Shard stood on top of the tower of stars and let the wind off of the plains of Theodar catch at the edges of his jacket. The wind tugged at the edges of the collar as he held it in place with his hands in the pockets. The Shard’s stare was a thousand miles and a thousand years away as he looked out over Angel’s Landing breathing in the sounds, smells and sights, that paled in comparison to the sight he had fixed in his mind’s eye. It was far less grand than what he’d built but it was by far what he desired more than anything. The Tower had been his greatest achievement but it was also a reminder of one of his most bitter failures.

Walking to the edge of the tower he looked down from the top of it. Reaching into sheath on the side of his belt he took the deck of storms from it and dropped the cards over the edge of the Tower. At the last second he snatched the final card and turned it over. The four of squalls. With that he flipped the card over and put his left hand on the case and the deck of storms rippled back up over the edge of the tower in a stream of cards that fitted neatly into the deck. With Shard snapped the card in a throw straight into the heavens where it disappeared in a gust of wind before returning to the deck at his side.

The Shard’s eyes blazed with white lightning as the storm brewed above Angel’s Landing, it had been far too long since he’d drawn from the deck. As the storm clouds darkened over Angel’s Landing his mood darkened with them as fat drops of rain began to splatter on the roof of the tower around him as he finally sat down on the edge of the tower and let his feet hang over the edge of the tower dangling while he caught water in the palm of his left hand. Sweeping his right hand over it the small pool became a mirror and he stared into it with heartbroken eyes. where are you Raven?/

A silent smile. One that caresses darkness and trickles like sand in still fingers. It impacted through Shard’s senses and at once the sensation of a cool night breeze in the summer brushed against his skin.

Shard clenched his left hand involuntarily and the mirror was gone in a hundred tiny rain drops. Standing Shard frowned into the closing darkness. “Raven?”

Suddenly even little ears could hear movement. It was the sound of clothing dancing in the wind. If she was correct, he wouldn’t need to look behind him to know. Her smooth, silky breath visibly entered the air around her in a white fog. The woman without a shadow.

Christian closed his eyes and let his senses expand to encompass his domain as the storm prepared to crash upon Angel’s Landing. He felt the raindrops as they fell and he could hear her as she stood there in the rain. “I’ve missed you”

She let the rain pour on her human skin. When his eyes slowly shut there was a pause. Then lips, lips that tasted of adventure, of a thousand lonely nights, and of the woman that he hasn’t seen in centuries. Her scent that he knew her by flowed out of her, and though there was some variation to it, it was the same feeling. It was still Raven Marrowblade.
Christian turned in the rain to face her. It had been a long time that was for sure. Too long. He’d stared up at the stars every night wondering if he could have done something different to make her stay. Or if he should have gone with her…

“Are you here to stay or is this just you letting me know you’re still alive, beloved?”

Christian held his face in a neutral expression. Afraid to betray the tears it held in check as the rain continued to increase in tempo.

He felt a warm palm press against his cheek through leather.

“Christian, open your eyes.”

Her voice was smoother than it used to be, slightly more melodic than the last time they conversed before she left for the stars. It sounded like pure silk, and ended like waves calmy kissing the shore.

Christian looked at her through the rain and put his own hand to her gloved hand as it pressed against his face. The tears mingled with the rain on his face as it fell. His eyes had lost the edge of the storm and now they were the calm grey of its center as the tears welled from them and dripped down his face as he stared into her’s. “Please be here to stay.”

Only one eye stared back at him, and it was welled, making the pale red counter against the cold storm around them. The other was covered, concealed in shame. There were a few long moments of silence before the woman moved, clasping Christian’s hand and lacing her fingers inside the gaps of his own. A perfect fit. “I’ll never leave again.”

Christian looked at the hand and stared straight past the eye patch right back into her soul. “I hadn’t dared to hope you would say that” His face finally shifted into a sad smile. “I’ve missed you dearly. I was afraid you had forgotten me.” His other hand found her waist and pulled her close to him. With a brief moment of concentration he created a bubble in the rain for them to keep her from getting any more soaked by the storm that was beginning to pick up strength around them.

Raven’s face was stationary, like a doll’s, before the expression silently ticked into one that was melancholy. She tilted her untouched features towards the sky, eyeing the galaxies beyond them. “I couldn’t if I even wanted to.” Her eyes met his again before her face tilted back in his direction, her free hand, covered in the black and mint metal, peeling back some clothing covering her collarbone, leaving it bare in front of him. A single black tattoo etched onto her skin in cursive seeped into Christian’s senses if he looked. ’Christian Highfell’

A smile finally work its way across his face as he saw the tattoo. “Perhaps I should find one to match?” Taking his arms he drew her in close holding her to his chest. “I’m just glad you’re home. Should we get out of the rain? It’s warmer inside, we have so much to catch up on”

This time it was Raven’s turn to smile. It bloomed across her face like a fresh rose.

“So long as we are mere feet away from each other, I will always feel warm, but perhaps my clothes say differently..” She chuckled.

Christian’s movement was faster. One moment she was standing in his arms the next he had picked her up off the ground and was moving down the stairs of the tower. “I think we can do something about that.” Christian’s steps were swift. “Sentinel, make preparations for the Blackwing to moor alongside the tower. Alert Senechal that we will be accommodating the crew. And Sentinel..I am not to be disturbed unless there is a situation most dire. Defer command decisions to Master of Word Markov and Master of Fist Megelis.” There was a ripple in the air in front of Shard as he walked with Raven in his arms. “Acknowledged, new recruit orientation will be deferred to tomorrow.” Shard smiled “Do you think that will be long enough darling?” One moment Shard was stepping down the stairs and then he was pushing the door of his room open. The use of the Ace of Storms caused his hair to defy gravity momentarily and left a tingle of electrical charge on both of their skin.

“Nothing can make up the time that I was apart from you,” Raven’s face wilted into a frown. “But, it definitely is a start.”

----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------





Sentinel had taken care of orientation for the new recruits so Shard didn’t need to lead any groups of recruits today, he did however make himself available. All of his Masters and Mistresses were available for the next 24 hours.

