The Voidbreak Crisis

1. Initialise

Our story begins in a small city inside of an oasis, with single story buildings stretching as far as the eye can see. Smoke pours from the chimneys into the warm night air, coloring the sky a dull brown, lit from beneath by the lamps lining the cobblestone streets.

Among these streets walk a few of the kingdoms guards, talking among themselves of trivial things. But our story doesn't follow trivial things, as is the way with such stories.

No, our story follows that Wilderfolk there, darting into an alley ahead of the guards. They are magical things, Wilderfolk. Half human, half animal. Some have clearly defined lineages, some, less so. That one's name is Pulse, and he just committed theft.

The guards here in this oasis don't take kindly to thieves, much less Wilderfolk thieves, so Pulse is staying hidden as well as he can. Which, coincidentally, is quite well.

Outside in the dessert, a desperate creature makes an equally desperate dash into the sands, but that's not important just yet. What's important right now is who's inside that small house we now see.

The house is falling apart; barely held together by nails and hopeful wishes. There's a single light inside, going up the rickety stairs towards a bedroom.

And lying in the single bed is a tattered, tired young Wilderfolk named Siren. Keep an eye on her, dear reader. She's gonna be important for a while now.

Siren was sleeping peacefully, dreaming about the rain, when she was shaken awake gently. Prism smiled down at her sweetly.
"Wake up, we've got to go." She whispered.
"Where are we going?" Siren asked softly, sitting up and stretching.
"We're leaving." Pulse said softly, standing in the doorway.
"What about the concert tomorrow?" Siren asked, yawning and rubbing her eye.
"We'll have to postpone it, sweety." Prism said, smiling.
"Oh. Okay. Where are we going?" Siren asked, pulling her only pair of pants on under her nightgown.
"We're going to Tala-Rane. We've saved enough money to start again there, away from the cartel here." Prism explained softly.

"Won't Redhand be angry?" Siren asked, putting on her shirt and packing her bag.
"Not if he never finds out." Pulse said, holding a finger to his lips.
"Come on, we've got to go, now." Prism said softly, helping Siren pack her bags. Siren heard the sound of marching footsteps, and saw torchlight through her closed window.
"Do you think someone told him?" Prism asked fearfully.
"I don't know. Get out of here, I'll give you some time." Pulse said, heading down stairs quietly, adjusting his beaten old fedora carefully.

"Come on, honey, we've got to move." Prism said.
"Who is it?" Siren asked as Prism led her out the back door of the hut, onto the sandy streets of the oasis.
"I don't know, but I don't think we want to meet them, come on." Prism said, leading her through the mostly silent streets, staying out of the lights.

The front door was slammed open as two large men walked in, Marcus Redhand walking in between them. Pulse was standing in the center of the tiny living room casually.

"May I help you?" Pulse asked, his hands in his pockets. He looked unassuming enough. Roughly five and a half feet tall, with a medium build. He had white fur, with black circle spots, and short whiskers that twitched softly as one of his ears pivoted on his head. Redhand believed they were only fit for serving, as his father had before him. Pulse, and his wife Prism had served as entertainers in his club for years now, saving up money.

"Search the house." Redhand commanded. One of the soldiers took a step forwards, and a deep bass pulse was felt, blowing their torches out.
"Not here, Redhand. Here, you follow my rules." Pulse's voice echoed around them.
"Moondust, Pulse. You know what she can do right?" Redhand said, holding up his hand as he cast a light spell above his palm.
"Low key psychic." Pulse's voice echoed around them softly.