Descendants

Descendants

                “No, you can’t be descended from Dytja!” exclaimed Jarrod. He was starting to get really, really frustrated.

                “But we are!” responded Antonia. “The records prove it, all the way down from out founder who was a child of Dytja herself!”

                “Listen carefully: she can’t have been Dytja’s child because Dytja cannot bear children. Not only because she’s not human, but because whatever-you-want-to-call-what-she-is do not breed. She has said as much countless times, and we believe her because she has never bedded or even bloody flirted with anyone. Stories that say otherwise have always combined her with some other figure,” repeated Jarrod.

                Jarrod was a Seeker of Dytja. He was in his mid-thirties, and was a legend collector – intimately familiar with all the stories the western Seekers had discovered. He was also getting very irritated. Those who claimed descent from Dytja were actually surprisingly common, although they regularly got the timeframe wrong or were otherwise easily disproven. Only a couple had been hard to debunk, but the Seekers had done so. Descendants of Dytja would be, well… A great discovery for the Seekers, on par or better than the greatest stories.

                This group, however, were definitely not. Their ‘founder’ came out of nowhere forty years after Dytja had passed through. She had pretended descent to gain social prestige, but had eventually been caught creating fake blue blood for one of her children – and subsequently it was discovered that she had similarly cheated when tested herself.

                After being caught she had fled to relative anonymity, although some still believed her – some even went with her into seclusion. She continued to claim descent and ensured that her children would, and her children’s children… Over several hundred years the constant claims had become accepted despite the blatancy of the initial lies.

                “Then why are we such great warriors?” asked Antonia. The ‘Blood of Dytja’, as they called themselves, was a strange blend of army and religious group which consisted solely of descendants of their founder, and their spouses. She had created the organisation to protect herself and to exert control over the village she had hidden in; with the earliest members being ‘honoured’ with marriages to her many children.

                “We’ve been over this as well. You’re not. None of your champions were descendants of your founder, they just married into your group. Your greatest champion today couldn’t defeat me yesterday, and I’m not even trained for battle,” replied Jarrod. It was a bit of a lie – most of the Seekers knew a lot about fighting, especially those that strayed far from the caravan such as Jarrod. It was important that they be able to defend themselves – some lands in which they travelled were populated by none but monsters.

Antonia winced at the mention of the champion’s defeat. She had been watching the battle herself. Umber the Strong had married into the Blood of Dytja after winning their grand tournament – he had received the honour of marrying the direct eldest descendant. He was an incredible warrior in skill as well as strength, yet Jarrod had won out in what was supposed to be a show fight by using techniques no-one watching had ever seen before.

“You’ll not beat him again!” responded Antonia.

“I don’t intend to fight him again. But I do have one question: why do you refute this?” asked Jarrod, pointing at a series of documents he had brought. They were copies of accounts from the surrounding lands, of a second visit Dytja had paid to the region. The reason she had visited? Because the Blood of Dytja were claiming to be her descendants. She came to refute the claim.

“They are lies!” said Antonia angrily.

“A couple of those are statements from members of the Blood, including the reigning ‘Core Descendant’. Stating that they met with Dytja, and that she told them quite explicitly that she could not have born their founder as she was completely barren. Admittedly the ones from the Blood state that she must have been lying (and one claims that she can’t actually be Dytja, though the rest are a little more wise as she irrefutably proved herself at some point); but it is very definitely an event that happened.

“Yet the current stand of the Blood of Dytja is, for some reason, that this well-documented event never occurred. I really fail to understand why you constantly wish to retcon your own history – I can understand claiming your founder never faked her blood and that it was always red despite the contrary evidence, since you can’t allow her to be a charlatan, but changing stance… and… Argh. Deliberate falsification! Legends I can understand, but this is too much,” rambled Jarrod. He was only trying because he felt somewhat bad about what the Seekers planned to do if the Blood would not retract their claims.

“What does ‘retcon’ mean?” asked Antonia, curious.

“Huh, oh, it’s a Dytja word. It means ‘change’, but only in reference to facts being changed after they have been one particular way, like, say, if I wrote down that my hair is black today, then went back and wrote that it was blue. Except the idea is to make everyone believe the story, so it may as well have been blue and most people think it really was. We’re pretty sure the idea is that in fully made up stories you can ‘retcon’ at will, and that story may as well have always been told that way, or some such,” ranted Jarrod. “I’m also surprised at how… Little you know of Dytja.”

“We’re willing to learn. We’re happy to learn, actually. Any knowledge about our great ancestor is worthwhile knowledge!” said Antonia, eager to move to any other subject.

Jarrod grimaced. “I’ll have a copy of our tales sent here by courier,” Jarrod said. “I’m done here, and I have to catch up to my Seeker group. I’ve spent two years around here getting to the bottom of all this.”

“You should have just gone with what we said! It’s definitely the truth!” said Antonia.

“… I’m getting out of here.”

Jarrod did, however, have one more task to complete before setting off after the caravan he (usually) called home. Firstly, he had to marry the lovely librarian chap he’d met while doing research (he was top bloke and really damn cute).

The second thing he had to do was organise the mass copying and release of all the evidence he had collected – how the founder of the Blood of Dytja had been caught faking blue blood, the differences between versions of the official story put out by the Blood, Dytja’s return visit to the area with the specific aim of squashing the Blood’s claims, and a large number of other minor discrepancies.

