Chronicles of the Descendant

They stood by the shrine, contemplating the scroll it held.

Finally. It had been seven years, seven long years, since they last saw their homes. All for the roll of paper that stood before their eyes.

Logos walked forward, the wind playing with his blond hair. His once expensive coat was torn and streaked with mud, he looked disheveled, yet still managed to retain a manner of dignity.

"Are we ready?" he murmured, looking at the scroll. It seemed to glow faintly in the sunlight.

The other eight nodded, and gathered around their comrade, eager to see what was in store for them. Tension crackled through the air like lightning. Eros' heart beat faster. Musike was humming a quick jig under her breath. Even Chronos' eyes seemed more alive. Thanatos was leaning on his scythe, grinning darkly.

Logos took a step forward, arm outstretched. There was the collective sigh of eight quick intakes of breath. Logos hesitated, then took the scroll, goosebumps breaking out on his skin.

There was a buzz, a whoosh, a rising crescendo of pure energy thrumming. A bird screamed, then there was silence.

The eight, feeling the raw energy course through their skin. Their clothes blew back in a gale that was not wind, and their hair stood up on edge -- more so in Eros' case. They looked at each other, eyes wide in fear. Udor was about to scream, but was cut off by a massive boom.

The pent up energy exploded forth from nowhere, shattering the precariously-carved ziqqurat. Caramel stone fell ponderously, groaning in agony. Cracks cut into the platform, radiating out from the scroll, which was hidden in a crowd of dust. The noise was so loud it de-evolved into shattering static in the eight's ears.

Logos stood, triumphant, holding the scroll in his hand. He was glowing gold. Arcane runes spawned into life around him and flickered out.

"I... know."

His voice was deep and multi-layered, as if many were speaking, not just one.

"Now... I know."

Logos laughed, madly.

Eros coughed, spitting out blood. She managed to climb back up onto what remained of the platform.

"Know what?" she demanded, angrily.

"Everything..." Logos murmured. Another harsh laugh, like a hyena. "You are all..." he waved at his former comrades and friends, and rose from the ground a few meters, "...useless."
another laugh. "We are all useless." he held up the prophecy to the light. "We can't fight this..." he shook his head. "We were deceived, right from the start. We're doomed."

"What?!" Eros exclaimed. "What the hell are you rambling about? We didn't come all this way for nothing. Now, tell us what the damn prophecy says, you bastard."

"Shut up!" Logos snarled. "You are the first one to be useless. Had it not been for you, Martha wouldn't have died." His voice broke somewhat.

Eros narrowed her eyes. Wind kicked up, promising the wrath of hellfire. Sand swirled in the air.

"Don't. You. Dare. Blame me. For that..." she said, her voice low and menacing. "It was an accident!"

Logos drew his blade from his side. Slim and deadly, it seemed to emanate a blue aura. He pointed it straight at Eros' chest.

"Oh," Eros whispered. "So that's how it is."

She drew her knives. With a flick of her wrist, they dripped magma, setting the stones below her on fire. The granite oozed.

Logos flew at her, blade held in mid guard, diagonally to his chest. Eros flexed her legs and rose to meet him. They clashed, blue and red aura mixing, shockwaves of power mingling. Furiously, they sought to gain an advantage, but ten seconds later, gravity re-asserted itself, and they crashed to the ground.

Eros rolled and came up on a knee, just in time to block another slash. She struck out with her left arm at Logos' leg, but he kicked the knife out of her hand. He disengaged with a flick of his wrist and prepared to deliver the final blow.

"NO."

There was a blinding flash, and Logos flew back, as his blade hit a solid wall of light. It thinned into a lance, and Eros saw Dohs, looking determined.

As if carrying a mighty burden, Dohs turned, white cape blowing, and threw the lance at Logos. With a roll, the blond-haired hero managed to avoid it. He came back up, face bloody, and charged Dohs, blade trailing blue flames.

Eros had managed to recover her knife, and attacked Logos, coming in diagonally. She was about to pierce him through the chest, when a jet of water hit her, stealing the breath from her lungs, and throwing her down some distance away, dangerously close to the edge.

Out of the corner of her eyes, she saw the others fighting. Udor was now fending off an attack by Gen, and Thanatos' scythe was raining down wide sweeps against Chronos, who was doing her best to survive.

A gauntleted hand was held out to her. It was Dohs. His winged white helmet covered his face, but she could see him smile.

"Let's get the scroll back from Logos," he grunted.

Eros nodded and took the hand. She was lifted up, and together, they rushed Logos. He was fending off Udor and Gen, who were simultaneously trying to kill each other. They weaved and ducked in a deadly dance of steel and sweat and blood.

Logos saw them, out of the corner of his eyes, and waved a hand. A massive wall of blue flames cut them off. Eros threw herself sideways, but Dohs, burdened by his heavy armor, was not so lucky.

Eros did not have the breath to scream.

"Eros," Logos thundered. "You die now."

He raised his blade, and the girl was sure the red-stained tip was the last thing she'd see.

The blade fell.

Eros felt the sharp pain of it grazing her cheek. She opened her eyes... and saw a scythe blade protruding from Logos' chest, at heart height.

Thanatos, looking monstrous in his cowl and robe, leered. Blood poured down on the hand with which he was holding Logos still.

Death's vassal dropped his scythe and grabbed the scroll as Logos' dropped at Eros' knees, lifeless. He licked the blood from his hand.

"Now, let's see what all this fuss was about," he said, in his sing-song voice.

Logos touched Eros' knee. He whimpered, blue eyes staring right into hers. Then their flame was blown out.

Eros screamed.

She screamed and screamed and screamed, screamed all her soul out, in a cascade of fire, death and pain.

The ziqqurat was enveloped in red-white fire, and it burned.

And with it burned mankind's redemption.

~Tempé
(Chronos)

Seen from above, the city resembled a stage, set for one of those puppeteer shows my brother and I used to like. Men and women moved around like ants, each thinking their own thoughts and minding their own business, perhaps feeling like nothing is more important than reaching the goal they set for themselves that morning. And so it went, day by day - the never changing principles, the same thoughts thought by different faces.

