Fantasy The Grandos Paradox Chronicles

[Riddle78]

Our story begins seventy years ago. A strange assortment of people across the planet were the recipients of anonymous letters. All bearing the same message,all bidding them to come to the People's Republic of Jugo,for an emergency summit regarding the,at the time,boiling tensions between the Mages and Mundanes.


"To whom it may concern,


As we're sure you may have noticed,Mages and Mundanes across Grandos have been getting more and more agitated with eachother. In Almaz,slave riots break out seemingly twice a week,while in Bockrath,magical attacks happen with shocking frequency. Every time,the riots are put down violently,and all Mages in Bockrath are subject to detainment and interrogation,with the culprits summarily executed.


In Jugo,the streets regularly erupt into violence over petty things,when one party is a Mage,and the other is a Mundane. In Canak,the Royal Guard have been responding to more and more disturbances caused by Mages and Mundanes getting hostile with eachother.


We believe this is one of our possible futures. One ending in our own blind destruction. Mage,Mundane,it won't matter. However,we can avert this. We have convinced world leaders to meet with out organization at the People's Republic of Jugo. While the higher ups in the governments are baying for blood,they are blind to the plight of the everymen and women who keep their nations afloat.


Therefore,you are invited to an emergency summit,where we are acting as a neutral mediation party. Should you wish to make your voice heard,make your way to Jugo by way of rail or airship on the date indicated on the inside of the envelope. You will be greeted by a member of our organization,who will escort you to the meeting.


Goodspeed."





One Year Ago...


Somewhere Under Bockrath...





A man was leading another,much larger,man. The person in lead wore a sterile white lab coat over an equally sterile white shirt,and a pair of black trousers. He looked old,and his balding head bore barely any hair as testament,long since turned grey. The man he was escorting,while also appearing to be old,was actually younger than he looked; His black hair,kept in a tight,regimented cut,was only beginning to turn grey,just above his ears,despite his face looking decades beyond the scientist.


The larger man was powerfully built. His face looked like it was carved from stone,and his green eyes seemed to bore holes into whatever fell under their baleful glare. His uniform was instantly recognizable as that of a General of the BTF; His jacket and pants were made of a tough material,coloured a dark grey,while his shirt,barely visible under the collar,was white. The General seemed to be in his DEU's,as he was wearing his parade ankle boots,which were jet black,polished to a mirror shine,despite how invasive Bockrath's ash and salt are.


"Doctor,I hope you realize just how difficult it was for me to meet you here,without drawing suspicion. The enemy has eyes and ears everywhere." The General's voice was deep,clear,and he enunciated without apparent effort. A voice accustomed to issuing orders,and not used to repeating itself. He has earned his post. Authority was his trade. The scientist ahead of him nodded. The polarized lenses on the bridge of his nose caught the light as his head bobbed,and replied, "I realize,but I think you'll agree with me when I say we have the best news of all,General." The doctor had a low chuckle. Very few men were in the position to string this General along like this.


The General,however,wasn't even annoyed. Good news was nice. But,the "best news of all?" Certainly,some of the scientists here had low standards for such things,but the head doctor? Surely,he has higher standards...


The General raised an eyebrow,and asked, "You mean...?" He didn't wish to finish the question. It was too good to be true. Within a year!? How is this possible? The pair arrived to a monitoring station. The room was fairly small,and dominated by a wall of security monitors,a minimalist control console,and a pair of wheeled swivel chairs. All of the screens were active,showing the status of numerous experiments. However,one caught the General's attention,even before the doctor pointed at it with a telescoping rod.


"YES! Success,General!" The doctor looked like he could burst with joy. The General frowned fractionally. No man should enjoy this project. "If you'll follow me,General." The scientist pressed a button on a panel beside a door,prompting the portal to slide open. The General stood his place,not taking his eyes off the grisly sight on the monitor. "General?" Without moving his gaze,the General asked, "Are they safe?"





The doctor looked offended by the question. It's obvious that his successes aren't questioned often. "Of course they are! Unless,of course,you've found a way to conceal your Spark...?" The General's glare,seemingly instantly,was affixed squarely on the doctor before he could finish the statement. If looks could kill,the doctor,and everything within five feet of him,would be reduced to ash on the breeze. The scientist,now appropriately cowed,decided not to press his luck. "Of course,General. I am sorry. We're fully safe. If you'll follow me."





With a curt nod,the General followed the doctor down the hallway. Unlike the rest of the facility that the General saw up until this point,the new hall was immaculate. Spotless. White like a fresh snowfall in Canak. And the entire left side wall was dominated by doors and windows. Many of the cells beyond were empty. It's obvious that the screens were observing more than just this cell block.


"We've had many breakthroughs for the project,General. The team we've assembled,it'll be a shame to lose them." The doctor shrugged,however. "Such is life." The General's frown deepened by another couple of millimeters. This man is dangerously detached from his morals. The doctor stopped at a door,right at the end of the block. He keyed in a complex code on the pad beside the door. The General ignored it,and simply observed the cell beyond through the window.


The cell was occupied by two people,a man and a woman. Or,more accurately,two corpses,one male,one female. They were both covered in gore,as was anything else in their immediate vicinity. It looked old. Old enough for it all to have rusted. At least six hours old.


The door sank into the cell,then rose into the ceiling,allowing the odor of the cell to come out. Perplexingly,it smelled pleasant. It wasn't the smell of death. "An air freshener?" The doctor clucked his tongue,and shook his head. "No,General. What you are smelling is the infection vector. It took two weeks since infection for them to reach this stage. Death comes within minutes once hemorrhaging occurs." The General was impressed. "Nobody would suspect... So,it's ready?" The doctor nodded. "Excellent. I'll show myself out,doctor. Put it into full production. Then,follow your orders." The doctor snapped to attention and saluted. "Of course,General. Goodbye."





The General left the lab,and retrieved his headdress from his aide,a peaked cap with a small visor. "Notify the Bridgeburners." The aide nodded,and scribbled a note on a notepad,following her superior out of the lab.


Tower of Archmagi,Centra...





In a dimly lit room,near the apex of the enormous tower at the hear of Centra,sat a collection of robed individuals,wearing a single pauldron each. They were seated around a large,round table,bearing a septagram on the surface,filled with independent and intertwining veins of the three precious metals,maintaining their magic-bearing properties.


Currently,a mage wearing a black robe,and a pauldron bearing the image of a snake chasing it's tail around a septagram with an eye within the middle,was speaking. "We need materials,and we need to keep the enemy from knowing our every move." She looked at her peers,and continued. "My agents will be able to accomplish both objectives." A murmur of assent filled the room.


She turned to a mage in an amber robe,whose pauldron bore an image of a septagram of staves,and spoke. "High Enchantress,how much progress have your people made on the spell?" The High Enchantress nodded,and replied, "Quite a bit,Grand Inquisitor. We're approaching the final stages of the formulation phase. We've suffered numerous setbacks,as was expected. However,the current batch of small scale tests look promising." Unbidden,a third mage stood,and spoke.


"Will the spell be powerful enough? How will we be able to ensure it covers what we need it to!?" The new voice,a man in a deep blue robe with a pauldron displaying a septagram of swords,sounded worried. The Grand Inquisitor waved her had dismissively,and answered, "That's ours to know and do. Leave it in my department's capable hands,Executor." The Executor sighed and sat,pinching the bridge of his nose as he did so. "I am sorry for my outburst. This whole affair just has me worried. And the stress of the riots..." Another murmur rippled through the room. They knew too well. They had to deploy the Inquisitors.


The Grand Inquisitor nodded,and looked to her contemporaries. "So,we have our plan?" Everyone present gave their assent,prompting the Grand Inquisitor to smile,and nod. "Excellent. Now,to other matters..."


Two Weeks Ago...


The People's Republic of Jugo...





"HEY! Watch where you're going,Sparky!" "Where I am going!? Pathetic animal,you should keep a broader distance from your betters,worm!" The man walking past this argument could only groan. Wrapped in bandages,wearing tastefully formal clothes,and his rapier in it's scabbard on his belt,he stopped and turned to observe,just like those around him. It was always spectacular when one of these fights broke out. However,the bandaged man didn't like them. They were a distraction. A hazard to his objective.


He stepped to the men,looking as if they were about to draw steel. In fact,the Mundane had managed to get a savage looking knife in his hand without reaching for his belt. Clever... The bandaged man cleared his throat as he approached,and asked, "How about you not,and say you did?" The pair wheeled on him incredulously.


"We can't let these freaks think they own everything! Look at Almaz! That's just a peek at what happens when they do!" The Mage scoffed,and replied, "The animal is blind! How can a Mundane bear to roll out of bed,let alone walk with such injuries? Without us,these animals will just die! We can't have that,now can we?" The bandaged man growled,and repeated his earlier sentiment.