It was enough to ruin the name of the Blood for another few hundred years, at least. Although Jarrod was pretty sure that they’d managed to wriggle their way back into respectability again, eventually. Organisations like the Blood were always good at things like that.

Bullets

Bullets

                Nobody thought it was weird when every second gun shop owner in Midwel fell sick over a period of about two weeks. Well, they might have, if they’d noticed. But no-one did. It’s not really the kind of thing people keep track of. And there aren’t many organisations that would have realised that something was amiss.

                The IPC would have. Strange sicknesses spreading to particular parts of a population was a red flag worthy of investigation; but they only monitored politics and other positions of power. Gun shop owner didn’t qualify, despite the access to firearms in large numbers.

                The gun shop owners got better, as well, and none died. There were a couple of strange things, like those who worked their shops changing their staff (causing a bit of bad blood) or those that didn’t or rarely did not showing up at all for a little while, but nothing major. Every second gun shop owner was only eleven people – nothing to cause a panic in a city of millions.

                Another thing that nobody paid attention to was that the other gun shops got bought. Mostly by small companies that ran franchises, although a couple were larger groups. It was different people buying each time, and some industry pundits commented on it, but they didn’t follow the paper trail. It was only a minor blip – ten gun shops changing hands over about a month. Nothing super important.

                Even if you had followed the paper trail, you probably wouldn’t have picked up on the important detail. Again, the IPC probably would have – but they have every person and company related to Meander Corporation on file. You see, each conglomerate or franchising group was associated with Meander. Perhaps the owner of their owner was the nephew of a board member. Perhaps the money to found the company could be traced back to Meander, if you could get at the records. Perhaps they had worked with a Meander subsidiary in the past. It would always be a faint link, but if you looked hard enough you’d find it.

                These two infiltrations were the reason that, right after the Midwel barrier went up, every last gun shop was completely empty. No guns. No ammo. Worried people on the first day went to buy ammo or, if they could, new guns. On the second day people raided the gun shops, breaking all the way into the vaults of some. They found nothing at all.

                Now, firearms are not too much of a risk to most our undead allies – in fact, in Australia, they are barely a problem at all. There are too few and they are of calibres meant, at best, for hunting smaller animals. Utilising the blackwings and our own resources to remove them from play almost completely was useful, but not essential.

                So where had the guns gone? My masterstroke. On the night the barrier went up, every last gun for sale in Midwel was loaded up and brought to our warehouses. And once there we distributed them to every single vampire, ghoul, and even werewolf that had come to tear Midwel asunder.

With the guns, our allies had a new weapon in their arsenal: not the guns themselves, but the fear of them. See, if you scare group of people as a monster, they’ll run. You might catch a few but you won’t catch them all.

                Point a gun at them, and they’re an easy meal.

Family Lost

Family Lost

                Ocean, Baronetess of Bluegray, paced her study slowly. Tonight her younger sister, a knight, would be visiting for the first time in years. She had become well-renowned over the past couple of years, following her knighting. Ocean was a little jealous - though she had become baronetess after her father retired, she had not accomplished anything of note in the position. And she had been baronetess for four years, ever since her nineteenth birthday. Her younger sister had turned nineteen only a few months ago.

                Oh well, at least I have ensured the continuation of the line, Ocean thought to herself. She laid a hand on her stomach; she was fairly certain she was with child again. It would be her second child - she had born a son only half a year ago. He had been named Steel, after his great grandfather. Hopefully Steel would grow up to be a statesman of the same great skill. Steel's father, her husband Ochre, would certainly be able to teach him.

                Ocean settled into her writing chair, ideas coalescing in her head. She was writing a speech to welcome her sister home with; a formal one, as it was to be a great formal dinner. All of the family - at least, all of those living nearby - had been invited. It would be a grand night, and it required a grand speech.

                "My dear younger sister," Ocean penned, "Your bravery is an inspiration to us all. Your actions have brought great honour to our family; renown for your strength and ability."

                She leaned back in her chair, and sighed. She would have preferred to be a knight as well, in truth. It suited her sister perfectly, but... Perhaps she should have begged her father to let one of her even younger siblings take on the title. Ocean was built for war, as her father had said. Her sister was a better warrior, but Ocean had usually won their sparring matches simply by outlasting her. She smiled, thinking of that.

                Suddenly a very loud, pounding knock came from the study door. It was urgent - very urgent. Ocean glanced out the window to ensure time hadn't gotten away from her. It seemed to still be mid-afternoon, so it couldn't be her sister's arrival.

                Before she had a chance to call them in, a panting servant tumbled into the room. "Riders from the count are coming!" the servant yelled, starting to cough.

                "What?" asked Ocean, worriedly.

                The servant didn't even try to catch her breath; instead she forced out, "Warning rider killed his horse, they're riding fast as they can without killing their mounts, definitely war party all soldiers."

                Ocean stood up immediately, sending her chair tumbling. "Get Steel out of here now!" she ordered, leaping over the table in her rush.

                "Gotcha!" said Pewter, grabbing his younger brother, Royal, by the collar.

                "Aww," said Royal, giving up. The pair of children, eleven and seven years of age, had been playing a game of chase with one another. Their minder sat in a nearby chair, watching them. A friendly, understanding young man, he kept the children under control simply by being very wise in their ways.

                It was 'free time', one of the periods in the day the children were not being instructed by one of their tutors. Their elder sister, Sapphire, sat at a nearby table doing an assignment she had been set. She was fourteen, and very interested in handling the family money. Pewter had decided that he'd be a wandering bard (this week, at least) and Royal had no idea what he wanted to do (he was seven, after all); so Sapphire was alone in having tasks to do outside of tutoring time.

