The Battle of Leshny Cerne. 760, Second-Era
The rattling war-cries echoed throughout the battlefield beneath the castle’s bluffs. The chill of winter’s rain fell heavily upon them as the men fought desperately. Moving through the infamous black forests outside Volchya, warriors come to strike at the black heart of evil. The evil that grew into a mighty host in their homeland and terrorized the people for decades would soon be crushed. Their reign of terror seems finally closet to an end. Jaromir the Shepherd uttered a guttural, but unmistakable shout accompanied by the roar of the Hruzaski. Living legends through deed, the monster slayers rushed forth to clash with the monsters ahead. Their silver-gilded blades glistened in the moonlight that shone between the great storm clouds that commanded a great storm upon them. Great was the omen for the battle would secure the future of Varkovnia at long last after ten years of campaign. The legions of men stood shield to shield in four ranks facing off the hated foe ahead. Following a great charge the men sallied forth. The sounds of battle, steel hitting steel, steel striking flesh, and cries of agony and triumph echoed. Ranks soon gave way to chaos as the Risen foe began to crumble under the might of the heroic force opposite them.
Sasha, one of Jaromir’s dearest companions cursed under his breath as he spotted the shrouded figure on horseback. The figure wore a peculiar ruby-red amulet and a crown with the unmistakable griffin emblem of the fallen House Varkov that had been claimed by squabbling cadet branches. The figure was known to all on the battlefield. An arrow shot into the figure’s head, knocking back the hood to reveal no head in place. Undaunted, Sasha drew another arrow, his aim was true. His status as a living legend was nearly equal to that of the charismatic shepherds’ son Jaromir. He fired once more at the horse’s legs, striking a hit that sent the headless rider to the dirt. The grinning archer’s triumph, however, was cut short. As the army of undead led by the black rider faltered and disintegrated a dense fog crept in a supernatural fashion. Quickly vision was obscured, and the Hruzaski soon lost sight of one another as visibility was zero.
The sound of battle continued, rotten and skeletal figures collapsing with the occasional shrill shout and yell of men dying at the close of the battle was heard. Fearless Parvan moved in a frenzy, the berserker swung his axe and sword wildly. The notorious, hot-headed warrior of Tairnopol survived many battles with the savage Okke, his scars demonstrated his indefatigable endurance as he fought the Shade of Varkov. The Shade’s cursed black sword was covered in alchemical flames, searing the flesh of Parvan. In response, the berserker slammed his axe onto the blade, twisting his shortsword to impale the undead warrior in the chest. With the blade striking true, Parvan leaned in with all his might, grinning without knowing his fate sealed. The Shade’s left arm extended into the man’s chest, a deadly, claw-like hand impaling him, crushing the strength out of him. With a wordless gasp, Parvan fell, dropping his weapons and with the remnants of his writhing strength grappled the Shade’s arms. A fluid movement removed both rotting limbs, an exhausted dying warrior fell, Parvan’s pained look gave way to elation as he saw who delivered the critical blow.
Jaromir stood over the headless rider, plunging his enchanted blade Svetraje into the amulet around the dead man’s neck. His strike is answered with a guttural groan from the risen Radacek the Red. The angel’s power within him gave him the strength and willingness to see it to the end. Soon after, a long silence settled across the battlefield. After the rest of the risen force collapsed, the bindings that held them to unlife was eliminated. With a glance to Parvan, the mustachioed man gave a bitter smile, knowing Parvan sacrificed himself as did many others to end this. Their souls could now rest as the remaining heroes began to gather once more. Nearly half of their numbers were lost in the great battle, but at last the Cursed Legion was no more. No one understood why they rose or how. There were many unanswered questions. They would never have the chance to find answers.
As the men formed up through the thick mist around them, the hairs on their necks rose as a chorus of howls unmistakably announced the arrival of a new, dire threat. Worgs. The large, malevolent lupine beasts soon moved upon the warriors. A desperate call to organize is accompanied by shrieks of terror and pain as growls and the crunch of bone audibly passed through the damp forests. With a shout Jaromir was struck from behind, shuddering as he fell. He knew the beast would kill him quickly.
With a jolt, Jaromir realized it was a man that had knocked him off his back. The shepherd looks up as the weight fell off him. Movement catches his eye. A ferocious, huge lupine beast pounced upon Sasha. With a desperate slash with his shortsword, the archer’s arm was seized by the red-eyed beast’s mighty jaws. His arm gave way to the sharp, jagged teeth like a knife through butter. His scream was short-lived as the beast’s jaws reached over his head, quite literally biting his head off.
