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gagetr · 4 years

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Chronicles Of Noctra.

Hey there! Just posting a snippet of my novel in progress and a link to an online copy in case anyone wants to read!

Chapter One:

Log 001. Year 4,165.

He found me a month ago. My father.

On a busy road in the slums, full of other starving people

I tried stealing food from his personal guard. I got cocky and stole bags for others, I overextended and nearly paid the price. He was inside a nearby shop. When he came out, he killed all his guards and swooped me up in his arms. He looked me in the eyes and cried

“My child, sweet child, oh how fate is kind.”

Blood littered the streets, but we were pristine.

I keep this journal now because I’ve seen things here;

Things that need to change.

-Change,

Mezir De Blancana

A hooded figure walked alone down the remnants of Blancana’s slums, layered cloaks of grey causing him to look like nothing more than a shadow from afar. Bandaged from head to toe without space even for eye holes, his framework lens sticking out on one side, he was sure to be an ominous sight to any looking from the towers above him. Or so he hoped.

In case any lookouts had been particularly blessed with healthy vision, the figure made sure to hide his blades and framework hands floating above smooth, severed wrists beneath his cloak. He didn’t want them to be too prepared for his arrival. All they needed to see was a specter coming from the wreckage of a once-great world.

The bandaged man wanted them all to fear before they felt the wrath of his blades or strength of his will. Too long had they lived in peace, benefiting off of the eradication of his people, comfortable in their grand, new world. Replete with essence and irredeemable ignorance.

A world he continued to find increasingly empty. All around him silence shuddered with the winds of Noctra as they shook the gargantuan Wilders in a gentle dance. Aside from small beasts lurking nearby, and a young woman who crept behind him at the Wilder’s edge, there was no one.

Just outside the massive white walls that cut Blancana off from the Wilders and the rest of Noctra, he stopped to survey the area. According to the leather-bound book in his worn pouch, the slums used to be lively and full; dilapidated without a doubt, but nowhere near as gutted as the street he stood in. An emptiness that had become familiar to him since he had left the Northern mines months before and traveled the length of Noctra. Just as with every city and settlement he had passed on his journey, fragmented and frozen remnants of their former glory, there was no one near the Wilders.

No one on the outer side of the wall.

Gone were the days when every stall was littered with colorful vagrants, vagabonds, or starving citizens; no longer did children prance about with dirty faces and soiled clothes. Merchants had abandoned all structures around and left them to nature’s whim. Nothing was left beyond the imposing city border but sand, tar-like mud, and rubble overgrown with Wilder-vines and Lunamoss, which had begun to glow as nightfall approached. The Grand Councilor had been busy molding the world to his image for the past ten years and that image left no room for the undesirable.

It seemed Lord White feared Noctra’s natural blessings.

Admittedly, the wrapped man would’ve much preferred the coverage of growth and shade in the unending forests to open streets held within ominous confines, though he had become increasingly cozy with discomfort. He found ways around it, ways to use it to his advantage.

The large open streets constructed of recently placed marble, surrounded by glaring granite buildings adorned in gold and crystal terrified him undoubtedly; but it made using his Ta’ Sevin, Venerable Sight, much easier. Even though he was born with the sight and accessed it regularly throughout his youth, there were some times it was nearly impossible to discern one essence from another. Noctra was home to so many.

Out in the Wilders, he could get lost in an entirely different world. In the city, however, his path could not be more concise and clear.

Knowing the sapphire glow from beneath the bandages may reach far in the encroaching darkness, the man pulled his hood lower and saw the White’s Estate, the capital of Blancana, as it truly was. As Noctra intended. His right eye could see the glow from his left for a moment before everything shifted. He was unable to reign in his heart as it bucked wildly at the sight of essence around him. No matter how many times the bandaged man saw it, he was never prepared for the sheer brilliance of it all.

Spewing from immaculate potted plants and waning weeds all the same, from the homes of nobles and the dung of their lowest subjects, essence floated in a humbling display. He could even see it seeping from solid stone, as if life from long ago still lingered, whispering it’s will.

Emerald danced from over the border wall, cascading onto the streets below and swathing them in a dull green mist. Sapphire ambled aimlessly from the ground, entwined with an energetic salmon pink that swirled around the blues and shot skyward. None ever faded, only mixed. Only created.

The bandaged man had to shake his head and breathe deeply before he could focus. See past the beauty and find the reds. Ruby, crimson, scarlet. Signs of sentient life. If one could call a servant of Lord White sentient; the man struggled to see how they could be. Only brainwashed or afflicted puppets could support such a cowardly, bloodied empire. He made note of how similar the towers were to the oaks of the Grand Wilder’s just outside the border, their only true difference being the large symbol of the White on the front of each monstrosity.

