Blood Myst

 Bleeding Aegis

Book 1

By Valraven Dreadwood

Enter a World Unlike Any Other

Anogwin is a realm incomparable to any other. Here, The Sophic Species, Humans, Elves, Dwarves, Dracose, and many other sapient species have pressed innovation to the furthest limits. Magic is now far more than a mysterious force held by a talented few. Circuit boards of quartz, silver, gold, and Mythril are found in millions of different forms of technology. The raw elemental component of magic, Myst, is used to power everything from day-to-day appliances to vehicles, weapons, War Machines, and so much more. Yet in a world of advanced cybernetics, Zero-G cars, and wonders beyond imagining, there is still strife. Racism remains strong, gangs run whole districts of hive cities, monsters roam the wilds, barbarian tribes raid small towns, drug addiction runs rampant through the weak-minded, mega-corporations tread over the impoverished just as the puppet governments, and there is more than one organization operating from the shadows. Tensions are tight between nations across the globe, and the threat of war looms over the horizon. Do you have the strength and wit to thrive in this world?

Author’s Note

 At the start of each chapter will be a little snippet of world lore that I will try to keep pertinent to the chapter it is attached to. But there will be a couple of chapters where there is no relevant lore that I can provide that has anything to do with the chapter. These chapters will simply be tagged with some random snippet of lore from the world, so don’t get confused if the pattern doesn’t remain the same throughout the entire book.

Critical Note!!

At the start of each chapter will be a little snippet of world lore that I will try to keep pertinent to the chapter it is attached to. But there will be a couple of chapters where there is no relevant lore that I can provide that has anything to do with the chapter. These chapters will simply be tagged with some random snippet of lore from the world, so don’t get confused if the pattern doesn’t remain the same throughout the entire book.

Critical Note!!

This world is rather expansive, with a lot of intricacies, details, and moving parts. To help readers out, I’ve made an encyclopedia website at the following link. https://www.worldanvil.com/w/anogwin-valraven-dreadwood 

This site covers everything. From the magic system to the technology. From nations to natural regions. From profiles of Gods, Titans, Eternals, and Immortals to profiles of characters you’ll encounter in my work. From Sophic Species and monsters to common slang used in various nations, examples of monetary currency, and notes on the adventuring field. I try to update the site regularly, but it can be a challenge to juggle it and the books and life, so please be patient.

Currently, if you want a guide to the slang, go to the site, under Maps & Nations, go to Ventic, scroll to the bottom, and click on the link Ventic Common Slang.

Chapter 1

Deep in the Hive-city of Grimvale, hidden beneath the ceiling of smog, dwelled a tavern. Nestled at the end of a decrepit ally sat the Cantankerous Tankard Tavern. In a city of concrete and steel, the two-story wooden affair stood out as an oddity. A warm glow shone through the obscuring frosted glass windows.

A cloaked figure hurried down the alley, trailed by the echoing barks of pursuit from a pack of mange hounds. Shadows rose on the wall of the passageway, shapes that were all teeth, saliva, and hate. The figure shifted their pace from a hurried walk to the frightened dash of a fawn about to become a meal. The whole while, a messenger bag bounced across their thigh under the cloak.

As the figure made it halfway down the pathway toward the tavern, droplets fell to sizzle on the ground. The spattering of droplets grew more intense, the plastic bags of trash in the alley growing holes where the rain touched. The clocked figure pulled their hood farther over their face and wrapped the black rubber-like fabric around their body. The downpour rose to sheets of acid rain falling, pattering against every open surface. Anything unprotected, by magic or material means, dissolved into an acidic slurry of mush that washed down the gutter vents to be whisked away and expelled into the ocean. Not far off, the sounds of canine yipes of pain could be heard, but the figure of unknown species, gender, or origin remained a solid being.

They hurried to the doorstep of the tavern. Ready to enter, hand on the door, they turned back to see if their pursuers had turned back. When no nightmarish hounds turned the corner, they pressed on into the building. 

The inside of the tavern was homey. The lighting was low, not so dim as to interfere with patrons’ sight, but low enough to accommodate those with sensitive eyes. The source of the lighting was a series of faux gas lamps mounted to the walls every few yards; no two were styled the same. Oak paneling stained a dark red-brown walled the interior. Decorating the walls was an odd assortment of monster trophies and scenic paintings from across the globe. The space of the open room was filled with an odd assortment of mismatched tables and chairs. The ceiling was high enough for the taller species like Dracose or Orcs, but a lower ceiling of smoke hung in the air that smelled of pipe tobacco and burning herbs. 

