Category: Red Mysterium

Tale of Red Mysterium #15: Skuller III

January 2nd, 2024

#15. SKULLER III

On the water at the fringes of the town was a funeral procession. The crew stood silently on their skiff, Skuller and Tasha at the fore. She shook with grief, her body trembling like a dropped tin which rang out its dismay. Yet she stood silently, her only signs of feeling that taut vibration running through her flesh. There was not even sadness on her face, but anger. A deep well of it surged within, a cauldron of rancorous vengeance threatening to boil over.

It was Millek that was being put out to sea. Though there was no blood relation, it was Millek who had helped Tasha survive in this roughshod world of skulduggery and theft. It had been Millek who had connected Tasha and Skuller and given her a family. Millek, the storeman, always kept an eye out for those like her.

And it was Millek who had been stabbed twenty times for the food in his pantries.

It was a darkness all of them had to accept. With no Leyline, Djirama was on its own. Food, fuel, specialty goods, weapons, water purifiers. Everything that kept Djirama alive had now been cut off.

Skuller couldn’t help but watch the procession with a macabre amusement. Hundred were gathered on the water’s edge to see Millek off, each one someone that he had helped shape into who they were now. But part of Skuller couldn’t help that this was going to be all their fates. One by one, people would drop, sent out to sea, until the last person in town perished, and they would be the only one who would not find rest in the water.

Skuller gave himself a dark, humorless laugh. He thought, “If it were me, I’d sail out to sea before that time came.”

Now, Skuller found himself looking at all those gathered today. One question filled his mind, and it was so large it eeked its way out into the world through his lips. “Which one of you bastards did this?”

Tasha looked up to him, her shaking abated for the moment. The hatred in her eyes told him that she was wondering the same thing.

A slow drum beat began near the shaedrower that had been built for Millek. It had no urgency, no sense of purpose or destination. Then, the chanting began. It was Millek’s daughter, his only surviving family. Skuller thought that she was lucky to have been away that night otherwise she would have joined her father in the shaeds.

The song that was sung was one of ancient rites. Its words had lost all meaning, and in so had gained a whole new meaning to this land. A Call to the Shaed, to the place of darkness from which all arise. It was a lament to those lost, a sign to the universe that the grief and pain was real and as inextricable from reality as sunlight. The ocean, the ultimate portal to the Shaed, would take those in Djirama to their loved ones.

Skuller couldn’t help the tears that came to him. The song was one of grief alone to him, it contained none of the release that so many others gained from it. It reminded him of things lost he would rather not think about again. Some pains, even at his age, had not been dulled with time.

Silence overtook them all as Mellik’s boat was pushed off into the water. Though the current wasn’t very strong here, it would be enough to take him out to the ocean where the violent storms would deliver him to his wife.

As he and his crew returned to the Grotto, silence still lingered. Tasha’s pain was evident to them all, and even though she was confrontational on the best of days, she may have well have been covered in broken glass and razors for how good comforting did for her then.

So silence, it seemed, was the safest option between them all at this point.

But words were bubbling within Skuller. He was angry, sullen, but mostly he was feeling… betrayal? Ill defined, this feeling did not direct itself at anyone in particular, nor at any specific event. It was a general betrayal towards the universe as a whole, as if his heart was screaming, “How could you do this to me?”

He sighed. Millek had been only two years younger than Skuller.

Their skiff pulled up to the dock and they were home, whatever that meant in times like this. As they walked down the roughshod wood, Skuller felt sick at the way this place existed now. They had consolidated all of their resources in the barracks, knowing that soon scavengers would try and sneak in, take what they could, and leave before being noticed.

This was a temporary measure, for when things became more desperate, and starvation lingered on the horizon, it would be the time for swordplay and gunfighting. That, at least, was something they were good at.

Regardless, the reality of the coming days did not give Skuller hope.

He had never foreseen what would occur, how could he? Yet still he was shaken by the intensity which the world was changing. Djirama was a place of the fringes. Its people were bats hanging in the dark rafters of the cosmos, unseen and unheard from unless you poked around in their domain.

Skuller had been born here, raised here, had never even consider leaving. Now, trapped, a part of him wished he had cut his losses and tried to find a new life somewhere else. His thoughts began to wander as they entered the main Keep.

He imagined a life for himself on Rackaman, tending to nobles and Magi and all other manner of fancy folk. He considered what a ranch-hands life on Botansa would be like, setting posts and herding cattle and tending sheep. He wondered about a great many places he had heard of and how different they were from Djirama. He imagined a thousand different Skullers walking the streets of these many realms, each having a different life, a different mind, a different soul.

Perhaps one of them, hopefully, would be happy. The Skuller in Djirama was most certainly not.

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Tale of Red Mysterium #14: Trand & Debrosh III

December 29th, 2023

#14. TRAND & DEBROSH III

Each step a sizzle, the crackling of stone and mortar the only accompanying sound to the steady wind. Ash settled over the land, the devastation from the north finding peace on the unburnt ground. The fiery being walked among this slowly growing desolation, unfeeling, unthinking. Since the destruction of the Gulag, it had felt an undisturbed sense of peace. But it was false in many ways, for it was not the even peace of a calm sea. It was the peace of an egg which safely contained the chaotic forming of a being within.

Each step drew it forward. It’s purpose thrummed with a subtlety that denied any other consideration, yet did not disturb its false peace. It know only two things, the two things it should enact on the world. Cleanse the Wicked. Free the Damned.

The small sprite of flame trailed behind the being, unknowing of the world or where it was going. It had been summoned forth out of the dying flames of the Gulag, formed by the mind of the being it now followed. Its only truth was that it was the companion to the fiery creature who made it.

It was endless, their journey. Time had no meaning to these two, for they existed in a state of being of infinite formation. Their exteriors were shells that protected the process. Within them, though, was the hardening and shaping of metamorphosis, of something new coming to be. It was the unfolding of an explosion in reverse, a flame receding to a flash point. The logic of their transformation was antithetical to all other forms, and soon the chaos of it would unravel their shell.

It was in this endless time that they came upon a great, sprawling camp. Soldiers were gathered, and from what they could see, no one else.

Cleanse the Wicked.

Again, the flames became unbound and flew outward in great, torrential pillars. They had more focus now, reaching out and streaming down onto the greatest concentrations of bodies that could be seen.

To someone passing by, able to witness the horror, they would have seen a dozen flaming pillars reaching down like great tendrils onto Hursaw War Camp. They would have seen the pillars arcing across the sky to a single point down the road. If they looked hard enough, they might have seen a small glimmer of red in the inferno.

The tendrils of fire swept across the camp. In some places it was held back by the forces of the magi within, each one working to shield themselves from the destruction. Each time they faltered and were reduced to ash in seconds. The terrible anger of Trand flowed in these fires, his grief for existence a unending fuel to continue his cleansing.

And, soon enough, everyone at the camp was dead.

As the flames receded and the fiery creature again reformed, something was different about it now. The killing had awakened another part of it, for it could now kill with purpose and direction. No longer a storm of flames, but a hand of the gods coming to destroy the wicked.

But this new, apparent awareness brought with it… thoughts. Questions, ideas,images, fantasies… memories. A part of what had been Trand awoke inside the fiery creature and it brought with it all the pain of existence that came from the mortal coil. This was a new sensation to the entity, for it had not felt this ever before. New ideas spawned, of revenge, of guilt, of hatred. New questions arose, of purpose, of envy, of existence.

The small flame sprite, so different from the creature, but intrincally linked to it, was frozen on the ground in fear. The upheaval within its master filled it with dread and darkness, for that is what its master was feeling.

Now the being’s voice was different. It contained a material weight to it, as if by naming the rain it could call it down. But instead, it said, “Why does the suffering never end?”

And so the suffering would never end.

From camp to camp destruction followed. Somehow this being found itself drawn to these encampments, to the people it hated most of all. Each time it destroyed them, a different piece of it awoke. It was the great unfolding of the metamorphosis. It was the vibrations of a quake which would crack the shell. Each piece of vengeance for the being which had been Trand would form some new mechanism within this new creature and the terrible weight of it would impress itself upon the entirety of creation.

Soon, enough had come to pass. The fire could no longer be contained.

As if the fire itself had come to life and found its oppressor in the being of flame, they turned instead away from the magi and soldiers and towards their master. The flames unified with the being, coursing through it in great spears of light. For a brief moment those who survived, who could live to see this unfolding, would think that perhaps a deity or god had come to their aid.

How hopeful. How foolish. In a world ruled by Red Mysterium, the only gods are those who dominate the others.

The flames settled over the being, coiling in great lengths of hot fire that condensed, impacted within each other to form a much different creature than before. No soft edges, no ill-defined shape.

This being was anger made manifest.

It looked upon itself with wonder, new capacities within its mind, new understandings and visions of the future. This creature, this… Inferno… could want. And it wanted more than the simple demands of its former self. Cleansing the Wicked, yes, that would be done regardless of its wants. Freeing the Damned… yes, that too would follow. But now, unbound by the hatred and anger of mortality and memories of a vanquished self, the Inferno had much loftier goals.

With flames renewed, and disgust at these weak creatures fueling its killing, the Inferno knew that what would come would be sweet and succulent as charred flesh.

The sprite was now gone. The Inferno walked alone.

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A Tale of Red Mysterium #13: Skuller II

September 18th, 2023

#13. SKULLER II

It was a bad day for Skuller and his crew.

Three days earlier, they had learned that they Leyline to Djirama had been closed due to “instabilities,” whatever that meant. The Leyline Portal, which shone brilliantly most days, was absent now. The city, Gerrick, came to a standstill after those first few days as stock wore thin at every merchant and store. By the time the second day was done, ninety percent of the city was out of materials. There were few warehouses in Gerrick that had planned far ahead, and as the needs of the people grew, their stocks thinned out as well.

It was the fourth day now, and the crew was miserable. Their perishables had run out already, the only thing remaining to eat were twelve sacks of barley and six sacks of oats. Their lamps burned low, barely enough oil inside to keep their base lit.

Lastly, and most dire to them, was that the liquor had ran out the night before.

Sculler was lying underneath the table, arm draped over his eyes to block out the light streaming in through the port windows. His head was aching, and already he could feel chills running up and down his arm. Soon, they would turn to shivers.

“A blasted existence,” he thought. He wished he would have stopped drinking when Tasha had first recommended it.

He tried to distract himself with thoughts of other realms, but his mind always returned to the closed Leyline. Djirama was a desolate swampland in every direction, a realm of wet humidity and storms. What few explorers had attempted to see all of the realm had been forced to admit that it was wetlands and sea as far as one could travel. Gerrick, and the small town of Riphos to the south, were the only marks of humanity across all of Djirama, and the wetness of the world meant that only the native plants would grow there.

Every soul in the realm depended on the Leylines for survival, and they had all been cut off.

Skuller wanted to curse, to shout and scream and destroy everything around him. But his temples throbbed, his hands quaked, and he knew that in less than a day’s time he would be in deep trouble.

He propped himself up, looking over to Tasha lying by the door. She was not so bad off as Skuller so she was only feeling a stinging headache this morning. And when she looked to Skuller, her eyes were sharp and clear. Her rancor with his statements had disappeared in the light of their current predicament, but despite that he could feel a pointed nature in her gaze that left him feeling pricked.

He sighed and rubbed his eyes. “Any ideas about where we can go to get some food?” He meant booze, and she knew it, but it really was all the same.

She shrugged, turned to look back up to the ceiling. “Hard to say, we are a bit slow on the jump for looting. Whatever useful supplies we could have found in Gerrick are most likely long gone, or under protection.”

Skuller nodded and crawled out from under the table. He was pitiful, and as he moved his head throbbed harder, causing a groan to escape his lips. He sat there, looking at her with obvious pain in his eyes. “You have any friends you can call on?”

Again she shrugged. “I think your fence is the best bet we have.”

He nodded, knowing that it was a solid bet. He reached up to his neck and yanked a small amulet from it, the necklace coming undone. It was solid gold, and worth a decent more in historical value. He waggled it and she nodded, smiling.

Their world had a simple language.

