[M] Runes

[Azazeal849]

She poked into tent, one into the next without grace or tact until she found the Leveler’s, ignoring her patrols and sticking her head inside. The leader of the Ashmen was standing with a knot of men and women, their faces illuminated by a rune-cast light that flickered and bobbed in the air between them. Cara did not recognise all of them, but as always it was easy to tell the wizards from the soldiers - the first were clad in fine silks; the latter in bronze and leather.

“HELLO?” Cara called out, brightly and at excessive volume. “YOUR HOLE IS HERE MY LADY! YOUR LOYAL HOLE READY TO SERVE YOU!”

Silence.

The Leveler had frozen in place, her eyes scrunched closed as if she were praying. Everyone else was staring at Cara, and most of them were making heroic efforts to press their lips tight together and contain sniggers of amusement. At least one of the soldiers failed, the laugh spurting out of him as he doubled over with shoulders quaking. The flatulent sound was obscenely loud in the silent tent.

The Leveler’s own shoulders heaved up and down as she took a breath, sighed it out, and blinked open her eyes.

“Hole…” she said in a strained voice. Behind her, another soldier cracked. An older mage, standing safely at the back where the others couldn’t see, waggled his eyebrows in Cara’s direction.

“Hole,” the Leveler pressed on valiantly, and cleared her throat. “I’ve got a job for you. One or more Lightmen, probably mages, slipped past the siege lines earlier this evening. This man…” She paused to indicate one of the nondescript soldiers. “Might know where they’re headed. I need you to go with him and do what you do best.”

“Mmm hmm?” the mage at the back hummed suggestively, dipping his chin and fluttering his eyebrows again.

The Leveler gripped the bridge of her nose with one hand, and threw the other out behind her. The grinning mage was ejected from the tent, leaving a vaguely man-shaped hole in the canvas.

* * * * * *

The Ambassador blinked her big, liquid eyes at the Wanderer.

“Take them.”

The mer’s eyes dropped from Wanderer’s own to the grubby bag in her outstretched hand. After what looked like an intense few moments of internal deliberation, the pale shapeshifter stepped forward to meet her. She reached out and took the bag and the bracelet rather gingerly, holding them between thumb and forefinger as if she expected something to slither out of the bag and bite her.

“Landwalkers do not often share runes.” the creature burbled quietly. “Why...is this?”

“The same reason rich people do not often share gold.” the Raven answered off-handedly. He didn’t turn around, still sweeping his outstretched arm across rocks and boulders as he focused on the rune-imprints around them.

“Mer runes...not good…” the Ambassador mused, in her strange lilting accent. “But to keep them…” She looked around the group. “Yes. Balance.”

With exaggerated care, she transferred the bracelet into the safety of the bag and pulled tight the drawstring, tying it around the belt of her still-damp tunic.

“Hey.” Solar spoke up, folding his arms across his chest and looking at Wanderer. “I’m not moving this rubble all on my own, and I’m sure as hell not going back empty handed when what we’re looking for is clearly right fucking here. Why are you so bothered about some old mine?”

Illusion peeled her lips back over gritted teeth and punched the younger man firmly in the shoulder. Solar yelped in protest and looked round for an explanation. The deserter mage raised her eyebrows sharply, glancing towards Wanderer and then back at Solar. As an Ashwoman herself, she had clearly guessed Wanderer’s origins from the scars that were written across her skin. Many Ash slaves had lived and died in mines like the one beneath their feet.

Solar held the Illusion’s stare, eyeing her searchingly. He might not have understood what she meant, but he seemed to at least understand enough to fall quiet.

“I agree with the grumpy one.” said a voice.

The whole group pulled up short - even the mer, who glanced around and then up at the sky for the source of the words. Raven and Solar were more aggressive, hands flying to the weapons on their belts.

“Who goes there?” Raven questioned sharply, a frown deepening the lines of his weather-beaten face. His outstretched palm twitched left and right. Even the Wanderer could feel the ambient rune force - a tingling that prickled her skin and made the hairs on her arms raise with static. Picking out anything specific among the fuzz of background noise would be difficult, even for someone with scrying runes.

“If you’re looking for the Moonstone,” the voice came again, carelessly ignoring the Raven’s challenge, “Then I’m afraid you’re too late. It’s not here.”

Solar looked to the Wraith, his green eyes narrowing suspiciously. The Ambassador was the first to move, her bare feet scuffing dust from the ground as she padded round the side of a heaped shale midden. Illusion started after her, and the others followed at their own pace.

Behind the midden was a sizeable crater, scorched almost black in contrast to the sun-bleached earth around. In the centre, buried up to his neck in the loose sand and rubble, was a man.

He was a handsome man; perhaps forty or fifty years of age, with a bald pate and deep brown skin that gleamed in the morning sunlight. His dark eyes looked up at them all, appraising and clearly unamused.

“Who are you?” the Ambassador asked, taking in the man’s strange predicament.

“That’s a deep, existential question.” the buried man intoned. One of his eyes narrowed as he looked up at the willowy, blue-tinged mer. “But you can call me the Immortal.”

“The Im-” Illusion blurted, her mouth falling open. “But the Leveler…you’re supposed to be dead!”

“I’ll refer you back to my name.” the buried man answered dryly. “Now, would you mind digging me out?”

Solar made a skeptical noise. “Won’t you attack us?”

“Would I bother to ask for your help if that was my plan?” the buried man countered. “You think I need to wave my hands at you to call lightning down on your head?”

Solar looked at Raven, who looked at the Wraith. Again, it was the mer who stepped forward first, with the Illusion moving to hang on her heels. The Ash sorceress was careful to stand to the side, leaving her companions a clear shot at the buried man’s head if anything untoward happened.

“Dig in, ladies.” the Immortal prompted. “No need to be shy.”

The Ambassador stooped to her knees, the matted dreadlocks of her hair falling across her shoulders. Somewhat hesitantly, she began to scoop at the burned sand around the Immortal’s throat.

