[Post here first!] The Coastline

A team of Isran soldiers brought a wagon up a small road, little more than a dirt path, really, to a moderately-sized fishing village along the Meridian coast. Two soldiers drove the wagon and four rode in the back, along with an escort of four mounted around it. Also in the back was a single prisoner in chains, Alfher , and the officer commanding the soldiers.

The soldiers spoke among themselves to pass the time, as soldiers always do. Matters of their families or the sweethearts they left behind on this city or that were popular subjects, as well as general complaints about life in the army, and admonitions that there were much worse duties they could have been assigned.

They drove the wagon up to the docks, where they detached the prisoner’s manacles from the chain running through the wagon and lifted him down off the wagon. They weren’t needlessly rough with him, but neither were they particularly gentle. They were escorting a criminal, after all, not a foreign princess.

Assuming the prisoner made no attempt to break and run, they marched along the dock until they reached a particular boat, crewed by Isran sailors rather than Meridian. Julia presented her documents to the captain, and once they were approved, the group boarded. The horses were secured below decks, but the wagon left behind. As they made ready, one of the deckhands addressed the group. “You lot cut it a bit close, aye? Another hour an’ we’d’ve missed the tide.”

Alfher picked what was likely to be his best moment to his estimation, and it caught the guards by surprise as intended. He exploded into action, breaking one guard’s nose and opening a nasty gash on a second. The first fell into the water between the boat and the dock with a cry of pain and surprise followed by a splash. The second went down with a choking gurgle, very likely dying. Before the rest could react, he was in the water, the whole thing going off essentially without a hitch.

The remaining soldiers scrambled to respond, Julia’s voice rising about their shouts. “You two! See to the wounded. You and you, fish that man out! The rest of you, establish a perimeter. He has to come up some time.” Without waiting for a response, and trusting that the Isran soldiers were disciplined enough to follow orders, the centurion stepped off the docks.

A cold wind blew along the docks as Rafine strode into the sea. Alfher had strong lungs, but Julia had the advantage here. The ghostly soldier had no lungs to worry about. No breath to hold. She walked through the water as easily as the walls of stone of stone or wood. Her cold, grey eyes scanned the waters, looking for the slow swimmer. He had several seconds head start on her, but Julia soon spotted him and followed after.

The fastest humans can reach reach swimming speeds of just over two meters per second in ideal conditions. While noticeably faster than a casual stroll along the beach, this is roughly the equivalent of a brisk walk, and less than half the speed of the same humans in a light jog. When Alfher looked back, he would see the centurion not just coming after him, but Dangerously close behind.

When he dove again, Julia’s face took an iron-hard expression. Outwardly, she was grim and determined, but her inner anger at the man was reflected in the frigid wind whipping about her. This man was a prisoner of a war that was over, but he insisted on continuing the fight. He had very likely killed a man in the process.

Rather than continuing along the surface, the centurion abandoned the pretense of life and walking. The material world fell away from her, like mist and shadow as Julia adopted the ghostly glide of a spirit and slipped beneath the waves. The waters churned and roiled around her, and a cold, distant voice whispered in Alfher’s ears. “No escape…”

It was spring on the shores of Meridian, previously Goraia, previously Medan. The sun shone down, warming the docks of the little fishing town. Huddled beneath, only thin shards of light passed between the planks. A dusting of sand and grit hung in the beams, shaken loose by the boots of the Isran soldiers above. At least one man was down, maybe two. Plus a few looking after the wounded. That left perhaps eight watching for Alfher to resurface. The shouting would draw the attention of the locals soon. Would they help the Israns? Who could say…

The closest of the soldiers were directly above him. The light flickered as they passed between the sun and their quarry, huddled just a few feet below. Most of the fishing boats were out to sea, left before the dawn as fisherfolk tend to do. There were a few skiffs, a few posts, the docks themselves… not much cover, but some.

The waves rolled in, washing against him as he made his way towards the shore under the cover of the dock. An unseasonably cold wind blew through, slicing through his soaked clothing like an icy knife. The northerner was used to cold, but this was something different. Unnatural. Where was the centurion? Had she lost sight of him in the waters? They weren’t as murky as he might have hoped here on the rocky shores, where no river poured silt into the sea.

Julia stepped back into the world of the living, the world that was wasted on this man, who spilled blood in the name of a war he had already lost. She materialized directly directly behind him, steel grey eyes cold and hard with the fury and hate the dead hold for the living. Again, the distant voice whispered in Alfher’s ear.


“No escape…”

Whatever else could be said about the man, no one could call him a coward. Alfher splashed water, presumably to blind and distract, and attempted to headbutt the centurion. Either fortunately or unfortunately for the northern mercenary, depending on the perspective, his initial plan worked. Julia’s natural state was incorporeal, and while she had some degree of control, she was still learning. Instead of fading out to avoid the water and rematerializing afterwards to meet his attack, the water struck her full in the face, causing her to lose her corporeal form. The headbutt collided only with cold wind.

