The Republic of Erimir


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Letters to Rulers

In High Sheriff Moss's absence, the representatives within Erimir's Senate have sent letters to important foreign officials.





Finally, upon hearing of the lizardfolk attacks on Fengarde, the High Sheriff sends a messenger to Belmorn informing them that the Halfling army is returning home, but that should Belmorn wish to formally form an alliance with Erimir (and should the Senate agree to such an alliance), the Halflings are willing to march to the defense of their neighbors.

"It Roared Like Thunder"

Meanwhile, the first shipments of strong orcish iron have made their way from Elslen to Erimir, and the industrious halflings are already experimenting with its use in weapons. Some new weapon designs are being tested in small numbers, including longer-ranged muskets and some sort of new weapon. While most do not know how far in development this new gun is, those who happened to be in earshot have dubbed it a "thunderer." It is still far from being ready, but rumor has it its destructive force is impressive.

The Scouts Return

The scouts sent to the war-torn region of Dara have returned to the borders of Erimir with a few of their number missing. They await the High Sheriff's return in the prosperous forest town of Elmshire.

Vanguar

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A scroll arrives in Hightower, scratched with rough ink strokes and marked with the seal of Vanguar...

I reject your offer. Do not meddle in Orc affairs.

~ High Chief Skar Bloodwroth, Lord of the Clans, the Vanguard, and the Shale, Keeper of the Wold's Hammer, Warden of Orc-kind

Kingdom of Torfas


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The Holy Anvil Meeting

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It is almost rare to find a crowd in Holy Anvil settlement, as the people there tend to be in their workshop and trying to make weapons or go to mine to find the materials for their to forge, but today, as the king commanded, the military council and all of finest weapon and armor smith is gathering in this settlement to discuss about Kingdom Military Power.

The meeting is mainly discuss about Kingdom army weapon and armor, but they also discussing about how they improve their army.

"Military council, please present our kingdom current military strength" Said the king to the council.

"For now, we, the military council is estimating that our kingdom strength is far above from the other country, we have a strength of 10.000 well equipped and armored experienced troops. Swordsman, Axeman, Pikeman, Halberdier, and Gunner for now, but unfortunately, our Gunpowder supply is running low and may restrict us from using our current firearms."

"Send a message to the council in Elthana, how many trained Elves they can provide us in the next four weeks, that will cover us from the gunpowder low supply, how about the information you collect from the Crescent Settlement?" the king ask.

"Oh, pardon me my king, after the search, we found books and parchments about their archers, we will study those information and adapt it into our army training, as soon as the study complete, we will have our own archers." the councilman answer.

"good, now for the weapon and armor." Cryoss change his gaze at the smiths,

"Recently we do a test for our new weapons, some are doing great, and some are waste of time, and we make some shields too for our swordsman to use. the weapons that we successfully upgraded is our hand axe, halberd, and sword. we have found the way to lower the weight of those weapons and maintain its destructive power. shields that we make is round and large enough to cover the upper body of our soldier." the weapon smiths presented their works, "the armor is not doing much of inventions, as we mainly focused at making new armor for the army, but we have started a project to make an armor that can withstand bullets." the armor smith continued.

"very well, start producing those weapons and shields, we need it soon." the king said after hear the presentation from the smiths, "lets head back to Maradur."

after the meting is over, all smith is going back to their workshops and start doing their daily activity again.

As soon as the meeting end, the convoy is riding back to Maradur Fortress to discuss about kingdom army.

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The Kingdom Trade Attempt

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The day after the Holy Anvil Meeting, Cryoss visited Gromodor Fort to send messengers to Holy Kingdom of Helor, he just finished the letter when the messenger came in,

"Deliver this to Helor, and make sure this letter is delivered."

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Caravan Departure

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Its been a while since the preparation of Torfas caravan that meant to collect information from all of nations in Orysson, at first this caravan objective is just for collecting information, but as the words spreads, this caravan become a traveler guild, consist of merchant, scholar, traveler, and some soldier that brought along by Darchow as the king commanded him to accompany the caravan.

there are 20 High orcs in this caravan, 10 merchants, 3 scholars, 6 Soldiers, and a traveler, the merchants is from a local merchant guild that seeking a prosperity in other nation, while bringing 5 crate full of iron ingot and 5 crate full of bronze ingot to trade along the journey and some livestock to fed the caravan for sure. The scholar is appointed for collecting the information from the nations that they visited. Soldiers, lead by General Darchow Darkfang, and his five chosen man to make sure there is no threat in the journey. and for the Traveler, he joined with his own purpose.

The sun is rising, and the ship is sailing. The first destination: Bahapore

Hlondeth Invades Hightower

Starvation can do much to a nation. It can topple kings, destroy law and order and drive even the most logical minded peoples to commit depraved acts. The desert nation of Hlondeth has been starving for a long time, and the Lizard humanoids that call the sun blasted plateaus their home, have been riled to war.

Hightower, the small human enclave, and former Imperial Bastion of the 9th Legion, is a dry but fertile land. Her fields are pregnant with the toils of her loyal people, and the land has been able to provide both for itself, and its neighbour, Helor, for two decades. The abundance of food has made it a stable nation, but not a strong one.

From the three-layered citadel of Hightower in the region’s centre, Lord Commander Cyril Gatecross has attempted to appease his larger neighbours. Wheat shipments have always enabled him to do this, but owing to his general distrust of the Liazardman race, Hlondeth has always fell afoul of his mercy.

On a simmering Summer’s night, the greatest host the southern world has seen in over half a decade, has surged across Hightower’s border. The small but able Hightower army has withdrawn in the face of this overwhelming force, and has fortified itself within Hightower. They expect a long siege – unless Hlondeth’s Horde can scale the walls and end it in a bloody storming of the citadel.

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Helor has long been Hightower’s Ally, and is scrambling to form a response. Between now, and the mustering of Helor’s army however, Lord Commander Cyril Gatecross stands alone and gravely outnumbered.

Hightower Plague!

To make matters worse in the region, the Gods have cruelly thrown a plague onto Hightower’s population. This plague carries a 25% death rate, and the symptoms range from boils to bloody coughs. Caught within the confines of their one and only settlement, the great walls of Hightower may be far deadlier to the defenders than to Hlondeth’s attacking forces. Plague loves its confined spaces.

Kingdom of Torfas Plague!

The remote coastal villages of Torfas are reporting the sudden emergence of a plague. All of these villages have been quarantined by local authorities, who are letting no one in, and no one out of the affected areas. The plague carries a 60% death rate, and no doubt Torfas’ government will take every measure to ensure it does not breach the quarantine. Where this plague has surfaced from, or how it is passed on is unclear. Symptoms include bleeding from the eyes and nose, severe headaches and vomiting.

Elves Remain in Elthana

Owing to their new amicable masters, the Elves of Elthana have halted plans for a mass exodus, and have remained.

Bohaddon

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Rise of an Empire

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Ducis Alta Rumauis paced the length of the hall, her face as hard as the marble floors she walked upon. She was in the only building in Aventius that still contained some of the famed architecture of the old empire; the Great Hall.

Here was where the leaders of old came to be buried, sealed away in grand stone tombs, worthy of their exploits in life. The tombs were on display on either side of the hall, lined up neatly between towering marble columns. Standing proudly above each tomb was a statue of the one who lay within, their hardened faces keeping an eternal vigil for the dead. The Ducis hoped, nay demanded, that her own remains would be interred in the Great Hall upon her death, after she had conquered and destroyed and...

No. Such thoughts were weak and foolish. Ducis Alta frowned, angry at herself for deluding herself with a fool's dreams. Clenching her fists, her short black hair moved left to right with the motion of her head. This was not the time for ridiculous dreams. There was work to be done. Nations to be conquered. Lessons to be taught.

Turning on the worn heel of her brown leather boots, she walked brusquely to the large oak doors that marked the exit. As she moved, the blood red cape fastened around her neck billowed out behind her, contrasting sharply with her faded brown leather armour.The blade resting in the sheath at her hip clinked slightly with each step. It was a garb one would expect to find a common soldier in, not the leader of a vast land; she had stripped herself of all trinkets and adornments, for they encouraged greed, and thus weakness. Reaching the end of her stride, she pushed open the creaking doors and stepped outside into her empire.

A pale, grey sky coated the hundreds of naked bodies clustered together beneath the steps of the Great Hall, in a perpetual gloom. The darkness hid their faces, but not their sounds; wailing human babes, sobbing elven mothers, coughing orc fathers. Ducis Alta scowled in disgust. These people had been weak and cowardly in life, and they would be weak and cowardly in death. Those with true strength faced their dignity with death and honour, no matter what. These people were not worthy of existence; not in her new empire, not anywhere. A wave of her hand was all it took, and doom advanced from all sides.

Men armoured in mail and plate and wielding bows and swords, advanced from all sides, bearing down fast on the weak. As the first arrows was loosed into an old General who liked wine more than war, Ducis Alta smiled. She was removing the tumour of weakness that had begun to manifest in her lands, and ensuring her people remained strong. Screams rang out into the empty sky, reminding any nearby of their fate should they become weak. When at last the slaughter was complete, the Ducis spoke, her words emerging in the high tongue of old.

"Today, with this action, you have proven your undying loyalty to the Empire, but more importantly to me! I, Ducis Alta, grant you my blessing to join the ranks of our honoured military, and become true soldiers of Bohaddon! You came here today boys, but shall leave as men! Renati in sanguinem!"

A hundred voice chorused back in unison, "Glory to the Ducis and Her Empire! Renati in sanguinem!", before marching off to the barracks nearby. As the last of the men faded into the dusk, three figures approached and knelt before the steps, before rising and facing Ducis Alta.

They were her advisors; military, diplomatic, and economic men, all from the Empire of old. Tulius, a haggard and greying man of 50, who had lived through more battles than any man had a right to, was the first to speak.

"Ducis, I have received word from our forces at the Northern border. They are ready to move into Bahaporian territory at your command."

The Ducis' face twisted into a smile at the news. "Good. These ignorant and foolish lizards in the north have oppressed our kind for too long. How dare they multiply and breed, gaining control and placing our glorious race beneath them! I am aware that a group of minorities have started a rebellion in lizard territory. While they are traitors who abandoned the old empire in her time of need, they show some strength in their actions. Inform our troops to spare half of them; I shall be generous to our enemies in this instance."

