He recoiled and almost jumped back in his chair.

His eyes wide and his skin pale. His mouth agape showing his crooked and yellowing teeth.

His hand pulled at his collar, as if the sudden tightness of it threatened to choke the air out of him.

“Lord Stanton’s estate. He had a lovely party on the solstice, it was a shame that I couldn’t enjoy it.”

Francis idly picked the dirt from his nails with one of his picks, a carefully practiced tactic to portray a measure of calm in such heated situations. As he leaned back slightly farther in the chair he pulled his heavy well-worn leather boots onto the weathered wooden table and crossed his legs onto it. He avoided meeting the gaze of his patron, waiting for his decision.

“You are just as insane as ever Fleetfoot.” The man said, he gestured for one of his brooding goons behind him

Without a word the lumbering giant took a single step forward and dropped a much smaller bag on the table with a well known clink.

“You seem to be a little light today, Boss.”

The man for a moment looked irritated before quickly shifting to a smirk. “It’s stargold today kid, you need to lay low for awhile.”

Francis use his foot to pull the bag towards him and quickly palmed his payment, taking a quick look in the bag he saw the ever familiar markings of stargold marks, looking to be around thirty or so of them.

Almost worth the haul he had taken from the vault.

The man really did want him to disappear for while.

Reaching into the bag the man pulled out the object, a simple metal case. No bigger than a pack of gamblers cards. It had a near perfect sheen to it, save for a thin etched spiral on it’s one side.

The man picked it up delicately, with an almost reverence or perhaps fear. Francis watched him with a curious interest, he had never seen his fencer hesitate in such a way.

“How was it done?”

“Very carefully. And with no small amount of luck.”

——————

He had no idea what he was stealing when he made it his way into the Lord’s Vault. A tedious but careful affair. The Lord had such a lavish party for his ‘honoured’ guests of the realm. Dancers, Entertainers, Cooks of renown, and even a rare Practioner.

Francis would have loved to see one manifest fire or lightning from their fingertips.

Instead he scaled the 200 Rem’s tall castle to one of the upper spires, before making his way down into the crypts below. All in all he was somewhat impressed with himself, no one saw him or heard him. He was s ghost, a rogue, a whisper.

The Vault itself was impressive, intricate traps, and subtle rune works.

All deadly.

Not a one was designed to incapacitate.

Brutal and Savage machinations of fire, lightning, ice, and steel. The perfect signs of a trove flush with treasure simply begging to be liberated.

After his tinkering of the release mechanism, he had watched as the Vault door hissed and cranked. Old rust popped and wheezed as the door slowly slid open.

Magically stem lights sparked to life as the door fully opened and clanked into place. The vast vault now illuminated with light, glinting off the treasures within.

He stood struck, his body frozen in incredulous wonderment. Inside was a horde of gold, silver, jewels, and gems. Swords, spears, maces, shields, and glistening armor pieces of immaculate quality. Towering sculptures of renowned generals and ancient gods. Colourful art adorned the walls

Giddy as a child he hopped and skipped his way inside. Reaching into his blazer he pulled out a familiar pouch. It was and old and worn blackened leather piece he aquired in his early days, his secret tool of the trade. He pulled back the knot on the string and opened it, he simultaneously tossed it into the air.

The small pouch became larger drastically as it flew upward into the air, with a practiced catch he slung the now considerably larger puch over his shoulder.

One by one he bagged item after item. He didn’t care about sorting, just tossed one pilfered item after another. In short ordered he had filled his pouch to the limit. Pulling the now much larger strings he tied then in large knot, the pouch was ever so kind and resumed its previous size.

With a flick of his foot, he threw the pouch into the air, he watched it go far above his head, he put his hand out in front of him and caught the now filled pouch.

“Thank you M’lord.” He said with an exaggerated bow to the now much emptier vault.

He hopped and clicked his heels together. A chuckle and smile now playing on his lips. He walked his way out of the Vault, placing his prize back in his blazer as made his way back up the stairs.

He heard something hum behind him, if only for a moment.

“Oh?” He turned back towards the vault door. “What did I miss?”

He stood there deciding, gazing back into the now sparsely filled vault. Heat filled his ears, an excitement for something hidden within this vault. Something truly worth stealing.

He moved closer inward and heard the hum again, this time louder. It’s pitch changing with each step, almost in a daze he moved towards the back of the vault. Feeling a pressure on his skin, like he was submerged in water.

The hum was almost overwhelming now as he approached the rear wall of the vault. He found himself nose to nose with the wall when the hum simply stopped. The pressure around him vanished, and he became very aware of the silence that surrounded him.

“Well… aren’t you curious.” He said tracing his hand against the wall

——————

“So you only took this then?” The man said holding up the silver object

“A small pocketful of jewels, nothing that’ll be noticed I’m sure.”

The man pursed his lips, likely trying to guage if Francis was telling the truth. He played with the small object in his hand, spinning it around in his fingers

“You have no idea what this is do you?”

“It was on a pedastal. I thought it was a teleport stone at first, but it’s too small for that. I don’t have the skill for attunement. So I brought it to the best appraiser this side of the Ridge.” Francis answered

“This…” the man said. “Is Form Magic…”

The man ran his fingers along the spiral on the side, the object began to shake and jerk, floating now just above his hand.

Francis watched as the silver object slowly liquefied itself in the air, it dissolved into mutlple streams of thin silver liquid as it danced in long circles around the man’s outstretched hand.

That faint hum he heard from before had returned, but the pitch was different somehow. Simpler, like a tapping sound from water hitting the ground after trickling off a roof.

“That’s a neat trick boss.” Francis said with a raised eyebrow. “You’ll be real popular at your kids birthday party with a show like that.”

Francis could feel that pressure again, that feeling of being surrounded by water. The tightness in his chest and the burning in his ears.

A warning.

Had he made a mistake of some kind? It was just another magical object that he couldn’t use. Some rare paltry trinket of an aging lord. Nothing worth keeping, but only trading for status.

So why were his instincts telling him to run.

“This… is Prefall magic. Extremely rare. Not dangerous on it’s own…” he said, flicking his wrist the streams changed into solid rings, five in total. Each one in cascading size from his fingertips to his forearm.

“But with a skilled wielder…” flicking his wrist again. “You can make them take the shape of almost anything.” The rings began shaking as each one shot forward toward his fingertips, combining into a thin circular sheen.

Francis watched as the circular object started showing edges and lines. Indentations and familiar markings appeared as the new shape took form.

“A Dimerian Mark, that’s impressive. Only ever seen pictures of one.”

The man chortled loudly as he turned his hand back down towards the table. In an instant the object coalesced into it’s original shape, landing with a dull thud between the two men.

“I saw one once at the Court of Reeds when I was a younger man. Some Prince whose name I don’t remember was flipping it into the air.”

“Sounds like a cocky little shit.”

The man laughed again, a booming laugh that filled the room. “Oh he was. He was relieved of it that very evening by one the Jesters, poor lad never got to spend it. Neither did the prince.”

“He reminds me of someone I know.”

“I have no desire to end up with a knife in my back.” Francis replied

He could still hear the hum, it was unsettling.

“So this thing…? Can be turned into almost anything?”

“PreFall magic is always half-truths and grandiose tales, but for something like this. It’s true.” He took a flask out of his jacket and took a sharp swig of the liquid inside.

“I once heard of a Practioner who could transform an amulet she wore into a bird fully engulfed in flame, just by willing it.”

“A flaming bird? Well that’s just stupid.” Although Francis did admit that it would be a sight to see.

“My guess is she’s not around anymore?”

“One of our feudal lords decided that; ‘a pretty bird deserved a pretty cage’. His estate was melted by midweek and the Practitioner vanished.”

“Objects like these can take the form of anything kid.”

Kid? He hadn’t called him kid since the early days. The hum was getting louder again, or maybe it was just his imagination.

“It’s more than that though.” The man continued. “If done correctly, it can also take the characteristics of what it replicates.”

“So knife sharp and gold shiny then?”

“Try teleport stone or Herald key. Writ of subservience or even one of the great crowns of Azure.”

Francis felt his eyebrow go up involuntarily. Even his body was now betraying his interest.

“So it’s dangerous to someone who can use it.”

“It’s dangerous to anyone who has it kid.”

In a moment or clarity, Francis finally understood what was actually happening.

“This bag of gold.” Francis said tossing the bag up into the air and letting it come back down with a jangle.

“Is not payment for putting the hurt on Lord Stanton. It’s payment to disappear.”

His old friend smiled, once again revealing yellow teeth. “You always were sharp, although it often took you a minute to find your edge.”

He flicked the object towards Francis with his index finger, giving Francis a second to react and

catch it.

“And here I thought we were friends Big Jack.”

Big Jack simply stared at Francis for a moment, finding words.

“Francis isn’t profitable if your dead. The Estates do not forgive or forget.”

Big Jack leaned forward, a dark grimace on his face.

“This is goodbye kid, take your trinket and get the hell out of my city.”

Knock Knock Knock

Francis jumped to his feet, the pounding of his blood surged. In a swift motion he drew his two curved blades from their sheaths at his hips.

“Calm yourself, it’s my dinner.” Big Jack stated

Francis was not one to trust unnecessarily, but his instincts told him that if he was to be killed here. It would have been done before he even sat down, he sheathed his weapons and kept standing. Attempting to still his now heightened heart.

The door opened and a well dressed weasel of a man entered holding two pearl white plates overflowing with food. He wordlessly set the plates down in front of Big Jack, he materialized a glass and a bottle of a greenish liquer. He poured the glass, made a quick bow and left.

“You don’t get to have your last meal here kid. The door is behind you.” The Goon in the room said, placing his large meaty hand on his shoulder.

Francis grabbed his hand and quickly turned and bent it sideways, using his other hand to push down on his now lowered shoulder. He pushed the much bigger man down face first into the table with a thud.

“Only he gets to call me kid.” Francis sneered with a grunt, he puched a little harder on the mans pinned shoulder. The goon let out short shriek as pain ripped through him.

“Let him up.” Big Jack said, not even looking up from his meal

Audible crunching sounds, and the tearing of meat could be heard as Big Jack tore into his meal with gusto. His gaze fixed on his small feast.

Big Jack gestured in their direction with a well cooked turkey leg. “Leave him be and go check on front.”

Francis let the goon up and took a few steps back, the man was just a sellsword and thus had no loyalty beyond money. That being said, sometimes pride overruled someones reason when pain was involved.

