Red Dawn
Location: Somewhere in Rural Iburia North/East of the Morktree /
Everywhere in Inburia North/East of the Morktree
Somewhere in Rural Inburia East of the Morktree - Everywhere in Rural Inburia East of the Morktree
Folmon Eilthana was awakened by the barking of his dog. After pulling his pillow over his head it became clear the animal was having another fit, barking at the squirrels no doubt. Rubbing his stinging eyes he tossed his sheets aside and swung his legs over the edge of the bed. It was then he heard the sound of what sounded like footsteps creaking against the boards of the veranda just beyond his window.
"Who's goes there?" Folmon called into the darkness, moving to the window to try and see who was visiting at this hour.
He was greeted by a voice, like thunder from just beyond the window. "Eet is death!"
"Uh..." Folmon's heart nearly stopped as the window exploded, several flashes and the sound of gunfire shattered glass and splintered wood from the far wall of his bedchamber. He threw himself to the floor, his ears ringing as figures pressed through the windows and curtains beyond. Outside he could hear pounding at the front door of people trying to break down the door.
Scrambling across the floor he went to bedside table where his pistols were stored. Cursing, he realized both unloaded, and Folmon rolled under his bed. Outside, the bandits had cleared away the glass, reloaded their weapons and were scrambling inside.
"Fucking got him!" One exclaimed as they entered. Three men entered the room one after another as he heard the front doorframe splinter and give way, men spilling in out there too. Beyond the house he could hear the yelling and screaming of killing and dying. Shots rang out. Once inside the house, he heard the smashing doors and other sounds he could hardly identify.
Folmon realized then and there he was going to die. With his useless pistols, all he could do was lie still, waiting to be discovered and killed. Every moment that passed reenforced the certainty that these human bandits were of no mind to take prisoners or hostages. He could hear the brigands outside killing his friends and family, one after another. It reminded him of a pack of wolves when they made a kill - a growing cacophony of barking and howling that rose towards a fevered pitch as the deed was finished and only petered off as they set to eating.
Or in this case looting.
For what seemed like an hour he lay there. Realizing as the figures passed through his room and moved on to looting the rest of the house that, in the darkness, they assumed they'd shot him dead. Still, as the sounds of the rampage beyond began to settle, he could still hear figures moving outside. The yipping and hollering rising up once again as someone attempted, what he'd been contemplating - to make a break for it - and they descended upon the unhappy person.
It was then that a figure entered the room. As they paused, Folmon could almost see them looking around. "He was here." The figure said. He recognized the voice, deep, resonant. The same voice that had answered his call from the window. He knew this man. One of the field slaves that worked the lord's estate.
And then. "Dhere you are!"
Hands seized Folmon by his ankles and dragged him from under the bed. The field slave yelled for others as other humans surged into the room, and in moments fists and boots were upon him.
They dragged him, bloodied, from the bedchamber, his head careening off of toppled and broken furniture as we was carried through the hallway, again he struck his head as they wrenched him down the steps of the veranda out front onto the dirt.
Outside the world was madness.
Humans gathered around the central courtyard of the estate ground. Folmon knew the lord kept at least a hundred field slaves and some of the other elgan and even a few free humans had their own. By the looks of it they were almost all here jeering; a host of black shadowy figures that blended together in an amorphous mass in the starlight. And then the figures closed around him, shouting strange oaths as they began kicking and beating him once again.
The humans were everywhere here, crowded around. Amidst the shuffling feet and raining of blows he could see one or two other survivors being put to similar treatment by the mob. Folmon knew they had broken his left arm and several ribs. Every time the beating paused, men would call to kill them now but others just shouted 'Not yet' as they took turns with the beatings.
Spitting blood and fragments of teeth onto the dirt, he recalled seeing his cousin with her young infant sitting propped against the side of the house, mother and child weeping together. Next to them a humanness with dirt on her face emerged from the house, wearing a fine dress that was two sizes two long her - she giggled and laughed as she hopped down the steps and did a little pirouette while onlookers clapped.
Another boot connected with Folmon's fac and his vision went dark. The last thought before he went out was that this might be the last thought he ever had.
