It is not the visible danger you need be concerned about, but the unseen one.” - The Prophetess, Year 223 of the Era of Heroes

Askor had suffered through twenty years of strife and conflict. Wars and famine. Diseases and political intrigue. Religious and political strife. And through it all the people of the continent had weathered the storm. They now looked to the future with the expectation of peace, at least for a time. Those expectations were about to be shattered, however, as clouds of an even greater tempest was already gathering on the horizon.



“Down with the Archon! Down with the bloodsuckers!” Artur yelled as he and the mob he had gathered marched towards the town. The mob echoed his cry seeming to go into a mad frenzy at the thought of bringing down the ruling class.

At one time Artur had thought that this day would never come, that simple peasants would be unable to have any sort of meaningful uprising. And then the ‘Outsiders’ had appeared before him, bringing him more information and wealth, in the form of mithral dust. Mithril! It had taken Artur months to figure out how to turn mithril into usable wealth without drawing undo attention. But he had, and with his newfound wealth he had managed to acquire arms and armor for a small army. And the ‘Outsiders’ had provided the communications network needed to gather that small army.

The ‘Outsiders’ had claimed to be “concerned citizens of the state”, whatever that meant, but Artur knew better, hence why he thought of them as the Outsiders. He didn’t know where they came from, whether they be from the Argentum Knights, agents of Lynnfaire, or simple criminals, and he didn’t care. All that mattered was that their interests aligned, for now.

“We take the town today!” Artur yelled so he could be heard, “and then we march on the capital!”



“What would have possibly done this?” Vertrestin the Astute wondered out loud as she and her companions took in the scene before them. Several humans had led the group of dryads to a large ravine that housed something they ‘had to see’. Vertrestin had been dubious that the humans had found anything of real note, but she and her companions had decided to follow them to the remote area anyways.

“How… how many hydras are here?”

“Three… maybe four?” One of Vertrestin’s companions answered after a moment. “The bodies are too mangled to be certain.” Calling them mangled was something of an understatement. To Vertrestin’s eyes it looks like the forest hydras had been chewed up by an impossibly large creature and spit out again.

“What could do such a thing?” Vertrestin asked. She left the question of why unvoiced.

The ground shuddered and suddenly Vertrestin found herself shaded from the sun. She tilted her head up and found herself in disbelief at what she saw. It took her a moment to recognize that the creature standing over the revine she occupied was a forest hydra, but it was quite different from any hydra she had ever seen. This creature was at least five times the size of even the largest she had seen before. And something was… wrong with it. Massive swathes of scales had either been torn off or rotted off, revealing blackened flesh that oozed a grey goo. The hydra’s eyes mirrored those of a dead animal, but even so Vertrestin felt like it was staring into her soul.

“We have to warn the-” Was the last thing Vertrestin the Astute ever said.



One moment Hasnaa al-Turay had been fighting alongside her friends, the next she awoke, bound and gagged, blindfolded, and with a horrid headache. She could feel that she was lying on something wooden, something moving. A cart perhaps? She couldn’t be certain, but the sounds of horses lent credence to the idea. She could still smell the salt of the sea, meaning they, whoever they were had taken her too far. Were her friends still alive? Had they been captured as well? She tried to struggle against the rope that kept her arms and legs bound, to test them, but even the slightest movement made her sick to her stomach.

“Awake are we now?” A gruff voice asked. The accent sounded both familiar and strangely alien at the same time. “You fought well. For a woman.” She could feel the owner the voice lean in towards her. “You’ll soon you hadn’t.” She couldn’t help but shiver at the sensation of his breath on her cheek.

“You bitches have had free reign for far too long. Now its time to see how well you and your friends fare as breeding stock yourselves.” The owner of the voice, and several of his nearby companions apparently found his comment hilarious, as they call had a long laugh.

"Slavers." Khawla al-Mir hissed the word as she surveyed the wreckage of the Khandarai hunting camp. A full moon was out and the light it cast illuminated the desert brightly enough for even a human to clearly see the scattered belongings, torn tents and at least a dozen bodies that lay around dark patches of sand where their blood had seeped into the ground.

The sharp metallic scent of blood cut through the rich salt air of the ocean whose glimmering expanse was visible in the far distance. As a general rule the Khandarai rarely camped close to the ocean for just this reason, pirates and slavers were common along the coast, always looking to snap up unwary Khandarai who would fetch a fine price on any slavers auction block. It seemed that these slavers were braver than most as they had come a fair distance inland to hit the Khandarai camp, and in great numbers.

Khawla was able to discern that the attackesr had come over the distant dunes and caught the Khandarai by surprise, no small feat. Hoof prints and even wagon wheel ruts indicated that this was a well financed and well planned expedition. No simple pirates. The attackers had come quite recently and had left, northwards, toward the ocean.

"Come Sisters, we must move quickly." Khawla whispered as she moved across the bloodied sand. A dozen shapes appeared to materialize from the sand around her and the entire group began a quick loping run across the wind swept desert. They moved with the steady confidence of veteran fighters, hands pumping in time with legs as they moved far swifter than any horse drawn cart.

It was the will of the Prophetess, or dumb luck, depending on who you asked, that had brought Khawla and her chosen band to this region of the desert on such a night. Slaver raids had become more common in the recent months and she had taken the time to make sweeps along the northern shores.

The Khandarai ran silently across the sands in single file to hide their numbers, running next to the cart tracks, taking turns to lead, giving each other a rest as the leader. A dozen pair of eyes scanned the desert for any more raiders, and more importantly, any of the savage creatures that lived beneath the sand. Desert beasts, like many monsters, were not a fan of fire, but if the slavers did not have any torches, they might find themselves facing something far more terrifying than Khandarai warriors.

They ran for an hour, the ocean drawing ever closer as they went. If the slavers were able to make it to their ship before the Khandarai arrived, their prisoners would be lost forever. The Khandarai excelled at many things but very few amongst them dared to brave the open ocean for a profession. The slavers were well aware of this and as a result kept well clear of Basul, not hesitating to raid anyone foolish enough to show a night time fire to a watcher on the ocean.

Suddenly, far ahead, much closer to the sea, a series of thunderous roars tore the near silent night asunder. The screams of men, and of women, began to rise with the chaos and Khawla ran faster. Her feet appeared as a blur as she raced over the desert floor, arms pumping steadily, her chin tucked slightly down, the desert air cool on her cheeks as she ran. The roaring grew louder, some of it sounded as if a creature were in pain, the shouting of orders in mens voices becoming more distinct.

Then the small band topped a dune and chaos greeted them. The slaver column, a half dozen wagons in its midst, had been ambushed by a pack of Hakams'. The great beasts, five of them, had descended upon the flank of the caravan and torn into the slavers who had initially recoiled in horror but were now fighting back. Already one of the bests was down, the desert around it strewn with the bodies of dead slavers. Even as Khawla watched, one of the larger Hakam lashed out with its barbed tail and a mans battle cry turned into a gurgling shriek as the barb hooked him beneath the chin and sent him flying through the air.

Khawla looked to the wagons, at least twenty of her kin lay trussed up inside. If she did not reach them, either the slavers would take them, or the Hakam would devour them when they had finished the slavers off. A moments pause and she waved her comrades forward.

"Archers, begin killing the slavers, only those not directly engaging the Hakam. You others, follow me." She was already moving away to her left before she finished speaking. The archers went to work at once and arrows flickered out of the darkness to slaughter the slavers trying to reload their crossbows behind the wagons. Panicked shouts went up from the slavers they began to die with the long black shafts through their throats.

The main body of slavers had drawn up into a solid block of shields with long pikes which they were using in short efficient strokes against the Hakam, fending off the beasts as they slowly edged further north, towards their ship. One of the Hakam, wounded and no longer willing to approach the shield wall, turned its attention on the wagons and with a gleeful, feline bound, pounced on a wagon. The screams of the women inside as the Hakam tore into their bound forms was to much for Khawla and she threw caution to the wind.

"With me!" She cried out, drawing both blades as she charged down the dune and into the melee. The first two slavers who turned to look at her never stood a chance. Her blades flashed and both fell headless to the ground. Others, so far unable to reach their comrades shield wall, cursed and tried to bring their weapons to bear, but they were no match for the finest warrior in Khandarai. Khawla moved through them like a wind through wheat, her blades flashing in the moonlight as she cut men down where they stood, until, at last, she hurled herself upon the Hakam that was busy tearing one of the captured women in two.

The Hakam roared in pain as she slashed a blade across a hamstring, trying to turn to swat at her even as she severed its tail just below the barb. The creature lunged, lashing out with wicked claws, to catch nothing as she deftly side stepped and drove a blade up under its chin and into its brain. The beast gave a heavy sigh and collapsed into the sand, its blood staining the ground beneath it. The remaining slavers gave a despairing cry as the rest of her band struck them and turned to run. The remaining Hakam gave a victorious roar and bounded after them.

Khawla's band quickly hurried forward to free the remaining prisoners. Less than half were alive. The Hakam had killed a number, others had died at the hands of the slavers. Those that could be saved were pulled from the wagons, their bounds cut, and they were hurried away to the south by Khawla's band. The dead would remain where they lay. The scavengers would find their bodies in the daylight if the Hakam did not take them and they would return to the desert from which they came.

Town of Brent, Volksingen Canton, Vlaanburg Electorates

“So there you have it, Haans - the story of the great sky-bulls, Tauros Major and Tauros Minor.”
Dietrich stared up into the heavens at the pair of constellations. The stars formed two mighty bulls, a male and his mate, that once charged across the earth, paving the land into fields and clearing the forests for the first inhabitants of Askor. It was a story his father told him, and his father before him, and now he passed it along to his son, not yet into his tenth year.

“And what is that one called, father?” Haans asked, pointing up to another cluster.
“That one is Lucca, the trickster mink. Do you know why women love mink coats?”
“No?”
“Because according to legend, Lucca was so insufferable that the Primordials made him into a hat! Nobody wanted to trust the minks after that, so we stuff and wear them for good measure. Ha!”

The two of them shared a laugh until their bellies stopped heaving, and Dietrich settled on the grass, lying on his back. On nights like these, his father would take him out to see the stars, or he’d sneak out under his mother’s watch if he were away on business. Perhaps it wasn’t much, just children’s tales to keep the mind sharp and eyes alert. But they meant more to Dietrich than that. These were Vlaanburgian legends - the culture of an entire people lay with them. He hoped Haans would feel the same once he became a man, to pass the torch, so to speak.

“Father, those are strange stars,” Haan said suddenly. “What are those?”
Dietrich perked up, following his son’s gaze. Sure enough, a cluster of lights danced on the ridge beyond the valley, flickering orange and yellow. Alongside them shimmered metallic hints, like the rim of a helmet, or edge of a halberd.

“Saint Karlus,” Dietrich swore. “Back to the town, Haans, now!”
He pulled Haans from the grass and took off into a run, as fast as Haans’s little legs could manage. What the devil was happening? An army outside of Brent? There had been no calls for muster. Even with night’s pitch, Dietrich had seen no banner. The two of them ran, down the emerald slopes, across the Taan River bridge, into Fey’s Acre and then down the paved dirt road of Brent proper.

“Haans, go straight home to mum. Let me deal with this.”
“But father, I-”
“No buts!” Dietrich knelt down to place his hands on either side of the boy’s face. “What does Deacon Rudolph always say?”
“That children who obey their parents grow to be the most serene of all,” Haans mumbled.
“That’s right! Now go!”

Dejected but alert, Haans made for home. Alone, Dietrich hurried to the town garrison, a meagre thing, but Brent had no need for a grand armory. Inside, a pair of drowsy militamen watched him enter with puzzled faces.

“‘Ey, Deet,” one slurred. “What’s all the rush?”
“It’s an army! An army on the fields!” Dietrich shouted, grabbing hold of the garrison’s bell rope. “Wake the entire guard, get the guildmasters and the deacon! Get a messenger to the Elector!”

The men sputtered their drink, and clambered to their feet. With a hasty “Yes sir!” they hurried out the door. Dietrich yanked on the rope and the alarm bell shrieked. Soon the entire town would be on its feet.

The Emerald Keep, Astica, Serene Kingdom of Osetina

Thea sighed resignedly, “You’re certain there isn’t a way to increase our yields?”

The decrepit book keeper simply shook his head as his eyes scanned the document, “I’m afraid so. Most of the dukes and duchesses have already instituted rationing. As I see it we could try and seed the fallow fields, but to do so would only make things worse next year. There’s simply not enough farmland in your domain your royal highness, and to be wholly truthful there is not enough farmland in the kingdom if these number speak true. I must advise you follow your peers and institute rationing. Our only choices are scarcity or famine so long as Lynnfaire tears itself asunder.”

“Then go and see it done.” She shook her head even as her words conceded the point. The news hadn’t surprised her, but then she always did have a knack for expecting the worst. As it was the Kingdom would withstand another few years of this before some fool decided to heft a pitchfork and lead a revolt. That was if what little grain was still coming from Lynnfaire didn’t dry up, though.

The old man had left the room the moment he’d been dismissed, but the silence did little to calm her thoughts. Pulling out an ornate chair and sitting at the meeting table meant for more than a dozen she pondered the situation, how had it come to this? The war in Lynnfaire had always been a concern, but to think that foolish Queen and her idiotic Cousin would go so far as to set their whole country on fire? Nobody could have predicted that. Her father could preach neutrality all he liked, but that was a mistake that had cost them. She disdained her brothers for playing their little games of power by sending aid up north, making that destructive expression of chaos worse, but perhaps it was time for her to follow suit. The scales were slowly tipping towards the Queen, and minor heretic or not the girl was the rightful heir. It’d be helping Edmund in a roundabout way, but the war had to end. The Queen had the heartlands of Lynnfaire and if the war was to end her gains would have to start multiplying.

Standing up Thea made her way to a desk covered in parchment, ink bottles, and pens at the back of the meeting room. Finding a suitable combination she cleared a space on the old table and began drafting a letter.

Your Majesty Abigail d’Montigue, Queen of Lynnfaire,

It is my foremost wish to congratulate you on your most recent victories in that most senseless war which has been forced upon you. Though this is our first correspondence I have long sympathized with your plight.

In the past I have abstained from displaying such sympathies publically or acting upon them when perhaps it would have been prudent to do so. Though had merely sought to follow my father’s, his Majesty the rightful Serene King of Osetina, wishes I see now that my inaction in the face of crises has shamed me.

I am again shamed to learn my brother, His Royal Highness Prince Edmund, has seen fit to demonstrate his support before me. It is my hope to remedy this failure in my judgement by sending aid to you in the form of fighting men, and if it is your wish a substantial loan free of interest, posthaste.

I eagerly await your reply and wish you swift victory,
-Thea d’Montigue, Princess of Osetina

Holy indeed...

