The Valradic Siege Camp
" I say we leave him for dead, toss him with the rest and set the burning pits alight, should keep us warm through the night all the same " stated one of the guards, more entertained by the strangers desperate situation than anything in a morbid kind of manner. The officer's expression was stilled as he considered his options, it was evident that this stranger had levied a moral impasse upon the officer. He begrudgingly relented albeit with an audible sigh, looking back first at the guard " It is not your place to say Vigilator. " he added reprimanding the subordinate and issuing a stern nod, as the other departed to tend to his duties.
" I grant you this, for sheer measure of the fact you held your own against those things that came for us in the night, I respect this fortitude... do not mistake this for mercy or gratitude, it is a debt, one which shall be paid for with service because if anything it is evident you can fight. Apothecary ! help this man into a tent and tend to his wounds by my order, Vigilator ! have some guards stationed outside this tent, I'd like to make proper inquiry of our guest once his wounds have been mended. "
Doubt plagued the Archate's gaze as he made this decision, it would either be one that he would come to supremely regret or a gamble that made for suitable returns. He could not say he was not impressed and moreso rather aghast with regards to how this stranger managed to stay alive, if anything he'd rather not have the stranger join the ranks of the undead, he was better off fighting for the legion, the Archate garnered it would be a suitable barter given the circumstances, moreso than his service... the Archate was concerned with who the man was, where his loyalties lay and what he could offer. Though first thing was first, he nodded to his guards who seized the stranger, and tore that tabard off him, he was in a legion camp now, the appropriate regalia were not a choice they were mandated. Thereafter he was helped to the Apothecary's tent.
Surely enough a few hours passed into the gruelling process of mending his wounds, the apothecary's tent was a site no legionary truly wished to see, a morose sight of amputated limbs laid in buckets and blood soaked bandages, as well as a plate full of extracted arrow heads and splinters, racks and rows of medicinal tinctures, potions and pellets. Bed rolls were laid upon the ground, and most the men within drunk themselves into unconsciousness so as to not face the pain, disfigured and cauterized, many crippled, those fit to fight were shaken all the same. The dim light of a candle evident as a spectacled apothecary made their notes upon parchment, in a manner eerily non-chalant and unphased by their work, blood splattered all over the apron.
" Ah, Archate.. good.. you're here... about my latest patient, it's rather remarkable how this specimen managed to survive their wounds, the ruisians make use of particularly vicious barbed arrow heads, they were shot from crossbows that found their way through armor, I essentially had to flay his back owing to the depth of the wounds and extract each arrowhead individually... he heals with remarkable vigor from such grievous wounds, a mere hour or so into placing the stitches they had already begun to cure... no ordinary man would carry that much sanguine humor either, a truly copious amount of blood was spilled... he wavered in his consciousness a few times but application of the appropriate media was able to sustain him... the neck wound had to be cauterized and I've sealed it with a patch of false-skin bandage that should blend in under all is healed beneath... how he held up despite that sort of pain eludes me.... in all my years I have not seen such a display of fortitude... and this worries me... I advise you to exercise caution Archate... all may not be as it seems, I've placed some spell-wards just in case. "
The archate nodded entering the tent and taking a seat beside the resting stranger, he was offered a suitable measure of rations all the same to restore vitality after such an extensive procedure. The Archate issued a stern gaze, he had questions to be answered.
" Who are you ? what do they call you ? and what in the name of the spirit made you decide to come here of all places ?... you were wearing a Ruisian tabard were you not ? did you fight for them or was it a ruse ?... you offered me a valradic salute back there, know that it was likely the one factor which made me swerve my decision in your favor... I've held up my end of the deal, I believe now its time for you to explain yourself. I need some assurances if you are to fight with us, the last thing we need right now is turncoats and scavengers looking for a way out. "
He added arms crossed, awaiting answers when the stranger was roused.
Caerbryn Battlegrounds
Valradian Siege Camp
Valradian Siege Camp
The stranger made no sound as the soldiers laid their hands on him, and his face betrayed nothing when the tabard was cut from his chest. His silence continued as he followed them to the infirmary in a careful, shuffling walk. The smells of antiseptic, viscera, and offal filled the canvas walls, but under all of them lay the inescapable iron tang of ichor. The reek sent him back to his very first war, and his eyes misted over.
The stranger was quiet as he was stripped to his waist, his armor peeled back like the layers of an onion: chain, gambeson, tunic. All effort was made to preserve the armor, though the more easily-replaceable tunic was cut away. His hide was marked by more than just his recent wounds. Scars decorated his back, old lashes and what appeared to be an imprint made by oversized human teeth upon his trapezius. Worst of all were his hands and forearms, which were scarred to the point of palsy.
.png)
Despite his fortitude, the stranger still felt pain, and did what he needed to mitigate it. He groaned and cursed in a dead tongue, and gnashed so hard upon the leather strap clutched in his teeth that the scar crossing his lip split slightly. His blood flowed heavy and scarlet, abundant but otherwise mundane. He obeyed every command the medics gave him, including to eat and rest so that he might regain some modicum of strength for the hell that awaited them when the sun set.
The stranger was singing when the Archate came. His voice was soft, nearly lost under the moans of the wounded, though those who were close enough to hear--and conscious enough--fell quiet to listen.
When the Archate sat, the stranger finished the stanza, then quietly heard the man out. Each question made him wince slightly. Some would be easier than others to answer, but none would be simple. "The name my mother gave me I can no longer recall. I bear only a t-title: the Hanged Man. Some clepe me Falche or Kite, for mine arms, or Nemo, for I am no-one." Or Crow. Wasn't that what his sharp-eyed general had called him, all those years ago? "I came hither because ... because ... nnnh, I cannot remember. Shock casts strange spells 'pon the m...inds of m...en, even ones as war-worn as I. Thy camp was closer, mayhap ..."
Then the inquisition grew difficult. The stranger prodded his scar with his tongue, and his brow furrowed. He suspected the salute would be noticed, but hoped it would go without comment. It had been accidental, yes, but whether it was a mistake or not was left to be seen. "I served thine Empire, once. 'Twas far from here, and many years ago. Now I fight on the R...uisian side, though I'd liefer not fight at all."
Likely it was not enough to satisfy the Archate, but Nemo did not venture more information unless pressed. Instead, he planted a mangled hand on his heart. "But thou hast my solemn oath, Archate: I shall fight at thy side against the dead, and against no other. After they are put back to the b-bronze sleep thou mayst do with me what thou seést fit. I am at thy mercy." His lips thinned, for he had seen the sort of mercy Valradians could dispense. How long had it been, now? He hadn't thought about his general in years, or the phoenix banners he flew. It might have been nothing more than a dream, a hazy impression of something misremembered, if it wasn't for the Empire knocking on his doorstep to remind him ...
Valradic Siege Camp
The archate was perplexed to say the least, an eerie song was uttered by this individual in a place where most made utterances of pain and dread, he seemed all but ready and rather comforted by the leisure of this hospice tent, as if it was some sort of temporary respite from a life of struggle. The archate on his part was divided upon what to make of this " Falche " for he was part warrior, part madman, part traitor and part sage... a combination that wouldn't be found in any other story or bards tale. Yet for all this, Falche conducted himself wisely, his oration was not brash nor boastful and it seemed every word of speech was carefully selected to guide him towards a certain end. Could the Archate lend his trust ? well, if the man was willing to lend his sword in a time so dire then it was worth entertaining nevertheless, it mandated a trial and no doubt Falche would be put to the frontlines to redeem himself and prove his worth to the Archate. As The Crow spoke, the Archate gestured for him to speak slower and quieter for the tent barely afforded any protection from prying ears, it was very obvious that this intervention of the Archate went beyond standard protocol.
" Your words only lead me to more questions ? what am I to make of you that you have lended me such information ?... you served the Empire ? and now you fight for the Ruisians ?... It would make sense as much, they've got capable elites but their levy are a joke... I suspected they'd have resorted to mercenaries sooner or later and my suspicions have been affirmed... it stands to reason that it doesn't really matter what side you fight on for now Falche... If you served as you said you did, then you understand well enough what is to be done with traitors... but that part of your history stays with me... I think your tale and likely your reasons merit a second chance... so that you remember that the Empire does not abandon those who toil with... what we may call... a temporary lapse in conviction... I command these soldiers, I know what goes on in their minds... I won't ask why you did what you had to do... but that you see to it that mistakes of such a nature are not repeated. "
Archate Hadrian Erebor
" My name is Hadrian, a name that shall always be preceded by the words Archate when uttered by you, and I will take charge of you. Once you are rested report to the commons so I can assign you to a decanium and you can get yourself some proper armor... you understand that for the first night you'll be assigned to a decimary charge... which mean you will be the first line... if you survive that'll be proof alone that you're worthy and we can discuss the matter of what to do further with this arrangement, and that may include the negotiation of... assigning you a mule and some supplies to allow you to leave if you so wish, you don't have to fight here if you don't want to... but it presents a chance to absolve yourself... after all you know well enough that eventually the truth has a way of circling back, especially when the Empire's eyes are concerned... I doubt anyone could make a case for your imprisonment when you had a seal of absolution granted by an imperial officer. I'd like you to think of what I'm offering here as more of a trade than a punishment... you can cease the formalities in front of me, I know a mercenary's loyalties and honor are fickle things... I expect you to fight well Falche and in due time, the Empire shall compensate you enough for you to make your way further... I hope this is acceptable to you ? "
The archate nodded and offered a Valradic salute to the man.
" Once a legionary, always a legionary... only in death does duty end, I know not what the future holds for you falche but consider your service here a worthwhile penance one that will buy you sufficient peace to make a future for yourself once this is done. For your sake and mine I hope I am clear, I won't impede on your rest any further soldier, your duties will resume once you can stand yourself on two legs and swing a sword. "
With that the Archate arose and marched himself outside the tent, it was evident the man had many matters to attend to but now he at least had some semblance of who this character was, he still didn't trust the man, moreso one who could so non-chalantly declare betrayal but he could see a sense of conviction and guilt in his eyes and it was only right by the deus that he should be afforded penance, the archate himself wasn't sure why he did what he did there, it went against sensibilities, but these were strange times... perhaps some part of him hoped that in this act of justice, should he fall, he would be able to account himself to the spirit as a just and righteous man.
The only thing that was evident was this, Falche was afforded his opportunity, on terms that were not binding and from here on he could make his way onwards, without the threat of reprisal. But all this rested on a daunting trial that awaited him in the night.
Thor laid with his head on Marcus's knee. Those soft brown eyes looked up at him and his tail wagged to the right. Thor was certainly happier now that the Rilynath forces had arrived.
