Band of Rebels

~ Band of Rebels ~

Velsoth recalled when he last fought yakkals: they were a desert variety on Quatwin, a planet in a binary star system. He had entered a defensive stance with his trusty staff — the drayuktcrystal globule on the end reflecting the contrasting hues of the scattered sunslight — when they began to encircle him. Pack hunters would always prove difficult against light mages, especially in the formation they were in, but somehow, he managed. Surely he could make do again.

As focus returned and his mind was reinvigorated, Velsoth began casting his more reserved spells first, ensuring defense of his companions before anything else. Blatant attempts at redirecting the beasts from their possible prey were met with disregard as the caster began to remember tidbits — biological differences of yakkals’ eyes to other creatures.

Eureka! It would require only one spell to quell the beasts’ appetite. Redirecting them with visible light wouldn’t yield any results, but infrared, and we’re right as rain!

He began to chuckle as infrared masses — only visible to the dog-like yakkals — populated at the far reaches of the forest, each one resembling some sort of natural and easily more defenseless prey. Yakkals are fascinating and clever; they prefer to hunt creatures with cotton for hides than those which retaliate with the likes of flint and steel.

Equally proud of his self-discovered spell as he was his unvoiced pun, Velsoth triumphantly waddled back to meet up with the others, who seemed to now be focusing their attention towards an approaching man. Oh bother, how long ago had they left me to deal with those beasts alone?

He yawned deeply and adjusted his spectacles as he came close enough to hear Poloff and the kind, tall, dark-skinned man bickering. What was his name again? Slick? No, no. Crick? He hasn’t been a crick at all yet.

He chuckled somewhat loudly again at his latest mental quip. Loud enough that both arguers turned sharply around and asked at the same time with varying levels of aggression, “What are you laughing at?”

“Oh nothing, friends. Who is this stranger that approaches?”

“That’s just the damn thing, he’s an absolute stranger, and with that mutt eating both my knives, I got no weapon now!” Poloff quickly snapped back before scrunching her face at “Crick”. Velsoth was more inclined to listen to the one who had treated him with nothing but kindness thus far, so when “Crick” explained the new man was actually a mage he had found in some far-off desert, the gnome knew the party simply must keep this young mage around.

Velsoth pushed past the bickerers’ legs and sauntered around sizable clumps of pointed, indigo-colored mushrooms before beginning to introduce himself to the young man. The young man who — without hesitation — bent down to one knee and called himself Manwel, declaring afterwards his knack for wind magic.

It could be nothing else, what with the Kapok being the last remaining of the Sacred Council; wind magic was just about all Velsoth ever saw beings utilize in recent centuries. Part of him hoped the man had been proficient in light magic, the gift which he himself had been given. A sign that his master, the Ocelot, was still alive would be more blissful than any wish a djinn could grant. But he knew that such a sign would not — could not be any longer. She was gone. Murdered. If only he could find that demonic mage who slaughtered her and the rest; “Cage”, was it?

No matter. There was a new bright mage before him now; one who could surely help bring justice by completing his assigned quest.

“My boy, what is your quest? If we can be of any assistance, we gladly will be”.

A bitter shout of “We? Like hell we-” came from a half-restrained Poloff as the tall man put his hand over her mouth.

Manwel gave the expected response at first: that he was to slay the necromancer Paandiji. He then insinuated that part of his mission had to do with the Kapok, which Velsoth found to be a bit odd. I wonder if the boy is just jumping to conclusions about Master Kapok.

“You should know, Manwel, that once your written quest is over, you’ll get to meet and likely receive exclusive training from the wise and resolute Master Kapok. If it is part of your personal mission to meet him, I applaud your enthusiasm, but I tell you to be wary of the trials you’ll face on the way”.

“Do you know what kind of trials I’ll face? I only read about yakkals in my guidebook but it looks like you know how to take care of them pretty well already”.

“Oh, well-”

“And how do you know that man, by the way? I’m positive he was almost dead out in the desert on Ashabar and now he’s here”. Startled a bit by the interrogation, Velsoth watched as Manwel stood up and bombarded the other man instead. “Hey! Are you following me or something? You wouldn’t be the first. You don’t know that dwarven jeweler, do you?”

Poloff’s muted outburst forced “Crick” to only give half his attention to Manwel. “Hey, I just got intel a mage was to be tested on Ashabar. Sheer coincidence I found the right caravan at the time I did”.

