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Post by Loogs on Feb 1, 2016 4:41:21 GMT -5
“Dude, is this really okay with you? Can I really stick around with you guys?” Hector sat down on the cot he was assigned by the emperor. He reached into the pocket of his bright red jacket and pulled out a box of cigarettes, popping one into his mouth. Traveling the world gets exhausting sometimes; especially at the tender young age of fourteen and watching your friends come and go from your life. “As long as you’re making yourself useful. Every morning you’ll be on either firewood duty or hunting duty in a team of about five or six.” Miko dragged in an empty trunk and set it at the foot of the cot. Hector lit the cigarette with a snap of his fingers and took a long drag, meriting a stern look from the emperor. “And don’t get ashes everywhere, for heaven’s sake. Where did you even pick up this filthy habit?” “Iunno. Yoshi was always smokin’ em, he shared a few with me and I guess that’s kinda how it happened.” Hector waited for Miko to bring him a bin before ashing the cigarette. He took off his aviator glasses and tucked them into the collar of his shirt. Miko shook his head. “You kids should know better. What were they teaching you in sch-” “I ran away from home when I was thirteen. Haven’t really been learnin’ much since then.” Hector shrugged and took another puff. Miko was frustrated but not really too surprised: he was used to taking in young runaways with nowhere to go, and some of them took up bad habits as attempts to cope with feelings of abandonment. “Well, Summoners are a tight-knit bunch. I’ve known a lot of kids like you; we take them in and we become like a foster family for them. Some stick around, others decide this life isn’t for them and take off. We do a lot of moving around, but our home is with each other.” Just as Miko carried in a blanket for Hector to use, a group of Summoners, all wearing similar snow camo uniform, came into the tent. “Sir, we got a really good haul of fish!” One of them, a scrawny boy with a shaggy green mop and particularly thick eyebrows gave the field report. “Two whole nets! We’ve left them with Marni to be prepared or preserved.” The group was made up of young kids all in various stages of adolescence, about Hector’s age or a little bit older, some of Summoner descent and others of different lineages. “Good work as usual, Naoki. You’re a hard-working bunch of kids, all of you.” The boy’s eyes lit up in response to Miko’s praise, and walked out of the tent to take care of other duties, along with three others, leaving a shy young woman as the only one of the group to linger. Her pale face was heart-shaped, a smattering of freckles sprinkled across it. She had raven black hair cut in a short, fluffy bob. Compared to Hector and Miko, she was drastically shorter, coming up at about five feet even, her petite frame soft with gentle curves. “Sir, umm… We train again this week?” she asked timidly, with a slight accent. “Yes, of course. You’ve been showing a great deal of progress since you came to stay with us, Vathalé. I’m very proud of you.” Miko walked over to her and put one arm around her shoulder. The girl smiled modestly, glanced towards Hector, but quickly averted her gaze when he responded with a grin and a wave. “This is Hector, he’s going to be staying with us. He’s an honest boy with a big heart. Hector, this is Vathalé. She’s a bit of a wallflower but when you get to know her she’s really a sweet young lady. We took her in a few years ago after her family died.” Vathalé twisted a curl of hair around her finger nervously, still in a guarded stance. “Take a minute to get to know each other, and we’ll come get you when it’s time for dinner.” Miko then turned and exited the tent, leaving the two teenagers to sit silently for a minute. “Hey there. Uhhh… Vathalé, right? That’s a pretty cool name.” Hector leaned forward, put out what was left of his cigarette and rested his arms on his lap. Ever the extrovert, he made an effort to try and catch her eye, but only managed to get just that. “Th… thank you…” Vathalé opened the trunk on the opposite side of Hector’s cot to put away the sheathed blade at her belt along with a handful of other tiny objects from her pocket. “Um… are you… are you also an orph—did your family, uh…” Her quiet voice stumbled over her words before trailing off again. “I don’t really know what happened to my family. Something awful happened and I… I didn’t stick around long enough to find out what happened to them.” Hector kept a valiant smile even after briefly explaining his tragic circumstances. “But it’s not all bad! Adventuring is pretty sweet. You meet a lot of great people on your quests. And you find some cool stuff too, like swords and shit.” He grabbed hold of the hilt of his Tiamat Blade and unsheathed it carefully, letting it glow with a gentle flame for maximum effect. It worked. Vathalé stared at the sword curiously, her lips parting slightly in surprise. Hector’s grin turned a bit cockier now that he had her attention. He gave her a little wink and twirled the blade around to let the metal and the jewels on the hilt and pommel shimmer in the light of the lanterns. “Vathalé… Nothing’s gonna lay a claw on you while I’m around, girl.” She yielded the subtle, diminutive hint of a smile. A lot of Vathalé's early history got kinda... lost to the sands of time. A perfect opportunity to write a tender little fic about Hector and Vathalé's first encounter and finally strengthen a bit of her character development. We know how bitter the relationship was in its final days, but there were good times in the beginning... right?