He would let out a whine as if he were asking Marcus to finish the corn, Del-Hidori peach and the buffalo meat that was brought.
He would let out a whine as if he were asking Marcus to finish the corn, Del-Hidori peach and the buffalo meat that was brought.
Caerbryn Battlegrounds
Valradian Siege Camp
Valradian Siege Camp
Falche took Hadrian's gentle inquisition in stride, even offering a mischievous and lopsided smile when the man spoke ill of Ruisian draftees. "I was levied," he said coyly. "If I am a joke, then I pray I am at least a funny one." Warrior, madman, traitor, sage ...
Few imperial officers would take treason as calmly as the Archate did. Despite this appreciated mercy, Falche was not prepared to lie. "It was no mistake," he said in a soft voice. "But r...est assured, Archate, that it was not borne from cowardice." To explain himself further would be to risk himself in an entirely new way. After all, what would Hadrian think when he learned under whom this stranger had served--a man who had been dead and gone for thirty years? Falche did not look young, but nor was he a wrinkled elder.
Despite the risk, he fought the urge to say more. The sights and smells of this imperial camp were bringing things half-remembered flooding back. He yearned to indulge in them, to bring the eyes of his general back into clarity. He had forgotten until now that they were dark. At first, they were like a calm black sea--cool, reserved, strangely inviting. Then they had warmed to him. At the end, they had been black pits like those of a skull. "Mayhaps, if there comes a gentler time, thou canst loosen my tongue with w...ine, and I shall tell thee my reasons."
Once a legionary, always a legionary--only in death does duty end, Hadrian said. Falche had died ... hadn't he? He could no longer remember. Part of him died, surely, when the sharp-eyed general made clear his cruel intentions. In any case, Falche's "always" might last longer than the empire itself, so what came between hither and yon sometimes seemed of little consequence. He bowed his head and returned Hadrian's salute. "Aye, Archate," he said. "Though 'tisn't mine own future I w...orry over, but that of my found family." He did not care if Ruis fell, so long as the couple and their three daughters came through it unscathed.
He leaned back on his cot and allowed himself the few hours of sleep afforded by the poppy. By the time he awoke, the pain had intensified, making him grimace. He did not relish the thought of standing and walking any sooner than he needed to, but he did, albeit slowly. He left his chest wrapped in nothing but his bandages--raising his arms to don a tunic seemed like it would be an impossible task. When he strode into the commons, his long blond hair set him instantly apart from the closer crops of the Valradians. He shrugged off their curious glances and scanned for Hadrian.
"Archate," he greeted, mixing a Valradian salute with a bow.
Valradic Siege Camp
As the words were sounded, the officer lifted his gaze from a parchment held between his thumb and index, offering a stern glance upwards to acknowledge the newfound recruit with a slow nod. With Falche were assembled nine others and from the expressions on their faces and their general appearance it was evident that these men did not represent what should have been the ideal valradic legionary. It felt more like an execution line than an assembly, nevertheless they fared better than their contemporaries and in his wisdom, Hadrian made sure that the bucket of severed heads from this morning's executions were made to be in clear view of these men, a lofty man dressed in lighter armor, with an assortment of iron tools strapped to his belt, wielding a maul in one hand and in the other ? well there was no other, rather a menacing looking wooden stub from which protruded iron spikes. This man was clearly the quartermaster, elderly though capable and always within earshot of the archate as he tended to the tools, wares and equipment of his contemporary... all requisitions, repairs and requests went through this officer and to add a layer of grimness to what was already a rather tense situation he paused to pick up the bucket of heads and toss them over to the war-mastiffs that patrolled the tents at night, large scarred beasts with black and brindle fur, ears cropped, blood rusted spikes protruding from their collars as they were held back by chains, even legionaries gave them a wide berth as they were known to have a rather unsavory disposition only the beast master could corrale them, they descended upon their offering and should any have dared look on, the sight of skulls being crushed in carnassial jaws would never be forgotten, Hadrian found it necessary to expose them to this, in order to ensure they ensured the gravity of their situation and the weight of the consequences they were spared from.
" Last night, a warrior named Publius Korhal, a man whom called you brother and a legionary exemplar, stood atop a hill overlooking the mass... like you he could have chosen to flee, but as your officer he gave the ultimate sacrifice, in that moment had you not presumed that fortune was lost upon you and acted as cravens perhaps things would have turned out differently. To be a citizen of the empire is a privilege, to be a legionary is to understand the burden of that privilege... "
He slowly swerved his head over to Falche, and then back to the others.
" Cowardice lies in the act, any man who serves or has served swears an oath, an oath of his life for the Empire, why is it then that when you swore that oath upon your honors that you stand before me today, you would be wrong to presume that it is your survival that offends me, no... what brought you here are your actions, actions that were in no way different from the men who were fed to the dogs before you, yet as fate saw fit, I was made your archate... our law has but one outcome for treason and treachery... you are all acquainted with this, but these are dire and difficult times... therefore you have been offered a chance to atone yourselves so that you may be deemed honorable once more... and should you fail, then may your souls be damned to the seven hells to suffer a fate worse than these men fed to the dogs for all eternity... Quartermaster, lend them their tools "
The quartermaster pried open a box of torches as the archates assistance affixed a small map to a board displayed in front of each man.
" Our forces will be stationed towards the wall, the fighting last night taught us many important lessons, for one these creatures feel neither pain nor are they hindered by wounds that would be grievous to others... only through severing the head, bludgeoning or incineration do we have a hope of stopping these creatures... for this purpose we have decided to switch our strategy from pitched battle to utilizing missile volleys so we can set alight large droves of these creatures... this shall be your station "
He added whipping a cane upon the board that clearly showed the men were to be stationed on the outskirts far into the frontlines.
" You will be given two barrels of fulminant pitch, your first task during the closing hours of the day will be to make the march into the far outskirts beyond our battlelines, this is where engagements occurred but our forces were unable to burn any corpses or gain tangible ground, hence these positions were abandoned during the night and form the forward zone, during the day these can still be seen from the battlements of the ruisian positions, to which our forces intend to migrate... this has no bearing on your task, you will begin spreading the liquamen in this area, ideally where the corpses are and then proceed to burn them... this will take around one of the barrels, as for the other barrel... you will spread its contents upon the ground as you make your way back to here "
He added whipping the cane to one of the abandoned outpost towers in that area.
" When the cowl of darkness is upon us, you will signal our battlelines with your torches and through burning patches of pitch to signal where to fire our volleys...flaming arrows and projectiles will be loosed with the intended effect of creating areas of flame either impassable or destructive to the undead. You will stay there the night and report back in the morning. This is a mission that shall assist our efforts but is in no way crucial to them... but for you this is a chance at redemption, so you will either come back heroes or you will not come back at all "
His gaze then returned to Falche, issuing a sigh before a scowl gripped his features.
" Quartermaster, find this man some proper wares... I hope you will not mind the corpse stench and tarnish, evidently those tasked with stripping the armor off the slain had great disdain for the task, I'm sure you'll find something to your fitting... take a weapon or two if you'd please... a gladius makes up for in effect what it lacks for in range, else I advise something crude and efficient that will certainly cripple the foe if not dispatch them outright... "
The quartermaster placed an hour-candle upon the quartermaster's desk and set it alight.
" You men have until this candle goes out to make any preparations, rations have been provided for you, ready your gear, sharpen your blades, take anything else you may need and then make your way. I do not want to see a trace of you until the morrow, do not return to this camp if you falter in your task... that is the final mercy I would afford you... for the foul undead will have none "
Ruisian Hinterlands - Forest Border
At long last, Marcus had gained the coveted momentum he required to proceed onto Caerbryn, despite this newfound vigor, Marcus wisely decided to proceed with caution. This would have been the border of the Ruisian forest, but now it was more akin to a swamp in light of the glacial floods, despite this the sufficient manpower and resources afforded to the replenished army allowed them to navigate their way through with due haste. In a rare admittance, Marcus was thankful to have not one but two loremasters present, their knowledge of terrain and navigation proved invaluable in allowing the armies to traverse the now treacherous landscape. Marcus estimated that by the morrow, they'd be entering into the forest proper and he debated his options.
He sat by himself in his tent, lit by lantern light. The drow emissaries within the Rilynath army afforded Marcus an added modicum of peace and there was specific reason as to why he requested Drow mercenaries... their proficiency in low-light and tight quarters, simply put, with such a force on their side they would have a significant advantage fighting under the cover of darkness. Levies and most defenses depended to a significant degree upon the use of missile weapons and projectiles and under darkness it would prove a significant challenge to utilize these effectively. A similar advantage applied in a defensive context, the darkness did not impede a drow's vision nor did anything escape their keen hearing, making camp within forests always discomforted Marcus due to his earliest campaigns against barbarian confederations, he had learned the hard way how the enemy could use such cover to their advantage... it was a contingency that was well considered and planned for.
Nevertheless, Marcus's mind was plagued by several considerations, like many branching paths into darkness where only one could lead to the desired destination. Every hour since his reinforcements had arrived, Marcus was struck by a new consideration, a new course of action and another plan. Rightfully so, he wasn't gambling with his own legion anymore, rather his honor was at stake conducting the armies afforded to him by Zaknayrr, and more importantly, the well-being of Zaknayrr's sons alas, tomorrow was promised to no man and whilst he had little regard for himself, Marcus was circumstantially considerate of others, as he scrawled battleplan drafts upon parchment amidst rounds of smoking his pipe in the late hours, he felt a nudge upon his lap.
T'was the warhound, and as if by instinct, Marcus's free hand found itself caressing between Thor's ears. A slow smile came upon his features and the distraction from his work was quite welcome, he looked into Thor's eyes as Thor looked into his and there was a sort of deep wordless communication between the two, his hands moved to cup Thor's jowls affectionately giving the hounds neck a slow circular stroke.
" Tired of toying with Invictus already? I'd have thought she'd keep you busy for longer given you two are inseparable... hrmph... I know why you're here... I'll be fine... yes... yes... I know I haven't eaten... alright, if you insist "
He added indulging in the food upon his table, he had a habit of eating quickly given the military urgency.
" Hrm... Rothe Buffalo... the mushrooms give the flesh a delectable taste... I expected Zaknayrr to send in good rations but this... its practically palace fair and this... how fortuitous... a Del-Hidori Peach, they give Del-Hidori fruit as wedding gifts in Rilynath you know... delicious and nectar laden... I certainly needed that... thank you Thor "
He added moving to the larger chair with the tent and patting on it for Thor to join, embracing the hound within his arms as if he was still a pup. Marc's hands stroked in his fur but his eyes seized the flame of the candle, his expression grew still, and then he looked back into Thor's eyes, finding the words.
