Part One: The Coming Storm
Farday 22, 1172 IC
The Village of Honlay, The North
The Village of Honlay, The North
Bran watched as the sun had just begun to crest the mountains to the east. Specks of yellow and orange danced among a clear blue sky cold and unfeeling. Bran had awakened hours earlier before the first signs of the sun to begin stoking the fires of his forge. It was a process that his father had taught him and his father before him. It was a task of balance being able to coax and play with the fire in just the right way to produce the required heat; too hot and the metal would heat and cool too quickly become brittle, too cold and you give air pockets the chance to form tampering with the blades integrity. Bran enjoyed his work as a smith as much as one could. It was a part of his life as much as the skin on his body or the hair on his head was, it was integral to him. An old ancestor had been one of the small party that first founded Honlay almost two hundred years ago, travelers moving north to harvest the valued lumber and ore in the surrounding mountains. A smith was always needed in these kinds of ventures somebody to mend the horseshoes or craft an axe or hoe. You'd always find work his father used to tell him proudly.
Grumbling to himself, he shrugged on his coat of hide and fur stepping outside of his relatively warm home. He closed the door behind him as gently as he could, but the old wood still creaked in protest as it moved. He prayed silently to the Spirits that Agrid or the kids wouldn't be woken up. He didn't need any distractions from his work. The wind swayed and playful danced about it pressing a hand against the bare skin of his face instantly making it twitch in the early morning. The harvest season had come and gone and with it the first touches of winter had begun to set in. Winter, it was something you put in the back of your head until it happened. But as soon as the first morning chills began to set in it got you to think. Did you store enough food? Have you chopped all the wood you are going to need? Do you have enough coin to pay where you yourself fell flat? It was a grim time, where the already grim state in the realms became ever darker with the longer nights. But at the same time, Bran was almost glad for its coming. The snows would mean a slowdown of the war, it meant that King Jaython's collectors wouldn't come and take their foodstuffs and other supplies for awhile too bundle in their cities and camps to bother simple peasants. Besides too many young men from Honlay had gone marching off due to the King's orders and have never returned.
Some would accuse Bran of being a liar. A supporter of the war and all the death it had brought. Why else would he continue to crafts swords and armor for the requesiton officers that came once every span? While it was true in a way that he has gained the most business he had in years due to the war it wasn't his choice. He didn't support Jaython, an ambitious young fool who killed their king and then left to starve while he took all their food to feed his armies. He would like nothing but to return to the days before, back when the Lysteria's ruled the lands. But he was no fool and he didn't say these things aloud. Besides at least Jaython was a Northern and the only chance they had to repulse the bruteish Vorstagians from destroying their land and eradicating their culture. So he made swords and other armaments for his army, armor too if they asked. He did it because like many others he had no choice. Beside if he refused the soldiers would proabably just burn down his forge anyway. Still it was hard for some of the others in the village to look at the man giving the soldiers who conscripted their sons and raped their daughters the same looks they had before. He didn't blame them. He would proabably do the same in his own shoes.
After checking to make sure that the forge was ready he began to go to work. Today was a good day though, he had no orders to fulfill for the soldiers and instead could do honest work. Gilford needed a new logging axe, something strong and sturdy enough to survive the coming winter. It was a simple thing but it was nice to know that it was to be cutting in trees and the occasional beast. But Bran would be the same level of patience and attention to detail as he did in all his pieces. He felt the heat rise and warm his body as the metal he had placed on the fire began to glow. Moving it from the forge to the anvil, he began to go to work with his hammer. The thudding crescendos of metal on metal echoed through the quiet morning as Bran continued to work. Body beginning to sweat despite the chill in the ear as his massive arm muscles tightened on each blow. As he continued to work he noticed something out of the corner of his eye. A flash of white, something moving on the road ahead of him. Four legged and moving quickly, some sort of large animal. Wolves were common around these parts and some even got courageous enough to try and venture into the village. Not wanting to take any chases, Bran stopped his work and drew his small sword from the sheath at his hip.
He moved off of his own property and onto the dirt path that constituted the main road, the ground sinking beneath his feet still wet from the rains last night. As the disturbance grew close enough to make out with his eyes, Bran took a step back. They were indeed wolves, white as snow but larger and bigger than anything he had ever seen before in his life. He wanted to call out but to who? His house was on the outskirts of the village and Agrid had to stay with the kids to keep them safe. Digging into his own personal resolve he steadied himself and waited for the beasts to come his sword in hand. He had been a soldier in his youth and fought in the wars but that was long ago and he hadn't swung a blade at anything in years. Than much to his surprises and to a response of a rather loud exclamation and curse from Bran, as the wolves drew closer to him at about ten feet away they transformed. Their great white furry forms shrinking and morphing until in their place now walking at a leisure pace were five individuals dressed in long black cloaks that seemed to shift and move like living shadow, that concealed their forms.
