Legend of Ransera

The Copper cut, a quaint little place. One of those structures where the inner space was used so efficiently it felt larger than it was. Sipping a light ale the Zaichaeri Officer eyed door watching those who came in went with a detached interest as if he was waiting on something that even he wasn't sure of. He had been melancholic most of the season, in between fierce training and recovery the man had found little time for rest.

Once upon a time he'd thought that the officers who drank in the earlier hours were stetting poor examples for their men. But now he got it, excess inebriation was not productive but a small portion did smooth out the wrinkles of the day. Myles frowned, he didn't like thinking but as he grew from soldier to officer their where more unavoidable truths. More idiosyncrasies that came with the territories of authority. As an officer he was expected to uphold laws even when they conflicted him. To be a justice in place where law was concrete but the criminals grey. In some cases it was so easy to know who was vile and who was not. However in some situations without knowing the full context of the situations the feelings and reasons involved he was still expected to dispense justice. The courts of course took the most heinous and difficult crimes but aiding the common woes of the citizenry in a just manner felt at times near impossible. Taking another swig from his cup of ale he frowned. So many officers saw it fit to simply take the side of those with connections and rich blood rather than those who where bereft of such benevolence of birth. It was not however Myles's place to simply impose his views of justice on his fellow officers. He hated the old saying about leading by example but he was finding fewer and fewer options and more and more realities he detested. The only path he could see that wasn't blasphemous was to keep climbing ranks and gaining power.

Somewhere along the way it seemed to Myles that people had stopped loving the people of Zaichaer, and had started loving the idea of it. Nodding with a thin smile to the maid who topped his tankard Myles swallowed another gulp of the swill. Turning his head to the door he continued to wait. He'd heard tale of some people frequenting this tavern so close to the edge town thinking it free from the eyes of the law. It was his job now to see to it that no such hidden nooks or crannies remained thus for long. Thus Myles sat unsure of whether he wanted a fight or not. Criminals that wanted a fight were easy. It was simple to fight the bad guy, it was so much less simple to arrest the mother stealing for her child....

“Please let tonight be a simple one” Myles pleaded to anything listening for at least one night where his morals could stay intact and his hands clean. Myles looked forward to deployment outside the city, camping under the stars, hunting bandits and brigands, that was the work he longed for.

Myles waited, and frowned. He was waiting on a small group of officers that had been prowling the area. Supposedly they'd been tasked with keeping order among local rabble due the unrest caused by recent sicknesses in the area. Tho he had reason to believe the methods they were less than ideal in the eyes of the public. While it wasn't his job to necessarily police his cohorts he felt that if the unrest in poorer sectors of the city were to be quelled he'd have to. Noticing the other soldier walk into the bar he noted their decorations as an airman despite the horns that bedecked their head. While he'd met Lysanrin in the ground branches of the military this was the first he'd seen of one in the flying divisions.

Deciding that waiting out the officers with another soldier was slightly less conspicuous than waiting alone, and the fact that he hadn't spoken to any airship crew in a while it might be a good chance to hear how things were topside. Striding from his booth over to the newcomer at the bar now nursing a cool ale Myles stopped at the bar looking from the soldier to the bar tender.

“Hail soldier, care to trade me your tab this evening for some airship stories?” Turning to the bartender Myles grinned with half his teeth. “I'd like two glasses of Oak barrel whiskey.” Waiting at the bar he kept himself angled to watch any newcomers that might use the front entrance still looking for other military types to enter. The was an increased presence of the other races in the lower sections of town, be it from wars or immigration or having nowhere else to go, Myles wasn't sure but the increasing density of the working and poor classes had resulted in waves of illness not before seen in the city. Some officers where already taking it out on the weaker minorities. He grimaced at the powder keg he felt like the city was becoming before knocking back those thoughts with a whiskey glass proffered him. Looking back to the Lysnrin, Myles nodded setting his now empty first glass on the table and offering a hand to shake. "Name's Myles, Officer Myles Arnnett, Defense corps, its a pleasure to see an airman down here, figured you all kept a bar in clouds" Smirking at his own joke the soldier hoped his offer was taken in good humor.

Listening to the soldier speak Myles tried to hold his thin smile as he listened, the mentions of mages and fire magic at that had his attention, enough that he missed the arrival of the other group of officers until they'd already been seated. When the airmen had finished speaking he nodded. “Well met private Albrecht, If you would do me the honor of joining me at my booth I would like to ask you a few questions about that experience” Looking back to the bartender he ordered two more drinks to be sent to his table before eyeing the group of officers now seated in one of the booths near his. Judging from their grungier looks they where likely low-towners themselves looking to get ahead in the military. If Myles suspicions were correct, they were getting ahead at the expense of their own people.

Sitting back at the table he strained his ears to hear anything he could make out from the other group.

“...awfully quick..” “...aye, when I was that age...” “...ain't got nowhere to go...” “...Always tomorrow...”

