[1.0]
Deep in the night, in the very heart of the Parraan fields, Tur'tan village was a lot more quiet than usual at these late hours. It used to be a hot spot for travelers and adventure seekers. Those who dared to cross paths and actually meet those of the Blackborn tribe, yet were lucky enough to tell the tale, became friends of the brotherhood and sisterhood formed by ages of traditions and mutual respect among the tribesmen and their associates.
Strong tundra wind waved the long furry cloak around as the newly promoted young chieftain stood on a hill overlooking the village of Tur'tan. It's been days since the messengers took off on their quests to deliver an encrypted message to each of the four other nations. He grows weary as none of them returned yet bearing the response of the allied nations' rulers. Apart from the village's defenses he is planning and plotting on the hill, there seems to be one more reason for him being there.
Two of his trusted soldiers, Makgran and Ragg, were on that hill alongside the chieftain. None of them said a word since they departed from the chieftain's hut. Over the course of years, duo have developed an intense yet close relation with Garganthar, and were promoted as his guardians upon his ascension to the throne.
Blackborn tribe was at alarm ever since the incident. Rumors of the "green plague" were slowly becoming more and more of a problem because at this rate they were decapitating the stability Garganthar and those in command before him have been holding firmly for centuries. How could it not? For a village that far away in the north, especially due to cold climate, it is rather unusual to have issues with other beings and viruses of magical nature, for nobody even dared to set their foot in the Parraan fields.
Without a word, young chieftain waved his hand slowly towards the village with index finger pointed directly at it as in indication. Two behind him started to tail him in silence, staring dead ahead with serious duty expressions. There was no point in waiting on something that might not even come, for there was no assurance that messenger's made it past the fields.
Meanwhile down in the southern regions of Loerynn, Mayeziah Grunn, a messenger who was sent towards the infamous land of chivalry and prosperity - the village of Riverdale, has finally made it to his destination. Exhausted and hungry, along with his wolf, he landed at the very gates of this village. Guards were nowhere to be seen on the watch posts, however this was to be expected. Grunn was spotted long ago and guardians were informed of his arrival beforehand.
"I call upon the gate-keepers to open the doors of their respective village," yelled the messenger, "I bear an important message from Garganthar, chieftain of the Blackborn tribe!" He kept on shouting in front of the village doors, but there was no response for the time being. It was as if he was being ignored on purpose and each second he'd have an arrow slide through his skull and pierce him dead. Mayeziah started to grow uneasy, wrapping his large fingers around the leash of his wolf. "In case something happens to me, make sure to run towards the chieftain and let him know," he spoke in calm and low voice profile to his companion. Squeeze of teeth and gritting loud noises were the wolf's response, followed with a frown aimed towards the gate.
Judging from the look on wolf's face, something fierce was approaching the gate. Grunn sat his hand on the weapon handle, preparing himself for an assault from the inside. It won't be long before he gets struck down, however he was prepared to take at least several more humans with him before the fall. Suddenly, a loud bashing sound. Gates started to open widely, revealing several figures on the inside standing alongside the process. Grunn squinted his eyes, somewhat frowning at the appearances as he felt endangered.
Without hesitation, figures started to move towards him. It was clear now, there was an armored individual with a lot of gear apparently, followed with two four subordinates holding spears with both of their hands. It seemed like a man with respect was about to meet him, along with several militia guards to cover him. Grunn was prepared.
As the individuals approached, their faces were revealed clearly by now. Guardsmen appeared to be regular villagers equipped with spears, serving just for intimidation and weak protection of the man in the middle. That man, however, appeared like a warrior and someone in position when it comes to village's defenses. His long black hair and fresh shaven jawline stood out. It certainly was someone of royalty in the village.
"A message from the ruler of Tur'tan, you claim?" Asked the male curiously, slowly crossing his arms in front of his chest as his four guardsmen started to surround Grunn. Mayeziah kept his eyes sweeping between the individuals, those surrounding him of course, and didn't pay much attention towards the male who spoke to him, at least visually. However, after several moments of silence, he decided to speak his mind. "Is this the well known chivalry of the Riverdale knights? I don't recall that term of such huge scale and meaning could be represented in this way and behavior," he flashed a grin immediately after. It would seem as if Grunn was eager to fight.