**************

“I am sorry, gold is less than useless to me now.” The fetch, Yarim, stood with his arms crossed. Though he did not strike an imposing figure, the look of dismay and anxiety on his face was as damning as if he was about to walk Skuller to the gallows.

Skuller slowly lowered his hand, the shiny amulet glistening in the torchlight. “What can I offer you for…. anything… at all?”

Yarim was obviously trying to think about what he could ask of Skuller that might make an even trade, and soon the silence grew deeper as he thought harder. Skuller looked around the room, squinting against the torch. It wasn’t very bright, but any source of light was hard to bear then. They were in a stone barrow, hidden in a rare bit of dry land in the Harrow Bog. Racks of stuff lined the walls, and between them a counter with various papers, items, and mechanical parts.

Finally, Yarim spoke. “I do not ask this to humiliate you, but because I know you can part with them.” He pointed down to Skuller’s boots. “I need those, the cobbler’s store went up in flames yesterday.”

Skuller looked to his boots, smiled in surprise. Of all the things he had never expected to pay off now, a plethora of boots was at the top of the list. He nodded and immediately began to unlace them. Soon, he stood shoeless, the boots on the counter.

Yarim nodded, turned to a rack and pulled out a wooden crate. He dumped the contents onto a sparsely covered shelf and put the empty crate on the counter. Then, piece by piece, he filled the crate with supplies that, to him, must have seemed equivalent to a pair of boots. He finished, pushing the crate over to Skuller.

Skuller reached out and his hands were shaking. Unlike before, barely a shiver, now he was feeling entire tremors rocking through his hands. Yarim watched this with accuity, placed his hand on the crate’s lip a the same time as Skuller to prevent him from taking it yet.

Pointedly, he reached into a rack of bottles and pulled out a large, clear flask. He gingerly put it inside the crate, said, “Dilute it with a cup of water, it will dull the worst of the symptoms.” He sighed, letting go of the crate. “Please, use it sparingly, and only when you need it. I will not have more the next time I see you.”

Skuller couldn’t help the flush that came to his face, and he wanted to deny the bottle then. But as soon as his eyes fell upon it, knowing that there was some type of liquor inside, his mouth filled with saliva and he was nodding, saying, “Thank you, Yarim. Thank you.”

Yarim was nodding, pulling the boots away and tucking them below the counter. “If you have more boots to spare, I may be able to keep you fed… for a while. Even my stores will become exhausted without the Leylines.”

Skuller nodded, grinned. “Gnarl and Barl have a fondness for eating the Skarigi on the coast. It’s a gritty fish, but it will fill your belly. I’ll bring some next time.”

With that, Skuller exited the barrow and went quickly to his raft, not wanting to be caught by anyone in the dark. It was unlikely anyone was out there, but in a world with dwindling resources, he would not chance it.

He only felt comfortable again once he was back at sea. It was calm waters today, a gentle wind filling the sails and driving him up the coast.

It took everything in him not to guzzle the bottle that Yarim had given him. Instead, he carefully brought the bottle to his nose, smelled it. “Everclear,” he thought, silently blessing the kind fetch. He took the smallest swig he could, the alcohol burning as he swallowed. But it did not take long for his body’s constant shivering to slow, and after two more swallows, his body was once again under his control.

With all the willpower he could muster, he stowed the bottle. He would go to Tasha as soon as he returned, ask her to help him keep the bottle filled unless needed. They would all suffer without the constant stream of liquor they were used to, and this bottle would be their only saving grace.

For Skuller, he felt it might be the difference between his life and death.

He sailed back to the Grotto with a little more hope than before. Still, it was like a tiny glimmer against the abyss that surrounded him. For now, it was enough to keep it in sight so that he didn’t lose his mind.

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Tale of Red Mysterium #12: Taina II

September 14th, 2023

#12. TAINA II

It had been a long journey out to these woods, but it was a place that Taina knew she could go and be undisturbed. It was nearly 20 kilometers into the wilds, but it was no trouble for Taina. She spent her days toning her body, strengthening it, making it look fit and young and powerful. It was not often she was able to put these muscles to use, though, and she reveled in the sweat that covered her, the heat the baked her tan skin.

She tried not to let her confidence turn into arrogance, but it was a struggle. Pather’s work was legendary on Uthmari, and for the last years it was her form that he had replicated with paints. They way people would come from all around the realm, just to look upon her form spread across a canvas…

A heat rushed to her face, then throughout the rest of her body. She put the thought out of her mind, focused on the climb ahead of her.

She neared the end of her journey. The terrain was sloping upward now, the mountains getting a hold of the land that rolled beneath her feet. The strain felt nice, though her tiredness was growing. The pack on her back dug into her shoulders but she didn’t mind, it helped keep the thoughts away.

She was heading for a lake, one nestled like a broach against the throat of the mountains. It didn’t have an official name, so little of Botanasa did. But she called it Lake Willow Wire, after the Willow Wire shrubs that encircled the water. Unlike many of the farmers, ranchers, and herders that surrounded Ley Town, Taina loved the wilds. Sure, there were Yi’Roc out there, and Hashma. But in the years she had been sneaking away from home to go to Lake Willow Wire, she had yet to see one.

The forest was growing thick now, and she was having to navigate more carefully. She pulled the short machete from her waist and began to swing at the saplings and shrubs that blocked her path.

She calculated each swing, aiming at angles away from her body, or cutting down directly in her path. In the past, as a teen, she had been reckless, swinging wildly. She would often cut herself and be forced to return home with bloodied shorts and jackets, needing aid. Her father kept the blade sharp, and after all these years she had finally learned her lesson.

She stopped, took a deep breath. It was the smell of wet plants and moist soil, a subtle earthiness left over from her bushwhacking. But she took another breath, a breeze hitting her just right, and she could smell the lake.

A bright smile came to her face then, and for Taina it was the first time it had visited her since coming back home.

She was more enthusiastic with her work now, some of the childlike giddiness of her youth returning. The vegetation seemed to fall away with a will of its own as she forged her path through the trees. It did not take long for her to enter the clearing that ringed the lake.

She burst into it, looked around, and cried out in happiness. She lifted her hands up, machete held high, and cried out in triumph again. It had not been a terribly difficult hike, but she did not know anyone else who had ever gone out there. It was a secret achievement she felt, one that was hers alone, just like this place was hers alone.

She dropped the pack from her back, its weight slumping it to the ground. She pulled a cloth from the sheath of the machete, wiping off the wet plant materials that clung to the silver blade. Once cleaned to her father’s standards, she put it back in and placed it on top of her bag.

Then, piece by piece, she stripped off all of her clothing until she was nude under the burning sun.

She basked in the light for a long while, soaking in the light. She reveled in the heat that suffused her whole body, felt an elation within at being free of the clothing. When at last the heat was too great to stand, she turned herself around and let the sun warm the other side of her body.

Taina truly was happiest like this, alone and in the nude. Botansa had a strong conservative nature, one that had taboos on casually showing one’s body. Even in Uthmari, nudity was reserved for the artful, or the provocative.

Taina simply wished to be. She liked her body, how it carried her, how she could shape it, and felt a resentment to the world that tried to stifle her. In many ways, her soul chafed against the values of Tytanis.

After basking for long enough, she was beginning to sweat. Her eyes slowly drifted to the water, and with all the exuberance she contained, she ran excitedly towards it. She skipped through the Willow Wire and dove into the water without hesitation. This was a ritual that had been repeated more times than she could count, ever since she was a young woman.

The exertion of hiking here, the act of basking in the sun, made the water so much colder to her than she expected. She surfaced, pulled her wet hair out of her face, and gasped. At first, it was a registering of shock, but then the pleasure of the cool water suffused her flesh and the heat of the trip began to fade.

She kept herself suspended in the water easily, coming to float on her back and stare up at the sky. She was there for a long while. She did not worry about the sun, she had put on a protective cream she had brought with her from Uthmari. So instead, she let her mind wander. She wondered about the birds flying overhead. She wondered about her parents, living their idyllic farmers life. She wondered about what the weather would be like in the coming Autumn.

But, as always, her mind drifted again to the Leylines.

She felt her stomach turn over. She could leave, take the Leyline Portal back to Uthmari, whenever she wanted. But her parents were clear that they wanted her there, with them, if the Leylines were to become permanently closed.

She ruminated on this as she floated. What few parts of her skin still touched the air filled with goose-flesh, a cold breeze chilling it. It was hard not to turn over to protect the more sensitive areas, but even this simple discomfort she reveled in, for she could do so alone.

As she floated there, Taina couldn’t deny the simple truth that she liked being painted by Pather because he allowed her to dress however she wished. It was his studio she lived in, and despite this, it was decorated to her own tastes. He paid the bills to live there, to have water brought to the cistern, to have lanterns refilled, yet he would allow her dominion over every square inch of the place. If she wanted to lie on the chaise by the window and stare at the sparrows while eating oranges, he was content to simply sit and draw her as she did so.

She closed her eyes, remembering a particularly memorable day.

She had awoken particularly bratty, unwilling to do anything that Pather had asked of her. Would she put on the lace robe he had bought her in Rackaman? No, Taina wanted to lounge naked. Would she sit on the leather chair by the fireplace while she read? No, she was going to sit on the balcony and stare at the streets below, uncaring about whoever saw her. Would she eat this apple instead of the plum? No, she liked the feel of the plum’s juices running down her chest as she ate it, dripping onto the streets below.

Each time, he would accept her answer, pull out his sketch book, and ink her onto its pages in whatever form she took that day.

She felt her heart swell, then tense up. Despite the strange relationship they found themselves in, with her sexuality and body in such close proximity, Pather had never even touched her before.

She shivered, thinking abut that forbidden contact. Many times she had let him know it was welcome, yet the only touch she felt of his was of those dark eyes absorbing her form.

She opened her eyes, taking in the blue sky. She considered that perhaps it was better this way.

The heat of the day was dying off, and she was starting to become cold in the water. With a sigh, she slowly swam to shore, carefully picking her way across the stones as she made her way back to her belongings.

She did not dress herself, allowing the air to dry her skin. She instead pulled out her supplies for the evening: a small tent, a blanket, a cooking pot, and a bag of food. In the pot were some various materials she would need to set up camp.

She fell into the rhythm of it as if it hadn’t been years since she had been there. Since leaving Botansa, she had yet to return to Willow Wire, and this first time was just like all the others. The patch of grass she always pitched her tent on was growing strong this year, offering up a comfortable bed for the night. The grove of trees around it had certainly grown, but even that was insubstantial.

It was a timeless place, a place out of the view of anyone. It was Taina’s place, where she could truly be herself. Away from her parents. Away from Pather. Away from the rest of Tytanis.

Here, she was truly alone.

At least… that is what she tried to tell herself. For the first time in her life, she didn’t feel alone here. She confidently strode up to the water’s shore, uncaring if anyone saw her nudity. Her gaze scanned the shoreline like a hawk, and even searching for the face of a person or some creature’s eyes, she saw no one there.

This feeling of being watched plagued her until nightfall. She had redressed by then, the chill of evening starting to take hold, but the feeling did not go away. It lingered while she made her food, while she set up her tent. Then, without warning, it suddenly disappeared like it had never been there.

Taina shuddered in its absence, knowing now that there had been something watching. What, or who, remained a mystery.

Taina did not sleep as soundly that night. She was plagued by dreams of shadowy figures attacking her in her sleep. Sometimes they were human, sometimes beasts. Each time she woke with a start and a yelp, unsure of what was really happening. For the first time in all the years she had found sanctuary in Willow Wire, she was wishing for the company of anyone else.

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Tale of Red Mysterium #11: Nabras Kahn IV

September 8th, 2023

#11. NABRAS KAHN IV

The stairs to the Reliquary were unkempt, dusty, and covered in mildew. They wove downwards in strange shapes, curving one way then the next. Some halls would suddenly end with no doorway, and some stairs would do the same thing. It was like a maze that went downward, yet resisted anyone doing so. The upper reaches were barren, simple halls of dirty stone. But as she went deeper and deeper, the air growing colder around her, soon bookshelves began popping up. Some were empty, but as more and more of them appeared, they began to fill up in various states with hundreds of tomes. Soon, the halls were covered in bookshelves such that it looked like some strangely abandoned library covered in who knew how many ages of dust.

