Sunday, October 9, 2016

Secrets and Lies

  Eris glanced up and down the empty street. “This is where he was going to meet us?”
  Razer nodded and kicked aside a scrawny rat gnawing on a hunk of moldy bread. “Yes.” He put a hand on the hilt of his sword. “And who says it’s a man?”
  Eris shrugged. “I don’t know.” She looked up at the broken windows looming above. “But something isn’t right.”
  “Good instincts.” Razer nodded. He knocked on a door coated in cracked paint that had once been red. The sound of a bolt being drawn echoed through the room beyond and out into the street. The door creaked open.
  A hunched old woman with wispy gray hair and filthy clothes peered out from the shadows. “What?”
  “Is this De Margo’s?” Razer said.
  The woman spat. “Yes.”
  “We’re meeting someone here,” Razer said.
  The woman nodded. “Names?”
  “Razer and Eris,” Eris said.
  The woman’s face crinkled and she regarded the Witch Hunters’ weapons and armor. “Awfully well armed.”
  “Necessary in our line of work,” Razer said. “Can we come in?”
  The woman nodded and opened the door fully. She bolted it behind them and led them down a long hallway lit only by a guttering candle. They emerged into a large circular room lit by high, wide windows. The walls were draped in materials in shades of red, and the furniture was upholstered in matching colors. Burning incense and fragrant oils barely masked the scent of sweat. Women of varying ages in various stages of undress milled, sat, or lounged around the room, talking quietly. A few stared at Razer and Eris. Many sat, eyes staring unseeing from the effects of narcotics.
  “Pleasant place,” Eris muttered.
  “It’s a living, girl,” the old woman said. “At least none of my girls are murderers.”
  Eris frowned. “Sorry.”
  “Is our contact here, madam,” Razer said.
  The woman cackled. “Who said I was the madam?”
  Razer smirked. “You seem a bit too old to be a working girl,” Razer said. “And you answered the door.”
  She smirked back. “You’d be surprised at some people’s tastes. But I am the madam.” She led them to a door along the wall painted in blue. “He isn’t here yet. You’re welcome to wait in here.”
  The room beyond was spacious and decorated in blues. A single large bed dominated the center of the room flanked by a pair of couches. Closer to the door stood a table set with two chair. A window on the far wall allowed in sunlight filtered through thin blue drapes.
  “Nice room,” Razer said. “My compliments to the decorator.”
  “Thank you,” the madam said. “Your contact should be here soon.” She closed the door behind her. Razer put his ear to the door, and Eris sat down at the table.
  “Trap,” Eris said, drawing her flintlock pistol and resting it on the table with her hand draped over it.
  Razer stepped away from the door and nodded. “But set by whom?”
  Eris leaned back in the chair, her hand still on the pistol’s grip. “Does it matter?”
  Razer nodded. “I usually like to know who’s trying to kill me.”
  “Why?”
  “Because then I can find out why.”
  “Fair enough.” He thumb pressed down on the half-cocked hammer until it clicked into fully locked position. “Remember, they’re trying to kill me, too. I’d much rather kill them first.”
  Razer glanced at the ceiling, pulled his crossbow off his shoulder and primed it. “We’ll make it through this, girl.”
  Eris mimed stretching and tracked his gaze to a hair-line split in the paneling above. “I hope so, old man.”
  Razer loaded a bolt and smiled. “Since when have I guided you wrong?”
  “Do you want me to answer that honestly?”
  “No.” Razer raised the crossbow and aimed it towards the ceiling.
  Before he could fire, a pair of men in chain mail and carrying maces stormed in. Eris fired her pistol at lead attacker, striking him in the belly. The second stumbled over him as he fell. Eris drew her long dagger and stood up.
  Then the trap door in the ceiling opened. A third assailant, armed with a pistol and a saber descended. Razer’s crossbow bolt caught him in the arm as he landed, forcing him to drop the pistol. The attacker howled and lunged at Razer. Razer parried with the stock of his crossbow and danced away toward the window.
  “These guys are good,” Eris said, ducking a high mace sweep. “And they’re not Aragonian.” She lunged at her attacker with her dagger, forcing him back. Once again he stumbled over his ally’s prone form.
  Razer dropped his crossbow and drew his rapier to parry another saber swing. “I would guess they’re Destans.”
  “Good guess,” his opponent said, swinging towards Razer’s neck with the saber.
  Razer ducked the swing and thrust his rapier towards his foe’s stomach. The Rivedestan parried the blow then reversed and swung down at Razer’s skull.
  Razer leapt back and stumbled into a couch. His opponent stepped forward for another downward swing. Razer rolled away and kicked towards his assailant. The heel of his boot struck the Rivedestan’s knee with a crunch. He cried out and fell to the floor.
  Eris and her opponent danced around the room, his mace breaking the table, the arm of the other couch, and tearing a hole in one of the walls. He managed to stay just out of reach of Eris’s long dagger. Backed up against the bed, she risked ducking inside his reach. The mace smashed into the bed frame, splintering it, but Eris was close enough to plunge her dagger into his thigh. He screamed in pain as red stain spread down and over his pant leg. He fell over, shivering and growing paler by the second as he writhed and clutched his leg.
  “Poor bastard is going to bleed out,” Razer said.
  “Sorry,” Eris said, wiping her blade on the bed. “I wasn’t aiming to hit a blood vessel.” She glanced at the other two, one still clutching a mangled knee, the other writhing around a gut wound. “Other guy is going to die of that gut wound. Yours will probably never be able to walk right again.”
  Razer rolled the Rivedestan he had fought onto his back and placed his foot on the broken knee. The Rivedestan screamed, and Razer released the pressure. “He can still talk,” Razer said.
  “What makes you think I’ll talk,” the Rivedestan said between sobs and whimpers.
  “They’re not paying you enough not to talk,” Razer said. He knelt down and smiled. “But I know a good surgeon in this town. Maybe you won’t be able to fight or run again, but he’ll get you walking again.”
  Rivedestan snarled. “Why should I trust?”
  “Because you tried to kill me, but I’m not murdering you.” Razer sheathed his rapier and put his crossbow over his shoulder. “Plus, why should I lie about a surgeon? I’m a Witch Hunter, a null? Did they tell you our names?”
  The Rivedestan grimaced. “Razer and Eris.”
  “Now that isn’t fair,” Razer said. “You know our names. We don’t know yours.”
  “Lynne,” the Rivedestan said.
  “Lynne,” Razer said. He offered his hand. Lynne hesitated, then took it. “So who hired you?”
  “It was…” Before Lynne could finish, a musket blast from the trap door in the ceiling filled the room with sound, light, and smoke. When Eris and Razer regained their senses, there was a hole in the top of Lynne’s head, oozing blood.
  “Dammit,” Razer said. He shoved a chair under the trap door. “Boost me up, girl.”
  There was a knock on the door.
  “What was that about?” Eris said.
  “Probably the madam checking on these assassins.”
  The knock sounded again. “I’m not the madam, Witch Hunters. We have the same mutual acquaintance.”
  “The Pilgrim?” Eris said.
  “The same.”
  “Forget it, girl,” Razer said. “We need to catch the rifleman.”
  “He’s already escaped, and the Rivedestans have surrounded this place.” The door opened, revealing a meter-tall humanoid with a canine face in covered in brown fur. It wore a fine tunic and breeches. “I know the only route out of here that is still safe.”
  “A goblin?” Eris said.
  “I’m called Roku,” the goblin said, taking a bow. “The Pilgrim sent me. I’ll lead you out of this brothel. These men were hired by the Crown.”
  “The Crown?” Eris said. “How do you know?”
  Roku grinned. “I have my ways. Come.” He beckoned. Razer and Eris glanced at each other and shrugged. They followed Roku down a side passage off the main room. It led to a dead end, but Roku loosened a low panel in the wall. Although the passage beyond smelled of filth and was a tight fit for Eris and Razer. It led to another alley on the opposite side of the building that they had entered through. Once through, Razer and Eris stretched and cleaned themselves off.
  Roku pointed to the south. “I suggest you leave via that street. They have reinforcements approaching from the north.” He sighed. “Sadly, I must depart. I hope we meet again soon.”
  “Wait,” Razer said. “Why help us?”
  “There is an ancient war, Witch Hunter. The Pilgrim seeks to end it. And for that he needs allies. Let’s just say, your skills match his needs.” Without another word Roku dashed down the alley and vanished into the shadows.
  “What should we do?”

