Private Tales It's Dark and Hell Is Hot

[Quintus Vexion]

Councilor Vexion took a moment to enjoy the scene the gods had painted before him as the ship he was on rocked back and forth on the waters of the Allirian Strait. A tapestry of purples, pinks, and oranges were arrayed before him. As a boy, his mother used to tell him that moments of silence should be exhibited when observing the fine artistry of the Celestials. It was a strange thing how powerful one became in death. Their words always seemed to have more power when they were no longer there to speak them. When left alone with naught but your thoughts, the voices of the dead echoed through the crevices of your psyche. Now everytime the sun set, he was compelled to listen to his mother's advice. He was planted in his spot next to the mast as the sail danced in the wind. His long, silk jet black hair was tied into a braid and hung over his left shoulder. He wore black clothes, fine as they were and a deep purple cloak to protect him from the chill. On his right hand was a signet ring. A deep red ruby set in pure gold that was the signet ring of his house. His father and his father before him wore that ring and when the time came, it would pass to his offspring.

If such a day ever came...

What is it you truly fear, Lord Quintus?
Hardship has seen your blade made sharper.
Sacrifice has proven you worthy of the gods' blessing.
Do you fear that your children will be as strong as you?
Do you fear that they will prove themselves worthy and thus subject to pain?
Fear not. All that has a beginning must have an end.
​

The voices in his mind sung the words in a language he couldn't hope to decipher and yet he understood them. They didn't speak to him as mortal men did, but as one's soul would. They came to him these days like the gentle caress of the sun in the morning. The fine touch of a woman from another shore that doted because she knew she would never see you again. There was no war against darkness to fight. Not right now. And so his mind did not feel as though it were on fire. The Star Made Armor did not drive him to wade through the blood of his foes and hadn't called on him for some time. These moments of reprieve meant the world to him... But he was afraid of passing his responsibilities on to another. Everything that had a beginning must have an end. Why not be rid of curses that came in the form of blessings.

The voice of a younger man caught his attention.

​

"My Lord," Sir Roland approached with a bow. "Captain Landis has asked me to inform you that we'll be returning to dock in Alliria within the next hour."

Sir Roland had always been a something akin to a younger brother to Quintus in the absence of actually having any brothers of his own. He'd had sisters, but they were all the prim and proper types. Quintus' antics in his younger years seemed to have driven them away and he supposed he couldn't be too upset about that. Not when he had suitable replacements about him. Sir Roland had only recently ascended to knighthood, having been a squire beneath another knight in service to his family back in Alliria. It had been a proud moment to see Sir Roland become the man he was. A fine knight.

"Very good... If you would not mind, inform the servants to have my belongings ready for port. It has been a long journey from Oban..."

"It has, sire. I shall see to it."

There had been much piracy on the Allirian Strait in recent days. They normally steered clear of ships flying the banners of Alliria, but there had been rumors of a rather large pirate ship on the seas that had gotten rather bold. A few larger ships here and there with some precious cargo had been gone missing. It was why Quintus saw fit to travel with a few good men. One of them he'd hired was in the lower deck, likely playing cards and getting drunk like the Merchant Lord Quintus used to himself. The Councilor found himself wandering down the stairs to find the man and when he did, a smile graced his swarthy face. The gold flecks in his brown eyes seemed to dance in the candlelight all around.

"I am surprised you aren't keeled over on the floor drunk by now, Cato. Certainly the Captain has more rum available for you."

​

 

[Cato]

"Well I'm not much of a sailor," the mercenary admitted. "Can barely keep my legs under me when I'm sober. Figured it best not to tempt fate lest I find myself over the edge and swimming with the sharks." This was not to say that Cato was currently completely sober. That would have been near-bloody irresponsible on his part. He thought it best to keep things on an even keel as the swabbies would say. He had no problem getting along with the crew since they were practically mercenaries in their own right.

Drinking, gambling, fucking; it was the same wherever you went. It was the language of this business, one that anyone could understand.

"Now I've got no problem taking some stock with me once we reach port," added Cato with a wry grin. He was getting paid well, always did when it came to working with the Councilor. Still, there was nothing wrong with a little bonus for all his hard work. Not that he had really done any these last few weeks. Been an easy ride even with all the talk about pirates. The mercenary captain wasn't one to complain, easy coin was his favorite.

"Might be talking myself out of some business here, but why have been bothering to hire me and my boys?" He asked, leaning back in his chair as he did so. "Far as I can tell, you've got your own folk. Like young Roland and such. And you ain't half-bad yourself. Guess I'm just a bit confused is all."

 

[Quintus Vexion]

The mercenary speaks to your inner child.
You long to be on the road again, don't you?
The Gods shall always know the truth of you even if you pretend you do not.
There is no amount of killing, drinking, and fornication that can keep you away from destiny.
It merely numbs the pain
Dear Quintus, when will you realize that sharging towards your purpose is far less painful than running?
The Gods know, but when will you admit it?
What is it your good heart truly desires?
​

"Aye, it is true," Quintus responded as he glanced down at his signet ring and twirled it about his finger. "House Vexion keeps more than one capable warrior on retainer. My father and all of my ancestors understood the necessity of killers and fighters. What it means to do business with them in order to keep one's business safe... Only a handful of them had ever been on the other side of things."