At the very bottom of what she thought was the final staircase, there was a wooden door trimmed in iron. At its center was a keyhole with a knocker above that.

She sighed, prepared herself. “Let’s see if he followed through,” she thought. She approached the door confidently and pulled on the knocker.

The door swung open soundlessly.

She smiled, walked through and quickly closed the door behind her as quietly as she could, careful not to lock it behind her. Then, she surveyed her surroundings, balked at what loomed around her in every direction.

Books. Books and books and scrolls and tablets and clays and etchings. Shelves upon shelves towering up into the darkness above, held in place by what could only be magic. Some shelves were as tall as she was, but most towered into the air, holding hundreds… no thousands of volumes!

Nabras shuddered at the sight of it all, but she felt supremely confident to be standing there. She wasn’t allowed to be there, yet she had found her way. She blushed, thinking of the methods she had used. Her mother would have frowned, saying, “You can’t toy with people’s feelings to get to your own ends!”

But the guy was a creep. So what if a little flirting made him leave the door unlocked?

She began perusing the volumes that lie across the few tables that were there. It was late in the evening, so few scribes would be working, and as far as she knew, there would be none in the Reliquary.

With determination, Nabras put herself to work.

Her tools: three ancient language translation books, two guides to Leyline and Yertal symbology, and one half-burned copy of a history about the Yertal People. Tertiary to the mission, but just as important to Nabras: snacks and tea.

It was easy for her to dive into the work of searching each book’s title and first page. The preservation field inside the Reliquary was powerful, and each book felt as crisp as if it had been just printed. Some were withered and ancient still, most likely there before the field was installed, but she did not fear any page breaking or tearing for whoever had built the field was powerful enough to have thought to shield each page of the books there.

Some were easily identifiable, mostly if they were emblazoned with an icon on the front which denoted it as a religious text, a ledger, a business account, or something else. Some books were copies of copies of copies of books she had read throughout her childhood. Some contained no words, blank entirely save for small markings and scribbles across the pages.

After a few hours, she was beginning to grow frustrated at her lack of progress. Four hundred books looked through, and none about Leylines.

She sighed, walked past a table near the shelf she was working on. As she did, a small black book stood out to her. She had seen it many times, but it was completely without markings and she was not desperate enough to start looking through those yet. But as she slowed, staring at the book, she felt a strange current within her stomach. It was akin to a Perturbance, a magical marker of some sort, yet this couldn’t be a living thing.

“Enchanted?” she wondered.

She picked it up, found that it did not have the airy, glassy protective cover like every other book she had handled so far. She realized it then, it was that which caught her eyes. The pages and front cover had blown in the wind of her passing, unburdened by the weight of the protective spell. None of the others did this.

It was, somehow, immune from the protection of the preservation spell.

A well of feelings came up in Nabras. Excitement, fear, curiosity, and anxiety. There was something strange about the book, and she would not be able to tell what.

She took it to a corner of the room where a small bench lie up against the end of a bookcase. She curled her feet up beneath herself and opened the journal. She turned to the first page.

Inscribed there was:

“My Love, if you find this, know that even Death cannot stop my return to you.”

Nabras blushed at the words, feeling a warmth in her heart from such undying love. She hadn’t known the depth of such feelings, never to write words like that about them.

Instead of turning to the next page, she decided she would indulge her guilty pleasure here, turning to the last page.

It read:

Fifth of Uthos, Year of 19th Pryor

It has been too long a battle, and the Militia has won. We have resisted as long as possible, but their weapons are too quick for us to fight. This bloody age soon comes to an end.

First Magus of Quell Otor, Miridi Nox.

Nabras almost dropped the journal, the words sending a shock through her entire body. She began to breath heavily, bordering on hyper-ventilating.

Her thoughts were racing. “The Quell Otor… an order of Red Mages…” She turned, flipped through the book to somewhere in the middle.

It read:

Second of Tyr, Year of 18th Pryor

The Balkam Block has fallen, and they have conceded to us their lands and the labor of their people. The Quell have descended upon them with viscous skill. It never ceases to amaze that the Yurgos do not see that it is The Red which calls to us, ushers us into greater heights. It is the Yurgos that will ALWAYS serve the Quell.

“There have been losses, though. A new conduit has been invented, and while the Militia which wields it are nothing more than amateurs, their ability to reproduce it far surpasses ours. A chip of The Red will last me a year, but it is the only chip I will receive. IF they lose their conduits, they can quickly make more.

“We do not have reason to be concerned now, but unchecked, they threaten all of the Orders. The Quell, the Rashtine, the Flatz, none of them can stand to let this pass.”

First Magus of Quell Otor, Miridi Nox.

Nabras’s fingers could no longer hold the book, for she felt herself becoming ill then. She was grateful that she had not had time for snacks so far, as they would quickly be making a return if she had. She leaned forward to grab the book, froze as she heard a shuffle at the door.

In an instant she was on her feet, grabbing her belongings, stuffing them in her bag with little care. She turned, sought out a hiding place, but a gurgling sounds froze her in place.

“Nnnnaaaaabrraaaasssssss…” It was no human voice she had ever heard, it contained the air-popping, wet, choking sound of the undead. She thought perhaps she had imagined it, her mind in a frightening place already.

“NNnn….Aaaabraaassss….sssss…”

She bee-lined it straight to a dark spot in between two bookcases near the back of the room. They were tall, reaching up towards the ceiling, and stood so far out into the room that when she crouched near the wall, she was mostly out of sight. But if anyone where to walk by and look in, they would most certainly see her.

Her heart was pounding, a mismatched drum rhythm in her ears. Her hands shook, vibrating within. She was trying to keep her breath quiet, but it wanted to tear out of her and fly away. The only other thing that was present in her was the cold, terrible fear that swallowed her up every milimeter of her body.

“NaaaaaAAABRAS!” It screeched out her name, and she had to bring a hand to her mouth to stifle the whimper that escaped. There was a crash of wood, the table she had been standing at. “NABRAS.”

She brought her hands together, knowing only one thing at all that might help her. She began to whisper to herself as quietly as possible the words she had learned the other day. She reached up to the necklace she wore, grabbing the small purple Arkanite stone that had been given to her for practice. She felt a cold stir within the shadows around her, felt icy prickles covering her skin, and knew that the magic was beginning to flow.

Word after word, she repeated the incantation to open the flow of her powers. There was only one technique she knew, and even though she felt like she was stronger than some of the other initiates at the Academy, here, now, she felt as powerless as a bug.

But a bug could, at least, hide.

She tugged on the shadows with her voice, pulling on them with all of the will she could bring to bear. A slight darkening, and she felt the strain grow within. For a moment, it flickered there and she was sure that whatever sought her would soon find its quarry. But then the struggle ended and the space between the bookcases became entirely enshrouded in shade. It was a pure darkness, one untouchable by light, and she was surprised at her success.

The fear returned as she finally saw what was calling her name. It was a man, though the motions of his body, as if his joints were ALL loose, caused Nabras’s hands to shake violently.

It slowly approached, saying her names at various volumes, slurring it sometimes, extending it out, or sometimes speaking with enough clarity and humanity that she was sure that there was someone inside that thing. It looked between the bookcases, searching, asking for her.

It stood in front of her then.

For Nabras, it was a frozen moment. This man looked familiar, yet the emptiness in his eyes was beyond comprehending. She had never seen an undead, yet one stood before her now. He wore a regal outfit that was cut up and marred with blood. The skin on his face and around his eyes had been torn ragged, and his hands dripped with blood, nail-less. His eyes… Nabras was certain those eyes were the very last ones she would ever see.

It stared into the darkness where she hid, its gaze searching for her. And as simple as that, it moved on.

For a long while, it circled the room, saying her name, looking into dark corners. It passed her two more times before it slowly made its way to the door, leaving as quietly as it had entered.

Nabras felt her entire body collapse under the stress, now that she could do so freely. Tears came to her, and for a long while she sobbed in the darkness. It was comforting, the silence of the Reliquary, for the last while it had been filled with the dreadful voice of death, her death.

Why?

It would be a question that would haunt her for a long while.

After an hour of sitting there, waiting, she felt it was most likely safe to leave the Reliquary. She quickly came up to the door, pushed against it, but her face slammed into the hard wood, causing her to bounce off and fall over.

The ringing inside her skull was hard to ignore, but panic swelled in her belly, forcing her to her feet. She came to the door again, placed her hands on it, and pushed.

It did not move.

She sighed, frowned, then sat there in front of the door. The creature, whatever it was, had closed the door fully behind itself when leaving.

“What a polite monstrosity,” she thought, resigning herself to a night locked away in a dungeon.

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Tale of Red Mysterium #10: Yellow Dog I

August 31st, 2023

#10: YELLOW DOG I

The land rolled under the torrential rain. The sky flexed and cracked, lighting up the murky earth with brief flashes. The trees groaned their anguish under the storm, the animals feigned the silence of death in its presence. As the great revealer above turned over the world that lie in prostrated fear beneath it, there was only one who stood unaffected.

Yellow Dog, a being of desolation. Where purpose evaded sight, it was there like a watcher. Where chaos asserted its hand over order, it was Yellow Dog that came to see.

Unlike the many beings of Tytanis, Yellow Dog did not exist in the same plane as everyone else. True, it could bear witness to the living and the dead, each in their own plains of existence. True, it could see and hear those around it with clarity and understanding. But it was not bound by the power of physicality, and thus did not exist, perhaps, at all.

The storm that roiled around it was as inconsequential as a breeze.

It pondered the words that had motivated a churning across the lands of Tytanis. Though each realm was distinctly different, it had come to realize that they were all sitting, truthfully, within the same plain. It was amusing, it though, to see the realization of this denied to all the living of Tytanis, while all the dead could not deny the fact.

It reached its mind outward, penetrating the spaces that disconnected each of the realms. The realms themselves were spherical, suspended in the darkness of the night sky. Those distant burning lights, each one might possess a realm like those of Tytanis, but not in any meaningful way.

Yellow Dog could slip beyond space without a second thought, the physical nature of reality had no bearing on its movements. But those who lived were unable to do so, bound by the laws of physics. They would never reach these other lights in the sky.

“Physics. A method of understanding motions.” Yellow Dog did not have a voice, but its meaning was a great emanation throughout the realms. Where the storm turned above, it surged harder. Where the tides slammed waves against distant shores, the water pummeled the sand with greater intensity. Where the sun baked the land into a dusty waste, it burned even that much hotter.

Yellow Dog lapsed back into silence, and Tytanis continued on its predetermined track. Which track it would take, it did not know. There were so many to see, so many to choose from, and yet Yellow Dog was bound by temporality.

It would not be able to see the outcome until time forced it upon Yellow Dog.

It moved then, standing in a great, dark library. This was new, a section of time that had not yet come to pass but whose track had become clear, many converging to form one massive rail of time that would not be denied.

A young woman crouched in the darkness between bookcases. A killer roamed, whispering her name, searching for her. It was like an endless moment, prey and predator, one circling the other as the other hid in fear.

The track split then, and it split only in two. One where she died, and Tytanis was destroyed, and the other where she lived, and the realms had a fighting chance.

This was highly unusual, and Yellow Dog felt a rare feeling: interest. It was often beings of power which created direct splits in the flow of time. Yet, this young woman, Nabras, was anything but.

This made Yellow Dog wonder what might be coming for her in the future.

For a timeless instant, Yellow Dog found itself at the precipice of a choice, something that did not come often. Help the woman? Help the killer? The flow of time was hidden beyond these simple observations of the tracks of causality.

“The stars seek out your warmth, Nabras.” The storm above seemed to hesitate for a moment. The throng of battle raging across the realm of Hotan seemed to ease. And the darkness around Nabras seemed to engorge, covering her from the sight of the one who would end her life.

Yellow Dog would have sighed, if it could. A somberness took over it as it observed the rippling divergence of tracks open up before it. The convergence had passed, and now infinity was returning.