The goon simply stood up, rolled his shoulder back with a click and left the room, not even meeting the eyes of Francis.

“Should I be worried?”

“You’ll need to be worried for the next five to ten.”

Francis felt his grip tighten around the object, he failed to notice that the hum had ceased. The object felt warm around his hand, like holding a warming rock from the salt baths of his childhood. A pleasant warmth, calming and inviting.

“Front or back?”

Big Jack raised his head from his feast and looked off the right for a moment. His ears twitched visibly. He opened his mouth and let his tongue press outside his lips.

“Back, the front is no good.”

“Estate guards..? Already..?”

Big Jack stopped slicing one his pieces of meat, looking up at Francis and met his gaze with a fierce intent.

“Worse.”

The night started sl well, and now had fallen in abject madness. They both knew what was outside in the streets. They were unforgiving and unrelenting. He had really kicked the nest, and the hornets would not let him go.

Big Jack tapped the wall behind him with his knucles three times, revealing the back exit. Or more accurately his escape route.

Francis pushed himself up off his chair, feeling the weariness from his night’s activities. His stomach growled loudly, the disadvantages of always being on the move.

Francis now standing at the door, taking the opportunity to steal one last thing from this country before he left it.

“For the road.” Francis said as he scooped up one of the larger pieces of meat with his fingers

“Uh-huh.” Big Jack said in response, still enamored with his meal.

Francis took a chomp out of the succulent meat, feeling a little of the blood dribble down his chin and into his stubbled beard. He moved through the door, and heard it close back behind him, merging seemlessly back into the wall. Like it was never there.

Now alone in his office, Big Jack continued to eat his meal. Finished up the last pieces of meat he eyed the greens on his place before he began to slowly pop the crunchy leaves into his mouth.

“Don’t die kid.” He said, as the doors to his office exploded off their hinges.

————-

He heard the commotion, though he wasn’t exactly sure where it was coming from. It could’ve come from Big Jack’s, he heard the telltale screams of women in distress mixed with angry shouts of men with swords.

He pulled his cloak up tighter to his neck, the rain slowly pitterint down provided some small measure of cover as he trudged through the streets. He kept to the the shadows and avoided anyone that came in his direction.

Almost every crossing of streets he found Estate soldiers. Armored grunts in fancy armor, he kept himself at a distance, just far enough to not see clearly the sigil engraved on their breastplates.

He knew the gates we’re likely closed by now, commotion could be heard from every direction now. Like a town being raided, screams and yells combatted the now pouring downrain.

The river was his only chance, he could disappear downstream.

The cold would damn near kill him, but if he was caught, his death would be far more painful.

Francis pulled his cloak close, the chill now biting st his bones. His hands held close to the hilt of each of his weapon at his hip, his grip was tight. Not cause he was anxious, he knew that the sound of metal would draw attention. Something he needed to avoid.

“Please m’lord… I don’t know what ye want..?”

A woman, no older than sixteen. A golden haired wisp of a girl, all skin and bones. Dirt and grime covered her disheveled cloths. She looked to have mild burns to her hands and forearms, likely a washer for the brewery district. She was on her knees before an Estate Soldier, his polearm blade pressing up against her chin. His back turned to Francis, he felt his heart quicken for a moment.

He knew he couldn’t help her.

Even if he could kill him silently and without resistance. There was no guarantee that the girl would be thankful, and quiet. The girl had likely never seen blood spill from a man before, she would scream.

“No worries lass.” The soldier said with a deep chuckle

“You and I are goina spend some time together tis all.”

The soldier pressed the blade higher up into the girls neck, she yelped as a small trickle of blood spilled onto the blade. Even from so far away he could see the terror in her eyes.

Francis couldn’t help her.

He turned away and began his walk down to the river, he was running out of time. The longer the city is raided, the tighter the net around him became. He wasn’t sure if all this fanfare was for him, but he wasn’t staying to find out. The Estates were angry about something, and everyone would get burned.

A few measles steps away, he could hear the girl squel. No doubt as the soldier dragged her away to some quiet corner. The thought made him sick, he tried to push the sounds of her trashing feet against the mud out of his head. He rolled his shoulders back and moved to heighten his pace, his stomach started to roll in disgust.

SCREECH

Francis ears felt they were exploding, in abject pain he fell to his knees holding his ears. His head in a vice as his vision blurred and he felt himself falling backwards. He was able to redirect himself to fall against on the streets dividing walls, pushing himself against it. He didn’t feel the tough rocks and small debris scrape against his hand.

He pressed his head tight as the high pitched piercing sound continued for what felt like hours. He gritted his teeth and groaned, his eyes held shut in a grimace of pain he could not stop. He begged it to stop, whatever it was he begged it to show mercy.

In a moment it was gone, he exhaled loudly on relief. His breathing erratic and forced. Holding his hands still to his aching head, he only dared to open his eyes. His gaze shifted wildly along the empty side street. Muck and dirt was all to be seen, a few errant cobblestones the only nearby companions to the rot on the ground.

“What the hell-…” he said through panting breaths

There was no one, he was alone. Did a mage just attack him? Estate soldiers sometimes came with one or two low ranked practitioners, but that overwhelming force he felt was much higher. To be targeted like that so definitively meant he was dealing with at least a Dominion ranked, maybe even a Sovereign. Both were very unlilely, the Lord’s of this country were poor by the comparison of their neighbours. They could never afford the services of such masters.

A heat was billowing from his core, at first he thought it was his heart, beating so fast and generating heat beyond his bodys ability to control.

The heal grew and grew, until he reached into his blazer and took the now familiar trinket. As he gazed at it in his hand, the heat slowly subsided. Francis still wincing in pain, attempted to steady his breathing.

“That was you… wasn’t it..?” He asked the object.

It didn’t answer, it was just an object. It couldn’t answer, but aomething happened. Why did it do that? Why cast him into pain like that?

“Goodbye.” He said, as he pulled his hand back to throw the trinket away.

As he hit the apex of his throw, the moment in which he opened his hand. The trinket changed.

On it’s own it changed it’s shape and snaked his way through his fingers, tracing down the back of his hand and down to his wrist where it formed a large silver bracelet.

It took him a moment to realize what had happened, he felt the cold metal smash against his wrist. He blinked as confusion and moderate fesr gripped him.

In a flurry of panic he struggled to pull the band off. Pulling wildly, the band only tightened more against his wrist. It got so tight that he could the blood being cut off from his hand.

“Alright..! Alright..” he panted, letting go of the band. “You win this round you stupid thing.”

The band expanded outwards slowly, like it was slow to trust Francis’s words of surrender. The band started to cool against his now enflamed wrist, like it was caressing it. Trying to make peace.

“I guess I’m stuck with you for now.”

Shaking the ache of wrist away, he pushed himself up off the muddy ground. He looked like a proper commoner now, covered in dirt and grime. He likely even smelled like one now after being out in the rain for so long.

He heard a scream from around the corner, he guessed it was that girl again. Likely the soldier was showing her what he wanted from her. He knew he still couldn’t help her, even though it pained him a bit.

On his feet again, he fixed his mishappeb clothes from his fall and pulled his hood back over his head. He held his fist in front of his face, and looked hard at the trinket that was now bound to him. He wasn’t sure what he felt in that moment, magic was dangerous, more so when it was wild. He never had the skill for attunement with most tools, so he chose to keep only a few. Grander magic items were coveted and reserved only for the strongest of practioners and their allies. Much like his pouch, it held a simple but powerful magic within, which is why he stole it in the the first place. The noble he took it from, likely still hadn’t noticed it was even gone yet.

“Don’t. Do. That. Again.” He said to the trinket

From a moment he could’ve sworn he heard a quiet sigh in response. He squinted his eyes and dismissed the thought. He clenched his fist and placed i back on his blade. The cold leather felt soothing in his hand, in little ridges giving a familiarity that calmed him a bit.

Taking off again, he began his trudging walk out of the city. Weariness biting at him.

He was jarred again as the trinket pulled at him, causing him to a stop mid step as his hand was forcfully pulled away from his blades hilt. He felt his muscles and sinew shriek in shock at the sudden pull.

“What now you infernal thing?!?!”

He grabbed his other hand around it, holding it tight. He wasn’t actively pulling it off persay. More he was holding it tight, like a ill-trained dog who was acting out and needed to be kept in line.

As if the bracelet now understood him, it switched from it’s strong pull, into a slow pulse of pulls. No longer pulling, it felt like it was trying to point him somewhere.

It was gestering back the way he come, back where the woman and soldier were. He couldn’t fathom why, that was the wrong direction for escape. The pull continued, trying to guide him back in the direction he came.

In a moment of clarity he understood.

“No.” He said to the bracelet. “There is no reason to put myself at risk for that.”

The object became more insistent, pulling him a little harder and a little faster with it’s pulses.

“I said… NO.” Francis replied, he began pulling his wrists back, fighting against the incessant pull.

The two forces struggled against eachother. Francis for a moment thought of how silly he must look. Holding his wrist the way he was and somehow struggling against his own arm. He imagined how silly he must look, it reminded him of one of those Jester’s who would pretend to be trapped in invisible boxes.

Despite his struggle, he felt himself laugh at the absurdity of the situation he was caught in. He let go and took one step the other direction, letting his arm go slack. The object kept his arm easily, as it counter pulled.

“Okay… so if I kill him… then we can go..?”

A few moments passed with no response. Surrendering to the absurdity he grasps the hilts on his waist and walked back through the muck into the danger he just avoided.

——————

Rounding back around the corner quietly, he looked where the two had been only a few minutes ago. They were gone now. And the rain had washed away any evidence of which way they had gone, blending in completely with the hundreds of other footprints and scuffs along the deteriorating path.

The bracelet seemed to know.

It was only lightly pulsing now, it’s insistency gone. It was pulling now to the left, down a side alley. Without a word he went down the path as quietly as he could in the heavy rain. He uses the tips of his toes with each step to avoid too much sound. After a minute, he finally heard them.

“Please sir just stop…” the girl said softly

Francis peaked his head around the corner and saw them. The soldier has his back turned, pieces of his heavy armor laid around him. His still had his heavy greaves on along with his breastplate. His long polerm leaning against one of the delapitated buildings.

The soldier stopped for a moment, and lifted the girl’s chin up so she could look him in the eyes. Even from the distance he was at, he could see the terror in her eyes. She clutched at her rags, holding her arms tight to her chest, the rain making her shiver. Her matted hair clung to her face and neck.

