Thursday, November 7, 2019

The Tales of Raythia: Trojan Horse | Chapter 2: "Judgement"

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The Tales of Raythia
Trojan Horse
Chapter 2  -  Judgement


    Amelia swallowed hard, forcing the lump in her throat and the breakfast that was threatening to come up right behind it, down.
    Despite the absolute terror she felt at that moment, no one looking at her would be able to tell. Her amber eyes were steady, locked directly ahead of her. Her golden hair, straight, cut short, and tied close to her skull, was immaculate, without a single strand out of place. Her lips were a thin line, her jaw hard set, and her posture perfect. Arms rigid but ready, back straight but flexible, knees locked but trained to respond at her slightest thought.
    No, if you looked at her, she was a statuesque model of everything she had been trained to be.
    And people were looking at her.
    Eight other sets of eyes, each a matching hue of golden amber identical to hers, stared back at her: each a hard, trained gaze with many more decades experience then hers’. More decades then she could hope to achieve in her lifetime.
    Old men in a profession that killed young.
    The Eight Points of the Council of the Sun.
    The hand-appointed of the Goddess Solair.
    Each sat at their designated seat around the Council table, their bodies just as hard and ruthlessly trained and ready as her own. Despite their age, Amelia knew that she would not stand a chance in a one-on-one with any one of them and, with that passing thought, she once again had to swallow down breakfast.
    No face gave away any emotion. No thoughts could be made out from any of their stoic faces.
    “Recite the Doctrine of the Radiant.” Paladin Golina, the closest to her, commanded in his gravelly voice.
    The simple instruction brought a sudden stillness to her thoughts. A calmness that quelled her fear from the moment before.
    The words slipped out one by one, clear and crisp as easily as breathing.
    “A paladin is a tool to be used by the Golden Lady and by Man-Kind alone. Their sword is the blade to cut down foes and wheat alike. Their pommel is a hammer to crush evil and grind grain equally. Their shield a fortress to protect the innocent from evil and darkness no matter where it is found.”
    “A paladin is to serve until such time as they are released by death or the Golden Lady herself. Their work is for all and forever, a dedication of the one life they are granted in honor of all those who might lose such lives they have been gifted without one to stand against evil for them.”
    “A paladin may stand alone on the battlefield but never alone in life for all Man-Kind is but one blood. No bloodline is special and though all are unique, all are the same. The man to a paladin is their brother and the woman their sister and all are family lest they are a foe.”
    “A paladin does not seek judgement, but they do uphold it. Those that have wrought themselves an enemy of life, of the Golden Lady, and of Man-Kind are a foe to be dealt with. To be corrected, to be culled, and to be brought to the light under the sun.”
    “A paladin shall only use violence in defense of oneself or in defense of another and only so if peace or diplomacy is impossible or such acts would be corrupted by a foe to a twisted version of their original intent.”
    “A paladin understands that no foe is too great to be defeated and no weakness too small to be exploited. They know that everyone and everything will be brought to their end and so they must never fear the mighty while never believing themselves to be such.”
    “A paladin knows that a disarmed foe is not a harmless one for a snake without fangs still has venom and it needs only cunning to use it. However, when one is helpless, stripped of their mental, physical, and all other capabilities to defend or to harm, they are to be treated with absolute dignity and honor.”
    “A paladin without honor is paladin no more. All life is precious; a gift to be cherished and loved until that day which Hamet take us. Death is not a punishment but the end of a journey and should never be inflicted lest it be the permanent end of an otherwise dangerous foe. A dead man does not learn the error of their ways and it is only through life that a foe may be a friend and honor restored.”