"Ah suggest ye turn aroond. We dornt much loch wizards roon these parts." He yelled out to the five individuals his voice shaking as he did. He had never met somebody that could use magic before. The closest thing he had was talking to the village herbalist and she just grounded leaves and roots together. But his mother had told him stories, stories of angry wizards destroying entire villages and flaying people alive. Magic users also brought bad luck wherever they went, plagues, failed crops. They didn't need anything like that round these parts. But it seemed that the figures were undeterred, the figure in the front continued his approach about the same size as Bran if a bit thinner he casually walked up to the smith his feet almost appearing to glide across the ground. Bran still had his sword out shaking as he did as the man draw close but as he was about to swing the man brought a hand to his face and his entire body froze. No matter how hard he flexed or tried to move he was rooted into place.
"Oh relax smith. We are just simple travelers passing through these parts." The man spoke his voice sing songy almost as if it filled the air around him. Then with a chuckle he drew back the hood of his cloak with a free hand. The man looked nothing like Bran had ever seen before. His skin was alabaster white and his eyes were as dark as the night sky above. His hair was also white and cut short and jagged atop his head and posed no signs of eyebrows. His ears were that of an els but instead of putting upward they curved downward. But most unsettling of all was his mouth each tooth was curved and sharpened to a point. Teeth meant for ripping and sundering flesh. The man pulled Bran's head until their eyes met. Then suddenly sharp pain as if somebody had smashed a spear into the back of Bran's head. He could feel as the man began to root around in his Bran peering through all his memories and emotions in less than an instant. And then it was over and the cassams of black seemed to twinkle.
"Oh that was delicious Bran. Such a simple life. Such a shame it has to end here." The man stated more matter of factly than actually sad. Bran watched helplessly as the man removed his sword from his still unmoving hands. He examined it for a time running his gloved hands of the blade, examining the metalwork and the forgery skill. Seemingly content he nodded at Bran and then a moment later plunged the blade through his gut. Pain flared through his body as suddenly he could move again but all his body did instead was collapse to the ground. He'd been stabbed once before but the pain still felt as fresh as the first time. The man left him alone to bleed to death as he turned back to address his companions. Bran managed to force his head up to see what was going on.
"Oh what a waste. They know nothing like the rest of them.... Kill them all and start with the Smith's house. His wife and children are still inside." The man spoke to his companions sounding content and happy. Bran's heart jumped as he heard them speak of his children and Agrid. He tried to will his body to stand, to do anything but the pain was too much and he could already feel his life slipping away from him. One of the robed figures pointed a arm in the direction of Bran's house. For a moment a great chill seemed to be cast over the area as if all the hate had been drawn out of it and then a moment later with a thunderous boom Bran's house erupted into a giant pillar of fire. Bran tried to yell but his mouth was gurgled and filled with blood. Then the mysterious figures moved on leaving Bran to die slowly as the ashes of his family soon drafted about him. Soon afterwards the screams began to engulf the surrounding area of Honlay as the slaughter began.
Farday 24, 1172 IC
On the road to Orvston
On the road to Orvston
The Company had left the Imperial Capital three weeks ago and have been on the road ever since. It was as slow moving as was expected of a force of their size and their journey was only further happened by the distortion in the roads as they moved further north. Moving from the meticulous placed stone road systems of the Empire to the mud and dirt roads of their northern brethren. Most of the company was growing restless as was common on long trips such as these. They had run into only minimal trouble along the way, a group of marauders here, some monster attacks here and there. But beside that they had not been in combat for days and their swords were itching for blood. The nature of their continual march meant they only stopped in towns if only for a few hours at the most and that was no amount of time to drown your drinks in a tavern or screw your days away in a brothel. But of course they never spoke of these complaints aloud keeping their grumbling to a minimum and out of earshot of Odran or worse the Captain. They were bored but not suicidal.
Though they were less quiet about their complaints about a certain individual that had recently "joined them". The Sorceress, Lyssa Asteraceae. A lot of the members of the company where either from the North or soldiers of the armies in the South that Vorstag had crushed before the Treaty of the Golden Sun was shined. They hold no true love for the Vorstagian Empire and especially for the women that had brought entire cities to her knees and decimated their armies. Rumors surrounded her that her mother was a succubus and that she was one of the fabled Willborn those rare magic users born of great power that could destroy the realms, that she consorted with demons and other creatures. But to break it down simply they detested the idea of having an Imperial lapdog watching over them to make sure they did their work in a way that was considerable favorable to Katovier eld Kovari. They didn't need a bureaucrat to make sure they did a job that they were hired to do. Though despite this nd their many attempts to get a rise out of her, she remained cold like the coming Winter.