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Post by Loogs on Feb 2, 2016 12:23:40 GMT -5
He began with gentle prodding. “Hey.”
Then he started nudging her. “Hey. Vathalé. Wake up.” And she did, despite being asleep for not even two hours. Vathalé groaned softly and pulled away, covering herself with her comfy blanket.
“It is very late, Hector, go sleep.”
“Yeah, of course it’s late, that’s the perfect time to go stargazing. I found a spot with a really good view, come on.”
Another tired moan, and then a yawn. “It is curfew time, Hector. Miko find you, he will not be too happy.”
“I promise we won’t stay out that long. He’ll never know we left. Please?”
Finally, she rose from the cot, pulling off the blanket and rubbing drowsiness out of her eyes. “Okay, fine. But no more troublemaking after this.” She stretched and stumbled onto her feet, slipping on her boots, gloves, and her fur cloak for warmth.
“It’s worth it, trust me.” Hector scanned briefly for patrolling adults before stealing away with Vathalé in the night. He led her through some tall brush, past a stream until finally climbing to the top of a small, quiet hill just under a mile away from the camp.
Vathalé shivered and took this opportunity to take note of Hector’s lack of clothing layers out in the frigid tundra. “How you are not freezing your butt off? It is very cold out here.” He chuckled, cupped his hands and conjured up a small crimson flame. She put her hands to her mouth and let out a quick, voiceless gasp.
“I got fire coursing through my veins. Cold means nothing to me.” Hector smiled and winked, but then became a bit concerned when he heard Vathalé’s teeth chattering incessantly. “You seem like you’re really freezing though. Here.” He placed his hand on her rosy cheek. It was very warm to the touch, and once Vathalé was comfortable with the physical contact, he pulled her into his toasty embrace.
Hector waited until Vathalé was cozy enough before directing her attention to the stars. On a night with the moon’s presence a mere waning sliver, away from the light pollution of the bustling cities, they shimmered as bright as ever. He pointed to one group of stars in particular. “You see that little line of three stars over there? That’s Orion, and right next to it, that one, that’s Taurus.” Vathalé followed along, spellbound, snuggled up tight in Hector’s arms.
“I have this friend, Ivan, he taught me how to find all these constellations. Okay, over by the head of the bull, those little star groups over there? That one is the Hyades. The Hyades were daughters of Atlas in Greek mythology, they had this brother who got himself killed and they cried like nonstop so Zeus took pity on them changed them into stars…”
Hector finished his story and pointed to another star group nearby. “Okay, then a little bit off to the right, there’s another star group. That’s Pleiades, same deal, a lot of sisters very sad about something so poof, they were turned into stars.” As he was spinning yarns he didn’t notice how close Vathalé’s face was to his until he turned around and blushed. “It’s… Those are my favorite.” Vathalé was smiling, thoroughly distracted with stargazing. Hector, with a slight tremble to his hand, brushed aside her wavy dark hair and went in for a tender kiss.