    “A paladin stands before the Rising Sun as a symbol of peace, power, and righteousness. They hold themselves above all others not in glory, but in aid; a servant on their knees at the edge of a cliff pulling those below them up and standing before the gathering darkness to beckon the Sun and defend all who might fall back down without them.”
    “A paladin carries the Light of the Rising Sun within them wherever they go. Darkness may infiltrate the hearts of men, but the paladin is the light at the end of the tunnel, even if they merely hold the torch needed to find their way out of the gloom. No soul is forgotten, and every life is a blessing to be cherished and bolstered.”
    “I stand before you and the Golden Lady in reverence and solace and do hereby swear it that I, a paladin, will uphold these laws until Hamet take me from this life and beyond.”
    Every word that left Amelia’s mouth was clear.
    Crisp.
    Perfect.
    She had to wonder at times what she had done more of through her life: swinging her sword or reciting the Doctrine. Put to the test, she had to think that the numbers might be pretty close overall. She said it out loud and to herself dozens of times a day, everyday and had been doing so ever since she had learned it at the start of her training.
    A lullaby turned promise and a promise turned prayer that had been drilled into her since she was a babe.
    Paladin Golina glanced back over his shoulder towards Paladin Stillwater. They exchanged an unknowable look though this time Amelia felt less uneasy, her nerves calmed by the promises she had made to her Goddess and to Man-Kind. They were here to judge her right to be granted the mantle of Paladin but, if for some reason they elected not to, Amelia would simply continue her training and present herself again on the next Day of the Rising Sun.
    It would be a disappointment, but one she could and had dealt with before.
    No matter what happened, she knew where her heart laid, and an organization of men mattered little in the face of who she was as a person. No decision would burden her because, in her mind, nay, in her soul, she was a paladin already.
    She would fight for Golden Lady.
    She would fight for Man-Kind.
    She would lay her own life on the line to be the hammer and the blade for all others who stood under Solair’s radiance.
    Her title didn’t matter.
    Paladin Golina and Paladin Stillwater’s gaze turned to the other side of the table, this time both towards Paladin Jecoux who gave a very small nod.
    “You speak well, Sister.” Paladin Golina declared, looking back towards Amelia. “And you Know the Doctrine.”
    Strange choice of words. Every initiate knows it.
    “Thank you, Brother.” Amelia said.
    “You have called upon the Council before for Paladin-hood on the Day of the Rising Sun, have you not?”
    “I have.”
    “And you were denied.”
    “I was.”
    “How many times?”
    A wince of annoyance flashed in her mind. They all knew the answer. It’s not like they weren’t all there for it.
    “Seven.” She responded simply, giving away no sign of the momentary emotion.
    “And you continue to try.”
    “I continue to serve. It is my only desire.”
    “Hmm.” Paladin Golina hummed with a soft nod.
    The unease started to bubble up again from her belly. They’d done this before, and this was normally where they kicked her out. Recite the Doctrine and get the Hells out. Get back to drilling in the yards.
    “How long have you been training now, Sister?”
    “Twenty-six years. Since I was three, Brother.”
    “Yes, of-course. And how long will you continue to try?”
    Damnit all to the Hells.
    “Until I bear Solair’s mantle or Hamet take me, Brother.”
    “And what will you do until then?”
    “I will train. I will learn. And I will be a teacher and a servant to all, acting on and honoring the Doctrine no matter my title.”
    Paladin Golina held Amelia’s gaze for a long time. She was ready to be dismissed; ready to be excused. But it wasn’t coming. Granted, it was a slightly longer conversation then normal, but…
    And then he turned his back on her.
