The Blackcoats Marching

[Katsujirou]

Sid Gantry the Witch Hunter rode alone. His horse, a dusty black steed, didn’t mind being on its own. The two were creatures of solitude, and the open road was the only company they cared to have. Down the road and between the mountains marched the Talsean Army, the Blackcoats. Sid could hear their rumblings through the trees. The distant mass of his brothers made the ground vibrate, and their spontaneous drumming was like distant thunder.

It made him think of lightning.

~~~​

Five years ago…

One hundred men stood in a semicircle facing a leaning wooden shack. Their faces were hidden by the hoods of their black cloaks, dripping at the brim beneath the pouring rain. The night had decided to become a rainstorm, and in its frothy brew there was trouble. The detachment of brothers had been led to the hiding place of a renegade wizard by none other than Lucius The Brew, the greatest Witch Hunter in existence. Lucius the Brew, who had single handedly found and saved dozens of tainted users, men, women and children who had been cursed with their ability to master magic. His collars were legendary.

Lightning cut the sky and thunder shook the shack. “Zarkus Zarkfanein!†Roared Lucius. He looked no different than the brothers around him, blending in with the black coats and lit torches. “We know you are in there! Come out, show us your hands, and kneel!â€

Sid Gantry, a recent graduate of Wicche Hentan, the school of witch hunting, watched Lucius out of the corner of his eye. He tried to stay focused on the small shack, but couldn’t begin to believe that inside there hid a wizard, a person with unimaginable powers, who could slay an army with a thought. Sid wondered, deep down inside his more horrific doubts, how a pack of Witch Hunters could possibly capture Zarkus Zarkfanein, the last Wizard of Talse.

“We are giving you a chance now!†Lucius howled as lightning struck and thunder roared. “Surrender now, Zarkus! You have no chance!â€

From the shack there came not a single sound or reply. Its gaunt wooden frame seemed about to shatter beneath the rain, and its door swung loose on the hinges. There was no lock, no window, and no foundation. Water ran beneath the walls and through the thin roof.

Lucius waited another moment, and then tore off his black cloak. He stood in the center of the semicircle. Water glistened off his sluissrad, the enchanted armor worn by all Witch Hunters, and his jet black hair clung to his thick neck. Lucius the Brew was a tall man, darkened by the magic that protected him. Following suit, ten other hunters hidden between the line of brothers removed their cloaks and stepped forward. “Hunters!†Lucius shouted as he approached the shack. “Line up!â€

Sid followed the other hunters, and together they created a line behind Lucius. He pulled out his canon, the scimitar that caused permanent injury, and placed a hand on the shoulder of the man in front of him. “This is insane,†he whispered to himself. He had been trained to hunt mages and witches. Wizards required an entirely different strategy. His teachers had said, “All tainted think alike,†yet none were as dangerous as Zarkus Zarkfanein.

Lucius drew his canon. It was no different than any other. He stepped up to the door of the shack, gave one last look over his shoulder at the line of hunters who followed behind, hand to shoulder, and then stepped inside. The line moved forwards, all ten stepping into the tiny shack. Sid could hardly believe what he saw as the man in front of him disappeared into the darkness within, and his hand tightened on the shoulder to remain steady.

~~~​

Sid reached back into the chapped saddle bag behind him and pulled out a small tin. He tugged off his leather gloves and wrapped the reigns around his saddle horn, and then pulled open the tin. Inside was a white paste that he put on his fingers, and then began to rub into the horrific scar that covered half of his face. He could still feel the burn of Zarkus’ fire.

 

[Katsujirou]

The paste was made from poultice plant and wheat flower seed. When ground with water it became white, and if mixed with grass oil it stiffened into a paste that Sid kept in his tin. He had learned to make the cream, which was white and consistent as butter. The recipe was given to him by none other than Lucius the Brew.

When he smeared it on the right side of his face it cooled the permanent burning sensation he had lived with for the five years since they had killed Zarkus Zarkfanein, the last Talsean Wizard. It only worked for a few hours, and Lucius had given him specific instructions to never use it twice in a day. Sid was left to suffer the pain of Wizard’s Fire most of the time.

Such was the scars of magic.

