Forward Unto Dawn

Rhace Tarrin

Forward Unto Dawn - Embers

The decision to join the fighting had not been an easy one for Rhace to make. As the freshly-promoted guildmaster of Meliora Vitae, a guild that prided itself on its decision to choose balance over all, he had reflected originally that it was a poor choice for him to join the fighting. The fact was that any position of power and influence he held, and thereby any decision he would proceed to make, would have ultimately reflected as an opinion of the guild itself. This was untrue. At his heart, Rhace believed in the mission of the Granven school - to serve the lords of Ca-Elum and their wishes, to protect and to serve those of the royal family who requested protection - and ultimately to represent the king or queen’s banner on the field of battle. This was what his ancestors had set out to do, as the original progenitors of the very specific longsword style that they studied and created. Now, as the current heir to the school and wielder of that selfsame sword that his forebears once had, cast of onyx and steel, it was his turn to raise the Elumish banner high and join the fray that had been set. Ironically, this was not even his homeland’s war; the fight between Bellum and Pergrande had managed to drag almost the entire continent and its surrounds in because of the political maneuvering that had been completed as a result of those two particular countries’ needs to have their own allies in this fight. Now, as if a line in the sand had been drawn, these two superpowers had pulled the smaller nations into their conflict with no regard for the cost. It was such a terrible thing.

Yet, Ca-Elum had called its banners, and Rhace Tarrin would answer, as all loyal sons should. There could be no other recourse for a man who preached loyalty to the homeland as a virtue, when that call had been placed out for him to answer. He knew that there was a certain requirement for him to be neutral as a guild master… yet, if he made it incredibly clear that this was not the actions of a Meliorite, but a mere man, then perhaps he could serve the cause with his heart in the right place. Besides, he’d managed to get his hands on a piece of particularly rare black market technology as a just in case measure for situations exactly like this - though the longsword that would inevitably be strapped to his hip would surrender his identity within seconds, probably. Nevertheless, that was a risk that he was going to have to be willing to take if he was going to put his money where his mouth was. There just wasn’t another way. He had to do this. Not just for the good name of the Tarrin dynasty, but for the fact that fighting on a real battlefield was just what he needed, sometimes. Maybe as a one-off thing he could try this mercenary lifestyle, get out there and go fight in this war. Maybe just once.

So, he did what he needed to do: told both Cassiti and Cordelia that he was headed off - and that there were instructions in place should he not return from this particular venture, given the devastation that Joya had experienced; knowing how far-reaching that particular effigy of destruction had been, he knew that a succession plan was required and would be executed by his crews if he so demanded that of them. Therefore, with sufficient affairs sorted before his departure, he would make ready to depart in a shuttlecraft that had been prepared for his rather sudden departure from the loving hold of the Endeavor - and out into the world, to the eastern border of the far off nation of Minstrel. In this place, where the desert met farmland and forest and fen, the forces of the Ironheart Pact and the Luminous Covenant were making one of their many moves under the guise of bringing peace and prosperity to their own kingdoms; in this case, Rhace fully knew that he was assisting an invading force with an invasion of what was otherwise sovereign territory - but orders were orders, and this was the way of the world now. He would contribute to the cause as best as he humanly could. No other recourse was available.

As Rhace sat behind his desk aboard the ship, the message on his terminal sat there, cursor blinking, an unfeeling and cold request to report for duty in a far-away land where his life would be on the line. A cold, steely emerald gaze lay upon it, evaluating it one last time before the master of the blade committed himself to a course of action that would invariably change his life forever. There was a hesitation here, of course. It was one thing to take up the blade and fight for good causes - the preservation of the environment, defending a loved one or a friend, or combating a rebellious monster on the loose in the world that was causing more havoc than it was supposed to. This, however, was different. This was joining a war that his country was only mildly involved in at this point. However, if the motherland called… and she was… then Rhace could only really see one way out of this situation: forward. Forward unto the dawn of war, whose grim darkness would consume the breaking light over the horizon.

