Charismata- Chapter 1

Chapter 1
Dark Encounters
Luca Rubesco sat in the warm shade of an open-air verandah. He looked out at the busy bustle of the Merchants' Quarter, where buyers and sellers rubbed shoulders with thieves, rogues, slaves, donkeys, nobles and soldiers. Rubesco laughed softly to himself as he thought: All men are alike down here. He was of average height and had a small nose set in between intense dark eyes and full lips and a sharp chin. His dark hair was pulled back and was tied in a ponytail by a leather strap. He was of average built, sporting a belly that would have hung out with lack of exercise and toned arms and legs.
Another man sitting across the table started and looked up at Rubesco. He had been deep in thought, subconsciously massaging the pommel of a longsword at his hip. He frowned at that habit and quickly drew his hand away. He was quite the opposite from Rubesco. He had lighter eyes that gleamed mischievously and he was thin with tanned skin. His hair was grown in a unruly mess which reached in all directions. His thin, well-formed fingers seemed to fidget uncontrollably.
Both of them were attired in desert-brown leather armor with longswords belted at their sides. Long, black, flowing robes marked them as Blackguards, the Armed Guards of House Black, the ruling House of Ortega. While Rubesco had another longsword strapped to his back, Jray had a long dagger looped on his belt.
Rubesco turned. “Time to move, Jray,” he said softly, with a sigh. Jray sighed back, hoping that they would still be alive at the end of the day.
Today, they had been assigned to patrol and investigate a part of the city, known among Blackguards as the Rogue's Corner. More Guards had died there than any other part of the city; only the Desert Rats could claim more deaths than any other detail, but they operated outside the city.
Jray led the way, pressing through the crowd. He curled his nose at the stench of sweat and animals as he evaded a wagon deftly. He didn't look back to see if Rubesco was with him; they always moved in perfect harmony. He traveled against the flow going to the Common Marketplace and instead pressed on together with a patrol of Ortegian Elite. Rubesco was right behind him.
They finally stopped outside a rundown building, worn smooth by years of hostile sand storms that even the city walls could not keep out. A drunk lay in the garter while a street urchin was sifting through his pockets. A beggar with a single arm called out to them for alms. He was ignored.
The doors slid in smoothly when Jray pushed on it. They had expected this. A tip-off had informed them that this was a thieves' nest; the den of the largest operating syndicate in Ortega. Rubesco nearly smiled. It was such an enormous operation that if they screwed up the part they had to play, they would be sent to the Marching Corps, the only military group that had to parade on festivals and feast-days. No Blackguard could ever stand that.
They entered the place. It used to be a small corner shop but had been stripped bare of everything. The walls lay empty as did the whole room. Only dust covered the floor, punctuated with bootprints going both ways. They advanced cautiously, checking for traps, and made their way across the room to the door on the other side.


Far below the duo, a farrago of marketers bartered and traded a huge catalogue of goods that would have befuddled the Ortegian Economist Guild. Men and women shouted at one another to be heard above the tremendous noise which echoed throughout the large cavern. Hanging oil lamps were suspended high above everyone, hooked onto iron rings on the ceiling, shedding a flickering orange glow. A broad stairway had been cut into the northern face, turning into the darkness, stretching till where Jray was, surveying the first step from the doorway suspiciously.
Meanwhile, the unsuspecting people below continued their trade. Here and there an urchin would be running, a rogue or hired bandit stood guard, or an assassin purchasing venom of exotic origin or a knife tipped with indestructible metal. This was the General Black Market of Ortega. Nearly all the merchants from the outside brought something extremely valuable and even rarer to sell here for a profit, a small fortune that would have made the journey to Ortega worthwhile without any other goods; a necrotome or a huge gemstone with strange powers would never go unsought.
Kelly Orson had been looking for a particular blade that had fell into her hands a few years ago but was stolen after a few days. She didn't get the chance to try it out. She was hoping against the odds that it would be here. After all, seldom did artifacts escape the Black Market. And if anyone had been sported carrying a blade of that description around, she would have been informed by the numerous, festering rogues that would have dropped her a note. But then again, it may have been bought already or even destroyed.
She walked among the stalls, searching.


Outside, the hot air did nothing to alleviate the heat, but it wasn't the temperature that was making the beggar with a single arm sweat. He had been sure that the cloaks the two men were wearing belonged to the Blackguards. He peered round slowly. Three paces to the nearest alarm. It was just a rope that was attached to a small bell down at the Black Market. He stretched his legs slowly, trying to get rid of the stiffness that had accumulated all morning, and trying not to draw too much attention.
The street urchin was watching the beggar with a look that told him that they were both on the same team. Encouraged by the support and ensured that the surrounding area was filled with rogues, the beggar jumped up, stumbled a little, and dashed to the alarm. He nearly immediately collided with a stout frame of solid muscles and fell back, causing him to curse loudly. He nearly emptied his bowels when he realized that the muscles was wrapped in a robe of pure black. It was a Blackguard.