The patrons in the room were few, numbering just over a dozen from several species and breeds. They all kept a safe distance from each other, sitting either alone or in groups of two or three. A Canyon Dwarf worked the bar against the back wall, his ebon skin the black of stone in sharp contrast to his strawberry blond hair. The stalky man was cleaning glasses with a dishcloth as he waited for the next order.

The newcomer lowered their hood to reveal slightly pointed ears nestled in a mess of chestnut hair. A young man. His skin was pale, only barely touched with the color lavender, and he had a boyish face set with eyes of silver irises and gray sclera. A half-breed Star Elf. He wore beneath his cloak a brown leather duster that had seen many a mile over a black t-shirt emblazoned with a stylized blue font that read 'To the winner go my pages', a crisp pair of clean blue jeans that were well pressed, and a black and blue pair of travel-worn sneakers, perched atop his nose was a pair of square-framed glasses.

He inspected the room with nervous energy, looking for someone in particular. He stood just past the threshold, ready to bolt, given the first sign of danger. When no gun or blade was drawn, he hurried over to the bar. There was only one other person in the row of stools. The Halfling Elf took a seat on a barstool that held no kinship with any of the other stools in the row. He leaned forward over the bar, propped on an elbow, about to ask the bartender something when the door slammed open. The Half-Elf lept two inches off the barstool in surprise. 

Five figures stood in the doorway clad in cloaks made of the same rubbery fabric as the Elf’s. Only these figures held an imposing aura about them. They each wore a holstered weapon. The group lowered their hoods as they muttered to each other. At the front of the group stood two massive figures, one an Orc, the other a Dracose.

 The Orc was almost as wide as he was tall, with a massive gut. His skin was gray-green, as was common with his species. His cinderblock of a jaw jutted out to reveal a pair of thick tusks, one pierced with a thick gold ring. His black hair was shaved clean on the sides of his skull and worn long on top in dreadlocks held together with grime and sweat. He wore Tac-Armor, tactical armor, and sleek plates of reinforced steel over a kinetic gel layer. The whole thing was painted a matt black with a bright red symbol of a stylized ax and dragon skull spray-painted over his chest. He wore a massive battle maul at his hip.

The Dracose beside the Orc was a massive example of the Dezzar warrior breed. She was clearly female, given her more slender waist, narrower snout ending in a horned ridge of bone, and bright eyes. Her scales were the color of rust across her Draconian head, crowned with two curving horns. Her eyes were a vibrant sapphire with flecks of silver. Her feet were clawed with widespread toes, like that of a dragon. Her thick-based tail was marked with a frill and small horns at a regular distance down its length. She wore a set of Tac-armor similar to her Orcish counterpart; only her symbol was blue.

Behind those two were far less imposing figures. A Sun Elf with golden hair and irises and blue sclera. A pair of Humans, twins, both female, with brunette hair, only one wore her hair in a pixie cut, and the other one wore hers in a high ponytail so tight it almost pulled her eyebrows back.

Together, the group muttered and laughed at some comment made by the Orc as they took off their protective cloaks and shook them off. Together, they all stepped up to the bar. The Orc shouldered the Half-Elf aside without a second thought, and he ordered a round of drinks. The young Half-blood tumbled off his stool and struck the floor headfirst with a resounding thud! 

The Human twins snickered at his lack of dexterity as he pulled himself back up to his feet. “Eh—excuse me. Are any of you Iver?” he asked timidly.

The party turned to look at him, drinks in hand. The Orc asked in a deep rumble, “What’s it to you, kid?”

“Well, I was supposed to meet him here for an interview. I-I’m Tave Nightfall. I’m an author of biographies.” Tave stammered as he pressed his glasses further up his nose with a slender finger.

The Orc cocked a smirk at the boy and said, “Kid, the only one here with a story worth telling is me.”

The Dracose slapped her partner across the back of the head. “Don’t go boasting with the rest of the party in the room, Kursh.” She chided.

“Oh, come on, Netty.” The Orc, Kursh said defensively. “I was just messing with the kid.”

The Sun Elf stepped forward and offered a hand in greeting. “Please ignore my partner. I’m Iver.”

