The steady tap of the rain in rhythm, was a gentle symphony. Luenor Sureva sat in a wooden swinging chair under the porch awning of his mother's small estate. A journey beyond and in no hurry to return to. It had become his sanctuary as the rain poured down from above, the sky was a dull grey, and the soft sound of rain fell like a cleansing balm on him; well-deserved quiet amid a life of blood and storms.
A gentle scrapping of slippers on wood distracted him, and he looked up to see Rhea Sureva, the once vitriolic matriarch of House Sureva, with a cup of steaming herbal tea; a sleepily worn expanse of silvery hair falling out of disheveled warrior braids. It was a rare sight, rain, silence and tea. She said nothing, both taking the moment as it came.
"You know," he said after a moment, breathing in time with the rain, " this rain makes me want red wine."
Thwap! Something hit him on the back of the head.
"Ouch!" he cried, rubbing that reactor spot.
"No wine," Rhea replied, voice soft but strong. "You're too young, and you drink like every old noble without a liver." Rhea took a sip of tea, and he could see she was faintly entertained.
Luenor chuckled, feeling the light breeze stir the faint scent of rebellion in the air. "But they have a bounty on me. With the reward being some life-elixir. Wouldn't you...?"
Rhea smacked his shoulder again. "That's for saying something so stupid. Again."
He leaned back, tone changing. "You really don't like the way I've turned out."
Rhea's expression softened and for just a moment Luenor saw fatigue, and something akin to pity, flicker in her eyes. "You're my son. But this... blood on your hands... I never raised you to be like this."
"We're not in Ganglen, anymore," Luenor said bitterly. "There's no duchy to inherit, and no throne to sit on. This only is survival. And to survive, I'll drown the world in blood if that is what it takes. Just like they did to us."
Thunder rumbled in the distance when he finished speaking. Before Rhea could respond, Luenor stood and said, "Tell Arwin I'm leaving."
Rhea stood watching him as he walked away. The rain fell. Peering through the sheets of falling water, she disposed of him silently.
Outside, under a weathervane, Arwin stood in a heavy cloak beneath a furled umbrella. When Luenor drew close, Arwin gave a sharp nod.
"Tell Roddin to draw warm water for me. I need a long bath after this."
Arwin replied in painstakingly formal fashion. "Yes my lord." He climbed into the carriage and shut the door.
Far away, well down in the tangled threads of Alfrenzo's wide-reaching trade empire, Thalanar sat buried in ledgers: a mountain of papers, seals, and receipts. In this corner, the chaos of war did not intrude: order was maintained. The constant wind-driven rain blasting against his glass windows matched his aura perfectly.
"This shithead," Thalanar muttered, stabbing yet another stamp into a receipt. "He sends me running down here to track shipments at ground zero... and now there's a bounty on his head."
The door opened with a click of the latch. Telmar, tall and very pragmatically dressed, entered.
"Faren's team just got back," he announced. "They completed the mission. Another mercenary company is dead."
Thalanar, who was poring over new numbers for trade, didn't look up. "Lyssari?"
"She—" Telmar hesitated to smile. "She was great. You'll hear from Faren himself."
Thalanar pushed his silver-framed spectacles up. "Of course she is."
_____
Far north, in the borderlands of Western Ruthenia, Ruthenia Warfront, near the Freed Gates—storm clouds smoldered above. A mana gate—an unnatural tear in the fabric of air—gaped wide in the field, hurling forth beasts made of muscle and scale. Screams and spells cried out to steel's crimson glare. In the fray, a masked figure moved.
Ren, who name was mentioned only in murmurs and whispers, lurked like some predator. His sword glinted bronze and silver in bursts of electrical light; he ripped through the snarling creatures with unnatural dexterity. Rain coalesced as the soft crack of fire against ice; dark clouds stared wide and forbidding, the storm providing little sanctuary. Never misunderstanding; each movement never faltered in precision, a kick to a beast's knee, thrust to its skull; they fell like leaves in a windstorm.
In the rear lines, a new figure arrived—Nags (Nagvaris)—the grand knight of the Marionette of Duke Siegfried, his armor affixed to the gold-dragon crest; powerful and silent political witness.
He paused a passing knight. "Who's that?" he asked quietly.
The soldier, drenched and tired, grunted. Just a mercenary. Saved a pack of wyverns in Duskwatch. Not much for conversation.
Nags nodded, interest ignited. "Technique speaks," he said. "I want eyes on him."
-----
Nearby, Lyssari wiped the mud from her boots and laughed softly. The ambush went beautifully, five mercenary heads and two prisoners. Faren had returned with the team, and Telmar stepped into the clearing with them.
"Lord Luenor made his orders clear," Telmar said, voice low. "Keep these roads clean. No more bounty hunters reach Echlion."
Faren met Telmar's eyes. "They won't. Not as long as those trees stand, and this blade can draw breath." His glance was fierce, and unwavering.
Lyssari traced the engraved lines of her dagger. A proud glint quivered in her eyes. It was loyalty. Duty. Survival.
Further along, Thalanar was watching the wet roads through his pile of ledgers. Another messenger arrived.
He broke the seal and skimmed it.
"Faren reporting. No hollows in border forest. Roads clear. Merchants on the move."
Thalanar let out a breath. He looked up to the ceiling.
"May Luenor's madness continue to make us rich."
_____
Meanwhile, a creek at and excluded from the battlefield, Ren drew water from the tip of his sword's sheath. Nags approached.
"You," he said, voice quiet, but firm. "Mercenary."
Ren lifted his gaze. His mask covered his expression, but the positioning of his body was relaxed.
"What is your name?"
Rens gaze flicked away. He bowed his head, a short, deliberate nod-- and turned. He disappeared into storm and smoke.
Nags chuckled softly to himself, "He isn't just some blade for pay." He turned and motioned to a squire next to him. "Find out anything and everything you can about him."