How did it come to this.. A quiet village in the eastern plains sat deafening silent. Near the entire population of the town and a few heavily armed soldiers were massed in the center of the town. Awe was upon the faces of all in attendance, save the soldiers who stood bravely before them. The central event that had drew this group and its widened attention was the sight of two freshly severed heads, and the still warm bodies that used to host them laying neatly upon the ground.

"You.. you there." A young woman's voice confidently commanded. "Come here."

Tears began to line the eyes of a older woman as she obediently approached the young woman.

"Please, Please spare me. We have nothing here but love of our goddess." she said calmly.

The young woman slowly shook her head. "You do not sound convincing." She said, pointing towards the two dead bodies. "Those two did not share love. Prove that you do."

"Oh Godess." The old lady said as she closed her eyes and turned her face to the sky. She began to pray, seemingly delighting the young woman who turned her attention away. "You see. To love her is to bask in her divine light. Why do you people bar her light?"

The group of people all at once dropped to their knees, blindly gazing to the sky. Except one man. He stood stoically in the face of the young woman. Sneering at her in clear defiance. "Inquisitor or not, this is clear violation of our laws! There is no taint of what ever you refer to as witchcraft. There is no evil here, only the light of the prophetess."

"An educated fool, I AM the law." the young lady brazenly declared. "However, you might be of help." she said with a growing smirk. "My name is Inquisitor Elise, and I know there is someone of ill beliefs present. As this man who seems to have a firm grasp on the situation, that there is evil afoot.."

The man interrupted, "I said there is no evi-" His words were silenced as Elise reached her left arm towards him. Stretching from her hand was a sickening energy, a vague black cloud that with utter clarity grasped his neck. Elise' sight narrowed as the now powerless man's face began to turn red. "I.. am..." he said, gasping for air.

"I am..." Elise replied. "I am to be judged by her glory.". It was her last words to him, as the blood in his head forced its way from his mouth, nose and eyes. The educated mans crushed head swiftly splattered against the ground, followed by a heavy thud from his body. "I grow tired of these games." she said to the group.

One female rose from the crowd, "I." she said, pausing while looking to the ground in shame. "I have seen the evil." Her gaze rose to meet Elise, who was rapidly approaching. "It was noises at first, then I saw hooded men walking into the forest."

Elise stopped her march mere inches from the woman, replying with a deep stare. She withdrew a pair of brown gloves and gently pulled them one at a time onto her hands. Elise's grip rose to meet the woman's face. Her palms firmly laying upon her cheeks. Elise leaned in, and cocked her head to the side before closing her eyes. There were a few moments of silence before the woman's eyes began shedding tears from not only fear of what was next, but pain from the pressure Elise was applying.

Heavy breaths, almost as if there were passion between the two, blew warm air over the teary eyed woman's face. "I can feel the Goddess light within you. Your words are true." Elise said while releasing the woman, who rapidly fell to her knees. Elise cared not for the woman and coldly turned away. "Shall we?" she said, motioning to the other warriors. As they formed on her, Elise announced to the crowd, "You are all free to go. Bask in the Goddess' light and you will never fear evil... for she will be your sword and shield."

A strange feeling washed over Elise as her attention turned to the tree line. Figures began to emerged, hooded figures that began to draw weapons. The townsfolk moved to Elise' side, who mere moments before terrorized them. "We stand by your side. The Goddess will protect us."

Elise acknowledged the group, who even weaponless and unarmored stood in the face of this well equipped force ahead of them, with a strong nod. "Stand tall. We will defeat them as one." Elise gripped her sword tight then strongly thrust it upright towards the sky. Without warning or any understandable force, dark clouds began to form and then proceed to swirl overhead, shadowing the area. "Fear not the darkness!" she shouted, with a voice that seemed to shake the very world. Elise stepped to the side and swung the swords tip towards the group of warriors. With a thunderous crash and a near blinding burst of light, a ray of pure brilliant energy burst fourth into the crowd of men. Screams could barely be heard as their bodies began turning to ash.

With a devilish smile, she gazed down her now red hot glowing blade. Visible heat and steam arose from it as she gently lowered the weapon towards the ground. "The Goddess will judge you now." She said before turning to the cheering villages, but their cheers turned to fearful cries as even more hooded figures emerged from the tree line, in far greater numbers. "Again?" Elise said, now obviously frustrated.

"What do we do now!" the older lady from earlier cried, fearing the growing number of figures appearing from the forest. Elise's frown began to fade as the ground shook once more, but this time not from her hand. The unified roar of marching and the thunderous quaking of heavy metal beating against the ground drew the attention of not only the townsfolk, but the figures as well.

From over the horizon, they could all see the horde approaching, and from them the banners were becoming visible, clear symbols of the inquisition. "What is happening?" one villager said.

Elise's answer was swift.

"Salvation has arrived."

---Hours later---

The stench of burning bodies had finally died down as Elise walked through the now crowded village. Soldiers had begun repairing the buildings to pristine condition. In the field nearby, soldiers planted crops and flowers. It was a reward for the villages steadfast defiance of evil. Elise made her way through the village towards the towns largest cabin, the villages inn. And from inside jubilation could be heard, a true sign of victory.

Elise's eyes closed as she basked in the sunlight and an genuine smile spread across her face, "The Goddess saves."

-
-
-
-

In the north of the empire’s continental holdings was Norfort, a castle of living wood sitting at the joining of two estuaries that split the land, a bastion against the disparate clans that lived on the opposite shore. A little way outside from the castle proper, and surrounded by an area where all the plants had been carefully moved away from, was a long hall made of stone and whalebone. A well worn path connected the fort and the long hall, down which Selzona the Cold, current military leader of the fort, walked hurriedly. She pushed her way past the small set of double doors and enter the hall, the inside of which featured several long tables, on either side of which benches were placed, all carved from stone, making the inside of the hall something between a banquet and mess hall in appearance.

Indeed, upon the benches sat varios dryads partaking in smorgasbord of meals prepared from all manner of ingredients, from exotic wild meats to locally grown vegetables. Rather ubiquitous in the meals was a certain dull fruit, its flesh almost gray in complexion and Dryads seemed rather displeased about its presence. Selzona’s expression notably soured at the sight of the fruits as she walked down between the rows of tables, exchanging brief words with some of the diners, as she head towards the far end of the hall. There sat a small freestanding building inside the hall proper, with a no man's land between it and the tables. The only link between the two buildings where a series of columns leading up to the roof. Inside it where the bravest Dryads in the whole settlement. Selzona steeled herself for a moment before the entrance and then went to join them.

Inside the small building was fire. Hideous, horrifying, hellish, deadly fire. Also some chefs. Asisting the chefs were about twice the number of apprentices, many of them armed with buckets and hovering near water barrels. To her credit Selzona only froze up for about 3 seconds before closing the door to the kitchen and approaching the head cook, a Dryad called Forsent. Forsent was rough in appearance, grown a berserker his body was a crude facsimile of the human form with a flat, almost featureless face housting two lidless eyes and a gnarled mouth full of stake like fangs. Despite his looks, the man was quite the amicable fellow and also her elected equan, currently leader of the fort’s civilian affairs.

Normally those coming to get food would have gone round the side to a hatch, where they could collect food they had ordered telepathically while avoiding seeing to the horror held within the kitchen. Selzona was only in here because she needed to have an actual conversation with Forsent, something the dreamscape made rather slow and at times unhelpfully vague.

”I see that we’re running low on palatable food”

“Aye. Vertrestin hasn’t come back from her run to Sen Port yet. We were already running low after that business with those Tarkiman raiders last week. Tell you the truth, we’re growing concerned, she should’ve been back two days ago.”

”ah, so that's what that disconserting feeling in the Dreaming’s been about. Have you sent someone...”

“Yesterday, they’re running late too though”

”That is concerning.”

“Agreed”

Despite the extensive safety precautions Selzona was already growing uncomfortable at being in the room with the flames, and so after a few more words with the chef asking him to let her know when the group investigating the disappeared party returned and left as quickly as her dignity would allow. Once out of the kitchen she joined some of Dryads she had passed on her way here, some of them being subordinates/advisors of hers with which she discussed the disappearance. She was about half way through her meal, steamed trout and a small plate of dull Fruit, which Forsent had attempted to add flavor to using a honey and strawberry jam glazing, that the chef came out of the kitchen approached her. Accompanying him was a middle aged human that she thought she recognised from the deer rider cohort attached to the fort, though the human's tendency to change in appearance as they aged left her a little uncertain of that.

”This who you sent to look for Vertrestin?”

“Aye. Tell her what you told me captain.”

What followed was a detailed description of the man’s attempt to locate the Dryad group, which had lead him to follow their rout down the main road to Sen-port, checking in with the locals to see if the group had been sighted, until he had found the last village they had departe for but never arrived at.

“place was ransacked mam, houses smashed and most of the people were gone. Only ones left hadn’t been in town when the place was attacked”

”A Tarkiman raid then?”

“Maybe, but they didn’t take any of the valuables, there weren't no bodies left behind and its too soon since the last one I reckon. Also, the people there and in nearby villages ‘ave been talking about some kind of monster in the woods. Couldn’t get no stright description from em, but something had em scared real fierce.”

”And no sign of Vertrestin and his group.”

“No mam, if she’s alive then he’s not on the main road or in the villages. Definitely never made it to the port, I ‘ad someone check while I was asking questions.”

“We should have a party scoured the woods near where they went missing, that's what I think.”

“You’ll need more than me and mine to do that sir, particular if them rumors are true.”

”mmm. Thank you captain. You’re dismissed, though I may have use of you later”

After the man saluted and left she turned her attention back to Forsent.

”Your man trustworthy?”

“He’s paid well enough to be. But I wouldn't worry too much of the loyalty of the humans rough these parts. This isn’t the Glacial Marshes, they don’t have that Rump of Kingdom’s agents stirring up trouble, and we’re the only thing standing between them and the northern barbarian hordes. They stopped trying to kick us out years ago. I helped make sure of that”

”I’ll take your word for it. hmm. If there's raiders, or a ‘monster’ about, I think this becomes a military concern, don’t you agree?”

“I have no argument there.”

”Good. Then I’ll be taking over the hunt for our missing kin and we won’t need to bother the Mediator. Agreed?”

“Agreed. Good hunting.”

With that, the autumn and spring leaders of the fort parted ways, Selzona to prepare an armed search party, Forsent back to the kitchen to make one more round of meals. In the eyes of the Dryads, both equally noble and dangerous tasks.

---

An hour later, Selzona’s expedition had been organised. She had called back the sargent and his men, roused a few Ents from their slumber and gathered together any Dryad Soldiers that could be spared from the fort’s gerision. From astride the shoulders of the tallest ent, Selzona the Cold looked down at the group, who while numbering 50 odd individuals represented a force considerably more powerful than that raw headcount would suggest. Satisfied with the force she had assembled, she turned back to the road south and raised her hand, giving the signal to move out, with the Ent mirroring her action. With that, the small force set out down the path that would lead them to their first encounter with a threat far larger than any the fledgling empire had faced before. Greater even that the looming threat on their southern borders, where even now the former rulers of the land schemed with their slave empire neighbor to reclaim what was rightfully theirs.

-

Vitium sends word to William they are meddling

“Any response yet?” Kerwyn Glas asked as he gazed towards the port city his ships were currently near.

“Not yet Cap’n” One of his crew answered. They had used flags to communicate their intent to enter port a few minutes ago and were eager to unload their goods. Kerwyn had been concerned that they wouldn’t be granted access on account of being unknown to these lands or that they would use the wrong signals. That seemed unlikely given the source of his info however. After a moment the crewman stated “There’s their response. We’ve been given permission.”

“Alright then. Put her into port.” On his order the three hulks Kerwyn commanded gilded towards the port. The crews of the three ships were already offloading their cargo before the port officials approached.

“Gentlemen!” Kerwyn said as the Osentian officials approached his ship. “How can I help you?”

“Just a routine inspection.” One of the Osentian officials stated.

“Of course. Feel free to check any of the cargo we’ve unloaded.” Kerwyn responded.

“Where are you from?” Another official asked. “I don’t recognize your flag.”

“We hail from Yattunys. Its… far in the east.” Kerwyn answered. The official raised an eyebrow but didn’t comment further.

“What’s your cargo?”

“Food. Mostly fruits and vegetables, but also some meat.”

“Fruits and vegetables? Where’d you bring them from?”

“Why” Kerwyn answered, “Yattunys of course.”

“You trying to sell us rotten food?!” The official demanded.

“Of course not!” Kerwyn looked and sounded truly offended. “We ship only the freshest food!”

“How could they possibly be fresh if they came all the way from the East?” The officially pressed.

“Ah.” Kerwyn said. “I forgot that Askor was… backwards. We have very skilled mages who have come up with ways of preserving food. Now I’ve got three ships here with holds full of food and another five following shortly behind. It is my clients’ intent to open a permanent trade route with Askor, either in your country or somewhere else. I don’t suppose there would be a market for food, both mundane and exotic, here?”



The ground shuddered as if a Primordial had gripped Askor and was shaking it with all of its might. Colum yelped in fear and curled up into a ball as nearby trees toppled and great tears opened into the ground. It seemed like the Primordial’s fury would never cease. But then it did. Colum remained on the ground for an hour after the shaking had ceased, fearing it would begin again the moment he stood up. Finally he gathered the courage to rise to his feet and survey his surroundings. It almost looked like he was in a different place entirely.

Great rifts in the ground formed miniature canyons and what looked like half of the trees in the forest he had been in had toppled over. The area was utterly silent, all the animals having fled or still in hiding. And strangest of all… all of the smaller plants in the area were dead. It looked almost as if they had been dead for tendays, yet just an hour ago the area had been full of life.

And then Colum heard a ringing sound. He looked around, trying to find the sound. He didn’t immediately see anything that could make the sound, so after a few minutes began wandering around to see if he could trace it back to its source. The sound led him to one of the newly formed rifts in the ground.

He looked down into the rift and saw… something. Was that a shrine? He couldn’t tell. And for some reason simply looking at it gave him a headache and filled him with dread. Something was wrong. He could feel it in his bones. He… needed to go. Now.

The snapping of a twig behind him had him spinning around and what he saw made him scream.



“We must prepare for the coming war!”

Lord Champion Niephaus let out a long sigh as he listened to the same debate for what felt like the thousandth time that day. Why did people insist on saying the same things over and over again? Perhaps it was time for him to step in.

“What makes you think a war is coming?” Niephaus asked the man who had spoken earlier. He kept forgetting the man’s name and only remembered him as being a priest from Lynnfaire. Lynnfairen Argenists taking part in the General Chapter were rare, but certainly not unheard of.

“The Prophetess used her last words to warn us about an inevitable invasion from the East!” The Lynnfairen priest answered.