Her lips pressed against his, Vathalé felt her face instantly flush with warmth. She couldn’t tell if it was because of his fire powers or his captivating charm, but to be honest the distinction didn’t really matter.
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Post by Loogs on Feb 5, 2016 12:15:34 GMT -5
“Daddy! I finished eating! Can we read the story?”
“Alright, sailor. Go ahead and grab the book, I’ll meet you on the couch after I’ve washed the dishes.” Hector gathered the empty bowls and utensils and brought them to the sink, stealing another glance at the calendar as he’d been doing the whole day. August 9th… Has it been seven years already? No, he couldn’t start thinking about that right now; he tried to push the thought out of his mind and lose himself in the mindless task of scrubbing. When he held the dishes under the running faucet to rinse, it came knocking again. Is she… Is she thinking about it too? Hector shook his head and let out a long, heavy sigh. No. Don’t dwell. It won’t do you any good, you’ll just start—
Pleiades returned brimming with excitement, an elegantly bound book in her hands, but frowned and huffed when she spotted her father placing a bottle of whiskey on the counter. “Dad, are you going to drink too much again?”
“Oh, sailor, don’t worry about me, it’s just one glass of whiskey, I promise.” Hector tried to reassure her, at the same time trying to warn himself; however, children don’t yet know the difference between a digestif and a very stiff drink. He snuck in a few extra splashes over the crackling ice cubes and walked to the couch, taking the bottle with him behind his back as if Pleiades wouldn’t notice him. She did, and glared at him suspiciously, to which he responded by taking a sip and smiling sheepishly.
“Right, where did we leave off?” He set the bottle to the side of the couch and took the book from her hands, opening it to the page marked by the pressed paulownia flower bookmark. “The story of Orpheus and Eurydice.” He inhaled sharply and took another hearty gulp of whiskey. “Pleiades, why don’t you start us off?”
Hector handed the book over to Pleiades and the little girl began reading slowly and deliberately. “Orpheus, son of the muse Calliope, was a talented musician. He played his lyre so beautifully that it pleased the gods…” He had one arm holding Pleiades close and the other delivering steady swigs of whiskey. The warmth was already starting to wash over his face. Oh kitten, look how big our little sailor’s gotten, it feels like just yesterday she was stumbling over all these words, and now she’s reading them all by herself. Before he could get too lost in his tipsy navel-gazing, he felt a little finger jab at his arm. “Daddy, it’s your turn.”
Emboldened by drink, he barely bothered to hide his act of refilling the glass; Pleiades sighed, resigning herself to her fate for what must have been the sixth or seventh time. Hector resumed the story, with a slight slurring gradually overtaking his speech. “Orpheus wept with grief for his wife Eurydice. He descended into the underworld, crossed the river Styx, and pleaded with Hades to release her…” The printed words began to dance around the page. Hector blinked, and glanced instead at his glass, feeling a twinge of shame when he realized it was already half-empty. Vathalé, I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. I could never hope to be graced with your forgiveness. I don’t deserve it. “Hey, sailor, take over for me here.” He passed the book back to Pleiades clumsily and clutched his head.
The little girl heaved another sigh and read with a disconcerted tone in her voice. “’Very well, she may return with you, but look not back on her once until you have reached the mortal world…’” A familiar but unwelcome tightness surfaced in Hector’s throat, was it nausea? No, then it must be… He bit his lip, restraining the tears from welling up in his eyes. He felt the book being thrust into his hands. “It’s your turn again.”
Hector finished his glass for the third time, set it aside, and turned the page. “They passed through the river, through the gates, and just when they could see the first glimmer of the outside world…” His hands began to tremble. “Orpheus, struck by a moment of doubt…” The knot in his throat tightened violently and the tears gathered in his eyes to blur his vision. “Struck by a moment of doubt, he… he…” He couldn’t bear to finish the sentence. Instead, a whimper escaped his mouth, and he slammed the book shut, startling Pleiades.
