- Messages
- 225
- Character Biography
- Link
They had come seeking one thing: the liberation of Trajan Meng. And they were prepared to bloody their hands if need be.
Khadija Han led them, the fifty Luminari warriors gathered in the camp. They were hidden in the wilds, miles distant from the Western Gates of Alliria. Here they were equipping themselves. Donning their armor--chainmail or brigandine or leather or gambesons, no plate--checking their weapons, counting crossbow bolts. Kha had passed around two other pieces of equipment for all of them: Ablative Jerkins and Sacrifice Crystals. The Jerkins were enchanted vests, worn over top of their armor, designed to absorb an amount of low-level magic directed at the wearer before deteriorating. The Sacrifice Crystals--rounded on one end and sharpened on the other--were to ensure that, if it could so be helped, none of their number would be taken alive. The swirling and muted orange magic within the Crystals hinted at the final, thunderous service to Mankind, should they be employed.
Yet this was the tragedy of the day. The Luminari would be forced to raise their hands against their fellow men and women. Humans killing humans. It was an awful thought, a terrible circumstance, but one they had been forced into. Despite Khadija's reservations, despite the reservations of (ostensibly) all those present, they would do what was necessary.
"Brothers. Sisters," Khadija said to the faithful as they prepared themselves. "Keep the faith."
The sun was bright. Shining. Perhaps, if they accorded themselves well, they--all of them--would likewise shine in the history of Mankind for what they were going to do this day.
"Though Trajan would scorn the notion, we know the truth."
Nods among them. Among the faithful. They knew it well before she could even speak it.
"He is a father to us. Without him, we are truly lost."
Confident recitings of Luminari sayings throughout the camp: And we are kin and Always Earned, Never Given.
"And we will not abandon him," Khadija said. Her voice firm and resolute. "No matter what it takes."
Khadija learned what happened to Trajan almost too late. Clarissa Mejeure--the Luminari's spymaster of sorts--was still missing since the incident in Elbion. But learn of Trajan's fate Khadija had, and there was limited time to act, to gather enough Luminari warriors (but not too much so as to draw attention) and put in place a plan.
Trajan had been imprisoned in Alliria. Something had gone wrong, of that there was little doubt, but it did not matter. What did matter was freeing him before he was transferred into the custody of the approaching Elbion Cohort.
Yes. A prisoner exchange was due to happen today. Not just Trajan but several others being turned over from the Allirian authority to the Elbion authority. And this was Khadija's opportunity: for the Allirian forces at the jail were too powerful and deep in the city to fight, and the Elbion forces would no doubt feature an array of mages among them, which the Luminari warriors were not so well-equipped to handle.
The plan: Assault the wagon train transporting Trajan and the prisoners while it was still inside the city and en route to the Western Gates. Khadija knew that the Elbion Cohort would be waiting there at the Gates as the prisoners were brought to them--such was part of an agreement between Alliria and Elbion whose finer details were of no particular concern. And Kha had a few enchanted devices that would aid in sowing mass chaos and confusion, making the break out on the (relatively) lightly guarded prisoner transport and the subsequent escape much easier. Such was her hope, at least.
And so the fifty Luminari warriors filtered into Alliria. Not all at once, naturally, but in staggered groups. Each with their own excuses or pleasant small talk exchanged with the Gate Guards. Though they were all loaded with equipment, they wore plain clothes--robes or tunics or cloaks--over the top of them. Said they were hunters or sellswords or the like, married couples visiting family. There were no problems getting in.
Not a moment too soon, as well. When Khadija, the last of the Luminari to enter the city did so, she had looked back over her shoulder and saw approaching from the western road toward the Gates a large group of riders. The Elbion Cohort.
Right on time.
Kha held her dwarven clock pendant. Steadied her nerves.
Tick.
Tock.
Trajan Meng was shepherded out of his cell in the Allirian jail in the Outer City. He wore his prisoner's rags and the guards waved their truncheons to direct Trajan and the other prisoners out through the hallway of cells and through the guard's vestibule and out into the jail courtyard. There the prisoner transport--four horse-drawn wagons--awaited them.
Nothing had come of his encounter with the Dreadlord Yrael. The jail guards had been prepared to execute him for his perceived actions, thinking he had bent the bars of his cell and blown open the hole in the stone wall (and even killed one of the guardsmen), but the other prisoners had corroborated Trajan's account. For good or ill, nothing came of it.