Quintus didn't get on with with many of the other Merchant Councilors for that reason. Most of them were greedy and would stop at nothing to protect their position. The men and women in their employ were soft, though. Many of those they chose to dirty their hands on their behalf either hadn't known hard days or their hardest days were far in the past. They were either too eager or too fat and lazy. They imagined guarding one of the Councilors of the richest city in the world would be an easy task and while such a job was far from simple, it was far superior to many that they'd find on the road.

"Before I took up my position as a Councilor, I sold my sword for a time. I was young spilling blood of people I'll remember forever in places that I couldn't even pronounce... I suppose a simple answer is that I enjoy the company. Sir Roland is capable, yes but he is still young. Green. I know that there are none better than the Blackshields because I've fought beside Blackshields. I know you lot's worth. I prefer company that is tried and tested."

He moved to sit down at the table across from the mercenary.

"...I thought to ask you what you might do with your payment once we part ways, but I suppose the more accurate question might be where you plan to do all of your fighting and whoring next? I know quite well where all of the gold and silver goes in the mercenary lifestyle."

 

[Cato]

"Not wrong there. We are the best," stated the captain without hesitation. Cato wasn't exactly old but he had been doing this work since he fell out his mother's womb. Course she didn't waste any time in tossing him aside, same with his bastard father. In any case, he had been a mercenary for as long as he can remember; been with more than a few outfits. The 'Shields were the best and there was no arguing that. Didn't mean they were unbeatable. Blackshields died just like any other folk, they just made it more costly before hitting the mud. "I'd worry bout your taste in companions but I spend time with the same rough bastards so guess that's that."

Cato reached for an empty mug and filled it near the brim with the remaining grog. He pushed the drink over to the councilor who had just sat down.

"Haven't thought that far ahead. Rather play all that by ear, keeps things interesting," the mercenary admitted. Sure, there were a few establishments that he frequented but never settled on one. Cato didn't particularly like giving too much coin to one particular place or person. Mercenaries could be odd when it came to coin despite how recklessly they spent it.

"Are your plans going to be any different? I imagine the company is going to slightly better dressed but not all that different from what we do. We just prefer to keep things simpler. Figured a merchant like yourself would see the benefit in that. 'Course its probably best not to take love advice from a sword-hacker like myself."

He turned to his cup once more, letting his sagacity sit for a moment.

"But if you're wondering if I have another contract after this, I don't."

 

[Quintus Vexion]

There was a tinge of jealousy in his heart as the mercenary across from him went on about his plans after this current contract or the lack of plans for that matter. It was Quintus' belief that mercenaries were some of the most free people in all of the world. They weren't tied down by any great loyalty to one Lord or another and they went wherever the void in their coin purse called them. Despite his great wealth and imagined freedoms, Quintus was a slave to his family name and perhaps beyond that, his own psyche. He was held down by the burden of legacy, something he could only ever escape if he could undo the sense of duty he had in his own mind to it. His forefathers quite literally bled for the sake of Alliria and to establish their place in the world. Some time ago, he could have cared less what happened to his family or it's name. Within him was a free spirit that wished to live and die by the sword... Somewhere along the way his life became monotonous. He wasn't born to be the administrator of some merchant enterprise, but something else entirely.

The gods played cruel tricks on those who had much to be expected of them. They loved to add weight to the load. The Spirits of the Helm never liked to let him forget who it was he owed his allegiance to at the end of the day as well as the difference between right and wrong. For as much as he envied the life of a Blackshield, the gods were most certain that it wasn't the life for him.

"You might not imagine so, but a man in my position has very little time for the best dressed company," he responded with a chuckle. "I suppose when it first began, I made opportunities for myself for that sort of thing and then, well... Things changed a bit I suppose."

It was a well known fact that he was The Star Touched Knight. There was only one bloodline in all of the world that was even capable of taking up the title and even more specifically, only the head of House Vexion could wear the armor. No one ever talked about all of the madness that came with the mantle... How the famed Knight's mind would deteriorate over time in the presence of beings that he could not hope to understand. When the songs of a thousand choirs singing the chords of the stars themselves echoed through your sleep, your mind became a much more difficult thing to grasp.

You pray less for strength and more for relief. For mercy. Gods were not merciful and that is why they were where they were.

"I imagine I might find more work for you and your men in Alliria if you're at all interested. The talk of politics might bore you, I imagine... That same politics might open up worlds of opportunity for you when the enemies of my bloodline make their moves. I'd say they're a bit overdue if I'm being quite honest."

There was nothing like the occasional assassination attempt or the danger that Quintus threw himself into on occasion to get his blood going when he was too bored with the day to day running of his House. The crimes of men were a small thing compared to the magnitude of what it was he dealt with on the regular basis. They were beings that most people couldn't hope to fathom from more than one abyss, the names of which only the gods knew.

"I'll be careful not to keep you too long. We wouldn't want you to get comfortable and fat like some of the companies living in the lap of luxury."​

 

[Cato]

"Forgive me for saying this, my Lord, but I do not envy your position," stated the mercenary candidly. He had noted the wistful tone of the merchant but could also see Quintus was dedicated to his path. Cato himself was not a stranger to the responsibilities of command and the weight that came with it. There was, however, a difference between leading a bunch of sellswords and an ancient lineage. This poor bastard didn't even have the time to bed a woman or two. Cato wondered what the point of all the councilor's wealth was. He suspected he would never fully understand what drove the man sitting across from him. "Course if you ever decide you want to let loose, I know a few places that'll have you regretting by morning."