If you don’t finish the story, if you don’t read the words that come next, he never has to look back. Orpheus reaches the mortal world safely, and he can once again hold her in his arms. Eurydice doesn’t get dragged back into the underworld. She is alive, and she is his. You shut the book, time stops at that exact moment, and they make it out okay. They never get torn apart. The clock never strikes midnight. The spell is never broken.
“Pleiades, we’re done. This book is too grim for children. I’m not reading any more of it to you.”
“But Daddy, we-“
“We’re done!” He raised his voice, the whiskey on his breath repulsing Pleiades. When she then sniveled and broke down in tears, a pang of regret fluttered in his heart and his face softened. Their eyes met, exchanging looks of anguish, and in that instant he lost his composure. “Your mother… She had the same look in her eyes… Whenever I would…” His mumbled sentence crescendoed into a howl as he flung the book across the room and stormed out stumbling, taking the bottle with him.
Pleiades chased after him, concerned, still crying. “Daddy, where are you going?”
Hector was pushing up the hatch door with one hand. “Sailor, I’m… I’m just stepping out for some fresh air… Okay?” he slurred, the words barely coherent through desolation and booze. Pleiades could only look on helplessly as he scrambled out onto the deck, letting the door behind him fall shut thunderously.
It was a tranquil night at sea. The waves rocked gently and the sky was clear and brilliant. Each and every star in the galaxy appeared luminous and dazzling. Hector took another bitter swig of whiskey and directed his gaze upward. Millions of stars swirled around him, whipping and stirring in a great cosmic hurricane brought about by intoxication. Hector took increasingly panicked breaths and extended a hand out to the sky. The stars spiraled so fast that he could not identify a single constellation, not a single path he could draw from star to star.
Has the universe always been this vast? Sailors have been using the same stars to navigate for thousands of years. The stars have always been there. Constant and immutable. And if I can’t even read the stars, what kind of sailor am I? Hector roared powerfully at the heavens, and the heavens looked down not blinking once. Tears streamed down his face as he was overcome by feelings of desolation. He stood finite and mortal before the infinite mantle of stars, his grief not even a drop rippling in the waves of the cosmic ocean.
As the heavens closed in around him to swallow him whole, a sudden wave crashed against the boat, sending it lurching to the side. Hector lost his unsteady footing and fell backwards on the deck, the bottle flying out of his hands and shattering some feet away from him. Terrified, his head swimming, he crawled to the hatch door and managed to twist it open. He attempted to climb down the ladder, but his foot slipped, missed a rung, and his towering frame came crashing down to the floor. Pleiades, who had retreated to her room to sleep, was wakened by a loud thud and a resonant cry of pain.
The last thing he felt before losing consciousness was the warm embrace of his flannel blanket being draped over his body by a pair of tiny hands.
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Post by Tout-Perd on Feb 9, 2016 17:47:12 GMT -5
So, here I am reviewing Chapter 1: I like how uncertain Hector is. It makes it clear that even though he's normally brash and headstrong, he's way out of his depths. This is Hector who's never been in the big leagues.
You've got Miko's paternal nature and heavy handed attempts to be an inspirational leader down, but man, his actual dialogue is off. Meeks is a soldier first and foremost. While he might not cluster-F-Bomb like Haze, I could see him going "Don't you dare smoke that shit in our tents. It sinks into the fabric and makes the whole place reek." or something like that- "Good heavens" is very off for him (the only character in my cast I could see un-ironically uttering that one would be Emma Ray Jo, ironically.)
I do wish we saw a bit more of Vathale. Right now she feels like she's going to Be Important (TM), but we don't really get more than a glimpse. At first I thought Hector came across as overprotective, but it's Hector. If there's anybody looking shy and out of place, he's going to be all over them like a big goofy dog.