"On your way. Both of you." The Mage barked out a harsh laugh,and asked, "On what authority?" However,the Mundane had other ideas. His arm snapped out,for the bandaged man. However,he saw it coming. The sharp-dressed mummy threw his forearm into the attacker's wrist,stopping the strike cold with a grunt,and he rapidly gripped the Mundane's limb,and twisted it painfully while using his other hand to relieve the Mundane of his weapon,before roughly kicking him away.


In the same motion,the mummy had the point of the knife pressed to to roof of one of the Mage's nostrils,and he kept up the pressure,forcing the man to the tips of his toes. "This authority. Disperse. Both of you." The Mage stared down his nose at the deathly steel,so precariously close to his brain,and made a meek noise as he nodded weakly. The Mundane behind him groaned out an agreement. "Excellent. Good day,the both of you." The mummy let up on the pressure,allowing the Mage to return to his feet. The bandaged man turned around,and continued on his way,dropping the Mundane's knife beside him,without even looking down.


The sharp-dressed man rounded a corner,and walked into an alleyway,taking the quick way to the next street over. This is just getting ridiculous... It's like these people want to die. As he left the alley,the bandage wrapped man scanned the crowds,milling back and forth while the trams rattled past overhead and beneath his feet,looking for someone. In a moment,he found them. A scrawny looking young man,wearing rags,looking uncharacteristically confident. There's the urchin...





Crossing the way,the bandaged man fell into step beside the teenager,who immediately looked at the highly conspicuous man with suspicion. Without looking down,he withdrew something round from his pocket,attached to a chain. "You know what this is?" Glancing out from the corner of his eye,he saw the homeless boy nod. "Excellent. Then I don't need to explain who I am." He slid the pocketwatch back into his pocket. "You received a letter recently. Anonymously. I have reason to believe it's fraudulent,and will only get you,and many others,killed." The Inquisitor held his hand out expectantly.


"I'd rather not see you get killed in something you have no understanding of. The letter." The teenaged boy blinked witlessly,then silently handed the Inquisitor the envelope. The seal,of course,was broken,but the letter was there. "Thank you. You won't see me again." The bandaged Inquisitor picked up his pace,quickly leaving the homeless boy behind,watching what could have been his ticket off the street walk away.


Today...


The People's Republic of Jugo...





The bandaged Inquisitor sat in a small delicatessen,in what used to the be territory of the once-mighty Stray Hounds. The neighborhood had recovered a great deal since then. From what he heard,a military raid resulted in the disassembly of their HQ,but their leader went underground. Three years later,he resurfaced,only to order their disbanding,then promptly fell off the face of Grandos once more.


Jugo has some strange history.


A waiter came by,looking visibly unnerved by his customer's appearance. "A shark club,please. Ash yam salad on the side,please." It'll all taste like ash,anyways... The waiter jotted down the order,and asked what he'd like to drink. "Water,please. I don't care what." After a moment's hesitation,the waiter jotted that down,as well,then left. Withdrawing the envelope from inside his waistcoat,the bandaged Inquisitor re-read the letter for the umpteenth time. Now that he had his own copy,rather than reading it over countless people's shoulders in fragments,he now knew that this was quite fishy. As an Inquisitor,it was his job to know about the goings on of the world.


But,would the civilians know better? This could very well turn into a rescue mission.


Putting the letter back into his inside pocket,the Inquisitor awaited his meal.

 

[Kairo]

The Market in Eidelon, The Bockrath Hegemony.


Early evening.


--


Three.


Ilkaliq Sorsol ignored the looks the people threw her way. She knew there was nothing unusual about her, save for the large fur coat slung across her shoulders, and the thin, horizontal cut she sported across her right cheek. The wound had finally stopped bleeding, mostly because of the thin layer of grime that now covered her face.


Four. Five.


She didn’t understand how people were able to breathe in Bockrath; the air felt heavy and dirty, and even the breeze that touched her face was hot. She had tried to breathe in the air in the outskirts of Eidelon the way she always did when stepping foot on new land. It was supposed to be a relaxing activity, one she used often to clear her thoughts. Instead, she had ended up choking and wheezing as if she had taken in a lungful of ash.


The whole place felt like a gigantic oven; she wouldn’t be surprised if people were able to cook on the street. Everything here was hot.


Except for the stares. And the attitude. That’s six. Now where is this shop?


As luck would have it, Ilkaliq had stopped right in front of the shop she had been searching for for the past few hours. She took stock of her surroundings, grimacing slightly as she saw her reflection on the thin glass that separated her from the hooked meat hanging from the shop’s ceiling. She frowned. She had expected a store that sold trinkets. Her father’s last stop was a meat shop? And was that…food? Despite her longing for a nice, cold bath, and a clean change of clothing, the aroma of the stew she could see bubbling from a pot made her mouth water.


“Ye hungry?” a muffled voice asked, shielding the pot away from her hungry gaze. Ilkaliq looked up and nodded at the huge mountain of a man that was between her and her supper. His bald head reflected light, making it shine as he cocked it towards the door to her right. She entered the shop cautiously, her eyes already finding possible exits should this end up a trap.


“What’s a boy like ye doin, travlin alone?” the man asked after ladling the steaming stew in a large wooden bowl and setting it before her. “Yer a far way off Canak, ye are. Rarely see them fur coats no more. Reckon Bockrath’s too steamy fer the likes of ye.”


She slid a gold coin across the counter and smiled at the man. It wouldn’t hurt to be nice, especially in a place like this.


“Them wooden bowls make ma stew taste better. Name’s Guvar,” the man said.


“Kaliq,” she replied before starting on her stew. It looked delicious, with globules of fat forming on the surface and thick chunks of red meat bobbing up. “I’m traveling to Jugo to visit a friend,” she said, after taking a tentative sip. The stew was delicious. “When was the last time someone from Canak dropped by?”


“Oh sum four five years ago,” Guvar said, his gaze focusing on her face before dropping to the bone pendant she wore around her neck. His eyes had that knowing look, but before she could ask more questions, a man dressed in black entered the shop and gruffly requested Guvar’s attention.


Seven.


She gave the stranger a nod of her head and received a wary, almost hostile look in return. She had done nothing to warrant it, but Ilkaliq knew that she didn’t even need to do anything to be the recipient of this much hatred. She only had to be.


She felt the smallest hint of apprehension rising in her chest, but that was soon squashed by a far greater sense of pride. Seven Burners? My, my. They sure aren’t taking chances. She fought the urge to laugh, finding the situation inappropriate. It wouldn’t be wise to engage Bockrath’s elite – certainly not on their turf. She was here to get more information on her father. She wasn’t here to fight.


Guvar, who appeared to be blissfully oblivious to the situation, was chatting away merrily, jovially thumping the stranger on the back like a long-lost friend, and giving him a generous helping of stew.


“Oh, ‘fore I forget, young man,” Guvar called out just as Ilkaliq pushed her bowl away. “Could you also deliver this to ma niece on Jugo? I promised ‘er I’d cook sum genuine Bockrath stew, seein as them Jugo folks she married into only feeds ‘er fish, the poor girl.”


The big man thrust a box in her hands before she could protest. It contained a small metal cauldron wrapped tightly in strips of cloth. The whole package felt light and cool to the touch.


“Now, make sure ye don’t spill a drop of it. I slaved over that. It’ll keep hot if you take the next train out so ye better rush ‘fore that stew turns cold.”


“But – ”


“Address written inside the box so you don’t get lost. You can read, can’t you? Heard sum o’them Canak lads can’t even spell their names, poor things. There’s an envelope with ma niece’s name there, now that ye don’t go reading."


She almost bristled at the insult, but then realized Guvar wanted her out of his shop. She nodded in reply and gave him a small bow before heading out, the box clutched tight to her chest. The Burner who followed her inside the shop remained put, and though she could still feel eyes on her, she felt somewhat safer with the box in her hands.


As soon as she got to the train station, she checked the package, but dared not open the cauldron just yet. She found what she was searching for as she entered the train that would take her to Jugo, and it took all her willpower just to keep calm. She allowed herself a small smile and found that it stayed plastered on her face. She hoped no one would notice; she was certain she looked rather idiotic. Ilkaliq glanced at the box again and asked for more patience.


For inside the box was an old envelope, and on it was her name written in her father’s handwriting.

 

[Heartsteal]

Eidelon's manufactory district, Bockrath Hegemony...


Early Evening, a couple weeks past...





