"Power isn't always equal…although possibly, fair"
CHAPTER 1 Intro:
Her white hair flows in the wind. In a ponytail with some strands free from the red ribbon holding it together. The wind wasn't strong, but it wasn't calm either. Blowing the smell of the sea onto her face and into her nose. The air is thick with humidity, and Amia's brown tunic sheltered her light-brown skin from the constant glare of the sun. Her woolen hood that was sewn together with her small cape that wrapped around her back and her cleavage gently tugged at her as it bounced to a steady rhythm from the force of the wind. The cape and hood weren't large, but Amia wasn't the biggest person out there either. Her short stature made the cape hang down to the middle of her back, just the way that she likes it. Black woolen hose leggings tucked underneath her pair of leather boots that reached to the middle of her shin completed the rest of the attire that she currently had on, as her widely brimmed straw hat, her belt that held her couple of pouches and katana laid on the worn down wooden pier next to her.
The scattered clouds were thick, with some in the distance visibly ejecting their moisture as rain. Another sign of the coming few days which will be humid. It's summer, but Princess Village sits almost on the equator in the world of Teramusa. And that village sat just south to Madura Castle, both planted near the eastern continent of Halia.
The birds in the forest area to the left of Amia continue their constant chirping, the only other thing in the vicinity that breaks the silence - apart from the sound of the water lapping around the pier and the whoosh of the wind filling her ears.
Amia takes a deep breath, taking in the smell of the nature around her, before letting out a deep sigh.
"Peace.." she mutters under her breath.
And she was correct.
The past two decades have been the most peaceful that the continent of Halia has ever seen in a long time. Many parts are littered with rich history that involved multiple accounts of famous battles, violence, and bloodshed from the years before.
Although, it is no lie that many citizens that live in and around the capital city of Madura Castle have been on edge as of late.
Amia grips her bamboo fishing pole a bit tighter as she adjusts her footing. A whole hour of fishing is difficult for the ordinary and impatient, but Amia is not ordinary, neither impatient.
She looks up at the silhouette of Madura Castle in the distance. It is an amazing and huge structure. With multiple stone towers erected around the centre structure, which stood taller than the towers which were connected by walls that are wide enough to have a whole two wagons travel side by side, with space to spare. It sat almost a kilometre away across from Amia to the north, across the inlet that separates the space between Amia and the castle. With the exit of the inlet that leads into the ocean to the east of them.
To the rear of Amia on the shore, where the sea sand starts to mix with the brown soil and grass sat a small crackling fire, surrounded by stones arranged in a circle, sheltering the flames from the gusts of wind. The flames crackled onto the skewered fish that she caught previously, brown and almost charred.
A sudden feeling breaks her concentration.
It is that feeling again. That feeling that made it felt like she was being…watched.
Nothing unusual for her, it was a feeling that she sporadically gets with no explanation. Sometimes there would be phases where she would be feeling it so often that it would make her struggle to eat, and sometimes times where she would not get the feeling for weeks. Strangely enough, sometimes it even makes her feel like she isn't alone, that middle ground where the feeling is enough to make her feel slightly less alone at the times that she is.
Amia lets out another sigh and gives her bamboo fishing pole a tug, yanking the line out of the water, thinking she caught something small.
But, nothing.
Bending over to grab her hat, placing it on her head, and then grabbing her belt with her gear before walking over to her small fireplace to check on her fish that was cooking. It was done. No new fish had been caught, but the current one on the fire that she has been waiting on is now ready to eat.
Dumping her gear next to her as she sat down and got comfortable, her firm toned buttocks slightly digging into a softer patch of ground as she reaches over to grab the skewer that was holding the fish. Before prodding at it, and then scraping bits and pieces off with her fingers and scooping the cooked white flesh into her mouth, as steam escapes from the flesh as it gets broken up by her firm and calloused fingers.
It wasn't long while enjoying her small meal that she got disturbed once again, this time by the sound of a cantering horse that came by and stopped at the beaten down path, just metres from her.
"Amia!" The old man shouted.
"Bolsen?" Aima responded, with surprise.
It was "old man" Merchant Bolsen. One of the villagers from Princess Village that Aima resides in, and one of the only few villagers that Aima talks to regularly. No wonder as to why this other person was able to find her. Bolsen was the only other person that frequented this route regularly.
He's a fairly older gentleman. Hair, mustache, and beard a mixture of grey and white; showing evidence of his age and how many years he has been around for. Skin darkened from the many accumulative years that he has spent in the sun and facing the elements. Clothing also beaten and worn, but still taken care of.
He reaches over behind him to pull out a sack, roughly the size of his arm, and then drops it down on the ground by Amia.
"Your things that you were after I have finally finished working on. Sorry it took a while! You know how short supplied we all have been for everyone lately!" Bolsen exclaimed.
He wasn't lying. The past couple of weeks multiple merchants have been coming across shortages for some of the products that they need for their work.
"Oh, thank you for this." Aima said, as she unties the sack and takes a peek at the multiple pieces of lead and copper parts bundled inside. It was crucial that she finally got these from the merchant. Hinges, bolts, and small rods that she has been after for the repairs that she needs for her shack. "You even got me a block of whetstone in here for me too." She comments, completely surprised.
