Red Velvet Rogue: The first appearance of characters from the Main Sequence Novels set in the Ebbverse

Red Velvet Rogue: (Word count c. 1560) Nov. 21^st 2014 By Mickey MacMurphy

The Paladin and his horse were both very tired, dusty and worn from the long road behind them, knowing many miles still lay ahead. The soft canter of the horse was hypnotically lulling him into a strange state between sleeping and riding but not quite either. The bright sun was beginning to scorch the day, and not for the first time, he was grateful for the protection of his armor.

He suddenly jerked awake, his thumb automatically flipping of the rawhide catch that held his stemmschutt in its holster on the side of his mount. At first he wasn't sure what brought all his combat honed skills screaming to full alertness, right on the edge of Overclock, there was no obvious threat nearby. But then he heard it, up the road ahead, the unmistakable sounds of combat. From the vague sound of the jeers and taunts, a very one sided combat indeed. Perhaps a frail pilgrim needed his help. So, once more! Into the fray!

With that, he gave the huge charger some heel, and, probably feeling the same sudden rush of excitement he did, they were off, speeding up the low rise ahead. Nearing the top, the cries ahead turned from arrogant triumph to sudden pained surprise, and he idly mused if the peasant or pilgrim had scored a lucky hit against one of the bandits. Probably ex-mercenaries from down south, having overstayed their welcome, harassing innocent farmers or some such. No matter, the Paladin lived to stop the strong from destroying the weak; all part of an ancient oath he took.

So to say he wasn't prepared for what assailed his eyes upon clearing the rise wasn't any overstatement. To make out the chaos, even with his battle experienced senses, he had to stare at it for several moments to make sense of the scene. One bandit was down, looking (really, this was so strange) as if he had been run through by somehow falling on his own sword. Another was lying in the ground nearby, clutching his family jewels, rolling around in agony. Four left, circling obviously a woman from the strategic curves. Little more than that, could he tell, for she was covered from tip to toe in an exotic cam suit. He knew, even without overclocking, that it was a cam suit; normal leather armor didn't have hypnotic crimson patterns swirling all over its surface.

His senses started to Overclock, then strangely geared back down, as if no threat existed here. Face scowling in puzzled confusion, one hand resting on his spirit double dirk, the other still holding the reins, he watched as one bandit tried to circle around as distraction, while the other tried to angle behind the woman with the exceedingly rare armor, their faces cocky, overconfident, expecting an easy victim. The other two looked like they were close to tripping over each other to put distance between themselves and the girl, without trying to be obvious or cowardly about it. Did the fools circling in not know what she was wearing?

That armor would give her perfect 360º vision, not to mention pretty good protection against their primitive weapons. He realized with a sudden start that she was just toying with them, a bored panthress outnumbered by a gang of particularly stupid jackals. He dismounted, and the horse, sensible about these things, wandered off to nibble some inviting grass. Both the horse and his senses agreed; there was no threat here. He drew closer, keeping one hand on the hilt of his zaber, the other on his double dirk, careful to not appear a threat.

The idiots assaulting her hadn't appeared to have noticed his quiet approach. He had to admit, the Touched Brothers, despite their wyrd, Ebb-touched ways, had done an amazing job retuning his armor; it barely creaked at all. The one behind her signaled to his chum and launched his attack, followed a second later by a frontal assault by his friend. Without his Overclock, he wouldn't have seen anything but an orangish blur, then two bodies drop. With it, he saw her stretch almost leisurely around the first sword, bat at the second, as the first slipped by her and into its companion's side. He couldn't help but wince, a possibly fatal and surely painful wound, a terrible piece of friendly fire. The other man bleated bloody foam and let go of the sword now lodged deeply in his friend, staring down in surprise at his chest where his dagger suddenly protruded, wondering briefly how it got there from where it had been, safely in its sheath, before falling dead.

The other two took to their heels, and the crimson woman stood defiantly in the middle of the road, one hand on her hip, the other defiantly shaking her fist in victory. He wondered if she was hurling triumphant insults after them, but his telecommunications gear had been ripped from his helmet as part of his De-Gracing.

As he watched this display, movement nearby caught his eye. The bandit on the ground had finished comforting his jewels and had sat up and cranked a hand crossbow. He was beginning to point it at the rogue woman's back, taking careful aim through the primitive sights. Her armor was good, but at this distance, with the armor likely slightly weaker at the back, that bolt would probably severely injure or possibly kill.

And she was seemingly unaware, still waving her fist at her retreating foes. He Overclocked and in an instant was beside the would be sniper. As the mailed fist crashed down, easily splitting skull, reflex action pulled the trigger, as well as the arms up and to the side.  Consequently, the bolt skittered and bounced harmlessly off her thicker, pointy shoulder armor. She felt the impact and instantly faced him, arms up, massive Pistoleros Ebbterializing in her hands, twin barrels of armor piercing doom daring him to blink. He calmly stared them down, not a muscle or even a nerve moving.

They stood like this for a few seconds, until, with a musical laugh on a human audio channel, she pointed both barrels skyward. She clicked their tips together, and they began to derezz into tiny plumes of colorful chaff. He finally recognized her armor up close. It was a rare suit made entirely out of a single gargantuan macrophage. The rare and hideously expensive, enormously,  beautifully lethal, Red Velvet. Designed specifically for the clandestine assassination operations of the Empire, he knew the sensor array in the tip of the crest of his helm wouldn't be able to find her unless she wanted him to. Impressive, very impressive. Not only did she have this magnificent rare set of armor, and the combat skills to make full use of it as evidenced by the bandit wreckage lying nearby, but was also an accomplished Ebb user. He wondered what else she could do.

"Thanks, I guess. Not that I needed your help. I was just teaching these dogs a lesson for messing with a helpless maiden." The sarcasm was strong and she made a noise and gesture like spitting. Then seemed to really see him for the first time. The crest on her helm, one he didn't recognize, bobbed as she looked him up and down. Strange, he thought he knew all of the various crests of all the multitude of various orders.  

"Well, well, a Paladin of the Church Militant. What is one of your kind doing way out here alone? One that has been DEG'ed, no less" She pronounced it Dee Eee Gee'ed and he could feel the sneer in her voice. Her laughter seemed to ring first from one side of the desolate road, then the other, a somewhat disturbing effect, he thought.

So she knew what the symbols on his armor meant, or rather lack of them, most of them having been alternately burnt or ripped from his armor and the uniform underneath. He merely shrugged at the unspoken question, the one everyone wanted to ask but none had the courage to.

"Politics." He grunted, then signaled for his horse. As the beast approached, resembling a traditional horse as much as a tiny lap dog resembled a magnificent timber wolf, her laughter rang again across the desolate road, populated now only by death and death's companions. She seemed to stare at him through the impassive faceplate of her armor. He couldn't guess at her expression, and watched without surprise as she snapped her fingers and vanished.  He merely grunted again and remounted, wondering if he would see her again.

"Politics, it always is," she said, with a more self effacing laugh this time. "Well then, oh noble ignoble, oh ex holy warrior, oh knight of this nightly afternoon, what are you going to do now that you have no more damsels in distress to rescue?" He could feel her smirking at him, making fun of him. "Perhaps then we'll meet again someday."

As he rode off, he vaguely wondered if she secretly followed at a safe distance. Of course, there was no way to tell, not with the stealth suite onboard her armor. Nothing but the empty frostcrete road, stretching off into the middle distance, where his objective lay. Perhaps they would meet again, and he found himself secretly hoping they did.

End