To either side of the street, folk went about their business, unaware of the foreigner in their midst, just the way that Rolf preferred it. Another minute's walk, and he'd be upon his quarry's hideaway, supposedly a guild-owned warehouse. That brought back memories, a warehouse owned by the district's guild. Who knew which guild it was, but the best way to find out, was to mock invasion. The risk behind that was great though, for he'd expose his face, and send his target to ground. His target, Edwinne Mundt, had fled Jugo after a botched heist on Magitech revealed his identity. The accomplices were being handled in-house, as they'd not been quick enough to catch a train out of the city. Mundt however had the misfortune of having Rolf sent to fetch him.The man was wanted alive, that Jugo's electorate wanted a display of their power to show the citizens that they were safe, and that any threat to they or their belongings could be handled justly, and efficiently.


The Task Forceman passed his destination by when finally he came across it, unwilling to give himself away if his target proved to be elsewhere. The doormen had different ideas though, and intercepted him. A couple of interesting men, certainly guildies, local obviously. The larger of the pair, a lumpy fellow who looked much akin to a sack of potatoes with pigskin stretched around it, had his shoulder bare, and on it, his guild brand, the head of a dragon, flames licking from its mouth.


Cute. Rolf thought to himself on seeing the mark.


"Where d'you think you're goin?" the bigger man asked, his compatriot satisfied with silence, a hand to the back of his belt, where Rolf assumed he wore a knife. Luckily, this being Bockrath, he needn't be too worried about handling a mage, but regardless, the former Hound silently hoped that it wasn't a piece of magitech the little man had.


"Yer no Sal'mander," the smaller man said, his eyes narrowing. He looked like the sort who'd lost most of the fights he'd been in, one eye sunken somewhat from an old break in his cheekbone, his jaw off-center, and a viscously crooked nose.


"Wit' Mundt, Jugo guilder," Rolf replied, dropping to his old gutter drawl. The ruse worked, both men looked to one another, hesitating for a moment.


"An' yer mark?" the big man asked, meaty hands balling into fists. His wrists were crooked though, untrained brawler, though his hands bore more than a handful of scars, testament to the time he'd spent using them.


On their request, Rolf began rolling up his right sleeve, a long sleeve of spun cotton, his jacket and sword forgone in Bockrath's heat. The sleeve just past his elbow, Rolf glimpsed from the corners of his eyes, checking the street for witnesses, of which there were none; apparently too deep in Salamander territory to hold much traffic.


Good...





In but a moment, Rolf's left hand snapped forward, his gloved hand crashing across the big man's brow, and before his companion could utter a word, or even draw whatever he held at his belt, Rolf's knife was launched from his right hand, pulled from the left sleeve, and into his eye, dead in an instant. The big man got a grunt out from the pain, but when he opened his mouth to shout, wheeling around with his left fist, Rolf put his left palm straight up, slamming the man's mouth shut on his own tongue, which rewarded him with a small spray of blood, and a piece of meat flopping in the dirt. The left arm swung around, but its fist struck nothing but air as Rolf buried the fingertips of his right hand in the big man's throat, punching a gaping hole in it.


So subtlety has flown its course...


Taking the knife from the little dead man's eye, Rolf left the other to drown on the roadside, entering the warehouse through the small side door the pair had been guarding. Inside, the roof of tin was spattered with holes that let in the light of sunset, golden beams slicing away the gloom. To the far end was an elevated floor, where no doubt supervisors had watched over shipments that went in and out in the days that this was legitimate. Now however, the level likely housed Mundt, predictable as he was. There were several Salamanders dispersed on the ground floor, as well as others who didn't bear the same mark, but rather that of a leaping fish. None seemed to take notice of Rolf, and such was good, for if any were to look intently upon him they'd be able to see the blood of those he'd been forced to dispatch in order to gain entry.


The fact that two guilds were present certainly proved a good omen though, as if they were here, odds were that Mundt would be as well, or if not at present, would be soon. Taking the most suited route of stealth, Rolf rolled both his sleeves up to the shoulder from the shadows at the entrance, and simply walked across the main floor of the warehouse, passing within inches of several Salamanders without incident.


Believe you belong, and they will follow...





The fomer Hound made his way to the stairs without incident, and while there weren't any guildies guarding them, he knew that once up them, he wouldn't be able to continue the masquerade, and had to pass unnoticed. Climbing the stairs, Rolf looked for his way out, the door he'd entered wouldn't do, and neither would the main ones, but at his back, past the small office, there was an emergency door, or what he assumed to be one. If he knew Bockrath architecture, which he made no claims to, beyond that door would either be a catwalk to the neighbouring warehouse, which he hadn't gotten to check, or a set of stairs down to street level. Either would get him out, with or without his quarry, but if there was nothing beyond but empty space, things would get far more difficult.


From here, Rolf could see into the office, poorly lit, though better than the warehouse outside. A pair of shadows moved inside, likely Mundt and his local friend. Creeping up to the door, keeping himself low, the guilders below didn't see a thing, or at least didn't notice enough to rouse suspicions. Opening the door, Mundt was indeed inside, discussing something he had recorded on paper before him with the other, but neither mattered. Before they could turn, Rolf buried his knife in the local's skull, right at the base, and he went down like a sack of bricks instantly. Leaving the knife, Rolf wrapped his arm under Mundt's jaw, and squeezed for all that he was worth, putting him out with relative ease.


Next came the difficult part. Before he left the office, he took a look around, perhaps for stolen merchandise, he wasn't entirely sure what to be looking for himself, though the letter the men had been talking over caught his attention.


...you are invited to an emergency summit,where we are acting as a neutral mediation party. Should you wish to make your voice heard, make your way to Jugo...


That seemed suspicious, he'd not heard even a whisper of such a summit. While he had no authority in Jugo, being given no word of such a large event on the rise started to ring alarm bells in his mind, even if he'd only skimmed the letter.


Folding the letter, and tucking it haphazardly into his belt, Rolf fetched his knife, and slung the unconscious Mundt over his shoulder. Stepping from the office, unconscious man on his shoulder, and hunched as low as he could carry both their weight, Rolf managed to get around the corner of the office before anyone spoke up. Someone did this time however, saying he'd seen someone, but another had heated words with them, apparently a junior who'd noticed, much to Rolf's good fortune.


Opening the door, Rolf shut his eyes for a moment, silently convincing himself that it was stairs, and on opening his eyes, it was a balcony, overlooking the alley between warehouses.


"Shit," he whispered, cautious of making too much noise.


Supposing that Mundt ought to survive such a short fall, Rolf merely leaned out from the railing, holding his charge by the wrist, and dropped him the rest of the way to the ground with an audible thump as he landed in dust and dirt.


Rolf followed immediately after, his own landing quite a bit more graceful, and decidedly more upright. Now outside the warehouse, with the sun finally dipping below the horizon, plunging the world into a gradual velvet blanket of night, the former Hound produced one of the silver tracking needles he'd been issued on becoming a Spook, and sunk it into the back of Mundt's shoulder, drawing little more than a soft groan. The man looked quite as Rolf had expected, not to speak of the sketch he'd been given that is; a delicate jaw, graced by a carefully groomed triangular beard. The rest of the man's face seemed void of hair, not merely from shaving, but by nature, and no doubt the beard he had was all he was capable of growing. Slicked hair, and no visible scarring, palms free of callus, he seemed one of noble birth, and no doubt he was. Despite being of nearly a comparable age, Edwinne looked no older than his twenties.


Putting his observations aside, Rolf hefted the soft man onto his shoulder again, and made his way back out of the district, passing by the pair he'd killed on arrival. The big man was still alive, gurgling on blood that poured black from the hole in his throat. Rolf gave the man a square kick in the temple before he moved on.


No doubt he'd look suspicious as things were, so Rolf stuck to back streets and alleyways where possible, needing to keep a low profile as much as he needed to deliver his quarry back to the electorate. Approaching the market district, Rolf came across his stash of equipment for the getaway, a large sharkskin trunk, its inside of solid steel construction, with openings alongside the bolts, that air might get inside, and keep its contents from expiring. Inside the trunk was a coil of sturdy wire, twined copper, and a roll of cloth, also necessary to get Mundt out of the country.


In what time the criminal was still unconscious, Rolf tied both wrists behind his back, and ankles together, then knotted both loops together behind the man's back. Wadding the cloth, and forcing it into his mouth, the crude preparations were complete, and Rolf lifted the, now stirring, Mundt into the trunk, and sealed it shut under lock and key. While the process was practiced, and swift as such actions can be, still they left Rolf exposed in an alley, open for observation should one wander down it.

 

[Hellkite]

As the ticket inspector neared, Jenna Carlisle tipped her hat low over her eyes, an effort to conceal her face.


It wouldn't do to get spotted. Not now, not after so much.


