Cliff
“The High Court has seen fit to issue us a new mission, despite the fact that it has been nary a fortnight since our return to Hilfen. We are to march at dawn, and head for the woodland town of Tarban. A hired mercenary company is to meet us underway at Barrowfalls Keep, and join us for the assault. Naturally, the men are upset. As am I.
They refuse to grant me permission to undertake the one journey that actually matters, yet they are perfectly content with sending us out on conquest after conquest, all for the sake of their precious territory. It is an abomination, and an insult to the Alwaarian people.
What I seek is the end of the Rot, and the Husk Plague. What they seek is land, and more people to govern. It is not difficult for a man of respectable moral character to see which is more righteous.” - Writings of the Sword-Saint, 2147 Post-Separation (PS)
In his dreams, Cliff saw visions of his parents. Faint shadows of the people they had once been, calling out to him with wailing cries and haunting whispers.
Their words were slathered with the seething power of hate and enmity. It was a bitter condemnation of who he was, and what he had done. Of the choices he had made, and the beliefs he held.
He knew, in his heart of hearts, that his mother never would have blamed him for what happened that night. For the monsters that had walked amongst them. For the blood that had been spilt.
It did little to comfort him in the darkness.
He was jostled awake by the carriage coming to an abrupt and sudden stop. One moment, there had been the constant rocking of the wheels trudging over uneven terrain. Now, there was only silence.
A knock sounded on the wooden door.
“Sir, we have arrived at Carthal.”
Already? Cliff thought. Stonefather forbid a man gets some sleep every now and again.
“Can we not take the carriage to the Lunar Jewel?” he asked, rubbing the tiredness from his eyes. The business in Borger had taken its toll on him. The boy had screamed when he delivered the news.
“No can do, sir,” the guard outside responded. “The horses are tired, and the stable master is closing up shop soon. You’ll have to make the rest of the trip on foot.”
“Delightful,” Cliff sighed, dragging himself from the bench. His eyes landed on the cloth-wrapped sword he kept at his side, and he begrudgingly bent over to retrieve it, swinging the strap over his shoulder.
Cursed thing, he frowned, feeling its dark weight pull at his being. He ignored the sensation as best he could, and stepped outside.
Pulling open the carriage door, he was surprised to find the sky painted a darker shade of blue than expected. Perhaps he had slept for longer than he thought?
“It’s almost evening,” the guard said, following Cliff’s gaze. “I suspect Lord Tarwen will be wanting his report sooner rather than later.”
“I am aware,” Cliff said, dropping down from the small platform attached to the door. “He’ll wait as long as he has to.”
“If you say so, sir.” He turned his eyes towards the enormous gate in front of him. It cut an imposing figure where it stood, towering above them, flanked by grey stone walls running as far as the eye could see in either direction. The size of it could not be overstated.
The city of Carthal was, in many ways, an impossibility. Its walls stretched nearly two hundred alms up into the sky, and measured more than thirty alms thick. Large ballistas and miniature catapults had been mounted atop the wall’s plate, pointed outwards to repel invaders and fire upon armies. A walk around the perimeter constituted miles of travel, as the walls enclosed a rectangular area of such magnitude, it boggled the mind. Regular patrols covered the distance at all hours of the day, keeping careful watch of the equipment and the city’s surroundings. A series of lifts and pulleys had been built at multiple points, to transport troops and goods up and down.
Common consensus was that the city had been built by a god, thousands of years in the past. Such feats of engineering as was required to build walls and buildings of such ludicrous proportions far exceeded the capabilities of humanity, after all. That was not to mention the gravity-defying Administrative District located in the center of the city. Built atop a plateau of greystone that got gradually thinner and thinner the further down you went, it resembled an upside-down spinning top, only with an entire district of buildings constructed at its apex. As if some cosmic being had ripped a chunk of stone straight from a mountain, and placed it in the middle of the city.
No one was certain how such a thin base could support the immense weight of its oversized crown. There had been speculation, of course, including theories of an anomaly resting at its center, an anomaly with the power to defy the laws of gravity. Or that the mount had once been the seat of the Stonefather himself, kept at balance by his own magicks, before he swallowed the Astratum Splinter and assumed his colossus form.