I gently pushed the gear to its place, and smiled as the hand of the big clock moved. My instructor, whom I never called anything but Mr Arthur, looked at me from the other side, above his glasses, and nodded approvingly.
"That was very quick," he said, telling me something about how clocks work. On any other day, I could've listened to his voice for hours, and I'd never get bored by all the facts he'd tell - but this time, I was distracted by the movements on the square.

Like a river of souls, the crowd started gathering around the scaffold, called closer by drums and discussing so loudly, that I could hear them all the way up to the church tower. Like bees, their voices buzzed of the death they were about to see - to most of them, death of a stranger, but people never cared. It was a show, after all. A chance to visit the square, to gossip with their neighbours, cry or smile over someone else's fate and maybe remind themselves their lives aren't that bad when compared to some others.

I felt a familiar squeeze on my shoulder and Mr Arthur shook his head at me.
"Death is not something one should look forward to," he said silently. "Executions should be private. The dead should be given their dignity."

I bit my lip. Not all men live with dignity, I thought to myself, but I only shrugged.
"Can I go watch it?"

"Tempé," he said slowly, with a sigh, "executions aren't something one sees every day. It affects people."

"I've seen death before," I replied, turning to him. He was much taller than me - though it wasn't hard at all to be taller than me - but he eventually shrugged.

"So you want to see it wearing all its different masks?" He asked. After a moment, I nodded, and he moved from my way, looking somewhat sad. "Come back to the shop when you're done."

Without another word, I picked my cloak from the floor and left, wondering if I should feel guilty. I couldn't quite tell why I so wanted to see it. Perhaps because I wished to know how many men and women can innocently laugh at the tricks I do as Theo, yet watch in cold heart as someone dies in front of them. Perhaps because I wanted to know could I do it myself.

I left the tower, glancing up as I ran down the spiral stairs. Through the closest doors, the ones I just left through, I could still see my caretaker, his face turned to the back of the giant clock. Looking much further up, I could see hundreds of more stairs - and at the end of them, like some giant spiders with webs of ropes and softly shining under the light of setting sun, I could see the bells.

Helping Mr Arthur with the clock tower, I never got to climb all the way up. I wondered what it'd be like to stand under those bells, or are they as smooth at touch as they seemed looked from below. And more than anything, I wondered what the town looks like from all the way up there, and if time seems to be passing differently when one observes the sun raising every dawn and setting every evening.
*

Walls around the church casted long, deep shadows over the square, and for a moment I doubted my decision. I wasn't afraid of seeing people dying - I saw death as nothing but the end of time. Clock that stops working, last grain of sand falling in the hourglass, not something that can be fixed, but always leaving space for the beginning of a whole new cycle. No, what was holding me back, as cold wind blew to my face, wasn't fear nor any feeling I could've named. It was something that made my heart beat stronger, something that almost warned me not to take another step. As if a voice told me something was waiting there for me - something I didn't want to see yet, something I wasn't yet prepared to meet.

I shook my head, turning to glance back at the clock tower, and frowned as I spotted a figure. The boy couldn't have been much older than me, but apart from messy dark hair I spotted nothing before he turned and disappeared in the shadows again. Still frowning, I slowly backed off and continued my way to the scaffold. Judging from the clock up on the tower, which reminded me of a big eye always watching over the town and the people, around ten minutes were left till the hour, and I was rather sure at that moment the axe will fall.

Still glancing over my shoulder, I jumped as I bumped into someone. My hood fell off and a few gears and screws slid to the ground from some pocket, and the man I stumbled upon dropped one of the books he held.
Barely glancing at him, I crouched and picked up my clockwork pieces, handing him his book as I stood back up.
"Sorry, sir" I muttered, and then turned my back to him again and practically ran the rest of the way. Probably for the first time ever in my life, I felt grateful for being in a crowd.

I tried to push my way through people, yet some fat woman put a dagger under my nose, perhaps thinking I was about to rob her, so I backed off, holding to the edges of the crowd.
Like a lake, only made of people, I thought to myself, one could drown in it. A man would think they're giving gifts, seeing how many people gathered around.
I frowned a little, and then smirked as I spotted a tall light haired man sneaking behind the back of a fruit seller. Quite a look for a thief. Shaking my head again, I took some time to observe people around me.

A dark haired man leaned at some monument, reading a letter that seemed confidential - and not quite his, seeing that it had a woman's name on it - and he gave me a strange look. I quickly smiled and turned away, recalling why I never liked being among people. But no, you couldn't have listened to Mr Arthur, because you had a feeling you'd like to see this.. Some shield tugged my cloak, and I turned to them. It was a boy of maybe six, and glared at me with hunger in his eyes. What are kids doing here at all? I put my hand in one of the pockets, closing my fingers around a coin. I wanted to buy something for Mr Arthur and bring it back to the shop, as a form of apology for not listening to him.

"I don't have any money," I said, and a few people turned to me. What, is the word 'money' now as valuable on its own as its meaning is? The boy was still staring at me, so I gave in and took my hand out, hiding the coin between my fingers. With a gracious move, I circled my hand around his head, ending up pretending that I took the coin from behind his ear. I grinned as the kid did - they never failed to find that simple trick so interesting.

Looking after the boy as he left, I caught a glance from a man in brown tunics and a cloak. He was talking to some other child, and a long bow stood next to him, leaning at the wall. I frowned a little - I didn't like being seen performing unplanned tricks, even though I wasn't dressed as a girl. I turned my back to him, again with the same strange feeling. What am I doing here, again? I looked up at the clock, surprised to see it's barely been three minutes since I last checked.

"No, in fact I think you're much older than you say, but I'd sleep with you anyway."
I turned to the voice, surprised to find a noble-looking man with a sword probably more worthy than the entire Mr Arthur's shop, grinning at some blushed courtesan. That was subtle, I bit my lip not to laugh, and then turned away again as they spotted me.