She watched with apprehension as the man's legs drew closer, moving along the length of the train carriage with practiced speed. Jenna flipped her ticket over and over in her hands, waiting. The inspector was close, any moment now...


"Ticket, Madam."


Jenna offered the man her ticket, keeping her head bowed. She felt him take the slip of paper, heard the sound of paper ripping and felt the tore ticket fall back into her lap.


"Have a pleasant journey."


"Thank you, I shall." Jenna replied cooly even as relief washed over her. She waited for the Inspector to have moved well along the carriage before removing the flat cap from her head.


How did I manage to do this all those years ago? Was I worried then that the authorities would catch me? God, if only I could remember. A little over a year, and still I have no memories of my life before, the only record being the newspaper headlines, and my conviction. A murderer, huh? A serial killer, targeting mages. What would drive me to do something like that?





Frowning, Jenna reached into her pocket and produced a crumpled envelope. Retrieving the invitation from within, she re-read it carefully.


Its definitely addressed to me. How did they know I was living in Jugo? It can't be a mistake that they invited the infamous Seven-of-Spades to a peace conference concerning Mages- I only wish I knew what the organisers had planned.





She slipped the invitation away, withdrawing a pack of cards which she began to shuffle idly. The train rattled on, winding its way through the city, stopping occasionally to let passengers on or off. Finally, the train slowed, stopped, and Jenna stepped out- towing a suitcase behind her, machete and kukri hanging at either hip. She hoped that none in the crowd would recognise her murder weapons- ideally she'd have left them packed in her case, but it would seem someone already knew of her presence in Jugo. Best to be prepared for any eventuality.

 

[ninbinz]

The Docks, The People's Republic of Jugo


Afternoon.


Nicolas stood at the prow of the Llandra watching as it drew close to the tower city of Jugo. The sight of such an immense structure awed him even though he'd been able to see it a week out. He had watched as the city grew from a black pin on the sea into the sprawling structure before him. He marveled at the smell of the sea as it fused with that of the 'Metal City' to create a tangy stench the likes of which he'd not smelled before.d


"Young Master, ye should prepare ye t'ings 'afore we dock." Nicolas turned to see the swarthy captain of the Llandra looking at him.


"Yesser, Cap'n Kor, how long before disembarking?" the young man replied fingering the bar of shist he kept in his coat pocket.


"A few hours yet no doubt, so ye'll be suppin' wit' the crew an' I one last time."


"Very good sir, it's been a voyage, thank you for bringing me this far." Nicolas proffered his hand and the captain took it and shook it vigorously, a smile crossing his face.


"Tink not'in' of it me'boyo, ye paid yer way wit' coin an' helped us along th' way besides. If yer lookin' fer a career at sea, we'd be glad teh have ye'."


Nicolas nodded, bashful at the praise and somewhat teary eyed for the compliment. The captain laughed and patted him on the shoulder before shoving him towards the cabins. He ambled back to his own cabin and made to get himself ready for departure. The captain and crew had been gracious hosts, Nicolas hadn't expected such treatment but the sailors were glad to have a mage aboard. There were beasts in the sea and it helped to have a mage at hand, just in case the barge were to get beached on a particularly high sand bank.


The captain's cabin was always immaculate, something Nicolas could never fathom about the scruffy looking man and his prodigious white beard that ruffled in the wind. Before him, nestled in a wooden bowl was a mound of white rice and beside it in an identical bowl was a fillet of Ragmaw, an ugly fish with a decidedly delectable taste covered in an ale sauce. Not the meal of kings or regents but it was better than most people got, a perk of being a captain at sea no doubt. A perk much needed for such a hard life. Nicolas bowed his head in prayer and blessed the food in silence, sailors were a superstitious lot and a prayer or two never went astray.


Captain Kor and Nicolas watched the sunset as the ship was moored. Dockmen rushed about the wharf as the Llandra's crew put down the gangplank and began shifting crates. The wait was long but finally Nicolas managed to haul his luggage from the ship, wave a quick goodbye and make his way to the Dockmaster's hut.


Inside Nicolas found a reedy man with a protruding brow and a few missing teeth.


"Watcher want!?" The smarmy man sneered, Nicolas couldn't help but note that the man appeared to be terminally unpleasent, a factor which would see him stabbed and thrown into the sea someday.


"Business." Nicolas stated, his voice all business, he knew men like the Dockmaster and the best way to go about them was to do your business and get on.


"Papers?" The Dockmaster asked.


Nicolas dug through his pockets at the verbal prompt until he managed to grab a hold of a small booklet bound in leather and wrapped in oiled canvas to keep the water off. "Here ya go."


The Dockmaster took the booklet and flipped through the pages.


"Ye' ain't no magi are ye?" He asked.


"Aye, I happen to be one, yes."


The Dockmaster grumbled, clearly distressed by this new evidence. Nicolas could only catch a smattering of the man's displeasure. "Frn....mages.....blashd.....no better n' monsters the lot 'o em."


"I'm only here for a meetin' an' then I'll be on my way back home." Nicolas said, hoping to assuage the man to let him by.


"Ye see to it ye hear? I'll be lettin' the authori'ies know yer in town so don't get no clever ideas."


Nicolas nodded his assent and the Dockmaster stamped his passport with a sneer before shooing him out of the hut. The young magi took his luggage and hauled them from the docks until he came to a carriage sitting at the end of the wharf. The driver looked down at him.


"You be Nicolas?" The finely dressed man asked.


"You be Mr. Andelous' man?" Nicolas returned in kind, just as he had been informed to in his letters from Mr. Andelous. Mr. Andelous was a friend to the Magi Consortium and had offered a room in his home for Nicolas during his stay in Jugo. The liveried man nodded his graying head and flashed a sign. Nicolas smiled and stowed his luggage before entering the cab of the carriage.

 

[Heartsteal]

Undisclosed Location, Jugo's Fourth Deck...


Early Evening, Present Day...





Through the door, a shoddy thing, of rusted sheet metal, Rolf hauled the heavy trunk behind him, a muffled sound escaping it as it bumped over the threshold of the entrance. Inside the door, a dimly lit room, only illuminated by a singular candle, set in the middle of a rickety looking table. To the far side of the room, there was a darkened shape, the only image Rolf ever got of his handler, likely for their own safety or some such it didn't particularly bother him.


"Here you go, I've fetched, now it's your turn to deliver," the former Hound joked, playing on his old guild and more recent title both.


"Yes, you have. That'll be all; you've leave until there's need of you again," the handler said, murmuring more than speaking, ever cautious to keep from revealing their identity. After all these years, that was certainly the most irritating part about working with the Task Force, even still they doubted his allegiance, and protected all their identities from him. Back when he'd begun, he'd not been allowed to perform any of his missions without at least five other operatives on hand. No doubt they still tailed him while he was in Jugo, and on several occasions he'd caught them doing as much.


The letter, somewhat crumpled from the length of the trip, now lazily stuffed into a coat pocket weighed on Rolf's mind, and while he considered bringing it up with the handler whilst they were nearby, he suspected doing as much wouldn't turn out well. Instead of mentioning it, when he was dismissed, Rolf left the letter at the foot of the door, where it ended up after didn't matter overmuch to him, but he'd certainly be investigating the subject, even if he hadn't the authority to do so. The first problem with this decision, he'd not been met by one of these mysterious mediators.


Unfortunately, Rolf didn't have nearly a fraction of the ability to gather information that he used to while he headed the Hounds, nor even as much as his fellow Spooks. What little he had at his disposal was the loyalty of those few Hounds who hadn't given up on the guild, and most of them had a pretty vast distaste for him since the dissolving of their guild. For now, if nothing else, he could get something to eat, the train ride having wreaked havoc on his stomach. There was a delicatessen nearby, a favourite of Rolf's years ago, when he still owned the territory. The owner was a portly old man, the best really, he payed a protection fee, and in exchange he got what he couldn't from the more, legal, avenues.


Luckily, the deli was nearby, though inside seemed to be somewhat outside the norm, a couple of well-groomed young folk running about, taking orders at tables, the window through to the kitchen blocked off since his last visit, as though they were making strides to draw wealthier customers in with the promise of fine dining. Inside, there were only two other customers, a heavyset woman, just making her way out, and a thin man all wound up in bandages.


Grabbing one of the staff by the arm, coincidentally a young woman who yelped at his touch, he made an order.


"One pit special," he said, letting her go. She paused for a moment, staring at Rolf, eyes widening somewhat, then bobbed her head and ran off into the back.


Looking around to take a seat, Rolf catches sight of a letter on the table where the bandaged man sat, the words, incredibly similar as far as he saw, to the letter he'd only just abandoned. Wondering what this; individual, knew of the letter could possibly prove to be worth his time.


"Interesting letter you've got there," he said, taking a seat.

