Chapter Text
In a silent breeze, beneath a setting sun and an amber sky stood a town.
It wasn't a massive town. Anyone could tell you that, should they get a look beyond the towering walls surrounding it. With houses made of sticks and stones, pebbly paths embedded in the reddened soil leading into each building, and a lone prayer house by the western end of the barricades, it wouldn't exactly strike one as remarkable. At the centre, plenty of people gathered - some young, some old, all faithful, as they stood around the sole discontinuation in the road: a small crater, circled with blackened rocks and filled with fresh dry planks of wood and straw.
At the head of the circle stood an elderly man dressed in crimson vestments and a crudely-made circlet of vermilion feathers, who gazed intently into the firewood as he put his hands together, everyone following his lead in doing so. Closing his eyes and planting his feet firmly on the ground, he spoke softly and calmly. "Oh, elegant Zhuque...we gather here to thank you for your protection. Smile, as we dance in your name!"
Gathered around the circle were people following many different paths in life: bards, blacksmiths, merchants and priests alike, those who had tasted loss, and those who had led as charmed a life as the Starlands could offer. But, as the green-hatted bard to the right began strumming on his lyre, it was like they were all of one mind as they broke into a graceful dance. Everybody moved in sync, as though they had done this a thousand times before, and even the musician swayed to his own peaceful, melodic rhythm.
It was a joyous time, truly. As the music died down, the priest leading the ceremony stamped his foot on the ground, closing his eyes and holding his hand out towards the wood pile. Everyone else did the same, not least the cloaked woman standing on the opposite side to him. As he spoke, she acted.
"As we light this flame, oh great Vermilion Bird, we pray. The hour of the Kindling is upon us. By your will, the Torch shall defend us from the dawn."
At that, she felt herself connecting to the very world beneath her feet. The earth's veins flowed around her, and as she drank from their endless flow, she felt a burning energy rushing through her body. Opening her eyes, she raised her palm, revealing a small crimson flame that she hurled into the fuel, erupting it into a roaring bonfire that everyone stood back and marveled at.
The priest, for his part, raised his arms in joy, watching it all burn. "Lifrotz! Let the twilight flames protect us! Oh Torch, be our sword and shield, and stave off the beasts that roam the earth!"
"Lifrotz! Lifrotz!"
As the crowd burst into impassioned chanting, the priest quietened down as he watched the wooden gate open, two spear-wielding guards clad in bronze-hued brigandines and red-plumed helmets stormed in, standing on either side of it. The ceremony froze to a halt as the priest, stepping out in front of the fire, scowled softly. "...I do hope this is important."
"Most certainly, Father." one guard spoke up, her voice low and calm. "It appears we have visitors."
"Visitors...is it the mercenary, perhaps?"
"If only." the other guard scowled, clenching his teeth. "I'm afraid the Order is en route to our village."
Confused whispers filled the air, and the Father raised an eyebrow as he stepped forward, bracing himself in both curiosity and determination. "The Order has no business setting foot beyond the West to begin with." he mused, not raising his voice one bit. "I wonder why they've come for this little colony in the middle of nowhere."
"What shall we do, Father?" the first guard questioned. "They equal five in number. Shall we drive them off?"
"If they made it this far, past all the abominations littered over these lands, they must be quite capable, indeed." the bard cut in, shaking his head as the Father nodded in agreement.
"He is correct." spoke the priest. "I say our best option is to talk. As long as we hide our Line Touched, they will not harm us."
Everyone paused at that, looking among their numbers. While most people in this village had no signs of being tainted by the veins of the earth, there were a small handful of people with deformities - a boy with three eyes, a girl with rocky splinters growing out of her arms, a man with a ruddy complexion and fire for hair - and these had been the most shaken at the mention of the word "Order". With a wave of the Father's arm, the concealment effort began, the 'Line Touched' being hurriedly escorted into their homes as the rest hoped the confrontation would be over with quickly.
.........
Anyone even remotely familiar with the Order knew to listen out for the heavy clinking of their metal boots as they trudged along the rocky wasteland surrounding the colony. As the guards and the priest stood outside the walls, they watched as four people dressed like templars walked in a V-formation, approaching almost imposingly with longswords strapped to their sides. They wore immaculate chainmail armour and greaves, all silver in colour, but while this was seen on their arms and legs, the rest of their bodies were hidden behind a pure white surcoat bearing the stylised emblem of a white tiger's roaring head, encased in a calligraphic black circle.
