“And those who corrupt the Gift of the Lord, who wield power not made for men, will bring an end to the world. They will corrupt the soil with every step they take. They will corrupt minds with every word they whisper. They will bring unnatural horror with every curse and spell they cast. They are spawn of demons, and they must be wiped from the Lord’s Kingdom.” - The Word of Light, Veneficium 1:1 ========
Opening Music ========
It was freezing cold night in the Northern Tribal settlement of Falkreach, with a blizzard so ferocious that the icy hale cut into your skin. It was hard to see beyond a few metres and most were trapped inside their homes… if they were lucky. Indeed the far North was always cold, but this night was enough to strike woe into the heartiest of men. The more superstitious of the tribe had begun to call it an omen; a sign that their warriors would not return from battle with a nearby enemy war band. And if the men did not return home then who would protect them?
In one of the frozen town’s tiny huts sat a young boy, no older than nine, and his withered old grandfather. It was a quaint home made of wood and stone, and had little to fill it save for a few pots and some crude bedding. A small fire limped on in the corner, its dying embers barely enough to light the room. The two of them were on the edge of falling into a deep sleep, their bodies giving into the cold, when the grandfather suddenly sprung up and rushed to the door. Amongst the howling of the wind he could hear a faint sound that made his wiry grey hair stand on end. He shut his eyes to focus whilst his grandson looked on nervously. It was screaming. “Rhol, stay here!” barked the old man as he took grip of his staff. His grandson reached forward as if to stop him, but it was in vain as a moment later he was marching out of the door and into the frozen hell.
Rhol sat shivering with his wide blue eyes fixed on the door, hoping that his Grandfather would come back. The wind felt sharper now and he could feel the cold on his very bones. Minutes dragged on and to the young boy it felt like an eternity. The screams slowly became louder and orange glows began to pierce the icy veil. Rhol could tell it was fire from the way it danced, and his gut told him that he should run. He pushed himself up against the wall, his back rubbing against the crude wooden wall as his legs extended. He took a deep shaky breathe then, running as fast as his legs could take him, Rhol burst from his hut and to the South, away from the growing flames. The snow went up past he knees and it took all his strength to keep moving at a pace, especially with the blizzard pushing him back. All around him the screams continued to grow, until he could hear them so vividly that his ears began to ring. He looked frantically about as he ran and could see silhouettes dashing around, taking each other down. An abrupt flash of arcane magic went off to his right, and for a second he could see five men kneeling down and tearing something apart. Tears began to stream down from his eyes but froze to his skin before they even reached his jawline.
Suddenly there was a roar to his rear, a man’s shout so loud and strained that it sounded almost inhuman. Rhol tried to spin in reaction, but he lost his footing and fell into the deep snow. “No! Please!” he cried out as he begun to flail in the snow, desperately trying to get away. But when Rhol looked up at the shadow he became frozen in fear. Slowly it creeped towards him, becoming more and more visible with each step, until a bearded man in chainmail could be clearly seen. “Daddy?!” Rhol exclaimed… but this was no longer his father. The young boy locked eyes with the thing that stood before him, and before he could even let out another scream his world turned to black.
========
10 days ago
========
“And what would you have us do instead? Take our armies North to die and leave our shores defenseless against Dawn?!”
“If Dawn wanted to launch a counter-attack they would have done so before now!”
“Or maybe they’ve been waiting for the right time to strike!”
“It’s been nine-fucking years! Have they been waiting for us to grow old and die? Besides, why would they want to invade us now that this plague sweeps over the land?”Lady Buxton could hear the heated discussion from down the large hall that she marched along, and she expected that many of the guards were probably having a cheeky listen. The dark hall in which she was currently walking down was one that most did not even know existed, for it sat beneath the palace’s main hall. It was wider than it was tall, with bare grey stone walls that contrasted heavily against the glamour present throughout the rest of the Giant’s Crown. The only objects were the low sitting braziers that were placed at every other weight bearing pillar, and in their dim light one could just about see the guards that stood like statues along the very edges of the room. It would have been a very eerie place were not it not for the shouting coming from the end of the hall, behind the large oak doors. Opening these revealed a smaller circular room with a massive black onyx table, The Knight’s Table. This room was warmer and better lit, with purple carpets and silk banners adorning the walls. Around the edges were crates of food and barrels of wine, as well as doors to small bedrooms. This was more a bunker than a cellar and in the case of a dragon attack, this is where one would find the Royal Family.
“Ah! Katrina! I’m glad that you have arrived!” boomed King Barius with open arms. The large heavy set man stood as his niece entered which caused the shine of his gold-trimmed steel plate armour to almost blind her. Despite his warm smile his face was pale and tired, and more grey streaks adorned his hair and beard than ever before.
“Yes, better late than never.” Grumbled Sir Mercury, one of the five knights sat around the table with the King.
“My King.” Replied Lady Buxton with nod and her fist clenched to her chest, ignoring the comment of her other colleague. “Where are the others?” she asked, noticing that even with her arrival that eight of the fourteen knights were missing.
The man to the King’s left rose then, the renowned Sir Chester. The ruggedly handsome man stood with excellent posture that was clearly the result of discipline. “Lady Sax and Sir Tro are still unaccounted for; we believe they may have fallen victim to the plague. Sir Varris and Sir Aldi are still in Dawn, but they have few men and no way to return. The others are all assembling or moving forces.” His voice was low-pitched but clear, and he had developed a posher accent over the years since Lady Buxton first met him.
