The Thaumaturges of Ravoshka

It was an unusually quiet afternoon, with the darkening skies looming over a large stretch of orange, barren land. His eyes and mind finally reawakened, though he wasn’t sure if it was because of the creaks coming from the machine he’s in, or a voice trying to reach out to him in the darkness. It took a moment, however, for him to shake off the wave of lethargy consuming his senses. Staying up late wasn’t a wonderful decision at all.

“… Oi, Glenn,”. The voice called out to him , ringing his ears. His head perked up and looked for the source. Though surprised at first, the memory hit Glenn at full speed a second later; yes, he’s sitting in the passenger’s seat, and there’s Maerk in the pilot’s seat using two levers and a sea of buttons to control something, while both of them are about six meters above the barren ground. The cockpit was small, but not to where it achieved suffocating levels, clear from the fact that Maerk somehow decorated both sides of the room with a copious number of colorful, mesmerizing posters.

Glenn let out a yawn, running a gloved hand through his short dark hair, showing a hint of messiness. The light penetrating the bullet-proof glass stung his light-bronze skin and his deep chocolate eyes, pulling him from the realm of dreams. After a moment of silence, Glenn turned to Maerk and said aloud, “How long was I asleep for?”

“I’d say a year,” The pilot laughed as he adjusted his golden goggles and his crimson mask. “Also, I was considering stopping Guinevere right here and letting you sleep on the ground. You looked too comfortable in your sleep.”

“I mean, I wouldn’t mind. Who calls their walking death machine, ‘Guinevere’?” Glenn clicked his tongue twice. “But I can think of a better name than the one you came up with.”

“Here’s the thing. The name I chose is a wonderful name. Besides, what name can you think of that’ll beat ‘Guinevere’?”

"Well, there’s a long list that I came up with last night. Let’s see… there’s ‘Mercedes’. ‘Galactica’. ‘Folorn’. ‘Morwind.’ ‘Valwinter.’ Should I continue on?"

“Yeah, well, here’s the thing. The names you wrote in that list of yours last name doesn’t compare to the name I thought of- it’s unique and meaningful.”

“Remind me to drag you over to Captain Jaren to ask him which name would suit the Ravager best.”

“Sure thing, good chap. And what were you doing last night?”

"Teaching myself how to make rice cakes.”

Maerk tried his best not to groan, but ended up snickering while Glenn chuckled to himself. Looking down at his own attire, Glenn saw a short crimson cloak with golden threads, revealing a bit of armor underneath. The iron greaves hugged his lower half, configured and smelted with robust expertise. He made a mental note to give the smith a good tip once they came back- because to Glenn, thanking him just wasn’t enough.

The two had identical, elegant insignias bonded to their right breasts; a star pointed in four directions with wings stretched outwards on both sides. A short sword penetrated the star from below, with the last touch being the color of the crimson seas drenching the insignias. Representing the empire founded on the Four Fronts, Ravoshka continues to exist thanks to the willpower and drive from the people, and Her Excellency.

Pleasant thoughts stopped short when the speaker on the right wall crackled with life. It caused the pilot and the Thaumaturge to glance over to it, both awaiting in anticipation. A familiar voice came through the speaker, bellowing, “Heads up! We’re drawing nearer to the border of Helensburg. Get ready, because we’re heading into the Gervora territory.”

“Wait,” started Glenn. “Did Captain Jaren say that we’re going into the Republic of Gervora’s territory?” He also observed a long black line stretching across the land.

“What did I tell you about asking the obvious?” responded Maerk. His hands raced around the controls for a specific button, the black line capturing his eyes. “I thought you knew that we’re taking back Helensburg since the Republic of Gerova had taken over?”

“Don’t worry, I do. I’m just doubtful given our… record.” Upon saying that sentence, Glenn thought back to the previous battles that Ravoshka had taken part in. This didn’t mean that the Ravoshkan army wasn't strong at all; they are skilled in different fields of Thaumaturgy and won their fair share of battles. However, Glenn noted a particular pattern; they haven’t gotten themselves many victories during the war.

But this inevitable skirmish could turn things around.

Maerk found the button and pressed it. His ears then picked up a crackle on the speaker. He leaned towards Glenn’s direction, his voice breaking into a whisper. “Listen. We’re going to get out of this with a gigantic ‘V’ over our heads. Don’t worry.”

