<1025 A.D.>
TEMPORAL VORTEX REPORT
-REPORT NO. 5-
[UNKNOWN TRANSFER RATE, SYSTEMATIC DATA MALFUNCTION]
CRYPTIC TEXT SYNCH RESULT - MULTIDIMENSIONAL TIMELINES
CODE - "MAGNESS"
CODE EX. - "TRI ZED"
There are too many people; the single most prevalent thought on everyone's mind who was celebrating or on the way to the great United Festival. The first steps toward absolute unification had already begun. It was a new millennia and a whole new era for the world. But there were still too many people all getting bunched up next to each other all under the pretense of 'having a good time'.
Very few Mystics joined in the celebration. Of those that traveled, many were often distracted by other towns and cities and people along the way. Nothing so far in the history of the world had ever happened quite like this. Something was bound to happen, something bad, something very, very, bad.
Every precaution was set though. Guards positioned everywhere imaginable; in and around town, around the castle, the castle entrance, the ferry docks, and even all over Zenan Bridge (both sides and even two lone guards in the center). A couple guards were also dispatched to the Ashtear Bridge & Island. It seemed like nothing could go wrong. But it would.
He spied the profusion of people-mostly lower class-long before he saw the bridge. Sticking to the forest edge, he could easily avoid the flocks of festival-goers, but he didn't know what to do when he got to the bridge. There was likely to be security of some sort. An explanation might be in order. He didn't think of one, if it was needed, he'd have it by then, or he'd make it up on the spot. He was never one to be jolted by authority. If nothing else, he could always try and go around the bridge somehow.
The trees were thinning and the people were thickening at the bridge entrance. He could even see pick-pockets discreetly on the make, prostitutes, and phony craftsmen peddling paste jewelry. This is the future? He thought to himself; such depravity, such filth and excrement. It was an ugly future to him, and that's all he saw.
She saw something different; a big mark or possibly another tradesman. Either way, she wanted a part of the action. What was his deal; the lone, standing figure, assessing the crowd? It was obvious that he was on the job. He was a professional like she had never seen-and never would. One that actually went in with a plan. A real "kick-ass-and-forget-the-questions" kind of guy, and she knew it, right then and there.
What did that mean to her? Well, it could have meant that she finally found a worthy partner, an ally with brains as well as brawn. It could have meant she found a possible love interest (he was handsome enough, in a gritty, pale, bad-boy kind of way). It could have meant a countless number of things. But to a thief, another thief-especially one better than you-is but one thing; just another boob with the goods.
She smiled her big, goofy smile as she slinked up a ways from behind him, hidden in the forest. There is nothing more attractive to any reputable thief than easy money. That is of course, unless the easy money is far off in the forest all by its lonesome.
How dare the foolish girl try so haphazardly to sneak up on him? It was absurd. He hadn't turned aroun dto see her, there really was no need. She didn't seem to notice the copious amount of sound coming from her dreadfully poor sneaking job. The world still held its own little surprises for him, and he still hated it for doing so.
What did this pitiful excuse for a pick-pocket expect to do? He could even smell her before he heard her noise. She was bad at this, it seemed. It almost made him feel like giving her a handout for the mockery of a performance that she was putting on.
His brow furrowed in contempt and the kind of slight anger that parents get when their child has broken another glass or plate. How could so many of these daft dullards still be alive? Surely they'd have to die out before they reach any considerable age, right? You'd think they'd be weeded out long ago based on sheer genetics.
He didn't see it coming; almost didn't have enough time to react. He was thinking too generally; getting lost in semantics. He had let his guard down; living too far out of the moment.
The long, curved blade weapon flew past him in a flash; he had precious little time to twist to avoid it. The whiz of it cutting the air resounded in his ears as it flew by, coming within mere centimeters of his face.
Something else though; at his back? Quick, shifting movements, something was...Stolen!
The weapon shimmered and flashed into the trees going steadily upwards. It was circling back from high in the sky, moving towards the girl, now running to the bridge. It was going to be very messy, and he knew it.
She was a teenage girl, similar in age to Marcy, but a few inches shorter and just a touch thinner. Her long and sharp scarlet hair was tied into two big braids that curved down to her back. She was wearing pumpkin-colored short shorts and a matching tube top; things Gil had never been exposed to in any timeline previous. He was bemused and appalled by the world's downward spiral from fashion and dignity.
