One could not pry his own mind from the thought, that which lingered. As much as he had respected his better, he could not shake the feeling of doubt as he sat perched, upon his horse, staring down the lines of the cursed Paledunes. Cursed belief, thought he. What vile and sickening feeling it was, that nature of man, the doubt when faced with the cold blade and stubborn will.

“Aedrius?”, asked he, pivoting his own gaze to him, which himself sat upon a fine thoroughbred with iron will. “Some may count nearly one million in their ranks, standing against fifty-thousand. I am ill with thoughts of what may happen were we driven back. Have you anything to say which might satiate these thoughts?”

Irenaeus pursed his lips then, uttering a phrase which forever was stuck in the mind of the General. Aedrius spoke calm, but cold, “One million stand against fifty-thousand?” Aedrius paused. “Ascended help those heathens.” He spoke in regards to the Paledune men which stood opposite of our own columns. He roared seconds later the phrase to battle. “To your flanks, men! May your phalanxes be tight and your sarissas whetted!” Spurring his horse moments later, a great cloud of dust was drawn as his staff accompanied him at double quick towards the companion horsemen drawn up (on the far) right.

As General Sunwalker turned to spur his own steed, his eye was drawn to a figure upon the ridge nearby. Upon examination, the demeanor of General Eriokles became revealed to Dalleio. They regarded each other with the nods of their heads in that moment, and turned their own ways of which to ride, on to battle.

Some time (it took) for Sunwalker to take his command, a sizeable portion of the right wing of the army, being hoplites and sarissamen alike. He turned his steed rather sharply, regarding his own staff with a hail, and not but moments later did the horn sound. A drumbeat, one might’ve regarded it, but No! ‘Twas but the movement of the lines, a steady pace of which each phalanx advanced, all in step, as if a musical cacophony of war drums were assaulting one’s ears.

And it began. From each flank were hordes of horsemen from both our own lines and other lines alike. And how they streamed! How was it that men with such grace in the saddle could ever draw blades against one-another! Pure beauty, until dragged back to the stifling heat was the General. The clopping of hooves and the thumping of feet was not the only orchestra that filled the air. Wheels! Chariots! Each phalanx called to brace for the blasted vehicles of destruction, and the lines were extended under the cover of slingers and peltasts, an enfilade of fire which was never seen before striking down those golden carriages!

And the men parted the formation, as the Ascended had parted the very seas to create the land! The chariots sailed through, steeds cut down and riders impaled. The very charge broke before Sunwalker, which uttered a prayer to the Ascended as the phalanxes advances once more. Oh! Heard his prayer, had the Ascended! For the cavalry had collided with one another, and the Paledunes broke! The Heathens had turned tail, and left their own exposed! Beautiful chaos ensued, and the main lines began to collide in a haze of glory! Sarissas, blades, and pole-shafts thrusted through, and as if a supernatural force simultaneously directed them away, those Eastern men routed! The most glorious pursuit one could ever see! None could harness the fury of the men under the Grand Emperor! It had to have been a distance of most of the Goldsea the men pursued before they could dare keep calm enough to make camp.

How Holy! The Ascended blessed all that were true to Them that day! The path of conquest was open and prepared for the soles of the brave!

It was in that fateful year of 23 when Ulder Birdwatch Baldug came to his nephew's court, eldest at a group of shamans and soldiers. The lands of Baldugtagee Minor had felt the horrific mistreatment of Eaglebeak, cursed be his name, whose rule was cursed and whose blood was said to corrode the ground when wounds were opened in his gaunt form. He had, by the elder's blessing, been given control over "all that the forests touched and the sand saw", none the wiser of his corrupted brain.

Ulder had been the loudest among them, hollering claims of his nephew's divinity and kind rule even as the ground beneath them was seized and taken behind the palace to have flowers planted within. Ulder's mind finally failed his nephew when the younger man demanded Ulder relinquish control over his own personal domain, at the same time as he made open plans to overthrow the ascended government.

It was a blessing upon my own eyes that I witnessed the tenfold rage erupting from Ulder's mind as he spoke then, his roars mightier than any I had ever heard. He said unto his nephew thusly:

"The lands of old, kings buried within, are never to be raped and soiled by your pitiful acquiescences." To that, Chief Eaglebeak grabbed upon Ulder's flesh, and clawed deeply into his arms with a scourge of leather and glass. He spat upon his elder, his uncle, how vile was his temperament and how soiled was his legacy. He sat back upon his throne, a hunched, crone-like youth, madness darting behind his eyes like children darting amongst the wood. His voice was like an arch pulled upon oak, frozen in its brutality and lost in the coldness of his bosom:

"I am chief in all the oak does see, chosen by those who now hide within the shadow of your foolishness. Scourge him twenty and continue in the same path until the morning." A punishment light for the crime of high treason as had been for years long forgotten.

As he was held upon his flesh by soldiers, rodents all, Ulder's eyes held a flame so immense that I cannot find myself to put it to words. He swore that day in language most uncouth that he would return ever the braver, ever the stronger, and ever the wiser, hefting upon his shoulders a god-gift that would show whose claim was right to the throne as it was sat upon.

Ulder was freed within a fortnight, the elders, in their fury, called to the stars above and laid themselves bare to the gods, scourging themselves and pleading to be freed of their inherent violence to become unworthy of scorn for what may be forced upon them by the forces of fate. The gods had agreed, blessings were laid upon their worthy shoulders, so that those who may claim it would take the first blow and be free of any scorn in the eyes of those far beyond mortal comprehension.

These elders took upon themselves the task of burning the minds of the plebeians into a fervor, appealing to their minds in any ways they could gain, prostrating themselves and giving up all worldly possession and granting unto those who would agree gifts not meant for mortal men.

They took to the buildings, burning them as if straw, crying a mighty cry from the roofs of mutilated temples and garrisons. They sent away soldiers and stole their weapons, turning them upon their former possessors with a fury unabated. Ulder found himself freed during this same looting and destruction, taking his place at the head of the column and commanding the elders and youth alike. He marched upon Eaglebeak's castle and met with the chief's servants upon the shores of the Goldsea, whose waters gave silent encouragement and whose surface gleamed as if their namesake had been given unto them by the gods. The charge was soft like a flood and with the fury of a flame, the elders fought like the gods themselves taken mortal form. Spears were hefted and thrown, battle was engaged in a furious melee, the servants wielding shields and taking to a line so straight it was said to reach the Ancient Steppe, while the fervent and righteous rebellion fought like heroes to a man, charging themselves and each whetting their spears on the men's inner workings.

In the end, it wasn't men in tandem who won the battle, it was men themselves, each empowered by their own righteousness and fury. At the end of the day, the armor that was tossed into the sea was enough to hold a flock of gulls who frolicked on the defeated's possessions like vultures on a corpse. The rebellion hoisted the golden shields upon Ulder's shoulders as he marched into the home of the Chief, and no man's knee remained unbowed. He bellowed out like a furious beast:

"I have returned as I said I would have, god-gift upon my shoulders and wisdom above my brow, the god's glow about my flesh."

The Chief cried out a hideous sound of agony or rage.

"You have returned a man, where is the god whom was promised to me?" Ulder took the man by his lapels and shook him like a hound.

"You were promised a better man, no god, and I have returned as promised, dare you deny me what has been granted by right?" And the chief was silent as he was hoisted from his throne and tossed to the sea, consumed and never to be seen again.

"I have given of my blood, of my tears, and of my will, all for what has been created here. May my blood again run if ever this does repeat, let my promise only end when the great seas do run dry. Let it be sung from here to the highest mountain peaks, my folk shall never again be slaves!" Ulder gave a speech that brought many to tears, and yet some were unconvinced. Ulder took his crown and hefted it over his head, the cheer in response so great that it rattled the ground and whatever lived within it.

From fall of Amadel the Greeneye (was) the Greenfall gifted unto Eriokles, now Governor-Lord at behest of his Brother Aedrius. As Aedrian hosts marched forth, conquest reaped, the House Eriokles turned to this land well-named. Under green shade did many fall from Aedrius and Greeneye, claimed by sarissa and bow and disease. The followers came from the bosom of the Empire to Eriokles in (search of) wealth and life among the trees.

"Follow," was his commandment, "and shape the virgin nature to the hands of men." Thousands bowed to his mind and mettle. Mighty was his army of dreams and power assembled in the groves and bays of Greenfall. Eriokles called to the soul of man and forth brought spirited work. Gladly did he accept the succor offered, for in his wisdom did he see the way the world's way.

It is the form of man to seek to break and tame the wild earth that untouched lies in corners of the world; in such form did rise man to conquer the world that had (been) abandoned by fae and their ilk. Curses ancient and dark lingered to halt the march of man, but gods above and strength within conquered all such that was set against us. Easier is our work and for Greeneye is thanks given in such respects. The land once harmful has spent its strength, and now awaits only our further embrace.

Quickly did Eriokles' host advance and admire. Wonders of nature unseen by man or beast were found and enshrined, prayers sent to the divines who sheltered our development. The homes of old Greeneye found in our breasts a love and adoption, yet Eriokles was unsatisfied. Visions within his head danced of road clad green, wonders of the Empire forevermore. Infectious was his hope, and strong the rain of axes and picks. Connections grew amongst those here and across the sea, a body anew to enrich the Greenfall. Such wonders were wrought in his court that the architects and builders of old would have bowed in reverence. A land, once barren of (human) touch and rampant in natural greed is new and greatest of feats. The roads and walls bring green gold, and ever greater is the foundations of man.

A friend we thought was Thanesrow, a loyal and helpful servant. Alas, the Greenland is but host to traitors, to ones who do not blood nor faith nor spirit of man. This court once lively is now hushed, a darkness cast on Eriokles' soul and all he wish that all were well. Condemned us did Thanesrow with the blackest of poxes, fearful with envy of our Lord's success. Long did I warn, those that walked along with I. People so removed from man, praying to nature as if gods. Only chaos do they seek, destruction and reversion to times of woe.

Anger fills now ravaged hearts, and new strength binds us to our Lord Eriokles. The learned flock to fix the wrongs that taught those who lived under Greeneye, following roads by our hands built, blood spilt to clear the way. Torches now burn brighter as those holy among bless our faith, aiding us to tame the wilds and purify of pagan ills.

Rumors stir of vengeance as many march to Treewall, bringing civilization forth. Our forts, once protecting, now turn eyes to the north and Meadland, wishing to savage those who have wronged our spirits. In this hour does the holiness of him show on our black hearts, bidding us to stay our hand. Hope is what he entreats us to embrace, and so the heart (of order) we build.