The pilot then shouted to the speaker, “Captain Jaren, this is Maerk Beromil. Do you know if they’re armed to the teeth?”

“Ah! Mr. Beromil,” started Jaren with an unusual hint of glee in his voice. “From our current position, I can’t provide a suitable answer. We’re still far away from the border. But I’m positive that they armed the border.”

Glenn sighed. “That’s very comforting to hear, Captain.”

“Gotcha,” replied Maerk, silently acknowledging Glenn’s sarcasm. “But keep us updated on what’s happening, alright?”

A chuckle cut through the bits of static. “Don’t worry,” reassured Jaren. “When did I ever leave you guys in the dark?”. The speaker went quiet, and silence filled the air once more.

Those who knew Captain Jaren rarely saw him chuckle at something. Rather, he’s viewed by everyone as a her “stoic” individual, at least from what Glenn had seen and heard. But even then, he was glad that Jaren is looking out for his comrades.

The machines roared as they continued to move, thanks to the likes of Maerk and other pilots. The Thaumaturge leaned forward and saw other Ravagers on their left and right moving at a similar pace. To anyone witnessing the scenery unfold, it looked like many entities covered in a shade of light grey, with the same familiar crimson symbol marked on their left cheek. Their slender yet sturdy legs guided them across the land. They looked ominous; enough to make someone’s blood turn to ice.

As they continued to cover more ground, the black line became clearer; a fortified wall came into view and various turrets and cannons lined the top, with figures walking around. Glenn couldn’t help but look with unsureness and anticipation. Maerk stared at the wall, both of his hands clenching the control sticks with an iron grip. One might even think he’ll rip them right off.

Right as Glenn allowed the train of words to pour out from his lips, a faint sound invaded his ears. He assumed that there was a fly, a mosquito or a whistle. But there wasn’t any fly or mosquito that infiltrated “Guinevere”- yet the faint sound grew in volume, and it didn’t sound like a human whistle. His eyes darted around for the source, anything that showed a hint of what is coming. “Good grief, Maerk, do you hear that?” Glenn said.

“Don’t worry, I’m hearing it also,” replied the pilot as he leaned forward to the glass. The only thing that greeted him was the barrier and other Ravagers standing close by them. The whistling, however, only intensified in sound and volume. Anxiety and dread, the two fusing together to become one’s worst enemy, grew in Glenn’s head as he continued to look around.

The speaker drew another breath as Jaren’s voice came through again, dripping with urgency. “Everyone! Be careful, there’s something heading towards us at a fast-”

The whistling cut off the captain and grew much louder and intense for a brief second, right before the sound of something colliding into another object at high speeds rang in the duo’s ears. Maerk got out of his chair to look to his left; what he saw made his eyes widen in horror and his blood transition into ice.

The Ravager to the left of them had its entire cockpit and body pierced by what looked to be a long and thin silver arrowhead, with several sharp tips pointing outwards below it. All connected by a shaft drenched in the abyss’s color. At a closer glance, Maerk made out the smaller details of the arrowhead on the ground; the top of the arrowhead had small glowing purple circles, with a crescent-shaped hole found right in the middle.

And before he or Glenn can react, one turret on the wall fires a projectile at the group, alongside the figures on the top unsheathing their firearms and raining down a sea of deadly bullets onto the machines.

"Cripes!” cried Maerk as he rushed back to the controls. Both of his hands raced around the small city of buttons and levers, right before finding two levers and pushing forward with gusto. The machine swerved downwards as a sea of bullets hit the shield and everything around it. Colorful, yet devastating explosions blossomed around the two, threatening to swallow them whole.

Glenn gripped the armrests of his seat until he could feel his fingernails dig into the leathery flesh. His teeth pushed against each other, yet the thing that made his head turn was the sound of the floor opening up behind him, revealing dirty clouds of smoke rolling along the ground below.

“You need to go now!” bellowed Maerk as the machine continued to swerve from side to side. More bullets slammed against the glass, resulting in small, deep cracks coursing across the screen. “Glenn, I can’t handle losing you in this fight. Get out there and find Captain Jaren!”

The Thaumaturge rushed over to the open hole and crammed both legs out into the open, looking back one last time to his comrade and the array of posters on the walls. Somehow, Glenn heard the joyous yet strange faces wishing him well. Praying too even; though he never considered himself a religious type. “You know where Jaren is though?”