All in all, an intimate little fic that probably put a bit too much focus on Miko and could use a bit more time bringing Vathale to the forefront- Right now, she's largely acted upon instead of taking actions of her own. Still, Hector's sweet and always fun to read about.
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Post by Yoshimitsu on Feb 10, 2016 18:01:05 GMT -5
Chapter 1:
I'm loving the flashback to Snitz-Era Hector getting over the Snitz-Era and it's super cool to see how he has a relation to the Summoners. The plot, as a whole, is a winner for me. I agree with Lee's point about Hector automatically jumping on the shy kid like an enthusiastic puppy, I'm down with that. I would be a liar if I said it wasn't something I'd done before (primarily in Teen Wolf fanfiction, admittedly, but hey ho).
I like the characterisation. I like how Hector still has a cocky edge to this chill persona he has here. It makes sense, since he's now not surrounded by the characters who bring drama (good or bad) to his life. I love the whole, he picked up smoking because Yosh smokes, it's one of those quirks that really makes a character, and after glancing ahead I love that he kicked the habit.
I love the actual dialogue because it's the sort of thing these kids would say, however...
Here's my issue with Chapter 1 though: Too Much Dialogue.
Or rather, there is too much dialogue for the events happening, in my opinion. Yes, there is a conversation going. Yes, there are a lot of characters. I understand that quick-fire conversations are difficult to convey in RP, which is why I avoid them. However,
The majority of each new paragraph starts with a line of dialogue and it doesn't feel forced, as such, but it feels fake to me. I'm getting the characterisation from the description outside of dialogue, but it's getting lost. I'm actually losing the characterisation from the dialogue because it's mixed in with everything else. More time focusing on how Hector is reacting to these things, how he's seeing the individuals walking in, how he's trying to be friendly to Vathale, his interactions with Miko... I want more from his inner narrative voice, less dialogue that's currently covering it up.
Overall, though, it was a fun chapter to read, but I want more that I know you're capable of.
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Post by Loogs on Mar 5, 2016 4:12:55 GMT -5
Vathalé heard an argument happening near her tent and stepped out to observe. She spotted two bemused Summoner teenagers eavesdropping on a tiff going on between Hector and Miko in the distance. Vathalé could see Hector throwing his hands up sputtering about something to Miko, who had his arms crossed and wasn’t having any of it.
“What happened?” Vathalé asked the teens.
“Oh, new guy overslept and he got put on fish cleaning duty. What a dumbass.” The summoner girl shook her head and scoffed.
Vathalé sighed sharply. “Stupid boy.” Now she could see Hector backing down after a firm reprimand and a staredown from Miko. “And don’t even THINK of leaving this spot until this whole batch has been cleaned and gutted, or I’ll gut YOU and string you by your entrails!”
Then Miko stormed off, leaving Hector sulking on a makeshift stool with a fish in one hand and a knife in the other. “He’s kinda cute though, isn’t he?” the girl said to Vathalé in a voice dripping with condescension, turning to her and smirking. “In that bad boy kinda way. He thinks he can make his own rules around here. It’s fucking precious.” She and the other Summoner returned to their tents after the spat was over, leaving Vathalé to approach a very irate Hector brusquely sliding a knife into a fish.
“’Sup, ‘thalé,” he grunted.
“You get in trouble?”
“I didn’t mean to oversleep! My body’s not used to getting up on someone else’s clock anymore! What’s that dude’s beef, anyway?” He slipped his fingers into the slit and grimaced as he yanked out the fish’s innards and tossed them into a separate bucket.
“He very nice to you on first day. After, not so much. Then he work you like ox.”
“Man, whatever. Dude’s gotta learn to lighten up.” Hector sliced deep into the fish and cut about halfway in before Vathalé stopped him, tsking tersely as she wrenched the knife and the fish from his slimy hands.