Tave tentatively took the offered hand and gently shook it. “You’re nothing like what I imagined from your exploits, Mr.Maverick.”

The Elf flashed a fake smile as he said, “Watch your words, Half Breed. I am more of a threat than you think.”

Tave’s eyes went wide as he received the threat.

“That’s funny.” Came a slurred voice from the bar. The figure sat on a stool at the far end of the bar, swirling a wide glass half full of an amber liquid. “Last I checked, I was Iver Maverick.” This new individual turned around in his seat to face the others as they turned their attention to him.

He was a Darkling, his fiendish horns and serpentine tail giving it away, but there was something odd about him. Tave noticed that his skin had an odd pattern to it. He had a tanned olive bronze skin tone, but laced across every bit of exposed skin looked to be threads of ivory white. Across his hands, face, and neck, it looked like he had pale threads that resembled the veins in marble. Tave couldn’t help but wonder if it was all one massive tattoo. As this strange man turned his head to half look at the Sun Elf, Tave took note of a leather eyepatch covering his left eye, held on by three straps.

“You know, if I’m not Iver anymore, that’s a relief. Iver’s seen some real lasher shit. Stuff that was so screwed it’d make the whole lot of you adventurers turn tail and make for the streets like Kassidan himself was looking for you.”

The Sun Elf was beside the strange Darkling so fast that Tave wondered if he had teleported. “You best watch your words, Devil Dabbler. You might think that you’ve seen some dacker shit. But unlike you, goblins and kobolds don’t scare us. We hunt Firbolgs.”

“Ooohh.” Iver said sarcastically with a wave of his hands. “You hunt the Bellicose Species, do you? I know those might seem big and scary to you, but I’ve seen some real nightmarish stuff. Kassidan’s Parade level of insane. Oh, sorry, Iver has seen that stuff.” Suddenly, he took on a pensive expression. “If I’m not Iver anymore, then who would I be?”

“I’ve had enough of this!” snapped the Sun Elf.

“Gell, I don’t think picking a fight is the best course of action.” the Dracose warned.

“This drunk is talking some damn big game to make us sound bad, and I’m about ready to put his face to the floorboards.”

Iver just gave a lax shrug and said, “I would listen to your friend if I were you. I’d rather not fight, but now you’ve got me thinking about some real dark things, and I’m getting a bit twitchy.”

Without another word, Gell threw a punch at the Darkling. But the blow didn’t connect. Instead, the Sun Elf found his face rammed into the edge of the bar, his teeth shattering on contact. The rest of his party dropped their drinks and rushed in to confront the drunk Dark Spawn, aside from Netty, the Dracose.

 She turned to the bartender with a look of embarrassed apology. “I promise we’ll pay for any damages and the hospital bill for the drunkard.” The barkeep only nodded in acceptance as he cleaned yet another glass, totally unconcerned about the brawl occurring in his establishment. 

Kursh charged in with war maul cocked for a swing at the Darkling's head. As soon as the swing started its arc to Iver’s skull, he went as limp as a rag-doll, falling backward, the swing sailing over his person harmlessly. The stool toppled over, and the man found his legs tangled in the limbs of his seat.

The twins made their move. Pixie cut closed in with a pair of cutlasses, and ponytail circled around with a pair of small caliber pistols looking for a clear line of fire. Iver slithered free of his entanglement in a manner far more fluid than Tave thought a drunk should be able to. While on the floor, he rolled back onto his shoulders and neck before throwing his legs up and out; the momentum and motion of the action threw him back to his feet, where he staggered forward, only barely able to stop himself before he fell on his face. Pixie cut lashed out with a slash, and Iver spun away in an almost drunken dancing manner, catching his stool with his foot to hurl up and catch in both hands. Pixie cut pushed the offensive, hacking and slashing from every possible angle, but Iver deflected each and every blow with the barstool. He wielded the piece of furniture like a weapon he was experienced with.

When one of Pixie Cut’s cutlasses got lodged in the leg of the stool, Iver tossed the stool in a spin, disarming his attacker of one of her weapons. While the stool spun in the air and everyone’s attention was on it, Iver threw a powerful horizontal kick into Pixie Cut’s abdomen, hurling her across the room and into her sister, the two hitting the floor in a tangle of limbs and curses.