 

[Kairo]

The Peoples Republic of Jugo


Evening


The first thing Ilkaliq had done upon setting foot on Jugo was to ask where her lodgings were to be found. Though not a stranger to the place, it had been a while since she had last visited. She was unaccustomed to Jugo's architecture and preferred not to spend her time meandering in the concrete jungle. She knew she was less likely to be accosted because of her Spark, but she was also more likely to be mugged simply because she was there; thugs here didn't discriminate.


While in search of the lift that would take her to the deck where her temporary quarters were located, she wondered again who had arranged the summit and who its participants were. It didn't look to be military, otherwise, she should never have received the invitation in the first place.


But if not military, then what? She could hardly imagine the Merchants Guild calling for an emergency summit.


The lift that took her to the second deck groaned like an ancient monster as it rattled upward. It almost felt similar to the landquakes in Canak when ice broke off from the mountain peaks. Finally, it stopped, and the huge metal doors opened to a floor awash with people. She wished it were a quieter place, but clearly, Jugo crammed as much living as it could into every square feet of their man-made island.


The room she was to stay in was at the back of a shop called The Horologium. It wasn't hard to miss with the huge blinking chronometer that hung above its doorframe. Ignoring the temptation to inspect the magnificent timepieces on display, Ilkaliq asked for the key to her room. The shop attendant who looked none too pleased to see her unceremoniously dropped the key inside the box she was carrying. It made a soft clang as it hit the cauldron, and Ilkaliq resisted the urge to give the rude girl a piece of her mind; she had far more important things to do than discuss proper manners.


The room she was given held only the essentials for daily comfort. A small bed stood in the far corner, a round side table its only companion. There was a single wall lamp above the bed that gave off a sickly yellow light; it turned the grey floor green.


Setting the box down on the table, she was finally able to lift the small cauldron from its wrappings. She almost wished it contained stew, hungry as she was now. She had pocketed the letter from her father, but had yet to read it. Now was the time.


Tonight, before she explored Jugo, she would find out what her father had to say.

 

[ninbinz]

People's Republic of Jugo:


Mr. Andelous' Home


Mr. Andelous' home was rather well furbished, something Nicolas hadn't expected of home built in a city that was in turn built in the middle of the sea. Jugo was a prize any of the three countries would love to possess, if only to control its magitech. The house had a high ceiling and was made of wood, yet another feature Nicolas found odd for a city whose foundations were made of metal. He wondered where the timber had come from, even in his own nation, timber was expensive despite being essential.


"Velcome Master Tendan, I hope your journey hasn't over taxed you?" Nicolas turned to find a slender framed man smiling at him. "Oh please Mr. Andelous. Call me Nicolas, I am so far from being a master." Nicolas said, his cheeks turning pink. He didn't know how to take compliments, Algarivane had never been for such outwardly shows of emotion. The man was stoic to say the least and the closest he had ever come to complimenting Nicolas was a short and pert nod. "I beg to differ young sir but I will oblige you. In return you may call me Yavin." Nicolas nodded his assent. "Oh yes, you must be tired young sir, come I will show you your room and perhaps we might retire to my anteroom for a cup of tea?"


Nicolas sat in his spacious room and marveled at the size of it. It was big enough to fit a bed large enough for two people, a desk, a small table, an armoire, a dresser and room besides. He had never experienced such opulence in his life and found it somewhat disconcerting. He was used to a pallet of dry hay and a single dresser. Algarivane had been a firm believer in social equality and that no man should have anything more than what he has earned. As such, Nicolas' previous room had been a hovel in comparison.


Downstairs in the anteroom Nicolas found Yavin sitting on a fleece covered chair, opposite him was another empty one. Nicolas stepped into the room when Yavin stood up to gesture him in. "Come, sit. No need to be so shy Nicolas, my home is yours for however long you need it." Nicolas was taken aback, such kindness was unexpected and a seed of suspicion grew in him. "May I ask you a question?" Nicolas poured himself a cup of tea. "It would be my pleasure." Yavin replied after sipping from his steaming cup. "I mean no disrespect, but why are you doing this?" Nicolas took his seat opposite Yavin and sipped from his cup. "No offense taken, Algarivane did me a favor a long time ago and I aim to pay it, so consider yourself at home."

 

[Riddle78]

The People's Republic of Jugo


Fourth Deck - First Catch Delicatessen


Evening,approximately 2300 hours





Koboi elected to survey the dining room while he awaited his meal. The place was relatively deserted,despite the reasonable prices and excellent location. Perhaps the area's history is to blame. The only other customer was on her way out,just as another person made his way in. He stuck out like a sore thumb,with what appeared to be half of his face stitched back on,and an overall figure that looked like a flint sculpture.


Quite plainly a soldier.





The soldier had ordered something from a waitress that he had,quite inappropriately,manhandled,and surveyed the room himself. Koboi didn't bother to hide his open observation; The soldier was making a scene,anyways. As the young woman made a run for the back,the soldier's eyes scanned the room,and rapidly zeroed in on Koboi. He casually returned his eyes to his own table,and realized that he had left his letter out on the table. In the time it took for the grizzled man to cross the room to his table,Koboi has stowed the letter safely away in his waistcoat's inside pocket.


When the soldier planted himself opposite Inquisitor at the table,he wasted no time in getting to the heart of the matter. "Interesting letter you've got there," Koboi's first guess was right,then. He saw the letter. The soldier's expectant gaze brooked no room for squirming. With the soldier so close,Koboi could see that his dinner partner had a few traces of ash and dust on his person,and smelled of salt,sweat,and ash. Bockrathian? Most likely. But...





Koboi could feel...SOMETHING coming from the man. Something that no Bockrathian should have. As a Mage,the Inquisitor had a magic sense,of a sort. They can feel magic,or objects with great magic within them,at a close proximity. Inquisitors learned these feelings. Koboi was one of the few who could identify hidden precious metals. Silver? More than he should be carrying... Koboi had to handle things delicately. He couldn't identify this man without further information.


"You saw it? I suppose you were reading over my shoulder?" The Inquisitor shrugged,as his meal arrived,which earned a word of thanks from the Inquisitor,and a small golden slug to be pressed into the waiter's hand. He withdrew the envelope,and replied, "I take it you're familiar with them?" He turned the paper in his fingers,allowing his friend to see the vellum of the envelope,the parchment of the letter within,and the broken red wax seal over the flap. Quite an expensive letter,especially to proliferate across the planet.


"But,where are my manners? I am Koboi." He whipped out his pocketwatch,in order to give a certain gravity to his next statement. It's on his chest... "And you're going to tell me why you have silver fuel over your chest."





The Codex has been updated!

 

[Heartsteal]

The People's Republic of Jugo


Fourth Deck - First Catch Delicatessen


Evening


Rolf watched the bandaged man expectantly, gaze not flickering for a moment while he spoke. Beneath the bandages, the man's eyes flicked to and fro, examining his circumstances, yet his hands didn't move but to retrieve his letter, a liable mage then, or he'd have made some hint at his weapons.


"Only for a moment, I've procured one myself," the spook muttered in reply, laying both his arms on the table, crossing one palm over the other, a subtle show that he wouldn't be drawing a weapon, though even just looking at them, most anyone could tell that Rolf's hands themselves were more weapon than he'd ever need.


The bandaged man produced another item then, a steel watch, marked with a serpent and septagram, the watch of an inquisitor, though if he'd sought to keep his identity secret, it was poor timing as the waitress returned, though she seemed to avert her gaze from the mummy of Almaz, and stared wide-eyed at Rolf while she spoke, a small tremor to her voice.


"O-on the house ser, but- um..." she said, laying a cup of deep grey water before him, a specialty tea one would assume, a small biscuit joining the glass on its saucer.


"I understand, insurance," Rolf replied, rolling up his right sleeve as he spoke. The idea made him curious, and while Inquisitors were no one to trifle with, he may be able to glean some information as to what they knew of the goings on in Jugo.


"The name is Rolf," he said, speaking to the waitress, though his words were more for Koboi, as she already knew who he was. When the brand was bare, and the scar alongside, he kept a close eye on the Inquisitor's face, seeing what the man would betray of how much he knew regarding the Hounds. The name Rolf hadn't become public knowledge, for if it had he'd have been attacked in the streets on many occasions, nor did his appearance and condition, but if the Inquisitors lived up to their reputation, he'd at least be able to identify Rolf as a former Hound; if he were identified as the former head however, things would become much less pleasant.


"Silver fuel; 's just ink," Rolf laughed rather than outright showing the ink while the waitress scurried off. Moving one hand sharply to the glass of tea he'd apparently ordered, Rolf turned it more delicately than such hands probably should be capable of, and lifted it for a sip, finding it to taste of copper and mint, oddly enough, to his liking.