This was the end for him.
Folmon's vision, the aching pain, and taste of blood in his mouth came back. He was aware of some other figures standing over him. It took a moment to realize these new humans hadn't been there before, and were arguing with the slaves. It was only then he realized the beating had stopped.
His heart skipped a beat as he heard a gunshot go off, and he realized one of the men had fired a pistol into the air.
"Listen! Tiss man belongs to Cause now! Dhese tings all belong to Cause. You take dhese tings, you are estealing from your Brodhers and eSisters! We need dhese tings for Cause. For dhe fight!"
Several of the young men were arguing, but it was clear these men were different from the field slaves - many Folmon realized he recognized. The newcomers were strangers though. Threadbare, the speaker carried two pistols tucked into his belt. The others carried muskets and swords, or spears - they looked and carried themselves more like Owned Men than slaves or even wealthy freemen. Around them people seemed to listen to these men.
The speaker seemed disinclined to engage with the men arguing, instead he turned away as another pair of figures - who seemed to know the newcomers - engaged with the young men. In the meantime the leader of the group turned to the rest of the group milling around. "You are free men now - dhere is imperial garrison tree hours ride - if you wish to remain not just free but alive: you will listen! We need men, right now to watch dhe road! You! You! Yes you. Go." He pointed to two men who nodded and ran off.
As Folmon lay in a pool of his own blood he watched this man. It was only at this point he fully realized he had not, in fact died, and there was a slim - albeit paltry hope - he might not die. It came too with the dawning realization these were no ordinary bandits raiding farms for desperation. This hadn't been some spontaneous uprising. This human quickly set to work organizing this mob. Posting sentries. Ordering the slaves to gather up everything they had looted. To Folmon's astonishment they obeyed, gathering everything together into a room in the manor house - himself included - where they posted sentries. The man in charge told the guards that if anyone tried to steal anything, or harm or take the captives they were to shoot that person; and that if they did not he would find and shoot them himself.
In total they gathered seven elgan survivors of the thirty or so that had lived and worked upon the estate. The lord was away, but of his family only the youngest daughter had survived and to her some of the humans made unspeakable promises, this despite the girl being no older than 12. One of the other men who'd survived - and been beaten like Folmon - was dragged away and killed.
"We will kill you too soon enough." One of his captors assured him after it happened.
The leader of the armed men held court, of a sort, in the room next to where Folmon was guarded. When one of the slave guards mentioned that they could hear what was said the man waved dismissively saying in his lilting peasant accent. "It no matter what dhey hear."
So Folmon listened through the night as the man gathered up those who knew the area. He learned he was a lieutenant of Skotinodasos, a name Folmon actually recognized as being one of the many escaped slaves that roamed the lands around the Morktree. The authorities had posted notices that he was wanted for years now. He could see now, why they hadn't yet been caught. These men were far more organized than he'd ever imagined slave bandits to be. They spoke little and tolerated no nonsense from the field slaves. The slaves seemed to listen to them because they carried themselves like masters.
He'd heard there was a brigand problem near Rodelkog, but for them to strike this far north and west of the Morktree. To strike so brazenly a lord's manor. This could have easily gone poorly for them.
Listening to their conversations he also discovered this was no simple farm raid by outlaws.
Through the night they organized the slaves, and from the conversations it sounded as the local rabble had been in contact with these men in organizing all this. Which made sense, as a rule the human slaves as a rule were of a pedigree and intelligence that even their fellow humans looked down upon them. These men though whipped the slaves into a frenzy, sending several as messengers to adjacent farms and estates, passing messages to other conspirators that Folmon couldn't overhear.
Folmon realized then that what was happening here, wasn't just here. They were raiding other farms as well.
Then he set the rest of the slaves to work doing things like gathering and preparing the animals, loading the wagons with what had been collected. Then they began setting fire to all they could not carry.
It was at this point Folmon and the others were carried outside, him relying on the assistance of his fellow prisoners to move. It was there he saw not only the bodies of the lords family, some of his own friends and family among them, but he was surprised to see several humans dangling from the trees as well.
