“This stretch of coastline is straight as Abadar’s hair part. We’ll just have to go in full sail and fuse-ready, and hope the conjured fog gets us close enough.” Shimali Manux drummed her fingers on her cabin’s fold-out desk, glowering at a map of Chelaxian waters like it had spat in her tankard. Esidries, her first mate, ran a hand through her long, shaggy hair, then adjusted her eyepatch. She seemed to have her own grievances with cartography.
Well… Shimali’s face spread its wings into a smile. She was admiral of the Vidric navy, a hero of the Cart Fire Uprising that had sparked the revolution. One of only a handful of Firebrands with their fourth mark. This is the exact kind of trouble you go looking for, isn’t it?
It was the night before their planned attack on the Chelaxian port of Laekastel. A little raven had brought word that the Bellflower Network was ferrying a number of recently liberated families into the port from Westcrown, then on to freedom in Andoran.
The dottari were apparently less than thrilled. The Salt Breakers, among them Shimali and Esidries’s host ship, the Sunburst Shackle, had been called in to head off any Thrunic naval efforts. But the diabolists had moved faster than expected—Laekastel was now under blockade.
Hence the last-minute tactical discussions between Shimali, Esidries, and an irksomely frank and accurate map. There was more than enough to consider. By the time they settled on details, the sun was filling the sea with fire and molten gold. They’d crafted a sound plan. The rest was up to the crews, captains, and Desna herself.
“And if it doesn’t work…” Shimali said through a lopsided grin.
Esidries was smiling now, too. She recognized Shimali’s expression—the one that meant her sharp-fanged intellect could smell prey.
“...the best tales tackle tall odds,” Esidries finished, lifting an imaginary tankard. Shimali laughed, tapping her own mock vessel against her first mate’s, and the two knocked back their airy beverages.
“What’ve you brought this time, Admiral?” Esidries cocked her chin at a small box holding down one corner of the map. Shimali’s mementos. There was a much larger collection back in Anthusis, but she always brought a few with her on these three-day ‘I’m just a crewmate like anyone else’ tours.
She rolled her eyes. “Mention rank again and I’m pushing you through that window. I get enough Admiral above deck.” She undid the little wooden chest’s simple latch and lifted the lid.
Her expression softened. “You remember these?” She pulled a crumpled metal spike from the box, followed by a quilted square in a flower pattern. “One of our first Bellflower undertakings. Much more helpful coastline than this blighted stretch”
Esidries chuckled. “I remember that armiger’s face when you sidestepped his flail and he caved in the lictor’s pauldron, yes.” She hid a smile in her drink. “How is the Order of the Chain these days? I’m sure they keep in touch—you made quite the first impression.”
She was waiting for a quick-witted retort, but none came. The admiral had lifted a necklace from the chest, a blue and red cord threaded with rounds of broken bone. Her eyes had gone far away and long ago.
Esidries nodded. She knew the expression. Had worn it herself, on plenty of occasions. Sadness, solemnity. And hope, a brilliant flag waving in a clear sky.
Eleder was chaos. Embers, smoke, and screams choked the air above the Sargavan colonial capital, while the clamor of fighting and the smell of brimstone filled its alleys. The revolutionaries had almost pushed through to the baron’s palace. They’d charged into New Haliad with a fury stoked by centuries of oppression. But the dottari kept coming, and now they were getting surrounded.
Shimali, Esidries, and some two dozen of their Salt Breakers were high above the plaza surrounding the plaza, crouched behind a red-shingled roofline. This was the tipping point. The fulcrum of her people’s future. She could feel it in the air, read it on her comrades’ faces.
This would be the perfect time for a rousing speech, she thought. But she was too tired, too sore. She simply looked back at her Salt Breakers and nodded. They vaulted the roofline.
Coats and hair flapping behind them, they careened down the shingles and into the plaza. Righteous anger thundered from them as a wordless roar. Shimali felt the crunch of a soldier’s neck beneath her boot. Before she could register the symbolism, they were in the thick of it.
The Salt Breakers pushed into the rear of the Thrunite formation, the beleaguered revolutionaries’ cheers driving them on. Esidries laid into the Chelaxians with a miner’s pick she’d acquired somewhere along the way. Each blow punched through steel and flesh and sent tremors up her arm. Shimali’s cutlass penned its own red-inked story.
“Shimali!”
She barely heard Esidries’s cry in time. She whirled around, her blade only just turning aside the longsword meant for her guts. The dottari staggered into her. His breath was hot on her face, heavy with the smell of the whisperleaf caked to his gums. His eyes held surprise and hatred in equal measure.