As Jaromir stood, he could tell his men fought desperately, but not hopelessly against the beasts. He saw Ivan the Mad, Slavoj the troll hunter, Rumen the Dragonslayer, and Veliko The One-eye fighting in a square. Their grim determination inspires him. He stands up, the mighty beast had consumed half of the legendary marksman, his legs fell to the ground with a final, decisive bite as it fell out of the red-eyed beast’s maw. This is no worg. A barghest. His thought immediately turned to the fight at hand. Jaromir steadied himself as the monster grinned at him with sharp teeth and hate-filled, predatory eyes. He charges blindly or so it seems as the beast leaps. Quickly, he rolled underneath the claws, grabbing an arrow and stabbing it into the breast of the beast. The large, black-furred monstrosity roared in pain. The scurnze-laden arrow Sasha prepared causes incredible pain.
With a ferocious roar, it charged once more. Jaromir side-steps and strikes. Svetraje tastes blood as the beast’s shoulder is torn, exposing musculature. A claw swipes him, tearing his armor asunder and Jaromir falls on his back tasting blood as the rain poured on his drenched body. His torso bled, his armor only slightly resisted the mighty claws of the demonic-wolf creature before him. Its pitch claws raked with blood. As he moves to stand, he sees the teeth glistened with blood, human sinew stuck between canines with the stench of death about it. Jaromir stood on a foot and leaps back, slashing at the beast’s jaws. The barghest howled in pain, its maw cut and teeth flying loose. Jaromir curses, the beast’s blood covered his sight. As he blinked them open a force knocked him on his back, his head was reeling.
The man’s eyes opened once more the beast looms before him, grinning a wounded, but triumphant monster. A shill fell down his spine as he heard the death rattles of his men. But how? On the moment of their triumph? The liberation of Varkovnia was at hand, yet now all Jaromir could see was darkness staring at him. His face contorts with righteous anger, shouting as he swung his blade once more. The beast laughed. The phantom limb did nothing as the blade sat on the ground, still in the grasp of his severed right arm. The red leer bore into him as if savoring the moment. “Mighty shepherd, you have forgotten your place. I remind -you- who rules the land.” With a sickening lurch, the beast lounged as the grimacing Jaromir gave a primal shout of defiance, his exposed left hand launched in a wild haymaker as the beast’s jaws snapped around him and all was darkness. A series of sickening crunches could be heard that gave way to silence.
The mist clears revealing the carnage of war. Hundreds of bodies, dead and rotting as the sickening feast ends with crows circling overhead in the rain that washes the blood into the soil. The Hruzaski fell, the legendary warriors each met their end sure of their victory over the darkness. No man would understand what truly happened to them. A true evil was born from the blood of salvation. The gloom in the forest deepened as a large shadow was cast across the realm. The barghest’s body shook, and trembled, its eyes widened as the angel’s blood and man’s flesh filled its belly, contorting as its eyes widen. The power of the angel spread across its body, the beast’s feast of body and soul complete as it absorbed the angel’s power from within the great hero. The barghest’s mind swelled with the power and ambition of Jaromir and its deceptive, black-heart rose as it grinned in sudden realization. Varkovnia belonged to it and the land had now found its ‘shepherd’ to guide it in her image.
The Great Hunt is called! (998 2nd Age, Spring)
Velinka opened her eyes as she awoke from the dream of the ancient battle. The elven figure sat on the bed with a stretch. It was early morning with the sounds of spring heard as songbirds could be heard from a distance during a clear, sunny day. She felt dizzy, remembering the exquisite festivities and celebrations of the previous evening. The feast was quite something and the drink was bountiful. She realized the sounds of servants cleaning awoke her. A horrid mess was strewn about the room undoubtedly due to the revelry and excitement of the previous evening. As they silently bowed and carried on with their work as she bathed and prepared for the court to be held. There would be many new guests here for a myriad of reasons. She dressed in her finest silks, donned her crown marking her as Princezna of Varkovnia, a claim that several burgomeisters and nobles dared question, but not for long. The shepherd must safeguard the sheep from the wolves. Her subjects sought safety from the monstrous perils that plague the land after all.
“Kneel before her majesty, Princezna Velinka of House Czermak, Suveran of Varkovnia, Guardian of the Seven Cities, Speaker of the Gods, The Caller of the Great Hunt, and Mistress of the venerable House Czermak!”