Lady Dawn the sun strikes forward;
The West domain smiles to her.
The sky ablaze with hearts of valor.
Rigor, rigor, rigor cries He.

The Ascendant charge. The clamor of battle.
Distanced yet; wise Ilyseuco elects strategy.
Pantheon with us; Charge! Charge!
The flank dances near the center.

The horns! The horns! They pierce and close.
The spears! The spears! They glitter in sunlight.
Forward! Forward! Gallant men!
A fight unknowable, a clash unthinkable.

Blood rain; death from on high.
Iron showers, maidens weep.
The foe advances ever-closer.
Step-beat! Step-beat! Hearken to the doom.

Harpies, Angels; all the same in war.
The field turns green-red-brown,
Ash untold. Iron fire.
Heaven meets with hell.

Twelve long hours. Fury of gods.
War rages on. (Onward. Onward.)
Mighty screams level to groans of agony.
Spirit withers. Hope with it.

On and on, the Warrior rages.
War rages on. (Onward. Onward.)
Lady Dawn gave way to Lady Dusk.
Bronze flashes. The champions perish.

At last, in pale light, hope revealed:
The spears charge forward. Blood rain.
War rages on. (Onward. Onward.)
War rages on. (Onward. Onward.)

Laurelcrown Ilyseuco; center of the field.
A prayer to the Pantheon. Long may the gods reign.
Heaven smiles; the Warrior's blessing.
War rages on. (Forward! Forward!)

The sun crawls low; nearly sunken. Lady Moon looks on.
Victory is nearly tasted-
The crown is seized!
Rejoice; rejoice!

It was a warm summer's day the day Chief Bronzespear strode into the Emperor's camp astride a chestnut charger, dressed in a litany of looted jewels and gifts. He demonstrated the lands upon which he held stride, and the new lands which had been looted from the Chief of Tollscythe. He pleaded prostrate before him, demanding revenge upon his rival, the lamentable Ulden Horselord. His words were stilted, but his command of language had been far greater than what those above had granted onto a barbarian tongue.

"I have sworn unto you my fealty, my service, and my honor, in return, all I ask is your aid in one stubborn matter, the likes of which you have dealt with many times prior, your support shall be rewarded with a bounty unseen north of the witch-mongers of the west." The Emperor granted upon him naught but a small chuckle in that moment, holding his palms to the east and west, his golden armor shining in the sun as none like it had before. "I have no need of bounty, my domain spans all the sun touches, my bounty is gifted upon the backs of my enemies, I recognize that the men of the steppe need not land other than that which is fit to graze their horses, this is a matter of blood and pride."

Bronzespear's face was one of confusion, but he nodded to his better. "Your knowledge is unconstrained, Emperor Aedrius, it is as you say, my forces had suffered a horrid embarrassment due to the machinations of Chief Ulden, I wish to wipe his horde into the sea, cast him into hell, lo! This fool shall never again place his foot near the lands of Bronzespear if, by your grace, my soldiers are bolstered by ranks upon ranks of the fine men of Aedria." The king granted upon the room a laugh, shaken were the windows, the floors, and the torches upon the walls. "Then let today be the day that the horselords are tamed, the soldiers of Aedria shall pierce their hearts and harvest their livelihoods upon their spearheads, bathed with the barbarian blood!"

By the emperor's grace, the honor of general was granted upon me, along with a force two hundreds and ten more strong, barely a scuff upon the empire's grand army, but given armor more than any others had. The forces met at the River of Paella, a ford, blue like a jewel, cast upwards towards the sky with every boot and hoof placed within. The force of the Horselord clan was tenfold more than anything Lord Bronzespear could field, but they knew well the face of an imperial hoplite. Already the horsemen took to spinning their spears and grinding upon their teeth, nervous to face the power of the empire-conquering army.

The Bronzespears were more than eager, taking to the ford and planting their spears within, hurling calls and whistles like had been done for years immeasurable, but the Horselord's men failed to respond. Finally broke the silence, the Strongsaddle's destrier's hooves echoing across the silent battlefield. Personally, the Horselord chieftain lead a charge into the Bronzespear lines, tossing men as if insects. The Chieftain's example bolstered his troops who charged forth into a drizzle of arrows. Their cries lamentable and their dead many, horses began to drift down the river, shining red with precious ichor.

It was then that my spears took to the battle, washing themselves upon horseskin and manflesh. The song of battle struck the air, blowing far into the distance, delivering to the Emperor a message of great conquest. A flanking force found a ford upstream, crossing atop the corpses of their allies, only to find Chief Bronzespear himself, garbed in plate gifted by the Emperor. The barbarian swords broke on the civilized men's shields, and the iron drifted through their cloth as easily as a boat through water. The losses amongst the steppe-men were equal on both sides, but the Emperor's own spears had not even begun to tire. The armored Chief crashed into the spine of the enemy force, using the enemy's own ford against them. It was then that the Chief Horselord was again revealed, his horse long since pining for the skies. His feet drifted through the reddened water, his blade cleaving through even the phalanx. I had thought to draw my own blade as I saw him approaching, but finally his scalp was sliced, and he fell under the feet of the combined.

The barbarians saw their guide and guardian fall below the tide, their faces blanching and their knees collapsing like broken twigs. The rout was inspiring to the long since exhausted combined armies, and a great war-cry rang out as the Steppe-men took again to their horses, what remained at the very least, and charged at the backs of the fleeing. Most were slain, many were wounded, but the force of the Horselord was forever shattered like waves against the shields of the Imperial phalanx. A cry rang out to the sky in honor of those fallen, and finally the dead were left alone, their purpose not in vain. Lord Bronzespear shined like the emperor himself as he claimed himself Chief of All Steppes, and none except the dead dared question him.

Our cloaks and skirts and hoods billowing around us, in the wind we Sisters of the Knowledge stood. Upon the monticule, above the slaughter, cursing the despicable traitors. True traitors they were, these unholy Bronzespears with their wicked host of strangers. Forsaken had they the Image of their Ancestors. Spat had they, upon the face of the mighty four winds. Left the caring care of Moonmother and Sunfather. Truly by rights the Spirits had to be with our brave Horselord men. Helping them crush this incursion into the lands of herds and Spirits.

Bravely they made that sons of whores’ bleed, yet against these strangers there was no victory to be won, darker forces being in league with them. Not even bravest of the brave, son of Sun and Moon, mighty Ulden was able to vanquish them. Yet fearless he flew right into their middle on his steed. Cutting them all like stalks of grass, trampling them and making their blood spray upon his unyielding mien like a crimson oceans foam. Always towards that thrice cursed General Sunwalker.

Yet it is known that grass is a sea of blades truly and as he closed the distance towards his holy goal of cutting off that sand adder‘s head the thousands of cuts slowed him ever more. Not even brave enough to meet him in battle was this master of the cursed. Cowardly denying the brave Ulden the duel that was rightfully his, by having a thousand of his men sacrifice their life to stop the unstoppable in time. Only by sacrificing this multitude of his best men he (Sunwalker) lives and Ulden died. Blessed be they by the blood of Ulden that touched them as they died by his mighty hand, for they were unwitting tools of this cowardice.

Even greater, though was the (cowardice) of traitorous Leathermane, for nowhere near battle was he seen in this maelstrom. Commanding his Bronzespear men from the savety deep within their ranks. He shall die, his [...] eaten by [...] as he deserves it, cursed be he and all his descendants hereby by the word of the meek, in the name of Chief Ulden Strongsaddle.

With the Loss of our mighty Leader the Horselord’s brave hordes had to retreat. Back into the land of the Spirits. Back, to alarm the rest. Back to rouse the sons of Ulden for the most capable of them to take his place as the new Son of Sun and Moon. Blessed by the winds shall be he, the new custodian of the Spirits Lands once he has emerged victorious from the duels against his brothers. Now we Witches make haste to collect the dispersed Hords of the Horselords, and to save guard what the Spirits have given and the men who guard it, so this calamity may be averted and banished from the holy lands once and for all.

Our arrival to the city was delayed through unforeseen circumstances and a slew of ill fortune. Our party cut southeast from edge of the Shimmering Coast, tracing the southern edge of the Blackstone Mountains at my demand. Our wares would have been rendered less than worthless, had we braved the Paledunes as my quartermaster begged of me. "Furs and sand do not, and shall never mix!" I told Bertanto, and the discussion was ended.

No matter the cost, I insisted that we take the longer, more secure route. The added benefit of easier riding was but a byproduct of my foresight! How was I to know that the journey would take such a length?

And, had Quartermaster Bertanto packed more efficaciously before our untimely departure, I imagine our small party would have been well equipped for the extended detour. As it were, several of the men were forced to hunt for their meals, and I was forced to ration our dwindling resources so that I might be in proper form to greet Lord Sunwalker upon our arrival. I, of course, required sustenance befit of my post, though I doubt the others would have understood such necessities.

By the end of the third month of travel, several of the men in my company were expressing severe doubts as to whether such a journey had ben made before under my leadership. I pronounced to all the camp that, should they find fault with my leadership, they might leave the company at the next fork, and be on their merry ways, freed of my supposed incompetence.

And so it was, that upon our arrival to the city of Paradise, my fine company was a mere fraction of its original force. Myself, the loyal Bertanto, and ten other armsmen and merchants, flung open the gates of Paradise upon my command. We entered the gates as brothers, hardened by iron will, shared struggles, and universal pangs of hunger. I, myself, was still fit to wrestle with the finest of the Horsespear clan, whatever the conditions of the others. Nevertheless, we had arrived, and, after my meeting with the esteemed Lord Sunwalker, we would be quite richer for it.

The esteemed Lord Sunwalker welcomed me to his home with great ceremony. I daresay, word of my imminent arrival had spread far and wide across the land. The furs, fabrics, and silks of my guild were well received, but my business transactions are not to be the subject of any of my journal scrawls.

Lord Sunwalker himself shook my hand, four suns after our arrival. By then, the others of our party had made quite a show of their wares, and I felt their unspoken gratitude from across the city, for my wise guidance around the Paledunes. The gentleman within me restrained me from reminding my fellows of such.

"Prince Rastava," said Lord Sunwalker. "I am most honored to meet you at last. I trust your trip was uneventful?"