"Yes, I did. I did not expect to get it at the time that I did when I went to visit the warehouse in Madura." Referring to the trading hub in the city centre of Madura Castle. "But, my supplier mentioned that he does not know when his next shipment might come in. So I decided to just get it early for you."
Amia almost gushed with excitement. Typical Bolsen the Merchant. Well-loved by almost everyone in the village, and a knack for always staying ahead of the trade market. Explains why he's run a successful trading business himself for almost fourty years.
Before Amia could respond in thanking him, she got cut off by the merchant.
"Anyway. I hope that would set you good for the next week or so. I have to make a run to the castle for some of the others today." He says as he gestures at all the bags and pouches behind him on his saddle. "We'll catch up soon! Hyah!" He yells out as he ushers his horse to get a move on.
Dirt and grass gets kicked up as his horse starts trotting before it increases into a light gallop. The sound of its hooves slowly disappearing as Bolsen and his horse vanish into the thick of the forest.
Amia's lips slowly curl into a small smile. Unable to contain her appreciation, although she would never like to admit it.
Taking off her cape and hood that was wrapped around her shoulders, this time rolling it into a bundle into a makeshift pillow as she places it on the back of her head, hat now placed on her face, covering her eyes from the sky and sun as she lays down. Her cleavage more exposed now, as there is no longer the front of her cape to cover it.
The feeling of being watched didn't ease as Amia's eyes started to close and her mind began to wander. She starts to feel light-headed, and her thoughts start to wander to the most random things - from the feeling of the grass on her back, to the guy that she had sex with last month - nothing out of the ordinary. Amia was dozing off.
A whole hour passes before Aima's nap was broken by the sound of galloping hooves passing by. It was the merchant Bolsen again. This time passing by on his horse with only half of what was on his saddle and in a full gallop, and without stopping to acknowledge her at all. Which was very unusual for him. It was not in his character to do so. Never has the merchant ever ignored her, no matter how busy he was. There would always be a small glance and smile, wave, or nod, even if he ever was to be in a rush.
After passing by, the waft of his scent caught her sense of smell. A mixture of sweat, testosterone, and…fear?
Her level of sense of smell has always been something that was not ordinary for someone. It wasn't just something that is slightly better than the average person. Maybe even better than the level of the Highland Wolves that would roam the plains and mountains in the north of the continent of Halia. Aima's sense of smell was such at a high level that even poisoned food that would send a wild boar to its death was easily detectable. Through her sense of smell, Aima makes easy work on her prey that she hunts. From being able to tell what stage of life that the animal is in, to how good of eating it may be. The use of this uncanny ability of hers can even be utilised on humans whenever it comes to it.
Her smell would lead her to her prey, and her bow and arrow would be the conclusion.
Was she annoyed? Upset? Aima herself could not tell what she was feeling after being completely ignored by the merchant Olsen.
She lets out a small grunt in frustration as she covers her face again with her straw hat.
Eyes closed, her mind starts to race on all the possibilities of what could be happening. But with great success, Aima was able to redirect and cast her thoughts and feelings aside as she normally does whenever those sort of feelings creep into her mind. Attachment and commitment was not something that she enjoys, and so casting them aside is one of the easiest things she's found to do.
But that feeling of being watched came back again. Not scary, neither uncomfortable. Just the same as all the other times that she has ever felt it. Only this time, it felt…abrupt. The feeling had never come onto her so suddenly before.
Unable to fully shake off the feeling of frustration, Aima throws her hat to the side and sits up. Grabbing her katana and unsheathing it before placing it on her lap. She turns over to the sack that the merchant had given her and unties it, rummaging through the pack until she gets to the whetstone and pulls it out.
If she can't focus when she isn't doing something, then she may as well just get to doing something.
After getting up to go to her main backpack that holds her fishing gear and tools, she pulls out the bottle of cooking oil that she brought along for her meals. It won't be the best thing to use to sharpen a blade, but it is always better than nothing.
Grabbing one of the stones shielding the campfire from the wind, she buries it into the dirt in front of her before placing the whetstone on it and sprinkling some of the oil on it. Then grabbing her blade and bending over on her knees to work the blade as precisely as she could to bring it to a sharper state than what it currently is.
The length of the blade was around two and a half Shaku. Two and a half feet. Almost a whole Shaku length longer than what the kids that were around Aima's age would be using. Not the best combination of a person that was her height, but the blade and the clothes that she was wearing were the only two sets of things that she took with her when she abruptly left Clan Service due to her expulsion.
Almost fifteen minutes passes before once again she was interrupted. This time by the sound of distant explosions and the faint sounds of DestructiveHigh Magick Arts.
High Magick Arts isn't a discipline that Amia has spent much time and energy on. Let alone Destructive High Magick Arts. But she can recognise the sound of one being cast almost anywhere. And here she is hearing multiple being cast in succession.
The small "thump" that it makes when it is initially cast, and the sharp "fluttering" sound it makes as it travels through the air between the caster and its target is unmistakable. The Destructive version of the Magick Arts is also a part of the reason for her expulsion from Clan Service.