" Caerbryn Must Burn, my every waking hour it haunts me Thor, as if some deep part of the conscience compels me without rest or relent, the men think I do not tire or falter, but this is not the truth. Hrm... I am tired... this has a way of catching up with a man... but ofcourse, that is only the futility of our mortal forms, the soul and spirit are what give us purpose... each day I have a thousand debates within the confines of my mind and each day it concludes with this; Caerbryn Delenda Est. A cruel thing to say, but law and order are bought at the behest of hegemonies, and though we may seem the tyrant this day, yesterday the peasant was cursing his lords, it is assured. When I utter these words, none amongst the soldiers dares to ask why? as they should, but I ask this of myself several times. Thor... my profession might have to do with war, but to make it my obsession was by my own doing... I think its a compulsion no one but myself could truly understand... no... no... I merely bicker these words owing to the burden of the campaign... there is something greater that will come from this... I am sure of it... I believe it... I have seen it... I have seen in my dreams the crimson banners hoisted upon their walls and within their capital, I have seen an age of prosperity and greatness for those that dwell here... It must be done"
As the words were sounded, the officer lifted his gaze from a parchment held between his thumb and index, offering a stern glance upwards to acknowledge the newfound recruit with a slow nod. With Falche were assembled nine others and from the expressions on their faces and their general appearance it was evident that these men did not represent what should have been the ideal valradic legionary. It felt more like an execution line than an assembly, nevertheless they fared better than their contemporaries and in his wisdom, Hadrian made sure that the bucket of severed heads from this morning's executions were made to be in clear view of these men, a lofty man dressed in lighter armor, with an assortment of iron tools strapped to his belt, wielding a maul in one hand and in the other ? well there was no other, rather a menacing looking wooden stub from which protruded iron spikes. This man was clearly the quartermaster, elderly though capable and always within earshot of the archate as he tended to the tools, wares and equipment of his contemporary... all requisitions, repairs and requests went through this officer and to add a layer of grimness to what was already a rather tense situation he paused to pick up the bucket of heads and toss them over to the war-mastiffs that patrolled the tents at night, large scarred beasts with black and brindle fur, ears cropped, blood rusted spikes protruding from their collars as they were held back by chains, even legionaries gave them a wide berth as they were known to have a rather unsavory disposition only the beast master could corrale them, they descended upon their offering and should any have dared look on, the sight of skulls being crushed in carnassial jaws would never be forgotten, Hadrian found it necessary to expose them to this, in order to ensure they ensured the gravity of their situation and the weight of the consequences they were spared from.
" Last night, a warrior named Publius Korhal, a man whom called you brother and a legionary exemplar, stood atop a hill overlooking the mass... like you he could have chosen to flee, but as your officer he gave the ultimate sacrifice, in that moment had you not presumed that fortune was lost upon you and acted as cravens perhaps things would have turned out differently. To be a citizen of the empire is a privilege, to be a legionary is to understand the burden of that privilege... "
He slowly swerved his head over to Falche, and then back to the others.
" Cowardice lies in the act, any man who serves or has served swears an oath, an oath of his life for the Empire, why is it then that when you swore that oath upon your honors that you stand before me today, you would be wrong to presume that it is your survival that offends me, no... what brought you here are your actions, actions that were in no way different from the men who were fed to the dogs before you, yet as fate saw fit, I was made your archate... our law has but one outcome for treason and treachery... you are all acquainted with this, but these are dire and difficult times... therefore you have been offered a chance to atone yourselves so that you may be deemed honorable once more... and should you fail, then may your souls be damned to the seven hells to suffer a fate worse than these men fed to the dogs for all eternity... Quartermaster, lend them their tools "
The quartermaster pried open a box of torches as the archates assistance affixed a small map to a board displayed in front of each man.
" Our forces will be stationed towards the wall, the fighting last night taught us many important lessons, for one these creatures feel neither pain nor are they hindered by wounds that would be grievous to others... only through severing the head, bludgeoning or incineration do we have a hope of stopping these creatures... for this purpose we have decided to switch our strategy from pitched battle to utilizing missile volleys so we can set alight large droves of these creatures... this shall be your station "
He added whipping a cane upon the board that clearly showed the men were to be stationed on the outskirts far into the frontlines.
" You will be given two barrels of fulminant pitch, your first task during the closing hours of the day will be to make the march into the far outskirts beyond our battlelines, this is where engagements occurred but our forces were unable to burn any corpses or gain tangible ground, hence these positions were abandoned during the night and form the forward zone, during the day these can still be seen from the battlements of the ruisian positions, to which our forces intend to migrate... this has no bearing on your task, you will begin spreading the liquamen in this area, ideally where the corpses are and then proceed to burn them... this will take around one of the barrels, as for the other barrel... you will spread its contents upon the ground as you make your way back to here "
He added whipping the cane to one of the abandoned outpost towers in that area.
" When the cowl of darkness is upon us, you will signal our battlelines with your torches and through burning patches of pitch to signal where to fire our volleys...flaming arrows and projectiles will be loosed with the intended effect of creating areas of flame either impassable or destructive to the undead. You will stay there the night and report back in the morning. This is a mission that shall assist our efforts but is in no way crucial to them... but for you this is a chance at redemption, so you will either come back heroes or you will not come back at all "
His gaze then returned to Falche, issuing a sigh before a scowl gripped his features.
" Quartermaster, find this man some proper wares... I hope you will not mind the corpse stench and tarnish, evidently those tasked with stripping the armor off the slain had great disdain for the task, I'm sure you'll find something to your fitting... take a weapon or two if you'd please... a gladius makes up for in effect what it lacks for in range, else I advise something crude and efficient that will certainly cripple the foe if not dispatch them outright... "
The quartermaster placed an hour-candle upon the quartermaster's desk and set it alight.
" You men have until this candle goes out to make any preparations, rations have been provided for you, ready your gear, sharpen your blades, take anything else you may need and then make your way. I do not want to see a trace of you until the morrow, do not return to this camp if you falter in your task... that is the final mercy I would afford you... for the foul undead will have none "
Ruisian Hinterlands - Forest Border
At long last, Marcus had gained the coveted momentum he required to proceed onto Caerbryn, despite this newfound vigor, Marcus wisely decided to proceed with caution. This would have been the border of the Ruisian forest, but now it was more akin to a swamp in light of the glacial floods, despite this the sufficient manpower and resources afforded to the replenished army allowed them to navigate their way through with due haste. In a rare admittance, Marcus was thankful to have not one but two loremasters present, their knowledge of terrain and navigation proved invaluable in allowing the armies to traverse the now treacherous landscape. Marcus estimated that by the morrow, they'd be entering into the forest proper and he debated his options.
He sat by himself in his tent, lit by lantern light. The drow emissaries within the Rilynath army afforded Marcus an added modicum of peace and there was specific reason as to why he requested Drow mercenaries... their proficiency in low-light and tight quarters, simply put, with such a force on their side they would have a significant advantage fighting under the cover of darkness. Levies and most defenses depended to a significant degree upon the use of missile weapons and projectiles and under darkness it would prove a significant challenge to utilize these effectively. A similar advantage applied in a defensive context, the darkness did not impede a drow's vision nor did anything escape their keen hearing, making camp within forests always discomforted Marcus due to his earliest campaigns against barbarian confederations, he had learned the hard way how the enemy could use such cover to their advantage... it was a contingency that was well considered and planned for.
Nevertheless, Marcus's mind was plagued by several considerations, like many branching paths into darkness where only one could lead to the desired destination. Every hour since his reinforcements had arrived, Marcus was struck by a new consideration, a new course of action and another plan. Rightfully so, he wasn't gambling with his own legion anymore, rather his honor was at stake conducting the armies afforded to him by Zaknayrr, and more importantly, the well-being of Zaknayrr's sons alas, tomorrow was promised to no man and whilst he had little regard for himself, Marcus was circumstantially considerate of others, as he scrawled battleplan drafts upon parchment amidst rounds of smoking his pipe in the late hours, he felt a nudge upon his lap.
T'was the warhound, and as if by instinct, Marcus's free hand found itself caressing between Thor's ears. A slow smile came upon his features and the distraction from his work was quite welcome, he looked into Thor's eyes as Thor looked into his and there was a sort of deep wordless communication between the two, his hands moved to cup Thor's jowls affectionately giving the hounds neck a slow circular stroke.
" Tired of toying with Invictus already? I'd have thought she'd keep you busy for longer given you two are inseparable... hrmph... I know why you're here... I'll be fine... yes... yes... I know I haven't eaten... alright, if you insist "
He added indulging in the food upon his table, he had a habit of eating quickly given the military urgency.
" Hrm... Rothe Buffalo... the mushrooms give the flesh a delectable taste... I expected Zaknayrr to send in good rations but this... its practically palace fair and this... how fortuitous... a Del-Hidori Peach, they give Del-Hidori fruit as wedding gifts in Rilynath you know... delicious and nectar laden... I certainly needed that... thank you Thor "
He added moving to the larger chair with the tent and patting on it for Thor to join, embracing the hound within his arms as if he was still a pup. Marc's hands stroked in his fur but his eyes seized the flame of the candle, his expression grew still, and then he looked back into Thor's eyes, finding the words.
" Caerbryn Must Burn, my every waking hour it haunts me Thor, as if some deep part of the conscience compels me without rest or relent, the men think I do not tire or falter, but this is not the truth. Hrm... I am tired... this has a way of catching up with a man... but ofcourse, that is only the futility of our mortal forms, the soul and spirit are what give us purpose... each day I have a thousand debates within the confines of my mind and each day it concludes with this; Caerbryn Delenda Est. A cruel thing to say, but law and order are bought at the behest of hegemonies, and though we may seem the tyrant this day, yesterday the peasant was cursing his lords, it is assured. When I utter these words, none amongst the soldiers dares to ask why? as they should, but I ask this of myself several times. Thor... my profession might have to do with war, but to make it my obsession was by my own doing... I think its a compulsion no one but myself could truly understand... no... no... I merely bicker these words owing to the burden of the campaign... there is something greater that will come from this... I am sure of it... I believe it... I have seen it... I have seen in my dreams the crimson banners hoisted upon their walls and within their capital, I have seen an age of prosperity and greatness for those that dwell here... It must be done"
Ruisian Hinterlands
Wolvenborn Camp
Wolvenborn Camp
Captain Seznich Droźys did not like Ruis. The land was too dry, the sky was too bright, and there was always an acrid, dusty odor on the wind. The tongue its people spoke sounded like ugly choking, and they wore ugly clothes, donned ugly armor, and ate ugly food.
At least, those were the reasons he gave when asked why his expression had been so dour during their campaign. In truth, he did not like Ruis because of what it meant.
