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The Power Array Saga
Tales of the Sword and the Peach
A dragon flew through the air. Momotaru lifted his head to
the heavens hearing the shrill cry and caught a glance of the large flying
reptile. He sat low on the brown horse galloping down London Street. Faces dashed
by at a blur. Coming up in a few blocks was the popular, 21 Jump Street - nick
named because of the youths standing on the corner dancing to music blaring
from a portable stereo with large, square speakers.
Several blocks down the street, a youth
dressed in a dark blue robe with a large hood barreled around the corner. The
blue cloaked youth slammed into one of the dancing performers. Colliding bodies
collapsed to the cardboard spread across the cement sidewalk. Taller men with
dark grey hoods covering their face in deep shadows floated after the blue
cloaked youth who wore a piece of string as a belt. The grey hooded mage in
front of the group raised his hand and the blue cloaked youth rose into the air
as if picked up by an invisible hand.
Momotaru’s hand went to his sword,
reacting on instinct. He paused, how could he fight magic, thought Momotaru. He
could not forget the group of thugs hot on his trail.
One of the mages in the group
whispered on the edge of hearing and they turned to walk away. The blue cloaked
youth screamed out for help, hood falling away. He struggled against the
invisible, magic bounds that held him aloft. Short, spiky, purple hair and
large dark eyes met with Momotaru’s.
Momotaru rode past, ignoring the
pleas for help. He was no hero; this business was none of his. It pained him to
turn his eyes away and focus on steering his horse through the crowded streets.
The boy would surely be killed.
One of the young street performers
that was knocked over by the blue hooded mage, stood and shouted to the retreating
grey cloaks. A blood curdling scream followed. Momotaru looked over his
shoulder to witness bodies exploding. The last young dancer stood shaking in
his boots, pants reeking of feces, too stunned to move. The lead mage lifted
his hand while his comrades wore a callous grin.
Against his better judgment,
Momotaru found himself wheeling his horse around, the beast sneering and whinnying
in protest at the abrupt change in direction. He wove between the pursuing
street thugs sitting atop their tiger mounts. They swung at him with lazy sword
thrust and rusted daggers that he deflected easily with his forty inch, pitch
black, adamantite, straight blade. Momotaru swept past the mage, close enough
to send his cloak billowing out in ruffles.
The mage standing on the corner
tried to cast a spell and destroy the last youth of the 21 Jump Street dancers.
The mage tried to wiggle his fingers and cast a spell yet to his surprise,
there was no response. His face held a questioning expression wondering why the
young man was still alive. The mage looked down and realized his hand was no
longer attached to his wrist; it lay lifeless on the dirt road.
Sending the horse careening off alone,
Momotaru flipped off the back of the steed to land nimbly on his feet, sword
poised defensively in front of him.
Mages pulled out daggers and
sinuous Kris; meager weapons used for rituals that would prove futile. They rushed
forward, shouting and casting arcane bolts that lit up the street with white
lightening. Bystanders that had not fled the scene already stampeded away from
the powerful combatants, turning the busy London Street into a ghost town.
Flipping through the air to avoid
streaks of lightening, Momotaru cut his way through the first few mages in
order to get the ones in back forming a summoning circle. Purple light glowed
around the remaining mages who formed a triangle. A dark whole in the ground
grew darker. A shadow crept towards the opening, accompanied by hellish sounds
from the underworld. Before the mages could finish, one mage lost an arm and
screamed before the sword plunged into his throat. The other mage broke into a
mad dash but fell to his knees, only to look down at twenty centimeters of cold,
dark steel protruding through his chest. Momotaru yanked the sword back on a
thin string hidden in the hilt of the weapon. He let the last mage run.
The grey hooded man almost made it
around the corner before a lance of white hot energy struck the retreating mage
in the back. Following the line of the long, thin energy of light, Momotaru
watched the energy beam dissipate from the outstretched palm of the young man
with spiky purple hair. The young mage wore a coy smile and shrugged his
shoulders.
The tiger
riding gang members watched the fight scene play out. Each of them looked to
their leader for an idea of what to do next. They had no choice but to throw
angry glances over their shoulder and follow when the leader galloped away in
the opposite direction.
Momotaru put his green, conical hat
back on his head that had fallen during the fighting. He stepped over the
bloody mess. The one remaining dancing boy stood watching, shocked and silent
until Momotaru lit a cigar. The young dancer collapsed among the dead,
unconscious.
The spikey
haired mage ran to Momotaru, “My life is in your hands, kind swordsman.” The
olive skinned youth with dingy purple hair wore a bright smile.
Momotaru looked at him, blew out a
puff of smoke and continued walking.
The mage had no choice but to follow
behind Thame. They walked along silently for many blocks. Finally he asked,
“Are you heading out of town?”
“Shower,” replied Momotaru.
“They will come for you,” said the
young mage, moving his legs fast to keep up with Momotaru’s long strides. His
dingy, thick, cotton robe whooshed softly as the mage pumped his arms, trying
to keep pace.
“They won’t be the first or the last,” said Momotaru. “Whoever they are.”
The olive toned, baby faced mage
paused for a moment, thoughtful expression before changing subjects. “Your
sword.”
It sounded like it was more of a
question yet Momotaru remained silent.
“If you help me take down the Mage
Monolith I will enchant your sword,” said the purple haired youth. “They will
come for you…, the mages. There is no doubt about it, when those Adept mages
don’t come back they will scry the truth…,” he paused, licking his pink lips.
“But if you help me to strike first and return to the Mage Monolith in order to
gain the Knowledge Transfer spell; it will be worth your while.”
“Not interested,” responded
Momotaru turning down an alley, trying to get away from the annoying young mage.
The purple haired mage scampered
around to stand in front of Momotaru. He stopped with arms outstretched.
Coming to a halt, frustrated, Momotaru
stared down at the stubborn child in front of him with a threatening gaze. The
luck of the Gods was with Momotaru this day. He caught the reflection of two elven
swordsmen in the young mage’s dark eyes. Like a ray of light, Momotaru turned
and slashed through the lead swordsman. The other could not get his guard up in
time as Momotaru sliced an X across his back that sheered through ribs, and
backbone.
The dead swordsman hit the side of
a building and slid to the ground. The Aver City Guards badge clanged to the
floor.
The young mage voiced Momotaru’s
thoughts, “You have to leave the city
now.”
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