Defeating the Darkness: The Nox

Nox, the Profane

Screams swirled in Tristan's head. All around him were ghosts, and he couldn't seem to run fast enough. He sprinted through the woods, heading nowhere, just trying to escape the shrieking. The ground shook around him, the trees rattling and leaves falling everywhere. The air grew colder and colder, and the mist thicker and thicker. The screams seemed to die down, finally, but the pounding in the earth grew louder. Tristan heard heavy breathing from something in the mist, and could feel the temperature plummet. His hair stood on end, and he began to understand the shrieks better and better.

As the breathing grew closer, Tristan was frozen where he was. Whether it was from fear or cold, he couldn't move a muscle. All he fould feel was the mist. A massive creature emerged from the mist, a huge behemoth of darkness towering above him. It was like nothing he had ever seen before, and he could barely make it out. It was constantly shifting, a phantasm of night, seemingly multiple forms at once. It grew and shrank every second, with tendrils of shadow reaching everything it could. It stopped for a moment and seemed to look down at Tristan's frozen body.

Suffer for me.

With a jolt, Tristan woke.

The sun hit his face as he woke in a cold sweat, his mind still racing from the dream. He had never seen anything like that, and yet it seemed familiar to him. He tried shaking off the feeling, but his mind felt tainted by the dark creature's words.

"Get up, we've got work to do," his father's voice brought him back to reality.

He quickly threw on whatever clothes he could find, clean or not, and sprinted out the door after his father. The town was already buzzing, with the presiding district running at maximum capacity before the trials. The couriers were running around town carrying various packs of paper, metal, and equipment to the different precincts throughout the day. As he passed a sundial on while following his father he saw it was about 9 in the morning, bright and early for him.

Tristan's was walking briskly through the crowds, which were bustling with life. Around him, he recognized many of his neighbors selling or buying goods with various items.  The currency at Noxia was informal, it ranged from animals, weapons, material, and various coins from the United States and Canada, which were evenly distributed to citizens. It seemed that his father was leading them towards the Artisanal District, which he figured out by the trade going on. Tristan and his father lived in the center of town, where the government and infrastructure workers were based, a roughly equal distance from each quadrant. Where each quadrant met in the middle, traders would meet and form a ring in the center of town.

As they passed shops of many shapes and sizes, Tristan marveled at the many tones and shapes each home had.  There was character in every house, hand built to suit its owners. In a town of refugees, they had originally allocated citizens to different jobs in order to survive. Now, in more recent years, different citizens could specialize in any trade they already know or want to learn. The Artisanal District specializes in the preservation and advancement of Noxia.  From education to manufacturing, it is what makes Noxia the greatest Post-Outage settlement. The people here are from all over town, and thus all over the world. Tristan always stood in awe in front of the shops his father took him to, with aspirations of grandeur in his eyes. The place had an effect on a person.

Reminiscing, Tristan almost walked past where his father was taking him. The shop was clearly well-kept, with quality equipment and a spotless exterior, despite its name "The Rusty Pigbelly."  He hurried to the door after his father, curious as to their business there.

Inside, there was a grand assortment of metalwork.  From abstract art in the center of the room, to the myriad weapons all along the walls and ceilings. It was a museum of iron, showcasing the grandest and simplest designs in stunning fashion. There were several people buying wares here, but there were no animals or food being traded. It was clear: this was the best blacksmith in the town.

"This is the best blacksmith in town," Vincent said. "I have a gift for you, something I have been planning for a while."

Confused, Tristan followed his father to the desk, where it seemed they were expecting him. They excitedly rushed to get the order they had prepared for the Patron, and around the store the customers started to notice. As a crowd started to form, a large man emerged from the curtains that led to the back. He was carrying a leather satchel, no longer than Tristan's arm, and brought it forward to them.

"It is my esteemed customer, the Patron of Noxia, formerly named Brachton, Vincent Brachs!"

Vince gave the big man a smile and nodded to him. "I know I can count on you. Show me what you've got for me."

The man raised his head a little and opened the satchel. "This is one of my greatest works."

He slowly revealed an ornate combination of clothing, weapon, armor, and accessory.

"Is that a work glove?" Tristan blurted.

The man looked with surprise at Tristan, as he hadn't noticed him with his father in the room. Recovering from his surprise, he grinned and extended a hand to the young man.

"My name is Rusty, I have been forging here in Noxia since the day your father settled it. I saw him save humanity with my own two eyes, and he gave us the opportunity to build this!"

Rusty gestured to the ceiling, where there was a mural of the Patron and Matron, Vincent and Mu' Nukhoi, descending from the mountains each with a sword in one hand and the other extended towards the viewer. It was beautiful, if not dramatic. Tristan had seen and heard the two heralded as heroes, but he knew them to be relatively normal human beings, just like the rest of the town.

"This," Rusty paused for great effect, " is a gauntlet, a great and versatile tool used by humanity for centuries to protect," he held up an arm in defense, "and attack," he jerked his hand forwards, fingers outstretched.

He fully removed the gauntlet from the satchel, displaying its full grandeur. It was flawless, with chain mail armor seamlessly stitched together with leather and metal joints.

"This is your weapon, Tristan."

His father gestured for him to take the gauntlet from Rusty. As the crowd watched, fixated, Tristan stepped forward and picked up the gauntlet.