Sachihiro

My mobility is cut in half, the throbbing wound on my ankle stinging in the open air and almost unbearable every time I put pressure on the leg, but pain isn’t actually the main problem. My mobility is shot because the thing maimed me, cutting off important ligaments even though I was reinforcing with all I am worth with aura and mana as the thing had a hold, but still it managed to do this much damage. I hit again on the undulating shield of my opponent, close enough that my reduced mobility doesn’t matter, my strikes amplified with aura watching my opponent for the first sign of another area scorch attack.

I hit it again and he grits his teeth waving his hands as he matters manifesting another set of crimson bands from within his shielding that hover like coiled balls of destruction while I hack at his shield like a lumberjack, changing angle force and speed. My feet rooted on the spot, my torso mobile as I test his shielding, waiting for an opening to exploit.

The shield dissolves, I felt it was close to breaking but even as it disappears crimson bonds shooting out with angry prejudice distract me from my foe who takes a step back using some sort of movement magic that has him stepping on air. I use a spirit-mana shield again just to be sure none of these bonds get me again. The wound on my side is smarting like a motherfucker, a sore reminder of what they can do to flesh. The three bands sizzle as they wrap around my shielding while I bat one aside then cut it in a follow up swing, with how close I was from my opponent there is hardly time or space to deflect the others wrapping tightly around me.

My mana pool drains like a cloth-sack used to carry water as the bands burn and constrict against the layer of water-spirit shielding around my skin. Sizzling and steam permeated my physical senses as I rip through one with Razor dispelling it then throwing Kata through the air quickly with practiced precision after my fleeing foe, the double image of my arm completing the throw the only evidence of the use of Afterimage. Not needing to follow its progress I make quick work of the two bonds remaining wrapped around me and look up to find my hand-axe having been mostly deflected but still embedded into the flashy oblique of the shocked mage’s side.

I take a moment to assess how we are fairing against the ambush and am pleased to see how well we are doing killing Sandorian warrior’s and mages. The warriors assembled against us are actually better than I expected for Sandersonian martial warriors but in any one on one situation they are like children and it doesn’t help that the mages seem only to be shielding themselves. I grab Silencer from my back where it’s been cloaked this whole time walking to the downed mage. He crawls on his side leaving a small trail of blood having taken some sort of restorative potion that is quickly stopping the bleeding.

His shield is erected hastily as I stand over him with Silencer in hand but it easily shatters, the spear driving through his abdomen and into the ground silently. I watch his silent scream as he looks at his gut wound, the horror as he realises he cannot make a sound with the dark shaft of what remains of a part of my friend’s soul sticking out of him. I don’t like this type of zanpakutō, they seem unnatural to me and way too powerful for how young they are, smart to, too smart.

I assess again how everyone is fairing and nod to myself not surprised that we’ve made quick work of opponents of this level. ‘’How is everyone doing?’’ I send anyways even though I can clearly see Gaia is taking heads just to make sure all that’s dead stays dead, Damage is standing sentinel having left a swath of destruction that has felled both men and tree along with furrows cut into the ground. Mira and Kuyoki are chasing after the rag tag group trying to retreat but finding no quarter as my beautiful furies cut into retreating backs and begging forms without hesitation.

‘’Everyone is alright just some minor wounds here and there, nothing too serious.’’ Ingwe sends back making the rounds escorting and helping Nikita make sure everyone is okay now that both Shea and Isis aren’t here to be our healers.

I nod in acceptance, looking at the death Iki fighting alongside Max John and Selah wrought upon our Sandersonians enemies. Iki and Selah are getting along having fought together, something that has me re-assessing the Jotnar woman, my little sword fanatic of a daughter is an excellent judge of character. The kids did well, I’ve been secretly going into the mountains for years to fight my grandfather’s descendents with my family to give my children the opportunity to be blooded against strong Barbarian opponents. Not something we talk about but we’ve been killing our cousins for years now, though very few die with modern healing and medicine at its current height in and around the Tundra.

I walk back to my trapped opponent and look down at him dispassionately, I sigh, suddenly having lost the energy to interrogate this man squirming and panicking silently pinned to the ground. Tears and pain are all over his face, bloody hands clenched around the shaft of the Silencer impotently trying to tug it out of himself. I grab Kata and step on his left arm pinning it down before hacking his hand off at the wrist, he wriggles under my foot legs kicking out which hurts him even further. I take his other hand without a word then I watch him panic and bleed for a few minutes wiggling empty stumps in the air looking at them in horror.

Grabbing his hands I disappear them with a flick into my storage ring, this whole time keeping as much eye contact as I can. His eyes run away from mine as often they can, all he sees in me is his death while his own eyes are alternating between begging and accusation that slide off my like water off a dawn mud-lizard hide.

I walk away to give him time to stew and understand his situation. Sandersonian mages aren’t the bravest people I’ve met generally speaking, nor do they tolerate pain or face death with any grace as far as I’ve seen of them. They all want to live as long as they can with aspirations of reaching grandmastery in their craft and sitting on their fat asses living like kings in their little self created fiefdoms their culture allows. Soft grandmasters instead of the hard men and women that life on Gaia should create by its many varied challenges, they have gone too long without magical challenge and gotten complacent.

