Elementals: The White Rose
Western Albrion, United Galllian Federation
28th of October, 1781 G.C.C
Huntspot was always profoundly quiet when twilight fell upon the land in autumn. Huntspot's inhabitants were primarily hunters, as one might have guessed from the settlement's name, or lumberjacks, and neither profession was especially safe during the night. By now the menfolk would be back at home enjoying blackberries and sausage porridge, save for the few lonely souls who stood watch from the unimpressive tower in the centre of the village, or walked along the palisade's perimeter with a blunderbuss in hand and a dirk or axe on their belts. Social calls were a rare thing during this time of year; there was too much work to be done before winter came, and fewer and fewer hours of daylight to see in as the Winter Solstice marched closer a day at a time. In summer the humble folk of Huntspot would dance reel after reel, when the sun wouldn't begin to set until 10 at night and there was all the time in the world to spare. In the long, long winter nights as all the beasts slept the people would sit at the hearths of their kin and friends, sharing jerky and stories. But something was terribly different tonight. For starters, every male old enough to shave seemed to be outside, with a weapon or tool in hand. Some of the women were outside too, clutching bandages and pulling wounded men back to safety. Some held knives now stained black. Normally at this time of year the air would smell of crunchy leaves, with a savoury hint of smoke escaping the smoke-houses busy preparing the next winter's stash of jerky. Tonight the air instead smelled like gunpowder, blood, and burnt flesh.
But on this foul evening horrors had emerged from the woods, with red skin, black claws, and amber eyes. The attack had begun over an hour ago, and the townsfolk were beginning to tire out. The wall had been breached on the western end, and so the humans were falling back to the eastern half of the village, save for one redheaded young man. His broadsword was drenched in the blood of the fell marauders, and his ash shield had a few gouges chipped out of it by now. Five enemies turned their attention to him and charged, only to be struck with a surge of flames when the youth swung his blade in their direction. The monsters fell back, and the swordsman straightened the blue scarf around his neck, his breath ragged. Nevertheless, he still had a cocky smirk and a surety to his voice. Never mind that it was more for the desperate people behind him than an accurate representation of how he was feeling.
"Is that all you have, devils? You'll not go a step further into Huntspot! As Pryastar lives, you'll all go back to the vile plane you crawled out of as nothing more than ashes!" the Fire Elemental bellowed. The red creatures looked at him for a few moments, before they began shuffling back and to the sides, clearing a path towards the breach in the palisade they had made. As their ranks formed Huntspot's champion could see a new foe, wearing a rust-coloured breastplate and a long black coat. The man looked a foot taller than him, with very pale skin and dark grey eyes. His head was shaved, making it clear to see that horns stuck out of his skull as well, "I take it you're the fiend behind all of this evil?"
"I take it you're the nuisance that has kept my forces from cleansing this sad assortment of hovels?" the wicked one replied, casually drawing his own broadsword, "I admit you peasants have impressed me. Even with the element of surprise you've mounted a capable defence. You Northemen are just as stubborn as all the stories I've heard indicated. That'll do against the mindless brutes, but you're hopelessly outclassed against a Daemonne like myself. Prepare to meet your patron," Waves of black and purple began crackling along his form, "Temptation's Chains!"
A group of black tendrils shot up from the ground at the youth. His sword cut through a few of them, causing them to turn to smoke, but several of them managed to wrangle his shield from his grasp. By this point the Daemonne had closed the gap between himself and the Elemental, and thrust his longsword at his trapped foe. But the Northemen managed to lean out of the way, and spat some flames from his mouth back at the hellspawn. It caused enough of a distraction for him to finish chopping his way free from the spell before the Daemonne began stabbing away at him. The Fire Elemental parried back all the thrusts, surprised at his own skill. Their blades locked, and with hands so close to his foe he shot a quick jet of fire from his right hand. The Daemonne snarled in pain, but a moment later fired a loud burst of Darkness that sent the Galllian flying back, his tired body smashing through the wooden wall. Pain erupted in the lad's body, and he found himself spitting up blue blood. He tried dragging himself over to where his sword had fallen from his grasp, but the Daemonne got to him first, and stomped on his chest.
"Any last words, Elemental?" the warrior of evil hissed as he charged up his magic. All that came in reply was a pained, angry grunt, with the boy trying to push off the hellspawn's boot, only to get whipped in the face by his enemy's tail, "Pathetic. What a sad fate, dying without even having something eloquent to say. What a dishonourable, feeble way to-"
The loudest horse whinny cut the Daemonne's sentence off, and all either of the fighters could hear after that was the thunder of hooves from a white destrier at full gallop before there was a brilliant flash of light, and the Daemonne's head was cut off. The Fire Elemental's eyes widened at the sight above him now. Moonlight framed a knight in gleaming plate armour, a pearly glowing sword in her left hand and an indigo cape upon her shoulders. Even though the face was hidden under a helmet, he got the sense she was smiling down at him. The paladin dismounted and went to put her free hand on the lad, when the five demons that had been watching the fight under their master's orders went into a frenzy. She turned around and was upon them in an instant, sanctified blade plunging into their forms. It was over in a matter of seconds. With the interlopers gone the stranger returned to the Fire Elemental's side, sheathing her sword and putting her hands on his chest. Specks of light swirled from them into his body, and his breathing normalised.