He rolled his sleeve down then, and found himself musing over the possibility that the Inquisitor was preparing himself to make an attempt on his life, though with only the small table between them, the gleaming estoc at the bandaged man's belt would be of no use, and with no visible knife, it would come to a fight without weapons, which suited Rolf just fine, as he wasn't carrying any, in accordance with his occupation.


"Your turn, what do you know of these letters?" Rolf asked, flinty eyes almost squinting back at Koboi, watching for any tell at what may be a bluff, though if there were any, it wouldn't be easy to see through all the bandages.

 

[Riddle78]

The People's Republic of Jugo


Fourth Deck - First Catch Delicatessen


Evening


Rolf. Names are important. They hold power. I wonder if he'll be as much of a ghost as I?





Seeing how uncomfortable the waitress was,Koboi stowed the watch. He didn't exactly care if people knew there was an Inquisitor in town. More often than not,it made the guilty make mistakes. However,as she walked away,the Quietman realized that she was scared of Rolf. He didn't even need to see the Guild brand to connect the dots. "You're a Hound. Old Hound territory,you walk in like you own the place,manhandle the staff,and get a free drink,to the tune of terror." Koboi's piercing blue eyes narrowed dangerously.


"Which means you're a criminal... Or former criminal. Anything can happen on Jugo." Koboi pointed a carbon-tipped finger at Rolf's left pectoral,his demands yet unanswered. "I know you have silver fuel either on or in your chest. It's quite different from the slugpurse on your belt. I wouldn't be able to fell a silver nitrate ink. I feel pure silver. By what authority do you have that fuel?"





Koboi picked up his fork as he unfastened a pair of steel clips just under his right ear,allowing the bandage to flop free. Beneath was Koboi's grotesque mouth,burned just as hideously as the rest of his body. The teeth were obviously fake; The inside of the mouth was almost completely scar tissue beneath the burns,and it showed. It's miraculous that his tongue survived whatever caused this. Silently shoveling ash yams into his mouth,Koboi deftly flicked the letter to his dining companion,having it land squarely before him,a silent invitation to read it in detail.


A couple of mouthfuls later,Koboi continued, "All I know is that they seem off,to me. Could be nothing,could be everything." Throughout the entire affair,Koboi's gaze never left Rolf,his index finger drumming a staccato rhythm on his fork,his baleful glare seeming to almost bore twin holes into his chest.

 

[Heartsteal]

The People's Republic of Jugo


Fourth Deck - First Catch Delicatessen


Evening


Listening to what was said, Rolf had his mind on other things, on the employees of the deli, and what they may have been thinking. There was certainly a tension in the atmosphere as these two sat at the table, making calm conversation, likely as both knew that in little more than an instant one of them could be dead.


"How observant, bravo," Rolf replied with no small bit of sarcasm in his tone, though he quieted again to listen to what was said next.


The conversation turned back to the silver on his chest, naught but a trace couple drops, though apparently enough for a mage's senses.


"I told you once, and I shouldn't need to say it again, it's only ink, perhaps a parlour fool's mistake," the former Hound said, not a hint of the laugh he'd shown before. Rolf was never one for repeating himself, and while he didn't have a plan for it, the fire in his belly said if this Inquisitor asked the same question a third time, he'd be reaching across the table to knock what skin was left clinging to the man clear off.


Koboi cleared the bandages off his face then, and what lay beneath made no impression on Rolf, badly burned flesh, though while it was the first of such bodies he'd seen moving, burned men weren't a terribly uncommon sight in his lifetime. While the note had been flicked across the table, Rolf had no intent, nor need to read it, as he'd had plenty of time to do such during his trip back from Bockrath.


"I don't know much of these notes either, though they sit poorly with me. While I've been out of town for some time, I've not heard a peep about a summit until these letters cropped up," Rolf said, entirely aware of the glaring that his companion was doing, focused directly upon his tattoo, clear through his shirt. He took another sip of his tea then, showing his entire disinterest in the man's concerns over it. If this came to violence however, he was certain that no matter what happened, it wouldn't be an Inquisitor walking out that door.

 

[Riddle78]

The People's Republic of Jugo


Fourth Deck - First Catch Delicatessen


Evening


Koboi snorted in disbelief at Rolf's defense. No tattoo parlour would have silver fuel anywhere near the needles. However,Koboi noticed a change in the man's posture. Was it intentional? Hard to tell. The man obviously didn't want the subject pushed,so it was equally likely that it was an intentional "Drop it" hint,or simply an unconscious reflex to get ready for a fight. And,considering the marked difference in their bodies,Koboi knew he'd be worse off in a fistfight. Magic or no.


With a dismissive flick of his fork,Koboi said, "Fine. I'll find the answer,regardless." Koboi finished off his ash yams while the scarred man gave his observations. Rolf effectively echoed his own sentiments. Such a summit would be international news. The letters,although the looked expensive enough to seem official,bore only one symbol: The wax seal holding the document closed,and Koboi was unfamiliar with it. Retrieving the letter,the Inquisitor slipped it back into his waistcoat's inside pocket while he set down his fork.


Picking up his large sandwich,a club made of sharkmeat,Koboi made an offer. "You're a soldier. Criminal or legitimate,it doesn't matter. You're uneasy with the letters. As am I. You know what I am. These letters could be a danger to Mages the world over... As well as Mundanes. But,it could just as well be nothing. You're going to help me." Koboi took a bite out of his sandwich. While the yams naturally tasted of ash,the sandwich didn't. Koboi knew this from experience. He enjoyed the meal,before the incident. But,now,it tasted of ash. Now,it was simply sustenance. Fuel for the tank.


"Because,I doubt your superiors,or your own interests,would allow something to pose a threat to your territory. This bears investigation." Koboi continued to eat his sandwich,assuming Rolf's answer in the positive. After he finished,he stood up. "Meet me at the Bockrath line tomorrow morning,at eleven. Be ready for anything." With that,Koboi paid for his meal,and left the First Catch.


The People's Republic of Jugo


Second Deck - Bockrath to Jugo Intercontinental Rail Terminal


Eleven in the morning


The Appointed Day





Koboi stood silent sentinel in the crowds constantly moving in and out of the trains. Whenever someone asked him why he was there,he simply told them he was waiting for a friend to arrive. Eventually,the questions ceased. This was the day stipulated in the letter he obtained. The letter was clear: There will be representatives at all entry points to Jugo,waiting to escort the "everymen" to this "summit".


He chose the Bockrath line because it would be the easiest to stake out. In order to avoid suspicion,Koboi had left his estoc with a nearby stash. Just as Koboi was beginning to question the letter's wording,a person approached the platform,sticking out like a sore thumb.


It was a woman,likely in her thirties. She was remarkably unremarkable; Average height and complexion,ear-length dark hair,which was neatly kept,and brown eyes. The only things that stood out about her was a small mole above the left corner of her mouth,and her outfit,which resembled a uniform; Steel grey jacket and trousers with faded yellow trim,and the trousers were tucked into polished black shin boots.


Under her arm was a board,of some description. After she arrived to the platform,she held the board above her head,revealing its message; "Letter Bearer Escort". It is time.





At the other rail line,and the zeppelin terminal on the seventh deck,similar individuals arrived,bearing identical signs. One was a human mountain with a single curling blond lock of hair hanging from his forehead and a walrus mustache,and the other was a woman with blonde hair,done up in a folded bun at the back of her head.

 

[ninbinz]

The People's Republic of Jugo:


Almaz to Jugo Train Station Via Andelous Residence


Nicolas woke up to banging on his door.


"Master Nicolas! Master Nicolas! It is time to wake up!" The banging at the door ceased for a moment and Nicolas sighed.


"I would really rather not wake up," he grumbled into the softest pillow he had ever lain on.


"Master Nicolas!" the voice said once again and this time Nicolas managed to roll out of bed.


"Forgive me Wallace, I am awake," Nicolas said setting about the well furbished room for his belongings. Upon an oaken window sill perched one of his few books, the title was barely visible but one could read up close; "The Ways of The World." A book by Mazidor Campkopf of Bockrath. Mazidor was one of Nicolas' favorite authors and by coincidence he was Mr. Andelous' favourite author as well. A subject both men had talked about well into the prior night.


The streets were bustling, a sound Nicolas was still as yet unused to. Having come from the harsh and barely populated climes and regions of Canak, where the most prevalent sound is the wind battering the earth relentlessly. Then he was at sea for some time and as ever, the wind was his company. Nicolas liked the wind, it was a friend, one that would follow him wherever he went. A good companion to have when you have know less than 30 people in your entire life.


