Chapter 1: The Black Gyre Orphanage.

 

Ever since its rebirth hundreds of years ago, the rust-red city of Magnagora has known many heroes.  It is a city known for merciless cruelty in pursuit of the utmost results.  It has had many heroes, but none so inspiring or as controversial as kind-hearted Winnae.  Winnae was a man commonly known as ur’Winnae the Puissant, even though the prefix ur- cannot normally be appended to names.  Winnae insisted on using it when referring to himself and it stuck.  Even though Winnae had many enemies within Magnagora who considered him too soft, the city tolerated and even celebrated him.  They appreciated his strength and the unpredictable nature of his results.  It’s an open secret that some citizens were (or are) tired of a simple Magnagoran culture that values strength over everything else.  After he rose to infamy, these people went to sometimes great lengths to protect Winnae from his enemies within the city.  This is as much their story as his.  It’s their story too because Winnae was more than just a bear of a man; he was a symbol of things stirring beneath an inflexible surface.

 

Our tale must necessarily start in Winnae’s youth.  He was an orphan in a city that usually expends its orphans in some cruel manner.  Winnae survived this process by virtue of his unusual physical strength and unusually tranquil disposition.  Where others would have fallen, Winnae stood.  Where others would have grown angry and gotten themselves into trouble, Winnae weathered cruelties that his self-styled teachers disguised as discipline.  Their black hearts were sometimes their undoing.  And for all of its contestable characteristics, Magnagora can boast of a widely respected banking system.  It guards the wealth of its clients with a discipline that puts even the rival city-state Hallifax to shame.  Winnae was noted for saying that he “grew up on the rough streets of Magnagora, with only his trust fund to protect him” and this is true.  At the same time, Winnae was not sophisticated enough to manage his money well.  He spent the majority of the divestment of the trust on a single sword.  Fortunately for him, he managed to purchase a sword forged by craftsmen that lived on another plane of existence.  It was almost unbreakable.  Perhaps only Winnae had the strength and persistence to snap such a blade.  It all goes to show one thing: even Winnae the Puissant can use a little help from the golden sovereigns.

 

Before we reach the tale of ur’Winnae and his almost-unbreakable sword, we should begin with the untold tales of a young cub.  This story begins in Magnagora’s government-run orphanage, the Black Gyre.  In those scarlet halls, discarded and lost children are groomed for one purpose: serving the Engine.  The motto of the orphanage was “Work Hard for the Engine” which is indicative of an orphan’s place in Magnagoran society; usually an Engine works for people, not the other way around.  These orphans would all work for the Engine.

The children were fed generously when they were very young.  As they grew older and wilder, the wardens withdrew their authority and left the children to contend with each other.  They also made sure that the best food was available only in limited quantities.  Inevitably, getting a meal from the cafeteria counter became a daily trial, a tiny war zone.

The early days of this cafeteria war were dominated by Winnae because he was the largest child.  It didn’t take long though for the children to band together and make the conflict more sophisticated.  The bands turned into clubs, even clans.  One of the functions of these clans was to manage access to the cafeteria counter.

Most of the bands’ memberships were racial in nature.  The minority ethnic groups banded together despite having little in common.  The Illithoids with their dark eyes, sharp teeth and alien dispositions would probably not integrate well with the rest of society even after they left the orphanage.  The Viscanti, beings of mixed race and the ethnic majority in Magnagora, created many bands based upon two simple criteria: beauty and cunning.  As mixed as they are, the Viscanti are capable of both incredible beauty and droll ugliness.  

If Winnae had been a smarter boy, he might have realized that a microcosm of Magnagoran society was forming within the Black Gyre.  But it seems unlikely that this subtlety ever occurred to him.  Winnae was the only pure-blooded Tae’dae in the orphanage during his generation and this made him an outcast among outcasts.  Fortunately for him, he had already grown larger than all of the other children during the period of free feeding.  Threatened by Winnae’s voracious appetite, the children banded together and began to take turns wrestling him to the ground every time the meal bell rung.  In so doing they preventing his hungry destruction of the cafeteria counter’s best contents.

In contrast to Winnae’s situation, there was another child in the orphanage.  He was a tall and beautiful, a Viscanti boy named Draco.  No one had ever even attempted to keep Draco from eating.  At least not until one day when they sent too few boys to contend with Winnae the Puissant.

The most respected band within the orphanage was “Draco n’Kylbar’s Court.”  Young Draco had declared himself the bastard of a prominent noble family by the name of n’Kylbar and indeed there was a resemblance.  The better looking Viscanti had gathered beneath him.  The other Viscanti bands formed their own hierarchies, based primarily upon looks, though someone in the orphanage could “up jump” him or herself through strength and cunning (much as what happens in greater Magnagoran society).  