Cato raised his mug in a toast. "More work is always good..."

It was true that the 'Shields could always use more work but the captain needed to step carefully. There were mercenaries who were happy to take any job that came, especially if they paid well. That type of thinking was likely to see you eating with the worms. Taking on the wrong contract could make enemies of those you didn't want to anger. Cato did know that in the world of politics, use of mercenaries and assassins was considered standard practice. They were merely tools to grease the bloody wheel of the great game. Most didn't see a point in blaming the weapon but rather the hand wielding it. There were, of course, exceptions but Cato did not think that to be the case in this instance.

"Need to see what the others think but I see no harm in hearing what you got to offer. Words are just words, after all," Cato stated blithely.

 

[Quintus Vexion]

Words were just words. A blade was just a blade. Coin was just coin. Everything was simply what it was. What mattered most was how the people who used them chose to utilize them. Quintus had seen a great many words spoken in life and as far as he could tell, they were spells that were just as dire as anything one might learn in a school of magic. Simple words spoken from the heart could cut strong men down and raze empires if one wasn't careful in how they used them. Understanding such power, Quintus chose not to press the issue when it came to hiring the Blackshields for a longer term. Such a thing was something he learned when dealing with his family's business. Cato was a simple man with very simple vices. A drink and the right kind of company around him could very well entice him to offer his sword just a little while longer. Better to ask the question again over vintage wine and a few women from one of the finest pleasure houses of Amol-Kalit to keep them both company. Cato moreso than Quintus. There were certain appearances that he liked to maintain and such a thing would be hard if he produced any bastards.

"As you say," he responded solemnly, respecting Cato's wishes to speak with his men first and perhaps even an equal in his organization. "Until your decision is made, I shall make accommodations for housing for both you and your men to stay in the Inner City. The visit to Oban was important to me for a number of reasons and so I'd like to show my gratitude. You'll all be looked after until such a time you're ready to depart."

Just then he realized how much like his father like his father he'd sounded. Everything was spoken with a lackadaisical finality. It would be this way because the stars themselves had aligned for his blood in the past and so why then, shouldn't all of the mortal beneath the stars walk and move the way the blood of Vexion wanted them to? Inwardly, he shook his head at himself and made a note to distance himself from such thoughts and practices. It was unbecoming of one who wished to lead his people into a brighter future.

​

"My Lord," Sir Roland made his presence known again, his expression a grave one.

Quintus took notice of it. He didn't respond, though the look in his eyes would let the knight in his service know that he was searching for answers that had yet to be given.

"The Captain requests your presence on the deck," Sir Roland began before gesturing with his chin at Cato, "Master Cato has been requested as well. A ship with black sails is impeding our route to the port of Alliria."

 

[Cato]

"Just don't choose a place that's too nice. Wouldn't want my boys getting you in trouble," the mercenary stated with a knowing smile. It shouldn't have come as any surprise that sellswords got rowdy. The 'Shields were more disciplined than most but that didn't mean they didn't get shit-drunk and break things. Better to have them stay at establishments that were used to that sort of things. 'Course he suspected that Quintus was already well aware of this particular behavior and would plan accordingly. "Now that doesn't apply to me, of course. I'm as subtle as they come."

Cato made to reach for his cup when young Roland suddenly appeared once more, this time with ill tidings.

"Nothing's ever easy is it?" asked Cato with a sigh. It looked like the mercenary captain would have to work for his pay after all. He made sure to finish what remained in his mug before retrieving his blades.

The ship listed slightly and so too did Cato.

"This'll be bloody fun."

His tone suggested otherwise.

 

[Quintus Vexion]

​

"Tha' the one, sorcerer?"

"Indeed."

"And wha' are ye sayin' you wan' from it? We been chasin' down ships for ye an' before long, the Allirian Navy will be on our ass," Captain Redhook spoke, sounding uncharacteristically un-enthused about what was to transpire. Redhook was a powerfully built pirate to be sure. To look at him, one might believe that he'd been a former soldier or mercenary. Perhaps he'd even fought in a fighting pit in a far away place. Still, the masked sorcerer could tell that the idea of leading a naval assault on a merchant councilor's ship rubbed him the wrong way. It was strange how the idea of death to men who never feared it became so much more terrifying when they were facing it. The Sorcerer rose up from his seat on the deck of that ship with black sails, his eyes fixed on the banner of the gold meteor on the red field on the ship on the horizon.

"The might of the Allirian Navy is minuscule compared to the might of the seas they make war upon... Get me to that ship and you shall see what it is I have come for," Llewyyn spoke, his voice distorted by the masque of steel he wore over his face. That ornate helm of the writhing tentacles of the master he served. Soon, he would have a great bounty to give him. "And I shall see to your payment..."
​

__________________________
​

The strait began to dance and the voices of the gods propelled him forward. There was foul sorcery on the air that made the winds howl the way they were. Quintus knew the feeling on the air well. It was a different type of tension, the sort that brought him excitement at it's best and a feeling of dread at it's worst. Ghostwarden and the Star-Made Armor was somewhere far away from him, locked in a vault and guarded by those loyal to his House and so the only weapon he had at his side was the steel sword that hung from his hip. With no words, he followed behind Sir Roland to the deck of the ship. In the distance, one could see the many lights of beautiful Alliria shining in the distance. Candles and torches gave them promises of a warm welcome from their return from traversing the seas. But there were clouds overhead and the gods beneath the sea were clearly being roused to anger.