Well now, I thought, letting myself disappear in the crowd in another direction, these days every glance means I wish to rob someone.
This time, I didn't push anyone - instead, I took advantage of my built of a toothpick, finding my way through people.
I found a spot on a pedestal of a pillar with some saint at the top. I climbed up, smiling a bit as I could see over the heads again. I liked looking at the world from above - and half a meter above was better than nothing, in this case.
*

It was strange to see a woman being led to the scaffold.
For a reason I didn't even know, I had been expecting a man, or at least someone who'd seem even a bit guilty - not a relatively young woman with messy brown curls, who's face seemed deadly pale under traces of what might have been both dirt and blood.
I could hear the drums announcing the arrival of the executioner. So you want to see it wearing all its different masks?, Mr Arthur's voice crept into my mind as the man in black stepped up.

As if by magic, the noises of the crowd cut off. Won't her blow of the wind, another second passed, and everything turned silent, as peaceful as the air right before a devastating storm.

Then the woman's eyes opened, light green and as if seeing through people, and she looked straight into my eyes.
*

Clock on the tower now only had one hand, pointing down as if showing at the remains of the church. Bells lied shattered in the ashes and dust, and walls stood cold and silent, splattered in blood, as dark red roses grew from the bodies of faceless dead lying around.
The square was burning, flames devoured the church and the towers, cutting through the darkness as screams of someone too far to reach almost composed a melody.

I was alone, surrounded by nothing but dead bodies and shattered bones of the city, and I didn't even have the tears to cry.
"Tempé.."

I turned so fast that the world around me blurred, and met my brother's eyes. He looked just like me, with same light irises and bush of dark hair neither of us ever managed to tame, calling my name though his lips never parted.

"Theo," I whispered, and found myself unable to move, unable to run to him, unable to ask all the questions I had.

"It's too late now," he said, his voice echoing around us as the flames still flickered around us. "Everything is gone. Destroyed." He stepped closer, catching my hand in his, never taking his eyes off mine. "Stop it, Tempé. You still can, it's still not too late."

"I don't know how." My voice was silent - so silent I could barely hear myself, yet I felt like no words even needed to be said for him to understand me. "Tell me how!"

He smiled a little.
"I knew I could count on you. I could always count on you. Now listen to me closely, sister dear - men will be responsible for you losing everything, men guided by what took me away as well. By greed and passion, letting their emotions carry them like a river would cary a fallen leaf. Find a man who controls that river - find a man who can whisper to water, and a person who wields magic as weapon."

I slowly nodded, still staring in his eyes, not even being able to think of looking away.
"When I do," I asked, as his hand slipped from my fingers as if he turned to nothing but a shadow or a spirit, "what do I do? What do I say?"

He looked at me with something between sadness and hope.
"You don't need to say a word, Tempé. All you must do is to make sure they don't live another da after you find them - and everything will be right."

My heart was barely beating. He wanted me to kill people for reasons I didn't understand - my brother, my twin, who knew exactly how I felt about knowing what I'm fighting for.
"I can't-"

"You must. I'm begging you, sis. I would never ask for what I don't think you can do." He gave me another sad smile, turning to dust before my eyes. "Don't you wish to see me again?"
*

I opened my eyes, so suddenly that I had to hold tightly to the pillar so I don't fall off from dizziness I felt.
The bells of the clock tower rang, shattering the silent like a sudden hit could shatter glass, the hands of the clock touched - and the axe fell down.
***

Raimi Gautreaux - Eros

Raimi smirked at the courtesan, his eyes wandering her considerable curves. Her lips curled into a practiced smile in response to his own.

“So how about it, then? Care for a bit of a tumble with a young dame?” the woman asked him, stepping closer to him and obviously misreading that smile.

"No - in fact, I think you're much older than you say - and while I'd sleep with you anyway, it certainly wouldn’t be for that price. If anything, madam, t’would be you that’d be paying me!" Raimi let his smirk split into a wide grin, his pure, powerful laugh startling those closest as he spun away, coat billowing. He turned to the gallows, where an official Crier, small contingent of guards surrounding a hooded prisoner, and the Executioner were climbing the steps. Time to cause some trouble.

“Hear ye, people of the Merchant District of Pantheos - ye have been deceived by one of your own! A woman you trusted with your well being, that represented you in the Council, has betrayed you! She has been found guilty of corruption at the highest levels, selling your secrets and syphoning off your hard earned funds to supply a society in the darkest crevices of the underbelly of this city!”

The Executioner stood behind the Crier, faceless - expressionless - boring, Raimi thought. He clucked his tongue and shook his head. Even the tools of the man’s trade - the massive axe and blank hood that were a symbol of tyranny and hopelessness in so many minds - were of simple design. Blackened iron, oak, and tweed, without adornment, flourish, or garnish. It was truly a crime that someone so symbolic in a world of emotional responses must be so boring.

The crier continued his tirade - the man had a gift for inciting the crowd, but it did not take someone of Raimi’s considerable talent to see that there was much doubt in the words he was saying. He smiled - perfect. Raimi ignored the man for now, for though his fervor and blind, zealous devotion to his cause was worthy of admiration, the cool, righteous confidence emanating from the hooded prisoner was intoxicating.

“For the crime of espionage, bribery, murder - Duchess Leona Frances Delacroix shall be executed. And let her rolling head be a lesson to all those who would undermine the authority of the Royal Family.” That simply would not do. Lady Delacroix had spent many days at his parents’ home - and the allegations against her were false. Raimi squared his shoulders and narrowed his eyebrows, all hint of humor gone from his eyes. He closed them a moment and cleared his mind, letting the emotion of the crowd wash over him.

Waves of disappointment, denial and outrage assaulted him, and he smiled at the sheer deliciousness of the intensity of the emotions. Delacroix had done much for this district of the city, revitalizing it with massive donations of gold from her personal wealth and securing trade routes with personally hired mercenaries that prevented loss and ensured delivery of goods. She was these people’s savior - and yet, their fear of the royal family stopped them from even speaking a word.

That simply would not do.

He strode forward slowly, placing a hand on the arm of a nobleman whose jaw was clenched in restrained anger. He let his fingertip linger a moment, sliding across the man’s shoulder and, in the process, urging him to act on his emotions. Adrenaline pumped into the man’s brain, and his fists clenched at his sides.

