“Playing with fire will eventually turn bitter.”

— Welsh Proverb

A street on the outskirts of Dornenfurt

A carriage rumbled over an uneven street swaying with the occasional pothole while a score of armored soldiers rode escort.

The surrounding daub and wattle houses interspersed with the rare whole wood structure were mostly silent in the evening. The transport was late and the driver wanted to make it to the depot before nightfall stranded them in the countryside. Columns of smoke curled into the cold evening air. Frozen puddles made the footing treacherous and a few light spells flared from the hands of some of the escorts while large glow lamps shone ahead fixed to the side of the driver's bench.

Suddenly several shutters flew open and a flurry of bolts shot at the tired and inattentive soldiers. Screams rent the night as they thudded home in flesh and armor. Blood splattered across the dirty snow. Some horses were hit and rose on their hindlegs throwing their riders more often than not. Several masked assailants sprang from hiding places between the houses and attacked in melee. Only some of the soldiers were ‘lucky’ enough to wound or kill an attacker before they succumbed to the superior numbers.

“Stop the carriage or die!” A single masked robber stood in the middle of the street with a thick rod clasped in his hand.

The driver ducked and whispered a spell, causing air to intensify into a swirling shield before him.

Cursing as the horses bore down on him the lone highwayman jumped to the side and activated the wand with a command word. With a crack and a dull bone-shaking thump, the forcebolt hit shield and driver shattering the first and then bursting the coachman's chest in a geyser of broken bones and blood.

With an agile leap, the robber jumped onto the transport and began to pull at the reins getting the horses to slow down and then stop. Broken ice sprayed from the horse's hooves.

Behind him, the sound of metal piercing flesh indicated the fate of the fallen soldiers.

Several of his accomplices worked to secure the goods.

“We got it Lucce!” A masked woman shouted.

A word and a gesture conjured another magelight and the robber manning the reins jumped onto the loading platform and inspected their price.

"This is it." One of them pulled a cloth revealing a chest between the crates holding ingots, food and mana dust. With a whispered command a force wand spat a blue bolt shearing away the lock.

The leader reached inside and pulled out a dull red metal rod as long as a forearm with a complicated glyph made of three distinct parts flatly affixed to one end and a sort of grip on the other. The indistinct light shone on the opened chest revealing several oblong shapes swaddled in protective linen.

“Well, well. The information seems to pan out, lets's give little Olivia a bonus next time. This…” He drew the word out with relish, “...will go a long way.” A grin spread the cloth covering his mouth.

The eye opens and The-Leaf-that-fell looked at the army encampment. Everywhere he looked his fellow Unrepentant were busy packing tents and supplies on the great Zhun-beasts that followed the battle group. Large, shaggy, four-legged behemoths with four horns and vicious red eyes deeply set above blunt snouts full of curved teeth. They were as large as a house two stories tall and their stout legs were bent backward like those of a large bird making for an ungainly appearance. The fur was dark and easily tangled, the noble beasts that served the great bloodlines were kept pristine but those here, not so much. They looked like a cross between a gigantic auroch and a feline but their temper most easily resembled that of a bull with a toothache. But they could not be choosy, smaller creatures would not be of much use to the cyclops and they were still thankful for the prophecy that had gained them their service some few hundred years back.

Rising from where he had sat in a lotus position Leaf-that-fell unhooked the large horn from his belt and blew a series of notes. The giants hurried their labor and soon they were ready to march again. His bond-troll looked up and bowed subserviently. “The drums?” Came a scratchy voice, much too high for the large green-skinned humanoid. Eyes the color of pus fresh from an infected wound stared into his single eye, teeth that looked as if they had been buried in loam for years, black and brown with hints of green jutting from a severe overbite ground back and forth. A black, filthy mane swept the scarred back of the slave clothed in a loincloth made of bear hide.

“Yes. We have to make haste. Marching drums it is.” A deep, measured voice answered.

The troll adjusted the hollow tree trunk and began to drum a quick cadence. Heavy feet thudded into the earth, ropes used to secure supplies groaned as the Zhun-beasts rose and began to walk.

Birds and other wildlife fled from the marching army bursting into the sky and field all around.

‘As it should be.’ Thought the Leaf-that-fell. Unrepentant were never used for subtlety and a tool should always follow its function. Hammering his dark breastplate he bellowed the oath to the blood tree and the others followed. War drums sounded, the sun shone in his face cresting the hills ahead, and his single eye gleamed in anticipation.

The noble grabbed the goblet and frowned, why was it empty again. “More wine!”

A servant hurried to fill the silver vessel anew and the man gulped down a large swallow of dark-red Andoran wine. “Mh. Acceptable.”

The steward waiting beside him cleared his throat. The room they were sitting and standing in was a small salon in a townhouse overlooking a snowed-in plaza. It was very early still so only a few servants were seen going about their errands fording new paths through the fresh snow cover. “May I suggest you make ready for the meeting my lord. The time will be tight otherwise.”

“Mpf.” The young man turned and glared at the older man. “Just because father bade you keep an eye on me does not mean I have to listen to you.”

“That is correct, young master.”

“Remember it well.” Grinning smugly the young man turned back to look intently at a young, pretty serving maid hurrying through the cold outside while carrying a basket containing bread, most likely freshly baked by the steam that rose from the cloth protecting the food.