The stone was cast. Whether it would sink, or skip across the surface of time, Yellow Dog would have to wait and see to find out.

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Tale of Red Mysterium #9: Taina I

August 31st, 2023

#9. TAINA I
The sun shown brightly over the realm of Botansa. It was mid-summer here, and though the season had been wetter and cooler than normal, the heat was still enough to form a thick sheen of sweat across Taina’s body. She was lifting up a post, lining it up with the hole in the tough earth, and slotting it in with all the force she could muster.

She had been setting posts all day.

She took a break to drink water from the gourd her father had given her before they all had set off for the days work. She was a fit woman, her muscles showing off beneath the denim overalls she wore. The legs were split on the sides and rolled up, held there by a brass pin. Atop her black hair was a wide, straw hat with a rough edge. Her eyes gazed over the land of her family’s ranch, and she felt a swell of gratitude for being able to be home during such perilous times.

She compared the arid chaparral to the refined city streets of Uthmari’s capital, Yennos. There were no paved streets on Batansa, no towering spires or multistory apartments. No airships or fliers, no moving art or Voicecasters calling out the time on the hour.

No, Batansa was about as rural as any of the realms was like to get.

Her family, like almost all families that lived in the vast stretches around Ley Town, were ranchers and farmers. It was vendors and merchants who came to their realm to procure as many goods as possible for their business back home.

Taina looked to the horizon, towards the places where no one had settled yet. “Unlikely that anyone at all will fill up those distant vistas with how things are.” Her thoughts were dark, but she liked to believe they were not overly negative. It was just a stark reality that with the Leylines supposedly becoming less and less stable, who knew if Batansa and the other realms would even be able to stay connected.

She frowned, her stomach turning sour. The thought of being trapped on Batansa for the rest of her life, it was appalling. She was glad to be with her family now, but she had left this realm for a reason. She had found a home for herself in Yennos, had found a situation that allowed her the freedom she desired without all of the responsibilities she feared. To surrender such a placid life for the life of a farmer… to Taina it was unthinkable.

She sighed, looked up to the sun, and slung the goard back over her shoulder. It was time to lay the next post.

This was the rhythm of her day, her doubts and fears warring for attention while she tried to work. A part of her would want to be nowhere else while the problems with the Leylines unfolded, but a part of her, a part that grew bigger by the day, regretted leaving Yennos and coming home.

“We could have released three paintings this winter, instead we have to wait until my return to release even one.” Her thoughts were bitter now, and she could feel the tension in her jaw and neck.

A voice rang in her memories. “Don’t hold your tension in your face, it will ruin the shape.”

She sighed, breathed, allowed her jaw and tongue to relax. Her neck and shoulders followed suit. She took a moment to breath and allowed herself let go of the tension that had been building in her. Despite the intensity of laying posts, she felt rather good for how much she had gotten done so far.

She sighed harder, looking up to the sky. He was out there somewhere, so far away, that voice in her head. “And he can still command me from all that way.”

Taina shook her head, turning to lay another post.

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

Taina and her family sat down for dinner just before sunset. She was absolutely drained, and despite her misgivings about Batansa, she was desperate for the meal that was about to be put down before her.

Her and her father sat at opposite sides of the table, each in their own worlds. Tallas was a thin man, balding, and had such a sharp edge to him that she was surprised he didn’t cut everything he touched. Her mother, Imery, was all curves and dresses and aprons, the perfect housewife for a farmer. She moved around the kitchen with a busy exuberance, a little bee preparing her honey.

When the food was ready, they ate in silence. After it became obvious that no one was going to speak, it only hardened into a deafening shell that contained them. As far as Taina knew, they could not stop their meal or leave the table, lest the incur the wrath of Tallas. Her mother, her heart always full of light, could never be consumed by the all encompassing sharpness that was Tallas, nor his expectations.

She just did what he said without contest.

Taina… she was not like her mother in this way. In most ways except for her looks, she was like her father, more that she would probably like to admit. She was not a woman who let others dictate her fate, not if she could help it.

When the meal was concluded, she helped her mother clean up in the kitchen while her father went out into the yard to inspect her work. She tried not to let it rankle her pride, for she knew it was his own pride he was validating. It was him that had taught Taina how to lay posts.

That night, as she lay in her room, she allowed herself to relax. She undressed and put on her favorite silk robe. It was pink, patterned with the outlines of thousands of tiny lillies. The hem was trimmed in bright white, a stark contrast to her tan skin. She ran her hands over her body, reveling of the slip of silk. She posed, then rolled over to pose again.

On the chair in the corner, she imagined Pather sitting there, easel in front of him and pots of paint around the chair. His dark eyes drank her in, his full lips saying, “Roll over on your back. Lift up your legs. Look away from me.” All the while his hands directed the brushes over the canvas, capturing the essence of her in a way that no others could.

She followed each command in her head, felt the electric thrill she was so familiar with while he painted her. Being his muse… it was an indescribable feeling.

But the fantasy began to crack. The intensity of him, it was impossible to contain it all in her imagination. As soon as she distracted herself, a detail faded in her mind, and the illusion fell apart.

She sighed, slumping into her bed. She wished she was back in Yennos.

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Tale of Red Mysterium #8: Skuller I

August 24th, 2023

#8. SKULLER I

The fog of Baken Bay crept around them like the breath of a wraith. It brought with it a chill that left Skuller and his crew shivering in the night, the only thing providing light a small tin lamp suspended above their raft on a rope.

Skuller turned to his first mate, Ollo. “Snuff the lamp.” Ollo nodded, pulling the lamp down and extinguishing it, plunging them all into darkness. Skuller turned to the woman in front of him, Tasha. She was laying on her front, a rifle sighted in front of her. “When you can see the dock master, hit him,” he said. He didn’t need a response to know she would follow through.

Skuller sat back, the well oiled machine of their band gliding through the water with ease. A greyish figure began to form out of the mist, and as soon as his red salt lamp came into view, there was a quiet pop and the man collapsed.

When they were within range of the dock, Skuller jumped up and onto it, tossing a rope form the moors as he passed it, rushing to the fallen dock master.

He was quietly sleeping, knocked into a deep slumber by the enchanted pellets in the rifle. He quickly tied the man’s hands and feet together, then stuffed a cloth into his mouth. After searching through the man’s pockets, he found what he needed.

A golden key ring.

He looked again to the dock master, felt glad he didn’t have to kill him. Back in his early days… he may not have been so considerate. But now, wizened by years of tireless effort, he grew to know that life, even those of the adversary, is sacred.

His crew quietly slipped down the docks, their goal the pile of crates near the back of the stronghold looming before them. It materialized out of the fog like a headsman ready to collect his due. Each of them knew the risk of being caught, yet they all skulked confidently through the darkness.

Skuller was last, following up in the formation. Tasha led the six of them. Gnarl and Barl flanked her, followed by Ollo and Brigs. Skuller tied up the diamond, keeping an eye on their surroundings.

Tasha looked back, using hand-language to speak. “Four Guards. Group Split, Three Left, Three Right.” She shook her rifle, emphasizing non-violence.

They all understood. They split up and followed her plan, her mind most tactical of all of theirs. She led a group, and Skuller came up to lead the other. They subdued the guards surrounding the crates easily enough, and soon they were the only ones standing still conscious.

But… there was less than they had anticipated. They had been told that they would need to bring with them a few Bottomless Bags, yet what was here could barely fill one. Each of them showed clear confusion, Tasha swearing at the realization.

Skuller looked around, alarmed. For a tense moment, they all searched for unseen assailants, ready to ambush them and capture them. Yet, the longer they looked, the more they realized that this place kind of looked run down. That no attackers were coming.

Skuller shook his head, motioning to the crates. “Let’s grab what is here and get out.”

It did not take them long to fill up and return to their skiff.

* * * * *

“Barely a quarter! Not even enough to cover the fetch fee.” Tasha slammed her fist onto the table’s surface, causing everyone’s drinks to tip. Skuller caught his glass, looking at her annoyed.

They sat within the Mead Hall of The Cove. It was a small place for a hideout, yet they could fit at least 9 separate buildings inside the sea grotto. It was a veritable town in there.

Skuller was looking at Tasha. Despite her skill and abilities, she sometimes erred too close to his realm of decision making, speaking like she was the leader of the crew. Of course, that wasn’t the case.

He decided it was time to remind her.

“You know, we could just give your cut to the fetch if you won’t stop your complaining,” he said nonchalantly. He took a long swig of his glass, her face growing still, then slowly hot with rage. He shrugged. “Or, if you want to act like an adult, you can listen to what I have to say.”

She tried to retort, but he cut her off with a slam of his hand onto the table. “Did you find us this job? Have you found us any job? Have you ferried anything to the fetch before?” There was a long pause, each of the answers a clear no, yet the anger grew only more pronounced on her features. Skuller continued talking. “Tasha, you are unparalleled with a rifle, and you have a great mind for tactics, but you don’t even know what the fetch fee is going to be.”

He looked to the others, their faces showing different levels of discomfort or amusement. “We each will get a payout with what we pulled, but the plans to improve the Cove will have to wait. After we get the money, I want to know why this happened.”

Tasha scoffed. “A bad lead obviously.”

Ollo shook his head. “Skuller said it came from Yussuf. Has he ever lead us wrong?” They all shook their heads.

Gnarl, absentmindedly scribbling down on a page, suddenly looked up. “Leyline closures?” he asked. Barl nodded enthusiastically. “Must have disrupted travel.”

Brigs shook her head. “But our Leyline isn’t closed… right?”

They all looked between themselves. It had been 1 month since the closure of the Leylines to the 3 lost realms, and their neighbor had recently also been closed.

Could they have been cut off?

Skuller looked between them all, a serious look on his face. “Our fetch will trade for information, but he gives me news for free because of our history. I will ask him during the exchange.”

Skuller left the room, coming to stand outside on the balcony. He looked over the cove, the collection of ramshackle wooden buildings. It was wonderful, a thing he and a few others had built from the ground up. Well… rebuilt from the ground up after killing the pirates there.

Skuller’s younger days were much different from the ones he lived in now.

He pondered the Leylines. He had never gone through them, never would have a need, yet they were the heart of his Realm, Djirama. Without them, his realm would wither away, forced to face starvation and a life without Arkanite. The stronghold that they had just pilfered, it was a mainland center for logistics for the Palace of Tytanis. If they Leyline had been closed, it would result in the stronghold being meekly provisioned.

He sighed, allowed himself the relief of worrying about it the following day. For now, he would go in, get drunk with his crew, and celebrate another job well done.

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Tale of Red Mysterium #7: Bahkis II

August 22nd, 2023

#7. BAHKIS II

The view from the Maelstrom Mage Suite at the Height Line Hotel had unparalleled views. Nestled against a mountain near the coast, the penthouse apartment had a full view of the bay to the south, the luscious pine forest that surrounded the town, and the beautiful, setting sun.

Bahkis was reclining in a comfortable chair, its polished wood warm against his skin. He wore a summer outfit, shorts and a loose shirt, for in this realm, Prallos, it was always warm weather. The sun shown brightly above him, the rooftop garden a perfect hide out from the hotbed of tourism below.

The Height Line was his sanctuary. It was a place of reprieve from the machine of bureaucracy that was the Institute.

“The Institute,” he sneered within. “How far it has come from its origins.” Bahkis’s thoughts were aggressive, negative, deeply at odds with his placid surroundings. He was perturbed more than usual. Without his finery and fancy medals, the jewelry and the wealth, all that remained was his dissatisfaction with the way of things.

And now the Red…

He reached over to grab a glass from the small table beside his chair. It was sweating, the ice inside having reduced by half in the short time he had been sitting outside. He sipped it, savoring the mentholated burn of the alcoholic drink. He sipped it again, then took a long swig from the glass. When he placed it back down, it was nearing empty.

He swallowed against the burn, leaned back in his chair and covered his eyes with an arm.

“What could we possibly do to fight against the Red… those fools.” Images of his last meeting with the Dreamweaver Initiative filled his head. The bluster, the confidence, all of it for naught.