Another message, to Cass and Cord, that he’d be home later once his task was complete and that he would come and visit them personally upon the completion of this mission. No Minstrelian would be the death of the scion of the House of Tarrin, for his was the undying and eternal blade cleaving the wicked and unjust. No master of the Granven school would ever find their failings on a battlefield undeserved of truth and light. If the only way to clad himself in mental armour for the challenges to come was to fall back into the ancient proclamations of his ancestors and embody their thoughts and beliefs from a time when knights rode afield to challenge their foes in open combat, then so be it - Rhace would become the very personification of the school that he had trained in for his entire lifetime in order to hold himself true to a promise to those he cared about.

With that, Rhace pushed himself up from his chair, claimed the new helmet that he had acquired for himself for the task that was to come, and proceeded to the hangar bay. Forward, unto dawn and destiny.

—--------

The arrival of the unmarked shuttlecraft right as the sun was preparing to rise across the horizon was met with some small amount of wonder at the forward base that the Desiertan force was operating out of. Needless to say, when a man clad in what could only best be described as a Pergrandian combat battlesuit stepped out of the rear of the high-tech shuttle dressed for combat, more than one person received him with a weapon drawn - in fact, by the time Rhace took his third step off the shuttle, there were a wide number of wicked curved swords drawn, as well as spears and other implements. Rhace, on the contrary, had nothing equipped in terms of weaponry but the longsword that was sheathed at his hip– decidedly not a high-tech Pergrandian energy warblade– though his face was now covered by a high-tech visage that rendered every single enemy around him in detail beyond his normal human senses. He perceived every weapon drawn upon him, and knew that he was easily outnumbered ten to one; despite liking his chances, he decided not to; instead, he raised one hand over his head as a peace offering, and doffed the helmet.

”Hold - my name is Rhace Tarrin, mercenary of the Ca-Elum contingent,” he said to them slowly. Sure, he understood that coming in what effectively looked like an enemy ship (he knew it was an alien shuttlecraft, but they didn’t need to know that fact), and then dressed in what was literally captured enemy equipment, did not paint a very good picture of himself upon his arrival. However, knowing that he would be able to be able to be identified by that– as well as some actual identification papers that he could almost magic into existence thanks to the nanites that lived in his utility belt, whose sudden materialisation into his open hand at least had the appearance of magic– they began to lower their weapons.

One man stepped forward, a dark-skinned, black-haired man with tattoos running up the left side of his shirtless body and a series of golden jewellery that belied nothing less than pure status and power amongst the rabble that he was surrounded by. This one exuded an aura of command, for the rest stepped back the second he stepped forth. With nothing more than an air of brazen confidence he strode forth and snatched the papers from Rhace’s grasp, casting a cursory glance over them as he began to read the contents therein. ”Yes, this appears to be in order,” said the one with that rather distinctive lilt in his voice that belied his nature as a Desiertan raider. ”Welcome, Rhace Tarrin, to our humble camp. We’re pleased to have another fighter alongside us.”

As Rhace cast his gaze around the camp, it really was humble - at this stage it was a series of wide tents set for housing small groups of people, with wooden temporary constructions meant for storage, shade and other working such that it could be torn down and rebuilt at any time - clearly, this was designed by nomads that were used to living life on the move. Which, given the reputation of the Desiertans, made perfect sense. Rhace could at least accept that he was a rather high-tech man surrounded in a world of primitive technology, particularly when he came from a place where high tech was the every day living aboard an airship, whose abilities likely dwarfed that of the Pergrandians in every way - this was something that even Rhace knew and accepted. He had some privilege that these people certainly didn’t, and the desert raiders were either busy being hard at work to keep their camp working, or marveling at the shuttle that Rhace had arrived in. They’d never seen its like before, and likely never would again - this was something very literally otherworldly for them. He couldn’t help but smile.

So, he looked back to the man who had stepped in on his behalf, and nodded. ”Thanks for the assist, by the way. Rhace Tarrin. It’s a pleasure.”