Iver caught the stool, aiming its seat at Kursh as the Orc came at him with another swing of his maul. The Darkling surprised his assailant by charging straight forward into the attack. At the last moment, he tripped over his own foot, falling under the swing of the Orc’s attack. But he caught himself before he landed on the floor and thrust his weaponized stool, seat first, into the Orc’s jaw. The larger opponent staggered back and dropped his maul as he struggled to recenter his jarred focus. Iver took advantage of this opportunity by adjusting his grip on the seat to hold it like a battering ram. He stepped towards the Orc, spinning on his heel to build momentum before bringing the whole of the stool with added force to collide with the burly warrior’s temple. The strike dropped him like a sack of potatoes to the floor. But the attack sent the Darkling staggering away as he tried to keep his balance. 

Once Iver managed to stabilize, he turned back to face his attackers only to find Netty, the Dracose, pointing to the door as she hefted her gray-skinned companion onto one shoulder. The twins stepped outside without another word. Once the large woman had her larger partner balanced on one shoulder, she stooped to throw the Sun Elf over her other shoulder like a sack of flour.

“Sorry to bother you,” she said as she gave her party members an angry glare one at a time. When she turned back to Iver, she gestured to the bar with her jaw, where a coin purse sat. “That’s everything we earned on our last job. I’ll let you and the barkeep decide how to divvy it.”

As she left, Iver set the barstool back where it was intended and took a seat atop the dented thing, waving Tave over. “Sorry about all that drama.” He waved to the Dwarf behind the bar and asked, “Can you make me a Morning Wake Up?” He turned to Tave as he took his seat. “You want anything?” But the boy shook his head. 

The awkward silence was thick between the two until the bartender provided Iver with his drink. Iver tipped the towards Tave, “This should help me sober up for our talk.”

“So, is it true?”

Iver shot Tave a cocked brow over the rim of his glass. “Is what true? That question can be asked about a lot in my life.”

“Are you seriously the Pale Raven?”

Iver took a long pull from his drink before he gave his answer. “I am he and more. There’s going to be a lot I want you to write.”

“But Mr. Maverick-”

“Please, call me Iver.” His tone turned frosty. “Mr. Maverick was my bastard father.”

“Sorry. Iver, why come out of the shadows now?”

Iver took another long pull from his drink as he thought. “Do you want the dramatic answer or the honest answer?”

“Honest, please.”

He took a deep breath in and let it out slowly before he said, “If I’m being honest, I want to be remembered as more than some ghost story. Yeah, I’ve done a lot. A lot of good as well as bad. But I’m a person. I’m more than the horror story told between kids or thugs in a dark room. I didn’t just pop into existence and start making moves that would make or break nations.”

“So did you actually–?” Iver interrupted his question with a single raised finger.

“I’d rather you not ask about my exploits. I’ll tell you about them as they come up. Trust me; I’ll give you enough material for a whole series or two of novels.”

“Okay.” Tave reached into the messenger bag at his side and pulled free a notebook and pen.”

“Going old-fashioned, are we?” Iver gave the young Half-Elf another look, taking in details from a new perspective. Tave gave an abashed shrug. “I think better when I physically write it down. But I got to know, where does your story start?”

Iver propped his elbow against the bar and took on a thousand-yard stare as he sighed into his knuckles. “Where did it all start? Before I started a war, even before I lost my arm,” He pulled back the sleeve of his right arm to reveal that the limb was cybernetic, “It all started with a box when I was an infant. That box came into my life only a few times, but when it did, it was a disaster every time. I feel like I could blame that black box for everything that went wrong in my life. But before I really start the tale, I need to apologize in advance if things get a bit … melodramatic, especially this first bit, since I only heard about it from my father, so I filled in the blanks with my own details.” 

Night cloaked the thick woods, drawing forth the sounds of midnight under the five moons. Owls, wolves, and insects all sang into the night, little more than wary of the sound of pounding hooves as a cloaked rider drove her steed harder down the road toward the cabin in the woods. Thunder sounded a speedy approach as the looming clouds rolled over the moons, only letting a spare few beams of light through. Lightning lit the ominous cover overhead, startling the mount. The rider of the dark steed was swathed in a large, thick cowl, her features hidden from the few beams of light from the five moons, yet the shape in her arms could not hide its strangely patterned skin from the nocturnal lights. The sparse light shone down upon the face of a dreaming infant, the nubs of horns rising from his brow, the pallor and pattern of his skin sure to make him stand out among the masses. Kella pushed her dark steed even harder as she tried to coo to the child in its sleep.  Kella passed around the bend, and she caught sight of electrical light shining from cabin windows in the near distance. As she pulled her steed to a hard stop, the beast reared up on its hindquarters with a distressed whiny, proclaiming their arrival. The harsh braying of the horse shocked the infant awake; its pitiful wails were almost drowned out by a peal of thunder, and the rain patted down as if Neiria, the Titan of Water, wept for the pain that would come this night.

