Marceline Kant

She loved the sound of her sword cutting through the air. A small pale smile as it swished back and forth at her whim. Through weeks of idle practice, a childish habit turned into a flashy skill. Those intricate slices found a firm place in her fighting style. Overall, a positive effect. Giving her new avenues to strike at blindspots and inspiring an incredible quickness to the blade.

It was all a dance now.

Currently, Marceline was pushing the golden habit a little further. Adding the use of manual Mana to stay in full control of the sword. Expanding the Sister’s awareness of the weapon spinning on her palm. The process was in the early stages, but already she felt the potential at hand. In an instant of will and the blade would jerk into the right place. Without holding the handle, only resting against the skin. She had in mind someday being able to throw or launch the blade without losing control for a second. The possibilities would be limitless then.

Their boring walk was so far only useful for practicing this. The path went down the ridge and headed upstream without a surprise. Staying close to the border wall left little room for that. Across the top of lesser ridges, they went. No distraction to the mundane pace. There didn’t even seem to be any monsters in this rocky terrain. Those few Rock Chameleons didn’t count, not to her. The party’s archer, Adrienne, took them out at a look. Everyone had caught on to the trick of seeing them anyway. That left all of them with a boring stroll. So boring

The tall waterfalls were close now and the sword Sister was ready for some action. The technicolor birds had been intriguing her. She wanted to see what they could do. If the colors meant anything, then it should be pretty funky. The eagerness showed in the dance of the blade. Her sword was spinning and shifting fast like a cheerleader’s baton. Mimicking a fan one moment and a butterfly knife in another. Faster she pushed it until her thumb got in the way. The handguard got caught and flung the sword free of Marceline’s grip. Both of Mana and hand.

Into the air the sword arced before clattering against the rock wall before falling to the rugged ground. She sighed as everyone’s attention snapped to the sudden noise. Embarrassing. The looks ranged from Evelyn’s impish snicker to Adrienne raising an eyebrow to a cool stare from Molly. That last could mean anything, though unlikely good. The scarps party following them was the cherry on top of this sour sundae. No one wanted to mess up in front of the new guys, no one. Since none of it was pleasant, Marceline looked away. Concentrated only on grabbing back her sword quickly and not delaying the parties any longer.

As her hand touched the handle, Marceline paused, glimpsing something strange. It had been hidden before, but was quite apparent at this angle. A fold in the stone hidden by the shadows. There was an entrance in front of her. Narrow and dark. The faint illumination that squeezed through showed the beginnings of a tunnel. One that sharply turned to go deeper into the border wall.

The gate! I found the gate! cheered Marceline. Too stunned and thrilled to make a sound. A second thought kept her from announcing the claim a moment later. She had no evidence beyond that of logical conjecture. What else would be past the border wall? This was only the second floor. The rules weren’t clear yet, but that felt right in her bones.

She was certain, but forced herself to vagueness rather than risk false hope.

“I found something.”

Everyone shifted forward as the sword Sister walked to the hole, weapon in hand. A quick look back and Marceline saw the same surety in their eyes. The same pragmatic lent to their jaws too. Her tiny frame slipped through the narrow portal with ease. One of those begrudging moments she appreciated the small stature.

A thrilling surge of fear ran through her body. The sense of adventure in exploring a cave that could have treasure was absolutely sublime.

Had that old codger Xavier asked her to come she would have come, Marceline admitted to herself. The truth being that it would have been only a moment of hesitation. This life was appealing to her, but that choice hadn’t been given to the sword Sister. No consent had been asked and that made all the difference. Being dragged here was too close to her old, old life. A haunted childhood that lasted far too long. Back when she had to play as the darling living doll to eat or avoid pain.

Marceline moved into the shadows and pushed those dark memories away. Enveloping herself in the adventure, alert and bright-eyed. A tunnel of darkness ahead of her. Ready to be explored. In the distance, there was the glinting of gold… blocked by the thrashing of shadowed limbs. The sounds of dozens of monsters racing down the rocky lane were unmistakable. All of them scrambled over each other to get to her.

