"Mono/Dialogue"
'Inner thoughts'
Narration
[Message/communication apparatus]
Date: Mid-September 1089
Location: ???
POV: Narrator
“That concludes our transaction, it is nice to be working with you, Lady Nyx.” A man with a bucket helm is talking with an ashen-haired Pythia, Nyx. She oversees a substantial amount of weapons, supplies, and even sophisticated medical equipment being loaded inside a suspiciously large vehicle just outside their cave. The vehicle was painted black with large Cordelian symbols on all sides. It signified who owned it and was armed with enough protection to deter potential raiders… if they can catch up anyway.
“Cannot, be serious for once won’t you?” Her tone is exasperated, but in all honesty, she doesn’t mind. The person she is conversing with is seriously named Cannot Goodenough, making her Grey Serpent moniker sound less embarrassing in comparison.
“But we are indebted to you, it is not every day we manage to bring down just enough armed convoys for Ursus to stop pestering us for a while. Winter is closing in and the wasteland is not exactly a place plentiful with food. We, or should I say the Rusthammers, are simple folks.”
“Simple folks who keep gunning after military convoys, wreaking havoc along the borders, and designated as an international terrorist group with a kill-on-sight bounty… How simple indeed.”
“Well, you have that designation in some part of Ursus.”
“I’m starting to doubt your neutrality.”
“Ah, but you see, I’m merely a mouthpiece and middleman myself. I care not who I worked with.”
“Yeah, yeah, and your caveats?”
“Hoho! You catch on quick.”
“I’m not the sharpest tool in the shed, but even then I could still club problems to death. In other words, there is always a way.”
“… Rather terrible metaphor… Anyway.” Nyx could sense how his jovial and carefree persona was gone, replaced by a no-nonsense aura.
“This world is always so rife with problems, don’t you agree?”
“…” The Grey Serpent narrowed her eyes and stared him down. Daring the man to say his piece, and he has gladly done so.
“I have seen what you’re capable of, we have an aligned interest… namely to ensure some semblance of sanity to return on this beautifully twisted land. You might be alone for the moment but nothing is wrong with investing for the future.”
“… Go on.”
“Sincerely, I believe that this world is a ticking time bomb. Which is why I’ll try to get all the help I can get. It won’t do for all of us to keep bickering against one another when the world is ending.”
“You sound so sure that I’ll be on your side. Who knows that your skull would be added to my collection?”
“Source? I don’t need one simply because I believe so.”
“…” They stopped and Rusthammers around them noticed how the temperature had dropped. Their gaze focused on the Grey Serpent, her shadow that was cast against the walls seemed to dance and expand to consume the underworld whole. On one side are they trustworthy and affable middlemen, on the other? A collaborator who proves herself to not only survive but thrive in the wilderness.
“…We are done so far. Do you need anything else? If not then I’ll haul ass back. I’m really in a hurry, I still have my work ethic to uphold to the best I can.” Nyx continued her stride and some of the Rusthammers who were already pumping up their adrenaline sighed. A mixture of relief and disappointment spread among them.
“Sure, sure, the Rusthammers need to make themselves scarce after all…” They both looked towards several tribal nomads loading up the vehicle with more supplies. They often cast a weary glance at her, but there are also hints of respect and fear. Nyx eyes, however, are focused on a huge brown golem that seemingly never tears its vision from her despite having a rather nondescript facial structure to begin with.
“If there is nothing, then I bid you adieu.”
“Mach’s gut, meine dame. (Take care, my lady.)”
“Hau rein. (See ya.)” Nyx jumped inside the vehicle while bidding her goodbye. She took an internal radio headgear, tied to the vehicle. Saying something into it, the vehicle left the scene while they watched her go.
“What a troublesome woman.” Cannot just shake his head in amusement. One of the tribals approached him.
“Tell me about it. To think that she mentally scarred the thousand-blade beast like that… What a shame that she is a part of those weaklings who adhered to nonsensical rules.”
“Well, I’m also part of that group no?”
“No, at least to this group, you’re our brother and no blood between us shall be spilled regardless of what you’re.”
“Right then, how are the folks?”
“The shaman has led our people to a newer dwelling. Winter is fast approaching and Ursus would also stop their pathetic attempt to fight us. At one point in time, we consider them a worthy foe, but now they’re nothing more than a bloated carcass, or a complacent beast at best, festering to be brought down by civilization’s diseases.”
“Careful friend, there is a difference between being an enemy of Ursus, and Ursus sees you as one.”
“Sure thing, but Ursus need to get their shit together first.”
“Anyway, we should expedite ourselves.” The group vanished back into the cave…
Location: Kazdel
A large convoy could be seen neatly forming a perimeter amidst the uneven road that dotted the lawless land. Ex-soldiers, PMCs, mercenaries, and even ex-convicts made up the majority of its security detail. In the middle of the convoy are 2 large trucks filled to the brim with supplies and their own set of security forces.
The frontmost vehicles are 2 lightly armed and armored vehicles, akin to dune buggies but made to accommodate 6 passengers, becoming their pathfinders. One of these vehicles is being ridden by a certain white-haired Sarkaz. She is considered to be the youngest and newest member of her mercenary group.