"Quite manageable, my Lord," said I, "though bandit and poor weather did stay our progress briefly. Myself, and the other brave men of the convoy, were more than sufficient to remove those ruffians from their lives. My blade was well fed by the trip, as was my lust for adventure."

"Truly fortuitous!" said Sunwalker. "I pray your blade remains sated for the duration of your trip, for the sake of all ruffians within my walls." He laughed, and I with him, though my mirth died shortly after. "I was surprised to hear of your decision to add so much time to your journey. Your finery must surely outstrip the clothing of the gods themselves, to extend your journey to thrice the original length!"

"I have been informed as such, my Lord." I let no fraction of my mottled spirit show on my face. "Such precautions were necessary to preserve the quality of my wares for the finest of the Kingdom's generals."

Sunwalker laughed again, his teeth flashing in the light. "Such noble devotion to your wares is most appreciated, friend. Will you stay in Paradise long?"

"So long as my coin and trade remain constant, and I have friends to call my own, my Lord." I fully intended to count Lord Sunwalker among those friends by the end of my time in his city. "Your illustrious city has thus far provided an abundance of enjoyers. Soon I shall write to my Guild in Bylleseus, so that we might establish a more permanent route between my guild and your coffers." Perhaps the Lord was impressed by my brashness, for he raised an eyebrow and chortled.

"I look forward to that day, Prince Rastava. Please know that you are welcome in Paradise so long as you remain fair, productive, and well-behaved." He offered his hand again, which I took firmly in mine own.

I recall little else of that night, though I was invited to attend dinner with the royal family at the next moment which convenienced me. I shall write about such events when they occur. Until next time.

"You may not have known this, Prince Rastava, but you were well-informed to avoid the Paledunes such as you did." I recall this exchange above any other at the dinner which I attended, for it fortified in my mind the intellect of a great man.

I nodded graciously to the lord, and set down my cutlery. "What reason have you to say that, my Lord?"

"Those who leave into the Paledune expanse do not always return." I do not recall whether Lord Sunwalker jested. His face was hard lined and motionless. "The Masrak, and other fiends, are said to stalk the sands."

My knife was slippery with grease from the delightful meal, for it slipped from my grasp to the table below. "The Masrak, my Lord?" said I, after a pause.

"A vicious beast, said to be responsible for the creation of the desert kingdom you now see. Tall as a mountain, and monstrous as any demon. There are rumors of entire caravans being sucked from the sand, removed from this land as if by the hand of a god. Yet pits of charred sand remain in their places. This is but a fraction of the power of the Masrak. Thus, it is fortunate you avoided the sands until the end of your journey, else you might have never arrived here at all."

For a long moment, the Lord Sunwalker and I exchanged dubious looks. My hands shook with a desire to find this beast and strike it from the earth. I moved to pick up my knife, so that I might continue eating, but it clattered again to the table. To have such fiery thoughts of heroism! Few will know the tremors my hands felt that day.

At that moment, Lord Sunwalker erupted into raucous laughter. "But of course, that is but myth and hearsay! My kingdom would not have lasted against such a beast. I apologize if I frightened you, my friend. Rest assured that there is no danger within Paradise! Or outside our walls, for your swordsmanship is surely legendary, by your own account."

Nothing of import followed. For the rest of the night I was cordial to Lord Sunwalker and his wife, who arrived later to wish me well. I soon left the table and retired to bed thereafter, having been well received by the Sultan of Paradise.

So it then became apparent to Chief Argel Skullgate, lord of the Deadman Mountains and bear of the southeast, that a novel change in the affairs of men was present. One sunny day, all of the clan of Tollscythe watched and lo, a great host of Horselords, awash in oaken shields and painted with the spirits of their fallen, sojourned into the camps of the great chiefs. Their leader, who bore upon him a great brazen hauberk and a large battle-axe, dismounted his steed and entreatied that the lord of the Deadlands come forward. The lord came, gilded with his tall feathered helm and great tall spear, and asked their business.
The Horselord bore his tidings. His chief the great Ulden Strongsaddle, bringer of the wrath of horse-hooves and the messenger of thunder, wished to parlay their tolls. As was the usual custom of the Tollscythes when dealing with other powers, they compensated for their abject lack of territory with charging unwary travelers exorbitant fees, lest they be assailed by beasts of the mountains or braves of their chief. My lord the Chief Argel did follow this ancient custom, and he bid the Horselord farewell, sending with him tidings of a renewed accord.
But the Horselord would not take his leave. He again bargained for lower tolls, less braves roaming the mountains, a safer passage. Thus was the parlay prolonged. After much argument, my lord the Chief Argel did agree to discuss more terms with the Chief of the Horselords himself. The great son of Strongsaddle agreed, but on the only terms that his party for parlay would come unarmed to their land. My lord the Chief Argel unwittingly agreed, unaware that his grave error would bring ruin to the name of Skullgate.

And so the two Hosts journeyed in the the Deythurn pass, the passage of the dead, where the Great Thunder smote those unwilling of the afterlife. It was then that the Bronzespears attacked.
Oh, how chilling was their cry for blood as they came pouring over the pass! How swift their arrows, and how cold their steel against flesh! At least two hundred in number overwhelmed our numbers of sixty and the forty of the Horselords. The pass was bathed in blood, the very earth stained with the innocent blood of young warriors! How dishonorable! How unfortunate! May the wrath of the Ascended bring judgement on he, lord Gultuk, sparer of no man's life, scum of the earth! My lord Argel was smitten in his right shoulder by an arrow, and was borne away from the inferno by two of his great braves. Of the Horselords I do not know. We lost fifty of our own.

[...]

Thus was one of the most abhorrent atrocities that ever befell the line of Tollscythe. My lord Argel was not to speak to another man for many months, and he was to be more careful in his dealings if the need should arise.

Changes in the world's balance of power come with consequences greater than minds of the simple are prepared to understand. The ascension of great Emperor Aedrius to the pale throne of heaven being one such change. Aedria, awash in scream and slaughter, was only forcibly held upon and pulled out by the coming of Lord Governor Ilyeseuco Haedulus, striding above the streets not aback a horse, but humble, in dress seeming poor to a peasant. He even was accosted by a poor fool who knew no better. The Lord Governor was then revealed by his guards, hidden in the crowds, drawing their blades and severing a fool's arm.

Lord Ilyseuco was the only of the great Aedrian generals to stand vigil over his mortal body, stresses and ruling his own kingdom having plated a few gray hairs on his black mane where the ascended one remained smooth. They remained in this way at length, hours continuing to pass without effect on either's form.

Ilyseuco assumed his office later that day, little deliberation was given by the advisory council, Ilyseuco had come to Bylleseus when it was wild and created, out of nothing, a beauty unseen in all the world at the time. Of dissenters, there was only one, Lord Treasurer Gulenius Goldtongue Deme. Declared he; "Aedria is the land of Aedrians, not for nothing shall I give away the godliest kingdom to a man, once of us, now foreign to all but the most distilled of Aedrian blood."

Ilyseuco needed not respond, for the vote had forgiven any transgression and named him regent of Aedria, but ho, react did Ilyseuco, seemingly prepared for this very moment. "Aedria was not born in the manner you seem to remember it 'till our lord Aedrius declared it so, what, pray I ask, is the name of our continent? I recall it being Irenaea, given such by our god ascended himself. Much has changed since Lord Aedrius created our empire, but not all has changed, I am Irenaean, Aedrian still, and I remember the world before this ideal that you and those like you strive for existed. I truly believe it was a better place, men as yourself continue to prove me right."

Gulenius sputtered thrice in response, how confused was he. "Dare you speak heresy!? All done by Aedrius has improved this land far greater than what had existed before!" Ilyseuco planted a hand upon Gulenius' body and poked at his stale. "How does your breath agree to speak such foolish words, how does your tongue not free itself and dry into a husk in response to your instructions? Derith, as I knew him, was as fallible as any man, his purported godhood continues to vex me and put a black stain upon the legacy of my dearest friend and ally, aye, his aspirations large and his skill far larger, but Derith was still always at heart an ambitious student of the skies above, to suggest that he was ever divine in any sense incenses me far beyond the normal anger common to those of this fine land.

"Speak you of Derith, whose given name had been unknown to you until I spoke, when you know not of his character? You knew of Derith for perhaps a year and two, I knew of Derith from birth to decession, he confided in me more than you know of from your own life. He feared his own death, he never once claimed to me of his own divinity, he never once confided in me that he was a deity of his own creation.

"What does this mean? You ask silently. It bears the meaning that for as long as I am Regent of Aedria, no man can nor shall give praise to Aedrius Derith Irenaeus as a deity, for I dare not disrespect the secret wishes of my overlord."

Immediate response from two of the other councilmen followed, declaring Ilyseuco an impostor, or worse, a blaspheme, an apostate, a heresiarch, or even a philanderer. Ilyseuco responded with quick wit; "Your wives would know well of my philandry."

The councilmen were thrown into a frenzy, but Gulenius moved cross the room, standing alongside Ilyseuco, stating that he had been convinced by the beauty of the man's words and the fury of his assault. Despite the loss of two votes, the majority of the room remained convinced by Ilyseuco's previous showings of skill, but most disagreed with his position on Aedrius' divinity.

That night, a crown was placed, menacing with spikes of gold, upon the head of Ilyseuco, Regent of Aedria and Lord Governor of Bylleseus, and a new saga began, that of the Byllesian regency.

Now the king [Dulderglud Felderwun of Thanesrow] took it upon himself to journey to the Oaklands, the home of his ally and friend King Aneos Faerieblade, warden of the Oaken Mounts, so that he could pay penance and tribute to the gods of the Treefaith, and thus dispel misfortune within their alliance with heavenly assistance. So the king assembled a great host, comprised of his royal guard and his courtiers and his holy men, and journeyed to the abode of the line of Oakwarden.

The good King Aneos did hear about this gathering, and set about his royal court making ready for his visitors, paying his due sacrifices to the Treelords, and was thus filled with a tranquil calm that was absent from the line of Oakwarden for many years. So when the visitors of the Meadlands came, they were greeted with lyre and praise and song, and the king Aneos set about his brother Dulderguld a crown of laurel leaves, and bowed reverently before his presence. There was a great feast, with the choicest meats and finest wines, and all hosts partook of their fill merrily. [...]

