One:



It was a beautiful day.



It was John’s Opening!



At 15, he was a bit old for an Opening. It was usually done on younger kids, but he was from a poor family that had just scrounged up enough money to pay for one kid.



The villagers gathered around the boy sat on a stool, filling the village’s square from end to end. John was shirtless but didn’t mind the cold air. His happiness warmed him and those around him, their breath rising like smoke.



John’s parents stood at the center, taking up their share of the attention. John beamed a smile at his older brother through the crowd, who conceded a grin in return. An Opening cost money most families would have spent on food or clothes in these hard time, involving expensive inks and a handsomely paid Scribe. Going forward with it made John and his family minor celebrities.



The Scribe in question was a thin and elderly man, darker skinned than most and looking no better than a bundle of sticks propping up mottled and patched robes. He stood behind John, barely able to look over the boy’s shoulders.



A hush fell over the crowd. The Opening was going to begin. Daniel stopped feigning disinterest and scrambled onto the low stone wall that surrounded the square.



The Scribe held a needle in one hand and a bowl of ink in the other. He dipped the needle in the ink, and poked John in the back with it. John concentrated on not moving. The Scribe’s hand went back for more ink then darted forwards into his skin again. The wrinkled fingers moved quicker now. They went back and forth in a blur.



The silence was broken by a raucous cheer. John’s father. The crowd joined, fascination replaced by merriment.



John forced another smile through gritted teeth. He could feel the pain dulling and returning as the tattoo moved up his back and hit fresh skin. Looking around, he spotted his brother on the roof of a nearby house, looking down at him. He knew Daniel would be proud of him now! John tried to wave, but his hand was firmly pushed down.



“Do not move!” the Scribe rumbled behind him.



Daniel lay down on the uneven thatching of a house overlooking the square. It was empty until the merchants returned, so no-one would mind. The villagers couldn’t see him, so he let himself scowl. He’d repeated to John over and over that he shouldn’t move, to put on a brave face and make their parents proud. He was fidgeting already! And there was the Scribe slapping him. Idiot!



The tattoo was nearly done.



Thick black bars lined the lower back, connected by thinner vertical lines in red. The Scribe’s needle was now painting in a complex pattern between the boy’s shoulders.



John tensed as the needle struck the thinner skin of his nape. The needle never dwelled long enough for him to feel it, but it was followed by pin-pricks of pain. Good pain. If his Opening was successful, he’d make his parents a lot of work and many sessions with the Scribe would follow.



The crowd had thinned by now. A few villagers had lost interest, others had left to prepare for the feast. Daniel could see his brother better now. The boy’s back was black, red and pink now. His parents had chosen his younger brother over him. He understood why, really. Money was tight, there was a war going on and John was stronger and healthier. Daniel even accepted the fact that John was going to see the outside world and come back rich, like they had dreamt of as little kids. Even so, he felt a pang of envy.



Thinking of a life outside of their cold and isolated village made him stare at the horizon, and that was when he spotted a glint. It wasn’t there anymore, likely a half-imagined afterimage…. then it happened again.



Daniel stared, but forgot about it when he spotted John trying to wave again. The idiot!



John’s skin felt like on fire. His muscles had started cramping and he couldn’t hold up his smile anymore. However, one look at his parents standing nearby made it feel like everything was alright. His father laid a palm on his hand. It was a rare gesture of kindness from the man. John looked up to him as though he still was the giant from his childhood.



“Ah!” John exclaimed.



The needle paused. The boy felt a bony thumb rub a spot on the back of his head. The flurry of movement reprised before he could comment.



John could hear his heart beating in his ears. Lub-dub… lub-dub… the tattoo was nearly finished. As soon as the circle on his head was connected to the figures on his back, he would become a Dynamiks user. He’d become very strong and very fast and all the looks of wonder on the villager’s faces would become admiration! He’d never have to eat stale bread made from the bland wheat the village grew in the fields… why was his heart beating so loudly?



