Chapter 1 - The Dusking Sun
Between golden waterfalls of dusk light, a man who looked more ghost than human wove under eaves laden with ivy. As he limped through the delirious labyrinth of streets and buildings he favoured one leg heavily – each step of his left boot rang with the harsh click of metal against stone.
Taking one among many of his painful right steps, the man heard a tiny snap and glanced down - a shard of glass greeted him, peeking from under his heavy boot.
He reached down and lifted the shard to eye level with an attentive gaze. Its gleaming surface stared back at him with his own green eye – the same cat-sharp pupil and white lashes. A mirror.
For a brief moment as he lowered it again, something hazy seemed to peer over his shoulder - a passing reflection of a shadow behind him. When he turned, however, there was nothing there but a conveniently placed corner and a swiftly retreating breeze.
“Hide an’ seek, Schaduw, hide an’ seek.” the pale man growled. He could sense the presence of his quarry much like spying an adversary from the corner of his vision, heading away, towards something he couldn't determine. With a grunt from its carrier, the mirror’s eye turned yellow and winked out, leaving behind a quiet crack as the glass splintered on the stone floor below.
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Serenius Fawkes II awoke with a start and an ache in his back. The soft chime of the bells around the neck of the ship’s figurehead sounded soothingly. Their sound nearly sent him back into a doze even as he blinked, mumbled and floundered awake.
“…Hey…Why did nobody wake me?” the young male sighed to himself and straightened once his bright green eyes stopped drifting shut. As he had settled down to nap, the sun had been glaring at him from the highest point of the sky. Now it glowed a dimming shade of red as it was swallowed by the sea's endless mouth, leaving him alone with the lapping of the waves on the ship's hull - and a small piece of seaweed, if that wasn't a blessing. He sighed again.
The ship appeared deserted; everybody was below deck, most likely having fun without him, Fawkes, spoilsport, sissy, ninny. Fawkes liked to call it being the voice of reason, but his fellow sailors were having none of it. Petulantly, he cleaned his glasses with his sleeve before slipping them back on with a practised tap of his finger.
“Navigators get no respect these days.” he murmured, stretching the kink out of his spine and slouching over to the ladder. At least sleep wasn't going to desert hi-
“Ah, Fawkes!” a jovial voice hailed him from somewhere to his left.
“Captain Rage.” Fawkes turned, stifling a frown and inwardly waving goodbye to his nap - it seemed like it had deserted him after all. Rage jostled him, asked him how he was - where had he been all this time, the fool, he was missing all the fun! Sighing, rubbing his temples, Fawkes answered, evaded, edged towards the sleeping quarters...
“We're not far from the port, my good man. Verinn awaits! Now go get some rest already.” the Captain shouted, clapping his navigator on the back. Fawkes grimaced discretely.
Ruffling his navigator's alarmingly scarlet hair, the Captain grinned like a wolf and gave him an amiable clap on the back before continuing.
“Tomorrow, our beautiful Tidebreaker docks, and we... something!” he said, with an arm slung over his friend's shoulder and a hand sweeping, extended in a grand gesture. “Tomorrow, we prove ourselves worthy as men... As sailors!. You, you Fawkes, have helped us all the way. I thank you!”
Fawkes noted that the captain's weight rested a little too firmly on his shoulders. Bloody sailors, drunk at every opportunity, he thought to himself – and only himself.
“Ah, thank you sir.” he rasped, then scurried away before the old sea dog could injure his abused spine further.
He passed through a thick veil of smoke, cloying scents of salted meats and detonations of raucous laughter before reaching the fabled sleeping quarters. Casting one final glance in the direction he had come from, he undressed at his own pace.
With a quick, slightly concerned look at the lonesome navigator, Rage turned to his crew and roared:
“Long live the King!”
“Long live the skipper!” many of them laughed back.
“Long live my crew!” he rallied.
“And long live the rat that bested the cat!” cried the crew, and all fell about laughing. Though few knew why they were laughing by this point, a good time was a good time. Raising an eyebrow, Rage fell quiet and turned to the ladder.
“Anybody seen the boy?” he asked, suddenly more solemn. Receiving no answer, he headed to the weather deck.
“You, boy!” he called up to the mast. In the quiet of the ocean's calm arms, his voice carried enough. Enough for the a certain someone to hear, by any means. Silently, he stood with his arms behind his back, listening to the creaks, knocks and taps of the novice's descent.
“Aye, sir?” the child replied, bowing slightly. Rage scratched the short scrub of hair on his chin and scrutinised him.
“You alright out here, boy?”
“I am well, sir.”
“... You can come inside if you want, you know..” Rage said, inviting him inside. “Your shift ended hours ago, lad.”