So when the time came, King Aneos bid his guests and court silence, and took his goblet and filled it with wine, and raised it in offering to the gods, and declared that the spirits of the earth would defend their alliance evermore. But ere the king could finish, a terrible cry arose from one of the tables, and several voices proclaimed that the line of Oakwarden would perish. Then five to seven men stood, and unsheathed swords and daggers hidden from the royal guard, and rushed upon the seat of the king Aneos. The king had no sword, and he was smitten in the heart by a javelin, and the killers fell on him. There then arose a great tumult in the hall, and all fled from the presence of the assassins, and the hall was tinged with the smell of blood. Our good King Dulderglud was borne out of the chaos by two of his men, and he was distraught, and cried out the name of his dead friend seven times. Then the royal guards acted, and smote one of the killers in the foot with a sword, and pursued the others, and the others could not flee, and were hacked to death in that hall.

King Dulderglud would not go, and asked for his sword, but when he had it the killers were gone, too dead to feel the sting of revenge. Then king Dulderglud took his sword, and in front of all his host smote it against the stone walls, creating a bend in the metal that not even the skilled sword-smiths of old could ever straighten, and cried aloud to the heavens, cursing them, cursing their hands which did not move, which did not stay death, which did not stay his loss of one of the greatest men he ever knew.

None know what strange thoughts afflicted the mind of Aedius Starseer in those dark days, but it was evident that his heart, once noble of stature, became hardened, his mind walled off from the sensibilities of others. His intentions were darkened, and he festered an undying hate for the countries around him. So he then strode forth from his throne and declared to his kingdom that Paledune was threatened by the near powers, and that they were the victims of an imperialistic siege, and that in order for the Cradle of Paradise to be safe, a long wall was to be constructed. He named it the Coarline, the supreme defense, the fortress that was to safeguard the line of Sunwalker forevermore. It was to be at least forty feet high all around, and was to span the entire length of the Shimmering Coast and into the Blackstone Mountains in the East, and if need be extend its grasp towards the Thickpalm Forest in the west. For Starseer was both wary of the Greenlords and the House of Eriokles, and of the Tollscythe braves in the Deadman Mountains. It was to be constructed of sandstone and lime, and was to be patrolled regularly by the Lord Governor's soldiers. Such ambition was to cause discord in the court about where to commence the building, but then it was settled that the first portions of the Line were to be built at Paradise, one length extending towards the west and the other towards the north.

Such a building proved to be foolish, especially in the eyes of the Governor's most treasured architects and planners. They said that it could not be done, the stones were too sparse and the planned lengths too unforgiving, there were no outside threats, there were not enough builders - but Starseer turned his back on them, saying that he had but one command, and that command was to build. And so they did, if only for a limited time, and with a heavy weight on their hearts that said that the feat was impossible. Then a particularly young and brave architect of the governor, Caulion, resolved in his heart that he would tolerate his lord’s folly no longer, and demanded an audience with Lord-Governor Aedius Starseer. When Starseer befell his countenance, Caulion spoke thus:

“My lord, master over Paradise, jewel of the South, counter of the stars, do you not see the madness that you have put us to?”

The Lord Governor replied:
“It is not folly, Caulion builder, for you to be part of the great efforts to defend the line of Sunwalker and the people of Paledune. Need I say more?”

Caulion replied:
“Your court chafes against your will, my lord, for there are too many other structures to be built, and too many men for tilling and too little for building.”

The Lord Governor replied:
“Then cease your building of those structures, and use their prices to pay for the Coar, and requisition the tilling-men to be turned into building-men, men who lift stone instead of harvest, and your difficulties will be no longer.”

Caulion replied:
“We cannot cease our structure-building, master, for those buildings are exceedingly prime and significant to our cause, and the city of Paradise is borne by our tillers that lift the harvest and deliver it to our milling-fields, for the people to be fed. Cease your folly, lord!”

Then the Lord Governor Starseer emanated a terrible cry, and tore his clothes, and called for his guards, and demanded the head of Caulion to be displayed at the gates of his palace for all to see, for all to bear witness to those that opposed the Lord Governor. And it was done so, and the people were intimidated, and the tilling-men turned into building-men, and the fields were left unharvested and the people starved.

[...]

[Such a state of affairs] persisted until Darius Brighteye returned.

As I write these words, I find myself reminiscing upon the past. I have called Paradise home for nearly twenty-five years, though I had planned my stay for a mere two or three. Enchanted, I was, by the bright sun and the beauteous feathered coats of the buntings during mating season.

What was initially a brief trip stretched on, as I discovered just what potential lay in the Paledunes capitol. Silk, one of my initial offerings to the city, became the cloth of choice for many of the city's inhabitants. While my other wares brought modest returns, the silk fled as if burned, sold within a day. Patrons of the fabric clamored for more: the weavers of Verenteus are the finest in the world, their silk renowned for its quality.

My apologies to any who may one day read my words. My purpose today is not to recount my life, as my younger self was wont to do. That foolish youth has departed my soul for brighter stars, sent thus by the death of my dear friend. Though my wife and children console me in times of darkness, the loss of Dalleio has cut me to the depths of my core.

I have lost a brother, one whom I will follow gladly into the sky above when my time arrives. His child, Aedius, is no more like his father than a raisin is like a grape. I am gladdened, then, that he has been removed from the throne.

Few could have proven more disastrous for the country than Aedius Starseer. The boy approached my guild some months past, seeking funding for an ambitious project which was doomed from the start. When I spurned him, his impudent highness spat in my face, and cursed my name. He had forgotten how I once rode with him to Verenteus, how I clothed him and his father in the best my country had to offer. I loved him as I love my own sons. But no longer.

Three days past, Lord Darius Sunwalker returned to Paradise. The day was one of chaos and change. I begged my wife to keep our children locked within the safety of our home, then I stepped out into the light. Soldier marched past. I knew their aim was to take the Capitol. There had been whispers about for days of such a revolution.

[...]

By day's end, Aedius had been deposed. He came to me, then, at the gate of my guild. I said nothing as he begged me for aid, nor did I acknowledge that such a man had even visited. My connection to the noble house of Sunwalker ended that day.

Deprived of a part of the herds, the Horselords migrated further into the steppe. The rest of the late chiefs [Ulden Strongsaddle] horde had scattered after their gruesome defeat. Many fetched their kin and wives and kids to bring them to safety. I am certain now, as I watch back, that it was this, that saved the Clan. Without an amassed force, the cursed Bronzespears had nowhere to strike at. Sure, they could make a few of the herds theirs, slaughter a family in their yurts here and there, but the Clan had become like fog and shadow; ungraspable in the vastness of the Spirits Own Steppe.

Meanwhile as it became clear that this war was over for the time being, we sisters went to the circles. The circles of menhirs. Holiest abode of the Spirits. Where the Winds sing and merrily dance around the unmoving ghosts of the deep earth. All the maidens, the mothers and the crones met. We danced Skyclad in the shadows with the Spirits to honour them, to Ask them to lend us guidance. And we discussed and decided who would get to support which of the possible new Chiefs in the coming trials.

Young as I was, none of the most likely contenders became my ward, and thus half a year later I found my way to my new Master. Ready to serve him. Not even a son of Ulden was he, just the son of his brother. Still the instant I laid eyes upon him I knew that this man had the makings of greatness. Taller and of a lighter build was he than his Uncle, but his muscles seemed to move like ropes under his skin. Where Ulden had lumbered heavily and mightily like a bear this man strode elegantly and proud like a tiger.

As I rode into his camp, between the good dozen yurts of His wife (He had yet only one)and brothers and sycophants, a hush quickly spread among these people. They had seen coals and cloaks like mine on many a Spirit healer or Wiseman in their time, but when they saw my eyes of green, they knew that this was a witch, no less, riding into their mids. Some kneeled as I dismounted.

‘The Knowledge has chosen you, Jannum, to compete. Will you serve the Spirits? Will you take my service? Will you please with success?’

In answer this proud man smiled, a pleased glint in his Eye.

‘If you bear me a Child once I won, I will,”

I was startled by this cockyness and gathered more of my cloak around my maidly bosom. Yes, I would need to become a Mother to fulfil my new role as a more senior witch soon, but normally this happened in secret during one of the witch nights, and the Man sacrificing his semen would be sacrificed to the sun and moon and winds in turn. His blood used to wash the new maiden Witches coming after us from their worldly tether.

“You will sacrifice your seed to the Spirits but not your blood? Careful what you talk Planesrunner, this is Heresy.”

He stood and strode towards me, stopping nearly touching me, and looked me in the eyes.

“Oh, but If I win I will sacrifice my blood for the Spirits. I solemnly swear that I will give it. I will shed it as I avenge my Uncle, and drive the Bronzespears from our Lands. Nay, from the Steppe altogether.”
I laughed, as there was nothing else to do… this man would win the trials easily, if I gave him a little edge, and all just to get his member under my skirts. Oh, the untamed power of youth.
The day of the Trials had come and a city had formed around the menhirs. A city of tents, man and horses. A city of sweat, piss and blood. Standards of Chief Uldens war army where still erected here and therem even a year after the fact. The red horsehair that still signified his Chiefdom. Above a single strand of whitest mane, waving, signifying his death. The Winner of the trials would get to burn all these, and then choose a new colour for his standard.
The First three trials went well for my champion, but he was far from the best. To tall was he to be the best of Riders. Too lanky for the throwing of logs. Yet soon his time would come, I knew.
Sweat was gleaming on his bare chest as he entered the ring, the sword I had gifted him in his hand. A duel to first blood. Too valuable where all these men. Each would be needed as a warrior and leader of men, soon.
No one knew that the metal he was holding was the best that one could find. A gift from the spirits no less. For the night I had come to him first a Star fell willingly from the tent of the sky. A messenger from mother Moon. A gift of the spirits and a token of their favour.
The ground very slightly trembled when it had rushed above our heads. And not much later we could hear the wailing of a child in terror. One of the young lads who had been watching the horses came running. As we followed him we found the unbelievable. A Horse had been beaten to pulp and spattered over a radius of a few metres of where the Star had hit. Within the smouldering carcasses ribcage I found it. A heavy rock of Moon steel. A material no man’s hand could make. But once the Spirits had given it: oh, what fine weapons could be made from it? A Godswort, a spiritblade. A Sword for a King of men. A Blade like the old Pharaos of the Paledune had wielded ages ago.
And now, after I had rode weeks to find the smith for such an instrument of destruction, to see it gleaming eagerly in Jannums hand brought a tear to my eye. I had known when the spirits had shown the iron to me that Jannum would be Chief. With him I would become the Sage Advisor of the Chief of the Horselords. So, Giddy was I that I nearly missed it. One swift stroke from both opponents was all, and the Blade had been bathed in blood. Before our eyes we could see, seemingly delayed, how the fingers of the opponents’ sword hand fell to the ground with the sword that they had been holding.
Chief Jannum laughed. He had started to laugh after his blade had struck down the first opponent and I felt like he had not stopped as he won against all five in the other contests. Maiming two, and killing one. There was no question who would lead the Horselords.