She was free. “Was this y’alls’ dumbass plan? You idiots wanted to come to some random planet on the off chance this… sparkler would come here and do what, exactly? Give ya a magic massage?” Poloff laughed, which became a snort as she continued, “Don’t tell me ya wanna groom ‘em and sic ‘em on the damn king?”

Velsoth couldn’t help but notice her hesitation before the word "sparkler", a slur she never minded casually slapping on him. She had looked at Manwel’s dusty face briefly then; perhaps she empathized with his youth.

This fellow may have had bad experiences with others in the past, which is why it was important to meet him with kindness and attempt to bond. The old mage spoke again, appealing to Manwel’s clear willingness to complete his quest.

“My boy, never mind how we all arrived here, I say that should we band together as a party, I can promise a culture of support and growth. Should you need us, we will be there. I only ask that once your quest is finished, and we need you, you will be there”.

It seems my words have reached him. Velsoth noticed Manwel’s eyes light up as the young mage somewhat sheepishly nodded in agreement before kneeling down again to shake hands. That was that, then. They were now officially the mage, the archer, the advisor, and — should Manwel complete his quest — the hero.

…

2,840; another two days wasted. The rescue team was leaving at high noon. Infiltration wasn’t the problem, since the Fifth Fang had received loads of intel about and schematics of the castle from Ehrkonus and Niriam Skylon — the targets of this mission — nearly a year before. It was instead the weather — a mix of spontaneous tornadoes and residual forms of haboobs, pushing the limits on the typical seasonal existence of Latchgovenite monsoons. Visibility was an issue, as was the locking down of all castle ports. Today was relatively clear.

As Manwel Skylon closed the yakkalleather-spined notebook and put down the quill he had been using to keep track of the days, he leaned back in his fancy, velvet chair. Something just felt right about being a Sergeant and despite his age, he knew what was expected of him should duty call.

And call it did. After what had felt like mere moments of letting his eyes droop as his uniformed torso slumped ever more heavily, there came an abrasive knock at the cabin door. It was go time, regardless of Staur’s orders.

…

“Would you follow any order Staur gives you?”

“Pssh, ‘course not. Not every damn order. Sardie does make the right call most the time, though, y’know? I trust her as long as Parkrettes spin silk”. Irinee turned her attention back to sharpening the chipped head of her last bloodied arrow.

“What if she ordered you not to try and save your parents from Hell’s Keep?”

She stopped her routine immediately and glared into her interlocutor’s eyes with suspicion as she raised the arrow to point it at him. “How do ya know about Hell’s Keep? What kinda sparkler are ya?”

Manwel had gotten to know Irinee Poloff a lot better as they — against Velsoth’s better judgment — took watch at the same time that night. The little mage had mumbled something about needing sleep to improve mana, but Manwel felt as awake as he could be after his riveting chase and discovery of not only his powers, but also a new crew to trust. Just gotta make sure they won’t screw me over like the last guys did. Trust is so weird. It’s like… an instinct? But I get it wrong half the time anyway.

Plus, it was a little hard to sleep in such a cold environment. It reminded him of when he suddenly noticed the chills back in the Sanctum, but this time, they didn’t go away. He wasn’t used to them, but they felt comfortable nonetheless. Wind felt comfortable now.

He just hoped Irinee wouldn’t be as cold as Sleethburne for much longer. She had finally answered a question with sincerity after an hour of sparse and awkward conversation by the bonfire the stranger named Rik had set up. But now, he just had to go and erase their progress by showing he knew what she meant when she spoke about Latchgoven, the Fifth Fang, and Commander Staur. Hell’s Keep was typically the last place on his mind, its corrupted towers and steadfast dictatorial power poisoning even thoughts about it. Although, given the premise of his agreement with Velsoth, as well as the leftover feeling of confident self-discovery from when he escaped Ashabar, Manwel bit the bolt and not only thought up, but also brought up the worst day in his life.

“I used to be a Sergeant in the Fifth Fang, okay? I guess it’s good if you’ve never heard of me”.

“Wait… like hell I haven’t! Last name Skylon?” He nodded. “You the one that led, shit, like… fifty of us to the grave? You’re sparked up, ya know that?” She shook the arrow around a bit as she spoke, each time leaving the flint tip a little closer to Manwel’s distraught face.