                The children were the younger siblings of Ocean; too young to yet be out and about in the world. They lived in a smaller family mansion with their parents, Slate and Vert, who had retired from running the baronetcy to spend more time with the children. Of course, the family tutors still taught them - the tutors taught their many relatives as well, in fact. Despite not being in charge of the baronetcy, many of their relatives were well off without relying on the support of the reigning Baronetess.

                "So," said their minder, Flush, "What are you two little rascals going to play next?"

                "We don't know!" proclaimed Pewter. Royal nodded in happy agreement.

                "Perhaps a game of cards then; I'm sure I can defeat you two this time!" replied Flush, reaching over and grabbing the cards from a nearby table.

                "Yay!" said Royal, scampering over.

                Pewter, who had become wise to Flush's intentional losses, held back and said, "Are you going to play properly this time?"

                "Oh, you've no chance to beat me n-" Flush's response was interrupted by a loud shattering noise from downstairs.

                "What was that?" asked Sapphire, looking up from her work.

                "I'm not sure," said Flush, heading over to the window. Yelling began to come from elsewhere in the house - and then a scream. Flush drew his sword, a finely crafted rapier.

                "Oh no," he muttered, looking out the window.

                "Get behind me, kids!" he yelled, heading for the door. Sapphire started to grab her papers, causing Flush to add, "Leave them!"

                Pewter had noticed that his parents and Flush had been tense for the past few days. His intuition told him that whatever they were worried about was happening. It was something to do with the deposing of the High-King, but they had nothing to do with that! Father had said so!

                Flush pushed open the door gently, checking the passage. "Why the top floor why the top floor damn it," he muttered, stepping out.

                Downstairs, muffled by two floors, they heard Slate roaring, "You'll not take my children!"

                Screams and the sound blade meeting blade came from downstairs. "What's happening?" asked Royal, scared.

                After a brief moment of thought, Flush said, "Bad men are here to do bad things. I need to get you kids out of here right now, so do exactly what I say."

                "Okay," said the children. Flush was normally a very soft, quiet man; calm and wise when he dealt with them. If he was scared and panicked and telling them exactly what to do it meant what was happening was really, really serious.

                Flush rushed up the corridor to the servant's stairway, the children right behind him. Below them the stairway seemed clear, and Flush led them down cautiously but quickly. Although what he had said kept the children quiet, they were still very scared and confused. Pewter had to stop himself from stopping their descent with questions several times.

                They reached the bottom safely, and Flush gently opened the door. The other side was clear, and Flush led them into the kitchens. "Extra quietly now," he said softly. The sound of fighting was very close now. Pewter swore he heard one of the housekeepers screaming out 'Vert' - his mother's name.

                They quickly slipped through the kitchen and out into the backyard. It was a large yard (they lived in a mansion, after all) with several exits. Flush checked around, and swore.

                "What is it?" asked Pewter. Flush had never sworn in front of them before.

                "Okay kids. I need you all to sneak and then run as fast as you can while I distract them. Pewter, head out the garden gate. Sapphire, head for the north gate, and Royal head for the south gate. Once you're out, head to the blacksmith's. He's my cousin, and he'll hide you if he can," said Flush.

                "I can't see anyone," said Sapphire.

                "They're just out of sight - see those shadows by the wall? Whoever they are they've snuck in. It's been great taking care of you kids. Get ready to run," said Flush, solemnly.

                "Flush!" said Pewter sadly, as Flush began to walk towards the small brick building that acted as a 'garden hall'.

                "Come on out, you bastards," said Flush confidently. A chuckle came from behind the wall, and four men dressed in livery Pewter recognised as that of the Count (their liege, through the baronetty).

                Flush flourished his rapier, and bade them to come at him. Their leader rolled her eyes, and the four soldiers advanced. Pewter, Royal and Sapphire shared a hug and began sneaking towards the different gates. Sapphire was the only one that understood why they were heading for different gates - it was in hope that at least one was unwatched.

                Pewter had the hardest gate to get to, but he knew a few tricks from playing hide and seek. He crawled down a long gutter that kept him out of sight of the middle of the yard where Flush was challenging the Count's men. He heard the sounds of battle - it sounded as if only a couple of the soldiers were fighting Flush at once. Please don't die, Flush! Pewter thought to himself.

                He snuck a quick glance at the battle after he reached the midway point - he had to scamper across a bit of open ground anyway. He saw one of the soldiers topple, pierced through the heart by Flush's blade. The two who had been watching seemed shocked, and charged in to join the fight. Go Flush! thought Pewter.

                Wriggling and worming his way along the gutter, Pewter made it to behind the brick building and hopped out. He took a quick glance around, saw nothing, and ran for the back gate as fast as his legs let him. It felt like it took him only a couple of moments to reach it, which made him feel proud. As he opened it he took a look back at the fight - barely visible over the top of the structure. Flush was still going strong. Pewter had doubted Flush's claims about being a champion duellist, but the grace with which he knocked and turned away his opponents' blades made Pewter believe him.

                Unfortunately, it was at that moment that one of the soldiers caught sight of Pewter. "It's one of the kids! They're sneaking out!" he yelled.

                "What? Ow!" yelped their leader, stung by a slash from Flush when distracted. She backed off from the fight a bit to raise the alarm, and yelled, "Cover the gates! The kids are sneaking out!"