In his youth, Seznich had thrown himself into each campaign with the ferocity of a starving wolverine. His prowess and tenacity soon earned him a small command, which he lead in much the same way, with only enough regard to keep his numbers steady. Men dreaded his assignment, for he made it clear that he was not beholden to them, and nor were they to him. All costs were justified for the glory of Valradia, and it was to her whom they were beholden. But those higher in the ranks used him well, for he would lead his swords into the jaws of hell if it meant a worthwhile victory.
Then he had been tasked with coming back from hell. As the princes clung to his chest, bloody and shaking from their torture, something changed. He swore he would never let them return. It was an oath intended to placate two terrified boys, but Seznich took it seriously long after they did. They were grown now, and it was their duty as secondborn to take up arms. Once or twice Seznich had half-wished some mild ill might befall them--an injury to take their sight, perhaps--that would prevent them from a martial life. His stomach still churned with guilt at the thought, even though he had done brutal penance.
Now the time had finally come. The princes were on campaign, and all the speeches he'd given his men about "the glory of the empire" and "no cost too great" rang hollow in his ears.
He idly leaned forward to run a hand over the bumpy carapace of his mount. The ten-meter-long zgury of the Deep Caverns were not a common sight on the battlefield, for they were difficult to train and maintain. Seznich had developed a bond with this one at the moment of her hatching, however, and she was as faithful a steed as any other, provided she was kept glutted on the bodies of the slain. Despite her size, her forty legs undulated in smooth waves to propel her over almost any terrain with speed and fluid ease. Her antennae waved in front of her, rhythmically slapping the ground as she felt her way. The reins were looped around the base of them rather than through her jaws, which left her mouth free for venomous bites. Her name was Tögataar, and she was a fearsome sight. When pet, however, she let out a series of low clicking sounds that reverberated through the saddle and up Seznich's spine. He found a seam in her carapace where he could rub the softer cuticle. She clicked again, this time in at a lower speed and pitch, indicating her contentment.
Content: art of Seznich on a creature resembling a giant centipede
Seznich watched inscrutably as Marcus embraced the boys like family, his dark brow wrinkled with consternation. Finally he dismounted and handed Tögataar's reins to a trained attendant, then strode forward to pay his own respects to the general, issuing a curt Valradian salute. At least Marcus had enough sense to refer to the princes as commanders, not soldiers. It was the duty of the latter to die for the former in exchange for responsible and noble command. Many were the links in the chain between--himself included--but to lead from the front was a death warrant. He was lucky the boys had taken to the martial arts with aplomb, but Gorogoth could lose himself in his furies and Viliai could fall to a stronger blade. Neither were invincible, and both were utterly dear to him, both as princes and as sons, whether they saw him in the same light or not.
It wasn't until the next day, however, when Seznich made an effort to take Marcus aside and speak a moment to him alone. The princes would not enjoy him fretting over them. "General Marcus. You said fifty wolves of your eighty remain?" he asked in his gravelly baritone. He was a short, barrel-shaped man. Though his face was lined, his white hair was not from age but from Drowish heritage, as were the slight points to the tips of his ears. "What will you do to ensure the safety of their highnesses?" He raised a hand as if to hold Marcus's tongue a moment longer. "I know that the tide of battle can be capricious, and you can make no guarantees. But you can try." He had the appearance of a squat and stubborn boulder around which a river might split. His tone was not accusatory, but he was resolute in getting an answer. "I would die a thousand deaths for those boys, Wolf--would you?"
Marcus's long shadow was cast within the confines of his tent, as he conversed at detail with Thor regarding his ambitions for Caerbryn, the crackle of a flame in a brazier echoed keeping the tent comfortably temperate. His hand already gripped the hilt of the leonine blade by the moment of the first bootfall within his den. Thor had been trained to give Marcus subtle cues with regards to any new presences and though this new face had been acknowledge Marcus hadn't expected the audacity to so casually march into his tent. He did not rise nor turn chair to face him, rather Marcus remained as he was so that he conversed first with the chair and later with Marcus himself, the man spoke and spoke at length without pause or relent, as his words went on, Marcus's grasp upon his blade loosened and went back to the side of the chair, as the words grew more callous and inconsiderate of both rank and decorum, the hand at the side of the chair clenched into a fist. There was a discomforting pause as the last words left this Dreznich's mouth, the hand relaxed and Marcus spoke, in a tone that was calm yet carried a gravity that was burdensome in the very least.
" You stroll into my tent under the cowl of night, address me without the approval of a worthwhile authority or adherence to the proper mannerism, you ask of me the status of my armies when the information is not of your concern but to your commanders and then you conclude by daring to ask whether I can assure the safety of those whom I trained with mine own hand? "
Marcus made an idle gesture with his hand, his tone more solemn, entertaining the thought for a moment
" That I cannot do "
" I've known you many years Seznich but this is the first time you've come to me to ask for help and counsel for what is your duty... I cannot remember the last time you invited me to your tent for a cup of wine, even though I am godfather to the princes you call your sons. But to be frank you never wanted my friendship, and... you were afraid to be in my debt. I understand.... you found paradise in Rilynath, you made a good living, had royal protection and there were courts free from imperial jurisdiction... you didn't need a friend like me... but now you come to me and say, Wolf, protect my sons... but you don't ask with respect... you don't offer friendship.. you don't even think to call me Wolf-Father instead you come to me on the night where I entertain my beloved hound's company and you ask me to give them protection... is it not protection that they are still alive ? "
Marcus rose from his seat and took a few steps to the side, speaking as he moved over to Seznich
" Seznich... Seznich... what have I ever done to make you treat me so disrespectfully ? if you had come to me in friendship, then any who'd dare to entertain the thought of harming those princes would be murdered in their sleep and if by chance an honest soldier like you should make enemies, then they would become my enemies. "
He paused pointing at him, looking at him in the eyes.
"And then they would fear you"
Marcus forwarded the Wolf-ring upon his finger expectantly, observing the man for what his response would be, the question had now been turned to a decision, he said he'd die a thousand lives but now those words demanded a clearer gesture, the question of Marcus's loyalty had been turned to his.
"Some day and that day may never come, I'll ask a service of you... but until that day, accept my pledge of protecting the princes as a gift. "
" You stroll into my tent under the cowl of night, address me without the approval of a worthwhile authority or adherence to the proper mannerism, you ask of me the status of my armies when the information is not of your concern but to your commanders and then you conclude by daring to ask whether I can assure the safety of those whom I trained with mine own hand? "
Marcus made an idle gesture with his hand, his tone more solemn, entertaining the thought for a moment
" That I cannot do "
" I've known you many years Seznich but this is the first time you've come to me to ask for help and counsel for what is your duty... I cannot remember the last time you invited me to your tent for a cup of wine, even though I am godfather to the princes you call your sons. But to be frank you never wanted my friendship, and... you were afraid to be in my debt. I understand.... you found paradise in Rilynath, you made a good living, had royal protection and there were courts free from imperial jurisdiction... you didn't need a friend like me... but now you come to me and say, Wolf, protect my sons... but you don't ask with respect... you don't offer friendship.. you don't even think to call me Wolf-Father instead you come to me on the night where I entertain my beloved hound's company and you ask me to give them protection... is it not protection that they are still alive ? "
Marcus rose from his seat and took a few steps to the side, speaking as he moved over to Seznich
" Seznich... Seznich... what have I ever done to make you treat me so disrespectfully ? if you had come to me in friendship, then any who'd dare to entertain the thought of harming those princes would be murdered in their sleep and if by chance an honest soldier like you should make enemies, then they would become my enemies. "
He paused pointing at him, looking at him in the eyes.
"And then they would fear you"
Marcus forwarded the Wolf-ring upon his finger expectantly, observing the man for what his response would be, the question had now been turned to a decision, he said he'd die a thousand lives but now those words demanded a clearer gesture, the question of Marcus's loyalty had been turned to his.
"Some day and that day may never come, I'll ask a service of you... but until that day, accept my pledge of protecting the princes as a gift. "
Veliai sat with a few wounded soldiers over by the medical tents. He was slowly having two wounded soldiers enjoy some wine. The more genteel of the brothers, the young prince enjoyed being kind and gentle towards his allies. The gods know how happy and excited he was to share the battlefield with Thor, Gorogoth, Marcus, and Seznich.
Gorogoth was walking through the camp almost jittery. He knew that tomorrow, Caerbryn and their soldiers would soon feel the bite of his axe.
Gorogoth was walking through the camp almost jittery. He knew that tomorrow, Caerbryn and their soldiers would soon feel the bite of his axe.
Ruisian Hinterlands
Wolvenborn Camp
Wolvenborn Camp
Seznich stared the Wolf steadily in the eyes. Their history together was long but never close--Seznich had never grown close to anyone, except the princes. Even his late wife had barely known him. Marcus had quite the reputation and he lived up to it now, waxing poetic about the captain's brusque behavior he had taken as a slight. Perhaps Seznich had been rude, by normal standards, but not his own. He waited as patiently as he could, though his arms were folded confrontationally over his wide chest.
Seznich's jaw clenched when Marcus turned his status as the princes' godfather into a weapon, jabbing harshly at the captain who was forced to endure it. "Why would anyone want friendship from me? The only thing anyone wants from me is loyalty, which I give freely to my commanders. As for respect ... I would not be here at all if I did not respect you, General. I do not enjoy wasting my time with platitudes, but if you need your boots licked to prove my respect--or your ring kissed--" He eyed the wolf seal ring Marcus flashed him, "--I will do my best to oblige." Though I will respsect you less, he thought
Mention of the princes being assassinated made Seznich double-take. Perhaps this had been a big misunderstanding--though it could have been resolved more quickly without all the grandstanding,. "I fear no enemies from within your ranks, General. You do your job well and your swords are loyal, even beyond the covenant of the pack. My only concerns are those that wait beyond this camp." The half-drow drew a deep breath as he felt around for the right words. He was not used to leveraging them. "You are accustomed to wrestling with pups, so that when they become wolves, you can lead them into battle. But my bo--their highnesses are neither pup nor wolf. They are something in between." Seznich's dim red eyes kindled like coals, not in anger but in what Marcus would recognize as thinly veiled desperation. "Do you know how to handle such a beast? Because I ... I do not."
Any parent would understand the core of this pain: Seznich was not ready for those he called his sons to grow up.
On Marcus's end he found this all rather entertaining if touching and though Seznich, had made a respectable display of fortitude. The wolf saw past it, his concerns were valid and he felt now it was necessary to converse with the warrior lest he delve into paranoia. He was assured this protectionist bravado came from something far deeper within the drow soldiers psyche, every soldier had his demons to battle with and at times they manifested in ways that seemed benign and even beneficial yet Marcus knew well enough that the mind was as formidable an obstacle to the soldier as the elements or the enemy. Seznich had obliged, and now he earned Marcus's counsel. The general issued a nod to the last statement and offered the man a chair first, doing him the service of pouring him a cup of wine and offering pipe-weed should he wish to partake in a smoke.