“I’m afraid that is incorrect.” Neiphaus said. “She used her last words not to warn us of an invasion, but to implore us to treat those who are to save the continent like the heroes they will be.” The Lynnfairen opened his mouth to speak, but Neiphaus continued on. “And I quote: Askor shall suffer through two decades of war before the East brings an even greater conflict. I pray that the heroes that rise in that distant future to save the continent are not subjected to the same terrible treatment as I.” He paused for a moment before continuing “She stated that the East would bring a greater conflict, but she said nothing about an invasion.”

“What could she have been talking about if not an invasion?” The Lynnfairen asked.

“Perhaps she meant that a disease would spread from the East. Maybe some sort of cultural change from the East is destined to cause widespread strife in our lands. I do not know. What I do know is she did not definitively state an invasion would occur, thus we can not assume that is what she meant.”

“My lords and ladies” Neiphaus looked at each person present in turn. “We must be prepared for anything. Already we can see how fragile the countries of Askor have become. Look at Lynnfaire and Osetina: one in the middle of a bloody civil war and the other suffering from famines. We must be prepared for similar things to occur around the continent. And we must be prepared.”

“It's a pity the Prophetess was… imprecise about the exact timing of this conflict. For all we know it could be another decade before it begins.” One of the local priests said.

“Indeed.” Neiphaus nodded. “We can only speculate on why the Prophetess did not give us an exact date and tell us exactly what form this conflict would take. But I believe that she is testing the people of Askor and we all know she would never give us a test we were incapable of passing.”

Within the vast and freezing mountain range in the southern reaches of the Emerald Empire’s continental holdings resided the last bastion of the Kingdom of Shenra, a nation the Dreaming Forest had brought to its knees scant 50 years past. The capital of this rump of a kingdom was the Holy Summit, a rather ancient monastery that had been adapted to the argenism faith some 250 years ago.

This monastery sat at the end of a long treacherous staircase that carved into the side of the mountain itself. This attempt at civil engineering alone indicating its importance in the region when it was compared to the foot worn paths that were most of the Frozen Clif’s equivalents of roads. At the end of the climb sat the Holly Summit, a temple resting against, and sometimes carved out of, the mountainous peak itself. Its entrance was a pair of massive wooden doors, reinforced with iron studs and decorated with carved murals of the primordial gods. To either side sat two large braziers and next to these were stationed the lion headdress wearing guards of the royal court, standing attention to with their halberds. At the sight of the approaching Vitium envoys one Guardswoman slipped inside to inform the guard captain.

The insides of the temple where a reprieve from the cold outside, heated by a system of hot water pipes running beneath the floor and through the walls. From the insides it became clear that the structures were built of a stone not local to the region, including some spots of marble and obsidian used to create displays of duality for the carvings that covered almost every surface of the interior, some ancient and worn while others, often featuring the prophetess, had been carved in the last decade. The royal court itself was housed in one of the buildings adjacent to the temple proper, located in a converted dormitory that was focused around a large map table, upon which scrolls of intelligence reports, supplied by spies and informants still loyal to the crown, were arranged around depictions of various regions of the Kingdom's former territory.

Upon a simple throne on the far end of this table sat the Queen herself, a mastercrafted bejeweled golden crown sitting just a little to loosely on her head. She was wearing an expensive dress that looked like it was probably older than her, and beside her throne her sat her enchanted twin elemental axe. To either side of her stood her robbed godfather Lord Solgarand and the armored Knight Sir Glenway, her trusted advisor and defender. Next to them where the two harpy mages: Hajnal, who wore a dress that struggled to cooperate with his 4 wings and Faizya, whose body seems to be covered with a layer of eternity cooling lava and little else. Further out along the table and around the walls of the room where a small number lesser nobles and knights, here primarily to observe the proceedings rather than get involved. The entire setup had been carefully designed to display both the kingdoms strength and regal dignity to the soon to arrive Vitium envoys, to visually back up the Kingdom’s value as a strong and reliable ally.

Gathered after a harpy huntress spotted the expedition as it was making its final assent, the mood in the court was a tense one, as all congregated knew full well that they were in the weak bargaining position. There was concern that the delegation was here to force stricter terms upon them in person than had been agreed upon via the correspondence that had set up the meeting. The sound of hushed conversation whispering through the room was brought to an abrupt conclusion as the door at the end of the hall was pushed open suddenly as Captain Tempkin, head of the royal guards, stepped inside and announced the arrival of the diplomatic party. As the party stepped into the room the Queen spoke, her toan formal and regal.

“Welcome, Marshall Design and company. Please, take a seat.”

After food was brought in and the expedition was allowed some time to rest, the diplomatic endeavor began in earnest. The negotiations went well for the Shenran Court, surprisingly so in the opinion of some of the more senior lords. All the previously agreed upon terms were reaffirmed. Those namly being that The Kingdom would assist Vitium in conquering the Glacial Marshes up to the Coastline, that being all the regions south of the rivers that flowed out from Lake Sem. In return for this assistance Shenra would receive favorable trade stipulations with Vitium, get exclusive rights to the spoils of war, and reassurance that none of the land currently under control of the kingdom, namly the Frozen Cliffs, would not be claimed by the empire in the process. Of most interest to the Kingdom was the stipulation that once the Kingdom was in position to make an attempt to reclaim the northern territories they had once held, they would receive support from the Empire.

Any changes to the deal suggested by the Kingdom, such as Sir Glenway’s suggestion that they attempt to take the two cities Fenreforst and Crinwaley that were just north of the river line, where quickly shot down. As a result of this rigidity the Queen became convinced, incorrectly, that the Marshall had only been sent as a glorified messenger capable of rubber stamping the deal. Her opinion of the man changed somewhat when it became apparent that he was expecting to be staying with the royal court with his party to facilitate better cooperation with the Empresses main force, something they readily accepted. The internal security of Vitium was infamous, anything to expedite getting massages though it, such as messengers sent by the authority of the Marshal himself in hand, was greatly appreciated. As was the possibility to use any bonds formed over the man’s stay to tighten the diplomatic relationship between the two nations.

After discussions have run their course and the delegations have been shown to quarters for the night most of the court that have gathered round the table went on their way. Those reaming where the Queen’s inner circle: Lord Solgarand, Sir Glenway, Captain Tempkin and the two Harpy mages: Hajnal and Faizya. A few notable additions to the room where gifts brought by the Delegation: an Agate Spider silk cloak, light yet strong as steel, that was draped across the Queens shoulders, a Mithral headed spear now held in the hands of Sir Glenway, supporting him as he remained standing, and a small bottle, that the Vitiums claimed contained pure starlight, which sat in the center of the table as a paperweight because nobody knew what to do with it.

“So. That went well”, began the Queen who was visibly relaxed now that she was in the presence of her trusted associates rather than beholden to important guests or the court in its entirety.

“Perhaps too well, there was an opportunity for them to force us to back down on some of our requests, to demand concessions or perhaps even to force a degree of vaselation. That there was no attempt at any maneuvering to benefit themselves concerns me. What underhanded plans might they have that we are unaware of I wonder? ” Lord Solgarand respond, his hand running through is finely groomed mustache. The old man was well versed in the art of diplomacy and court intrigue, he believed, somewhat paranoidly, that there must be more to the empire’s plans than me the eye.

“They clearly know that we are indispensable, and that no empire, be it Emerald or Vitium, can take these mountains” Sir Glenway interjected boastfully

“The threat is still there, either to use force against us or leave us out of their conquest.”

“Their war will be won or lost depending on how well they adapted to fighting foes not made of flesh and blood. No amount of strength on our part will save them if they are not prepared, and if they are, then their numbers will surely carry the day. All we can do is make a victory easier. This alliance is, unfortunately, not a deciding factor in the war. If it where we would have considerably more bargaining power.” The guard captain, well versed in the Kingdom’s actual military capacity, explained calmly.

“In joining the fighting we will save lives, both those of their soldiers and those of our kinsman forced to serve under the Forest’s banners. When they see us join the fight my people will turn on their masters, and be spared from the war machines of Andromache”

“Yet those same people are going to be put into the chains, as are the citizens of the lands they will conquer. This is no liberation, not as you desire it, it is but a new form of oppression, a new slavery.” Hajnal finally spoke, bringing to the forefront the issue the court in its entirety had been skirting around. That not only were their countrymen to be conquered by slavers, but they were assisting in that conquest. There was a sullen silence loomed large over the group until at last Faizya, who was really only here because the queen like her rather than because of any hierarchical importance, could stand it no longer and burst out with.

“We had to do something. There’s no way we could have stopped it, so we have to go out there, kick some wooden ass and try and make the best of it!”

“Your... Your right. We have no choice. It was either sit here and let it happen or take advantage of the situation. With the resources we plunder, most notably Magic Wood, we can strengthen the treasury. With Vitium acting as a buffer we have breathing room to build up our own forces unmolested using our newly acquired wealth, and with Andromache’s support we might subsequently have a chance at taking back the north. I don’t like what will happen to those in the lands they will conquer. None of us do. But this is a chase we have to take. For the sake of the many, the few will have to suffer. But we will not ignore their sacrifice, they will not be forgotten as we strive to move forwards.”

This last part struck a chord with the Harpy, for their religion put a lot of emphasis on remembrance of the dead. The center’s of harpy villages contained great stone monuments upon which all that came before them where commemorated, be it by name, eulogy or depiction.

“I apologies for my comment your highness. I did not wish to infer that you had forgotten them.”

“You are forgiven. You were right to bring it up, we can't go on without considering the fate of those in the Glacial Marshes”

“With luck, the Vitium ownership of that land may not be permanent. The empress is old, and she has no heir. Whether her empire can withstand her passing remains to bee seen.”

“They might even sell it back to us, I don't much like the odds of getting a navy running when the Emerald Empire controls the way out of the Sea of Lights. Nor do I like their supply route to Dreich port, far to exposed in my opinion, running right past two fortified enemy positions.”

“Exactly why I suggested taking them!”

“Though perhaps their engineers have plans of how to make the roads safer or the rout shorter. At any rate, if I were them I would like any southern ports far more than the one they intend to take up here. They might well abandon it, if the costs are to high and the benefits to low.”

“Perhaps. But I think we are straying into long term planning here, something I suggest we leave till the morning?”

There was a general course of agreement, what little light breached the cloud layer of the mountains had long since dimmed. Night had set in and the candles were burning low, it was time for them all to retire.

“Then I bid you all goodnight.”

The group rapidly broke up after that, the members of the Queens inner circle each going their separate ways. The Queen then retired to her quarters, thankful to finally be able to finally be free of her uncomfortable formal dress.

-

Volksingen Proper, Vlaanburg Electorates

Olov Klauser tapped a taloned finger to his temple as he read over the parchment. A scrawny messenger stood in the doorframe, kneading his hat in his hands. The Elector’s furnishings were antiquated, out of fashion compared to those that sat in the halls of men - normal men. But they were still grand displays of wealth and appeared older than the messenger cared to guess. His eyes lingered on a large wooden basin towards the back of the room, finely detailed and finished in a rich brown. The inside, or what the boy could see of it, was quilted with velvet. A rectangular slab of stone lay ajar to the basin. He didn’t have to guess to know what Olov used it for.

“I don’t like the sound of this, not at all.” Olov stood up from his desk, setting the note down. “Unrest will reflect poorly on Volksingen, if this is allowed to pass.”

The messenger nodded uncertaintly at this.

“Oh. You’re dismissed. My chamberlain will see you rested and fed. Have no fear, I’ll dispatch an agent of mine to Brent to deal with the matter.”

The boy looked up, puzzled. “Just one man, sir?”