Raimi stepped past him, reaching out to touch another man and then to place a hand in the small of a woman’s back as he strode toward the gallows. He smiled as he heard shouts from behind him, merchants and customers alike calling out for justice and crying the constable's foul. The emotion was contagious; people brushed against one another as they shifted and raised arms in protest, passing Raimi’s seed of dissent from one to another as if it were a plague.

Soon, he was at the front of a crowd that was quickly becoming a mob. He smirked at the Crier, who stumbled over his words and trailed off as he realized the crowd had turned against him. His guards subconsciously moved their hands to their weapons, suddenly nervous. Raimi smirked and stared at the closest one, his eyes penetrating deep into the man’s psyche and prodding at that fear. The man tightened his grip on the crossbow in his hands, half-raising it toward the crowd as a bead of sweat formed on his brow. The other guards followed suit, easing their weapons from their scabbards and looking to each other and their Captain for help.

The Executioner stood there, emotionless. That would not do.

Raimi frowned and drew Pyre from his belt. The little elemental teemed with energy, the ironwood wand vibrating softly in Raimi’s grip as he leveled it toward the clock tower that was so prevalent in the Merchant Square.

He smirked and pulled the activation trigger on the wand, jolting the tiny bundle of raw power and exciting him into unleashing his energy. The wand flashed a brilliant orange, sending a tiny bead of brilliant energy streaking toward the clock tower.

That simply would not do.

“Cry havoc,” Raimi whispered softly. “And let slip the dogs of war.” The bead of fire hit the clock, and all Hell broke loose.

Thane - Thanatos

Thane watched, impassive, ax in hand.

There seemed to be some sort of commotion, a buzz stirring the crowd below. Thane heard the bells toll, solemn and powerful. He liked their sound, and he liked the new bell-keeper. He hadn't seen much of the fellow, but the bells were always in good condition, and always rang on time.

Thane stared down at the woman. She was trembling, face bowed, fists clenched, head resting on the stump. Thane grinned. He liked the ones who were afraid almost as much as he liked those who went, defiant, to their deaths. They all died, anyways. Under his hood, Thane grinned.

He shrugged his shoulders and hefted the ax with a well-practiced movement. His concentration was broken by a bolt of fire which streaked across the air and hit the watch tower above. He winced at the ensuing explosion.

This was the last straw for the already tense masses. They roared, and the crescendo of sound dwarfed even that of the cascading glass and metal. Carts were uplifted, stones were thrown, guards were dragged into the mix.

It was bloody, pure chaos, and Thane loved it.

He laughed as the Duchess seized the opportunity and bolted. She took two steps before Thane kicked her in the back of the legs, sending her crashing onto the edge of the platform, chin hitting the border. In the same fluid movement, Thane brought his ax down, burying it in her back with a crunch. Blood sprayed into the air.

Thane sought out the man who had started this. Their eyes met through the confusion. With a lazy grin, Thane saluted him with two fingers, foot resting on the Duchess' lifeless body.

Then the crowd covered their line of sight, attacking the guards, attacking each other, attacking buildings in their blind fury. They tried to swarm up the platform, trying to avenge who they saw as the killer.

Thane's smile widened. Well, Master Clarence had wanted him to make a big show of things. Perhaps he now had more of a show than he'd wished for.

He grabbed the chair the Crier had been sitting on and smashed it onto a florid man's face, sending him tumbling down onto three other people. Thane whirled around and kicked another in the gut, then delivered a cross-cut to his jaw. With the butt of his ax, Thane hit yet another man in the groin, then embedded his ax in his thigh with a backwards strike.

He noticed this one had a sword, and grabbed it as he keeled over. Thane parried a strike and felled his attacker, then he bent quickly and retrieved his ax, fighting with the two weapons.

He realized, however, he was in trouble. There were too many bodies, some moving, piled on the wood, now slick with blood, and too many rioters trying to get at him. He counted at least a dozen. He couldn't jump down safely, either. Well, time to get his hands dirty...er.

Thane felt alive. His own blood was pumping and that of his enemies was flowing. He could take anything and everything on now. He was about to charge, when there was another whoosh, and a bolt of lightning hit the platform.

It collapsed.

Thane groaned. He blacked out for a few moments, only to return to consciousness aching. He checked he still had his ax. He did, but his wrist hurt. Then Thane checked to see if all parts of him were intact. They were.

With a savage scream, Thane pushed away the debris and bodies that were pinning him down.

"Riot starter!" He yelled, brandishing his ax.

Kiran Aster - Dohs

Kiran bit into the flesh of an apple, feeling its juices escaping his mouth and dripping down his chin. He savoured the taste, slowly chewing the fruit as he strolled along knowing that it could be some time before he found himself in possession of such a prize again.

Annoyingly, he began to notice the presence of people and it wasn't just the usual bustle of a busy market place. Masses of people were surging together at the bottom of the street he was currently meandering down, their destination seemingly the same. The sight of people bumping into each other, squeezing through, stumbling made Kiran cringe and he dodged quickly into a side street.

He paused a moment to finish off the apple, including the core, and then spent a few seconds sucking the juices from his fingers. Wastage was a foreign concept to Kiran, it wasn’t like he had a body that would keep him ticking over when food was lacking. He was all lean muscle, skin and bone.

Wiping his hand off on his rough brown trousers, Kiran glanced around and noted a few large crates stacked against the back wall of what appeared to be a bakery. He sauntered over, checked for people and then pulled himself onto the first crate. He took the next one in a jump and then found himself a top the pile. From here he stepped onto the slate roof and thought about his next move.

From his position Kiran could see the throng of people filtering into the town square that lay in the shadow of the clock tower. He couldn’t help but feel a certain curiosity as to what was going on. The idea of that many townsfolk together in one place made his skin crawl though and even if he had achieved his top priority of ‘find food’ it didn't mean he wanted to spend the rest of the day getting jostled.

He stood for a while, considering the view before him, battling internally between curiosity and his hatred of people in general. The noise in the square seemed to be rising, angry shouts drifted to Kiran from his distant position and he cocked an eyebrow.