And yet, Trajan wondered if he should have taken Yrael's deal. It was a vile position into which to be placed, being forced to consider practicality over principle, but now--now that he was being loaded into the second wagon of the transport convoy--he thought on this. Thought on a great many things. His triumphs. But more so his failures. He wondered if his reach exceeded his grasp, if the dream of a United Humanity was something that would require sacrifices greater than death, greater than that which he did not fear to give.
Would it not be a colossal tragedy, to suffer a death that contributed nothing to the Cause? What if adherence to principle amounted to nothing more than the slow and sure demise of all Mankind?
Trajan sat in the back of the cramped wagon. The jail guard shut the door after him, only the light of the two barred windows coming through now. The wagon was hardly more than a large wooden box on wheels, uncomfortable and purpose-built for the efficient transporting of prisoners--they whose well-being was thoroughly disregarded.
The three other men in the wagon were all like Trajan: crammed next to their fellow man, sitting with their legs flat and forward, heads bowed in grim or stoic consideration.
With a slight jerk, the wagon started forward. The prisoner transport was on the move. Four wagons, flanked by both mounted and dismounted guardsmen. Two hounds and their handlers also walked by the middle of the convoy.
Most of the way through the city was uneventful.
Then the transport turned the final corner at an intersection in the streets. Began their final approach down a long stretch of street toward the Western Gates and the awaiting Elbion Cohort there.
Unbeknownst to the prisoner transport, they would be moving right into an ambush on this street.
And unbeknownst to Khadija and a full half of the Luminari warriors, pretending to browse at the street vendor stalls here and talking idly and watching from the corners of their eyes the approach of the transport, they were going to be betrayed.
The street was peaceful. A normal day in Alliria. Disguised Luminari warriors and actual Allirian citizens alike talked and bantered and browsed and ate. Children crossed the street some ways ahead of the prisoner transport, a harried mother chasing after them. The guardsmen in front of the convoy had to shoo some people to the side, gruff commands to "make way," and their commands were obeyed and there was no further problem.
The sun above and the clear blue sky gorgeous. A group of five birds flew from a house on one side of the street to a shop on the other.
And Khadija Han stood at an apple stand. Picking up a vibrant red apple and paying the vendor for it.
Behind her, the prisoner transport began to roll past. Horse hooves and wagon wheels against the hard cobblestone.
Khadija Han led them, the fifty Luminari warriors gathered in the camp. They were hidden in the wilds, miles distant from the Western Gates of Alliria. Here they were equipping themselves. Donning their armor--chainmail or brigandine or leather or gambesons, no plate--checking their weapons, counting crossbow bolts. Kha had passed around two other pieces of equipment for all of them: Ablative Jerkins and Sacrifice Crystals. The Jerkins were enchanted vests, worn over top of their armor, designed to absorb an amount of low-level magic directed at the wearer before deteriorating. The Sacrifice Crystals--rounded on one end and sharpened on the other--were to ensure that, if it could so be helped, none of their number would be taken alive. The swirling and muted orange magic within the Crystals hinted at the final, thunderous service to Mankind, should they be employed.
Yet this was the tragedy of the day. The Luminari would be forced to raise their hands against their fellow men and women. Humans killing humans. It was an awful thought, a terrible circumstance, but one they had been forced into. Despite Khadija's reservations, despite the reservations of (ostensibly) all those present, they would do what was necessary.
"Brothers. Sisters," Khadija said to the faithful as they prepared themselves. "Keep the faith."
The sun was bright. Shining. Perhaps, if they accorded themselves well, they--all of them--would likewise shine in the history of Mankind for what they were going to do this day.
"Though Trajan would scorn the notion, we know the truth."
Nods among them. Among the faithful. They knew it well before she could even speak it.
"He is a father to us. Without him, we are truly lost."
Confident recitings of Luminari sayings throughout the camp: And we are kin and Always Earned, Never Given.
"And we will not abandon him," Khadija said. Her voice firm and resolute. "No matter what it takes."
* * * * *
Khadija learned what happened to Trajan almost too late. Clarissa Mejeure--the Luminari's spymaster of sorts--was still missing since the incident in Elbion. But learn of Trajan's fate Khadija had, and there was limited time to act, to gather enough Luminari warriors (but not too much so as to draw attention) and put in place a plan.
Trajan had been imprisoned in Alliria. Something had gone wrong, of that there was little doubt, but it did not matter. What did matter was freeing him before he was transferred into the custody of the approaching Elbion Cohort.
