The Arcelus

Chapter 1: Heavens Bane

"I am the will of my blood,
Bound in faith and name,
To the king of Nasherad!"

The ancient promise echoed in her recollection as their horses halted on the hills that overlooked a small town. The sun roused from its slumber and began its climb over the Somber Mountains. A few columns of dawn light pierced through the drudged nimbus. Stray sunlight pierced a blue bubble hovered over a hexagonal inscription of black ink. It glowed white within, then an eyeball formed inside. With the last of their wards in place, the horses and their iron clad riders, rode towards the dirt roads.

"Honored among the seven stars,
Heralds of the third pillar,
Nobles from an age of scarce,"

Led to this town by the paid words of a drunken tavern-tattle, they entered through unmanned gates. There they tied and left the horses behind. Whiffed mist swirled the narrow alleyways that veined the wattles and daubs of startled cruck houses. Startled not by the usual cacophony of crowing coops but by the unannounced bootsteps of metal against cobblestone.

"By witness of the first father's eye,
I the storm's light of scrolls keep,
Shall serve in truth or die."

Glances skulked out of furrowed windows and as the ranks of soldiers passed by homes, hushed voices followed. They were faint and indistinguishable whispers save for one word, the oldking's tongue for 'storm's light' which was also the name of a certain mage captain, "Mayven".

The soldiers marched clad in red iron. They paced to trot as they closed in on their target. Led by their captain, with her armor under a heavy mantled cape and her silver staff held high in hand. Her staff was crowned with a monoclinic crystal which glowed a blizzard blue, and as if this blue light had pushed the very air, a soft breeze gently caressed her scarlet hair. She halted and shifted her silver staff to a slight tilt forward. "Lightning," she whispered, and twirled her staff once sun-wise, then twice counter sun-wise. The keryptian crystal atop her staff traced, fading, azure, circles.

She hammered the base of her staff into the pavement. The stone path cracked, like the sky above. "Split!" she commanded, both to her army and to reality itself. At once, as though lightning, her soldiers bolted and forked. They surrounded a manor, at the center of the town, the only building in that town made of stone and architecture. At the same time, a bolt of lightning split the skies alight and struck down the entrance, door and wall to ash and rubble.

Mage soldiers warily enclosed the spiked, iron-wrought gates. They formed three rings, taking one synchronous step after the other. With the periphery secured, the remaining group of soldiers led by their captain stormed through, bent iron, dust and smoke. They barged into a room, wands up and crystals in hand, expecting the resistance of cornered rats but only to find it empty. Mayven gestures an arched wave forward. Her soldiers nods and fans out. Their eyes twitched after every shifting shadows.

Old wooden furnitures, repaired past repairs. A long hallway with rooms on each side. Large, life like portraits of wealthy, charitable personalities. Names and indentations carved on the corners of doorways. Mayven knew right then what this manor once was, after all, a similar home saved her once in the past. Then the sight and stench of broken bottles, and ashes of burnt madliffs reminded her that this is no longer the place for children without.

The cedar floor creaked of aching age with each step, and the boarded windows reflected eerie echoes to the soldiers sifting through the grayness. Flecks of debris filtered through the cobwebs; falling to their boots, the floor and the ghastly green lights at the center of the room.

There were only two sources of light permeating the room. One was behind them, the morning light and the second was in front of them. Slinking through the gaps between the floorboards and a trapdoor was the glow of a dreaded nature. They drew closer, each magesoldier, shared an anxious look, then tightened their hold on their wands. Everyone has heard of the stories, even their captain. The difference was that more than just hearing the stories, she had lived through them.