The clock tower exploded in a brilliant flash of light, dust flying into the air. Kiran felt his whole body lurch from the surprise of it, a thrill of adrenaline running up his spine. Before he had time to consider what he was doing, he was racing across rooftops towards the town square.

Kiran arrived just in time to see a darkly clothed man raise an axe, bringing it down with a sickening crunch onto the back of a woman laid prone on a platform. He managed to keep hold of his stomach contents, not wishing to relinquish the apple from earlier, and cast his gaze around. People were fighting, shouting, screaming. There was blood, lots of blood, and Kiran was suddenly very happy about his position on top of a wall that bordered the square.

“Riot Starter!”

The man’s voice drew Kiran’s eyes back to him as he started hacking his way through the crowd, his sole focus a blonde haired man in the midst of the melee. The man was firing off what seemed to be small bursts of light and as Kiran peered closer a stray blast hit the wall he was standing on.

The structure crumbled beneath his feet, caving in on itself and Kiran realised too late that he was falling right into the midst of the madness.

Phil Moroney - Filarghuria

Though he didn’t show it, Moroney was pleased with himself.

It was execution day and he had the best seat in town. He was surprised that nobody had thought of this before -- the clocktower had an unparalleled view of the square. Moroney sat in an alcove halfway up the tower with his notebook beside him and peered down at the rabble below.

Moroney’s frown relaxed a little as he watched. This day was reserved for leisure and he intended to extract every last drop of pleasure from it. Today he would see the Duchess Delacroix beheaded, knowing that her death brought him fresh opportunities. He had visited her in prison the day before and relieved her of the last of her secrets.

“Poor Leona,” Moroney murmured without compassion. “Did you truly think I’d start a riot for you, Leona? Ridiculous.”

She had been so desperate for a chance of escape that she’d relinquished all sorts of delicious information in exchange for Moroney’s help. Not that he had played his part, of course. Why waste valuable time and effort on a risky scheme like that?

If he had been watching more closely, Moroney might have noticed the agitation begin at the back of the crowd. He might even have recognised the son of the Gautreaux family right in the thick of it, urging the commoners forward with the softest of touches. Moroney only realised something was amiss when the Crier stumbled in his address.

His eyes widened and his frown tightened. What had begun as a docile crowd was swiftly becoming a mob. Moroney grabbed his notebook and started taking down names of the townsfolk he recognised. If he was swift he could bag a reward from the Town Watch -- they always paid well for leads after events of public unrest.

The next moment the whole alcove shook. There was a crash from higher up the tower, followed by a splintered ringing sound. The impact knocked Moroney and made him draw a thick black line through the rest of his page and he scowled. Not even this hideaway was safe from the commoners.

A series of shouts, and what sounded like a warcry, erupted from below. Moroney decided that he had better find a new vantage point. He couldn’t afford to get injured at a time like this.

Ugar - Musike

The church stood ancient and desperate, every nook and cranny, every crack between the old boards leaking sunlight, every creaky pew, every smell and every sight, each holding a treasure trove of secrets. And, of course, every sound, too. Ugar sat on the front pew, eyes on the floor in submission before the Lord. If Father Lawrence asked him what he was doing, then of course he was contemplating the Lord; but in truth, his mind was filled with that wonderful creaking of the pew. He closed his eyes.

Creeak, said the pew.

Jagged mountains sprung into his mind's eye, sharp like the edge of a saw.

Wooooo, said the wind through the cracks in the wall.

A river appeared snaking between the mountains; a great forest grew at their foot-hills, canopies swinging to and fro.

"Ugar!" said Father Lawrence. Ugar opened his eyes, and sighed. "Come, my child!"

"Yes, Father."

The pew made one final goodbye creeeaak as the mountain of a man arose from it, to be replaced with the thump, thumping of his feet. Father Lawrence, a small old man with a big mighty voice, watched the gathering of the crowd outside from his window.

"The crier is about to cry, my child. Go now; toll the bells. The Lord must be ready to receive the sinner's soul. If only she had spared some wealth for our church, perhaps things would not be the same. May the Lord have mercy."

"Yes, Father."

Ugar's voice never changed, but his heart jumped. The bells, the bells. Oh, how he loved the bells. So much more than the creaking of the pew or the thumping of his feet or the cracking of the wooden staircase leading to the bottom of the clock-tower. His fists tightened as he imagined the rope in them, and his muscles twitched as he thought of the feed-back the bells brought into them through the rope. Up up up, thump thump thump -- and there they were -- seven ropes to seven bells, each of which Ugar knew by name, each name pronounceable only through music.

Father said the Lord must hear, Ugar recalled; surely the Lord could hear better if Ugar were to use the largest bell. He grasped the rightmost rope, and twirled it around his hand so as not to slip. Butterflies rampant in his stomach with anticipation, he drew a long breath, and -- he shivered. So unusual, this excitement. He sure loved the bells, but never before had he been so looking forward to tolling them. The confusion lasted only seconds, as the music still begged to be created. He swung the rope.

Dong!

The sound washed over him like a shower made of mist. It made his insides vibrate, and it made his hand feel like rubber. With his entire body he felt the note erupt from the old bronze, curve downwards like the slope of a hill, roll like a boulder. But he would not let it disappear; dong! Another note slathered on top of the old one, their vibrations intersecting and twirling around each other. Dong! The masses would never hear the difference between the two, but Ugar knew of their play, and listened like a proud parent watched his child. The ringing breath of the bells filled him with insurmountable joy.

He was still smiling when he descended to the atrium, but Father Lawrence barely noticed him. He was looking out the window, some great worry creasing his forehead.

"What's wrong, Father?"

"I do not know, my child. The people are becoming restless." He then turned to Ugar and said: "I must calm them."

"No, Father." A strange gut feeling awoke and grew quickly from seeing the old man worried like that. "It's not safe."

"I must," Father Lawrence said, heading for the exit. "The Lord calls for my action. Do not follow me, my child. You know that the demon could enter you at any time when you leave the house of the Lord."

"No."