Almost as it heard his question, the speaker fought against the static and the voice of the captain broke through. “All units, rally to my current position! We’re going to burst through the barrier with what we got by the center!”

“You heard him,” said Maerk as a finger from him landed on a button, and out came a volley of bullets from his end, striking the turrets at the top. Some turrets took heavy damage, thus rendering them useless. “Besides, we’re not even sure if they have more arrowheads like that up their sleeves, so you need to hurry.”

“But what about you?”

“Don't worry too much! Remember, like I said before, we’re getting out of this with a win in our hands. And taking back Helensburg, with a great plan.”

“You better not be lying, Maerk. Because if you are, I’ll shed a thousand tears, enough to create an ocean and whatever else I can think of.”

And just like that, Glenn left behind the cozy embrace of “Guinevere” and fell to the harsh grounds below. Upon landing onto the ground, both of his two legs mustered the stamina they have to get themselves moving to where Captain Jaren is. On his way, Glenn witnessed a Ravager fall to the dry, cracked ground from excessive damage, and more turrets met the unfortunate fate of being consumed in blossoming flames. As his legs continued on, Glenn saw the figures at the top of the barrier falling over from the bullets and explosions; he shuddered at the mere thought of falling down from hundreds of feet up.

A bullet whizzed by his cheek as Glenn continued to sprint, not caring about the small wound shrieking in pain or how his cheek stung. Yet Glenn Corov wasn’t afraid of death on this day. He kept pressing on, looking behind him as “Guinevere” tried to stand strong against the enemy forces, launching more streams of bullets to the opposing side.

Until he saw them, just only a few meters ahead.

Glenn saw a large periwinkle shield with many individuals standing behind it. His legs halted when he was positive that the soldiers and turrets couldn’t hit them from where they are. Familiar acquaintances and two friends noticed and greeted Glenn, some even making the smallest of small talk with him. Yet there was one individual looking at him with a steely glare.

The figure had a long coat drenched in darkness, lined by the bold yellow threads revealing grey steel armor underneath, and what looked to be a mace. Besides his distinguishable yet matching hat, which gave off the impression that he is the captain, his sun-touched skin held a fading scar which ran from his temple down to his right cheek.

“Captain Jaren!” cried Glenn as he stood to attention, fixing his posture upwards. Yet his eyes wandered over to the source of the shield made of energy, all maintained by a figure clad in full armor with the colors of the empire, concentrating as the bullets dissipated upon colliding with it. “What are we doing here?”

Jaren’s emerald eyes kept themselves on the young man. His broad shoulders complimented his figure, which stood with a sense of confidence within the tumultuous skirmish. His black gloved hand reached into his own pocket, feeling around for something as if he was looking for a tool in a box. “Because there’s a plan that me and Moely-” His head nodded over to the person maintaining the periwinkle shield. “Has cooked up before we arrived here. It took a while to make, but we’ve nailed pretty much everything down. Now comes the next step.”

"And when’s the next step?” blurted out one person in the group, turning out to be blonde-haired Melany. Everyone somewhat remembers that one time she froze someone’s drink when they ventured through the White Forest. Funny times, Glenn thought.

“You’re going to see Melany,” replied Captain Jaren as he pulled out a small grey communicator from his pocket, and spoke into it with a gruff voice oozing with vigor. “All pilots of the Ravagers- you know what to do. Launch them out!”

Noticing the golden opportunity, the Ravagers that were still standing fired out a ball encased in thick white layers. Many of them soared through the sky with grace like white doves. The soldiers shouted as they tried to shoot at the falling smoky projectiles, but failed as the balls exploded into thick patches of white chalky smoke.

A grin formed on Captain Jaren’s face, both of his hands placed behind him as he looked pleased at the scene. Glenn and the others saw the spectacle flourish in front of them; thick clouds of chalky dust obscuring their enemy’s sight while the Ravagers continued their attack. Moley directed the shield upwards, having it expand in size and enhancing it with more layers. With a silent nod directed to the captain, his grin only grew broader in response.

He then turned to the group and pulled out a piece of grey chalk from his other pocket. “Everyone- we’re going to bust through that barrier with all we got. Today’s the day that we’re taking back Helensburg from the Republic of Gerova. For Her Excellency, and for our people!” The moment that Jaren shoved the chalk in front of him to draw a circle surrounding him, many others took the wordless instruction and took out their utensil.