In any case, Alfer had his window, and the lunge from underneath the dock took the soldier unaware. He fell with a shout of surprise and landed hard. He probably wasn’t seriously injured, but with the wind knocked out of him, he would not be immediately making the recapture as Alfher pulled himself up and ran for the wagon. The rest of the soldiers shouted and ran after him, but the nearest Isran was on the ground and he had a significant head start on the rest.

Behind him, the cold wind whipped into a fury. Unbound by the constraints of the living world, Julia hurled herself after him, passing through obstacles as if they didn’t exist. Unnerved by the rapid approach of the ghostly soldier, the horses reared and stomped, squealing in fear and obviously ready to bolt. Her crimson cloak whipped and billowed around her as Julia gathered supernatural forces, stretching her undead hand out towards the fleeing mercenary. A cold voice echoed in the howling wind.

“No escape…”

[charge 1]

The horses bolted, careening down the docks with the wagon bouncing and clattering behind them. In other circumstances, they might have been hard to control, but the only instruction Alfher had given was exactly what the natural instinct of a horse said to do when something unpleasant or frightening was happening: run.

Ahead of him, people on the docks dashed out of the path of the horse and wagon, some diving into the water as they tried to get clear. Behind him, some of the Isran soldiers ran after, no real hope of catching up, but unwilling to simply let him go. Others scrambled to their own horses. Without a wagon to pull, they had a good chance of catching up if they moved quickly.

Unhitching the wagon at a run was risky course, to say the least. Even with free hands, it would have been dangerous. At these speeds, falling off the horse posed a serious risk of injury, even without accounting for the possibility of being run over by the wagon as well. It was a bold move, but apparently Alfher was a bold man.

Suddenly, Julia closed her fist and jerked her hand upwards. Simultaneously, a ghostly, telekinetic force wrapped itself around Alfher, like icy chains from beyond the grave. They yanked hard, up and back, then down again. If could not somehow resist the supernatural power, the fleeing man would find himself pulled from the back of the horse and slammed into the ground.

It turned out the men on foot weren’t chasing as pointlessly as it it might have seemed at first, but it would still be a while before they caught up to Alfher . The ones on horseback, on the other hand, were closing the distance dangerously fast. And the dead centurion was right there.

He struggled to drag himself away, some combination of fear or stubbornness or heroic resolve compelling him not to give up, but the chains squeezed tighter. Julia lowered to the ground, drawing a ghostly sword as she marched the last few steps. Her cloak billowed around her in the icy, unnatural wind, steel-grey eyes locked on the man on the ground.

There was no scrape of steel against the scabbard. No crunch of boots on gravel. Even the thunder of approaching hooves seemed muted and distant. The centurion stood over Alfher, sword in hand, looking down a thim. A cold voice echoed in his ears.

“No escape…”

Alfher struggled and kicked out with a shout, his boot hitting only empty air. Whether in response to his furious struggling or to the centurion phasing out again, the ghostly chains dissolved away like smoke on the wind. His back was to the wall, or the crates at least, and the ghostly soldier turned to face him. Her sword was gripped in her right hand, low and back slightly, near her hip. The point angled down and forward, not immediately going for the attack, but ready to strike if needed.

The mounted soldiers galloped up, the lead he had gained on them blown by the sudden, unexpected dismount and following scuffle. Seeing their commander with sword in hard, the men quickly drew their own blades and moved to surround him. The footmen were still some distance up the road, but four soldiers on horseback were now backing their commander. One of them called out in a stern, commanding tone. “Give it up. Lay down on the ground. Now.”

Julia’s left hand rose, and the cold wind blew around her again, whipping her cloak as the supernatural powers gathered again. The warhorses, shied away somewhat from the display, but remained under the control of their riders. A distant voice whispered on the frigid wind.

“No escape…”

[charge 1]

It was a dangerous gambit, but Alfher was seemingly a desperate man. Given the option to yield, he instead chose to charge. If he wasn’t intended to be brought back alive, it might have been classed as suicidal. Maybe it properly should have been anyway. The way she was standing, Alfher would have to rush past the point of Julia’s sword, her advanced left arm, and virtually the full width of her body to get to her left hand.

It would be so easy to stab him and be done with it… Instead, she shifted her left leg to the right and pivoted at the hips as he rushed in. Lunging forward to grab at her right hand, and with her leg moving into the path of his own, he would likely find himself tripped and overbalanced. The turning of her upper body would bring the outstretched left hand across the back of his shoulders to help him along.

If the move went as intended, Alfher would find himself thrown bodily onto the ground. The centurion tried to sweep her sword out of his path as well, but he might well find his arms or chest sliced on the blade in passing anyway.

Regardless of whether he went down or not, whether he was cut or not, she unleashed the ghostly chains again. Reaching out from beyond the grave, they wrapped around his body and yanked down, seeking to pin him to the ground. Once again, the disembodied whisper floated on a frigid wind.

“No escape…”