But Father Lawrence was already out the doors. The heavy thump of the door-bar outside confirmed that Ugar was locked in once again. It was a thick door-bar, Ugar knew, after he broke the last one trying to get out. Father Lawrence had no choice but to invest in tougher wood. He peered at the window for the thousandth time, and for the thousandth and first finding himself too small to fit through.

"My children!" Father Lawrence projected his voice over the crowd, standing at the steps to the church. "Do not quarry! It is the Lord's will to receive this sinner's soul!"

"You did this!!" a voice shouted from the crowd. "An innocent dies today! Where is your god to save her?!"

"God has decreed her to be a sinner, my child. Submit to the Lord! Repent, for it is not too late! His arms are always open!"

And then, the crunch of an axe buried in a frail backbone. All silenced for a moment that only Ugar's ears could hear as the young noblewoman tumbled to the ground; before she even hit it, the first guard sword slid out of its scabbard, and the first warlike scream sent one of the watchers-on into that sword.

Father Lawrence's words quickly drowned in the roaring din of the mob. Ugar's heart sped; he banged on the great door with sledgelike fists -- "Father, Father! Come back!" -- but not even his growing desperation could get him beyond the wooden barrier. Suddenly, another warlike scream, so close by; suddenly, a surprised shout that could only belong to Father Lawrence; suddenly, a metallic diamond shooting through the wooden door, covered with blood. Ugar fell backwards at this, and the sword withdrew again, letting the body it pinned to the wall fall down.

"No," Ugar said. "No."

No. Just like this, lost again in the world. Locked in the ancient church, with no way out. His instinct carried him up to the clock tower again, thump-thump-thump, maybe not the Lord, but maybe the city-guards will hear the tolling this time and quell the storm of violence. But as he reached for the rightmost rope, a great light appeared in the ceiling of the clock tower, accompanied by the sounds of shattering, flying glass, falling bricks --

and the moribund dong, dong, dong of every bell crashing down into the old but very hard stone floor.

This time, not even "no" could come out. As the fire of realization swept across him, what started as a "no" turned into a bestial scream. His rage blossomed and his fury burned for relief. He charged into the atrium, seeing only ahead of him, and ahead of him was a pew. There was no chance for thought now. He ripped the pew out of the floor and rammed it into the door - bang -- bang, bang, bang, crash. Damn the demon. Damn them all.

And so, the pew brought justice to the first splattered head. There were many more to go.

Rede Tieto - Logos
The dust swirled round and around in the old bookstore as Rede pulled yet another book out from its shelf. In is mind he checked of another title. The actual list was in his pocket, but he didn't need to look at it. In fact he'd still remember it perfectly for the rest of his life, from the emblem of the university's library in the corner to the librarians slanting handwriting with the peculiar f's.

The last book had been moved after the professor's last visit, so it took him a while to find it, and when he did it had been placed in the completely wrong section. Had it been his store he would've cleaned the place and sorted the books properly. The only thing that bothered him more than untidiness was people who didn't wish to learn new thing.

"I'll take these," he said loudly to the little man behind the register, before carefully putting the large pile of books down. He had visited the store enough times to know that the old man was nearly deaf.

"That looks terribly heavy, professor. My grandson can have them delivered to the university."

"Yes, thank you. I think I'll be taking this with me at once," Rede said and tapped a knuckle against the top book. He was going to need that for a theory he was working on.

"Of course, professor. I managed to get my hands on that book you asked about before, do you wish to buy that as well?"

In his mind he quickly counted through the 105 books he had asked about the 61 times he had been in the store before, and concluded that of the two possible books he still wanted both. "Yes. I'll be taking that with me at once as well."

"Very well." The old man took out a battered copy of an old flora and handed it to Rede. "Should I send the bill to the university as usual?"

He took two impeccably polished coins out of his pocket and put them on the counter. "I'll be paying for the flora, and the delivery, but the rest should be payed of the library."

"I'll make sure it's taken care of. Thank you for your purchase, and welcome back anytime." Rede took both books under his arm and left, but not before he heard the muffled words from the old man as he muttered to himself. "And my son calls me boring."

Rede chuckled quietly. It was probably true that he was boring, but he didn't mind. He rather enjoyed his calm life, especially since it allowed him free access to the university's library at all times. It also put his memory to good use, which was good because he hated the thought of knowledge going to waste.

A smile crept onto his lips as he opened the flora and looked at the wonderful illustrations. Even an old and worn copy like that was worth every coin. It was rare, and would fit perfectly in his private collection. He walked slowly back to the university, his eyes never once leaving the book. He wasn't reading as much as he was absorbing, memorizing even the most minute details. The increasing amount of people around him and the noise they were making did not managed to pull him out of the book, as he was completely oblivious to his surroundings. Until he someone ran into him and the book feel to the ground.

With a frown he looked down at the boy.. No, young woman, who had distracted him in the middle of admiring the images of a plantago major. Before he had time to bend down and pick the book up she was already crouching down, picking up gears and screws that she had dropped. How peculiar, he thought at first, but then she looked up and apologized, and he remembered seeing her in the clock-maker's store. Before he had time to respond she was lost in the crowd.

Rede shrugged, and looked at the book to make sure nothing had happened to it. A bit of sand on the cover, but nothing he couldn't remove. Suddenly he became aware of the crowd he was in, and as he looked around he realized why they had gathered. A public execution, to entertain the mindless masses. This was not something he wished to remember, so he quickly turned his back to it all and started walking away.

"For the crime of espionage, bribery, murder - Duchess Leona Frances Delacroix shall be executed. And let her rolling head be a les.." Rede hurried his step and the voice slowly faded away as he turned several corners. He had met the duchess before, due to his family's connections, and he had found her to be a rather well-educated woman, whom he enjoyed conversing with.

Just as he reached the gates of the university there was a loud boom, and when he turned to look he saw the top of the tower of the church exploding. The sight was immediately engraved in his memory, but he knew he could only be thankful that he had left in time.

Quick steps carried him through the university. Through one building, into another, up a set of stairs, through a hallway, out to a small park and finally into the library.

"Why, professor, you look pale," the librarian pointed out, coughing slightly as he dusted of the books at the top shelf.