                Pewter slipped through the gate into the alley that ran behind the mansion. He didn't know the way to the blacksmith's from there, and - and the count's soldiers were running at him from the end of the alley! He screamed and ran away from them, heading up the alley. He didn't have any idea where it led (he had never snuck out the back gate before even though it had been really tempting) but he hoped it was somewhere safe.

                He didn't get a chance to find out. Before he could reach the end one of the soldiers caught up with him and hauled him up by the collar. The man gloated to his fellows, "Got one!" as Pewter struggled, helpless.

                Ocean came to just as Pewter was being brought in. She had been knocked out while fighting off the Count's soldiers - she was pretty sure she had killed a couple. They, and from the look of things most of their visiting and resident family members, were in the centre of the town square. Around them the soldiers were erecting some kind of enclosure out of wood.

                "Are you okay, dear?" asked Ochre.

                "My head is sore but that's the least of our problems," replied Ocean, rubbing at her head. She stood up and took a look around. Her extended family were chatting in small, worried groups; probably to keep the children from worrying too much. Most seemed to have some kind of injury, and several were missing.

                "You're right there," said Ochre. "What are the going to do with us?"

                "I'm not sure. Probably execute us - that's what they've been doing elsewhere," said Ocean.

                "What?" exclaimed Ochre.

                "Keep it down," replied Ocean. "Don't worry the children."

                "Oh no, not them too," said Ochre softly, looking around, Many of those rounded up were children. He also noticed Pewter wandering over.

                "What's going on, Ocean?" asked Pewter, after he reached them.

                "Something terrible, Pew. Where's everyone else?" responded Ocean.

                "I don't know," said Pewter. "Sapphire and Royal went out the other gates, and Flush led us down the servant's stairs so I didn't see anything."

                "Ocean, look," said Ochre, pointing through the enclosure. A group of soldiers were coming up the road, one of them hauling Ocean's father, and another holding a struggling Royal.

                "Rot," said Ocean. The soldiers walked into the enclosure, right up to Ocean and dumped her father there. They let Royal go as well.

                "Dad!" said Pewter, rushing to his father's side. Ocean kneeled beside him, and held her father's hand.

                Although he had a couple of obvious injuries, Slate did not seem to have taken any that would knock him out - not even a blow to the head. Ochre noticed the same, and sniffed the wounds.

                "Definitely some kind of poison," said Ochre, "Probably only enough to knock him out for a while, although he'll be weak for a few days."

                Ocean kept her mouth shut, rather than mention that they probably didn't have a few days. The enclosure was swiftly coming together around them, including what looked like a podium in the middle. She had an idea of what was going to happen, but she desperately hoped that she was wrong.

                When the enclosure was nearly complete, Sapphire was tossed in screaming about an idiot blacksmith. And shared comments between the Bluegray families indicated that no-one had escaped the net - those not present were dead, with the possible exception of Vert (but Ocean doubted her mother would have done anything except fight to the death) and definite exception of her son, Steel.

                "What happened to you?" asked Ocean of Sapphire.

                "I got away, but that, that moron blacksmith brother of Flush's just cracked when asked - simply - if he'd seen any of the Bluegrays! Babbling and saying that he had me in the back, I should have just fled town!" ranted Sapphire.

                "You wouldn't have made it," chided Ocean. "But you should have sought shelter elsewhere - I suppose Flush was under too much pressure to think straight. Do you know what happened to him?"

                "I don't know," said Sapphire. "I just bolted for the gate."

                "The last I saw he was holding off three soldiers," said Pewter. "He was really brave!"

                "They got him," said Royal. "With one of those bolt-bows, crossbows! With a crossbow. I don't think he died but I don't know because I couldn't see from where I was hiding in the garden because there was a man just outside the south gate."

                "Thank you, Royal," said Ocean sadly. She glanced over at the platform the soldiers had made just in time to see the Count striding out onto it proudly.

                "What an ar-" began Ochre softly, but Ocean missed the rest of it beneath the Count's booming voice.

                "People of Bluegray! Today you will be liberated of the family that has long oppressed you and even now has plotted to bring back the tyranny of the High-Kings!" said the Count, proudly. His soldiers tried to cheer, but the crowd of villagers drowned them out with a loud boo (and several far worse accusations).

                "Now, now, I'm sure you'll find my rule to be far fairer than theirs!" (more boos) "Regardless, we have brought them all here to ensure that they can never rule over you again!" (boos, and cries of 'you're a monster!' as the crowd realised what he was about to do to the family - many of whom were children) "You'll all look back on this day and think 'how could I have loved those tyrants so?'! Ha ha!" said the Count, enjoying every moment. Ocean wondered how she had ever thought that he wasn't a lunatic.

                The Count waved to the soldiers behind him, and one of them brought something up that made Ocean scream out "NO!"

                It was a bundle of blue and gray blankets, and from it the Count pulled out a baby. Ocean rushed up towards the platform, and being up close confirmed her fears. The Count had caught Steel's sitter, and brought him to be executed as well.

                "Give him here, please," begged Ocean, her worry and fear finally getting the better of her.

                "No, my dear Baronetess, I shall not. In fact, he shall be the first of you to be executed!" proclaimed the Count, pulling a dagger from his belt and staring victoriously at the crying infant.