Walking back over to the broken down pier again, Amia closes her eyes and tilts her head up slightly, taking in small sniffs of the air.
With the wind blowing across Madura Castle, over the inlet and into her direction, she decides to take a small moment and see if she can figure out what is happening just from her sense of smell again.
"There is smoke, but it smells thick. And…artificial? Why is the scent of ignited gunpowder in there?" Aima ponders. Sniffing and concentrating harder. Dissecting as many of the different smells that she could, like the smells were on a platter right in front of her. "Destructive Magick Arts; smells like enchantment no.6 was cast. But, why?" Amia's eyes abruptly open, and the blood vessels in her eyes start to widen and flush bright red as the ammonia-like smell brings her to her knees. Coughing and sputtering, with her tears starting to escape her eyes.
Enchantment No. 6 is one of the most dangerous spells that could be casted in the line of Destructive Magick Arts. Maybe not the most powerful, but still one of the most dangerous; due to the user not needing to recite the spell's passage verbally in order for it to be successfully cast.
And almost every form of Magick Art can leave a trace of it being cast, one way or another. Destructive or not. And for Amia, her heightened sense of smell makes her able to pick up on the scent of some spells if she recognises it just by its smell.
In this instance, there was no mistake that it had been cast. Many of the Destructive Magick Enchantments leave strong scents, but No. 6 leaves one of the strongest and foulest.
Using her right arm, she wipes away the tears as she gets her coughing under control and tries to regain her balance.
Again. She needs to do it again. Before the ammonia-like smell brought her to her knees there was this one particular smell that followed it. She needs to confirm if the smell that follows is what she thinks it is.
So, a bit slower and with more care this time. Amia closes her eyes and slightly leans her head back. The ammonia smell is still there, but she had better control of her reactions this time, and just mere moments later, she finally smelled it.
Blood.
But not on the "normal" level that she experiences multiple times on her hunts. It wasn't like a case of an amateur hunter accidentally cutting themselves on a branch and leaving small blood trails that led to their location. No, this was on a completely different level. This was a case of multiple open wounds, and major ones at that.
She can smell it. Blood, Magick, the charred wood and rubble, and fear.
Her focus was broken once again, but this time by the sound of galloping hooves. And it wasn't long until the horse and its rider appeared. It was the Merchant Olsen again.
"Olsen!?" Amia exclaims.
The merchant lets out a tough sounding "hyah!" as he pulls back on the reins of his horse and the horse lets out a high-pitched neigh as it digs its hooves into the path, coming to a halt in front of Amia.
Olsen is dressed in his military gear this time. Leather armour covering his chest, extending to his shoulders, and also leather vambraces covering his forearm, all connected together by direwolfskin. One of the lightest and most flexible, yet durable forms of under-armour that one could have woven in to connect their different armour sections together.
Aima can see that Olsen also had a pair of leather armour greaves, his military belt with his katana, and his cape on to complete his armour set. He also has his spear slung across his shoulder.
Aima raises her arms to her side and rotates her wrist in a questioning manner.
"Olsen? What's going on?" She asks.
"It's started." Olsen does a slight pause as he takes a small quick breath. "It's fucking started, Amia." Whatever is happening, it has definitely got the merchant riled up.
"What do you mean?" Amia responds, hesitantly.
"The raid, Amia. The raid that all the clan leaders kept arguing about." It was evident that Olsen was getting more and more heated. "Princess Village, Miama Village, and Stanning Brook all agreed to launch their raid into Madura Castle. They're going to try and overthrow the government by tonight!"
Aima feels her mouth dry up as her throat tightens.
"I know that you have been trying so hard to leave and go north away from here, Aima. But you kept staying and not leaving yet. So if I were you, leave now." Olsen barks.
"What the fuck?" Amia responded. "If the raid is happening, then why the fuck are you geared up. You never wanted this."
Olsen rocks back and forth on his horse as he tries to keep it under control and in one spot.
"That's exactly the reason why." He replies. "I'm going to try and warn the generals at Madura Castle. It wasn't meant to happen like this."
It finally all clicked for Amia. Olsen being the close friend to the chief of Princess Village, he knew the ins and outs of what was happening with the diplomacy between the seven different clans that was under the control of Madura Empire. For so many years, Olsen had pushed so hard to convince the chief to not commit into doing anything hostile towards the empire, even with the increasing levels of control towards all the villages.
"Leave now, Amia!" Olsen barks again. This time with more menace as he turns his horse into the direction of the path leading into the forest, which would then lead to the bridge into Madura Castle.
"Hyah!" Olsen digs his heels into the side of his horse, spurring it into a gallop as it takes off.
Not a moment later, Amia realises that all that Olsen could hear were the explosions of cannon fire. He could not smell what she could.
"Olsen. No, wait!" she yells out.
But it was too late.
Olsen was not stopping for anything. He was already committed, and way too far for Amia to do anything to convince him to change his mind.
All that was left in his wake was just dust from the dry soil on the path, along with THAT unmistakable smell.
That unmistakable smell…of fear.