He could see plainly enough-and thusly had no need to check through his things-what she had snatched from him. Clutching it tight, like candy in a greedy babe's hand, she held quite possibly his most prized and cherished of possessions: his Amulet. It was the Amulet his sister had given him and was one of the last solid objects he had that linked him with that past, with her.
Sudden and furious anger swelled within him. No guards would stop him. She would die most terribly for her impertinence. The utter insolence of it all! She was far from lucky in getting that of all the items in his sack.
The girl caught the boomerang mid-step and Gil gave chase without further ado. Intense flames burned in his eyes-blind with rage. No, not blinded, concentrated, concentrated rage. Crowds of people parted lik ethe Red Sea, not for him, but because of him. It was almost as if they could sense a strong wind emanating from him, blowing and directing itself at the girl. They shifted out of the path of this powerful force. If they had not, they would have been trampled by it. People closest were immediately silenced by this shocking look. Others asked quick questions like 'what's going on and 'could someone move so I could see'.
"Hold it there, missy. What's the rush?" The guard asked, pushing her back a bit while still holding on to her slender, naked shoulders. It was his job to look out for suspicioius people going across the bridge. His partner stood at his side, examining the crowd in-between glances at the girl in her skimpy outfit.
She had made a move to the bridge in an attempt to lose him in the crowd, but after a quick look back, it seemed as though he didn't get lost in crowds. As she was looking back and running onto the first planks of the bridge, she slammed into the tall and burly guard. He looked like an average Poore sentry; cobalt-blue uniform and a small but high-powered Ashtear-designed pistol (he had a fairly old model) strapped to his hip.
"What's that ya got there?" His partner asked from over his shoulder. The Amulet had let out a small shine, as if drawing the guards' attention to it. She had her boomerang tucked in the back of her belt, hidden behind her small, open-brest vest. Normal boomerangs are just kids' toys, but anything with a sharpened metal blade would have likely drawn the awareness of the guards.
"It's nothing! You've got to let me past!" She said, on the verge of shouting. She made a few quick glances over her shoulder. In the near distance, she could see large groups of people moving back-and-forth. He was getting closer. There wasn't any time to make up pretty excuses or to flirt with the sentry, "There's a man. He's trying to kill me!"
The guards shared a quick glance at each other. This was a common line given to them from passing thieves. It was a very bad line, especially when you've got something shiny in your arms and you're acting apprehensive. It had never worked before. She knew this and, funnily enough, what she had said was wholly true, although she wasn't entirely aware of that useful bit of information.
"Well then, let's wait for him, and see if we can't straghten these things out then, shall we?" The sentry stated like the tediously memorized line that it was. He didn't loosen his grip; in face, he made it firmer. She made a few quick glances at the weapons at their hips again.
Could she make it? These two guards looked like shmucks. She was sure she could take them out with one or two flips of her rang. That would cause quite the disturbance though. Half-way across the bridge she'd be stopped again. There was no way out.
She saw the heads parting. Then they stopped People went about their business; moving about, chattering, taking quick glances at her. Her eye focused and unfocused, scanning the crowd, anticipating the confrontation, but it didn't happen. Two or three minutes passed by.
"Look here, missy, there doesn't seem to be anyone following you." The sentry said, kind of disappointed himself, "So stop wasting our time and go about your business."
The guards returned to keeping an ever-watchful eye on the swarm of people. She went along with the flow, going towards Guardia across Zenan Bridge. It was more farming area and grassland after that; lots of wide-open space.
She had taken refuge with troops of some sort; watching out for people exactly like him. He had to stop, didn't want further trouble from Guardian (or whomever) troops. The plan was to see Lucca and only Lucca. He didn't want to see the kid-he was now a prince or some such-or the princess. Dealing with people in that manner, royalty especially, was never his strong suit, ironically enough.
That didnt' matter though; the guards were mainly looking out for pickpockets, swindlers, and anybody starting a ruckus. To them, he just looked like a wierd Mystic or possibly a hermit. But if he tried anything, he had no doubt that they'd be all over him. So he got by unnoticed, for the most part.
The bridge was a long one, very simplistic, but sturdy in design. He would have to follow her through the crowds over it, with the sun continuing to come up from the east and the wind, helpfully, from the north, breezing straight past him from the other side of the bridge. He could still smell her awful and assaulting perfume lingering in the air. She had stopped for some reason, so he stopped too.
There was various entertainment acts, clowns, jugglers, 'magicians' and such, floating through the crowds and off to unsettled parts of the bridge. Peddlers were apparently allowed to set up shop directly on the bridge, so there were merchants selling their wares all along it; very brazen, bargaining merchants.