“It’s just you and I now little girl.” He said removing another piece of his armor, his other had still under her chin.

Francis felt a measure of disgust as his stomach turned. A small flash of anger gripped him for a moment, he wasn’t sure why. Things like this had never bothered him before so why now?

He tentavily took some steps forward, keeping low. He controlled his breathing in a tempered and slow cadence. A single sound or mistep, could make this much harder then it needed to be. He was most concerned about the girl.

Not her persay, but still her reaction. She was completely focused on the soldier, but like before, if she saw him and her expression changed. The soldier would notice. Francis was confident he could take the unarmed glorified guard, but a man with his back turned was far easier to kill than a man who was ready to fight.

Creeping closer, Francis was only ten feet away now. As he was taking another step he felt the trinket vibrated slightly, not enough to make any noise. He listened to it and instinctively stopped. The soldier cocked his head slightly and partly turned around, for a moment it looked like he had looked directly at Francis. He felt is stomach drop.

But then the soldier turned away in the same moment, focusing back on the girl.

That was far closer then he would’ve liked. He guessed the dark shadows had concealed him just enough to not be noticeable. Scattered flames from other buildings on fire was the only light be cast around, which was playing hell Francis’s night-vision, so it made sense that others were also struggling.

Francis supposed he was lucky that this goon didn’t have darksight.

“We.. are to have so much fun little girl.” The soldier had removed the last of his gear, his sword hilt falling to the ground. He began working on his trousers.

The soldier was distracted as he was going to be.

Francis lunged inward closing the distance. With a familiar strike he plunged one blade into the kidney of the man on his right side. The soldier went stiff as a board, the pain beyond anything he had ever experienced. His whole body was going white with pain, he couldn’t even scream.

Not to prolong the man’s agony, Francis used his other blade to stab the man directly into the heart. He slumped down instantly. Francis used the blades still in the man to guide his corpse down to the ground.

Not a sound had been made.

A clean kill.

Francis felt his steady heart thump in his chest, he never enjoyed killing. A good thief never killed unless absolutely necessary.

And the best ones never killed without profit.

He wipes his blades clean of the sticky red blood on the mans shirt, carefully putting both of then back in their sheathes.

Francis looked down at the girl, her eyes wide. Tears streaking down her face. The race completely soaking her from head to toe. She was shivering, she needed to find shelter. There was only one place he could take her where the estate soldiers would not dare enter.

“On your feet girl.”

She just sits there on her knees shivering, either to scared to move or too cold.

Francis takes out his pouch, changing it’s size. It falls with a loud thunk and makes the girl jump.

He reaches inside, the sound of metal coins clinking in the bag. A few moments later be finds what he was looking for.

Out he brings a heavy black bear pelt. It has been meticulously turned into a large cloak, he put it arounds the shivering girl, tying the knot tight at the neck.

“Thank you.” She says softly

Looking back over at the soldiers belongs, he sorts through the discarded gear trying to find something. The girl stands up and follows Francis. She stands over the man’s body. His blood still bleeding into the wet muck. She takes her foot and pushed his head deeper into the muck. She then starts stomping his head hard, hearing his skull start to crack from the force.

“Feel better girl?” Francis asks, finally finding what he was looking for.

He dumps out the contents of the soldiers coin pouch in one hand, several coppers and a few silvers falling out. He flips the purse inside out, hiding the obvious insignia on it. He refills the bag with the coins, which he then hands to the girl.

She takes it tentatively. Unsure if she wants the soldiers blood money. The bag jingles in her hand as she holds it tight.

Without another word Francis turns and leaves his task done. “No more surprises until I can rid of you.” He says to his bracelet. “Great now I’m talking to it.”

His adjusts his cloak, having shifted with all his movement early. Fatigue continuing to weigh down on him. Each step becoming slow and laborious. His hands holding tight to his blades as before. His senses are begning to dull, he remembers he hasn’t eaten. He can the emptiness of his stomach.

Reaching into one of his tunics pockets he pulls out a few slips of dried pork. He tears into one with his teeth as the salty flsvour fills his mouth.

He can feel her following behind him.

For about ten minutes now the girl had been following him, she was doing her best to stay out of sight. But she lacked the skill. Ever so often he could hear her stumble as her worn shoes would slip on a stone.

A corner was approaching, he picked up his pace and darted quickly around it. He leaned up against the wall and waited the few seconds for her to catch up.

She practically jumped out of her shoes when she sae him standing against the wall waiting for her. In the dull light Francis could see that she had fallen a few times, the bear pelt had patches of mud on her shoulders and thighs.

“Why are you following me girl?”

She didn’t answer, simply standing there, she stared at him intently. She wanted something, she had the gleam in her eye. Francis thought giving her the coins would’ve been plenty for her to scurry away to whatever hovel she lived it.

Apparently not.

“You’re tryng to escape the city… aren’t you…?” She asked, her voice a little louder that before

Francis didn’t answer, sizing the girl up. He supposed that she thought he would be safer than trying to head home. Assuming she had one anymore.

“I can’t help you anymore girl. Go home.”

“Your the one their looking for.”

“Oh? And what makes you say that?”

“Before that… before he cornered me. His partner stabbed my father in the deck… he never even asked him anything. He just killed him.”

Francis felt a wave of pity, poor labourers like them never had any weapons or skills. So everyone just took what they wanted from them, and of course just killed them when the desire arose.

The girl stepped directly in front of Francis, looking him the eye for the first time.

“After my father fell to the ground, the one back there told him that the one they’re looking for is young. And carrying some sort of magic item.”

Damnit. He was careless.

This is why he suppressed his conscience. It put him at risk when he interfered. He contemplated killing this girl on the spot, or tying her up in some corner and leaving the fates to sort her out.

The girl must’ve sensed his change in demeanor.

“I don’t want anything else from you, just take me to the Faithhold and I never say you.”

“Why there? You a Sister or something?”

“None of your business… look… we’re walking in that direction anyway. Just make a quick detour and take me there.” She took a step forward, closing the distance between the two of them.

“I owe you nothing girl.”

Francis turned to leave, feeling the bracelet vibrate in objection.

“Please!” The girl screamed loudly.

Francis spun around and in one fluid motion put a blade to her throat. He listened for the sounds of soldiers in the commotion of the city.

“Do. Not. Do. That. Again.” Holding the knife tight to her exposed neck, he was careful not to cut her. Lest the would get infected and become septic.

He sheathed his knife and started walking again, he could hear the girl clumsily try to keep up with him.

Unlike his, hers were erratic as she tried to match his pace in the unforgiving mud.

As the two walked, they witness all manor of atrocities. Nearing the Faithhold, they saw bodies mutilated. They heard people begging for mercy, before their cries were cut short. Every small river of water from the rain was mixing with blood.

Fires towered high as they consumed buildings. To the west stood the market district, he could hear intermittent explosions as magical cargo ignited. Bright colours of green, blue, and purple shot into the sky, their plumes of smoke pillowing into the night.

The most oppressive sounds was the bells.

From every direction they wrung constantly, their purpose to warn of a danger that was now almost impossible to avoid. Their purpose now corrupted they acted like a taunt, casting those trapped in the city into despair at the city burned to the ground.

“Fuck.”

Another patrol lay ahead, they were becoming more frequent. It was getting harder to avoid them. Whats worse that these one’s were cleaner, a bad sign.

Unlike the other soldiers he’d be seeing; these ones had properly buffed armor and clean tunics. Their weapons even had the gleam of fresh oil.

“What do w-…” the girl started to say, Francis put his hand over her mouth

Francis stared at the soldier intently, even in the dark he could see their level of confidence. These men were used to being challenged, and used to winning those challenges.

In the distance he could just make out the towers of the Faithhold, and just beyond lay the river. His goal.

Still with his hand over the girls mouth, he pressed her up against he wall.

“Are you afraid of heights?” Francis asked

He did not wait for answer and he tapped both of his feet against the ground, one after the other.

Picking up the girl in his arms he jumped and blazed a trail up the side of the building. With a powerful jump, he pushed his legs upwards and landed on the buildings roof, the clay tiles made a loud sharp sound as their weight broke a few.

“Check over there.” One of the guards commanded to the others, each one sparking flame in their hands as they left their post

Acolyte Practitioners? This was getting worse by the minute, with the girl still in his arms, he made a path as efficiently as he could over the rooftops. He had to use the boots full ability at times, completely jumping off empty air to clear the jumps that were too far.

He wasn’t going to make it to the outer wall of the Faithhold. He had maybe two or three hard-air jumps left in his boots before they were exhausted. The girl in his arms was getting heavier, his stamina was close to done.

Then it happened.

He felt his boot slip on the already slick roof tiles, he felt his body shift hard sideways as gravity pulled him down towards the slanted roof. A thousand thoughts transpired as he felt himself fall, all of them concluded that he could save himself.

If he just let the girl go.

For a moment he considered it, as they tumbled, frozen in that second of time. They caught each others eyes, he saw into her, and she saw into him.

Strangers.

People that held no allegiance to the other. They no reason to trust one another, and no reason to want to. He felt something stir within him, something foreign and demanding. Like a plea from the dark it pulled him inexorably towards a choice he had so carefully avoided his whole life.

He refused to let her go, as he prepared for that fall that would certainly injury him. He had no tricks left, no magic items, no hidden skills.

He would hit the lower tiles on his side, the slickness of them would slide him and her off the rooftop.

If he could plunge both of his blades into the clay tiles he could control his momentum and stop his fall.

But that required both of his hands, one would not be strong enough to stop both of them from slipping off.

Thinking quickly he let himself fall flat against the tiles, the combined weight breaking some of the tiles. The picked up speed as they slipped closer to the edge.

The girl started flailing and screaming.

He held her tight in his arms.

They had one chance at this.

The metal gutter catch. If he could time in correctly he could redirect them over to the adjacent building across the small street. The timing needed to be perfect.

Down below he could hear the scrambling and yells of soldiers. They had heard the damn girl’s screaming.

A thin bolt of fire shot overhead as one of the Acolytes cast a shot at them. It was wild and collided with a building the street over.

“Well that explains the fires”, Francis thought to himself.

He kept his legs only slightly bent, he leaned their weight forward and tucked his head in.

He felt his heels hit the gutter and bend under the force, he kicked, as hard as he could and lunged both of them forward.

They weren’t going to make it.

If it was just him, then he maybe could have made it.