‘No longer the gruff soldier’ she thought to herself as he spoke.
“If they were here they would all have the guts to agree with me!” barked Sir Mercury as he thumped his gauntlet down on the table. Lady Buxton rolled her eyes and took a seat as the argument inevitably resumed.
“Why are so eager to retreat from this foe?” asked the King with a sly smile, “I thought the great Sir Mercury feared no one? That’s why I made you a knight after all!”
Sir Mercury scoffed and spat out some of his mead as he did so. “With all due respect my King…” he begun with an uncharacteristically polite voice, “Go fuck yourself!”
Whilst the comment made the King chuckle, the other knights were clearly not so impressed by the insult and a couple even found their hands grasping the hilts of their blades. Sir Chester himself found himself ready to lunge forward if his fellow knight was stupid enough to try anything. Lady Buxton on the other hand simply sat back and put her feet on the table. “That’s enough.” Came the cold voice of General Picard, the king’s brother and third in line to the throne. Picard was the opposite of his brother with his skinny (although surprisingly muscular) frame, no hair, and austere personality. It was clear that this man had seen war and he had an air of authority about him that few dared to challenge. “You would
all be wise to show respect, both to your
king and your fellow knights. We have not got the time to sit here bickering like a bunch of fucking southern girls. We’re at war on both sides, we’ve lost contact with Titus, we’ve got civil unrest, and I’m having to tell my men to burn alive our own citizens if they show any signs of infection. We need to agree on a plan.” As he spoke he looked to each chair in turn, his intimidating glare showing that he was in no mood to screw about.
“As much as I hate to say this… I agree with Sir Mercury.” Came the voice of the pretty Sir Marcus, the baby faced cousin of the King. He was clearly a lover, not a fighter, and his long brown hair and soft features often resulted in him being the buck of the palace guard’s jokes. ‘The Meat Sheathe’ they called him, despite him being one of the King’s most trusted advisors. “As you know, I have always thought that the invasion of Dawn was in our best interests and I believe it still is. Even if Dawn chooses not to launch a counter-attack, leading our armies North will result in our annihilation. We have no idea where the plague is coming from nor how to stop it. Sending our armies against the horde will only cause it to increase in size. I think that we should devote our armies into protecting the cities and invading Dawn to provide us with a safe passage away from the infected.”
“And if the hordes surround the cities then how will our people escape across the sea?” asked Lady Elta, “Fight their way out? Would it not be better to devote
all our forces into sweeping North and eliminating the threat? No more infected, no more infection right?”
Sir Mercury was getting visibly angry at her argument, and she barely finished speaking before he began shouting. “But then what is there to protect us from Dawn? From monsters? From-”
“Dragons.” Interrupted Lady Buxton. “My father told me that Dragons learned to stay away from the cities because they knew the armies of men could defeat them. If we drain our cities of troops then it’s possible that the dragons might take notice and return. Even if they don’t, it only takes one infected person to get into a city and create another horde. We need to keep the cities defended.”
“So you agree with me too?” beamed Sir Mercury.
“No. I still think there must be another way. We can’t just run from this plague, we need to destroy its source. Otherwise what’s to stop it from simply following us to the edge of Olympus?” Lady Buxton muttered with her head down, letting her thoughts effortlessly drip out of her mouth.
“Then what would you suggest?” Asked King Barius, his eyebrows raised.
Lady Buxton took her feet off the table and sat up straight, looking the King directly in the eyes. “My investigation into the Temple of Sol Massacre has reached a dead-end, especially with this plague. Why not let me start a new investigation? Give me an elite force and I will find the source of the scourge myself.”
========
Present Time – The Cross Roads
========
“When I asked for an ‘elite force’ I meant like the first and second legions…” Lady Buxton looked miserably around the dank old inn in which they sat, “Not a dozen old drunken veterans.”
“These men are fine. We just need more of them.” Sighed Sir Chester as he himself raised a wooden mug of mead to his lips. The two of them were sat in an inn called ‘The Kevil Arms’ in the middle of The Cross Roads. It was a large wooden place, well lit with a few fireplaces, that was usually one of the busiest places in the town. However the dozens of old wooden chairs and tables now sat empty, as the inn served as the temporary base of the King’s own private investigators, the Consano. Lady Buxton counted 11 men, not including the landlord, that supposedly served under Sir Chester during his military days. On paper they seemed capable enough, but they were far from what she thought the Consano needed.
“Do you think more will turn up? We’re due to leave in the morning and we’ve already extended our stay longer than expected.” Lady Buxton groaned.
“Well, the sign’s there.” Sir Chester replied, nodding to the chalk board that was erected against the open doorframe. In truth it looked more like a messy inn menu than an advertisement to join the King’s own private force, but the Consano was more than a little strapped for resources, despite the multiple investors that had immediately sprung up once the word got out. “At this point we’d be foolish to turn anyone away. Conscription begins in two days, and after that every able hand is being drafted into the military anyway.” Chester took another sip of his mead as he finished speaking, not knowing what else to say. Conscription was a smart move; not only did it provide the King with a bigger army, but it was a good excuse to move people south and away from the approaching horde.
“Then I suppose we just wait.”
ButtsnBalls,
AlteredTundra