"Very good Ducis. There is one other matter. The lizards to the south have-"

"Have begun attacking the lands the 9th Legion once called home!" Leventus, a shrivelled old man who sported a wispy white beard, interrupted sharply. A fierce supporter of the old Empire, the Ducis knew of his hatred for anyone but humans. It was a surprise then, that he was her diplomatic advisor. "We need to drive them back! They cannot be allowed to take lands that our rightfully ours! They will pollute it's purity with their stinking filth! Ducis, I strongly advise you to inform Hightower's regent of our intent to send him aid! We can convince him in return, to pledge his loyalty to us! This is much wiser than our current plan to attack the North, which would bring down the wrath of the land's allies upon us, for they will view our attack as unjust! We cannot win a war so great!"

The Ducis glared at Leventus, and spoke, her tone icy cold. "I will not be shouted at Leventus. Do you take me for some common slave? I suggest you watch your tone. Insolence is a sign of weakness, and you all saw what happens to the weak." Leventus' face grew a pale white and he meekly nodded in reply.

The Ducis gestured to the last man to speak. Ava, a quiet, crooked man, with a balding head, spoke in a soft, velvet tone.

"Ducis, I must agree with Leventus, as much as it pains me to do so. This threat from the lizards could be damaging to our economic strength. Our mines in Minos our too close to their borders, and they may seem them as an easy target. I suggest we deal with this threat before beginning a war."

Tulius opened his mouth to argue, but the Ducis cut him off.

"Enough! The Old Empire was destroyed because of petty squabbles such as this! Divisions within our own Empire are weakness of the greatest kind, and I will not tolerate them! The decision rests with me, and while you have been bickering I have decided! Tulius, the invasion will commence as planned, however Leventus raises a valid point. We cannot risk any other nations becoming involved in this war. Send a decree to all nations, informing them that we are intervening on behalf of rebel forces, as we feel it is unjust for the lizards to treat our people in this way. As for our southern borders, order the overseers there to increase guard patrols near the border. That should frighten of the lizards for now. Today a new era begins. Renati in sangiuem!"

Joint-Kingdom of Belmorn


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A Prince Falls, A Nation Trembles

Upon the vast expanse of the Northern Wheat Fields did the Fengarde Militia and King Fek’Nassa’s army meet under the harsh Summer sun. Though Prince Constance IV was an experienced military leader, with a much accomplished history in warfare, especially with Jouria, his usual cunning and charisma could not stave off an inevitable defeat.

The two forces crashed as the sun rose high in the sky, and after three hours of a brutal melee, Jouria was the clear winner. Thousands of humans lay dead in the fields of their home, bitten by fang and reeling from sabre stroke. Seeing the peril of his army, Constance IV resorted to his more brutal demeanour, and ordered his crossbow levy to open fire into the mass of engaged bodies.

Lizard and human fell under this deadly barrage, but the banner of Belmorn trembled and morale was utterly broken. The Militia’s lines routed with little thought to organisation; the back ranks were crushed beneath the push of the front ranks, and King Fek’Nassa’s warriors pressed the assault to deadly effect.

Shamed by his own contribution to the slaughter of his peoples, and unwilling to allow the Lizards to march on Fengarde whilst he still drew breath, Constance IV led a last and desperate charge to stall Fek’Nassa as his army retreated.

Mounted on his regal steed, and decorated in some of the finest armours not seen since the Centurions of Bohaddon marched the fields, Constance IV committed himself to an honourable death. He and his personal retinue, aided by some of the Militia who had refused to give up the fight, thundered across the wheat fields on horseback, and laid waste to the Lizard vanguard.

He was taken from his saddle by a spear, eventually, and brought to the ground. Before his retinue could reach him, the Lizardmen had decapitated him. His head now decorates the Jouria banner, as it makes its way to the human capital of Fengarde.

Battle Summary

Outcome: Crushing Belmornian Defeat

Belmorn Losses: 7,000

Jourian Losses: 2,000

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Queen Alistine III Orders Fengarde Evacuation

With Jouria’s army left free to march on the capital, Queen Alistine III has ordered a formal evacuation of the city. Fengarde has little in terms of defences, owing to its rapidly increasing size. This is not the first time the city has been evacuated in its history, and it would not be the first time it has been razed to the ground.

Panic is rife amongst the population, and Fengarde’s clergy and town watch are struggling to keep order as the ever growing columns of evacuees surge from the city’s bounds. Crime is rampant, with the strong taking advantage of the weak at every turn. In man’s darkest hour, as always, does he toil to make it darker still.

Queen Alistine III refuses to leave Fengarde until the last human and Elf has departed; against the strong advisement of her Captain Steward, and her Royal Guard. For the first time in Belmorn’s history, a human Queen has donned her war attire – a simple set of light chainmail, more for ceremony than for purpose – and is readily going about the city’s defence with enthusiasm.

Thousands of citizens have flocked to her cause, replacing the staggering casualties suffered by the Militia in the Northern Fields. However, they are poorly equipped, and many have seen far too many winters – and some too few. Even in her peril though, Queen Alistine III has seen an opportunity for reform, and has allowed women aged 18-40 to serve in her impromptu defence force. Though her offer of ground-breaking equality has been scarce taken up, a regiment of some 500 womenfolk has been formed to bolster the defences.

As earthen trenches are dug, pitch is readied and drills are carried out, King Fek’Nassa is storming towards Fengarde. He will be there within days, and this will not be enough time for the evacuation to have been completed. Many fear for their Queen, but not enough to turn back and stand by her.

Hadelmere Enacts ‘The Mustering’

Without King Dryadson’s leadership, Hadelmere has been slow to react to the Jourian crisis. Despite sending a string of messengers to track him down in Elslen, no communication has been received in response.

After holding a council of the ‘The Nine’ (The nine counts of Hadelmere, excusing Countess Anya Meadowsong), the stewardship of Hadelmere has uniformly agreed to enact ‘The Mustering’. This is an ancient Elven law, inscribed in the roots of all Elven cultures, whereby, under threat, a general muster is sent out to the population.

Unlike human militias that are usually formed by those who dare or who are forced, The Mustering is answered by all Elves who are of able body. This is only the second time this has been done since Belmorn’s rise as an independent Kingdom.

Logistical problems are the realm’s biggest problem, as even with thousands of determined Elves ready to march on King Fek’Nassa, Belmorn can do little to arm them. The iron shipments from Elslen are a new addition to the kingdom, and established metal works have yet to be set up. Lumber is plentiful, and the longbows of Belmorn are some of the finest in Orysson – however, battles are rarely won by this weapon alone, especially on a field.

Needless to say, it will take weeks to assemble Hadelmere’s army, and many fear this will be too long to save Fengarde and its Queen.

The biggest question the Council of 9 thretted over however, was: “Where is our King and his host? Why has he evaded Belmorn’s plight?”

Freywyn


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Men Of War, Part III


«Curses!» Berin yelled as he tossed the letter aside and started pacing up and down his small tent.
«What is it Captain, they rejected our help?»
«You don't win a war by playing nice, Jon! The lizards will pillage and burn and kill and rape while she preaches about the innocent and the civilians!»
«I see.» Jon replied, a man who had been with Berin since their basic training days, as he picked up and read the letter.«I'll prepare a messenger immediatelly. They'll just have to hold for at least three weeks, if they don't, they're facing genocide.»
«They'll hold, Jon. They have to.»
«What's our message to General Branka?»
«Describe our situation here and the Jourian invasion. Include Queen Alistine's message. He'll know what to do.» Berin replied as he started wearing his old yet polished iron armor.

«Captain Reims?.. What about us? What do you think of 900 Priests facing 15,000 lizards?»
«Remember when we first arrived in these lands, all those years ago? We were met with blade and fire and we held, men who haven't seen a meal in days against well-equipped and well-fed lizards. Now, that example of bravery and valour doesn't inspire the young ones so much as it did back then therefore we need to set a new example of self-sacrifice and unity between the humans of the world. We'll be that example. We'll light a fire in the hearts of the hundreds of thousands back home which will burn until someone else takes our place. Yet, until the end of days, in a dusty book somewhere, Cleaver and its deeds will be remembered. Always.»

The Triumvirate, Part II
«Today, the Triumvirate stands strong, already working to bring prosperity to Freywyn and her people.» said Toryllis Brosca, High Ruler of Freywyn and Paragon of Prosperity, responsible for the well-being of the country in general. Before him, roughly 30 men, all part of the Whispers and those who opposed him the most with Asos in their center, a man in his thirties, who had been his most worthy adversary both in politics and the art of the blade. Behind him, Branka and his guards, holding torches and armed to the teeth. «And I cannot allow you to undermine my vision of Freywyn.»

«So it comes to this. Killing unarmed men who represent thousands of Freywe.» Valen replied calmly.

«Killing? Yes, I have to admit that killing you all is the easiest thing to do. Yet, apparently, am not that kind of man. I want you, Asos, to be my right hand, the voice of the Whispers, standing above all but the Triumvirate. You've proven your worth time and time again and now in order to stay united, I offer you such a position. I am certain, being one of the most valued Whispers, you'll have their unconditional loyalty.»

«Despite calling me your most worthy of adversaries, I find myself once more beaten by your unmatched intellect, Toryllis. Yet, it is admirable that you made such a proposal, it proves once again your love of Freywyn and her people. I accept, with honor.»

Message to Bohaddon

A lone rider left Admeryn today, carrying a letter written by Lord Brosca himself, aimed towards Ducis Alta, the head of Bohaddon.

Uaruneria



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Dark Tidings

The twelve obsidian clad warriors were greeted and escorted by a regiment of the On'on City Guards to the meeting hall. The entire length of the journey drew whispers and unneeded attention by the populace of On'on, what with the grim designs and dark colors on their armor. Especially so, when worn by beings nary a soul recognizes coupled with a terrifying height.

Eventually, the twelve was ushered into the meeting hall, where the Matriach had seated herself comfortably sipping on her favourite salted milk tea. The meeting hall although small, was decorated with intricate embroidery carpets telling tales of the nation's past. A cozy pit of fire crackled in the middle, as it kept the hall lit and warm. The twelve took a peek around in a restrained manner, with their eyeballs rolling obscured behind heavy obsidian helmets.

