And each person who will soon crowd the streets is an essential being, critical to the city’s survival. For they are the cells of Auris, and their money is its lifeblood. Without them, the capital city would quickly shrivel away and die.
While a multitude of battles are taking place on the market streets - With everyone battling to get the best deals they can. Other more… lethal battles are taking place away from the spotlight. These battles, while neither grand nor world-changing, are just as essential for Auris’ continued survival.
Who are these unsung heroes?
They are the mothers and fathers, brothers and sisters, friends and lovers. They are the neighbors you rarely see and the strangers you’ll likely never meet. They are the ones who willingly jump into hell to protect the innocent, avenge the helpless, and safeguard their homes from the monsters of the world.
But, most importantly, they are Hunters.
The obnoxious song of a dozen cicadas looking for love filled the air. Their voices filtered through the partially opened window leading to the bedroom of a third-story apartment.
The owner of said apartment was currently trying her best to sleep through the noise, but fate - and her roommate - had other plans in store for her.
“Hey, Sulika… Sulika, are you there? …Dammit Foxy, would you wake the hell up? You’re going to be late for work!” A feminine voice shouted from somewhere above the sleeping woman’s head… Which should’ve been impossible, since she’d fallen asleep in her own bed, to which the headboard was firmly set against a wall.
Without opening her eyes, Sulika - the sleeping woman - wiped her face and sat up while grumbling under her breath, “Okay, okay.”
After a second to stretch her well-defined arms above her head, she let out a quiet yawn and opened her weary eyes to the same four walls she saw most mornings.
That’s good. This means she didn’t accidentally fall asleep somewhere outside of her bedroom. She didn’t have narcolepsy or anything like that. But when your job requires you to be ‘on the clock’ for days - sometimes weeks on end - well, you learned to sleep whenever, and wherever, you could, or you’d be dead on your feet in a few days.
She looked around for the speaker while hoping she’d imagined the voice. She was exhausted and nothing would make her happier than another hour of sleep.
But Lady Fate was neither kind nor forgiving.
Sulika finally glanced over her shoulder - towards the head of the bed - and found a gorgeous bird perched near the center of the headboard. It was a medium-sized bird at approximately three pounds and thirty-five inches in length. Its feathers were mostly white with a hint of ash gray mixed in.
The bird’s large yellow eyes were transfixed on Sulika’s sleep-deprived face, seemingly waiting for something.
“Well?” The bird asked impatiently. “Are you getting up or not?” Despite the clear annoyance in the voice, the bird’s body language appeared to be calm by comparison.
This conflicting information was easily sorted even by Sulika’s sleep-deprived mind with only a single realization.
The bird - Sulika called him Snowball - wasn’t the one speaking. No, he was merely the catalyst through which someone else was projecting their voice.
For you see, Snowball wasn’t a normal bird, and she didn’t think that just because she’s biased towards pretty birds. No, Sulika and her roommate had purchased him a few years ago from an organization that trained animals in a special kind of magic.
Magic which allowed them to act as communication devices for households.
No longer did the citizens of the world need to worry about a message arriving too late or being intercepted by anyone. The animals were trained to only relay messages to their owners and other ‘pre-approved’ persons. Should anyone else attempt to access the message, the animal was trained to flee the area if possible or fight if necessary.
Thanks to this life-changing innovation in messaging magic; Snowball was able to create and receive audio signals from other, similarly trained animals across the island. And almost any animal could be trained to use this magic, so it was rapidly growing in popularity among pet owners.
Only two criteria must be met before the animal can learn the spell.
- An ability to make sounds with their mouths.
- Enough intelligence to follow simple commands and solve minor problems.
As a Wasenal Macaw, Snowball was easily capable of meeting both criteria. So, he was a natural fit for the communication spell.
Sulika nodded at Snowball before gently rubbing the sleep from her eyes and glancing over to her bedside table. Where a small stone fox lay curled around the base of a near-silent analog clock.
With her eyes still blurry from sleep. It took Sulika a few seconds to make out where the arms were pointing.
But, once she could see, and she saw the time was [6:37 A.M.]
“...Shit.” She cursed under her breath and quickly freed her legs from the chokehold of her plush blue blanket. “I’ll be down in ten minutes!” She shouted while sprinting across the room to the adjoined bathroom - A loud crash echoed through the room as, in a desperate attempt to lure her back into its fluffy embrace, Sulika’s blanket tangled around her foot and sent her sprawling onto the floor.