Olov returned to his seat, flashing the lad a toothy smile. “He’s not just any man.”

~~~~

Town of Brent, Volksingen Canton, Vlaanburg Electorates

Some time later…

Night’s veil was lifting, chased away by the sliver of sun that now rose just over the treetops. Dietrich could see them more clearly now - the army arrayed outside of Brent’s wall. They carried no cantonal banner, nor did they wear unifying colors. Yet they were outfitted in gleaming, new armor and carried polearms; a little too well-armed for the average conscript. They had brought ladders with them.

“Spyglass,” Dietrich said, holding out a hand to an adjunct. They were atop the wall, Dietrich hastily armored in gambeson and mail. The buttons on his neck and sleeves were still undone and his helmet sat unfastened on his head. Once it was in his hand, he brought the spyglass to his eye, picking out the ringleader. He didn’t look familiar. By what means did he assemble and arm this crew? And what did they want of Brent?

Most of those assembled did not look like fighting men. Weapons sagged in their hands, and they carried themselves with weak postures. A few of them were more hardened. These few echoed the cries of a sandy-haired fellow at the head of the formation. The closer they got to Brent, the clearer Dietrich could make out the words: “Down with the Archon! Down with the bloodsuckers!”. Rebels - that was clear now.

“Crossbows at the ready!” Dietrich commanded. His men complied, knocking back strings and loading bolts. He wasn’t going to take chances, even if these men had just a fraction of their leader’s conviction. The rebels continued until they were meters away from the wall. They stopped, save for their leader, who stalked forward several paces, eyes to the ramparts.

“You there! Open the gate and join us, or we’ll be forced to sack the town!”

“This a rebellion?” Dietrich shouted back. “You’ll be drawn and quartered once the Elector hears of this. It’s treason!” A few of the rebels shifted uncomfortably on their feet at this.

“Piss on the Elector! The bloodsuckers have been in charge too long. It’s time for men to run things around here!”

“Idiot! Thanks to the Electors, you’re not a subject of Lynnfaire! I’d sooner follow the Archon than a common welp! What do you say to that?”

The rebel ringleader fumed, stepping back into formation. “I say we’ve got nothing left to talk about. Men - attack!”

The front ranks of the rebels surged forward, swinging their ladders to the ramparts. Dietrich bellowed and his men loosed their first volley. Bolts peppered the rebels, dancing off breastplates and helmets. A handful of men went down - not enough to slow their advance.

“The ladders!” Dietrich scrambled to the rampart’s edge. Using the edge of his halberd, he pushed the nearest ladder - and the rebel climbing it - from the wall. Yet more swung to the edge all along the wall’s length. Below, the rebels’ leader was shouting for more bodies on the wall.

Dietrich cursed, grabbing a discarded crossbow from the ground. He wound back the string as quickly as he could, slapping a bolt into the nut and taking aim. He found his mark, lining up a shot at the rebel. His finger tensed below the trigger, anticipating the perfect moment. It came.

A dark shape flashed overhead. With a whoosh and a bloodcurling scream that sent shivers down Dietrich’s spine, the rebel leader all but vanished. In his place, Dietrich’s quarrel had struck the ground.

Perplexed, Dietrich turned to the sky, and there he saw an enormous winged shape flying away - with a sandy-haired man kicking and screaming in its grip.

Despite marching Serene One knows how many men hard across the hills of Drouschester and the valley of Rylea, Duke William sat with his fingers steepled, his calm steely eyes showing no sign of strain or stress as they dug into General Henry, who sat across him.

“You sit confident for a traitor,” General Henry finally said, cutting the silence. The two sat alone except for two men dressed in the blue of Drouschester and two men dressed in the yellow of Kamwell, each behind their respective leader. The tent they sat in was striped blue and white, and fanciful torches lit the canvas room. A rug was laid out beneath their feet, but it lumped over clutches of thick grass underneath. The table between the two was plain and acted only as a three foot barrier between the two men.

The General himself was old and grey, sporting a mustache so thick and grey that when paired with his old and weathered face, he almost looked like a walrus. He still wore the badge of King Edward on his breastplate, showing his undying loyalty to the late king, and ultimately his daughter Abigail. There was silence again between the two, or would be, if not for the thundering cacophony of horses, metal and men outside the tent. William’s camp was buzzing with action, and ever since stepping near it, Henry had not found a moment without being reminded of the impressive amount of horses William had procured for his army. In fact on his way in most of what Henry saw were countless knights tending to their horses, most wearing banners he hadn’t ever even seen before.

“Traitor is a strong word for a man just claiming what is already his,” William retorted.

“Not by law, William,” Henry leaned forward, “how much longer do you plan on going forward with your foolish crusade?”

“I imagine it will end soon enough, particularly here,” William leaned forward to match Henry, “with your surrender.”

“As marshal of the Queen’s army, you know very well I am reluctant to even think of such a word, let alone ponder it when I outnumber the enemy. If I may remind you, it is I who caught you on this field, not the other way around.”

William sat upright, “you know I have more horses, more knights, more nobles. You can outnumber me with peasants and conscripts all you want, Good General, but you cannot stand against the charge of true Lynnfairish cavalry.”

“I don’t think you put enough stock in the hard working men of Kamwell,” Henry’s chair creaked as he leaned back, “your cavalry will be met with Kamwells own, as well as a palisade of hard trained soldiers and their pikes. You cannot win this battle, nor can you win this war.”

William stood up slowly, “General Henry, I am going to be frank with you: surrender now, or face bloodshed.”

General Henry stood up, his own stature a few inches taller and much broader than the Duke, “Never.”

“Then I will see you come dawn,” William turned to the side, as if dismissing the general. Henry scoffed and grabbed the hilt of his sword, making sure the blade rattled against the scabbard as he stormed from the tent, his escort following.

As the General exited the tent, the evening sun greeted him with rays of deep orange, pink growing on the horizon of the grasslands. The Dukes position was on a hill, which was cause to worry, but thankfully it was a lone hill, with vast plains stretching around it. The General figured he could just move his forces back more, to let the land level out. It won’t stop a cavalry charge, but it’ll take away the hillside advantage.

A man with a gold gilded breastplate quickly walked to the Generals side as he exited the palisade of the camp, an entourage of Kamwell soldiers following behind.

“ Duke Richard of Jannerton,” Henry nodded at the man as he was ripped from his thoughts.

“Well?” Richard asked, and the General sighed.

“Blockheaded as ever, I fear he is going to throw all he has into this battle,” Henry conceded.

“I noticed the horses,” Richard agreed, “I’ve never seen so many, I didn’t even know there were this many knights in Drouschester let alone horses.”

“I regret the same ignorances,” Henry sighed, “ we are going to have to move our pikemen to the fore and set up farther away from the hill, let the incline taper out. Set what cavalry and archers we have on the flanks to route him should he try to go around or pinch his charge if he goes for a head on clash.”

“Do you think he would?”

“Sadly, he seems bent on making this the final battle, as unrealistic as that is.”

Richard scoffed, “I don’t think he understands who he is truly up against, we have all the Queens best here, save her personal strategist.”

“True,” Henry shifted uneasily, “though I think he is rather fond of that. Has Edith sent word?”

Richard nodded, “she successfully encamped around Troulston to the south, blocking Count Edgard from progressing any further on his chevauchee and preventing him from meeting up with William from our flanks. That also gives us a clear exit in case we need to retreat, but do you think we would really need to?”

“Not really, no,” Henry gave some confidence, “William is outnumbered and out matched here, his only real option is to leave or to use brute power, which admittedly he has plenty of.”

Richard scratched his bare chin, “if it is any consolation,” the young duke smiled, “we had the poleturners fit our troops with longer shafts, as requested, his horses would have to brave an impenetrable forest of spears.”

Henry seemed lightened by the news, “well let’s see the men ready for morning, I doubt we have much time.”

“They will be ready, don’t you worry about that.”



The sun cracked over the vast expanse of the grasslands. It’s golden light glittered across the open east, vision disappearing on the flat horizon, while in the west, the light fell on distant hills. Down far from the the slopes of the hilly encampment the Henry’s forces mustered into a wide and dense block of pikemen, flanked by horses set back a few yards and with archers set more to the back of the pike formation.

For all the bragging of William, Henry couldn’t help but notice the many banners of the nobles sworn to the queen flying. There was no doubt in Henry’s mind, the two vying for the throne were equally supported, and neither had majority anymore.

The general sat upon his horse at the right flank, at the very fore of the formation, with Richard beside him on his left. Throughout the front lines of the pikemen he could spot his peers, the many men who aided the Queen in her very first military endeavors and the many people who made her campaign viable against the brute tactics of William. This is what it all had boiled down to. He gripped his reins tightly, and despite his vast experience, anxiety ticked his stomach, he didn’t like that such a heavy price was to be weighed on one encounter that may not last more than an hour or two.

His gut tightened as his troops silenced, and looking over at the slop he saw the banners of William and Drouschester slowly rise into view. The helmets of William’s knights reflected the early sun to their east, both armies had intentionally positioned themselves to be clear from its glare. In a few moments the army of the Duke stood over the hill.

The General raised his hand to give the order. The pikeman grunted in unison and their spears lowered at the perfect angles to impale any charging horse coming down the slope. The pikeman were perfectly placed with a good amount of flat land between them and the foot of the hill, yet not too much, giving the charging horses very little time to recover speed after hitting the flats.

Slowly the rest of the Dukes army spilled into view, confidence rose in the General’s stomach, physically seeing it small than his own granting some relief. Then all at once the horses that consisted the front lines of the Dukes army charged. Archers behind the pikemen readied their arrows, waiting for them to enter range.

The enemies hooves shook the grounds as they thundered down the hill, but something was wrong, they had a quarter as many horses as expected, and not nearly as many knights as estimated. The generals archers began firing but most of their arrows fell short due to the steep hill and scattered grouping of the enemy. All at once the enemy cavalry split down the middle, each half heading towards each flank of the generals army.

A knot twisted in the generals stomach and he kicked his horse, signalling the flanks to meet the enemy with a charge of their own once they entered the flats. The dukes knights kept rounding the hill instead of hitting the flats, the charge now turned almost into a retreat as the general cavalry stampeded towards the hill to engage, then all at once the screams began.

Green suited men appeared on the hill of the Duke, and with them a black cloud of arrows. Like a violent thunderstorm, arrows rained upon the generals forces from seemingly nowhere, and hooves pounded out of sight, leaving the pike formation open, and the generals cavalry in danger.

An arrow whistled by the general and he heard Richard grunt and then a thud, the smell of iron and blood floated through the air, then suddenly the Dukes cavalry returned. The arrows focused on the now panicking pikemen as the Dukes knights came slamming into the confused general’s cavalry. Men went flying off their horses, lances snapped and armor groaned as it was peeled off screaming soldiers. It was a bloodbath.

Battlecries could be heard from atop the hill and the ground shook as unmounted soldiers and warriors from the Drouschester hills stampeded downwards to the pincushioned pikemen and stalled cavalry below. A flurry of arrows found the generals horses as he was dodging an enemy mace. His horse whinnied as it toppled over, the general only just managing to swing on of his legs off the horse before it was crushed under the weight.

He rolled to his feet and ripped a bloodied sword from the damp ground. All around him bodies were being tossed from saddles, mists of crimson were spraying from the fights and the terrible screams of the rest of the army could be heard outside the forest of horses and death he now found himself in. Nobles lay on the ground, littered with arrows, the fletchings that of the hillmen of Drouschester, but the bodies that of Kamwell.

A horse flew by the general and with a quick duck, the lance missed him. He struck out with his sword as the horse turned, hamstringing the beast and sending the rider to the ground.

The rider quickly rolled to his feet and threw away his dented helmet. Henry narrowed his eyes at the face of William.

“You!” Henry fumed and rushed forward with a heavy arching blow. Williams longsword screamed out of its scabbard as he sidestepped and returned with a blow of his own.

“You are the fool who believed pack horses to be stallions, and archers to be knights,” William replied almost emotionlessly as their blades sparked and clanged. The two danced around each other, the battle ringing their personal arena, the cheers of an audienced replaced with the screams of the dying.

Henry roared at the duke as he butted his shoulder into the man, their armor slamming against each other with a loud bang. The Duke went flying backwards but caught his footing.

“Surrender Henry,” William goaded, his breath hoarse, “grant me your glove so I may present my victory to the princess herself.”

Henry roared again and struck out with his sword, William quickly glanced it downward with his longsword. Henry spun and brought his sword horizontally to the Duke, who ducked. He rose with his pommel, the metal bucking the under of the generals chin, slamming his face upwards with a painful crack.

The Dukes sword flashed as it arched backwards and back down, a loud shriek sounding as the blade bit through Henry’s metal bracer and back out again. Blood spurted from Henry’s forearm as his gauntlet and blade clanged to the ground, his severed hand still gripping the sword. The Duke kicked the general backwards. The man fell to the ground clutching his spewing arm. William quickly scooped up the severed hand, and simply smiled at Henry.

“This’ll do.”

After the defeat of Henry, one by one, nobles who hadn’t been demolished by arrows were forced to surrender or killed in the heat of battle. The general’s cavalry and archers were destroyed and slowly the center mass of panicked pikemen, those still alive, broke into a retreat. Some of the hillmen chased after the pikemen, but reluctantly gave up on most of them. William himself stood in front of a sizable pile of gauntlets, prisoners of war standing behind it. Blood spattered all over his armor, but none his own. His eyes were like that of a wolf as he stared at the broken and beaten nobles before him.

He wanted to taunt them, to yell at them, but his breath was shaking with adrenaline, and his fingers twitching from the battle. Quietly Sir Thompson appeared behind the Duke.

“Your letter has been safely delivered.”

William’s face grew into a devilish smile, and he closed his eyes in relief.

“Send these men for ransoms,” he said without turning to face Thompson, “gather the wounded and let the men rest for the day, then we head for Pralean’s keep; Raymond, and Edgard should be there soon.”

“yes, my liege,” Thompson nodded, “so says.”

William opened his eyes and stared at those before him, the sun now hanging brightly in the deep blue sky, “praise.”


@Monkeypants Collaboration
----

Some time before this,

"Lucette! Where are you!" A gruff voice commanded.

No.. wait.

"Lucette!! I.." That gruff voice faded. Attention seemed to be on a bright light now, it swayed ever so gently.

"Ma'am." a voice sounded

"I come from the land of dragons and eagles!" Lucette said, her eyes now wide open. Her head though, seemed to be resting on a counter of some sort. The world was spinning in her eyes as the sound of laughter filled her head.

"Ma'am.".. -Again with this guy.-

"What!" she shouted, startling the patrons next to her.

"You're making a scene. I think it would be best for you to stop with the drinks. You're a good paying customer Lucy, but you're gonna get me in trouble." the man said.

As she brought her gaze to the man, she saw his.. ill defined features. A slumping posture, double chin.. one eye was clearly lower than the other and there was even an ear missing. "This guy." she muttered before pulling herself upright in her chair. "That last brew.. what was it."

The man smiled, "Something you're never getting again."

"Prude." she said, forming a smile.

The man turned away. "So.. Lucy, Where you from?"

"North." was her hasty reply.

"So... North eh? East downs? Center tree?" He continued, clearly making up locations.

"Sure, all of those. But no. I am from up north." She said. closing her eyes hard as if to shake the ale.