Few people knew what Bahkis knew, a secret that had been deliberately erased from time. This secret now weighed on his soul, almost literally holding him in place, unable to act.

Red Mysterium… it was so much more powerful than people thought.

He felt his stomach well up with disgust for the truths of the world he helped keep in the shadows. He could tell others, obviously, if he truly wanted to. But the threat it could create…

“The Crimson Era all over again,” he thought.

He grabbed his drink and finished it with an angry gulp, slamming the glass back onto the table. He sat forward, resting his face in his hands.

For a long moment, Bahkis wallowed in his luxurious chair, under the hot sun of Prallos, and pitied himself.

A young woman approached, an attendant from the Institute. She was cautious, but after it was obvious he was not going to see her, she cleared her throat.

Bahkis groaned. “What?”

She frowned. “I have a message from Arkanist Supreme.” She held up a small pouch, no doubt containing a Seeing Stone.

He frowned too, motioning impatiently for her to hand it over. When she had, he gave her an equally impatient shooing away. She rolled her eyes, turned and walked away with annoyance accenting each step.

Bahkis was shaking his head. “Should know to treat her betters well,” he thought. He disregarded her, emptied the small pouch into his palm.

It was not a Seeing Stone, but a small Chimeric Avatar in his hand.

Fear flooded his belly immediately. This was no trifle, but a powerful piece of magic that was sitting perfectly in his palm. It was a creature, no larger than an orange, composed of various different parts of many different animals. It had the head of a reptilian, but had wings like a turkey with two bat-like claws at the crook. Its body was that of an ape, and its legs like that of a bull. It had a tail like a scorpion which stung Bahkis on his hand before he could react.

He dropped the Chimera, its body slumping heavily to the floor. It turned its head to look up at him as he stepped away in fear, holding the sting site. It opened its mouth and words echoed in the space around him.

“The Conspiracy reduces by One.” It exhaled a dying breath before it began to bubble away into black and white vapor. Soon, it was as if it had never been there.

But Bahkis could already feel the poison of the Chimera at work.

He fell to the ground, clutching his hand. It was beginning to swell, the sting site bleeding. He looked around for anything at all that might help, but found that he was all alone with nothing close at hand. He had no Arkanite on him, none of his enchanted items, none of his potions.

He flopped onto his back, muscle spasms making him lose control of his motor functions. He felt a massive shiver run its way through him and he knew that, unless saved, he would die.

And unlike most people, Bahkis knew exactly why he was dying. He had been told long ago that he would be killed if he were to lose his purpose, if he were to allow himself to doubt the cause of the Conspiracy. He had agreed, a zealot and a youth with no sense of self or future beyond the call.

Now, he reaped what he sowed.

Bahkis lay there, dying under the hot sun of Prallos. He tried to summon magic, found no sources, and began to surrender to the idea of death.

But then a change began to come upon him. His mind grew foggy, began to fill with voices. He felt his body rising up even though he still lie on the rough ground beside his chair. He flew upward into the sky, and soon, as was according to plan, Bahkis was dead.

But the transformation had just begun. He lay there, baking in the heat, until small shakes began to fill his muscles. A twitch, a shake, a persistent shiver. The motion grew more and more pronounced until his entire body was vibrating like a string.

Then, like a doll learning to walk without strings, Bahkis began to stand. It was a series of jerking motions, his joints creaking against the unnatural movements.

Soon, he was standing. The sun above was all but forgotten. The Chimera, the Institute, the Red, all of it had faded away. Bahkis stood there, emptied out, enthralled with a potent death magic. The Others, those who kept the Conspiracy alive, had further use for Bahkis, the Geomancer Surpreme.

“Not…well,” he croaked out, voice rough and distrubing. “I… not well.” This time the inflection was more human, less uncanny. “I…am not feeling…” Bahkis’s voice was returning, the commanding tone that carried with it just too much entitlement.

He cleared his throat. “I am not feeling… well.” He smiled, a deathly grin that would give even the most hardened killer a shudder. “I am not feeling well.”

This thing in the body of Bahkis made its way from the roof. It descended through the Height Line, across the town, and all the way to the Leyline Portal.

Its mind was filled with only a single purpose: Find Nabras Kahn.

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Tale of Red Mysterium #6: Nabras Kahn III

August 21st, 2023

#6. NABRAS KAHN III

It was a sunny day in Yearma Academy. Nabras was on her way to the Hillerman Lookout on the mainland. It was early, her classes were still hours off, so she had decided to make a long hike out to this romantic lookout she had heard so much about from her classmates. She had set off early in the morning, just as the sun was rising.

One woman named Tris had told her that it was the best spot to have a fling, and a girl named Miranda had said that it was easy to know when someone was coming. Nabras didn’t really know what romance was. Books had described it in a thousand ways, yet she had never had a significant other, never even felt that interested in it.

Nabras was only 17, yet of all the girls from her village she was the only that remained unmarried. Her parents were never worried, she had expressed quite early an affinity for magic. This is what populated her head, not others her age. Even when she thought about it, she felt that she was not cut out for the roughshod life of a housewife or a spinster. Some women in her village had made a name for themselves, but always against the pressure of the Opine Theos, that brotherhood tradesguild that had such a grip on her town.

She shook her head against the cascading thoughts trying to run through her brain. She focused on the strain of her muscles against the soft loam of the trail. On her back, she could feel Kalfis readjust before settling to sleep once more. Her Spellbound Satchel was much easier for him to get comfortable in.

She crested the hill, the forest breaking away to reveal a glade, ringed by tall sentinels. Here and there a jacaranda tree peeked out, the bright violet offering a nice splash of color.

Yet Nabras could only look towards the northern side of the glade, where the hillside fell away to the cliff she had just walked beside. Beyond, the reason for the long walk, was Yearma Academy.

She had not ever seen it from this viewpoint herself, but she knew now that many of the illustrations she had seen of the school were done from this vantage.

Set within a large alcove along the coast, Yearma was a marvel of architectural engineering. Composed of two parts, it held itself in a particular balance. The central island was roughly half a kilometer wide, jutting fifty meters from the thrashing waves below. Atop it was a tower that dwarfed the islands height, and the place that Nabras had spent most of her time in: the Library. It was composed of blackened stones, decorated in red brick and dark wooden accents. The tower was massive in its own right, but the sharp, blade like building on top of it extended its height to ridiculous proportions.

Nabras knew the blade as the Administrative Wing, where the professors and headmasters who ran the school resided and worked. She would most likely never see the inside of that place.

Her eyes followed the four bridges that extended away from the island to the second part of Yearma, the Magi’s Ring. A massive bridge structure that encircled the island, it was crammed full of buildings and towers and shops along its entirety. How it stood so high above the water without collapsing under the weight of a small city, Nabras could not guess. Magic was the obvious answer, but in what capacity, and how much intervention was needed, was a mystery.

Three bridges led away from the Magi’s Ring to the mainland and the city of Turzani beyond, which sprawled like a grey, mossy net away from Yearma. To the south was the farming towns of Tila, Muzz, and Ipan, their wide agricultural fields coming all the way to the base of Hillerman’s Lookout. To the West, the bridge led to the Great Magi’s Road, the heart of connection between this place in the realm and all others.

The east, though, led to the sea, and it also was part of what Nabras gazed at so lovingly. She had heard of oceans before, as well as all their variations. Yet, in all her years, she had never been near even so much as a pond. She loved the water deeply, yet had remained distant from it her entire life. Living above it on the Magi’s Ring was exhilarating, if not a bit unsettling. Yet from here, so high up and so far away from the water, she could fully appreciate the expansive power of the sea that raged below.

Nabras kept walking, her eyes unable to look away from the wonderful view beyond. A quiet squeal, and hushed talking emanated from behind her. Surprised, she turned, but only caught the glimpse of bare, pale flesh as two nude figures disappeared behind a jacaranda tree.

Nabras felt blood rush to her cheeks, looked away to the ocean once more. “Sorry,” she yelled out. “I won’t look… I promise.”

Her mind tumbled for a few minutes as she stared at the Academy, her body flushed the suddenness of company. Naked company to be precise. She slowly wrangled her thoughts, words finally forming in them. “Tris was not lying.” There was a certain amount of amusement in her then.

She reached around her to grab her bag, setting it gently at her feet. She opened it and saw that deep down, maybe three feet, Kalfis was resting on a pile of books, his back pressing up into the fabric of the bag.

She smiled at him, his eyes opening. The two, green orbs stared at her for a long moment before he yawned. He was a calico cat, a little chubby but spry on his feet. She reached in, saying, “Come here little guy.”

Kalfis meowed in complaint, but soon she was sitting in the grass with him happily purring in her lap. She stroked his fur, taking comfort in the softness. The heat of the day was growing, so she took off her hat and placed it on the ground beside her.

For a long while she sat there, turning over ideas. If she had been responsible, she would be thinking about her 1st Year Project, a demonstration of magical skill that, passing, would allow her to move up in her education. She should be thinking about how to turn her skills in to money in order to secure better materials.

But she wasn’t. She was considering how to get into the forbidden part of the library.

Nabras had tried to find answers about the Leyline flux she had heard of on the Voicecaster. She had asked dozens of the Library Attendants, attempting to find anything at all that might point her in the right direction. They had all given her the same answer: “The Leylines were built by the Yertal, and the Yertal are all gone. They did not write down their methods.”

It had been initially a welcomed challenge at first, then disheartening, then frustrating, and then enraging. When she had slammed a pile of books onto the return cart, she knew she had to take a break.

She considered her options, but felt defeated then. Realistically, there were none. She, just like millions of people who came before her, were grappling with the incompleteness of knowledge. She was, beyond her own control, unable to find the answers because the answers did not exist.

She pounded a fist into the dirt. Kalfis didn’t even flinch, used to her child-like outbursts. Instead he stretched out, pushing his outstretched paws into her chest. He kneaded for a moment, the sharp poke of his claws drawing her back to the physical. She looked down to him and scratched his belly, causing him to roll over happily in her lap.

She smiled, looking back to the school. Something was nagging her. She had forgotten something, though it was hard to recall. One of the attendants had said that there may be unlabeled books she could look through, though she didn’t know for sure what he had meant.

Her thoughts were disrupted by the couple from before, now clothed, walking sheepishly by her. The taller of the two women, dressed in black robes accented in red and white, stopped by Nabras, a smile on her face. “Sorry to disturb your hike.” Her hair hung messily, the tight curls framing her face.

Nabras smiled. “Sorry to disturb… you.” She pointed to the school. “I was told that this was the best view of it, I had to see it. Plus, I needed a break from studying.”

The shorter woman stepped out from behind her partner, intereste piqued. She wore a yellow dress, plain except for a woven belt around the waist. She looked Nabras over. “Are you a student?”

Nabras nodded, causing both of the women’s eyes to light up.

The taller woman gave a short curtsy. “My name is Belandra, this is Riamus. But call me Bella, and her Ria.” Ria also gave a curtsy.

Nabras nodded with a grin. “I am Nabras, this is Kalfis.” She motioned to the cat in her lap.

Bella and Ria smiled at Kalfis, but kept their distance. Bella spoke. “What are you studying?”

Nabras shrugged. “I just got here, its my 1st Year. I was scouring the Library for information about the Leylines, but there is nothing.” She sighed, a bit of her frustration from before returning.

Ria nodded, tapping her chin. She then said, “Have you looked through the Reliquary?” Nabras shook her head.

Bella smacked Ria on the arm. “1st Years aren’t allowed in the Reliquary. Hells, even I am not allowed and I’m a 4th Year.” She looked at Nabras. “Do you know what that place is?” Nabras shook her head again. “It is where all the books the Academy has received go to before they are categorized.”

She smiled broadly. “An attendant mentioned it, but I guess I understand now why he didn’t elaborate further.” She thought for a moment, then asked Bella, “Do you think I could get the headmaster of the Library to give me an hour to search for anything? I am just trying to find answers.”

Bella and Ria exchanged a look before laughing. They both looked at her with giggles, Ria saying, “You really are new.”