She entered the well-decorated court that held a great sense of majesty and flair in its design. This contrasted with the castle’s outwardly foreboding atmosphere that enhanced its reputation as a cursed keep. Her entry was flanked by well-armored Rytirs. Their strength and loyalty enhanced the dramatics as the monarch walked in with an air of dignity and majesty expected by the courtiers and guests awaiting her arrival. Among the courtiers lay administrators, Burgomeisters, nobles loyal to her cause, and representatives of guilds. At the end of the hall knelt dozens of foreigners, many of them warriors and adventurers and other merchants or dignitaries of foreign lands seeking favors or boons shrouded in the cloak of mutual benefit. She sat on the throne with an even gaze bereft of strong emotion. Her yellow eyes peered ahead as the court was bid to rise following courtesies rendered. Numerous, dull petitions were dealt with yesterday, but not today. Today was the day a new beginning. Her herald, a Varkovnian human himself, barked once more at her behest.
“A GREAT HUNT is proclaimed! Those who have answered the call and have been given a generous welcome shall know their bravery and ambition shall not be forgotten for their service not only to Princezna Velinka but to all Varkovnia who suffer the MENACE of DARKNESS that rends!” Excited shouts responded from all corners except the throne itself where an unsmiling princess sat in observance of the court’s reactions. Her hand raised on the hilt of Svetraje. The gathered eyed the foreigners who came in their ones, twos, and even full-fledged guilds. They brought with them strange clothes, looks, language, and some of them were even considered barbaric monstrous-looking cretins by the narrow-minded and xenophobic Varkovnians. It was always a wonder that the Princezna tolerated and even encouraged the arrival of foreign-born heroes when Varkovnia itself has many sagas of great heroes such as great Jaromir.
“BE SILENT. For her majesty shall inform you of the great darkness that gnaws at the gates of the land!” The herald then turned, as his liege stood to speak.
“Honored guests and brave warriors, I hereby welcome you to Varkovnia. You have come for your purposes whether it is to earnestly slay the creatures that torment the land, to seek glory, wealth or even power in the lost artifacts of the land. It matters not to me why you are here. What matters is that you came and know that -ALL- who serve me shall be richly rewarded in the Great Hunt.” The suveran paused, her eyes seemingly peering at each of them in a moment, “Not only shall I reward the bravest who have come forth, but the relics uncovered in your path are yours to keep. This is the price I pay to return peace and prosperity to our proud people who have forced a great realm before us. Newfound prosperity we are on the precipice of…”
The dozens of foreign adventurers looked on silently alongside the court, some surprised at the willing relinquish of old, Varkovnian relics to be found in their path. Dozens of beasts to be slain were named, their heads delivered to Castle Valasek. “... Now, go forth and conquer. The eyes of Varkovnia, nay, the world are upon you. I await news of your successful hunts. May the gods’ will reign.” As the speech ended a mixture of excited or polite applause was given as the Great Hunt began officially. The tradition began since Prince Pavel, second Prince of House Varkov, began calling the Great Hunt to destroy beasts of the land. As the day neared its end, Velinka stared down from the keep as the foreigners left. She wondered who would return to receive the ultimate reward...
As the adventurers departed the numerous dignitaries and diplomats would no doubt return to mewl, request, beg or shmooze their way into favors they presume would be to their self-serving interests. However, the largely enigmatic Czermak kept them guessing at her thoughts on the outside world. All know her ambition to fully rule Varkovnia as an absolute ruler, but few knew her thoughts on the intrigues and alliances forming around her other than a recent trade agreement with the hated Republic of Zemnalkov to the surprise of many who now saw their merchants increase in number as well as the number of hobgoblins and goblin mercenaries swell the ranks of those under the direct command of the Princezna’s Rytirs.
Word of peasant uprisings or burgomeisters being defenestrated for insolence or disobedience were largely hushed by her enforcers and those who knew were wise enough to not openly damn their elven ruler’s name. For despite her apparent beauty, there was a harsh gaze behind those unusual, yellow eyes of hers. It was no wonder she was still unmarried despite the tradition of Princes and Princesses marrying foreigners to form significant alliances. Yet, monstrous attacks, bandit attacks, and the occasional sighting of the horrid wagons carried by the foul people of Mertvi Zhyvi distracted the isolated masses from their open dislike of the incoming Anqualan elves who have increasingly migrated from Zemnalkov to escape goblinoid domination.