"The finest silk you'll ever get the chance to purchase!" One pleaded.
"Secret Mystic brew, guaranteed to get you any woman." Another said.
"We've got an assortment of any kind of woman you need, right here!" One responded. The two instantly got into an argument about whether people wanted to entice women or have them for the night. It was all unsettling to him. He made no attempt to hide the disgust he felt towards them all.
A loud bellow came from behind Gil. The kind of laughter a father forces out when his boy's made a really bad joke, "Pay no attention to these whore mongers and frauds. They'll do no one no good at all."
Gil turned to see a large, solid man at a booth filled with weapons of both standard and ornate design, all high quality. It was as obvious from his stature, his clothing, and his dark, fire-burnt skin that he was a smithy. As if you couldn't tell from the great, metal tools that hung from his belt and the goods spread out before him.
His right eye was nearly a slit and a scar ran across it from the top of his forehead to the side of his cheek. He was a smith who was familiar with his weapons. He was an old man, in his late fifties at least, gradually nearing the end of his rope. A great grin seemed plastered on his face, the deep wrinkles molded around that smile as if it rarely ever left. His hair was short and his beard was neat and trimmed.
The smithy offered his hand and, seeing as the girl had still not moved, Gil decided to take it, "Name's Zappa, the world's greatest and only traveling blacksmith!" His words were announced in a way that made it so he was actually advertising to anyone within earshot. The grip on Gil's hand was strong, so he pressed back with the same strength. Zappa's grin seemed to heighten and they loosened hands, "Fine grip lad, fine grip. I noticed your weapons..."
"I AM ZOAH, THE GREAT MAMMOTH, THE GRAND DRAGON, THE DISTINGUISHED DESTRUCTION ZONE, ZOAH THE CHAMPION!" A large-as advertised, true mammoth proportions-man roared. The word "champion" was pronounced in gaudy entertainment fashion as cham-pee-un. He looked like a medieval professional wrestler.
Zoah's muscular body was patched with random scars, he wore a great, iron mask resembling that of a lancer or dragoon knight that hid his face, and he also wore a wrestler's grotesque mini-brief thong underwear. From his belt hung a short-length of cloth that covered from the top side of one leg, around his backside, and along his side to the top of his other leg, resembling a three-quarter skirt.
"I NEED A VOLUNTEER!" He bellowed to the crowd in front of her, stopping her in her tracks. She-as loud as Zoah seemed to be-didn't hear him. Her mind was trapped in her own, frightened, escapist world. Get away. Get away. Get away as fast as you can. She managed to push past the blockade of people, "THANK YOU, GOOD GIRL! WILL ONLY BE A MOMENT!"
He burst into a great laughter as he took her-startled out of her trance-in his large hands. She had stepped forward, involuntarily volunteering.
She had only seconds to grasp the concept of what he was doing to her. He placed her onto a simple padded mat, lying on her back, and then placed a short table over her mid-section.
"What the devil...?" She asked in a small voice-very small in comparison to Zoah. Three enormous squares of rock ashphalt were placed atop the table at her waist. He walked out several dozen steps before turning back to her.
"PLEASE MISS! TRY NOT TO MOVE!" He shouted the words extra loud as if the short distance would have made it hard to hear him. If they could have seen his lips, they would have seen a great smile across them at his own words, "NOW, FOR THE FAMOUS GYRONIMO!"
The words were pronounced fay-me-us and gee-ronee-moe. He took to a run, vaulted twenty feet straight up into the air, spun, and came down with a diving fist, which stopped a foot short above the rock.
He stood there frozen as the crowds assessed this. They wondered if he had failed and was just in a state of shock or shame or if...The rocks split and crumbled beneath the blow even without physical contact. Below the pile of crumbled rock, the table itself was perfectly intact. Zoah let out a laugh as his audience-for they were now his audience and they would all follow him onward toward the fair, they had decided-clapped and let out their gasps of awe. Later in their lives they would tell of the remarkable feet they saw on Zenan Bridge during the United Festival by the man who disappeared.
Zoah helped the girl up to her feet and patted a bit of the dust from her front.
She was in a very odd place, still piecing things together: the theft, the chase, the crowds & how they stepped aside for him, the guards stopping her, and just then, the loud man. It fit somehow, she knew. Somehow it all fit and she'd be alright if she could just figure it all out quickly enough.
"BEEN A GREAT HELP TO ME LASS, THANKIE-SAI!" He chuckled to himself. Maybe this was it, she thought.