A chin, a neck, and nothing else revealed themselves beneath the mer’s scraping hands.

“Oh!” the Ambassador said, her mouth forming a perfect circle of surprise as the buried man’s severed head tilted over and landed with a soft thump on its cheek.

“Ow.” the Immortal complained, looking displeased.

The Illusion’s reaction was more visceral. “Oh my gods.” she squealed, clapping both hands over her mouth and recoiling back. “You’re a head!”

Looking at her sideways, the Immortal’s dark eyes opened wide in feigned alarm. “Am I?” he pretended to panic. “Oh shit, I hadn’t noticed!”

His eyebrows drew down in an irritated huff, and he let his gaze roam up to the Ambassador who was still staring down at him as she knelt in the sand.

“You never told me your name.”

The mer blinked at him, her head cocked curiously to one side. “I am the Ambassador.”

The Immortal twisted his mouth, considering for a moment. “Too long. I’m going to call you Ambie.”

The Ambassador frowned. “Why not Amber?” she suggested, her tone almost pouting.

“Nah, you’re definitely an Ambie.” the Immortal said. “What’s a mer doing up here? I thought you kept to your underwater caves. Actually strike that, I don’t care. This lot look more interesting.”

He pursed his lips, focusing on the others. His eye fell particularly on Wraith with his forbidding iron mask, and on Wanderer with her heavy pickaxe.

“So who are you, then?”

[Price]

The Wraith remained silent in contemplation as the band marched away from the excitement at the river bank. Even though violence and killing was in his very nature, the man took great pains to not grow desensitized to such acts. His slayings had always been an act of mercy, either righteous retribution on behalf of the deceased or else a euthanasia of a rabid creature no longer human. There was always a higher purpose, a greater moral good. As he followed behind the Mer and these mercenaries, he replayed their battle in his mind’s eye. The young inexperienced bowman, neck snapped and life extinguished, floated downstream never to receive respectable burial. Their enemy, just as young, was the first casualty of the Leveler that the Wraith had knowingly been a party to. He had hoped to take her alive, to speak with her, if for no other reason than to understand why the Leveler inspired such extreme devotion. The look of her was pitiful, stretched out flat on her back, eyes wide with shock, mouth agape. Two young lives had been taken, potential wasted.

Was it worth it? Had the young bowman been personally invested in this conflict, or had he sacrificed his life in pursuit of mere coin. And as for their enemy, the young woman with the vines, it seemed to the Wraith that she had been rather unbalanced from the start. Had she known her ultimate fate, would she have been prepared to follow this Leveler to the grave? The longer that he thought it over, the more unsure the Wraith became, and the less necessary this violence seemed.

He had been so lost in his thoughts that he had not paid attention to the arduous climb up the mountain along unkempt, dilapidated roads nor the burn in his calves and thighs that resulted from it. He had also not paid attention to the fact that the entire group had come to a halt, and so he very nearly walked into the Wanderer, only just managing to bring himself to a stop in time to avoid an awkward and clumsy incident, though no one seemed to notice.

He remained quiet as the others spoke of their dilemma with the mine entrance being blocked, appearing rather unconcerned about the situation. Whether that was actually the case or whether he was simply silently observing and planning was not entirely clear. He continued to be less than invested in their troubles until he heard the voice. The Immortal, in the flesh…mostly….partly, appearing before them. It was certainly an interesting development.

“So who are you then?”

“I have many names in many regions, though the one I seem to be called by most often, is the Wraith…” he answered. His eyes, curious though they were, tore away from the disembodied head of the Immortal to the group at large. “I can go no further. The prayers for the wicked have been neglected for far too long already, I must complete them.” With that, the Wraith turned his back on the group and began walking away to find somewhere more private.

[Scottie]

It was rather comical the way the Mer picked up the rune bags, almost childlike as wide eyes scanned the bag for a trick or snapping creature. The Wanderer slowly blinked at the Mer before her and would have responded but the Raven beat her to it. A single nod was given in agreement. He was correct to an extent. She didn’t feel like hoarding tiny magical rocks, it didn’t feel right given the situation they were in. But she also didn’t want blood runes staining her soul. She already had one that burned through her every waking moment.

“I’m not moving this rubble all on my own, and I’m sure as hell not going back empty handed when what we’re looking for is clearly right fucking here. Why are you so bothered about some old mine?”

She didn’t respond, she merely pressed the head of her axe into the dirt and pushed herself to her feet. As she turned towards Solar, the axe was heaved over her shoulder. Once again, before she could respond another took the opportunity. Her forehead furrowed as the Illusion punched Solar in the shoulder. Not good enough. If he hadn’t shut his mouth in time, she would have broken his jaw. She let her weary gaze fall to the rocks before them, they reeked of power but she still could see some that had the tell tale signs of worked stone. Heavy chisels and axes that sliced through stone after stone after stone...

“I agree with the grumpy one.”

The axe was lifted from her shoulder and the weapon came to hang by her side. Her knuckles white as her grip tightened around the handle. Where the fuck did that voice come from? The Raven used something that forced the hairs on the back of her neck to raise up. She shook her head violently as the voice continued. Moonstone….Before the words could truly settle, the Mer was off. Her feet scuttling in the dust, forcing it to dance around her.

A deep sigh left her chest and she rolled her eyes before following the others. They were like curious cats. She expected to find another group of travellers playing a trick, perhaps a sole mage that was setting up a trap….but not a man...buried to his shoulders in the earth. Oh the temptation to chuckle was too much and a small smirk burned itself across her lips. Had he been buried by the earthquake...or a bunch of meddling kids burying a sleeping man. The stupidly silly possibilities were endless.

She did not think it to be a punishment. She knew that some masters could be “imaginative” when it came to punishments. But burying a slave above ground...away from the mine...would be foolish. “That’s a deep, existential question.” Her smile dropped as she already knew this man would be trouble. Could they not leave him here…He was nobody...The Immortal. Her eyebrows shot up to her hairline. She knew that mage couldn’t have died...a man with an ego big enough to call himself the Immortal, knew that he had enough power to survive any attack.