When Folmon asked his captors about this, they spat and told him these humans were worse than elgan: human overseers, drivers and informants. When he asked why they hadn't killed him yet, they again assured him not to worry and that they would kill him soon as well.
Well before dawn, the bandit lieutenant and his men left with several of the more capable field slaves who'd collected up the collection of pistols, muskets, swords and other weapons kept on the estate to keep the humans in line. One of the humans that knew the area well, claimed they knew an area any force responding from the garrison would have to pass. They left one man behind to collect what they could.
As dawn approached Folmon and the other prisoners were moved west with the impromptu caravan to a small human farm that had already been abandoned. The bandit that accompanied them then split the group, the laden wagons carrying on west, while he led a group of some of the more active slaves and unladen wagons and animals south to meet up with some other group. Folmon's guards were ordered to wait there, and expect other prisoners to be brought.
Prisoners from two other, smaller manors arrived. All in state of shock. Mostly women and children. Only one other man joined Folmon, though he appeared to have escaped the sort of beating Folmon and his companion had sustained.
Through the day they waited. In the absence of the bandits Folmon could hear the guards becoming less certain of their position. They sat on logs around a fire together roasting chickens while Folmon and the rest of the prisoners were tied up in the ramshackle peasant barn-shack structure on a farm that had clearly been abandoned years ago, such that a tree now grew from the collapsed thatch roof of the building.
Above them though it was daylight, the whole of the countryside was set in a sicky dark and yellow haze. Beyond they could see a vast ring-like glow of red, like an angry sunrise that seemed as though it encircled the whole of the world. At times, it was difficult to even speak or breath for the coughing.
"By God, Inbur is burning." Folmon remembered the lord's daughter saying, uttering a prayer as she gazed forlornly over the thick black plumes of smoke rising high, turning day into unnatural red twilight.
It wasn't just one or two farms they were hitting. Those four men had probably been to several through the night - sending fresh men they recruited on site onward to rise up. In his mind's eye Folmon could almost see it, like a wave of fire unfolding across the countryside.
Seeing their distress, one of the men around the fire - whiskey dripping down the front of his shirt pointed and laughed at them. "Dhe Skotinodasos has called dhe olde magick - dhe world itself casts off dhe wickedness of dhe Elgafolk and he raised dhe Red Dawn!"
Despite the man's bluster, Folmon could hear that in the conversations amongst themselves their captors were less confident. They had expected more to come, that someone would tell them where to go next and as the day wore on, they worried riders from the Imperial Garrison would be coming soon. Folmon could almost sense their former confidence evaporating and the slow growing terror at the prospect that something had gone wrong and they'd now been forgotten and abandoned by their comrades.
If he'd been at all ambulatory, even unarmed, Folmon had the notion that with their passions spent it would take nothing at all to scattered these men. He'd lay a thrashing upon them with bare hands these, little more than frightened sheep with nary a spine among them, were ready to crack and run or beg for their lives.
"Why have you done all this then? Surely you know you and your kind will suffer for it in the end?" Folmon eventually gathered the temerity to ask them.
They responded, to Folmon's astonishment, that Emperor Voron II had issued a decree granting all human subjects their freedom, and giving equal status under the law - but that the Elgan lords were refusing to obey the emperor's orders.
"I've never heard such a thing." Folmon said after a moment of being struck dumb by this incredible statement.
One of them went on at length about the 'true state of affairs' in the empire. He claimed that the authorities were lying to the human and elgafolk alike. That in The West The Dawnbringer had come, and demanded the Empire release the human slaves. Folmon listened to the deluded human for a time, out of sheer fascination with the sheer imagination of it all.
He claimed that the brigand problem was in fact a conspiracy of armies, all risen up by The Dawnbringer to free the people before leading a final glorious charge upon the Blight. He claimed this was all foretold by a prophet, Skotinodasos, who foretold the end of the blight was at hand, but all attempts to end it would fail before the humans of Haltia were free of all exploitation. He then went on to talk about secret societies that secretly controlled the Empire.
The man was all energy as he explained that the old Emperor had finally had enough of them, so he'd been killed, and now these secret societies backed Volon's brother. It all continued for some time, but Folmon stopped listening when the human got into how the dwarves were not all gone, but in fact, secretly had their hands in the affairs of all the kingdoms of the world.