Daniel watched as the crowd stopped milling about. Maybe they are growing cold, he wondered. The sound must be their feet stamping to keep warm. Distracted from his brother, his thoughts returned to the glints of light from earlier. What could they have been? The brightly painted banners of a noble? No, they wouldn’t have shone so bright. It had to be something metallic… like the merchants’ guards! Those were imposing men, tattooed from head to toe in complex arrays of lines, figures and diagrams.



A thought struck him.

The merchants wouldn’t arrive for another two weeks--



Thud!



THUD!



Two figures landed in the village square with a deafening crash. Robed villagers flew from the impact, others squirted blood in the middle of the crater. As the dust settled, a third figure skidded to a halt behind them.



Daniel’s eyes widened to saucers. Three men in knightly armor, sharp with aerodynamic spikes and sloped plating. Red hot wings glowed on their backs. Long, sharp swords swung from their belts.



His brother--



One of them pulled out an iron chain. With a flick, it ripped a dozen villagers in half. Limbs tumbled in the air and bounced on the pile of bodies. The Scribe’s blood mixed with the black ink, soaking his robes.



Where was John?!



Daniel tried to move. He was frozen in terror. An instant of conscience told him these were Free Federation soldiers. Then, his mind seized up.



John!



A fourth figure landed in front of the others, toppling the stone wall surrounding the square. He bore no visible plating, only a dark grey skeleton of metal. Gold highlights made him shine in the cold sunlight.



A mage!



The mage spoke.



“Run, batards!”



He spoke in Franco. Everyone learnt Franco to trade. The voice crackled and boomed, unnaturally amplified.



“Run on pain of death!”



Daniel’s ears hurt. He noticed villagers rush to their feet, abandoning belongings and clothes in their haste. John! The thought kept him from running.



The mage made a circular gesture in the air. The three other invaders hopped to his position. They had congregated just under the roof Daniel was hanging on to.



Seconds stretched to years.



Daniel heard a wet crack. He dared not imagine what it was. Faintly, he heard another heartbeat. He dreaded the sound now. The beats were getting louder. More Federation soldiers?



He saw the soldiers below him split up. In an instant, they set up position behind the houses surrounding the village square. Thump thump thump.



Daniel’s mind crawled to an understanding. They are defending the place, from whoever was coming. The mage kicked in a door and entered, disappearing from sight. The armored soldiers crouched behind stone walls.



THUMPthump.



Silver points of light arced into the sky. Daniels’ mouth opened widened in hope. Empire!



His eyes barely followed the rest.



The first Empire knight tore into the roof of a building adjacent the square, and emerged through the wall as a sideways blur. The second knight landed in the square’s center and was immediately impaled by two spears.



Sparks flashed. Metal rang and broke. A blinding spear of lightning ignited the thatched roofs around the square. The house Daniel was on shuddered, and he fell into a pile of hay, stone and dust. Daniel barely whimpered before darkness closed his eyes.

​



The air was thick and scratched his throat. Smoke. Daniel tried to stand. Something sharp dug into his back. John! His brother’s face, smiling, appeared to him. Daniel ignored the pain and pushed himself out of the rubble with a grunt.



He clambered forwards. The sun was obscured by dark clouds, so he guided himself by firelight. This was his home going up in flames. He remembered the neighbours building the houses stone by stone, bale by bale. He cared not.



Daniel reached the pile of bodies in the village square. His clothes had been ripped, he sported bruises and cuts and his lungs scratched for air.



John!



The thought washed away all concerns and pushed him into the limbs of relatives and friends. He dug through broken bones and scarred flesh. His hands wiped away the blood from cold faces to identify them.



John was not among the bodies.



His heart fluttered. His brother had been taken. Daniel remembered the stories. Federation troops raiding villages like theirs, stealing away young men and women. They were true, it seemed.



Daniel slumped onto his back. Blood and mud wet his hair. The fires were growing taller, the smoke heavier. He felt the ground vibrate from far-away impacts. He couldn’t care.



It was supposed to be a beautiful day.

​

You play as Daniel.

Vote on what to do. You have until Saturday 10/12/16, at 10PM UTC.



You may ask questions and Daniel will answer in character. Start the questions with "To Daniel...".



Good luck!​