“He needs no hands to cast lightning down upon us...but needs help to move a little bit of dirt.” The Wanderer added her observation as the Mer dropped to her knees before the snappy head.

The Wanderer’s gaze had drifted upwards. With every other member of the party focusing on the buried man, it would be the perfect time for an attack. Dull green eyes drifted over the crater, it wasn’t made by man. No slave was forced to dig out these rocks. But something seemed to buzz around them and it was unsettling.

“Oh my gods.” she squealed, clapping both hands over her mouth and recoiling back. “You’re a head!”

That was enough of a strange statement to force the Wanderer to glance down to the buried….head. Her eyes went wide and she watched the head continue to express it’s disapproval at having been left in the dirt on its side. The sharp response of the Immortal had a harsh laugh leave the Wanderer who just couldn’t help herself. He was a head. The mighty and powerful Immortal….was a rolling head who couldn’t even sit upright by himself.

She managed to stifle her chuckles when he spoke to other members of the party. It explained the desperate need for him to be released from the dirt. Ambie...The Wanderer’s smile dropped and she shook her head softly. Don’t give out cute names, you idiot. The talking head was rather rude to people who had just freed him from his dirt prison. He snapped between conversations like his life depended on it.

His gaze drifted between the heavily armoured Wraith and herself. A single eyebrow was raised as she left her companion speak first. “I have many names in many regions, though the one I seem to be called by most often, is the Wraith…” The Wanderer did not have such a mysterious way to introduce herself. She let the gruff voiced man leave the group and glanced over her shoulder only once to see which direction he was headed in.

When her gaze returned to the dirt covered head, she let her shoulders drop in a deep sigh. The Wanderer took two steps closer to the head and let her axe hit the dirt and sigh to her left. It was heavy enough to shake the small balls of dirt that were now rolling away from him. She crouched down and let her eyes scan over the head. “I am the Wanderer.”

She reached out and plucked the head from the soil. Standing with it in her grip. At first, she let him sit normally so he could see the others and the destruction that surrounded him. She paused before turning him upside down in her hands. “How did you become just a head then?” The wanderer asked as she turned him over, seeing if perhaps he had a tiny body sticking out from his neck...no. Nor did he had any runes carved into the back of his head. She just kept turning him. “Doesn’t seem like something the mighty Immortal would let happen, hm?” The wanderer asked, finally letting the head settle back so he could see them all.

[Azazeal849]

“I have many names in many regions, though the one I seem to be called by most often, is the Wraith…”

The Immortal was working his jaw, trying to dislodge the sand stuck to his cheek while the Ambassador awkwardly set him back upright on his stump of a neck. When he heard the Wraith speak his name, the Immortal’s lips puckered into an impressed oooooh.

“You’re the Wraith?” He paused to frown. “You’re bigger than I imagined. How does the Valley’s biggest vigilante sneak up on anyone, especially with a mask like that?”

Wraith’s eyes tore away from the disembodied head of the Immortal to the group at large. “I can go no further. The prayers for the wicked have been neglected for far too long already, I must complete them.”

The Immortal watched him go, and arched an eyebrow. “I don’t think the wicked need your prayers. They’re usually living the high life, not like those chumps with morals. Mind you, give someone a candle and a funny mask and they’ll make a religion out of anything.”

The Raven hooked his thumbs into his belt, looking serious. “I believe he plans to mourn the dead.”

The Immortal clicked his tongue. “They probably need his prayers even less, then.”

He paused, and returned his gaze to the Wanderer.

“I like you, you look pretty cynical. What’s your name?”

Wanderer let her axe hit the dirt and crouched down, letting her eyes scan over the head. “I am the Wanderer.”

The Immortal’s disembodied head twisted its mouth and looked off to the side, considering. “Not a bad mage-name.” he allowed after a moment, “Not the best I’ve heard, but...hey!”

That last came as she reached out and plucked his head from the soil. She paused before turning him upside down in her hands.

“Ahem.” the former mage protested waspishly.

He was still strangely warm in her hands, though the stump of his neck was burned and black. How he was talking without any lungs to push the air was a mystery - though hardly the biggest one about his current condition.

“How did you become just a head then?” the Wanderer asked as she turned him over. “Doesn’t seem like something the mighty Immortal would let happen, hm?”

The Immortal blew out his cheeks in a weary sigh. “It might have had something to do with the Leveler, a lightning bolt, and a reflecting rune I didn’t know she had. A total cheap shot, if you want my opinion.”

“Ah crap.” Solar groaned. “If the Leveler blew you up, does that mean she now has all of your runes too?”

The Immortal gave him a withering look. “Does she fuck. You think I’m stupid enough to carry them around with me everywhere I go? Do you know what makes powerful mages different?”

The young redhead scratched his neck. “Apart from having more runes?”

“Yeah.”

“Then no.”

The Immortal huffed. “They're good at guarding against metaphorical gold diggers. I don’t need to keep my runes on me to cast them...and that includes smiting all of your dumb asses right here and now, by the way.” The head’s dark eyes roved over the group. “But then, it’s not Leveler having my runes you should be worried about.”

The Ambassador rose from her knees, her tunic falling in crisp folds. “The Greater Moonstone?”

“Wow, I see the fabled mer wisdom is real after all. Yes, Ambie, she has the Greater Moonstone.”

“I told you.” Illusion said gravely, plucking at the pendant that hung around her neck.

“Hey, wait a second.” Solar broke in, raising a finger, “For those of us who aren’t pretentious, all-knowing assholes, what is a Greater Moonstone?”

The Immortal squinted at him for a second. “It’s a shapeshifting rune, boy. Some clever people theorised that if the mer can do it, then there must be a rune for it out there somewhere. Turns out they were right. Your Enlightened Ones would probably call it heresy but I bet they would still grab it if they could.”