She drove her forehead into his nose, shoved him aside. Her sword shrieked across the breastplate of another charging soldier. The sound almost masked the crash of armored boots approaching from behind. Without looking, she drew her pistol and fired. Her desperation was rewarded with the sound of two hundred pounds of bootlicker clattering to the ground. She shared a wide-eyed I can’t believe that worked grin with Esidries, offering a silent prayer to Desna and Lubaiko both.
Illustration by Alberto Dal Lago from Pathfinder Lost Omens Firebrands
Then fresh Hell arrived. The air above the plaza split and screamed. A fiery gash shrieked open, becoming a burning eye with a bone-white pupil.
Shimali’s blood ran cold. She could taste the wrongness of the extraplanar intrusion, something caustic at the back of her throat.
“Bone devil! Gods-damned bone devil!” Her fear was galvanizing. “Rally! Rally for loved ones, for home. For throwing off the yoke of Hell!”
The fiend pulled itself free of the rift, landing hard enough to crack paving stones. It stood its full height, almost level with the rooftops. It threw its head back and let loose an ear-splitting challenge that shattered nearby windows and sent shivers down Shimali’s spine.
She surveyed the beleaguered revolutionaries picking their way over colonialist corpses. They were already taking up position, surrounding the infernal monstrosity. Esidries was beside her—just like always—weaving sigils in the air, a Magaambyan winter-song chiming its way off her tongue.
She charged.
“You know, I tell people that story and they don’t believe me. ‘You can’t take down a bone devil with pitchforks and adrenaline,’ they tell me. ‘Tall as a house and made of hate, there’s no way!’” Esidries snorted in mock exasperation. “But if Shimali Manux, hero of the revolution, tells it, well. You’d think my record would—”
The Sunburst Shackle lurched to one side so hard that it took them a few moments to realize they were sprawled on the floor. Shimali swatted the map off her face, cursing the pen, the ink, and the person responsible for the miserable thing. She hauled herself to her feet then helped Esidries to hers. The cabin was a wreck, but at least her sword and gun were still hanging on the wall. They exchanged a knowing look, grabbed their weapons, and rushed abovedecks.
We’re still leagues from Laekastel—how did they find us? Worse, how did they get the drop on us?
The answer came as soon as she surfaced beneath the night sky. Panic crackled across the deck. A sailor, clothes completely dry, coughed a staggering amount of murky seawater at her feet.
Sarglagons.
And there they were. The sea between the ships churned with piscine horrors. Iridescent magenta fins, writhing hands, and the razored maws of Hell’s darkest depths—drowning devils. A handful were attempting to capsize the Sunburst Shackle. Shimali could hear the chattering of others attacking the rest of the fleet.
It had been years since Vidrian’s birth in fire, and Shimali had grown into her role as commander. She straightened, spread her arms wide, and strode resolutely toward the deck.
“Salt Breakers! House Thrune wants to strangle the cry for freedom, bind the world in iron and fear! Drown us in blood!” The power in her voice cut through the din of battle. She clapped the retching sailor on the shoulder, stopped long enough to acknowledge the determination in their eyes. “But there’s Gozreh’s gift in our veins! Iron in our spines! Phoenix flames in our hearts!”
She could feel the energy shifting as the crew rallied. She just needed to get to the wind-singer, start fighting fire with magical fire. If Shattering Howl starts the song, we—
The air above the deck split and screamed. Bone-white claws gouged a hole between worlds, and she could see flashes of black wings and a scorpion’s fleshless tail.
Then a second rift opened. Followed by another, and another. Shimali’s skin crawled as the heat and stench of Hell poured over the deck.
“The best tales…” Esidries stepped up beside her, hands already crafting a spell.
“...tackle tall odds,” Shimali finished. She grinned at her first mate. “And what self-respecting Firebrand settles for less than the best?”
About The Author
Andrew Mullen has been freelancing for Paizo and other publishers since 2017. He brings a keen interest in language and the interplay of geography and culture to his work, as seen in the Magaambya section of Lost Omens Character Guide, the xulgaths in the Extinction Curse Adventure Path, and numerous other monsters over the years. As a full-time parent, his daughter is his most important monster.
About Tales of Lost Omens
The Tales of Lost Omens series of web-based flash fiction provides an exciting glimpse into Pathfinder’s Age of Lost Omens setting. Written by some of the most celebrated authors in tie-in gaming fiction, including Paizo’s Pathfinder Tales line of novels and short fiction, the Tales of Lost Omens series promises to explore the characters, deities, history, locations, and organizations of the Pathfinder setting with engaging stories to inspire Game Masters and players alike.