Only partway through the jump, he could tell the distance was too far. As his eyes saw the edge of the roof fall beneath his eyesight.

In desperation or maybe dispair, he reached out his hand towards the building. Hoping against hope that his grip would find something to hold onto to.

Moments stretched on as he realized they would hit the ground, likely meeting death.

His senses dulled as the girls screaming overwhlemed his hearing. At some point she had had come out of his arm and embraced his chest, holding her right arm over his shoulder. Holding tight to him she could feel her salty tears mixed the rain and fall down the side of his neck.

Francis had toyed with Death his entire life, each time denying it it’s prize. This felt different, the pressure of the world bore down on him. He didn’t want to give up, to give in, but he was out of options and out of tricks.

In a last defiance of hope, he held his arm out to the sky. Hoping for a miracle. His breathing slowed, and he closed his eyes to the inevitable.

Then it happened.

The bracelet shot to life, in a brilliant moment of magic, it shot itself out from his wrist in a long knitted rope. Gripping tight to his forearm the bracelet found it’s mark in the brickwork of the building, anchoring his fall the pair swung into the side of the building.

His eyes shot open in surprise, he instinctively wrapped his hand around the cool metal rope. It felt warm in his hand. He felt the pull against her arm, the sudden jolt in his shoulder as their fate was redirected.

Like a well laid plan Francis used his boots to break through one of the upper level windows. The pair rolled hard inside the upper dwelling as shards of glass exploded around the room.

The two had landed on their back, Francis just lay there for a moment. The pair breathing heavily, they lay there for several moments.

Both shocked that they were somehow still alive

“This has been such a strange day.” He said

The girl said nothing, simply clutching him tightly. Her head burrowing into his. Her matted hair clung to the side of her face, it the dull light she looked beautiful in a sad way.

The bed next to them had two elderly citizens in their nightwear, both looking shocked at the arrival of unexpected visitors. A dull lantern next to the man illuminating their tired faces.

“Up there! Move now!” Shouts could be heard from outside the window

The girl shot up off him, with Francis finding his feet a second later. She scurried around the apartment looking for a door. In the far corner she found one and pointed.

Francis took the lead again and forced the door to the hall open, he took a right and sprinted down the corridor. He could hear the lighter taps of the girl trying to keep pace behind him.

Francis was somewhat amazed at her tenacity, at her willingness to survive. She didn’t choose any of this but she kept going refusing to give up.

Not bad for a lowborn like him.

The end of the corridor was coming up fast, a window at the end. Behind him he could hear the telltale sounds of men in armour running. Their yells getting louder, outside the window he could see more fire being cast high into the air. Like small suns they illuminated the night sky, bringing light to the darkened streets.

Francis looked back and saw that the girl was about 15 steps behind him. Loud steps could be heard coming up from behind him, a stairwell at the far end of the corridor. Tightening his gait his jumped and burst through the far window, landing in a crouch on the flat upper roof. Far ahead of him he could see the the wall of the Faithhold.

The girl landed behind him, her breath ragged and quick. She leaned her arm on his back, trying to steady her beating heart. As Francis stood up, he pointed forward and the two took off running again.

“Can you jump girl?”

“Yes!” She answered

“Then don’t miss.”

Francis boots thudded off the smoothed wood shingles as he sprinted. Down below Acolytes flew more fire at the pair. Francis was happy they were lower-tier practitioners who could only wield one affinity type. Lightning on this rainy night would prove far more deadly than fire.

As they were getting close to the end, one of the Acolytes purposefully fired at the upper apartments, it exploded in an inferno and ripped open. Shards of glass and burning wood erupted in every direction.

Francis stopped quickly hopping back and catching the girl, her speed would have sent her directly into a fiery demise if he had not. He pulled his cloak over both of them to dull the flames as the swirl around them.

Before them lays a single singed support beam connecting the two sides of the now exploded rooftop.

Francis looks at the girl who says her head wildly. He grabs her hand and pulls her along as they shimmy across the damaged beam.

More fire hurls past them.

Francis thanked the stars that they had no idea how to aim they’re magic. He surmised the building strike must just have been a fluke. He hoped that fire didn’t strike the same place twice as lightning had be known to.

As they balanced precariously over the dark nothing below them, the board creaked and groaned under their combined weights. Slick from the rain his boots struggled to find their grip.

The girl lost her footing so quickly, she clutched tight to his hand and brought him down with her. He landed hard on his chest covering the beam, now bending even more under the strain.

The girl may have seemed small before but they was when her entire weight wasn’t being put on his left shoulder.

“This is really not how I saw my evening going…” he groaned and grunted

As the beam continued to bend, small splinters of burnt wood snapped out from it. It creaked and moaned in anguish as it slowly bent. The fires had spread to the floors below, a small inferno licking at the girls feet. She screamed at gripped his wrist tighter with both hands. His shoulder felt like it was going to be ripped out of its socket, his other arm wrapped around the burned beam trying to stay steady.

He had no idea what he could do, trapped in this impossible situation.

He wanted to let her go, he could push himself up then and make a break for it. With her full weight pulling on his arm, that would prove difficult. He couldn’t even muster the strength to shake her loose.

Another bolt of fire flew past him, it’s heat blistering and bright. It’s light blinding him for a moment as his mind raced.

As before he felt the bracelet shift, becoming a liquid state it snaked it’s way up his arm and trailed down his back, it came out just below his boot and held true to his leg just above his boot.

As he watched it intently, he thought it was abandoning him. After all the trouble it caused, finally deciding to turn tail and run.

Unable to do anything now, he closed his eyes shut and waited for a fire ball. He felt his grip tighten around the girls wrist.

They were falling, it happened so quickly.

The feeling of becoming weightless as your stomach lurched up into your throat. The pressure of realization, like your soul vibrating against it’s shell.

Time drags on for an eternity as your mind searches desperately for a way to save itself.

Something was off.

They were turning, instead of falling straight down. Somehow they were being turned forward. Gravity shifting forward as their weight pulled against the damaged beam.

He shot his eyes down to his feet and understood.

The object.

It had severed the beam behind them, allowing them to fall in a more controlled manner. Francis gripping the beam tight held on as they flew forward. Just ahead was a run down apartment of some less nobleman. Now far less noble looking they both tumbled into the destroyed room, landing somewhat softly on silk carpets.

Somehow the girl had rolled and landed on top of him again.

“You know there is an entire room for you to land in. Well half a room.” He said to her

She simply scowled and pushed off with a grunt.

“It’s not like I did it on purpose.” She answers as she stands up brushing herself off.

Arrows break the silence as many hit the plump cushions and fine livery. The telltale sounds of crossbows being reloaded can be heard from below.

Francis scans the room quickly for a door or window they can use. A broken balcony door can be seen on the opposite side of the room. He pushes up and rushes towards it, the girl following close behind.

Francis bashes the broken door with his shoulder and it give way to the large balcony outside.

As he rushes through he hears the girl behind him wince in pain and fall to her knees. Holding her side he can see a piece of spintered wood protruding from her side. She pulls her hand away to revel thick blood covering her hand.

She starts to collapse and he catches her by the legs, swiftly picking her up in his arms. She protests in small screams of pain.

More arrows fly past them, with yet more fireballs haphazardly being thrown. They were getting smaller, with some fizzling out just past his vision in the rain.

The Acolytes were in the same position as he was, worn down and desperate.

As his legs screamed at him in exhaustion, his heavy boots clunking on the upper landing. The Faithhold wall lay ahead. Too tall to jump, and too slick to climb.

He needed a leap or faith.

He looked down at the bracelet still clinging tight to his wrist. It was hot now, vibrating strongly against his skin. It’s form shifting in waves, like it was struggling to hold it’s shape against him.

“I hope you got one more in you, cause if you don’t.”

He looked down to his right at the long fall down.

“Well I won’t have much time to think about it.”

He pushed hard in the final steps and jumped.

The wall was ten feet above him, there was no way he could make it. He knew that when he jumped.

He was out of options and he just jumped, leaving his fate in the hands of an object of all things.

Francis hated being out of control, hated being beholden to someone or something else.

In the moments before he would feel himself fall down to the cobblestones below. He wondered why he had so thoughtlessly acted this way, why he suddenly cared.

As time slowed down, he felt different somehow. Like a wall inside him had started to come down. A warmth in his core that had spread throughout his chest.

He felt trust. In something other that himself.

The object moved impossibly fast, wrapping a thick band around his torso. Two thin ropes shot out from either side plunging deep in the dense stones of the Faithhold. With tremendous force he felt his neck snap back as he and the girl were hurled upwards above the wall.

More arrows and bolts of fire were hurled at them, he felt the feathers of an arrow pass by the nape of his neck as he was pulled upwards.

Gracefully, Francis landed on his feet. He felt the object slither back into place on wrist. It’s touch now cold and lifeless.

“All tuckered out? Me too friend.”

“Who are… you talking to…?” The girl asked

“Save your strength girl.”

“Amelia.”

“What?”

“My name is Amelia, not girl.” She said barely above a whisper

“Francis.” He replied

Francis quickly made his way down the steps below to one of the inner courtyards. Lit torches littered the walls, giving the area a serene glow that was contrast to the city outside.

Something was off, they should have seen someone by now. With the city burning, the Faithhold should be on high alert. Yet there was no one, no sentries or the Faithful to be seen anywhere.

He trusted his gut, he moved to stand in the middle of the square.

“The woman in my arms is in need of care, I come bearing a donation to All-Seeing-Eyes.”

His words echoed off the cold stones, yet no one came. Only the rain hitting the ground and the sounds of terror outside the walls could be heard. Amelia’s breathing had become laboured, her grip on his arm had loosened.

“Please. I come to ask for kindness for one not of my blood.”

Nothing.

“She does not deserve to die for my sins… of which their are many…”

Francis raised his voice loud to the seemingly empty courtyard.

They were there he knew it, surrounding them. But they waited for something. He heard the silent steps of at least three, practitioners of the Black Sun, able to cloak themselves in darkness and move like shadows.

“What does one do… in a place of.. worship…” Amelia said through her ragged breaths

He lowered himself down to the ground, one knee at a time. The hardened stoned biting at his knees.

He lifted his neck up to the sky, staring at the heavy clouds above him.

“May the Mother of Mercy grant us her divinity, Sisters..”

Francis said, closing his eyes tight

He never heard them move.