                Before Ocean had a chance to say anything the Count stabbed the dagger into Steel, killing him instantly. The Count tore the blade down, letting Steels blood flow everywhere. After that, even the cheers of his soldiers stopped. All was silent, and Ocean stumbled back in shock. One of her aunts caught her, but they had nothing to say.

                The Count ruthlessly tossed the dead baby behind him, and yelled, "Light the fire!"

                Time was broken for Ocean, she didn't know if it took moments or days for the fire to grow from a light crackling noise into a roaring inferno all around them. She couldn't think anymore - her son, her eldest son, killed like that. Like that! She stumbled in a daze, coughing, sobs and screams coming from her family as they inhaled the smoke, or tried futilely to push their way out of the enclosure.

                As she started to feel the heat from the flames, as she noticed the clothes of her family starting to light, she saw someone through a small gap in the flames, staring in. It was a tall, powerful warrior on a great charger; right at the edge of the square where it met the road. It was her sister, the brave knight who patrolled the forests. And there was nothing she could do.

                Ocean caught her eye, and mouthed the only thing she had to say - "Flee."

                Her sister - her honourable, loyal, brave, sister - stood there for a moment, then nodded. Ocean saw her turn her charger away and spur it into movement, before losing sight of her as the flames filled the gap.

                Ocean lay down, still in shock, still unable to deal with the death of her son.

                After a little, as the flames grew hotter, she softly said, "Flee."

                "Flee, Sable."

Not Enough Time

Not Enough Time

                Celebrations. Dytja usually hung around for them, at least when she had actually done something special. This one was not about her per se - although she had, sneakily, put pretty much everything in motion. It had been a tough six years. Still, the 'source of evil' had been closed, and the team of brave heroes responsible were being honoured by the richest and most powerful individuals in the land.

                She was a guest of honour, of course - she had done more than any of the heroes, in fact, if one were to add up all she had done in the past six years. Very well renowned, and many wondered why she had not been involved in the great push. The answer was simple: she had been busy dealing with all possible means of the source being revived.

                None - at least, none of those celebrating the defeat of evil - knew what she had done. Their lack of knowledge was actually part of how she had managed to accomplish her task so easily and in time for the celebration (a few days after the source was closed forever). She was also responsible for swapping the tool used to 'close' the source for one that would utterly destroy it. That was something she hoped no-one would ever figure out. It was a terrible thing she had done - the source contained countless living creatures, not all of whom were evil.

                Still, it was done. Dytja felt uncomfortable about it - she had ventured into the source several years before and tried to defeat the great, foul creature at its heart. It had proved too strong for her, and she had retreated from the monstrous being. That had been the turning point in her plan; after that she had focused on destroying the source entirely.

                The death of tens of thousands of sentients, even though many were twisted beyond being anything but insanely evil, weighed on her. She had killed unfairly many times before to solve the problems of the lands she travelled in, but this was the first time she had killed so many. When within the source she had even met some - they had been good people, though strange in form and manner. They had held back the true might of the angered beast, slaying most of the foul creations that sought to emerge for centuries.

                Sitting at the grand table, merry music playing in celebration and the heroes a few seats up receiving a constant stream of thanks and congratulations became too much for Dytja. She excused herself to her neighbours (a rich trader and several family members of the heroes) and headed for the nearest exit to the gardens.

                The celebration was happening at the palace of the Great Steward, who was the ruler of the city (and revered much like a king, despite the title). It was a grand palace - the hall was huge and had managed to fit several hundred guests; the garden was almost a labyrinth of hedges and small walled courtyards. The garden was an effort of love, Dytja could tell. Each courtyard had either a theme - such as a season, or colour - or had carefully grown plants from other lands, some of which Dytja recognised as coming from quite exceptionally far away.

                About an hour passed as Dytja slowly wandered through the gardens. She enjoyed herself - recognising the origin of each plant in the imported gardens pleased her immensely, and she looked forward to finding out where those she had never seen before originated. When stepping through the opening from one courtyard to the next, she received something quite rare; a shock.

                An unidentifiable voice - obviously obscured in some manner - had suddenly said, "Halt, Dytja!"

                Dytja whirled around, her blade in her hand as fast as a flash of lightning. Standing in the middle of the courtyard she had been leaving was someone in loose clothing, a hat and scarf obscuring their face. Dytja couldn't tell if they were male or female - or much else about them, except that they were likely thin beneath the clothes and long-limbed. On the ground around them was a thin circle of ash, with the odd blue flame flickering out. It was the after effect of a teleportation spell.

                "What do you want?" asked Dytja, levelling her sword at the interrupting mage.

                "I want you dead!" yelled the mage, waving their hand in front of them. Dytja immediately started to move towards the mage but strange spectral chains appeared from nothingness and bound her legs, causing her to topple to the ground.

                Dytja grunted as she slammed into the ground, and rolled over. She slashed at the spectral chains, but they were too fast and too many. A chain managed to pin her sword arm to her body before she could finish her attack, and not long after she was completely bound.

                "Hahaha! The 'great' Dytja defeated!" gloated the mage.

                Dytja struggled against her bonds for a while, then stopped and glared at the mage. "I know this magic," she said. "I hope the cost was worth it."

                "To kill one such as you? I would be willing to pay any cost," said the mage. "I know what you did, two weeks ago. I know what you made those fools do to the source of evil. I know what you found inside there! How could you kill them? Innocents and those who can be redeemed!"

                "Because the 'evil' would have overwhelmed me, and this land, and countless other places before being stopped. I'm capable of making hard choices," replied Dytja.