Even now she rode at the head of their formation to the right of the Captain, a spot where traditionally Odran would ride but who was now riding closely behind them. The Sorceress and the Captain spoke in little spurts along their journey. The Captain wasn't all too fond of her riding with him either as magic users generally just give him the chills but unlike some he at least had the maturity to deal with it. They were speaking now of simple things as the continued down the road to Orvston where they would arrive within the hour.
"I wonder Captain. Your men are on this mission because they have no choice in the matter, but you are another story. I can tell from your accent that you yourself were born in the North. So why would you help the man who is threatening your lands sovereignty? You could of turned down the offer and went back to fighting somewhere else. There are certainly more men in the world like the late Lord Van that would gladly hire you and your men for your services." Lyssa asked the Captain in her normal cool and passive tone. It was an innocent enough question to ask of course, but the Captain knew how people like her worked every question a sort of probe and disarming blow to see how you ticked and worked. The prying back of the cold exterior to stab at the meaty flesh underneath. But he did not care, either too proud or just crazy enough to play in her games unafraid.
"The same reason I reckon that you aren't a village witch healing rashes that young John got from sleeping with the village whore... It pays well. You know what the north did for me Sorceress? Nothing. It spit me out onto the streets what out a care in the world. I hold no strong feelings of patriotism towards King Jaython's cause or hatred towards Vorstag and your Emperor. Whoever wins this war? Well there will always be more wars after that, you see our business is not one that goes out easily." The Captain explained in a rough rumbling tone in his characterisation matter of fact fashion. His words were true though, the Captain held no allegiance towards any nation and considered himself no longer a man of the North a long time ago. He was a man of the Company and that was all and that was all he be until they day he died.
They both continued on in silence for a time considering the words spoken. Behind them though the world was filled with sounds as the members of the Company talked to one another in idle conversation that one had along the road, occasionally disturbed by the sounds of laughter or the snorting of a horse or an ox. In these moments of peace they sometimes seemed less like one of the fiercest armies in the Realms and more like a goddamn bunch of hooligans walking down the path to the next village to grab a pint. But the Captain allowed it, their was no use in forcing silence or strict marching orders all it did was continue to bring troop morale down and allow them to fall into the dreary state of routine and boredom. They only had to put up an air of professionalism when the public was viewing then if one man spoke out of turn or stepped off on the wrong foot, then they were to expect at least a good beating. It didn't matter where they were in the formation, the Captain always knew when somebody was up to no good. He called it intuition, the troops called it bloody unfair.
As they marched on their surroundings began to change. They went from lonely woods and hills to more flattened land where the trees began to disappear in their entirety having been chopped down long ago. Tall grassess were placed with bare soil intent on farming. But these farms were quiet and the occasional dwellings they passed had long since been abandoned showing signs of raiders and war parties having come through. The dirt road showed more signs of heavy footprints of load bearing horses and soldiers in mail and plate. And then they rounded a hill. And there below they could see the city of Orvston. Situated on a large island in the middle of the tumultuous and ever rough Zerrakan River. Orvston was one of the only safe crossing an army could use to cross the Zerrakan and had been fought over feveriously throughout the war and yet throughout it all King Jaython's men had held the city and it served as one of his many attacking points to launch his many armies southward. The signs of this combat could been all about them as they rode closer to City. Siege towers and catapults left when the attackers retreated, swords and shields littered the body but the worst was the smell. The smell of an innumerable amount of corpses filled the air and clung to the lungs and nostrils as it wafted by.
He rose his hand signaled as he pulled to the left going off of the road and moving towards the shores of the river where the stench was more bearable. They couldn't just march the entire Company into Orvston even if they wanted to. The soldiers in the garrison weren't stupid and a force of their size could wreak havoc and open the gates for a larger Imperial Invasion force. No they would have to send in a smaller party to at least secure passage for the Company through the city. The rest would have to wait outside in an encampment until then. At least though it would give them a chance to ask around. Orvston was a gateway of sorts a lot of people came in and out of the city. Maybe some of them had heard any of the rumors of the magical happenings they had been sent to investigate.
As everyone began to set up their tents and their encampments, The Captain sent out a runner - a young girl, an orphan war they had picked up along the way - to go search for seven individuals and to bring them back to him. He had already had has party for going to Orvston arranged in his head. He only hoped that he was not wrong in the group he had picked. He handed the little girl messages to go along with her as she went on these messages were a few simple words. But words that could strike the fear into any man or women in the entirety of the Company.
My Tent. Now.