Thyatira

Fulcher sat as the carriage made its way down the forest path, for now safe from the pursuing soldiery. He inspected the ring on his finger carefully, trying to glean anything he could from the artifact. Schon watched him with a mixture of amusement and confusion.

“What, your father never got you one of those?” She asked.

“No. This is my first time seeing one,” Fulcher admitted. Schon raised an eyebrow, but shrugged.

“Figured the rumors about your dad hating magic was just propaganda. Never thought it would be so real he’d neglect to teach his children about basic magic,” she said with a snicker.

“Did it hurt those men?” Fulcher asked, the grim potential of what he had just witnessed now weighing on his psyche. Schon stopped laughing to look him over.

“Oh you aren’t kidding, you don’t know at all. No, it’s just darkness,” she assured. He thought for a moment, trying to remember what Schon had ordered him to do. He curled his hand into a fist and extended it outwards.

“Abyssal black?” he said. Another burst of inky blackness rocketed from the onyx ring, blocking the view of the top of the carriage. He flinched at the sudden burst of magic, the movement sending a streak of darkness directly over Schon’s head.

“Hey! Watch it!” Schon exclaimed. She stood to try and shift her head out of the darkness, but her foot caught the furred body of Arrow just beneath her. She toppled forward, planting her face in the seat cushion next to Fulcher. Stella giggled as Arrow raised his head, tilting it slightly at Schon.

Fulcher looked up at the darkness not coating the inside of the carriage’s roof.

“Whoa, it’s like drawing with a flashlight or something. But instead of light, it blinds you,” he muttered in wonder, his eyes dragging down to stare into the darkness of the onyx. Schon pushed out of the cushion while rubbing her eye.

“Don’t just put that in people’s faces, it’s jarring when all the light goes out,” she muttered.

“Where did you find that anyways? Clearly it isn’t yours.”

“Oh, it was under one of these seats. How long does it last?” Fulcher said, shifting away from Schon to offer her more room on his seat.

“About an hour… and that makes sense. Rumors abound of Nerrel’s smuggling habit. It wouldn’t surprise me if he had some kind of tool to get away from people in a tense situation.” Schon said as she settled into the seat beside Fulcher.

The carriage lurched to the right as the dense woods made way to the ecotone between forest and field. Fulcher peered out the doorframe to see a small cluster of buildings in the distance, nestled between two grassy knolls. He crawled up to hang off the side of the carriage near Vardia.

“What’s that?” he called over the thumping hooves.

“Just a small hamlet, Sir!” Vardia responded. “Nothing more than some farmers who live together.”

“You think we’ll be safe here?” Fulcher called back.

“We don’t have much of a choice, Sir! The horses are growing tired. They should have a barn we can hide the coach in!” Vardia said. Fulcher nodded and crawled back into the doorway.

“We’re stopping up ahead to let the horses rest,” he reported to Stella and Schon.

The coach rattled as it slowed between the buildings, several curious farmers gathering around and staring up at Vardia, clad in his Custodi armor.

A man in thin brown leathers jogged out of a nearby building, removing his weathered cap and bowing to the carriage.

“Princeguard! To what do we owe the honor of a visit from the young Prince?” the man asked. Vardia made his way to the open door as Fulcher exited the carriage. Immediately he noticed several of the farmers become more uncomfortable with his presence. The man holding the hat before them wrung the cap nervously, wearing a crooked smile to appease the visitors. Behind Fulcher, Vardia carefully offered aid to Schon and Stella as they exited the coach. Fulcher walked toward the nervous man holding the hat as whispers spread around the hamlet.

“Hey, I’m Fulcher. Who is in charge around here?” he asked casually. He smiled, but it did little to ease the tension. The man before him quivered, swallowing before he spoke.

“I am the one that speaks on the parish council for this hamlet my Prince…” he said. Fulcher extended his hand to the man, trying his best to act casual.

“It’s a pleasure to meet you!” he said with a grin.

Cautiously the man took his hand in his own, bringing it up to his lips to kiss Fulcher’s ring. Fulcher frowned and pulled his hand away, sending it out again for a shake.

“Eh, just shake it. I don’t do that whole ring thing,” he assured. The man looked in awe at the hand and shook it slowly, his shaking diminishing and his nervous nature giving way to careful comfort.

“Ah, so kind of you, My Prince. What brings you to our little home?” he asked.

“We are practicing a war game,” Fulcher said. “Do you have a barn or warehouse where we could hide our carriage? We will also need to feed our horses and allow them rest.” The councilor nodded.

“One of our own is out to the nearby village for supplies. He shan't return for a fortnight, if you wish to stay in his home?” The councilor asked.

Might as well, Fulcher thought, It’s not like this place has an inn. With a warm smile, Fulcher nodded to the man.

“Very well, Councilor. Please, lead on!”