He chuckled to himself.

“A shame that Leveler’s buggered off with it. I could make much better use of it than her right now.” He offered Wanderer and Illusion a winning smile - an expression his perfectly white teeth were well suited for. “I don’t suppose either of you fine ladies is up for providing a piggyback over to the Light city?”

* * * * * *

The Wraith didn’t have to walk far to find solitude, which came in the form of a small gully winding down to a blocked off mine entrance. Unlike the collapsed main tunnel above, this one looked to have been sealed some time ago. Perhaps the seam beneath had been mined out, or had flooded and become unusable.

For a few moments the Wraith was alone with the sun and the dry wind sifting through the rocks, but then he heard footsteps. Behind him was the Raven, tall and scruffy and weatherbeaten as he climbed down the gully. He halted a few paces short of the Wraith, regarding him with creased, ice-blue eyes.

“Who do you pray for?” the Raven asked him.

[Minkasha]

Cara had grown used to the treatment, the mockery. In her eyes, their reaction was a subtle fear of the expansive, seeing things from a higher perspective than one body. When the Leveler called her alias, there was pride and excitement again to enter the woman’s bosom. It was always the Leveler who took up beside her to defend her name. It was why in turn Cara knew she had to be beside this woman.

The mixed woman eyed the soldier gestured to and nodded.

“If I follow this man, should you and I create a bond so that I may return swiftly with news?”

The Leveler’s chest rose and fell a second time. “I suppose we should.”

Another quiet titter rippled through the tent, despite the fate of the one mage who had previously done so (Cara could hear him busily spitting out mud on the ground outside). The method by which she created a bond was rather famous - and infamous - throughout the army. No-one could really guess why consuming someone’s body fluids was a requisite, but that was why the runes were the purview of the Shattered Gods, rather than of mere mortals.

If the others in the tent knew how many of the Leveler’s enemies had kissed Cara and subsequently seen her step out of thin air and drive a pike through their chests, they might not be so quick to laugh. Perhaps that was why the Leveler remained stoic as she stepped away from the group.

Her long gown brushed the woven mat that had been laid down, so that she almost seemed to glide. Cara saw her tongue briefly flicker out to moisten her pale lips. The Leveler’s blue-grey eyes never left Cara’s as a confident hand reached out to curl around the back of her head and gently twist its fingers through her star-lit hair. The world around them seemed to hold its breath as the Leveler slowly pulled her in and-

“Actually,” the Leveler stated, firmly. “I’m not doing that with all these people watching.”

She drew away, craned her head down and spat into the palm of her free hand, holding it up. The sleeve slipped down to her pale elbow, and the small, bubbled wad of saliva slowly began to trace down her palm after it as she held it out towards Cara.

“Still hot!” someone piped up happily from the back of the tent.

Cara did what she could to null the signs of rejection. The Leveler changed the world, why would she care what a room of people thought about her? It was disappointing. Cara signed and accepted the hand. This was so little, but she'd have to work with what the woman she championed would give her.

The mixed woman used her fingers to pull the Leveler's hand close and shut her eyes. Opening her mouth and letting her tongue free the mixed woman lapped up the Leveler's palm, a moisture of her saliva and the other woman's mixing and moving around as she tried to gather it.

"Oh wait!" Cara said, keeping the hand tighter to her face, "Some slipped." Her tongue nestled between the lengths of the other woman's digits. Her sparkling hair caressed and fell over the Leveler's forearm as she leaned in, desperate to get every drop. "It's not enough, spit on my mouth. Maybe we can do that!" The Hole suggested with the intention to help.

The Leveler just blinked at the idea, her eyes holding closed for a second before springing open again.

"Oh, to hell with it." she said. Her other hand released Cara's hair, one finger pointed upward as she flicked her wrist in a circle. "Turn around, you perverts. And if another one of you laughs, I swear to the Shattered Gods..."

She gently took hold of Cara's neck once more, and covered her mouth with her own. Cara's throat released a soft sound of approval. The pressing of two women's lips was the signal of bravery she remembered clearly about her beloved leader. Standing obstinate against criticism because it was the Leveler who also knew about the hole. The deep place which they all came from, that turned the mass of problems on this planet to a single detail across the universe.

She opened her mouth, pushing in her tongue to scoop out as much of the Leveler's liquid essence as she could.

It went on for an inordinately long time. Long enough, at least, for some of the guests to start fidgeting and quietly clearing their throats. Even the Leveler herself briefly opened one eye to peek when they were half a minute in. Eventually however they drew apart.

“Anyway.” the Leveler said, swiping a thumb delicately across her bottom lip and then squaring her shoulders once more. “It’s probably best that you go right away.” She grabbed Cara by the arm to check her before she could bound away. “Oh, but Hole…”

Whatever she had been about to add died on her tongue as one of the soldiers tried and failed to contain a snort. The Leveler pursed her lips, and there was a loud bang as the offender tore a second man-shaped hole in the tent canvas during his explosive egress.

“What I was going to say,” the Leveler continued, wrinkling her narrow nose at the smell of ozone that now permeated the tent, “Was no stupid heroics. If it’s just a gang of fugitives, then kill them and be done. But if the Enlightened really did slip out of the city, then get back here right away so we can make a new plan.”

The Leveler paused for a moment, crossing her arms in thought.

“And on second thoughts, take Redmoor with you as well. I’ll miss him on the front lines, but if you do run into someone powerful he could collapse the mines to buy you some time.”

The Leveler squeezed Cara’s shoulder, not unkindly, but the look in her eyes was as hard and cold as quenched iron.

“Hunt them down.”

* * * * * *

“Oh yes, I know where they’re going.” the strange soldier boasted garrulously as they hurried through the camp, now with a dozen other soldiers and a grumbling Redmoor in tow. “And one of ’em you’ll have to see to believe…”

The shifting torchlights alternated, turning his tawny skin gold one moment and plunging it into darkness the next. Redmoor and the former slaves-turned-crusaders eyed him suspiciously - he spoke the Ash tongue well enough, but everything about him from his bronze armour to his lilting accent screamed Lightman.