At the front and centre of the formation was a man who looked somewhat different from the others. Though he shared in the white colour scheme, he wore no visible chainmail, his armour instead taking the form of plates on his arms, legs and torso (with the insignia embossed on the chestplate), while an unblemished white cape flowed down his shoulders, fastened by a pair of claw-marked pauldrons. In his hand, he carried a mighty glaive with golden script on its blade, and as he carried it over his shoulder, his blue eyes, the very picture of confidence, twinkled as he stared directly at the priest.
Despite the fire raging behind him, the look the Father gave him in turn could be best described as one of hidden ice. As the two came face to face, their respective backup in tow, the priest bowed his head, gazing skeptically upon the younger, more fit man. "...well met, Tiger." he uttered, knowing his best move for now was to stay relatively amicable.
Seemingly without having noticed any hostility, the armoured man stood tall, his hand on his hip as he looked down proudly on the holy man. "Well met indeed, my good sir!" he boomed, grinning widely as he saw the flames burning bright. "Surely, whatever festivities you have planned have room for..." he paused, glancing back at his fellow knights before continuing. "...five more?"
"Your attempts at making merry are appreciated," the Father replied, sharp as a tack. "But they fill me with curiosity nonetheless. Why, pray tell, have you come so far from home?"
"Hmm?" the knight leaned forward, standing over the Father as imposingly as he could. "Is there a problem? I don't see anyone saying we can't be here." he continued, nodding over to his small squadron. "Did any of you?"
The remaining soldiers filled the air with vague noises of agreement, and their leader turned back around, raising an eyebrow as high as he could. "Well, there we have it." he said, smiling widely. "Let me through, won't you?"
"We do not allow surprise guests." one guard spoke up, scowling as she tightened her grip on her spear. "Answer the question."
The knight slowly lowered his eyebrow, only to raise the other one as he tilted his head, processing what had been said before letting out a quiet chuckle. "Alright, alright, I'll humour you." he said, a false kind of graciousness in his words as he shrugged with his free arm. "The King has told us to wander around the Starlands and see what we find. Through those means, we have learned that somewhere around here, a terrible monster is interfering with your trade routes. But it's been a long day, so we figured we might as well camp here for the night and set out to deal with it come morning."
The Father narrowed his eyes, staring suspiciously at the blond-haired man before shaking his head. "We have already hired a mercenary. He should be on his way." he pointed out, quickly stepping back as the knight raised his glaive, only to plant it in the ground next to him, grinning merrily as he grabbed the pole of his weapon. Right on cue, the other knights drew their swords, raising them in sync with impassioned grunts.
"Ha! And who would you rather hedge your bets on? A singular sellsword of unproven mastery?" he asked, running his hand through his own blond locks. "Or a group of trained knights led by none other than I, the great Sir Maximus of the Headlands?"
"Your people's prowess is noted, Sir Maximus." the Father scowled. "But we have made our decision. We believe these measures will be adequate."
"And I believe these measures will be utterly magnificent!" Maximus declared, pounding his expansive chest with a toothy grin. "We, the Order of the White Tiger, are sworn to defend these lands from every foul beast and conniving demon produced by the lines! See for yourself the skills personally chosen by the King!"
"He said no, Max. Quit embarrassing yourself."
Those words, spoken in a coarse, raspy voice, immediately froze Maximus in his tracks, his expression changing from grandeur to astonishment in the blink of an eye. The Father, who had been growing increasingly impatient with the knight's boasting, couldn't help but let out a sigh of relief, while the other Tigers turned their heads in the direction of the voice only to gasp, immediately raising their swords as if to defend themselves.
All eyes present turned to face the new visitor, who approached from the barren wasteland behind him, his fluffy red hair blowing gently in the wind. But that was, to be frank, the least striking aspect of him - that alone held two jagged, rocky horns presented boldly on his head. As his feet, covered in black boots, carried him closer to the scene, his wry, slit-pupilled orange eyes lazily scanned the scene. His skin, an ashen grey colour, was covered in rocky scales between the neck and collarbone, which his frayed black robes made little effort to hide. Strapped to his waist was a pair of sheathed scimitars, sharp and long with a gentle curve, and covered with a worn black scabbard each.