Cliff considered such theories meaningless tripe. If records of the city’s construction had once existed, they had long since been lost to time. The truth of the matter was that no one knew how Carthal had come to be, and that was how it had been for hundreds of years. Nor was there any real need to know. The city offered them protection from the Husks, and a place to call home. That was enough for most people.
He left the other guards behind and crossed beneath the colossal gate and its grille of latticed wrought iron, held up by chains the width of four men. The cobblestone thoroughfare cut straight through the city like an arrow, ending at the base of the Administrative District, where a small lake formed a perfect circle around its thin base. A lavish restaurant had been built at its shore, complete with a terrace overlooking the blue waters. This was the Lunar Jewel, and the meeting point for Cliff and his City Board contact.
Begrudgingly, he began the long walk down the main street. The sun had dipped below the walls now, casting the city into darkness and shadow that was kept at bay by the street lanterns lining the side of the road. Because this was Carthal, the capital city of Alwaar, these lanterns were not the normal, fire-lit kind one would usually find in most towns. No, these lanterns were all fueled by expensive light-crystals, which offered much brighter and clearer illumination than mere flames.
In fact, the citizens of Carthal enjoyed access to a wide range of luxuries that the average man could only dream of possessing. Water heated by fire-crystals running through series of pipes, allowing for warm baths and showers at the turn of a faucet. Custom-made cabinets housing ice crystals for long-term preservation and storage of food. There were even talks of constructing a large subterranean network of railcar tunnels underneath the city, to allow for transportation of people from one district to another in a quick and easy fashion.
As Cliff pondered upon these inventions and the persuasive power they held in attracting new citizens to Carthal, he failed to notice the person following behind him before they tapped him on the shoulder. At once, he felt every muscle in his body tense up as he spun around, hand reaching for his blade.
“Woah, hey! Calm down! It’s just me,” a feminine voice called, and he recognized its owner nary a moment later. It was Catherine. An ally. A friend, and even something a little more, though part of him yet refused to believe it.
“My apologies,” he said, relaxing his shoulders. “You snuck up on me. You know I dislike it when you do that.”
“Yeah, well…” Catherine said, wagging a finger at him. “I wouldn’t be very good at my job otherwise, now would I?”
Catherine was a graceful, slender woman with striking eyes the color of grass, and flowing, shoulder-length locks of strawberry-blonde hair. Her sun-kissed skin and flawless complexion lent her the appearance of a fair summer maiden - the kind whose mere glance could surely capture the admiration of any man. She wore an elaborate tunic adorned with ornamental bands, a deep neckline, and intricate golden accents, enhancing the impression of a refined and affluent lady of stature.
The truth of the matter, however, was a far cry from the image projected.
One could not tell at a glance, but Catherine was a lethal woman. She was sooner to plant a knife in your chest than blow you a kiss, and awful things had happened to the men who had wronged her in the past. This was what made her such a useful weapon; her disarming looks, combined with her razor-sharp wit and intellect.
“And just what is it that the Director of the Intelligence Office wants with me, then?” Cliff said, raising an eyebrow at the woman in front of him. She gave a playful pout at his use of her full title.
“Oh, come on, Cliff… You know I don’t mix business and pleasure,” she said, twirling a strand of blonde hair about her finger. “I’m not here because of work, I’m here because I missed you.”
“It’s only been a week,” Cliff said. “Surely you’ve been doing just fine without me.”
“Of course I have,” she shrugged. “But that’s neither here nor there. The truth is that this city does not feel the same without you. Is that really so difficult to believe?”
He took a moment to study her expression, hunting for the slightest trace of jest or ridicule in her eyes. Needless to say, he found none.
"Well…” he started, somewhat awkwardly. “In that case, I’ve… missed you too.”
A radiant smile soon formed on her lips.
“Why, thank you!” she beamed. “Now was that so hard?”