Nodding, the boy turned back to the mast and, without a word, climbed the rigging . He was strangely graceful, nimble.
With a small sigh, the captain shrugged and strode back to his real crew. Silently hanging from the mesh of ropes, the novice watched the captain's head disappear, then finished climbing and dropped into the crow's nest.
He settled and balanced in his accustomed viewpoint. Closing his eyes for a moment, he allowed the ocean's breeze to ruffle his black hair unchecked, leaning back, far back – but he had work to do. A quick snap, a sudden change of position, and he was nestled again, sure-footed as a bird: Ready.
As he cast a languid gaze over the ocean, a distant patch of land appeared on the darkening horizon - it was the merest of dark smudges, but the boy had no doubts. No doubts at all.
Somewhere distant, a seagull gave a harsh cry.
A spark that was not the fading sunlight flared in the child's mismatched eyes and, slowly, his angel's lips curved into a cruel smile.
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“It is with great honour that we are to announce the arrival of the ambassador of the Republic of Hinter-Hohlstein: Austas Davion.” a strong male voice called from the sweeping steps that footed the palace at the heart of Verinn. An enormous pair of doors stood to unyielding attention behind the speaker: a tall man with loosely tied blonde hair, and a straight backed, regal stance. At his thighs, his clenched fists shook where no man could see their tremors.
Dotted around, or clustered in groups, a great many people gathered. Most were curious, mere observers, but some, those with scars, bruises, clothing from lands beyond Verinn, looked wary. One onlooker flexed a metallic hand with a hiss of steam and glanced around. Another crossed her cloak across her chest protectively. Around the square, those wary of the law hid away, shelled off, drew back.
Locked down.
Unaware of those skulking in the shadows at the corner of society, the man on the steps waited.
He was completely dwarfed. Above the vast gates that loomed behind him, two dragons coiled with their carved claws locked in static battle. Each was depicted with flawless detail; one was iron, fiercely angled with cruel eyes, the other snowy, elegant, carrying the grace of feathers in its pure white stone.
As the man turned to observe these timeless beasts, there came a sudden cacophony of wheels clattering against flagstones, pitched whinnies and hooves thudding on stone that came close to drowning out the bass shouts of the coach driver. As if he had never deviated, the man pivoted around to greet the newcomer. Part of him had always found Hohlstinian steeds tiresome, for they were 'ill tempered', in terms that wouldn't earn a punch from their masters – and they possessed enough brute strength to make that temper... quite formidable. In that sense they were perfect for cavalry, but carriage drawing was not something he felt they excelled in. Any more than a well-wishing worm was capable of daring acrobatic manoeuvres, at least.
Regardless, hen the heavy set frame of Austas Davion emerged from the wooden doors, the man on the steps dipped in a respectful bow, causing the hem of his cloak to brush the ground slightly.
“Sir,” he intoned gravely, then looked up with a perplexed expression. “Sir?”
Without so much as glancing at him, the foreign ambassador had disappeared back into the shadowed belly of the carriage.
Almost as soon as the blonde straightened, Austas re-appeared and, not wishing to appear disrespectful, the man bowed again. If Herr Davion left now he was soon going to learn what boot tasted like.
“Ah. Mr. Campbell. A pleasure to meet you at last.” a rough voice hailed him in affable tones. Campbell looked up to find a broad silhouette between he and the morning sun.
“And you too, my Lord.” Campbell replied, more out of courtesy than truth. Not to be fooled by such false sweetening, Austas chuckled. He knew.
“Your city is indeed as impressive as they say, whoever 'they' are. You are His Majesty's adviser, no?”
“When he listens to me, Sir.”
“Stand up, I'm an ambassador, not a god.” Austas grunted.
“Sir.” the slighter of the two stood and turned in time to see the monstrous cogs flanking the door roar into life. With a deafening grinding, clanking, screeching, the dual gates began to peel open.
Almost drowned out the metallic clamour and riotous hissing of steam, Austas guffawed.
“Doors too big to move without your infernal machines?” he bellowed.
Smiling nervously, Campbell nodded. He was long jaded to the magnificence of their nation's technology, but not to to Austas' boisterous nature.
As they watched, the mighty doors dropped into two slits in the stonework with a resonating, oddly satisfying boom. Overhead, the carved dragons spewed forth twin jets of steam from their mouths with a final small hiss.
“Impressive – interesting piping method, too.” Austas praised the grand machine as he craned his neck to squint at the spectacle. A single gust of chill wind ruffled them both as he lowered his gaze.
“It's all show, Sir. Please follow me – the crew of the Tidebreaker were delayed. Once they arrive, we can begin.”
I was a bit tired when I wrote that review. Most of it is good, but these location are bugging me:
