Vainglory Lore: Kinetic

At a table on a remote hilltop, representatives from the Gythian mages, warrior, traders, cartographers, and advocates face the heads of the five Technologist Dynasties.

“The Dynasties demand equal seating at the Gythian council,” says Serena, head of the Campestrian family, “and equal shares of steel.”

“Ludicrous,” hisses the archmage. “You are not Gythian.”

“The first Gythians were Aullerian.” Alaric’s old voice booms as strong as when he addressed his troops at the Gythian Wall twenty years ago. Kinetic, his heir, glares across the table.

“You are asking us to halve our shares,” says a paladin.

“Demanding,” says Jovius of Renaia.

“One,” says the archmage. “The provinces may have one seat at the Gythian council and distribute one share of steel.”

“If equality is not given, it will be taken.” Alaric rises and turns to go, his hand on Kinetic’s shoulder for support. By the time she sees the steel cord that unspools, lighting quick, from Jovius’ bracelet, it has wrapped around Alaric’s throat and sliced his jugular.

“The seat is mine,” says Jovius, snapping the cord back inside his bracelet with a spray of blood.

“Very well,” says the archmage.

“Treachery!” screams Serena.

Alaric collapses into Kinetic’s arms.

The Hacker is delivered, kicking and screaming, to the kensei’s practice room, and forced to sit on the mat.

The kensei sits cross-legged and waits for her to settle.

“You are the best?”

“Yeah, you metal-legged loser,” she says.

“I need you to hack into my system and disable the remote control connection.”

“That ain’t what you need.” She picks her nose and glares. “They put a failsafe in you.”

“A self-destruct mechanism.” The kensei closes his eyes and nods.

“Something that’ll kablooie your brain stem if you fudge the frequency or remove the sensor. What you need is a surgeon.”

“Have you ever done a physical hack?”

“I’ve cut into a cyborg or five. But I ain’t gonna mess with a boss.” She crosses her skinny arms. “You want my advice? Keep your factory presets and do what you’re told.”

The kensei smiles. “Prepare a surgery room,” he says, and a dozen guards sprint into action. “And pay her well, whether she succeeds or fails.”

“He would have hated this,” says Ardan, standing in the dark over Alaric’s fresh grave.

“He liked electric skies,” says Kinetic.

“Why here, then?”

“Jovius killed him here. The hill where Gythia signed treaties with the Technologists after Rebellion Day.”

“I was there.” Ardan shakes his head. “I still can’t believe it – Jovius?”

“The Churn pushes the Renaian border ever northward.” Kinetic’s voice is ragged. “Alaric would have fought for equality, but Jovius needs steel tech now to fight at the Churn border.”

“You don’t blame him?”

“I blame him,” she whispers, “and I blame you.”

Ardan’s fists clench. “Alaric was like a brother to me.” He kicks at a clump of dirt. “But when the Stormguard came for my children, where was he?”

“Now you know where he is,” says Kinetic, turning from the grave. “New Aullerium is mine now, and Gythia is going to burn.”

“I’d thank you for the warning,” says Ardan, “but if you’re anything like your father was, you want something in return.”

“You up for a rebellion?”

“Always.”

“Open the gate.” Kinetic presses a communicator into his palm and he closes his fist around it. “Wait for my signal.”

Churnguard mechs march north on the supply road to Gythia, through a roadblock of spikes and tripwires, forcing halted supply caravans to the side. As far south as the eye can see, pangomoose-drawn heavy carts of grain and vegetables wilt in the noon heat. Nervous traders stand back while Taizen goons in moto gear and sunglasses root through gold, crystal and weapon deliveries.

“This wasn’t part of the deal.”

At the blockade, Kinetic’s retinue watches as she approaches the kensei. “I told you to block the road, not seize provincial property,” she says.

“Criminal of purpose, you called me,” says the kensei.

“You’re stealing from our people,” she says.

“Your people,” corrects the kensei. He steps in close, flicks the screen off her face with his thumb and forefinger.

Chuckling, she slips the remote out of her pocket.

“Call off the looters,” she says, thumb on the button. Her guards draw their weapons.

