Thursday comes…

The job hunt is rough. I got two more applications out though. I am consistently short on my desires of getting more resumes out per day, but mediocrity is at least consistent. I will make a further effort on Friday to continue the fight.

Painting: Sisters are 6/10 golded. I hope to get all the gold and all the silver done tomorrow. The gold I have is really dry and I think should be tossed as it just isn’t working anymore. But, lack of funds to go out and restock the paints. And brushes, the lack of good brushes is really irritating.

Debated with L about army compositions and tactics. He apparently lost a game to his darling wife. Declined his suggestion to just spray black and top with gold the rest of my force so we can do a match larger than 1000 points.

Exercise: Did the P90X again, yoga today. Didn’t want to do it, but I did it anyways and managed to get through the 95 minutes.

Tried watching two recommendations: Windy Tales and Mononoke. I watched Pale Cacoon last night and really enjoyed it, so I figured these would be similar. Windy Tales has a unique animation style, but honestly it had me hooked in the first two episodes, and then started to lose me in the next two. Hopefully it picks up again.

Mononoke reminds me of Gankutsuou, at least in the art style. I haven’t watched enough to really get an opinion on it, but we’ll see how it goes from here.

Wednesday’s activities

I did the P90X again today, as required. I wish I had different weights for it, as the 10′s are too light, the 20 is fine, but I’d rather 15/25 over 10/20 right now. Eventually I hope to move up to 20/30.

The job hunt, not so great, only one job that was… well its not even a match, but whatever, its something I can do and it pays more than nothing.

Did some more work on my sisters of battle, struggling with brushes again, but managed to get some solid work done. This squad should be complete by weeks end, and then they will be sealed and good to go.

No writing today, going out with my dad for a belated father’s day/birthday thing. Not sure what movie I’m going to see, but it should be a time.

Stepping back into things.

So its been a long time since I was actively, or even passively, using this blog. I figure I might as well repurpose it a bit and see if I get more use out of it.

I am going to try to track some daily efforts of mine, and we’ll see how exactly it goes.

Miniature Works:
In production: 10 Sisters of Battle, standard squad.  5 Ork Boyz.

On Deck: a dozen or so miscellaneous reaper miniatures that may or may not be finished next.

In assembly: Two Rhinos which will be used to gloriously transport a squad of sisters each into battle.

To be done: Another batch of plaster molds has to get done. I need more tiles assembled.

In the void: 40 additional Sisters of Battle, a box full of two sets of Assault on Black Reach Orks, an Eldar Army still in the box, about 30-50 unopened reaper miniatures, a dozen miniatures in various stages of assembly/painting that are being ignored.

Working on the Sisters, I’ve again discovered that I have nothing but terrible brushes. Many of them are years old, fraying, or were purchased hastily and are not suitable for what I am doing. It makes detail work a pain, and even just getting base coats down is proving to be a frustrating experience.  I’m hoping that in 4 weeks I will have all of my sisters painted and ready to go, and be able to field 1000-1500 points. I know that I can get there with a Cannoness, 4 kitted Sister squads in rhinos, a Seraphim squad and a pack of Retributors. My trouble usually stems from the idea that most of the time, I get stuck in. Frequently I’m against fast moving swarms of enemies, and the sisters are not particularly mobile, but they are extremely shooty and template happy. I’ll play a few games with the two rhinos and see how I like the added mobility/cumbersome middle of the board deployment issues against a fast moving swarm.

Writing:
Minor rules adjustments tracked/corrected. Nothing major.

Exercise:
Restarting the P90X program. Today is Tuesday, and that means doing Plyometrics. Did it solid for a week, then dropped it as I went to my cabin, only fitting to restart it again now that I’m back and settled, and I have weights.

Job Hunt:
Sent out 3 resumes today, all of them good matches to my skill set. No replies back from any previous efforts.

Aiming for 3-5 applications out per day. Something has to bite eventually.

The Death of Ankas Gend, War of the Warlocks side story

Ankas Gend knew the routine well. She had been through similar interviews before, and had conducted them herself. She’d taken a shot of her medication two hours ago; the numbing serenity that clouded her judgment was a welcome relief.

A voice from behind her asked her for her name, she couldn’t turn around to see the source, but it was a soft voice, a warm comforting one that made her feel at ease. She replied lazily, her medication hardly letting her rise above a monotone.

“Tell us about yourself,” the voice asked though there was a hint of demand laced somewhere in the words. She couldn’t quite figure it out; her mind was swimming more than usual after she used her medication.

“I wanted to help people,” she didn’t know why she was going this far back, they didn’t care about it, they wanted something else. If they wanted it badly enough, they were going to have to wait for her to explain it all, she decided. “I was training to be a priestess. I knew I had something in me that would let me treat the sick, mend the wounded, and comfort those with loss. A priestess. I tried so hard. But something was wrong with me. I tried to hide it for so long, but it kept growing and getting worse.”

“What was wrong with you,” the voice asked. No guilt, no shame, just a question. She could answer the question; she was getting to it anyways. It wouldn’t matter; in the long run it never mattered.

“I never had the talent for healing. My talents lay in the infliction of pain. I hurt people. I never wanted to hurt people, but my touch could send spider webs of pain over someone’s skin, my breath could blister and my will could hurt everyone around me,” she felt a tingle as she spoke. It was like remembering an old friend for a moment. Her medication swallowed the tingle up, tucking it away from her and leaving her in her comfortably neutral state.