The old steward sighed covertly, why did the count leave such important matters to his frivolous son, did he want the matter to fail?

A knock from the door interrupted his thoughts. “Yes?” The young noble looked up with irritation on his face while casting a last lingering look on the maid that vanished into a neighboring building.

A servant's voice came through the door, “Your guests have arrived, and apologize for being early.”

“Much good it will do me.” The young man grumbled. “Guide them to the reception ro...I mean the dining room should be large enough- Go there.”

Several nobles were seated in the dining room as he finally arrived. His cravat, a new fancy straight from Pareus, pinned with a diamond-studded needle blinked in the light of the glow lamps. “Welcome friends!” He grinned.

A woman scowled. “You kept us waiting, where is your apology?”

“You were early.” The young noble pouted petulantly.

“Now, now. We have some things to decide.” A more mature man with blonde hair and a goatee interrupted.

“Yes. We do.” A thin man with glasses, dark hair swept to the side, leaned back on his chair, and tapped his fingers impatiently. “The work proceeds apace, the rebels have been funded and our people move to support those with flagging morals. The death at the procession was...unfortunate...and has cooled the ardor a bit, but some of the rabble have been even more active because of that so I think it more than evens out.”

“What is our next step?”

“You all know that our parents want to distance themselves in case anything goes wrong so we have to be careful.” A smaller woman spoke with an arrogant sneer firmly fixed in place marring her otherwise good-looking face.

“Yes. But it is also our chance to shine and perhaps even surpass our siblings. Is it not?”

“So we do...what?”

“Spend some more money and try to give the crown something to think about.”

The thin man adjusted his glasses, pushing it back up the bridge of his nose. “I think we should gift them some more martyrs. That seems to bring out the best and worst in them.”

“Mh. You might be right and how will we do that?” The woman leaned forward and a cruel look flashed through her eyes.

“I think I may have an idea.”

Wisteria Dorm

“Now I have a mana jewel. An expensive one at that.” Alea inspected the glittering blue crystal. It was the color of glacier ice and about the size of her fist. She clenched her fist a bit tighter and frowned. Perhaps that is a bit small?

“What are you doing?” A voice startled her from her reverie as Mireille leaned over her shoulder.

“Oh, pretty! Can I touch it?” And before she could stop her Mireille tapped the jewel with her fingertip a spark flared from inside the crystal and singed her skin. “Ouch!”

“Will you let me answer before simply doing it?” Alea scolded her.

“Mh.” Mireille hummed while sucking on her smarting finger. “Mhhmhhm!”

“It is a mana crystal and contains a charge. If you really empty it there is the possibility of causing micro-fractures so you normally don’t do that. Hopefully, you did not drain it too far.” Alea grabbed her appraiser's goggles and blew a bit of dust from the lenses- she had nearly forgotten them after taking them from the lab in Grunewald- before holding them in front of Cecily.

“Really?” Mireille grinned.

“Really.” Alea sounded less than amused.

“Sorry, couldn’t resist. So- what exactly are you doing?”

“I want to replicate the original arrangement with the jewel for Butler One. Taking him with me for the field training and then not having enough mana-dust to keep him in working condition would be embarrassing. And as I have a construct-related class I am allowed one to accompany me.”

“Isn’t that unfair for those who cannot afford one?” Mireille questioned innocently.

“I think that is somewhat the point.”

“There speaks the voice of calm experience.” Mireille grinned mischievously.

“Humpf.”

“Can you stop teasing Alea? I for my part would be glad to have Butler One with us and in good condition.” Alyssa interjected from her bed where she was reading a grimoire. “But as you are disturbed already- Do you know something about Lieseleta?”

“No, I wrote her a letter two days ago and did not get an answer- I think we will have to ask her in person the day after tomorrow. You do remember that we had an invitation for afternoon tea?”

“Yes, I do actually. I’m worried about her. Did you read the Kronenburg Bugler?”

“No- I did not have the time or inclination- What is it?”

“More attacks by some people calling themselves ‘Republicans’.”

“Is that a word?” Mireille reached for the crystal again and got a whack with a screwdriver for her troubles. “Ouch! That was my injured finger.” She looked at Alea who was still holding the screwdriver with an aggrieved expression.

“Yes, I think it means ‘Matters concerning the public’ or something like that.” Alyssa closed her book and turned her full attention to her friends.

“And why is that the name of some rebels?” Mireille looked confused.

“I think they see themselves as doing all of that for the public- Meaning everyone, not only the nobles. And the word originates from Allisair.”

“Doesn’t everything?” Mireille yawned.

“It was a philosophical dispute if nobles are inherently superior and as such should always be leading the masses or if there are people in said masses that could also do in a pinch,” Alea explained.

“I don’t wanna.” Mireille shook her head. “Please don’t make me herd people around. I would rather herd cats, at least I can pet cats and they are fluffy.”

“You could pet people I suppose.” Alyssa laughed.

“Are you volunteering?” Mireille made a claw with her fingers.

“Stop that nonsense! I have to carve some connective runes, remove the converter, and install the jewel.”

Classes were still suspended but life began to return to a semblance of normalcy as the wounded recovered and returned to their dorms.