“That better be the sound of you getting dressed. Breakfast would’ve gone cold twice over at this rate.” Snowball grumbled in her roommate’s voice.
Sulika stuck her head out of the bathroom with a toothbrush dangling from her mouth and freshly soaked hair clinging to her scalp. “Did you burn the kitchen down?” She asked in a tone that could have been a joke or a serious concern.
“Do you smell any smoke?” Snowball replied while grooming the feathers on his left wing - Nothing about this situation warranted his interest anymore.
“That’s not an answer,” Sulika said while staring directly at the side of Snowball’s head, the toothbrush in her mouth momentarily forgotten.
“Oh, for the love of - No, I haven’t burned down the kitchen. Feel free to check in the ten minutes you have left.” Snowball flapped his wings as the snarky voice left his beak.
Sulika jumped at the reminder and hurriedly ducked into the bathroom.
Looking at herself in the mirror, she knew she had to get ready as quickly as possible. She didn’t have time for anything fancy, just getting the basics done would have to do.
Her glossy - *It wasn’t oily, no matter what anyone else said - shoulder-length black hair was rife with split ends that stuck out at odd angles.
She gathered as much of the wet mess as possible and crammed it all into a messy bun against the nape of her neck. With the hair contained - save for the odd strand or six that refused to cooperate - she grabbed an old strip of leather off the sink and secured her hair.
With her hair ‘fixed’, she practically jumped into a pair of loose-fitting jeans and her brown work boots.
The red T-shirt she’d slept in was in decent condition and didn’t smell, so it’d do for today. Besides, she doubted anyone would be able to see it beneath her favorite black leather jacket. And definitely not after she zipped it up to her throat and fixed the zipper in place beneath a riveted leather choker.
The jacket/choker combo was one of her favorite outfits for work, so she tried to wear them whenever she could. The jacket was made of thick leather and lined with padding in key places - namely around the forearms, shoulders, across the stomach, and down her back. While the choker didn’t cover nearly as much as the jacket, it would give her some breathing room in the event something came for her throat.
And in her line of work, any extra time is a gift directly from the gods themselves.
She finally turned to the last item on her ‘to-do’ list and couldn’t help but furrow her brows a little as she reached for the small wooden capsule near the back of the sink.
Sulika didn’t like wearing a lot of makeup - It would even be fair to say she hated it. Not the make-up itself, no. But the scents that so often came with them.
She’d had an extremely sensitive nose for as long as she could remember, and it wasn’t hard for certain fragrances to overwhelm her. Most perfumes on the market would give her a raging headache if she wore them for more than a few hours. And sadly, for her at least, it wasn’t just perfumes that were capable of overwhelming her nose these days.
Because the demographics of the area demanded it, practically everything she could get at her local market was designed to be as ‘fragrant’ as possible.
Which seriously Sucked.
Sucky though it may be, she could do nothing but grin and bear it for the time being.
She sucked in a breath before twisting the top of the capsule and hurrying through the application of what little makeup she did wear.
Inside the capsule was a half-used stick of taupe lipstick to keep her lips from drying out. A bit of black eyeliner across her lower lashes to make her eyes look smaller than they really were. And a thin layer of eyeshadow to make her translucent Jade eyes appear a couple of shades darker than they are.
With her ‘mask’ properly applied, she left the bathroom and dashed through her bedroom door with less than four minutes to spare.
She found Snowball had returned to his cage, which was seldom closed off, where he awaited her with an expectant look in his too-intelligent eyes.
Sulika grabbed an open bag of his favorite treats from one of the kitchen cabinets and made her way over. Dumping a few of the small nuts into her hand, she presented them to Snowball for his approval — which he immediately gave.
“Thanks, buddy.” Sulika handed a single Ithaka - a type of shelled nut that smells strongly of caramel - to Snowball before dumping the rest on the floor of his cage. She scratched the crown of his head with a single finger, which earned her a gentle nip and a low whistle from her favorite bird.
Just as she was about to open the door and leave, Sulika remembered to grab a few things. The essentials, really; her house keys, her ID, her sword, and her wand. Her sword was pretty standard for a short sword and was just one of the countless other iron armaments to come directly off the shop floor.