The man turned back to her with a cup of clear liquid. "Here."

"Poison?" she said, while already sipping.

"Heh, guess you'll find out soon enough." He replied before leaving her sight.

Some of the best water she had tasted.

Time seemed to pick back up as Lucette sat alone, finally picking up on conversations as her mind gradually regained control. She shifted to her right before bracing her elbows against the bar. Her motions were steady as she stretched her back to push herself upright. As Lucette swung her head slowly around to get a view on her surroundings, she noticed two men staring at her. "Who are those fucks."

She wouldn't get an immediate answer as they quickly got up and left upon seeing her staring back. It was quite possible that she was staring at them the whole time, "oh well." she said softly. Beside her, a large male leaned in. She could smell his obscene odor from a mile away, and here it drew ever closer. It was slightly ripened onions.. It had, a bite to it. That smell was angry and it had her nearly in tears. Her mind immediately went clear as she shot out of her chair before any of his putrid sweat made its way onto her.

As her feet hit the ground, some men starting wooing her. She was perplexed as to why but then the realization came that the only thing leaving her figure to the imagination was a few pieces of cloth that draped over her most sensitive areas. Her arms and legs quickly snapped into the defensive as she backed towards the wall closest to the door. She didn't panic, but the thought of what men could do in a situation like this did in fact frighten her.

"Here." was the words from an angelic voice, the man who had her clothing stood sneering before her. He was completely bare, as was three other passed out men at their table. "Let no one here say that Lucy cannot drink anyone under the table." He tossed Lucette her clothing and pointed to a room across from her.

-What in her name happened last night- Lucette thought as she put her clothing back on. Gently pulling laces and adjusting her bust as she placed her hard leather chest piece on. Her long legs slipped smoothly into the leather breeches and before long, she found herself fully clothed, a drastic departure from the slim figure was this new, seemingly bulkier form. She stood for a few moments, staring at the wall. Then it came to her.

--About an hour earlier,

"After Trekking through that nasty bog, I found myself in this land. Took a while to settle in as money wasn't really a thing where I'm from." Lucette said to four well dressed men. "So I'm asking that if you have any currency to spare."

The lead man cut her off, the same that held her clothes later on. "So you want to earn some coin eh?" He said with a sadistic grin. He held out his hand, gesturing to the table. "We were going to reminisce over old times but who could turn down the company of an.." He eyed her up and down. "quite, remarkable woman."

She blushed and sat down, "So what can I do to earn some coin around here." she said with an innocent tone.

The man smiled, "See if you can out drink us."

"That's it?" She said. "Seems kind of... bland."

"Fine, lets up the stakes. Clothing will be removed for the person who drinks the slowest each round." He said, cracking his knuckles.

Lucette sighed then nodded, "I've never really drank much before." She said, being as innocent as could be.

Seven drinks later..

"You are so full of it Lucy! Full of it!" One man said, removing his last article of clothing.

"That's it? That's all you have to offer a lady?!" She said, pointing at what she seen as an inferior member. The man furrowed his brow and quickly sat down.

A few more...

"You completely lied about never drinking.." The lead man said, losing his last piece of clothing. She turned to him,

"See? See there? That's more like it." Lucette said, no longer feigning innocence. Her speech had become quite slurred by now, as her reserves of clothes were draining rapidly.

---

She shook her head as the memory faded. Her hand firmly grasped the rooms door handle. The sound of stretching leather seemed to echo in the room as her senses finally came to. With a heavy sigh, and a gentle push, she made her way back into the taverns main room. People were carrying on, joking about the day, discussing crops, politics.. but one thing kept coming up, The Queen.

Lucette laid down an overly generous sum to the barkeep, who knowing her lack of experience with money, still took the coin without question. She walked past the four men, waving her fingers while flaunting a no longer nearly naked figure. With their dreams dashed, three of the men continued to rest their foreheads on the table, while the lead man let a grin before looking away.

As Lucette made her way around tables and men, a commotion caught her attention. Many townsfolk were staring out of the door and windows to a sea of soldiers outside. Lucette moved closer, pushing past the many bodies to get a better view through the opened wide front door..

“I forgot about these guys.” She said plainly before taking her first steps into the open air.

“How,” someone grumbled, “been ‘ere all yesterday.”

Lucette stopped, turning towards the voice, “Liquor does amazing thing to one's mind.” she said with a smile.

“As if the refugees weren’t enough,” someone else mumbled.

“Better having them here then elsewhere,” someone argued, “I hear the latest chevauchee campaign would have been hitting us before the months end.”

“Balls.”

“Chevauchee campaign eh. What would they stand to gain here?” Lucette said with a piqued brow.

“They don’t gain anything, we lose everything,” someone pointed out, “they hit the fields and the hamlets, we all starve, makes sense, eh?”

“Princess Abigail pushed them out once,” someone else commented.

“Yeah well, let’s see if she can keep ‘em out.”

“And push the front far from us,” the very first voice added, inciting a lot of agreeing grunts and small cheers.

Lucette nodded in agreement as well before turning from the crowd and escaping the tavern all together and merging into the crowd of soldiers. She saw many sights as she walked through the swath of men at arms. Some stood with a stalwart demeanor, most likely the professional ones, or maybe long term veterans.. Then she saw the ones who had probably never held a weapon in their life. “Sad” she thought, as those were usually the ones with the highest turnover rate. Ahead though, she saw a man pointing at a few others, with those others promptly going in the direction the man was pointing.

“Hey.” Lucette said as she approached the soldier.”If you do not mind me asking? What is going on here. Why all the soldiers massed in -this- town of all places.”

The knight turned to Lucette, “Don’t know if you noticed,” he said, enunciating his own accent, “but there is a war going on.”

The knight suddenly jerked away and started barking orders at some men in yellow tabards pulling a wagon. His eyes glanced back at Lucette, who was still standing there, “what do you want?”

Lucette rolled her eyes at the knight’s first comment, but quickly gathered composure, and a more stern posture. “I am curious as to how one joins your cause.”

The knight looked her up and down, “where you from?”

“The town of Gremham, up north.” Lucette simply replied.

“Name?” The Knight turned his attention fully towards her, a look of amusement on his face.

“Lucette Fournier.” She replied. Not showing any emotion in kind.

“Lucette Fournier of Gremham,” The Knight rolled the name in his mouth, “of the north,” he quickly added sarcastically, “welcome to the army, go get those posts,” he pointed over to a pile of wood, “get them to the eastside, now.”

Lucette smirked, reminiscing over how she used to give orders to soldiers akin to these. “Yes sir.” She replied, before heading off to do this, as she would say, plebian work It didn’t take her long to collect the wood and head off to the eastside.

The eastside faced the great expanse of the grasslands. The horizon stretched far and disappeared beyond view, unobstructed by tree or hill. The glowing morning sun laid it’s golden hand across the emerald sea of grass, granting the appearance of paradise to the scene. Mills dotted the distance, and a few hamlets could be seen among farmland, but the town itself sat squat on a hill. It’s low yet thick stone walls ringed near the crest, granting it a formidable height, and down below at the foot of the hill yellow tabard soldiers and men of different banners could be seen pounding in a new palisade and digging a ditch. A babbling brook cut across to the southeast, and other soldiers were seen collecting the water, but they even at this distance they seemed more tense than the ones by the safety of the palisade.
“Those logs ours?” a man working in his mail asked Lucette suddenly, a dirt smudge lined half of his forehead.

Lucette paused, examining the fortifications. She wasn’t as impressed as others would be, certain walls didn’t feel as safe as they could be but it wasn’t her command. She sighed and turned to the man. “Yes, fresh from the pile over there.” she said with a hint of sarcasm, but as she set the logs down to her side, well within reach of the man. She knelt down to examine the logs. “Yes, these will do.”

“Of course they will,” The man smirked as he picked them up and started to head down the hill. In the distance a sudden stampede of knights charged from behind one of the mills, seemingly targeted at nothing in particular, in the distance. A few of the men looked up, but quickly went back to work.

A gauntlet suddenly tapped Lucette’s shoulder from behind.

“Yes?” She said, while still staring into the distance at the stampeding soldiers.

A mallet thudded by her feet and the voice of the knight from earlier sounded behind her, “nap time already?”

“No. I’m just admiring this sight.” Lucette replied as she snapped into attention. “Permission to ask a question?” she asked respectfully.

“Granted,” the knight replied.

“I posed this question earlier, What is the true strategic importance of this town” She motioned towards many of the structures. “Many wouldn’t withstand a single strike from a boulder from a catapult. If the enemy were to employ fire, this whole town could be turned to ash in less than an hour.” She shook her head. “You’re quite committed to this location.”

The knight smiled, “be honest with me Lucette of the North, you are not Lynnfairish, are you?”

Lucette wrestled with the question, knowing her true birthright wasn’t as revered in these lands as they could be. After a few seconds of keeping the Knight in suspense, she let out a long sigh, enough to reaffirm his suspicion alone. “I am not.” she said, shifting her eyes from his, almost as if she was already surrendering to his inevitable judgement. “I am from Utrye.”

“I could tell, well, at least that you were not from here,” The knight looked out over the expanse before the two, “you do not see what the Lynnfairish would. These walls are stout rather than tall, because the hill below provides height, while the thickness provides protection against sieges. The back is ribbed with buttresses, and engineered to take stronger impacts than you could imagine, but a siege isn’t what the Lynnfairish worry about. Sieges are too costly, especially on bigger towns or cities, famed for their Lynnfairish architecture. Troulston sits between farmland and the city of Qirdle, meaning you have to take this town to advance smaller chevauchees to the hamlets around Qirdle. To do that you have to starve out Troulston, a siege would take too long and waste so many resources that are going to be needed on Qirdle, if they even go that route. They are going to try to starve Troulston, and we need a camp, it is pivotal. The Duke Traitor understands the balance between detruction and annexation, between setting fire to resources and repurposing them, we have to think ahead.”

He pointed out the distant knights, “Count Edgard is here, he is scouting our perimeter, and we are chasing him away. He was suited for chevauchees, not a siege, so that he can move quicker than our forces and cause more damage to the fields and food. So far he has evaded us, but our fortifications here keep the prime hamlets safe.”

Lucette stood surprised for a few moments, reflecting on how different the two cultures perceive warfare. In her own nation, Burning a town like this to the ground would do far more to their enemy’s resolve than merely starving them out. However, She could see the knights point of view. This change in tactics however, would be difficult to adapt to.

“What is your plan to catch their army? If he is evading for forces so far, what are you willing to lose to lure him into a trap?” She thought, clearly thinking as an Utryean commander. She paused, before letting him speak, “Our military differs so greatly. My apologies to you. I will tell you that even with my prior experience, I am still very capable of following orders, even if their… Intended outcome.” She let out a laugh, “Confuses me.”

“That’s not for me to say,” the knight answered, “but he is young, and as bullheaded as his father. He can’t attack us, but we also can’t have him linger until his father arrives.”

He turned to Lucette, “then you’d see a proper Lynnfairish bloodbath, if we don’t cede the town entirely in favor of the Keeps of Qirdle. Again, not for me to say. For now we hold them off.”

Lucette could see the truth of his words, “I understand. Well, knowing the true purpose of the fortifications, I can see them being quite sufficient for those hopeful circumstances. In any case, I am here to help. And.. seeing as you know me by a first name basis, I’d like to know yours in kind. And is it custom to speak to you in that same regard?”

The knight looked down at the mallet, “I’m sir Acel, call me what you will but grab that and follow me, I have a new task in mind.”

“Alright.” Lucette said as she grasped the mallet and pulled it up to her side. “After you.”

The two began their walk back into town, horses and troops alike rushing past the two of them. The town itself was well made, with sturdy wooden framed buildings on a well packed dirt road. It was by no means a large town, but it was the central hub of the local farmlands and hamlets. It sported a spacious marketplace, that was eerily empty, and to the north stood a large cobblestone manor, that had doubled as a makeshift keep in the past. It by no means would stand against a full on assault, but that was hardly its purpose anymore. Villagers seemed scarce themselves, and the usual crowd around the manor was long gone. Most families who could afford it had escaped to Qirdle long before the army moved in, leaving only the most grass root locals and hamlet dwellers in the town.

Knights dressed in heavy plate and lightly colored tabards nodded at the pair as they approached, the Knight with Lucette simply nodding back as he pulled the manor door open.

“After you,” he motioned to Lucette.

Lucette could only cringe at the nearly deafening silent surroundings, a prelude to what could be a vicious battleground. Ahead of her though was the opened doors of this manor. It was ornate, but not overdone to her eyes. As the breeze from the outside air surrendered to the static air of the manor, she nodded and spoke, “Thank you.” to the soldiers and continued inwards. “This place seems to offer a good vantage of the area.” She noted.

The knight nodded and lead Lucette inside. The floor was a fine hardwood, and the walls held the cozy red banners of the Jannerton Duchy as well as the soft green of Qirdle county. Important looking people, well dressed and well armoured, stood scattered about observing many maps and talking amongst themselves. In the back of the well lit foyar a raven-haired woman stood talking to a man wearing a brilliantly colored tabard, contrasting the woman’s plain black clothes.

The knight approached the two, “Madam Ottinger,” the knight nodded at the woman, his head only tilting a tiny bow.

Edith Ottinger turned to the knight, “Sir Acel, what is it?” Her voice was neither harsh nor commanding, but it did hold authority, deceptive and calm.

“This woman wants to join the army,” Sir Acel sounded as passive and ill entertained as he did when Lucette first talked to him.

“So?” Edith looked over at Lucette.

“She is Utyrean,” Acel added.

“Again, what is the purpose of this?”

Acel looked over at Lucette, what friendliness that had maybe been there during his passionate speech about walls and tactics all but gone in his eyes, “She is a military commander.”

Edith looked Lucette up and down, noticing the mallet, “what say you?”

“I am humbled to meet you.” Lucette said, unaware of whom the two ahead were. “I have requested to join your army, as your cause affects me just as much as any other in this nation.” She looked to Edith, hoping that what she said was convincing enough to not be thrown out of their sight.

“What’s this about being a commander?” The noble standing next to Edith questioned, “and Utyrean, are you Serene?” The last few statements seemed to have caught Edith’s attention.

“Yes, I have extensive experience in the field of command.” Lucette replied. Her exterior showed no change but inside she was fearful of that last question. She took a deep breath, “I claim no faith anymore. I hope to someday be clear as to what to what is truly real though.”

“Why are you here,” Edith questioned.

“In Lynnfaire?” Lucette asked.

A man in a yellow tabard walked up to Acel and Edith nodded at Lucette, “Lynnfaire, Troulston, what brings you here?”

Acel cut in, “Madam Ottinger, the trap may have worked, Edgard is showing himself.”

Edith’s eyes widened and she pushed past Lucette, the noble quickly following. Acer grabbed Lucette’s arm, “come on,” he nodded at the mallet, “and hold on to that.”

The walk was brisk, and pretty much a run, with more and more soldiers and knights adding to the group around as they got closer to the stables. Most were already mounted and heading out by time Acel and Lucette found themselves by a white stallion and a gruff stable hand.

“Hand, grab a horse for this woman!” Acer ordered as he quickly mounted the white stallion.

“Who is she?” The hand looked confused.

“She is my squire!” Acel demanded.

“She’s your age!”

“She’s a slow learner, now grab a horse!” Acel yelled.

