Act 1 - Arc 1 - Chapter 3

Byron was in ruins. The small town was made up of about 120 buildings hosting a little more than 200 residents, but now more than half of those buildings were nothing more than rubble and debris. Most of the town had managed to evacuate before the battle started, but many of the more hale men had chosen to defend their homes and several families hadn’t heeded the Collegium’s warning. The slaughter that followed left no survivors that Foil’s squad could find. The vanguard had arrived too late, but their counterattack had proved lethal. Blesseds were in short supply, and rare enough that many armies held back their Blessed forces until the decisive moment of a battle. The Collegium, given their “infrastructure”, was under no such restrictions and would often send infiltration parties made up of entirely Blessed soldiers against unprepared defenders. The results were undeniable, and far more Torvani soldiers littered the broken streets than Byron residents or members of the Arkanite vanguard.

To distract himself from the destruction, Foil let his thoughts wander and he tried to evaluate what the town had been like before the chaos. Far from any technologically advanced Rift, Byron had few amenities like running water or electricity. Like most of rural Serulea, the town was inhabited by farmers who scraped out a living by growing food or providing some “special” and “unique” regional resource to the larger cities. Foil often wondered why these people didn’t simply move to the larger cities or to settlements around Rifts. Life may be harder in some ways, sure, but it was a far better alternative than digging in the dirt for 80 years before dying. Foil shook his head. There must be something appealing that he just couldn’t—

“Wait. Something’s wrong.”

Foil was pulled out of his mulling by the apprehension in Aleksandra’s tone. She had stopped moving entirely and her arm was reached out in warning to stop Perrin. Her eyes were closed in concentration. Foil closed his eyes, too, and probed outwards in search of Essence. Even Mundane humans had strong Essence signatures. But after a cursory scan he felt nothing, not even the light glow of animals or plants. The street had been effectively scoured of life. He opened his eyes to raise his eyebrows at Perrin, who shrugged in puzzlement. Aleksandra’s eyes opened slowly as she rubbed at her bottom lip with her thumb. She looked to Foil.

“Did you sense anything?” she asked.

“No, not a thing,” Foil replied. He was still trying to figure out what had set her off. “What’s going on?”

Perrin chimed in. “I didn’t feel anything either!”

Aleksandra paused, then drew four daggers to hold between her fingers.

“I heard something move.”

Perrin tilted his head in confusion, but the hairs on Foil’s neck rose. Aleksandra wasn’t an idiot; she wouldn’t have mistaken the sounds of rocks settling for real movement. And if there was movement without Essence…

Foil gathered Essence in his hands, the pale gold light casting stark shadows against the building facades. He was prepared to start lobbing energy in whatever direction Aleksandra indicated, but she hesitated. Perrin, too, seemed nonplussed, and looked to one of the few buildings still in decent condition. One of the windows began shaking, before pulling up from the inside. From within, an upside-down head framed by frazzled strawberry-blond hair peeked out into the street.

“Hi guys~!” The face called out to the group in a sing-songy tone.

Foil stared in disbelief as Perrin shook his head and Aleksandra resheathed her daggers.

Foil ran to the small girl clinging to the window. He nearly shouted. “What are you doing here?”

Cynthia pulled her head back into the squat, burnt building before twisting and swinging out of the window legs-first. She landed gracefully before continuing into a roll and popping up in front of Aleksandra. She squeezed the taller woman into a tight hug as Aleksandra lifted her arms to avoid impaling Cynthia on her knives.

“Okay, okay. It’s nice to see you, too,” Aleksandra intoned. Cynthia was the only Rogue to break through Aleksandra’s icy demeanor and enjoyed doing so regularly (much to Alekandra’s irritation afterward). Cynthia eventually let the poor woman go but quickly latched onto Perrin, scooping him off the ground. The two giggled in joy despite their surroundings, and she was slower in letting him go.