“You’re not hurting anyone around you now,” the voice commented. She wanted to smile, but couldn’t. She rarely did anything expressive while on her drugs.

“I can only hurt people when I’m happy. Helping people would make me happy, and then I would hurt them, and I would feel sad. I would help them again, and feel happy… It was a roller coaster, I wanted to die, I wanted to be something I couldn’t. I was an abomination. I was evil, despite how much I tried not to be. I couldn’t control my power then,” she relaxed in her chair as the voice asked her how she controlled herself so well now.

“They found me, the Inquisition. At first they wanted to burn me alive for being a warlock, a witch, but one of their superiors heard of my power and told me that I had been blessed with a terrible gift. I should use that gift for the good of all, instead of trying to hide it. So they started to train me,” she felt something stir in her mind, like a frightened child running away from the monsters in the dark. The warm blanket of her medication scooped up the childish fear and whisked it away from her before she could feel it out. Something was very wrong, yet she didn’t feel wrong.

“They gave me drugs to make me feel good. Then they had me practice my talents. Then they would give me more drugs. Drugs to bring me up, drugs to even me out to help me cope with my powers and what they needed me to do,” she sank into her chair a bit, it was comfy despite the restraints.

“What did they have you do?” the voice asked, or was it a new voice? They all sounded the same.

“I was an Examiner for the Inquisition. That’s a nice word for sadist and torturer. They would get me soaring high, and then send me in with a list of questions. As long as I had answers when I was done I could do whatever I wanted. If they liked what I found, they gave me just enough to keep me glowing until next time, if they didn’t get what they wanted, I got nothing. They had to be careful, as if they gave me too much I’d probably hurt them a lot more than they would ever want me too. I never learned how to control the flow when I wasn’t working, but when I was asking questions, I was an artist, a master at what I did. They trained me well,” she felt a twinge in her brain as she spoke of the ups. She wanted to go up again. Badly, her body burned to go up again. Her medication struggled against the desire, her will managed to help squash out the unwanted lust.

“How did they train you to be so cruel?” the voice called out, it was in front of her now, but that didn’t matter. The voice could be across the room or across the ocean, as long as she heard the question she would answer.

“Have you ever tried Torine?” she asked. There was silence, so she continued, “Torine makes you feel like a small child getting a great big present. You are on top of the world, and you stay on top as long as you keep taking Torine. They started putting it in my water as I struggled through my training, and before you know it, they had me perfectly conditioned. They bombarded me, over and over, with their dogma, their methods, their, well, their everything. All while keeping me high on Torine. They would bring me down with Viarte’s Root, just enough to even me out. After a while you start to associate all the good things in life with the Inquisition’s point of view. Torine has the bonus side effect of removing your guilt. Viarte also suppresses it so that you can deal with whatever you did while you were high.”

“Did they use you often?” she dreaded that question, it always as a bad question to ask.

“They had me examine three hundred and seventy two individuals personally, be present for the examinations of four hundred and ninety seven, and capture another hundred and fifteen personally,” there was a point she was called on to do seven interviews in a day. She remembered walking from interview room to interview room that day, floating and giggling all the way, her dress ruined with blood, tears and the stench of fear.

“Have you used your powers to kill?” the voice seemed to be calm, comfortable. She was used to accusations, anger, violence when people were questioned, this was much more pleasant. They probably were murderers in their own right, how, or why, would they judge her for her actions?

“Seventeen hundred men, women and children have died because of the use of my powers at the command of the Inquisition. Some of them where warlocks, or evil mages or priests. Most though, most where just normal people caught up in the whole mess. Once we finished with them, we couldn’t let them leave. They’d get me really high and let me finish them off. The Torine would tell me that I loved it. When it wore off I would be a wreck though. I started taking Viarte when I woke up after my first year. I’m on Viarte constantly now. They tried to break my addiction to it after my second year of service, but I kept trying to kill myself. So they just kept me on it, as long as they could give me enough Torine to let me do my job they didn’t care. They had plenty of Torine, they only had one of me,” she sighed; she remembered those days. The Viarte kept her from feeling anything other than memories. No emotions crept through the haze, though occasionally a twinge of something would sneak its way past, but it would get squashed before she could focus on it. Viarte was good like that.

“You had several clashes with the Brotherhood of Mages, did you not?” the voice asked. She wanted to smile, but she couldn’t bring it about. If they were part of the Brotherhood, they’d kill her, and so she picked a story that would give them little choice otherwise.

“That was the organization I was charged with taking down. Well, to take down their members at least. They would give me a name, and a sketch, and I would head into town and ask around. If I found information, I got a bit of Torine as a treat. When I found one of theirs, I was to take a vial of the emergency medication I’d been given and take them into custody, or take them down. Whatever was in those vials was fantastic, it was always like flying, I would inflict pain, tear off flesh and skin and burn out people’s eyes with a touch; all while flying above it all. I was charged with tracking this one girl towards the end of my service with the Inquisition. She was a pretty little thing, but she was also a warlock. Her powers were horrible, devastating, not unlike my own, but because she was on the other side, they were alien and disgusting. She could conjure fire, electricity, anything she wanted. She had to be in pain though, and it had to be enough pain to be of use. I was chasing her once again, she was my last assignment, but she kept getting away. We were fighting through a city, I forget the city now, but it was a big one, near the ocean. I was starting to come down, I couldn’t let myself come down in the middle of a fight, but I was too busy chasing her to get one of my vials open. I found her in an alley crying to herself. You see, to get the pain she needed to cast any of her magic she was cutting herself. In her haste, she cut herself way too deep. She was bleeding out, in shock, fearful, and there I was rapidly coming down afraid that I wouldn’t be happy enough to finish her off. So, I’m standing there, struggling with my emergency vial, trying to get the cap off, but it won’t come off. I broke down, she was trying to feel pain through her shock so she could finish me off, and I’m trying to get high enough that I can kill her,” she shuddered slightly as she told her story.