"Come along Mr. Tendan, we're not far now" Nicolas' guide said. The boy was gangly and tall for his age, his face was covered in grime. A feature which he assured Nicolas had earned him the name; 'Dirty Narry'.


"Thank you again Narry-"


"Don't get the wrong idea Mr. Tendan. I's only doin' this cause I'm gettin' paid by dat Andeloo Kook."


"But all the same Narry, thanks."


"Awright, awright, calm down Mr. Tendan. We're 'ere an' I'm off." Nicolas waved farewell to the gangly blond boy, he was sure Narry would go far in life. The boy was clever enough after all. Nicolas adjusted his baggage and waltzed up to the station, his letter held firmly in hand as he waited for the aforementioned 'escort'.


Biting on a strip of jerked beef Nicolas stood, an island in between the constant flow of people, coming and going as they pleased. Nicolas thought that from above he would look like some giant eye peering through the water. Then a man of some impressive stature made his way through the crowd, he was like a barge floating over the thrum of unseeing people. The mountainous man's features were focused on the shock of blond that rested on his temple, he raised his hands and lazily held up a sign. Nicolas read the sign, waved the envelope and followed the man, unerringly.

 

[Kairo]

The People's Republic of Jugo


Seventh Deck - Canak to Jugo Zeppelin Docking Station


The Appointed Day


Finally, the sky.


Ilkaliq tugged the scarf down from her face and took a long, deep breath. The air didn't feel as clean as Canak, nor was it as cold, but it was far better than what she had to breathe in the lower decks of Jugo. Glancing up, she could see the large, looming zeppelin that just left the station; she always thought they looked like whales.


She remembered asking her father why they couldn't just ride the flying whales to Dagnone. She had been a child, and to her, anything from the sky was invincible; they could simply fly away and avoid danger. Her father had indulged her then, agreeing that it may be possible to conquer the southern continent with a fleet of zeppelins and an army of soldiers.


And then he took down a flying bird with his spikelance.


That quickly shattered her childish theory on invincibility, but it also cemented the belief that it was possible to take down anything no matter the size, no matter the location.


A stranger bumped into her, bringing her awareness back to the present. The station was quickly filling with people, and she almost wished she could take the next zeppelin out and head home to Canak. Ilkaliq looked around, searching for the escorts mentioned on the letter requesting her attendance. A woman with a sign caught her eye.


How very subtle.


Ilkaliq made no move to approach her, studying the woman instead. The escort stood still, head held high, gaze unwavering. The bun on her head looked as tight as the expression on her face. Efficient was the word that came to mind if Ilkaliq were to describe her. She doubted the woman would grace her with a smile. Perhaps she'd frown at the slightly wrinkled letter she'd have to present. She still had misgivings about this whole emergency summit, but there were things she wanted to know, questions she needed answered. There was her father's letter to think of and the other piece of bone fragment she had gotten out of that small cauldron. It was part of her pendant now, as the smaller fragment had latched onto the one she wore around her neck. She was counting on this summit to answer the many questions in her mind. It might even shed some light on what her father meant. His letter had been short, and towards the end, it made little sense, but it had given her some hope that maybe, just maybe, he was alive.


"...and if you ever find yourself in the south, steer clear of yellow moss, and beware the purple flowers. Drink tree water and nothing else, and shield yourself from evening lights. The sounds...if they sing, do not listen. And whatever you do, never ever trust the lilacs' scent."


He had to have written it while still in Dagnone, which meant someone had been able to return. She needed to visit Guvar again and ask him what he knew, but before that, she needed to find out why she was needed here.


She walked towards the woman, the required letter in her hand. The escort turned to her when she was a few feet away, and as expected, she didn't smile. With her right hand, Ilkaliq held the letter out, her left hand remaining inches away from Illamar.

 

[Hellkite]

The People's Republic of Jugo


Second Deck - Bockrath to Jugo Intercontinental Rail Terminal


Eleven in the morning


Jenna stood on the platform, and cast around herself warily, looking for the escort the letter had described Finally she spotted her- a woman, dark haired and holding a sign aloft. Jenna studied her for a moment through the crowd, considering her next move.


Too obvious- if this is a trap, then going to that woman is as good as handing myself in.





Jenna scanned the crowd around her, studying faces and clothing, trying to pick out anyone of note. Aside from a bandaged man lurking on the far side of the crowd, nothing.


Spooks don't get spotted unless they want to be. Best way to find out if this is a trap or not is to walk straight into it. If they try to take me in, it won't be hard to loose them- just have to duck back onto the train.





Jenna rested a hand on her Kukri and advanced on the woman with the sign. Spotting her, the woman turned, eyebrow raised. Jenna produced her letter, and offered it over.


"I was told to meet someone like you here."


The woman the invitation, throwing a curious look over the brim of the paper at Jenna. Finally she shrugged.


"We'll wait five minutes more before we head off, just in case there's anyone else supposed to be


meeting us here."


Jenna nodded, visibly relaxing.


So far, so good. And this one doesn't seem to recognise me- even better.





She removed her hand from her Kukri and used it to brush a strand of hair from her eyes.


"Sure, I'm in no rush. By the way, any idea as to what I should expect?"


The woman grinned wryly.


"Just you wait and see."

 

[Heartsteal]

The People's Republic of Jugo


Second Deck - Bockrath to Jugo Intercontinental Rail Terminal


Eleven in the morning


There were no trains boarding, nor arriving, yet despite this the terminal was packed with people, of course this was no particular surprise as most all of Jugo was jammed full of people every day. The bandaged inquisitor from the night prior was on hand, of course, and making himself so obvious that he might as well have painted a target on his chest and run about screaming. Rolf was among the crowd, chatting with a group of fishermen who'd just come back to port the day prior, though his heart wasn't much in the conversation as his mind was open to the crowd around them, watching for what may come next.


The letter-bearers didn't need to wait long, as a woman arrived promptly at eleven, not a second early, nor late. She wore a steel-coloured uniform, though it wasn't one Rolf recognized, and he knew every national military installation like the back of his hand by this point. A handful of those at the station came forward at seeing the woman's sign, indicating that she'd come for letter-bearers. Excusing himself of the fishermen, he moved to join them, ignoring Koboi and the orders that the inquisitor had dared to give him the night prior.


Presenting the invitation, Rolf held it forth, and while she quirked a brow at him, perhaps recognizing his face, the uniformed woman didn't make her questions vocal. Without even a fuss, though he certainly hadn't made friends with their escort, Rolf slipped in among the guests' number, and quietly stowed the letter he'd reappropriated the night before, though it was from a different recipient than the one prior.

 

[Riddle78]

The People's Republic of Jugo


The Appointed Day


Seventh Deck - Airship Dock





The woman with the folded blonde bun glanced at someone approaching from the corner of her eye. She's definitely making her way to me. Regardless,the woman continued to scan the crowd for other invitees,as well as potential threats. Anything can happen in Jugo. As the woman drew closer,the escort noticed that she was... Stiff. Intimidated? Or cautious? Quite likely both. As the woman drew within a few feet,she turned to greet her charge,nearly with a smile. However,when she saw that the other woman's hand was practically clutching a bladed blowgun,she quietly decided that she wouldn't be getting one. Overly cautious. And intimidated. Setting down her sign,and taking the letter,the escort produced a tiny green stone. It was lustrous,like a gemstone,but opaque.


When she waved the stone over the letter,it burst into flames,not even making smoke or ash. It simply ceased to exist in a flash of flame. "Magitech. It's to ensure they cannot be counterfeited. The summit is likely to attract assassins,spies,and saboteurs." Explanation given,she raised her signboard once more,and said, "We'll be waiting a couple more minutes,for any stragglers." A few minutes passed,and four others arrived,though one was turned away when he didn't have the letter. They each had their letters checked and subsequently incinerated before being allowed to stay. At the end of the few minutes,the woman produced the green rock once more,and erased her sign from existence with the familiar flame.


Addressing her four charges,the woman introduced herself. "I'm Jeanne Leroux,and I'll be escorting you to the Third Deck,where the summit will be taking place. Please,stay close,and keep up. Jugo can be dangerous,and difficult to navigate. Doubly so,with tension on the rise." With a circular wave of her index finger above her head,she snapped it forth to point away from the dock. A military hand signal for "Form up,and follow this way." Instructions given,she strode with purpose to the nearest express lift to the Third Deck.


Second Deck - Intercontinental Rail Line,Almaz/Jugo Terminal





The gigantic man spotted one of his charges immediately. Clutching a letter,with a local escort,who was just leaving. Apparently settling in for the long haul,the man produced a strip of jerky,but when he saw the escort,he quickly perked up,and waded through the crowd,brandishing his letter. Upon arrival,the large man nodded to acknowledge his escortee's presence. "Hello. Might I see that letter? I must verify its authenticity." He gripped the other end of the letter with his thumb and forefinger's knuckle,and drew it away once the man released it. Setting down the sign,the mustached giant pulled a green stone from an inside pocket. Lustrous,like an emerald,but impassible for light,like rock.