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But her wand - Now, that was something special.
She’d received the base of the wand from a friend of hers, who’d purportedly gotten the branch directly from a Druid circle known for their arborists.
Ground mana stones were then used in carving forty-four magic sigils into the surface of the wood. While the ‘wand’ could still cast spells without those sigils, it could only do so once. And Sulika never wanted to know what it felt like to let a stick of dynamite explode that close to her… again.
With the body of the wand taken care of and the sigils guiding mana through the wood, instead of into it. The only thing that remained was arguably the most important part of the wand.
Some would even call it the ‘heart’ and ‘soul’ of any magical armament.
The Core.
The core of Sulika’s wand was a family heirloom from her mother’s side of the family. Specifically, it’d belonged to her great-grandmother - who’d passed it down to her grandmother on her eighteenth birthday. And Sulika’s grandmother passed on to her daughter, Sulika’s mother, on her eighteenth birthday. Just as her mother had done for her.
Even after providing her own core and powder for the engravings. The wand had still cost nearly a year’s salary to forge.
She’d had to eat a lot of cereal that year to make up the cost, but oh - it was so worth it in the end.
Both her sword’s scabbard and her wand's holster were attached to a dark leather belt she’d gotten for her birthday a few years ago.
She fastened the belt around her waist while hurrying downstairs to the first floor. Where she’d predicted her roommate would be waiting on her with a plate of cold food in one hand and a room-temperature cup of fruit juice in the other.
She was disappointed.
Her roommate Faeyra was waiting for her, certainly. But neither food nor drink could be seen anywhere in their shared dining space.
“...I thought you said the food was getting cold?” Sulika grumbled while stepping fully into the room.
“Oh, it was. That’s why I already ate it. It was delicious, by the way. Bacon, eggs, a big bowl of fruit salad, and a great, big ol’ chocolate chip muffin from that halfling bakery on Third Street. Washed it all down with a cold glass of freshly squeezed starfruit -” Faeyra replied while from her seat at the table - and immediately ducked as Sulika swatted at her head with a touch more force than necessary.
“You’re such a bastard.” Sulika laughed. She snatched the half-empty glass of fruit juice from the table and began chugging it down. She would just have to grab something else on the way.
“Don’t make promises you don’t intend to keep. It’s not nice to make a girl all excited and then never follow through…” Faeyra muttered. Her words smacked Sulika across the face harder than any slap, causing her to almost choke on her juice.
A sly smile spread across Faeyra’s face, and the tall woman rose from her seat with seductive grace before striding over to Sulika’s side.
Faeyra was a tall, graceful woman with incandescent autumn green eyes that practically glowed in the semi-lit room. The colors of rubies and topaz surrounding her pupils resembled a smoldering bonfire in the dim light.
Faeyra’s wild auburn hair was pulled into a low ponytail that lay over her right shoulder to fall between her breasts. The placement of the ponytail allowed anyone the chance to see two things: The dagger-like ears poking out from beneath the curtain of her hair, and the many bone-white strands that permeated her otherwise flawless locks.
Faeyra, as a half-elf, was the equivalent of someone in her late twenties. Which placed her somewhere between two hundred and fifty and three hundred years old - Faeyra never said which end of that spectrum she was closest to.
Not like that ever mattered with her looks.
Sulika had no trouble admitting her longtime friend was gorgeous - most elves were, but Faeyra was especially beautiful.
Did it matter if her royal blue dress was fraying at the seams? Not with her in a corset that emphasized her ample chest and narrow waist.
Was her lack of make-up or pale skin a deal breaker for anyone interested in her? Pfft, hardly. Just her eyes could suck the breath from your lungs, while her voice could set butterflies loose in your gut.
The six-foot-tall half-elf towered over Sulika’s five-foot-two form as she stopped beside her. Her multicolored eyes bore into Sulika’s from behind her long eyelashes.
Slowly, carefully, as if the shorter woman was an animal who’d flee at the slightest sign of danger. Faeyra brought her arm around Sulika’s shoulders and pulled the shorter woman against her side before gently taking the now-empty glass from her hand.
With a quick pat on Sulika’s head - much like one would do to a sleeping puppy - and a wink goodbye, Faeyra glided across the floor to the door and left Sulika to leave on her own time. Faeyra could feel Sulika’s glare on her back as she passed through the door leading to her potion shop and alchemy lab, but it did nothing more than make her smile wider.