"That was very brave of you, protecting this village. What's your name?" the rider asked gently.
"Percy. Percy Cauvson," the lad managed to reply, sitting up a bit.
"A pleasure to meet you, Percy," said the Light Elemental as she got back on her horse, "Now, which way did the demons come?"
"From the west. There's a wet old cave and an eerie wee ruin that way," Percy explained, "What are going to do, my lady?"
"Exorcise the invaders from my realm, and chase them right back to Hell," the knight answered, steel in her voice now. She patted the side of her horse twice, and Percy watched the White Rose gallop into the night.
"I was unable to get any other eyewitnesses to the White Rose's actions from the the folk of Huntspot, but after I was done with my investigation in the village I had young Mr. Cauvson guide me to the cave he informed her about. There were multiple standard demon corpses present, with disintegration wounds, as well as a juvenile crystal demon corpse. The cave itself had a seven-foot wide archway about sixty yards in, freshly broken, with worn-out symbols of Tenaembra carved into it. There was an old hag wearing Order of Malsidrian garb, but she seemed to have been dead for some time. I suppose she was the one responsible for opening the Inferno, even if there was no immediate reply to her pleadings for dark wrath to be poured out upon the world. Judging by the minimal equipment on the lone Daemonne corpse and the complete lack of any armaments among his demons I'd suspect this was the work of another petty warlord. I've yet to encounter any proof of more powerful factions marching upon Gaiaca. That about sums up all I've found since we last spoke, Judas," a tall man softly spoke, reading from a small brown notebook by the light of a campfire. He was seated on a log, while a more broad-shouldered man with black hair sat on a small stool across from him, using a stick to hold some bread over the flames.
"Good work with that, Richard," said Judas. He inspected the bread and was satisfied with how toasted it was. He unscrewed a glass jar that was on the ground next to him and proceeded to spread its content on the toast, "Do you want some for your bread? Or to take with you on the road? Lenya's gotten rather good at making this apple jam, you know." Richard made a combination of a shrug and a nod, and Judas pulled a fresh jar from his pack and tossed it to his friend.
"And where will the road take me next, do you think?" Richard asked, taking a sip from his canteen.
"Carogne would be nice this time of year, I'd say. You could have trouble with some angry tourists in grey, though," Judas smirked. Nothing else was said between the two of them for a minute, as one finished his toast, and the other unwrapped the last of his cheese and finished it off. At last Judas spoke again, "If the ship manifests I've seen are correct then some of that old group should be winding up in Carogne about the same time you'd get there by steamship from St. Veowulf. I'd suggest recruiting their help, both for sorting that city out down there, and the long job up here. Watchtower's after something in all the old ruins here in Albrion." Richard said nothing, only looking up at the cloudy night sky.
The City of Carogne, United Galllian Federation
15th of November, 1781 G.C.C
Carogne was comfortably busy on this Thursday afternoon. The summer tourists had sailed home to the mainland by now, but the pleasant temperature the medium-sized port city was still blessed with this late in the year meant that plenty of the regular inhabitants would be out and about. They were leisurely buying fish and fruit for their larders, gawking at the latest fashions in the boutique windows, or perusing the newsagents. Carogne was a prosperous trade hub, and her people had historically seen much less conflict than the mainland Galllians. The Wide Northern War had thrown them off for a time, when they had to find new places to dock their merchant vessels when the Federal Navy declared they needed to use the best docks in the city, but their natural business rhythm seemed to mostly be back in place. The territories that had formed the Commonwealth of the North hadn't sent much through Carogne before the war anyway. The main northern concern the merchants of this city had was in the timber and wool, plenty of which still shipped out of western Albrion. From here it could be sold off to Southemen for the factories, or to Halvefori ships that would carry it eastward to the rest of the world. This arrangement had existed for centuries, and it showed in the mixed architecture of the city, where the bleached white and light blue paints used by the people of Halvefor mingled with the sturdy brick or stone of Galllia. There was a ship arriving today from the opposite direction, Yuelkelu, but its primary cargo was tanned people back from holiday. There were at least two people on the ship, however, that were starting their trip in Galllia, rather than ending it.
"Ooh, I forgot how chilly Galllia feels, Tristan," Mrs. Lisoette Frost remarked, pulling her stylish new violet coat tighter around her dress. It was only a bit over 60 degrees St. Fairwinheight, but it was the coldest temperature she'd felt in years that wasn't directly caused by her new husband, "I wonder what else has changed since we've been away. And I wonder what restaurants there are too? Let's go look!"
Meanwhile, in a square further inland, some tense-looking folk in grey uniforms were milling about. Some checked the time on their watches, while others put up posters and handed out pamphlets advertising a rally that was going to happen in their square in a short while, promising informative discourse on the evils Elementals inflicted upon society, along with other information about the group they all served: Watchtower.
