1st of Cylus, 721
"Immortal bitch!”
The exclamation was followed by a hard thump of a body hitting the dirt of a narrow alleyway. Maxine winced at the unkind impact and laid for a moment, regathering the air that left her lungs. She shook her head. Then her fingers curled into tight fists.
Her world had been flipped upside down, rotated, and spun sideways in what felt like a matter of seconds. What was the last thing she remembered? Well, of course that. Hitting the dirt had just happened. Before then?
”Fuck!” she groaned, pushing on hands and knees to motivate herself from all fours to standing. Her mind jumped from vengeful hate to panic. She remembered the before.
Before she’d been at Faldrass. That motherfucker guide cast her out for showing up with a tiny buzz on, Pin Cushion and his four-legged freak show followed her out to jump her, and then everything went to shit.
The volcano became unstable. Her storm raged and whipped everything the wind could knock loose across the island. Her bloody rain resulted in a devastating flash flood that tore land clean from the side of the caldera. The Baron’s mansion collapsed with a whole lot of people inside. Maxine had been forced into the sea.
Where in the fuck am I?
The spontaneously appearing woman wobbled on her heels like it was the first time she’d walked in an arc. Her boots uncertainly found the cobbles and a hand extended to guide her balance with the help of a wall. Her foggy brain snapped back to its last thought before everything inexplicably went black. Panic induced an adrenal response that pushed her to move with more hustled purpose. There was no time for any of this. She has to hurry. Right now.
In her mind, everything she was remembering had just happened. In fact, it was still happening.
"Kura!” Max shouted with furrowed brow. Her onyx eyes blinked at her dark surroundings, trying to logic how the sun had gone down so quickly. "Kura! Good!” she caught the corner of the alleyway, peering out. What she saw nearly reared her backward into the safety of the shadows.
The intimidating shadow of Faldrass did not loom over her. Instead it was an expanse of buildings and the bustle of somewhere else entirely. Her nose scrunched. The sea was close, but this salty air did not belong to Scalvoris.
"Dammit,” she murmured her curse instead. This place was familiar and yet strange all at once. Just as the world had oddly become night all of a sudden, it was also cold out of no where.
Max shook off a shiver right as her eyes zeroed in on a whistling sailor strolling past. She pursed her lips and all but threw herself forward to catch up.
”Shite!” the Etzori pirate grunted at the sound of boots behind him. He turned, wrinkled hand dipping into his pocket to grip the gnarly knife he always kept on his person.
"Where is this?” Max skipped past the niceties.
”Huh?”
"You deaf?! Here!” Max gestured at the civilization surrounding them. "Where’s here? Where am I?”
”Foster’s Landing, ya twit!”
"Foster’s Landing?”
”Are you deaf?”
"Fuck off. But, you know, thanks.”
Familiar. Vaguely. Maxine hadn’t been to Foster’s Landing since she was a child. She hadn’t been here long before being dropped off in an Etzos’ orphanage. How long had it been since she was last on this side of the world?
"What trial is it?” Max shouted at the pirate hustling away from her.
”First trial of Cylus, ya odd bird!”
The world stopped spinning right then. Cylus couldn’t have been right, but then again she would said that about Foster’s Landing if she didn’t know the place. Her last true memories were in Ashan. That meant...
Whatever happened happened.
Her feet froze on the cobbles of that dark street. Her onyx eyes looked far toward a distant shore she couldn’t see. All sound but the mapping of waves against a nearby dock ceases to exist. Her limbs and everything she wore on her skeleton became heavy.
It’s done. It’s too late for you to stop it now.
The Rusalka wandered toward that sound of icy crashing water. It called to her, and she followed it until it led her to the end of a long empty dock. She dropped to her knees at its edge, staring out upon the abyss-like horizon.
You saw what you saw.
The Baron’s mansion fell in a heap that no one could’ve escaped. Even if they survived the collapse of masonry, her flood would’ve rushed in to fill every gap of air and pull what loosened into the sea. Then there was the angry, sputtering volcano.
Was that why Famula had taken her collar-laden curse back? Why the leash up and vanished? Because I killed her?
She felt a warmth under her welling eyes, which she bid back by driving the heels of her hands into her face. Slowly she shook her head. This reality was a hard one to accept. It was one she couldn’t accept. Wouldn’t. Fingernails dug into closed palms before fists struck wood. Then again, and again, and again.