    One by one, Paladins Golina, Stillwater, Jecoux, Kimo, Redbark, Feign, Ianara, and Lasset all turned away from her and faced their place at the Council Table.
    Amelia had no idea what to say or do. They had never done something like this before. Normally they just told her to try again and come back next time around. This was new.
    So, in light of the unusual circumstances, she didn’t do anything.
    The Paladins each extended their hands out to their sides, just barely touching fingertips with their neighbors on either side, and forming a circle of gloved, metal gauntlets around the Council table. Their heads bowed and eyes closed, they begin to speak in perfect unison.
    “Oh, Radiant One!” they declared in a single, booming voice. “Rising Sun of the Heavens and Eternal Flame. We ask for your judgement. Look upon us and rejoice. Look upon us and sing. Look upon one who will be your Hero and your Champion. A Paladin of the People. Look upon her and let her be judged. To Know you. And you, to Know her! Know what is in her heart and let her be judged!”
    With each word, the sounds in the room seemed to echo and intensify. They seemed to bounce off the walls and each word began to feel like a punch to the gut. By the end, the force of each syllable felt like a hammer in her chest and she could only clench her jaw to keep from crying out in pain. Then it all stopped, and the room fell deathly still.
    Around her, the candles and torches winked out.
    No. she thought. They’re still burning. They’re just…not giving off as much light…?
    Wisps of flame seemed to sizzle, almost imperceptibly, away from the flickering, dulled candles and torches towards the center of the room. It gathered at the center of the table and began to form into a minute, flaming sphere. A tiny ball of fire that gave off for more light than anything that size should have been capable.
    Was this some sort of spell? Magic? But why?
    Amelia stared at the little dancing sphere as it started to grow both in size and intensity. The room growing hotter and sweat running down her chest and legs beneath the steel armor. None of the other paladins were looking at it and she wondered if she shouldn’t be either, but she couldn’t help it.
    It reminded her of the sun.
    An unconscious smile slipped across her lips as she stared at it.
    Why would she fear the sun?
    Why should she fear Solair?
    The heat was no longer too hot.
    The light was no longer too bright.
    The radiance of the little sphere was not too much for her because she knew that it would never harm her. The radiance she felt and the love she felt was that of her Goddess and both of them knew she would carry her Doctrine for the rest of her life in Solair’s name. She would love and be loved by the Golden Lady and she would be a beacon of light for all to rally behind.
    She wasn’t going to be a Paladin.
    She already was one.
    As quickly as it had come, the sphere vanished, and the room suddenly felt colder and darker for it. It was nothing compared to the love of her Goddess. The light that she cast.
    And, to her surprise, Paladin Golina was suddenly in front of her, cradling her cheek with an ungloved hand and a knowing look in his eyes.
    “It is alright, Sister.”
    A choked sob escaped her throat that she hadn’t known was there and she realized her cheeks were wet, stricken with more tears than she’d cried since she was a child. The tears still ran freely and, reaching up take Paladin Golina’s hand, she found she shook too hard to do so.
    “That was…” she barely managed.
    “It was. Just for a moment. And she has smiled upon you.”
    Paladin Golina took her hand, gently as the grizzled man could, and placed it against her own breastplate. There, emblazoned where it had not been before in glittering gold and red rubies, was the eight-point star.
    The symbol of Solair.
    The symbol of a Paladin of the Rising Sun.
    Any resolve Amelia still had was broken in that moment. She clung to Paladin Golina as a child might, collapsing to her knees but for the older man’s strength holding her up, sobbing uncontrollably.
    The tears would not stop coming.
    And there was joy in her heart.