The ship with the black sails was approaching and even though their own ship was rocking back and forth, the pirate ship seemed to almost cut through the waves, the wind carrying it at an ungodly speed. Quintus's heart began to pound in his chest as he knew what was to come.

"Be not afraid of what is to come, Master Cato," Quintus said over the roaring sea, his eyes fixed on the ship that was pressing onward toward them. "After all, they say death is easy and this life we live is hard... And certainly the gods shall receive us."

Chaos ensued shortly after...​

 

[Cato]

Cato's journey topside was far from flattering. He noted how easily the crew made their way about even as the ship careened this way and that. Still, the mercenary could see that for all their experience, there was anxiety in their movements. Even he knew that it was rare for pirates to be this close to port of Alliria. It either meant that they were incredibly stupid or were confident in their abilities. Cato hoped for the former but knowing how shit his luck had been of late, knew he should be expecting a serious fight.

He spotted the black sailed ship racing towards them. Little question remained as to their intent.

"Due respect, Lord Quintus. I'd rather not be meeting any gods anytime soon. As for fear, that speech may have helped before I was stuck in bloody tempest," complained the mercenary. Even with his discontent, a small grin seemed to tug at the sides of his mouth. The sort of look that only a truly reckless bastard could have, the look of genuine sellsword. He could almost hear the laughter of the other captains when he told them he got himself involved in a naval battle. If he survived this, he was never getting on another godsdamned ship again.

"Fuck."

 

[Quintus Vexion]

You are calm.
Good.
And so you have become used to the voices of the gods burning into your soul.
Or perhaps not.
Perhaps now you are just accustomed to pain.
That is the hero's curse. To know glory is to know pain.
​

To have proven himself worthy, he must have understood what it meant to overcome pain just like he had overcome fear in his life. To wear the armor was to know sacrifice. To hear the voice of the gods within the walls of your mind was to know all that one could of their creations. The words from the stars, white and distant whispered to him. So numerous that they spoke as raindrops did against Allirian rooftops in the Spring. They were infinite and all knowing and yet they were white noise. Whatever message they sought to get across to him came in simple words. An incantation as the enemies slammed into the smooth wooden side of their ship and sent men flying. He spoke words on the wind and made them a reality. The ones that were closest to Quintus would find their feet bound to the deck so that they would not lose their footing. A man without his footing whilst fighting at sea was as good as dead.

Look at how their enemies came forth, shrieking and howling like vile spirits on the wind. Their blades were drawn and they were searching for blood... gold. And something else. The waves were far too wicked and too suddenly for this to have been a simple raid, especially so close to home. The pirates in their black masks bore a mark on them that Quintus hadn't seen before. It made itself clear to him on their collective visage in a flash of lightning. A silver kraken devouring the sun, shining silver. The Spirits had to calm the innate need to panic. Something that gripped him until they told him how to break free.

"Don't look at the marks on their masks!" he called out to any who would listen.

One of them came at him with their curved sword. A swipe was quickly met with a well-timed block and a parry. In a swift and subtle motion, Quintus cut the pirate's windpipe with the very tip of his steel. Blood stained the deck and the sky was dark. Silently, he began to pray to the gods to guide his blade.​

 

[Cato]

The mercenary had expected to find himself squarely on his ass as the ships collided but instead found his footing had been surer than before. He would like to think that it was due to his steadfast heart but that would be complete dogshit. Cato could then only assume that he had benefited from a spell of some kind. There was only one man who was likely to cast such a supportive buff. He did not have any time to think on it longer as the strangely-masked pirates flooded onto to the ship's deck.

Blade in hand, Cato made ready to fight just as Quintus shouted a final warning.

How in the bloody hells am I supposed to do that? The mercenary kept the frantic question to himself, knowing that further panic would be noticeably unhelpful at this point. He could see the merchant lord had already engaged those nearest to them and Cato was keen to do the same. The mercenary quickly sheathed one blade as arcane energy poured into his left arm. His hand shot forward moments later, sending a wave of telekinetic magiks toward his foes. Cato watched with satisfaction as a pair of pirates were struck by the blast and sent hurtling over the ship's ornate railings. If the bastards loved the sea so much, best to give them a helping hand.

He drew his shortsword once more, and began the battle in earnest.

 

[Quintus Vexion]

There were no stars to guide them in the black of night.

Whatever sorcery was on the wind that made the water beneath them so volatile had also chased the stars away. The clouds circled about the two warring ships like numberless crows. When lightning flashed, it was never enough. When lightning flashed, it seemed to be for the sheer purpose of of giving men nightmares. Quintus looked to his left to see one of the Captain's crew bleeding out on the deck. He looked to the right and saw one of the pirates, more akin to a demon then, ripping out another man's jugular with his teeth. Flesh hung from his lips until a Blackshield's sword thrust found purchase in that villain's eye. Before him, another came, his shriek high on the twisting winds. Any man's heart might falter at the sight of the symbol on that black mask. Breathe. He knew magic when he saw it. He'd never studied it, but he had been touched by it. Made whole and whole again until he spoke the language of the stars themselves. There was nothing to fear, not even fear itself once one understood where it came from.