"Everyone is saying these things!" The drunken human captor exclaimed. His fellows nodded, but seemed less enthusiastic on the subject and inclined to let this human be their spokesperson.
In fact, Folmon knew no one had been saying anything of this sort, though it the proof was clear that the brigand problem was - in fact - far more out of hand than he'd imagined. He very much doubted any force of brigands had defeated an Imperial Army at Rodelkog! Much that rebels had risen everywhere and won three victories all at once. This was some of the most astonishing nonsense Folmon had ever heard.
In any case Folmon decided it was best not to argue with the deluded, albeit heavily armed, fools. Instead he merely commented that their present course seemed, to him, a doomed endeavor.
Eventually when Folmon stopped responding to them, they went back to arguing over what to do. As dusk approached they seemed to reason out what was plainly obvious to Folmon and the other captives from the beginning: that with the Garrison being less than a day's hard ride, last night's raid would surely have reached the garrison and Imperial riders would certainly be on their way now. In the meantime no word had come for them about where to move next and they were in a state about what to do and where to go.
As it became dark, they elected one among their number to proceed to the nearest farm and learn the state of affairs and resolved that he should return to them by midnight.
The three remaining humans began to settle in for the night. They were lazy watchers, and it was more than possible for any of those prisoners who could've walked to have escaped - but they reasoned it with brigands everywhere running amok and watching the roads it was safer to wait among these men - who despite repeatedly threatening them with certain death, and the obvious menace they posed when roused, seemed to lack the nerve required for truly cold-blooded murder.
The onset of night did nothing to ameliorate the glowing upon the horizon. If anything the the aura of red menace only grew more potent as what little sun percolated through the smoke and cloud disappeared below the horizon. Folmon and the other prisoners speculated with wonder that it seemed the revolt was continuing, spreading like wildfire itself and they wondered just how far it might go.
The fourth man never returned at midnight, or what these men reckoned must've been midnight for the smoke obscured all attempts to reckon time. Even so, exhausted and hurt, Folmon fell in and out of sleep.
Folmon was wakened in the night by their captors having a row. They were certain Imperial cavalry would be arriving today, a notion Folmon and the other prisoners did nothing to dissuade and indeed themselves had fervently prayed together for deliverance. Now down to three, two were of the opinion they should leave before light. The third, a stalwart, argued that someone had to come for them and they should wait.
The argument turned again and again. They worried themselves into frenzy whether cavalry was already near and the others dead and that was why their comrade or others had come. Or perhaps they'd simply been abandoned in all the looting. In either event things were coming to a head and for a time they argued that they could move faster if they killed the prisoners.
It was there Folmon's fellow prisoners insisted they should not be a trouble or burden, and would ensure even Folmon and the other wounded man not slow them down.
This seemed to settle the matter for a time, but it became clear that among the three the one was firmly set that they should wait as ordered.
With no consensus reached and dawn fast - or likely since no one knew for and the smoke obscured all - approaching, the two humans waited until their companion was relieving himself in the woods. Then they quickly hitched the wagon to the pony left to them, along with what supplies had been in the wagon and quickly departed.
When the human fellow returned to find his companions had abandoned him, even Folmon - who till now had felt little but hatred for these wretched murderers - felt some measure of sympathy for the poor lad.
He'd known the human from the estate, not rough or normally inclined to rebellion or violence at all. It was clear he'd been caught up in things, put up to doing evil deeds by evil men and now after having done everything asked of him, had simply abandoned him.
For all that he pitied the human's plight, Folmon could see the young man weighing the rest of his likely short life as the cold human eyes fell upon him and his fellow prisoners. "You two are too wounded to be moved without dhe wagon." He said pointing at Folmon and the other wounded man. As he approached them, withdrawing a large bladed knife that trembled in his hand. "Dhe oters I can take."
He spoke, looking at Folmon as though offering an apology.
"You don't need to kill us. You were put up to this. Your fellows abandoned you. If you spare us we'll put in a good word for you." Folmon offered, rolling painfully on his side to better face the human.
