NORTHERN FURY

Jason Grekor

THE TOWN OF Redkon, nestled amidst rolling hills and whispering pines, lacked the ostentatious grandeur of Icia, but possessed a charm all its own. Among the townsfolk, I noticed a striking group with dark skin, fiery red hair and eyes, and unique attire adorned with colorful feathers. They were the Carmine tribe, the original inhabitants of this land. Their distinctive red hair and eyes were said to be a result of generations of exposure to Crimsinal, a unique ore found only in this region.

Last night, I witnessed a mesmerizing sight: a tribal gathering on the banks of Lake Shamara, their sacred place. The rhythmic drumming and chanting, the vibrant dances under the moonlight, created an atmosphere of ancient magic and deep connection to the land. It was this spirit, this vibrant energy, that truly gave Redkon its unique charm.

The cool silk sheets caressed my skin as I stretched, inhaling the intoxicating scent of jasmine wafting in from the balcony. Sunlight, splintered by the crystal prisms of the chandelier, danced like fireflies across the tapestry's intricate weave. From the balcony, Lake Shamara shimmered below. A breathtaking sight. As I sipped my tea, I felt utterly enveloped in paradise. The warmth of the morning sun bathed me as I relaxed on the balcony of Gilbert's lavish residence, lost in the beauty of it all.

It was evident that Gilbert hadn't been exaggerating his affluence. A manor like this, with its polished marble floors and walls adorned with glittering jewels, in such a prime location is no small feat. My initial plan had been to spend a few days in a tavern before embarking on my journey to the garrison. However, Gilbert was insistent on playing host, his warm smile and generous spirit making it impossible to decline. Staying here would save me money, and it didn't really matter where I lived anyway, especially since Gilbert was paying me so well for this escort mission. I had protested, claiming I didn't do anything worthy to earn such a sum, but he still persuaded me, his eyes twinkling with kindness. Gilbert and his family were truly good people. Their open-hearted generosity was a rare treasure in these troubled times.

With Captain Joshua's instructions to take my time and investigate something for him, I had no pressing need to rush to Garrison. I had to lay low and continued my investigation, even within the garrison. Once my investigation was complete, I would have to report back to Slacia, which I suspected would take a significant amount of time. It was a lot of work, but it would certainly secure my promotion, and perhaps then I could afford a jeweled dagger like the one Joshua always carried.

I pulled a piece of paper from my bag, revealing a list of five names. Ser Joshua simply wanted to know their activities. Initially, I doubted I'd uncover anything substantial this quickly, but I was pleasantly surprised.

Kirien Blaze, the third name on the list, piqued my curiosity. He had once been a renowned beast tamer in Slacia, known for his extravagant attire and bejeweled whips, but vanished before facing trial on criminal charges. 'God's Justice' dispatched inquisitors to apprehend him, but he eluded capture. The Captain believed he might have sought refuge in these desolate regions. Now, I think I've stumbled upon a clue: the hybrid wildcat.

I could be mistaken, but his previous charges of experimenting on zillas hint at a possible connection to the hybrid Diana discovered. Perhaps this creature, with its unusual markings, was another one of his creations, a twisted experiment for profit and notoriety.

A knock startled me from my thoughts. Diana stood in the doorway, her youthful face alight with excitement. "Jas," she chirped, her voice a songbird's melody, "did you sleep well?" I knew what was coming.

"Let's go for a walk," I said, feigning nonchalance. "We need to get those bonding materials."

Her smile widened. "But," I added, with a playful tease, "you're covering your own costs, right? This old soldier is a bit strapped for coins." I jingled the sack Gilbert had given me. It was plenty to stay in a tavern for a month, but bonding materials were notoriously pricey.

"Of course, Jas!" she replied, waving a dismissive hand. "Father gave me plenty."

Typical rich kid, I thought with a chuckle. Being a merchant wasn't so bad after all.

We wandered through the maze of cobblestone streets, ancient pathways winding beneath a sky awash with azure and gold. The air hummed with a symphony of scents, dominated by the comforting aroma of freshly baked bread. Market stalls overflowed with vibrant produce, while others showcased pouches of Crimsinal powder, a cloth cleanser far cheaper here than in Slacia. I longed to buy some.