“Do not cut so deep inside fish, you will break organs and make mess.” She demonstrated with a much gentler but firm grip. With one smooth, fluid motion she slit the fish’s belly open and pulled out the guts intact. Vathalé glanced at Hector, shook her head and muttered something in exasperated Russian. “Mess up, he make you catch more and make you do it again.” She handed the knife back to Hector, who rolled his eyes a bit. “So do not rush and do it right. глупый мальчик.”
Hector scoffed and was ready to tell her off when she reached into her pocket and pulled out a piece of bread, tossing it to him. “And do not wake up late again or you will miss breakfast!” she called out, turning her back and walking away before he could thank her.
He went in for a bite, ripped a chunk off in his mouth, only to gag and spit it back out immediately. Maybe shoulda wiped my hands first before trying to eat anything.
~*~
After everyone finished eating around the campfire, Hector stayed behind and lingered in his place. He held a rag in one hand and his longsword in the other, laid across his lap, polishing the blade starting from the tip. He worked so calmly that he fell into a trance, snapping back into an alert state only when he felt a tapping on his shoulder from behind. He yelped, accidentally nicked his finger on the blade, and winced before turning his attention behind him at Vathalé, looking over his shoulder. “Vathalé! Don’t sneak up on me like that, girl!” He brought his finger to his lips but then paused, considering how unmanly he would be coming off as if he started sucking the blood from his bleeding cut.
“Sorry. Give me your hand.” She didn’t wait for him to offer it. Vathalé grabbed his hand and twirled her index finger around. A soft, white glow materialized around the tip, and she traced the line of the cut with it, sealing it shut. Hector took his hand back, and examined the spot where the wound had vanished without a trace.
An expression of incredulity spread across his face. Then, a cocked eyebrow. And finally a smile cracked from the side of his mouth.
“Dang.”
Vathalé took a seat next to him on the log. “Is simple Varkadian magic.” She glanced again at the half-polished sword. “What are you doing?”
“Just keepin’ my sword nice and shiny.” His finger now healed, Hector continued his task. He tilted the blade and let the light of the campfire reflect off of it, catching his reflection and that of Vathalé’s. He held the blade still for a moment to admire her sweet, heart-shaped face, her waves of black hair, the freckles sprinkled across her face. “Keeps Tiamat happy, I think. A happy dragon means a smoother ride through the skies.”
“You can summon?”
“Yeah. Tiamat is one of my main forms of transport. Ain’t too bad of a fighter, either.”
Vathalé, impressed, leaned over to examine the blade more closely. “Miko says I am almost ready to get first summon, when we finish training.”
Hector paused again, this time to clean his purple-tinted rimless sunglasses with his shirt. He looked up and grinned boyishly at Vathalé, allowing her the first good glimpse at his honey-colored eyes. “Hey yeah, you had a blade of your own, didn’t you? Can I see it?”
“Um, yes, ok. Wait here and I will get it.” Vathalé darted off toward the tents and came back within a minute with a sword in a black sheath adorned with gold accents. Hector set down his own blade and received hers, carefully unsheathing it. The blade had no guard, but the hilt and pommel were beautifully detailed with dark blue jewels and damask patterns engraved into the metal.
“Dude, sick shashka!” Hector brandished the saber and made quick slashing and stabbing motions in a safe direction away from Vathalé.
“Shashka is Russian sword, and you are not Russian, how do you know—“
“Oh, when you wander around as much as I do, you learn a thing or two about weaponry.” Hector slid the shashka back into its sheath and handed it back to Vathalé. “That’s a gorgeous blade you’ve got there. Think you might like to go toe-to-toe with me and Tiamat sometime?”
Vathalé clutched her sword close to her and pulled her body away. “Oh… No, um, I am not very good at using my sword yet…”
“Then I’d love to teach you a trick or two sometime.” Hector stood up, reattached his sheathed sword to his belt, and extended his hand out to Vathalé. “Whaddya say, kitten?” He shot her a wink and a playful smile to seal the deal.