Jannum Horserider, "The Avenger" as called by the riders, "The Child" as called by the elders, had done not but bring an end to the murderer Gultuk Bronzespear and do battle with the Bronzespear scion Redrider by the day he survived sixty turnings of the seasons, the lands of Clan Horselord had grown twofold at the expense of the Redrider horses, yet the menfolk and horses had only shrunk in number.

Jannum let resenting froth grow from his lips at the very mention of peace-talking with the Bronzespears, they who had slayed his father and taken his corpse to strengthen their magics. One notably rage-fueled outburst involved the slashed throat of a young rider and the subsequent removal of all others from his tent. His fury had yet to tire by the time a flame was pushing its way through our encampment. It was clear to all minds nay that of the chief that the battles were not to finally conclude until the last man from either land had accepted his place among the gods.

That day was to reach us sooner than the witches could discern.

The Horselord camp had been set at a valley between two great cliffs. Jannum spoke upon his tribe that night. Said he, "The Bronzespear clan may wish to have their revenge upon us, but they shall fail, not once have I been forced from a battlefield, and never shall I, The Bronzespears may claim among them ride men of Aedria, but the truth is known to us, Darius the Sunwalker has withdrawn his support, their weapons of iron and steel, their blessings from the heathen gods and their feigned superiority have all been withdrawn with him."
The Avenger clenched his fist before us, his figure brought to prominence by the sun's gold.

It was then that a stale appeared buried within his very eye, wine of the human soul pouring from the wound,
illuminated gold by the sun behind him. The chief's cries drowned in a sea of battle-cries from east and west.
Blades flew from sheathes, but all were too slow, horseflesh met man and storms of human forms, men, women,
and even their child kin. Screams flew through the sky! Blood covered my very eyes! The horror was immeasurable! I freed myself from a snare of limb and corpse only to witness Chief Jannum's arm removed from his shoulder.

It was the son of Chief Bronzespear who had charged alone across the bloodied field. Driving his blade relentlessly against Chief Jannum's guard. Jannum had been by far the better bladesman, yet his eye, pulled from its socket in a moment of rage due to the arrow that had destroyed it, cost him his swordsmanship, and the younger man took his chance with a single strike, sawing through the man's limb, which morphed and jittered as if made of liquid due to the sword sliding through it. Finally it explosively flew into the blue above, coating the battlefield in a wave of the gods' chosen's very life-force. Another slice and Jannum's remaining eye popped like a squished grape.

Jannum collapsed to the ground then, falling slowly and silently, his eyes lost as to the color that had once been in them, his mouth hanging low as he hit the ground, letting out a cry of agony loud enough for the gods themselves. The Bronzespearling hefted his blade up once more, standing over the prone chief like the mountains to the south standing over the Great Steppe. With a sudden motion, he drove his blade down and struck deep into the Horselord Chief's body, striking him down. How cowardly the assault! Children ripped from their mother's bosoms and dashed across the ground like stones across a stream. Startled and riderless horses ran across the now flaming huts of the fallen men of Clan Horselord.

It was long before the Bronzespears were done picking through the shattered corpses of the Horselord dead.
Very few had escaped with their lives. I was among them. I fled north, into the very jungles, clutching my maimed hand as it dangled limply from my wrist. I found myself among the wood structures of house Baldug, and I was attended to, and to whom I am currently dictating of my tale. If there is any justice in this world, House Bronzespear shall be cast from this world before the morrow dawns, and I shall be there to desecrate their grave.

From the halls of Anxwe and amidst groves of yew and stands of oak arose a newfangled kingdom in Irenaea called Ynndryon. Eudric Highwatch, known as the "Shaman-King", the King of Greenmountain, protesting the inroads of the barbarous Aedrian devils into the Greenlands, called upon his fellows to drive them from the hallowed copses of their ancestors.

"The Faith is in peril," he pronounced to his assembled tree-lords and spear-masters, "Shall we allow the sacred woods to be felled by lascivious axe, burned by avaricious fire? Shall we allow the holy places to be stolen into, the tree-relics defiled with rapine and plunder, the druids impaled upon the ignoble spear of Aedrian 'civilization'?" The humble folk of Greenmountain, refusing to forget their ancestral faith, rose in fire and in war, and declared a mighty "No!" Then the Shaman-King, silvered head bedecked with a crown of wildflowers, liveried in armor of holy bark, raised his wizened hand and pointed to the east. "There in the hands of the wretched hound of the Meadland, the ill-Treefeller, lies the saintly wood of Gedildad. And we, oh we blessed of the great Faith, shall take it from him!" Whereupon a glorious cry erupted from the amassed host, and much shaking of spears and shields was heard in Anxwe, and there was much drinking of beer.

Yet war could not be made there and then. The King was far more artful than that.

The envoy of the Thanesrow, bowing deeply to our noble King and taking a cup of the customary beer, began to look about the Liana Hall with an inquisitive eye. Stepping forward, she asked, with no small amount of trepidation, "Oh great lord of Anxwe, I had not intended to be so crude, but I must insist. Where is my predecessor? We have heard no word of him in many moon's turnings. Did not he arrive into your gracious hall? I have words that I must share with him, from our gentle lord the King of the Meadland." Poxas, then majordomo to our illustrious Lord, replied, "He did come, Thanesrow, and was cordially welcomed into our humble hall." The envoy, now blanched white with dismay, inquired, "Where then is he, sirs?" Poxas gestured to the chief eunuch, and posthaste a wrought silver box, perfumed with sweet flowers, was procured and set before the King's dais. "He is there," stated Poxas, "You may parley with him openly, before us all, Thanesrow. You bring words to share, do you not? I pray that they are honeyed."

Thereupon the envoy of Thanesrow opened the box and wept at the sight of her predecessor, whose eyes, tongue, and manhood lay before her within the box upon a bed of soft leaves.

"Thanesrow conspired to look upon Our workings and thus he has been blinded. Thanesrow conspired to whisper lies into Our ear and secrets into the ear of your lord, and thus his tongue was taken. Thanesrow conspired to lay with Our concubine, and thus with Our kingdom, as if she were naught but a tavern whore, and thus he has been gelded. We chafe at the thought of violence, but Our sword is cold and brooks no quarter should you raise your hand against us in enmity. Yet more sufferings shall We visit upon you and yours should you refuse to grant us Our sacred right to the grove of Gedildad. Thus is the message that you shall deliver to your lord the King of Thanesrow, and before you is Our jeweled present that you shall convey to him, along with Our wishes of health and thanksgiving." So said the King.

And thus began the Tree War.

And thus, after many battles and skirmishes, the hosts of the two kings were drawn up against one another in the plain near the grove of Gedildad, and there for good or ill would the war be settled. But the wood of Gedildad could not be taken, neither by us nor by the foe.

His dread sword raised, mounted upon his war-elk Mamonodos, our lord the King was seized by a shaman-vision. What exactly the vision bespoke to him is not known; but posthaste he called out to his spear-masters and war-captains to call off the battle. Ilos, his cousin, rode furiously to his side and asked, "What madness has come over you? Where has gone your talk of smiting the tree-fellers? They are before us!" The King replied, "The madness of the gods, my cousin. Odo has spoken to me, and told me of the terrors that lie in wait for us should we pursue our present course. I go now to parley with the King of the Meadland!" Whereupon, unaccompanied by courtiers and men-at-arms, he dashed across the Hills of Bluebay on swift Mamonodos. His iron visage dared the archers of Meadland to let loose upon him.

He drew himself up before the ranks of the foe and cried, "Oakblade, Thanesrow-King! I call upon you to hearken to me! Grave tell of the doom of us both! Come to me, King of the Meadland!" King Oakblade, thinking this some kind of madness, called upon his brother Lord Ged to strike him down with his great oak bow Heartbite. Ged took aim, and with his great bulging arms loosed a cruel arrow at the heart of our King. The arrow struck true, yet King Highwatch was not swayed and did not fall, but continued to call upon the King of the Meadland to parley with him. Bewildered, King Oakblade made his way out into the front of the host, mounted upon his black destrier Lorelei, and finally spoke to the King. None heard their congress, positioned inbetween the two armies in the middle of the Hills of Bluebay as they were. Yet, directly afterwards, the King of the Meadland ordered his war-captains to stand down and to come to him, and King Highwatch did the same, and there and then on the field a peace was struck and the Tree War brought to a close, on the condition that the grove of Gedildad be disturbed by neither side ever again, and that it be left in silence and forgotten forever.

And thus has the peace held for some ten years. Yet the King of Greenmountain has not been dormant, and his sleeping sword of war is poised to awaken once more and smite the tree-fellers who invade the holy Greenlands.

Now I shall chroncile a pleasant tale that I heard performed once by a northern shaman, much different from other Treefaith creation stories. It is about Odo the Elk, variously known as the "Hunt-Prince", the "Antler-Chief", and the "Tall Man", among other epithets, who the northerners patronize above all other gods, and who is unknown to other tree worshipers.

Odo takes the form of a giant elk with the head of a man, or a giant man with the head of an elk; in either case, his head is crowned with a bristling mass of antlers. His coat was of a pure, untarnished white, save for when it was painted with the blood of enemies or human sacrifices. He rarely appears before human eyes, for the sight of him is said to drive one blind or mad or both. Thus, he consorts with the mortal realm through his voice, or by mounting a shaman or druid wearing the ritualistic elk headdress. Ynndyron war-captains often wear antlered helms in the hopes of being mounted by the god during combat, for above all Odo is the god of the hunt, of pursuit, of swiftness, and of war.

He is the brother of the father-tree Rud, who created the earth, and played an important role in the creation. After Yed and Heb, the seeders of the primeval forests, complained that the trees would not grow due to the overwhelming darkness of the earth, Odo concocted a plan to get Idd the Fish-God to release Ala the Sun-Goddess from her watery prison so that she could light the world once more. Idd had coveted Ala, for above all he loves bright and shiny things, so isolated is he in his mansion of coral on the bottom of the sea; thus, he had leapt from the waters, swallowed Ala, and taken her back to his mansion in his belly. Odo's plan was very simple. He would chase Idd from the water up onto the seashore, where he could not breathe, and thus Ala could climb out from his belly and into the sky.