“You know I’m no good with these things,” he said, rubbing at the back of his head. “Not after-”
“Shush. You don’t need to say it,” she smiled, shaking her head. “I know. Don’t worry about it.”
And then, she hugged him. A naked portrayal of affection, so innocent in nature that no man could possibly doubt its sincerity. Slender yet surprisingly strong arms locking around his torso, pulling him against her.
If she could fake something like this, then the game had been rigged against him from the start. He had lost before he even sat down to play. And so the only option was to trust in the feeling that this was genuine.
Reluctantly, he wrapped his arms around her, and returned the hug.
/-0-\
Later, as the two of them were making their way toward the Lunar Jewel, a figure emerged on the road ahead, making an obvious beeline for them. The streets were sparsely populated at this hour, leaving little doubt as to his intended destination.
Adorned in a black coat cascading over a tailored grey suit with a brown tie, the man embodied an air of enigmatic elegance that seemed unrivaled in the city of Carthal. His flaxen hair had been meticulously slicked back and brushed up with some manner of product, and his leather-bound shoes were in pristine condition, despite having walked lengthy distances through less-than-pristine streets. But it was the glimmering chain of an antique pocket watch, conspicuously dangling from his front pocket, that truly drew the eye.
“Good evening,” he said as he came to a halt in front of their little party, dark-green eyes drifting between them to take measure of their characters. “I hope I am not interrupting.”
“Not to worry, Alexander,” Catherine said. “Our conversation had reached a bit of an impasse. Your arrival is most opportune.”
“Ah. I see,” he smiled. “Then I am happy to be of service. It is good to see you again, Mr. Fargo. It has been some time.”
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“This again, Alexander?” Cliff frowned. “I know why you’re here, and the answer is still no.”
“I fear you are mistaken, my friend.” Alexander shook his head. “I am not here to make another attempt at your recruitment. This time, I come bearing news.”
“News from the Central Banking Authority?” Catherine said. “Well, that can’t be good.”
“No, it is not,” Alexander said, an apologetic smile on his lips. “There have been developments on the northern front. Both Lord Tarwen and my employer are requesting your presence at City Hall, Mr. Fargo.”
“What does Godfrey want with me?” Cliff asked. “Last time we spoke, I… well, I may have made some unsavory remarks.”
“You did indeed,” Alexander said, making no attempt to hide the humor in his voice. “And in return, I believe he called you a shit-for-brains knucklehead who cared for naught but steel and women.”
“He’s not far off, to be fair,” Catherine added with a grin.
“Shush you,” Cliff said. “Even I know there’s more to life than that.”
“Either way, the request still stands,” Alexander continued. “And to be frank, I do not believe you are in a position to refuse.”
“Don’t you think I know that?” Cliff growled. “Doesn’t mean I have to like it.”
“Right you are,” Alexander nodded, before digging a hand into his front pocket, to retrieve his golden watch. Pushing a button on the top popped open the cover, revealing a sleek white interior with gilded hands to indicate the time. His eyebrows raised in surprise as he read off their position. “Oh my, is that the time? Well then…”
Putting back the watch, he grabbed the hem of his coat, and lifted it open to reveal an elongated pocket lining the inside which held a strange metal item. Taking hold of its handle, he pulled it out and held it up, revealing its bizarre form to the lantern-light.
At first glance, it resembled the hilt of a sword, except the right side had been stretched out into an elongated cone, about six or seven inches in length. A small lever could be seen on the underside, with just enough room for a finger to wrap around it. Along the cone were alchemical sigils, engraved in the metal with deft precision.
“I’ll never get used to that weapon of yours,” Catherine said, regarding the object with apparent curiosity.
“It is quite the sight,” Alexander smiled, running a loving finger across its metal handle. “One of a kind, as well. You will not find its equal anywhere in Alwaar, I assure you.”
“You once told me that it could fire metal balls at great speed,” Catherine said. “So fast, they’re capable of tearing through flesh and armor alike.”
“Precisely so, Miss Valtier,” he said, placing the long end of the cone against his temple. His finger snaked itself around the lower lever, ready to squeeze. He closed his eyes. “Pray forgive me for a moment.”