Shard paged through his briefs for the day. His mind wandered back to Raven, pity she wasn’t around. “Archive open briefs for The Stygian Blade and highlight new information.” Shard’s eyes scanned the lines of text as it scrolled up on his holoscreen. It was mostly reports from the local law enforcement on potentially linked crimes. His eyes narrowed when he saw the next report. “Halt scroll and expand highlighted report.” Shard leaned forward on his desk as he looked over the report. It was a prisoner transfer record. “Archive give me a court records for this case?” There was a pause. “We have no court records for the case in question. It appears that the case and court ruling were under media blackout and the records are sealed. Southgate also has no record of the prisoner in question. The only information is this transfer notice.” Shard sat back and steepled his fingers. “Sentinel, give me an active roster of current members and their deployment. Include Masters of Shadow, Blade, Artifice, and Logistics.”

Shards eyes flickered over the list. “Lots of new faces. Lucky Megelis is back, do we have a location for Ralrisk?” The query came back negative which meant she was probably in the Tower of Stars.

“Okay start compiling a list of possible members for a prison break team, oh and find Ralrisk and tell her she has office hours today. I don’t care how shy she is. She’s still the Tower’s Mistress of Shadow. Oh and would you do a search for the Mistress of Sight? I want to know what Akime has been up to.”

Slip.

The sounds of blades shredding wind, just skimming over pink lips and gold hair. Hot breath fogged the steel from those lips. A caress from a shadow, a kiss from the darkness. Her game, small lights in the dark like teeth in a silent grin. The game of swords, the thrill, the fight. Waves crashing over your boat in the sea. They spit on your skin just as she would. The wind tears down your sail, sending a rip straight through it. Her rapiers.

Raven.

She toys with a small blade, flipping it into her fingers. The woman rests on firm wood around the bulwarks of the bridge of blackwing, hat pulled over her eyes, one arm resting behind her long locks of blonde hair. Boots hitting the flooring of the ship sounded like drums, and like a shadow carefully stalking its master the lass looked up from her daydreaming state, revealing those scarlet eyes that glistened without the need of light.

“Captain…” A males voice filled with breathless shock stings the air around the unspoken company.

“It’s good to see you again.” Her voice was like water gliding on rosepetals.

“tell the crew it’s time.”

And like the fingers of a lover slipping down skin, blackwing vanished from the stygian port.

"Delta, show me my pending cases." A neat list of indexed files flitted into view within Justin's field of vision, just transparent enough to avoid obstructing his vision, but solid enough to be easily read. As useful as the tech was, the command was pointless. He already knew the state of his work load. Checking it when he woke up was something of a morning ritual, and he hasn't been awake very long. Enough to dress and brew a good, strong cup of coffee. He sipped at it as he looked over the list one more time anyway, checking for anything he might have missed. Not because he had missed anything, or even because he thought he had. Just because he was bored. There were only two active cases, a theft and an extortion. He had already tracked the thief down and sent both the evidence and his coordinates to the police, so he was just awaiting a confirmation so he could close the file. Delta would send a request for payment to the client automatically once he did, cutting that step out of his schedule. The other was a waiting game, too, though for different reasons. He had baited his trap, he was just waiting for them to bite.

But none of this was alleviating his boredom. Such a small list should have been a good thing. Fewer cases meant fewer people needing his services, which meant fewer crimes, which meant greater order and justice. All things he actively strove for. But without anything else, he was at a loss for anything to amuse himself with. Nor was his environment helping. His new quarters in the Tower, graciously provided by the Knights upon his recruitment, were quite comfortable. Sizable enough to avoid feelings confinement, and well-furnished enough to be pleasant. Their occupants were of course expected to tailor their environment to their liking, but Justin hadn't yet gone to the effort. He was staying, for the most part, to grow accustomed to the Tower and the people who dwelt within it. His loft wasn't far away and he knew he would have been more content sleeping there.

If he was going to work with the Knights, he needed to know them. He reminded himself of that just as the coffee in his mug ran out, as if a sign from the heavens. A nudge out the door. The investigator sighed, setting the mug on the table next to his chair and pushing himself to his feet. He didn't bother with anything more in the way of preamble before heading towards the door, pushing his glasses further up his nose.

"Clear view. Delta, lock laptop. Full encryption." A soft beep was the system's only reply. The only reply it ever gave, actually, given that Delta was nothing more than sophisticated voice command system. True AI weren't unheard of, but far outside of his price range. Delta was perfectly well-tailored to his needs. His footsteps carried him easily out into the hall, and he was already committing all the details he saw to memory while he locked the door. Getting around the Tower wasn't hard, though he hadn't exactly seen all of it. Or most of it. Whatever had been needed for his recruitment, and that was about it.

Perhaps it was time to explore. Maybe see if he was needed for anything more.

Ralrisk bounced the knife off of her desk leaving another ding in the surface as it flipped through the air and stuck in the wall. “This is stupid, there is no reason for me to be here why is Chris being such a hard ass about this. No one comes to see me and I have work to do” ”I can provide your documents so you may continue planning for your missions if you wish but Shard has insisted you be present today for the next 12 hours.” Senechal stood off to the side of the doorway. Ralrisk frowned “Whatever”

“Display new from last night and run through the new episodes for my holo dramas would you? At least I can catch up on something interesting.”

Ralrisk kicked her feet up on the desk and leaned back to watch while she waited out her twelve hours in purgatory for her.

Another second passed. Another second of my life that I'm never getting back. So far I'd counted three thousand fifty two. Fifty three. Fifty four.... I grumbled at the ridiculousness of my endeavour and stopped. Surely there must be more useful ways to spend your time, even in confinement. Like trying to escape, you'd suggest? Ha. I'm pretty sure it's the first thing on anyone's mind. Including the people who actually design your cell for you right before they lock you in it.

I'd already tried everything I could think of. Brute force was out of the question: there was nothing around that I could break off and swing at the bars. Magic was also useless. Not because the Blind fool had abandoned me... which he had... but because even though I could still feel the magic inside myself, the leather-like skin that was bestowed upon me didn't let it out. I'd spent hours feeling my surroundings when my eyesight was rendered useless. Hours spent trying to find the sensation of metal or electricity under my fingers that I could influence. Nothing. I could feel the unmistakable cold but only on a purely physical level. So what was left for me to do except for counting the seconds or remembering my past? I definitely wasn't doing the latter.

I nested my head between my knees and flinched when the long inhuman beak hit the floor. Imprisoned. In a prison, in a cell, in a foreign body, not even the skin or face my own. If it was mere clothes it would have been better. Surely there would be the consolation that at least I'm still myself. As things were, I wasn't. Even that was taken away from me. Everything was taken away from me, even my awareness. For a person such as me, used to always being in the loop, it was particularly scary to not even know where I am. Not even knowing how long I've been here.