The rattling war-cries echoed throughout the battlefield beneath the castle’s bluffs. The chill of winter’s rain fell heavily upon them as the men fought desperately. Moving through the infamous black forests outside Volchya, warriors come to strike at the black heart of evil. The evil that grew into a mighty host in their homeland and terrorized the people for decades would soon be crushed. Their reign of terror seems finally closet to an end. Jaromir the Shepherd uttered a guttural, but unmistakable shout accompanied by the roar of the Hruzaski. Living legends through deed, the monster slayers rushed forth to clash with the monsters ahead. Their silver-gilded blades glistened in the moonlight that shone between the great storm clouds that commanded a great storm upon them. Great was the omen for the battle would secure the future of Varkovnia at long last after ten years of campaign. The legions of men stood shield to shield in four ranks facing off the hated foe ahead. Following a great charge the men sallied forth. The sounds of battle, steel hitting steel, steel striking flesh, and cries of agony and triumph echoed. Ranks soon gave way to chaos as the Risen foe began to crumble under the might of the heroic force opposite them.
Sasha, one of Jaromir’s dearest companions cursed under his breath as he spotted the shrouded figure on horseback. The figure wore a peculiar ruby-red amulet and a crown with the unmistakable griffin emblem of the fallen House Varkov that had been claimed by squabbling cadet branches. The figure was known to all on the battlefield. An arrow shot into the figure’s head, knocking back the hood to reveal no head in place. Undaunted, Sasha drew another arrow, his aim was true. His status as a living legend was nearly equal to that of the charismatic shepherds’ son Jaromir. He fired once more at the horse’s legs, striking a hit that sent the headless rider to the dirt. The grinning archer’s triumph, however, was cut short. As the army of undead led by the black rider faltered and disintegrated a dense fog crept in a supernatural fashion. Quickly vision was obscured, and the Hruzaski soon lost sight of one another as visibility was zero.
The sound of battle continued, rotten and skeletal figures collapsing with the occasional shrill shout and yell of men dying at the close of the battle was heard. Fearless Parvan moved in a frenzy, the berserker swung his axe and sword wildly. The notorious, hot-headed warrior of Tairnopol survived many battles with the savage Okke, his scars demonstrated his indefatigable endurance as he fought the Shade of Varkov. The Shade’s cursed black sword was covered in alchemical flames, searing the flesh of Parvan. In response, the berserker slammed his axe onto the blade, twisting his shortsword to impale the undead warrior in the chest. With the blade striking true, Parvan leaned in with all his might, grinning without knowing his fate sealed. The Shade’s left arm extended into the man’s chest, a deadly, claw-like hand impaling him, crushing the strength out of him. With a wordless gasp, Parvan fell, dropping his weapons and with the remnants of his writhing strength grappled the Shade’s arms. A fluid movement removed both rotting limbs, an exhausted dying warrior fell, Parvan’s pained look gave way to elation as he saw who delivered the critical blow.
Jaromir stood over the headless rider, plunging his enchanted blade Svetraje into the amulet around the dead man’s neck. His strike is answered with a guttural groan from the risen Radacek the Red. The angel’s power within him gave him the strength and willingness to see it to the end. Soon after, a long silence settled across the battlefield. After the rest of the risen force collapsed, the bindings that held them to unlife was eliminated. With a glance to Parvan, the mustachioed man gave a bitter smile, knowing Parvan sacrificed himself as did many others to end this. Their souls could now rest as the remaining heroes began to gather once more. Nearly half of their numbers were lost in the great battle, but at last the Cursed Legion was no more. No one understood why they rose or how. There were many unanswered questions. They would never have the chance to find answers.
As the men formed up through the thick mist around them, the hairs on their necks rose as a chorus of howls unmistakably announced the arrival of a new, dire threat. Worgs. The large, malevolent lupine beasts soon moved upon the warriors. A desperate call to organize is accompanied by shrieks of terror and pain as growls and the crunch of bone audibly passed through the damp forests. With a shout Jaromir was struck from behind, shuddering as he fell. He knew the beast would kill him quickly.
With a jolt, Jaromir realized it was a man that had knocked him off his back. The shepherd looks up as the weight fell off him. Movement catches his eye. A ferocious, huge lupine beast pounced upon Sasha. With a desperate slash with his shortsword, the archer’s arm was seized by the red-eyed beast’s mighty jaws. His arm gave way to the sharp, jagged teeth like a knife through butter. His scream was short-lived as the beast’s jaws reached over his head, quite literally biting his head off.