And then… his finger constricted, pulling back the lever.
For a brief second, Cliff genuinely expected the weapon to go off, exploding in the man’s face and claiming his life in the process. But to his surprise, that did not happen. For just as he thought Alexander’s life to be forfeit, the weapon made a strange clicking sound, and Alexander opened his eyes again.
“Ah. Misfired,” he said, as if he had been expecting that very thing to happen. “Not today either, then.”
A sigh of relief sounded from Catherine.
“Honestly, Alexander…” she said, rubbing at her forehead. “Haven’t I told you not to do that in front of me anymore? My heart can’t take it!”
“My apologies, Miss Valtier.”
“… Someone care to explain what just happened?” Cliff asked, blinking twice to regain his composure.
“Oh,” Catherine said. “You haven’t seen him do that before?”
“No, I haven’t…” Cliff replied. “Did he just… try to kill himself?”
“Very much so, Mr. Fargo,” Alexander said. “Though perhaps trying is the wrong word for it. It is more akin to checking than anything else.”
“Checking what, exactly?”
“My luck.”
At once, revelation dawned upon Cliff, and he understood what had transpired.
Alexander was an agent of the Central Banking Authority - the highest form of “government” currently present in Alwaar. The organization superseded all territory boundaries, every Great and Lesser House, on matters relating to finance.
As Alwaar was in a constant state of civil war between the ruling Great Houses, dominion over various areas of the country had a tendency to switch with some regularity. This made it exceedingly difficult to enforce a standard currency, as every Great House would clamber to mint their own coins when in power. To remedy this issue, the Central Banking Authority had been founded some 600 years ago, as an inter-House organization to oversee the minting and enforcement of a national currency: the Alwaarian Ylding.
The CBA recruited agents and employees from every part of the country, and from every Great and Lesser House with no distinction made between station or political power. This was done to ensure a level of fairness within the organization, and to make certain that every House, no matter its position on the Alwaarian political ladder, had a place in its ranks.
Alexander was perhaps the CBA’s most feared agent, for a very simple reason - the man was incomprehensibly lucky, to an almost divine degree. It seemed, for all intents and purposes, that Lady Fortuna herself had kissed him at birth, blessing him with good fortune for all his days.
Men attempting to cut him down would suddenly find themselves blinded by sunlight reflecting off a nearby surface. Children who had lost their toys months ago would miraculously find them within moments of spending time in his company, and gamblers playing the lottery would be revealed to hold the winning numbers on their tickets as soon as he laid hands on their shoulders.
Cliff had once heard a story about an enterprising assassin who had set his sights on Alexander, for a pretty sum of money offered by an aggrieved party. The rogue had stalked him down streets and alleys, aiming to ambush him in a secluded spot with few witnesses. Just when the assassin thought the opportunity had finally presented itself, a roof tile from a nearby building had broken off due to decay, and hit him square in the middle of the head, claiming his life in the process. Alexander had not even been aware of the man’s presence before he had turned around and noticed the dead rogue laying on the cobblestones.
Whether the tale was true or not was anyone’s guess, but knowing Alexander’s divine fortune, it was more likely than not.
And so, his earlier statement of “checking” his luck made sense to Cliff, if for no other reason than pedantry.
“Every day at nine o’clock in the evening, I place my weapon against my head and attempt to pull the trigger,” Alexander said, perhaps feeling the need for further explanation. “Every day, the weapon fails to kill me, for a multitude of reasons. But the day it succeeds, is the day I know Lady Fortuna has abandoned me… and thus, that my time is up.”
“You are not right in the head,” Cliff remarked drily, as if making a simple observation.
“That may be so, Mr. Fargo,” Alexander smiled. “But standing next to you, I look positively normal.”
His words cut deep, picking at old wounds that had yet to heal. Cliff gave a grunt of disapproval, and turned away from the man.
“You’ve delivered your message,” Cliff said. “Now go.”