Unlike Winnae, Draco realized early on that the orphanage had been made to resemble a miniature version of Magnagora.  Young Draco sought to assume his rightful place as ruler of the orphanage.  This was practice for what he told himself was his inevitable rule of Magnagora.  Yet Draco’s status depended greatly on his family name.  This was a dangerous handicap for him because even if he was an n’Kylbar, he was also a bastard and so his name would afford him no special privileges outside of the orphanage. 

 

Time passed and Draco grew tired of getting his own food.  He needed a servant and the most eager servants to be found in Magnagora are the Illithoid minority; no other city-state in the basin wants them.  True to form, Draco’s mostly Viscanti band had a single Illithoid in it.  Once Draco grew tired of walking to the front of the line and using a tray, this Illithoid was let into the band to serve as Draco’s food courier.  His name was Orthros and he was not a beautiful specimen of his race.  If such a thing even exists.  His pale skin was more pink than white and mottled with purple and black.  His dark eyes bulged awkwardly out of his young face.  Even though he had been given the job of Draco’s courier, he carried little if any of the respect that Draco had cultivated.  Getting his master’s food meant using characteristic Illithoid agility to get what he needed before others could take it.

 

One day the bell rang as usual and the children were rushing through the halls towards the cafeteria.  Light on his feet, Orthros dashed between and ahead of the crowd.  Anyone who tried to grab him and pull him back had to deal with his lithe writhing, assuming they were able to get so close to begin with.  Orthros had almost never failed to get an early place at the counter and he was proud of his role as Draco’s food courier.  That position gave him protection from revenge for being near the front of the line.  Once near the front, he could grab food for himself as well as Draco while he was up there.

In contrast to Orthros’s agile approach, Winnae would seek the counter as if he were playing a full-contact sport.  Incidentally, none of the children would play such a sport with him because he was so large.  Protecting the food, that was business.  On this fateful day, four students had been selected by the minority band to blockade Winnae on his way to the counter.

There was Jelaludin (Jello for short), a tiny and quivering Furrikin orphan from the coyote tribe.  There were rumors going around that Jello wasn’t even an orphan, he was just small and had been placed into the orphanage by mistake.  His job was to grab Winnae’s right leg and hold on.  Adagio, the winged Trill, was to reach Winnae’s back and grip his neck for dear life.  The human called Billy was to occupy Winnae’s left arm.  The fourth child was… where was he? Where was the fourth child? Panic ensued as Winnae stomped down the hall.  His blue eyes stood out with ravening hunger from the blonde fur of his bear-like face.  His black nose twitched with the scent of steak and eggs.  His robes were red as blood.

Adagio flapped his bright wings and tried to follow the plan, maneuvering towards Winnae’s back.  Unfortunately for him, Trill can only engage in flight because of their very light weight.  Without the missing child’s help, a slap from Winnae sent poor Adagio spinning through the air towards a better place.  Jello flung himself onto Winnae’s leg and held on, only to be ignored.  Knowing a lost cause when he saw one, brown-eyed Billy gracefully stepped aside and let Winnae pass.

“Billy, wheyey—“ Jello wailed as he was carried into the cafeteria upon Winnae’s surging thigh.

The first three people to enter the cafeteria were Winnae, Jello and Orthros.  Specifically, they entered the room at nearly the same time but the space to the counter had yet to be crossed.  If Orthros were a less ambitious boy, he might have accepted being second or third to arrive at the counter.  Instead he raced forward, intent on having first place.  It was here that Winnae may have first showcased his unique intellect.  He removed the Furrikin Jello from his leg, hefted him over his head and tossed him towards Orthros’ back.  The wardens heavily disciplined anyone caught using weapons but technically, another orphan did not count as a weapon.  When Orthros recovered from being stunned, the cafeteria counter was already all but empty.

 

“What is this? What is this slop? Is this even food?” Draco did not like receiving gruel for lunch.  He kicked at his groveling servant.  Draco’s pearly incisors were bared; his white skin was flushed with pink.  The tiny, perfectly formed Viscanti horns over his brows accentuated the anger in his blue eyes.  His long black hair whipped about him like a storm.  His voice had not yet dropped.  True, Draco had been able to commandeer someone else’s offered lunch but he couldn’t let anyone think that he was getting soft.  Orthros groveled out his sincere apologies against the floor. “I don’t care if you are sorry,” Draco sneered.  “I almost had to eat gruel because of you.” Sudden embarrassment flooded Draco’s mind; the scion of n’Kylbar wasn’t supposed to know what gruel was.  It was time for drastic measures.  “Orthros…” Draco said.