This girl is the new ‘W’, a Sarkaz tradition where picking up a bladed weapon of a deceased is meant to carry their legacy. Thus she is one of them. Outsiders might question how she could fit in so fast. The answer is simple, she has the skill to prove it and that’s enough. The harshness of war, and treatment against Sarkaz as a whole by the majority, meant that babies fresh out of wombs or elderly a foot inside a grave worth jack squat among them.
So fresh meats and veterans come a dime a dozen, easy to make and break. Hoederer in retrospect was quite good in this line of work, it is unusual for the freelancing mercenary of his group to contain more than a dozen at best. Sarkaz has grown to be very distrustful, even amongst themselves. Or perhaps because they’re amongst themselves.
Their journey has been going well because instead of going deeper to where Babel’s landship was theorized to be, the convoy is going outside of Kazdel. A few Cordelian was naturally a bit pissed off of being led inside that hellhole only to retrace back, the journey to Scar Market was an annoying affair.
The convoy is now traveling through a valley, they’re on high alert for potential ambushes but nothing happened so far. Contrasting the mercenaries who start to somewhat relax, Cordelian PMCs are on a full-time alert. They always tried to avoid even the slightest of vegetation or a place that would put them at a disadvantage.
It vastly increased their travel length, but it is a preferable alternative compared to being blown to bits by an avalanche for example.
“It’s too quiet.” A Sarkaz mercenary who still has their wits about them couldn’t help his growing unease.
“Chill out man, being too high-strung will only make you feel like shit when it mattered.” The other Sarkaz answered while absentmindedly polishing his blade.
“Where is Ines by the way?”
“I don’t know where she went off to. It’s good, otherwise, we’ll be listening to either her love quarrels with our captain plus an occasional dose of domestic violence or threatening to kill that W whelp.”
“Heh, true that…” On the other vehicle is where the said whelp is at. She has gotten used to the group's occasional backtalk, but when Ines is concerned she is less than affable about it.
“Those shits better shut it or I’ll make them.”
“I mean it’s true though.”
“You’re asking for it aint’tcha?”
“Try me, the Captain is even very forthcoming with your… demerits.”
“Shithead, like you’re one to talk. Can you even read?”
“Nope, but at least I did not try to look like an idiot back then. Talking big and end up stammering nonsense when Hoederer points out a book about explosive.”
“Congratulation, you’re moving up my shitlist just beneath Hoederer and Ines.”
“Wow, who would have thought.” They’re bickering endlessly but not once did they let go of their weapon compared to others. Hoederer naturally sees all of this and decides that business as usual.
“Ines, how is the road.”
[I spot nothing so far, but I got a hunch that things would go to shit… the question is where.”
“Then do look after this potential threat and eliminate it.”
[Don’t just order me around, keep doing that and I’m going to claim that bounty on your head.]
“Thank you for your cooperation, Hoederer out.”
[Hmph.] Hoederer then switches channels.
“W?”
[What?]
“Prepare to fetch someone.”
[Geh, couldn’t we just leave her? At least we get the convoy more secure that way.]
“Yes, yes I’ll forward you the coordinate.”
Not far from the exit through the valley, another group of a dozen mercenaries are lying in wait. Their weapons are drawn and one of their eyes is eager for blood that is about to be spilled. One of the sentries closer to the mouth couldn’t help about
“Any sign of the Grey Serpent?”
“Dunno, I’m not sure where that bitch had gone off to.”
“What’s the chance she chickened out from stepping into Kazdel?”
“Zero, which is why we are trying to alert everyone else otherwise.”
“Shame, that won’t happen.”
“Wha-?!” A Sarkaz had his throat punctured open by a needle-like knife. His buddy tried to fight back on reflex, unfortunately, the assailant was a touch fast enough. A shadowy spike burst forth from the other end of the canyon and tore open the Sarkaz’s chest.
At this point, the entire ambush point has been alerted by a sudden intrusion. They catch a glimpse of their assailant who immediately tried to retaliate. Ines moves faster and zeroes in on the cannon, she throws an explosive courtesy of someone she ‘hates’. The explosive hit the cannon and she immediately retreated into the shadow to cull the number of hostiles.
She moves with precision to start cutting down the mercenaries with finesse and Arts that belie her experience and precision. She throws her dagger while dodging and weaving through bolts, arrows, and even a ball of lethal energy. Sometimes her dagger throws were thrown with such a force she broke through their supposed armor or when she suddenly vanished mid-fight while increasing the intensity of her slashes and throws.
When someone managed to get behind her, the spike returned and Ines seemingly meld with it for a brief moment while leaving a trail of death or injury beneath its wake. Despite the apparent brutality, her foes are now the least deterred and even showing signs of eagerness for combat.
Ines clicked her tongue, W is late and she knows that little shit would be taking her sweet ass time.
While the mercenaries are having their concentration broken, the convoy steps on the gas and breaks through the supposed ambush. There is notably a vehicle missing from its formation, the question is where?
Here of course.
“HELLO SUCKERS!” W and her squad burst forth from the foliage and ram 3 or 4 Sarkaz to death, their body and blood become a speed bump and grease for their tires.
“AHAHAHAHAHA!” The white-haired woman is already cackling madly, she keeps pulling the trigger of her grenade launcher at anything she can see. She even accidentally shot one too close for comfort near Ines. W dismounted off the buggy followed by the other 3 while the rest kept being mobile.