Tuesday, November 5, 2019

The Tales of Raythia: Trojan Horse | Chapter 1: "Ambush"


The Tales of Raythia
Trojan Horse

Chapter 1  -  Ambush


    “MOOOV-“
    WHUM-WHUUUMPH!
    Whatever Sergeant Fenrick was trying to say was lost in a deafening explosion. The grenade going off at his feet cut the man short in more ways than one before near-simultaneously detonating the fuel tank of the jeep he had been trying to take cover behind. The ensuing fireball billowed and burst, creating a column of flame and smoke that shot up into the desert sky.
    “FUCK!” Olvera assessed intelligently.
    The Sergeant hid behind the low wall. Next to him, Pvt. Johnson panted and coughed trying to get his breath back. The explosion had clearly knocked the wind out of him and his head was likely ringing just like Olvera’s. All around them, rifles chattered and barked as rounds chewed up the stone walls and buildings.
    Shit had gone sideways quick.
    “WHAT THE FUCK HAPPENED?” Olvera bellowed over the sound of gunfire.
    “PEOPLE ARE FUCKING SHOOTING AT US!” Pvt LeRoux shouted from a few dozen meters away.
    As if to punctuate her point, Spc. Merrick popped up over the wall next to the Automatic Rifleman, trained his M24 on something, and fired a single, booming shot before ducking back down.
    “NO FUCKING SHIT!” Olvera snapped.
    “Hey man, stupid questions get stupid answers.” Johnson coughed out as he primed his M320.
    Olvera growled but said nothing further. Now wasn’t the time.
    Staying low, he rushed past the still recovering Grenadier Rifleman over to the other two in his FireTeam. Merrick and LeRoux were trading off popping up over the wall to take pot shots, Merrick with his long-range M24 rifle and LeRoux with her M249 throwing every piece of lead known to man down range at whatever poor sap was in the building down the street.
    The Team Leader couldn’t help but be amused at the difference.
    “What’ve we got?” he asked as he reached the two of them; a moment later joined by Johnson.
    “Three hostiles.” Merrick reported coolly. “Two in the blown out three story at the far end of the street that LeRoux is turning into swiss cheese…”
    LeRoux roared as she popped up over the wall for a moment, letting loose another volley from the light machine gun.
    “…Got one more in the little two story on the west side here.”
    “Where’d the grenade come from?”
    “East side two story building. Had a couple in there but FireTeam Alpha started lighting them up the moment that their TL got hit.”
    Olvera grimaced but didn’t comment on that.
    “One in the west side?” Olvera confirmed.
    Merrick gave a nod.
    “Alright, that’s target one. We’ll move to clear and then deal with the building at the end. LeRoux: you’re gonna light ‘em up. Johnson: send ‘em a present while they’re reconsidering their life choices. Merrick: cover our move.”
    “Right.” They all said in unison.
    “Let’s go, Bravo.”
    Moving like four parts of the same organism, FireTeam Bravo quickly shuffled along the low wall to get a better vantage point on the western building that Merrick had indicated. They had trained relentlessly and knew they could rely on each other to be right where the other one needed. FireTeam Alpha was already dealing with the other side of the street and the booms and barks of gunfire were starting to die down just as quickly as they’d started moments prior.
    This was no longer an ambush.
    This was barely a training exercise.
    Olvera got to see a flicker of glass from a scope in one of the windows a moment before LeRoux roared again behind him. The lithe woman hefted the LMG and let loose a volley of hot lead that turned the building’s façade to dust and sprayed it with red hot tracers. A hollow Whump followed a second after the machine gun chatter quit.
    BOOOOOOM!
    The bullet riddled face of the building exploded outward in a spray of glass, concrete, and dust as Johnson’s grenade hit home.
    Olvera was already moving.
    The Team Leader moved behind cover, his M4 trained on the door to the building, flanked by LeRoux with her M249 ready and daring anyone in the building above to challenge her fury. A moment later, they would be joined by Johnson and then-
    CRACK!
    The report of Merrick’s M24 rifle told him all he needed to know even before the Marksman spoke.
    “Target neutralized.”
    “Roger. Move to Clear the building at the end. Stay behind cover.”
    One down, two to go.
    As FireTeam Bravo moved down the decimated street past the convoy they’d been a part of only a few short minutes before, Olvera got glimpses of things in the wreckage. Shattered stone. Wrenched and bent metal. Small fires burning. Scraps of paper and cloth. A human hand. All pieces of a world destroyed but endless war. Endless fighting.
    Endless chaos.
    More rifle fire could be heard chattering away here and there from the building they were approaching, but it was quickly dying down; becoming more sparse as those that would use them against his team were snuffed out. Frantic bursts of rounds and suppressing fire were coming from the third floor, but nothing hit near them. Compared to the sounds battle earlier, it was practically peaceful.
    “Alpha moving to Clear.” came through clearly in his earpiece from PFC Talbot.
    “Roger. Bravo moving to Overwatch.”
    Up ahead, the now three-man FireTeam could be seen appearing from an alley to their right, bridging the gap and kicking in a wood door of the building before disappearing inside. PFC Talbot now lead after Sgt. Fenrick’s unfortunate demise.
    Olvera and his team quickly spread out, their backs to the stone, watching for anyone else who would dare try to continue the fight.
    No one did.
    And they didn’t have to wait long.
    Several brief exchanges could be heard from the building above, but it only took a few moments before Tablot spoke again.
    “Targets neutralized.”