Bella was shaking her head with a smile. “The Reliquary isn’t some store room you can peruse through.” She thought a moment. “My First Year Spellcraft Professor said to me that the Reliquary was, “A place where hundreds of thousands of books, maybe even a million, have found a slow place to die.”

Ria was nodding. “My Arkaturgy Professor said that it contained books beyond count, most unread for centuries. It was such a problem that they ahd to install a magical field in it to keep the books from rotting away before they could be categorized.”

Nabras looked at them, gratitude filling her heart. “Thank you… so…. much.” She reached into her bag and shuffled around, looking for the paper lunch she had packed. She found it, pulled out two peaches she had prepared. With ease she tossed one each to Bella and Ria. “A token of my thanks. Plus… you probably need the energy.”

Bella and Ria both blushed but smiled, taking the Peaches without another word. They departed and despite the awkward beginnings with them, Nabras found she really liked those two.

She pulled out the small sandwich she had made, nibbling at it and tearing pieces of the chicken inside out for Kalfis to nibble on also.

The Reliquary. Nabras had never before broken into a place of higher learning, but she now could think of nothing else.

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Tale of Red Mysterium #5: Nabras Kahn II

August 20th, 2023

#5. NABRAS KAHN II

Nabras sat within a small cafe, a cup of tea and a scone in front of her. The food, though, was dwarfed by the piles of tomes she had brought with her. She sat a table for four with her wide brimmed hat slung across the back of chair. She was the only one at the table, but the books took up enough room for three. They each sat crookedly, piles threatening to fall over, yet Nabras didn’t care. She sipped at her tea, nibbled at her scone, and kept on reading.

Today, she studied “Thainan’s History of Arkanite & Red Mysterium.” She knew most of these details already, but this particular book was new to her, and also required reading for most of her classes.

She read over the facts, one after another with methodical practice.

Arkanite came into prominence almost 1000 years ago. Red Mysterium was banned and replaced with Arkanite. This new substitute is 450x less efficient than Red Mysterium was in the Crimson Era. After Red Mysterium was destroyed, Arkanite was all that remained to do magic with.

These facts, she knew well, but others showed themselves to her for the first time as she read. She had not known that the Institute of Arkanite was originally the Arkanite Militia. She hadn’t ever read that most royal heirlooms from the Crimson Era had to be destroyed because they were infused with two much Red Mysterium to be safely contained. She hadn’t ever heard of Goust, a legendary Red Magus who, rather than surrender to the Arkanite Militia, destroyed himself in a blaze of light that consumed a city.

She considered a position such as that, of being trapped and threatened with permanent imprisonment. She tried to justify killing everyone for leagues in each direction to escape that fate.

She couldn’t, it turns out.

She closed the book, the story of Goust leaving a dark imprint in her belly. Of course she had always known that the power of Red Mysterium, but even his story seemed… exagerated. “How is something like that even possible?” she thought.

She of course knew her Arkaturgy, the science behind the use of Arkanite. Yet what she knew of the strange, synthetic crystal did not allow room for such powerful acts. Even with 450 two gram Arkanite chips, she would not be able to destroy a city, the energy needs were just too great. Her mind tumbled over some numbers, and though she wasn’t sure, she was positive she would need more than 6000 Arkanite chips to achieve the same goal.

She shook her head, picking up the book once more. The story had to be fake.

She opened it, perusing the details, looking for unfamiliar information. Where Arkanite is made? Everyone knew that. Where Red Mysterium was found? “Nowhere, it all had been destroyed,” she thought. Methods of Red Mysterium use?

That was something she knew very little about.

She felt her heart begin to race as she read about the seemingly sadistic and fantastical ways people would use Red Mysterium. Mages need it on hand, within reach to access the magical power within the stone, so over the centuries of its existence there had been numerous methods discovered for this end.

She read the list, at first excited, but as it went on and on, her mouth grew dry at the invasivness of it all. “Magi will wear the Red in jewelery and encrusted into their clothing. The malleability of the raw gem makes it easy to shape by a skilled Magus.”

The text was accompanied by a diagram of a swirling pattern of gemstones coating a leather coat. Her hands quivered at the thought of that much Red Mysterium so close at hand.

The details became more disturbing. “For Magi who wish to keep themselves from ever being disarmed of their ability, they will ingest, infuse, or otherwise bind Red Mysterium directly to their bodies. Surgical implants of the Red in the bones, adding flakes of it into the diet as to saturate the stomach. Or, if one is okay with their eyes, tongue, teeth, nails, and skin turning red, can inject a solution of Red into their blood.”

Nabras felt she had to switch books after that.

She put the book away, instead picking up a slim volume in blue leather, “Tenodae’s Perturbance Manual.”

She opened the front page, read through the foreward. It was dry, but she learned the much like her, Tenodae had been a self-started Magus, the first of her family to attend an Academy.

The turned the page, reading her description of a Perturbance. “A Perturbance is the magical wavelength of the mind. Regardless of exposure to Red Mysterium or Arkanite, it has been discovered that all beings put off Perturbances. From the lowest mold to the largest Wyvern, a skilled Magus will be able to determine, feel, and even decode perturbances from other beings. This skill can be honed through the use of Arkanite, and there are many who are able to use it without the aid of Arkanite.

“The 1st Law of Perturbances states that Perturbances are not caused by Arkanite or Red Mysterium. The 2nd Law of Perturbances states that it is the common existential quality between a Perturbance and Arkanite/ Red Mysterium that allows Magus to unlock this ability. The 3rd-“

Nabras jumped as she felt a tap on her shoulder. She turned, saw one of the cafe workers standing there. He looked down at her with practiced judgement, scowling.

Nabras waited for him to speak, but when he didn’t she asked, “Can I help you? Or are you trying to be creepy?”

He sighed, pointing to a sign near the door. Nabras turned to read it. “Studying Prohibited for more than 1/4 Hour. 10 Gold Per 1/4 Hour passed.”

She sighed, turned back to him. “How long am I over?”

He shrugged. “13 minutes.”

She cringed. She was sure she could clean up in two minutes, but it would be a rush. “I will be gone soon. Can we say I stopped studying now?”

The man grinned, a wickedness in his eyes. He was getting enjoyment out of this small play of power. “We have to say ‘studying’ ends when the table is clear.”

She cursed, whipped out her Spellbound Satchel. A last minute gift from her parents, it had come in handy more than anything else she had ever owned. Book after book she placed within, stacking them up on the soft, darkness-stitched bottom of the enlargened space within. In only a minute, she had them tucked away and the Satchel slung over her shoulder.

By the time the cafe worker returned to collect payment, she was on her way to the door, adjusting her hat to sit perfectly atop her head. She summoned as radiant a smile as she could, waving excitedly to him. “Thank you! Have a wonderful day.”

She skipped off into the afternoon, looking forward to laying down with Kalfis in her room.

But as she skipped, she couldn’t help but feel her own elation was at odds with the world. She passed a group of people, all somber as if they had received bad news. Then another. Then a group of people consoling a couple sobbing women.

She stopped outside of a sweets shop, a small crowd at the door. The shopkeep, a portly Darhal whose head just barely stood above those at the base of the stair, was waving his hands to the crowd.

“Quiet down, the lot of you! They’re starting it over.”

Nabras saw then the man was adjusting a Voicecaster near his front door. The conical, ringed glass apparatus stood on a tall metal stand. A wire ran across the floor and up into the roof to, Nabras presuming, a receiving module.

She slowly came closer to the crowd until she was a part of it. There was gentle music coming from the Caster, what she recognized as the relay music usually played in between cycles of a Priority Message.

Unlike what normally played on the Voicecaster network, such as music or educational seminars, Priority Messages took precedence over anything else playing. Nabras hated these messages normally, but standing there, feeling the tension of the crowd, she waited with baited breath.

Three sharp, crsytalline tones sounded out before a voice began to speak.

“My name is Bahkis, Geomancer Supreme of the Arkanite Institute. I have a message for all the Realms of Tytanis. The Leylines have encountered a dangerous flux, a magical aberration that has affected the Leylines that go to the Realms of Rupu, Hotan, and Miupo. If you hail from these lands, or have family from these places, we send you our sincerest condolences. All travel between any Realm and these three has become expressly forbidden.” The man stopped speaking for a moment, but quickly picked back up. “We must not despair. This is a unique challenge, but soon we will figure it out. Together, we will find a way to reconnect with our lost brothers and sisters. My name is Bahkis, I am the Geomancer Supreme of the Arkanite Institute. To all those affected, you are in my heart tonight.”

Three sharp crystalline beeps sounded, and the harmless, inoffensive music began once more.

The effect on the crowd was immediate, as some people’s outbursts of emotion could not be contained. Nabras departed immediately, not wanting to get caught up in anyone losing control of themselves.

As she walked, she couldn’t help but feel like something was wrong. Not with the situation, that was terrible enough, but with the explanation she had just received.

“The Leylines have never experienced a flux, whatever that is,” she thought. As far as she knew, that terminology didn’t mean much. She felt a well of frustration in her gut. Her hands tensed into fists and she stopped to stomp on the ground.

She came to Yearma to learn the truth. Why was it that now, in the center of all the knowledge she could ever want, things all seemed to be mired up in secrets, conspiracies, and hidden agendas.

She took a few deep breaths and readjusted her hat. She continued walking, intent that she would find some semblance of truth about this all.

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Tale of Red Mysterium #4: Trand & Debrosh II

August 18th, 2023

#4. TRAND & DEBROSH II

Trand lay on his cot, staring up at the ceiling. The grey hodgepodge was uneven, shaped roughly with unpracticed hands. It was evident that little effort was put into its making, and with the ease of magical power that was present in the Tularaans, that in itself was an insult.

He couldn’t shake the rage that settled in his gut like a buried wasp’s nest. It was buzzing within him, sharp stingers constantly reminding him of its vicious edge. He tried to pray it away, to drown it out with the scripture he knew so well, but still the anger boiled within him. He rolled over onto his front, pushing his fists against his eyes to dull it out.

Images and sounds. Scenes of fire filled with screams, and an ever present rain of ash.

He came to his feet suddenly, head ringing. Was there someone at the door? He turned to it, fists coming up in some semblance of defense. A moment passed, then another. After it became clear that no one was there, he sat back on his cot, breathing heavily.

He didn’t care if anyone heard. He said, “Damn them all to the Exus. Let them rot and burn and decay into nothing. Let the ether absorb them and their spirit to find nothing but suffering.”

It was a terrible curse to say about someone, but as far as Trand was concerned, the Tularaans were no longer human. They had sacrificed their humanity for power, and the cost was thousands, and soon to be millions, of dead.

He closed his eyes, was greeted by gruesome memories. He opened his eyes, was greeted by unending imprisonment and servitude.

If hell existed, this was its closest corporeal incarnation.

The door jostled, Trand’s eyes snapped to it. It opened and for a moment he hoped, deep deep in his heart, that a Tularaan guard would come inside and end his life.

But it was Debrosh, and the sight of the worn, old man was enough to bring tears of despair to Trand. Debrosh did not seem to notice, as he quickly closed the door behind him and came to sit next to Trand.

“I have heard good news,” he whispered, a newfound energy within him.

Trand didn’t respond, his eyes unfocused. Presently, he was lost within the terrible memories of his family’s death and the obliteration of his house. Debrosh shook his shoulder hard, breaking the reverie.

“What?” he asked. A part of him was surprised that Debrosh was there, as if he hadn’t fully registered his return.

“I have heard news!” Debrosh said more excitedly. “The Leylines are closed.”

Trand felt a small flicker within, enough to cause his head to turn to look at the old man. “Closed?”

Debrosh nodded. “The other realms have noticed what is going on here. It will not be long before they find a way to stop the Tularaans.” Debrosh’s hands were coming together in excitement, his cracked skin straining under his enlivened squeezing.

Trand was shaking his head already. Debrosh smacked him hard across the face, and the shock of pain was enough to get Trand to his feet, heart pumping and anger flowing through him once again.

“Damn you, Trand! Are you not hearing me? Reinforcements are coming!” We have to make sure that when they attack, they will find favorable conditions.” He looked at Trand as if he hadn’t just struck him, the same excited fervor still on his face.