“Yes, master?” Orthros cringed hopefully.

“You are expelled from our clan.” Draco sat down and proceeded to eat someone else’s lunch.  Orthros lay on the floor in shock.

 

After this series of events, two things happened.  The first thing was that Draco needed a new meal courier.  But who could match Orthros’ skill in the race to the cafeteria counter? There was naturally only one choice.  The only one to have defeated Orthros would have to do.  Draco had Winnae offered the job.  If he would take the job, Winnae would no longer have to contend with opponents from Draco’s band.  The other bands would be hard pressed to stand up to both Winnae and Draco’s band.  It was a win-win situation and naturally Winnae accepted it “for the win.”

 

Meanwhile, Orthros found that he could still make it to second place in line at the counter fairly reliably, even without being a part of Draco’s band.  The Illithoids-only band was willing to let him join after a bit of shaming because they were no strangers to the fickleness of Viscanti masters.  Now that he was eating well and was also his own master, Orthros began to wonder why he had ever served Draco in the first place.  Would this could be the end of our tale, but Orthros was a vengeful soul.  A soul that rarely slept.

 

It was known that some children in the orphanage were less “orphaned” than others.  For a small fee, citizens of Magnagora could visit the children without anyone on the outside having to know.  These were after all orphans with no one to complain for them.  For a high enough price, some of the orphans would even disappear as they were adopted or otherwise.  The reasons this would happen were as varied as the hearts and minds of the visitors to the Black Gyre.

 

“Winnae, have you heard?” Billy asked one day.  The ethnic minorities’ band included the humans, such as Billy.  Being a minority himself and almost oblivious to the existence of the bands to begin with,  Winnae sometimes sat with them.

“Heard what, Silly?” Winnae responded through a mouthful of fried chicken.

“They’re saying that Draco has a regular visitor.  A masked Viscanti man.  And you know what they say about the ones that wear masks.”

“That they’re nobles?”

“Yes, or,” Billy snickered.  “People who want others to think that they’re nobles.”

“Don’t say anything bad about Winnae’s boss.” Winnae glared at Billy from across the table.

“Oh, I wasn’t.” Billy looked askance.

“Yes, you were.” Winnae’s stare was unwavering.  Fried chicken skin clung to his golden face.

“No, I wasn’t.”

“Yes, you were.”

“Oh… maybe I did.” Billy gulped.

“Don’t do it again.” Winnae wiped off some chicken skin and started licking it from his paw.

“Okay.”

 

Despite Winnae’s effort, word spread quickly that Draco was being visited by a masked man.  In some ways this only further elevated Draco’s status, because it seemed to reinforce his claim to royal blood.  But the orphans were fickle and prone to gossip.  For each rumor that Draco was being visited by his noble father, there was an equivalent rumor that he was visited by a man posing as a noble, maybe a woman in disguise and pretty much anything else that a person could come up with.  These tales of course reached the ear-slits of Orthros, who was growing up hale and hearty within the Illithoid’s band.  Even though he had done well since Draco expelled him, in some ways even benefitted from it, the shame of the experience stung the young Illithoid like an old wound.

“If I can find out who this visitor is,” Orthros whispered to himself.  “Then I may gain power over Draco.  I will have Draco serve me, as I once served him.” Orthros sniggered to himself in the dark of his bunk, the covers pulled over his sharp smile.  The other children were sound asleep.  In the depths of his bottom bunk, Orthros hatched a sinister plan.  A thick, golden Tae’dae paw fell free from its covers and hung in the air beside Orthros’ bed.  Winnae had rolled over in his sleep.

 

Days later, a Viscanti man was admitted through a side door by Illithoid wardens sporting shit-eating grins.  Since the males have no lips, no one does a shit-eating grin quite like an Illithoid.  He was dressed plainly, in the brown clothes and gray cloak of a commoner.  But underneath his hood he wore a porcelain mask with golden filigree.  This is a unique social dynamic of Magnagora, where the pollution makes gas masks of various types common.  Masks eventually became a fashion statement and unofficially, the finest masks of white and gold were worn by noble men, with white and jade being worn by noble women.  This was all unofficial of course and subject to the whims of fashion.  Pretending to be a noble in Magnagora was very easy, if you could afford a quality mask that was up to date with the fashions.  No one would know what your family name or rank was but the minority of rich people who are not nobles are said to enjoy the dynamic.

