The Shadow & Storm Pub, Tale's End Slums, Magnagrad
"There came a time, when the world quieted but for the hail's thrum beating through the mountain, and a Goddess wailed for the blood spilt, a woman's lament, the song of the frozen dawn."
"Darling Lanostre, lady of the spear, unfurl thy skirts, unclasp thy cuirass, and allow the Hungry Lord thy secret heart!"
As Kadenza hummed along with the final verse of the Lady's Favor, Sister Mel looked at him and felt the old hurt bubbling up to the surface again. The two of them were sat at his table in the gambling den of the pub, surrounded by a ring of Godless pirates from the icefields. Around them, the other tables were occupied by men she recognized as gamblers, smugglers and other neredowells from Tale's End as well as other slums. Mel paid little mind to them and to the dangerous-looking ice pirates who stood with weapons drawn surrounding their client. The only thing that mattered to her at that moment was Kadenza. And there he was, casually leaning back in his chair, seemingly unfazed by the threat she had just warned him about.
"If you just surrender quietly they won't--"
"Please, Mel," he cut her off, bringing an ether cigar to his lips and drawing on it, "I'm trying to relax here, and quite frankly, you're ruining my night. I mean, it's nice to see you again after all these years but--"
"There aren't just soldiers out there. There are two
inquisitors. Right now they're being enlisted to help bring you in. You won't be able to buy your way out of thi--"
"Have I mentioned... How proud I am of you? Making it through the first three years of the Holy Academy. You're a star, Mel. Always have been."
He smiled at her then. And just like that, she was back there in 8-D5, huddling alongside him and the rest of the street children within the isolated bowels of the Pipeworks, stealing the warmth that radiated from the blooding machines. All those winters.... He had saved her from them and from worst. Now it was her turn to save him.
"Listen to me. I've been on the lam my entire life. I know what I'm doing. Do you honestly think I'd come to a place like
this just to play cards? No, Mel. I don't even like gambling. I came here because I knew I'd be followed. In fact, I am exactly where I want to be right now. And, so is Dragonov."
"W-What are you talking about?"
At that moment, the music in the bar stopped abruptly, and the sounds of people scurrying out of the pub could be heard. The men around them stood from their chairs with worried looks. Kadenza calmly rose from his chair and made his way to the back of the room, where he reached down to the floor and flung open a metal cellar door.
"Kadenza, is somethin' up? What's going on?" one of the gamblers asked.
Ignoring him, Kadenza turned to Mel.
"You should come with me. Don't freak out, but you definitely won't want to be here in the next five minutes."
***
Hassan was sitting on the plush couch while petting the wolf absent-mindedly, his attention focused on the book he held with one hand. Whatever he was reading, it surely must've been interesting, for Hassan wouldn't answer him no matter how much Ragnar called him. Stina was sprawled on the carpeted floor, his massive frame sleeping peacefully next to his wolf. At the far end of the room, Tatiana stood by the high window, the starlight bathing her the same blue as the mountains. She was gazing at the misted city, her own wolf sleeping at her feet. Ragnar called to her, but was met with silence.
It had been a long time since Ragnar, Hassan and Stina accompanied Tatiana on her demon taming quest, the years blurring the memories of the cloud-covered land of Lanostre into vague recollections. There were trees, he remembered. And Bridgetown, with its silly mechanical fireflies. He remembered walking through those impossible mountains, jealousy roiling within him, trying to keep a smile for Tatiana. His own homeland was a squat flat land, of... nothing. All that existed in Muraad was cold and emptiness. Nothing like this place... with its grand crystaline city, its castles and towers and epochs of history. The Lady of the Trident had bequeathed all her love to this land, while the Heart Lord had only passed on his... Ragnar didn't know the answer to that. What part of himself had Muraad gifted to his people in return for their love and worship? Had there ever even been an exchange?
In his dream Lanostre wasn't the hate-inducing place he remembered it as, but instead, it only stretched as far as the walls of Tatiana's bedroom. They had stayed in her family's manor during the trip, and Tatiana's room was much like he remembered it. Large, but oddly sparse. Was this how rich people lived?
She turned to him finally, and smiled.
"I think the wolves want you," she said, winking at him.
He opened his eyes and found himself lying on the church steps across the road from the pub, the ancient metal staircase digging into his lower back painfully. How had he managed to fall asleep out here of all places? He wagered it was way past his usual bedtime and well, keeping the Aegis drained him of a lot of energy. Perhaps this made him naturally tired. He was typically the first to bed among his brothers and sisters. Maybe there was something to this theory.
After rubbing the sleep out of his eyes, Ragnar noticed the wolves cubs trembling within his cloak. The blue one, with its strange amber eyes, was practically growling.
"Hey, hey. Calm down, little ones. Pop-Pop is here--"
Ragnar could barely finish the sentence before the cyan cub jumped from his lap and rocketed into the air. He could feel the strength of the cub's hind legs as it propelled itself forward, and as he sat there slack jawed, he caught a blur of blue speeding up the road.
"Wait! Come back!" Ragnar yelled as he scooped the rest of the wolves into his cloak and ran after the azure escapee.