With a casual wave of the stone over the vellum,it caught flame,but didn't emit smoke,nor discard ash. It simply...Vanished. As if it never existed. "It is indeed authentic,sir. I am sorry for the inconvenience,but you must understand our need for security." He offered a smile,though it was barely visible beneath his bushy mustache. You'd have to be watching his blue eyes to see it. "We'll be here a few minutes longer,sir,for any others who answer the call. Please,enjoy your jerky." Hoisting the sign once more,the goliath scanned the crowd for others.


Five minutes ticked past,and when no others arrived,the giant sighed in disappointment. "Unfortunate,but it can't be helped." Withdrawing the stone from his jacket once more,he waved it over the signboard,sending it to whatever oblivion the letter went,without a trace. "Shall we? Our destination's the Third Deck. But,sir,I advise you stay close,and keep on guard. Violent crime has been rising since the tensions began,I'm afraid. Oh,where are my manners? I am Othello Di Pietro." Warning given,the large man gave a gesture to follow,and strode powerfully to the nearest lift up to the Third Deck,the crowd parting before him like ice floes before a Canak vanguard vessel.


Second Deck - Intercontinental Rail Line,Bockrath/Jugo Terminal





The unremarkable woman greeted four other letter bearers before Rolf had joined them,just in time to see her incinerate the letter of the woman before him, "Sorry for the scare," The escortee did indeed jump,nearly right out of her skin. "But it's to keep people from copying the letters. Don't want undesirables sneaking in,now do we?" When Rolf approached,the escort turned to face him,and alarm bells fired off in her head immediately. He fits every description we have. But isn't he a foreign op? Her puzzlement was visible,as she quirked her brow. However,she passed it off as having noticed his disfiguring scar,which she shifted her attention to the moment she recognized the Black Dog of Jugo.


About to ask for the letter,someone made the mistake of attempting to pick her pocket. The would-be thief,no older than seventeen,yelped in surprise and horror as the mousy woman gripped the offending wrist,and hauled the person upright. With a look of utter detachment on her features,she spun him around,brought his hand to the tailbone by way of down from behind the ear,and shoved him away with the flat of her boot. A loud pop echoed out immediately before a scream,signalling that the shoulder was dislocated,as the thief tumbled to the ground.


With a sigh,the escort put her fingers to her brow for a moment to compose herself,apparently forgetting about Rolf's letter,which he secreted away during the commotion. "Sorry about that. Anyways,looks like that's everyone. So,then..." She withdrew the stone she used to incinerate the letters,and waved it over her discarded signboard,not even bothering to pick it up. The signboard was consumed by flames,but there was no smoke,nor any ash after the event. It was almost as if the sign was erased from the tapestry of existence.


"We're going upstairs," She explained,slipping the stone back into the inside pocket. "To the Third Deck. I'm Natalie Portman,and I'll be making sure nothing happens to you. Stick close,now. Don't want anyone getting lost. Or jumped." She shuddered visibly at the last one. Unpleasant memories? Or just stories? Regardless,she gave a wave for the people to follow,and made her way to the lift up to the Third Deck.


The Inquisitor watched with great interest. He saw the woman's reaction to Rolf. He had no cover. She likely noticed him,too. However,overhearing this Natalie's instructions,he knew where they were going. He sighed,and pulled a letter from his pocket,making a quick check of the contents. With a quick noise of frustration,and gesture to match,he returned the letter to his pocket,and stormed off,like anyone who mixed up dates and times for the arrivals of friends. As Portman left with her charges,Koboi took another path. Turning a couple of times,Koboi ducked into an alleyway,and reached behind a wooden pallet,withdrawing a formless mass of leather straps.


Koboi donned his harness,and sheathed his dagger and estoc. After clipping on some bands,one for each arm and leg,the Quietman slipped throwing knives into the loops on them. Finally,he drew his dagger,and began a low chant. Holding the weapon in such a way that it pointed up his arm,he continued his chant while bringing his other hand to his opal pendant. After a few more seconds,the spell fired off,a streak of grey light rocketing from the point of his dagger into his shoulder. Koboi knew the effects,but he couldn't see them. Instead,he waited for the alley's sole occupant to realize what just happened...


"Oi! Where'd he go!?" A filthy man in rags stood up,and nearly fell over,the sudden motion causing him to void his stomach all over the filthy metal before him. Obviously drunk,sick,or both,and unable to afford any treatment more complex than waiting it out. Now confident that his spell was a success,Koboi left the alley,making directly for the main thoroughfare that Natalie had taken. Arriving at the main thoroughfare,Koboi saw the party approaching the lift,and came in behind them,keeping a distance of at least twelve feet. He watched as the woman called the lift,and stepped in,motioning for her charges to follow. They did,and the door closed,allowing the lift to go up to the Third Deck.


Koboi waited for the next person to take the lift up. He didn't have to wait for long. He slipped in with them,thankful that they were chatting with someone the whole way,neither able to hear that chant that kept him hidden from sight. The lift arrived at the Third Deck,and the three occupants disembarked. Koboi sawthe party ahead,and ducked into a gap between buildings across the way to observe.


Meanwhile,Natalie led her charges down the thoroughfare to their destination. Thankfully,it was within sight of the lift; A three story building,made of basalt and marble. It was fenced in,with a pair of guards at the gate,wearing uniforms identical to hers. One was a man with blond hair,styled...Strangely. There was a tiny nub of a cut off ponytail at the base of his skull,and he looked extremely displeased. At his hip was a sword with a knuckle guard,with a forward pitch. It wasn't as sharply pitched as a kukri,but it was still plainly noticeable.


His guard partner had a spikelance with a short barrel,and stock; A carbine. It was resting against her shoulder,cradled in the palm of her hand,and it had an ornamented trigger guard,and,curiously,a handguard. She was looking very pleased with herself,and had a slim,but long,knife strapped into a scabbard on her collar. It had a ring on one end of the minimal guard,suggesting it was a bayonet,as well. "Hey,Nat!" Her free hand slipped into her pocket,and withdrew a blond length of hair; The remains of her partner's ponytail.


Natalie had a good laugh,and said, "Finally got it,did ya?" She lightly punched the man's shoulder,who responded with a low growl. "Oh,lighten up,Dom! You know Liza's just fooling around!" She passed the gate guards,shaking her head and chuckling quietly. Natalie led her escortees inside. The main hall was practically oozing money,but was tasteful about it. The floors were streaked marble,as were the ceilings. The walls were basalt with marble runners. The floors were adorned with blue carpets with amber trim,primarily leading up to the large staircase at the far end of the hall,opposite the main door. The railings were black in colour,but glassy,unlike the basalt walls. They had brass features. Hanging from the walls were tapestries,bearing the images of great heroes of the past,and a sigil: An hourglass on a kite shield,with a sword,point down,behind.


However,Natalie didn't lead the group to the stairs. Instead,she turned left immediately,almost just beyond the door,crossing a small antechamber populated by a table and a coat rack,before going into the next room,where the others were assembled,sans escorts. The room was round in shape,and well lit. There were benches and planters throughout,with a round table occupying the center of the room,topped with food and drink,as well as glasses,bowls,plates and utensils. "Looks like we're the last ones. Well,make yourselves at home while we wait for the stuffed shirts from Parliament to show up."





With a friendly wave,Natalie left the room,to let the guests wine,dine,and mingle.


Outside,meanwhile,Koboi hid behind a corner,observing everything he could from outside with the assistance of a mirror. Dom,Liza,and Natalie. There are sure to be many more.


Minutes Earlier...





Othello and Jeanne led their parties along the Third Deck with good time. Othello made idle chatter with his charge,Nicolas,since he was the only one. The two parties nearly ran into eachother at the intersection before the meeting place. After a quick laugh from Othello,met with a flat look from Jeanne,the two parties merged,with Othello taking up the rear.


As the party approached the gates,Dom called out for them to be opened. A loud groan sounded out as the wrought iron portal was swung open mechanically. He pointedly avoided Jeanne's baleful glare; She seemed to dislike the man. However,when Othello passed,he gave an enthusiastic greeting,and turned to have a brief chat with the huge man as he passed. During this time,Liza,quick as a whip,slid behind him,drew her bayonet,and sliced off his ponytail just under the tie after gripping the hair. With a triumphant cry,she resumed her post after hastily pocketing the hair as evidence,leaving Dom to grumble in defeat. That's ten grams of silver down the drain...