If the man noticed their hostility then he chose to ignore it, though Cara noted that his palm rested casually on his sword pommel with no signs of moving. He was slightly shorter than Cara herself, albeit broader, and he looked up at her with interest, his eyes flitting from her heart-shaped lips to her softly glinting dreadlocks.

“So,” he added as they passed through another pool of golden torchlight. “What’s your story, lovely girl? I’ve never seen a mage with glowing hair before. Is it a special kind of soap?”

One sparkling sight to another, the Hole was taken by an attraction of self, eyes lost in a trance of the coming and going torchlights. It felt like another symbol for the truth she saw through her runestones.

"Soap?" Cara asked when pulling herself to return in the present, her visage was alive with twinkling light. "My hair sparkles because of the power given to me. My body is a connection to all that is greater. The Hole, the one we all come from, pass through and enter again. Do you know it?" Her tone of voice changed, following the smile on her lips. Sharing cosmic reality felt like service to the Leveler: the first woman to free them all from restriction of thought and body.

The soldier laughed quietly, “I know of one hole we all come from and enter again but I don’t think it’s the one you’re thinking of…” The light flickered and slid across his features. “Are you talking about death?”

Cara let him sit with his question while she took time to formulate an answer.

"No, somewhere out there exists a single point where everything comes from." The belief lit her face with a smile, lifting her hand and bending her fingers to point at the sky. "Death itself began at that point of creation. There is nothing to fear, we all come from the same point of origin."

"Mmm hmm." the soldier nodded, although from his blank expression it was clear that her words were going somewhat over his head.

A reassuring sigh left her chest, for the man or for herself was not contextualised. To the woman of starry tresses, the insight she was deeply embedded with was personally unshakeable, intimate with all her thoughts. "The night sky is wonderful...reminds me often..." she trailed.

"I suppose it is." said the soldier, with the same blank expression. He glanced briefly up at the star-field, with its two bright moons and the twisting ribbon of the milky way weaving its way across it. "Never was much one for stargazing myself, like."

They passed beyond the yellow pool of the torch-light, throwing a cloak of shadows across both their faces.

"It'll be dawn soon." the soldier observed, pointing east to where the sky was beginning to lighten with a band of grey. His teeth glinted in the dark. "What say we make it a red one, eh?"

[Katrina]

The sound of lashing waves was pronounced in the distance. The bricked roof had heated quickly under the scorching suns glare, still Red sat comfortably higher than the townsfolk. They paid no mind to the odd woman dressed all in red with a scarf covering everything up to her eyes and a hood covering everything down to her lips. They had seen something far more concerning. She too had seen the smoke billowing far far off in the distance in the same fashion her cloak billowed with every gust. She had heard with her acutely experienced hearing; drums, singing, marching. Not long after the morning sky opened with light, she heard thunderous crashing, no doubt the walls to the city of Light had fallen.

War.

She felt no sympathy for the townsfolk, yet saw the potential this little place had. It reminded her of the town she had promptly left days ago after completing a job there. That town was bigger than this one, but they both had that private familiarity in which everyone knew each other and each others business. Perhaps she'd find the same employment here as she had back there? Perhaps the same ruthless desires swarmed this place, deep within the souls of these seemingly normal townsfolk. For wasn't the desire to see death in all its curious happenings simply a normal one? Or perhaps it was still building, and she would return in weeks or months, and find an offer waiting for her. An offer she would never refuse.
No. Not an offer. A job.
Her way of life had dragged her from that town into these moments, sitting high enough to watch from a distance as humans, her own kind, did what they do best. Killing, a primal instinct. Yet the instinct itself would never die. How perfect.
Watching this little town go about its workings, she drifted back into the memory of those past couple of nights.

The town before had the same busy workings, everything in its place, everyone doing their job. But when night fell, her own strangeness gave her away. She was approached by a single torch in the night and more than two dozen townsfolk in the dark street. The woman carrying the torch led the group, and tilted her face away from the light so as to hide it. The others had cloths covering half their faces or had pulled up their shirts past their noses. Red's first thought was that she was being chased out of town, but she had seen that kind of thing happen. There were usually more torches, and makeshift weapons too. Farming sickles and pitchforks, normally used for the point of producing nourishment in harvesting food, would be brandished as weapons to harvest ones blood and entrails. But these people held nothing but their identity's behind their garments and their own wits in the palms of their hands. Except for the woman carrying the torch, who had a small stitched bag, jingling with every step.
Red was standing silent as they approached.
"Lady in Red." The woman's voice was shaking as much as her body, despite the humid night air. "We've gathered to make a request of you and that sword you carry on your hip."
Red remained silent, but tilted her head in acknowledgement. She could hear the woman swallow nervously from 10 paces away.
"We want someone...dead." Her voice lowered on the word she'd mustered such courage to speak. "You must've seen 'em, after you came into town? He's the biggest guy here. He started the fight at the bar earlier tonight."
"Mmm, I saw em. Big guy, loud, rather...obnoxious. Light hair, tattoo on his left arm.”
"Yes! Him! He killed two people in a fight a few nights back. Two innocent people. Good people. They weren't lookin for no trouble. They were just in the wrong place. He's been a wrath on our homes for months now..." She paused, swallowing again. "Can you do it? Kill em?"
"I can. But will is up to you."
"We...gathered together as much money as we can."
Red extended her arm, palm facing up, but didn't move. Did this woman have the courage to approach her?
Apparently she did. The woman hesitated, looking back at her friends and family, some of them shifting on their feet and glancing amongst each other. Then, slowly, she crossed the distance between her and Red, not taking her eyes off the hood covering Red's face, as if her eyes were visible, and stopping in front of her. She placed the bag of coins in Red's gloved palm.
She opened it, examining the coins within. She breathed softly at the minuscule amount, but knew this was all she would get for this job. She tied the little bag shut and tucked it away beneath her overlaying cloak. "He'll be dead in his own bed before the sun rises."
The woman's lips parted, as if shocked her request was being answered. She nodded, backed away a few paces, then turned and walked the rest of the way. While her back was turned, Red took the opportunity to scan the covered faces. When the woman reached the group again, she turned to look at Red, but there was nothing in the darkness. Nothing but their own desires, and a plan now in motion.