    “You alright, man?” Sgt. Olvera asked with a grimace.
    PFC. Talbot let out a deep sigh and nodded, glancing up at him as he spoke. The Team Leader for FireTeam Bravo was dirty, covered in dust and mud with streaks of sweat cutting deep grooves in the mess on his brown skin. Olvera’s dark brown eyes were hard set, clearly feeling just as worn as he was, and the TL’s thin black goatee and mustache were matted despite their short length.
    “Yea, I’m okay.” Talbot said softly.
    “I’m sorry about…”
    “I know. I know.”
    In his hands, Tablot held his former Sergeant’s dogtags; gently rolling the little piece of metal between gloved fingers.
    There was nothing more to say.
    Tablot glanced out as the convoy rolled along. They were out of the city and rushing through open terrain towards Bawaba Air Base. They’d be there in just a few minutes.
    Safe and sound.
    For everyone but Fenrick.
    Talbot and Olvera locked eyes again. They just sat there and stared at each other, both of them clearly debating if there was something that could be said here. If there was some way to make the other feel better about the situation.
    There wasn’t.
    They rode in silence until crossing the fenced walls of Bawaba Air Base when Olvera finally spoke up.
    “At least…” Pvt. Johnson spoke up from a few seats down.
    “Don’t say it, David.” Talbot said shortly.
    “I was just gonna…”
    “Don’t say it.” Sgt. Olvera echoed, more sternly.
    “Come on, I was just gonna say that at least things can’t get any worse today.”
    Reaching over from across the aisle, Pvt. Stamovich slapped the burly black man on the head to the grunts and groans of the two fireteams.
    “You HAD to say it, didn’t you?” she growled.
    “What? I’m just saying…”
    “We all know what you’re saying, Johnson.” Pvt. Jimenez barked from down the way. “And we’re saying that you’re inviting bullshit when you say shit like that.”
    The two teams nodded and muttered in agreement.
    “Oh, come on!” Johnson replied dismissively.
    “Look, man.” Merrick commented quietly. “If you ain’t learned by now, saying shit like is just asking the universe to dump shit in your lap.”
    “You too, Merrick?!” Johnson glanced over in surprise. “Never took you for the superstitious type.”
    “It ain’t superstitious if it’s true.” Stamovich snapped.
    “Enough!” Olvera barked. “I don’t care if you’re superstitious. A man died today and you’re gonna shut the fuck up or I’m gonna break my foot off in your ass.”
    “Yes, Sarge.” Johnson muttered.
    And they did.
    A few minutes and a squeal of brakes later, the teams were clambering down out of the transport onto a hot airfield. The sun shone brightly overhead, the whole place stunk of jet fuel, and the heat was terrible. And, to their surprise, their non-comm was standing there waiting for them, eyes locked and jaw hard set.
    But, to Talbot’s surprise, the NCO didn’t approach him.
    “Sgt. Olvera.” The non-comm said in a clipped tone. “I know you just got back, but you and FireTeam Bravo have a second assignment that must be carried out immediately. Please follow me. FireTeam Alpha, hit the mess and get cleaned up.”
    Olvera looked shocked for a brief moment before giving a curt nod, adjusting himself, and following in behind the NCO. Merrick was right behind him as was LeRoux. Only Johnson lingered with a look of shock before Stamovich leaned over with a smile.
    “See, I was just saying…” she said mockingly before smacking him upside the head again. “It ain’t superstitious if it’s true. Enjoy your assignment. After all, things can’t get worse today.”