As Jaromir stood, he could tell his men fought desperately, but not hopelessly against the beasts. He saw Ivan the Mad, Slavoj the troll hunter, Rumen the Dragonslayer, and Veliko The One-eye fighting in a square. Their grim determination inspires him. He stands up, the mighty beast had consumed half of the legendary marksman, his legs fell to the ground with a final, decisive bite as it fell out of the red-eyed beast’s maw. This is no worg. A barghest. His thought immediately turned to the fight at hand. Jaromir steadied himself as the monster grinned at him with sharp teeth and hate-filled, predatory eyes. He charges blindly or so it seems as the beast leaps. Quickly, he rolled underneath the claws, grabbing an arrow and stabbing it into the breast of the beast. The large, black-furred monstrosity roared in pain. The scurnze-laden arrow Sasha prepared causes incredible pain.
With a ferocious roar, it charged once more. Jaromir side-steps and strikes. Svetraje tastes blood as the beast’s shoulder is torn, exposing musculature. A claw swipes him, tearing his armor asunder and Jaromir falls on his back tasting blood as the rain poured on his drenched body. His torso bled, his armor only slightly resisted the mighty claws of the demonic-wolf creature before him. Its pitch claws raked with blood. As he moves to stand, he sees the teeth glistened with blood, human sinew stuck between canines with the stench of death about it. Jaromir stood on a foot and leaps back, slashing at the beast’s jaws. The barghest howled in pain, its maw cut and teeth flying loose. Jaromir curses, the beast’s blood covered his sight. As he blinked them open a force knocked him on his back, his head was reeling.
The man’s eyes opened once more the beast looms before him, grinning a wounded, but triumphant monster. A shill fell down his spine as he heard the death rattles of his men. But how? On the moment of their triumph? The liberation of Varkovnia was at hand, yet now all Jaromir could see was darkness staring at him. His face contorts with righteous anger, shouting as he swung his blade once more. The beast laughed. The phantom limb did nothing as the blade sat on the ground, still in the grasp of his severed right arm. The red leer bore into him as if savoring the moment. “Mighty shepherd, you have forgotten your place. I remind -you- who rules the land.” With a sickening lurch, the beast lounged as the grimacing Jaromir gave a primal shout of defiance, his exposed left hand launched in a wild haymaker as the beast’s jaws snapped around him and all was darkness. A series of sickening crunches could be heard that gave way to silence.
The mist clears revealing the carnage of war. Hundreds of bodies, dead and rotting as the sickening feast ends with crows circling overhead in the rain that washes the blood into the soil. The Hruzaski fell, the legendary warriors each met their end sure of their victory over the darkness. No man would understand what truly happened to them. A true evil was born from the blood of salvation. The gloom in the forest deepened as a large shadow was cast across the realm. The barghest’s body shook, and trembled, its eyes widened as the angel’s blood and man’s flesh filled its belly, contorting as its eyes widen. The power of the angel spread across its body, the beast’s feast of body and soul complete as it absorbed the angel’s power from within the great hero. The barghest’s mind swelled with the power and ambition of Jaromir and its deceptive, black-heart rose as it grinned in sudden realization. Varkovnia belonged to it and the land had now found its ‘shepherd’ to guide it in her image.
The Great Hunt is called! (998 2nd Age, Spring)
Velinka opened her eyes as she awoke from the dream of the ancient battle. The elven figure sat on the bed with a stretch. It was early morning with the sounds of spring heard as songbirds could be heard from a distance during a clear, sunny day. She felt dizzy, remembering the exquisite festivities and celebrations of the previous evening. The feast was quite something and the drink was bountiful. She realized the sounds of servants cleaning awoke her. A horrid mess was strewn about the room undoubtedly due to the revelry and excitement of the previous evening. As they silently bowed and carried on with their work as she bathed and prepared for the court to be held. There would be many new guests here for a myriad of reasons. She dressed in her finest silks, donned her crown marking her as Princezna of Varkovnia, a claim that several burgomeisters and nobles dared question, but not for long. The shepherd must safeguard the sheep from the wolves. Her subjects sought safety from the monstrous perils that plague the land after all.
“Kneel before her majesty, Princezna Velinka of House Czermak, Suveran of Varkovnia, Guardian of the Seven Cities, Speaker of the Gods, The Caller of the Great Hunt, and Mistress of the venerable House Czermak!”