She charges forth with both a dagger and grenades in hand. Deftly side-stepping a slash and even deflecting bolts and arrows before retaliating in kind. A few rounds of her grenades are infused with Originium that not only would cause severe devastation, it also spreads active oripathy vector towards potential victims. This sort of weapon is considered banned in several countries and anyone in possession of such a dangerous tool is liable for more than just being put behind bars.
Shame, that Kazdel was never invited into any sort of convention so everything goes.
W rarely tried to block an attack and would much prefer dodging or parrying with her dagger. Her fellow mercenaries are also pulling their weight, one could be seen shooting an arrow close range before bashing someone in the head, another is dual-wielding mace to hack some skulls and bones, and there is also a guy who is busy looting for intel and scraps while occasionally shooting his crossbow.
Dodging a spear thrust by a hairbreadth, she pulled onto it and forced them to get closer. Once her latest foe is in range, she jams the grenade in her hand into their mouth, pulls out the pin, and kicks them back to their buddies. A bloody firework and her manic cackling resounded once more.
Of course, this chaotic melee caused W to have tunnel vision. She was blindsided when a Sarkaz toppled her to the ground, their arms tightly clutching a knife and bringing it downward. W still manages to hold the knife on its bladed part, her hands are bleeding but her smile never leaves her face. Instead of trying to overpower her foe, she redirected the knife onto her shoulder, causing her to wince in pain briefly.
With the knife out of her face, she head-butted the Sarkaz and reversed their position, her horn even managed to draw some blood. Not caring much, she pulled the knife from her shoulder and started stabbing back at the offender, turning their face into an unrecognizable mess and chunks of meat plus a sauce of brain matter. She was too into it that once again another foe was about to sneak up on her, but Ines returned W’s help from before.
Her knife flew through the air and embedded itself in them, but not before grazing a part of W’s horn. It caused her to stagger, which actually saved her from a steel bolt about to park itself inside her brain from ever happening. Said steel bolt had instead hit another unfortunate soul right on the chest. She should thank her, right?
“Watch it, you sheeple fuck!” Wrong. W's face is red, either from blood or something else.
“Tch, I missed… oh well, a cockroach is always hard to kill so you shouldn’t feel bad.” Gracefully evading an elbow slam, Ines climbed on top of the assailant and broke their neck with her surprisingly powerful thighs. Somersaulting afterward onto the next target and jamming her knife downward, another one was added to her kill tally.
“I’m so going to kill you when we get back.” W is quite furious (or is she?) that Ines has been saving her more. She should have been the one this arrogant (in her mind) Caprinae be grateful about, but life is disappointing.
“Not if I do it first.” Ines ran towards W, and she replied in kind. When they are about to intersect, the both of them turn to the left and thrust their respective knives on a poor fella. W aimed at their knee-joint while Ines delivered the coup de grace right through the throat. Like an old battle buddy, they covered each other weakness and started weeding out the remaining hostiles with apparent ease. Ines used her shadow to bind several enemies before W threw her grenade at them.
The next move of their death concert is regarding how they dispatch ranged foes that have been far enough away and are a nuisance scot-free. Ines’s shadow sentry came back from behind W who herself evaded with ease and she followed its lead. The spike’s return had disrupted their aims, even killing 2 people, allowing the white-haired Sarkaz to close the gap and free reign in beheading, stabbing, and even shooting them with her grenade launcher along the way.
When their focus shifted on W, Ines resurfaced from the shadow spike and had them pincered between her and W. Unlike W’s chaotic and borderline animalistic combat style, Ines always aimed at her enemies’ vitals. Their movements are like that of dancing, but instead of mesmerizing, they look brutal and unforgiving.
“What’s wrong Captain Ines? Getting old already?” Well, their tongues are certainly hard at work too.
“Hmph, says the blind idiot.”
“What did you say?! You damn bitchple!”
“Shut up.” A certain Pythia would be quite impressed seeing their teamwork, despite them denying it and calling the other a deadweight. Some of their foes are starting to flee, seeing another day is seen as a victory after all.
Their battle continued for some more before the area was finally cleared from hostiles, it lasted fairly quickly and they opted to leave immediately afterward. When her adrenaline finally wore off, W winced and staggered on her steps. Her body is used to pain, but an open wound is still problematic and even more so when she is dealing with blood loss.
Clicking her tongue, Ines dragged W by her collar and threw her inside the vehicle while their pals mounted back up. W was not happy about being treated like a piece of luggage and lashed out.
“What the shit!? That hurt!”
“Stay still, Idiot.” Ines opens up W’s uniform just enough. She started inspecting the wound, completely disregarding strings of curses from W. She pressed on the wound before start fixing her up.
“Fuck!”
“Stay still!” With the wound closed and bandaged, Ines immediately sewed it shut. W eyes shot open, there are so many things wrong with the steps taken for her impromptu treatment.
“WHAT KIND OF TREATMENT IS THIS?!”
“It wouldn’t happen if you weren’t an idiot to begin with.” W anger finally reached its zenith, her right arm flew towards Ines’ face but the Caprinae woman caught it mid-air and locked it with her arm.
