Iskal's story so far...

  On a return journey from a month-long watch duty at an outpost to the far east of the Collosean realm, Iskal Marks led his troop of fellow soldiers on an unexpected detour through a fissure in a mountain wall. When one of the troop, a young Marcher named Fiegh, recognised an odd phenomena signalling a nearby growth of arcane flora, the troop ventured into a dense forest, where, after hours of searching, they discovered a crop of two-cross ajers, a plant which grants powerful but dangerous abilities to the consumer. However, they were spotted by the crop's cultivators, and a fight ensued, resulting in the deaths of the aggressors, who Iskal later identified as members of the New Becoming cult, and also Iskals unit, including Bilman, one of Iskal's oldest and closest friends.

  In a moment of weakness, Iskal uprooted and stowed two of the ajer flowers, before heading to the nearest town to report the deadly skirmish. On his return to his home, Embestour, the capitol city of the Collosean realm, he was summoned to a large assembly of government ministers by Prime Regent Ulagg Leynsham, Collosea's leader. For his bravery, Iskal was awarded a promotion to the rank of Chieftan, a position from which he'd been demoted eighteen month's prior. He was now to report to a new superior named Lesquare, a Commander in a secretive military branch known as the Valley Command. Leynsham was convinced the crop of ajers was part of a plot devised by the rival realm, Haemonine, and so ordered a mobilisation of troops into the Central Triskellion Valley. War was truly in the air.

  'And then we saw a coupl'a rats scrappin' each other and Yal threw a pebble at them to break them up, but he missed so he threw a few more, and we kept laughin' at him each time he missed, and he grew mad and threw a whole BUNCH of stones, like a big handful like this.' Arburne mimicked holding a large ball between his empty, cupped hands. 'Threw em in a big scatter, JUST as his Mum came out...'

  'Is that right?' Said Iskal, turning from the stove fire and raising his eyebrows at his son.

  'Yeah!' Said Arburne, laughing at his Father's cartoonish face. 'All she saw was him throwing all these stones, screamed his ear off!'

  The sizzling bacon in the pan spat a dash of fat up Iskal's forearm. 'Fuck!' he exclaimed. Arburne's chuckle turned into a giggle fit. Iskal moved the pan to the back of the stove, whispering further curses to himself. The change in air caused the woodfire beneath it to lash out with tendrils of deep orange.

  'What did I teach you about that word I just said?' Asked Iskal to Arburne, now dabbing his reddening arm with a damp towel.

  'Even if we hear it, we don't say it.' Chanted Arburne, like a bright-eyed soldier recruit.

  'Good lad. Go get your books, or you'll be late for the seminary.'

  'But I haven't finished telling you the story-'

  'Off you go.'

  Arburne stomped off, leaving Iskal alone in the kitchenette. Viella had headed off early to the market, and with the youthful energy of his son now out of sight, there was only silence, save for the whistle and snap of the burning wood and the faintest hum of the city beyond the front door. Iskal no longer craved silence as he once had, before the events of five weeks prior. He asked Viella and Arburne for stories of their day at every opportunity, filled his time with busywork, played his shawm woodwind, cleaned the house top to bottom, talked to strangers in clothmarkets and taverns. Any distraction was welcome.

  He missed the silence too, missed how it used to refill his cup, how it enabled him to piece his thoughts into a bigger picture. But it brought with it now the reminder of the day in the forest, the shallow final gasps of the dying Bilman, the sprouted crimson spots on Lithan's young cheeks as he lay face down in the mossy forest floor. The many pictures hung like a collage before him, there on the yellow wall of his kitchen.

  He plated the bacon and tore a corner of bread, before sitting down at his painted table. As he was about to take a sip of his tea, a knock came from the door - a familiar dot-dash-dot-dot-dot-dash - the secret call-code of Lesquare. He let the mug hang there before his face, the steam caressing his nose, leaving the slightest gossamer of moisture on his skin. There was a danger of Arburne answering the door though, even though he'd been instructed against doing so for any caller, and the young lad was good at following instruction. Separating family from duty was no bad thing, Iskal had not long ago decided, particularly with the recent and increasing air of unrest in the streets, and the nature of his new work that was so entangled with said unrest. Why was Lesquare at his porch though? Particularly at this early an hour?

  Iskal stood swiftly, spilling a little tea while placing the mug on the table. He unshackled the five separate deadbolts on the door, the final one being the floor bolt he lifted with the toe of his boot, and opened the door to the sight of Lesquare's back. It seemed he'd been distracted by the comings and goings of the residents of the Materials Town during the wait. Lesquare turned, looking down to meet the gaze of his colleague, his long, horse-like face showing a certain sanguineness. The short, fair hair on his head glowed in the mirror-directed sunlight of Embestour City.

  'Morning Marks.'

  At some point during the several weeks of their close work, Iskal had ceased to be addressed as 'Chieftain Marks' by his superior. Lesquare even brought it up one morning, describing the title as possessing 'two too many syllables'. Iskal had wondered if it was a deliberate attempt at calculated comraderie. He liked Lesquare... to a degree. It was difficult to withstand the natural charm after all. But there was sometimes this nagging sense that everthing Lesquare did or said was some means to an end, a favourable calculation as part of a greater formula.

  The narrative has been taken without authorization; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident.

  'May I come in?' Lesquare asked, looking past Iskal's shoulder with a raised eyebrow.

  'I was just about to head out.' Iskal said - a white lie. 'I thought we weren't meeting for yesterday's debrief until this evening?'

  'Valley Admiral Henney has called a special summons.' Lesquare said quietly, eyes looking back at the street. 'One of the Porters was meant to bring the message to you this morning. Seems they've failed in their duty.'

  'Ah I need to walk my son to school...'

  'That's fine, we can walk together, I've been hoping to meet the Young Marks anyway!' Said Lesquare quite sincerely. 'You've always been so reticent about the old homestead. I understand, our line of work being what it is, but it's made me curious.'

  'Ah well, I-' before Iskal could finish, Arburne appeared beside him, as if out of nowhere, banging on his hip to get his attention. Iskal jumped, causing him to open the door with his side.

  'Hello.' Arburne said to Lesquare, transfixed by the tall slender stature.

  'Well hello.' Responded Lesquare, leaning down to one knee to meet Arburne at a mutual level. 'My name is Commander Lesquare, you must be Master Arburne. I work with your Father.'

  'Dad's never talked about you before.' Said Arburne, who'd now moved to stand behind Iskal, peeking out from the side of his Father's leg.

  'Has he now?' Said Lesquare, glancing up at Iskal. The words seemed to hang in the air for a few seconds before he returned his attention to the young boy. 'That's good, we're special soldiers you see, secret ones, it would be bad to be jabbering on all day about the things we get up to. To anyone.'

  'What kind of things do you get up to?' Asked Arburne, the curiosity of youth dancing in the words.

  Iskal was about to interject but Lesquare beat him to it. 'Oh, only boring things. Now your Father and I will be both be taking you to school today, but we're in a bit of a hurry, can you go get your things?'

  Arburne looked to his Father for confirmation, who nodded approvingly, before running off into the house, his stamps on the wooden boards growing quieter and quieter.

  Iskal felt ill at ease during the entire 25 minute walk to Arburne's seminary classes. Arburne had suspended any shyness around Lesquare almost immediately and spent the journey quizzing the Commander about his work and personal life, to which Lesquare provided deflected answers with an easeful good humour. Something about the tall fair-haired man brought out an intriguing inquisitiveness in the boy. Iskal, however, remained cautiously quiet during this time, glancing around, scanning the surroundings, as he often found himself doing nowadays. 'Always be on the lookout. Every second.' Lesquare had instructed him at the start of his new tenure.

  'And what does the rest of your day bring you?' Asked Lesquare to Arburne.

  'We're going hunting for Marionettes after school!'

  'And where abouts is that taking place?'

  'We're going to the East Caves, we heard there's a tribe of them lives there, up in the crawlspaces.'

  'You're not going up there.' Interrupted Iskal. 'And you should leave marionettes well enough alone.'

  'Your Fathers got a point.' Agreed Lesquare. 'I know a few men with scars from messing with them.'

  'It's only if you touch them.' Whined Arburne, 'We're gonna be careful, we just wanna see 'em.'

  'I thought you were hunting these Marionettes?'

  'It's just a phrase. Like a game. We just wanna check 'em out! I've only seen one once.'

  'For good reason.' Iskal's tone was harsher now, more serious, he thought on the time he and his friends carried out the same plans in his youth. Travelling up into the labarynthine Embestour cave system, the passages so numerous and winding that they were still yet to be fully mapped, to see the Marionettes. How, after hours of searching, they found a small tribe - ten or so - milling around in a hollow. It had taken their breath away, looking upon these gangly humanoids stretching some eight feet tall, with their narrow torsos from which protruded long sinewy limbs connected by stick-thin joints, their bark-like skin flashing in the light of their firelamps, the pointed fingers sharp like icicles, and perhaps most unnerving of all: The placid, child-like expressions on their long faces. But in his mind's eye he focused on those claws, thought of them slashing at his son. 'You're not going up there. That's final.' He said to Arburne.

  The boy and two men stopped outside the grand seminary school at the border of the Ruling Town. It was made of a polished, pastel-pink limestone and built to a square shape with thin pointed spires on each level, and a large, circular stained glass window at it's front that resembled an enormous clock. At the centre of the roof protruded a triangular bell tower, encircled by various creatures wrought of stone. Iskal and Viella had made the choice to move Arburne to this private school not long after Iskal was reinstated as Chieftain. The quality of tutelage was far, far superior to his previous school and, more importantly, the students were protected by employed watch guards.

  Money wasn't an issue either. One of the more bizarre benefits of his new role in the Valley Command was the fact that there was no set salary - or rather, the salary was 'illimitable'. Whatever Iskal needed to conduct his work and maintain his homelife was provided. This of course came with the caveat that the expenses be 'within reason', as he'd been told, but he'd yet to be denied a request thus far.

  Iskal and Lesquare bid their farewells to Arburne, and he sped off to catch up with his new cache of friends at the top of the forecourt steps.

  'Let's go.' Said Lesquare. 'This is not a summons to which we should be late. I'm sure you've noticed but Valley Admiral Henney has seemed particularly... brusque... as of late. We shouldn't add to his concerns with our lack of punctuality.'

  'Is the valley manoeuvre still weighing on him?'

  'Yes, but we shouldn't discuss here.' Said Lesquare, as if the throngs of children running around them were some sort of juvenile spy network.

  Iskal nodded, and the pair set off due east, towards the fierce red walls of The Palisade.