"Welcome, dark warriors. I am Sarantsa Uiun Odval, the Matriach of the Phoenix. Unfortunately, the queen is currently away. As such, I will be acting queen in her absence." Her sullen voice reached the ears of the visitors, which drew their attention back towards her.

"Please, make yourself comfortable," Odval gestured towards cushions scattered around the meeting hall. However, the twelve did not move nor replied. They simply stood eerily in extreme discipline. A moment of silence was then broken by a deep gravelly voice, "For six weeks, you have waited. And six weeks, we arrive. We are dark elves. We bear a message from our lord, Raknan the Black, Emperor of all Arion, High King of the Mak'tan, Slayer of the Emperor of Chains. You have received us well, and for that - the Mak'tanian Empire will grant you a choice, little bird - a commandment from our emperor..."

"Do not be coy in my presence, Dark Elf. Underestimate me, and you will surely be sorry." Angered by the remark of 'little bird', Odval snapped back at the dark elf's provocations. Her fists shuddered as she gripped the tea cup with fury. However, her intimidations were not as successful, for the dark elf laughed obnoxiously in retort. "Threaten us if you will - o' mother of phoenix, for we fear not death. However, should the commandments of the Obsidian Throne not be treated with prudence, it is you whom should be fearing. For the death of your people awaits."

Feeling powerless against the threats by the dark elf, Odval could not help but to agree - for news of the Echen Isles' helplessness against such foes echoed in her mind. She shuddered at the thought of Uaruneria facing against these mysterious people. "Speak then, what does your emperor will from us?"

"The Obsidian Throne demands that you aid us in bringing destruction to Orysson. Allow us passage and protection in your lands whilst the might of the Mak'tanian Empire assembles in due time. Allow us, and you will be handsomely rewarded..." A slight pause followed, which the dark elf began to cackle eerily before continuing, "And be spared from the inevitable onslaught."

Odval began to consider her choices. To fight against such a powerful foe, or proceed under their protection and authority. Her nation may have enjoyed prosperity from independence in the last 20 years, but it seems that it will not last. As such, the safety of her people is of her utmost priority. Should these dark elves assure the safety of her people, she will undoubtedly agree. "How will I know that your emperor will keep his word, that no harm will be done upon my people?"

"You will not, o' mother of phoenix," the dark elf sharply replied. "However, our emperor rewards loyalty and obedience. Should you agree - we will assure you the safety of your people from our wrath. You will be granted shipments of Obsidian Steel, a material far stronger - far lighter than of feeble steel. Mak'tanian shipwrights, experts in the construction of Obsidian sea vessels. Lastly, you will be granted the title of Warlord of Northern Orysson. The generosity of our emperor knows no bounds, but should you cross him - a heavier hand will be dealt upon you and your people."

"I do not care for anything else as long as the safety of my people are assured." She spoke sternly, reminding the dark elves that her decisions will not be moved by promises of greed. "However, I will take no part in the war against my neighbours..."

"Worry not o' mother of phoenix, for that is our task. We will not be sharing the joys of slaughter with you." The dark elf spoke quickly, cutting Odval from finishing her sentence - as if he already knew what she had in mind.

A moment of silence then filled the room, with only the crackling of the fire being heard. Odval took some time to consider all possibilities and eventually came to a conclusion. "Very well, I will agree."

---

Aid

The continent of Orysson had once again turned into unrest - with squabbles sprouting from every corner of the world. It was soon enough, that the neighbouring nation of Bahapore requested military aid.


Odval then sends a messenger to the Achnon Republic, informing them that the Fleet of Mist will be passing through their waters. Preparations were made in haste, whereby both Thousand-man General Khulaan and the Sealord Chuulan were dispatched within the same day.

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Terbish and Enebish

(WIP)

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Pepelu meets the Queen of Freywyn (WIP)

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Bahapore



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Horean Air Guard


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Elthana Militia


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Krakon Forces-Southern Guard


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Krakon Forces-Central Lake Division


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Horean Navy


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Elthana Navy




The Minor Rebellion

A rebellion that started with many hungry for peace led to a bloody stalemate as the forces of the government clashed with the minority rebels of the region. But will a war that was started by the supporters of the rebellion end it?

“Sir, there have been reports of division among the rebels. Thousands of humans and elves have begun to sue for peace. The entire northeastern part of the region has fallen into the hands of the new government supporters. Their numbers are dwindling as we speak” The messenger reporting the news was a krakon and dressed like many of the previous ones, loose white shirt and brown trousers and the same blank, stern look on his face. Frankly, it is nearly impossible to tell the difference between all the messengers in the army.

“Good. Good. Have you got any news on the reinforcements I sent for?” ask General Spero, he was currently dressed a set of steel armor. Plain, simple, and more of a second skin than something that protected him.

“Sir, the king has only sent 1,300 soldiers. He is currently redirecting all reserves towards the war in the south. In fact, he calls that we end this as soon as possible or risk losing the entire kingdom.”

General Spero thought about the request slowly, his neck frill flared up again, Why must I be in charge of all these pesky decisions. Once this war and rebellion is over, I will retire. The islands of Echen are said to be nice. “Order all troops to stand their ground, do not move. I want my horse readied and my personal guard too. Tell the city of Fyllon that I plan to visit.” Lord Geward had better been right about this.

Meanwhile in the north…

Lord Geward had temporary moved back to Baha City to assist the council as Lord Istudal had moved south and been placed in charge of the Horean Navy due to his experience as a former naval commander. But Lord Geward wasn’t making pointless talk with the council, like his counterpart and rival-Lord Istudal-, he planned on getting things done. As such, he was currently traveling to the rebel controlled city of Arges, capital of the central lake region. He had already spoken with General Spero who was in control of the situation in the south and they had come up with a plan to deal with the rebels, using their supporters against them. As the thoughts of the previous week went through his mind, the city itself soon came into view. It like many of the towns and cities of the region rested next to a lake but the lake had been drained long ago and the growing city had begun to slope down into the hole left by the lake. It seemed as if an entire new city had grown in the lake while the old city watched over the newborn. Lord Geward’s agents had already arranged the citizens of the city to all meet in front of the town hall.

“My lord, are you ready to land?” asks his bodyguard.

The lord would have insisted on coming alone but he didn’t have enough time to deal with the council. Without answering the horean, he dove down towards the town hall. As he expected, the big crowd that had assembled erupted into chaos and the leaders of the city who had just been ready to announce some topic looked just as shocked as the entire city. Fortunately his agents moved quickly, humans, elves, horeans, and even krakons that had been freed from the prisons moved quickly, blocking all the exits, capturing the leaders, and putting down the few guards that were actually serving the rebels.

“People of Arges!” announces Lord Geward as he landed. The crowd suddenly became quiet, all facing the councilman. Women carrying children, men dressed in their work attire, and children who had been running around. “I have come to you because this war must end! We may not be brothers or sisters in blood but we are related by the nation we belong too! The land we work, the food we eat, the water we drink! I have come because someone threatens all of us! We were united under a council in the north and protected by our scaly brothers in the south! We broke away from the empire that enslaved us, we survived a massive war where brother killed brother and men killed children, and now the very empire that enslaved us has come to our borders with threats to kill our children, our elderly, and anyone that they view as weak. Those people they call weak are people that we call our friends, our family. I ask you to now to stop this fighting, unite once again under the banner of our great nation and fight for the enslavers!”

“Why should we trust you?! You killed our innocent brothers to the east!” yells a random voice in the crowd. A number of voices soon followed and the entire city seemed to be screaming.

“QUIET!” yells Lord Geward, it was a small scream compared to combined voices but the crowd seem to quiet down anyways. “My fellow council members speak against me when I say that we should resolve this so called rebellion peacefully. But I don’t believe this is a rebellion, it is a cry for freedom and rights by my brothers that have long been overlooked. From this day forth, I decree that no horean or krakon shall rule any city, town, or village unless chosen by the people. Any horean or krakon seen treating a human or elf unfairly shall be punished. You all shall be able to flourish, live, and work in this land with equal rights.”

The people screamed again, but this time it started to form into a cheer and soon the entire city had erupted into a cheer.

“Now spread the word! Your cries for freedom and equal rights have been answered! There shall be no more fighting!” The guards parted and soon the people of the city rushed out of the town hall, many didn’t stop running till they left the city. Lord Geward flew up but not before promoting his bodyguard to general and ordering him to organize an army. The plan had worked as Lord Geward watched many small figures leave the city to spread the news among the people of the northern central lake region. The plan had worked and soon the entire rebellion would be put down in the north. Now it all depended on if General Spero could settle the problem in the south.

General Spero had settled the issue in the city of Fyllon but had only just arrived in the city of Imqua only to find it already under the control of government. People were already streaming out of the city to spread the recent news of the decree made by General Spero and Lord Geward. Quickly running to a elf that was just running out of the city gate, he asks, “What happened here?”

“Some random person appeared at the townhall meeting and gave this wonderful speech about the end of this rebellion and how we are going to be free to rule this land!” says the elf, his voice full of joy.

Who could have known about the meeting? Only me and Lord Geward knew about it…

The War
Prince Alaion looked at the swan-like creature in front of him. He had been put in charge of the province of Western Elthana by the Baha Council when his father fled the nation after the war was declared a lost and the leaders of Elthana voted to surrender despite their king voting to continue the war.
“-the council has request the full assistance of the Elthana Navy.” finishes the messenger.

The very nation that conquered us is now pleading for help, ironic. If only father was here to see this. Speaking to the messenger, “Very well, fortunately the Eastern Elthana Fleet just happened to be docked here. You may borrow the entire fleet, I will contact the lord of Eastern Elthana about it.” The messenger quickly wrote the message down and was ready to leave. “Not so fast, I shall be leading the naval forces.” The messenger didn’t argue, instead he grabbed a small scroll from his bag and handed it to the prince.

Dear Prince Alaion,

If the case arises that you decide to lead the Elthana Navy, please do the following.
*Secret Message*

Sincerely, a old friend.

“So, he’s back.” says Prince Alaion. “Very well. I shall also be collecting the local forces.” Prince Alaion watches the messenger leave and slowly walks back to the town hall.

Why would he appear now of all times?

Meanwhile…

“Give me a report on the war forces now!” demands King Lorio.