"You've gotta help me!" The panic in her veins struck her again, she could make out the crowds moving to make way again, further down the bridge from where she came from, "There's a man back there who's after me!"
Gil's talk with Zappa had been useful. He learned a few things about the United Fair, happenings of Guardia & Porre, and most importantly, about Lucca Ashtear. She was supposed to have a new exhibit at the fair, a whole tent to herself actually, taking the place of her old feline robotic fight trainer, Gato-now turned house nanny for the kids.
It was supposed to be something advanced, as always. Something about the mechanics of spectral dynamos or something, Zappa, while big on smithing, was not as interested in the other sciences. It was easy for Gil to get what he wanted from the smithy though, in exactly the right metal. It was well worth the seven thousand, nine hundred and eighty Gold, which he had to transfer from Zenny.
Gil picked up her trail. There was no way she was going to just stop him up there of all places just by standing still, or whatever the damn hell she was doing. He couldn't let her ditch his Amulet (although he didn't think she would, not really). It simply meant too much to him. There was a disappointed-looking crowd gathered around a little mat with broken rocks on the top of a little table. She had be there, right there, on that mat and she was doing something.
"I don't think it was real. Could it have been real?"
"My word, the way that Zoah man did that, amazing!"
"That little red-haired girl didn't look as if she knew what she was gettin' herself into."
He had stopped, closed his eyes, and was listening to the laughter and gossip-the mindless white noise-of the crowd around the mat. She was part of a demonstration; some kind of strong man act. Now she was gone, but (more importantly?) so was the strong man. A quick pulse of irritation skipped across his left upper lip to the side of his nose.
People mashed and pushed around him now. There are too many people. He thought to himself. Shortly, at least, there will be one less.
...this world is populated by cretins...
<1025 A.D.>
TEMPORAL VORTEX REPORT
-REPORT NO. 6-
[UNKNOWN TRANSFER RATE, SYSTEMATIC DATA MALFUNCTION]
CRYPTIC TEXT SYNCH RESULT - MULTIDIMENSIONAL TIMELINES
CODE - "MAGNESS"
CODE EX. - "FLAME TO MOTH"
The sun blazed in the sky like a great, looming bird, ready to pick and char anyone out in the light. A vast and voracious vulture tending to the dead as best it knows how. Parched throats, sweat-saturated pits, dry and burnt skin were all commonplace that day. People were on the move under that huge and hideous scorcher of a star. They didn't think they were fleeing it, but they inevitably were; seeking shelter from a burning fireball in the sky.
Gil didn't mind it much. He had been closer to the flaming fiend than any of these people walking to and fro around him, with him, could-or would-ever know. The heat never bothered him, especially not after the arduous and tedious work with the Mystics. They too had to flee, when the invasion hit its peak. Their cities in ruin, they had to rebuild. The heat was more intense, no matter how thick the encircling of forest was; you could just feel differences like that no matter how prepared you were.
People had accused him of being slow, dimwitted, and downright stupid before. Never, of course, right to his face-his helmet, anyways. But he knew for a fact what the little miss held in her possession. If it was something to do with battle in any ways, he would know. Zoah was no bunbling greenhorn to the goings on science and magics. It was obviously some magical device, whether or not she knew it, was another matter all together.
"MISS, WHAT KIND OF TROUBLE, EXACTLY, HAVE YOU GOTTEN YOURSELF INTO?" Zoah asked, cutting to the heart of the matter. He had told her he would follow her as far as the Guardia/Truce boarder, but no further. Some of his minor things were left back on the bridge (nothing, he thought, that anyone would want to steal, but you can never tell for certain), and he'd need them for his show at the actual fair.
They had left the bridge, the red-haired girl towing him by his right hand like any giddy child holding their Pa's hand, anxiously awaiting the fair festivities. But, of course, with a few differences; she was no child, he was no Pa, and the look on her face wasn't that of anticipation, but that of pure and unbridled fear. It was a founded fear and on some base level, deep in her heart, she knew it.
"MISS...?" Zoah shouted past her thought bubbles, popping them out of her present thought, but not out of her mind completely.
"Hush!" She said, "Do you always speak so loudly?"
"BUT MISS, I MUST, THE HELM-" He was explaining before she cut him off.
"Oh forget it! I don't care." She said, hurrying along the path of the road, "He's going to catch up soon, I can feel it."
"THAT WHOSE MEDALION YOU POSSESS?"
"Yes, I took it from him." She said, looking deeply into the shimmer of the metal Amulet.
"WHY NOT GIVE IT BACK?"