“No.” The kensei’s family surrounds the Aullerians, pointing guns and blades. The kensei turns, lifting his hair, to show Kinetic a fresh scar on the back of his neck.

Kinetic curses, jamming the remote button again and again, as the kensei turns back around. “I am honor bound to you…” He holds her chin in one hand. “…but I do not answer to you.”

Kinetic’s jaw locks. She raises one hand and the Aullerian guard holsters its weapons.

“You will continue to blockade the road into the city?” she whispers.

The kensei’s smile is rare. “Of course I will.”

Kinetic nods and slips away from the kensei’s grip, following the mech army north.

“Forgive me, Mother.”

A paladin and an assassin sit together in a dark booth, separated by a screen. Outside, dusk falls over Gythia like an itchy blanket. The supply road to Gythia has been blockaded for weeks. A Taizen crime family has held off all attempts at defense from external Gythian troops. The streets are restless with protests against the rationing of food and medicines. Labyrinthine passageways through the west wall are the only way in and out of the city, which is how the assassin must have…

The assassin.

Grace snaps back to the present, shaking her head to clear it. “Is the deed done?”

“Yes, Mother.”

“Is there proof?”

Through a slot in the screen, the assassin passes a small box. “I kept the eyes of the mark, as it is written.”

Grace opens the box and shudders at the soulless eyes staring back at her. “Your burden is lifted, Daughter. You are forgiven.”

“Bless you, Moth…”

An alarm screams outside, startling them both out of the dark booth. For one moment they make uncomfortable eye contact before the assassin ducks under her hood and sprints away in silence.

Read more Grace lore here!

The commander strides to the front of the line of mechs, one thousand strong, to watch the sun set. The acrid smell of magic sails down the breeze from the Gythian Wall’s highest parapets. As the sky darkens, sparks and glows give away the positions of the Battlemages.

Her fist closes tighter around her spear. Long-range plasma technology, developed to dissolve magic shields, and classified as too dangerous for mass production, the spear requires excellent aim and full-body dexterity. Which means, classification be damned, the plasma spear was made for her.

Shadows appear between the parapets. It is said that the sagittarii, Gythia’s elite archers, can pierce a butterfly from one-hundred paces in a fierce wind. A ripple of nervous, excited murmurs from the mech pilots is silenced when the commander turns, her spear raised.

“Soldiers of Aullerium!” Her voice rings clear through the pilots’ ear pieces. “On the first Rebellion Day, our mothers and fathers fought for freedom on this very ground. Their tech was primitive, their chances minimal, but their courage and resolve overwhelmed an empire. Now, we will complete the work of the first Technologists. Today is our Rebellion Day!”

A roar rises from the pilots. Mech arms rise in salute.

The sagittarii draw their bowstrings. A glowing magic shield appears before them, connected by the Battlemages. The mech guns rise. Kinetic kneels, aiming the plasma spear at one glowing parapet. “Cover me!” she cries, and the night bursts into violence.

Grace races toward the parapet where the magic shield has faltered, kneels by a collapsed Battlemage, yanks a flask from her belt, and pours green liquid between his lips. The mage rouses just in time for a blast of plasma to knock him backward, down the ancient narrow stairs.

Paladins thread across the wall, healing the injured and dragging away corpses, but the Aullerians are relentless. Another section of the magic shield melts under a plasma blast; the Battlemage and archers behind it fall to mechfire.

“Sagittarii! Fall back! Mages! To the tower!” Grace lifts her hammer high. “Paladins! Light the fires!”

Fires blaze to life under massive cauldrons filled with pitch.

~

“Masks on!”

While the pilots secure their respirators, Kinetic sprints around dysfunctioning mechs and fallen pilots, wounded by magic or pierced through by the sagittarii. Nevertheless, Gythia has done as Kinetic hoped: underestimated her. The smoke billowing down the wall, obscuring all vision, means they think the Technologists are going to climb, or fly, over the wall.

“Ardan! Now!”

The mechs fall in line behind her as boiling pitch splashes down the wall, incinerating everything below. The Gythians cannot see, through the smoke, that they are aiming at nothing.

The impenetrable Gythian steel gate slides open.