Cynthia then turned around to face Foil. The young girl was a year older than Foil, lithe and agile. She would’ve been described as a tomboy, with her close fitting adventuring clothes and fingerless gloves, if not for the mass of curly hair (currently crisped at the edges by her antics) that she meticulously maintained. Even as Foil watched, she patted down her split ends and tsked in disappointment. Her smile was often mischievous, which usually signalled that she was scheming or had already set a prank into action. Her skin was light and accentuated by beautiful pale blue eyes that seemed to see a lot more than she let on.

Cynthia crouched down in a runner’s pose, face contorted in fierce concentration, before launching herself at Foil. Foil braced himself with a step back as Cynthia finished her round of greetings by leaping into his arms and laughing loudly as he spun her in a circle. Her laugh was sharp and clear, without a hint of feigned enthusiasm. It reminded Foil of wind chimes. He set her down, the ghost of a smile still on his face. He sobered as the joy of seeing Cynthia faded, though, and he placed a hand on each of her shoulders.

“Cynthia, you can’t be here. You especially can’t be here alone,” Foil chided. Cynthia was a full member of the Calico Rogues, yes, but she wasn’t able to fight and was under official orders to stay in the war camp. She was too disadvantaged.

Cynthia, as if she could read Foil’s thoughts, screwed up her nose at the insinuation. “Mleh!” she made the sound as she stuck her tongue out. For someone supposedly older than Foil, she sure didn’t act like it sometimes. “You think I can’t take care of myself just because I don’t have cool magical powers, but look at all the people here who stayed! And they don’t have the training I do!” She gestured around at the crumbling town.

“Yes, and they’re dead because of it,” Foil argued. He didn’t mention that she wasn’t just missing “magical powers” for fear of igniting the same old argument, but he thought it.

“And I’m not! So it’s fine,” Cynthia answered with a spin. Foil noted that she still had her rapier, so she was at least armed. He was lucky she hadn’t accidentally stabbed him with the sheath when she’d leapt into his arms. Foil opened his mouth to argue again, but he was distracted by a warning glare from Aleksandra and relented.

“Fine. But stay close to us. And if we get into a fight with any Blesseds or Hunters, you have to promise me you’ll run.”

Cynthia smirked with characteristic smugness. “Sure, sure, whatever you say. Hey, I saw Frayle and Cassian earlier! They were asking about where you were.”

Foil’s chest tightened. Cassian had done as he said he would, but it seemed like he’d only met up with Frayle in the intervening time. Lucky, Foil thought, but I need a better excuse.

Cynthia leaned down and started tapping the end of Foil’s sword hilt with one of her nails. She looked up at him as the tinny sound rang out.

“This is your ‘real’ sword, isn’t it? I seem to remember telling you to take it last night but you went and buried it again. Did you go back to get it?”

She wasn’t far from the truth, aside from Foil’s crisis of faith. It was also fairly plausible; his sword had broken during the fight, so he went back to retrieve one that could handle Blessed-level fighting. It didn’t explain why he hadn’t simply taken a weapon from one of the Hunters, but it was feasible enough that he could spin it if pressured. He wasn’t really lying at that point, either.

“Right…yeah, I broke my sword on a Hunter in the very first fight,” Foil started slowly, but became more animated as he unveiled his story. “I even had to drop a boulder on the guy! Cassian helped take out the ones that were left, but he and I split ways because I needed something a lot more durable. And I was right. The Hunter that Perrin was fighting—” and here Foil gave the redhead a pointed look, “—was using a spear so weak that I sliced it in half on the first swing.”

Foil had improvised the last point, but it seemed to resonate. At least, nobody reacted in a way that implied disbelief. Cynthia kept tapping his sword hilt and Perrin nodded thoughtfully. Aleksandra didn’t respond, but her haughty expression usually betrayed nothing and Foil decided to remain optimistic. He turned slightly so that Cynthia missed her next tap, and addressed the group directly. As he began to speak, however, the distant sounds of fighting grew louder and became punctuated with a series of explosions. Frustrated, Foil instead switched to using their coded gestures.

Forward. Together. Meet. Team. Together.