"There is currently a riot in town."

The librarian blinked and pushed his thick glasses further up his nose. "Lets just hope the students stay out of it.. Is that what I think it is?" With a speed that Reed didn't know the librarian had he climbed down from his ladder and hurried over to take a look at the flora. "You must let me borrow this."

"Of course. Just let me read it first." He smiled slightly. The librarian and the principal were the only two he'd ever lend books from his personal collection. "The books you ordered will be here sometime tonight."

"Thank you, professor. I'll give that useless errand boy a good beating next time I see him." The librarians eyes suddenly traveled towards the roof, which Rede knew from previous experiences meant that he had forgotten something. "Oh!" he suddenly exclaimed. "There was a man here earlier. He asked me to give you this." The librarian handed Rede an envelope.

The professor thanked the dust covered librarian before heading to his office. He found it strange that someone would deliver a letter for him to the library, and not to his home address. He opened it as soon as he had closed the door, and before he had even finished reading it he tore it up and tossed the pieces into the fireplace. What nonsense. The world is in danger and the only way to reverse it is to kill the apprentice of the clock-maker. He shook his head and sat down to finish reading the flora.

After staring at the picture of the plantago major for a while he realized that something was off with his room. Something was missing. He looked around, and made sure everything was in its right place. Nothing was miss.. His eyes stopped at the small clock on his desk. It wasn't ticking.

Archer Johnson-Udor

I rolled out of the creaky bed, groaning, and stumbled across the room, to the bowl of water. I splashed the cold water on my face, and gasped. Leaning over the bowl, I closed my eyes again, letting the water drip off my nose.

"Stupid..." I muttered, sighing, rubbing my face. My head was throbbing, my tongue thick. "You know better than to drink that much."

I flicked my finger, making the water jump from my head and hands, back into the bowl. Standing up, I cracked my back, and stretched, sighing. I felt my side for my coin pouch-- emptier than I remembered it.

"Great." I struggled into my pants. "Not only do you have a headache-- now you're almost broke."

I picked up the cup by the bed and tipped it up to my mouth. It was empty. I tossed it across the room, and stumbled into my boots, still muttering to myself. "And your services are in such high demand lately..."

I pulled my tunic on, shrugging it into place, and grabbed my quiver. A moment later I had my cloak on, grabbed my bow, and was half-way down the hallway. I walked into the sunlight outside, and meandered down the street with the crowd.
~~~

"Hey Mistah!"

I continued to push my way through the crowd.

"You there, with the bow!"

I stopped, and turned back, to find a scruffy boy pushing his way through the crowd, towards me. I hid a smile as he stopped before me, panting, and jerked on his bedraggled tunic. "I guess you mean me?"

"Yessir." The boy answered, shifting nervously. "I wanted to talk to you a minute."

"Oh?"

"Yessir..."'

"Well?" I leaned against the wall, propping my bow up beside me.

"Well, um...I saw your bow, and um, you're an archer."

"I am." I answered. I knew fully well what he was getting at, but I wasn't going to make it easy for him.

"I...I am too."

"Are you?"

"...No." He blushed, looking down. "But I will be."

I looked the boy up and down. His dirty brown hair matted to his head, his loose, torn clothes, that certain stench that emanated from street rats. He was remarkably similar to myself, ten years ago. "And who might you be?"

"...Kale."

I grinned. That moment's hesitation. That telltale sign of a recent name change. He'll lose that, once he's answered to it long enough.

"Well, Kale, how can I help you?"

He looked down, and muttered something.

"I don't have any money."

I glanced over my shoulder at the woman's voice. I narrowed my eyes. She wasn't dressed like a girl, but the curve of her jaw, the underlying softness in her voice-- it was unmistakable that she was.

She hesitated, then pulled a coin out of her pocket. She slid it behind his ear, and pulled it out, flipping up, into his sight. They both grinned, and the boy took the coin, and ran off. She looked up and met my gaze.

She glanced from me to...Kale, and then frowned. She turned away from me briskly, and glanced up, at the big clock. I grinned. A challenge. I made a mental note to charm her, if I ever saw her again. Just because I can...

"Mister?"

I turned back to the boy. "What?"

"I asked if you had any tips."

"Yeah, don't."

"What?"

I ran my fingers through my hair. "It's not worth it, boy. It's long days, longer nights, out on the trail, in the cold, always hungry, always sore. It's not all it's cracked up to be."

He looked hurt. I glanced away, only to see the same girl climbing up on a statue for a better vantage point. I shook my head, and looked back down at the lad. I bit my lip. He was so pathetic, desolate...but...what I said was true. I'd be a real bastard if I recommended this profession to him.

I sighed. "Fine. You want to do this? It's not my place to stop you."

He grinned. "So you'll help me?"

"...There's really nothing I can do to help you. Just practice. And practice. And practice-- and when you're better than everyone you know, go meet more people who are better than anyone else you know-- and practice until you're better than them."

He gawked.

"And when you get better than them-- you might be good enough to survive in this profession."

He nodded, eyes wide. "Then what?"

"Find guys who need archers."

"Ask 'em if they need my help?"

"No. Tell them they need your help...hope they agree."

"Oh..."

I nodded and turned to leave, grabbing my bow.
~~~

I sighed. "Yes, you have to lead people if they're running away."

"How far?"

"Depends on how fast they're running." I rolled my eyes, glancing back at the boy who'd followed me through the crowd, making it near impossible to glean what was going on. Ordinarily I wouldn't mind answering his questions-- but my aching head made civility difficult.

A man was striding towards us, a strange expression on his face. I narrowed my eyes, watching the man as he trailed his finger across an angry nobleman; then to another man; on to a woman-- barely touching them, but making their faces contort into scowls.

The discord spread from one person to the next, and the crowd began to murmur angrily, their cries gradually getting louder and louder. I quickly stepped back, knocking Kale backward, away from the man and his mob.

"Wh-what's going on?"

Good question... I glanced down at a puddle and focused on the water, making individual drops jump in the air-- then glanced up at the back of the man's head. No...it's not possible. "I don't know."