I should have kept count of the days. But how do you tell the days when there's no light? My meals are not regular. I haven't been out since I came here. Everyone around me is quiet – is there even anyone around? I wish there was commotion around. Voices, shouts, anything. Anything but the dreadful, suffocating silence that went hand in hand with impending death.

There was only one thing I had left. My dignity. The knowledge that whatever the charges were, they didn't have enough evidence to execute me straight away. The knowledge that I had covered my tracks well enough to buy me at least another day. The bitter-sweet knowledge that the reason they were so terribly harsh with how they treated me is because they knew I wouldn't break easily.... They say knowledge is power. I used to agree, and deep down still do but knowledge wasn't power in this case. It was power enough to keep me alive. But not power enough to get me out of here. And did such a power even exist...?

Blinds were, if utilized correctly, invaluable tools to the late riser. Allowing for protection against the early rays of morning, they could help one who had stayed up late or was simply obstinately not a morning person extend their period of slumber for a couple of hours, which, in sleep time, was almost always invaluable. By artificially maintaining the darkness of the room, they could keep the inherently wakeful light away from the lidded retinas of the occupant in question, which would in turn help them continue to sleep.

Seriously, people's eyes respond to that stuff, no matter how poorly the narration explains it. Case in point being:

One Otto Kleinsmann had evidently not been trained in proper and correct utilization of blinds. And as one might expect, a glorious golden ray of sunshine lanced through the crack offered to it in the window's defenses, casting itself upon his sleeping face with wild abandon. To his credit, his fortitude against the dawn was not one-note-- a scrunching of the face, a repositioning of the body; adequate steps to remain inertly unconscious were taken.

However, it was too still too little, and still too late. The movement had actually served to wake him up more, getting the blood moving and brain working, so to speak.

"Wuuuugggggh..." he groaned, blearily sitting upright in the comfortable little bed issued to all residents of the Tower's dormitories. Rubbing the sleep out of his eyes for something resembling a full 90 seconds before checking the clock. Still blurry, and unfocused to boot.

Whatever. "Too early"'s good enough. he groused internally, hauling himself out of bed as soon as blood was flowing past his patellas. Really needed to curb that whole "sleeping on a leg" thing...

One short shower that cleared his mind and sinuses later, and he was at his sink, dutifully brushing away at his teeth before breakfast like any respectably raised young man, when the world reminded him that it wasn't done just yet. He'd set his alarm early by mistake, and had forgotten it was even on at all when woken up extra early by the sun, which resulted in--



A majestic spray of mint flavored foam splattered into the bowl of the sink, and a loudly uttered profanity followed soon after as the young man beat his alarm into submission. Today had the makings of...

"Well, something... interesting." he concluded some time later, after carefully avoiding any more surprises as he finished his morning routine. Affixing the sheathed HF-Blade upon his back via magical future technology (read: a simple leather belt), Otto stepped out of the door and into the halls, intent on locating the most crucial thing for any man in the morning:

Breakfast.

Silas casually strode through the Tower of Knights as if he owned the place giving casual nods and acknowledging those around him. He had been wondering where Irving happened to be, no doubt huddled over his work bench creating some new weapon of mass destruction for the Stygian ranks as he was one to do. It seemed odd to be here in Angel's Landing after living on the run for so long having a permanent home seemed like an oddity to Silas. The demons of his past began to creep within him once more as thoughts of the black day when he was called to keep the family he had vowed to serve safe by killing one of the members themselves. He could still feel the sticky wetness of the blood that coated his blade, his fur matted from the assault and his hands shaking from the act he had committed.

As he approached the door to the Shard's office, as was requested of him, Silas quickly dismissed his imagination and put up the facade that he has so become so skilled in using and stepped through. Coming face to face with a strange woman who looked as if she would rather be anywhere else but here he couldn't help lay the sarcasm on thick,

"Oi, who's tis lovly piece o' lady? Name's Silas love and what be yors?"

Ralrisk bounced another knife off the desk and into the wall next to Silas’ head; her eyes going wide as it missed him by inches. “Oh hi.” Ralrisk turned slightly pink. “Sorry about the…” She gestured at the knife. “And I think you’re in the wrong place-” Senechal cut her off “This is Ralrisk, second child of the Elemental Lord of Shadows and The Tower of Stars Mistress of Shadow.” Ralrisk scowled at the AI as it stood off to the right of the doorway. “Shard put you up to this didn’t he? you hunk of code. Get out of here before I stab your processor.”

Ralrisk even more pink than before turned back to Sillas. “Hi.” She sat up from her chair a little and flicked the Holodrama she was watching off. “I suppose I should ask what I can do for you?”

So, this is where we wish to begin my tale, eh? I suppose there are worse places to begin, and this was definitely the beginning of new chapter. But forgive me, if I'm less than ecstatic, after all, what man enjoys hearing that there life only had meaning from a certain point on. Was the rest of my life truly that boring? But I digress, there will hopefully come a day when I can relay the marvelous story of my origins. I'm sure you would all love to hear the tale of how a simple son of a carpenter became the great man you see before you.

What? Do you doubt me? Do you reject that I was the miracle child of an ordinary carpenter?

Well, believe what you will, however I suppose if we're going to do this, I should lay forth a few ground rules.

Number one, since I'm going to be revealing so much about myself, I suppose it's only fitting that I gave you my word. Contrary to my usual nature, I'll refrain from lying, only truths regarding this tale will escape my tongue. Which, mind you, will be quite difficult, but it wouldn't make for a very good tale if you doubted my every word. So trust me alright? When it comes down to it, you'll hear the truth.

Rule number two, keep in mind that while this may be rather personal for me, for the sake of continuity I won't be addressing you all that much later on. After all, this is my story, not yours, so just shut up and listen to me the entire time. Comprehendo? Don't get too annoyed when I stop referring to you by pronoun. All this "you" business is just a temporary thing for settling in.

Number three, certain details will remain in my own jurisdiction, it's a fun little tale but I need not tell you everything? Half my life is probably spent in the bathroom, asleep or both at the same time, you don't need to hear about those little escapades. Simply put, I reserve to right to hold certain details back.

Number four, well, we can skip number four.