Shadows moved from within the cabin even as lightning flashed nearby; the rolling thunder could be felt in Kella’s bones as she pulled herself down from her dark mount.

With a child cradled in her left arm and a messenger bag bouncing at her opposite hip, she took a moment to ready herself for what was to come. The bag at her side was weighted down with something deep within, a hard and dark shape that was the source of almost all of Kella’s worry, and the very reason for this panicked trip.

 The bag bounced off her thigh as she stormed up to the cabin. Kella landed three heavy blows against the oak door before it swung in to reveal a male Wild Elf. The Elf stood in the door frame, about average height for his species at 5’ 11”, his short night clothes barely hiding his tanned skin and toned physique. His long black hair hung loose to frame his delicate features, and his triangular teeth were on open display to show his breed of Elf. The Wild Elf, Fermose, rested a wary hand on a dagger at his hip in an unspoken warning, demanding the identity of the figure beating down his door. The rainfall intensified from a light pattering to a drizzle, warning worse was yet to come. The shadowed figure pulled back her hood to reveal pink-purple skin in the shape of a fair woman’s face set with worry, her jade eyes bright with fear, and a pair of horns rising from just behind her hairline.

“Kella?” Fermose gasped as he took a step back in shock. “My love, it’s been two years since you vanished from me. Now you return with a babe in hand that is not of my blood and a look of true distress in your eye. Tell me, my sweet, what do you need of me?” Fermose spoke from his heart, seeking to aid his lost love. Kella was the first woman to see him as more than a brute. The two years that she had been gone for were a little over two weeks to the Wild Elf, his lifespan reaching much farther than that of his Darkling lover. “I can provide you with food and shelter, Kella. I will guard you against whosoever comes after you if needed. Please, tell me what you need of me.”

Her motions displaying obvious panic, she shoved the young babe into Fermose’s arms. Frantically, Fermose juggled the infant into the crook of one arm.

“I am sorry for this, Fermose, but time is short. I need you to raise and guide him. For his own safety, I can not come back for him.” She whispered before reaching into her messenger bag to pull free a square, flat box of pure onyx, its corners rounded. No latch or seal shown from the dark shape. “Watch over and protect this. No one can know that it is here. I do not exaggerate when I say this could mean life or death, not only for my boy but for untold thousands more.” Kella rasped as she shoved the strange box into Fermose’s free hand.

Kella turned from her former lover, her newly born son, and the device of her destiny as she mounted her Night Charger. “I’m sorry, darling, but you will never see me again. Raise him well.”

Without another word, she spurred on her mount, galloping off into the night even as the rain grew from a drizzle to falling in sheets.

Fermose turned away from the door after a long moment of watching his love flee his sight for a second time. He kicked the door shut as he turned away. Fermose threw the box in an old armchair, caring little if what it held was fragile, before setting the babe down on a couch in front of his roaring fireplace. 

“This is insane. This is as mad as Kassidan’s parade.” He paced the length of his living room, thinking aloud with gestures just as much as his external ramblings. “She was only gone for two years and comes back with a babe in arm.” He offhandedly gestured to the infant, who was hypnotized at that moment by the dancing flames within the hearth. “Who is its father? And why does its skin look so strange?”

Fermose halted his pacing and tried to organize his thoughts with a few deep breaths. This wasn’t like him. He had to work with what he was given. And he was given a nameless infant and a strange box.

“I can take care of that damned box later; learn how to open it if I’m lucky. But right now, you,” He said, pointing at the young babe, “Need a name. Kella never told me your name, so If I’m gonna raise you, you’re going to need a name.” Fermose perched his chin atop one hand as he eyed the fledgling. “If you came from Kella and are going to be raised by me, you’re going to need a strong name, a powerful name. You need to be a warrior, able to face down any challenge. How about I name you... Ivor?”

Almost in answer, the babe cooed and gave a burbling giggle around bubbles of saliva.

“You know what, you right, Ivor is too set in stone. What if we change it to... Iver?