“Then what happened?” the voice asked.

“Before I could get my vial open, he, the mage lord, the one we’d been hunting for years, came out and slammed me into a wall repeatedly with a wave of his hand. He smashed all but one of my vials on the ground, even the Viarte. He then rubbed a pinch full of dust over the last vial of Torine I had, and handed it to me. He told me it was poisoned, that it would kill me instantly if I took it. He knew I was desperate, just to even myself out. He scooped up the girl, she was almost unconscious at this point, and left me there, weeping over my poisoned vial in the middle of the alley. I spent three days searching for an Inquisitor, that whole time I couldn’t find a single vial of Viarte or Torine. I did horrible things to try and get some, but all I had was my poisoned vial. I found an Inquisitor; he took a look at my vial and told me that it was fine. He tasted it himself. It was fine. I’d been tricked. I spent three days in absolute hell, having to live with everything I’d done, everything I’d become, and the whole time I had the ticket out right there in front of me. I couldn’t take Torine again. Every vial I was handed became that poisoned vial. They tried everything to get me functional again, but nothing worked. So they left me, they dropped me in some no name town on the mainland with a months worth of Viarte, and a single vial of Torine. They figured that eventually the brotherhood would find me, and kill me. That was four years ago,” she sighed again. The Viarte was wearing off. She cursed to herself knowing that she was going to die. If she had only been more careful, but there were few people who matched her description and also needed three vials of Viarte a day to function. She was surprised the brotherhood hadn’t tracked her down sooner. She felt fear slowly creep into her mind. She was coming down fast, or actually, she was coming too. For the first time in years her mind started to drift back to reality.

The scarred up face of the warlock she’d chased so long ago crept into her vision. There was a man behind her. Tears started to roll down Ankas’ cheeks.

“The Brotherhood regards itself as merciful Miss Gend. But for a creature as foul, violent, and horrible as yourself, we can have little mercy,” the voice spoke from behind the face of the girl in front of her.

“I know,” she half sobbed, her lips trembling as she attempted to keep some of her composure. The Viarte was gone, it was just her and her past. They’d spent a long time apart for a reason.

“I want you to hit me Brother Yanin. I want you to hit me, very, very hard,” the girl whispered as she leaned in close over Ankas’ bound form. Ankas heard the fleshy impact. She felt something in her mind unhinge. For a few, brief moments, she was clean, pure, and beautiful again. She was herself. No drugs keeping her afloat, no shame for her past, nothing. She supposed it hurt, that her end was horrible and grisly, but as Yanin had said, the Brotherhood was merciful. She plunged into death, holding onto that last moment of clarity before all existence was blasted into dust and blackness.

Yanin looked at the bruise rapidly forming on the young warlocks back. Ankas Gend, one of their greatest and most violent opponents, was dead. He couldn’t help but feel sorry for her; she was just a terribly used and lost girl. He looked at the road map of scars that covered his disciples back. He shuddered at the similarities and tried not to focus on exactly how different they all were. The seasoned mage threw a white blanket over the body, watching for a moment as the slow stain of blood crept through the sheet before leaving the room.

Sprained Finger Update:

Unable to write effectively, I’ll post some of the helps/background fluff used for The Powerless and the Profit.

The Six Sisters

The Six Sisters are all daughters of the long forgotten Elder Gods. Legend has it that the Elder Gods left their powers to Esthalla, the youngest of the six, and gave her the responsibility of dividing the powers that bind the world between herself and her sisters.

Arkuros and Amede, the eldest twins of the divine family were enraged that their parents refused to entitle them to what they viewed as their birthright. The twins conspired with Alhyrwe and Nilsa, luring the two into a dark pact to steal the powers their parents had left away from their unsuspecting sister. They attacked Esthalla in the grand hall of the Gods, stealing the many powers of the world away from her and leaving her for dead. Even Lykaan, Esthalla’s own twin, stole from her broken sister.

Perhaps feeling some pity for her twin, Lykaan left behind the five core powers that fill out her sister’s portfolio. Bad Luck, Accidents, Forgetfulness, Mischief, Misfortune. It isn’t known if it was pity or simply disinterest in those powers that caused Lykaan to leave them, most theologians believe that it was pity based upon Lykaan’s character and current portfolio. Unbeknown to her sisters, Esthalla had smuggled a power away for herself, Endurance. It was through that power, and that power alone she was able to survive her sisters’ attack. Esthalla crawled away from her home, far away from the turned backs of her sisters. She was one of the first Gods to make direct contact with the world, unable to return to her home until her sister’s betrayal was undone. She wanders the world to this day, her inexperience and misfortune have caused her to largely forget her former life.

With Esthalla gone, the sisters bickered between each other over the powers they had stolen. Lykaan, the last to take from her fallen sister, fled the palace when it became clear that Arkuros and Amede were planning to completely dominate their parents’ powers. Nilsa and Alhyrwe fought against Arkuros and Amede, the battle shook apart the palace of the Gods, sending all four of them scattering to the world below. Nilsa, who claimed the most powers originally, ended up with the smallest portfolio in the end. She discarded many of her powers to other beings as she grew disinterested with them. She kept the domain of cold and winter, and left the rest behind over the millennia.