Finally, and most importantly, is rule number five. Simply put as I am entrusting you with my tale, I trust that you will trust me to be a trustworthy person who you can trust and receive the trust of, to this purpose offer up your trust to prove the worth of my trust in this trustworthy embarking of my tale. Confused? Don't be. Just... trust me.

Alright, I've wasted enough time, let's begin in earnest.

The morning, started like any other, I awoke in my room within the Knight's tower. A lovely little space granted thanks to the degree of dedication I'd shown as a knight in this order. It was an odd experience for me to serve as a knight, old virtues of chivalry seemed less than worthwhile, they were something to be reserved for my youth. Then again, these hypocrites seemed less knightly in their manner and more like some odd mixture of a police force and a PMC. But who am I to complain, I'm getting paid, and receiving room and board, to punch people in the face. Well, sometimes I cut them in half, and sometimes I just talk them to death, there was that one time I escorted a donkey to its home, oh, and I once tied a man to a goat for ease of travel, but yeah, I basically get paid to punch people.

I went on a tangent again didn't I?

So I awoke that morning, dragged myself out of bed. Brushed my teeth, took a shower, and otherwise underwent a fairly normal morning routine. Truth be told I was fairly proud of myself, I'm generally not an early riser, but I was up at the crack of dawn that morning. At most places I've frequented that would have been enough to leave me as the first one up, but the guys at this tower tended to be a bit too disciplined for my tastes.

But again, I can't complain, I'm getting paid to punch people.

So there I was, crack of dawn, hearing tale that the Master of Blades was currently available. I hadn't had the pleasure of interacting much with him in the past, but I had heard of his considerable skill. Normally I'd be a bit more skeptical, but when you were named Master of Blades in a tower full of swordsmen, you kind of had to some semblance of credibility to your name.

As I walked towards the training fields, a location I had garnered from one of the handful of knights still up, I couldn't help but think how quiet the tower was at this time of day. Normally, the tower was a bustle with all sorts of knights setting off on daring quests and challenging jobs. The noise of the place oft rivaled that of local pubs. Honestly the size of the crowds were something I could probably do without, I'm a quiet guy, loud noises don't suit me. However to hear things this quiet was, truth be told, unnerving, for the whole tower was but a man on his death bed.

I guess that spoke volumes about this mess of current affairs.

I swear, if not for the great perks, I would never have taken this job.

But again, paid to punch people.

As I walked out onto those training fields, I was greeted by an even eerie silence. Only a single man, practicing his sword form, laid claim to the fields at this hour. It was a rather peaceful sight, watching a master hone his craft, rather like the drunken samurai I once trained under. I actually felt a little bad for interrupting him, but there wasn't much I could do it.

"Yo." I raised a hand in greeting accompanied by a jovial grin.

I was good at those.

Megelis hadn’t bothered with his power armor as was typical for him within the walls of the Tower. The forms came easily as he flowed through them Crouching Falcon, Twined maces, Two cranes, Dragon’s Revenge, Wild Glare, Darkness, Blind Grace. The forms were old and his muscles carried him through them as he approached the more difficult forms he spead up. Dancing Serpent, White Tiger, Walking on Water, Dragon’s Grace, Forked Lightning, Defending the Temple, Plum Flower. Even with all of his years by the time he was done with Plum Flower a sheen of sweat coated his forehead. Continuing to move he began with Warriors path, as Megelis began to transition into Seeking the Bridge his concentration was broken by a “Yo.”

The blade halted mid stroke as he turned to look at the new comer. “You know I’ve been working on that transition for three weeks and I think I had it too.” Megelis face broke into a smile.“You aren’t one of the recruits are you? Yet I don’t think I’ve had the pleasure of making your acquaintance.” Is this one of Shard’s hand picked members? Megelis shrugged off the strange feeling as he extended his hand hand palm up. It was a calculated gesture; Megelis refrained from offering a traditional handshake in favor of a Korval greeting to see how far the newcomer had traveled. The proper response was to extend first one and then the other hand palm up to show that they were carrying no weapons at which point he’d offer his other hand as well. It was safer than a handshake as you could break someone's hand easily with a traditional handshake. Not that Megelis would be offended if an improper greeting was extended. It was largely habit combined with curiosity.

The morning began like any other for Vitalis. right at the crack of down she rose form bed, the tower still quiet around her save the impatient scratching at the window from her hawk Fay, she had let him out at night to hunt and stood waiting on the ledge for Vitalis as she pulled her boots on and walked over to the window, sliding it open and letting the hawk fly in and perch on the headboard of her bed. Closing the window again Vitalis returned to her wardrobe. JUst putting on a simple tunic and a pair of pants she went out to start her day.

This early in the morning she was surprised to see some already up and about, going on with their tasks while the red head made her first stop at the mess hall to get a quick meal. Coffee was of course on the menu but Vi avoided the drink, staying away from stimulants because she feared a reliance on them would effect her concentration as a sniper. An apple and some toast would suffice, with wild berry jam. Taking her meal with her Vitalis went out to wander the halls, other recruits moving about now train of speak with the leaders of the guild. She knew that the master of Blades and Mistress of Shadows would actually be available to speak to today but for someone like her Vitalis saw no need to speak to them. the two focused on area of expertise she saw little need for when you preferred to engage your targets at long range so instead she headed to the shooting range.
Checking out her rifle from the armory Vi carried it over to a free table and started disassembling it, oiling and cleaning the parts even though she knew she had done it three times the night before but this rifle was her prized possessions. Not many of it's kind existed since it was not a energy weapon. The shard rifle actually fired pieces of crystal at a high velocity, with enough power to penetrate armored targets at long ranges. Reassembling it she smiled and walked to a free booth, loading the energy pack and then opening the chamber she loaded a green crystal cut to the shape of a cylinder so it fit in the chamber she closed and locked the safety, shouldering her weapon and taking aim. Starting with targets at the three hundred meter range just to warm up.

What was considered early in the morning for most people was already 3 hours into the average day of Irving Whitepaw. Admist a cluttered workshop scurried a small Gæian, just over 4 and a half feet. The workshop itself was a rather small building pressed into a corner of the Guild's more expansive Airdock- where its small fleet of personal airships parked, departing for missions, commutes, and other such tasks that required the power of flight. The Workshop itself was fairly modern, made of ferrocrete and durasteel to provide durability to the frame of the building, whereas the innards of the workshop were coated with hardwoods, bronze, and brass- these materials commonly believed to be more conducive of magical material.