Yes. A prisoner exchange was due to happen today. Not just Trajan but several others being turned over from the Allirian authority to the Elbion authority. And this was Khadija's opportunity: for the Allirian forces at the jail were too powerful and deep in the city to fight, and the Elbion forces would no doubt feature an array of mages among them, which the Luminari warriors were not so well-equipped to handle.
The plan: Assault the wagon train transporting Trajan and the prisoners while it was still inside the city and en route to the Western Gates. Khadija knew that the Elbion Cohort would be waiting there at the Gates as the prisoners were brought to them--such was part of an agreement between Alliria and Elbion whose finer details were of no particular concern. And Kha had a few enchanted devices that would aid in sowing mass chaos and confusion, making the break out on the (relatively) lightly guarded prisoner transport and the subsequent escape much easier. Such was her hope, at least.
And so the fifty Luminari warriors filtered into Alliria. Not all at once, naturally, but in staggered groups. Each with their own excuses or pleasant small talk exchanged with the Gate Guards. Though they were all loaded with equipment, they wore plain clothes--robes or tunics or cloaks--over the top of them. Said they were hunters or sellswords or the like, married couples visiting family. There were no problems getting in.
Not a moment too soon, as well. When Khadija, the last of the Luminari to enter the city did so, she had looked back over her shoulder and saw approaching from the western road toward the Gates a large group of riders. The Elbion Cohort.
Right on time.
Kha held her dwarven clock pendant. Steadied her nerves.
Tick.
Tock.
* * * * *
Trajan Meng was shepherded out of his cell in the Allirian jail in the Outer City. He wore his prisoner's rags and the guards waved their truncheons to direct Trajan and the other prisoners out through the hallway of cells and through the guard's vestibule and out into the jail courtyard. There the prisoner transport--four horse-drawn wagons--awaited them.
Nothing had come of his encounter with the Dreadlord Yrael. The jail guards had been prepared to execute him for his perceived actions, thinking he had bent the bars of his cell and blown open the hole in the stone wall (and even killed one of the guardsmen), but the other prisoners had corroborated Trajan's account. For good or ill, nothing came of it.
And yet, Trajan wondered if he should have taken Yrael's deal. It was a vile position into which to be placed, being forced to consider practicality over principle, but now--now that he was being loaded into the second wagon of the transport convoy--he thought on this. Thought on a great many things. His triumphs. But more so his failures. He wondered if his reach exceeded his grasp, if the dream of a United Humanity was something that would require sacrifices greater than death, greater than that which he did not fear to give.
Would it not be a colossal tragedy, to suffer a death that contributed nothing to the Cause? What if adherence to principle amounted to nothing more than the slow and sure demise of all Mankind?
Trajan sat in the back of the cramped wagon. The jail guard shut the door after him, only the light of the two barred windows coming through now. The wagon was hardly more than a large wooden box on wheels, uncomfortable and purpose-built for the efficient transporting of prisoners--they whose well-being was thoroughly disregarded.
The three other men in the wagon were all like Trajan: crammed next to their fellow man, sitting with their legs flat and forward, heads bowed in grim or stoic consideration.
With a slight jerk, the wagon started forward. The prisoner transport was on the move. Four wagons, flanked by both mounted and dismounted guardsmen. Two hounds and their handlers also walked by the middle of the convoy.
* * * * *
Most of the way through the city was uneventful.
Then the transport turned the final corner at an intersection in the streets. Began their final approach down a long stretch of street toward the Western Gates and the awaiting Elbion Cohort there.
Unbeknownst to the prisoner transport, they would be moving right into an ambush on this street.
And unbeknownst to Khadija and a full half of the Luminari warriors, pretending to browse at the street vendor stalls here and talking idly and watching from the corners of their eyes the approach of the transport, they were going to be betrayed.
* * * * *
The street was peaceful. A normal day in Alliria. Disguised Luminari warriors and actual Allirian citizens alike talked and bantered and browsed and ate. Children crossed the street some ways ahead of the prisoner transport, a harried mother chasing after them. The guardsmen in front of the convoy had to shoo some people to the side, gruff commands to "make way," and their commands were obeyed and there was no further problem.
The sun above and the clear blue sky gorgeous. A group of five birds flew from a house on one side of the street to a shop on the other.
And Khadija Han stood at an apple stand. Picking up a vibrant red apple and paying the vendor for it.
Behind her, the prisoner transport began to roll past. Horse hooves and wagon wheels against the hard cobblestone.