Hours later, when the moon was partially covered by mountains, Red stood in the corner of a small room. A calm breeze entered in through the open window, just as she had. The gentle air defied the moments vicious intent. Her sword was already drawn. A cloud passed, and moonlight glinted off the sharp steel.
"Who's zer?!" Came a mans voice from the bed on the opposite side of the room.
Red said nothing, only walked slowly into the light streaming past the clouds.
"You. You're...you're that creep lady who came into town a couple days ago." His sentence slowed as he eyed the steel in her hand. A smile passed swiftly over his lips as he laughed one throaty laugh. "Really?"
Red still said nothing.
"So...what? You're here to kill me?" His tone was condescending, but only reached her ears and not her nerves. She let him speak his final words. "Well," He chuckled. "Get on with it." He said with a full smile now.
Red walked forward towards his bed, slowly, each step, each breath, silent. There were no critters sounding in the dark. No mice, no crickets. No footsteps outside, not a single drop of water could interrupt this mans final silence. His final night. She darted the last few paces to his bed and stepped onto it in one swift motion. He gasped and tried to stand on his pillow to face her, but she was much faster. She plunged her sword down into his gut, heard the squelch of flesh and tissue and blood spilling around inside. That was all she considered this man. Bags of bloody string and meat, held together by a spark of life. He was pinned to his own bed frame as her sword had pierced straight through him. He grabbed the blade, slicing his palms trying to pull it out, but to no avail.
"Y-you...WHY!"
"Not me." She spoke softly. "Them." She tilted her head towards the town seen through the open window.
"What...they...." He coughed, blood sputtering into his mouth. "They did this...Those...fuckers." He coughed again, choking then swallowing his own blood. "I....I don't want..."
Ahh, she had heard this plenty of times before.
"You don't want to die? I know. But the fact is," She placed her knee's on either side of his tremoring body, her hands overlapping on the hilt of her sword, and leaned her face above his. "The weak don't get to decide how or when they die." She was satisfied that the last thing he saw, like so many before him, was her face. The last voice they heard was hers. The last thing they felt was her cold steel. Their last night was red.

Red caressed the thin hilt of her similarly thin sword just as she caressed the memory with a gentle touch. She had genuinely enjoyed that night. More than drinking, more than sex. More than anything, killing was her favorite thing to do. Sitting upon the bricked rooftop, watching the plumes of smoke rise now from the Light city, she thought of all the fights she was missing out on. She hoped, fighting boredom just as she fought a worthy foe, that something would come along.

[Scottie]

He felt like a luke-warm loaf of bread….a lumpy grumpy looking loaf of bread. His neck stump looked like some of the burned logs that would sit at the bottom of the hearth and weakly protest their demise with soft crackles and pops. The Leveler, a lightning bolt and a reflecting rune. The wanderer raised an eyebrow at the response, as if those three words explained how he was just a head.

Solar interrupted with a question that had momentarily buzzed through the wanderer’s skull as well. Stupid enough. So they were stupid enough to wander around with their runes. The temptation to let him thud to the dirt by her feet was steadily growing higher with every passing second. She let the interaction continue as dull green eyes trailed over the Immortal. He didn’t look powerful. He would gain nothing more than a passing glance if she had encountered him in a market place. She had expected so much….more.

The wanderer had heard rumours. As had everyone. The Immortal. A man to be feared...to be respected etc etc. Thinking back, she could remember the stupid whispers that had floated through the villages she passed through. Some said he was 7 foot tall. Some said that he could kill men by the hundreds. One child had even remarked that he could shoot fireballs from his eyes, and bolts of lightning from his arse. “I’m tellin ya, I saw it.” The boy pleaded as his friends laughed heartily.

“The Greater Moonstone?”

Again with the Greater Moonstone. She was relieved that Solar was the one to pipe up about what this fabled rune stone was. The wanderer let her eyes drift to the Mer. Shapeshifting rune. Knowing that the Mer had runes that they kept hidden...made her doubt her decision to gift the blood runes to her.

“I don’t suppose either of you fine ladies is up for providing a piggyback over to the Light city?”

“No.” Came the blunt reply. “We have just left the Light City. It is in ruins, the wall has fallen….We are not returning there.” She cast a glance over the rest of the party, noting that two had wandered off. “I do not know what our plan is now. We were deciding it before you interrupted us with your...presence.” She continued to hold him at arm's length but high enough that he could look the majority of them in the eye. “You are welcome to join us in whatever we decide….or I can leave you on a higher ledge...better view y’know.” There was a small smirk tugging at her lips, even though it wasn’t a true joke….she found herself hilarious.

[Price]

The air was heavy with the weight of death stained by unclean hands and impure motivations. The Wraith felt a sickness in the stomach just being a witness to such needless slaying, never mind being a willing participant. None of the events that had passed felt necessary in principle. The gears of battle would churn on regardless of how many lives were extinguished upon its bloody altars. The losses would pass by forgotten by all, ally and enemy alike. In the end, soldiers were merely pieces on a game board to be sacrificed for the sake of a leader who would gladly forfeit souls for power and gain. War was nauseating to the Wraith, necessary only to those not versed well enough in diplomacy.

He stayed down on both knees, knelt before a small rock formation in silence interrupted only by the sound of the rushing water quite some distance away. There he prayed until his supplication was interrupted by the crunching of loose leaves and branches underfoot, and a voice.

“Who do you pray for?” the Raven asked him.