The signed language that the Rogues had been taught in their training was in reality a full language from a regional culture and not simply code, but Foil had not had the patience to learn it and instead retained only important keywords. Perrin and Cassian, curious and dedicated respectively, did manage to learn the language semi-fluently, but Aleksandra, Cynthia, and Frayle had agreed with Foil and shirked their lessons. Foil smiled slightly at the memory; the Calico Rogues were famous for their strength and ferocity, but were equally, if not more, infamous for their severe and embarrassing lack of domestication. In that regard, at least, Foil belonged with them.

With the sound of explosions guiding their path, the four youths slinked from building to building, hiding in shadows and scanning the streets for activity. But there was none. Whatever was happening in the center of the town appeared to be the deathrattle for one of the armies. Most Blessed-less armies would break after they lost about a tenth of their manpower, but something about Blesseds drove them to fight to annihilation more often than not. Attempts at mixing Blessed fighters with Mundane squadrons were disastrous. Modern tactical philosophy was clear on the matter: if Blesseds start fighting near you, you flee.

With no one to stop or resist them, Foil’s group made their way through the few remaining streets to the center plaza of the town. The plaza clearly used to be a gathering place of some import: pieces of ornate ceramic fountains littered the compressed dirt square, rose bushes and free trees lay collapsed or burned, and the shattered town hall would have dwarfed its neighboring buildings in its prime. What drew everyone’s eye, though, was not the architecture but the bloody duel in its final stages between the two remaining Calico Rogues and a Torvani Blessed that stood at least two heads taller than even Cassian.

Cassian was covered in vicious wounds. His left eye was bruised and bloodied shut, his right arm hung limp by his side, and when not actively defending he was attempting to staunch a massive gash on the left side of his stomach. The other Rogue was the one Foil was most dreading confrontation with. Frayle Secken was a somewhat androgynous man of medium height, taller than Foil but shorter than Aleksandra. His alabaster skin was nearly translucent (a symptom of spending long hours and days meditating out of the daylight) but was covered almost entirely by purple robes that were reminiscent of religious monks. Over the purple robes he wore a black cloth cover he had won in an archery competition. As a result, one arm was completely enveloped by the cloth while the other was controlled in tight wrappings to leave his left hand free. He had long, dark brown hair that he kept in intricate braids to keep his face, and his observant red eyes, clear from distraction. The end result was unnerving, and it didn’t help that Frayle, as a Seer, was likely the only person who knew what Foil had done to become captain of the Calico Rogues.

Frayle was in worse condition than Cassian. His robes and overcoat were ruined, ripped and stained with mud and blood. His left shoulder was visibly dislocated, though he had retained (assumedly agonizing) control of his arm. His skin was tinged red from the exertion, and he was wheezing with the telltale gurgle of a punctured lung. By contrast, their opponent seemed nearly unscathed.

The Blessed, shirtless and wearing only a short kilt, lacked the uniform and runes that would have marked him as a Hunter, and so would have likely been a high-ranking Blessed in the Torvani’s defenses if not for the crescent moon sigil of the Verdant Eclipse, a cutthroat mercenary group that the Torvani Ascendancy had allied with, branded into his neck. If an Eclipsed mercenary were here, there were likely others; and they were far stronger than most Torvani soldiers.

Even worse, Eclipsed Blessed loved traveling the continent for augments. Few Rifts brought in military technology advanced enough to matter, but the few rare cities that did find them maintained full independence from either kingdom though sheer strength alone. This Blessed was visibly altered, with pieces of machinery and glowing energy batteries embedded under his skin. One of his eyes seemed to have been replaced with some sort of pink crystal in the shape of a sphere. That meant he was the type of person to willingly dabble in both technology and the occult at the same time. Dangerous. His arms rippled with muscle, but the clearest danger came from the curved blades jutting out of his forearms to form lethal weapons that left his deft fingers free to grab and tear Cassian’s skin.