The interior of the workshop however, concealed any of these cultural roots completely. Walls were covered in shelves cluttered with bits of metal and half built contraptions. Work benches and drafting boards weighed down by partially completed blueprints sat by the walls. The central portion of the workshop was marked by the presence of a sunken floor- made from extremely tough and durable tungsten carbide, over which a half constructed suit of power armor was suspended by a pulley system of chains. An alchemy and enchanting booth sat nearby the sunken floor, a few vials of some sort of glowing blue-white liquid currently being heated and bubbling. A door in the corner of the room led to the rest of the workshop- a hallway that led to Irving's "office", a more complete magical and alchemical work station for which substances could be tested in a controlled area, and a garage for smallship and vehicle repair.

Irving has just returned from his alchemical room, walking over to the smaller scale alchemy station to turn off the flames that heated the glowing liquids. Pulling one of the vials from its stand, Irving inspected it closely with his goggles, giving it a small swish in his hands before he was satisfied. Reaching into a drawer and pulling out a small set of half a dozen chrome tubes, Irving set them up on a table and poured the glowing liquid into each of them, capping them off with a chrome cap when he finished. Each chrome tube was about the size of a battery, and had a clear slit in the side so one could see the contents within.

Extending his left arm, a slot in Irving's cyber arm slowly flipped open, revealing the top of a chrome tube within. As he pulling the tube out, he felt his arm grow rigid, as it lost power. The liquid inside of the tube he had just removed was dull and viscous, and Irving quickly placed it in a box with other discarded chrome tubes. Placing a fresh one into the slot, Irving closed the slot and felt his arm come back to life. Placing the rest of the plasma batteries into a pocket in his satchel, Irving returned to his current project: a suit of powered armor for a member of the Guild.

The powered armor was one of Irving's more complex creations, it required a large amount of materials and resources that the client had luckily provided, and was built of rather tough carbonized steel alloys, reinforced with magically enhanced duramantium. The armor plates however, were simple to make, and could've been made by any magical blacksmith of moderate repute, it was the system that controlled the armor that was extremely complex. Duramantium, as its name implied, was extremely durable. A box of half-inch thick duramantium could withstand anything short of a tactical nuclear weapon, with its contents still intact- of course the explosion would probably destroy the bindings and latches which were likely made of lesser materials, but that was a different issue entirely.

The main issue with Duramantium was that it was prohibitively heavy, a cubic inch block of durmantium weighed 25 pounds, compared to steel, which weighed close to a third of a pound per inch block. Thus, in order for Irving to be able to even try to make a wearable suit of armor, he had to develop a hydraulic system for the limbs and legs- so the user could walk without eventually grinding his leg joints into dust from the weight of the metal. Duramantium was also ridiculously difficult to shape, due to its high resistance to, well, everything.

The building of the armor was taking quite a while, so Irving took time to work on his own personal projects while he was waiting on his hydraulic system to work. He had already been working on new formulae for mana-based explosives, making them more intense, but more controlled, which would allow the explosives to be used for breaching purposes, well suiting his own role within the guild as an infiltrator and saboteur. The explosives would also allow him to-



A dull thump could be felt throughout the tower as the back room of Irving's workshop exploded, the ferrocrete building thankfully staying in one piece, and an intricate series of valves releasing the explosive energy in a manner that wouldn't set the rest of the tower on fire.

Irving sneezed, sending a fine layer of soot and magical ash flying off of his body. He wiped the soot and ash from his goggles, as he looked around his workshop. The rest of the workshop, had thankfully been left intact, with things only slightly messier than they were before. Irving lifted the goggles from his eyes.

"Well, that wasn't supposed to happen." he said with a shrug, as he sneezed a second time. Moments later, Irving was vaguely aware of Omicron, his service android walking towards the back room with a broom and dustpan.

“This is your warm up right? or was I wrong in assuming you are the sniper I was lead to believe you are?” The older man was dressed in a plain grey robe and wore a pair of wire rimmed spectacles which had been out of date for almost 1000 years. The Master of Word was hardly an imposing figure but he was the oldest Master the Tower had and all of the current members as well as the current Masters and Mistresses couldn’t remember a time when the old man hadn’t been there.

Avory smiled, it wasn’t condescending but it was purposefully direct at her pride. “You don’t mind if I watch do you? Christian started looking to put together a team a few hours ago and I was curious after I’d read your file.” He gave her another look out of the corner of his eye. Looking to see if there was a reaction.

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The Tower of Stars guardian A.I. materialized in a vaguely humanoid form of magical code beside Irving. “Is everything under control?” The A.I. seemed concerned but not condescending as it had learned since Irvings arrival that such things were to be expected.

Sentinel was fully capable of defending and repairing almost all of the Tower of Stars but it was a rare occasion when he did.

With that Sentinel produced a rectangle of glass and set it on the table next to Irving. “Christian has a job in mind for you as well as a potential job offer. He did not give me specifics but it sounded like it had to do with your work here. See him when it is convenient. The code glass has probationary Master of Steel codes on it that will expire in a weeks time should you require use of the Forge.”

Darkness is silent, patient, like a sly handsome man..

Marielle could use an attractive distraction right now. Something alluring, fascinating, breathtaking. Instead she had to stare at an old wooden door, crystal eyes drooping. The girl used the nearby wall in the wide corridor as a temporary bed, attempting to get a few minutes of rest to pass the time. Perhaps then she would dream of something interesting. The image of a man, a familiar man with chestnut hair and a smile like warm lanterns at night time seeps into her mind like dripping paint. Her mouth twitched in the faintest of smiles before the sight rips into something not so warm. A woman with blonde hair and a pirate cap, and though her one eye was red, it was cold as newly melted ice. Marielle didn’t even try to fix her posture, just slightly opening her eyes at the woman to show her mild annoyance at the disruption.

“About damn time.” Marielle smoldered.

Raven said nothing, she just glanced at the girl, then walked further from the massive twenty-foot door from her quarters. She didn’t have to say anything to have Marielle understand to follow her, just a small gesture of her hand.

Marielle half followed, half stalked. Lady Marrowblade was her prey for a good time, for any kind of task she got was through her, and as much as the strange girl would hate to admit it, she was out of options. Raven noted Marielle’s dismay, and she frowned slightly.