Manwel lifted his face to defend himself, shocked for a second by the flint now millimeters away from his nose. “I thought we’d be able to save my parents that day. You know how they were captured a few years before that? Well, we got a gem message that sounded like no one other than mom. She gave us a pretty detailed layout of the palace and when and where exactly to break in so we’d have the quietest in and the quickest out. Obviously you know the rest”.

She scoffed. Perhaps out of disgust at the idea of mutiny against her commander or perhaps out of hidden understanding. In the short time he’d known her, Manwel could tell Irinee would always speak her mind if she knew disagreeing with you would elicit some sort of attitude switch. It almost reminded him of Maddy and how she’d act sully so he’d offer to help or cave to her requests.

“Imma call ya Manny, by the way. If ya don’t like it,” she quickly darted her eyes to follow her slight nod to the side and clicked her tongue, “then take a hike”.

He let out a quick forced laugh. “If I had a dragam for the people who wanted to call me that in the last week, I’d have enough to hold one in each hand”.

“That’s… not a lot”. She cocked her head and grinned bemusedly at the attempted analogy. He wondered how she really saw him. She clearly didn’t want to have to deal with him earlier, but their conversation had somehow kept up between slight breaks and avoidable questions. She probably doesn’t get to talk casually that often, especially about things other than war. Not like I believe so far that that would stop her.

Satisfied with her sharpening, Irinee stood up from the downed Burneth log she was sitting on before brushing loose off-white bark off her layered cutoff-pant combo and stretching almost ostentationally in front of the fire.

“Man, so glad Rikky could get ‘nough damn wood to keep this burnin’, y’know? I think he had to grab ‘em logs from where our portal opened up. Oh yeah, there was a sort of wooden skeleton ‘round our portal that fell through”.

Manwel responded while fiddling with a stick on the ground. “Oh wow. Good thing it fell through. The rest of this stuff is real wet; no way it would’ve worked for a fire”.

“Good to know, I guess”. She started to wander off into the taiga a bit just as the first signs of snowfall began lethargically wisping down from overhead branches that couldn’t contain them. It was likely she needed to relieve herself, whether physically or mentally. Guess I’m on watch then.

Manwel didn’t mind being alone; he was used to it, after all. It was nice to finally feel what snowflakes were like as they daintily fell on his heavily tanned skin. If only the desert could be like this. Not that it had to be, he wasn’t going back. The fire felt nice too though, but Manwel figured that if it didn’t provide enough warmth, he could always try to divert wind streams away from him. That much he could do, he felt.

Though, it seemed like he couldn’t follow through with his usual questions around Irinee. Was the cold weather to blame? Maybe he was starting to get tired and just didn’t realize. Whatever the reason, he knew some of the answers he would get likely had more to do with the past than his future quest, so surely it was best to avoid them altogether.

Whether he wanted to or not — he leaned towards trusting her for now — It quickly became hard to avoid Irinee herself as she came running back out of the forest screaming bloody murder. Between loads of cursing, Manwel picked up that she had heard some sort of eavesdropper earlier, so she went to investigate, chasing him right into a pack of yakkals that quickly cornered the lone scoundrel before feasting.

After they each woke up one of the others — Manwel took Velsoth after learning how impatient Irinee was with the old man — they all readied themselves around the bonfire and hid the rest of the Sandflapper meat they had relatively silently shared together the previous evening. Irinee wouldn’t be much help with one arrow left, Manwel figured, so he was somewhat relieved when she stole his binoculars and gave positional estimates of the yakkals after angrily ripping off the dragon cut-out pasted on the front of the lens.

Velsoth counterintuitively hid his staff, leaving Manwel confused, but Rik more determined than ever.

“You’re not planning to take them on with just your sword, are you?” Manwel frantically asked Rik as he thought back to how they were struggling when he first arrived the day before.

“Not just my sword. You’ve got one too! We need more meat and thicker clothing, so let’s see what you’ve got, young mage!”

“We’re not going to try and kill all of them, right?”

“As many as it takes”.

With that last determined line from Rik, Manwel began to see the kind of person he was. Despite the man’s kindness and willingness to sacrifice, he clearly gave off the impression of one who would do anything to win. Someone not too far removed from the king of Latchgoven, although in other aspects, they were obviously nothing alike. It made one wonder, though.

His wild thoughts dissipated as Irinee barked more crucial details. It was again time for Manwel to give this fight his all.