  “Head south, get back to the House, and wait,” Razer said. “Doubtless we’ll hear back from the Pilgrim eventually. Until then, we’ll have plenty of missions to undertake.”

Monday, March 2, 2015

Mission Statement

            I am a fan of vast, sprawling, and detailed fantasy settings.  But I have a problem with them.  The kingdoms one thousand years ago, technologically, linguistically, and sociologically resemble the kingdoms the characters live in now.  Why?  The medieval period in our own history only covered about half a millennium or so and even that period was turbulent with changes to society, culture, and technology.  Even steampunk settings like China Mieville’s Bas-lag are stuck in a sort of Victorian stasis, and that period was even shorter (lasting roughly a century or so) with even more social, cultural, and technological turbulence.
            I have written my own steampunk tales, and I decided I wasn’t going to fall prey to medieval stasis.  Technology and society will not be static, but changing.  Hand-in-hand with that, magic is something that anyone in the world can learn.  And unlike in some settings, magic and technology go hand-in-hand, explaining how the technology can defy the laws of physics.
            I will be featuring micro-fiction, very short, action-packed stories set in these different eras to illustrate fantasy in clockpunk (late Renaissance era), steampunk (ubiquitous, now), dieselpunk (first half of the twentieth century or so), atompunk (roughly the Cold War era), and possibly even cyberpunk (also quite ubiquitous) modes.  I also plan to share background information from time to time.
            You can find the first story featuring this setting, “Shaft 413,” in Tales of the Talisman Volume IX Issue 2.

            And last but not least, no elves.  They suck and they know it.


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