As his gaze met Maximus', the knight dug his weapon out of the ground and pointed it at him, causing him to raise his hands as the Father disapprovingly watched. The first to move was Maximus, stepping forward and pushing the priest out of the way as he stood protectively in front of him. "Stand back, sir!" he declared, clenching his teeth tightly. "You stand in the presence of a cunningly brutal demon!"
"...duly noted." the Father scowled, his attention focused on the demon, who casually waved at the group. "Surely, you could make way for him?"
"Do you think me insane, mister?" Maximus gasped, the Father wisely opting not to answer that question. "A foul demon among your kinship could spell the end for everyone here!"
Turning around, his eyes met those of the ash-coloured man. Maximus glared daggers at the horned visitor, who was much more relaxed even when his fellow Tigers followed suit. Shrugging his shoulders, he began to draw closer, only for the knights around Maximus to gather around and surround him almost protectively, their blades drawn as they obstructed his path, hateful glares that were not reciprocated.
"...as warm a welcome as always, I see." he began, stopping in his tracks once close enough and raising his hands. An awkward smile gracing his features, he kept his hands up, scanning each person before him. "Do you mind, though? I need to get around you."
"Silence, abomination!"
"In the name of man, we rebuke you!"
"Return to the lines from whence you came!"
The demon scowled slightly, glancing past the Tigers to exchange a sympathetic glance with the Father. "Well, that's promising." he murmured, watching as Maximus, seemingly satisfied with this defensive measure, stepped around his underlings and faced him directly.
"We meet once again, demon." he sneered, bright blue eyes meeting slitted orange ones as he nodded to his men, his glaive held over his shoulder. "Would you not say this is a good sign?"
"It's certainly a sign." the demon mused. "Though I suppose the reminder that I don't have the biggest head in these lands is always welcome."
"Think about it!" Maximus gestured broadly to the air in front of him, seeming to ignore the demon's words. "The Torch's flame is soon to descend on us all - and like a prelude to my legend, the gods have given me the chance to end you once and for all!"
He paused, his smile widening as everyone seemed to chatter quietly among themselves, the village guards exchanging strange glances while the Tigers were more accepting. The Father, meanwhile, only seemed to harden, narrowing his eyes at Maximus with a deep, displeased frown. "That is quite enough, Sir Maximus. I must-"
"Just a minute, Father!" the demon interrupted him, lowering his hands ever so slightly. "I've got this."
"...very well."
"No need. I believe I understand what is going on here." Maximus' bravado quickly turned to a sharp glare as he stepped forward. Despite his usual demeanour, he was a very physically-imposing man, and the demon, despite being no string bean himself, couldn't help but instinctively step back. "You...you must have planted your seeds in this village already!"
"If that's what you need to feel good about losing."
"Silence! You demons and your foul tricks!" Maximus declared, his eyes widening as he slowly put together the pieces of the puzzle in his mind. "You must have deceived this poor gentleman to get close to him so you and your kin can feast!"
"Eating people? So that's the King's lie of the year?" the demon raised an eyebrow, looking over at the Father with a scowl. "Look, I'm sure everyone here would tell you that I've never even been here."
"You wouldn't have to." Maximus cut in right as the soldiers were about to back up the demon's statement. "I bet if I were to march past those gates right now, I would find no less than ten vile Line Touched cozying up to your women and leeching off your hospitality!"
The Father bristled at that, crossing his arms with his teeth nervously clenched, and the demon immediately reached for the handle of one of his scimitars, his expression hardening. "Not a step further."
"Is that a confession, Ashbel?" Maximus smirked subtly, drawing his glaive and watching patiently as the demon unsheathed his curved, blackened blade, preparing to fight. "Then, men, today we fight!"
"In Baihu's name!" the four armour-clad knights spoke as one voice, drawing their own blades and entering a tall, aggressive stance with their swords raised. No more words needed to be spoken - they had their orders, so all that was left was to obey them. They charged towards the gate, and the guards, with brandished spears, stood protectively in front of it.
The barren wasteland was filled with the recurrent clashing of steel as sword met spear over and over, the Tigers' relentless assault meeting its match against those who defended in the name of the Vermilion Bird. The Father, taking position behind his guards, closed his eyes and put his hands together in prayer, his body slowly giving off a warm orange glow.