The man scurried off to bring back a thin brown horse, already prepared to be ridden. Acel sighed and looked over his shoulder, “we better hurry.”



“ Sir! What about your father’s orders!” Was the last thing Edgard heard before a turrent of wind disrupted his hearing, his charger pounding forward underneath him. The ground around him vibrated was angrily kicked up by the lightly packed destriers and his small yet dangerous band of knights that swarmed behind him. Before him yellow tabard soldiers scurried away from his charge.

The had been working on a canal that branched off from the river that snaked by Troulston, but they were left moderately defenseless against a quick and rapid attack, and Edgard was going to see it completed, against his father’s true orders.

For all the brilliance of the Raven Lord, she was rather stupid to put all her knights on the east side to ward off his scouts, or rather, believe him to be to the east with his scouts. Edgard grinned under his thick helmet’s visor and hefted his lanced under his arm, lowering it as the charge closed in. Yellow dressed bodies dove away from him and his knights, but even still he felt the telltale tug of his lance biting into flesh, confirmed by a choking scream.

Shouts erupted as the rest of his band of knights rammed into the workers, slicing ribbons of blood into the air and toppling wooden works. The group didn’t slow down and after the impact, kept galloping past the workers to turn and return on another pass.

The air whistled as the group turned in uniform at full gallop. As they turned to face the workers once more, the Count’s eyes widened at what he saw. Galloping headfirst at him and his knights was a stampede of Edith’s own knights, with none other than Edith at the fore. Before he could wonder where they even came from, the enemy slammed into hs ranks. Knights were vaulted off their horses on both sides, lances punching through breastplates and helmets alike.

Edgard went to reign his horse to avoid a wildly swinging blade when all of a sudden, the thick flat of a mallet cracked against the side of his helmet, and all went white.



Snow howled through the crisp mountain air. Edgard’s entire body was numb as his vision blurred back into existence. A dusting of snow swirled and covered his chest as he found himself leaning against a bare beech tree, his clothes soaked through and his breath ragged. A distant gong sounded at strange intervals, and a melodic horn blew at a low baritone.

His eyes slowly fixed on a group of black robed figures before him, each adorned with a thick crimson sash around the waist. They stood in a block formation, facing away from Edgard and at some monastery. Slowly the performed fighting stances in unison, seemingly unaware of the crumpled count by the tree.

Edgard went to speak but his voice was gone. He tried to move but his muscles refused. He let his head tilt to gravity, his cheek resting against the tree as he closed his eyes with a sigh. Slowly warmth began to spread to his fingers and toes, and the tingle of life entered his legs. He shifted uneasy and opened his eyes. Before him a great bull man stood, with what could have been a smirk on its face. A mighty flaming axe was in its hand, and its bovine eyes scanned Edgard with obvious judgement.

“Not yet, Hinan.” a grumble rolled from the beast as it rose a mighty hoof from the snow. With a sudden kick the beast brought it down into his face, and Edgard’s eyes shot open. His head was in splitting pain, but his body was warm. He was tucked into a bed, his right arm set in a splint, and bloodied rags by his head. His chest expanded and fell with anxiety as he soaked in his sudden surroundings.

“Good, you’re awake,” a voice called from his left, and he painfully turned to look. His eyes caught the stern, yet attractive face of a woman looking back at him. Edgard let his head fall back into the thin pillow underneath him and closed his eyes.

“Praise.”



“And on the final day, the sun shall freeze over,” The words of Deacon Gerald bounced off the wooden walls of his church, silent onlookers staring with a mix of awe, boredom, and familiarity to his sermon.

“And on that day all too shall freeze. The moon will rise that night and burst into blue flame, heating the world up once more. The orderly and the righteous shall thaw, a great mist forming from their bodies, and all will live in paradise once more with the Serene One, with chaos safely frozen and imprisoned forever.”

The Deacon calmy scanned the tiny parish, “so says.”

“Praise,” everyone chanted at once.

Suddenly the door to the church swung open and two dirty looking men came pounding in, each holding the shoulder of a third, unconscious man that they dragged. Blood trickled from the man’s forehead and the Deacon rushed forward.

“Deacon Gerald, you must help Adelee,” one of the gruff men pleaded.

“Of course, of course,” Gerald said without taking his eyes off the injured man. The Parish stared at the spectacle, most already to their feet and unsure about what to do.

“Alfred go clear the altar!” Gerlad ordered as he began to beckon the two men holding the injured man forward. A green tunic wearing man with a messy beard jumped up from the pews and rushed towards the altar, summoning a cringe from the crowd as he pulled on the white cloth that covered the tall rectangular altar, causing all the metal wares and silver candles to scatter to the floor.

Gerald didn’t seem to notice or be bothered as he instructed the other men to lay the injured man down.

“You did right to bring him here, Kieran,” Gerald nodded to one of the men, “you too Charles.”

The two men simply nodded, their breath caught in anticipation. Gerald gently hovered his hands above the injured man’s face, and slowly closed his eyes. In a whisper Gerlad began to pray, his lips moving and his words almost silent to all but those next to him. Gradually a tiny rolling cloud of mist began to turn and exhale from his mouth as he prayed. The cloud lingered and grew a few feet above the injured man when all of a sudden the cloud of mist pulsed a bright blue and a crack of energy rippled from the cloud like a jagged string sized lightning bolt and struck the man directly on his head wound. There was another pulse and another bolt and finally a third before the cloud dissipated. Gerald let out a breath, and opened his eyes. Adelee looked up at him, his head clear of any injury.

“Deacon?”

It took a while, but the group managed to explain what happened to the Adelee, all the while trying to keep the excited and cheering crowd calm enough to do so, but eventually since it was only thirdsday, everyone scattered to get back to work, after all it was almost harvesting season.

The Deacon strolled out the church, with only his good friend Alfred and Adelee beside him as he walked.

“Damn if that’s the last time I thatch,” Adelee swore. Gerald looked up at the azure sky, noticing only the clouds in the far distance.

“Good day for working outside though,” Alfred seemed to have been looking at the sky too.

“Yeah, up until you slip and fall and knock your head!” Adelee rubbed his forehead, “my head is swimming.”

“Well you were unconscious,” Gerald added.

“Yeah, I know,” Adelee let his hands fall to his sides, “thanks.”

“It’s why I’m here,” Gerald folded his hands into his habit and looked out over the vast fields of the tiny hamlet he called home.

“I thoughts you were here to bore us twice a week?” Alfred nudged the deacon.

“And every chance I get in between,” Gerald shot his friend a glance.

Adelee looked up, “you know what, I’m thinking of drinking this off. You want in?”

Alfred shrugged, “there is a lot of crop to tend, and Marie is always on my ass when I tend to my thirst before my work.”

Adelee shrugged, “go run home to master then, what about you Gerald?”

Gerald smirked, “I suppose I could,” he followed Adelee’s distant stare.

“Clouds moving in.”

“And fast.”

“Oh, luck! Maybe I can get an excuse for the Misses,” Alfred rubbed his hands together.

“You’re daft,” Adelee started walking down the hill, “a little rain never hurt nobody, and it never stopped a good day's work.”

“Wait!” Gerald’s exclamation forced everyone to halt. Gerald quickly pointed in the distance, past the straw thatch roofs of the tiny hamlet and towards a copse that marred the fields, “what’s that?”

Adelee squinted, he saw figures moving in the distance, fast, with light hovering above them.

“Torches?” Alfred answered.

“Chevauchee.” Adelee began running towards the houses, “chevauchee!”

Slowly his words grew into screams, “CHEVAUCHEE!” The figures were approaching fast, the distant sound of hooves thundering.

“Alfred run to the fields, get everyone to the church!” Gerald ordered as he ran after Adelee to help with the hamlet. The sky was turning grey by time he got to the bottom of the hill and he could hear whinnying in the distance as well as the shouts of men, those in the distant fields were on their own.

Adelee was pounding on doors and Gerald ran past him, kicking up the dusty road behind him as he added to Adelee’s shouts, “CHEVAUCHEE, TO THE CHURCH! CHEVAUCHEE, TO THE CHURCH!”

Gerald's stomach sank as riders blackened under the shade of the brewing storm above rode into view. Villagers where scattering before the dark group. Gerald froze in place, flinching whenever he heard the tell tale sound of metal biting flesh. In fear he fell to his knees, rain drops from the sky starting to hide his own tears as he witnessed the stampede cutting through those he had known his entire life. With each scream the chevauchee grew closer. Fire arced in the air, and roofs exploded into flames, the little that the rain did only added to the hissing roar of the growing destruction.

Blood mixed with water as the sky opened up above, and pools of red formed on the gravel. Horses whinnied, soldiers bellowed with war cries, and innocent pleas were cut short. Gerald couldn’t look away, his lips moving in silent prayer. Adelee was screaming at him, but the words were gurgles to his ears, all he could hear was the cacophony of the massacre before him. Suddenly a rider broke from the others, a blood drenched noble wearing a silver tabard of Rylea over a richly adorned suit of plate. The horse was massive, and it’s rider shaking with blood lust as it charged towards the stunned deacon and his friend. The hooves cracked upon the soaked dirt, and the wretched smell of death followed the rider, growing so pungent that it forced Gerald to cover his nose. Adelee was trying to drag him away, but Gerald wouldn’t move.

Then suddenly, as the rider reached Gerald, sword raised high, the sky pulsed. A crack of lightning shot through the sky and into the riders sword. The figure flashed with electricity for a blinding second. The horse screamed and fell over. The body clanked as it landed next to the stunned Gerald and Adelee, the smell of cooked flesh rising from the suit of armor.

Other soldiers stared on in disbelief, the chevauchee at an effective halt.

“THE Duke is dead!” someone roared. With shaking fingers Adelee removed the helmet of the rider, a small hiss of smoke escaped the suit of armor as he revealed the burnt face of Duke Raymond of Rylea.

“The Duke is dead,” Adelee mouthed silently in disbelief. Suddenly the sky pulsed again and all the soldiers fell to the blood soaked ground, rain bouncing off their armor. The bolt hit nothing in particular, but no one dared move. Everyone stayed like this for the next twenty minutes, the sheer shock giving them the patience to wait out the storm. Only when the rain paused did the soldiers collect the body of Raymond, each cautious of the Deacon before the corpse. The villagers taunted the soldiers, and even starting small fights, but before long the soldiers retreated with the body, and all eyes fell on Gerald.

“T-the Serene One,” Gerald gulped, his eyes frozen wide in shock, staring at where the body once was, “Serene One’s blessings upon this hamlet.”



The room was silent. Velvet chairs decorated the large cobblestone room, and braziers assisted by manhole windows let in golden light. Abigail stood in shock, a mess of letters placed on the polished table before her.

“William’s son captured.” Read one, “[i]Raymond of Rylea dead,[i]” read another. As horrible as the details of the latter sounded, it was considered good news, as it eliminated one of the largest opponents she had, and put the reins of his duchy into the hands of his sympathetic daughter, but any good news was greatly outweighed by the bad. Abigail looked down at the largest letter, her gut twisted, knowing what it says. Not only were her troops routed at the Pralean border, but a large portion of her support was found dead, not to mention her own marshal and the Duke of Jannerton. Those that survived likely surrendered to William, and if not for having her forces split between her marshal and protecting the south with Edith, that could have been the entire war. It still could be, her anxiety warned her, churning her stomach once more. She gripped her hair in frustration and fell into a waiting chair, letting her elbows prop her over the letters.

The door creaked open, “a letter from the Archbishop,” a servant’s voice called in.

“What,” Abigail replied, her voice strained.

The servant struggled for a moment and unfolded the letter, “William has called for a diet.”

“When.”

“It is in a few days.”

Abigail looked up from her table, arching her brow and trying her best to hide her anger, “how?”

The servant shrugged, retreating slightly backwards, “the Archbishop received word two days ago.”

Abigail sucked in a large breath and held it, tilting her head as she attempted to hold in her frustration. Slowly she exhaled, “that snake knew exactly what he was doing, fine! Send word, I will attend. Let’s settle this madness.”

“Very good your highness,” The servant bowed out of the room.

As soon as the servant left, the Queen let her forehead fall to the table with a thud.

“Shit.”

The Princes Palace, Otocres, Kingdom of Osetina

Spring rain battered the mosaics of stained glass that served as the throne rooms colossal windows. What little light penetrated the gloom of an overcast day filtering through the glass as a dazzling array of subdued yet vibrant colour that danced with the falling water, casting strange and lurid patterns on the faces of the assembled. For her part, Imogen was nearer to being exhausted rather than dazzled by the splendor. Rising from a deferential bow she spoke, “I am honoured to be granted this audience your Majesty, Serene blessings upon you.”

With a smirk, and he did so love the niceties, King Giles d’Montigue welcomed her, “Head Witch, Imogen, how rare it is for you to visit court these days.”

There was a time she’d have returned the backhanded compliment, but that day had past. Giles was the King now, and when the king had court he was unquestioned. That was fine, she wasn’t here to speak to a friend. With a short nod she continued, “My duties have kept me away your Majesty, they are also why I come today. I requested this audience with urgency so that I may advise caution. I speak of this latest news of peculiar merchants arriving with seemingly enchanted food shipments; an arrival the news of which has doubtless spread quickly. Since my order became aware of this we have performed a cursory investigation, and I have become concerned by the nature of the goods now flooding the capitals stores. These eastern merchants hail from no land known, even to the Witches, and the magics they purport to have preserved their cargo are also foreign to us. It is the opinion of my order that your Majesty should prohibit the sale of these eastern goods until we can be certain what magic was used to preserve them will not have unforeseen and dangerous effects.”

The humor drained from Giles as he leaned forward in the ancient edifice of gold and bone that was his throne, “You advise we tell the people they cannot eat Imogen? The war in Lynnfaire may well end in the coming days, but this shipment has been a boon to the capital and a grace without compare to the people. Imbued with strange magic or no, I will not keep the starving from food.” His sober countenance belied the frustration in his eyes as he stood, closing the distance between them and looking her in the eye before going on, “Yet still, if this is what you advise I am not fool enough to disregard the warnings of your order. I will heed your advice, but I will not deprive the people.”

Imogens brow creased slightly as she watched him, Giles was not one for foolhardy sentiment. She questioned, “You have my thanks for the trust you place in my order your Majesty, but if not a ban on the goods in question, what do you mean to do?”

In answer Giles turned to address the assembled court and boomed, “The easterners goods shall be permitted within the capital, but they shall not leave this cities gates nor find their way to other ports before the Witches can be certain of their safety.” With a pointed look towards Imogen he spoke softly so only she could hear, “I can buy you weeks, a month at most, but no longer. Do what you will.”

With a deep bow and a ’Your Majesty’ she strode out of the room, not irritated but far from pleased. Of course she understood that a temporary ban on the goods would be unpopular, but magic to preserve food? Yattunys? It wasn’t just suspicious, it was convenient. He had to see the danger as well as she did, and if Giles was permitting it in the city then things beyond the Witch Keeps were worse than she’d thought. How close to widespread famine was the realm? One lost shipment from Lynnfaire? Two? It was a disturbing revelation, but one for another day. Hers and her ilk’s was not to worry about food, but magic.

It so happened that today the two met. By the time she’d reached the gates the rain had eased, at least her trip to the markets would be a mote less gruelling. She had a great deal to learn, and no time to learn it.

(A work by Ekrigma)



The riverport of Rilik was bustling with men, Grogar, and livestock. Cargo was being loaded and unloaded, while the prices of fake gold and dried dates were screeched out by ugly women and orphaned children. There was mist and smoke in the air, mixing in a gaseous stew as an Ardirian trade ship pulled into port.