Vathalé giggled at Hector and the new pet name he had just christened her with. Okay, new boy is kind of cute. A little stupid still. But is okay though.
“Yes, okay, Hector. I accept your invitation for date.”
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Post by Tout-Perd on Jun 23, 2016 12:37:04 GMT -5
Flames crackled warmly, their dancing lights in stark contrast to the bitter chill of night. Gerasim straddled a huge log at the fringe of the circle, xer compatriots chatting boisterously around their bonfire. The novice Summoner kept xer eyes down, thumbing through each link of xer weapon’s chain. Though the bladed hoop was the golden sheen of indestructible Summoner-steel, Gerasim hadn’t found time yet to persuade one of their smiths to craft twenty feet of matching links, and had opted for a length of anchor chain xe’d found on the shore.
As Gerasim looped another length of verified links around xer forearm, Detlef launched into a story about his last mission, the others falling silent in respect. While Miko was away, tending to the Archipelago, the charismatic titan of a man took charge of the camp in his stead. In fact, before Miko had obtained the Liege of Infinite Verdancy, the Germanic giant had been in serious contention for the mantle of Emperor.
“Und zere I vass, facing down entire detachment of Leopard Tanks, all alone-” He raised two golden gauntlets, each big enough that they could have completely encircled Gerasim’s head, and clenched them loudly, the metal clanking, “But for zese und Nachtrabe.”
He bowed his shaven head reverently, the cerulean bead that held his summon dangling from his ear.
Detlef let out a hearty, rumbling laugh that seemed to make the flames tremble, and similarly shook Gerasim’s chest. He jovially slapped his knee, a blow that would have crippled a normal person, with a sound like a gunshot. Aadab, a fellow healer, almost fell off her perch on the log across the way. She sheepishly sat back up, and adjusted her headscarf.
“Clearly, zee German army vass massively out-gunned,” He smiled, his teeth glowing orange in the firelight, “But enough said of zat battle, it vass nussing but child’s play. As for zee feast I had to celebrate, now ZAT iss a story worss zee telling!”
Speaking of dinner, Gerasim glanced to their scavenged provisions, and took note of what options the camp had for nourishment that night. Several plucked, gutted, and cleaned gulls sizzled on sticks at the edge of the fire, and a stew of sea lettuce, fish, and wild tubers bubbled in a thick metal cauldron across the circle. It was a faint morsel in comparison to the tales Detlef spun of massive banquets, eating dozens of eggs and entire shanks of ham and sweets piled so high that one thought they’d never run out, or for that matter, the bizarre and exotic fruit that Miko literally spun into existence when he was with them. Gerasim had personally favored something the emperor had called “kiwis”, odd little furry morsels more tart and sweet than anything xe’d ever tasted in xer entire life.
Detlef had launched into a familiar song, one he’d written for a friend he’d met during his dispatch. Naturally, the words were in German, but his tone made the message of jovial camradery clear. Of course, being one of the best and brightest the Summoners had to offer, he’d been sent to their “homeland” among their “emissaries”. There, he’d raised holy hell, trashing bases, heavy armaments, infrastructure, and other high priority targets, costing the nation millions of dollars in precious resources. Detlef had become a figure of urban legend, “Die Goldene Faust” being feared as some sort of boogeyman or angelic avenger. Gerasim recalled with pride opening a letter Detlef had sent home to them, and reading to the entire camp how Germany had started to believe Die Goldene Faust to be an entire terrorist cell. In those days, the Summoners as a whole were simply imaginary to the rest of the world. They were the Illuminati, the Chupacabras, the Deros, some figure that only delusional conspiracy theorists had spoke of. That was before Salcester, however-
Gerasim caught a familiar name among the lyrics, and smiled. While Detlef had wreaked havoc across Germany, he’d spent a week lying low, and had met a fellow traveler. The girl was visiting her own ancestral homeland to hone her culinary skills, and had found an all too willing test subject in the Summoner. Though it was clear nothing had happened between the two, with the only love shared between them being an all consuming adoration for food, the camp had heartily teased Detlef about his “Northern Bride Emily”. When the Summoners had heard their Emperor, Miko, had married a Northerner, though, that joking ceased.