Folmon had expected an argument. To have to convince this human, even beg for his life but this young human who'd already seemed terrified before relented at just this.
The human even offered to free those who were ambulatory of their bonds if they promised he wouldn't be killed. Folmon and the lord's daughter both assured him that was the case, and the human set about cutting the others free and even agreed to share with them what food and wine he had with him. Again the prospect of leaving was brought up, but even in mixed company they reasoned it was better to stay put than risk the roads.
Morning was another red sunrise. The wind began to pick up and howl, which only fanned the flames and at times it was difficult to see down the road or even breathe though from here they never laid eyes on naked flame. Together Folmon sat, waiting. Human and elga together worldlessy went through the motions of gathering water from an old well, preparing a meal. All of them gripped by the same hope and terror of what figures might finally issue forth from the dusty storm of smoke and fire, delivering upon one or another of their mixed party deliverance and destruction in equal measure.
It was in this moment that human and elga sat about and prayed together for some deliverance from this predicament they now found themselves.
None could say how many hours passed, but either the smoke had drawn thicker or the dusk settled in because it had begun to darken once again when the thundering of hoof and calls of elgan horsemen came storming up the lonely worn wagon road. Folmon's cousin went out to waive and attract the rider's attention to the run-down buildings, and the young human immediately agreed to turn over his weapons over to the lord's daughter and the only uninjured elgan man amongst them.
"Just don't let dhem kill me, yeah?" The terrified boy insisted, his eyes wide with terror.
They all agreed they'd make sure to protect the human, who'd stayed with them and kept them alive while the riders wheeled from the road and approached warily through the rough hedge of broken cedars that at one time had probably been some farmer's field. The lord's daughter went to greet the group, explaining that this human had stayed with them and protected them against the other bandits, and his fellows abandoned them and that they'd promised to spare his life for being so good to them.
"That so?" The imperial sergeant said looking down from his, quite literally, high horse to where the young human cowered and kowtowed, pressing his face into the dirt while the horse gasped, and huffed, flicking its tail wildly against the flies that harried it.
With one swift movement the sergeant swung his pistol from his belt in a wide arc, before the entire astonished crowd. Folmon only had time for his mouth to open in silent shock as the sergeant's pistol drew level with the human's head and the snap of flint and crack of thunder, the musket set the human's skull to exploding like an overripe melon.
Folmon recalled looking up and seeing the lord's daughter looking down in horror at the sight, her night-dress even more ruined than it had been before, blood and bits of human skull, which still had brains clinging to them, dripping down the front of her shocked face.
"We lost three men to those fuckers on the way out." The sergeant's tone was impatient as he reloaded and primed his pistol again. "We counted near 50 elgafolk these brigands murdered on our way here. Women and children. Fucking animals!" He spit on the dead human from atop his horse then.
The lord's daughter intervened then and she and the sergeant had a bit of a row over the matter, but neither the sergeant nor his fellow harquebusiers were in much mood to listen. In any event Folmon wagered their sorry group of prisoners was in a poor bargaining position. The riders sent for spare mounts that a few young lads were minding some distance back. They had no wagons though, and as Folmon was too injured to ride himself he was obliged to suffer the indignity of being slung over the back of another rider's horse like a sack of sod.
From this disgraced position, Folmon had little recourse except to stare helplessly at the solitary human corpse, left in a pool of his own blood for the dogs as they galloped away.
He learned from his riding companion virtually the whole of the countryside was on fire as far as any of them had been able to ride. There were rumours some battle or another had taken place with the bandits in Rodelkog, but no messengers had come from any of the other towns and while they'd scattered or cut down every human they'd come across, slaves and peasants had disappeared from the fields and taken to killing and banditry everywhere.
"Is it just here?" Folmon asked.
"No fucking clue. We ain't heard shit from nobody but the ones came riding into the garrison screaming bloody murder that the humans were gone all fuckety." The rider growled, and even showed him where a musket ball had grazed his arm and narrowly missed shattering his shoulder. "We got ambushed three fucking times on the way here and there's a good chance we'll run into another bunch on the way back."