”My name is Tan, of the Bloodhunters,” the dark-skinned man said by way of introduction. Bloodhunters. They were master assassins and mages, some of the deadliest in Desiertan society; their reputation preceded him and it explained a considerable amount about the power this man wielded inside this camp. His eyes cast to the west, towards the enemy, where that gaze lingered for some period of time. ”I shall not waste time on petty introductions - the elite of my warband and I will shortly be making our next move against the enemy lines. I plan on launching a raid on the closest enemy strong point as soon as the sun begins to break so as to have it rise in the eyes of the enemy. Are you ready to leave immediately?”

Rhace could at least respect the strategy. To have the sun in the enemy’s eyes was a powerful boon that could not be ignored; it would throw off the aim of those with muskets and other firearms and force the enemy into close-quarters combat provided they could get to the line in time. It was a bold play, but the Ca-Elian warrior could show nothing but respect for the idea. He knew that it was going to work, in theory. If this was going to be done, then so be it. Rhace nodded his assent, then rested one hand on the hilt of his longsword. While it was not the electrified and powered equipment that the rest of his kit might have indicated, he was a damn good sword hand when he was holding that blade. There was no hesitation in his response, regardless.

”Don’t worry, Tan. I won’t be slowing you down, though I daresay if you plan on leaving on horse I may need to borrow one.”

The Desiertan’s smile, thin as it was, widened. ”Good. Someone fetch this man a horse! We ride!”

Rhace, without skipping a beat, pulled the helmet back over his head and looked around, hearing it seal around him so that it was properly vacuum-sealed in case of emergency. Lights flickered to life around him as the heads-up display showed him the same vitals that he had seen earlier, and with that, the bladesman of the sixfold path was prepared to fight against the enemy in a war so far from his home he did not understand it. However, he had answered - and the truth was now here for him to see. This place was going to become a warzone in minutes, and his resolve needed to be as steel, for blood would be spilled by his hand no matter the cost. A nod to his new guide, Tan, and a horse was drawn out for him to use- fortunately his battlesuit was only as heavy as a man and his gear, meaning Rhace was little more of a burden than these beasts were used to, and fortunately his family owned horses for him to know the mechanics of riding one. Soon, this place would have blood spilled across where the sands became grass, and the war would be joined. There was no time to withdraw now. Soon, he would be a soldier, just as his ancestors.

Soon, he would prove the strength of the Tarrin dynasty.

—-------

The sun breaking over the horizon brought rise to the first wave of Tan’s blood riders - Tan himself, and Rhace, followed by two who controlled winged beasts that Rhace absolutely did not recognise from his travels, and finally one sandy-haired young man who appeared to be little over the age of sixteen though he bore a number of facial tattoos similar to Tan’s own forehead crest. What a young age to be joining the fight, Rhace mused, but they were all nonetheless together, speeding along the sands as best they could manage. Here, the terrain went from sand to grass, which put them in visual distance of the nearest Minstrel outpost.

The defences that Minstrel and their Pergrandian masters had created were intense; given that their foes were high-speed raiding parties, permanent fixtures could only go so well.However, Minstrel had the advantage of muskets, which meant that raiding parties could be taken down by well-placed shots, and soldiers forming firing lines in trenches, plus razor wire to halt the advance of charging cavalry. This was precisely the method that Minstrel, upon the advice of their war-blooded ally Pergrande, had chosen; trenches fronted by razor wire such that when horses made their initial charge the horses would stumble and fall if they were not already picked apart by a well-drilled gun line. Between those trenches, or perhaps the trenches were between these, were placed observation towers where snipers - or at least observer scouts with rifles - could see considerable distances over both fen and forest, so that no raiders could make it into distance without being spotted early. Such being the case, the range of the towers were just so that there was always constant vision on the Minstrel-Desierto border. Realistically, Pergrande had taught Minstrel incredibly well and assisted them to make a wonderful defensive line so that the raiders could not breach it. These were top-class defences. There were simply two issues with this setup: one, the Minstrel military were mostly musketeers and not line soldiers drilled in warfare with little actual experience of warfare; and two, the Desiertan raiders were lifelong raiders. These people had only just come off the back of plundering the ruins of Felidae City for all it was worth (and Rhace had opinions on that particular issue, but he elected to bite his tongue) - and they were lifelong harriers and fighters. This was their blood. What the Minstrel line lacked in experience, the Desiertans had tenfold. This was almost an even fight, particularly when one took into account the fact that the raiders were now charging full-speed within visual distance of one of the towers - though they planned on taking down every man and woman in the tower and clearing one of the trenches near a forest so their other allies could proceed through unmolested at a later time. This was going to be the plan, or so Tan explained, so that future raids could be pressed through this choke point. Constantly harrying one point would either leave it weak, or force the Minstrel defenders to divert more resources so that the line could be broken in other places by other raiding parties. Every success mattered something, at this point in time, and asymmetrical warfare favoured the raiders. The black-haired Elumish swordsman could respect the strategy, for it played into every strength that Tan and his men had over the gun line that was inevitably waiting for them.