“OW! OW! OW! OW! OW! My arm! Fuck! Fuck! Fuck! OW!”
“Hmph, Good.” The other Sarkaz said nothing, but their faces showed just how amused they were seeing the duo’s antics. W could actually overpower Ines despite being wounded, but why didn’t she? Only god knows, really.
They rejoined the convoy just fine, although W is still glaring non-stop at Ines. With no more foes that Ines could see and inspect through her shadows, they could take a breather and carry on until the next checkpoint.
-
-
-
With camp erected and convoy secured, Cordelian PMCs and Babel’s mercenaries are forming camp on a nearby ruin. The place seems to hold some history in it, but neither force could care less about that. Hoederer is joining another strategic meeting and was pleasantly surprised at how receptive the Cordelian ad hoc high command is. They have some reservations with Sarkaz as a whole, yes, but compared to what he used to be dealing with and got ignored by the next, these people are miles better simply because they could be persuaded by logical explanation.
While that is ongoing, the rest of the convoy are doing whatever on their spare time. There is a clear divide between 2 groups, but they keep it civil for the most part. Vaskiela had already submitted the next route to take, so she is free for the most part. She distanced herself and walked away, just enough out of everyone’s ears, before leaning back on a tree near their encampment.
She seemed to be thinking about something, and after sighing, she pulled out a piece of steel that shone beneath the moonlight. Kazdel has little in terms of development or any trace of civilized advancement due to circumstances. Which makes it ironic that the numerous, and chaotic, stars and moon above the sky could be seen clearly. A part of her thinks that it is such a shitty consolation prize to what Kazdel has been subjected to for the last thousands of years.
Getting away from her negative thoughts, she begins to hum a syllable from Kazdelian old tongue; she is going to make another bone pen. Despite her general distaste for it and what entailed, she badly wished to sing a song of parting for the old W. To create a bone pen, one must have a substantial understanding of Arts and souls. How to make one is up to the carver, one could use a piece of wood and imbue it with each stroke or softly mold steel like what she is doing.
With the steel in between her palms, she flows her Arts into it. It is starting to float and the Arts detector that is planted near here lit up a little, this attracted some alert but was immediately met with puzzlement from Cordelian while the Sarkaz are slack-jawed seeing what she is about to do.
Her humming naturally enhanced the camp’s attention. Unfortunately, she was not as far as she had thought. The Banshees are famous, in both mythical and historical records, to be one of the finest while also the deadliest singer known. She keeps her mind steady, and the blocky steel starts to unravel into a brilliant thread of silky sheen.
Coalescing into thread, the steel beckoned the creator to wish and manifest their sacred request. The steel and hum powered by her esoteric Arts they see are truly enchanting, even for the Sarkaz themselves who have long been acquainted with the so-called Guardian of the Dead. Like a shine of lilac light, the Arts burned in her palms to scorch the metal yet the flame itself is white and causes illogical phenomena such as crystallization of dust particles into snowflakes.
Amongst them, Jordan couldn’t tear his eyes from seeing the girl who had been trying her hardest to smile look so downtrodden and pitiful. She looks equally ephemeral and frail yet determined and forthcoming.
“That’s something else, isn’t it? I used to wish for a Banshee to sing me farewell too… Hah, only later do I know its true significance.” Meteorite came up next to him, her words piqued his interest.
“Is it unusual for a Banshee to sing for you?”
“Something like that, old records show that the Banshees sing so the dead could rest in peace. It was said that the Banshees used to be one our most dreaded tribes, but centuries or perhaps millennia of watching over the warriors and beloved heroes’ passing for defending Kazdel had made them like this… sad, miserable, and might be contributing to their wishes for peace.”
“So that’s a big deal huh?”
“Yet to have a Banshee sing only for you? I would be left speechless because depending on the context, even their Madam can sing one for even the lowliest of low if they deem them worthy. I don’t know what happened back in that room, but I could see just how her face was so aghast like seeing a ghost. She might have learned something personal and it leaves a mental scar strong enough for her to go back on her words.”
“Ok, that’s an even bigger deal… wait, what’s a Madam?”
“Because of their Matriarchal society, simply because most of them are females, their reigning King or Queen is called Madam.”
“Most? I thought Banshees are all female?”
“Actually no, Fas’Kyrieas told me that the current one is a guy…”
“Then what’s that about going back on her words?”
“That’s not something I will tell you. Word of advice, those in-the-knows are really sensitive about it, almost a taboo.” Jordan shrugs, that’s a fair reason and even he has one. So they continue to watch as she sings her eulogy… which was the plan.
“Hey, you there! Stop where you are!” Peripheral patrol could be heard shouting. This wrenched the attention of more than a few people on them. There they could see a dead-tired, lanky, Sarkaz wheezing. He appears to be deeply frightened and wounded to a degree.
“Explain yourself or we’ll shoot you dead!”
“W-Wait! Don't shoot! I’m a messenger from Babel!”
[END OF CHAPTER]
Author’s Note:
Yo there, this is me, myself, and I, the author who has trouble sleeping.
As you can see, I changed a little bit of their interaction that would lead up to the primary incident in “Darknight’s Memoir”. Another timeline update had dropped and I feel like punching myself, but hey? I’ll try to make do…
See you next week… or something like that.
