Eden, Saga 1: War of the Magi

The guards part their halberds from blocking the entranceway, letting the cheerful young man through and handing him the papers on his way in. Outside the gate had been pretty enough, but inside this traveller couldn't help but gasp and marvel at the beauty of the city of Ambrosia, from its stone archways to its clean flowing aqueducts.

The traveller was called Tom. "Tom from Ragnarok," as the Adaein locals would always come to know him. And it was his privilege to wander these foreign lands, always scraping by with a few coins and a will to work until he could move on to the next place. The people in Ambrosia are unusually cheerful, Tom notes, seeing a group of women laughing and gossiping as they beat the dust from their husbands' clothes, children skipping ropes and pretending to shoot at one another with sticks and jolly merchants peddling their wares... Why, Tom might even like to settle down in a place like this. Or that's what he thinks, as he arrives at an unassuming little tavern signed "The Oasis."

Tom steps into The Oasis, deciding to quench his thirst on the local wine and perhaps ask about some work. Inside is every bit as jolly as out, quite unlike the depressive, solitary atmosphere of many taverns. Maids in red dresses and eye catching make up glide through the tables, passing out food and drink aplenty and some men in the back seem to be enjoying a dart game. Tom sits down for a few minutes to nurse a horn of wine and partake in his favourite passtime of people watching, before he notices a wary looking patron two seats down, eyeing the crowd at the same time he does. Deciding that the man must have nothing better to do, Tom scooches over to strike up a conversation.

"Hey there, friend." Tom greets with a buffoonish smile. "You new to town as well?"

The wary patron glances at Tom suspiciously, which causes Tom to shrink away a bit, but he tries to remain friendly and earnest looking. "...No. Local." The man finally replies after what felt to Tom like a very long, unnerving staring match. "Who're you?"

"W-well, my name is Tom..." He says. "I'm from a city in Ragnarok called Heimskringl, but since that's kind of a mouthful people always call Tom from Ragn-"

"Get another wine for Tom from Ragnarok over here." The wary patron interrupts Tom, hailing the bartender.

"Ah, y-yes, well thank you for the dr-..." Tom begins to stutter nervously.

"Let me give you some advice, Tom." The other man whispers. "Leave this city. Leave it and never look back."

"W-why would I leave...?" Tom asks nervously, hushing his tone although evidently not enough for the wary patron's liking. "E-everyone seems so nice..."

"This city is no longer ruled by her people." The man explains. "Nor by her magistrates, not even by the church. This city belongs to Julius, and if you don't want to belong to Julius either... You had better leave. Leave, or fight."

"Who's Julius...?" Tom wonders. "What on earth are you talking about?"

The wary patron says nothing, seeming to have spoken his piece. So, only slightly bothered, Tom continues his drink in silence until the doors of The Oasis open once more. The atmosphere changes for only an instant, and in steps a regal looking man with jet black hair and a thin  oustache straightened to a stilletto point. He wears an emerald green coat embroidered with gold and a set of matching boots, as well as a pair of fine white stockings. A rapier with an ornate silver handguard rests on one side of his belt, a heavy matchlock pistol on the other. Behind him, a boy in a black doublet with black stockings and longer black hair walks in, a buckler not fully concealing the dirk at his belt. Together, the two new comers stride up to the bar like they own the place.

"Master Ignoto, what a pleasant surprise this is!" The bartender greets cheerfully. The wary patron next to Tom hasn't moved his gaze from the newcomers once.

"We're here on business, I'm afraid." The man in the emerald coat says lamentingly. "A little matter of three missed payments. Perhaps you know what happened to it all now?"

"P-please, you know I've got a problem..." The bartender stutters. "I-I'll win it all back, I-I..."

"Your problems are supposed to end where mine begin, friend." The man in the emerald coat taunts. "Julius doesn't like to be told excuses."

"Gavriello, please...!" The bartender begs. "You have to look the other way, just this once!"

"Look the other way...?" The man laughs out loud. "I can look whichever way I want, all that matters is that wherever I look the money won't be-..."

A click comes from next to Tom, as he pales even further at the sight of the wary patron pointing a loaded pistol at the head of the boy who walked in with the mobster. "He said look the other way. Maybe you should have listened."

One of the barmaids screams, and the whole establishment flies into chaos. Weapons are drawn from sheathes and powder charges are placed in chambers, and soon Ambrosia's happy atmosphere has been transformed into a standoff.

"What are you playing at, dog?" The man in the emerald coat, Gavriello asks. "Don't you understand what forces you're dealing with...?"

"No. Maybe you could enlighten me." The wary patron pushes the pistol harder against the boy's head. "Start by telling me everything you know about Julius. Who is he? What is he after?"

"If I don't know...?" Gavriello asks aloofly.

"You do know. If you don't tell me, Rafael dies."

Gavriello smiles, slowly curling his moustache as he does so. "Go ahead then, shoot."

Tom barely averts his eyes as light fills the room, the sound and sent of powder filling the bar. He slowly turns over to see the wary patron looking down in shock, blood covering his shirt from a large bullet wound in his stomach. The boy in black, Rafael, dusts himself off.

"Your deflection got residue on my shirt, Gavriello." He states calmly, looking over at the other patrons pointing guns at them. Powder explodes in all directions, draping the ceiling in a powdery haze. Gavriello flicks his rapier upward like a conductor might a baton, stirring up a burst of wind which hurls the bullets all at once into the ceiling. He rides with the gust he creates, using his feet like a projectile to kick down the closest conspirator, stabbing the other through his ribcage. The patrons seem to clear out of his way on instinct, making no more commotion now that the boy is unharmed. In another flash of light, everyone returns to normal, going about their business as usual. A few less patrons are there, even counting the ones Tom had seen die. The bartender stands shaken, and Gavriello passes him a bloody handkerchief.

"Throw this out, my good man? Consider the damages removed from your debt. I shall see you tomorrow."

"How will we inform Julius...?" Rafael asks the older brother.

"Uncle Descartes will pass this along to Mikael. Come." Gavriello replies, as the two walk out. The men who had been engaged in a dart game have all left or been removed, and everyone else returns to drinking or serving, as if nothing ever happened. Tom stands and excuses himself, paying for his wine. He steps into the open air, looking at the townsfolk going about their day.

How can they all ignore what's going on...? He wonders, suddenly seeing suspicious figures at every corner. That man was right... I have to get out of here...!

Tom quickens his pace toward the gate, stopping only when two poleaxe heads come to his neck.

"Halt! You stand before his eminence the bishop!"

Tom stops, quivering and looking up at the holy guards threatening him. A bishop with long blonde hair stares back at him, giving a calming smile which seems to wash Tom's fears away. He hears his heart beat for just a moment.

"Leave him be, he poses no harm." The bishop states. Unmarred by age, his face could be called perfectly beautiful if not for the stitched scar beneath his left eye. "Tell me, young man, what ails you?"

"I... I don't remember..." Tom mutters. "I came here from Ragnarok, and... It's a lovely place, really."

The bishop smiles again. "Indeed it is. You must just be tired, sometimes our stress is active after a long journey. Perhaps you'd like to come listen to a sermon? Our newest initiative puts such energy into his preaching, it is quite refreshing. Tom from Ragnarok, was it?"

"Yes... that sounds nice..." Tom says.

Strange... What was I worrying about? I've gone and forgot...

Tom breathes a sigh of relief, calm once again. So calm and peaceful just like this city. Quiet enough to hear your heart beat.

I think I would definitely like to live here...