" Ah Seznich, I see now why Zaknayrr saw you fit for such a role, nothing quite assures loyalty as affection does hm ?... alas, try as we might we cannot endure what fate has destined for each soul. I have slain many malignant sorcerers and tyrant sovereigns but I have also laid my blade upon the necks of many fine men, at times the victories themselves came as shock because I felt as if though I did not deserve to win and then when the game is over, the hunt is over, even wolves feel a sense of guilt and remorse, because during all of it we are given to instinct and not to thought. My advice in such a matter as yours is to steel yourself, the princes must become lords in their own right through a trial of fire, it was the same for me, for you, for Zaknayrr and any man that will ever hope of achieving something great... coddled monarchs are the quickest route to the fall of a kingdom and a stain upon their legacy. Zaknayrr knew this and did not relent upon his sons in any way or form, as soon as they could walk they were given sword and saddle, when others drank mothers milk they were weaned on the soldiers gruel. They are tough lads, fine ones, possessed of both the pedigree and skill. "
Marcus took a long swig of wine, eerily calm as he laid back in his chair in a non-chalant manner staring at the Drow Captain for several moments, as if to give him time to ready himself for what Marcus was about to say next.
" There is nothing you can do. The gull must take flight or it must fall off the cliff and into waves, it is the way our cruel world is ordained and in attempting to remedy this law of nature we inevitably end up doing more harm... and more concerningly, we leave ourselves vulnerable, to fears, to a sense of hesitancy and an abundance of caution. You played the role of their father because Zaknayr had to assume the duty of being king to his realm, he did not do so easily but he knew what had to be done, he acknowledged his truth and he did the single best thing for his sons that any father could hope to do, he raised them to be hard and strong. You may find my lack of concern appalling... callous even, but it is simply a matter of fact that I have seen this cycle play over many, many times. My trust and my hope in the princes is unyielding, such that I do not even entertain the thought of their defeat however, I also understand that tomorrow is promised to no man, not even myself... the best thing we can do is to have assured we have played a due part, a role and we have played it brilliantly in the great game... death could come this night in a cup of wine if it so pleased. "
Marcus swirled the cup of wine around, before finishing it in a final swig.
" So Seznich, I would advise you to play your role well, I would advise you to prepare them and I would advise you to have faith in them... I did all three therefore I am assured of them, they are the banner-bearers now, it is they who must earn the right to turn the tides of fate now, for old men like myself will not remain... you will one day call Gorogoth and Veliai king... if you entertain the delusions of caution they will only multiply, best to live for the day, to be amongst them, to celebrate them... they are eager and we will be there for them when the battle is upon us... take comfort in the fact they will not be alone or abandoned. You're the right man for the job if anything, you served with honors in the legion during your tenure did you not? The Eletharin campaign was it? "
Marcus spread his arms outward in a solemn gesture, giving a shrug and a grin.
" One last matter needs to be attended to Seznich. A subordinate I could not trust nor would I indulge their company beyond formalities, but to a friend, I can swear an oath, a pledge, I can offer an ear and whose cause is but my cause. Understand, therefore, that I require a gesture of good faith from you, the hesitancy I understand, you find this somehow shameful or embarrassing hm? yet, Seznich, there is no one in this tent except you and I. Do you think the thoughts that dwell within the conundrums of your mind are safe from me? that I am oblivious to any scorn or doubt that brews within... no... Seznich, no... I see it all, I hear it all... even the words you do not speak... I take my role as general seriously, ritualistically... the men of the wolvenborn understand that, even Gorogoth and Veliai do... but do you acknowledge the same Seznich, with your entire truth? how can I do my duty unto you if you will not yield to me utmost faith, free-given loyalty might be enough for bickering and pompous nobles Seznich, but I require, no... I demand something more... what I cast before you now is not an ornament of my pride but it is the sacrament, the vow, it is sacred. "
Marcus once more raised the wolven ring, before the drow's red eyes.
" You must kiss the ring Seznich, and I promise you that for this one act of loyalty, I will see the returns made many fold for you... do you truly and deeply believe that the Wolf is not a good friend to have? In truth Seznich, I wouldn't have even made the offer had I not too respected you, for what you are, a warrior with a cause and it is for this reason that I demand the oath of you... because a good general makes more than just subordinates out of capable soldiers, they are indeed his brothers and friends... Seznich, do you approve of me as your Wolf-Father? "
Marcus added his expression still and serious, issuing a nod as if to christen the gesture he awaited.
" Ah Seznich, I see now why Zaknayrr saw you fit for such a role, nothing quite assures loyalty as affection does hm ?... alas, try as we might we cannot endure what fate has destined for each soul. I have slain many malignant sorcerers and tyrant sovereigns but I have also laid my blade upon the necks of many fine men, at times the victories themselves came as shock because I felt as if though I did not deserve to win and then when the game is over, the hunt is over, even wolves feel a sense of guilt and remorse, because during all of it we are given to instinct and not to thought. My advice in such a matter as yours is to steel yourself, the princes must become lords in their own right through a trial of fire, it was the same for me, for you, for Zaknayrr and any man that will ever hope of achieving something great... coddled monarchs are the quickest route to the fall of a kingdom and a stain upon their legacy. Zaknayrr knew this and did not relent upon his sons in any way or form, as soon as they could walk they were given sword and saddle, when others drank mothers milk they were weaned on the soldiers gruel. They are tough lads, fine ones, possessed of both the pedigree and skill. "
Marcus took a long swig of wine, eerily calm as he laid back in his chair in a non-chalant manner staring at the Drow Captain for several moments, as if to give him time to ready himself for what Marcus was about to say next.
" There is nothing you can do. The gull must take flight or it must fall off the cliff and into waves, it is the way our cruel world is ordained and in attempting to remedy this law of nature we inevitably end up doing more harm... and more concerningly, we leave ourselves vulnerable, to fears, to a sense of hesitancy and an abundance of caution. You played the role of their father because Zaknayr had to assume the duty of being king to his realm, he did not do so easily but he knew what had to be done, he acknowledged his truth and he did the single best thing for his sons that any father could hope to do, he raised them to be hard and strong. You may find my lack of concern appalling... callous even, but it is simply a matter of fact that I have seen this cycle play over many, many times. My trust and my hope in the princes is unyielding, such that I do not even entertain the thought of their defeat however, I also understand that tomorrow is promised to no man, not even myself... the best thing we can do is to have assured we have played a due part, a role and we have played it brilliantly in the great game... death could come this night in a cup of wine if it so pleased. "
Marcus swirled the cup of wine around, before finishing it in a final swig.
" So Seznich, I would advise you to play your role well, I would advise you to prepare them and I would advise you to have faith in them... I did all three therefore I am assured of them, they are the banner-bearers now, it is they who must earn the right to turn the tides of fate now, for old men like myself will not remain... you will one day call Gorogoth and Veliai king... if you entertain the delusions of caution they will only multiply, best to live for the day, to be amongst them, to celebrate them... they are eager and we will be there for them when the battle is upon us... take comfort in the fact they will not be alone or abandoned. You're the right man for the job if anything, you served with honors in the legion during your tenure did you not? The Eletharin campaign was it? "
Marcus spread his arms outward in a solemn gesture, giving a shrug and a grin.
" One last matter needs to be attended to Seznich. A subordinate I could not trust nor would I indulge their company beyond formalities, but to a friend, I can swear an oath, a pledge, I can offer an ear and whose cause is but my cause. Understand, therefore, that I require a gesture of good faith from you, the hesitancy I understand, you find this somehow shameful or embarrassing hm? yet, Seznich, there is no one in this tent except you and I. Do you think the thoughts that dwell within the conundrums of your mind are safe from me? that I am oblivious to any scorn or doubt that brews within... no... Seznich, no... I see it all, I hear it all... even the words you do not speak... I take my role as general seriously, ritualistically... the men of the wolvenborn understand that, even Gorogoth and Veliai do... but do you acknowledge the same Seznich, with your entire truth? how can I do my duty unto you if you will not yield to me utmost faith, free-given loyalty might be enough for bickering and pompous nobles Seznich, but I require, no... I demand something more... what I cast before you now is not an ornament of my pride but it is the sacrament, the vow, it is sacred. "
Marcus once more raised the wolven ring, before the drow's red eyes.
" You must kiss the ring Seznich, and I promise you that for this one act of loyalty, I will see the returns made many fold for you... do you truly and deeply believe that the Wolf is not a good friend to have? In truth Seznich, I wouldn't have even made the offer had I not too respected you, for what you are, a warrior with a cause and it is for this reason that I demand the oath of you... because a good general makes more than just subordinates out of capable soldiers, they are indeed his brothers and friends... Seznich, do you approve of me as your Wolf-Father? "
Marcus added his expression still and serious, issuing a nod as if to christen the gesture he awaited.
Thor slept at Marcus's feet. The warhound was now warm and had a belly full of various scraps as well as the food that Marcus had fed him. He was,sleeping on his back, his paws bent and slightly twisted. He slept in a position reserved only for when his kin and even his predecessors felt safe.
The warhound made soft snoring sounds, completely tired after his playtime with Invictus, and entertaining both Valradian and Rilynath troops who would throw chunks of meat and Del-Hidori peach chunks to Thor which he would effortlessly catch out of the air.
Thor made a few slight kicks with his legs, and he barked ever so softly in his sleep.
In his dream, he was a pup, learning the ways of war, combat, and honor. He had always seen Marcus as his master especially as a pup when he went directly to Marcus and followed him around. It wasn't uncommon.
The warhound made soft snoring sounds, completely tired after his playtime with Invictus, and entertaining both Valradian and Rilynath troops who would throw chunks of meat and Del-Hidori peach chunks to Thor which he would effortlessly catch out of the air.
Thor made a few slight kicks with his legs, and he barked ever so softly in his sleep.
In his dream, he was a pup, learning the ways of war, combat, and honor. He had always seen Marcus as his master especially as a pup when he went directly to Marcus and followed him around. It wasn't uncommon.