Ciao
"Mono/Dialogue"
'Inner thoughts'
Narration
[Message/communication apparatus]
Date: Mid-September 1089
Location: ???
POV: Narrator
“That concludes our transaction, it is nice to be working with you, Lady Nyx.” A man with a bucket helm is talking with an ashen-haired Pythia, Nyx. She oversees a substantial amount of weapons, supplies, and even sophisticated medical equipment being loaded inside a suspiciously large vehicle just outside their cave. The vehicle was painted black with large Cordelian symbols on all sides. It signified who owned it and was armed with enough protection to deter potential raiders… if they can catch up anyway.
“Cannot, be serious for once won’t you?” Her tone is exasperated, but in all honesty, she doesn’t mind. The person she is conversing with is seriously named Cannot Goodenough, making her Grey Serpent moniker sound less embarrassing in comparison.
“But we are indebted to you, it is not every day we manage to bring down just enough armed convoys for Ursus to stop pestering us for a while. Winter is closing in and the wasteland is not exactly a place plentiful with food. We, or should I say the Rusthammers, are simple folks.”
“Simple folks who keep gunning after military convoys, wreaking havoc along the borders, and designated as an international terrorist group with a kill-on-sight bounty… How simple indeed.”
“Well, you have that designation in some part of Ursus.”
“I’m starting to doubt your neutrality.”
“Ah, but you see, I’m merely a mouthpiece and middleman myself. I care not who I worked with.”
“Yeah, yeah, and your caveats?”
“Hoho! You catch on quick.”
“I’m not the sharpest tool in the shed, but even then I could still club problems to death. In other words, there is always a way.”
“… Rather terrible metaphor… Anyway.” Nyx could sense how his jovial and carefree persona was gone, replaced by a no-nonsense aura.
“This world is always so rife with problems, don’t you agree?”
“…” The Grey Serpent narrowed her eyes and stared him down. Daring the man to say his piece, and he has gladly done so.
“I have seen what you’re capable of, we have an aligned interest… namely to ensure some semblance of sanity to return on this beautifully twisted land. You might be alone for the moment but nothing is wrong with investing for the future.”
“… Go on.”
“Sincerely, I believe that this world is a ticking time bomb. Which is why I’ll try to get all the help I can get. It won’t do for all of us to keep bickering against one another when the world is ending.”
“You sound so sure that I’ll be on your side. Who knows that your skull would be added to my collection?”
“Source? I don’t need one simply because I believe so.”
“…” They stopped and Rusthammers around them noticed how the temperature had dropped. Their gaze focused on the Grey Serpent, her shadow that was cast against the walls seemed to dance and expand to consume the underworld whole. On one side are they trustworthy and affable middlemen, on the other? A collaborator who proves herself to not only survive but thrive in the wilderness.
“…We are done so far. Do you need anything else? If not then I’ll haul ass back. I’m really in a hurry, I still have my work ethic to uphold to the best I can.” Nyx continued her stride and some of the Rusthammers who were already pumping up their adrenaline sighed. A mixture of relief and disappointment spread among them.
“Sure, sure, the Rusthammers need to make themselves scarce after all…” They both looked towards several tribal nomads loading up the vehicle with more supplies. They often cast a weary glance at her, but there are also hints of respect and fear. Nyx eyes, however, are focused on a huge brown golem that seemingly never tears its vision from her despite having a rather nondescript facial structure to begin with.
“If there is nothing, then I bid you adieu.”
“Mach’s gut, meine dame. (Take care, my lady.)”
“Hau rein. (See ya.)” Nyx jumped inside the vehicle while bidding her goodbye. She took an internal radio headgear, tied to the vehicle. Saying something into it, the vehicle left the scene while they watched her go.
“What a troublesome woman.” Cannot just shake his head in amusement. One of the tribals approached him.
“Tell me about it. To think that she mentally scarred the thousand-blade beast like that… What a shame that she is a part of those weaklings who adhered to nonsensical rules.”
“Well, I’m also part of that group no?”
“No, at least to this group, you’re our brother and no blood between us shall be spilled regardless of what you’re.”
“Right then, how are the folks?”
“The shaman has led our people to a newer dwelling. Winter is fast approaching and Ursus would also stop their pathetic attempt to fight us. At one point in time, we consider them a worthy foe, but now they’re nothing more than a bloated carcass, or a complacent beast at best, festering to be brought down by civilization’s diseases.”
“Careful friend, there is a difference between being an enemy of Ursus, and Ursus sees you as one.”
“Sure thing, but Ursus need to get their shit together first.”
“Anyway, we should expedite ourselves.” The group vanished back into the cave…
Location: Kazdel
A large convoy could be seen neatly forming a perimeter amidst the uneven road that dotted the lawless land. Ex-soldiers, PMCs, mercenaries, and even ex-convicts made up the majority of its security detail. In the middle of the convoy are 2 large trucks filled to the brim with supplies and their own set of security forces.
The frontmost vehicles are 2 lightly armed and armored vehicles, akin to dune buggies but made to accommodate 6 passengers, becoming their pathfinders. One of these vehicles is being ridden by a certain white-haired Sarkaz. She is considered to be the youngest and newest member of her mercenary group.