He only felt the sharpness of blades against his throat. Three he believed, one at the nape and two and the sides of his exposed neck.

“May the Father of Understanding guide you to your truth, Brother…”

Opening his eyes his saw a Sister of the Faith standing over him, her thin curved dagger was directing at his larynx. He scanned his surroundings and saw four more standing behind her, clad entirely in their familiar black robes, their faces shrouded with magic.

Further back he could see seven others. Brothers in leather service armor over their white garments. Each one had a bow drawn at aimed at him. Flicking his ears he could sense at least another ten somewhere behind him.

High alert indeed.

“She needs help.”

Amelia’s breathing had slowly even more, he could feel the slickness of her blood on his hands. Francis felt a mix of genuine concern for her and a need to use her to get out the mess he had gotten himself into.

“Brother Nastor.” The sister called

One of the Archers to his left, stowed his bow of his chest and jumped down with a loud thud. As he approached he took off a set of white gloves. As he got closer in the dull light, Francis could see that his hands were covered with heavy burn scars.

A healer.

They were exclusive practitioners for the Faithholds. One of the few lucky born were always brought to become a Brother or Sister. As babies they were either given willingly or taken by force. Their abilities so diverse and useful that in ancient times entire countries would fight to control them. Agreements had been made by the Royalties that they would belong exclusively to the local Chapter and been raised by their doctrine. Though this didn’t stop interested parties from claiming such power if they believed they could. It was a penultimate ability, any wound could be mended, a limb severed could be reclaimed, they could even reverse aging.

But the cost of such magic burned heavy upon it’s bearer.

Francis watched as the veins on the man’s hands begin to glow a bright red, water droplets hitting them turning instantly to steam. Even from several feet away he could feel the radiating heat, like a dry bonfire. He could see the Brother grit his teeth and tighten his face in a grimace of pain. His dull eyes focused on containing his power.

One of the sisters pulled apart of the fabric at her side, and quickly pulled out the small splinter, she screamed in pain. Francis still holding Amelia in his arms watched as the Brother’s very hot hands touched her skin, the smell of burning meat as his hands were being cooked by his ability.

Yet as he touched her, Amelia didn’t scream. She relaxed into his arms as the wound closed up. Leaving a small patch of scaring in it’s wake. It could be mistaken for a birthmark if one didn’t look too hard.

Francis was amazed, never before seeing a gifted healer ply the craft. Francis found himself being envious that he was born without the skill for attunement.

Amelia had passed out from exhaustion, her breathing had returned to a steady slow rhythm. Francis felt himself sink down further into his knees knowing that she would be okay.

Two of the sisters came forward and took her from his arms, carrying her carefully between the two of them.

Francis was about to object when the Sister in front of him spoke.

“She will be a safe in our care.”

Francis watched as Amelia was carried away by the Sister’s with the Healer Brother following close behind. Steam was still coming off his hands. He saw Amelia raise her hand slightly, almost like she was saying goodbye.

“Words spoken by the Faithful are sacred… are they not?” Francis asked

“They are… Now… we have questions.”

“You saved her, and although I do not know why I care. I thank you for this… kindness. Ask your questions Sister…?”

“Sister Nadine, Lower Sixth of the Order of the Maiden.”

“Francis.” He answered feeling somewhat inferior to her lofty titles

Her felt the point of Sister Nadine’s blade, still at his larynx, push forward slightly. The tip of her blade puncturing his skin. The other two blades from the sisters behind him stayed where they were. He was at their mercy, there was no need for them to act at all.

“Why is the damnable Lord Stanton burning our city?”

Francis was about to answer when he felt the point to her blade push slightly further, a prick of pain mixed with the knowing feeling of blood trickling out of his wound. She would not give him time to think or to lie. As the Sisters were fond of their parables; ‘The Truth sets you Free.’

“I was hired to raid his vault this very evening. I succeeded and now bring his wealth to you as both an offering and a donation.”

Sister Nadine stood like a statue, appraising him. Her face still shrouded in that inky void of black. Her cocked slightly to the side, if he didn’t know any better he could swear she was smiling in amusement under her cowl.

“You seem to be a bit… light. In regards to treasure. Perhaps it is metaphorical treasure?”

A few of a brothers were heard snickering, there low chuckles echoing in the quiet courtyard. Francis simply felt annoyance.

He boldly and slowly lowered his right hand to reach into his tunic, he kept eye contact with Sister Nadine as he did so. If he was to die, she would be the one to do it. As the tips of his fingers reached into his inner pocket, he felt a soft yet forceful hand grasp his wrist to stop him.

“Really?” Francis said

The person paid him no mind and pulled out his pouch, they tossed it to Sister Nadine who caught it in her palm. She palmed it tightly as she tossed it into the air a bit above her hand before catching it. For a moment, Francis thought he heard her laugh.

“The great Lord Stanton facing some sort of poverty that we do not know about? Or is this the coin purse of some fine noble who swooned at your smile? Actually… you know what? Why don’t you keep it, you’ll need something to pay the ferryman when you cross the river…”

The Sister pulled her blade away from his larynx and tossed back his pouch. He massaged the wound at his neck, still feeling the sting of her blade.

“Don’t kill me when it happens.”

“When what happe-…”

As he pulled the strings back on his pouch in multiplied in size, completely filling the space between him and the Sister Nadine. He felt the blades at his neck tighten for a moment, or maybe that was simply his anxiety playing tricks on him.

Sister Nadine took a half jump backwards, her stature changing to that of a defensive posture with her legs bent low and her arms crossed. She quickly changed back to her relaxed position, but the damage had been done.

He heard the sound of a bow being released.

He started to reach down to his blades, a habit. Even though he knew he could never intercept the arrow in time before it would strike him.

To the right.

Too late.

As the shot arrow moved to hit his shoulder, one of the Sisters behind him lunged out her hand. Catching the arrow firmly at its sharpened tip. The metal head peaking out past her palm. The thick blacked shaft dripping with rain look menacing in the dull light.

Sister Nadine simply turned around.

“Sister forgive me I didn’t me-…”

“You are dismissed.” Sister Nadine replied, her words dripping with venom

The Brother slung his bow over her shoulder, he bowed deeply with a fist to his heart and left through a far archway. The remaining Brothers shifted positions on the parpet to close the gap, their bows still drawn tight.

Sister Nadine took a step forward towards the now enlarged pouch, her fingers started pulling at the now larger strings keeping it tied together. Several times she tried to force it open, each time the simple know would not give way. She was getting frustrated, Francis watched her stand tall and she huffed behind her mask.

“It will only open for me.”

“You lack the skill for attunement… how is this item bound to you?” She lifted her blade slightly, twisting her wrist at the hilt. A warning.

Francis knew that if he told her the truth she would simply take the pouch from him. She was correct he lacked the skill for attunement, so the pouch should yield to anyone. During his youth he learned how to steal from the simple less wealthy nobles, they had learned how to keep their coin purses safe to their belts; with some trick knots or looped chains.

“It. Will only open for me Sister.”

His voice deep and demanding, a ploy to scrape back some control from this dangerous situation.

A gamble, a trick. All the old games become new again if you wait long enough. If the pouch was somehow attuned to him, then it would rebel violently if someone tried to force it open. Francis just hoped the Sister was as superstitious and over cautious as the other Chapters of the continent. Given to their beliefs of hidden gods and vengeful demons, it made them easier to manipulate if you were bold enough.

Sister Nadine nodded her head upwards, Francis felt the two blades at his neck pull back. Her heard the telling sound of spears being thudded down against the cold stone. His muscles relaxed, he unknowingly had them tensed up like a cat ready to flee or fight. More exhaustion bit at him and he couldn’t help a loud yawn escape his lips.

“Are we boring you sir?”

“Not at all Sister, it’s been a long night.”

Feeling free to do so Francis grasped the now larger strings of his pouch, setting to work to undo the trick knots. Being careful he set to undo the knots one at time. He had to be methodical but clever, he periodically mumbled some gibberish as he went, to keep the Sister guessing.

“You never disarmed me.”

“Did we need to?”

Francis supposed not, the overwhelming force of the Faithhold was aimed on keeping him compliant. And this was just one of the courtyards. This chapter may be smaller than others, no more than fifty or so members, with likely only one Bishop to manage it. He likely could take one or two of the Sisters with their larger weapons, it was the Brother’s and their arrows that would prove most difficult.

Paying them was easier.

With the last knot undone, he opened the pouch with a flourish and took several steps back, letting his hands disappear under his cloak. If they were going to make a move on him now is the time.

As Sister Nadine looked through the treasure trove of loot before her, the two sisters behind him took their place at each of his side. Spears still standing tall beside them, their intricate silver markings of their Order danced along the blades. Immaculate carvings of sigils and glyphs were along thick shafts, in them middle was well worn black leather from repeated use.

Francis knew better than to judge their seemingly ceremonial weapons harshly, these were weapons tried and true. Taken care of meticulously day after day despite their repeated use in combat. The tempered steal of their blades having endured continuous clashes against wood, stone, and steal.

These were Warrior’s weapons.

Sister Nadine looking satisfied, took several forward around the pouch until she was face to face with Francis. He unconsciously tightened his grip on the hilts of his blades, he detected no ill intent from her, but her proximity was alarming. His cloak still kept his hands hidden, as seconds passed with her standing in front of him, the only sounds he could hear were the raindrops hitting his hood.

“Your donation has been offered… and accepted.”

“However… the transgression of breaching our holy place… good intent or not. Must be met with consequences.” She said

He had hoped the vast sum of wealth he dumped on them would be enough to buy his way out. A bad assumption, his thinking was all over the place tonight.

In response to his anxiety he felt the now familiar warmth of the bracelet locked to his wrist.

He found it comforting now, like an ally watching his back.

He never had one of those before.

Sister Nadine thumped her spear twice on the ground, the other Sister’s did the same in response.

“Marc’ella!” Sister Nadine yelled loudly

Cheers and hollers rose among the ranks of the faithful as a Sister, much smaller than the rest materialized from behind. Instead of the heavy robes that the others were wearing, she had on tight black leather. The leather had been very well used, old slash marks and frayed thread were prominent throughout her armor. The midsection had some obvious stab points from both spears and daggers, mismatched leather straps were holding the armor together against her slender form.

What surprised Francis the most, was her face. It wasn’t hidden like the rest. Instead of a shrouded form, he saw her. She was a young beauty, likely only a little younger than him. Black as night hair was braided behind her in a thick single piece. She had a thin old scar cut through her eyebrow and down to her cheek. Her pale skin was dotted with freckles concentrated around her nose. Her pale blue eyes starred at him with a fierce intensity.