"I was swimming back,” Max said softly, pressing her head down against the dock she’d abused. "I was going back, I swear it.” There was no one left to swear to. They were gone. All of them.
Her breath shuddered with the next inhale. An emotion was coming, but it didn’t have a name. Anger was always there. She knew the names of its cousins like rage, hate, and spite. This one wasn’t so familiar.
It tightened her chest and weakened the muscles in her frame. Pressure was building in her head and moisture kept rushing toward her tear ducts.
Grief.
It wasn’t alone. Self-hatred and guilt carried its baggage in just behind, eager to unpack and squat rent-free in her brain. Maxine swallowed hard and pulled her head from the ground. Eyes drifted briefly toward the starry sky and then to her exposed arms.
True to threat, the collar around her neck was gone. In the dim light she could make out the new pattern that adorned her skin: chains weaving in and out of her flesh. Famula’s new curse. She’d been asleep in the Zuudaria, apparently for a long time. Now she was awake, dumped near Etzos, and condemned.
Everyone she cared for was dead.
And that was all her fault.
"Happy fuckin’ birth trial, Max.” The ex-convict might’ve laughed if it wasn’t for the heaviness of these specific circumstances. Normally this trial would’ve called for a celebration of sorts. It almost always resulted in some admirable amounts of drugs and alcohol. This one wouldn’t be different.
The beauty of being asleep for as long as she was laid in the fact she’d been out for the worst part of sobriety. The drugs left her system without the debilitating sickness and usually brought her crawling back to a dealer. Max has slipped right from detox to recovery without putting any of the work in to achieve the milestone.
The last thing she wanted to be right now was sober. It was too much. The curse, the deaths, the emotions, and just all of it. It was all too much. She didn’t want to feel any of it. As a matter of fact she refused to.
With no one alive to save, no enemies to strike down, and no business to run she was beholden to nothing. There was nothing to stop her. So after a while of despairing silence, she wandered back from the docks back into the heart of Foster’s Landing.
Then, like every degenerate pirate fresh from a voyage, she pushed her way into the shittiest tavern she could find.
"Immortal bitch!”
The exclamation was followed by a hard thump of a body hitting the dirt of a narrow alleyway. Maxine winced at the unkind impact and laid for a moment, regathering the air that left her lungs. She shook her head. Then her fingers curled into tight fists.
Her world had been flipped upside down, rotated, and spun sideways in what felt like a matter of seconds. What was the last thing she remembered? Well, of course that. Hitting the dirt had just happened. Before then?
”Fuck!” she groaned, pushing on hands and knees to motivate herself from all fours to standing. Her mind jumped from vengeful hate to panic. She remembered the before.
Before she’d been at Faldrass. That motherfucker guide cast her out for showing up with a tiny buzz on, Pin Cushion and his four-legged freak show followed her out to jump her, and then everything went to shit.
The volcano became unstable. Her storm raged and whipped everything the wind could knock loose across the island. Her bloody rain resulted in a devastating flash flood that tore land clean from the side of the caldera. The Baron’s mansion collapsed with a whole lot of people inside. Maxine had been forced into the sea.
Where in the fuck am I?
The spontaneously appearing woman wobbled on her heels like it was the first time she’d walked in an arc. Her boots uncertainly found the cobbles and a hand extended to guide her balance with the help of a wall. Her foggy brain snapped back to its last thought before everything inexplicably went black. Panic induced an adrenal response that pushed her to move with more hustled purpose. There was no time for any of this. She has to hurry. Right now.
In her mind, everything she was remembering had just happened. In fact, it was still happening.
"Kura!” Max shouted with furrowed brow. Her onyx eyes blinked at her dark surroundings, trying to logic how the sun had gone down so quickly. "Kura! Good!” she caught the corner of the alleyway, peering out. What she saw nearly reared her backward into the safety of the shadows.
The intimidating shadow of Faldrass did not loom over her. Instead it was an expanse of buildings and the bustle of somewhere else entirely. Her nose scrunched. The sea was close, but this salty air did not belong to Scalvoris.
"Dammit,” she murmured her curse instead. This place was familiar and yet strange all at once. Just as the world had oddly become night all of a sudden, it was also cold out of no where.