From his first moments of entering the Black Gyre orphanage, Orthros was watching or tracking this man from a distance.  He had also been outside of the orphanage more than most of the orphans because he had set a rope and home-made grappling hook near an outer wall.  To the orphanage he would always return; being homeless was far worse than being an orphan.  This all amounted to make Orthros more worldly and knowledgeable about the outside than many of his fellows.  “That mask is recent,” Orthros mused to himself.  He had peered at the man from around a corner and caught sight of his face.  “So he is either rich, or maybe he really is a noble.” Orthros almost gave up his plan right then but decided to press on.

The Viscanti and the wardens wound down the red corridors.  The young Illithoid trailed after them on silent feet.  His nose-slits flared as he took in their scents.  There were two Illithoid males, wardens he knew well.  The Viscanti wore a scent and didn’t have any of the smells of a female.  “So it is a man after all,” Orthros mused.  He would peer around each corner, looking and listening for when the wardens and their guest took a turn.

Finally they stopped outside of an uninteresting storeroom.  Here came the hard part.  Orthros had trailed this man once before, but the visitor would meet with young Draco under security.  The wardens had been sent away from the door to guard the outside hallway, making sure no one was near enough to the meeting place to hear them.  As the wardens exited the storeroom, they never looked up into the corner above the door.  Perched there by contrary force loomed Orthros, silent as a spider.

The wardens walked down the hallway, keeping their distance from the door.  Taking a great risk, Orthros fell silently to the floor once they were at the end of the hall.  There was a curtain near the door for him to hide within next but first, he would look through the keyhole.  His dark eye pressed up lustfully against the slot.

Within the room he saw the Viscanti man, unmasked.  He was pulling back from an embrace of a smaller Viscanti.  The two looked much alike; both handsome, with blue eyes and straight black hair.  The resemblance to the n’Kylbar family, which Orthros had observed during one of his research outings, was clearly there.  Orthros put his ear-slit up against the keyhole and listened.  Slowly but surely, his maw widened into the biggest shit-eating grin of his life.

 

Days later, Draco was stalking down a corridor, having just completed an advanced class in cosmic metaphysics.  Now he was headed for the latrines.  He had always scored highly on the tests and the orphans who seemed most worth the investment were given a good education.  Someone else was standing in the middle of the hallway.

“Orthros, you’re in my way.” Draco said it with more than a bit of amusement.  The plebeian was standing in the middle of the hallway, as if he owned it! His body language suggested confidence, which was funny in of itself since Orthros was naturally inclined to skulking and stalking.  Draco suppressed an unbecoming snigger.

“I am in your way.” Orthros said.  He was wearing the usual red robes given to the children.  He looked nervous; or was it excited?

“What next, are you going to start talking in the third person? Move.” Draco stood firmly with his arms crossed.  He tilted his nose upward, his little horns now running parallel to the ceiling.

“Why should I move? You don’t rule over me.”

“Oh, but I do.” Draco scowled.  Now he was growing annoyed.  He was very sensitive to challenges to his authority.  “You know of my status.  I rule the Black Gyre.”

“Yes, I do.  I do know of your status.”

“So move.”

“No.” As if this insolence wasn’t bad enough, Draco really had to use the latrine.

“Move, you stupid insect! n’Kylbar commands it!” Draco screeched.  He tried not to overuse his name but business was business.  Orthros rattled out his revelation mechanically, yet not without glee.

“You aren’t n’Kylbar.  You aren’t even a bastard of n’Kylbar.  You’re a bastard of a bastard.  Your father hid you here so that the main family wouldn’t think less of him.” Silence filled the hall for several seconds.  Slowly, a puddle spread out from the direction of young Draco’s boot. “From now on, you serve me.  When I ask you for something, you do it.” Draco just stared blankly forward towards the latrines, even after Orthros had walked past him.  The young Illithoid was very amused by the reaction he was getting.  He had never felt so proud of himself in his life.  “Remember that, Draco.  You serve me now.” Orthros skipped the rest of the way down the hall.

 

That night, Draco called a special session with Winnae.  Mostly, Winnae’s job had been to get Draco food but Draco also possessed spending money given to him by his father.  By slipping some of it to Winnae, he was able to convince the Tae’dae to serve him in a wide variety of ways.  This was all while giving others the impression that Winnae was doing it because he cared about Draco’s supposed noble status.  Whenever Draco needed something done that he didn’t feel was appropriate for one of his fans, he would give the job to Winnae the Puissant, his known enforcer.

The two met under cold moonlight on the sports field, where there was no chance of being overheard.  Even the wardens could be paid off enough to redirect the lazy patrol for a night.

“Winnae, I must ask something of you,” Draco began.