After watching the tall woman disappear into another room, Sulika blinked and slid her eyes upwards to the clock hanging above the door - It read [7:07 A.M.] which meant Sulika was now, officially, late for work.
The Iron Spine Mountains let out a lonely howl as an icy wind raced through its many craigs and valleys. Cold enough to sear the bones of even the hardiest beast; the frosty gust raged throughout the mountain like a frenzied beast, throwing around the ash-laden snow that once covered the mountain.
The never-changing sky was a mix of poisonous violet and deathly black. And despite there not being a single cloud in the atmosphere, the sky was an empty void - barren of everything, including light from the sun and stars.
But such was to be expected from a dead and forgotten world - And make no mistake: the world of Mag ársa was dead… But it wasn’t forgotten. Not yet.
In a world absent of light, there existed but a single ember who yet survived. Small as it was, cold as it was, it bravely withstood the biting chill for its single purpose. To illuminate the shallow cavern where a somber melody could be faintly heard over the sound of the wind.
The device responsible for the gradually appearing sounds was strange indeed. The low to middling notes came from seven pinkish strings stretched across an off-white-colored plank.
The plank was approximately fifteen inches long and nine inches across at its widest point. Despite its size, the man slowly plucking the strings was able to easily hold the instrument in the palm of his right hand.
Using the index, middle, and pinky fingers of his left hand plucked each string with a gentleness that belied the size and strength of his massive hands.
“In the silence of void, I hear their despair.” The man’s voice ran deep as the mountain’s roots as he recalled the words. “Echoes of a world destroyed whispers through the air. Every step taken through the shadows of the past leaves me haunted by the choices and memories that last.
Flames that once were bright, now flicker as they fade. Under the cover of night, I face the price I paid. Every breath a burden, every heartbeat slowed. Trapped within this endless darkness with nowhere left to go.
My companion’s a reminder of failures survived and questions why. The warmth inside is my ally, though it once tried to overtake the sky. My friend avoids me, leaves me cold and alone. This world’s only ghost, I’ll follow you through the ashes and dust.
If I could turn back time, undo the mistakes I’ve done. But the past is set in stone, and I am the only one. To bear the weight of sorrow and carry all the pain. Into this desolate tomorrow where only I remain.
Regret is my companion, anger burns inside. Death, my only friend, there’s nowhere left to hide. This world’s only ghost, I’ll follow you through the ashes and dust.
In the silence of the void, I hear their despair. Echoes of a world destroyed whispers through the air. Every step taken through the shadows of the past leaves me haunted by the choices and memories that last.”
The final note to the man’s song hung in the air for a long time after the last string was plucked.
As the ever-present silence of his dead world filled the cave, Aldritch of clan Blackshield let out a tired sigh. Not out of exhaustion, but sheer - unadulterated - boredom.
The half-giant dwarf had been around for a long time, and he was certain that wasn’t going to change anytime soon.
Aldritch stared into the dwindling fire through incandescent golden eyes. His eyes were made even stranger by the long, narrow pupils that openly pronounced his service to the Dragon God of Pride: Oakairo.
Aside from the nameless instrument he’d played earlier - Aldritch didn’t have much left to remind him of the way the world was.
He still had the white robe and black trousers given to him when he first became an Archpriest. Unlike what that title might suggest, the clothes had an extremely simple appearance by design - forgoing embellishments for comfort and reliability. A durable mixture of cotton and animal fibers ensured neither the robe nor his pants would tear easily. And thanks to several enchantments woven into them during their creation. The robe had withstood the test of time with only a few loose strands to show for it.
Over the robe was a cuirass that appeared to have been forged from solid gold, save for a thick leather lining between the metal and his robe. The breastplate, backplate, pauldrons, and waist guard all were designed for simple efficiency.
A pair of thick wrist guards protected between the back of his hands to about middle ways up his forearms. The one on his left was forged of the same golden metal as the cuirass but had the image of a kite shield engraved on top of it. While the guard on his right wrist had been forged from a silver metal that appeared to let off a faint light of its own.
On the half-giant’s massive feet sat a pair of equally massive boots that were thick, water resistant, and concealing enough metal to stop an axe. The boots were more akin to a suit of armor than footwear.