Soon enough, the tower began to crest over the horizon at the same time the warm rays of the sun fell onto Rhace’s back. Using the vision from his helmet sensors, Rhace took a short zoom in on the tower; there were three bodies up the top at this stage, and the guildmaster could pick out the tips of rifles poking over the top as three men and women with binoculars kept an eye out in the distance. With the sun directly behind them, the gleam of the implements made it clear that they were keeping an eye out into the dawn sun. Rhace pointed up with two fingers, then flashed Tan three fingers, to which the dark-skinned bloodletter nodded; they both understood that they would be the first issue to be faced here, and Rhace was willing to meet them himself.

At this distance, Rhace could aim one of his flash bombs launched from the wrist-mounted multi-launcher that he had built back aboard the SS Endeavor; at this distance, they would be double-blind by both the sun and the small blossoming light he launched at them. Their disorientation would allow the small warband of horse riders to charge past it. Without a second thought, the small explosive was launched at high speed through the air, finding purchase against the edge of the wooden bulwark and exploding in a bright shower of flame and spark. Screams went up - it seemed that the tower was catching fire as a result of the explosive detonating so close, which was perfectly fine by Rhace. The flames were small now, only as embers, but Tan nodded his assent of Rhace’s decision. The screams only seemed to alert others, and as one of the bird-carrying horse riders broke off to deal with the enemies in the tower, the rest of the Desiertan war party broke away to go and breach the small gap near the fort so that they could attack the trenches directly. This sort of trench warfare favoured Rhace and his sword art, which was more than fine by him; Tan was right there with him, and Rhace was already moving to leap from horseback as he approached the Minstrel line.

Landing upon soft grass as the light silhouetted the battlesuit’s inhuman frame, the shield generator on his left arm powered to life with the defensive ward that Rhace was used to. Longsword and shield combat was a trademark of the Granven school, and the ancient blade Granveil found itself drawn from its sheath to meet him. Musketeers began to rouse from their slumber as the cry of alarum rose to the heavens, and Rhace was already upon his foes as a majestic and graceful swordfighter to match the blademasters of Minstrel at their own game. While many of these were mages in their own right, Rhace’s pure prowess matched many mages’ talents. With his sword, he called upon its fire form, the brutality of the school of swordsmanship already his ally.

He set upon his enemies with pure ferocity, already cutting one woman down as she reached for the hilt of her rapier without even a second thought. Unbeknownst to Rhace, this was precisely what Tan wanted - not to be the first into combat, so blood could be spilled such that he could manipulate it into weapons of his own creation. Every enemy Rhace cut down was simply fuel for the blood-bending Desiertan. Together, they were already proceeding to overpower and decimate the Minstrel defensive perimeter with barely a sweat broken; for every foe Rhace killed, Tan was already forming a defensive field made of blood itself, using the spilled ichor to protect Rhace from incoming spells. It seemed that the Tarrin gentleman could manage to cut down the enemies with his own prowess with seemingly little issue, particularly thanks to the crackle in his hand; if a foe did not fall in the first powerful blow enough to cleave bone without issue, then their body was wracked with painful electricity in a follow-up strike. Those powerful enough in their gilded armour to try and raise magic against them found their efforts effortlessly turned away with a shield forged from the remains of their fallen allies. So too was the sandbender present; his role was simply to deal with the weaker of their enemies as Rhace charged his way down the trench, swinging his brutal longsword so powerful that he was cleaving through the metallic bulwarks of their enemies.