The Wraith did not so much as flinch at the sound of the unwelcome voice. His eyes remained shut, but after some time had passed, he spoke. “For the dead, I pray safe passage. For the guilty, I pray judgement. And for myself?” He got to his feet and faced the Raven. “It is as I said. I pray for the wicked. I pray for atonement, the guidance to judge justly, the skill to execute swiftly without undue suffering, and most of all I pray for the will to do as I must...with a heart free of jade and a soul unstained by desensitization at taking a life.”

[Azazeal849]

“...and most of all I pray for the will to do as I must...with a heart free of jade and a soul unstained by desensitization at taking a life.”

“A heavy burden for one man to carry.” the Raven remarked, folding his arms and resting his shoulders against a smooth shelf of rock. “Never mind willingly.”

* * * * * *

“No.” came the blunt reply.

“No?” the Immortal repeated, blinking as if he genuinely hadn’t been expecting the answer.

“We have just left the Light City. It is in ruins, the wall has fallen….We are not returning there.”

The Immortal rolled his eyes. “The Leveler, am I right?”

“Right.” Solar confirmed. “And her army of dickheads.”

“Dickheads don’t concern me. I know runes that could let you prance right through the middle of her army without a scratch.”

“Uh huh?” Solar replied sceptically. “And what about the Leveler herself? What’s going to be left of you after the next fight, a fucking eyeball?”

“I told you, it was a cheap shot!” the Immortal snapped loudly. His smooth cheeks bulged against Wanderer’s hands as he huffed a breath. “I’ll tell you exactly what’s going to be left. The Leveler in so many pieces that it’d make the Shattered Gods wince if they could see it, me picking up the Moonstone that I can make far better use of than she can, and regrowing the rest of my body so I can give that uppity bitch the finger.” He huffed again, more glumly this time. “Damn, I miss having fingers.”

“You’re still assuming that we’ll agree to carry you back there.” Solar stated.

“Well not you obviously.” the Immortal countered, rolling his eyes. “Someone competent.” His gaze roamed back to Wanderer. “Tell me, if you’re not going back to the Lightmen, what exactly is your plan for evading the second most powerful mage in the world while she takes her army on a sightseeing tour of the Valley?”

Wanderer cast a glance over the rest of the party, noting that two had wandered off. “I do not know what our plan is now. We were deciding it before you interrupted us with your...presence.” She continued to hold him at arm's length but high enough that he could look the majority of them in the eye. “You are welcome to join us in whatever we decide….or I can leave you on a higher ledge...better view y’know.”

“You could do both and put me on top of the big guy’s head.” the Immortal said airily. “Hey, Ambie! You just became interesting again. What are you doing hanging around with this bunch?”

The Ambassador cocked her head, and walked over to place her blue-tinged hand on the back of the Immortal’s head.

“Oi!” the mage protested, and Wanderer felt a static buzz of magic prickle warningly through her fingers.

“We are going to my people.” the Ambassador said, withdrawing her hand. “I see you speak truth about the Moonstone. But others must see to understand the dangerous Change. I will take you to the city of the Mer.”

“You won’t be going anywhere.” said a voice.

Solar and Illusion spun round to face off to Wanderer’s left. When she followed suit she saw a group of men fanning out among the rocks - all of them armed. Some carried bows and satchels of arrows; others long spears and gleaming bronze shields. The soldiers were a patchwork of different creeds, but Wanderer’s slave-born eye picked out the unifying marks of brands and tattoos: some on arms, some on shoulders, some on faces...and almost all of them obscured by striated scar tissue where the branded skin had been cut away.

Former slaves - the Leveler’s men.

She half expected the Immortal to make some sarcastic comment about them letting themselves be snuck up on, but the head in her outstretched hands was silent. When she glanced at it, she saw that the Immortal had closed his eyes. Was he pretending to be…?

A dozen leaf-shaped spearpoints jutted skyward as the spearmen grounded their weapons and stood aside for a trio of figures. One was not too dissimilar from the soldiers, though he was professionally armoured in bronze and leather, with a sword at his hip and his face hidden behind a T-visored helm. The second was a mahogany-skinned woman, with a mild face dusted over with freckles. She was clad in iron armour, studded with aquamarine crystals that seemed to catch every mote of light. Her hair shone too - braided into sleek black dreadlocks that reflected something more than just the rising sun.

The third was a man with grey streaks in his glossy hair and beard, clad in thick red robes. The Wanderer had seen him before.

“The Leveler has the Greater Moonstone, woman.” he had smirked at her, even as the one called the Apprentice had tried to talk her into switching sides. “Your days are numbered.

He was staring straight at the Ambassador, who had backed up uncertainly at their appearance.

“A mer?” he gaped in disbelief. Several of the soldiers around him exchanged uncertain glances, and one even made a warding sign with his free hand.

The stocky man shifted his weight onto his other foot. “I told you that you wouldn’t believe it until you saw it.” he said, in a familiar hearty baritone. Even though he spoke in Ash, his Light accent was unmistakable.

“Davin?” Solar spluttered. “What are you doing?”

The T-visored helmet panned round to face him. “Come now, lovely boy,” he said in Light. “Don’t ask stupid questions.”

Solar shook his head, laughing humorlessly. “Oh, you’ll pay for this you scumbag.”

“Bitch, I already got paid for this.” Davin patted a leather pouch cinched tightly to his sword-belt, and the contents chinked audibly. “First rule of mercenaries, lovely boy: do the job you’re paid for. Second rule: know which side’s winning, so you can survive to get paid. You saw how easily this one tore down the city walls. The Enlightened are fucked.”

He folded his arms across his breastplate.

“Luckily, the Leveler has no hard feelings. You should consider your own career options.”

The man in red stroked finger and thumb through his dark moustaches, his eyes falling on Solar as the younger wizard trembled with suppressed rage. “You again.” he stated, tartly. “A shame. I was hoping for a fight.”

“I’ve got a fight for you right here, you prick!” Solar shouted back, as wisps of magical flame began to bleed around his clenched fist.