Resting deep in the cargo hold of the aforementioned trade ship, an odd-looking Grogar laid against the wooden hull, sitting alone among crates, caged animals and rotting carcasses of "freshly" caught sea creatures, the combined stench from animal droppings and rotting flesh would drive one mad for any prolonged exposure, although there are those that can take such stench better then others. The ship begun to tremble as it slowly docked, followed by several footsteps as three human men descended into the cargo hold. "Get up, we're here." the leader of the trio spoke up. The Grogar stood up, shouldering a small sack filled with his belongings over his left shoulder and carried a smaller sack on his other hand, he made his slow approach to the traders. "As agreed." The Grogar said as he tossed the smaller bag towards the men, the leader catching it.

The Captain stretched the bag open to reveal over eighty gold coins, the sight of the coins giving the three men wide grins, the Captain's eyes now directed towards the stranger. "A pleasure doing business."

"Mmh." The Grogar grunted as he quickly took his leave, the further away from the stench he was, the better.

The Grogar made his way past the crowds as he left the bustling port, and ventured deep into the city, walking down its streets, passing by "fellow" grogar as they traded quick glances towards the new arrival, and his....odd appearance, normally he would've been giving giving sour expressions and and outspoken condemnation, he was all too aware of those looks. "Half-breed." They would quietly say with great disdain, already it was quite different compared to back home. The Half-Grogar continued down the path until he had came across a small distraction. A convoy of carts,and their beasts, some Oxen, standing in the way.

An aging human man stood on the back of his cart, his face sunken and wrinkled from years moving his cart in the sun. Even keeping balanced as the slight movements of the oxen swayed his cart to and fro seemed like a challenge for him as his cane scratched the floor of the wagon. Squinting his suncaked eyes, he shouted repeatedly, "Transport to Svawad! One spot left! Leaving as soon as we're filled up!" Behind him were a mixture of people; traders looking to sell their goods to the Black Band, tourists wishing to see the famed castle, farmers returning from selling their crop, and hopeful applicants to the Black Band itself.

The ears of the Half-Grogar perked up as the word "Svawad" was spoken, and quickly scanned the the carts, taking notice of the Black Band hopefuls. Without a second to spare, he spoke up. "I'll fill in the last spot!" He shouted out and quickly ran to the empty spot in the last cart.

"Oi!" The human shouted out, pointing his cane towards the oncoming hybrid. "Get back Half-Blood! I don't want any trouble!" His eyes were filled with an ancient concoction of superstition and fear often called 'hatred', and if he were a couple decades younger he'd likely have gotten violent. The young mercenaries on the cart visibly moved their hands to their weapons, one or two of them even starting to slowly move to their feet.

This, this was all too familiar to the Half-breed. This old man's hatred echoing the same feelings channeled by his fellow clansmen of Ardir, but he was so close to his new start in life, to be among the Black Band, and he wouldn't let this bigotry stand in his way. "I have little time for this..." He started to raise his voice, he soon noticed several men close to arming themselves, with a deep sigh, the half-breed as well slowly moved his hand down for his blade.

As the old man saw him move his hands to his blade, fear started to well up within him. "Please...we...we don't want trouble...just...find another ride!" Some of the city guards had taken notice and were clasping onto their spears tightly.

The half-breed turned to face several spear tips. "I'm not here to start any trouble, I simply wish transport to Svawad Castle..."

"Another half-breed trying to join up with the pig-faced general? Bah!" A guard said as he spat on the ground. "Good luck...looks like you're walking!" The guards stood still, clearly not going to move as long as the half-grogar was intent on staying.

"Get out of here!" The old man shouted, his courage returned now that the guards have come to his aid.

He turned to give the old man a death glare, almost intent on strike him down where he sat, but that would be counterproductive, and block his path to Svawad. "Fine, I'll leave you lot of bastards." With that, he left in a huff, might as well start his long, and tiring treck to Svawad Castle. Eventually some time passes, and the Black Band hopeful finds himself on the outskirts of the city as the scenery grew more and more green. As he looked ahead, he saw a strange scene playing out in front of him.

"Please, have you no kindness in your heart!" A young human man in his late teens or early twenties said, as he threw himself at the feet of larger grogar. He was lanky, with a full beard despite his youthful appearance, and different from the other humans; his tan skin contrasted against his white tunic, and he spoke with an accent. Tears were welled up in his eyes, as the grogar kicked him with his ankles, shaking him off and bloodying the boy's face.

"Get off me, boy! It's done, now get gone!" The grogar was clearly not in any mood to continue their conversation, and had the looks of a man embedded in an...unfavorable crowd. As he shook off the boy, he began to withdraw a long blade, which the gangly man quickly began to scuttle away from.

Without much hesitation, the half-breed drew his blade as he came charging towards the larger Grogar, their blades clashing. "Leave the boy alone!" He shouted.

"You don't know what you're getting yourself into, ape-spawn," The grogar growled, as he maintained the parry. Behind them, the young man had gotten to his feet and placed a stone in his sling. Moving to the side, he stood, glaring threateningly at the grogar. "Put down the blade," he said, as the Formorian begrudgingly obliged, placing his place on the ground as he kneeled to the ground, his arms raised in the air. "You sure you need me as an enemy, bastard child? You have no knowledge of this situation!"

"He lies, sir! I brought him a flock of sheep, but he refuses to pay me...I need to send the money to my village, they may go hungry without it!" The grogar huffed at this and rolled his eyes.

"The sheep were thin and sickly, I'm not going to pay for shit sheep!"

"Please, friend, I am from Ghabar, if we know one thing, it is our sheep!" Looking down at the Grogar, one could see a fat coin purse stuck in his belt; he clearly brought the money, intent on paying, but realized he could take advantage of the situation.

"I may know little." The Half-breed started. "But I can clearly see a cheat when I see it, and a poor one at that. Give the boy his coins and you can walk with both your sheep and your life."

The grogar hesitated, looking between the two, then embarrasedly stood to his feet, grumbling as he placed his blade in its sheath and tossed the purse to the boy. "Enjoy your money...I hope you fucking choke on it," he muttered as he slunk away. The boy then turned to the half-blood.

"Thank you...thank you so much...I don't know what I would have done without you. I am Seadne, what is your name?"

"It's Kormor." He said, sheathing his own blade.

"Kormor...you are not from around here, are you?" Seadne asked, as he put away his sling and wiped the blood from his face.

"You would be right lad." Kormor said. "I've come from the mainland, a land called Tarkima."

Seadne nodded. "Tarkima...the land of the Formorrin. So what brings you to the island?"

"A new start." Kormor replied. " I'm an outcast, unwanted by my own people. So I came here to seek a new people, a new family, the Black Band."

A wide grin grew on Seadne's face. "The Black Band? I am going to join them as well!" He chuckled. "I tended the sheep in my village, but we have fallen on hard times. They sent me to Rilik to sell our flock with a Karkadanh cart, and then I will head to Svawad, so I may return to my village a wealthy man." He stood for a moment, realizing at the very least the pure physical difference between him and Kormor. He sighed, shook his head, and then asked, "But why are you walking there? There are many carts in Rilik for men like us."

Kormor sighed. "Well my lad, it seems this city is not too different from my homeland." He paused for a brief moment, remember his rather rough childhood in the "Royal" Capital. "I'm looked upon with disgust and fear, even the guards refused to help, so I have no choice but to continue my quest on foot."

Saddened by Kormor's dilemma, Seadne looked down for a moment. "Aye, I have never known a Formori before today but...I have heard of how closed a man's heart can be." He considered a moment before saying, "Please, travel with me, there is room for another in my cart."

"I thank you Seadne, that would help me greatly." Kormor said with a smile. "I'll be sure to pay you back for you're kindness...evenutally."


A few days later, two Karkadanh were pulling their cart up the hill towards Svawad. Karkadanh are strange beasts; with the appearance of a small horse (despite the horn protruding from their head), but with many of the movements of a wolf. As they came over the hill, a wide grin fell onto the shepherd's face. "Ah...we have made it."

Svawad Castle rose high above the village of Svawad, which was bustling with activity, the inns of the town kept full by a constant flow of people trying to join the Black Band and people trying to contract them. As Seadne rode through town, the air was far different than that of Rilik; while people still hawked their wares on the side of the road, there was less of a sense of desparation, and people barely even noticed Kormor or his appearance. After they had dropped the Karkadanh off at a stable, Seadne and Kormor hiked up to the Castle, when they came upon dozens of others in their same situation, both Formorian and Human, waiting outside the gates.

After waiting around an hour, the gates opened, and an aging woman with an eyepatch, a limp, and covered in scars walked out. "Line up in rows of ten!" She screeched, not even looking at the applicants.

Seadne looked over to Kormor. "Better do as she says, huh friend?"

Kormor turned and nodded to Seadne. "Agreed, we best get in formation." With that, the two lined up with the other applicants, Seadne overshadowed by both Kormor and another Grogar as he stood in between them. "Don't let your nerves get the better of you, we'll both impress the Black Band no doubt about it."

The woman snaked around the candidates, stop briefly and looking at each one, and before moving on either saying nothing or asking them to step forward. Eventually, after telling around forty percent of the warriors to step forward, she came to Seadne and Kormor, the last of the group. She began scanning Seadne briefly, before asking him to step forward, to which he nervously obliged. Then she came to Kormor.

She studied him for a long while, her one eye squinting as sweat built above her brow. Looking away without having said anything to him, she yelled, "All candidates not asked to step forward may leave now!" before she began to trudge back towards the castle gate.

This was a surreal moment for Kormor, thoughts racing in his mind as to what has just transpired, although it seemed one thing was very clear, much to his fear, but he needed a confirmation from one of them, he stepped forward, calling out to the one-eyed woman. "Uh, ma'am. "Kormor nervously spoke up, he couldn't help but be intimidated by her appearance. "Have we...been rejected?"

She turned around, obviously annoyed by the interruption as most of them headed down the mountain shamefully. "Yes," she said, "You have." Nodding to Seadne, who was standing in shock, she added, "He hasn't." As she turned away, she concluded with, "Come back in the winter, we'll be recruiting again."

"No...no.." Kormor mumbled to himself. "I have come too far to be turned away..." Kormor stood there, like a statue. "No..no..no, I WILL not go back!"

She stopped turning again with her arms crossed. "And where exactly have you come from?"

"Tarkima!" Seadne blurted out. She glared at him for a second before turning back to Kormor.

"Tarkima? Is that true?"

"...Yes. it is." Kormor replied.

She sighed, and stood there, pondering for a moment. "Fine. You may stay," she paused and pursed her lips, "but you will have to explain yourself to Gultar."

Kormor looked up, his eyes widened and confused, yet estastic. "Thank you! I will explain to the best of my ability!"

She grunted, and and turned away. A few more hours of waiting passed before the gates opened up again. A large Grogar in his 50's walked through the gate, the same one-eyed woman at his side. He walked unlike any Grogar in Tarkima; he stood with intelligence, poise, and wisdom, with a stick in his hand, not for walking, but for inspection: undoubtably, this was the pig-faced general; Gultar the Stick. As he and the woman walked out, she called for them to form a single line in front of them, with Seadne running up to the end of it.

Kormor was no too far behind as he followed in formation, the sight that was Gultar was as danuting as his recruiter, and just as imposing as the most fierce of tarkiman warchiefs. Despite the unusual conditions of his "recruitment", Kormor was all the more nervous, he needed to impress Gultar enough to be worthy among the Black Band.

Gultar wordlessly began his inspections, going from recruit to recruit, prodding them with his stick, occasionally giving them a light whap to gauge their reaction. Every so often he would ask them a question or two, before telling them whether or not they've been accepted. Eventually he came to Seadne.

He began prodding and poking, which only showcased the boy's obvious physical weakness. Gultar stood considering for a second, before asking, "What can you do?"

"I...I can hunt...I'm good with a sling. I can cook, tend animals...I know some about healing...I'm sorry, I'm not much of a warrior..." Gultar stood there, nodding.

"Alright, you're in."

"Wh-really?" Seadne asked in amazement.

"Yeah. Don't make me regret it."

"I...I won't, I promise sir!"

Gultar said nothing as he moved on to Kormor. Before he began any inspection, the woman walked up to him and whispered something in his ear, to which he nodded in reply. "So," he said to Kormor, "You're from the homeland?"

"That's right, sir." Kormor replied. "I've come far, formerly of the Ardir Clan."

"Huh." Gultar suddenly became very concerned with his nailed, inspecting his claws as he said, "You know, if I let in every half breed with a dream, there wouldn't be a pure blood in sight." He looked up to Kormor. "What makes you special, boy?"

"....To be honest." Kormor started. "Nothing in particular. I was born and raised in the slums of Ardirum, I was forced into common thievery just to survive. "He paused, thinking back on both the the bad, but also the good memories, "But it was a life not even worth living. So I made one last attempt in being a thief, and bribied the the cheapest trader to bring me here."

Gultar nodded, taking in his story. "Nobody is forced into thievery, son. There is always a choice." He back up, addressing the accepted recruits. "A choice between living for yourself and living for your brother, your comrade." He looked back to Kormor. "Can you honestly say you would ever put anybody's life here before your own?"

Kormor's eyes lowered, in deep thought as Gultar's words had an effect on him "...Yes, I've always had the yearning to belong, to truely have family...today, If you'll have me, I will be a changed man, I will have a greater purpose."

"Well..." Gultar looked down at his stick, feeling it in his hands. He looked at the cracks, the smooth edges, the warping. Without looking up, he said. "This is your chance, then. Don't waste it."

This was it, the moment Kormor had dreamt of, this was the day he finally became one of the Black Band, his emotions ran wild within, but to the best of his ability, he fought to keep it in, at least for the moment. "Thank you, sir!" He exclaimed with excitment. "I will not waste this chance you've given me!"

The pig-faced general replied with but a grunt, and he turned to the rest of the group, pointing at the woman with his stick while the gates opened behind them. "This is Sula, my second in command. She will show you your quarters for tonight. Training will begin tomorrow at dawn."

Southern Tarkima
Clan Brakor Territory
A small herd of deer, no more then a dozen, were found serenely grazing the snow-blanketed forests of Southern Tarkima, despite being a land rife with violence and inter-clan warfare, even the barbaric north holds a sense of beauty in its environment, not too far from the grazing deer was a small hunting group, a group of four men slowly making their advance towards the herd, bows in hand and ready to strike. At the lead of the four men was none other then Firgus Holen, Chieftain of the Brakor Clan. Flanking him was his right-hand man, Olaf Tarin, a long time friend and brother of the Chieftain, along the two were two members of Firgus' oathsworn. Firgus raised his hand as the herd was within sight. "Alright lads, bows ready." He whispered, pulling out an arrow and readying his bow, his party doing the same as they all took for their respective targets. Firgus begun to tremble as he took him, something Olaf had taken notice of. "Losing your nerve already friend?" Olaf quipped.

"Ha! Just you watch!" He laughed as he let go of his arrow, the others soon following, within moments just one deer had dropped to the ground, the rest scattering out into the forest, blood staining the snow. Firgus had a satisfied look on his face, turning smugly to Olaf who then simply rolled his eyes as he and the others approached their kill. "Come on friend, what troubles your mind?"

Firgus let out a big sigh as he bent down and hauled up the large deer onto his shoulder. "It's Elina."

"Ahhhh, I see." Olaf replied, pausing a moment to lift up his own deer. "Firgus, she's a fine and strong young woman now. She can look after herself, and she won't be alone."