"No more words, demon. Tonight, your schemes die with you." Maximus said, his voice dangerously calm as he took aim, watching Ashbel's movements closely as if waiting for a sudden move. Ashbel did the same, holding his blade out in both hands. On the blade, there laid subtle runic script, which lit up in blue as the hateful crusader slowly drew nearer. It was true, he'd never been here, but history had a thing for rhyming. Imagining the faces of his fellow Line Touched - their free smiles, their fearful tears - his grip tightened on his sword as he thought one thing to himself:
"Such things...must be preserved."
Battle raged on around them, but right now, their sole interest was one another. But Ashbel knew this guy, and while fighting him wouldn't be a breeze, it would be doable. With a quick nod, he met Maximus' gaze, blade poised to attack. "After you?"
"I thought you'd never ask!" Maximus bellowed, taking off in an instant as he closed the gap between the two just enough for his blade to reach the horned man with a thrust. Ducking under the stab, Ashbel stepped to the side, about to intercept with a counter-slash before Maximus drew back, swatting his blade away with a powerful parry. Slinging his weapon over his shoulder again, he grinned, a hand on his hip. "Is that all you've got, demon? I should-"
Before he could finish that, Ashbel suddenly snapped up, his blade trained on Maximus' throat. As the taller man's eyes widened, he quickly raised his foot, slamming it into Ashbel's chest as the latter was pushed to the ground. Stamping his foot on the ground before the demon, he raised his glaive and stabbed Ashbel's position, as the latter quickly rolled out of the way and assumed a crouching position on two feet before rising up.
Maximus didn't seem to be in much of a hurry to get the glaive out, however. As the script on his blade glowed brightly, the stone splinters driven out by the impact let out a low, magical hum. One by one, they rose from the ground, rapidly circling the polearm before firing themselves at Ashbel. Quickly, he got to work, fluidly swinging his sword and swatting each projectile out of the air, drawing nearer with each strike.
Scimitar in hand, he made a sudden dash forward once Maximus was out of rocks. As he kept a close eye on the knight's movements, he reassumed his offensive, forcing Maximus to back away from him as the latter tried to find a hole in his stance. But it was no use - his moves were simultaneously graceful and wild, and he couldn't define his footwork, either. Every time he or his blade moved, it was in such a way that Maximus couldn't go on the attack without leaving himself open - which Ashbel was surely banking on. For the whole time, he kept his free hand close to his other blade, which was still in its scabbard, but ready to be drawn in an instant.
But no! He would not give this foul cur what he wanted! As he stepped back, he widened his stride just enough to create some real distance between them before leaping back, slamming his glaive into the ground, which rumbled as it responded to the script on the blade before rising up, forming an enormous, jagged rock standing between the two fighters. With a triumphant smile, he readied his weapon, fully intent on dashing out to strike Ashbel in the arm he didn't have a sword in.
Before he could do anything, however, he saw orange veins emerge on the rock's body, before it erupted horizontally in a burst of magma that he couldn't do anything about but stand there and take, hissing in pain. As the remnants of the stone collapsed, Ashbel was there - feet planted firmly on the ground, with a hand extended as if he'd reached out to grasp the rock and melt it with his nefarious Line Touched hands. Indeed, those same veins could be seen on his skin, fading away as the molten rock rapidly cooled around Maximus's feet.
"Like the boots." Ashbel quipped, lunging forth and drawing his second blade, whose runic script glowed a bright red as he readied both swords to swing. He flashed past Maximus in the blink of an eye, having delivered a powerful crosswise cut to his chest, putting a pronounced dent in his insignia. He clenched his teeth, raising his glaive and turning his head as he prepared to counter Ashbel's onslaught, putting the heavy armament between their bodies as Ashbel attempted to slash him a second time. This time, the two struggled against one another, the demon figuring he needed both swords to even stand a chance in this clash.
"Listen here, demon!" Maximus growled, words laced with pure venom. "I know not what false idea of glory you seek tonight...but I swear on my honour as a Tiger, you will not get what you desire!"
Ashbel let out a grunt in response, eyeing Maximus for any weak points as he did his best to maintain his footing. "Honour? You're just a kid with a toy you can't even use properly." he taunted, watching the veins practically bursting in Maximus' head. "And you want to fumble the Torch, too? Something tells me His Majesty won't be too pleased with that."