Alhyrwe’s portfolio held many of the powers of the earth, water, sky, and forests, but over time she too lost interest in these things, scattering them about to worth men and women, forgetting them and losing them to individuals dedicated to achieving power. She maintains her current portfolio studiously however.

Amede and Arkuros almost immediately discarded powers that they deemed worthless. The twin sisters laughed in the fallen ruins of the Gods, spending much of their time plotting about how they would take back the more potent powers from their sisters, and any other entity that had managed to claim one. The two would have managed to be quite an effective team if it hadn’t been for a rivalry they’d always shared. Amede desperately wanted to control all things relating to darkness and shadow. Arkuros, unable to resist, stole the power of darkness away from her sister as a joke. Their relationship immediately soured, and now, though they share similar and often overlapping portfolios, their hatred for one another is legendary.

In the end, it is said that Lykaan has tried to help her forgotten sister, but with Esthalla’s powers corrupting her, little remains to be helped. Lykaan has watched over and guided her estranged sister, trying to prevent further woe from befalling the fallen Goddess.

The Powerless and the Profit, part three

Watching her uncle tune the clockworks had always been a fascinating experience for Sherry. She would sit at the side of his workbench as he examined their many gears and relays, checking over their bundles of wires and cables and pulleys with intricate care. He would explain what was wrong with one, or where the owner had misused it in the past as he went along. He often prompted her for tools, as he seemingly required an endless flow of clamps, vices, and grips to hold their innards at bay as he searched for the root of the problem.

Today she watched him as he worked on a blonde model. Her shell was designed to look like a little serving girl, but she had the same workings as any of the others that her uncle had serviced over the years.

“Tell me little one, why did your master send you to us?” he inquired of the clockwork as he peered into her chest cavity, searching for the root of its problems.

“Master informs me that I am underproductive and slow to respond,” the clockworks voice was feminine, but hollow, lifeless. Like someone stored the words in a can and opened it up to hear them again and again until there was no spirit or passion left in them. Their voices were always slightly unnerving to Sherry, but she had grown used to their dull, flat tones, and the lifeless gazes their eyes cast about as they examined their surroundings.

“See here Sherry? Two gears on her inner core are misaligned, one spins but it only catches every third or fourth tooth. It must have been a poor fit when she was made, and over time it has grown worse and worse,” her uncle pointed out the trouble point to her, his white brows knitting as he squinted down the length of his nose, through his glasses at the worrisome gear.

“I’ll grab a replacement for it, what size?” she asked.

“A37,” he responded, without looking up, “She’s got a malfunctioning power-supply as well, could you bring me a nexus as well?”

“Won’t that damage her memories and behaviors if we swap it out?” she called over as she searched through the gear bins for the appropriate part.

“Only if we take too long replacing it. The one she has is ramping up too quickly, causing excessive wear on her joints, she’ll be completely bust in another year if this continues,” her uncle called over to her.

“Master informs me that I am next to useless, and he wishes he had his old model back. I am unable to appease him on this,” the clockwork informed them. It was the one thing that always took Sherry by surprise: when the clockworks decided to talk, they usually did so without rhyme or reason, they simply conveyed whatever happened to be bouncing around their heads. They made interesting conversational partners, but due to their very nature, they were prone to many logic traps and easily confused by a simple turn of phrase.

“Your master will get many years out of you yet. He just should have had you looked at immediately instead of waiting so long. Now tell me if this hurts you,” her uncle requested as he tinkered with a setting on the clockwork’s back. With its front splayed open, and parts strewn about, he had one hand elbow deep up its front, struggling to release a clasp under its tiny throat, while he teased one of the small dials on its back.

“I am incapable of feeling pain, sir,” it responded.

“You know that isn’t correct. You feel discomfort and pain, so that you know you are being damaged. You do not feel the need or desire to vocalize it however. What I want to know is if this makes you feel better or worse, little one?” he inquired.

“I am unsure,” it replied.

“We’ll have you walking around once we replace that damaged power-supply, you can tell us then how you feel,” he gave it a reassuring pat.

Sherry brought over the gear and the power-supply. The gear was about the size of the tip of her pinky, but the power-supply was quite heavy. Composed of two intertwining crystals with ports for wires and cables pre-drilled into it, the power-supply weighed about fifteen pounds and glowed faintly.

“Now, we will swap this out in a moment, but when we do you fill experience a distinct sensation. Do your best to not thrash about when it happens, but it is only natural for your body to react unpleasantly,” he looked the clockwork in the eye, it stared back through him, beyond him, at some distant point far away from the workshop.

“Is this what it is like to die?” it asked.

“In essence, you will be dead for about five minutes, but then you will return. You should experience no further ill-effects beyond a mild start-up jolt which may cause you to cycle through a few imbedded memories and commands. Your motors will be disabled until we confirm you’re operational again however,” her uncle explained. Like all clockwork creations, when faced with their own death, they were surprisingly calm. Then again, they were never truly alive to begin with.

“Proceed, master would like me back by dinner, or he fears he will starve if no one is around to cook for him,” the clockwork instructed, as if it had a say in the matter.

“Have a good sleep,” he whispered as he pulled the central power-cable free. The clockwork’s arms and legs struggled, trying to thrash away his hand from inside its body, but unable to move more than a few inches due to the pre-emptive disabling of its motors. Latent power vanished from it, as it uttered a string of nonsensical phrases, its artificial life vanishing from it a few heartbeats later.