"I know that." He sighed once more. "It nonetheless chills my nerves...she hasn't been far out of my sight since she first stood on her two legs. Ever since her mother passed on." Soon the four begun their return trip to the carts, followed by their trip back home. "She's soon to be married." Olaf said. "And the boy to ask her hand has been pretty damn persistent in pleasing you, I think your Elina is in good hands."

"Perhaps...the boy did punch out a godsdamn grizzly..."

"And even brought you the hide!"

"....You could be right, brother. Still I can't help but wor-" Firgus was abruptly interrupted as a loud beastly roar was heard, from the trees came bursting tall white-furred beast, a pair of horns protruding from it's skull. "YETI!" one of the guards cried out, pulling out his sword and charging forth at the beast. His sword managing to pierce through the beast's hide, crying out in pain, the enraged Yeti swung it's arm towards the guard, flying him towards a tree. The others had followed, and pulling their swords, letting out the Tarkiman war cry and charged, encircling and swinging their swords at the beast. But the Yeti would not relent, and grabbed a hold on the other guard, tossing him towards a broken tree, the poor young man impaled by a particularity sharp edge of the damaged tree. In that small moment, Olaf swung his blade, but his timing was off, and had missed the Yeti by a hair. He stumbled and maintained his pose, turning to face the beast, a thought clicked in his head. "Wait..what the hell am I doing?!?" He cursed to himself as he tossed the blade aside, and clasped his hands together, and begun praying. In the chaos of the fight, poor Olaf had forgotten the fact that he was a Mage, a member of the Ursya Priesthood to be exact. His hands split apart as blue flames begun to manifiest on the palms of his hands, and within that instant he caste his flame magic upon the beast, the flames searing the flesh off it's arm, it had fallen down on its kneels from the sheer pain. "Now Firgus!" he shouted.

Without hesitation, frigus made one last charge towards the yeti, slicing off it's charred arm, followed by piercing through it's chest, straight into its heart, in mere seconds the Yeti had gone limp, life leaving its eyes, Firgus rose one leg up and pushed the beast back to liberate his blade.

All was now quiet and calm for a moment, firgus breathing in and out in rapid succession, the thrill of the skirmish just exiting his system. All the sudden, both Firgus and Olaf had a fit of laughter. "Still as spiry as ever!" Firgus cried out, smacking the old man's back. The laughter unfortunately was cut short as he, olaf and the wounded guard took notice of their dying comrade, a few minute pass as they worked to free him from the tree, and place him on the ground. "Oh Gods..." the first guard muttered as he saw his brother-in-arms in his last moments, a gaping hole in his chest. He turned to Olaf with a desperate facial expression. "You must do someone! Can your magic not reverse this?!" Olaf sadly shook his head, "My boy, this is beyond my healing magic...I'm afraid we can not do much for the poor lad..."

In a but a small moment of life, the dying guard struggled to utter a word. "I...serve.." he continued to struggle.

"No need to say a thing." Firgus said kindly, grasping his hand. "You've done your chieftain, your clan and your family proud, know this as you come to the loving embrace of the Forge Mother."

The Oathsworn made one last smile before he had finally passed on. More time had passed as the three worked to give the young warrior a proper burial worthy of a Tarkiman, a large pile of stones covering his body, his blade piercing the ground in front of the pile. The once again had a moment of silence as they resumed their journey to the carts and onward to home.

“Honorable Magus Ghúmard I must protest your decision!”

The aforementioned Ghúmard sighed resignedly, there was no way to escape this now. The portly Headmaster was unfortunately still fast enough to catch up with a limping man if he had no sense of propriety- which was apparently the case. Ghúmard turned to face the Headmaster, who had stopped to catch his breath and shoo the students out the hall.

“Headmaster-Magus Arawhurd what decision, in particular, are you protesting?”

He looked positively surprised, That wasn’t a real emotion... Ghúmard thought. The Headmaster continued, “Why your decision not to attend the luncheon of course! We have, after all prepared, a place of honor for such a distinguished Magus such as yourself.”

“Would this position, by happenstance, be seated next to your own self Headmaster?” Ghúmard attempted to impart that such a course was at least obvious and hopefully dissuade that.

“Now that you mention it, I believe it is. Oh, how perceptive of yo-”

“Headmaster, I will go to the luncheon, now you must leave me to prepare...” The last part was addressed to the departing form of the Headmaster as he waddled around the bend having gotten what he needed. How had that man survived this long…?

Ghúmard thought for a moment. He needs to be investigated more properly, more than his finances. Adding the caveat, If there is time of course.

Ghúmard walked around the corner to where some students were lingering, although they managed to get out of range for immediate suspicion.

“Now who can tell me where these luncheons of the Headmaster’s take place?”

---

The room was lavishly decorated, it would probably remain so for the equally decadent dinner of the day. There are rooms in the Royal palace less ornate than this. The chairs were all engraved of various designs, matching the table and each other of course. The broad windows allows light into the room, not that it was needed with the skylights, second set of windows and several mage-lights set around the room. The various paintings depicted the various required Heroes of Freishann as well as some which appeared to be various members of the faculty in the same fashion.

Despite only eating what it was polite to eat, Laoithr Ghúmard felt slightly sick. A bell and a third, or four hours for anyone even this far from the Capital, luncheon with the Headmaster and several of the other important persons here at the Collegium. The Headmaster had left of course with his various ingrates. They were competent of course, just too fond of food and the local female population. And of talking.

Not that they had said anything of particular note, after all, they just wanted him here as a matter of achievement.

Ghúmard wasn’t alone, of course, there was one man who had said less than a full sentence the whole first bell and had been asleep for the last third of one. As well there was an older man, a Professor of some experimental field within enchantments, at least if he remembered the Headmaster’s jabberings over the second course. Or was it the third?

Ghúmard rose as the servants started peeking to see if the remaining Magi were done. Ghúmard walked out with the older Professor, Servants isn’t the best word, after all at least half of them are students at one of the other Riverlume Collegiums.

“I’m sorry I don’t think I caught your name during the meal.” Ghúmard addressed the older man.

He snorted, “You wouldn’t have, it wasn’t said. Professor-Magus Áchlion Elzurid of Sliagie, Áchlion will do fine. You are this Ghúmard fellow I’ve been hearing about?”

“I don’t know what you’ve been hearing but I am Laoithr Ghúmard.”

“What would you say are the problems with magically moving a ship?”

Ghúmard had to pause at the new angle of conversation. “Well, a Magus could power wind into the sails I suppose. Some form of enchantment on oars could work, like the Royal Messenger up in the Capital, although it certainly has its own set of problems. Although you’d certainly be more aware of that than I am.”

Having his attempted deflection ignored and at the urging of the Professor, he continued as they walked, well one walked the other limped, heading towards the Collegium docks. “The issues of the first method requires the use of a Magus or Magi depending how fast you need to go over how long a period of time. Additionally, you would have to be sure of the ship design and not overstress the rigging too much. As for the oar enchantments, it would be expensive, and likely not worth it. To use it exclusively would create many problems of supply in mana in which having that many Magi it would be better to simply use the first method. Alternatively using it in addition to normal manual propulsion would simply reduce the necessity.”

Ghúmard paused, “What is it that you do Professor-Magus Áchlion?”

“I see you did not catch that in the luncheon, I am studying enchantments, both in their various uses but also the effects of enchantment upon objects in ways not normally done. I also teach enchantment but I have few dedicated students here.”

Ghúmard and Áchlion talked for some time as they approached the docks, mostly of innocent concerns although the conversation headed back to topics of most recent concern.

“What do you think of the Headmaster the other ‘Honorable’ members of the staff?”

Áchlion answers this question more cautiously, having been alerted to the true nature of this conversation, “They are corrupt, but they are not bad Magi. They have been led astray some but I do not think that it is necessary to do something drastic, excepting Headmaster-Magus Arawhurd. Be careful with him, he is not as much as he seems, I don’t know what he is but it is not what he tries to present.”

“Does he have any family you know of?”

“I believe he has a merchant cousin up in Yfalmond but he doesn’t mention him much, in all the talking he does. Say, why are you here in Riverlume anyway, I would have thought you'd have business up in the Capital with all that talk of a fleet...”

Midway through his question a Collegium messenger, messages required to be passed off if going on grounds, carrying a letter with a lesser royal seal, not from a member of the family but one speaking on their behalf, gave it to Ghúmard. Áchlion waited as it was opened, read, and the messenger paid a few coins to leave, finally. “Apparently I do,” Ghúmard looked up smiling. “Professor-Magus Áchlion, what river ships do you have that could take a Magus going by sail?”

-

“Fajar” Fajar shuddered as his name was called, falling immediately to his knees.

“Yes my lord?” Fajar said, keeping his gaze fixed to the floor. He always felt chilled to the bone when speaking to his lord, but it was far worse today than normal. He risked glancing up just enough to see his lords armored legs, noticing a second pair nearby. So that was why.

“Are your troops prepared?” Fajar’s lord asked.

“They are my lord. We can march West at first light tomorrow if it is your wish.”

“Our wishes matter little. Don’t they Lord Goscelin?” The guest of Fajar’s lord let out a short laugh.

“You will head out at first light then.” Fajar’s lord, Goscelin, said with a grunt. “You may go.”

“Of course my lord.” Fajar rose to his feet and gave one long bow before turning and leaving. Never before had he been so thankful to receiving orders to march to war.

Once Fajar had left Goscelin turned to his companion and asked “How goes your preparations Llyr?”

“Very well.” Llyr answered. “If matters in Lynnfaire remain as they are… well let’s just say things are settling into place exactly as I want. And if Lynnfaire’s internal troubles ends early… well I’ve a few plans for that too.”

“Just be sure that your games gets the results we desire.” Goscelin said with a bit of venom in his tone.

“They always do.” Llyr calmly responded. After a moment he asked “Where is Ynyr?”

“Last I saw he was charging off to Utrye.”

“By himself? Why?”

“He sensed the shrine of a Fallen One.”

Llyr didn’t respond for a moment. “Well he is ever the valiant one.”

“That he is.” Goscelin agreed.



Word of trading ships coming to Osentia from some far Eastern country called Yattunys had spread all the way to Olira in recent days. It was thus that the merchants of the region were filled with hope when sightings of unidentified ships began. These hopes were soon crushed, however, as the types of ships, known as Junks, were not only distinctly different from those of Yattunys but also quite hostile to all the shipping in the region.

Sailors were becoming increasingly afraid of the Junks, which were proving themselves to be pirates time and time again. Worse yet, there was seemingly little local sailors could do about the issue on their own, as each of these ships apparently had a skilled mage as part of the crew. The good news was that should a ship surrender to a Junk without fighting, the crew and ship were left unharmed, although its cargo was stolen. That is if the Junk flew a black flag.

The Red Junks, as they were known due to the red flag they flew, were another matter entirely. They didn’t seem to care about stealing cargo so much as simply sinking ships and killing their crews. Some sailors even claimed that the Red Junks were enslaving the crews of defeating ships, although there was no real evidence to support this.

While the problem of the Junks is thus far small, it has been rapidly becoming a much larger threat. If not handled swiftly, the Junks may prove to be too much of a threat for even the combined might of several countries fleets.

The midday sun broke through the ceiling of the village's tavern, illuminating the scars on Bahar's face. The rustic building was largely empty, bereft of life besides the innkeep, the captain, and a small cat purring in a corner, when the floorboards began to creak, new footsteps entering through the doorway. Four men walked in, bearing weapons and gloom faces. Bahar heard them approaching, but did not look up from his drink as they encircled him.

As one of the men, whose beard was long as his teeth were green, knelt onto the counter to meet the sailor's gaze, the innkeep spoke up. "Hey...don't...I don't want trouble in here!" he demanded weakly.

"Shove it, peasant!" one of the men replied, and the innkeep's eyes caught Bahar's, who motioned towards the door. The innkeep nodded, grabbing his cat as he exited. Bahar, placing down his drink, looked to the man next to him.

"What could I do for you boys?" He asked, sarcasm tinging his voice.

The man snarled, his putrid breath causing Bahar to grimace in disgust. "Captain Arik would like a word with you, pig!" As he said this, he slammed his hand on the counter, causing some of the tan sailor's drink to moisten the wood.

"Ah." He threw back what remained in the tankard. "I thought Captain Arik was dead? Considering that I killed him." At these words, the man spat in Bahar's face, who slowly wiped off the saliva with his hand.

"Yeah, well you're about to meet him!" He reached for his blade, but Bahar slammed his fist into his face, causing him to stumble back, his nose a bloody mess. The captain deftly leaped to his feet, throwing another man behind him as he came forward with an attack, the man flying into the glass behind the counter. He dodged as a third man struck at him with an axe, the blade stuck in the wood, and Bahar slammed his head into its shaft. The final goon raised his sword to slice down, his back to the door, when an arrow was lodged in his neck, and his face wore a shocked expression as he fell to the floor.

Across the room, a Qurn was holding a readied bow. Next to him, Admiral Nadurtha, the High King's naval coordinator. As the two of them stepped into the tavern followed by a handful of Taisafirin, the Admiral looked to the pirates, and shouted, "Leave." The three surviving criminals quickly scurrying out. "You're getting careless, Bahar."

The captain chuckled, and sat back at the counter, rubbing the red of his bloodstained knuckles on his blue and white clothing, while the mercenaries stood guard at the door. "I knew they were coming, why else would I go to the tavern alone?" Smirking, the Admiral went behind the bar and poured the captain a glass of date wine. "So, Nadi, how's King Had's boots tasting?"

Pouring a glass for herself, the admiral responded, "That's High King Had," she corrected before continuing, "and lately...salty." The wine tasted bittersweet, and awfully warm. "I suppose you know why I've sought after you?" Bahar nodded.

"I suppose I do."

"What do you know about these foreign ships, these Junks?" the admiral inquired.

Bahar shrugged as the corpse was removed behind him. "Same as everybody else. They use magic. Black flag, you live poor. Red flag, you die rich," He paused, contemplating the last sentence, before adding, "Or, as rich as an Olirian can be without a king's blood."

"You've done well for yourself, captain." The admiral responded.

"You've done better, admiral." The two of them stopped a moment, an awkward silence hanging in the air.

Nadurtha broke it with a question. "How's your new first mate?" They locked eyes.

"He's doing well, Formorians know the sea better then most Men." Coughing on the drink, he added, "Much better than my last one." Nadurtha rolled her eyes.

"You know you'd be in my shoes if you could-"

"If I could what? Reign it in? Control myself? Bow down to some throne to live a life of-of...nothing!" He stood up. "When's the last time you actually set sail, Nadurtha?" The admiral averted his gaze, staring blankly at the wall. After waiting a moment, Bahar scoffed. "That's what I thought." He walked towards the door, pushing the guards out of his way, when the woman called after him.

"Wait!" Bahar stopped. "Bahar...we need you, we need the Liba. I know it's been hard to find work since the privateering days have ended, and I know you're not the sort to enjoy escorts and transportation." The captain turned around.

"Why should I take this job?"

"If not for a sense of civic duty, then...do it for the pay." Bahar shook his head, and continued for the door, when Nadurtha stepped forward to latch onto his arm. "Do it...do it for me, Bahuri."

A couple hours later, Bahar walked to his ship, the Liba. His crew was loading the supplies they had bought from the village market onto the dhow, while Bahar's first mait, Has, stood on the dock. As his captain approached, he asked, "Captain, are you okay? I saw those men walk and, and then those guards..."

"I'm fine, friend." As he leapt onto his ship, he said, "Get ready to depart, I found us a job."

"Oi, best news I heard all day captain! Where we headed?" The men stopped loading to hear their captain's response.

"Rilik."