"Silence!" Maximus yelled, one leg bursting free from its restraint as he planted his iron boot on the ground, turning around to thrust it at Ashbel, who ducked under the blow and rolled closer to him before shooting up to headbutt him in the chin. The knight staggered on the spot, and thanks to his other foot still being trapped, he fell backwards onto the ground.
Ashbel stepped over to him, shaking his head as he sheathed one blade and raised the other, swinging his sword and delivering slash after slash to Maximus' chestplate until the sigil was completely obscured by heavy scratches. The knight, though powerless to resist, certainly made a good-faith effort at it, clenching his fist and attempting repeatedly to grab Ashbel.
"You knave! Just what do you think you're doing?"
"Consider it a failsafe." Ashbel replied simply, looking up to the rest of the fighting. It appeared that, with the Father's assistance, the guards had come out victorious, and he smiled slightly, seeing all the defeated Tigers on the ground, disarmed and beaten down with visibly scorched armour. "You done here?"
"Just about, Sir Mercenary!" one guard exclaimed. "Just figuring out what to do with these guys."
Ashbel shrugged at that, sheathing his other sword as he walked closer to the scene. "I find it's especially poetic when you behead them. I understand the appeal of hanging, but I get it's probably impractical here."
Silence. Everyone looked among their own number, their faces ranging from discomfort to fear before all eyes fell on Ashbel, who raised his hands almost defensively. "...something on my face?"
The Father, closing his eyes, shook his head with a scowl. "If possible, I would like to avoid taking their lives." he said. "Violence begets violence, and I would prefer to break that cycle."
"You spare their lives, they come back here with a bigger army and the thirst for vengeance." Ashbel said bluntly, raising a hand and scratching gently at his own neck. "I might not even be here when it happens."
"...very well. Do as you must."
At that, Ashbel paused, noticing the look of...disappointment, settling on the Father's face. Sadness, and grim acceptance. Good grief, he thought, sighing softly. Seemed that failsafe would be coming in handy after all. Crouching onto the rocky ground and pressing a hand to it, he tapped into his own connection to the lines, becoming one with the earth as he closed his eyes and felt the magic within flow through. His veins glowed orange, and so too did the rocks, as the casing around Maximus' leg returned to the ground from whence it came.
Standing up and turning around, he drew his sword again, pointing it at Maximus, who stumbled back. "Go. And take your men with you." he ordered, observing the slowly-settling look of shock and horror on Maximus' face as the demon stepped towards him, his slitted eyes glowing. "Don't let me catch you around here again, or I'll make you look like a bloody example. Understood?"
Maximus grabbed onto his glaive, teeth tightly clenched as he slowly stood up. This...fiend dared to tell him what to do? And the worst part was, the alternative was death. In the face of such a choice, there was only one thing to do. "Men!" he declared, and each knight looked up, awaiting their orders. "...retreat."
And retreat they did, scrambling to their feet and gathering around their leader as he turned around to leave, meeting Ashbel's gaze with a glare one last time only to mouth a vague threat. Now uninterrupted, the Father smiled softly as he bowed his head to the demon. "Do you...believe that was the right choice?"
"I'm sure it'll all be fine." Ashbel replied, watching Maximus leave. With such obvious dishonour on the knight's breastplate, there was no way he'd head right back to the Headlands empty-handed - not yet, anyway. That would leave Ashbel with just enough time to finish up his business here, leave the village behind and hunt down Maximus away from any disapproving eyes. With a smile, he sheathed his blade, turning around to face the adoring crowd.
"I can only hope so." the Father nodded, putting his hands together. "I can only thank you for listening to your conscience."
"Don't think about it. You've got bigger fish to fry." Ashbel shrugged, stepping forward as the Father began guiding him into the village. "And that's what I'm here for, right?"
"...you are right." the Father nodded, leading everyone back through the gates. "But you must be weary after such a trip. Come, join our festivities. The morning will refresh us all."
"Right now, some nice bread and a good bed is all I could ask for." Ashbel sighed, gazing into the raging fire in the middle as he heard the gates close, watching as the doors to all the homes opened, and young Line Touched poured out of them. Such harmony, he thought, waving to everyone with a cheerful grin. He was proud to be the one to protect it.