⚔️This is an incomplete, unedited version of the story. I am in the process of finishing and editing this book that will be available on Amazon when it is complete. ✨
⚠️Read at your own risk.
Legends tell of fearsome beasts, dashing rouges, and hord...
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The Orders of Magic
Metal-Control over metal and metal objects Flame-control over fire Strength-increased strength and endurance Tides- control over water Air- control over wind Earth- control over land, plants, and trees Oracle- can see the future in the form of prophecies, and visions
The Forbidden Order Shifter- posses more than one power, can change their appearance within their bodies limits
The Quarters of Talvos
Merchant-merchant class dwellings Market- the center for the city's trading Factory-produces iron tools and weapons for the army and export Iron-lower class dwellings Bronze-middle class dwellings Silver-Valdev's army headquarters Gold-home of the noble class and the royal compound
The Main Gangs of the Iron Quarter And Their Territories
The North Side East-The Sparrows-Theives Roost and the Docks West-The Blades-Boxers Alley
The South Side East-The Ghouls-Deadman's Lane West-The Serpents-Sin Plaza
Tara
I can smell them before I hear or see them. It is the smell of new metal fresh from the forge, fresh leather newly polished, and fine new cloth from the loom. The smell of the Silver Guard. Of course they come, swaggering peacocks the lot of them. As if they have nothing better to do but march down the street of the Market Quarter. Showing off their pristine uniforms, shiny new guns, and swords. While many of us would kill for the money it cost for their new clothes and toys.
Sons of wealthy merchant families whose blood is as blue as mine. They are favored though, these new recruits who blindly follow the whims of the blue-blooded nobles and their king. A king whose word is law and that all should obey here in the kingdom of Valdev. Even a poor wretch looking for some amusement, of which I will soon have.
From my perch atop a stack of wooden boxes, pressed against the rough brick wall, I wait. My eyes scan over the crowd of silver uniforms, looking for the perfect victim. Finding my target, a lieutenant directly below a low hanging flowerpot, I strike. Flinging one of the small metal disks from my belt, I send it flying with a flick of my wrist. Bending to my will it flies straight and true, hitting the pot dead center.
Clay and dirt fall on the unsuspecting man, leaving him covered in a fine layer of roots and flowers. Just as I hoped, the people surrounding him break out in hoots of laughter. That is until the lieutenant starts screaming and cursing, demanding for the hooligan responsible to be found. Then it is a race for the soldiers to find the cause of their leader's humiliation.