“Two minutes.” Sister Nadine said as she turned and walked away.

Marc’ella smiled and drew two daggers from their sheaths along her thighs. She crossed her arms in front of her in a defensive pose.

The two Sisters behind Francis removed his cloak, the cold night chill surrounding him. He tested the grips on his blades, pulling them a little out of their sheaths before putting them back down.

Sister Nadine took her place on one of the steps beneath a large wooden door, two others took their place standing beside her. Off to her left, three others Sisters were removing his plunder from his pouch, placing them under an awning, Francis felt his stomach turn at the sight.

The Brothers on the upper landing had slung their bows over their shoulders and had formed a circle around a table, throwing down small wooden chits of some sort while seemingly making wagers.

“Prayers and Chores.” Marc’ella said

“What?”

“We are forbidden to own belongings or money, to have these things diminishes our faith and our oaths. So we trade in the only thing we can have; Prayers and Chores.”

“That’s a creative loophole.”

One of the brothers threw down a handful of chits, some had white strips and others black. The others brothers started laughing and clapping their hands on the young brother. He shook them off and placed his hands on the railing of the upper landing, his gaze fixed on Francis.

“I’ll try not to let you down kid.” Francis muttered

He rolled back both of his shoulders, pulling them back behind him he felt the stretch in his chest. He did the same with his legs, pulling them up to his backside. He twisted his midsection to the left and to the right. Finally, he rolled his neck, feeling it crack slightly. He took a deep slow breath, and drew his daggers.

He held them the proper way, with the hilts facing down his forearms. He outstretched his dominant arm forward, a slight bend in the elbow, he tensed his muscles forcing blood into them. His other arm kept a low guard, he kept closer to midsection, protecting his vital areas. On both blades he curled and uncurled his fingers, feeling the wet grips wrapped around his cold fingers.

Two brothers had setup four distinct torches next to Sister Nadine on her left. They were unlit until the Sister flicked her hand and set them all alight.

“Begin.”

Marc’ellla moved fast, pushing hard off her back leg lunging toward him. Francis took an involuntary back step, a move he knew was wrong. She lunged her blade forward at him, aiming for his chest. His forward arm parried the attack, it was easy to push it away, she had no weight behind it.

Her other blade came slicing upward from below, Francis simply tilted his body backwards to avoid the strike. He could feel the force of air as the blade almost sliced his chin.

Francis counter attacked with a midsection slash, a quick slice, he felt his sharp blade contact the surface of the leather.

She was smiling.

She hooked her leg around his, using her weight she pulled himself over at him. Her partied blade coming back for a stab at his neck.

Francis head butted her squarely on the nose, her momentum broken, her leg slackened. Her dominant hand’s blade aimed for a shoulder stab, even in her disoriented state, she knew enough to use her other leg to push off of him, creating distance.

She tucked into a roll and elegantly came back to her feet in a swift motion, the sight of blood running down her nose.

Francis wasn’t used to direct fighting in the normal sense that a warrior like her was used to. He learned through back alley brawls and fighting in darkness against unaware foes. Playing dirty was how he had survived.

Some of the brothers on upper landing threw down boos and cheers at them as their first exchange concluded. Francis was trying to break her nose, but it looked intact in the dim light. Probably just burst some capillaries, she must’ve leaned her neck back at the point of impact, that or she had a really tough nose.

Francis knew he was outmatched, she trained everyday to be a Sister, to be a weapon of the Faith. A normal person would’be yelped when they recieved that kind of pain. But not her, her thin lipped smile played at her face. She was enjoying herself.

Francis took the initiative and moved forward, he brought his offhand blade down from above forcing her to either parry or block. Once she started to move, he dropped down low and moved for a sweeping kick aimed at her knee. She backstopped effortlessly and moved both of her blades down in a sweeping motion.

Francis flicked his dominant hand off a puddle on the ground splashing water up into her face, she blinked and sputtered back. Her motion still going forward, Francis pushed up his legs and punched a hard jab across the chin.

She was off balance and Francis pressed his advantage, bringing his knee up into her stomach. He heard the sound of ribs being broken from the force. His offhand caught her braid on the dull side of his blade and he pulled down hard exposing her neck.

He moved his other hand up quickly to end this. Aiming at her throat he aimed not to kill, but to yield. Francis needed to end this quickly, already his breathing was quickened by the fast combat.

Marc’ella was still smiling.

Her legs wrapped around his midsection, using his own momentum against him. The two started to fall back, now face to face, Marc’ella used a two finger punch to aim for one of his eyes.

It was close, Francis turned his head to one side to avoid the strike, her fingers collided with his cheekbone. The pain hurt like lightning, his vision blurred as the pain ripped through his body.

Marc’ella and Francis impacted on the ground, she arched into a roll and using her hips pushed Francis over her. He went flying end over end before landing on his back, the wind almost being knocked out of him.

Marc’ella reacted first flipped over on her stomach and lunging forward on the ground to try to stab Francis. He brought his arm up to block just barely in time. Marc’ella lunged with the other blade, Francis shifted the weight of his body against her held arm, causing her to shift in balance and miss.

Francis grabbed her arm and bit into her wrist, the leather armor taste filling his mouth, he never broke the skin. Marc’ella immediately pushed him off and broke away. Giving them both time to get back to their feet.

Francis could see that one of the torches had gone out. He was already feeling the burning in his lungs and throat, his heart hammering against his chest.

His stomach made a loud growling sound as the two squared off for their next round. Chuckles could be heard amidst the cheers of their joyful audience.

“You fight dirty.”

“I fight to survive.”

Marc’ella wiped the drying blood from her nose and mouth, she casually inspected her wrist, a deep set of bite marks were now added to her already battle weathered armor.

She casually twirled both blades in her hands, tossing her braid behind hee back. She still had the annoying thin smile on her face.

“You’re not the only one who likes to play dirty…”

She faded away and her body seemed to become enveloped in darkness. Thin dark swirls of magic frayed and dissolved into nothing, leaving an empty space where she had been. For a moment, Francis could swear he heard some feminine laughter.

“Fuck.”

Francis had no magic to sense her, even his hearing was being drowned out by the constant patter of rain. He lowered his stance and brought up his guard. He felt his ears flick as tension built up in his body.

The sounds of the audience had gone still, all Francis could hear was the hollow hissing of torches, the sounds of his own ragged breathing, and the thumping of his heart pumping blood into his ears.

Giggling.

He was sure he could hear it, at least he thought he could hear it. The cacophony of nothingness was becoming overwhelming as panic threatened to overwhelm him.

Fighting was already something he avoided on instinct, choosing to hide and run. Using his wit and will to outmaneuver any problem that he had to face.

“All this for a fucking girl…”

A flash of pain as the tip of his ear was cut, he winced hard and pulled his head tight into his shoulder. He turned and slashed wildly around him, hoping to contact something. Give him something to attack.

“You fight to survive do you?” Marc’ella asked, his voice grim and sinister. Like a shade from nightmares.

“Well, I fight to win…” she giggled again

She was running now, the sounds of her boots reverberated around the courtyard. The brothers were hollering a little chant of some sort. Francis had too much to focus on, and no enemy to fight. Trapped in a box of stone, he felt like a mouse, waiting for a hawk to swoop down on him.

A slash to his side hit him next, his tunic absorbing most of the impact. Marc’ella was toying with him, reveling in the hunt. She could kill him at any time. Like a predator about to kill it’s prey, she gave in to her bloodlust and bathed in the power she held over him.

His bracelet was vibrating again, but it was different. He felt something slide over his skin, up his arm, and then across his chest. He felt it settle on his other wrist, feeling thinner then it was before. Both bracelets humming, like they were communicating.

The tone changed, they were matching his heartbeat. The synchronizity of it gave him a small measure of calm, like an ally had joined the fight. He clashed his blades together twice, letting the sound fill the courtyard. An admonition of intent and need.

The hiss of another torch going out reached his ears.

Behind him.

He felt pressure on his upper back, like his muscles were preparing for a strike. He turned quick, keeping his lower stance. His eyes were useless, they still could not see her. So he closed them, in the moment, it seemed right.

Right hand up, he felt the tug at his wrist, in a broad slashing motion he struck out at the empty air.

The sounds of metal clashing pierced the silence.

The brothers stopped chanting. Murmurs of confusion and incredulity, if Francis had his eyes open. He would’ve seen Sister Nadine lean forward with interest.

The running trailed off, intermittent steps meant to confuse. Francis could feel his heartbeat slow as the bracelets set the tone, pulsing in time with it. He felt his fingers tight against the hilts of his blades, testing their weight in his palms.

Down.

He slipped down quick into a very low position, his one knee fully bent and his other leg stretched out far to one side. His felt his knees crack at the sudden movement. Above him he heard the sound of blades swinging fast against the air.

Up Right.

Pushing up he tilted his hands and contacted Marc’ella’s invisible blades again. His strength overpowering hers as he pushed her back.

He could hear almost lose balance, the squeak of boots struggling to hold their grip on the wet stones

He heard her growl in frustration.

A flurry of quick strikes shot his way as her anger got the better of her.

Francis deflected them all, under the direction of his new ally. His arms and hands used the smallest of movements, the constant strikes of their blades colliding sounding almost like a song as the two fighters clashed in the courtyard.

Marc’ella dropped her illusions and became visible again. Francis unknowing still had his eyes shut, giving away complete control to the bands at his wrists. She was slashing and stabbing wildly, desperate to land a hit.

“HOW!?!” She snarled

She let out a shriek of force and and pushed a gale of air at Francis. He held his feet tight to the ground as she did so, air was one of easier magic disciplines to master. He was well versed in how an air mage used their magic.

Francis let his eyes open again.

He saw a tired and worn out Marc’ella standing about 10 feet in front of him. Her arms hanging down by her sides as she panted. He knew she wasn’t tired, a warrior like her could fight for hours if she needed to.

No, she was angry. Letting her emotional guards slip. Giving Francis the advantage

“You have no magic… none at all. So how… HOW?!?”

She practically screamed her words at him

“I trained all day yesterday.”

He responded flippantly

“Oh you think you’re cute?!?”

“Little Ella… I’m adorable.”

She screeched and lunged at him. Hands high above her head.

A mistake.