This girl is the new ‘W’, a Sarkaz tradition where picking up a bladed weapon of a deceased is meant to carry their legacy. Thus she is one of them. Outsiders might question how she could fit in so fast. The answer is simple, she has the skill to prove it and that’s enough. The harshness of war, and treatment against Sarkaz as a whole by the majority, meant that babies fresh out of wombs or elderly a foot inside a grave worth jack squat among them.
So fresh meats and veterans come a dime a dozen, easy to make and break. Hoederer in retrospect was quite good in this line of work, it is unusual for the freelancing mercenary of his group to contain more than a dozen at best. Sarkaz has grown to be very distrustful, even amongst themselves. Or perhaps because they’re amongst themselves.
Their journey has been going well because instead of going deeper to where Babel’s landship was theorized to be, the convoy is going outside of Kazdel. A few Cordelian was naturally a bit pissed off of being led inside that hellhole only to retrace back, the journey to Scar Market was an annoying affair.
The convoy is now traveling through a valley, they’re on high alert for potential ambushes but nothing happened so far. Contrasting the mercenaries who start to somewhat relax, Cordelian PMCs are on a full-time alert. They always tried to avoid even the slightest of vegetation or a place that would put them at a disadvantage.
It vastly increased their travel length, but it is a preferable alternative compared to being blown to bits by an avalanche for example.
“It’s too quiet.” A Sarkaz mercenary who still has their wits about them couldn’t help his growing unease.
“Chill out man, being too high-strung will only make you feel like shit when it mattered.” The other Sarkaz answered while absentmindedly polishing his blade.
“Where is Ines by the way?”
“I don’t know where she went off to. It’s good, otherwise, we’ll be listening to either her love quarrels with our captain plus an occasional dose of domestic violence or threatening to kill that W whelp.”
“Heh, true that…” On the other vehicle is where the said whelp is at. She has gotten used to the group's occasional backtalk, but when Ines is concerned she is less than affable about it.
“Those shits better shut it or I’ll make them.”
“I mean it’s true though.”
“You’re asking for it aint’tcha?”
“Try me, the Captain is even very forthcoming with your… demerits.”
“Shithead, like you’re one to talk. Can you even read?”
“Nope, but at least I did not try to look like an idiot back then. Talking big and end up stammering nonsense when Hoederer points out a book about explosive.”
“Congratulation, you’re moving up my shitlist just beneath Hoederer and Ines.”
“Wow, who would have thought.” They’re bickering endlessly but not once did they let go of their weapon compared to others. Hoederer naturally sees all of this and decides that business as usual.
“Ines, how is the road.”
[I spot nothing so far, but I got a hunch that things would go to shit… the question is where.”
“Then do look after this potential threat and eliminate it.”
[Don’t just order me around, keep doing that and I’m going to claim that bounty on your head.]
“Thank you for your cooperation, Hoederer out.”
[Hmph.] Hoederer then switches channels.
“W?”
[What?]
“Prepare to fetch someone.”
[Geh, couldn’t we just leave her? At least we get the convoy more secure that way.]
“Yes, yes I’ll forward you the coordinate.”
Not far from the exit through the valley, another group of a dozen mercenaries are lying in wait. Their weapons are drawn and one of their eyes is eager for blood that is about to be spilled. One of the sentries closer to the mouth couldn’t help about
“Any sign of the Grey Serpent?”
“Dunno, I’m not sure where that bitch had gone off to.”
“What’s the chance she chickened out from stepping into Kazdel?”
“Zero, which is why we are trying to alert everyone else otherwise.”
“Shame, that won’t happen.”
“Wha-?!” A Sarkaz had his throat punctured open by a needle-like knife. His buddy tried to fight back on reflex, unfortunately, the assailant was a touch fast enough. A shadowy spike burst forth from the other end of the canyon and tore open the Sarkaz’s chest.
At this point, the entire ambush point has been alerted by a sudden intrusion. They catch a glimpse of their assailant who immediately tried to retaliate. Ines moves faster and zeroes in on the cannon, she throws an explosive courtesy of someone she ‘hates’. The explosive hit the cannon and she immediately retreated into the shadow to cull the number of hostiles.
She moves with precision to start cutting down the mercenaries with finesse and Arts that belie her experience and precision. She throws her dagger while dodging and weaving through bolts, arrows, and even a ball of lethal energy. Sometimes her dagger throws were thrown with such a force she broke through their supposed armor or when she suddenly vanished mid-fight while increasing the intensity of her slashes and throws.
When someone managed to get behind her, the spike returned and Ines seemingly meld with it for a brief moment while leaving a trail of death or injury beneath its wake. Despite the apparent brutality, her foes are now the least deterred and even showing signs of eagerness for combat.
Ines clicked her tongue, W is late and she knows that little shit would be taking her sweet ass time.
While the mercenaries are having their concentration broken, the convoy steps on the gas and breaks through the supposed ambush. There is notably a vehicle missing from its formation, the question is where?
Here of course.
“HELLO SUCKERS!” W and her squad burst forth from the foliage and ram 3 or 4 Sarkaz to death, their body and blood become a speed bump and grease for their tires.
“AHAHAHAHAHA!” The white-haired woman is already cackling madly, she keeps pulling the trigger of her grenade launcher at anything she can see. She even accidentally shot one too close for comfort near Ines. W dismounted off the buggy followed by the other 3 while the rest kept being mobile.