Max shook off a shiver right as her eyes zeroed in on a whistling sailor strolling past. She pursed her lips and all but threw herself forward to catch up.
”Shite!” the Etzori pirate grunted at the sound of boots behind him. He turned, wrinkled hand dipping into his pocket to grip the gnarly knife he always kept on his person.
"Where is this?” Max skipped past the niceties.
”Huh?”
"You deaf?! Here!” Max gestured at the civilization surrounding them. "Where’s here? Where am I?”
”Foster’s Landing, ya twit!”
"Foster’s Landing?”
”Are you deaf?”
"Fuck off. But, you know, thanks.”
Familiar. Vaguely. Maxine hadn’t been to Foster’s Landing since she was a child. She hadn’t been here long before being dropped off in an Etzos’ orphanage. How long had it been since she was last on this side of the world?
"What trial is it?” Max shouted at the pirate hustling away from her.
”First trial of Cylus, ya odd bird!”
The world stopped spinning right then. Cylus couldn’t have been right, but then again she would said that about Foster’s Landing if she didn’t know the place. Her last true memories were in Ashan. That meant...
Whatever happened happened.
Her feet froze on the cobbles of that dark street. Her onyx eyes looked far toward a distant shore she couldn’t see. All sound but the mapping of waves against a nearby dock ceases to exist. Her limbs and everything she wore on her skeleton became heavy.
It’s done. It’s too late for you to stop it now.
The Rusalka wandered toward that sound of icy crashing water. It called to her, and she followed it until it led her to the end of a long empty dock. She dropped to her knees at its edge, staring out upon the abyss-like horizon.
You saw what you saw.
The Baron’s mansion fell in a heap that no one could’ve escaped. Even if they survived the collapse of masonry, her flood would’ve rushed in to fill every gap of air and pull what loosened into the sea. Then there was the angry, sputtering volcano.
Was that why Famula had taken her collar-laden curse back? Why the leash up and vanished? Because I killed her?
She felt a warmth under her welling eyes, which she bid back by driving the heels of her hands into her face. Slowly she shook her head. This reality was a hard one to accept. It was one she couldn’t accept. Wouldn’t. Fingernails dug into closed palms before fists struck wood. Then again, and again, and again.
"I was swimming back,” Max said softly, pressing her head down against the dock she’d abused. "I was going back, I swear it.” There was no one left to swear to. They were gone. All of them.
Her breath shuddered with the next inhale. An emotion was coming, but it didn’t have a name. Anger was always there. She knew the names of its cousins like rage, hate, and spite. This one wasn’t so familiar.
It tightened her chest and weakened the muscles in her frame. Pressure was building in her head and moisture kept rushing toward her tear ducts.
Grief.
It wasn’t alone. Self-hatred and guilt carried its baggage in just behind, eager to unpack and squat rent-free in her brain. Maxine swallowed hard and pulled her head from the ground. Eyes drifted briefly toward the starry sky and then to her exposed arms.
True to threat, the collar around her neck was gone. In the dim light she could make out the new pattern that adorned her skin: chains weaving in and out of her flesh. Famula’s new curse. She’d been asleep in the Zuudaria, apparently for a long time. Now she was awake, dumped near Etzos, and condemned.
Everyone she cared for was dead.
And that was all her fault.
"Happy fuckin’ birth trial, Max.” The ex-convict might’ve laughed if it wasn’t for the heaviness of these specific circumstances. Normally this trial would’ve called for a celebration of sorts. It almost always resulted in some admirable amounts of drugs and alcohol. This one wouldn’t be different.
The beauty of being asleep for as long as she was laid in the fact she’d been out for the worst part of sobriety. The drugs left her system without the debilitating sickness and usually brought her crawling back to a dealer. Max has slipped right from detox to recovery without putting any of the work in to achieve the milestone.
The last thing she wanted to be right now was sober. It was too much. The curse, the deaths, the emotions, and just all of it. It was all too much. She didn’t want to feel any of it. As a matter of fact she refused to.
With no one alive to save, no enemies to strike down, and no business to run she was beholden to nothing. There was nothing to stop her. So after a while of despairing silence, she wandered back from the docks back into the heart of Foster’s Landing.
Then, like every degenerate pirate fresh from a voyage, she pushed her way into the shittiest tavern she could find.