                The mage postured arrogantly, and said, "Hmph! That is no excuse. You could have tried! It could have been a last resort. And then, then you went on to prevent any undoing of your actions. Truly harmless individuals who would never have managed to re-"

                "You know about them. I didn't think I could take that risk, and I was right," interrupted Dytja.

                "Don't you dare use me to excuse your actions!" hollered the mage. They clenched their fist, and Dytja felt the chains start to tighten around her. She grunted in pain as the pressure increased on her body, even through her armour.

                "Your armour is truly impressive. But it won't save you," gloated the mage, continuing to tighten the chains. Any normal chain would have, by this point, snapped from the forces applied. But these chains were of magic, and capable of truly impossible force.

                "Aaaaaaooow!" groaned Dytja. Shortly after she did so, she felt one of her ribs snap.

                The mage's eyes smiled - they had heard the rib go, despite the dullness of the snap. Dytja figured that it was some property of the magic the mage was using that allowed them to tell. "Tell me, if you can, is your skeleton like that of an ordinary human? Or is it some strange, superior setup? That is how you see yourself, isn't it? Superior?" asked the mage.

                "Don't, care," gasped Dytja. It felt as if several of her other bones were about to give way. She was happy that her armour hadn't snapped (it would be impossible to replace) but she was not impressed by it bending out of shape enough to squeeze her hard enough to crack bone.

                "You are aloof and above us all to the very end. How expected. Time for you to die," said the mage. With a wave of their hand the chains went from steadily to rapidly tightening, seeming to strain with all their magical might against Dytja.

                With a series of horrid snaps, Dytja felt her arms, legs, most of her ribs and her pelvis break. If this gets any worse I'll have to waste one of my damn escape tricks, she thought to herself.

                A short while later, the mage's eyes lost their smile and they swore. "Why aren't you dead!" they exclaimed angrily. Dytja felt the mage changing the shape of the chains, pushing her broken bones around painfully. Yet, despite all the mage's efforts, they could not pull any tighter.

                "I can see that this is still hurting you. I'll just have to keep it up until you die, you monster," the mage said.

                As the chains started to writhe around her, adjusting the shape they attempted to squeeze Dytja into, she silently thanked her lack of pain as ordinary humans felt it. Otherwise... Otherwise she would probably have long since passed out. Actually, that wouldn't be too bad, all things considered, she realised. Drat.

                The mage continued torturing Dytja, slowly wearing her down (or so they hoped). Then, quite suddenly, a male voice said loudly, "What is this?"

                "Shit!" said the mage, whirling around. Behind them stood not one, but three of the heroes who had closed the source of evil. At their front, Bandelm the Brave, a rotund but incredibly strong man who had led the charge. Beside him stood Aillette and Aillesse, the twin warrior sisters who fought alongside him. Strangely enough, they roughly stood in the formation the stories said they battled in; perhaps out of habit.

                "Lady Dytja!" exclaimed Ailesse, as she and Ailette sprung right into action, closing on the mage.

                The mage raised their hand up high and blue flames flared around them, but the swift heroines' blades stabbed true. The mage screamed in pain and their teleportation spell flickered out without effect. In a movement as graceful as their attacks the heroines returned their swords to sheathes and stepped around the dying mage to check on Dytja.

                "Are you alright?" asked Ailette, kneeling beside Dytja. Behind them, Bandelm was jogging over. He was nowhere near as fast as the twins - but his bulk let him serve as a stalwart shield when needed.

                "I'll be fine," said Dytja, "After I heal up, at least. It takes more than that to kill me." She stared past the concerned heroes, looking at the mage. They had already died, and now they would pay the price for their power: their body was slowly dissolving into smoke and ash, consumed by faint blue flames.

                "You're lucky we decided to take a walk," said Bandelm gruffly. "That's some bad magic they were using."

                "How in the world are you still alive?" asked Ailette, shocked after having ascertained the extent of Dytja's injuries. Beside her, Ailesse was similarly bamboozled.

                "Remember - ow - the bit about me not being human?" asked Dytja, forcing a smile through the pain and discomfort. "Uh, I do need a bit of help getting back inside though. Preferably to a bed," she added.

                Ailesse and Ailette smiled. "Sure," they both said at once, which resulted in them chuckling slightly.

                "Anything for the woman who once saved our lives," added Ailesse.

Running

Running

                Slap-slap-slap-slap. The sound of dress shoes slamming against concrete echoed around the alleyway. It was a man, fleeing… something. He wasn’t sure what they were. But at least one of them was after him – he’d heard sounds following him as he bolted from the restaurant, leaving his date behind…

                Finally a pretty date, and everything goes straight to hell. They’d managed to arrive at the same time, from opposite directions. She wore a purple dress, and her brown hair hung to her shoulders – it had framed her pretty face delightfully. Greetings exchanged, then pleasantries as they awaited their meal inside. He had left his phone at home (as suggested by the restaurant) to prevent ‘interrupting the dinner experience’; and that had been good material to make jokes about. It had been going so well.

                Then someone dressed as a manager had loudly said, “Dinner is served!” He spoke so loudly that the light murmur of conversation completely died. The next sound heard was a loud click as a waiter locked the entrance, and then the screaming began. The ‘waiters’ were revealed to be monsters – and some of the guests were as well. Pale, red-lipped, fanged… If he didn’t know any better, he would have said ‘vampire’.