“Okay, remove that tainted supply and place it over on the bench for examination. I’ll install the new one and power her up again,” he instructed as he set about prepping the new power-supply for installation.

“When you power it up again,” she corrected him.

“Hmm?” he grunted as he bolted on fasteners onto the crystalline power-supply.

“You referred to it as a her, it is an it,” she explained.

“It looks like a small girl, it is only natural to occasionally refer to them as what they appear to be,” he shook his head. Sherry sighed as she pulled the cables and parts off the old supply.

“There isn’t anything apparently wrong with this supply, uncle,” she frowned as she looked at it.

“It’s overheating. If you observe it long enough you’ll see it discharging slightly, so something is rather wrong with it. Set it down over there, and help me attach all cables to this new one,” he requested as he hauled the new power-supply over to the clockwork. Sherry glared at the defective supply before setting it down on an empty examination table.

“We have two minutes and forty seconds before memory death occurs,” she reminded as she joined her uncle in the assembly process.

“Plenty of time, make sure to attach the rear cables, my old hands have trouble getting those on tight these days,” he grunted as their arms knit around each other. It was difficult work having two sets of arms struggling to snap and screw and bolt on all the appropriate connections in such a short period of time.

“Done and done,” she informed as she withdrew her hands.

“Restoring power,” he motioned for her to keep away incase something malfunctioned.

“Master, over the windows, rainbows, dozens for tea, always problems these days, more paper sir?” the clockwork cycled through a handful of garbled phrases as its memory cache cleared out.

“How are you feeling little one?” her uncle smiled down at it. Its eyes snapped up to him momentarily before drifting away and focusing on nothing in particular.

“Several core systems are disabled or non-functional,” it informed him.

“Yes, we turned those off prior to removing your old power-supply,” he reminded it.

“Apologies, all operational systems are functional,” it informed.

“I’m restoring power to your motors, could you please give a diagnostic of what remains to be worked on?” he requested.

“Certainly, printing report,” it chirped as a long string of paper spooled out of its mouth. The paper was dotted with numbers, letters and other symbols, all of them referring to parts, locations, operational percentages, strains and usages.

“Your master must have you doing a lot of work cleaning,” he commented.

“Most of my time is spent performing housework, correct,” it responded.

“I can tell from the joint wear. You will require a servicing in three months for a few of these, but there is nothing pressing at this point. We can replace a few of your coils and gearings for general performance improvements,” her uncle stated.

“Master wants any and all service work done as soon as possible,” it replied.

“Then we’ll get to work on that,” he smiled, handing Sherry the print out list. Her job had just turned into an elaborate game of guess the part. She was familiar with all of the parts in their spoken terms, but the clockwork data reports were full of symbols and abbreviations that made her head spin. Since it was a stream of seven characters stacked end on end, it was easy to get lost in it. The location was determined with a double letter, the part with a combination of a letter and two digits, and then the wear percentage as a flat three-digit percentile. Making the wear more complicated was that it tracked up to three decimal places, with the printing of a tiny dot marking whether the remaining wear was at ninety-nine point nine percent and near perfect, or nine point ninety-nine percent, which was vastly near failure. Since that point could be placed before any of the three numbers, if the wear was critical and part failure eminent, it often required double or triple checking.

There was a sharp knock at the door to the workshop.

The Powerless and the Profit, part two

True to their word, they had no issues at customs when they finally were issued a docking space to land on. They exchanged the document with their visitation permits, and without any fuss or bother the two of them were on their way into the city.

“Make sure you keep your rifle wrapped, they get all fidgety if its not,” Minera reminded Tiana.

“But your rapier is no concern,” Tiana grunted.

“Not until its stuck in someone it’s not,” Minera laughed. She straightened her worn tricorn hat, fixing a grin on her face as she surveyed the sprawling market. It opened up before them, dozens of isles and hundreds of merchants shouting their wares to passersby.

“Where too first?” Tiana inquired.

“I need a new set of boots, after that we should see about getting some clockwork parts. How many do you think the ship can hold?” Minera looked around, trying to remember where her favorite leather-worker resided.

“We can safely stash a few hundred before we run out of good hiding spots. If we pick up some cover material we can start filling in the hull as well,” Tiana recalled.

“Mm, I know, lets grab a few Dolls, that’s practically hiding them in plain sight,” Minera suggested, motioning for her companion to follow her as she started down the crowded street. Vendors hollered at them, begging, demanding, insisting that they stop and view their wares. Their eyes were filled with visions of fine clothes, exotic foods and rare curiosities from parts rarely traveled by those with more pedestrian interests. The scent of unknown spices and strange foods mixed with the sweat of the people around them, as their ears were assaulted with the dull roar of the crowd.

“Fine blankets, hand woven! The best you’ll find within the city!”

“Fresh fruit! Exotics imported from The Narl and beyond!”

“Amazing devices! Technicals, Clockworks, and Think Engines!”

None of them were particularly fascinating. Minera had seen the amazing offerings the city held a dozen times over, and there never were any truly fascinating wares to be viewed in the open market. Anything that was really worth seeing was going to be in a little known store that was frequented only by people who specialized in exactly what it offered. That was the lure of Edora, the largest city outside of Narlyocria, and the largest city in all the free realms. It teemed with hidden stalls, private shops, and exclusive locales.

“I know exactly where we’re going,” Minera grinned.

“Hrm?” Tiana frowned up at her.