The pommel on Quintus' sword connected with teeth and if it weren't for the chaos all about them, he might have heard them hit the wood of the deck. The feeling of the impact was oddly satisfying and yet he had no time to revel in such a small victory. Lightning forked out in ever which way in the clouds above and he could see how many their enemies numbered. The odds of them losing were great.

What sorcerer set sail with them? What vile and rabid spirits moved them so?
​

Follow the light, Lord Quintus.
Follow the light as you always have.
The light is your guide.
The light is your shield.
​

"The light is my sword," he responded to the spirits in the cosmos of his mind.

Astra smiled upon him as she always did for his remembrance. For every fiber of his being came alive with the light of the stars themselves and all of the spirits that resided in them. Upon his brow, the Crown of the Infinite appeared. The Helm shined like the gods polished it with starlight. The Chestplate was a bulwark like the spine itself. The Boots and the Gauntlets reminded his very limbs of what it meant to shatter and outrun the darkness itself. Ghostwarden thirsted for the blood of the wicked once it found it's way to his hands. His mind was alive and on fire. How long had it been since he'd known such pain? How long had it been since he'd known such glory? The Spirits of the Helm were all about him and yet he was the only one that could see their ghostly forms. They danced about him like shining wisps of smoke and dust. They guided his hand.
​

Let the wicked weep in the presence of The Star Touched.
Blessed be his blood.​

"Good Cato! Blackshields! Rally to my light! Let us send these fools into the abyss that they've brought about us! Know no more darkness!"​

 

[Cato]

Cato ran his sword through the nearest pirate, only to find that the world had gone dark. The mercenary immediately wondered if he had been the cause and just as quickly tossed the notion aside. There was some truly obscene magical fuckery occurring and Cato was none too happy about it. He was currently attempting to use the skewered corpse as both anchor and shield. Screams and curses all around clearly indicated that this spell, if it could be called that, was not just limited to him. Cato hadn't stopped swearing since he had gotten on the bloody ship.

A fortunate flash of lightning saved the mercenary from losing an arm and likely more. All he saw was a feral, blood-soaked grin and that had been enough. He quickly detached from his macabre shield and created distance. It was taking all of Cato's wits to stop him from tossing his sword aside and curling up on the deck. This was not anywhere near the fucking realm of sellsword's usual work. His men could be counted among the strangest within the 'Shields but Cato doubted they'd encountered sorcery like this.

The mercenary began prepping to send out yet another telekinetic burst as he was running out of ideas. A glare of light suddenly caught the edge of his eye, followed by his employer's resounding voice. Well, Cato assumed it was Quintus' voice even though it sounded slightly different. "Alright you dumb bastards, if yer still alive, find your feet!"

Launching a quick blast, Cato made his way to merchant lord's side.

"Where in the the bloody void were you hiding all that?" the mercenary captain asked, incredulous. Despite how utterly desperate their current situation, a small grin rested on Cato's face. There was nothing like being at the edge to really get the blood pumping.

 

[Quintus Vexion]

"I daresay it was hidden in my veins, good Cato. As greatness often is! Wonder not after me! I do believe you have a payday to collect at the end of this battle"

His voice had changed.

When his body came alive in the armor made from the ore sent from the space between stars, he became as radiant as all of the spirits that spoke to him inside of the helm. He became the booming voice of his ancestors and entities beyond count and measure. Look at how gracefully they bade him to move in the creation of the Celestials. The Boots carried him across the deck like a gentle wind might carry a leaf. His feet barely made sound against the deck and if they did, the raging storm clearly would have carried the sound away just as the darkness had carried away many of the lives on this ship. Their sparks were departing, Quintus could see. He could see past the pain and the heat that the Star Made Armor brought to him in the physical. How the images of the spirits and flashes of lightning burned into every surface of every wall in the palace of his mind. If only common men could understand the pain...

Ghostwarden cut through metal that was raised to block it's otherworldly constitution. Soon after the Greatsword of the Star found it's mark through skin and bone, cutting his foe through his clavicle and through to his underarm. His body split in half, the light from his armor shining like the day and illuminating the deck. The face of the waves that crashed around them became as gorgeous as though they were being lit by the sun itself. That light came from his palm which pressed against another assailant. He screamed through his mask as the hand of the Star Touched Knight burned through his very being and left him a pile of ashes.

"Spirits guide my suffering form. In the name of Astra... Reveal our true enemy."

 

[Cato]

The mercenary surely wasn't hiding any greatness in his veins. A street mutt had cleaner blood than Cato did. He had no qualms about admitting that. Not like he got to choose who is parents were. Cato wasn't sure which god had been responsible for the circumstances of his birth but the sellsword was eager to return the favor. 'Course he was likely to meet some god soon with the way things were going.

"Have to be living to collect it," Cato muttered to himself as Quintus began his assault. Light trailed in the merchant lord's wake and that was enough for the mercenaries to get to work. A surprising number had survived the initial onset of darkness, though certainly not unscathed. They knew that no quarter was going to be given and then spurned them forward.

Cato allowed himself one moment of hesitation before throwing himself into the fray, his men followed suit. His first two strikes came in quick succession, knocking his opponent's blade aside. The mercenary captain wasted little time in running the pirate through with a blade. He swiveled, attention already focused on the next foe. A boarding hatchet near took his arm off but Cato dodged just in time. He quickly answered back with a slash of his own. It was not enough, so he pressed harder until another pirate lay dead at his feet.