I reach the centre of the camp, the bodies are being dragged here stripped naked by Hannah, Andrew, Cyrus and Sway. Tóma is assessing the loot with a sour look on her face picking up an object and discarding it into one of three piles trash, useful and valuable. Most things go into trash, pieces of armour, items of clothing, boots, little sentimental charms that have no spirit or enchanting.

"Anyone kept alive?’’ I ask Rigs as he comes in dragging another three bodies and dumping them unceremoniously on the growing heap.

He drags his hand through his hair looking at me coolly, he seems tired but it doesn’t seem physical. ‘’Two are alive sitting over there,’’ he says pointing at where the big guy Onimorē has his back to us in a huddle consisting of Ava , Sema and Dewan as far as I can tell.

‘’How many do you have there?’’ I send to Dewan.

‘’Two warriors, they seem thoroughly cowed. We’re just stripping them down now before Divina starts questioning them.’’ He sends back.

‘’We have three people for you to question ma,’’ I send looking around again just to check that everyone not out chasing down prey, reassessing the perimeter or out scouting is actually here and still fine.

*

‘’They are all very talkative,’’ ma says as we sit huddled around a low light-sink conjured fire. ‘’The warriors were a mix of personal guards and hired mercenaries, the two over there were both personal guards raised and trained to defend mages of the Riddick House. They don’t know much beyond doing what they were told to do though so not very useful for gathering information. The mage you softened up had a whole lot to say though.’’

Its dark now, it’s been dark for a few hours and the cries of the stranglers Kuyoki and Mira have been eliciting in their hunt has the forest unnaturally quiet between them. Thandeka is out there somewhere as well with the quiet elf Sirimiri walking the perimeter and practicing her general sneakiness. I hold my hand over the swaying blue flames burning dimly in a 2 metre radius in order to accommodate all of us around its warding and warmth.

‘’They managed to get so close without me sensing because we are apparently on claimed ancestral land, the claims of the Sandersonians are subtle and not as deep as I am used to. I’m sorry everyone for not foreseeing this, I will ensure it doesn’t happened again.’’ The awkwardness that ma creates with her apology is blatant, Esuas clears his throat, da is at the edge of activating his death-stare as he looks at each of us in the eye.

‘’I was wondering when you’d make a mistake, I’m quite frankly relieved. Your passive aggressive self righteousness was getting to my nerves, don’t fuck up again.’’ Tóma says with her usual frankness and somehow it seems to have been the right thing to say from the right person completely dispelling the terseness of the moment.

Ma nods then continues with her report on the questioning. We drink tea around the fire clearing our minds and dispelling the adrenaline and acids from the fight. The attack wasn’t sanctioned by their mageocracy, a fact that has the previously sombre Zhen chipper again as he advises we head into the closest town to report the incident thus forcing the Sandersonian government to protect us themselves or risk offending Paradisum, or worse losing face.

‘’I don’t like it, we cannot rely on these snakes for anything nor should we want to,’’ da says with a scowl. Then a sigh, ‘’but I will admit there are too many Sandersonians between here and the Undine Straight for us to fight through with everyone...’’

‘’It would be glorious to try though,’’ Ava says tapping her polearm affectionately.

‘’Aye, swathing a bloody path through these soft mages would do wonders to loose the grime that has built up in my bones all these years of quiet,’’ he spits at the side as though he has a bad taste in his mouth then chugs a swings of mead down his gullet.

‘’You’re nothing against a good distant casting mage, you wouldn’t get anywhere near them.’’

‘’Psff,’’ he snort nonchalantly. ‘’Why do you think I keep you around Zhen?’’

‘’You keep me around? Don’t be absurd, I tolerate you because my girl is married to your boy, that and the meals served at your table is the only reason you see me as often as you do.’’

They insult each other good naturedly for a few minutes, Zhen extolling the power of magic while pointing out how useless martial warriors are when facing a true grandmaster of the arts. Esuas, Rigs, Onimorē, Ava and even Gaia chiming in to take one side or the other as we all follow along in da’s fantasy of fighting our way through Sandaria. What a statement that would be against the mageocracy and Houses of the Sandersonians and anyone else that cared to hear of the van Damage family from Paradisum.

We stay in our warded and trapped camp even with the threat of attack still hoving over us though the possibility is unlikely. It would be easier to hit us while we were travelling, more scattered without the early warnings and the traps that devastated one of the raiding groups almost by itself. We are almost in the Province of Muslia apparently, a large body of land close to the exact centre of Sandorian influence and power.

So we decide to try thing’s Zhen’s way and announce ourselves while we might still have some sort of moral advantage 'cause sooner or later will have to face the Sandorian civilisations anyways. The three naked captives sitting huddled in the dark together will be our evidence and bargaining tools; any decent mind mage will be able to corroborate everything, and if Zhen still has friends we may be able to pull this off.