Then again, why wouldn't it be possible? It was a sickening thought, someone else having powers. I need to get away from this mob.

The crowd turned physical, pushing and clawing at one another. I put a hand on the fletching of my arrows, considering notching one.I let my hand fall.

"What's the matter? Why aren't you shooting?"

"You don't shoot if you don't have room. I don't have room."

"Then why don't you--"

"Why don't you try watching, instead of asking questions?" I snapped, putting my bow up on a tall crate.

The boy fell silent. I started as the clock exploded in a ball of fire. I put my hands on the crates, and began to heave myself up on the crate. Someone crashed into me, crushing me against the crate. I grunted and fell down, turning around irritably, nearly punching the man that fell into me.

I stilled my fist, a pang of irritation running through me, coming closer to losing my temper than I had in a long time. I took a deep breath, closing my eyes. No, Arch, stay cool. You've got control.

I took a deep breath, and started to climb back onto the crate, when I heard Kale scream. I turned, to find a large man clobbering him.

"Fuck it." I turned and caved into my impulses-- to jump on the man and maul him. A few moments later, I was in the middle of the crowd, leaving a trail of limp bodies in my wake.

Leo Forte (Gen)

I thought I was pretty sneaky. The cart owner didn't notice me when I was crouched behind him, nor when I grabbed the apple; it was only when I was being chased down the street that I started to wonder where I went wrong.

I sat on the roof and listened to the cart owner as he waved his pot spoon at me, "Aye! Gimme my apple back!"

"What, this?" I said, holding the apple up.

"Yes, that! I's saw you take it!"

I held it up to my mouth, "And what if I were to take a bite, like th-"

"GUARDS!"

"Whoa, whoa," I held my hands up, "I was just joking. Here, take your apple back."

He caught the apple as I threw it and walked away muttering a collective set of rather unkind words.

"He seems nice," I pulled another apple out of my jacket pocket, "but stupid."

* * *

The bell rang in the tower and the crowd looked restless. From the roof I could watch everyone without getting trapped in the mess, and from the looks of it, there was going to be a big one.

I saw what I thought was a shooting star crash into the clock tower, and a riot erupt in the streets as it fell. I stood up to get a better look and suddenly found myself dodging debris left and right. I jumped off the roof as a rather large chunk of building flew my way, barely avoiding being crushed by the building; but just when I thought luck was on my side, I spotted a giant, ringing metal heading towards me.

Well, you've lived a good life.

I stuck my hands up and waited for the pain to wash over me, but instead I felt a tugging at my gut. I didn't open my eyes when I heard the crash or when I felt the ground shaking impact. I didn't open my eyes when I heard the screaming of others, and I didn't open my eyes when I realized I was still alive.

I only opened my eyes after I heard the familiar voice behind me, "Did you just'a do that?"

I blinked and turned around to see the cart owner peeking at me through the opening of a cave. I was surrounded by cement.

"D-Did I? No, I just... I, uh-"

"That was amazing! Come'a looks at this!" He beckoned for me to step outside.

I followed him into the streets once more, to see where I stood just a moment before covered in a half-dome of rock.

"Now that is awesome."

"Now before you get'a yourself into more trouble, let's heads away from here. Don't wanna be caught by the guards when they'a show up."

"Yeah, yeah, you go ahead, I'll catch up." I waved him away.

He shrugged and ran off down the road, as I looked into the madness of the crowd and smiled.

Spoiler

I apologize for the lack of detail length everything.

Raimi Gautreaux

Raimi lowered the still-smoking Crackle, his teeth grinding together and his fingers clenched tightly around Sparkle’s ironwood grip. He doubted the collapsing gallows had killed the Executioner that had brutally murdered the Savior of Merchant Square, but he knew it would get his attention.

He closed his eyes and let his fury flow through his body - from the pulse pounding in his temples down to his toes. His fingers tingled, brushing over the cool, polished platinum trimmings of Crackle’s pommel. He reveled in the delicious sounds of chaos around him, absorbing the mixed screams of pain and victory, metal against metal and blood spilling in the streets. He drew in the power that this passion carried, letting it course through his veins as the pitiful wretches in the brothels did with their opiates of choice.

“RIOT STARTER.”

Raimi grinned. He opened his eyes, the fires there reflecting those that burned inside him.

The Executioner, clothes torn and and bleeding from a dozen small wounds, stood in the wreckage, indomitable.

“I’m here, Gorgeous.” Raimi’s words were soft, but the Executioner knew. He knew. He took a menacing step forward, wavering only slightly - on a tweaked ankle, perhaps. Then the waver was gone - if it even existed at all - and suddenly the great mass of man and iron was a mere three paces away.

Raimi leveled Crackle at the Executioner and let fly, the static charge of the tiny elemental making the hairs on Raimi’s arm stand on end as a bolt of energy leapt toward the hulk. Angry as he was, he was no fool - nor was he slow. He dodged the bolt and kept coming, the crack of thunder accompanying the explosion of mortar and stone as the bolt took out a nearby wall.

The Executioner’s axe blotted out the sun a moment as it was raised high over his head, coming down for a killing blow -

- or it would have been, but Raimi was gone; dodging nimbly out of reach of the Executioner’s swing. He danced away and drew Foereaper, falling into a defensive stance.

The hooded man grunted and let go of his ax, swaying back as a figure charged at him with a club. Thane moved under the blow, punching the man in the gut and blocking the haphazard blow with his shoulder

As Raimi seized the opportunity to strike, the Executioner swung the person into the blade. Flesh ripped sickeningly. He dropped the corpse and took his ax, driving the butt toward Raimi’s sword arm. Raimi twisted away, the blow deflecting off the basket hilt of his blade and briefly numbing his arm. The weight behind the blow was tremendous, even for such a short strike. He quickly stepped away, flexing his fingers to make sure no permanent damage had been done, then readied his sword again for the Executioner’s next assault. He turned to show his sword arm, slipping Pyre from his belt, his arm concealed by his body.

As the hulk leapt forward with a measured, left-to-right swing, Raimi spun on his heel and blasted away with what charge Pyre had regained.