Redkon was a relatively young town, its history spanning mere decades. The allure of Crimsinal, and the promise of wealth it held, had drawn people from across the land, transforming Redkon from a humble tribal settlement into a bustling, diverse town. It had grown considerably. Though indigenous to the area, the red-haired people were a rare sight in the market. I did spot a few, mostly children. This wasn't surprising, as they primarily worked in the mines and lived near the lake. This central part of town was predominantly populated by newcomers.

Finally, we reached a shop, its weathered façade a stark contrast to the vibrant life around it, with a sign depicting a coiled serpent, its scales shimmering like emeralds, and the words "Beastmaster's Haven" etched in faded gold.

Inside, the air hung heavy with the weight of countless creatures and forgotten spells. Shriveled claws, like gnarled branches reaching from the shadows, lined the shelves. Iridescent scales shimmered with an otherworldly glow. Jars filled with murky liquids, each holding secrets unknown.

A stuffed griffin perched atop a bookcase like a silent guardian. Its feathers were dusty and worn, but its unnervingly lifelike eyes seemed to follow your every move.

The Beastmaster's Haven was a symphony of scents: dried herbs with a pungent aroma, animal musk that spoke of wild beasts and untamed lands, and a faint metallic tang, a hint of danger lurking beneath the surface.

A low hiss, like a whispered warning, escaped from a cage hidden beneath a velvet cloth. The clinking of glass vials, a delicate music of sorcery, accompanied the shopkeeper's every move.

We needed three items: a bonding scroll, its ancient script holding the key to a powerful connection, blood powder, a dark crimson dust that pulsed with latent essence, and silk wood, its smooth surface warm to the touch, said to resonate with the creature's soul. Each item was pricey, a king's ransom for a commoner, but Diana didn't even blink, her eyes fixed on the prize. Typical rich kid, I mused.

"What kind of beast are you bonding with, young miss?" he inquired, his voice a low purr, a serpent's whisper in the stillness of the shop. The shopkeeper, a wiry man whose face resembled a dried prune, his wrinkles etched by time and secrets, peered at us over his spectacles. One lens was cracked, a spiderweb of broken glass, giving his gaze an unsettlingly fractured quality, as if he saw multiple realities at once.

"It's a wild..." Diana began, her sapphire eyes sparkling with excitement.

"A wild Rust-fox," I interjected, my voice smooth as silk, weaving a tale of deceit. "We acquired it in Slacia. A gift for our dear Diana." I laid it on thick, painting a picture of a loving family and a cherished pet, adding a nervous chuckle for good measure, a touch of vulnerability to solidify the facade. "So relieved to find a reputable shop here," I added. "This will be a momentous occasion for her."

Diana looked a little confused, a flicker of doubt in her sapphire eyes, but played along, trusting in my guidance. The shopkeeper offered a thin, brittle smile, but his eyes remained cold and suspicious. He drummed his fingers on the counter, a rhythmic tapping that echoed in the silence, his gaze flicking between me and Diana. I had planted the seed of doubt. Now, to see if it would take root.

As we left, the heavy door closing behind us like a final curtain, I couldn't help but smirk, a small victory in the grand scheme of things. He had taken the bait.

￣￣￣￣￣￣￣￣￣￣￣￣￣￣￣￣￣￣￣￣￣￣Çentic Ubaize

From my perch atop a timber-framed building, I cast mine eyes upon the bustling waterfront. The ceaseless roar of the waves echoed through the crowded marketplace, where merchants hawked their wares with boisterous cries, drunken sailors brawled in dimly lit taverns, and mischievous urchins chased stray dogs through the winding alleyways.

But it was the harbor that held my gaze—a lone ship anchored against the endless expanse of the sea. Port Qatr, once the jewel of Rhoadnia, now lay in a state of neglect, a grim reflection of the fractured bonds between the kingdoms that once thrived on its trade.