He made it halfway up the road when he saw that the cyan wolfcub had stopped in front of an old dilapidated warehouse. The wolf cub was staring directly upwards, its golden eyes focused on an open window near the top of the warehouse. It was growling angrily, barking at whatever was up there. Ragnar slowly made his way to the wolf cub, and as he approached, he noticed with a mix of fear and amazement the size of the cub's fangs. Even at such a young age, its fangs were--
There was a mechanical hissing sound, and an instant later, a rocket sped forth from the open window of the warehouse.
Ragnar's dark violet eyes widened in horror. It took a split second for him to realize that the rocket's trajectory was carrying it to the pub, where at this moment, Stina and Hassan were...
Almost automatically, his body shifted into gear like one of Rodion's machines. He turned and ran as fast as he could back towards the pub. Concentrating all his ether on the muscles of his legs, Ragnar sped down the street, his white furcloak making him look like a b bolt of fuzzy lightning. He could hear the hiss of the rocket above him, inching closer and closer by the second. No matter what, he could not allow it to overtake him.
In one swift motion, Ragnar spun around and threw his hands forward. A sudden burst of light erupted from his palms, the luminous waves of azure magic cascaded upwards, interlocking and intersecting into a wall of powerful iron-like ether. The paling, appearing like a transluscent wall of blue ethereal light, quickly grew in size until it encompassed the entire street. Ragnar could feel the burning in his veins, the ether being stripped from his blood sending waves of scalding torment up his arms. He gritted his teeth, both to cope with the searing pain, and to brace for the amount of force that the rocket was about to unleash upon his paling.
The rocket collided with the paling and the resulting explosion annihilated the shield, shattering the magical construct into innumerable shards that rained down over the street and dissipated into azure mist as soon as they touched the concrete. The force of the explosion sent Ragnar flying backwards, his body crashing painfully against the facade of the pub, but somehow, he remained conscious. His arms burned painfully and there was probably something broken in his back somewhere, but he had stopped the rocket from reaching the bar.
It was the first time he had ever had to use a paling outside of training. Somewhere deep inside of him, he felt something akin to pride.
Maybe it wasn't all for nothing... All around him, people were leaving the bar, their faces stuck in strange, confused expressions-- none of them seeming to care about the violent explosion that had just occurred outside of their bar.
Summoning his strength and ignoring the howling pain in his arms and lower back, Ragnar struggled to his feet and ran back up the street towards the warehouse.
***
"I thought your friend was supposed to be the calculating one?" Dragonov asked Stina while side-eyeing Father Hassan, who was now swaying in place in front of the open doorway. Within the bar, the patrons were leaving in organized droves. Lycaon peered inside and found the band abandoning their instruments and stepping off stage, calmly joining the rest of the procession.
"Incredible," Lycaon whispered to himself.
"Sigh... We won't have to evacuate the place, thanks to you, but, this gave away our one advantage. Kadenza will know that something's up," Dragonov said to Hassan, trying his hardest to keep a measured voice. "If it's between capturing our target and allowing some lowlife slummers to get caught in the crossfire, I'd be perfectly comfortable with making that sacrifice. And so should you, Your Reverence," the Varyan officer added.
"Lieutenant. Father Qureshi has his own methods. In any case, he's not exactly of sound judgement at the moment. We can't blame him for that either. After all, this was his night off," Lycaon said, walking over to Hassan.
"Here. This will sober you up. Drink quickly."
Lycaon handed Hassan a small metal vial, before tossing one to Stina as well.
"Don't worry. It tastes like sweet virrigo tea," one of the SA grunts, a golden-eyed young man with a scar across the bridge of his nose, said with a smirk, "Just like grandma used to make."
Dragonov walked towards the doorway and readied his gunlance.
"We'll have to hit them hard and fast. The ice pirates are fair game. Kill them all and leave the targ--"
The sound of a massive explosion rocked the alleyway. The windows on the building opposite the pub shattered and the sounds of screams began to ring out all around them.
"On your guard!" Dragonov yelled as he dashed into the pub, Lycaon and the rest of the SA grunts not far behind him.
The dining room of the bar was in complete disarray. Whatever caused the explosion seemed to have spared the pub itself, but its shock waves had sent chairs, tables and other furniture scattered across the room. The instruments on stage were completely destroyed, while the large sword hanging from the wall had been displaced from its plaque, its massive blade now half-buried at the far end of the pub.
Dragonov was the first inside the dining room, and as soon as he entered, a storm of bullets fired upon where he stood. Almost instantaneously, Dragonov jumped behind cover, narrowly avoiding the spree of gunfire.
Six ice pirates were positioned at the opposite side of the bar. All of them were wielding heavy rifles with large, cruel-looking blades strapped to the muzzles. Their old-looking armor clanked together as they swiftly maneuvered from cover to cover, dodging the SA soldier's suppressing gunfire.
"You two! Be careful! That ammunition is enchanted and it'll tear right through any kind of paling!" Lycaon yelled to Hassan and Stina. The Lanostran was inching his way closer and closer to the pirates, jumping to and fro from cover. His weapon, the traditional Lanostran gunlance, worked best at medium-range.
"Come on. Show us your stuff, big man!" the golden-eyed SA grunt said to Stina, flashing him a violent grin.
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