Trand, no longer numbed with despair, looked down on the old man with terrible anger. It had redoubled harder than before and now it was as if the inferno in his memories burned across his muscles, his bones. The flames burned so brightly within him that he couldn’t really see as he raised his fists.

The inferno engulfed him, and in it Debrosh found his own share of Trand’s pain. Trand did not know how long it lasted, but when the fire evaporated from him and he stood over Debrosh’s beaten form, he knew that he may have just killed the only person in the universe who cared about him.

It was a blur. He stood over Debrosh for a long moment. Then he was being dragged down the street by two guards. Then he was being beaten himself, kicked and punched all over his body until the inferno from before began to spark to life once more. Guilt for what he had done to Debrosh mixed with his hatred of the Tularaans. He couldn’t take it anymore.

He rolled away from the guards, getting to his feet, and tackled one to the ground. He began striking with all his might, little as it may be, knocking away the man’s helmet and hitting him all over his face. Arms encircled him and he flew up into the air for a moment, weightless. But gravity brought him back down in a crunching tumble and he felt his wrist snap under him.

He cried out in pain, but it only fueled the inferno more. He stood, tears streaming down his emaciated face, wrist hanging limply in front of him, yet rage was the only expression he wore.

A guard was approaching, and as he grappled the weakened prisoner, Trand noticed that the guard was wearing a red gemstone on his neck.

Trand could only think of one way to get out of here alive. It was time to even the playing field.

He used his weight to unbalance the guard so that he fell onto his back. Then Trand jumped on top of him, his good hand immediately fishing into the man’s armor for the necklace. After a moment, realization struck the Guard, but it was too late.

It was a timeless instant when Trand’s finger came into contact with the Red Mysterium.

He was frozen there atop the guard, yet his awareness seemed to fluctuate, expand, grow outward. Even though he could not see anything beyond the width of his vision, there was a sense of things beyond his sight. This instant allowed him to reach outward further, and further, and further, feeling the paving stones and roughshod hovels as if his hand were running over each ones surface. More and more beyond his senses were coming into knowing under this new sense, this outwards looking from his mind.

But then, as if stretching too far and feeling the snap, his mind became disjointed from itself in all of its deep seeing. He felt his senses warble, cloud up, and his body and mind became confused. The inferno rage returned then, a response to being denied this exalted moment of infinity.

And the world around him caught flame.

There was no pain, yet he smelled the cooking of flesh and felt his hair and clothing burning away. The heat was beyond anything he had ever experienced, yet instead of anguish he was filled with righteous purpose. As the flames spread outward, engulfing the guards and the tents beyond them, and the huts beyond those, the purpose became clearer and clearer until the words echoed inside his head.

“Cleanse the wicked. Free the damned.”

In a spectacular whirlwind of flames, Trand’s body was destroyed and the fire grew outward as an unbound calamity. Where Trand had been was the red gemstone, the small fragment of Red Mysterium that the guard used to do his magic. It was the epicenter of the destruction, and the whirlwind expanded to envelop the entirety of the Tyulian Servitude Gulag, the flames killing victim and oppressor in equal measure.

When they were all gone and nothing remained but the glowing hot embers of the storms passing, the whirlwind closed in on itself once more, spinning, growing tighter and tighter until, in a flashing blink, it came to center around the gemstone like a solid orb of orange light. It sat there, suspended above the scorched wasteland, and slowly the form of a man emerged from it.

The being looked down at itself, then to the wasteland beyond. It thought for a moment before waving its hand nonchalantly. An ember sparked in the ground and wisp of flame crawled form the ashes. It had no form at first, but soon it took on an animalistic, four-legged shape.

“Come, Debrosh,” the being said.

It walked into the ashes to be greeted by the shadows of the growing night, tailed by its small sprite. Even it did not know where it was heading. It only knew one purpose.

Cleanse the Wicked.

Free the Damned.

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Tale of Red Mysterium #3: Bahkis I

August 17th, 2023

#3. BAHKIS I

He strode down the hall with an intimidating purpose. It was the sharp clack of his boots on the paving stones, the swishing and tinkling of his overcoat. Even the rhythmic hit of his saber on his hip gave the impression of him being a train that would not be stopped.

Bahkis was one of the top officials in the Institute of Arkanite. His station was that of “Geomancer Supreme,” a title that denoted just how powerful his influence over both others, and the world around him, truly was.

He was walking through the Institute Headquarters in Ointalo. The dark, grey stone of the building contrasted with the deep blue and black of the mosaic tiles that formed a tight, geometric pattern across the floor. The Brutalist architecture was accented with concrete statues of different elemental spirits. The only flash of color was the gold that was inlaid on their horns or teeth, their claws, their eyes.

Bahkis saw none of this. He only heard again and again the words of the informant ringing within his head.

“Red Mysterium has returned.”

It was unthinkable. It had all been destroyed… hadn’t it? Doubt surged through him, for he knew that he was not one who could tell anyone for certain the truth of such things. He, like everyone else, was subject to the natural-born ignorance of mortals. What little information he did have informed his senses in such a way that he felt like me might soil himself.

Red Mysterium fostered barbarism, survival of the strongest. “There is no way it can be allowed to reign again,” he thought.

He came upon the engraved wooden doors of the Council Chambers. He had called all the others from the Institute to meet, and now he would inform them that all of their lives works would soon be at an end.

He stood at the door for a brief moment, then pushed on through. Inside was a long, ovular table surrounded by his colleges. The walls on each side were covered in bookshelves, and a raise platform ringed the room, seperating the table in the middle from the book cases.

All eyes focused on him. Silence enveloped the room and he quickly took his seat at the head of the table, as was custom for the one who called the meeting. He took a moment to gather his bearings, to see all who were in attendance.

He began to speak. “The Ministry of the Exterior Realms has reported, with undeniable proof, the return of Red Mysterium. War has consumed the realms of Rupu, Hotan, and Miupo. A militant organization known as the Tulaaran Supremacy is creating havoc across these realms, weakening their authorities. The Crimson Era, it seems, is threatening a return.”

He let his words hang there, being absorbed slowly by each of the members present. It did not take long for the room to explode into a frenzy of questions and doubts. How could this be true? How valid are the sources? What proof is there?

It was one voice that rang out above all the others, a man known as Pate. He asked, “What can we do to protect ourselves from this?”

Bahkis nodded. “My first action upon learning this information was to contact the Leyline Authority. They have begun installing Leyline blockers for those realms. I can only assume this is a temporary safeguard.”

A general mulling of words filled the room, groups exchanging ideas, turning them over. Finally, a voice asked, “What can be done to prevent this from spreading to every realm?”

Bahkis looked between them all and shook his head. “That is beyond my knowledge. I hope that we, together, can find this answer.” For a moment, he wondered how after all of the work he put into his career, into research, into realizing his achievements, had he gotten stuck with such spineless oafs.

He tried to stay his judgement, but the expressions of fear as they all looked to him, he couldn’t help but feel that they all were pathetic. When trouble came, Bahkis did not turn to others to solve his problems.

Words from his education reverberated within his mind. “It is in times of trouble when we must band under the common cause of a resolute mind.”

Bahkis would be a resolute mind, if he could. He would do his best to lead them from the coming darkness.

He pointed to a man sitting near the opposite end of the table, a mousy fellow with large spectacles. “What says the Inquiry Into Arms?”

The man, sheepish in his nature, looked around nervously to the gathered members. He gulped. “The Inquiry has found a… suitable method for replicating the power of Red Mysterium. Darhal technology has made remarkable advances in recent years.”

Those around him were nodding. It was commonly known that the Darhal were the best at constructing machines, with or without Arkanite.

Bahkis pointed to a woman, a sage in blue and black robes. Her robes bore the insignia of Rackaman, the capital of the universe. Bahkis asked her, “Would it be possible to invite the Darhal branch of the Dreamweaver Initiative to come here?”

General confusion permeated the gathered members. The woman, Mael, nodded. “It would be as simple as sending them an invitation. I don’t understand why…”

Bahkis stood. “It is as simple as this: we will invite the brilliant minds of the Darhal to join us in the fight against this growing threat. We will work together under the guise of developing a Dreamweaver project of our own, but we will really be preparing a proper defense.”

Silence. It was as if death had filled the room, removing any sense of being in the place. The way they looked at him, it was as if they were all already dead.

A woman named Uan stood, face incredulous. “Should it not be the responsibility of the Palace of Tytanis to organize such a defense?”

Bahkis smirked, though he felt a hollow pit in his gut. If only he could tell the truth in his heart, to let them know of the dark secrets he carried about the hollowed out carcass which was the Palace. Instead, he chose the more delicate route.

“If the Palace of Tytanis does not already know of this threat, I do not believe they can appropriately defend us.” He looked around, saw a general sense of agreement. “We are the forefront of Arkanite’s power, and yet we have heard nothing from the Palace. Unfortunately, we must not turn away from this mantle if we are to survive.”

Bahkis stood, straightening his outer coat as he did. For a moment he looked down, the gemstones and medals glittering in the dim light of the chamber. “Will this path be one of success?” he wondered. He tried not to let it eat at him that he wouldn’t know until it was over.

“I will make a general announcement. The public must be informed of the threat, but the truth is far too dangerous. A story about a dangerous flux within the Leylines will explain, for now, the inability to travel to the three systems who have succumbed to chaos so far.”

Bahkis turned, the room standing in a rush in an ill-practiced attempt at formality. He didn’t hold it against any of them, for the most part they were nothing but scholars, teachers, researchers. To think of them as the front line defense of Tytanis…

Bahkis grinned as he exited the chamber. Whatever gods existed, he was certain their sense of humor would never be matched.

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Tale of Red Mysterium #2: Nabras Kahn I

August 16th, 2023

#2. NABRAS KAHN

Nabras was practically skipping down the street with joy, her hands uncontrollable as she danced down the street. The light inside her was so elevating she felt like she was barely holding onto the ground. Gravity had little hold on her now, she had just received the best news in the world.

She was going to Yearma Academy.

It was almost unbelievable. “A Kahn, going to Yearma.” She couldn’t stop the smile the spread across her face then, so tight that her cheeks felt like they might snap off. She was running now, she had to tell her mother, her father. Her cat!

She tore down the alley next to her house, skidded around the corner and stopped out front. Her parents were standing there with their friend Kulmo. Nabras didn’t know how to feel about the man, his eyes were always shaded by the thick eyebrows above them, and he spoke to her so little that as far as she knew, she was nothing more than floor decoration in his eyes.

Kulmo turned and looked at her. She caught a brief glimpse of his blueish orbs before they entered shadow. “Hmmm,” he said. “Nabras.” He turned to her parents, nodded politely and turned away, slowly walking down the street from the house.

Her parents turned. Her mother, Lila, was a lot like Nabras. Thin, long black hair, an easy smile. Nabras never felt uncomfortable there. It was similar with her father, Kyden, but he was the exact opposite from them with his wide chest and stoic expression.

They both wore a blank expression as their gaze fell upon her. Lila spoke first, asking “Did you come home from the testing early?”

Nabras nodded, unable to contain her mirth. “I did. I passed. I passed!”

They both nodded, unsurprised. It was her father who asked the important question. “Where did you test into?”

She couldn’t contain herself any longer and lunged at them to embrace them, saying, “They are sending me to Yearma!”

The hug was cut short as her father pulled her back to hold her at arms length. His face was a contorted mess of expressions, half a smile, half a grimace, tinged with a strange mixture of shock. Her mother wore an expression of guilt, grief…. was it jealousy Nabras saw?

“Yearma?” her father asked.

The tone of his voice was so starkly different to the emotions within her that she couldn’t help but laugh. “What is so serious? Yearma Academy is the best there is. It is the only place that will help me become a Maker!”

Her parents exchanged a glance, relaxed themselves, and embraced her together. After a short moment, they both pulled away, looking at her with mixed expressions.

Lila spoke. “Yearma… I guess you caught us both surprised.”

Kyden nodded. “I expected Uthmari, or maybe Pollas. But Yearma…”

Nabras couldn’t help but feel there was still an air of negativity around her revelation. She crossed her arms, frowning. “What do you two have against Yearma?”