Across from me, a middle-aged man inhaled and exhaled rhythmically through a peculiar, tube-like device. Hookah, they called it - a luxury imported from the East, promising euphoria and mental clarity. A privilege beyond the reach of most, but not for my uncle, Pasha Çentic Rehan, the formidable head of Rhoadnia's military. His presence here was shrouded in mystery, something about a border dispute with our neighboring country. I didn't see where I fit into this story. And I had no intention of seeking him out.

"Beg your pardon, Lord Pasha," Etur, his loyal servant, announced from the doorway, his voice barely audible over the sound of his own heart pounding. "An easterner intends to meet you. Shall I let him in?" Before my uncle could reply, the door flew open with a heavy thud.

Curiosity piqued, I glanced up to see who dared to enter so abruptly in my uncle's presence.

"Beg your pardon, dear my Lord Pasha, but I came to your room without permission," the man sneered, his laughter echoing through the chamber like a banshee's wail. Towering over most, he exuded a raw, warrior-like energy that was probably enough to make a charging bull think twice. His eastern origins were unmistakable. A thick, brown beard, resembling a bush bound by a metal ring, framed his face. Yet, it was the brutal scar beneath his left eye, carving a grotesque crest into his cheek, that truly commanded attention. It looked like someone had taken a particularly sharp cheese grater to his face.

Uncle remained unperturbed, his hookah still in hand. However, a subtle amusement now played on his lips. He exhaled a plume of fragrant smoke, his eyes fixed on Cossa with an intensity that could melt steel. "You haven't changed a single iota, you despicable swine," spat my uncle, his face contorted into a venomous sneer. His gaze flickered to me.

"Meet my nephew, Ubaiz," my uncle declared, gesturing towards me with a flourish. "The lad I mentioned. Sharp as a hawk's talon and twice as tenacious. He'll be a boon to this endeavor."

'Me and this endeavour? What in the bloody hell is going on here?' I thought, my mind a whirlwind of confusion. My gaze darted between my uncle and the foreign man, their faces grim, their eyes harboring a dark intent that sent shivers down my spine.

"So, you've decided to send your young whelp into the dragon's lair, have you?" the easterner sneered, his eyes fixed on my uncle with icy intensity. "Well, old man, I'll do your dirty work, but it will cost you dearly. Let's pray your prized sellswords, those southern Guild cutthroats, are truly worth their weight in gold, or we're all doomed."

"They are indeed the cream of the crop, Ring-beard," my uncle purred, a smug glint in his eye. "The Sultan will reward you handsomely if this venture proves successful." A sly smile curved his lips as he produced a heavy pouch and an ornately carved box. "A token of appreciation from His Highness."

Ring-beard snatched the offerings, his eyes gleaming with avarice as he examined their contents. "The Sultan is a generous man, it seems," he chuckled, tucking the pouch into his belt. He dismissed the box with a dismissive wave. "I have no need for these mind-addling trinkets," he scoffed, referring to the hookah set within.

"The winter is coming, Cossa. Do you believe you can achieve this feat in the icy northern seas?" my uncle inquired, a flicker of genuine concern crossing his features. So, his name is Cossa, I noted. "Twenty ships, nigh on two thousand men. You've risen from a mere pirate to an Amir. This could turn the tide, change the course of the war. That stubborn Duke has no inkling of what awaits him," he added with a wicked grin. A chill ran down my spine. War. Two thousand men. My mind reeled at the sheer scale of it all. And this man, a pirate feared across the vast oceans, was to lead them.

"It is your plan, Pasha, and I am but your tool," Cossa replied, a confident smirk playing on his lips as he stroked his long beard. "And you know I'm always up for a gamble when the stakes are this high."

"That's it then. You may go and prepare to leave. I'll send my nephew with further instructions," Ring-beard had already vanished.

"That arrogant sea dog fancies himself a King," Uncle muttered. He turned to me. ""Remember, Ubaiz, you are a Çentic. Our family has been a house of honor for generations, not just during the empire's civil wars but long before. We are warriors through and through. Your father may be a merchant, but your mother's blood runs strong within you. You must prove your worth, and I'm giving you that opportunity."