“He’ll have plenty of what we need, and if I remember, he’ll be more than willing to help us out,” Minera winked.

“That would be a welcome change,” Tiana nodded.

“Leave it to me,” Minera changed her direction, moving them away from the market and towards the industrial district under the looming cloud of steam and billowing smoke. The pungent scent of the market changed to the stifling reek of industry in short order.

“They say that you have to wear a filter-mask in the morning if you are traveling for more than a few minutes through the bowels of this place,” Tiana coughed in the haze that filled the air. The roads had thinned out, merchants being replaced by soot and filth covered workers carrying tools, parts, scrap and whatever else they were charged with as they moved between jobs.

“I don’t doubt… By the ever-bitter teats of Arkuros, are those Narlyocrian Soldiers?” Minera pulled Tiana off the main road and over to the edge of an alleyway as she spotted the distinctive grey, black and sickly purple of the Narlyocrian fatigues on a group marching towards them. They were led by an imposing figure, his heavy armor obscured by a thick black cape and hood, lined with its purple trim. One of the soldiers in his company was reading a report to him as they waked through the streets. The two privateers were not the only people to clear out of their path with haste as workers and businessmen vanished away from them.

“Holy Gods alive, that’s one of their commanders,” Tiana whispered as they peered around the corner at them.

“What in the world is a squad of Narlyo’s doing in Ecidia, much less walking around in Edora without a company of homeland guardians escorting them?” Minera cursed, cutting her voice down to a whisper as the menacing group past by them.

“…they’ve assured us that they will not interfere if it reaches them.”

“They wouldn’t dare.”

“Yes, commander. Of course, sir.”

Minera strained to hear more of their conversation, but it was lost in the background noise of churning machinery and industry.

“Consider my curiosity piqued,” Minera grunted, she looked at the group as they slowly made their way towards the market.

“Wherever they are going isn’t here. That’s all we should be concerned with. They are terrifying enough in the Narl,” Tiana stepped back out onto the street, shaking her head at her captain’s insistent staring.

“Nah, they’re not going to do anything here. They won’t use their particular brand of finger wiggling and curse muttering in a place where they can shield themselves behind their own laws,” Minera said. She stretched in place, yawning slightly as she felt the excitement of the day fade, revealing the mundane bustle of industry once again. They resumed their trek into the very heart of the industrial sector, weaving their way through the twisted alleys in an effort to dodge the carts and carriages that tore through the streets hauling materials and wares to and from the factories.

War of the Warlocks: Book 2 Teaser Chapter

The trip had been long, arduous, and terrifying for Hard and Muro. The mages barely slept, and kept the marching nearly constantly. The Inquisitor had sharply told them not to talk to anyone but him, and they were more than happy to oblige him. Particularly after a confrontation they’d had with one of their guards who produced a wanted poster with their descriptions written on it. Apparently they were torture interrogators for the Inquisition, and in between murdering casters they’d secretly forged a pact with a band of warlocks to assassinate the High Priest. The story was lies from start to finish, but it got the whole pack of mages right angry at them, at least until the Inquisitor came over and saved their necks.

“Well, we are at Isagul. If they let us go, we can just carry on as we were planning to before,” Hard looked over his shoulder at the mountains looming to the north. It was cold up here, even in the late spring. They’d felt a slight touch of frost in the mornings, and lingering cold that seemed to chase them whenever they stepped into a shadow.

“And what would that plan be?” the Inquisitor appeared behind them. He had a strange knack for doing that.

“Forgive me sir, I didn’t know you were present,” Hard would have saluted but he was still bound.

“No need for that, I didn’t choose to make myself known until you’d taken to talking to one another. Now, this plan, give me some details,” White glared at them as they looked at each other.

“We’re heading into the Northlands. Obviously, we are wanted men here, if we can get past the gates, we have a straight march towards Gallaron. We can be in relative safety, after only a few days once we cross through the gates. No one in their right mind would chase us up there. Not even… the beast in the shard,” Hard sighed. White just nodded as he listened to their plan.

“I thought I recognized you. I watched you two search the speaker’s room. You’re quite well read if you could recognize a Star Shard at a glance. You didn’t even try to touch it out of curiosity,” his compliment was a trap, Hard knew it but he had no choice but to step into it.

“Thank you, I’d read about them in a book from the library at Cotinari,” Hard started but the old man just waved his hand at him dismissively.

“I’ve checked your bags over. One bag was full of supplies and clothing. The other was stuffed full of books. But very specific books; old tomes, things that were supposed to have been purged from the libraries when the Church rose to power. You’ve even got yourself a few first editions in there. For a mundane, you’re incredibly well stocked in arcane tomes. Your collection rivals mine and I’m a dedicated collector,” White sat between the two men, he looked at Muro carefully for a moment before turning his attention back to Hard.

“Reading is a bit of a hobby of mine. I wasn’t aware they were valuable books, just that they were old and curious,” it was mostly the truth, Hard really didn’t understand the purpose of the lists of books that formed in his mind. He wasn’t even sure where they came from, it was as if he’d heard of them all from somewhere and each book he read revealed new books to him.

“How do you plan on getting past the gate? The guards on this side aren’t just going to let you pass, and the guards on the other side… I’ve chatted with them a few times, they aren’t necessarily the most sane of folk,” White scratched his chin a bit as he spoke. It was obvious that he wasn’t going to let either of them get comfortable in a line of questioning, he’d keep bouncing around so they couldn’t keep their lies straight.