“Naturally, Mr. Fargo,” Alexander said, showing no sign of indignation at the harsh treatment. “I shall take my leave then. Miss Valtier. Mr. Fargo.”
“Thank you, Alexander,” Catherine sighed, waving him goodbye as he marched off with determined steps, putting the weapon back in his coat pocket.
“I dislike that man,” Cliff said once he had moved beyond earshot.
“Come now, Cliff,” Catherine replied. “Play nice. You know he didn’t mean to offend you.”
“Oh, didn’t he now?”
“No, he didn’t. Honestly, for being the strongest swordsman in Alwaar, you really can be quite the baby.”
“Hmm,” Cliff said, before turning around to continue on the trek to the Lunar Jewel. Catherine promptly hurried to catch up with him, walking by his side as she entwined her arm with his.
/-0-\
By the time they arrived at the opulent restaurant perched on the bank of the Spinal Lake, a servant of the Tarwen family greeted them with unwelcome news. Cliff’s contact, it seemed, had departed some time prior to address an urgent matter on the western side of the city. Consequently, Cliff was instructed to proceed to City Hall in the Administrative District instead. With this, their evening now required yet another lengthy walk to the nearest gondola station.
The Administrative District, located atop the towering central mount of the city, could not be reached by foot, after all. To facilitate access to its marble streets, four gondola stations had been strategically positioned at the cardinal points - north, south, east, and west. These stations were evenly distributed, ensuring that from any point in the city center, all four were at equal distance, providing balanced convenience to travelers.
The southern station saw the most use, given its proximity to the city’s main gate. The western station ranked second in popularity, situated near Noble’s Landing, the residential enclave of the upper class. It was to this station that Cliff and Catherine ventured, preferring it to the alternative of cutting through the bustling Trade District to reach the eastern station.
The gondola itself was a marvelous construction of gilded metal and red-corded seats, attached to a thick metal cable that ran all the way up to the edge of the Administrative District above. There, it looped around again, and went back down to the station. A second gondola had been attached at the opposite end, making for an effective system where one gondola was always present at either station.
Cliff could not suppress a pleasant shiver from crawling up his spine as the gondola they boarded began its ascent towards the Administrative District. The late hour meant they had the cabin largely to themselves, leaving him and Catherine free to linger by the railing, where the cool breeze caressed their faces and played with their hair. The tranquil darkness, punctuated by the glittering lights of the city below, created a scene of serene beauty. A moment of true, uninterrupted quiet.
From this vantage point, it was much easier to get a grasp of the city’s true layout.
The Administrative District towered above all from its position atop the mount in the center, its iron arms of cables and gondolas stretching out to all four corners of the city. To the west lay Noble’s Landing, which comprised a collection of increasingly impressive mansions built on the side of a hill which clung to the walls, reaching two thirds of the way up at its zenith. The mansions at the bottom were lavish and extravagant properties, but the ones at the top were creations of such splendor and opulence, it was enough to bring tears to the eyes of any architect or mason.
In this way, a natural hierarchy was formed, showcasing the wealth and standing of the different families in Carthal. The “poorest” nobles had their dwellings towards the bottom, while the wealthiest reigned at the top. At the very apex stood the Tarwen Estate, a massive residence constructed of white marble and lush gardens. It was such a brazen display of affluence that one could do naught but marvel at its audacity.
To the east was the Trade District, branching off from the main thoroughfare to snake around the center mount like a half-moon. Here, one could find all manner of shops, inns and taverns, coupled with industrious brokers offering services both lawful and dubious. The Central Banking Authority also maintained its largest office here, making it a hotspot for civilians and businessfolk alike.
There was a saying amongst the locals that “if it exists between heaven and earth, it’s on sale at the Trade District”, and there was certainly some merit to that claim.
To the north lay the Residential District; a sea of houses stretching out for miles, built closely together to minimize the usage of space. Thin streams of smoke emanating from thousands of chimneys dotted the skies above, each one a mark of individual families going about their daily lives. There were houses in the southern part of the city too, of course, yet this was where the majority of the Carthal population had their homes, including Cliff.