"There's no going back now. I know it. I saw it in his eyes." The girl said. Her eyes were trembling on the edge of kid-like tears. It would not be the first time in her life that she had cried so. She remembered long days of scratching at papers with colored wax as a child, crying just like she felt like crying now, "He's some kind of ghost or demon. And now I've damned myself. Damned because I'm a theif and I can't help it."
"EVER THE WORDS OF A DYING THEIF..." Zoah said with no real emotion showing. He was just stating it as you would state the hour of the day or your given name. It was not the first time he had seen tears like hers. It was not the first time he had heard words like hers and it was not the first time he spoke his next words, "I AM ZOAH. AND I WILL HELP YOU."
She looked at him apprehensively. On the bridge, in that moment back there, he looked so strong. Looking back further though, to the dead-white skinned man, he seemed like a powerless little boy, "Thank you." The girl managed in a squeeky little voice. She didn't believe he would be of much good when it came down to it, but he was as good a chance as she was going to get, "My name's Mel. I'm sorry about this; I think that maybe you should just go back though. I don't think you can help me now."
"TOO LATE FOR THAT, LASS..." He laughed at her remark and how she had already started off without him. He began to walk towards her and shouted, "I KNOW TOO MUCH NOW. IT WOULDN'T BE PROPER OF ME, THEIF OR NO."
"Then you'll both die." A mysterious-almost raspy-and emanating voice said just loud enough for the two of them to hear. They hadn't noticed, but somehow the people, the crowds, everyone was gone. They had gotten too far ahead, much too far. The people at the bridge were not the first of the day, but they came in intervals: sometimes short, sometimes long. This time, it was a very long break between and they were very far ahead.
There was an explosion the likes of which few had ever known coming from ahead on the trail. A large billow of dust, murk and black smoke rose into the air. Powder kegs out so far from the kingdoms? It didn't make sense. One girl in particular-now running full speed off of the bridge-knew what it was. It was a bomb. Although not your average gunpowder keg bomb; it was a bomb of pure darkness.
She came upon the scene just in time to see him, he had called himself Gil (although she had taken it for the false name that it was), heading towards a girl with red braids. As he approached, the girl shrieked, ran, and groped for something at her back.
"Watch out!" The girl who had just arrived shouted. He didn't notice her. He couldn't notice her. He was swimming in his own thoughts. His mind was a slate of pure, cold steel. He reminded her of the Wolfs, with their hungry, greedy looks.
The other girl produced a large, curved blade and threw it, hard, at the man with anger in his eyes matching the intensity of the overhanging sun. His hand flashed up at the blade and he caught it. The blade sunk into the leather of his glove, but he kept coming at her. The blade was held firm in his hand; he was gripping it even as it was shredding his glove.
There was no pain. There was only anger. The girl-Mel was her name, he had heard-had fallen onto her ass as soon as she let go of the boomerang. She was cowering and scampering off backwards more as a natural reaction than of actual fear, knowing there was no getting away. He spoke words that she didn't, and couldn't, really hear. All the fear was gone just then, in its place, a fiery realization.
He had already started the magic words for the Dark Bomb before he spoke to them. His single finger touched the man's metal helm before he could get another word out. Then, the blackness engulfed him, swallowed them both. She had started off beforehand and at his voice she stammered a moment and fled almost immediately. It wasn't a very large explosion, but by gods, the sound of it. It was the most unnatural noise she had ever heard; spiritual or electrical whines like thunder and yet not at all like thunder. The girl looked back, over her shoulder, and watched in voiceless terror as the blackness ate and ate and ate.
It was a ball of black light at first; it made a meal of Zoah's head as it spread down and outwards. The man too was overcome by the energy, but it was different, he wasn't being erased, it seemed to pass over him like a shadow. The Dark Bomb created a small dome around them (only it wasn't them anymore, it was just him) and then it vanished. The man was there and that fire lit in his eyes as he saw her, still clutching his Amulet and reaching for her boomerang behind her, just as he knew she would.
He heard a familiar voice scream at him-or for him-someplace off in the distance. He didn't look back, couldn't look back. His mind was a sharp needle of concentration and rage, long practiced, long harnessed, and forever known to him. He raised Mel's boomerang above his head-he didn't notice when he had caught it, it just seemed to have appeared in his hand-and it glistened in the rays of the sun; flares of light danced along its silvery surface.
"Young moths playing with fire burn..." He had said aloud, not really to her, or even himself, just another plain statement of fact as boring as the weather.
...Shall we burn it?