“There is a lesser gate, well a walkway more like, on the northern edge of the wall. If we walk to the ocean’s edge, there is a small entrance into the Northlands there. It’s hardly guarded, three guards tops. We were going to kill our way through it if we had to, but if you’re coming with us, then we might just have another option,” it was Hard’s turn to turn the questioning around.

“No one said anything about coming with anyone,” White smiled slightly, well aware of the trick.

“You said plenty, you wouldn’t be curious about where we were going unless you were coming with us, or we were going with you. You’re not leaving with these mages. Most of them seem to regard you slightly less than they regard us, and the majority of them still believe that Muro and myself are responsible for killing quite a few of their friends,” Hard chuckled slightly as White nodded.

“They are putting you two into my custody. As soon as my apprentice is able to move on her own we are leaving here. Do not make me regret my decision to not turn you over to them. I may not look like much, but I assure you the fate the two zealots shared is just a sample of what I can and will do,” White stood and nodded at them as he left to tend to Ceren who was slowly starting to rouse from her deep and deathly slumber.

The Powerless and the Profit, part one

Boredom is rarely something one looks forward to facing in their day, and for Minera, boredom was a foe that had to be thwarted at the earliest opportunity. She nudged the steering wheel of the Ilithia with a casual boot as she sat in her makeshift chair upon her tiny ship’s deck, and stared off over the side at the ground so far below them. Green hills rolled in the distance, clear skies greeted them, and they sailed calmly into friendly territory over sleepy Ecidia. She sighed, an all to relaxed sigh, and played idly with the stray belt clasp of the vest she wore while scanning for something, anything, to do.

“Tiana, I’m bored,” she called down to her ship-hand, who was busing herself in a book. She never understood her partner’s habit for literature, as she could barely stand to read more than a dozen words in a row unless someone was having a bodice ripped off or a fight was well underway.

“Mm,” came the muted response, Tiana barely raising her head to acknowledge the statement.

“Why are we even in Ecidia? We should have flown to Narlyocria and picked up something illicit. It feels like we’re wasting time just flying around with an empty hull, and nothing smuggled in,” Minera played with her sun-blonde hair as she reclined in her chair, continuing to steer her ship with a carefully placed boot. There wasn’t a lot of wind today, making it relatively smooth flying, and even if there was she was fairly confident that she could wrestle control back before they spiraled to their deaths.

“We’re going to Edora to pick up a shipment of clock-work parts and take them to the Protectorate, and then exchange them for some raw bars, which we will return to Edora with, and then sell for considerable profit,” Tiana replied, glancing up to check on her captain, and ensure that the wheel had not been completely abandoned. She placed a flat hand over her dark hair to shield her eyes from the afternoon sun as she scanned the horizon.

“We should have picked something up on the way then. Raided a farm or something, just for some laughs and profit,” Minera sprang to her feet with her proclamation, letting the Ilithia list sharply to one side as the wheel span freely. She grabbed at it and hauled it around to stabilize them, willfully ignorant of her assistant’s rolling eyes.

“We’re privateers, not outright pirates or bandits. We made some good coin smuggling crystals out of Narlyocria, and if everything goes well, we’ll make a rather tasty profit in these next few exchanges,” Tiana explained as she walked over to the side of the ship, leaning against the rail as she looked to see if she could spot the capital of Ecidia in the distance. True to form, they were well off course, but at least it was visible in the distance. It was hard to miss the drifting smoke of industry, and the Grand Spire that jutted out of the center of Edora couldn’t be missed by any but the blind. A tower so tall it cut the very edge of the sky, rising so high that most ships couldn’t fly to its peak. It was the absolute marvel of Ecidia’s technology and power, dwarfing all but a few structures of legend.

“I miss when we were just rough and tumble pirate-types. Fighting in bars, stealing from anyone who turned their backs, and laughing off into the sky in the middle of the night,” Minera grumped from the helm.

“We were none of those things. You typically would just get drunk in bars, and I’d have to drag you back to the ship. Most of our heists were poorly planned, poorly executed, and resulted in little to no coin being gained, and finally the few hurried escapes we’ve been forced to endure have had little to no humor in them,” Tiana turned and glared at her captain.

“Shush you, let a girl dream of days long gone by without tainting them with your dreary reality,” Minera chided.

“That response was almost lucid, I think I may actually be pounding some sense into that brain of yours after all,” Tiana quipped with a smile.

“You respect your captain or I’ll haul you off the side of the ship like the runt you are!” Minera roared with a laugh.

“That would require you to actually be able to leave the wheel for more than a few seconds without both of us spiraling to our deaths. If you would only put the money up for the tail repairs we could actually use the auto-pilot again,” Tiana laughed.

“Pirates, are cheap,” Minera replied, nodding sagely to herself.

“I think that its just you that’s cheap, captain,” Tiana suggested as she looked out into the distance again.

“Tiana, get your rifle, we’ve got company off the port side,” Minera ordered, pointing into the distance at a rapidly approaching craft. Tiana snapped her rifle out of its rack and started warming the coils on it. It was a long rifle, just over four feet long, with a dual coil system allowing it to accurately fire its .37 caliber beam up to three miles. She ran the cable from the scope up to her monocle, letting her see far into the distance at the approaching ship. It was much like the Ilithia, a narrow wooden hull, suspended by two floating pontoons, and steered by a small propeller and rudder system.

“They’re flying the Council’s colors, four men, armed,” she called out to her captain.