                The creatures had immediately begun attacking the guests, killing within seconds. A quick thinking woman had hurled her chair at one of the windows beside the entrance, shattering it to pieces. The man had started to run towards the window, dragging his date along behind him, but she had tripped on her dress and fallen. And he had let go of her.

                The woman who had smashed the window was caught by one of the waiters, but several other patrons managed to get out in front of the man. He glanced back shortly after he got out – hoping his date had caught up – but she was nowhere to be seen. He did see that a couple of other patrons had escaped, and that tearing through the window right after them were several of the creatures.

                The screams had faded into the background as he ran down the street, but just as he had turned into the alley he heard one a lot closer. He figured it had come from one of the escaped patrons as they ran. He hoped – quite fervently – that he would reach the main street before any of the creatures caught up with him. It was Friday night in quiet suburbia, but a few cars would be around. Someone would be able to help him!

                Slap-slap-slap-slap-SHATTER. The sound came through the fence to his right – he was pretty sure it was just a random house there, someone’s home probably. Were the creatures attacking everyone nearby? Were they on some kind of rampage? The scream that came soon after made him assume the worst.

                His guilt at leaving his date behind made him remember that it had been his idea that they meet (for the first time in person) at the restaurant’s special ‘half-price’ night. It hadn’t been done to drum up business at all. It was a plan made by those things to ensure a full house when they attacked! He couldn’t have known but why did he have to be so cheap?

                He muttered ‘damn it’ under his breath, but he kept running. The alley was long – it ran between two rows of houses that faced normal residential streets. Usually it was solely the domain of garbage trucks that would drive along it to pick up the rubbish and recycling. Right now – right now it held him alone, a glance behind told him. But he didn’t stop running.

                The main street was empty when he reached it, which worried him a little. As he walked out onto the road a car appeared from a side street, and turned onto the main road. He was about to wave them down when he realised that with nothing right behind him his car was close enough to reach. He lowered his partially raised hand and scampered to the other side of the road, settling into a jog.

                “Idiot!” came a yell from the car. The driver trundled off down the road and took a turn that would lead him away from the restaurant.

                “Lucky sod,” muttered the man, jogging to his car. He had only heard the faintest whisper of screams for a while now – something you could mistake for the neighbour having their television up to loud, or even as screams of excitement.

                His car was not too far away from the main street – he had parked it in the free parking that ran alongside a nearby park. In suburbia like this it was the least expensive choice, as parking in front of someone’s house might have gotten him towed. He managed to reach his car without incident, and he hopped in so fast it was almost as if he had teleported inside.

                Aaaaaaaaaah. A long sigh. He had no idea what was going on, but he was getting out of there. He turned the ignition and was rewarded with the engine roaring as it came to life. He slammed down on the accelerator, and didn’t let up until he was on the nearby freeway – the numerous other cars making him feel safe. The adrenaline didn’t wear off until he made it home. He thought about ringing the cops but it was far too late. He’d make a statement tomorrow. The running had, at least, made him tired enough to sleep – even though he spent every moment expecting one of the creatures to smash their way in through a window.

                The next day he woke up just before dawn. His mobile phone had just beeped at him – it was sitting in the charging dock where he had left it last night. He took a look at it – a handful of messages from people who were probably asking about how the date went, and a new one just sent by – by his date?

                “Hi! Where’d you get to last night? After the big surprise prank I couldn’t find you anywhere!” the message read.

                The man stared at the message wide eyed, and then replied with, ”That wasn’t a prank. Who the hell is this?”

                A minute later, he got a response: “Well, it was worth a try. And it’s me, of course. You cowardly fuck.”

Supernatural Organisation Data Files: The International Psychic Council

Supernatural Organisation Data Files: The International Psychic Council

Summary: The International Psychic Council (IPC) is an international organisation uniting and protecting all psychics worldwide. They are responsible for ensuring that knowledge of psychic powers does not become overly widespread, and also for hunting down any rogue psychics – those using their abilities to gain advantage in society through means that would, were psychic abilities widely understood, be illegal. The IPC is also, of course, responsible for the creation and maintenance of this and related supernatural files.

            The IPC has over fifty thousand members worldwide, of which ten thousand actively perform duties for the council. Many of those who do not provide some form of support or assistance to the Council that protects them. Although originally primarily concerned with the activities of psychics worldwide, the IPC has become the primary defence of humanity against all other supernatural threats as well.  The protection of humanity is a duty we have taken up because, unfortunately, only we are able.

Structure: The IPC is led by councillors voted in by members. Each region of the world (usually several countries) contains roughly the same number of IPC members. Within each region, the candidates for councillorship are voted in via an approval/disapproval system – each member may ‘approve’ or ‘disapprove’ of a candidate, and those with the highest total approvals become councillors.

            While councillors handle the overall direction and works of the IPC, the majority of day to day operations are handled by members appointed to particular positions. This is necessary to retain the correct expertise in covert operations, facility running, and so on. The hierarchy of facilities and support services (such as relocation, living space, etc.) is structured similar to services run by most governments, whereas combat operations are more akin to military style (with, it must be noted, significantly less formality).

            Active operations teams are structured depending on the abilities of those involved, however, they generally possess a leader and a scanner to direct and detect respectively. Of all IPC members actively working for the IPC, the vast majority serve in teams dedicated to tracking or eliminating supernatural threats.