The soldier looked scared, it was not good to be in front of an angry King Lorio. “Well my king, we have about 6,500 troops spread evenly among the guard castles. Our entire navy is currently locked inside Lake Guard.” The soldier takes a short breath before starting again. “We currently have about 5,000 troops heading from various locations. The Elthana navy is currently heading to Lake Guard. Uaruneria still hasn’t responded to our message.”

“Tell all forces to fortify their locations. I want them to stay put till all the reinforcements arrive or if the Bohaddon forces decide to walk through the mountains.” says King Lorio.

“Yes my king.” says the soldier before quickly leaving.

“He must be ready to help us or else…”

---
The Attack Begins

---

Bohaddon


General Callus ran a scarred hand over his thinning grey hair with a sigh. This was it. A proper fight again at last. It was a great honour to lead the Octavian Legion into battle; an honour Callus felt he could do without.

Walking over to the wash-basin in his tent, his armour clanking as he moved, he could feel his 60 year-old bones creaking inside him. Peering into the murky water, he saw a skeleton of a man looking back at him. Where once there had been a full face and blushing cheeks, there was now haggard and sunken eyes that told the tales of thousand wars, lost and won. This was a young man's duty, not his. But they needed to get rid of him; he was a burden to the Empire now. He had done his time all those years ago; had seen too many friends, brothers, comrades, live and die by the sword. He had outlived all of them, beating death time and time again. He smiled to himself; it was funny in a way. All those times he had survived, he had nothing to live for, no life to return to, and now, with a wife and more grandchildren than he could count, death had come to enact its heavy toll.

The soft plink of his salty tears mixing with the clear water of the basin startled him from his thoughts. It had been too long since he cried. But no. Now was not the time for tears. His men needed a leader. And even if he was 80, 90, 100 years old, he would not desert his men when they needed him most. "I might be a walking corpse" he murmured softly to himself, "but I'm still a long way off surrendering to some damned scaly bastard or a giant seagull." Straightening and turning to the exit to his tent, he prepared to lead for one last time.

The General's tent had been assembled on a raised mound of dirt near the centre of the camp, and standing atop it one could witness the vastness of the forces he commanded. Thousands of tents lay before him, each one marking another life that could be snuffed out in seconds with a well placed show from a bow, or stroke from a blade. And here they all were, gathered in front of him in a mass of bodies, eager to throw their lives away. He could see a little of his youth in each of them; disciplined, ruthless, bloodthirsty. Hardening his gaze, he began to speak.

"Men, the time has come! The Empire marches to war again at last, and you have all been given the honour to lead her in her first conquest!" His gravelly voice commanded the respect that came with age. "But do not be fooled! This will not be an easy battle! Many of you will die!" He paused, allowing the harsh reality to sink in. "But for each life they take from us, we will take a hundred from them! We are Octavian Legion! We do not falter! We do not dismay! We conquer!" Thousands of cheers rang out across the empty sky, filling Callus with pride. He allowed the shouts to die down before delving into the battle plan.

"As you are aware, we will be fighting in rough ground, against enemies entrenched in very defensible locations. Some of them are birds that will strike from the sky; others are lizards whose hides will make a fine rug when skinned. There are three forts scattered along the border, and as such we cannot risk taking one fort only to be swarmed by soldiers from the other two. Thus, I am dividing our troops into 3 sections; each of them will comprise a 3rd of the army. Each section will assault one of the forts, and with any luck, capture it with minimum casualties. I will travel with the centre column, and I will assign two Captains to lead the other groups. Organise yourselves as follows; Legionaries in front, archers behind them, and Praetorian knights dispersed throughout both ranks. Upon reaching the walls of the fort, the most mobile troops will scale the walls using the wooden ladders we have assembled. These ladders must reach the walls at all costs, in case we find there is no other way to get inside. We travel at nightfall, with minimum light, to surprise and confuse our enemies as best we can. Our naval forces will attempt an assault on the Lake Guard at the same time, to throw the enemy into confusion. You have your orders men! Move out!"

General Callus watched for a moment as his troops dispersed, shaking his head slowly. "I hope this damned plan works."

Joint-Kingdom of Belmorn


Army Status Cards





The First Battle of Fengarde

The siege of Fengarde happened as many had expected: with refugee columns swarming out of the city’s western bounds, whilst Jourian Stone Thrower catapults unleashed their deadly fury. Boulders, bigger than a man’s chest, crashed into house and hastily-erected palisade, crushing those unlucky enough to be in their path. Again, and again they fired, for three hours, until they had used up their available ammunition.

The Fengarde militia, driven into hiding by the barrage, emerged from their hiding places to take their positions upon the low-lying wooden parapets, and at the edge of freshly dug trenches. King Fek’Nassa responded in kind, and sent forth his Yellowfang Crossbowmen in one large wave.

For the next hour, the air was thick with crossbow bolts and arrows, and the milita, despite their cover, fought a losing skirmish against the superior training of the Yellowfang lizards. Hundreds perished, stuck like pigs, as they gave life and soul for the defence of their home and their Queen. The human Rangers, skilled in the use of the Elven longbow, added their weight to the fray, and bit back at the increasingly over confident Yellowfang Crossbowmen. This was not enough however, and whilst ranger and milita man fell, King Fek’Nassa ordered his Sword Dancers to advance under the cover of crossbow fire. The Fengarde militia met their charge, and the two sides gorged at each other in a thirty-minute blood soaked fury. The battle line travelled several meters one way, and then the other, and this carried on for some time. However, it was evident that the lightly armoured, yet nimble Sword Dancers had a significant advantage against Fengarde’s untrained masses. Queen Alistine III ordered a general retreat into the city, in an attempt to avoid the pointless loss of many.

Over confident in his victory of the first stages of the battle, King Fek’Nassa mounted upon his horse, and led his Grim Guard into a charge. They crashed through their own ranks of Sword Dancers, and entered the city, crying bloody murder to those who would resist. It was fortunate that the Lizard King was too keen to end the battle quickly, for otherwise he may have seen the trap.

Surging from streets and alley ways, the Fengarde milita launched a counter attack, and Fek’Nassa’s army became divided and set upon by all sides in the criss-crossing suburbs of the city. Denied their force cohesion, the Grim Guard found themselves struggling to fight off the attack, though they dished out plenty of casualties.

Reluctant to see he was at peril, the Lizard King galloped forwards – too far away for his dismounted kinsmen to aid him, where he was promptly gutted by a squadron of the Queen’s Guard. Seeing their leader dead in the streets before them, the Grim Guard made frantic howls composed of savage hisses, and renewed their attack. The human defenders suffered bitterly for their minor victory, and hundreds were ripped to pieces by their enraged adversaries.

As the day drew to a close, the Yellowfangs finally broke off their attack and retreated back to the city’s outskirts; their fallen King safely in their possession. It had been a moral victory for Belmorn, but a clear defeat for her army.

It is now uncertain what the remnants of the fallen King’s invasion force will do, however, they have not broken or been deterred by the death of their leader. No. They have been very much riled by it, and the beleaguered humans expect the onslaught to resume within a week. However, the defenders bought themselves enough time to finish Fengarde’s evacuation, diminishing the devastation of a potential future Jourian victory.

Battle Summary

Outcome: Jourian Victory

Belmorn Losses: 5,500

Jourian Losses: 3,000 + King Fek’Nassa the Grim

---

’The Mustering’ Gains Pace

Ten thousand Elfkin, clad in their characteristic green cloaks, and equipped with the finest longbows in the world. Ten thousand brave souls, who have answered the call of the Council of Nine, and are prepared to lay down their long lives in the defence of all they hold dear. Ten thousand hungry mouths, and ten thousand families who require state-aid in lieu of their mother’s or father’s presence.

It is costly, to enact The Mustering, but desperate times call for desperate measures. Hadelmere’s treasury has been crippled by the expense required to equip so many warriors, and to take care of their families’ needs, but such is the way of war.

King Dryadson I has still not dispatched a messenger to the council, and his moves are hidden from even his closest advisors. However, there are reports of his host on the northern borders of the Kingdom, directly above Fengarde. Many in the Kingdom are relieved that their absent monarch has not forsaken them, but many still are troubled that he has ignored their pleas. They fear the conflict in Elslen has changed him. Time will tell, and with the Jourian invasion undeterred by the loss of their very own King, there is time enough yet in this war for men to become monsters, and for monsters to become men.

Hightower Falls

The greatest fortification of the known Empire, Hightower, has fallen to the Hlondeth General, Issil Blackfang. In a bloody battle of numbers, the Lizards scaled the walls of the first, second and third layers, brushing aside all opposition as they went. Even the mighty Tower Guard; famed warriors throughout the ages of the Empire, could not prevent the slaughter.

In a frenzied bloodlust, the hungry masses of Hlondeth have descended upon the citizens of Hightower, committing mass genocide of the native human population. Bodies decorate the bastion’s high walls, and tonight, the Lizards of Hlondeth, who were driven to this act by starvation, feast on the flesh of the dead.

Battle Summary

Outcome: Hlondethian Crushing Victory

Hightower Losses: 4425. Remaining army routed/destroyed.
Hlondeth Losses: 4000

The Republic of Erimir


Army Cards






Halflings March

The professional soldiers of Erimir, the infantry and the musketeers, have continued on toward Fengarde. While battered and bruised, these nine-hundred and fifty halflings are the best Erimir has to offer. The infantry may not be capable of standing toe-to-toe with lizardmen, but they are well versed in flanking maneuvers and are ready to assist the humans of Belmorn however they can. The musketeers come bearing their potent firearms. Under the command of Marshal Tommen, these halflings believe they may provide just enough punch to save their friends. Marshal Tommen has made it clear that while he will do his best to work with the generals of Belmorn's armies, he is more than capable of commanding his unit effectively once battle has begun.

For her part, High Sheriff Beryl Moss is returning to Erimir with the militia to determine how the nation should proceed. Rumors suggest that she wants to form an official alliance with Belmorn and bring a larger number of soldiers to assist them in their present war, but it is well known such a decision requires the approval of the Senate. Without such approval, there can be no alliance, and no militia can be sent to assist the nation of Belmorn. Such is the price of being a republic.

