Prologue: Hydrargyrum - Before The Hemochrome
They said no sensible soul dared to walk the dilapidated streets of Taishin’s Watership District after midnight.
Once the beating heart of the peninsula during its maritime glory, it now wasted away like a rotten branch in the shadow of Neo-Taishin and its modern infrastructure. It, like the aging colonial buildings - fashioned from the remains of the merchant vessels that had first arrived here from across The Graven Sea - were now half-swallowed by the rising tides and creeping mud.
Only three types of people lived here now: those with nowhere to go, those with something to hide, and the nin-ren - who slept on these muddy shores before the first ships ever made landfall.
One woman stood out from the usual denizens of the district, wearing a little too much for the warm, humid air of the mudflats. Factory fatigues, held tight by leather straps and a tool belt at her hips. A wool cap and a face scarf concealed her short, sandy hair and ash-grey face, while fitted skin boots kept her steps light on the muddier parts of the district, even with the heavy leather and bronze case strapped to her back.
Each footfall was deliberate, timed with the groan of settling beams and the sighs through cracked shutters.
She weaved through the dark alleys and shaded districts, intentionally choosing the paths less travelled. Eventually, the alleys led her to the old ship graveyard - a desolate stretch of coastline the locals called the Dead Whales Grove.
It nearly took a week to uncover her quarry’s secret location; many sleepless nights of decoding secret triad messages, eavesdropping and espionage. From which, she learnt where agents of the Dragon Triad had hidden her prize, and how she would know it by the three notches carved on the portside hull of the old, wrecked merchant vessel - long abandoned an era ago during the district’s glory.
Though rotten, it was clear that the hole in the ship’s hull was only recently made - and with clear intention.
An otherwise unassuming entrance for an unassuming hiding place.
Stepping in, the woman unwound a length of copper wire at her belt, connecting it to a glass rod in one hand. In the other, the woman squeezed a device that whirred and growled with each pump. Before long, the glass rod began to glow, filling the ship's dark interior with soft, yellow light.
She searched the length of the ship’s hold, turning over old barrels and soggy tarps as she went. When she reached the far side of the hold, the woman noticed something odd about the wall. The wooden boards - while damp from the sea breeze - looked newer than the rest of the ship.
Unslinging the arm-length bronze hammer at her hip, the woman gently tapped it on the wall, the white sigil on the hammer's head lighting up on contact. The echo in the wall confirmed what she already knew: it was hollow.
The woman cranked more power to the light rod as she ran her free hand along the false wall until she found a gap in the boards wide enough to fit her wrist through, feeling a latch on the other side.
Freeing it revealed the hidden room on the other side, where several padlocked crates were stacked.
From the left of her belt, the woman drew a copper chisel - broader than most and etched with more sigils. Holding it to one of the padlocks, the woman tapped it lightly with her hammer. The room sparked with arcane light as the lock effortlessly broke apart.
The woman threw the hatch open to find the case filled with mechanical parts in every shade of gold, silver and bronze - some as thin as paper. Even without checking for their manufacturing numbers, she knew machine parts of this complexity could only belong to The Embrassist Manufacturing Corporation.
Her employers.
The company had sent her to find this stolen shipment - useless on its own, but worth their weight in gold to the right merchants. She didn’t know why or what The Dragon Triad hoped to gain by making an enemy of The Embrassists - so soon into Taishin’s industrialisation, but it wasn’t her job to know - yet.
All she had to do was find the cargo, and find it she had.
Picking up an eight-sided cog made of polished brass, the woman slipped it through a slot on her bronze case into the box's padded safety compartment.
Coastal winds whistled a chilling breeze inside the empty ship as the woman turned to leave. She stepped back through the hole in the hull and out into the night air-
She paused mid-step.
Just beyond the wreckage, a group of four men stood waiting for her, wrapped in a low rolling fog. Though they were hard to make out in the dark, the woman saw each one carrying swords, a spear and a long rifle - one of them with no visible weapon. She also saw their draconian talismans and tattoos, proud displays of their service to the Dragon Triad.
She had been careful when approaching the wreck not to be seen, but this was Triad territory. The shadows of these dead ships were their home, and she had been too confident in her abilities.
Hoping to resolve things peacefully, the woman raised her arms in surrender, declaring her name and intentions - as politely as she could - for all to hear.
In return, one of the men raised his rifle and shot a harpoon at her.
Time seemed to freeze as the woman’s eyes went wide with shock as her mouth fell open in silent agony. Looking down, she saw the shaft of the harpoon in her front, and felt its point out her back.
And then time sprung back as she was knocked to the ground by a fifth man - who had leapt off the side of the ship and pounced on top of her. Pinned to the mud, the man struck the woman across the temple with his wrought-iron knuckles, causing her to go limp.
He let out a cheer as the other four laughed, revelling in the thrill of the catch. For two nights, their gang had been forced to guard this spot without knowing why. Two nights that could have otherwise been spent running collections for the gang or wasting said collections at the new city’s bath houses. An Embrassist agent carrying all manner of trinkets and tools was just what they needed to break the monotony.
Taking out the knife at his belt, the gangster leaned over the woman’s body to cut away at her fabrics.
But just as he grabbed her by the vest, the woman’s hand shot up to meet his. Eyes travelled up to her face and widened when he saw her staring back at him.
And then he saw the hammer - seconds before it struck him across the face with the force of a battering ram. With one blow, he was thrown back into the old ship, crashing into the rotten wood hard enough to make a new hole in the ship.
Her body jerked up like a marionette as the remaining men watched in wide-eyed horror. Using the hammer’s claw, she broke the shaft of the harpoon with a sharp snap, before her head snapped in the direction of her attackers.
