnessed before.
Razed buildings. Smote ground and smoldering piles of rubble. Smoke and ash filling the sky. Bodies littering the ground.
Diego passed it on to his grandmother.
“I well know the noble spirit of the Rainlords,” said Graves. “I know you all have within you that most valiant of instincts to intervene and protect the innocent. But I’m sure that mere video footage will not be enough to sway you. So allow me to create an even more vivid depiction of what is happening over there, right now.”
Monday, July 1, 2024
Page 3620
“Quit lookin’ at me like a deer in the headlights,” Leo went on. “It’s a simple enough question. I’m sure you’ve given it plenty of thought over the years, at some point or another. So just tell me, man. How do you feel about your current place in the world?”
All eyes fell upon Graves again, who apparently needed a few more moments to find his answer. “...I am feeling just fine about it. But thank you for your concern.”
“Oh. Yeah? That’s great, dude. Happy to hear that. So you’ve got yourself a nice little support system in the Vanguard, then?”
“Support system? Yes, I suppose I do.”
“Good, good. Glad to hear it. I’m tellin’ ya, man. Social isolation: it’s a silent killer. Even if it doesn’t threaten your life directly, it’ll mess with your head until you start thinkin’ crazy stuff, daddy-o. Real family unfriendly stuff, know what I’m sayin’?”
“...From the passion in your words, I’m guessing that you have been struggling with such difficult thoughts yourself. Perhaps until quite recently?”
“Yeah. Well. No. But also yeah. It’s been a complicated last few years for me, man. Simple, yet complicated. Much like myself, you might say! Heh!”
“Right...”
“Long story short: my mind got messed with by a powerful psychic.”
“Ah. I see...”
“Made me feel not quite myself for a good long while. And yet, in some ways, looking back on it all now, maybe it actually made me behave more like myself than ever before. Like it brought out the worst version of myself imaginable. That make sense?”
“I do believe I understand, yes.”
“Course ya do. Knew ya would. Knowledgeable guy like you. Knowledgeable psychic guy like you.”
Oh boy. Diego couldn’t help tensing up, and he could practically feel the rest of his kin at the table tensing up right alongside him.
Melchor Blackburn was the one to speak up. “Leo...”
“No, man, relax. I’m not tryin’ to pick a fight ‘r anythin’. But I figure, maybe this fella here might know a thing ‘r two about the other fella what messed with my noggin. ‘sbeen on my to-do list, findin’ out more about who did that to me.”
“I see,” reiterated Graves. “Yes, psychics can be quite the troublemakers. I assume this person has made it difficult for you to even remember much about them?”
“Sure has. But I did manage to learn the name Ettol. That mean anything to you?”
All eyes fell upon Graves again, who apparently needed a few more moments to find his answer. “...I am feeling just fine about it. But thank you for your concern.”
“Oh. Yeah? That’s great, dude. Happy to hear that. So you’ve got yourself a nice little support system in the Vanguard, then?”
“Support system? Yes, I suppose I do.”
“Good, good. Glad to hear it. I’m tellin’ ya, man. Social isolation: it’s a silent killer. Even if it doesn’t threaten your life directly, it’ll mess with your head until you start thinkin’ crazy stuff, daddy-o. Real family unfriendly stuff, know what I’m sayin’?”
“...From the passion in your words, I’m guessing that you have been struggling with such difficult thoughts yourself. Perhaps until quite recently?”
“Yeah. Well. No. But also yeah. It’s been a complicated last few years for me, man. Simple, yet complicated. Much like myself, you might say! Heh!”
“Right...”
“Long story short: my mind got messed with by a powerful psychic.”
“Ah. I see...”
“Made me feel not quite myself for a good long while. And yet, in some ways, looking back on it all now, maybe it actually made me behave more like myself than ever before. Like it brought out the worst version of myself imaginable. That make sense?”
“I do believe I understand, yes.”
“Course ya do. Knew ya would. Knowledgeable guy like you. Knowledgeable psychic guy like you.”
Oh boy. Diego couldn’t help tensing up, and he could practically feel the rest of his kin at the table tensing up right alongside him.
Melchor Blackburn was the one to speak up. “Leo...”
“No, man, relax. I’m not tryin’ to pick a fight ‘r anythin’. But I figure, maybe this fella here might know a thing ‘r two about the other fella what messed with my noggin. ‘sbeen on my to-do list, findin’ out more about who did that to me.”
“I see,” reiterated Graves. “Yes, psychics can be quite the troublemakers. I assume this person has made it difficult for you to even remember much about them?”
“Sure has. But I did manage to learn the name Ettol. That mean anything to you?”