The first phase of his scheme was successful. None was more frightening than Odo when he was enraged, nor more swift, nor more tireless. He pursued Idd across the world on the sea floor, through the darkest and coldest depths, until he had nowhere else to flee to except for the open air. But when Idd had beached himself, Ala did not emerge from his belly.

"Ala, Light of the World, my dearest sister, why do you remain in this dimwit's stomach? Why do you not return to your rightful place in the skies, so that the great trees can finally turn their leaves up to your light?" Odo asked.

Deep from within the Fish-God's belly came a soft voice in response, "Odo, Battle-Lord of Heaven, my dearest brother, I do not wish to leave. I have grown accustomed to the darkness, and comfortable within my fishy mansion. And besides, I have become enamored with Idd, my gaoler, my tormentor, and my prince. Has ever there been a more gallant display of affection than his flight from you across the very face of the world? He loves me, my dearest brother, and I love him. I will not leave him, for this is the watery palace of our love."

At that, Odo gave a hearty laugh, so raucous that the world's mountains shed their snow caps in thunderous avalanche. But in fact his mood was quite sour. Stamping his hoof, he cried, "Foolish, foolish thing! Do you not understand the words that are coming out of your mouth? Do you not recognize how silly you sound? How selfish? How childish? I cannot believe my own ears, given to me by our lord-brother Rud, who created the earth. Come out from there this instant, or I shall show you the meaning of wroth!"

But Ala refused, blinded by love as she was, "No! I shall not! You shall have to force me! I will quit my lover's stomach only if impelled on pain of death!"

Odo smirked mirthlessly, and said, "So it shall be, my dearest sister!"

Then, suddenly, he kicked Idd in the belly, so that Ala was flung from the Fish-God's bowels and into the air. She gave a sad cry, and endeavored to return to her lover's mouth, but Odo thundered towards her, brandishing his cruel crown of antlers. Ala, shrieking, leapt into the air once more, and Odo stormed after her, crying, "Run, my dearest sister, or you shall have to make a palace amongst my antlers!" Thus they dashed upward into the sky until they brushed the lowest silver bells and boughs of Rud's great trunk, the outer precints of Heaven. There, in the sight of her lord-brother Rud, and still menaced by Odo's antlers, Ala demurred. She wept hot, bitter tears that fell from the heavens and with their heat carved the first caves beneath the earth.

"You are the victors, oh dearest brothers. In solitude and sorrow shall I light the world once more, just as you so ardently wished," she said.

Rud was content, but Odo, seeing the ardor in his sister's tears, took pity upon her. Out of Rud's hearing, he went to his sister and whispered, "Rud is tired, and soon he shall sleep. For a time he shall have no knowledge of the happenings of the world beyond his silvery leaves. Act as if you are still resisting, and I shall give chase once more, and for a time you may be with your lover. But do not let Rud catch you beneath the waves, or he shall be wroth, and the world must be lit, so that the trees my offer up their leaves to heaven. I cannot understand your love, dearest sister, for Idd is fat and ugly and he stinks to high heaven, but I do not wish to see you weep any longer."

Ala embraced her brother, and gave him kisses. Then, nodding his head, Odo cried, "Foolish, impudent girl! You continue to defy your lord-brother's will? I will chase you to the ends of the earth if I must, but I will catch you!"

And thus the chase began anew, and thus it is every day and night that Odo and Ala, tricking their lord-brother Rud, stage their drama and descend beneath the water so that Ala can pass a few hours with her beloved. But how a third conspirator joined their masquerade, Tia, the Moon, is yet another tale.

In the name of the Wolfheart, Ynndyron-King, Lord of the Liana Hall of Anxwe, Raid-Captain of Aeserd and the Far Seas, True Lord of Greenmountain and its principalities and client territories, Blessed Spear of Jax, the Wolf, and Odo, the Elk, mighty Prince of the North-and-of-the-West-and-of-the-Rivers, dread Warlord of the Greenlands, Lord of All Trees, Blood-Prince, most fabulous King of the line of Ynndyron, I write this to enlarge your glory, which already is sung to the very peak of Greenmountain, to the stars themselves, to the very branches of Rud Tree-Father's silver trunk, and upwards to resound in Heaven amongst the cooing of the fountains of Ibasa. I offer unto you the sacrifice of ten white deer, along with the measly portion of my own humble blood, sweat, and tears shed in toil over the making of this manuscript.

This work was begun by my father, the venerable Thwildirod Leafsinger of Red River, who no longer walks this earth, but who instructed me in all the arts of writing, of verse, of lore, of balladry, and of history. And the work shall continue by the hand of my son, Dirhal, and by his son, Yewd, and by all the sons of the line of Leafsinger so long as we might enjoy the favor of the mighty lords of Ynndyron and persist upon this earth. It is my noble father to whose glory I also render the sacrifice of ten white deer, for every man is ruled by two lords, his liege lord and his father, both dreadful and benevolent in turn, who guide us as surely as the polestars of Heaven.

Ynndyron! Greenmountain! I beseech you to turn your eyes to Heaven! See there writ the deeds of your noble Lords and Kings! It is the stars to whom I have turned for guidance, whose timbre I have struck, whose illumination imbues the words of this holy work, to whom I now raise my eyes having accomplished the work of chronicling of the Wars and the deeds of Wolfheart, King of Ynndyron, the toil of my life.

Blessed Wolfheart, I offer this work, myself, my sons and my house, to your mercy and grace. Do with us as you will.

This I saw with my own eyes, for in those days, though on in years, I was still able to carry a spear and ride an elk and ply the waves and give battle, and my father yet lived.

King Wolfheart had only recently been anointed as lord of the realm, but he was full of war-lust, and desirous of a spear-meeting, with whom it was of no consequence. But he did not yet wish to cross spears with Thanesrow, for he had greater designs for them which he was not yet willing to enact. And so, wanting to shed blood and offer up homage to Odo and Jax, he devised a war against the Oaklanders, and it was thus:

Some fisherfolk of ours, unbeknownst to us, had some years past been shipwrecked in one of the Channel’s infamous tempests on the far side, where the Oaklanders, thinking them to be pirates or spies, had taken them into captivity. This is the custom of not only the Oaklanders, but in Ynndyron as well; I recall only a year or so past some fisherfolk from the Meadland foundered off the rocks of Yvander and were impressed into servitude for having encroached upon our fishing grounds. These fisherfolk, having lived some time in the Oaklands, had found the leafy women to their fancy, and forsook their fatherland, and offered up their labor to King Greenshield; but not all. Recently, some gallant patriots, having broken the yoke of the Oaklanders, fled back across the Channel to friendly shoals, where they requested audience with the King and told him of these grave tidings. He said that the majority of them lived in the village of Old Boot.

Then Wolfheart drew up a letter to his cousin King Greenshield, and related these events, and expressed his grievances and desire for these folk of his to be returned to the bosom of Ynndyron. After some moon’s turning, however, no reply came to Anxwe, and the King was wroth. But secretly, with his councilors and retainers, he spoke hotly of his appetite to war with the Oaklanders, and plunder their fat keeps and rich coasts. Pyndwal the Mantle urged caution, however, saying that the Oaklanders were known for their martial prowess, and their fearsome axe-lords that were skilled in the felling of trees and men at the trunk, and their war-druids who spoke thunder and conjured fire in the bellies of their drums. But Wolfheart laughed at Pyndwal, and called him milktoast, and said that he feared nothing in the world save for the gods and a long life.

“To live longer than one’s time is the deepest of sorrows. A man’s body, previously beautiful and hardy, becomes drooped and decrepit, and in the end he cannot even lift a spear or lie with a woman or drink beer till the stars fall down. One becomes unwanted and unneeded, and full of bitterness at the way of things, and everyone around him begins to think, ‘When will he finally die? When will that old man let the rest of us have our turn?’ And when one does finally die, they will say, ‘It was his time.’ No! Let me die at the time of my choosing and not at the appointed hour, in the magnificence of youth, with a strong and stout body, spear in hand and full of beer, after having seeded fresh sons in my lady’s belly! Let death do as it will with me! Let me die when it is not my time, when I elect to die, in glory and in war!” so said the King.

We knew that they were the words of a young man full of fire and lust, drunk upon youth, without sons or wives, but still we cheered, for we too desired to live as he did, without care or fear of death.

So the King, receiving no reply from his cousin Oakland-King, proposed a raid, in which we would abduct the wayward fisherfolk and bring them back into the fold, and claim much booty in the process. And thus Wolfheart called upon his warriors and spear-masters, his councilors and retainers (including, I am proud to say, myself) and had built new longboats, their boards blessed with the elk blood and the seed of the elk-shamans, which is said to make a ship sail more swiftly and hold itself more stoutly upon the waves. On the third day of the third month, we rode out from Anxwe to the port of Loxwich, where our boats awaited us. We rested for one day, arraying ourselves for war and feasting the King. On the fifth day of the third month, two bells past midday so that we could arrive at midnight on the far shore, we launched our boats from Loxwich.

I was on the King’s boat. The sea was calm, eerily so, for it was the month of tempests and convulsions of air, and none but fisherfolk dared to ply the waves at this time for fear of foundering. But Wolfheart was not afraid, and said that this would be to our advantage. There was little wind, and thus we rowed furiously, making no progress. By sundown, after four bells of labor, we were but a quarter of the way across, and the men were near exhausted. The pilot suggested that we had been snared in a contrary current, but being familiar with the currents of the Channel, he was skeptical. Pyndwal, taking his spear in hand, roared that the men at the oars had not been laboring hard enough. But the King calmed him, and said that every man had given his all, were all soaked with sweat and panting fiercely, and that none had failed him. The horn was sounded, asking where the other boats were, and they all reported that they too had been caught in this queer current.

But we could not tarry. After a brief respite, the horn was sounded again, and were once more underway. But after two bells of rowing, we had barely progressed, and the men were dead tired, having spent their strength for six bells without result and in contrary seas. The King called for the other boats to pull alongside us, and there a moot was held to determine the cause of our delay. None presented itself, though many ideas were bandied. Finally it was decided that we let loose our sails, and await a wind that would allow us to move, whether it be towards the far shore or no. And thus we waited, to no avail. Horns of beer and ale were drunk, and songs were sung, and there was a festival atmosphere. Libations were poured out to Iga, God of the Winds, and prayers offered up to Odo and Jax; but no matter what we did, no wind filled our sails. At midnight, the men began to doze off at their posts, and the King declared that we would try the oars again in the morning unless a wind rose in the night, and ordered a watch to be set. And so we slept at our oars, bellies full of beer, exhausted from the day’s work.