Five years ago …

Sid gasped as the darkness seemed to wrap him in a cold blanket. His sluissrad began to crackle as it dispelled wards designed to dissuade the curious from exploring the abandoned shed. He kept a firm grip of the shoulder in front of him and walked on at an even pace, sometimes hearing Lucius the Brew up ahead whispering, “Almost there. A few more steps.”

After what seemed like several minutes spent walking blindly in the dark, light came from a single point on the horizon and quickly expanded until all eleven witch hunters passed through the defensive wards. Beyond the black shroud was the light of a fortress home unlike anything any witch hunter had ever seen. Its walls extended hundreds of feet from the floor, covered by hundreds of bronze sockets and flaming torches. Marble stairways connected ten floors of limestone decorated with golden statues and mythril emblems. Carved into the walls were hundreds of thousands of lines of prophetic text. The witch hunters had been trained to read such text.

“The history of the world.” One of the hunters whispered as he scanned the writing.

Lucius hissed as he turned in circles, studying the detail of the cavernous hall that had been cleverly hidden by the shack. “It is a hall of lies!” The hunters began to fan out. With a series of quick hand movements, Lucius coordinated the squad. Sid and six other hunters split and slipped down two halls leading off from the main hall, leaving Lucius and three hunters in the main hall.

Sid’s hand tightened around the handle of his canon. His eyes peered through the dark and waited for some sign of magic to present itself. He kept his blade held in front of him to keep him from walking into a snare or ward. The light of the main hall disappeared behind Sid and the two others in his team, and in the eerie silence their boots made no sound on the stone floor. Occasionally they would slow and tap one another on the shoulder, and then continue in the dark, feeling their way with the tips of their swords as the hall bent and twisted.

After walking down the hall for a minute, the three came to an intersection. “Three branches,” they whispered. They ran their hands across the walls and felt for a draft that might hint at their next direction. Somewhere in the dark hid the Wizard.

“I will go right,” whispered one.

“And I left,” replied another. Sid wordlessly went straight on by himself, deeper into the tunnels of the fortress home. Fearlessly his feet found step after step in the darkness. His extended canon quivered sometimes when there was magic near, and with his training Sid was able to disarm a series of small wards he discovered along the way. Freezing spells, fire traps, blinding light bombs and false floors all made the canon quiver, and Sid neatly stepped around, over, and under them all.

In the darkness he started to wonder how much farther he’d walk until he struck a dead end. He had read stories of Wizards who would create massive labyrinths to trap and kill their enemies. Sid had enough rations and water to keep him alive for three days. As Lucius had often told them while on the road, there was no such thing as time wasted if it were spent saving those tainted by magic.

A sound crept up through the hall behind Sid, and he stopped and turned slowly back the other way. His canon began to quiver, and in the darkness he saw a faint glimmer of light back the way he had come. It was orange, brilliant and bright. The air around him became hot, and on the warm rush of wind that came down the hall were the screams of dying men. It was Wizards Fire. Sid had never been so sure of any other spell in his life. His legs sprung and, remembering that fleeting glimpse of the hall he had, he sprinted back towards the main hall.

“Fire! Fire!” He heard men screaming. “Sluissrads!” Lucius roared. “Spill his blood!” He heard another shout, and then there was more fire. Sid’s heart pounded louder than his feet as he ran back through the intersection and expertly dodged his way down the turns until he ran straight into the main hall.

By the time he arrived, five hunters lay dead upon the floor. Lucius stood atop two of their bodies, lightning arcing off his sluissrad and striking the wall just above Sid’s head. At the end of the hall stood Zarkus Zarkfanein. He wore long golden robes stained red with blood from a wound in his left thigh, undoubtedly caused by the blade of a canon.

“Gantry!” Lucius roared. “Get down!”

 

[Jamie]

Tobias’ muscles were as taut as iron cable, his thick fingers wrapped tightly around the shafts of his twin maces. His black mythril armor, with the silver trim outlining the contours of the man’s muscular body, the face plate of his helmet, which was a M shape, still showed the scowl he wore on his lips. There was a refuge of the tainted not twenty feet from him. He could almost feel the taint of the magic burning the air, it’s foul smell making him want to hock the biggest loogie to get the taste out of his mouth. His squad stood behind him, weapons in hand and similar scowls on their faces. The witch hunter, Russo, was already advancing on the camp, silently. He was going to be the pre emptive strike that preceded the squad by a mere fifteen seconds. That would give him long enough to dispel the ward on the entrance.

