Stoke - Prologue. Prologue

The night was a cold one, rainy and bleak. A group of men huddled in their decrepit barracks, drinking and shouting to one another. The funding for this location was scarce as nothing ever happened. Over years, the country’s reputation had proceeded it. With good reason, it was well earned. Outsiders, Magik inclined especially, knew that entering Dleth was a dangerous gamble. As the men inside partied and generally made fools of themselves, one stood outside. He had separated himself from the rest physically and mentally. He hated the immaturity, the almost blatant attempts to avoid any and all work. He was soaked to the bone and his attitude was worse for it. He grumbled to himself at a particularly loud swell in the noise that reached him through the partially open barracks doors. They should all be on duty. They were in the service of their country, not themselves. A country that would have zero mercy or understanding for this section of the border not being guarded.

They knew firsthand how merciless their homeland was. His gaze trailed up to the top of the ramparts. It settled on the two ropes that were pulled taut and hung over the other side. Magik users. They’d been caught in a nearby town. He winced as he remembered the small bodies as they’d been thrown over the side, emaciated and barely more than children. He’d heard that they hadn’t even hurt anyone. They had just been trying to get food. He shook his head and drove his mind away from those thoughts. Better not to dwell on it. Nothing could be changed.

It was late and he was starting to grow tired. Normally, in a functioning post, a man would’ve relieved him hours ago. In that same vein, there would be far more than one guard on duty to begin with. This one barely stayed operational; functioning was far beyond what they were capable of. His chin dipped down to his chest as sleep threatened to overtake him. Surely a short nap wouldn’t be the end of the world? He was allowed a moment of weakness. His comrades seemed to make entire days of them. The guard gave in finally and was snoring softly within seconds.
Until he heard it.
He startled awake, ashamed that he’d allowed himself to shirk his responsibility. He forced uncoordinated limbs up the steps to the ramparts, sleep still making him sluggish. He dragged a hand over his face and looked out over the forest that stretched as far as he could see. He’d never been farther than this wall and if he were asked, he’d tell anyone who’d listen how terrifying the forest was in the dead of night. He scanned the trees, eyes not catching on anything unusual. Had he imagined it? His mind scrambled to remember what it had been. A metallic tapping, that was it. What would make that noise in the Humiad forest? Nothing was the easy answer. Animals didn’t make noises like the one he’d heard. He swore softly under his breath, he couldn’t see anything except for his own breath. He didn’t hear anything besides his uneven breathing. But there it was again, the noise. A soft clang, clang, clang. It put him on edge. He tromped down the stairs, walking to the small door that sat next to the large gates. He pried it open, the wood groaning from neglect and disuse. He was breathing harder as the noise sounded again, closer this time. He shouted into the night, fear and frustration making him foolish.

He wasn’t a Magik user, so he didn’t feel the power rolling around him. He didn’t have the basic sense that would tell him he should be even more scared than he was. The hair standing on the back of his neck and the metallic sound were his only warning that something wasn’t right. He was panicking and his yelling into the dark got more frantic. The door was wide open and the power rolled through and passed him. It moved past the door of partying men, sliding through the whole post as if it belonged there. The poor guard was still looking out into the night by the time it reached the other side of the great wall that separated Dimian and Dleth. There was a great shudder and people stepped from shadow onto the muddy red road that led into the country proper. A tall, broad shouldered man with shaggy bronze hair surveyed the scenery around him, his ice blue eyes entirely unimpressed. A smaller male with shoulder length snow-white hair sneered at the red mud that now sucked at his boots. More came. A fair male with a braid that reached his lower back, blue-rimmed red eyes sharp and alert. Next a dark-skinned man with equally dark, neat curls atop his head. He looked back as two people joined the others waiting. A female with black curls tumbling to mid-back, her arm was hooked through a thinner man’s. He turned and purple eyes caught the moonlight unnervingly. Finally, the final and tallest member stepped out, grey pushed to the very rim of his irises by onyx. His choppy graphite hair reached the tops of his ears, the sides of his head shaved. The hair that hung over his forehead was soaked with sweat and his breathing was a little labored.

“That was too easy,” Mumbled the first man who’d appeared, hand rubbing over a short beard.

“Easy for you maybe. Damn, you had to walk. I did all the work. It’s okay to admit that I impress you Eon.” The final man said, a tired smile gracing handsome features.

“No one finds you quite as impressive as you do, Talon.” The female rolled her eyes.

Purple eyes looked concerned as they met grey, “It did seem too easy. We normally struggle a lot more than this. With everything.”

“Why are we lingering? We need to move along, you incorrigible children.” The man with the braid pinched the bridge of his nose, voice annoyed.

“Hanja is right,” The dark-skinned man finally spoke up, his golden eyes scanning the horizon.

“So impatient and ungrateful. Welcome to Dleth! Please prepare your backwards ways of thinking and extreme xenophobia. Leave your compassion here at the post. You are not going to need it.”