A burst of light, followed by a soul-searing scream. Cato could not fathom the nature of his employer's powers but was sure he never wanted to be on the other end of them.

 

[Quintus Vexion]

"We'll make sure you get there, Captain! I'm on your left!"

If there was any shock or surprise about the Merchant Councilor's transformation. Further, he seemed right at home in the middle of all of the chaos. Fighting alongside Cato, the Blackshields, and the man who he served, Sir Roland was like the eye of the storm that still seemed ferocious. One of the pirates, driven by madness and adrenaline came barreling across the beck toward him, ax raised high in the air. Sir Roland's movements were quick and easy. It was as if he'd trained every moment of his life for times like these. It was in battle that he seemed the most at home. So when he swiped his sword across the air as effortlessly as he did, the madman did what it was that all men did when they were met with adeptly wielded steel. His knees went weak and blood leaked from the wound created on his face as he fell to the deck. Keeping in step with Cato and the other men around him, he protected the flanks of all who were closest to him.

Still there was something foul on the air.

​

Steel from the blade of one of his foes found purchase on the side of the Star Made Helm. His head ringing was the price The Star Touched Knight had paid for losing his focus on the battlefield. Whether the gods were attempting to send him a message or not, Quintus took it as one. He made an agreement with the Spirits of the Helm in that moment that if they worked on finding the source of this sorcery on the air, he would do the best he could to keep a head on their collective shoulders. For there was no use in having a thousand choirs sing the secrets of the universe to you when there was no chamber for them to recite their knowledge. The great Knight decided to focus on Ghostwarden instead. What blood might it extract from the wicked men seeking to pull them beneath the sea?

Ghostwarden thrust forward and found it's way into the chest of the brave and feral soul that assaulted him with their blade. Quintus pulled the alien metal from his foe and before he could fall to the deck, the Star Touched waved a hand to see his corpse carried off by the wind into the raging strait about them. Quintus pushed forward, the Spirits singing to him beneath the Helm and his own heart propelling him to see the sun rise in the morning as it always had. How many men would die before they would make it to the safety of the city of Alliria?

Lingering on such questions killed those who lived and died by the sword.

Raising Ghostwarden again, he realized something was amiss. Raising his enchanted and sacred blade to fell another foe, he was suddenly stopped. Dark blue runes circled about his arms and feet and kept them in place before they forcefully dragged him off the deck and into the water. Quintus stole as much air as he could before he was submerged. Panic overtook him and the Spirits came alive.

The sorcerer was attempting to drown him.

 

[Cato]

"Didn't take you for an optimist," chided Cato. The mercenary was certainly glad to have Sir Roland at his side. Young though he may be, it was clear he had seen his fair share of scraps. Good thing, because this battle was a bloody fucking mess. The captain would have to give a big bonus to his men after this, or at least to those who survived. Cato's prospects of being alive to make such a gesture were quite slim.

The mercenary captain continued to fight in a desperate bid to survive. There was nowhere to run on this battlefield. Only the cold grasp of the ocean and a frantic drowning. This was where the pirates had shown their hubris. Cato and his men were now in a situation with no retreat. The Third were not the best fighters in the company but they were damn tough. These thrice-mad pirates were learning that the hard way.

Then, their beacon disappeared. Cato only caught a glimpse of Quintus before he was yanked bodily into the sea. Near darkness had enveloped the ship yet again. Men died pitiful deaths.

This was going to be a short battle without the merchant lord's light.

"They're a bunch of unruly cunts but they do good work," Cato suddenly said to Sir Roland who was still fighting beside him. "See them through it best you can"

That was all Cato said as he suddenly slipped away, intent on helping Quintus.

Unnatural though it may be, the mercenary was no stranger to darkness.

Quintus Vexion

 

[Quintus Vexion]

He passed away from all senses. The realm beneath the raging sea felt almost tranquil. Even as he held his breath and counted the moments until his passing, the darkness brought him peace. It was strange to him considering all that he had done to be a champion of the light. It was strange the things that occurred to him in that vast abyss. The black pit seemed to shed more light on his mind than the many voices of the gods did. Quintus thought of home. He thought of his mother's smile and his father's cool distance. How he missed them both especially now... down here where nothing mattered. Perhaps there was one thing, though. Acceptance of what was to come. A voice, wicked and damned crept into the crevices of his mind and told him to breathe. In this abyss, all he needed to do to receive all the answers he wanted, to have all of his burdens lifted was to simply breathe.

What was stopping him? Beneath the waves, the gods felt so far away from him. Normally behind the helm, their images would burn into his psyche with the heat of numberless stars. Their voices would both uplift and threaten to shatter his very soul, spreading his dust across creation in what he knew would be his inevitable final rest. Quintus opened his eyes... He hadn't known that they were closed before. There was a lone star beneath those waves that spoke to him and made his heart flutter. With what? Hope? What hope was there to be found in a place like this?
​

You must live, my Lord.

A hand wrapped around his arm.

There is much you still have to do.
Astra beckons.
​

He knew not who braved the depths to save him from his doom. All that he knew was that he needed to hold on. Something from beneath them began to propel them toward the surface. Ahead of them, the water seemed to part and the current began to rock them. When he drew breath, he thanked all the gods that watched him from the insides of that great helm. His grip had become strong again. Or perhaps his strength never faded in the face of that sorcery. Could it have been that Ghostwarden knew to stay close to him? Either way, he coughed up salt water and struggled to catch his breath. His eyes fell on Cato as he ground his teeth to help them get back to the ship.