A deep sigh forced its way up his throat at the thought of how many years he had wasted away in this city, in the time following the incident. Living each day simply for the sake of it, for the sake of drawing one more meaningless breath.
Catherine must have noticed the look on his face, as she soon raised her voice to gain his attention.
“You’re going to have to talk about it one day, you know,” she said, with some hesitation. “What really happened back then.”
“Maybe,” Cliff shrugged. “I don’t think you’d understand, though. I don’t think anyone would.”
She looked at him then, an unreadable expression upon her features. She chose her next few words carefully.
“The way I see it… you’re doing this to yourself,” she finally said, giving voice to a thought she had no doubt been harboring since the day they met. “You condemn yourself to this loneliness, this crushing solitude wherein a conviction is birthed, one that tells you that no man could ever understand the pain in your heart, the suffering behind your eyes. The weight in your chest, the disconnection you feel between yourself and the people around you.”
A disapproving grunt from Cliff did little to stop her from talking. She merely tightened her grip on his arm, and continued.
“And who knows?” she said. “Maybe you’re right. Maybe they are the sleepwalkers you proclaim them to be, soulless husks who want for naught except the comfort of a drink in their stomach and a warm body to make love to. Shambling their way through life, looking for any kind of distraction from the crushing realization that they do not know what they want, nor where they are headed. Some incorporeal thing to place the blame on, the blame for a lifetime of uncertainty, of poor decisions leading to broken hearts and lonely minds.”
He had stopped straining against her now, as the truth behind her words started burrowing its way into his heart. It was painful. Excruciating, even. And yet… he listened.
“I know this, because I see them too, Cliff,” she sighed, closing her eyes. “Hells, I’ve been there! Staring at the bottom of a bottle, willing the alcohol to numb the loss of self. The loss of dreams, hopes and motivation. But even so… Despite this knowledge, despite this experience, I think you’re wrong.”
A thoughtful silence settled over them, as the gondola continued its rickety climb up towards the Administrative District. A murder of crows trailed past, their black wings a stark contrast to the bluish violet of the sky. The scene struck a familiar chord to a memory long since buried in the recesses of Cliff’s mind.
“I think you’ve fallen in love with your own suffering,” she said, resting her head on his shoulder. “The lonely yet reassuring thought that you’re just different from them, that they are lesser than you… and as such, could never hope to comprehend the hurt you carry in your heart. That you are doomed to walk a lonesome road through life, with no hand to hold nor shoulder to cry on.”
Cliff offered no reply. The only indication he gave that he had even heard her was a soft exhalation of breath.
“In truth, reality is not so harsh,” she finished with a smile. “The darkness is there, yes, as will it always be. But you must remember to look around you, Cliff. To behold the joy on a newborn’s face as her mother lifts her from the crib, holding her close, whispering in her ear. The love in a man’s eyes as he watches his beloved approach, the smile on his lips as they meet hers in a kiss. The carefree happiness of a good memory shared with the right people. You mustn’t forget these things, Cliff, because they are what makes us human. They are what makes life worth living.”
There was a long silence then, before a shuffling of motion forced her to remove her head from his shoulder. Peeved, she turned to face him, only to be stopped short of chiding him by the wry smile on his lips.
“Well, aren’t we feeling philosophical today?” he said. “I didn’t know you were the introspective sort.”
“Rude!” she laughed. “I’ll have you know I graduated top of my class from the Royal University. My mental faculties are no less impressive than those of any scholar!”
“True, I suppose,” Cliff said. “And you’re more beautiful, to boot.”
“Hah! You’re only saying that because I’m sleeping with you.”
“Not true. I’d say it regardless,” he shrugged.
“You’re a prat and a flirt, Cliff Fargo,” she said. “Now come here and kiss me proper-like.”
“Yes ma’am,” he breathed, before tilting his head downwards to capture her lips with his own. All the while, her words continued to resonate within him, picking at his defenses and challenging his beliefs.
For as long as he could remember, he had been scared of letting anyone in. Now, this woman was running free in his mind, and there was not a damned thing he could do to stop her.
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