The unnamed harquebusier' prediction proved prescient when the men at the front of the party stopped their group, seeing movement in the distance along one of the stone fences. The sergeant ordered the forward group to find another way round. By this point they were running low on powder, the horses hadn't been properly rested or fed and they were eager to make way back to the Fagwyn Estate, which owing to stone construction hadn't been fully destroyed. There was no food or fodder for the animals there but it was still defensible: as it seemed unlikely they would make it back to the garrison tonight.
Folmon was put up in a room with the other wounded man, his injuries given short thrift by an elgan officer who admitted having no formal training beyond familiarity with patching busted up soldiers. One of the women, a seamstress from Inbur, that had survived the ordeal with him ended up being the one bringing him food and water and changing his dressings.
It was from her he learned the horses were growing hungry and restless. This group had killed more than 100 humans they'd found, for the 50 or so elgafolk they'd murdered, though she tearfully admitted one of those killed had been one of her assistants who'd hidden her during the initial bloodletting and had taken no part in the bloody business.
That night one of the men posted sentry was killed and another wounded before the bandits were scattered back into the woods. The Owned Men claimed to have killed three but when the searched the treeline come morning they found no bodies and concluded their comrades must have dragged the bodies from the field.
They road back to the garrison the next day, taking a few sporadic - ineffective shots - from the treeline before returning to find the garrison and the surrounding community in a bloody mind. Most of the farms and fields they past were in a state of absolute devastation. Blackened, charred, fields and buildings that at points stretched as far as one could see.
Virtually the whole of the garrison had ridden out and split off to cover more ground as the extent of the revolt became apparent. Despite having burned much of the surrounding countryside - including the pastures and fields where fodder that supplied the garrison horses - the people here were confident and bloody minded in lieu of what had happened.
The fires continued to burn in places though the worst of it had begun to die down by the fourth day. There'd still been no word from the outside world, the roads everywhere were teaming with brigands. In the area within a day or two of the county garrison, no less than 100 farms, granaries and stables had been looted and destroyed. In the following days it was found over 400 elgafolk had been murdered by the butchers, including many of region's leading families and personalities.
Others were missing. Presumably taken. The rumours were spread among human and elgafolk alike these brigands were killing everyone they took. The men had promised he would be killed, but Folmon hadn't been so sure.
Paranoia was rampant, and Folmon even heard some of the elgafolk women treating him beginning to whisper that the humans were placing curses on people - causing them to whither and die, children to be brought forth stillborn and bring other calamities upon them. In the aftermath the garrison counted just under 2,000 humans killed in retribution attacks - many though were women and children, and others he knew for fact were simply victims of runaway paranoia. At least that number of men were missing - either hiding in the woods in solitary bands while some, Folmon suspected, had shacked up with the armed humans that had been in charge.
Folmon was disheartened by many things. He felt nothing but rage and the desperate need to be rid of his injuries to get his own bloody satisfaction against the murderers who'd done this, even as he realized there were men in the towns and garrisons striking blindly at any human they saw. He was disheartened by worry about supplies and lack of news from outside. Perhaps most of all though, he was frustrated the officers who'd spoken with him seemed to put little stock in his warnings.
They seemed to think him a man with little sense, disturbed by shock. They were dismissive of his warnings that while the slaves were easily cowed, there'd been men among them who'd seemed of a different sort and caliber altogether.
"I put little stock in these rumours of black magic or rituals - I've never known the human folk magic to be good for anything. But I tell you, I knew the humans that performed the attack. They worked the area for years and never would have done this on their own. But these others - they were different. I'd never seen them before and they had a plan, and the slaves and peasants listened to them."
"We've broken every group we've met out there. They're probably dead already." The officer noted, though Folmon asked and no one could recall stripping anyone so heavily armed as these men had been. "Some of those bandits know a thing or two, they can seem intimidating certainly, but they break all the same when they meet real Haltian steel. Get your rest, sir. You've been through an ordeal. We'll have this sorted by the time you're better."
This was the assurance Folmon was given, and he knew he should have faith. Putting humans in their place was what the Haltian Empire did after all, but still, he wasn't quite so sure.
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