“Anything for the golden sovereign,” Winnae said.  Incidentally, golden sovereigns are the name of the currency of Magnagora

“Something has come up and Orthros, the Illithoid, has done a very bad thing.  I need you to… take care of him for me.”

“Take care of him? That will cost a lot.” Winnae rubbed the fur under his chin with a hefty hand.

“I know.  I can pay to make it worth your while.”

“Orthros are hard to take care of,” Winnae continued.  “They are fast and smart.  Never get into trouble.  Even if they do get into trouble, an Orthos can usually get himself out of trouble.”

“So watch him all the time.  Watch him like a hawk.  And as soon as you see your chance, ‘take care’ of him.  Of course you should make it look like an accident.” Winnae nodded.  Draco took a moment to try and confirm if the Tae’dae understood him, then continued.  “And Winnae, one more thing.” Winnae nodded and tilted his furry ear downwards, towards his master’s mouth.  Draco smiled, his pearly incisors gleaming underneath sad eyes.  “I need him to know.  To know that it was me who had him taken care of.  Do you think you can do that?”

“Of course Winnae can do this thing,” Winnae huffed.

“Thank you, Winnae.  I knew I could count on you.” With their business settled, the two of them turned and began their walk back to the dorms.  Draco had dark circles under his blue eyes and Winnae was beaming, thinking of all the honey and toys he could buy with his soon-to-be wealth.

 

From that point on, Winnae trailed Orthros with surprising stealth.  Whenever Orthros had too large of a burden to carry, Winnae would appear and help him to carry it.  When another orphan decided to test his rank and try to bully Orthros, Winnae was there to defend him.  When Orthros audaciously demanded that Draco fetch him food one day, Winnae was there.  He intimidated Orthros away while also offering to make sure that Orthros would get some good food, at Draco’s request.  These events went on for some time.

One day after weeks of this trend, Orthros and Winnae were sitting awkwardly together at lunch.  Winnae’s ability to secretly tale Orthros had only worked for so long.  Winnae’s ward had come to realize that he had a big, furry, golden-brown guardian angel stalking him and that there was no easy way to get rid of him.

“Winnae,” Orthros began.

“Yes?” Winnae asked from behind a mouthful of fried chicken.

“Why are you helping me so much?”

“Draco told Winnae to take care of you.” Orthros was stunned.  Why would Draco do that?

“Really, to take care of me?”

“Yes, Draco likes you very much.” Winnae wiped a piece of fried chicken skin from his furry face and stared at it happily.

“Wow,” Orthros said.  “How weird.”

“It is not weird!” Winnae exclaimed.  He slammed his paw against the table and left the chicken skin splayed out across the wooden planks.  Orthros jumped in surprise.  “Draco is a great boss.  He just wants people to work hard.  If Winnae failed, Draco would fire him too.  Just like Draco fired Orthros because you failed.  But that is the Magnagora way.  Draco still appreciate your past work.” Having calmed himself, Winnae took a swig from a mug of apple juice.

“I don’t know if I believe this.” Orthros looked nervously at the flattened chicken skin squished between the planks of the table.

“It is true.  Draco even told Winnae to let you know that it was him who told Winnae to do this thing.” Orthros stared at Winnae in surprise.  He was shocked.  It took him a few moments to process what Winnae was saying.  Then he felt the strangest feeling.  Orthros was an orphan.  Even worse, he was an Illithoid.  Magnagora had only admitted the Illithoids because they had found it politically useful; no one really liked them.  An Illithoid orphan was the lowest of the low.  Never before in his life had anyone done anything kind for Orthros and he felt an emotion he did not know how to describe.  “Are you sad?” Winnae asked.

“What? No.  No, I’m not sad.” Orthros could taste something salty but he wasn’t sure where the salt water had come from.  He looked up towards the roof, where gears and gyres had been carved long ago into the crocodile wood.  There were no holes in the roof.

“Do you want some apple juice? Winnae was able to carry three jugs today.”

“Yes, I do want some apple juice.”

“Here you go,” Winnae said as he passed Orthros a mug.  Orthros began to drink it but stopped.  No apple juice had ever tasted so sweet.

 

 

Only days later, Orthros was given a recognition for his great agility and his talent for stealth.  He was removed from the orphanage and transferred to train under Magnagora’s intelligence division, commonly known as the Ninjakari.  Winnae would later attempt to join the Ninjakari himself but would flunk out, despite the best attempts by one of the masked instructors to help him pass.  But that is a story for another time; Winnae the Puissant and Draco n’Kylbar still had years left in the Black Gyre orphanage.