History: The IPC was founded in nineteen-seventy-three by a small group of powerful psychics, who had many links to the ‘psychic underground’ as it was then referred to. Their aim was to prevent growing governmental interest in psychic powers from escalating into a feared ‘psychic conflict’. This goal was surprisingly easy to achieve – a few key alterations of memories and the tiny amount of knowledge held by several key global players was gone.

            Following this success, the IPC settled into what it expected its role to be: managing psychics worldwide to prevent abuse of psychic abilities, whether by the psychics themselves or those taking advantage of them. Due to the interlinked nature of the ‘psychic underground’ and a large number of strong ESP members, this was achieved by nineteen-seventy-five. Numerous rogue – and often dangerous – psychics were eliminated to protect the rest of humanity, though some agreed to no longer abuse their powers and are instead being monitored.

            After this, the IPC became somewhat listless. All goals had been achieved. By this point, the IPC had become well aware of the supernatural horrors of the world – ghouls, vampires, werewolves, necromancers, and more. The councillors of the time knew they could save countless lives by stepping in and eliminating these monsters. After a vote that was closer than most like to admit, the IPC decided to protect humanity.

            Between that time and the present day the IPC has focused on improving techniques for identifying and eliminating many supernatural threats, as well as coming to accords of peace with certain groups (rare exceptions). We have also made allies – Meander Corporation, primarily to eliminate their great folly (the blackwings); and the Holy Orders, to whom we have proved ourselves worthy successors.

Supernatural Organisation Data Files: Necromancer Cults

Supernatural Organisation Data Files: Necromancer Cults

Summary: There are still many cults of necromancers throughout the world, despite the efforts of the Meander Corporation to unify all necromancers under a common banner. These cults vary from loose organisations of ‘equals’, to secret societies, and through to truly cult-like organisations (including their means of recruitment). Most of these cults are small, however, a few (detailed in other files) have around fifty or so members.

            Beyond their shared interest in experimenting with necromancy, there are few certainties when dealing with necromancer cults. Most will worship or revere necromancy to some degree, have undead protectors of some kind and often a means of acquiring bodies for experimentation without notice.

Structure: There are three primary structures encountered: loose groups that follow a teacher and apprentices style, secret society style groups which perform their experiments only part of the time, and true cults that find an isolated location to use for recruitment and experimentation.

            Most loose groups and secret societies take the form of a council, with members voting on aims and activities. They exist primarily for necromancers to share knowledge with each other, and also to share resources (such as bodies, money, basic necessities). The main difference between looser organisations and secret societies is usually distance: some of the looser groups will see each other only once a decade.

            The true cult groups are cults. Members are inducted and convinced using normal cult techniques into fervent belief into either a powerful individual or necromancy itself. Of note is that necromancer cults have an advantage over most: they are able to use magic that truly defies expectation and possibility. This proof of the supernatural is often used – by careful and despicable individuals – to convert even the most cynical about religion.

            Cults will usually centre around a central figure or a few stronger necromancers, and often will have been founded merely to cover the activities of these individuals. Only some will actually teach their members necromancy, and even these rarely choose any except the best of their members. Ordinary cultists will often be used as an easy source of bodies, or to take the fall for crimes such as grave robbery or murder.

History: Necromancer cults began appearing shortly after the discovery of necromancy’s ability to raise the dead, around seven hundred A.D. Working from initial experiments performed by one enterprising necromancer, they quickly developed techniques to create undead that would last for months before decaying. Not long after this – the initial mastery of the creation of zombies – they began to war with the elemental mages (whose magic shared an origin with theirs).

            This war erupted due to the distaste the elemental mages – and, in fact, anyone else aware of it – felt about necromancy. It is, in a way, anti-life. There is not more disturbing force known to us even in the modern day. At first the war was small scale – necromancers being occasionally caught – but shortly after the peak of the elemental societies (around the twelfth century A.D.) the necromancer cults chose to go on the attack.

            Unfortunately, the ultimate result of this war was the destruction of the elemental magic societies. Necromancers were initially forced to work in secret, and were able to infiltrate the societies deeply. Their experience in remaining undetected and knowledge of the societies and the habits of many elemental mages allowed the necromancers to eliminate the societies almost entirely by around the sixteenth century, leaving the necromancer cults only threatened by the holy orders (who found hunting down truly human monsters difficult).

            Following their victory over the elemental societies, the necromancer cults mostly moved on to researching more openly and into possibilities that had been ignored while under threat. Several small scale conflicts broke out between groups, but nothing on the scale of their fighting with the societies.

            Around eighteen-forty the Lich emerged as the leader of the Meander cult. This exceptional achievement made Meander quickly grow into the by far largest necromancer cult (they had, in fact, already been one of the largest). Around eighteen-fifty the Lich – or a powerful member of the cult – came up with an idea. The creation of a company, working all over the world, that would cover and support the activities of Meander. The Meander cult, ‘They by the river’, became Meander Incorporated, and later the Meander Corporation.

            Shortly after becoming a company, Meander began to absorb other necromancer cults. Some joined freely, others after being threatened. Then those that had been threatened but refused were forced, or hunted down. Meander Corporation single-handedly wiped out any threat to their dominance of necromancy, and ended the vast majority of cults.

            This effort was toned down around nineteen-fifty (long after most cults were destroyed) however, necromancer cults have still been under occasional attack until the present day. The activities of the remaining cults, while terrible, are minimal to avoid detection by Meander. Following our alliance with Meander, we have passed them information on several cults that have been subsequently destroyed.