Jray and Luca stared down into the darkness. Luca was holding a candle over them both. It seemed to them that the darkness was taunting them, devouring the candle light as soon as it came out. Jray took the first step and Luca followed a pace behind. They were on the first of seven flights of stone steps, worn smooth by the passage of many merchants, thieves and bandits.


Kelly had just bought another throwing knife to add to her collection. It fitting the general shape and balance as her other knives but it was considerably larger, nearly twice as large as her heaviest one. She was told that this had been imported straight from the East and had curious abilities. According to the seller, an old lecherous man who kept staring at her various assets, it could pass through all types of magical barriers, even a lich's. It had a spectacular curve at the stabbing end and she would bet that it could be used in melee combat as well. It was, all in all, a blade to kill.
As for the sword, she hadn't found it yet.


The beggar got up with amazing alacrity and, with as much agility, had drawn a stiletto from somewhere within his rags. He lunged and planted the dagger into the Blackguard. It sank in with a protesting screech halfway up the blade. The Blackguard backhanded him to the head...before a single quarrel struck the Blackguard in the forehead, killing him instantly.
The street urchin was now standing over the drunk, who had not recovered, and was holding a hand crossbow, aimed at where the man was standing before. The street urchin moved towards the alarm but tripped over the arm of the drunk, which was not there before. The drunk got up, smiling grimly. The boy got up, cursing at the drunk, before he realized that the drunk had a shortsword and that it was swinging down at him.


The pair were on the second flight of stairs.


Kelly was hungry. She still had the knife cradled in her arms like a baby. She liked to bond with her new knives, so she told her few friends.
She strolled over to the fruit stall and deftly nicked an apple when the merchant was talking to another buyer, whom she noted was also nicking oranges under the table. She smiled. All man are same down here. She knew that it was very probable that the merchant had overcharged for the fruits. In a way, it was all the same. Here, I cheat you and you steal from me. Up there, I am honest and you are honest. It's the same.


Blood splattered across the street and seeped into the dust as the urchin fell to the stroke of the sword. It carved a great gash across the boy's breast, spilling blood. The boy dropped to the ground, limp, allowing the beggar clear view of the drunk. It was obviously not a drunk. Only a Blackguard would have had a sword like that. They looked at one another, as if stunned. The beggar was still on the ground, half getting up, and the Blackguard was standing with the sword held by his side. The blood was still dripping from it.
All of a sudden, it seemed as if the whole place had erupted into a maddened craze. Previously unseen men rushed out from alleyways and back-roads, holding sticks, swords and clubs of various makes. They were clearly intent on bloodshed.
The Blackguard drew, with a swift movement, a flare, and, before anyone could stop him, had launched it, high into the air. A crushing boom was heard and the sparks poured forth even after the fight had begun.
Regimens of Blackguards, waiting for this signal, moved into the streets, and clashed with the frenzied mob. They were outnumbered six to one.


They heard the boom even as they were halfway down the third flight of stairs. Jray looked up into Luca's eyes. He saw the worry there that mirrored his own: The fight had broken out above them. They started running, taking five steps at a time.



Kelly had been leaning against one of the many air vent that made the place possible when she heard the flare go off, along with the hundreds of others there. For a full second, the entire place went silent, except for the oblivious wailing of a child. Then everything degenerated into chaos.
Kelly kept calm and pushed her way through the hysterical crowd towards one of the many trapdoors that led all over the city. The particular one she was eyeing would place her directly behind the Black Palace's outer back wall. She expected it to be guarded heavily, and therefore the last place anyone in her position would be expected to go.
She sighed. These minor interruptions were merely irritating. At this rate, she would never find that sword.


Sean Bastion had seen combat before, but not many more furious than this in all his 20-odd years of mercenary service to the Ortegian law enforcers: He had already received several gashes on his arms and body; he had slain seven so far.
The air reverberated with clashes of cold steel and cries of injured or dying men. The ground was covered in bodies and already the desert flies were settling, impatient for the battle to be over. Sean shook his head. He was by profession an artist, but there wasn't much money to be had there, and he had too many brothers and sisters in the Beggars' District than he wanted. All of them were honest, hard-working people, thank the heavens, and being a sellsword gave a high, if unstable, income.
Sean gripped his flail tightly as he leapt over a body behind a thug, whipping the flail sideways into the man's head. It connected with a spray of gore and a sickening crunch. Sean felt a tug at his gut as he always did whenever he had to take a life. It did not stop him from doing it for money, or again and again, but it did remind him of who and what he was, and he was not a killer.
Sean caught a glancing blow from behind as a staff smacked him squarely between the shoulders. He turned sideways as the staff came down again, missing him by a hairbreadth. He seized the opportunity and swiped inwards with his flail, raking a thick line of flesh out of his aggressor's chest. He heard a pained grunt and a swipe as he received a blow in his side, knocking the breathe out of him with a whoosh. He doubled over and the rod descended again on his back. Sean recovered in time to whip around once again with his flail. It deflected the staff far to his right and Sean moved in, cracking his jaw with a blow from the pommel of his flail before jumping back two paces.
Welts had already formed along his back and he could feel the sting as sweat flowed down the bruised lines. The other man was not as lucky. His lower jaw was hanging ajar and was twisted grotesquely to the left with blood dripping steadily down. Several of his teeth were scattered around and his chest was a study of gore. A reddish white streak across his torso clearly showed where his third rib was. Despite all his wounds, the man did not seemed fazed in the least. Indeed, Sean could have sworn that the man attempted a grin as he charged Sean once again.