Then, in the depths of the night, we awoke to a cry from the watchmen and, I swear upon my spear, we beheld a sight not of this world but of the Other: a longboat, glowing with pale blue light and crewed by phantoms, pulling up alongside us, a figure conjured from the stars themselves. Strange music emanated from the craft, pipes unlike any I had ever heard and drums deep and terrible like the howling of a storm. Those of us who did not cower in fear raised their spears, and threatening the approaching ship, but the phantoms merely laughed; suddenly our implements flew from our hands, and were suspended in the air.

The ghastly music ceased suddenly. A ghostly voice called out, “What manflesh trespasses upon our domain? Know you not with whom you contend?” And a hoary spirit, red bearded and stuck full of arrows, set his boot up upon the bow, and struck our boats with a spectral whip, whereupon we were all pulled by some unseen force to dock alongside them.

Wolfheart, unafraid, presented himself at the bow of our ship, and hammered his fist upon his breast and replied, “And you, phantom, know you not with whom you contend? I am Wolfheart, King of Ynndyron, Lord of the Liana Hall of Anxwe, Raid-Captain of the Aeserd. Was it you who has barred our passage across the Channel? If you relent now, we shall be merciful, for in my land we respect the dead.”

At that, the phantom guffawed, and let out a riotous laugh which hurt his belly, and the crewmen laughed along with him. Holding back chuckles, he exclaimed, “Ha! You, a king? There is no king in Ynndyron! You are hardly more than a mewling pup, still hungry for his mother’s teat!”

But Wolfheart shook his head, “Say what you will, phantom. The blood of Umbrix the Anvil flows through my veins, and a hundred thousand warriors are at my beck and call. All the isles of Ynndyron I have as my domain, and all the waters of the Aeserd. You, phantom, are the trespasser, not I. The lord of these waters wishes to pass. How old are you, how long dead, that you have not heard of the deeds of Ynndyron? How mighty you must hold yourself to be, to speak thus to a king. Move aside, phantom, or you shall know the meaning of my wroth.”

The phantom laughed once more, but now he was of a foul mood, for he had much pride, and took no insult lightly. “And how mighty you must hold yourself to be, wolf pup, to speak thus to your better. I am Gilgabeld Sweetwaters, Lord of All Oceans, who reigns still beneath the earth. Knew you not who I was, lordling? What feats I performed when the world was yet young? Has Ynndyron lost all reason?”

And then, looking him up and down once more, we gasped and were amazed, for it was as he said; indeed it was Gilgabeld, the renowned pirate-lord, who more than a millennia past had terrorized the Greenlands, and who is known to us through the Lays of Yolanda. He had finally been slain by Yod the Hungry with his mighty bow Greengut, and only after he had been struck by thirteen red arrows.

The King, bowing his head in deference, said, “Forgive me, dread Gilgabeld, for my error. I knew not that I parlayed with the Lord of All Oceans, Terror of the Greenlands, whose name lives in infamy.”

“That is more like it,” Gilgabeld said, twirling his ghostly beard, “That is the proper respect to be shown to the lord of the waves!”

“Yet, most terrible Gilgabeld, I must ask: why do you waylay us? We are in haste to reach the far shore, where we intend to throttle the village of Old Boot. You are familiar with it, I imagine?”

“Familiar with it? Oh yes, quite familiar. Once I slew all of its menfolk, and took all of its womenfolk as concubines, and the little ones as galley slaves. It is a good anchorage, and rich with good trees for felling and sweet springs. Pretty women, too,” replied Gilgabeld, chortling, “But you simply cannot pass, little lord, for you have not paid the toll. Once you have, I should be glad to tow you to Old Boot.”

The King smiled despite himself, “And what, oh horrible Gilgabeld, is the price that you would have us pay?”

Gilgabeld was deep in thought, and paced back and forth, stroking his beard all the while. Finally, he grinned broadly, and leaned towards the King, “Despite your size, little lord, you have impressed me. Thus, I shall be merciful. The toll shall be all of your hearts. My men and I are mighty hungry, and it has been long since we have had anything to eat. You may keep your souls, the usual fare, though they be more filling and sweeter of taste.”

The King sighed deeply, thought for a moment, and replied, “Well, we cannot contend with you, as you have taken our weapons from us, and if you cannot be persuaded, then we shall have to relinquish our hearts.”

We cried out in disbelief, and lamented, for we could not believe that the King had surrendered himself to the phantom so easily and without a fight. But Wolfheart was crafty, and already had concocted a gambit to liberate us from our fates. He called out to Pyndwal, “My gracious lord, bring to me a horn of that sweet ale, so that it may be the last thing that I taste before I depart from this earth.” And Pyndwal brought the King’s drinking horn.

Wolfheart raised the horn to Gilgabeld in toast, and said, “It is not so terrible a thing, to be slain by Gilgabeld Sweetwaters, Lord of All Oceans, Terror of the Greenlands. I offer this toast in your honor.” And he drank deeply.

Gilgabeld eyed the King with great interest, and said lustily, “Long has it been since any ale passed our lips.” The King, sighing happily and smacking his lips, replied, “Oh, is that so? Would you like some, oh wretched Gilgabeld? We have ale aplenty, though if you do indeed intend to take our hearts, we shall cast it into the sea.”

Then Gilgabeld was wroth. “No!” he cried, stomping his feet, “How foolish could you be, to waste so much good ale! How stupid! I forbid you to toss out that ale!”

But the King merely shrugged his shoulders and replied, “Your price is our hearts, not our ale. You may have the former but not the latter, for it is very precious to us. You may drink of it, but only if you leave our hearts. We think their value to be equivalent.” And this was very artful of the King, for he knew that in the Lays of Yolanda it was said that Gilgabeld esteemed beer and ale above all other drinks, and treasured them, and went out of his way to get them.

“Or we could take you, souls and hearts and ale and all, without striking such bargains,” snapped the phantom. Then a splash was heard, for the King had given a sign, and some casks of ale were thrown overboard into the dark waters. The pirate-lord roared and beat his breast, and hurled a spear from the air towards the King’s boat at a speed faster than the eye could perceive. A great hole had been opened in the hull, and the cold seawater began to flood in, and a great many men fell in and drowned.

But Wolfheart, wreathed in starlight, was not moved. Sighing, he said, “I have insulted your pride, great Gilgabeld, and for that I apologize. But I have thought of a way to satisfy both of our desires.” And he made a sign, and the men, now drenched, rolled some casks of ale to the King. He perched himself upon one of them and, crossing his legs as if he had not a care in the world, he continued, “I propose a wager, abominable Gilgabeld, a drinking contest. In your time you were known for your bottomless belly. In a thousand years your tolerance has not waned, I trust? Let us see who is the greater man, for what greater contest of manhood is there, even greater than contests of arms, than contests of drinking? If you are the victor, atrocious Gilgabeld, you may take not only our hearts and our ale, but our souls too, and have a great feast. But if I am the victor, imp-like Gilgabeld, then we shall keep all, and you shall tow us to Old Boot and leave us be thereafter. What say you to that?”

And Gilgabeld laughed, and slapped his belly, and all of his oarsmen fell into fits of hilarity. Finally settling down, wiping spectral tears from his eyes, he replied, “You have just consigned yourself to doom, little lord. No greater drinker is there in all the world than Gilgabeld Sweetwaters, Lord of All Oceans. I could outdrink Idd himself, if he had the stones to challenge me! Fine, I say! Let us drink till the stars fall down, and may the better man triumph!” Then, he leapt into the King’s boat, and the water flowing into the ship was suddenly staunched. The King laughed heartily, and roared, “Aye, may the better man triumph!” A drinking horn was procured for the pirate-lord, and all the oarsmen took up their horns too, and golden ale was poured all around, and a great toast offered up to the gods of the seas and the winds. Then the first horn was drunk, and the contest begun.

“What sweet ale this is! How divine! How glorious is its fragrance! Oh! How I have yearned for the taste of ale upon my lips once more!” exclaimed the pirate-lord. And the King, drinking deeply and sighing noted, “It is the finest ale of Ynndyron, brewed in the halls of Anxwe for the lips of lords alone.” And he topped off his horn.

“But let us not bandy words, fell Gilgabeld, for we are in haste and yearn to reach the shores of Old Boot before dawn breaks.”

And the second horn was poured and drunk, and the third, and the fourth, and so on, until ten horns had been drunk by both man and phantom. By the eleventh, the phantom, even glowing blue as he was, began to grow red of cheek and slurred of speech. Wolfheart, though scarlet, held his ground with princely bravura. The eleventh was downed, and the twelfth, until finally the thirteenth was poured. The two toasted, drank, and once finished, Gilgabeld, the Lord of All Seas, dropped upon the boards stone drunk. It seemed that in a thousand years his tolerance indeed had waned. A cry was thrown up by the King and his oarsmen, and another round drunk by all. Some of the ghostly oarsmen floated swiftly over to our boat and pulled their lord up, but to no avail; the contest was done, and Wolfheart declared the victor.

Stumbling about, the phantom finally collected himself and addressed the King, slurring his words all the while, “Wolf-King, you are the victor, though I would sooner damn my own bloody boots than say that you are the better man (both crews were confused about the meaning of this remark, and why he held his boots in such high esteem). We will tow you to Old Boot, and leave you alone thereafter. But grant me one request, little lord: leave me with some of that sweet ale, so that we might drink of it to quell our aching hunger, and dream of life.” And the King nodded and said, “You shall have all that we have, if you keep your word and tow us safely to Old Boot.” And so our boats were lashed with spectral cords to the great longship of Gilgabeld Sweetwaters, and with the speed of ten rushing elk we set off towards the far shore of the Channel. And the King, having put on a noble effort, fell down to the boards, drunk as a dog. We cheered for him, and drank his glory, for he had saved all of our lives.