“Redmoor.” Illusion said loudly, stepping in front of the others and holding her arms out to her sides as if to shield them. “Don’t make the same mistake twice. Let them go.”

The mage called Redmoor tutted. “Illusion...you’re not just a traitor, you’re a stupid traitor. The Lightmen are never going to be able to beat the Leveler, especially not now she has the Moonstone. You picked the wrong side, and you know how the Leveler feels about traitors.”

Illusion’s face drew down into a determined frown. “I’d rather die doing the right thing than cause any more suffering in the Leveler’s name.”

Redmoor grinned nastily, and then a spasm racked his face, turning the grin into something nightmarish. “Oh you’re going to suffer, count on that.”

“There are two more of them.” Davin interrupted, unfolding his arms to point down the narrow gully where Raven and Wraith had disappeared. “They went that way.”

Redmoor hmphed. “Maybe they’ll be more of a challenge. I trust you can sweep up this little lot.”

“Count on it.” Davin answered with almost obscene cheerfulness. As he drew his bronze sword, the spears around him swung down from their vertical rest to point towards the group. The stamp of a dozen spearmen bracing their feet in unison was an ominous thunderclap.

“Sorry, my lovelies.” Davin said. “I trust you all to know it’s nothing personal, like.”

“Who are you?” Illusion said suddenly, directing her question at the woman with the softly-glowing hair. It was clear she was attempting to stall for time.

Davin’s eyes glanced to his right behind the visor. “This…” And then he hesitated, suddenly struck by an uncharacteristic reticence. “This is...um...the Hole.”

In spite of everything, Solar sniggered. In Wanderer’s hands, she thought she heard a tiny snort emit from the immobile head, though only she was close enough to hear it.

“Well.” Solar opined, “As mage names go it lacks a certain gravitas.”

“Then imagine how you’ll feel when she kills you, eh?” Davin answered, regaining a measure of his former bravado. He extended his arm towards the group, the sword a razor-edged extension of his fist.

“At ’em, lovely boys.”

“For the Leveler.” one of the spearmen growled in Ash as he advanced towards Wanderer. His partner, locking shields beside him, grimaced as they approached.

“What the fuck are you holding?”

* * * * * *

The stamp of armoured feet echoed down the gully, ricocheting from the stone walls. Raven’s head snapped round in an instant.

“What was that?”

The battered longsword glided over his shoulder, unsheathing in a graceful arc. The metal flashed red as it caught the rising sun, as if it had already been blooded.

Raven sprinted back towards the others at the plateau, only to skid to a halt as the ground in front of him splintered into jagged cracks. He looked up, and saw an Ashmen robed in flowing red.

“What’s the rush?” the red mage smirked.

“You!” Raven growled. He started forward again, this time with slow, deliberate purpose.

Redmoor squinted at the man stalking towards him. “Me...” he confirmed uncertainly.

“You don’t remember, do you?” The worn leather grip of Raven’s sword groaned audibly under the pressure of his fist. “The village on the border, with the red sandstone temple? You stayed at our inn, beguiled us all with your stories of the other cities. Then you tore down our temple to claim the rune you knew lay under it, and killed everyone when they tried to stop you.”

The longsword twirled a determined figure-eight and settled into a high guard.

“You missed one boy.”

Redmoor’s fingers twitched as a spasm shivered up his arm. Then his eyes widened in comprehension.

“Oh! Yes, I remember.”

The air crackled as he raised his arms, and the gully walls around them shivered apart as great slabs of rock tore themselves free.

“Now ask me if I care.”

* * * * * *

Smoke was rising from beyond the hills - from the city of the Enlightened no doubt - but at this distance it was difficult to tell if the grey-brown plume was the usual pall of cooking fires and smelteries, or the first fires of the Ashmen assault.

As the Red Lady strained her ears for the telltale crash of bronze against iron, there was a flickering flash. She was a moment to late to turn her head and catch it, but from her rooftop vantage point she saw other people stopping in the street, looking inland past their mudbrick houses to the frowning cliff of the mountain. A second later, a thunderclap caught up with the flash, rolling over the village before dissipating into the gentle murmur of the sea. The villagers began to whisper fearfully, and usher their children back inside.

The Red Lady knew the source of the flash better than any of them. Battle runes.

[Katrina]

Red stood up, a brick wall of authoritative power peering into the distance with unseen eyes. Leaping off the roof she landed steadily on the dusty ground below her, absorbing the impact in her legs and instantly bounding forward down the dirt street. The village was small enough that she left its edge quickly and was darting across the field, away from the worn carriage and cart road leading into the village, through the grass and towards the hill mines. Her trained legs were untiring throughout minutes of running. Her blood flowed excitedly. In her mind she was chanting like an excited child, “a fight! I want to watch the fight!”

Finally discovering the path to the mines, she followed the sounds within, eagerly seeking some form of amusement. After a shorter sprint, she heard clearer voices and felt the hot breath of rune magic coming from up ahead. She followed the spark of runes in the air, but heard the stamp of feet and a louder declaration from a man. “What the fuck are you holding?” Almost overlapping she heard a smug statement from another man, closer to her than the first, “Now ask me if I care.”

“I care!” She thought. “I want to see!” Her mind was arush with excitement as she proceeded down the path and found… a man also garbed in red? He was more cloaked in it, than drenched in it like she was. Her own eyes and mouth were covered by her hood and scarf, while he was more revealed. He was casting runes to lull slabs of rock from the walls. She found this to be an efficient way to mine, but knew that was not this mage’s intention. He was facing an enemy, a man with his sword already drawn. As she had done in the past, she stood there in plain site, curiously observing the battle. Saying nothing. Her goal was not to get involved, but she had made a habit of battling the winner of fights she was observing. And winning them. She stood casually, somewhat awkwardly in the open, sword not drawn, but her fingers itching in ready to draw it. She hoped this fight didn’t bore her.