At this rate, he was completely surrounded with pikes aimed at him. Wolf he rode and his loyal companion was constantly growling at the captors. Male was somewhat shocked by Grunn's response, however kept the calm facial expression and deep royal voice tone. You stand before commander of the guard, royal knight of Riverdale and a very close relative of his highness, King Jordan the Second. It would take such a small amount, close to having none, of brain to know how to behave in front of someone of this size and reputation."
The way that man spoke, it would seem as if he was actually insulted by what Mayeziah said before. However, that was not the case. Not long after his remark, he would flash a wide smirk across his face and raise his right hand. Mayeziah turned his full focus towards the male upon hearing his words, following and watching his every move closely. He knew that peasants around him were not the issue in this scenario, but the one speaking to him is.
The very reason why that hand was raised was quite shocking, at least for Grunn. It served as the signal for guardsmen to lower their weapons and let the nomad roam freely. They slowly pulled their spears back, and walked towards the commander still facing Mayeziah though. "My name is Alexander, son of Branco DeVille." Commander apparently introduced himself out of nowhere, and with doing that waved his hand towards the village. "Come in. Don't be afraid. You look tired and exhausted enough that if anyone from the village wanted you dead, you'd be cold by now. There is no hostility here, my friend, so you and your little brat there may have some relief." He kept on talking confidently, and at this rate even Mayeziah calmed down.
He started to pet his wolf in order to express the situation to him, and at the same time motion him that they are not in danger. "The reason behind this poor welcome, fellow Blackborn, is simple. King Jordan and rest of the knights are away, hunting the local renegade party that sacked couple of village homes not far from here. We managed to capture one of them and he gave out the information..." Alexander briefly explained the situation to Grunn as they were walking into the village.
Yaraan, a messenger who was sent to inform both Dwarves and Elves regarding the meeting, was already on his way from Boldin Mines and towards the Jaeldanaar forest. Dwarves have always kept solid relations with the tribesmen and were handling a lot of trading conferences between each others. Yaraan used this knowledge and made his first stop be the Dwarven Empire.
On top of everything else, Elves and Dwarves were relatively close to each other in terms of geographical locations. Jaeldanaar forest was pretty huge as well, covering the very heart and center of Loerynn at a wide range. Messenger already made his first step into the forest approximately two hours ago. He knew from the very beginning that he was watched and observed, and that in case of a single wrong step he could be dead as well, pierced from the shadows by the hands of observers.
His fate was laying completely in the hands of an unknown commander who kept the borders under close watch. There must be no mistake on his quest. The very reason he picked this path and not any other messenger is because of his curiosity and wisdom. There is no match for him in the village when it comes to knowledge regarding the other nations and races, at least those who were in the books of old.
He kept roaming the lonely forest road with his companion, constantly hearing the movement around him in the bushes. However his tight grip over the leash wrapped around his wolf's mouth and neck kept him in control. After hours of complete loneliness, duo finally approached the dead end of the path they were on. Confused and somewhat shocked, Yaraan looked down at his wolf.
"You seem to be out of luck when following dirt-paths, nomad. That could cost you your life in most cases," said the soft female voice. It sounded like the origin of that voice was the forest itself. It echoed swiftly through the woods and pierced straight through ears of both the messenger and his companion. Wolf grew uneasy, slowly pushing himself towards the grass and laying there. It'd appear he is ready to jump and protect his master if need be.
Out of shadows, a female figure jumped from the trees and landed in front of the messenger with a sword in her hand. Other hand seemed to be occupied with handle of a knife which rested on her waistline, sheathed. It would seem as if the female was prepared to use the knife in case her attack with the sword failed. Messenger flinched and jumped backwards, pulling his chain leash with him as well. This forced his wolf to take temporary retreat as well and jump backwards in order to maintain some distance and receive the first blow.
"It took us some time to organize, we were not expecting an intruder in these early hours. What is your purpose here?" She kept on talking with that same soft voice from before. Eyes and most of her face were covered with a hood which was connected to a long black cloak, waving around and covering her body. Elves are known for using long black cloaks to protect themselves in the shadows of their forest, so this commotion was not an issue nor strange at all.
"I bring a message from chieftain Garganthar, of the Tur'tan village and Blackborn tribe," said the nomad, "would you be kind enough to escort me to your master?" He narrowed his large eyes upon the female. Taking his time and not making any sudden fast movements, he wrapped his fingers around the handle of his large black iron spear.