Everyone then drew their own circle and placed their hands together to chant something incomprehensible; a catalyst used to create wonders that most could only imagine.

At first, Glenn was about to reach into his pocket for his own piece of chalk, but stopped as realization struck him like a bullet train. The thing that was holding back the Ravoshkan Empire, the very thing that stunted their own growth, was the rituals. Every battle involved the Thaumaturges conducting a ritual to unleash deadly magic upon their foes; all linked to the budding beginnings of the empire. Wrapped in a series of tales involving their ancestors conducting all forms of rituals to shift the world around them in exceptional ways.

While a part of him had the distinct desire to pull out his worn-out chalk and create a circle, there was also another part of Glenn that whispered in his ear, egging him to do the right thing- what was best for all of them in an open battlefield where anything can happen. Even a bloodbath. But that was already happening.

The seas of his mind churned with a plan. A far better one, in which Glenn is very positive that it’ll save everyone from death’s chilling embrace, allowing them to move into Helensburg.

Gone was the enticing thought of engaging in the ritual, wiped away from the roots of his mind. Hints of anxiety swarmed into his mind from the deep recesses, but he didn’t care. He felt that he’s doing the right thing at the moment, the “rightest” thing that the Thaumaturge ever thought of. Glenn’s two feet guided him to a unique spot, stopping six feet away from them to the left. His mind then shut itself away from the world, and so began the concentration.

Darkness greeted him for the first couple of seconds. Warm dazzling colors then came suite, shifting and morphing to become something anew. Glenn heard the train of warmth running circles around him, yet he attempted to reach out to the threads made of orange, yellow, and red. They slipped out of his hands multiple times, cackling as they did so. But Glenn reached out again, this time with desire, and grasped a bunch of the threads. The warmth strengthened into the heat of wildfires, then grew to the heat of the sun. From his soul did the fervor begin its course, stretching outwards to the rest of his body.

The young Thaumaturge feels it. He feels it in his fingertips, the searing heat which might’ve reduced him to nothing more than a charred corpse, but it didn’t turn against him. Glenn stretched his fingertips towards a specific spot on the barrier; the lower half, where they’ll get through and take back Helensburg thanks to him.

After a brief second, beams jumped from Glenn’s fingertips and into the humid air, which then fused together to become one. The condensed beam of searing heat hit the barrier with such impact, that even its thick skin couldn’t protect what’s behind it. It gave in, causing an enormous explosion that rocked the border.

There was a visible, colossal hole in the barrier in which revealed a street littered with buildings, few cars, and what looked to be a tower ahead. Those who attempted to perform the ritual, looked bewildered at the scenery. One of the Thaumaturges, brought out from his concentration, looked at the hole and then towards Glenn, saying, “Wait, y-you- you did this?”

“And without conducting the ritual first?” said Captain Jaren, trying to contain his vexation. “Do you know what you just did, Glenn? You’ve…”

“Captain, allow me to explain!” cried the one that performed the spectacle, taking a deep breath. Jaren only looked at him without a word. “The rituals are a part of our culture,” Glenn began. “That I can understand. Our ancestors who founded Ravoshka did many rituals, bringing forth things that most can’t comprehend. We are well-respected for continuing to do that, but…”

"But?”

“We’re living in a different time right now. We may be powerful, but we can still die at any moment.” A brief pause lingered in the air between the two, then Glenn continued. “Why waste all that time conducting rituals to use spells, when we can just cast them in mere seconds? The arrow that ripped through that Ravager could’ve killed us too! Wasting time doing the rituals will not help us at all.”

The communicator in Jaren’s pocket came to life. “Captain,” spoke a pilot through the device; not Maerk. “Most of the weapons on the barrier are down for the count. Are we clear to move into Helensburg?”

The dead silence placed Glenn on edge. Jaren glowered at him, mouthing the words, “We’ll talk about this later,”. The next words flowed from his mouth down to the communicator. “We’re clear to go. Move into the city.”

Taking the confirmation, the group walked forward with Captain Jaren now walking at a rather fast pace to the front. Glenn saw himself sink in a dark sea of shame and dread; he wasn’t sure what to think. Was he in the wrong for not doing the ritual? He thought he did everyone a favor by breaking through the thick wall, saving Maerk and everyone else. Yet his legs only forced him to move along with the group, increasing in pace as everyone rushed in with the Ravagers following behind.

The path was clear. The only thing that mattered was taking back Helensburg.