We arrived off the shore at Old Boot in less than one bell. It was still dark, and the stars were out, and dawn was yet far away. As promised, all of our ale was unloaded into Gilgabeld’s boat, and the phantoms rejoiced and drank a round in celebration. The cords were untied, and drunken goodbyes called out. Gilgabeld, still drunk, drew himself up in the bow and saluted Wolfheart, who returned the courtesy, and cried, “Farewell abhorrent Gilgabeld, Lord of All Oceans, Terror of the Greenlands! May you rot in peace!” And Gilgabeld roared heartily, and raised another horn of Anxwe ale to toast Wolfheart’s glory, and drank it down.

Then, suddenly, the phantom ship was gone.

Of the raid on Old Boot, there is little of interest to tell. The men were all drunk, and dead tired, and full of lust for plunder. When we pulled our boats up to the shore the fisherfolk had not yet awoken. For them it would be a red morning, and they would catch no fish. We ran ashore, our spears brandished, with torches in hand, and fired the hovels which the miserable folk inhabited. Women ran out, babes at their breast, and were either slain or taken as concubines. The men we interrogated, asking if they had come from Ynndyron; those that said they had not were cut down where they stood. It was bloody business, and wretched, and I care not to record more of what I beheld. But by the break of dawn, twelve traitors to the fatherland were brought before the King to plead for their lives. None were pardoned, but their lives were spent then and there on the sand. Thirty-three women were claimed as concubines, and fifty children as slaves. What objects of value that could be found were loaded onto the boats, and plentiful stores of flour, oil, dried fish, ale, mead, beer, and wine. The hovels were all set aflame, and a pennant of the House of Ynndyron planted on the shore amidst the smoke and ruin. Then, we we set out again towards home, our eyes barely open, the light of dawn just breaking on the horizon.

And thus was begun the war with the Oaklands, which, despite the laughter and merriment in which it was forged, would bring us, and the King, much sorrow.

I have taken this opportunity to record of the first wars in the history of the grand Windbeach Republic, where it firmly established its rightful place in the world. The seed for the wars were sown in the Republic's very foundation. The southernmost Windbeach regions of the Chiefdom of Baldugtagee had long been an area of conflict, the population of this area spoke Aedrian, or at least what was considered kin enough to Aedrian for the population to be infuriated with the Chiefdom's insistence on one official language. Great Elder Sandsplitter Deltis Goniger the Father, born of this region but granted nobility through service to the House of Baldug, argued intensely for the freedom of these Aedrian-speaking populations, and through skilled rhetoric, managed to peacefully assure Windbeach's freedom, but not as a Chiefdom, but as a glorious republic,
the first of its kind.

In the years that followed, intense statecraft was necessary to establish the principles of this new nation, while continuing cordial relations with their northerly neighbor. By time's blessing, finally we were given of godly splendor, the laws of Windbeach. Many grand rulers were given the milk of power in this time, but none were corrupted or desiring of more. All were happy, and all was ordered.

The years passed by ever faster, however, and Windbeach was not to have the world pass by without interaction. The year 100 was to have a new concern be raised in the debate halls, the "Unequal Border" as called by the militant Red-Hand faction. These men stated that the borders agreed upon by the House of Baldug had robbed Windbeach of lands holding imprisoned Aedrian-speaking populations, with the most notable of these being the Horn of Galimbor across the Deres Bay, among the southernmost points in the Baldugtagee Kingdom. The Galimborans had been long divided into two groups, those with ancestry in Baldugtagee, and those of Aedrian descent. The former in the practice of farming in the interior of the horn, the latter kind living on the coasts in large urban cities and serving as an important part of the Chiefdom's workforce. These people had long since desired greater recognition of their ancient tongue, long denied by the House of Baldug. The secession of the Windbeach Republic lit a fire in the bellies of the more militant among these folk, who began desiring either greater autonomy or full freedom like their southern cousins.

This militant group, wrapped in the twine of fate, desired a name for their movement, deciding quickly, they proclaimed themselves the Aedrian Brotherhood, and stated that no reconciliation would be had, their ultimatum was as thus; "There will be no tongue of Aedria left in the Horn of Galimbor that cannot create those beautiful words as stated by our ancestors those many years ago." This ultimatum, accompanied with blade and scepter, was delivered upon the lap of Elder Chief Goodberry. The Elder, knowing that the loss of Galimbor meant the loss of his manufacturing, dispatched his army to clear up any rebel sentiment. This action infuriated the Red Hand, lead by Elder Keratas Horntower. Horntower demanded that High Elder Gulgenamon Thraythorin take action against the House of Baldug. Gulgenamon knew that the Windbeach army was nowhere near prepared for war with the house, stalled a declaration, instead instituting the foundation of a sweeping army reform meant to prepare for war by the year 125. The people, swayed by Horntower's speeches, voted Gulgenamon out of office before his reforms could fully be input, Horntower immediately halting them and preparing for mobilization.

Horntower sailed to Galimbor, where the Aedrian Brotherhood had managed to seize control of the government through shadow deals and puppets in the nobility. Meeting with these Aedrian folk, he prepared a plan for annexation of the peninsula with the blessing of the Brotherhood's puppet regime. The Brotherhood, now knowing that they were to be free, halted their shadow dealings and put into action what some would describe as a coup, not knowing the fact that the Brotherhood already held the Chiefs in their able hands. New Chief of Baldugtagee, Yadam, set out a decree, stating that the Brotherhood's actions were a clear declaration of war by the Windbeach Republic, and marshaled the Baldugtagee forces to the southern borders.

This first war was short and rather dull, so I shall avoid discussing it in detail here. In short, the Windbeach militia failed horrifically against the prepared and trained Baldug army. A multitude of short battles were fought, where the Windbeach militia did manage to inflict heavy damage to the House of Baldug, suggesting the war was winnable, but the forces of House Baldug were greater in both number and talent, and the Windbeach army was soundly defeated, the capital seized in under a year. The peace terms were kind, only asking for a return of Galimbor to Baldug hands, and demanding the exile of Keratas Horntower. Both demands were carried out despite heavy groaning from the Elder council.

An interregnum was declared before an emergency election could be held, but before it could be held, Horntower returned, accepted by the Elder council and the people despite his failure in the war due to his exceptional rhetoric. Horntower did not however reclaim his title, stating that he would not be High Elder again until the people of Windbeach chose him. In the interim, he was granted the title Supreme Commander, head of the government in times of crisis or during an interregnum, and chief military commander outside of these situations. Horntower, after his re-election, became the first High Elder to have two terms in the position, and also the first to be both High Elder and Supreme Commander. Having learned from his earlier defeat, Horntower spent weeks in isolation, leaving the government's daily business to the able hands of the Council or Elders. Horntower and his generals prepared a plan of action to defeat the House of Baldug and avenge their earlier defeat after a year at work, and Horntower returned to the daily running of the government.

It was many years before Horntower made his move. In the time since the first war, the Horn of Galimbor had been heavily militarized in an attempt to curb rebellion, but a freak manure explosion lead to a heavy crackdown on all Aedrian Galimborans. Unable to remain silent, the Aedrian Brotherhood was re-established and their leader declared that a civil war had begun. Horntower had been waiting for an opportunity like this, and declared war to reclaim the lost territories. The Windbeach forces, still as poorly-trained as before, made a hellish march to the north, at speeds comparable to an eagle diving with the support of the winds. The Windbeach militia passed right by the Baldugtagee army and seized the capital in an impressive assault. The Chief, however, was nowhere to be found. Immediately the returning force besieged their own castle, trapping the Windbeach army within. A subsequent sally cost both sides half their force. The Windbeach military retreated into the forests to lick their wounds, supported by the forces of the Aedrian Brotherhood.

The war played out with a multitude of further battles, with the Windbeach army attacking from the forests and the forces of House Baldug repelling them, having equal knowledge of the forests as the Aedrian Brotherhood. The final battle of Hurica was a hard-fought one, both sides fought under a hail of arrows, charging through the forests and battling in a disorganized melee in lines a man thick. Finally, the Baldugtagee center broke due to a surprise charge by an Aedrian Brotherhood cavalry troop, and the Windbeach army pushed through and enveloped the forces of house Baldug, nigh-annihilating them despite heavy loss on their own side.

The subsequent peace granted the Windbeach Republic the Horn of Galimbor in perpetuity, much to the delight of the Aedrian Brotherhood, who celebrated in the streets and held their new countrymen in long embrace, holding them for long into the evening. The dead were mourned solemnly, with the High Elder himself coming out to bless them for serving alongside their countrymen in a war that would free hundreds. One woman, having been separated from her father due to the original borders, met with him again in tears, and she came before the High Elder, who barely managed to hold himself from crying. The man had been slain in the fighting, and the woman came before Horntower cradling his body. Horntower would later employ this woman as a personal servant, ensuring that she was able to live like a noble for the rest of her life, it was the least he could do for one who'd lost so much in the name of a cause so noble.

The heavens proclaim your beauty, oh Paradise,
The mynah birds sing your praises.
The storehouses overflow with the finest wine,
And the lambs are being led to slaughter.
The dates are sweetened with the sun’s passing,
And the waters from the oases are as sweet as honey.
Your officials are just and bear golden rods,
Your soldiers have sharpened their spears.
Who can say when you will be assailed, oh City?
Who can proclaim the day of your downfall?
None can, for your walls are sturdy,
Your towers will never collapse.
The winds of the desert will not overcome you,
And the toothed beasts will perish.

Your minarets are raised to the sky,
Their golden tops kiss the clouds.
The washing-women sing songs of joy,
The children play in the golden sunshine.
The merchants hawk their wares, over and over,
And their customers are thricefold.
For they bear crafts, which are excellently made,
And their beauty is renowned by all.
Travelers pass by your iron gates,
They cry aloud in awe.
They proclaim that they have seen miraculous things,
They declare to the world your song.

Your scribes work diligently, unceasing in study,
They read the ancient texts.
They preserve your wisdom for the next generation,
On their pens walk the intelligence of multitudes.
All who see you tread lightly on your sands,
For they know you house the Golden Mark.
Oh, who can describe the abundant primroses,
Who can depict the glowing carnations?
Your tradesmen are bursting with silver and gold,
They need no rest, for your beauty sustains them.

Your soldiers awaken to battle,
Your bows are carved, arrows are fletched.
The eagles are hunted for their feathers,
Which will lighten the burdens of the arrow-shafts.
Great swords are forged in your presence,
Blades are gilded with rubies and diamonds.
Helmets are adorned with the choicest jewels,
Spears are kissed and raised to the sky.
How can one stand against your wall of iron,
Your armies, your legions, oh City?
Sons of Paradise, awaken your arms!
See to it that none will falter!