The Forest
The songs of highland birds were swiftly and loudly interrupted by the devastation that Allaryon wrought upon the nearby trees. In their stead, alarmed cries from airborne fowl tore through the remaining canopy as animals fled. Odo heard their calls better than most others present and he looked out towards the source of such chaos before turning his attention back to the man in the tower. He did not speak yet, for it seemed an apt time for the guardsman to reply, and so he did. Perhaps this infantryman was no levy, but he was nonetheless unfamiliar with the powerful spell the spymatron cast. He balked at the devastation for a split second before remembering his station and duty. Even so, she had made her point. The guard was hesitant to show deference to any invader, noble or otherwise, but he curtly stated, "The captain will be summoned to parlay." Then, he walked out of sight from the newcomers. Such a task only took a moment, but the tension in the air was nearly palpable and drew out that moment for what felt like hours to the hermit.
Their wait was not in vain, however. Stepping into view, from the nest of that very same overlook, came an older, scarred man. He was dressed in finer Ruisian armor consisting of a half plate, a brigandine, and lamellar shoulderpads besides. The captain held his helmet under his arm and, with no apparent change in his expression, looked out over the spell-ravaged trees before he addressed Allaryon and her legionnaires. "I see." He mused aloud. "You must be the arcani." Undoubtedly his soldier warned the captain of the dangers the newcomers presented, but the captain seemed unconcerned. He looked back among the trees for a second before continuing to speak. "I am Boldenkh, captain of this fort. And should our meeting come to blows, I would know whom I fight."
The veteran looked upon the spymatron stoically as he awaited her reply.
Caerbryn Castle
Ferrus had clearly struck a chord with some of the Ruisian nobles. Where before some looked upon him with disdain, now they seemed to be intrigued by his statement. Perhaps some were very heavily considering renouncing their alliances; perhaps others were wondering whether or not Ferrus would be allowed to live after making such an announcement in the Ruisian court. It was bold, and spoken with such certainty to seem almost absurd. Here, in the epicenter of Ruis's power, the Valradian imperial once again claims to the court that their people are so much more powerful, with an empire that stretches across continents... for some, it was almost hard to imagine, let alone believe. A consequence of Ruis's protective terrain was that it was quite heavily insulated form outside influence, with the exception of the orcs. The empire brought many impressive inventions to their doorstep during the invasion, but was it enough to prove what the general was saying?
Despite the potential discord that might be sewn from the offer, Concobar remained stoic. Ferrus was an honored guest after all, even if he could not leave the castle walls. Furthermore, it would do the old king no good to strike him down amongst the court; the aged ruler knew that this would likely only reinforce the Exalted Rams' leader's statements. In the end, the prospect of forming some sort of alliance or accord with the imperials was tempting, but the king was cautious; he did not care to throw his own legacy away, and should he rule alongside these Valradians, he would do it on his own terms, and he would see to it that the Emperor himself understood this. Around the time that the general finished his speech, a guard approached the king on his throne and quietly murmured something into his ear.
Concobar quipped a brow but otherwise belied no significant shift in mood. Whatever was communicated was pondered over for a second before the king waved his hand, urging the soldier away. Once again, he addressed the court.
"Sworn vassals, negotiations will be held. This accursed enemy of ours will be shared, and we will conquer it as we maintain this ceasefire. As stated before, there will be no recourse for any who threaten to betray our guest, nor sabotage our temporary alliance. Remember that, kinsmen. For now, I shall retire from here to ensure our victory against the risen." So the king spoke, so it would be. The old man stepped down from his throne, followed by his glittering band of honor guards, and retired from the throne room with purpose.
Strength was an important element to keep in rule. Truthfully, the king of Caerbryn was uncertain about their future. Despite his claim against the legionnaires, taking the cunning general under his roof, he knew that in all likelihood that there would be more legions. Perhaps it was a lie to say that there were hundreds of generals, but perhaps that did not matter; the Empire was well equipped and, although Ruis maintained a steadiness in war belying its experience therein, it could only maintain its independence from the greater power for so long. They were out-manned, facing an enemy with superior technology and resources. It was already settled that some sort of compromise would need to be made, but the king did not wish to imagine yet what that compromise, in the end, would be. He did not trust the imperial lot, after all.
A time of troubled peace may yet be worse than a time of plenty in war. Out of sight from the courtiers, the king sighed and brushed some of his long, grey locks of hair from his face. He retired, once again, to the war room, and hoped that the general would either have the good sense to join them or be summoned. "Bring the general here," he uttered as he stepped inside. "I would speak with him before the council is assembled."
Caerbryn Battlegrounds
Lugh noted the positive response Galvin made, though the brief look of puzzlement did not elude him. It was a small matter, of course, so he paid little mind to it. After all, there were going to be many cultural differences that would puzzle either side in the foreseeable future, and it was much more important to the prince that the letter be written and sent. "Then we are agreed!" He smiled again, though he yet felt a twinge of guilt. The prince was young, and although he knew logically that a coordinated assault against the unknown attackers was important, he could not help but worry that his own wishes went against whatever the council had planned. Concobar likely kept discussing matters in the Ruisian front after his departure, so the young man could only hope that his designs towards housing the present legionnaires in the city walls did not directly go against what the king had planned.
With the vigor of one yearning to prove themself, Lugh clapped his hands together and said. "I will write the letter promptly. If I can help it, we will fortify our position yet." Perhaps it was too early to say whether these invaders intended to stay on peaceful terms with Ruis, but the prince reassured himself quietly that the potential vulnerability letting the Valradians inside posed was well worth it. After all, it had already become clear that the foreign troops would not pose any less threat upon their deaths, and at least while they drew breath they could be potentially further reasoned with. Hence, the use of the words 'we' and 'ours' was quite deliberate.
Yet again he wasted no time; the Ruisian prince was once again on the move, back to the tent. There was a letter to write, and he would waste no more time talking about it! If uninterrupted, the siegemaster would either see him write to the king (should he have followed Lugh), or return to him with a sealed envelope (should he have stayed on the overlook.)
???
The snow covered the ground, whipped about noisily by the restless northern wind. It rested upon his cloaked shoulders as a weightless powder, coalescing gradually. He stepped into the cavern with heavy footfalls belying his bulky figure, holding a fur bundle within his arms; as he went further into it, with but a torch to guide him, the din of lashing winds subsided. It was replaced by a deep, oppressive sort of silence; the sort that only could be found in a claustrophobic cave such as this one. Even so, he greeted its stony innards like an old friend, fearing no beast as he plumbed its twisting, stygian depths.
Some might warn against wandering into the earth by oneself, but he preferred solitude, and knew from days long passed that nothing very dangerous awaited those familiar with this place. The cavern was a temple, just as holy as any Ruisian chapel, though he doubted very much that the humans in the forests would understand the primordial powers at play here. They were ignorant to such things, and his lot rather preferred it that way; only a worthy few would ever step foot inside this place. Whether he felt worthy to walk such sacred ground was beyond him; some years ago, he was chosen to be one of the few that knew.
Soon, the rocky passage opened into a subterranean hollow; all around him were stalagmites and stalactites, some of stone, yet others of ancient gems which glimmered chromatically against the light of his torch. The solitary visitor waved the tool until it sputtered out, dropping it carelessly at the entryway. The gemstones persisted in glimmering, well enough to keep the chamber dimly lit; now that the torch had been extinguished, the light primarily came from below. All around him were pools of clear spring water, all emanating with a blue light that the gems gladly reflected against their many, chaotic facets.
When he was first welcomed here, his teacher had many things to say about those pretty gems, and those shining pools. The spirits of honored ancestors rested here, so his teacher said, as they resided amongst the earthen gods. There were a great many gods, in his culture. Not all of them resided here; simply those that blessed the world with the facets of the earth. For every crystal, his teacher said, there was another god, another whose dominion suggested a different kind of land, or rock, or other aspect of the earth. He tried to count them back then, but it was nigh impossible. There were just so many.
His teacher was an amazing orc. He could not count the crystals, or quite master the art of meditation in the underground, but his teacher... his teacher did both of those things, and more. His teacher spoke with the gods themselves. His teacher was dead. Perhaps such a brilliant mind would never again bless the steppes. He considered his people unworthy of such a gift, anyway. They did not deserve his teacher.
Neither did he.
However, the time finally came when his mourning could no longer keep him from returning a gift his mentor had given him. He walked across the chamber and, with reluctance, drew the bundle of fur away from his body. He stood in front of the largest of the pools and took a moment longer to hold his teacher's gift. He ran his fingers over the fur, with dull eyes that glazed with grim recollection and focused on nothing. The spirits were unhappy for some time. The tribes found their luck to be wanting, at best. It was probably his fault; this is where his mentor's cloak mantle belonged. Not with him. The others, however, did not understand why he held on to it for so long. They knew the leader, not the orc; they never would, and so they would never understand.
The moment had come, however. It was time to let go. He gently laid the mantle down into the pool. On normal water, it may float awhile; this pool was different. The mantle sank, swallowed by the pool's mystical waters almost immediately. He placed his freed hands on the rocky outcropping of the pool and watched. As the mantle sank to the bottom of the pool, it glimmered with light... and then dissolved into nothingness. He descended to his knees, resting his forehead against the outcropping. It was over.
"I'm sorry."
___
How much time had passed since the lonesome wanderer left his teacher's gift behind, he did not recall. He merely found himself, sometime later, walking sluggishly out of the cavern, up through the twisting tunnels, torch in hand. Some weak remnant of his will to live brought him that far... and there he was again, at the entrance of the cave. The wind tossed locks of his dark hair before his eyes; as he vainly pushed them away, he looked up again and nearly dropped his torch.
Amidst the snowfall, only yards away from him, stood a new figure. It towered over him, yet it was plainly lurched over. It looked something akin to a wolf, yet in one of its strange, elongated claws it held a blade as though it were an orc, or perhaps a man. The most chilling of its traits were the features of its head and face; under an oddly shallow coat of fur were many a wrinkle, distorting the "brow" of the beast and tugging at its snout. Ah, the snout of the beast. Most perturbingly, the flesh which might usually cover it looked torn halfway down its maw, almost as if it were naught but torn cloth. Though no viscera was present, the orc could clearly see the sun-bleached bone that gave structure to a once lupine jaw. Its teeth grew long, longer than any wolf or warg he had seen before. Its lower fangs stretched over a foot long, portruding at a slight curve over the thing's head. This was not a beast from the realm of nature, nor from any of the good gods.
He did not move nor speak, yet the burning gaze which glowed from its singular eye looked right through him. Then, the creature broke the silence. "Dubh'cu..." A shiver ran up the orc's spine. The beast's proclamation of his name both intimidated him and brought him back to his senses. His hands trembled but he just barely mustered a reply, "Who are you...?"
"Its cold, Dubh'cu... Won't you help me? Help me, Dubh'cu.. ]My pupil..."
Dubh'cu held his torch up, as if to shield himself from the entity's unholy influence. To see such an evil thing felt, in of itself, to be an omen; staring into its burning eye, he felt as though a terrible curse had befallen him.