Both Blackguards crashed onto the iron-bound door at the same time. It splintered and cracked under the strained but the lock refused to yield. Jray swore lustily before they both slammed it again. It bulged in but held firm. Jray yelled and threw himself at it again, and this time it broke around the lock. He was thrown into the midst of the yelling, chaotic mass that was the General Black Market of Ortega.
Luca, leaping over Jray, stopped short at the sight of people simply trampling one another to get to the trapdoors. No one seemed to be interested to attacked them. Not even the thugs. Especially not the thugs. They seemed to be the nearest to the trapdoors, using their clubs and swords to part the crowd before them. But the Blackguards were not interested in mere thugs. They were on a manhunt for the most dangerous and cunning criminal in these parts. Kelly Orson.


Kelly Orson was just three paces away from the trapdoor when it burst open, revealing at least a battalion of soldiers pouring out. The entire crowd screamed while a few thugs and bandits attacked the soldiers. Kelly cursed under her breath and whirled around quickly. Her eyes met those of Luca Rubesco and her heart stopped beating for a second. Then she tore down the hall, looking for another exit as she ran.


Sean leaped forward, inside the reach of the staff. The staff came down too slow and Sean leapt sideways, mauling the man's left knee into shards of bone before striking upwards. The flail crushed the man's forehead and droplets of his brains showered into the air.
Sean looked around. The fighting seemed to have died down even though the clanging and clashing of steel could be heard from the alleyways and back-roads. He saw a group guarding the backdoor of the Black Market and decided to join them. He knew that they needed all the help they can get.
As if just to prove his point, the door was torn down and a dozen Blood Assassins, distinct in their blood-red cloaks and hoods, burst out. Sean sighed and jogged toward the newly-started battle.


Luca swore again as he sprinted towards Kelly. He hurdled over several stalls and into the crowd. The crowd instinctively shirked away and he managed to find a clear path through the chaotic mass of humanity. Kelly was still running, tugging at a trapdoor stuck from years of disuse, then dashing away to find another, hoping that that would work. She was sweating, more from fear and panic than exertion, and she was getting frantic. She pulled hard at the next trapdoor and it came away in her hands, rotted from a steady drip of water from the ceiling. She gave a shriek of delight and plunged in.
Luca dashed forward, hardly five metres behind, entering the dark passageway. He saw two figures in the dark, silhouetted against the bright sunlight at the other end of the upward-sloping tunnel. One was clearly Kelly, running, escaping. The other was just an unconscious bulk, slumped by the side of the narrow passageway.
Kelly didn't notice the other figure until it stirred just as she passed. She tripped over the lifted leg and fell over, sprawled spread-eagle on the ground.
Luca felt a push of exaltation and sprinted faster, determined to capture Kelly no matter what the cost. Kelly jumped up, blood dripping from her nose, and limped towards the light. Pain shot up her left leg, but she knew better than to stop. She had heard enough stories of the interrogative procedures of the Blackguards to know that she did not want to get caught.
Luca laughed loudly when he realized that she was injured. He laughed because the hunt that had dragged on for years would end here, one on one. She had nearly reached the entrance when he leveled his crossbow at her.
“Kelly!” She stopped and turned around. “Come back here and I won't have to shoot you.” She smiled sadly and turned round slowly. But her mind was racing, wandering through a hundred possible endings for the day. In many, she noted carefully, her body lay burning on a heap of cadavers. In a few, she was in prison. But in one, she was still alive. And just like that, she knew what she had to do.
She feigned to the right and Luca fired the quarrel with a vicious twipp and it sank halfway into the earthy face of the tunnel. Kelly's hand moved at an astonishing speed and a flurry of knives flew out at Luca.
Time seemed to slow down. The knives wavered then stabilized in its path to the face and chest of Luca with enough force to kill him. Kelly twirled and ran towards the exit, not caring if her ploy had worked or not, but praying to the God she never believed in that it had.
The man jumped up with surprising alacrity and slammed Luca to the ground, taking instead the knives meant for Luca in his own chest. They sank in to the hilt and the man dropped heavily, having used the last of his fast-fading energy on saving Luca.
Rubesco jumped up only to watch Kelly pass through into the bright sunlight, and then he saw no more.
A knife stood out of his belly, and a spreading red patch was already on the ground. Both men lay there, side by side, their blood flowing into a deepening pool of unmingling scarlet, while Kelly ran through the dark alleyways, avoid Blackguard patrols.
©JLoo/Wolf Rubesco 2011