The sword Sister took a step back, preparing to turn around when the scrapping of rock sounded above. Her sword spun and she thrust upwards. Spearing the flying tongue aimed for her head. There was a tug as the creature gurgled in pain and tried to bring its tongue back. Green flames roared up the blade in retaliation. A desiccated husk dropped to the ground, still burning. Sword free, Marceline leaped through the hole back to her waiting comrades.

A rumble in the earth followed the rising sound of pattering feet. The horde of Rock Chameleons rushed into sight and then boiled free of the narrow opening. Scattering in everything direction upon exiting, wild and frantic. Marceline’s sword slashed green torrents into the coming stampede. She wasn’t alone, her Sisters appeared. Their cursed flames washed through the lizards, three shades cruel. The rest of the parties weren't lax either. Supporting each other to hold a battleline against the swarm.

Magic, arrows, and weapons reaped through the tide, but there were so many. The monsters slipped past the fighters over the bodies of their kin. Making a mad dash through the parties to disappear behind. Lost into the rocky terrain. Not a single one made an aggressive move toward them. Only fled. It was at this point Marceline realized that the rumbling was still rising as the flow of Rock Chameleons died off.

One big eye appeared in the slit of the rock wall. It screamed and there was an impact that cracked the rock all around the opening. Before anyone could act the second impact tore through the wall. A giant Rock Chameleon roared forward amongst them, a shower of shattered stone raining down. The normal squeaks of the lizard were a painful siren from the immensity, brassy and reverberating. Its mouth opened up and the tongue lashed outwards. Lola Moss, the tank of the scraps party, leaped in the way. The weight and power were so great that she was flung away as the tongue continued shooting forward.

Marceline fanned the green flames around her sword thickly and sheared through the tongue before it could be reeled back. Brown blood spilled and splashed. She danced away clean to stand with her Sisters. The three of them charged. They moved under the support fire of Molly, Naomi, and Adrienne. Curses dazzling with their eerie glow and arrows peppered the sensitive spots of the monster’s face. Their curse-inflamed blades struck deeply into the flank of the great lizards. In their wake, the scraps party finally gathered themselves in a mirrored assault.

The giant monster flailed to shake them off, but numbers and momentum were with them. Even with the increased mass, the Rock Chameleon didn’t have anything special to bring to the fight. It just wasn’t very dangerous to their level of skill. At best, Marceline agreed that the lizard was pretty robust. It was respectable to survive a two party assault for any amount of time. The fight had a shocking start, but an inevitable end.

There was a pitiful cry before the beast collapsed, the dust began a moment later. Marceline returned quickly to the opening in the border wall. It was no longer small and she entered with less effort than earlier. Tripping was the hazard now. Some of the rubble of the broken wall had fallen inwards. She moved further in, green flame still wrapped around her sword. As a light source and as a precaution.

Down the tunnel, there was the golden glow. Whole and unblocked this time. Circular and set into the wall, it was undoubtedly the Gate to get out of the second floor. The next way up. She hurried forward with her green torch, faintly noting the sound of people following after. Each paused as if feeling the same welling of spirit before strolling quickly forward.

A beautiful sight to each and every one of them.

Like before, glowing words came into existence when Marceline came close enough. They centered around one new feature. A socket in the center of the door that was about the size of a bowling ball. Presented as one clue on top of another.

BRING A KINGLY BOON TO FILL MY EMPTY BOSOM

Molly walked up beside her, eyes glinting purple in the dark. The leader of her party looked the Gate over. Pausing over the words before saying, “Simplest wording yet, but just as vague if not more. Hopefully, the others find something that brings everything together.”

Marceline frowned. Working to fit all the clues as everyone took their turn to look.

Nicole Jorgenson

“Where did ya learn to box, Warner?” she asked to make conversation. Their path was flat and easy. Boring. The storm acolyte decided to make some use of this strange pause of peace.

“Box?” frowned Warner. “Nowhere. My fightin’ all me.”

She felt extreme doubt at that statement, even if spoken with pleasing confidence. “Don’t give me that bullshit! I know a thing or two, and there’s a form to your movement. Had to learn it somewhere.”