He goaded her in her angered state and she lept at him without thinking, he closed to the distance, taking timed steps forward. Getting inside her defence, he hooked his legs behind hers and let her upper body bounce off of his. With his legs still hooked to her felt back dazed to the ground. Her left hand let go of her blade, it clattered to the ground and slid away.

His pushed his knee down hard into her right arm to keep her down and brought both of his blades to her exposed neck.

“It’s over.”

She barred her teeth at him, angry black swirls of magic was building in her eyes. Preparing to unleash her darkness magic on him. He couldn’t let unleash such magic when he was so close, he would die. She had the intent to kill. He flexed his arms and started to slice.

The sounds of hissing could almost be heard.

“Enough.” Boomed Sister Nadine

Francis felt to arms grips his shoulders, hard. With far greater strength than he expected. The pain was like lightning as it tore into his flesh, he dropped the blade involuntarily as the two Sisters pulled him.

Sister Marc’ella was still angry, she pushed herself up with blade still in hand. With a screech she swung at Francis, now unable to defend himself.

Francis struggled for a moment against the force holding him, seeing the form of Marc’ella come at him.

He was saved by another Sister, as their arm came crashing down across her midsection and hammering her down hard into the ground. Francis thought he heard the sounds of ribs cracking.

“Be still Sister! It is over.” The larger women held her hand against her chest, Marc’ella ceased her thrashing and submitted. Fixing her hateful gaze on Francis. He could see the whites of her knuckles as she gripped her Sister’s arm.

The Sister let Marc’ella up. She grabbed Francis’s dagger and put it back in it’s sheath, she did the same with the other still in Francis’s hand. Like the other’s present, her visage was cast in shadow.

Francis could hear the brothers divide their spoils, by the sounds only a handful took bet on him. He could hear the voice of the familiar brother as he hollered loudly. Francis found himself smiling at both of their good fortune.

The two Sister’s let go of his shoulders, the dull pain seeping into him. He had no doubt a nice pair of bruises were now forming on the shape of handprints. He rolled them back trying to shake away the pain, some new pain was pinching his side, he held it and stretched his aching back.

Sister Nadine gestured him forward, he did so. Standing only a few feet in front of her now. One of the Sister’s who had been pilfering his pouch, brought it back to him, he ran his fingers along the length of one of it’s strings. He coaxed it back down to size as it shrunk down in his hands, doing a simple knot to close it shut.

“Will there be anything else Sister?” Francis asked

“You are a curious one…” she leaned forward, and stood up. The two guards flanking her noticeably tensed up

“Tell me… how did you do that?”

“Do what?”

“Do not plat coy with me rogue, I have not the interest for it. Now answer me.” Sister Nadine demanded

Francis wasn’t really sure how to answer. Not truly knowing himself, for him the whole affair was like being in a fugue state. Like he was dreamwalking while awake, he had heard warriors talk of such things when in the heat of battle. He tensed his dominate hand, feeling the tightness of the bracelet gripping his wrist.

“I’m not truly certain myself, Sister Marc’ella was better and smarter. I had to fight dirty just to stay alive. When she… did whatever it is she did. I thought I was done for, then something just happened? I do not possess magic, nor the predeliction for attunement.”

He locked eyes with the swirling vortex of shadows where Sister Nadine’s eyes would be. He couldn’t mention the bracelet, more questions would be asked. There was arrangement for him to walk free if he survived Marc’ella. He was simply thrown into another situation this evening.

“Or maybe I’m just lucky.”

The silence was loud. He knew he shouldn’t be so flip in these situations, but he liked to gamble on his charm.

“Luck. Is not given, it is made.” She responded. “And the gods always make sure there is a price.”

Francis looked over the hoard of treasure, piled high. Being sorted by the many Sisters, diligently doing their work.

“And is the price accepted Sister?”

“Down.”

Before Francis could react, he was forced down to his knees. The strength of her two bodyguards was obscene, like fighting a mountain. They had his arms pulled out in arm bars. Keeping his he’d cast down as he grunted in pain.

“The price of passage, and care. Are accepted.” She gestured with her hand to one of the smaller doors. It opened on cue, to more sisters clad in black. In the middle, was a woman wearing a gray garment of the same design.

“Our newest Initiate Amelia, is our care.” She continued

Francis struggled to raise his head, the force of the Sisters was immense, holding him immobile. His knees pressing hard into the rough stones.

“Penance is our duty, as you are now hers.”

Unlike the Sisters surrounding her, her face was visible. The grim and sweat of earlier cleaned off to reveal a young beauty. Her eyes look heavy with the wetness of tears being fought.

The group approached as Sister Nadine gave way resuming her seat in her makeshift throne. She reached in between her robes and brought out a pendant of some kind, the other Sisters in attendance did the same. The bodyguards simply held tight and kept their tongues.

“In our Trials…” she said

“We find struggle.” The Sisters and Brothers replied

“In our Vows…”

“We find purpose.”

“In our Sin…”

“We find the Worthy.”

Over and over they chanted, to an annoying degree. Some sort of ritual was being performed, and Francis was seemingly the sacrificial lamb.

He could feel his arms start to go numb with pian as the Sisters still held him tight. He struggled to even feel his fingers, only the tingle of the bracelet at his wrist was an indication that his arm was even still there.

Amelia was right in front of him, with his eyes down he could see her robes covering her feet. The stark white colour in contrast to their darkened surroundings.

“Thank you, I know that doesn’t mean much now. But thank you.” She said

Francis winced as he considered answering, he found it ironic, that the woman he saved would now serve as his executioner. Someone he never would have given a second thought to before, but had, in a moment of weakness, suddenly and inexplicably cared.

The chanting stopped as Sister Nadine raised her hand. The silence overwhelming as seconds passed with just the patter of rain.

“Tonight we welcome an Initiate to our home. She has taken the cloth and must now seal her promise in blood.”

One of the Sister’s behind her stepped to her side, offering her a short curved blade. It sang a sweet melody as Amelia took it out of it’s sheath. Francis could feel his heart thump against his chest as fear of death inched it’s way closer.

He didn’t want to die, his mind searching desperately for someway to get out of this. Some impossible act that would spare his life, nothing reasonable came to him. He turned his head slightly to try to look at his wrist, wondering why his ally had chosen to forsake him and go silent. He considered cursing it, but decided to not draw attention to it. Maybe it planned to act in the last moments.

Francis felt heavy drops of something hot hit the top of his head, the heavy substance was sticky and warm. The smell of iron filling his nostrils.

“With this pact we accept your pledge.” Sister Nadine said. “Now… seal it. And mark your trial.”

Francis felt his head yanked up by his hair, fingers gripping harshly to his hair. He looked up into the eyes of Amelia, he saw his own sadness and fear reflected in hers. She has the blade in her hand, a thin gash on her exposed forearm, blood was dripping from it. The blood was flowing down the hilt and to the blade, a shimmer of heat wrapping around the blade.

Francis’ neck was pulled the side, he groaned in pain. Amelia pulled back his ear and started carving into his skin. He clenched his teeth and tried to squirm away as she etched a sigil of some kind into his skin. The heat of the blade cauterizing the wound as she went. The smell of his own burning flesh mixed with the scent of blood overwhelmed his senses.

Each small cut felt like an eternity, as the tip of the blade sliced up his skin again and again. The piercing pain instantly overshadowed by the burning heat of magic.

He was being marked.

Amelia finished her grotesque task and the hand holding his head let his head drop, he felt relieved as the tension in his neck relaxed and dull pain throbbed in it’s place.

“The trial has been set, and a consequence has been levied. Thus is the justice of our Order.” Sister Nadine boomed her voice through the courtyard.

Amelia put her hand along his face, she bent down on her knees to look him in the eyes. He saw pain and sadness mixed with determination and poise. She hated what she had done, but she seemed to be fixated on it’s completion. Francis at the moment, was just happy to be alive.

“Hopefully we won’t see eachother again… for a long while at least.” She said

“Do me a favour kid… don’t let strange men find you in alleys anymore.” Francis responded

Despite it all he found himself pushing his head into her soft hand, like a dog enjoying the warmth of another. Amelia leaned in and kissed him on the forehead, a tender kiss. The intimacy of the act surprising the hardened rogue.

Amelia put back up her hood as the other Sisters surrounded her, she turned with them and left. He watched her go, hoping she would turn back one more time to look at him.

The other Sisters finally letting go over their iron grip, ripped him up to his feet. They straightened him up, fixed his tunic. One of the other Sisters’s draped his cloak over him, which was somehow now dry again. The familiar warmth of his body started insulating him again.

“Eat.” One of the sisters said as she practically forced a thick piece of dried meat into his mouth

The salty flavour salivating his mouth as he chewed the dried venison. Another Sister thumped a full skin of water against his chest, which he grapped. Swallowing the last bit of meat he clipped the skin against his belt. He supposed this was their version of hospitality.

Or maybe the fattening of the livestock.

“The gods have given you leave to live, and for that kindness you have given us a new Sister. You have my thanks… Francis.” Sister Nadine said

“So happy to be of service to the Order…”

“Sister Marc’ella will see you out. You will follow the river to the mountains. It will not be safe for you to return here.” She tossed a small amulet at Francis

“There is another Faithhold there, the Bishop is indebted to me. Show him that, and you will be permitted to enter the Expanse beyond.”

The Expanse, was a sprawling lawless wilderness. A harsh and forbidding tundra of ice and snow. Francis would not be going there, he already decided. After clearing the mountains he would cut south towards Haven, one of the last remaining freeport’s in the kingdom. He could disappear and lay low there for awhile. A chance to regroup and maybe find an appraiser for his new ‘friend’.

The amulet in his hand was cold, etched with the symbol of the Faithful. A looped cut chain with a simple clasp was attached to it. The fine polished silver would fetch a few measly coins. But the status of it might prove useful if he needs to outmaneuver more of these zealots in the future.

“Follow.”

Francis jumped a little as the familiar voice of Marc’ella sounded from over his shoulder. Wearing the same robes now as her sisters, she hid under her cloak. Her face now veiled and hidden, he could feel her malice coming off from her in waves.

Francis followed obediently, his thoughts drifting back to Amelia. He touched his new scar, still throbbing with light pain. He had been marked for some reason, he surmised that it was to let others know that he had crossed the Faithful. At least he hoped that was the case. It would explain why Sister Nadine had given him the amulet, a chance to explain before he was surreptitiously killed. He continued to rub the area with his finger, trying to soothe his now deformed skin.