Female slowly pulled the hood off her head, revealing her long and pretty red hair. She shook her head for a bit and waved the hair around, then narrowed her vision upon the messenger as well. Situation grew tense as duo kept staring at each other. After some time of constant stare, she released her grip over the knife and sheathed her sword as well. It would appear as if she was comfortable at this rate and sure about nomad's intentions.
"You shall be brought before the queen, then. But remember that rule of one wrong move still applies, nomad, and shall you try something that shouldn't be tried in these woods, your head will shortly after hit the grass." She passed her threats as she beckoned them over, motioning the direction they should head in.
Ironjaw the Cripple, messenger who was sent to inform the Khadirs was in their tavern already. It's been quite some time since he entered the village and started to feast. Without even informing anybody, he decided it was about time for him to grab some brew and meat chops. Were Khadirs not cunning and wise, he would even forget why he arrived there in the first place.
Two soldiers walked into the tavern and immediately recognized the hooded figure sitting in the corner. What gave him up was the iron jaw he had, shining beneath the darkness of the hood covering him. One soldier nudged the other and then turned towards the counter. Those who were in the tavern were to leave that place at once, as it was now under military closure. One soldier stood at the entrance, motioning others that they should leave the tavern while other one gave orders to villagers and pointed them into the right direction.
One working at the bar was to stay, however. As the last guest left the tavern, and the only ones left were two soldiers, Ironjaw and the Khadir working at the bar, this nomad decided to stand up slowly. It would appear as if he was struggling to stand up due to his inability to walk properly. "A nomad always travels with his companion. Where is your wolf, old man!?" Shouted the soldier viciously, sniffing around and attempting to find the scent of Ironjaw's wolf.
"Do not take Ironjaw for a fool, Khadir." Nomad gave a swift response. He would appear to be comfortable in this situation and actually make a mockery of it as well while at it. "Lazarn is safe, kept in the fields next to the village to rest. I am the only one here, and there is a very good reason behind it." He kept talking.
Soldiers didn't seem to show much trust at all, keeping their noses and ears working the whole time. Even Khadir working at the bar started to sniff and look around for the wolf. "Go ahead, nomad," said the soldier, slowly drawing his blade out, "tell us the 'very reason' you are here?" He mocked back. Ironjaw grunted and then flashed a weak smile.
His weak body slowly started to move in direction of the bar. He would show no hostility in his movement at all, appearing to have that same chill from before. "Before I tell you anything related to that, let me tell you that the blade you pulled out won't be of any use here. After all, I believe you won't struck down an old man." Ironjaw successfully talked himself out of the mess he was in. Soldiers looked at each other, appearing to be confused. Situation as well started to get calmer and calmer with each second.
Several more soldiers walked into the tavern and narrowed their frown upon the nomad. "We are to imprison you until the commander arrives. Then we shall decide whether what you're saying is true or not." Said one of the soldiers who stepped into the tavern. And so was done, before even knowing it, Ironjaw had makeshift cuffs on his wrists and was taken into custody.
As he walked out the tavern, morning breeze and newly risen sun struck his eyes. The climate here was not the best suit for him, but he had job to do after all. No matter the cost, the message he carried had to be delivered to the respective leadership of this nation. Crowd was already surrounding the tavern, staring at this large, yet crippling figure of a once great warrior of his tribe. There was no mistaking it, he'll have wait for another dawn before proceeding with his plan.
Back in Tur'tan village, villagers have started to protest in front of Garganthar's hut. He kept sitting inside the hut desperately as he waited for any sort of response from the messengers. "If this keeps up, we are doomed. They better be back soon with an army. Else we will not only have to face the threat ourselves, but also to fight our fellow kinsmen who seem to distrust me at this rate. The fruit of my hard work is yet to bloom, but they don't seem to have the patience." Garganthar spoke to Makgran, who remained with him through the whole night. Ragg went to sleep a couple of hours after they left the hill.
"Worry not, brother. You sent three of our best hunters on that job. They will do their tasks successfully, even if that costs them their life. Especially Ironjaw, you know he served under your father for years." Makgran responded with a soft voice tone, boosting some confidence back into Garganthar's mind. Two shook their hands and embraced each other, then proceeded to ponder on what is going to happen in case their fellow messengers don't make it.