She charges forth with both a dagger and grenades in hand. Deftly side-stepping a slash and even deflecting bolts and arrows before retaliating in kind. A few rounds of her grenades are infused with Originium that not only would cause severe devastation, it also spreads active oripathy vector towards potential victims. This sort of weapon is considered banned in several countries and anyone in possession of such a dangerous tool is liable for more than just being put behind bars.
Shame, that Kazdel was never invited into any sort of convention so everything goes.
W rarely tried to block an attack and would much prefer dodging or parrying with her dagger. Her fellow mercenaries are also pulling their weight, one could be seen shooting an arrow close range before bashing someone in the head, another is dual-wielding mace to hack some skulls and bones, and there is also a guy who is busy looting for intel and scraps while occasionally shooting his crossbow.
Dodging a spear thrust by a hairbreadth, she pulled onto it and forced them to get closer. Once her latest foe is in range, she jams the grenade in her hand into their mouth, pulls out the pin, and kicks them back to their buddies. A bloody firework and her manic cackling resounded once more.
Of course, this chaotic melee caused W to have tunnel vision. She was blindsided when a Sarkaz toppled her to the ground, their arms tightly clutching a knife and bringing it downward. W still manages to hold the knife on its bladed part, her hands are bleeding but her smile never leaves her face. Instead of trying to overpower her foe, she redirected the knife onto her shoulder, causing her to wince in pain briefly.
With the knife out of her face, she head-butted the Sarkaz and reversed their position, her horn even managed to draw some blood. Not caring much, she pulled the knife from her shoulder and started stabbing back at the offender, turning their face into an unrecognizable mess and chunks of meat plus a sauce of brain matter. She was too into it that once again another foe was about to sneak up on her, but Ines returned W’s help from before.
Her knife flew through the air and embedded itself in them, but not before grazing a part of W’s horn. It caused her to stagger, which actually saved her from a steel bolt about to park itself inside her brain from ever happening. Said steel bolt had instead hit another unfortunate soul right on the chest. She should thank her, right?
“Watch it, you sheeple fuck!” Wrong. W's face is red, either from blood or something else.
“Tch, I missed… oh well, a cockroach is always hard to kill so you shouldn’t feel bad.” Gracefully evading an elbow slam, Ines climbed on top of the assailant and broke their neck with her surprisingly powerful thighs. Somersaulting afterward onto the next target and jamming her knife downward, another one was added to her kill tally.
“I’m so going to kill you when we get back.” W is quite furious (or is she?) that Ines has been saving her more. She should have been the one this arrogant (in her mind) Caprinae be grateful about, but life is disappointing.
“Not if I do it first.” Ines ran towards W, and she replied in kind. When they are about to intersect, the both of them turn to the left and thrust their respective knives on a poor fella. W aimed at their knee-joint while Ines delivered the coup de grace right through the throat. Like an old battle buddy, they covered each other weakness and started weeding out the remaining hostiles with apparent ease. Ines used her shadow to bind several enemies before W threw her grenade at them.
The next move of their death concert is regarding how they dispatch ranged foes that have been far enough away and are a nuisance scot-free. Ines’s shadow sentry came back from behind W who herself evaded with ease and she followed its lead. The spike’s return had disrupted their aims, even killing 2 people, allowing the white-haired Sarkaz to close the gap and free reign in beheading, stabbing, and even shooting them with her grenade launcher along the way.
When their focus shifted on W, Ines resurfaced from the shadow spike and had them pincered between her and W. Unlike W’s chaotic and borderline animalistic combat style, Ines always aimed at her enemies’ vitals. Their movements are like that of dancing, but instead of mesmerizing, they look brutal and unforgiving.
“What’s wrong Captain Ines? Getting old already?” Well, their tongues are certainly hard at work too.
“Hmph, says the blind idiot.”
“What did you say?! You damn bitchple!”
“Shut up.” A certain Pythia would be quite impressed seeing their teamwork, despite them denying it and calling the other a deadweight. Some of their foes are starting to flee, seeing another day is seen as a victory after all.
Their battle continued for some more before the area was finally cleared from hostiles, it lasted fairly quickly and they opted to leave immediately afterward. When her adrenaline finally wore off, W winced and staggered on her steps. Her body is used to pain, but an open wound is still problematic and even more so when she is dealing with blood loss.
Clicking her tongue, Ines dragged W by her collar and threw her inside the vehicle while their pals mounted back up. W was not happy about being treated like a piece of luggage and lashed out.
“What the shit!? That hurt!”
“Stay still, Idiot.” Ines opens up W’s uniform just enough. She started inspecting the wound, completely disregarding strings of curses from W. She pressed on the wound before start fixing her up.
“Fuck!”
“Stay still!” With the wound closed and bandaged, Ines immediately sewed it shut. W eyes shot open, there are so many things wrong with the steps taken for her impromptu treatment.
“WHAT KIND OF TREATMENT IS THIS?!”
“It wouldn’t happen if you weren’t an idiot to begin with.” W anger finally reached its zenith, her right arm flew towards Ines’ face but the Caprinae woman caught it mid-air and locked it with her arm.