With a low whistle of satisfaction, Gerasim thumbed through the last link in xer chain. It was miraculously unmarred, a gift from the sea to the Summoner empire. It would now be up to xer to put it to good use, to live up to the blessing fate had heaped upon xer. Gerasim stooped behind the log to stow xer chain in a leather bag, when xe heard something land in the campfire with a crackle.
Xe mused over what poor manners it was to go throwing logs onto the fire when people were trying to cook- And found that thought interrupted by a meaty, percussive thump.
A hunk of burning wood clipped xer ribs, and smashed the healer into the dirt. Xe laid still for a moment, only after the fact recognizing the sound of explosive ordinance, like the odd “grenades” that Miko’s Northern slattern had favored. Was this an attack? Wincing from what felt like several cracked ribs, Gerasim clambered to xer hands and knees, stooped behind the immense trunk xe’d been seated on.
Across the way, another novice Summoner laid dead on the ground, part of their skull sheered away by the shrapnel. At least four others were less severely wounded, but still in desperate need of care. Hunched over defensively, the mighty Detlef had his lantern jaw clenched and gilded fists raised, having shielded himself from the blast. His furious gaze darted around the circle, trying to discern where their attacker was lurking in the night. A choked cry of pain caught Gerasim’s attention, and xe glanced to Aadab. The shy, peaceful healer had a ragged piece of bloodstained steel jutting out of her chest, piercing her heart. Gerasim’s eyes went wide, and xer knees buckled. Xe collapsed, slamming xer chin into the log. As Gerasim tasted xer own blood, xe realized a crucial detail- The metal had obviously impaled the woman from behind.
Over the groans of pain and whimpers of terror, Gerasim and Detlef heard the sound of mighty wings flapping, and turned their vision skyward. An immense eagle plummeted from the sky, its silhouette black against the starry night. Moments before hitting the ground, it vanished, replaced by a human figure that slammed into the dying campfire hard enough to send a wave of embers spraying out around them. Gerasim’s first impression of the newcomer, a lean-figured, flat chested girl younger than xerself, was the streaks of bright green in her hair. For a moment xe wondered if this was a Summoner sent to help them, somebody who had known of the attack.
However, Gerasim’s second impression was to notice the wickedly jagged and curving blade hanging from the girl’s hand, dripping with blood. Aadab’s blood, xe realized. The Summoner gritted xer teeth, and took hold of xer weapon. Miko had warned the camp dozens of times that there would be counterattacks, repercussions for their actions in Salcester and around the world. They’d dismissed him. Except for a man on a whaling ship taking potshots at one of their foragers with a rifle, they’d gone completely unmolested by the outside world. Yet, still... Gerasim cautiously peered at the intruder, who stood in the ruins of the campfire, seemingly oblivious to the dying flames licking at her denim-clad legs.
“Who... Who sent you? Who are you?” Detlef rumbled ominously, his voice like an onrushing wave about to smash against the shore. He rose to his full height, towering head, shoulders, and chest above the interloper. Though Gerasim couldn’t be certain, it appeared one of Detlef’s arms was thicker than the scrawny girl’s entire torso.
“The thousands of graves your people left in Salcester...They sent me,” The girl spoke, quaveringly.
“The countless tears shed by their loved ones... Those sent me,” She raised her eyes, taking her blade in both hands. Gerasim noticed that her shoulders and jaw were shaking, like a hound straining at its tether.
“The raw human decency, that can’t tolerate monsters like you having the audacity to live in my world... that sent me,” She snarled, readying her sword.
“And my name is Sylvia Natalie Ulima, you poor dead bastards.”
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