“What troubles you, child?” The pirate queen’s smoothly cut voice had a string of concern laced into it.

Marielle didn’t have to think twice before she spat out her answer.

“Everything is just so fucking boring! I want a real mission, not knock off bullshit chores. Can’t you give me something else to do other than wiping your ass all the time?!”

Raven sighed, then turned to face Marielle as the duo reached the afterdeck on blackwing. No sooner than Raven’s look of discontent had crossed her features it was replaced with one of patient amusement.

“I need you to grab me the files for the most recent autopsy reports and death investigations in the last few months. It should be a building in the ToS that’s being guarded by a fae named Zachary Crow.”

Marielle was in the process of groaning as Raven held up her hand slightly.

“Then, when you’re done, I have a mission for you.” Her eye glowed like a cold flame.

Marielle’s blue stare flecked with curiosity. “Huh?”

Finally, under the shadow of the sail, Lady Marrowblade grinned like a Dark God.

“Tell me, what’s your opinion on pissing off Law Enforcement?”

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“Holy fuck, it smells like shit in here.”

The sound of a rather surprised woman blasts into the room, the crack of a door slamming soon following. Any living being would be able to recognize that voice anywhere. In fact, if you didn’t recognize the voice you will soon learn to.

Zachary sat perched on a stool observing a flayed corpse he’d had the med bots open up for an autopsy. “..subject has internal trauma to the liver-” He cut off and turned to look over his shoulder at the noise from the entry way. “If you die because you walked out of here with some sort of virus stuck to your boots because you didn’t put on protective gear i’m going to stick your soul in a jar.”

“Is that a threat or did your balls just get cramped up?” Marielle scowled and leaned over to the side, carefully staring at Crow’s current project. “I’d bet it was the latter. Since I interrupted you playing with your...fetish.”

“Hey why don’t you go play in the crematorium, I’ll even turn it on for you.” Crow leaned over and sniffed her. “And I’m not sure why you’re talking about smells.” Crow gave her a smug look. “It’s not a fetish it’s a fascination. Perhaps you’d like to get you choice of words correct.” He continued to survey the corpse.

As if it were normal conversation Marielle stood beside him to observe what he seemed to be looking at. “How did this dumbass die?” She was tempted to poke it with some kind of stick but held back the urge. “Oh, and before you get any ideas dipshit I came here to get some information for the old bitch. She wants some records on the dead or some stupid thing like that.” Her eyes didn’t wander from the corpse.

“Cardiac arrest due to Internal trauma to the major glandular organs due to an unknown cause.” Zachary swiveled towards her. “Shard wanted the autopsy done as soon as possible. What did Lady Marrowblade want? I have case files or did she want the autopsy report for this particular case?”

Marielle’s fingers found her chin, rubbing the pale skin as she recalled her current task. “Just case files I think. I don’t get the old hag sometimes, but hey, she gave me some cool new shit so might as well do somethin’ about it.” Her eyes finally met Zachary’s, and as she stared an observant pout found her lips. “What the fuck is wrong with your face? It looks like a raisin.”

Zachary did something truly strange. Reaching up he grabbed his face and peeled the skin off of it to reveal an alien beautiful face of a man in his late twenties. The features were so stunningly beautiful that it hurt to look straight on at Zachary. “My real face is a bit harder to use since it tends to make people go slightly crazy. Something to do with being Fae.” Zachary rubbed his face and it returned to normal. With that he swiveled his chair around. “Oh hey check this out.” Zachary waved his hand and a keyboard of energy appeared in the air. “Archive, pull the case files for the last two years. Highlight unusual cases and order by case number, unusual cases leading followed by the other case files.” He turned and grinned. “Watch this.” A being made of coding rose from the floor “Files pulled. Write to a medium?” Zachary turned “What shall I have Archive write the files to?”

Marielle’s eyes widened in admiration. “Here, use this for the files,” The girl held out her hand and a purple energy oozed around it. If Zachary stared long enough he could see that the same energy also glowed from the inside of her outlandish magician’s cap, hanging behind her head from a small glowing string around her neck. Before time could follow the will evaporated into a gas, and when it subsided a small rectangular piece of glass took up the space in Marielle’s palm. Before the Fae could react Marielle jammed the device into his grip, then crossed her arms impatiently. “Don’t keep me waiting..Raisin face.” She grinned at his new nickname, showing her perfect white teeth. They almost seemed fake when she revealed them behind the seal that was her pink lips. “Doesn’t matter what you have underneath, the outside still looks like shit to me.” The thought of the perfectly shaped face crossed her mind again absently before she brushed it off.

Zachary turned back around in the chair “That’s Croweater to you, brainless”. Zachary held his hand out to the Archive “Write to medium”. The Archive touched the piece of glass and blue, red and green lines etched themselves through the glass before the Archive removed its hand. “Write complete, do you have any other tasks?” Zachary smiled, he loved this thing it had made his life so much easier since he’d discovered it. “Tasks complete” The Archive dissolved into the floor; Zachary spun back around and tucked the piece of glass under the strap of Marielle’s suspenders calmly as her arms were crossed. “Will that be all? Or did you have something else you needed. I’d happily let you play in the crematorium.” Turning back to the cadaver on the table he added “Or have vulture chase you out of here.”

Marielle slowly grinned with ominous madness, re-securing the hold on her gloves. “Play with fire and you’ll surely get burned. If I play with fire, the result is the same.” She took the glass harddrive out of the strap and put it in-between those disturbingly white teeth. The girl leaned in closely to Zachary, the two completely different faces mere inches away from each other. Her sick humor wanted to gauge some sort of reaction for her own pleasure.

“Your sorry ass will be handed to you.”

With that she chuckled hoarsely and spit the glass out of her mouth off to the side, the result having it evaporate back into purple smoke for her hat to snack on. Marielle leaned back slightly but kept her smug posture, leaning on a nearby wall. “Got any other bright ideas on how to get your precious place burned to the ground?”

Zachary leaned in closer so that Marielle could smell his breath. It smelled of burning cedar and strange incense. “Please, there are those that fear death and those that are death.” His face split into a grin “I have fire that will burn even you darling so best not to prod the croweater. You might get burned”. Zachary twisted his head and looked at her face slowly. “Anything else you needed?” His eyes snapped back to hers.