The brawler eyed her, a sense of weighting flirting across her skin. The attention was nice. “I suppose sayin’ all me is glossin’ over the patchwork nature of my style. Everything, from how I move to how I throw a fist, that’s all learned under beatin’s.”

“What does that mean?”

His eyes went distant, traveling back in time. “Well, when I was young… and fat, the bullies loved me. I don’t know why, but I was like honey to ‘em. And that was even with me fightin’ back. They say you confront a bully or ignore the bastard, and they’ll leave you alone. It was not true in my experience.”

“So they beat you?”

“Picked on me mostly, though, in the end, it would always became a fight.”

Jorgenson could feel the soreness of the subject, but she was hooked. Fascinated by the story. Needed to know how that pathetic boy became this inspiring man. “I can see how you would need to learn how to fight, but how did… all of it get so refined? Are you claiming it to be that natural?”

He gave her a look. Not one of annoyance for pushing the subject, but one of surprise. Warner seemed a little off-kilter that she cared so much to ask for more. “No, not a natural. Just really motivated and observant. At first my “fighting back” was wild and just, y’know, a flare of anger. Had my eyes closed most of the time, flailing basically. Maybe that’s why they kept pushing me. Thought it was hilarious to see a fat kid wiggle. Doesn’t matter cause I realized it wasn’t enough. So I kept my eyes open. Watched the whole thing. Every punch and kick even if it was coming for my face. I started using what I saw. Practicing those moves for next time. Pushing myself to get better, to last longer, to be a threat.”

“Between all my exercising for that and a growth spurt, I got in shape. Fights sorta petered out at that point, but had something together by then. I knew how to fight and wasn’t gonna cower anything anymore.”

“You learned boxing forms from schoolyard brawls… who were you fighting exactly?” asked Jorgenson. She was having trouble accepting the correlation.

“One of ‘em went to a boxing gym… yeah, his family was a legacy or something. That guy was happy to show me a lifetime of family obligation. He wasn’t the ringleader, but definitely the main one to throw down. Funny, I don’t remember his name. Just a face.” Warner laughed, dry and sardonic.

“I guess he stopped mattering,” said Jorgenson, reflecting on things that had been important once upon a time and now were just a footnote.

“No, he still matters,” disagreed Warner seriously. “Just not his name. The fights, our battles. That guy is still very lively up here.” The brawler tapped his forehead for emphasis.

The storm acolyte grinned as she teased, “It’s impressive that a ghost helped you get so good at fighting! Suppose that pays the rent for your empty skull.”

Warner rolled his eyes. “Hardy har har. Alright, Jorgenson, where’d you learn to fight? Cause you might be slinging lightning bolts, but we’ve gone a few bouts for the fun of it.”

She gave him the side eye and said, “Not much to say. I’m not gonna claim to be a child badass.”

“Come on, I spilled my guts to you,” accused the big man. “You owe me something. A little story at least.”

Smiling, Jorgenson complied. “The army. No one tried to pick on me with their fists. Even then, my bite was enough to discourage it. Learned the basics enough to push through the advanced courses. Then I went and took some classes to learn some real styles. It’s fun. That’s really the whole story.”

“Yeah, that was pretty lame,” grinned Warner. “Doesn’t pay off your debt at all.”

“Gasp!” she mocked. “Will you be forcing me out of house and home to pay?!”

“What? No! What?” the brawler responded with a shake of his head. “Weirdo, ah just tell me another story. Somethin’ good.”

“A good one? That’s hard to say. I guess all I can do is pay a childhood memory for a childhood memory. I don’t really remember my mother, she left me young. My father was a good man. Did all the fatherly things without complaint, but I suspected for a long time he didn’t really love me. Not beyond the duty and honor, which is one the few things he would speak on for any length of time. He was a quiet man. Because of that, I mistook his silence for disinterest rather than uncertainty. Her leaving had thrown him too. The constant thorn of the missing. We were divided and alone because of that pain.”