Sir Roland lit their way. Their assailants were burning as a result of his fire magic. His was a controlled inferno that was meant to light the way as much as it was meant to save them.

"I must complete the *caff*... Magic necessary to discover this sorcerer!"​

 

[Cato]

Cato slunk through the madness, deftly avoiding the bastards who wanted to tear him to pieces. He quickly found himself at the railing of the deck.

"Fuck me," he muttered as he looked down into the pitch-black, churning waters. The mercenary realized that his vision wasn't entirely obfuscated. A dim light resonated below the turbulence. Cato took a deep breath as he gathered not only air, but magik to him. He cursed every god in existence before sending himself over the ledge.

The iciness of the water robbed the mercenary of whatever breath he saved. Cato centered himself as best he could, focusing his attention downwards. He could already tell it was far too late to swim down to Quintus. The man was in full plate in any case, it would take a fucking giant to pull the man up under normal circumstances.

He instead stretched his consciousness towards the other man, telekinetic energies in pursuit. His magic eventually found the drowning warrior and grasped at him clumsily. Cato tried to wrench the man upwards with his magic but the weight proved too much. He was going to fucking die in the middle of the damned ocean and no one was there to even see.

More angry than anything, Cato made for another almighty pull. This time he found there was less resistance, what's more the light from Quintus seemed to be even brighter. The mercenary honestly barely remembered how he found himself on the deck or back towards Sir Roland. All he knew was that he was alive, for the moment.

"How much time do you need?" the mercenary captain asked, knowing he wasn't going to like the answer.


Quintus Vexion

 

[Quintus Vexion]

"Not long, good Cato. The gods will guide my hand..."

For what is true and what isn't is determined solely by the whims of they.
They who's skin is the stuff of stars and who's blood is the worship of mortals.
Reach out with your hand and know their power, Councilor.
None will impede your wrath.
For in the face of Astra and her brethren, her progeny, none can.

"It is so."​

They would not die in the sea for the gods were with them. Quintus reached forward toward the light that his servant created. He who served him the same way that Quintus served the creators of the world. They appeared in the eye of Sir Roland's tempest as though they had been there all along. The whipping of fire and the burning of the whip the young knight held in his hands was welcome to the Star Touched Knight in contrast to the strong waves and chill of the seas. Quintus had to push past the sharp pain in his head and the bleeding of his nose under the great helm that Astra forged. There was an evil there that was cloaked by reality itself and when the light died down from Sir Roland's fire whip, they were once again best on all sides by those who were touched by the sorcerer's mark. Quintus would waste no time. The sorcerer had to be brought to the light and brought to justice.

And so he raised Ghostwarden high in the air. When he spoke the language that the spirits of the helm had gifted him with, it came as a screech that tore through the air and consumed everything. Quintus' own eardrums could barely stand to take in the sound of his own voice and yet he pressed. He could see them in his mind. They were numberless, singing to him the incantation and as he repeated their words, their images burned into his mind to the point where he thought he might be driven mad.

But it worked. Gods, it worked...

Quintus fell to his knees, hardly able to see past the scars the light had burned into his eyes. The sorcerer had been torn from his safe place, reality peeling back like a scroll and dropping him on the deck of the ship. Quintus gripped Ghostwarden tightly in his right hand and pulled himself up to his feet slowly. He searched for the incantations to make his limbs stronger. To make him fight longer. The armor was heavy on his shoulders and heavier than the sea had been just a few moments before. He dragged the greatsword across the deck toward his foe. As the battle raged on around him, he filled his head with a singular mantra.

I am going to kill him. Gods willing, I am going to kill him...

 

[Cato]

"The gods have only fucked me," the mercenary grated, "But you've always paid on time." It was fortunate that young Sir Roland was still counted among the living. Cato wondered what it must have been like if he had been given some proper training. Best he got was being thankful for not waking face-down in a ditch. Sure some old bastard had taught him but that was a far cry from an Elbion scholarship. The merchant lord's second had bought crucial time not only for his liege but also for the rest of the 'Shields.

Cato knew not exactly what happened but turned to see Quintus on his knees. The mercenary did not see defeat in the man's eyes but rather conviction. A desperation gripped their otherworldly foes and that told Cato all he needed.

"Alright if you dumb bastards ever want to see another whorehouse, best not fuck about," chided the mercenary captain. They had been in enough scraps to know this was the final push.

Waterlogged and beyond fucked, Cato and his men flung themselves into the fray. They could only hope their efforts opened the way for Quintus to end this once and for all.

Quintus Vexion

 

[Quintus Vexion]

​

He was ripped from his pocket in reality.

From his mind, the storm came. It was his vile imaginings and the power granted to him by Abbon, the Father of the Void, that choked out the light from the stars. And it was he that placed terrible spirits and marks upon the raiders of this crew. The magicks performed by The Star Touched Knight had left their mark on him. From the holes in his helmet, smoke rose into the air. Upon his chest, he could feel the burn where the spirits of his mighty helm, those servants of Astra-The-Distant-Star had dragged him from his safety. Every fiber of his being burned with the intensity of those distant bodies. He searched desperately for the words to spellbind the Councilor yet again, but instead he was met with a blow that set his kraken-shaped helm askew. The light that stood before him had been too intense in that moment. Too bright. What had begun to fade beneath the sea had suddenly become bright again and every part of him told him to flee.