Marielle wasn’t phased. She just stood and contemplated his question for a moment. “Nah, I don’t see anything that I need.” She stated, looking him straight in the face. With that she turned on her heel and prepared to walk out the door, her heels making gentle claps on the ground.

“There are also those who don’t give a shit.”

And Marielle Spade left the building, task completed.

Christian brought up his master list and selected a member with a file listed only as Revenant. “Senechal, Would you please alert this member and have her report up here for me? Have Archive put a lock on her file, create an Ops file and compile a personnel list for selection.” With that Christian stood and stretched. “Have Revenant report as soon as possible. I’ll be here. Pushing open the window of his office Christian climbed into the thick sill of the window to enjoy the spotty sunshine through the clouds of last night’s storm. “Oh and when you’re done have Archive send Raven the Op file so she knows what is going on.”

Adéla started slightly when the AI in the corner popped up, the hard light flickering to life with an electronic hum as the unit booted itself up after a long period of disuse. She made a mental note to use it more, the features of the S14V3 model were fascinating, R&D alone had taken nine years if she recalled correctly. Still in use today, with some slightly modernizations.

She was also aware of the letterplay that had gone into making that model number. Someone had clearly planned that.

The AI waited patiently for her to acknowledge its presence, which she did, eventually. Grumbling as she pushed herself away from the computer, she walked over to the hologram, smacking her hand on the small panel near it, “Play message.”

Her personal AI wasn't the best at understanding human speech it seemed, and it needed to be given clear, and boring, instructions to function properly. No slang, no swearing, just speaking in a dull monotone that sounded like the speech-to-text machines of the previous centuries. She sighed, reclining against the wall as the AI began to speak, “Guild Master Christian Highfell is requesting your presence in his office. At your convenience.”

“The fuck?” Adéla muttered in surprise as the AI delivered its message. The Guild Master was summoning… her?

“Invalid command. Please restate your command.” The AI beeped at her, apparently it’d heard her muttered outburst. She’d have to fix that.

“Turn off.” Adéla snapped, striding briskly over to her equipment locker and stripping down, and just as briskly donning her armor. She also clipped her revolver to her waist, mainly a formality but she’d seen too many fiction plots start like this and devolve into a shootout, not that she was expecting that but…

Within ten minutes she was fully armored, with identifying insignia, and marching out of her quarters, barking a quick order to the AI to lock the door behind her.

Making her way to the elevators, she deftly avoided the streams of bodies that constantly flowed throughout the building, making her way against the current and towards the desired lift. She poked the button marked “Penthouse” and huffed in exasperation as the elevator began its ascent to the top, jolting her with the acceleration - someone had forgotten kinetic dampeners. Even though it was state of the art and traveled at speeds she’d really rather not think about, the trip still took a minute or so, and she pulled out her phone from its armored compartment under her arm and flicked through… whatever. The deceleration nearly shot the device out of her hand, and lifted her off the floor several centimeters.

She left the elevator grumbling about kinetic dampeners and made her way to Christian’s office, knocking as politely as she could on the door. “You wanted to see me?”

Christian looked up from his perch in the window and climbed down putting the deck of storms back in its case at his hip. “Yes I did. You’re ex Stygian Blade yes?” His hands flew across the projection above his desk and he snagged the list of on duty Knights as well as the transfer order to southgate prison. Turning them both so that Adéla could see what he had in front of him on the projection.

“I have a blackout transfer order for someone from the Stygian Blade Guild. I want to know who the government of Angel’s landing would have covered up like this and I want to know why they would be transferred to a prison like Southgate.” Christian sat down and steepled his fingers as he watched Adéla for a reaction. “Oh and when you’ve figured out who it is, will they defect and do you think you can break them out of Southgate.”

“Archive pull the blueprints and 3D render of Southgate prison.”

Adéla nodded, “That’s me.”

Looking down at the transfer orders she pursed her lips, mulling it over. “Now I’m not a complete authority on this. They literally shot me in the back before I could find out too much, but I can reliably say that it’d be one of three people, two actually, since I shot one of them in the face a year ago.”

She looked back up, “One is just a high level enforcer who got too big for his boots and managed to nearly bring a lot of things down and make off with enough money to buy a small fleet of private yachts. The other would be Ludelle Glowren, Elf and elemental cross, brilliant hacker, too much along the good side of the alignment chart to be allowed to roam free once she found out some of the nastier details of the Stygian Blade. I’d bet you that’s who they’re transferring.”

Looking down at the blueprints and 3D rendering, she traced out several potential paths with her finger, a plan taking shape in her mind. Slowly a devious grin came to mind, “Oh yes I remember this. I pointed out this flaw in their security once actually, granted it wasn’t to anyone who would be in a position to fix it since I anticipated having to escape at some point, never thought I’d be breaking in.” She looked back up at Christian, “Yeah, I can break her out. And from what I know of her she’d be happy to help. I’ll do it on one condition, I get to kick in the doors.”

Christian smiled at that. “Good, then you’re going to need Megelis and you two will need to start picking people for your team.” Christian started typing on his hard light keyboard. “Archive give me all the active members exclude Masters and Mistresses other than Master of Blade, add a potentiality for an inclusion of the Master of Steel.” Christian looked up. “Hmmm, firepower. Include provisional Master of Arms credentials for Revenant allowing access to the armory.” Christian started typing again “Is there anything else you will need?” Archive constructed itself and produced a chunk of smooth rectangular glass writing the information to it via a series of different colored wires. “When you need access to the armory, Sentinel will assist you.”

Adéla already had some impressive firepower of her own, the Mars IV and Mars XII pattern rail weapons were in fact top of the line premium - but there was top of the line premium, and holy shit this isn’t even on the market yet and Good gods I could build a tank with the equipment here!

Somehow a plain old premium rail revolver just didn’t match up to what she knew lay in store for her in the armory. She grinned like a particularly devious child who’d just been given the key to the world’s most dangerous candy store, rubbing her hands together in anticipation. “Oh, this’ll be cake now. And here I thought I’d be making do with the bare minimum.”

Christian looked up at her and gave her a long look. “Please, I have the heart of storms and the Ace of Storms. There is so much I’ve collected in my time that others can make better use of. Don’t forget Megelis. I think he’s down in the training grounds.” Christian went back to typing. Adéla had been dismissed.

