The Red Halo: Part One (Closed) [Archive]

Anke/Varg

03-01-12, 01:09 PM

Prologue
To Untie A Nation

The home of Baron William Valeena stands proudly on the slopes of the Windlacer Mountains, nestled to the north by the rise to the lofty peaks, and to the south by the palisade walls of the mining town of Sess-Terria. It was a period building, predominantly made of heavy granite brickwork and wooden struts. It was not architecturally pleasing, but it was a large, functional mansion, courthouse and barracks for the small hold of guards that kept the wealth of mining deposits secure from bandits, Innari and opportunists.

Whilst the town itself is a dingy, drab excuse for a settlement on an island of proud, rural and hardworking people, it is here that much of the metals to arm the Knights of Scara Brae and the Barony guard are dredged from the ground and tempered. It is also precisely the reason that the Red Anke loathed her home so much.

“I do not want to be here,” she grumbled, her words jittery by virtue of the wagon’s bumpy advance over the dirt track that wound over the plains towards the town walls. “I do not want to be here at all.”

“For what it is worth, Rouge, neither do I.”

Choice however was a dirty word when you were in the employ and brotherhood of the Scara Brae criminal organisation known as The Scourge.

The woman looked up at the imposing figure of her companion and cast him a warm smile. He was stood at the front of the wagon, using his height to clasp onto the dividing panel to look out over the sunlit horizon. Rouge, always stricken with a queasy stomach on long journeys, remained seated on a pile of straw. Her only company for much of the journey north from the capital had been a clucky chicken with a penchant for pecking at her grieves. Her temperament meant she would have to reimburse the wagon owner for a new chicken.

“Can you see anything yet?” she sighed. Her cowl was resplendent in the heat of the sun but her facial expression dredged any beauty from her natural form.

Leper pierced the horizon, tracing the distant town so that its layout burnt into his memory. He took a deep breath and cocked his head. The steam that hissed out from his ears told Rouge that his half clockwork brain was working hard. Beset against the Windlacers, Sess-Terria was a patch of smoke and brown pine trestle at the foot of the range. Despite still being a league away, the werewolf’s senses gave him a good impression of what lay ahead.

“There is nothing unusual to see,” he snarled, “but there is also nothing usual to hear.” The gates opened in the distance. Rouge rose to try and sneak a look, resorting to standing on her tip toes to crane a glance.

The wide and open planes were almost overwhelming to the duo. Everywhere they looked, they were met with sprawling grass flats and bouncing patches of yellow buttercups and marigolds. To the south, the sea, and the distant rise of Scara Brae herself. To the east, the crags of the Neverscale broke the smooth landscape ominously marking the start of the north eastern Innari territory. The north was dominated from horizons edge to horizon’s edge by the indomitable mountain range that covered much of the northern region of the island. It was a range that the Scourge operatives had explored on many an occasion, sourcing new locations for hideouts and rural storage. They were called upon for their unusual approach to climbing, or more specifically, Leper’s penchant for agile theatrics.

“It does seem rather,” she hesitated, reluctant to incite Fate too early, “quiet.”

The wagon jolted over a pot hole, and the duo were treated to a sudden, out of character burst of profanity from the bundle of cloth that clung to the reins at the front of the wagon. Rouge clocked Leper’s mechanical smile, and they both dropped back into the straw bed chuckling light heartedly. The man or at least, the person they thought was a man had let them ride with him on the journey to Sess-Terria for a modest sum of one gold coin each. He had asked no questions, not bothered his heavier cargo with idle chit chat, and maintained more than a prompt pace over the well-worn road.

“Do you think this is perhaps something to do with our assignment?” Leper tucked his gloved fingers into the inside pocket of his jacket and produced a golden pocket watch. Its hands told him it was a quarter to two, and he whirled and hissed in his own calculating intrigue as he returned it to his gold threaded pocket.

They had taken two hours out of their day for a journey that would have otherwise taken eight on foot. The werewolf was enthralled and almost excited by Rouge’s planning efficiency. It was a drug to his bound instincts, a method to the madness that was his strange approach to living. He thought long and hard about what his gut instinct was actually telling him.

“If the war has been hard on coffers in the city, I cannot begin to fathom its impact on the border towns,” he continued.

Rouge slipped the goggles from her head and fumbled with them between shaking fingers. She embraced the cold rim of the eye pieces and the feeling of course, worn leather in her grip. Whenever the engineer was deep in thought, her body seemed to race, like a runner hitting the wall, or a murderer gouging out an eye. It thrilled her, riled her, and made her feel alive. She ran through all the possible future foe scenarios the duo could encounter when they reached Sess-Terria. Rouge did not find any of them appealing.

“Baron Valeena would never let his town die because of his nieces’ petulant desire to stay tethered to the Empire. No, my good sir, I think this has a more sinister implication.”

“Why do I get the feeling that we are going to be here considerably longer than either of us can stomach?”

Rouge could only wonder.