"Abbon... Dread Father. Deliver me from he who serves the Celestials. I beg of you. Grant me the power t-"

That great knight had seemingly lost his blade. His metal covered hands were on both sides of his face. His helm had been tossed to the side. The storm that he'd created flashed violently and he could see mercenaries and men-at-arms making their final press into the raiders with Abbon's great mark upon their visage. The star standing before them had given them courage where he'd created fear, something that should have been impossible.
​

Look upon your sins, Cogliostro.
We see it in you. The desperation.
The grasping for power.
How many parents have suffered the loss of their children?
How many wives will never again know the touch of their husbands?

"How many men died here today? And for what? SPEAK!"
​

Cogliostro would have spoken if he could, but the power... The power that came from the armor made from that meteor that fell as a result of Astra's Judgement bombarded his very psyche. He could see the voices as they burned into his mind, speaking their language that numbed him to all feeling. He was numb and yet he knew the feeling of what it meant to burn in the purest light. He could smell his own flesh burning. He could feel his mind guiding him to nothingness. Was that all that there would be for him? A void?

"I release you, sorcerer... I release you to your master."

The will to utter in protest had escaped him... Cogliostro, the sorcerer in service to the most deep power of all had faded into dust. His mind remained. A judgement from the gods themselves. It would wander the seas without end... and for eternity, he would see their burning forms in his mind's eye. The sorcerer died. So did his storm. The Star Touched Knight fell to the deck as hard as the meteor that made his armor fell from the heavens. Smoke rose from his body as consciousness escaped him...
​

_____
​

The feeling of a breeze dancing through purple curtains was welcomed.

The room was dark and would have been pitch black if it were not for the candles that were lit around him. All of them burned a different color for each of the Celestials. The tallest one was the color of pearl and was placed in the center of them all. He needed to pray, he knew. Needed to get the images and the voices to come to a stop... And most of all, he needed to pray for him form. The Star Touched Armor took it's toll on the body. An other wise strong man was made feeble after armor had it's way. The life looked to have been sucked from the Merchant Councilor, but he was loathe to let anyone see it. Only a few.

A servant wandered into his chambers and immediately, he gave the order.

"Summon Captain Cato to my chambers if he is still present. I wish to speak with him before his departure."
​

​

 

[Cato]

Desperation gripped Cato and the rest of his 'Shields. They fought with everything they had and then some. None wanted to die on a bloody ship of all the things. Many of his comrades' corpses already littered the deck of the merchant ship, Cato was not keen to join. Each swing of his sword was punctuated by pure instinct. A simple desire to see himself out of this thrice-fucked mess.

He ripped a plank from beside him with telepathic energies and skewered two pirates. Any other day he may have been proud with himself for that piece of magik. Amidst a swirling cacophony of unholy fuckery, it was worse less than rat shit.

This was not the 'Shield's stage...

​

---

Cato had awoken in pain, the sort that made one wish they were dead. It was real enough to let him know he was among the living. Vague scenes plagued his memory but somehow the mercenary had come through it. He knew better than to question his luck. Instead he had went about the business of counting the dead.

Count came to twelve, not bad considering it all; most died during the initial assault anyways. Tallies done, the mercenary captain was soon summoned to his employer.

"You look about as bad as I fuckin' feel," Cato chided as he entered the merchant lord' quarters.

Quintus Vexion

 

[Quintus Vexion]

Quintus let out a hollow chuckle.

When Cato had arrived, Quintus was kneeling and muttering inaudible words into the blackness of the quiet room. Well, quiet if not for the breeze and the sound of the bells at the Allirian docks in the distance. Somehow the low baritone of his voice seemed to mix well with the ambient noise. It was the perfect mixture of sound and silence. The voices of the spirits of Astra's progeny seemed to sing in a low hum. Quintus was certain he could see them with his mind's eye. The hall they sand their choir songs in was tall and had many places for them to stand. Their feet were numberless and their faces indescribable. And with every word of prayer he muttered to the candles, they sang his praise up to the stars themselves. Astra would smile on him again.

Reaching forward on the table in front of the tall pearl candle, Quintus grabbed a hold of a small box and rose from where he was kneeling. Without a word, he made his way over to Cato and opened it. The thing inside seemed to steal what little light there was in the room. It looked like a shard of glass. About as long as a grown man's middle finger, but way thinner. It glowed, sparkling with different colors as the box adjusted to the subtle movements of his hands. So beautiful that one might think it was speaking in the language of light itself. It wasn't blinding, but it was alluring.

"House Vexion was formed so long ago that no one remembers how it was we came to power. Truly came to power," he began, his eyes on the shard still. "My armor was made from the rock that fell from the heavens... That is the story that everyone knows, however our fortune came from the remnants of that rock. The material is harder than steel and quite possibly more beautiful than any other stone in existence. Everyone sought after it in those days. Lords and Kings clamored to get pieces of it even if it meant the ruin of their house... I hope this shard brings you good fortune, friend."

He closed the little black box and what little light there was in the room had returned. Then, he must have looked like some shade handing Cato the world. Quintus pressed the box into Cato's palm.

"Astra be with you."​