There weren’t many, six towers, five Watchers each that he could see actively patrolling, and of those few, he couldn’t see any that had faint lines running from their heads. They had no comms. There was no point in suppressing his smile. This sector was nearly empty aside from the scattered personnel and drunken residents that littered the streets outside nearly any establishment offering ale. He had to assume equipment was dismal and organization weak. The guard evidently didn’t expect many visitors from the southern entrance, it being so close to the thicket of Wilder’s and all.

Too easy.

After some time of standing out in the open surveying this bizarre and primitive form of wilderness, he was finally spotted. A single swirling mass of red essence had begun darting towards a set of stairs that led down, and eventually into, the wall; presumably to the nearest guardhouse, which meant it was time to move.

Those above didn’t seem to be well equipped which was entirely unsurprising. He doubted anyone could make a shot at him from so far above, whether with arrows or essence. A blessing that did not go uncounted as he reached the threshold of the gateless border and relinquished his sight, fading once more into darkness.

Careful to keep his cloak pulled tight enough to hide the myriad of blue, yellow, and green strewn across his many bandages, the man cast a slight illusion with his essence, making it seem as if shadows swirled beneath his clothing and his feet did not touch the ground. In part to protect his identity, should anyone surprise him, though mostly because he knew it would tighten the throats of any guards unfortunate enough to spot him.

Unlikely any would, not before he wanted them to anyway, but it never hurt to be prepared.

His prey would see the shadow of death come upon them before being welcomed into soundless eternity and that pleased him more than he cared to admit. He’d never much relished in violence; before, at least. Something had awoken in him since Lord White had stolen his peaceful life.

Something sinister.

Once Solas had completely fallen and given way to Mother Luna’s cooling light, he stepped into the borders of Blancana’s walls completely, mingling with shadows to hide his movements.

As expected the White’s guard had been alerted to a stranger coming from the WIlder entrance by a Watcher in the tower. They’d come fast and he had only made it past the first street when two of their members appeared from the nearest station, weapons drawn.

The bandaged man stayed low, silent, and still as a corpse when they walked by his position, pressed against the wall of the shop closest to him. They’d responded quicker than he had planned but that was no problem. Those above would still be watching, searching for the phantom stranger they’d seen moments ago. They would witness everything from their perch.

Any survivors’ accounts would spread terror for him. He needed this to reach the heights of Blancana. Straight to Lord White and his Nu’ council.

Each of the passing guards wore a set of light framework armor as blindingly white as the walls of the indulgent shops, and homes, which grew more common further north. Adorned with long pristine capes bordered in gold, leather hung from their shoulders and various other areas.

Straps for quick release should they need to dump their burdens, he assumed.

Their faces remained unencumbered by masks which told the hooded man they were not of very high rank in The White’s army.Still, they could be used to send a message.

On the left was a shorter, slender man with gray sprinkled in his massive beard and long, unkempt hair. Obviously wielding years of experience and fading muscle beneath his shiny armor. His skin seemed aged and excessively pale.

On the right was a stout woman with a shaved head and ageless features, her cheeks burning red with the warmth of ale on her caramel skin. Tattoos aglow with essence lined her skull.

Both held long, curved blades in their hands, ready to fight a ghastly nightmare from the Wilders or, more likely, terrorize a weary traveler. The sun soaked woman chuckled as they passed by, nudging the paler elder man with drunken gusto. Her unused scabbard swung violently against a nearby bin, making the older man jump and blush. Somehow it made him look older.

“I can’t believe they interrupted our cog…. Cocksuggin’ break, for this!”

Her companion grunted in response, seemingly agreeable, though a stern lip indicated he was more than a bit annoyed with how loudly the woman was expressing her qualms. Nonetheless she carried on.

“Loog..even if this is an old coo- agh, coot or drunken bastard, I am letting off some steam tonight”, her voice rose gradually as she spoke, swinging her blade side to side erratically, to the man’s obvious discomfort.

Her slurs made the statement more than a touch ironic.

“You may want to calm yourself a little there Jen, could be the last of the Nomad waiting for us. Waiting for their revenge. We don’ did a good number on em’ these past few years, damn square is about filled with those rotten suckers. Pa’ always knew they were freeloaders, but never doubted how vicious they were. Could be we are in for some trouble now.” The man slowed and his partner followed.

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