"My child... Did you truly think your gift would lull me, peacefully, into the next life...? After everything we've done...?"
"No..." The orc muttered, then raising his voice followed it with, "You're not him. You can't be..."
The creature laughed cruelly. "Don't play dumb, Dubh'cu. You know its me."
"No! You're dead! You've been dead for years!" Dubh'cu protested. "You beast! You are not worthy to lick his boots, let alone use his voice!" He approached quickly and, as if to shoo the beast away, swept his torch to and fro. The creature seemed to recoil, opening its boney jaw with an unearthly hiss. It scampered away, turning again towards him and then rising onto its hind legs. The creature was huge. It stood just as tall as some of the evergreens that dotted the harsh mountain landscape. No longer was it laughing.
"You will join us, child... You will atone with me." The shadow of the blade, and that of the beast itself, fell towards him.
Ruisian Hinterlands
Wolvenborn Camp
Wolvenborn Camp
Seznich hesitated a moment when he was offered a seat, fighting back the urge to flee--not out of fear of the Wolf-Father himself, but fear of his greatest enemy, that monster who bore neither fang nor claw nor fetid breath but was terrifying all the same, who wore many guises and came for all men at least once in their lives: cordial conversation. None of this trepidation showed on his face, however, for he was well-used to this monster breathing down his neck. He sat leadenly and stiff-backed, turning down the wine but accepting the pipe, though he mostly just clenched the end between his teeth and rarely puffed.
The half-drow stared across the tent, or at the sleeping form of Thor. Earlier when the moment had been more tense he had been able hold Marcus's gaze, but now he avoided it. Sustained eye contact felt like needles in his spine. Objectively, the general was right about the pain of killing good men, though Seznich had never felt such remorse when he subjected his foes to his blade or to Tögataar's mandibles. Good men or bad, he was there to kill them, and it was not his task to worry about the morality of it all. Rescuing the princes had only complicated things. The only sharp glance he shot Marcus was upon hearing 'you played the role of their father,' which the half-drow took as sarcasm.
To another, the general's revelation might have been harsh. Marcus knew this, and even softened his words as a result. But to Seznich, it was what he needed to hear. He had never before been privy to this cycle, as the general had called it, for he had never before cared about anyone in such a way. He tapped the pipe against his lip and gave two curt nods in acceptance. He didn't have to like it. He hated it, in fact. But it was the way of things.
When Marcus asked of past accomplishments, Seznich merely grunted "yes." He was grateful the man moved on after that, for he didn't like to talk about himself, but it was just to once again impress the importance of gesture and symbol. The captain's red eyes slid up from slumbering Thor to Marcus, narrowed. "I think it is stupid," he bluntly said, eyeing the ring with open disdain. "A meaningless platitude. But ... if it is of such importance to you and your gods, I will oblige." With no fanfare at all he leaned in to kiss the ring, then straightened again. He looked uncomfortable, but no more uncomfortable than he had looked the entire time he'd been sitting here in the tent. In some ways, turning friendship into a transaction made it easier, but nothing would ever make it easy.
"My first loyalty is to their highnesses," Seznich reminded Marcus, "and then to the Empire." He succesfully resisted the urge to add 'and then Tögataar.' "Only when those loyalties are satisfied do I have room for ... friends." The word sounded foreign on his tongue, as foreign as the concept itself felt.
Caerbryn Castle
For a few moments Ferrus thought it best to distract himself from the rigors of warfare, he indulged those locals whom would entertain him and sampled of the local fare, their drink was a fair bit harsher than imperial wine but it quickly grew on ones palate Ferrus found it necessary to stop just shy of inebriation. He was also quite fond of the fresh apples that grew here, they were quite large and full and had a good bite to them, unlike the small mealy fruit that made its way into imperial markets from the northeast. It seems the speech had worn on him, whether by fatigue or otherwise he found it necessary to rest his powerful voice. An expression of concern momentarily rested upon his brow as he glanced at the palace walls, there was motion in the distance but from this altitude and distance they appeared only as small and insignificant blurs in the far distance, he imagined the concern he felt for his men and captains was a fraction of what Concobar felt for the well-being of his son. He was left in good hands, but nothing in this campaign had gone as usual and Ferrus was just shy of admitting that the gods had some vendetta against him, what else at this point was left to the imagination, even the disciplined imperial mind began to wither under such inexplicable and horrendous circumstances that could only be explained by divine fury, the legionnaries were perhaps fortunate in this regard that their minds were steeled against the tribulations of thought through practiced routine. The desperation and instinct to survive the night before had held together morale, the formations held though even Ferrus knew that it was a tense predicament that could've gone either way, he shook his head, dismissing such thoughts as a courtier issued his name... Ah, he was expecting it, Concobar's summons.
The praetorians readied themselves before Ferrus did though he dismissed them with a wave of his hand, no courts here, not anymore, now he'd speak to Concobar as a man, and the nature of discussion Ferrus presumed would be far more... tenacious, formalities and orations went only so far. And so, Ferrus did march into the war-room as commanded. He paused exchanging a brief glance with Concobar, remaining still until the doors closed behind him and then he took a few steps further resting his hands upon the war table.
"I suppose you knew the moment I agreed to our terms that I wouldn't be returning, it wouldn't have made a difference. Old and commendable generals are anathema to the Valradic senate, our ends are inglorious, some part of me had wished I'd see my end upon the field of honor, but I've grown grey much as you have. We won't live to see what'll be made of all of... this. So, I did what I had to, hoping it would be a compromise that would spare the youths of both nations of bloodshed and to preserve the dignity of your legacy. Quite a beautiful realm, my lord, men of war don't often stop to consider the intricacies... it hadn't even crossed my mind through all the conquests and such and such, it was merely the trade, the times."
Ferrus began to utter a manic laughter, before shaking his head in a sort of denial.
"Concobar... I lost, and the bitter irony is, it wasn't a Ruisian that drew the blade, but the Valradians... I hadn't even the time to rally nor speak to the others, such a masterful stroke, I suspected it but they struck my strings, a hound goes where the chain tugs after all."
Ferrus slowly raised his head and faced Concobar with a stern gaze.
" The Emperor is Dead. "
He allowed a few moments for his words to settle upon the old king.
"Having passed from a hunting accident, hah, we've heard that one before... an age of conspiracy is not so easily dismissed, hrm, the Empire falls to its old ways. But what difference does it make, here we are, beset upon all sides by the undead, it's not like my ordering a retreat now would turn the tide for the better, Marcus wouldn't even have believed me and Allaryon, well, she saw this coming not that she could do anything about it but I suppose I was a bit too stubborn, hrn, what was I to do? go in the history books as Ferrus the Traitor or Ferrus the Coward? my honor became my noose, I was bound to march here... and the circumstances of war blinded us to other considerations... with the legions dispersed, the cities and the capital remain in the grasp of the nobility... an age of rapture will follow. I could not and will not make this revelation to anyone else, it would have meant mutiny and worse, those soldiers would turn to brigands that would plague the countryside on top of all the destruction that has already been wrought under the name of a man who is no longer present."
Ferrus looked back at Concobar expectantly.
"There is no cause for me to return to the Empire, I would be a dead man and even if I were not there would be those who would rally around me, i'd be stoking the flames rather than remedying them. Marcus, on the other hand, will no doubt return with full force and he'll take those of the men that wish to make their way back... Concobar, there will be refugees, women and children, people bereft of their lands and so on... they will need homes and labor... and they will have nowhere to go... I will not be leaving Ruis, nor will I be leaving Caerbryn after all of this... I will offer my servitude in an advisory capacity and in return... I ask that the kingdom not turn away those that come to it seeking shelter. Consider these terms for my surrender to be uttered to your ears only. I received word from another of our generals, that a large relief force is making its way down from the mountains, this will be the remainder of the forces we have left and that of a vassal kingdom. We will have to hold till then, this is a foe you've faced before and we bring with us tactics, equipment and veterancy... together I believe our odds are exceedingly fair. For better or for worse, the outcome of this battle will be one of many that marks the beginning of a new age, perhaps not just for the nation of Ruis. Cathal delayed what we must finish, it will certainly not be the end of the realm's woes... but the matters that follow shall be determined by those who inherit this world and it is our responsibility to ensure that they do so free of this scourge, just as the gull must take flight of its own accord so too will Ruis make its own path in the greater world, with or without the Empire regardless, on my part I've at least ensured they don't have an illogical premise for another invasion, I presume the prospect of a wise diplomat also appeals to you. What say you, my king ?"
The Forest
"Unlikely Captain, at least that's what I hope, for your sake and ours... we have amongst us a.. countryman of yours... perhaps not of the most commendable stock but one whose words should suffice to provide testimony of all that's been going on... we've been... watching... you. As far as the terms between us are concerned, it is simple, we're aware that a ruisian garrison holds this pass, yours presumably, hence my request is thus, we have amongst our ranks hostages in no small number, you could say these prisoners were spared from a worse fate given the course of the war, they are alive and well... and it likely behooves you to ensure they remain that way, I have little doubt that some amongst your men have sighted their relatives amongst their ranks... if not children, spouses or parents... I offer a trade, I want you to draft an official decree, a right of free passage if you will, word it as you must, so long as it ensures we make it out of the pass and towards the mountains... though if it helps you sleep better at night, you might as well call this a... strategic retreat. The odds were not as favorable for us in Ruis as we predicted and we find ourselves at the head of a conspiracy, we were duped into senseless bloodshed for an ulterior motive to be accomplished elsewhere..."
Allaryon gestured for the way to be cleared for Odo to speak to the man, she stood by his side as a sign of solidarity presuming her authority would give more legitimacy to the claims that Odo was about to make to the man, the elf knew humans were hesitant to take on to speak of what they couldn't understand, sorcerous trickery though she hoped this Boldenkh would grasp the situation. Allaryon had played her best move, this was a gamble, though she had a backup plan, that ensured at least she and Odo would make it out of this one alive. Allaryon kept one hand on the dagger as pointed ears twitched, tuning to the chatter of distant guards and eyes kept watch for the slightest sign of hesitation, if it went wrong then she'd put a poisoned knife in the captain's belly and make a run for it, with Odo in tow. It was a tense standoff and her bargaining chip was... a blind orc... one who told the truth but a blind orc no less. Boldenkh likely humored himself at that thought, Allaryon would let him have that one, her own soldiers questioned the move, he could only imagine what was going through the Captain's head... but the only real concern here was getting out of this one.
If anything he'd do well to heed Odo's warning, perhaps gather what remained of their forces here and make way for Caerbryn and hopefully stay out of the hungering knives way. Allaryon hoped Marcus was having better luck than they were though she was secretly infuriated with him.