It was a brutal, yet incredibly effective, system.

Sure, Rhace found himself in his own fair share of trouble; one particularly canny young lady with an epee strapped to her hip used it as a lightning rod cast by another of her ilk; with the electrified blade she found purchase against Rhace’s battlesuit with speed so blessed that she was as wind herself. However, as the lights against his face flickered, Rhace brought the cyan-glowing edge of his onyx master sword to her neck and removed it clean from her chest. So too was the other offending mage brought to heel by the blood trail that floated through the air in that instant; Tan shaped it as a series of piercing lances that found their way into the knee and elbow joints of the plate mail, piercing straight through and pinning the fool to the ground.

Even as the screams filled his ears, Rhace plunged Granveil through the fool’s heart, and that was that. Steel crumpled, then the ribcage followed.

It seemed that within five minutes the entire trench was cleared. Rhace made short work of most of them himself, guided by the overwhelmingly powerful magic of the blood-bender. Together able to crush through any of the warriors that stood in his way, Rhace defeated the Minstrel defenders at their own game: his swordplay was just too well-honed, and the magic that they brought to bear was child’s play against a blood shaping warlock and his sand-manipulating ally. Protecting their berserk fighting ally who carved his own bloody swathe through the enemy line was all they needed to do. Dispassionate and powerful, Rhace had cast aside thoughts of humanity as he fought this battle, and allowed himself to only be drawn by visions of victory. The hand of his ancestors surely had come into play to guide his sword arm, and he had found success in the deaths of the enemy.

While the raiding party’s lesser members swept through to pick clean the remains of their fallen foes for valuable loot, Tan turned to Rhace, who was at that time cleaning the blood from his blade. Now that it was no longer glowing a bright azure and the fighting had drawn to a lull, the desert dweller decided to bring his attention to the Elumish swordsman.

”You fought well, Rhace,” commented the raider, staring out over the distance. ”You bested them at their own game and made this raid far easier than I had anticipated. I thank you for your assistance.”

Rhace, without thinking, removed his helmet, and looked at the bodies that his swordplay had left in the dirt. All of them had families and werepossibly spared a worse fate at the hands of the desert raiders - slavery was not something Rhace would have supported by any means. But the fact that he had been so committed to the fighting and put all thought of humanity aside, seeking only victory - he had killed many people here today. These were the first people he’d killed, and while he had fought plenty in the past to blood, he had never taken a life… until now. Monsters, sure. Humans? No. This was the first.

He realised, in that moment, it would not be the last.

”You’re welcome, Tan,” he said darkly, staring into the lifeless eyes of a young girl he had killed only minutes ago. He just wanted to go home, to wash the stench of sweat and blood off his body, and gunpowder along with it; he smelled like smoke and death now, and he felt it, too. ”Let’s go home. I don’t think we need to push this further.,”

Nodding his assent, Tan the blood-bending prodigy returned to his horse, and motioned for Rhace to do the same. All the black-haired swordsman could think about on their return to the desert camp was that he had killed, and perhaps done so in cold blood. No - they were enemy soldiers, and they had died at their posts, as soldiers were apt to do. He wasn’t that chillingly evil.

Rhace also knew he could do it again if he had to. That thought terrified him. He didn’t feel that he needed to confide this one to the girls - which, at this point, was the only thought keeping him going that day, that he could return to Cassiti and Cordelia; they would inevitably be waiting for his safe return, and that was something he would do. Past that, however, they likely would not hear much from Rhace about this. Not yet, anyway. Not until the weight of his sin felt less like a crushing boulder strapped to his back, tearing his psyche apart. The shuttle ride home would be a dark one, indeed, even if the dawn had broken over his victory.