Perhaps to anyone else they where discussing any other pursuit of a criminal but his suspicions were that they were praying on those recently orphaned by the plague. He'd only rumour to go on most of the populace unknowing and uncaring, the others often to afraid to say what they did know, especially to an officer. Myles lamented the layman's lack of trust for authority and cursed those who'd ruined the military's good name.

Looking back to Florian, Myles smiled hoping his inner thoughts were masked by his face. “So, you didn't happen to catch what the mages you faced were wearing did you?” Jugging his interests Myles was excited at the thought of finding multiple leads in a singe evening. Making connections within the other branches of the military both high and low would only serve him well in the long run so he considered spoiling the youthful soldier in this pursuit, they looked to be fine enough company when compared to the usual sorts he'd grown accustomed to in his career.

If Myles was disappointed in Florian's response he didn't allow it to reach his face. He listened to their words and questions as he finished his drink attempting to mask his watching of the newest group to arrive.
“It's no problem, its hard to pick out such details in the heat of battle... As for why, part of my duties include hunting the cult of mending, they've made a resurgence recently so any clue are always helpful.”
Motioning for the soldier to join him in his booth Myles proffered a menu of the various meals the tavern offered.
“The shepherds pie here is delicious if you've never tried it, As for interesting stories I think I have a few I could interest you in, Order yourself anything you'd like and allow me to ponder what story to tell while I fetch myself another drink.”

Walking back to the bar Myles ordered a much softer cider this round, knowing the drink would take a moment to be fetched he strained his ears to hear the table of officers conversation. It was for the most part disappointingly benign and regular soldier talk no more mentions of the orphans he'd thought they'd been talking about. As he was eyeing them he noticed one detail he'd nearly overlooked. One of the men at the table was rubbing an arm with a series of crescent moon shaped bruises, still ruddy and fresh. Clenching a jaw at what he'd already assumed to be the bite marks of a child. Myles took the drink and returned to his table. Trying to relax his features he sipped the cool basement cider and looked back to the soldier.

“I chose to specialize in recon, due to having been apart of a retinue that was ambushed by fire mages. They belong to a sect of the cult of mending called the purifiers. The use potent fire magic and smoke covered sneak attacks to wreak havoc on the battle field. They dress in nearly tribal wear or robes but always dyed black with ash, the cover themselves in the stuff. I'm hunting any leads I can find on them to this day, thus again my curiosity earlier. It's not my most glorious story but I'd tell if only for the relevance if you'd like to hear it. I can also pick something a tad more lighthearted if you'd like.”

Myles enjoyed talking, particularly with good company that actually wanted to listen to him. Taking another swig from his mug he eyed the Lysanrin's broken horn pondering the origins of the wound. The soldier was young but had seen enough fights to be scarred up by battle, he wondered how many tours they'd seen in the air. He'd begun to grow close with several airmen after he'd learned their value during the day of the Ashen ambush.

Taken aback by the Lysanrin's abrupt interjection about his horn and scar Myles smiled wryly. “Forgive my gawking, however I'd insist there is no shame in losing a fight if you learn something from it. In fact I would go as far as to say that my defeats have veiled life's greatest lessons for me.” Laying an elbow on the table Myles rested his hand on his palm lazily. “Besides, I think it makes you look all the more a soldier regardless. If people don't know how the injury came about, they almost always imagine something more awful than any truth can match.”

Taking a moment to collect himself for the retelling of the day Zaichaer lost many of its finest in flames. He'd recounted the tale enough now that with alcohol he could nearly separate his emotions from the memories. “It was the third of Cinderfall. Me and my unit were attached to a regiment numbering two hundred men. We were sent to the east to investigate rumors of high bandit movement in the area. The accounts were either fakes made by spies or the failure of incompetent scouts. In the end we were ambushed by a superior force.” Rapping a knuckle against the table Myles collected himself. “We came up on a single old man, standing in the way of our column of two hundred men. When the commander addressed him, he responded with a blast of fiery magic like that I'd never scene before. In a single moment, about a third of our forces near the front were reduced to ashes.” Pausing for effect he stole another drink of cider and willed his eyes dry. “Burned alive in a moment while that horrible wizard who called himself Vicar Belgrand cackled at us who survived.”

Taking a deep draft from his cider Myles checked to confirm the group of soldiers was still drinking away their evening he continued his story his tone now more somber. “Then his forces were upon us. They wore robes and loincloths no armor among them that wasn't crafted of leather and bone and darkened with ash. They marked their skin similarly and many of them wielded fiery magic against us as we routed. It was bad, My commander skewered a mage who burned himself away with the commander as he perished... Our reinforcements arrived by airship and pulled us from that smokey grave but not before several waves of brutal fighting, I wouldn't say we won that day, but we were able to scatter their main force at the cost of a battalion.” His countenance somewhat darker as the memories took their tole, Myles let his shoulders sag, depleted. “Its assumed the Vicar is still well and alive somewhere in the wilds, likely reinforcing his own depleted ranks.” Sitting back he assumed his vendetta against pyromancers was at bit more understandable.