The tainted ones were on both sides of the squad, ready to do whatever their masters wanted, only to avoid the pain. And now it was their time to advance, both the ward and the front watch were already disposed off. Once Tobias reached the gate, he shouted one simple command. ‘Charge!’. And then all of his men were free to do as they wished with the tainted ones, whatever they deemed necessary to remove the vile sickness that was magic. The massive end of Tobias’ first mace obliterated a substansial chunk of the rock the wall had been made of. The second created a massive fault that spread the entire length of the wall. Then, with a massive push, it came down and exploded in a chunk of granite, green and yellow sparks in the air as the magic that held it together dissipated.

The howls and screams in the night made Tobias all the more battle hungry, as he grabbed the head of a wizard in each hand, smashing the two together with enough force to crush their skulls, dropping them to the ground in limp piles as he removed his pair of maces once more. Buildings fell, fire raged, women screamed, death rattles filled the air as his squad went to work. He’d lost a man or two already, but they all knew the price of doing gods work. Even as he was breaking people in half with his huge maces, he was shouting at his men.

“KEEP IT UP, MEN! WITH PROGRESS LIKE THIS, THESE VILE TAINTED ONES ARE NO MORE!â€.

He turned and launched one of his maces like it was an arrow, catching a woman in the stomach and ripping her almost completely in half, causing her to fall dead before she even knew what’d hit her. The vile screams of the tainted ones brought joy to Tobias, they would pay for their blasphemies, and would burn in hell as they should. This life of filth and evil was their own choice, he was just the messenger of God.

 

[Baka]

Unconcerned with the battle, or rather the slaughter brewing below, Jayce Calder picked at a hangnail boredly, being mindful not to pull it to far back lest he tear his flesh.

People were dying and suffering below him but that was nothing new. People always dies and suffered and they would continue to die and suffer, whether The Brotherhood 'cleansed' them or not.

Standing atop the large cliff overlooking the city below Jayce couldn't help but sigh. He was growing tired of these ridiculous missions. When would the Grand Lord General realize that Jayce's talents were being wasted on this little cities. Jayce wanted to go after an entire country, it was time to cross the seas and cleanse the land beyond Talse's borders. But it seemed that Jayce's uncle, The Grand Lord General of the Blackcloaks, was too timid and fearful.

His own black cloak billowed in the wind as a strong gust came through. the only thing to distinguish his cloak from any other soldiers were the small golden knots sewed into the shoulder's marking him a Captain.

While Calder's actually orders had been to ready the invasion, the young Captain had taken it upon himself to launch the attack on the unsuspecting city. So long as it ended in success he would suffer no reprecussions, however, if it failed Jayce would probably spend the next day hugging the whipping post.

The sound of dirting crunching beneath feet would cause Jayce to turn around. Resting his hands on the handle of each saber at his hip Jayce looked at the man before him with very little interest.

Judging from the pack strapped to his back the man was a traveller, probably coming home to find his city in the midst of being destroyed.

"How troublesome..." Jayce said.

The man, who was perhaps in his early thirties dropped his pack and stared at Calder with hate. "What...What has happened here?!" he demanded.

Raising an eyebrow at the man's demanding tone Calder threw his cloak back. "Well...I do not think it requires an explanation...but if you insist. It appears as if the city is putting up even less of a fight than we had anticipated."

With a cry of rage the man launched himself at Calder. "You bastard!"

With a sigh Calder ripped his cloak off. These people were so foolish. The unarmed traveller had just charged at an armed man. Throwing his cloak at the man Calder would sidestep the fool as he charged blindly through getting wrapped up in the thick fabric.

In a flash a saber was in Jayce's hand. Years of training with the weapon had made him a force to be reckoned with. Taking a step forward Jayce ran the man through, watching with a small amount of regret as a hole and a large amount of blood appeared on his coat. Removing the blade with a tug Calder ignored the man's grunt of pain and planted the bottom of his boot on the man's back launching over the edge of the cliff and down into the battle below.

"So troublesome...now I'll need to get a new cloak."

Sheathing his weapon Calder looked down at his hand and gave scoff of annoyance. His hangnail had been ripped clean when removing the cloak and now the slightest bit of blood could be seen forminf in the corner of his finger.

"Damnit..." Calder said in his calm emotionless voice "This is such a troublesome day."