Lila shook her head, hands coming up defensively. “Its not like that-“

Kyden was obviously not in agreement, cutting off his wife. “Yearma produces heretics. Many there claim that Arkanite makes us weak, wishing to go back to the Crimson Era.”

Lila slapped her husband on the arm, silencing him. She gave him a stern expression before looking back to Nabras. “There are Magus there who… think like those from the ancient days.”

Nabras, quick to anger, was already frowning. “I am not a child who is going to be made-“

Kyden slashed the air with a hand, stopping her. “It is not you I fear, but those around you. You could be the most capable person there and still get caught up in a spell that someone else can’t control because they decided to smuggle in a chip of Red Mysterium to experiment with.”

Nabras groaned. It was such an old argument that she didn’t know if was even still relevant. She locked eyes with her father. “You make an argument without logical weight. You agreed, you both agreed to let me become a Magus. You both agreed to let me attend an Academy.” She pointed at her father aggressively. “You told me to always follow my word, or do not speak them.” She took a step forward, finger pointed at his throat. “Are you making a liar of yourself, old man?”

For a long moment they stared at one another before Kyden’s face broke out into a huge grin. He took her up into a tight hug, saying, “I should never fear for a woman who contains the Kahn flame within her.”

They walked inside, now sharing in the general sense of joy that Nabras was exuding in abundance. Despite their efforts, she could tell that they were both perturbed by her assignment. As subtle as the two of them could be at times, Nabras decided that they both were terrible at hiding their feelings.

That night, Kyden came to Nabras’s room to wish her goodnight. She was already tucked into bed, reading a tome titled “The Articulation of Mana: Insights into Magical Architecture and Mechanics”. He came and sat at the edge of her bed, pointing to the leather cover.

“To think you can contain all this in your head,” he remarked.

She smiled, closing the tome and placing it on her bedside table. “I remember the important stuff. Its more useful to know which page to find the information rather than everything on the page.”

He ran a finger along the embossing on the spine. “What if you are without your book?”

She smiled, reaching out a hand to rest it on his arm. “Like I said, I remember the important stuff.”

He chuckled, hands coming to rest in his lap. For a moment he had the demeanor of a child, of someone who didn’t know how to deal with what lie before them. It was funny to Nabras that he, of all people, wouldn’t know how to face a problem.

She did him the kindness of speaking first. “You’re worried.”

He nodded. “You’ve lived in Tasos your whole life. Our realm, its a peaceful one. There are some out there that are not so peaceful.” He took a deep breath, then sighed. “You are going to Rackaman, a strange realm. It is a place I do not understand, so I fear for what you may experience there.”

She shook her head, tightening her grip on his arm. “You fear even the wonderous things I will see?”

He nodded. “And also the vastly terrible things.” He sighed again, this one containing a weight of dread in it. “I am not a Magus. I cannot comprehend what you will see. In this way, I have not been able to prepare you.”

She laid back, looking up at his face. “Do you fear the Leylines?” He shook his head. “The Portal?” Again, he shook his head. “Then what?”

For a long moment they sat in silence as Kyden wrestled with himself. She could see it in the play of movement over his face, each feeling trying to break free from his iron-hard grip.

Finally, he said, “I fear that when you finally learn the size of this spectacular world, how complicated it is, how intriguing, how chaotic… I fear that you will forget the lesser things.”

She let his words settle, felt her heart turning over. Tears came to her eye and she sat up and embraced her father, clinging to him tight. “Never,” she said.

Nabras couldn’t help but feel the immediateness of all of this. In a short period of time, barely two weeks, she would be traveling a Leyline to another realm. She would be integrating herself into the world of magic and spells, in the shaping of reality.

In a short time, she would be leaving everything she ever knew behind.

She hugged her father tighter, letting him go only after he did. He was mollified for now, at least, and the small grin on his face was enough to let her know that things would be okay.

* * * * * * * * * * * * * *

Kalfis wrestled within the bag on her back. For a moment she felt confusion, but then only the claws digging into her shoulder from within.

She cried out in pain, drawing the eyes of the others at the station. She disengaged the angry cat from her back and tried to avoid the gazes that watched her then. She grabbed the bag, bringing it up to her face. From within she heard Kalfis’s low growl, and then claws reapeared in the fabric.

“For a natural predator, you have little patience,” she said, admonishing the angry creature. In her head, she felt a Perturbance, magical currents from other beings.

Kalfis, it seemed, was not pleased with Nabras.

After a tense moment, the claws slowly removed themselves from the fabric, followed by a soft mewling. Nabras smiled, knowing she had cowed Kalfis for a little while. “Its only a little longer, be patient.” She decided to risk it and slipped a hand into the bag, giving the cat a gentle and reaffirming pet. She relaxed as she felt a soft purring fill him, and then a gentle lick on her finger.

She gingerly replaced the bag onto her shoulder before continuing.

She was in Billus, the city nearest her village. It was the only place in her realm with a Leyline Portal, and where she must go in order to travel to Yearma. Her farewells to her parents had been brief, yet she knew that in only a few months time she would be allowed to enter the Leyline Portal and return to Tasos. That goodbye was not permanent.

She was presently walking down a main avenue, the wide street filled with people on their way to an uncountable number of unknown places. As she moved among them, she felt herself as their equal, another counterpart of anonymity going somewhere from somewhere. As one among the crowd, she was a question unasked, and unanswered. By the time she came upon the Leyline Portal at the heart of the city, she was nothing more than a blank canvas on which her future would be painted.

The portal was underwhelming. She had seen paintings of it, and had been told of its grandeur. But now, standing before it, it seemed only a faint ring of light suspended in the air. It wasn’t so big, or so grand.

For a second she felt doubt. “Is all magic like this?” But she pushed the thought away. She could see it in her head now, a woman walking through flames and summoning darkness.

“Ankara,” she thought, and a shiver covered her body. Her hairs stood on end and she felt like she as on the precipice of such power.

She stood there under the Leyline Portal, dozens of others there waiting to transit. One of the Transit Guards, a man dressed in a navy-blue jumpsuit trimmed in black, held up a glowing white wand, the carved wooden handle siting elegantly in his fingers. Another guard joined him, and then one more. The three of them held up their hands and their wands began to glow brighter and brighter.

Nabras’s gaze moved upward, and her heart began to pulse harder. The faint red circle of the portal had begun to turn, the color shifting to a bright white. It grew larger, thickening, the inner form of it roiling and tearing in on itself. The space within the ring began to warp, the image of the sky beyond it twisting and flexing until a great rip of darkness opened with the perimeter of the ring, accompanied by a thundering roar. The world began to flicker around her and she felt her stomach begin to turn. On her back, Kalfis clawed into her but she didn’t feel it. She couldn’t see anything but the ring, its pulsing, shifting power filling the space around her.

And then it was nothing but formless color. A surge of energy and a spackling of white, starry lights across her vision.

And then she slammed into her next life with the force of a counterweight cut from a crane. A momentary, sickening sense of weightlessness that ended with her landing on the platform hard on her rear.

For a moment she sat there, her lungs heaving with the suddenness of it all. Despite the distintncess of each moment, the transit had felt… timeless. It could have been a moment or ten centuries and she would not be able to tell.

A firm hand clapped on her shoulder. “First transit, eh? Don’t worry, we always get a few fallers.” She looked up, saw one of the Transit Guards from earlier. He quickly lifted her up, dodged away as Kalfis attacked the wall of her bag nearest him. He chuckled. “Not many that have cats.”

She felt heat rush to her face. “I am so sorry about that. He isn’t usually so…”

“Fiesty?” he asked, smiling. She nodded. He motioned above them, to the ring in its inactive state. “If I didn’t know what this thing was and I went through it, I’d be angry too.”

That was when she started to look around her. The scenery was so drastically different she couldn’t help the wide smile that took over face. The boorish, grayscale buildings of Bullis had disappeared. In their place stood magnificent towers of marble, capped in tiles of reds and blues and greens. Far above, there were machines flying in the sky, and people sitting in them as the pilots. As much as she didn’t want to admit it, the city was by far more magnificent than the Leyline Portal.

This was Yearma. Nabras was home.

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Tale of Red Mysterium #1: Trand & Debrosh I

August 15th, 2023

#1. TRAND & DEBROSH

It was the type of hot summer day that adhered to the body, trapped it like a fly on glue. Trand could feel every crease in his shirt, every place it clung too tightly to him, soaked through with sweat. The thin cotton was saturated by now, and he could feel the perspiration dripping from him with each swing.

He sunk the pickax into the hard soil, pushed against it to break the dirt. He lifted, he brought it down, he pushed it to break the soil. It was monotonous, yet the tireless work never let his mind dull. Each impact of the pick jolted his arms, reawakened the ache in his back. Even his hands felt each hit with a peculiar sharpness.

The chain around his ankle didn’t help him find balance for such work, neither did the constant tugging from the other workers along the line.

Trand sighed. “There is little reward for the truth.” He said the words quietly, but even their muffled sound, covered by the clanking of picks and the rattling of chains, was enough to fill him with regret. If the wrong ears heard…

A crack of energy flew by him, and for a moment he thought that his life was over, that the magus had finally had enough of his sullen words. But the red bolt soared past his head, and he saw it strike a worker near the end of the line. The man convulsed, hand gripping at his chest, and then collapsed in place as his whole body sagged.

Trand looked away, stomach roiling inside. He was not surprised, none of them were. Life, it seemed, was just as arbitrary as death. But he couldn’t stop the well of sadness that brimmed over in him then. The man who died was named Horus. He was only 20.

Trand kept his eyes low. He didn’t need to see the magus who did this to know what they looked like. It was Yera, a witch of old nightmares. Face obscured by her hood at all times, anyone only saw the flare of red fire in her eyes when she used her magic. A thought came unbidden. Ever since the Red came back…

Trand shook his head. He took a deep breath, kept his gaze low, and focused on breaking apart the soil. Some things, he determined, were simply outside his control.

* * * * * * * * * * *

Trand stripped the cloth from his body with little hesitation. He was off the field, back in the barracks. His room partner, Debrosh, was already inside, laying on a canvas cot with an arm draped across his eyes.

Debrosh was thin, wiry muscle and sinew across his entire frame. He was tall, though, legs hanging off the cot in familiar discomfort. Despite his petite stature, he contained a deep strength from years of swinging a hammer, having worked his life away in a blacksmith shop.

Now, he worked for the Tulaarans whenever they demanded.

Debrosh lifted his arm, looking Trand over. “Didn’t get killed I see.”

Trand shrugged. “Horus wasn’t so lucky.” He reached into the small trunk at the foot of his own cot and pulled out the thinnest pair of shorts he had. He quickly changed, not looking at Debrosh.

Debrosh recovered his eyes, shaking his head. “Horus was like you, couldn’t keep his mouth shut while working.”

Trand shrugged again, coming to lay out on his cot. Unlike Debrosh, whose legs hung well off the end, Trand was fortunate enough to find the cot moderately comfortable. It wasn’t like his bed back in…

The thought sent a cold shock through his gut. More thoughts followed, images of fire and burned down houses, the smell of burnt flesh and acrid smoke. “There is no bed there anymore,” he whispered within his soul. He dare not say the words aloud, for the truth of them would surely destroy Trand.

He took a deep breath, sighing through the pain that gripped him. Debrosh looked over for a moment, but then looked away. The silence that followed was one that all the captured Purans who now lived and toiled at the Tulaaran Labor Camp. He could never remember what they called this place in their strange language. Tullus? Tyulis? He stopped caring then, knowing that whatever the Tulaarans called this place, the name represented one of the many demonic, evil ideals that they all worshiped.

Trand turned over to look at Debrosh. “Do you think the Tulaarans will ever let us go?”

Debrosh sat for a moment, and Trand wondered if he was being ignored. After a long silence, Debrosh sighed. “Have you ever thrown away a pair of scissors that still worked?”

Trand didn’t fight the hopelessness that filled him then. Based on what he had seen, it was an apt description of their scenario.

As far as any of them were concerned, they were property of the Tulaaran Arcanaucracy.

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