Weapons of War

Meanwhile, the existence of the Thunderers, a new sort of firearm, has been confirmed in Erimir. While the weapons are still prototypes, they are considered highly effective weapons that can be put to use immediately. These weapons don't have as long a range as the traditional musket but pack much, much more firepower at short ranges. The Thunderer is also considerably smaller than a musket, and is thus also lighter of weight; this makes it easier to handle and maneuver with. Finally, its unique qualities make it a perfect candidate to have a pistol made from it.



The Thunderer is now in production in Elmshire. The halflings hope to have soldiers trained in its use within two or three weeks.

The iron and lumber coming into the province have also led to blacksmiths being able to produce more conventional weaponry. While simple slings and stones are still being gathered for use in the coming wars, halfling smiths are now able to produce more short swords than usual. Daggers and long spears are being made for use by Erimir's militia, and soon they may be more than just rabble wielding farming implements.

The first of the orcish drill instructors from Elslen have also begun to arrive. They have begun training would-be recruits for Erimir's military, but the effort is slow and the results are not yet evident.

Choosing Your Friends

"There are several feuding clans among the orcs of Dara," Ambassador Tallfellow explained to Armand and Jan, his hands cupped around a large goblet of icy water. "It's a bloodbath there. We had to fight off a number of their warriors ourselves. Kipp managed to keep us out of some nasty scrapes, though. He has a keen sense of where to hide."

Kipp stood beside Jan, his hands nervously tucked into his pockets. He was still wearing his leather armor; and truth be told, he didn't feel safe without it. He scratched at the bowl-shaped straw blonde hair on his head. "I just did what I was taught to do," he offered meekly.

"You did more than that," countered Armand, the old halfling smiling just a tad. "You did well, my boy. But, more importantly, you came back alive... and you say there is a clan among these feuding factions that deserves special attention?" Armand glanced back over at the ambassador.

"Its name is Clan Gnashing," Tallfellow explained, tucking his arms behind his back. "Their leader, Chief Agamar, possesses not only strength of the body, but strength of the heart. He is a virtuous man, and a very religious fellow as well, but most importantly wants to protect the weaker clans. He has no actual claim to the throne, but isn't fighting for conquest. He's simply trying to preserve the lives of his people and of the clans that can't defend themselves."

From what Kipp had seen, that description was more or less true. Chief Agamar had personally fought off the raiders attacking the party, then fed and resupplied them for their journey. He had told them of his plight, and there were certainly no shortage of homeless orcs in his camp. His own armor was ragged and worn, but he seemed as proud as any king, at least the few kings Kipp had seen... well, the one. The massive axe on his shoulder might have helped with that.

"Interesting," Janson mused, dabbing at his forehead with a handkerchief. "But I do not see how this helps us."

"It helps us because we need friends, and so does this Chief Agamar," Armand said simply, pacing along the floor. "If we can help him secure control of Dara, we would have a friend... and the orcs of Dara would have a ruler that would respect their rights as living beings, and a ruler who will not wantonly wage war across the borders."

"But from what you have told me, this chief is fighting a losing battle," Jan interjected. "He is trying to protect a large number of refugees, yes? And all around him are other warlords? Do we even have the soldiers necessary to bring him victory?"

"Perhaps not," admitted Ambassador Tallfellow, "but I believe if we are to support anyone, Chief Agamar of Clan Gnashing is the moral choice, and our best potential ally should he be victorious."

Armand and Jan considered for a time, each musing over the issue. They debated a while longer, but Kipp simply couldn't listen anymore. He walked out of the room and strode out from the fort's interior and onto the battlements. A cool, wet breeze met him as stepped out into the summer air. It felt nice on his skin.

Lakewatch was one of two forts built by the Empire during Erimir's time as a vassal province. Like its sister fort, Fort Andal, Lakewatch was large and placed in a very defensive position. The mangonels situated on the towers of Lakewatch could fire upon enemy armies before they got catapults in range, though trebuchets could still strike the fort without any real difficulty. Given the lake's size, the only way to the fort was a direct assault at its gates, and the enemy would be at a severe disadvantage. Only the amphibious lizardfolk might be able to sneak up on the fort by swimming through its waters, but even then...

It was a very secure place. Kipp felt a little safer in Lakewatch, though his nerves were still on high alert after several near death experiences in Dara. The air was gentle, though, practically kissing his cheeks, and the summer heat wasn't as hot as it usually was. Perhaps the lake was to blame for the pleasant weather.

Kipp started to relax against the stone when he saw Ambassador Tallfellow coming toward him. He straightened up a little, nodding at his superior. "What news, sir?"

"We're leaving in the morning," the taller halfling explained. "We're to deliver a weapon shipment to Clan Gnashing. The old men say they're going to talk to the Senate about passing a bill to allow us to actually join the fight on Chief Agamar's side."

Kipp gulped. Not again.

Bohaddon

---

A Change In Tactics

---

The only sound that filled the small, wooden home was the scratching of a quill on parchment.

The hand of the Ducis moved furiously over the fading parchment as she wrote replies to foreign dignitaries; it had been some time since she last addressed the outside world, and she was finding the exercise refreshing. Sighing, she rested her wrist for a moment, and glanced briefly around the room. It was a simple affair, sparsely decorated and with little adornment. The smouldering embers of a dying fire, lingered in the hearth, clinging to what life they had left and in the corner a mouse gnawed quietly on a crumb from some long forgotten meal. It was an acceptable abode she supposed; comfortable, in its own plain way. She picked up the quill again, and prepared herself to return to writing, when a small knocking alerted her to a visitor. Rising, she moved to the door, and opened it wide, glaring at that which dared interrupt her business.

The worn face of Tulius greeted her, with a more than apprehensive look. He seemed to take a moment to prepare himself, mentally, and perhaps physically, for what was to come.

"Ducis, I have the first reports from the war...." He spoke slowly, delaying the inevitable as long as he could. "It's not good." And with that confession, the words spilled from his mouth, tumbling over one another in an effort to escape from the prison of his throat. "3,700 men lost, and the entire navy destroyed. We took one fort with minimum casualties, but the others remain in enemy hands. The attack on the Lake Guard was ineffective. And that's not all. There are troubling reports from the South. Hightower has fallen. Our southern guards are reporting small bands of lizard raiding parties stealing away slaves in the night. They grow bolder by the day." Tulius froze, his voice lost once again in fear. Silence invaded the space between the two, as the Ducis stared at him, emotionless and cold. Tulius feared she may have died on the spot, until she erupted into a symphony of rage and anger.

"What?! How can this be?! Our men, my men, defeated by some abominations against humanity! What madness is this?!" She screamed, spittle flying from her wet lips. "And now you mean to tell me that some scaly bastards have taken over the home of the 9th Legion?! Truly the gods must hate us all! But no matter! We shall drive them back, and make them fear our name again! The north can wait, this act is a breach of the Empire's honour! Withdraw our troops from the northern border, and order them to attack this lizard host in Hightower!"

"Ducis I..." Tulius thought carefully about his next words, for his life hung in the balance. "The troops are weakened. They cannot defeat this host of lizards in their current state. If we stand any chance of beating them, we must better our forces."

The Ducis gripped the hilt of her sword, ready to end the life of the man who dared defy her, until a cruel snarl carved it's way across her lips. "Order the overseers to round up the weakest of our slaves. They shall form a new regiment in our forces; the Honour Guard. Train them until our forces are positioned along the Hightower border. Then send them into battle first, let them take the brunt of attack and tire the enemy, before our own forces swoop in and wipe every one of them from the face of the earth. Inform the slaves that should any one of them survive the battle, they will be granted the great honour of training more of their brethren for future slaughter. I expect my orders to be carried out swiftly Tulius. Dismissed."

Tulius hurried away, his whole body sighing with relief at the prospect of living to see another sunrise. Once he was out of sight, the Ducis returned to her writing and composed two letters, to be sent to their respective recipients immediately.

Joint-Kingdom of Belmorn


Army Status Cards



The Second Battle of Fengarde

Long Live The Queen!

The Second Battle of Fengarde started much like the first; with the rumble of Jourian Stone Throwers. It was the middle of the night, and the moon had duel retreated to seek refuge behind some invisible cloud, and so it was easy, even for an elderly militiaman with poor sight, to watch the flaming balls of fire come crashing down into the city.

Houses burned to the ground, as the fires swept through the streets and alleys. The Fengarde garrison immediately set about quelling the flames, lest they lose not just the city, but also their only real credible defences. And so as man and woman ran back and forth, with bucket in hand, did Fek’Nassa’s son, Prince Sar’Nassa the Winged, commit his forces enmasse.

Though many of the Lizards had been poisoned by an unseen adversary, and were therefore weak and ill prepared for the fight, this did not matter. The Yellowfang Sword Dancers, with their graceful speed and immense agility, snaked their way through the flaming streets and pounced upon the distracted defenders. The Second Battle of Fengarde was no more a battle than it was a slaughter.

The Queen led the counter attack, at the head of her Guard and the Rangers. They crashed into the amassing ranks of Lizards, and a brutal melee erupted in Fengarde’s city square. However, with the militia in a mass rout, and the town watch not far behind, the Queen found herself outnumbered and cut off.

Alistine, being a woman, had never received any formal military training, and so was defenceless as a Jourian Grim Guard smashed their way to her, and delivered a spear-thrust to her neck. The pointed blade of the Grim Guard’s weapon penetrated her throat, and the spear’s consequential withdrawal tore a large chunk of flesh with it. She fell to the ground in a clatter of metal, unable to speak, as those sworn to protect her unleashed a short-lived blood lust.

Dismayed by the loss of their Queen, but all the same disheartened by their inevitable doom, Fengarde’s remaining defenders surrendered. The city had fallen, at the cost of some 12,000 Human Belmorian lives.

Battle Summary

Outcome: Jourian Crushing Victory

Belmorn Losses: Fengarde Garrison Destroyed/Queen Alistine III killed.

Jourian Losses: 1,200

---

The Third Battle of Fengarde

King Dryadson I, of Hadelmere Hold, King of the Elves and the Unchainer arrived too late to save Fengarde from its fate. The moment he lead his men through the treelines, into what he had planned to be the Jourian unsuspecting flank, he realised that his efforts had been futile. Despite maintaining total silence along his hurried journey to relieve the city, so that none knew of his approach, Jouria had won. It had torn the beating heart out of Belmorn’s eastern lands.