At once, the thugs exploded with action. One of the men unleashed a battle cry, raising his spear and charging while the one with the rifle reloaded as another - the one carrying no weapons - took one of the drinking gourds hanging from his hip, uncorking it to down its contents.
As the spearman lunged towards her, the woman stood her ground, her posture calm yet poised. Her boots shifted ever so slightly on the soft mud as she turned just as he was about to strike.
The tip of the spear glanced harmlessly off and along the bronze case on her back as the gangster overstepped, stumbling and leaving himself open as the woman’s elbow shot upward and into his face with a sickening crack. He staggered back in a daze as she spun to deliver a sharp kick to his chest, throwing him backward with a force that seemed impossible for someone of her size.
With two down, the woman turned her attention to the remaining three when she saw a plume of flame coming her way. Panicked, she turned to use the bronze case as a shield, slipping in the mud as the wave of fire knocked her to the ground and sent the case tumbling.
Through the dying flames, she saw the man with the gourds approaching. The dragon tattoos on his body burned a fiery red as his cheeks swelled, rearing back to spit more flames.
She stumbled as she ran back into the old ship, narrowly evading the arcane fire by ducking behind an old wooden crate. The flames licked the crate, but the damp wood kept it from catching fire. Her eyes searched the darkness for a solution, but her hands felt the old iron chain by her feet first.
Picking it up, she pulled it taut to test its strength, the chain links still holding together. As she closed her eyes, the woman whispered a phrase that made the chain glow an iridescent silver. Holding it at the ready, she watched from around the edge of the box as the fire-breather walked through the hole in the hull, taking another deep drink from his gourd.
In a flash, the woman sprung out of cover and flung the chain at him. Only a small plume of flame escaped this time as the chain coiled around the man’s body and neck to choke his flames. The woman held her hand out, the runes on her glove glowing deep silver as imagined the chain tightening in her mind’s eye. The man let out a muffled scream as the chain pulled tighter around him, like a metal snake, constricting him as he was lifted off the ground.
The woman steadied her outstretched arm with her free hand, each step deliberate as she concentrated on her control of the chain.
Then, there was a sharp crack as another harpoon zipped through the air.
With only a split-second to react, the woman flicked her wrist, pulling the chained man in front of her. There was a muffled groan of pain when he was struck by the harpoon before the woman threw him aside as she was suddenly wracked with nausea.
For a moment, the woman’s eyes became unfocused - exhausted from the concentrated effort of her spell.
She almost didn’t see the leader of the gang approaching, his sword poised to strike. A flicker of movement in her peripheral vision was her only warning and in an instant, her chisel jumped her hand. She caught the flat of the sword just as it jabbed into her side, holding the blade trapped as a line of blood darkened her clothing.
It was a tug of war, and the swordsman relented first, drawing back for a diagonal slice that the woman met head-on, her chisel sparking against the steel as she drew her hammer.
He pressed the attack, launching a series of swift jabs and slashes. Each strike came with deadly precision, but she countered each time. With two weapons against his one blade, she even managed to graze him once, then twice.
Their duel was interrupted when the rifleman fired a third harpoon at the woman, but she put enough distance between her and the leader by twirling away before drawing back her hammer. Caught off-guard by the suddenness of an airborne hammer, the swordsman was struck with such speed that he was thrown backwards through the air.
Seizing the momentum, the woman spun on her heel and hurled her chisel at the rifleman, cutting through the air like it had been launched from a cannon.
But the gunner was quick. In a desperate scramble, he pulled a loose wooden plank, yanking it up from the mud just in time to catch the chisel. The wood splintered and cracked as the chisel embedded itself hard enough to rattle the man.
The woman’s hand shot out, glove alight with arcane symbols as the hammer was pulled through the air toward her, catching it mid-stride as she sprinted across the muddy ground. Closing the gap, the woman swung the hammer in a fluid arc, bringing it down onto the chisel.
The instant the two connected, the etched runes on their surfaces flared to life, bathing the ship graveyard in a flash of blue, followed by a deafening boom.
The wooden plank shattered like it was made of glass. The man behind it was thrown back, tumbling across the ground before landing in a crumpled heap, the force of the blast leaving the air heavy and still in its wake.
With the threat now gone, the woman fell to one knee to catch her breath, holstering her tools as she placed a hand on her injured side. She drew back her glove to see a dry coat of greyish-pink blood that sparkled in the dim moonlight - already drying.
She stood back up, her movements fluid despite the severity of her injuries as she turned to search for her box.
Nearby, the last gang member - the one with the spear - froze. His hands clutched the bronze box as shock and fear twisted his features. He hesitated just long enough to meet her gaze.
Frantically, the man dropped the case as he fled, no longer caring about its potential value in favour of going home uninjured. One foot sank deep into the mud, throwing him off balance as he stumbled and clawed at the ground, desperate to put as much distance as possible between himself and the relentless figure.
The woman’s pace slowed as she approached the case. Bending down to reach it, she drew out a transparent cord from one of its compartments, pulling apart her shirt to find the brass device grafted to her skin.
Her hands shook ever so slightly when she plugged the tube in and opened the box to reveal a metal canister filled with a silvery, metallic liquid - visible through a slim window on its side. Twisting the release lever, she watched as the liquid flowed through the tube and into her chest, gasping as it flooded her system with relief.
Checking that her delicate treasure hadn’t been damaged in the scuffle, the woman slung the case onto her back and began the arduous, limping trek back into the night, leaving the men that had attacked her to nurse their injuries - when they next awoke.
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