She entered the well-decorated court that held a great sense of majesty and flair in its design. This contrasted with the castle’s outwardly foreboding atmosphere that enhanced its reputation as a cursed keep. Her entry was flanked by well-armored Rytirs. Their strength and loyalty enhanced the dramatics as the monarch walked in with an air of dignity and majesty expected by the courtiers and guests awaiting her arrival. Among the courtiers lay administrators, Burgomeisters, nobles loyal to her cause, and representatives of guilds. At the end of the hall knelt dozens of foreigners, many of them warriors and adventurers and other merchants or dignitaries of foreign lands seeking favors or boons shrouded in the cloak of mutual benefit. She sat on the throne with an even gaze bereft of strong emotion. Her yellow eyes peered ahead as the court was bid to rise following courtesies rendered. Numerous, dull petitions were dealt with yesterday, but not today. Today was the day a new beginning. Her herald, a Varkovnian human himself, barked once more at her behest.
“A GREAT HUNT is proclaimed! Those who have answered the call and have been given a generous welcome shall know their bravery and ambition shall not be forgotten for their service not only to Princezna Velinka but to all Varkovnia who suffer the MENACE of DARKNESS that rends!” Excited shouts responded from all corners except the throne itself where an unsmiling princess sat in observance of the court’s reactions. Her hand raised on the hilt of Svetraje. The gathered eyed the foreigners who came in their ones, twos, and even full-fledged guilds. They brought with them strange clothes, looks, language, and some of them were even considered barbaric monstrous-looking cretins by the narrow-minded and xenophobic Varkovnians. It was always a wonder that the Princezna tolerated and even encouraged the arrival of foreign-born heroes when Varkovnia itself has many sagas of great heroes such as great Jaromir.
“BE SILENT. For her majesty shall inform you of the great darkness that gnaws at the gates of the land!” The herald then turned, as his liege stood to speak.
“Honored guests and brave warriors, I hereby welcome you to Varkovnia. You have come for your purposes whether it is to earnestly slay the creatures that torment the land, to seek glory, wealth or even power in the lost artifacts of the land. It matters not to me why you are here. What matters is that you came and know that -ALL- who serve me shall be richly rewarded in the Great Hunt.” The suveran paused, her eyes seemingly peering at each of them in a moment, “Not only shall I reward the bravest who have come forth, but the relics uncovered in your path are yours to keep. This is the price I pay to return peace and prosperity to our proud people who have forced a great realm before us. Newfound prosperity we are on the precipice of…”
The dozens of foreign adventurers looked on silently alongside the court, some surprised at the willing relinquish of old, Varkovnian relics to be found in their path. Dozens of beasts to be slain were named, their heads delivered to Castle Valasek. “... Now, go forth and conquer. The eyes of Varkovnia, nay, the world are upon you. I await news of your successful hunts. May the gods’ will reign.” As the speech ended a mixture of excited or polite applause was given as the Great Hunt began officially. The tradition began since Prince Pavel, second Prince of House Varkov, began calling the Great Hunt to destroy beasts of the land. As the day neared its end, Velinka stared down from the keep as the foreigners left. She wondered who would return to receive the ultimate reward...
As the adventurers departed the numerous dignitaries and diplomats would no doubt return to mewl, request, beg or shmooze their way into favors they presume would be to their self-serving interests. However, the largely enigmatic Czermak kept them guessing at her thoughts on the outside world. All know her ambition to fully rule Varkovnia as an absolute ruler, but few knew her thoughts on the intrigues and alliances forming around her other than a recent trade agreement with the hated Republic of Zemnalkov to the surprise of many who now saw their merchants increase in number as well as the number of hobgoblins and goblin mercenaries swell the ranks of those under the direct command of the Princezna’s Rytirs.
Word of peasant uprisings or burgomeisters being defenestrated for insolence or disobedience were largely hushed by her enforcers and those who knew were wise enough to not openly damn their elven ruler’s name. For despite her apparent beauty, there was a harsh gaze behind those unusual, yellow eyes of hers. It was no wonder she was still unmarried despite the tradition of Princes and Princesses marrying foreigners to form significant alliances. Yet, monstrous attacks, bandit attacks, and the occasional sighting of the horrid wagons carried by the foul people of Mertvi Zhyvi distracted the isolated masses from their open dislike of the incoming Anqualan elves who have increasingly migrated from Zemnalkov to escape goblinoid domination.