Even several miles off, he could tell that no resistance remained. Music was playing, and there was a thunder of hisses rolling over the wheat fields. The Jourians were celebrating their victory; jubilant that they had finally overcome a long standing enemy, and were now on the door step of Belmorn’s final bastion; Hadelmere Hold.
Recently, however, the King had discovered a long-lost emotion. An emotion the Elves of Belmorn had long attempted to restrain and eliminate: anger.

Leading his host towards the mighty camp of the Jourian prince, King Dryadson paid no heed to his chief advisor, Count Anya, of the perils his force faced against a host over five times its size. He did not care for her words however, and signalled the attack.

Seeing them coming from miles off, even in their forest-green cloaks, the Jourian Crossbowmen had taken up positions. A brief skirmish ensued, in which the Elves, despite their superior weaponry, inflicted only light casualties on their much larger opponents.

Realising that the Sword Dancers and Grim Guard were mustering for an attack, King Dryadson I finally came to his senses, and ordered the retreat. The Orcs of Elslen, driven by honour and a hatred for weakness, volunteered to act as rear guard. They paid dearly for their bravery, but it was an act that did not lose itself on the minds of the Elves they died for.

Battle Summary

Outcome: Jourian Minor Victory

Belmorn Losses: 520 Elslen Orcs

Jourian Losses: 0

The Monk of Tel’Gardas

Breath in. Breath out. Realise that you are but a being, of flesh and blood. Focus on this thought; understand it, live to be its embodiment. From the highest King to the Lowest commoner, we are all brothers and sisters equally tied to one truth: we are transient. We live, and we die. Everything is an illusion. Realise the truth of being; break the wicked cycle that binds you to this world, so full of suffering as it is, so that you may escape, and become one with the very life forces that propel the wonders of all.

Footsteps broke Teor’s meditation like a stone shattering glass. He momentarily forgot the deep calm he had allowed himself to be embraced by, a muttered a curse not unlike those you would find in the local tavern. He looked up, but did not attempt to rise; he had been sitting with his legs crossed upon the cold stone of his ‘sanctum’ for too long, and he was unsure whether they’d carry him or throw him back.

A man, clad in heavy mails, entered the domed cave. His heavily bearded and scarred face showed discontent – no, sadness. His right hand rested on the pommel of his sheathed sword, and Teor could see it rattle ever so slightly. Sadness, and anxiety.

“Milord Teor,” said the man in a gruff voice. “I bring grave news.”

Teor closed his eyes, and breathed in, holding it in his lungs for several seconds, before releasing with a carrying sigh. “Grave news is news I’d rather not hear, if it pleases you, my oldest of friends,”

“The Queen is dead!” Cried the man, with tears visible streaking his face. “Her army is destroyed, Fengarde is burning – and the Elves haven’t even left Hadelmere yet.”

“So many dead,” said Teor, sullenly. “How many joined our Queen at the end?”

“We’ve lost over eighteen thousands of our peoples, Milord. It is the greatest loss of our nation’s brief history,” replied the man; his face suddenly showed anger. “The world crumbles around us, and you spend your days sitting in this fucking cave? Breathing deeply and wanking? Your father will be shamed into suicide, when he hears!”

Teor carefully stood to his feet, and released another slow stream of air from his lungs. He was an unimpressive figure. He was forty years of age, tall but scrawny, with a shaven head and dull brown eyes. His skin was filthy and tanned from a decade of living as a wild man.

“How is father?” he asked, softly.

“Did you hear a fucking word I said, you little piece of piss?” the man roared. His hand gripped his sword.

“I heard you, old friend. But that is neither here nor there; run me down if you will, you are forgiven, but before you do, tell me why it is you have sought me out,” replied Teor, his tone placid and almost soothing.

The man, his face a picture of rage, started to draw his sword. “I sought you out, because you’ve abandoned your people – and your father. Your sister is dead because of it, along with eighteen thousand people!”

“And how, Rob, has my decision to seek Enlightenment on the forgotten Path of Tel’Gardas caused so much sorrow, and so much pain?” said Teor, smiling.

“You are a man! The only son House Ferren could truly call a King; nothing like that dimwit Constance, who is also to blame for all of this. Your sister was weak, she had a soft heart and it killed her. Those fucking Lizards should’ve been put to the sword a long time ago, and our failure – your failure, and her failure, to do anything about them as caused this tragedy.”

“If that is your opinion, then it is special to you, and must be guarded at all costs; Tel’Gardas forbid anyone changes your mind, and in doing so warps your very person,” said Teor, “but with that being said, why have you not run me through with your iron?”

The man’s eyes shot to his sword as it stood half out of its sheath. He suddenly relaxed himself and pushed the blade back into its leather. He sighed, knelt and started to cry. Teor approached him, and placed a gentle palm upon his metal-clad shoulder.

“You wish for me to lead our peoples, old friend?”

The man did not speak back, but nodded slightly.

“Will my father accept me back into the fold?”

“I expect not, Milord. He still refuses the mention of your name in his presence.”

Teor frowned at this. A tear worked its way from one of his eyes. A sister and cousin slain, a hateful father and the loss of over eighteen thousand people, and for what? Old feuds? A twenty year old suspicion? It seemed a high price for aims so vague. Yes, the world is full of grief, and blood and terror – but it is all insignificant. It is illusionary. The sooner you can let go of fear, of sorrow and of pain, the sooner you can reach that of which you seek. The sooner you can see the world with love and clarity.

“Then I make for Hadelmere Hold; I will take the bloodied crown of our peoples, or my father will kill me. It matters not,” said Teor, smiling despite his eyes swelling with restrained emotion.

Nation Status Card

Bahapore



Army Status Card

Krakon Forces


Horean Air Force


Navy Status Card

Horean Navy


The Aftermath

Thousands had died in the honorable defense of the nation. Outnumbered two to one, the Krakon Forces led by their brave King Lorio defended the Guards against the onslaught of Bohaddon soldiers. Meanwhile the Horean Navy led by the devious council member, Istudal, had barricaded itself in Lake Guard, luring the larger Bohaddon navy to their destruction. Central Guard, Western Guard both stood against the Bohaddon forces and won, Eastern Guard stood bravely against the Bohaddon Forces but fell as the forces overwhelmed them. Even with the destruction at Eastern Guard, Lake Guard was a victory that raised the morale of the entire nation and the destruction of not only Bohaddons Morale but their entire naval force. It was a great day as victory rained on the nation of Bahapore but it wasn’t a day of celebration, it was a day of mourning, a day of mourning for the 2700 that died in the defense.

“Whats the damage report?” asked General Spero. To think, I exactly believed that I would get a break after all my hard work during the Minor Rebellion General Spero had been placed in charge of the entire Southern Guard-which was the entire Krakon Force-by King Lorio himself. Finally expecting a break, only to be placed in charge of the important military force in the nation.

“Lake Guard has taken minor damage to the naval gate, eastern walls, and the ground has become unstable. Western Guard has taken heavy damage to the entire base, the southern wall is nearly gone. Central Guard has only taken minor damage to the southern wall, no where else. Eastern Guard was the most heavily damaged with most of the southern half gone or turned into rubble, the northern half took some damage only and has been given some makeshift repairs by the Bohaddon forces after the capture.” Reports the soldier. They were located in the main camp just north of Central Guard. It consisted of nearly a hundred tents and was set up only after the Minor Rebellion. It was currently a command base for if Bohaddon attacked again. Many of the tents and soldiers were already gone, the remaining tents were only for the construction crew for the newly planned Northern Guard Forts.

“I want repair crews sent to Western and Lake Guard. Send a construction team to Eastern Guard, I want the entire base to be designed bigger, better, stronger, and meaner. It’s obviously the weak point in our defenses. The troops in Central Guard are to be set to repair duty.” says General Spero, still hoping that this would be the last problem he would have to work on.

“Yes sir.” says the soldier before leaving the tent.

General Spero walked out and was already seeing movement among the camp. Just to the north the skeleton of the to be guard was already in progress, figures moving about, and stones moving slowly. The Guard was going to be designed to host an army of 10,000 with enough storage to feed an army twice that size for two seasons, with walls fifty feet tall and 10 feet thick. The fort itself was twice the size of the normal forts inside the southern guards, while the guard was four times one of the southern guards. It held every military building in existences, from stables to an armory and even a farm. That was just breaking the surface of the northern guard. It could stand against an entire army but many hoped it would never be used.

The Bloodfang Empire Emerges



Twenty years ago, as Emperor Almon IX breathed his last fevered breath, the Imperial Province of Hlondjour stood as a triumphant symbol of Bohaddon's attempt to not only subdue those races outside of mankind, but also to civilise them - especially the more savage of the varieties that inhabited the world. The Lizardmen dwelt in a harsh land, of sun blasted canyons and treacherous swamps; this made them tough and resourceful warriors - indeed, some of the Empire's finest when it came to fighting on difficult terrain. They were firecly loyal to the Emperor, whom they served with the utmost dignity and pride. His death fell on them iin the form of a terrible wave of bewilderment.

The Yellowfangs, whose clans held the western areas of Hlondjour, blamed the Elves of Belmorn for the King of Bohaddon's assassination. The trust between Elves and Lizardkind had always been on a knife's edge, owing to their natural dislike for each other - a dislike that had blossomed for hundreds of years. The death of Almon IX was the excuse the clans of the Yellowfangs needed to muster for war, and demand the heads of the assassins. The Blackfang clans, holding the eastern lands of the province, urged restraint. This minor disagreement erupted into civil war overnight, as Lizard turned on Lizard, and thousands fell to the churning wheels of genocide.

The Province of Hlondjour split into two, forming the nations of Jouria and Hlondeth. A ceasefire was signed soon after, and the two generally ignored each other - both looking to pursue their own goals in this fractured world. Twenty years later, and these divided peoples look poised to rekindle their lost love for each other. With the raging success of Prince Sar'Nassa's campaign against the much hated Elves and their human underlings of Belmorn, coupled with Issil Blackfang's outright destruction of Hightower has provided the leaders of the two nations with enough grandeur to declare the Lizard peoples the Empire's chosen. It is their belief that they must fashion a new empire, in Bohaddon's image, but with the Lizardkin at the head, and the lesser races below as their servants.