“Hold fire until we see what their intentions are, they’re probably just scouting us as we make our approach. If you see them loading weapons or preparing to fire on us, work your magic, I’m going to try to take us into a better air-stream for combat,” Minera called over.

“Aye, holding, nothing hostile yet, they don’t have anyone actively scanning us yet. They’ve got the crest of the customs officials on their bow,” Tiana reported.

“We’ve got nothing in the hull right?” Minera asked.

“Empty, captain,” Tiana replied.

“Nothing illicit stored about the ship?” she pressed.

“Other than your collection of hard liqueurs?” Tiana suggested.

“Then we’re good, lower your weapon and lets fly white to show them we’re nice and friendly, everyone’s friendly up here,” Minera growled through a forced smile, “So very friendly.”

“Aye captain,” Tiana powered her rifle down, the coils humming faintly as they cooled off. Minera guided them towards the approaching craft, slowing the Ilithia to a near standstill as she stood smiling and waving at the ship as they saddled up beside each other.

They were greeted by a mustachioed official wearing a fine vest emblazoned with the crest of the Ecidian Council Customs Department. He was an older gentleman, heavy knit brow, crested with some particularly bushy eyebrows. Like all of his men, he was particularly sun-beaten, with flesh tanned far darker than even Minera’s daring would take her.

“Greetings Ladies, welcome to Ecidia. We’re officials from the Customs Department, I’m Marshal Gidesar, and we happened to see you flying towards the capital. Do you folks have anything you wish to declare?” the marshal inquired.

“No sir, we’re flying in with an empty hull and a desire to spend some coin in your fine city,” Minera beamed.

“Good to hear, we won’t keep you girls long. Xal, Athe mind hopping over and checking their cargo hold quickly, and we’ll let them be on their way,” the marshal instructed.

“Tiana, open the hold doors for them,” Minera kept her idiotic smile plastered upon her face as she waved the men aboard. Tiana pulled the lever, causing the hold doors to slowly creak open on the deck. The two customs officers looked into the hold, shrugging when they saw nothing inside it.

“Empty, sir,” one of the reported back.

“Good to hear, which of you two is the captain?” Marhsal Gidesar asked.

“That would be me, good marshal,” Minera waved.

“Do you have the ships registry and papers handy for inspection?” he asked.

“Certainly, Tiana, you know where they are, mind fetching them for me?” Minera asked.

“Aye, captain,” Tiana responded as she went below deck to dig the papers out Minera’s cluttered cabin.

“So, looking to do some trade in Edora?” the marshal pressed.

“Well, I plan to pick up some new boots, maybe a new hat. Probably hit some bars, get into a bit of trouble, you know, typical Saturday night in the big city,” Minera laughed.

“Typical indeed,” the marshal mused as they waited for Tiana to return with the papers. The silence following was awkward, but Minera just kept herself smiling and the ship steady as they waited. Tiana finally poked her head above deck again, with two leather-bound documents in hand.

“Your captain tells me she plans to get into a bit of trouble in the city,” the marshal informed her.

“My captain cannot walk two blocks without getting herself into something she shouldn’t, sir,” Tiana replied.

“That so?” the marshal asked with a guffaw as he took the documents from her and examined them.

“Says here this ship wasn’t originally yours, belonged to some fellow named Davis?” the marshal asked.

“Old friend, left the ship to me when he passed on,” Minera responded.

“Well, everything here looks like it checks out, we’d appreciate it if you’d make right for the capital. Present them with this document, and you can bypass the inspection there as we’ve already taken care of that up here. The document clears you for three days and nights within Edora, should you plan on staying longer, please see the customs and immigration office for an extension,” the marshal handed Tiana back their documents, with his sealed inspection notice.

“Thank you, sir,” Minera replied, “Disengaging ships.”

“You ladies enjoy yourselves, have a safe flight,” Marhsal Gidesar called over to them as they drifted apart. Minera waited until they were well out of earshot of the other ship before letting out a long string of expletives.

“That was certainly bothersome,” Tiana grunted.

“Every minute of that was just death. Customs doesn’t even wait for us to land anymore before doing their goddamn searches. Tiana, make a note, we’re never not smuggling something into Ecidia ever again,” Minera grunted.

“Noted, captain,” Tiana replied.

“Though, I will say this, if they can spot us coming in at day, and are inclined to search us so casually, we might as well load up on illicits next time. Particularly if this document turns out to be the real deal. If we can land and hit the trade district without a full search with this thing? I’ll never fly into Ecidia at night again,” Minera wrung her hands greedily together, letting the wheel spin slightly before grasping at it again.

“Lets not count our sheep until after the customs office has thoroughly examined and confiscated them,” Tiana quipped.

“Right, right. I wonder what the hell they’d have done if we’d opened fire on them…” Minera frowned.

“I suspect since they could see us from the city far enough out to dispatch that ship to intercept us, that they’d see the battle, and probably send out reinforcements. Not that we couldn’t make for a border and hope they broke off, but it certainly would make things interesting,” Tiana replied as she replaced her gun on the rack, firmly locking it in place.

“True… true…” Minera mused as she set the ship back on its drifting route towards the city. She’d find a way to swing all of this to her advantage. They just had to pick up their cargo in Ecidia and slip out without a search of their ship, and repeat the process on their way back. She let a smile creep onto her face as she imagined the profits. Thousands of gold stood to be made in just a few simple transactions. They just had to keep their eye on the prize and it all stood to be a very profitable few days for them. She wore her grin all the way to the gates of Edora.