The Train Job, Part 2

It is not the train that makes the job difficult, but rather the speed at which it travels across our glorious land. Faster than the quickest steed, this iron behemoth pulls the weight of industry and progress across our commonwealth day in and day out, fuelled by magic and the will of the people. Magnificent.

But, when you are attempting to apprehend a group of dangerous criminals intent on using the train system as a means to wreak havoc, well...

One can see why Ser Gilbert is upset.

The Warlock Ten, or Dex as most of his companions called him, was waiting at the rear of the train to provide arcane support if called upon. His communication cuff link had recently chirped, telling him that Ser Gilbert was engaging his target. Other than that though, the system that the team used to stay in contact was eerily silent. Their opponent's strengths were not clear at this time, and Gilbert had not wanted to risk their information being intercepted so he had ordered them to remain silent.

Warlock Ten had wanted to point out that his examination of the individuals from afar had revealed no divinitory essences or systems that could possibly perform such an interception, but this was not Warlock Ten's first Mage Hunter. He had long ago learned not to volunteer too much information, or to let his keeper become too aware of his true potential. Partly for his own safety, and partly for theirs.

Mage Hunters with particularly potent Warlocks tended to volunteer for increasingly dangerous tasks, and although he loved his country, Warlock Ten had no immediate intention of dying alone in some far-flung corner of the globe to preserve and expand that country.

He looked out the small window of the baggage car he was hiding in, and sighed contentedly. The train continued its long trek through the grasslands and farms of the commonwealth, oblivious to the altercation about to occur inside it. Absent-mindedly, he pawed at the locket hidden inside his shirt as he wondered for a moment if it was all worth it. The wheats and grasses flew past the window, mountains in the distance seeming to lumber slowly, calmly by in the distance.

Yes.

He steeled his resolve. Indeed, it was worth it. Every bit.

His cuff link chirped twice in quick succession, and Warlock Ten broke from his reverie. Time to work. He scurried up the ladder on the wall, and flung open the hatch to the roof. Sunlight blazed into the dim baggage compartment, and the sound of whipping air was nearly deafening. He steeled himself, and climbed out into the driving wind.

Four

Four went down
from town to crown
and knew not where
their stars lay.

Four sons of light
must learn to fight
if in this new home
they will stay.

Four were here
now three are near
and for the other
do we pray.

Four took root
and bore the fruit
of labours dark
and choices gray.

Train Job, Part 1

It was a train job, which he hated because it complicates things. Anytime you take an intricate, delicate task and put it in a rickety box hurtling across the countryside at fifty clicks an hour, something goes wrong. Something you wouldn't expect. Something that would have been no issue, if you'd just kept your feet planted on the dirt like any decent son of the Goddess. But alas no, this was no normal job.

It was a train job.

Ser Gilbert of Neviche sighed, and shuffled his newspaper. He moved to the next page, eyes scanning the compartment for something, anything. Any sign of trouble, any uncomfortable passengers, an errant bead of sweat on a traveller's brow.

He could see Harcourt animatedly chatting up a neighbouring passenger at the other end of the car. Technically in position, but as usual his attention had wandered from the task at hand. Typical.

Page three of the paper had a story about some trouble at one of the universities, some kind of extraplanar being put down by a group of overzealous youths. He frowned. That is a job for the Diony, after all. Lazy and incompetent as they are.

It was subtle when it happened. Almost too subtle for Ser Gilbert, he noted. Two passengers, opposite sides of the car, separated by four rows casually meet eyes and nod to each other slightly. Got you.

One rises from his seat, folding his paper under his arm and retrieving a small bag from under his seat. Calmly he starts to make his way to the door at the end of the car. Gilbert presses the gem on his cuff link to alert Nora and the Warlock to be prepared, while trying to get Harcourt's attention. The target is almost to the exit by the time Harcourt turns casually from his conversation and points at the seated cohort while winking at Gilbert.

Curse his effortless skill, thinks the Mage Hunter. He throws his paper into the seat across from him and moves to calmly pursue the primary target. The far door of the car opens and shuts behind the man. Gilbert's cuff link chirps quietly to confirm Nora and the Warlock received his alert. He ups his pace to a noticeable amount, counting on Harcourt to handle the secondary target.

The door is a standard sliding train door, with a frosted glass pane on the top. Ser Gilbert takes a moment to breathe, centres himself, and throws the door open.

To come face to face with Nora, priestess of the Great Provider and his second-in-command. The instant ready position both took eases into a comfortable stand, as the confusion sets in. They both step onto the small platform separating the two cars, and Gilbert closes the door behind them. The sound of the rushing air is loud and unsettling.

"Did he pass you?" Gilbert asks, already knowing the answer.

Nora shakes her head with a glare. The two check opposite sides of the car, looking into the disappearing distance in case their target had jumped from the train. But the man dressed in black was nowhere to be seen on the horizon. The two turn to face each other once more. Gilbert frowns. Nora looks up, to the roof of the train.

Ser Gilbert of Neviche sighs, and begins resignedly climbing the ladder to the roof of the train. It was a train job.

Which complicates things.