“OW! OW! OW! OW! OW! My arm! Fuck! Fuck! Fuck! OW!”
“Hmph, Good.” The other Sarkaz said nothing, but their faces showed just how amused they were seeing the duo’s antics. W could actually overpower Ines despite being wounded, but why didn’t she? Only god knows, really.
They rejoined the convoy just fine, although W is still glaring non-stop at Ines. With no more foes that Ines could see and inspect through her shadows, they could take a breather and carry on until the next checkpoint.
-
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With camp erected and convoy secured, Cordelian PMCs and Babel’s mercenaries are forming camp on a nearby ruin. The place seems to hold some history in it, but neither force could care less about that. Hoederer is joining another strategic meeting and was pleasantly surprised at how receptive the Cordelian ad hoc high command is. They have some reservations with Sarkaz as a whole, yes, but compared to what he used to be dealing with and got ignored by the next, these people are miles better simply because they could be persuaded by logical explanation.
While that is ongoing, the rest of the convoy are doing whatever on their spare time. There is a clear divide between 2 groups, but they keep it civil for the most part. Vaskiela had already submitted the next route to take, so she is free for the most part. She distanced herself and walked away, just enough out of everyone’s ears, before leaning back on a tree near their encampment.
She seemed to be thinking about something, and after sighing, she pulled out a piece of steel that shone beneath the moonlight. Kazdel has little in terms of development or any trace of civilized advancement due to circumstances. Which makes it ironic that the numerous, and chaotic, stars and moon above the sky could be seen clearly. A part of her thinks that it is such a shitty consolation prize to what Kazdel has been subjected to for the last thousands of years.
Getting away from her negative thoughts, she begins to hum a syllable from Kazdelian old tongue; she is going to make another bone pen. Despite her general distaste for it and what entailed, she badly wished to sing a song of parting for the old W. To create a bone pen, one must have a substantial understanding of Arts and souls. How to make one is up to the carver, one could use a piece of wood and imbue it with each stroke or softly mold steel like what she is doing.
With the steel in between her palms, she flows her Arts into it. It is starting to float and the Arts detector that is planted near here lit up a little, this attracted some alert but was immediately met with puzzlement from Cordelian while the Sarkaz are slack-jawed seeing what she is about to do.
Her humming naturally enhanced the camp’s attention. Unfortunately, she was not as far as she had thought. The Banshees are famous, in both mythical and historical records, to be one of the finest while also the deadliest singer known. She keeps her mind steady, and the blocky steel starts to unravel into a brilliant thread of silky sheen.
Coalescing into thread, the steel beckoned the creator to wish and manifest their sacred request. The steel and hum powered by her esoteric Arts they see are truly enchanting, even for the Sarkaz themselves who have long been acquainted with the so-called Guardian of the Dead. Like a shine of lilac light, the Arts burned in her palms to scorch the metal yet the flame itself is white and causes illogical phenomena such as crystallization of dust particles into snowflakes.
Amongst them, Jordan couldn’t tear his eyes from seeing the girl who had been trying her hardest to smile look so downtrodden and pitiful. She looks equally ephemeral and frail yet determined and forthcoming.
“That’s something else, isn’t it? I used to wish for a Banshee to sing me farewell too… Hah, only later do I know its true significance.” Meteorite came up next to him, her words piqued his interest.
“Is it unusual for a Banshee to sing for you?”
“Something like that, old records show that the Banshees sing so the dead could rest in peace. It was said that the Banshees used to be one our most dreaded tribes, but centuries or perhaps millennia of watching over the warriors and beloved heroes’ passing for defending Kazdel had made them like this… sad, miserable, and might be contributing to their wishes for peace.”
“So that’s a big deal huh?”
“Yet to have a Banshee sing only for you? I would be left speechless because depending on the context, even their Madam can sing one for even the lowliest of low if they deem them worthy. I don’t know what happened back in that room, but I could see just how her face was so aghast like seeing a ghost. She might have learned something personal and it leaves a mental scar strong enough for her to go back on her words.”
“Ok, that’s an even bigger deal… wait, what’s a Madam?”
“Because of their Matriarchal society, simply because most of them are females, their reigning King or Queen is called Madam.”
“Most? I thought Banshees are all female?”
“Actually no, Fas’Kyrieas told me that the current one is a guy…”
“Then what’s that about going back on her words?”
“That’s not something I will tell you. Word of advice, those in-the-knows are really sensitive about it, almost a taboo.” Jordan shrugs, that’s a fair reason and even he has one. So they continue to watch as she sings her eulogy… which was the plan.
“Hey, you there! Stop where you are!” Peripheral patrol could be heard shouting. This wrenched the attention of more than a few people on them. There they could see a dead-tired, lanky, Sarkaz wheezing. He appears to be deeply frightened and wounded to a degree.
“Explain yourself or we’ll shoot you dead!”
“W-Wait! Don't shoot! I’m a messenger from Babel!”
[END OF CHAPTER]
Author’s Note:
Yo there, this is me, myself, and I, the author who has trouble sleeping.
As you can see, I changed a little bit of their interaction that would lead up to the primary incident in “Darknight’s Memoir”. Another timeline update had dropped and I feel like punching myself, but hey? I’ll try to make do…
See you next week… or something like that.
Ciao