“It took a school project on a war to breach that gap between the two of us. Everything leading up to and leading away from it was fascinating to me. So much so that I broke the silence of our dinners to talk about every fact in my head about that war. And he responded. A couple of weeks later I realized dinners after that were always filled with talking. We never got good at talkin’ feelings, but we had military history to at least share something together. Started me on my road and my father found a way to connect to his daughter.”

“One story, paid in full,” she added softly. Happy to share, but hadn’t meant to draw so deeply. It was a good memory, though with plenty of sadness in it.

“Yeah, debt free,” agreed Warner just as softly. A thoughtful smile for her as they both fell into a comfortable silence. One of those quiets between two people when closeness had been achieved and now they took a moment to enjoy it. Reflecting on what was given and received.

She wanted to keep this conversation going, not quite desperately, but definitely eagerly. Instead, the two parties came to a halt. The ridgeline they had been following had abruptly ended and a rough staircase was carved into the steep drop. Leading directly to a hole, with more steps of course. Spiraling downwards. It was dug close enough to the cliff’s edge that there was light pouring into the stairwell, all the way down through the breaches like asymmetrical windows.

Suddenly there didn’t seem to be room for talking.

They went down. Warner led the way, taking the steps carefully. Everyone’s eyes kept a close watch on the breaches in the wall. The Cliff Flyers were nearby. Even over the roar of the waterfalls, their cries could be heard. The stairwell could be a defensive advantage for the Sixty, but a surprise attack over aversive conditions can still be deadly. Jorgenson, lighting tingling her hand, was vigilant.

The bottom part of the stairwell was completely open on the cliff side. Revealing the strangely tranquil waters of the lake. Beyond the waterfalls, nothing disturbed the surface. As they spiraled, Jorgenson got a good look at where the stairs were going to dump them out.

It was a little cove indented into the cliff. More solid stone than a beach. It reminded her of a boating pier, somehow naturally formed. Though she seriously doubted that was the case. Everything on the second floor had that odd feeling of manmade being masterfully disguised as a natural formation. Even when all logic said there’s no way, there was part of you that could see it. Maybe, just maybe.

Once off the stairs, everyone headed down the landing. Their feet slapped the flat rock slanted down to the water, the sound booming like an echo off the cove walls. Most eyes, along with her own, centered on the island. Sitting there against the distant border wall. It easily held your attention when the lake was so placid. The water barely lapped against the shore. Only some small shifts from a minor current caused by the waterfalls.

“How do we get across?” someone asked and it was a good question. Jorgenson had assumed that there would be some way already set up for them. That had been the case so far. Yet, there didn’t seem to be anything else here. Just a bare stone cove at the lakeshore.

Ideas flung from making rafts to all sorts of magic solutions. Russel and his earth magic were most common, but Carlo Valencia with his ice magic gave it serious thought. The acolyte and his party leader Soren discussed the options. Which were mostly the previous suggestions substituted or modified with that particular magic. Ice spread forward slowly over the water’s surface. It couldn’t go any faster if they were going to walk on it. A quick test run before bringing back the news of the stairs.

It likely saved all their lives.

The ice shattered in an upthrust of water. Slowed down by the barrier, a ginormous Pale Eel snapped brazenly at anyone on the shore. Most had already stumbled back at the cracking ice, their instincts alerted to the sudden danger. Yellow foam splattered everywhere and people screamed out as it sizzled flesh. The noise excited the predator’s attempt to snatch one of them.

Then Warner charged, Elena and Zachariah at his side. Orange rage flared as a fist slammed into the nose of the great eel. The twin strikes of his companions followed after. Shield barriers rising to block the counterstroke. Their actions reminded the storm acolyte of who and what she was. Her hand rose for the air to claim the heart of the storm. The wind howled and the air crackled. Jorgenson launched a force of the electrified wind that arced like artillery. Exploding on the head of the giant monster.

It screamed, more from frustration than any pain. The eel’s pale skin was unmarred. There was a wet glug sound and the giant vomited up a wave of yellow bile. Everyone fled as the barriers hissed and their bearers roared a warning. They couldn’t hold long. Everyone fled back to the stairwell, firing shots over their shoulders.

The huge eel retreated, molested but unbothered.

Jorgenson looked back at the once again still waters. “Well fuck that!”