Issil Blackfang has graciously accepted the position of Lord Commander; the highest station in this emerging power. Sar'Nassa, being much older and skilled than Issil, has accepted the Imperial Crown of Jouria. He has proclaimed the dawning of a new era, and demands that all nations bow to him and his superior peoples; or they should prepare to die. With the merging of the Yellowfang and Blackfang clans, it was agreed between the two respective leaders that this new nation be named after the clans who ruled their lands long before Bohaddon's initial rise: The Bloodfang Empire

The Republic of Erimir


Army Cards






Expanding Trade

After long weeks of trade with the Kingdom of Asax, Erimir has begun hiring shipwrights from the neighboring nation. The excess of lumber imported into Erimir from its trade deal with Belmorn has given it enough wood to start producing a fleet to protect its interests in the southern portion of the continent. Still, it will take a few seasons before Erimir has a fleet worthy of any note.

Trade with the Kingdom of Scharweilt has borne fruit as well. Erimir's goods have begun to bring in fresh supplies of fish from the growing fisheries in the island nation.

Victims, not Victors

This good news, however, is tainted by the dire situation in Belmorn. News of the terrible events of the war have drifted into Erimir, and the people are stirred. Action would not have been taken, however, had a lizardfolk emissary not strode into the City Hall of the capital with an ultimatum: accept the lizards of the new Empire as their ruler or die. High Sheriff Beryl Moss and the Senate have sent the emissary back to the Bloodfang Empire with the following message:



The halflings of Erimir are making good on their promise. The first batch of soldiers trained with the assistance of orcish drillmasters is due to be ready next week. Spears, axes, and thunderers are being prepared for this moment.

One Last Hurrah

It was all desolation. Marshal Tommen Taleteller stared out from the atop the hill at the refugees limping toward Hadelmere. A tent city had formed around the elven capital, a stark contrast to the grandeur of the elven hostels and spiraling treetop homes. Its walls of ivory stone seemed almost taunting next to those ragged pavilions and the bloodstained clothes of weary warriors and widows. All the fighting had brought some sickness upon the refugees, too, and their coughs and groans compared to the quiet, meditative stares from the elves within the city made the scene all the more crushing.

The elves camped outside the city, those soldiers in their finely crafted armor, were receptive of the halfling force, despite the small size of the army that followed Tommen. Nine hundred and fifty halflings, all lightly armored and none astride any steeds, seemed even smaller before the approximately fifteen thousand elven warriors. Still, they were practically cheering as the halfling force stepped into the camp. While it certainly warmed the hearts of some of his men, Tommen knew it did not bode well for their makeshift alliance. If the elves were glad to see halfling soldiers, then that meant they were in dire straits indeed. The elves certainly didn't cheer for the halflings after their battle with Elslen.

Still, he thought to himself, it also means we're having an impact here. We're boosting their morale, at least. That may be just enough to win the next battle. It was no longer time for idle hopes, though. Tommen marched off to meet with the elvish officers to discuss his army's role in the coming battle.

* * * * *

Dusk came quickly. The halflings met with refugees and elves, sharing their rations freely with those who needed them. It was the halfling way, though Tommen knew most of his men would be complaining of empty stomachs come second breakfast when they realized they'd be down to three quarters' rations. Dusk gave way to evening, and the small army slept, though the Marshal did not. Come the morning he was still awake, having been pacing and thinking throughout the night.

Tommen had his officers round up his men, and the Marshal stood at a makeshift podium of barrels in the center of their camp. All his soldiers' faces were on him.

"I am not a man for great, inspirational speeches," he began, setting his hands on the wood before him. "This is... new territory for me. I am a soldier first and foremost. I will lead you into no battle I would not fight in myself. I will give you no order I would not myself obey. You know this. You have all served under my leadership, and I am proud to be your commander."

The Marshal pressed his knuckles down hard upon the barrel, taking a deep breath. "I will not lie to you. There is no promise of victory in the coming battle. We outnumber the enemy, but they hold the ruins of Fengarde. The lizardfolk have unified, and they will certainly send more warriors should we win. This summer will be a bloody one, and we cannot be assured of reinforcements from home. in short, we may win the battle, but the war is an uncertainty.

"But that has never shaken the halfling spirit, has it?" The Marshal lifted his gauntlet high. "You are veterans now, having fought some of the finest warriors to be found in Orysson. You charged at orcish warriors without an inkling of regret, and you stood proudly before the gates of their city as the High Sheriff brokered a peace. Some of you have fought off raiders and slavers, and others have stood as Irioa's sentinels against vandals and buccaneers. We are heroes, and the world would be damned good to remember that.

"We are going to fight these lizardfolk invaders. They may beat us in battle, but when we are done, they will ALWAYS remember what the littlefolk can do in a fight. So, let us have one last hurrah, for soon the bards will sing of our exploits! Hurrah, men! Hurrah!"

The hurrah was answered in kind. Halflings lifted their swords and muskets into the air, cheering. If there was to be a battle, it would be a battle to be remembered.

The Struggle in Dara

The first shipments of halfling weaponry and foodstuffs have reached Dara. Clan Gnashing has gained a bit of an edge against its opponents with this delivery, but for now is focusing on holding its ground and protecting the refugees from other clans. Erimir promises to send halfling troops to support Chief Agamar soon.

Freywyn


Army Cards





Men Of War, Pt. IV

They stood side by side, 905 Black Priests, watching the fall of Fengarde. Words weren't needed and thus weren't spoken, the screams of the damned and the rage of the lizards filled the night with horrors and memories of old, back when they arrived in Orysson and were faced with extinction. Captain Berin wasn't but a pup back then, barely 20 years old yet he fought with all of his might despite the fact that one could count the bones on his body.

And know he stood powerless. Utterly and completely defeated without even drawing his blade.

«Gentlemen, as you see, we have been too late. Fengarde falls and alongside her tens of thousands of her sons and daughters while we stand idle and watch this travesty of a battle unfold. All those without a son or under the age of 20, move forward.»

At once, a third of his men stepped forward, their eyes mirroring their sorrow and their scars of war.

«You will march towards the borders between Jouria and Requa where you will meet the army and describe to them in full detail what happened here. I am certain that Branka will have sent a few thousand men yet in the off chance that someone like those blabbering Whispers stopped him, go back to Admeryn and make sure everyone knows of the betrayal.»

«And what about you, Cap'n?» a young man asked.

«We will stay. Perhaps we'll join the remaining forces of Fengarde. Perhaps we'll try and poison the rest of their supplies despite the heavy toll it took on us the first time. Our lives are forfeit, boy. We shall never see the White Tower of Caan again or hear Archbishop Vastra chant in her Auditorium again. We'll stay here, lighting the flame which will burn Jouria down to its scaly core. Farewell.»

They left a few hours later, leaving words of courage and bravery to those who stayed behind. Berin and his 600 men, all of them battle hardened and armed to the teeth, wearing the armor of their fallen comrades as if they were fighting alongside them.

«Now Captain? Am sure the rest of Belmorn is getting ready to face the Jourian threat. We could join them.»
«Join the elves, Jon? The damned knife-ears who in Fengarde's darkest hour arrived too late and with too few men only to withdraw after a short skirmish leaving orcs to fight in their place? Nothing but spite for 'em Jon, may the lizards skin 'em all. If they had helped then yes, I'd be the first to join their ranks but they didn't. And that will never be forgotten, not by us and not by those back in Freywyn and one day, it shall be repaid in full. For Queen Alistine who barely knew which end of a blade to hold yet she charged against the best fighters Jouria has to offer and found death as a warrior-queen who will be immortalised in our legends»

We'll keep following the horde and watch them from a distance. We'll skin and burn every single one of them who dares to venture away from their camps and as soon as the next battle begins, we'll join the fray.»

Dawn Of War
«My lord, a messenger from Bohhaddon arrived bearing this letter.» a young boy said while bowing in front of him. Toryllis grabbed the message and opened it impatiently, eager to see a glimpse of what the future had in store for him and his country.


As soon as he finished reading the message, the High Ruler of Freywyn started composing one of his own, his heart and mind still shaken by the grim news received from the West and the rise of Bloodfang.



The Black Crusade
«My Lord, morale couldn't have been higher among our men while our current supplies will last us for three weeks when caravans with fresh food arrive every four days.»
«Excellent. Turns out that Queen Myra's journey into the unknown pretty much made this war possible. Without the food from Uaruneria and Requa, the nation would have been starving within a month.»

Master Branka, Paragon of War and General of what was known as the Black Crusade as his men had painted their armours black in memory of the those who fell in Fengarde, admired the thousands upon thousands of soldiers, wagons and horses marching towards the unprotected Jourian capital. Alongside the eight thousand Freywe, two thousand battle-hardened Dwarves and 20 of their catapults marched to war yet that wasn't all. A thousand of well-equipped Requans and as many volunteers followed too with dreams of glorious battle ready to be shattered as soon as they witness just how well a lizardman uses his fangs. Branka knew that they weren't enough to ensure a total victory and his plan was to capture the capital as its defenses would certainly be weak considering that the majority of the lizards had been waging war in Belmorn for weeks now. If the siege didn't go according to plan though, they'd fall back and man the fortresses strategically built on the Requan borders which had been finished just a few days ago, marvels of architecture which no man nor God could conquer without shedding enough blood to create a river.

Joint-Kingdom of Belmorn


Army Status Cards



The Monk of Tel’Gardas Part 2

The refugee columns were endless. Old men and women pulling feeble carts of their worldly possessions, young children clinging tightly to their mothers and a spatter of younger men walking with wounded limbs and wearing torn leather. It seemed to Teor that there were many thousands of them, as far as the eye could see, all packed tightly on the paved and narrow bridleway leading from Fengarde.

The pillars of smoke were starting to dissipate, over in the distance, but it still hung heavily in the air overheard. Teor reasoned that the Lizards must have burnt down every structure, to create that kind of stain in the otherwise blue summer sky, but felt indifferent to it. War is war, men kill men, for reasons often lost to them, but always in the service of a higher power. The innocent suffer, or else are forced to ply the very machines that plough the fields of the dead.

“We lost the battle of the Northern Wheat Fields. Prince Constance IV met the Jourians on open ground with his militia; it was a stupid idea, they were cut down in droves by the Jourian army,” said Rob glumly.

Teor looked at his old friend, and smiled faintly. “It was a stupid idea to wage a battle, at all, Rob.”

