Case 1: Chocolate Sheep are Candy Baas

It was raining. Again.

It was common knowledge the hero of Seven, guild master of QuadDracoras Lucian Crimea absolutely hated the rain. Every great battle that he had lost ended with rain. Every single one. He had thought the only exception was during the final stand against Fabula Nova, when he was struck down in broad daylight. It rained later that day too.

With his tattered, army boots padding against the cobblestone, the cloth bags hugging his feet, Lucian shuffled through the port, the downpour drenching his coat, walking slowly because he didn’t need to run. Walking slowly because he didn’t want to run.

Everything was planned and everything was going smoothly, down to the very second, down to the very time it would take him to walk the distance. From the carriage to the cottage, and now from the gate of the city to the Bazaar. Everything was, and would continue to be perfect. Per the war-hero’s calculations he should only need four minutes now, four minutes from exactly where he was standing. Reaching into his grandeur coat he let a smirk slide out, absent-mindedly fingering the hole that had been singed through just a few hours ago…two hours and 14 minutes ago…the minutes varied, give or take one. He glanced down at the blackened watch, probably worth no more than his shoes, somewhat surprised it actually worked.

Three minutes 58 seconds.

His smirk turned to a slight frown, once again forgetting his awful habit of moving two seconds late. ‘No matter’ he mumbled to himself as he slid the watch back in, he would just speed up his pace.

On the front of his jacket, where the hole over his heart sat, there used to be a sewed-on strip bearing the mark of some guild from the next town over. The memory of the person who had once sewed it on with pride had now faded, as if the memory was given to a senile old man to be kept for safekeeping. In its stead was a collection of frayed fabric, an attempt to further stain this man’s name. Once the jacket of a proud mage, it was now just a jacket and that was it.

Two minutes 58 seconds.

He strides forward on a straight path, determined to reach his destination at the same time the guards changed shift. When the guards were at their weakest…but also when there would be an extra person. A merchant calls to him and grabs his arm but is quickly shrugged off, their exchange although impolite, slipping away like whispers in the rain to the roars of hundreds of others, calling and singing, trying to sell their exotic items.

All at once Lucian quickens his pace, snaking through the crowd and reaching into his breast pocket, feeling the smooth wooden trigger; and hearing it click. He gulps and taking a deep breath, takes another step forwards, splashing into a particularly deep puddle. His destination in sights, he even sees the new guard lumbering through the downpour and can’t help but shiver while giving off a savage smile, an expression foreign to the old man’s face that was known locally for giving out a calm, loving expression. Off to the side he caught a couple of people fervently whispering and glancing in his direction. Perhaps they were going to rob him…or perhaps they recognized and knew his face?

One minute 30 seconds.

He stretches his fingers and feels the familiar yet, always strange tingle of magic flowing to his fingertips. His heartbeat quickens, his breath becomes shallow and as he takes another step forward he starts to laugh at the absurdity of the situation. Alone, in the middle of a crowd, without a single soul who knew who he really was. His head raised to the sky he lets out a loud laugh. People pause and begin to move around him, glancing at him as if he was crazy.

40 seconds.

Another joins in with his laughter for a few seconds before pausing, realizing he doesn’t know why he’s laughing and moves on. Lucian wipes his wet eyes, chuckling at the cruelty of fate, at how some men were born to succeed and ponder the secrets of life, while others could not ponder for they had to work just to survive in this cruel world. And to him, those others were in the end born to die.

0 seconds.

With a roar, he claps his hands and a second or a thousand years later, an explosion like the thunder without the storm erupts, instantaneously vaporizing the people right beside him and burning those far from him. The almost forgotten feeling of scorched air rushes down his throat as he struggles to catch his breath, mixing with the dust and ashes of hundreds around him. Then the screams, the carbon and the calls for help fill the smoldering air, telling him to strike again.

Another clap.

And a third.

Amidst a scene of brimstone, melted stone and vicious steam, he curls his fingers and lobs a fireball at a fleeing couple, hearing it sizzle in the rain as he rolls over, dodging to the right as a lance flies through the smoke and is quickly retracted. With a laugh Lucian lunges forwards and pulls the lance back, feeling the muscles of a guard on the other end. He melts through the lance and, emitting streams of flames from his other hand quickly boils the guard in his armor. From behind a second guard swings his lance, the tip missing by a single second causing the old man to let out a taunting laugh. He dodges another swing from the guard’s lance and splaying both hands, boils the second guard alive with an unrelenting blaze. Picking up the fallen weapon he easily twirls it with his wrists and throws it; javelin-style at a third guard the blade finding an unprotected chink, a niche spot, instantly killing him.

As the smoke and dust settled down, Lucian found himself to be surrounded, the center of a circle of guards, several lances pointed at him and the center of all attention. Yet, before anyone could say anything Lucian slowly, deliberately pulls out a pistol. Letting out one last laugh he raises his arm, places the barrel against his temple and with a final message for the guards; Pulls the trigger.

And as abruptly as the massacre started, it ended. And so did the life of the legendary war-hero of Seven, the master magician of fire; Lucian Crimea.


 * Chapter 2: Case 1: Candy Baas melt at 45 Degrees