It was morning, and the painful peace of Ludelle's prison block was interrupted by the loud sound of sliding metal bolts. The door on the far wall opened and the catwalk extended out as it did every time a guard was on patrol, only this was an odd time, and unexpected time. Three sets of footfalls jumbled the airwaves with their musical rhythm as they came closer and closer to Ludelle's cell. They stopped right next to it. Someone was being put into the corner cell near her. It was some prisoner, some trashheap, some lowlife dealer... doubtful it was anyone of interest, but from her cell door, she could see partway into the next cell. Two guards stood beside a tall man with long black hair in shackles and prison uniform as they unlocked his cell.

Damien glared forward. The problem with secretly working for Star was that... nobody knew you were working for Star. Much to his annoyance, they had taken his gear and weapons. Damien had been instructed to simply surrender if ever he was caught and arrested, but there was one thing on his person that he absolutely refused to surrender, and it was a problem every time.

"Hey." One of the guards took notice. "What is that you have around your neck? A ring? How did you get that passed the entry scanners?" He grumbled in frustration. He didn't have time for this rebellious bullshit.

Damien quickly interjected. "This ring keeps me alive. I will not let you take it from me."

The guard had no doubt that whatever the prisoner said was a ridiculous lie and reached for the ring inside Damien's shirt anyway. If it was worth anything, he could sell it, say it "got lost" in processing, and make himself a little tip. "You don't get a choice..."

The guard's wrist was suddenly and forcefully grabbed by both of Damien's shackled hands, but what surprised him was the sharp, unexpected pain of his skin and muscle being deeply frozen solid inside Damien's hands. He cried out in shock.

The second guard pulled out his stun weapon, not yet realizing his friend's flesh was turned to ice. "Let go now, or I will drop you to the floor, prisoner!"

Damien bears his teeth, half angry and half smiling, almost as if he wanted it. "Go head. GIVE me a reason to die."

Of course he was shocked by the guard's taser and released his grip.

"Surrender the ring. You must comply." The guard with the taser wasn't taking Damien seriously.

Damien growls and staggers. "Never." He says, as if he had said it a hundred times before. This was why he so hated getting arrested. The enforcers were retarded.

The guard whos arm wasn't frozen proceeded to beat him into submission, only to suddenly recoil in pain as soon as he laid hands on Damien.

Rubbing his arm, the first guard spoke, "Forget it Jeb. This guy's not worth it."

"Grr, I'm going to teach this scum-hacker a lesson." But the truth was, Jeb felt really weak for some reason. Hacking really wasn't Damien's forte.

Finally, Damien is kicked into the cell, in which Damien was compliant enough to go. He had succeeded in keeping his ring, although much to his dismay, he didn't get to die. His vengeance would only be delayed.

The two guards left, intent to make Damien's stay a very unpleasant one. Damien crept to the back of his cell to meditate, pray, and plan.

He had only just finished his first, and Justin already wanted another cup of coffee. Not for the caffeine so much as to have a warm drink to carry around. Tiny little thoughts like that were always flitting through the background, in and around the larger observations. Things like how long it took to get from his quarters to one of the Tower's primary arteries, a hallway that connected several of the more important locations within the building. Two minutes at a brisk walk. Three at a more leisurely one, similar to how he was moving now. Even those, however, were largely meaningless. Facts that might one day have their use, but for the moment, were just taking up space. They were just to try and entertain him a little.

He had yet to see anyone else in the hall, but he suspected that could be blamed on his timing. The early-risers were already out and about, and the later-sleepers had yet to even get out of bed. Just the right time (or wrong time, depending on your perspective) to catch the lull between the staggered groups.

Even so it didn't take too long for his path to intersect with another traveler's. A young man about his age, and by the look of him headed to about the same place. Justin gave a half grin and raised his hand in a lazy wave.

"Morning."

"Morning." came a voice from directly to his left as two halls merged into one near the stairwell. Turning his head, the crimson-haired Kleinsmann found himself automatically mirroring the lazy half-smirk and wave. A young man, as in "man full of youth and vitality" and not "kid", about his age wore the original of the pair of grins, on a face framed by a more standard and less outlandish shade of brown hair, ass opposed to Otto's anime-looking do that served as a decent alibi were he ever suffering from a case of chronic bedhead.

"'Ey." he replied cordially, as their paths fully merged towards the stairs downwards, undoubtedly both for breakfast. He could already imagine the delicious smell of those freshly baked cinnamon buns, packed full of more simple carbohydrates than you could choke a horse on...

"Mornings, huh?" he asked conversationally, swiftly turning about face and backing into the door to the stairwell, both pushing and holding it open behind him, letting his newfound compatriot walk through unhindered. "Man, we caught a weird time. Usually ain't so quiet around here."

Indeed, the halls were almost eerily serene in the grey area between "early morning" and "late morning/early afternoon". An unusual, but not altogether unpleasant breed of peace.

"Figured they wouldn't be. Haven't been here in the morning before, though, so I couldn't tell." Justin slipped through the door easily, nodding his thanks to his new-found companion as he started down the stairs. Judging by his behavior so far, the other man was a decent sort. Perpetual bedhead, by the look of it, but polite and talkative. Always a good thing. "Afternoon and evening, yes, night as well. But mornings are new. Good time to see who else is around here, too."

"I'm Justin. Good to meet you." The investigator continued, hands loosely slipped into the pockets of his pants. He descended the stairs as leisurely as he had moved through the hall, though this time he slowed a little more so as to not pull too far ahead of Otto. Holding the door had cost him a few seconds, obviously, and Justin didn't want to leave him behind. "Been here long, Mr....?"

"Otto." the young swordsman replied with a smile, letting the door shut on it's own as he jogged down the steps to pull after Justin. "And nah, not really. Maybe about a week or so. I'm usually up 'bout a couple of hours later than this, but hey;" he replied, before making a bit of a show of hungrily rubbing his belly for a laugh. "At least the lines are gonna be short for breakfast, right?"

This was Otto Kleinsmann: Always a silver lining somewhere. While Justin seemed a touch more laid-back than he, the guy seemed cool enough from the get-go. Holding a conversation like this this early? You had to be a pretty decent dude. You just did. Polite guy, too. Remembered to introduce himself before Otto did, at any rate.

"Oh man, those Cinnamon Buns they have here, though..." he repeated aloud, a wistful look gracing his face. "Man, you're gonna have to have one. Just one of those and you'll be ready for your whole day. It's like they came up with culinary magic to make them."