As the pair descended a set of stairs he could hear the fires and distant screams of a city being raided by goons. He felt somewhat responsible for it, but he hadn’t come out totally empty handed. He still had his Starmarks from Big Jack, so he would be eating well for awhile. Though he cursed himself for losing the majority of his loot for a nobody. He still couldn’t understand why he had done that, he never risked his life or gold for strangers. He rarely even did it for friends, and only if he felt that that friend would be still be of use.

It was… perplexing. To have his mental state so dramatically shift so suddenly. He’d seen people die since he was a boy, he’d seen things that no men should see. He’d been part of things that made him ashamed, but he’d never given up a score for anyone. Amelia was a beautiful girl, but she was only a peasant girl. Francis had met true ladies of royalty who outshined her by far, ladies of such elegance and beauty that they were almost like angels descended to earth.

“Keep up, I have things to do.” Marc’ella said

He was still following her closely, he kept pace easily, though her shorter legs were moving much faster. Francis didn’t bother responding, she was still very angry over their fight.

She’d lost, and that revelation was hard for her to bear. Francis was still having trouble understanding it himself. He’d never been able to react that fast before, it was almost superhuman the speed at which his body was moving. What’s more was the complete lack of fatigue or effort when it was happening. The bracelet, or whatever it was, was responsible for such strength and skill.

Form Magic.

Powerful indeed. Even useful to one like himself who lacked the skill for attunement. A somewhat alive magic that had chosen him to bond with. A low deadbeat ruffian of ill repute. He supposed he should be flattered, with it on his side. Maybe some dreams could suddenly be realized.

Marc’ella continued moving down sets of stairs, pushing through heavy wooden doors. The pair descended further and further down in the Faithhold until the only the dim light from torches kept the halls lit. Francis figured they were going down some sort of service passage. They were taller and wider than normal halls, likely so small carts and heavy tows could be moved up and down them. Like any fortified location they would be needed a surplus of supplies, and an ease of movement, to function properly.

After quite some time they arrived at a much larger reinforced door, a thick iron bar kept the double door closed.

Marc’ella set to work try to free the mechanism that held the thick bolt in place. She was pulling hard on some sort of relief lever that would let the bar go so it could be moved. She was struggling, even with her full weight pulling down the lever was not moving, barely giving an audible moan as she grunted to pull it down.

Francis took up position leaning against the wall next to her. He just starred at her with a half-smile on his face.

“You know I could-….”

“I got it.”

She struggled in vain for another minute before giving up with a grunt. In anger she summoned some of her darkness, letting the formless black shapes wrap around the level, with a strain of effort she was able to pull down the lever with a loud thunk. The bar was now released, allowing it to be slid to the side so the door could open.

“Some oil would keep that from happening again.”

Marc’ella simply tsked from behind her veil.

She pushed the old doors open to a single well used path behind the Faithhold. A small unassuming gate lay just beyond. The two continued their walk in silence. Francis effortlessly following her fast paced gait.

The smell of smoke and rain still filled the air, the clouds had begun to part as the storm was reaching it’s end. Above he could see the glistening stars on their eternal black canvas. The towering Luna above shining bright, casting it’s ethereal glow on the city in flames. Francis thought for a moment that perhaps the moon goddess was crying over the tradgedy.

The pair made it the gate and Marc’ella began chanting some incantation, runeworks sparked to life as the warding spell came down and let the outer door open. It cranked and groaned, spitting sounds of rusted iron as magic heaved the heavy gate up.

Francis followed her out of the gate, the moment they stepped over the threshold, she attacked him.

It was fast, like before. He wasn’t expecting it, she sliced his side, a shallow cut. He moved to protect that side as she kicked at his inner knee, he stumbled back. Francis tried to pull his blades, but she used her body weight to wrap her leg around him and force him to the ground. Francis felt the cold steel of a blade press against his neck.

“Give me a reason why I shouldn’t…”

“Cause a blade to your kidneys is the greatest pain you’ll ever feel.” Francis replied

Marc’ella glanced down to see Francis’ blade stick through the outer layer of her armour. Directly aimed at one of her kidneys. He held the blade tight and pushed up slightly on it, knowing that it would pierce her skin. Her face betrayed a grimace of pain as the blade slowly broke through.

“I can slash faster than you.” She growled

“No you can’t. You’ll have to flex your muscles in a pulling motion to do that. Once you do, well… All I have to do is push.”

The two stayed there for a moment, locked in their stalemate. Waiting to see if the other would react or follow through with their threats. Francis put on his best scowl and glared into her mask.

Marc’ella was the first to move, she tensed her hand so tight that the whites of her knuckles were showing, she groaned and grumbled before pulling her blade away. She pushed up off Francis and took several steps back, she pointed her blade at him, twisting it back in forth in her palm.

“What did you do back there?” She growled

“I beat you. Any other questions?”

“Don’t play games with me… WHAT DID YOU DO?!”

“Like I told Sister Nadine, I don’t know what happened, something changed and suddenly I could match your movements. It felt like sleepwalking, half awake and half asleep. I’ll ask an Alchemist for an Awakening test next time I see one, if that’ll make you feel better about it.”

“You have no magic power at all, none. You cannot awaken that which does not exist. You’re hiding something aren’t you…?” She circled around him slowly, still pointing her blade at him. She moved around him like a predator, excited for the kill.

Shit.

Francis was hiding the bracelet just underneath the cuff of his tunic. The metal now cold, but still comforting somehow. He didn’t want her to take it from him, even though he desired to be rid of it. If he couldn’t get it off him, then she would likely cut it off him. Francis was fond of that hand, he had it his entire life after all.

“You’ve mastered one of them… haven’t you..?”

She said

He could feel the pressure in the air changing again, that feeling of magic pressure being let out and channeled. Like popping pockets of heat in the air, sizzling sounds of meat bounced off the stones. Marc’ella was preparing something. Francis dropped his hands back under his cloak, feeling the tight worn grips of his blades against his calloused hands.

He fought back a yawn, not out of boredom, his fatigue biting hard at him as his heart quickened in his chest.

“Mastered what? I have no time for such riddles. You were told to show me out. Now well you do that… or do I need to humble you again?”

He had to push her, force her to make a mistake like before. He knew her handle on her emotions was weak, she only needed a nudge to break her focus. Taunting a wounded animal, dangerous as it was, proved best to kill it cleanly.

She giggled that giggle again and faded from sight, her magic concealing her in it’s black misty shroud. The rain now gone, he could almost hear her steps as she moved around him. He felt he ears pull back instinctively as he tried to focus his breathing and seek her out.

“You have mastered one of the arcane arts… something hidden and powerful. Which is it? How did you learn it? You are too young to be an Archon.”

Archon? What the hell was she on about? Francis was more confused than before. Arcane arts? Was she talking about the old world profane arts? Everyone knew such knowledge was lost in the Third Fall. No one living had been passed down the knowledge to wield such impossible power. So why had this brutish sister thought he had? He looked like a rogue, an effective guise to keep him in his line of work.

More giggling from the dark, somewhere behind him, he was certain.

He felt a whisp of blade cut strands of his hair at the base of his neck. He was sure of it, an itch quickly formed as the strands clung to his sweaty neck.

He didn’t bother turning, she wasn’t there anymore. He felt heat rush to his ears as he fought to focus. His tongue feeling heavy as he panted, trying to slow his heart and focus.

A whack hit him hard in the back of his head, he crumpled to the ground. His head spinning as his vision narrowed. A cacophony of her continued laughter filled the yard.

This time there was no one to stop her, and worse, unlike before his new ally was silent.

He pushed himself up from the mud, thick and heavy wet sand filling his fingers and covering his cloak. He felt the cool wetness smeared on his face, its coarse and itchiness an irritant.

He felt the pressure change again, like a shimmer in the dark. Somewhere to his left, he could hear her movements more clearly. She was toe stepping, he was sure of it, an exhaustive method to keep one nimble. But it strained one’s calves after prolonged use. Her quick movements were wearing on her.

To his right.

He lunged wildly in a downward slashing movement. He felt his blade touch something for a moment, he felt the pressure go under his arm.

He switched to his other hand and let spray the mud in it’s clutches, it covered Marc’ella in sporadic splotches around her legs and midsection .She giggled softly in her rhythmic way.

Francis waited, pretending not to see her. Flicking his gaze left and right. Marc’ella kept her form low, bending her knees deeply to keep her movement quiet.

From his left.

She turned and started another attack she kept low.

Francis made sure to give her a tempting target, extending his chin upward, exposing his neck.

She took the bait and unbent her knees as she stretched her small frame upwards to connect with his neck.

She fell for it, he dropped low and sweeped her leg at the knee. Her the heard the sickening sound of bone grinding against bone as his boot impacted her. She screamed a high pitched wail of pain as she collasped into the mud.

The pain shook her from her veil, or maybe the mud now covering her broke her focus. She laid groaning on the ground, he hands holding tight to her knee.

“Are we done?”

Francis had one of his blades tip under her muddied chin, the dulle side pressing up against it. Forcing her to meet his gaze. Her face was full of defiance and pain.

“That was cheap trick.”

“Cheap tricks for a cheap man.”

He turned the blade, making sure the edge just touched her skin. She inhaled quickly at the shift.

“Are. We. Done?” He asked again

“You will not-…”

Francis didn’t mean to hit her so hard, but he was tired, tired of this night and all it’s craziness. Her unconcious body fell down face first into the mud, he turned her body over with his boot to keep her from suffocating.

“I’m going to show myself out now.”

Francis sheathed both of his blades and starting shaking his now aching hand.

A familiar thrum of his friend started it’s song again.

“Where were you?!”

It’s simply thrummed more in response.

“Fine then be that way.”

Climbing over the the final wall he lept down with a thud, he shaked off the mud accruing on his cloak. He started to follow the travellers path into the darkness, the glimmer of torches fading from his view as he walked off into the wilderness.

He held his hand up to his face.

“You and I are going to talk.”

The thrummed pulses in response.

“I’m going insane.”

He thumped his boots off into the darkness, a yawn finally breaking his lips.

Authors Note:

This is just a rough draft of a small passion project I’ve been tossing around for a few months. As such it’s completely unedited, I hope that you enjoy facets of it and try not to be too critical of it my bad grammar and broken flow.

Please let me know what you think, and pass on any suggestions you have.

I may continue this, I have several other works jumbling around in my brain.

Thanks for reading :)