Foil shivered despite the heat of the burning buildings. He could tell at a glance that this man, this creature, was one of the most dangerous opponents he’d ever seen. There was no question of its potency. Perrin and Cynthia had stopped short. Cynthia couldn’t sense Essence but could almost certainly feel the pressure of the fight. Perrin, on the other hand, was pale, paler than usual, and shaking with fear. Even Aleksandra’s pace had slowed considerably, her watchful gaze flickering between deliberation and fear. One more disconcerting thought wormed its way into Foil’s mind: Who had been causing the explosions? The Blessed here seemed specialized in close quarters combat, and there were no craters in the plaza.

Foil wished he had more time to think, but the Blessed had noticed the newcomers. He broke away from Cassian and Frayle, who gratefully gasped for breath as they backed away, and turned to face Foil’s entrance. The Eclipsed Blessed smiled, revealing fanged, silvery teeth splattered with blood. Foil stood his ground, sword in his right hand tracing small circles in the air as he kept his guard high.

“Ahh……more……fun…” the Blessed’s voice was grating, and he seemed to almost struggle speaking human language, choosing each word carefully and barely allowing it to escape his throat. It set Foil’s teeth on edge and infuriated him for reasons he couldn’t articulate. The Blessed’s corded muscles began tightening as it crouched to prepare itself, and Foil readied for the attack. Aleksandra stepped up behind him and placed one of her slender hands against his shoulderblade. She said nothing, but Foil felt her intent. By the sounds of footsteps behind him, Perrin and Cynthia had likely decided, correctly, to flee. Foil didn’t smile this time. Fights are a lot less fun when you have a very good chance of losing.

The Blessed burst from his crouched position, tearing chunks of earth out of the ground with every step. It closed the 100-foot gap in less than five steps, swinging with one of its metallic blades. As it did so, Foil felt his body tingle and go numb through his connection to Aleksandra. The creature’s arm, and body, passed straight through him. Foil stepped forward on feet still corporeal and swung his sword as Aleksandra stabbed with two knives. Her control over her Aspect was incredible, and as the pair’s weapons connected with the Blessed’s body Aleksandra withdrew her Essence only from the points of contact to allow the blade to pierce the armored skin.

Sparks exploded from the Blessed’s body as Foil’s sword scraped his ribcage. Before the creature could retaliate, Aleksandra Voided them both again. She was careful to keep the bottoms of their feet corporeal for fear of sinking into the ground, but that meant the two had to separate as the Blessed slammed into the ground where they had been standing mere moments ago. The dust cleared, leaving Aleksandra breathing heavily from the exertion, Foil unharmed, and the Blessed with a gash along his ribs leaking black liquid.

That trick rarely worked more than once, and Foil watched as Aleksandra cracked her knuckles in apprehension. Aleksandra had her own ritual: she would grab two fingers at a time with her other hand, and pull them sideways to crack them. To Foil, the sound was louder than the gnashing of the Blessed’s teeth. Louder than his own breathing. Louder than the inferno blazing around them.

Crack-crack! Crack-crack!

Then the Blessed was on him again. Foil instinctively parried high; he did not see the attack coming but assumed it was aimed at his head or neck. He was right, and was rewarded with more blinding sparks as the Blessed’s arm-blade caught on his sword’s hilt. The Blessed was far stronger than Foil was, and quickly brought him to his knees through the overhead pressure. The Blessed raised his other arm in preparation for Foil’s execution.

Then, two long arrows sprouted from his wrist. No, two arrows were shot into his wrist by Frayle from across the plaza. The momentum of the arrows wasn’t enough to stop the swing, but it caused the blade to twist ever so slightly. The twist gave Foil the smallest window to lean his body back at the last second and receive only a massive cut down his chest instead of being decapitated.

His chest burned and he felt his life drain from the wound. Briefly, his thoughts turned to the forest he had fled into. Had he ran, he wouldn’t be in this position. Perhaps running had been the right choice after all. He felt strangely aloof about it now.

Webs of Essence filled the plaza, glowing tendrils traveling under the ground to create cracks and pressure that raised the dirt like burrowing animals. Oh, Foil thought, this is what was causing those explosions. I knew it wasn’t one of us.

The ground erupted, throwing enemy and ally alike into the sky. Foil was thrown sideways into a wall, and he saw only darkness.