For someone wearing so much armor, you’d think Aldritch would be stiff - uncomfortable even. But he lounged against the cave wall as if he weren’t wearing armor at all.
For Aldritch, that was almost how it felt.
His body had long since adapted to the push and pull of the armor. And his strength had grown to greater heights since forging the protective suit so many years ago. Now, the weight was little more than an afterthought.
So, no, the weight didn’t bother him… Until it was time to sit down on anything less durable than tempered steel.
“A fair morning to thee, Aldritch…” A disembodied voice asked from deep within the recesses of Aldritch’s mind. Even its yawn was regal, powerful, godlike… And it all meant it was the dawning of a new day in the wasteland.
Aldritch rolled his neck to relieve some pressure before climbing to his feet - His head nearly brushed the eight-foot-high ceiling of the cave he’d spent the night in.
“Good morning, my Lord. Did you sleep well?” Aldritch replied while heading for the mouth of the cave.
“I slept most wonderfully. 'Tis quiet within thy mind - and, I must admit, far more spacious than one might reckon, given thy folk are oft thought to carry heads brimming with stone.”
Aldritch rolled his eyes at the voice. “Very amusing, my lord.”
“Oh, do lighten thy spirit, I pray thee. Laugh, weep, bellow unto the heavens, or smite something - anything! Collapse a hall if it suits thee. 'Tis thy day of birth, Aldritch, and dost thou know how few mortals endure to see a thousand and seventeen cycles?”
“Counting elves or -”
“Nay, I speak not of those tree-loving folk. They’ve not been counted among mortals since that troublesome goddess cursed them with immortality. I speak of true mortals—those such as thee.”
“Which part of a half-dwarf who can’t grow a beard is ‘normal’ by your standards?” As if to emphasize his point, Aldritch pulled down the hood of his robe and ran his thick fingers through his mane of dark red hair.
His face was rugged, and his wide nose was clearly of Dwarven make - but the absence of a beard made him look much younger than he actually was.
Despite being over a thousand years old, Aldritch could technically pass for a large human in his late thirties… As long as no one looked too closely at the shape of his body.
“By ‘normal,’ I mean those mortals untouched by divine favor, spared the curse of an ageless form. And before thou protest, thou knowest well that such a gift was ne’er among the blessings I bestowed upon thee. Nay, thy remarkable years stem from thy bloodline. 'Twas thy heritage that caught my eye when first I beheld thee - a mere babe in the temple. Even then, I knew I must claim thee as mine own.”
“Yes, as a piece of your hoard.” Aldritch said blandly as he stepped out of the cave and began looking around.
“Of course. I was, am, and shall ever be a Dragon afore I am a God. And as a Dragon, my hoard hath stirred envy and hatred, not only from man and dragon, but from the gods themselves. To be counted among such a hoard is a blessing unto itself, one greater than most could ever know.” Aldritch smiled slightly at his master’s exuberance - The ground beneath Aldritch’s feet shook violently as the sound of an explosion reached his ears.
The shockwave that followed threw hundreds of pounds of ice, snow, and ash against Aldritch’s body - however, the half-giant ignored the weight crashing into him and kept his eyes fixed on the horizon.
“That was divine magic.” Aldritch muttered, more out of shock than anything else. Oakairo was a God, a living wellspring of divine magic. Of course, he’d sensed it too. “Anyone you might know?”
“Nay. This was one unknown to me. I know not who cast the spell, yet the source of the divine power is likewise unfamiliar – and most young.”
“How young?” Aldritch started walking toward the source of the explosion.
“Ye are older.”
That sent a chill down his spine that had nothing to do with the temperature. No, he was excited and growing more so by the second.
“Well…” Aldritch saw a flash of a smiling dragon’s teeth inside his mind. “Whether kin or foe, I have but one thing to say afore ye meet 'em.”
“My lord?”
“A most joyous birthday, Aldritch... Now, go and claim thy gift.”
“Gladly.” Aldritch’s smile was vicious, but his eyes were alight with child-like excitement.
He started sprinting towards the source of the explosion in waist-high snow.
In between one step and the next, Aldritch bent his knees slightly - he shoved off the mountain with enough force to shatter the stone beneath him and cause his own kinetic explosion.
And before the disturbed snow could even touch the ground, Aldritch was gone.
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