Rob shot an angry glance at Teor, and then spat distastefully on the floor before his mud-caked feet. “What would you have done? Laid down whilst your people were raped and massacred?”

Teor shook his head. “I don’t know. I don’t hold the facts; news travels slowly to the Seer’s Lake. What I do know, however, is that violence often solves nothing; it must be the last resort, when all else has failed.

“Balls. Your sister was the stuff of kindness – she tried to resolve things with the Jourians, but they ignored her. They sent their army into our lands, to kill and to maim, whilst she sat around doting on their delegations,” replied Rob. “The sword should have been the right answer to go by. If she was wise, she’d of amassed our forces at Fengarde, and awaited the arrival of Hadelmere’s army. Instead, she sent her piss-brained Cousin to fight a battle he could not win.”

“And if she had not sent Constance, how many more would have died attempting to flee the borderlands?”

“Hundreds, maybe thousands – not eighteen thousand, that’s for sure.”

Teor sighed. Rob had a good mind for military matters; he had trained Teor as a youth in the use of sword and shield. There would be no real hope in attempting to enlighten his friend to the true manner of the world, and to the clarities denied to him by the realm’s blinded indoctrination.

“Perhaps you are right, Rob, perhaps the sword should have been the right response,” lied Teor, smiling as he always did. Rob did not smile back.

***

No one took much notice as Teor and Rob joined the refugees, partly because one looked like either a hermit, or a badly done by former-resident of Fengarde, and the other a militiaman from the defence effort. They camouflaged immaculately into their downtrodden surroundings of a beaten peoples, and none knew that a Prince walked in their midst.

“Someone, please,” sobbed the desperate plea of a tired woman.

Teor turned his head to the right, and saw a young woman, caked in dirt and blood, cradling a limp infant in her arms. Immediately, he broke away from Rob and approached her. She looked up at him hopefully, and presented her child to him. He pulled back the child’s blanket, and winced slightly.

“Give the child to me, my lady,” said Teor, soothingly. His usually dull eyes shone with a certain kindness.

The woman hesitated, but then handed the child over.

A blow to the head; a cracked skull. Still breathing. Two or more ribs broken. Possibly four years of age. Malnourished; therefore weak and with little chance. Dead; another soul denied a chance to break from the cycle.

“No,” muttered Teor.

“Excuse me?” asked the woman. Tears streaked across her face, clearing away the dirt that had accumulated there and leaving behind a spider webbed pattern of pale trails.

“Your child has suffered severely, my lady. His skull is crack-“

The woman started sobbing uncontrollably.

Teor carried on, indifferent. “His skull is cracked, and his ribs are broken. A lifetime of a poor diet has left his body weak, and even with the best medicine available to us, his chances are slim.”

“Oh…” the woman’s voice broke into whispered croaks.

Teor stepped aside some passing refugees, and knelt down. “Still, I will do what I can,” he said, smiling up at her.

***

Teor finished tying the bandage. He had pierced the child’s skull, via the use of a cork screw. It was clumsy work, but it had succeeded in relieving the pressure on the child’s brain. It had given the small one a fighting chance at life, no matter how slim. He dreaded to accept the reality that he had only caused the child more needless pain, but he was bound to himself to help anyone and everyone.

“How did you know to do that?” asked Rob, half disgusted, and half amazed by what he had seen Teor do.

“The Lay of Tel’Gardas is rich with medical techniques; such things have been forgotten for a long time by our peoples – though the Elves still harbour some of it,” replied Teor. He handed the child back to the mother, who had exhausted her tear ducts and vocal cords to the point that both ceased to function.

“I have given him a chance, but understand it is a slim one, he may will perish all the same,” said Teor, with a smile. “Love him, care for him, but do not dwell on him. Life is temporary in this world, my lady, and all must perish at some point – focus not on what may come, or what has happened, but on what is happening. Care for him, love him.”

Teor walked away. Dozens of refugees followed him. All were injured in some way, whether it was a broken limb, a damaged eye or an infected wound. He turned to face them, and smiled. He did not want to delay his journey to Hadelmere a minute more, but there were no evident healers in sight, and he was not about to become part of the world’s problems.

“Fetch me clean blankets, water and fire.”
“We haven’t time for this, Teor, our people need you,” interrupted Rob.

“Yes, I can see,” Teor said with finality, as he opened a small cloth pouch of dried leaves.

***

It was dark by the time Teor has expended the last of his herbal remedies. Scores of people lay on makeshift beds all around him, positioned in rows with plenty of space between. The refugees on the bridleway nearby were still walking on towards Hadelemere, but Teor could see them thinning out. He could also see some of them breaking away from the rest to seek aid.

“Saved enough?” Asked Rob, yawning.

“Not nearly enough, old friend,” replied Teor bitterly. “So much pain, and anguish, and for what?”

“Don’t get me started on that again,” said Rob.

Teor sighed, and wiped his sweaty brow with the back of his wrist. He look across the silhouetted rock piles of a hastily established graveyard; he had saved many, but many more had succumbed to their ailments. Somewhere in those mounds lay a four year old boy with a cracked skull, and close by, there was the exhausted wails of a broken mother.

“I’m going to sleep, we set off at first light – with or without your consent,” said Rob grimly. It was clear that the man had no patience left.

“Then sleep well, my friend,” replied Teor, “I will see you in Hadelemere.”

Rob raised a scarred eyebrow, “you plan to walk now? You must be exhausted!”

“There is much energy left in my bones, yet, old friend. I discovered long ago how our minds tire themselves on useless wants and worries; freeing oneself of these things, gives a surprising amount of vigour,” said Teor, smiling.

“That makes piss all sense to me, my Lord,” said Rob.

“Nor did it make sense to me, those many years ago,” Teor replied.

Not waiting for Rob to speak further, Teor headed towards a small cluster of people gathered in the midst of the beds. These were able bodied mothers and fathers, old in years but still active, who had sworn their allegiance to Teor in return for the “miracles” he performed on their loved ones. He replied that he did not want allegiance, only assistance. He had then spent an hour training them in the arts of basic healthcare, including the changing of bandages and some resuscitation techniques.

“I will return on the morrow, and we will get these people to a House of Healing, you have my word,” Teor said to the group.

A woman of middle-years looked at him and smiled. “Go with the Gods, and come back to us swiftly- fear not, we will stay here until all are well, or all have passed on.”

Teor nodded, and then turned for the bridleway. His pace was brisk, and energetic, despite him having not slept in almost two days. Exhaustion was not much of a problem for him these days, not since he learnt how to unchain himself of the baggage most people carry around with them their entire lives. A good deed, Prince, and the world is a little brighter. Revel in your accomplishment.

“Wait up,” yelled Rob from behind. He had found himself a half-staved horse that seemed more bone than meat to Teor. Poor beast, you work yourself into the ground at the whim of masters you do not understand, and who do not understand you

The Return of the King

King Dryadson I made a sullen entrance to his ancestral city. Thousands of Elves, all equipped for war, stood at rigid attention in neat squares to create a central channel for him and his returning army to pass through. There were cheers, and Elven flutes played merrily as he passed by; flowered wreathes were thrown over the shoulders of his followers. At last, their King, their triumphant King had returned from victory in Elslen, to guide them in their time of dire need.

All were joyous on this occasion, despite recent events, and even the human refugees seemed to pick themselves up, if only slighty, at the news of his arrival. King Dryadson I had overcome far worse than this in past, and he was bound to repeat his brilliance this time; albeit a tad too late. The last time the Jourians came over the border in force, he and King Alfran turned them away as if they were children.

Yes, all were joyous, save for one. Countness Anya, of Meria’s Rest, had become gravely concerned with her King. He had changed somehow, and though she was unsure exactly what it was, he seemed unbalanced. A twitch had developed in his right eye, and it came on involuntarily when he spoke. The peace that often occupied his facial features, and to be fair, those of most of the Belmornian Elves, was no longer present. It was not that he looked angry, but rather, that he looked vacant, as if he was feeling nothing at all.

The King passed by his assembled army, and only gave them a few glances. It seemed he had business to attend, and this was not surpising in a time of war. He marched through The Arch of the Elderborn, where he was further greeted by tens of thousands of his countrymen. Men, women, children. Elfkind in it is entirety. They all cheered his name, and threw delicate petals at him in heavy showers. Again, he rewarded his adoring fans with a few glances, and fewer smiles. For the most part, he walked on.

His host halted outside of Hadelmere Palace, where the Elf Kings of old and new rescided. It was a beautiful structure, of tall spires and twisting parapets. A rare feat of engineering, not often see in this world anymore, even in Elven nations. At the foot of the Palace waited the Council of the 9. All of them a great Lord or Lady, all of them a hero in their own right – the best of the best. They instantly recognised what had caused Lady Anya’s concern.

“My Lord,” said Count Ferawl, “are you well?”

The King smiled, and bowed his head. “Of course, my dear Count Ferawl, but I am exhausted. We forced marched all across Elslen to Fengarde, and from Fengarde to here… it has been a long journey.”

“Of course, your grace. Come, your quarters are ready. We will speak of Jouria’s invasion tomorrow,” said Count Ferawl.

“No,” King Dryadson I said at once, “We will talk about Jouria’s demise within the hour. Ready the Council in the war room, I will not delay in the slaying of those monsters.”

Count Ferawl recoiled, as if bitten by an unseen seperant. “My Lord?”

King Dryadson’s right eye started to flutter slightly. “They have butchered far too many of our people, and we have allowed them time and time again to regroup and come at us. No more, my Count. I will take it upon myself to rid the world of them, and their likes.”

“I’m not sure, that I understand, oh great King,” said the Count; his fellow counts and countesses looked on with bemused faces.

“War, we’re going to war. There will be no peace, there will be no compromise – no ceasefire, no pact. There will be only death, and I will not stop until that,” King Dryadson quickly caught hold of himself, suddenly aware that he was in an obvious rage. “I… I… perhaps I do need some rest.”

At these words, the Council released a collective sigh.

“Erimir has dispatched her forces, my King. They are prepared to fight for us,” said Countess Mayine of Wormwood Watch.

The King nodded. “They are a brave people, those little ones. Should the Lizards be crus- … subdued, Belmorn and Erimir will be bound in blood for as long as my reign holds. Let it be known.”

The Countess nodded. “Of course, your grace. I will go at once to meet with their commander, and convey your feelings.”