The March
There was momentum and morale in the air in the morning that followed, Rilynathine and Imperial warbands marched to their battle chants and once more Marcus had established an army that could fill the horizons. He rode with a cohort with the princes, captain seznich, Thor and the loremasters at his side. Banners were hoisted, the men looked well-fed, stalwart and eager to fight and the downhill march afforded them a degree of haste. All morning a subtle grin had rested upon the Wolf's features as he regaled his contemporaries on what they'd do when they reached Caerbryn. He went over strategies and simulacrums with the princes, seemingly testing their knowledge of tactics and strategy, the two worked exceedingly well in unison, like hammer and chisel.
" And Veliai you remember the false gap maneuvers we drilled, when faced with the enemy advance, how to feign a convincing withdrawal, lure them into the center of the position, and then spring the trap, Gorogoth, I trust you've practiced your Serperis advance, pulling in and out of a testudo in an irregular tempo both confuses the enemy and ensures you have a well-defended yet advancing front... their blows will glance armor but a skilled archer can exploit weaknesses in armor or worse yet pin you in an immobile position... remember, advance with the position, they may tempt you into a charge but discipline is key... good, this is no minor skirmish lads, all have high expectations of you. "
He added issuing a confident nod to both princes. Before looking to Seznich, uttering no words but a slow nod, conveying that they would soon be making their way to the pass heading into the lowlands. Marcus had scouted the areas from overhead using his Gryphon Invictus the morning before, ensuring they would not have to do any unnecessary way finding across the inundated landscape, some sections of the march cut across unusual paths through thick shrubs or gravelly slopes taking unconventional path primarily because the roadways had either been washed off or destroyed by the floods, as a boon however it seemed there was little concern for any retaliation moreso in the daytime. The march was progressing swifter than expected. Marcus took it as a good omen and estimated that by another day and a half's march they would make it to Caerbryn. The Rilynathine armies were known to be quite fast, it wasn't the first time the Empire had called upon them as a relief force.
The tides were turning and Marcus held great ambitions for Caerbryn, he uttered praises for King Zaknayrr before the two boys and promised that after all of this, they would be made Archates.
On a much lighter note
Upon one of the carts of the baggage trains, Invictus firmly held Thor between her talon tipped paws, vigorously preening the hound, getting rid of any mats or imperfections in his fur issuing low affectionate chirps and whirrs. She had missed her companion, no doubt a great hunt awaited the two of them but for now, the gryphon ensured a better reunion, she usually kept a few bones around for Thor bribing him for bringing her shiny trinkets which she stashed around the place, the gryphon seemed to adore decorate her surroundings almost making it seem like a nest. The rake like tongue brushed at the hounds fur at the end, and it was only once Thor was properly groomed did Invictus release him from her clutches, issuing a satisfied chirp.
A chilling grin stretched across Gorogoth's face as he listened to his teacher and second-father's words. Each tactic, skill, down to the very styles of marching had been ingrained into his and Veliai's minds. They're remembered even the old Callen'brae maneuver, which Veliai had fully mastered: quick, short, rapid guerrilla-style attacks which were mostly meant to break down an enemy force's morale and disorient.
Gorogoth was riding proudly beside Marcus and Veliai moved up to Seznich's side and using sign language he spoke "uncle......our scouts hadn't seen anything up front. I think we should move a shield and halberd platoon to the front just in case....."
Thor had brought Invictus a new helmet which he had "borrowed" from Rylinathean archer. He loved bringing his best friend gifts. As she groomed his fur, he had rested a paw on her leg and he started cleaning and grooming her talons. The mount and the warhound were always caring for one another. Even when Imperial forces were starving and sick back at camp, Thor made it a point to always bring Invictus a deer's leg.
Gorogoth was riding proudly beside Marcus and Veliai moved up to Seznich's side and using sign language he spoke "uncle......our scouts hadn't seen anything up front. I think we should move a shield and halberd platoon to the front just in case....."
Thor had brought Invictus a new helmet which he had "borrowed" from Rylinathean archer. He loved bringing his best friend gifts. As she groomed his fur, he had rested a paw on her leg and he started cleaning and grooming her talons. The mount and the warhound were always caring for one another. Even when Imperial forces were starving and sick back at camp, Thor made it a point to always bring Invictus a deer's leg.
Caerbryn Castle
Perhaps some among the crowd of merchants, citygoers and refugees, there were those that gave Ferrus the odd glance or lingering stare. It was of little consequence, however; the majority of those there were not interested in political grudges or tribalism through war and greeted his custom as readily as anyone more familiar with the capital of Ruis.
As his sojourn to the local haunts concluded, and he once again stood before the king, the general confessed his woes and the king listened sternly. It was not the reason for the summons, but Concobar was glad for the admission regardless; it revealed more hazards to navigate in the treacherous fields of war and armistice they found themselves in. He leaned back in his chair and considered the general’s story, stroking his beard just as patiently as if he was receiving the same boring lectures on trade, or resolving disputes between belligerent ranchers. In truth, he was calculating his odds in doing what he thought was practical, versus what would be morally good to do.
The death of the emperor was a gaping wound in the side of the general’s resolve, a weakness that begged to be opportunistically seized, but would barbarity or justice be the best tools to do so? It did not take as long as the king might have thought it would; it would be easy to betray the encamped Valradic legions at the gates, to dispatch them as cattle to the slaughter. However, with the other legions approaching on the horizon, this merciless act may galvanize them, and if poor Ferrus was to be considered an honest man—and Concobar had only few reasons to suspect otherwise—this may ignite the flames of a much longer, harder fought war, leaving both the legions and Ruis in a state of discord and ruin. It was no joy to imagine the vengeance the legionnaires would wreak on the countryside, if they could not breach the gates, either. They would be eager, and relatively free, to repay such deeds in innocent blood. Even if he weaponized the emperor’s death against them, things would turn in a direction much as Ferrus suggested. The soldiers would become brigands, perhaps dispersing amongst the countryside, and make hell for his people while being aggravatingly difficult to dispose of.
Alternatively, the path of mercy may prove problematic as well. The soldiers would fight for their lives, as surely as any man in the face of inescapable threats, and they do their bloody business well. Just as well, Valradian deaths in place of his own peoples’ relieved his soldiers of much of the burden of fighting this threat alone. Perhaps the people of his kingdom may not respect them for this alone, but then, perhaps he could make them. In the face of the emperor’s death, these men will be looking for a new cause to support; a new leader to fight for. Concobar doubted that he alone would be suitable, but Ferrus’ continued presence in Caerbryn offered yet another opportunity; a powerful, respectable figure for the lost legion to follow. But then, logistical concerns came to mind; where would these soldiers garrison? How well could they be trusted to do their duties, serving a foreign kingdom rather than their homeland? The camp was well made, but tents only do well for so long—they would need a more permanent settlement to occupy, if they decided to stay.
Ah, of course. These legionnaires love their empire. They would do anything to help their own. Therein lies the key; should the presence of this legion become more permanent, in whole or in part, then there was only one thing that he could think to do with them. With Ferrus, take them in under the banner of Ruis. They will take on a new name, and their primary goal will change; instead of engineering to breach castle walls, these men would do quite well in ensuring the safe passage of refugees through the mountain pass. Of course, this was all still tentative, but it might just work, and after so many centuries Ruis would finally see a bloom in population… New trade, new technology. It would be hard to care for all the refugees, but in the long run, it may just be worth it.
Ugh, thought Concobar. This is exactly what young Lugh would want him to do. How infuriatingly idealistic. Nonetheless, it would do everyone better to keep the peace for the time being. If the tides changed—if the emperor’s death, or some other important aspect of this story were to be a lie—then Concobar would deal with that just as quickly.
“You speak like a dead man, general Ferrus. Yet your face is still aflush with life. Sit, make yourself comfortable. I accept your offer.” With the wave of his hand, the king summoned a servant to his side and swiftly made his orders, “Bring this man some of our finest reserve. We yet have much to discuss, and if it kills me, we’ll be friends by the end of tonight. Ah, and some spiced bread with butter; quickly now!” The king waved again, this time in a seemingly impatient gesture urging the servant to go. They did so, and the king finally broke his stern expression to smirk. “We are old men, general. All of these worldly problems will be ours for but a moment. Perhaps the consequences of this conflict will go on for ages, but let us worry about what we can do now, instead of what those upstart nobles of our courts plot for the ages after us.”
“On those matters, though; you have mentioned the other legions approaching. I do not expect you to betray your own, but I would know what you would tell me of them. If we are to unite our forces, we must approach them with the utmost care, and there is not a man in Caerbryn more able than you. This Marcus could be a good ally, or quite the thorn in our sides. And what of this elf, Allaryon?”
The Forest
Odo felt the beginnings of fright stirring within him. It had been a long time before he sought to convince anyone, especially of relative power, to do anything. Allaryon was the one to break this trend, but beginning within her soldiers’ captivity almost made it easier than what she wished from him, now. But then, how could she, even as a spymistress, know of his ill repute? He took a step forward nonetheless, reminding himself that, whether or not the elvish legion were there, he would need to speak to similar men. Then, given a second to contemplate, he begun.
“Esteemed Captain Bodenkh. I am Odo. A hermit of the woods. I crossed paths with these legionnaires as I sought to warn the countrymen of a curse befalling the forest.” Bodenkh quirked a brow at the blind half-orc, adjusting his helmet but otherwise maintaining his silence. So, the hermit went on.
“I have told the elves already what I shall tell you. I was bitten by a strange deer while checking my snares. They were caught within one, and I first supposed it must have been in defense. But the creature did not panic, nor try to run as a normal deer would. I slew, dressed and cooked its meat for eating the same day. Whether from the bite or the meat, I was afflicted with an illness, sir. It nearly killed me, and on the verge of death, I felt my mind bend to it, in unsatiable hunger… The gods blessed me, for I recovered, but no sooner than I did, my home was visited by another unusual creature—a dead man, cold as stone, walking even so. Then I understood what this illness wanted.”
The captain looked upon the blind hermit with some incredulity, but did not interrupt him. Odo took a breath before starting again. “There are more of them in these woods, I am certain. The dead are walking, sir. And they hunger endlessly, and care not what they consume.”
Bodenkh’s hardened gaze drifted over the half orc, to the spymatron, and then back. “I see.” He said, again. “Well, isn’t this a strange meeting. This curse threatens you so, that you divert your forces to this distant outpost? I thought I’d heard it all…” The captain let an audible hum of nigh lackadaisical thought, using his free hand to unclasp a flask from his belt and raise it to his lips. With a swig of it, and a few seconds more to swallow, the man spoke once more. “Alright, elf. You want to trade hostages? I’ll not be the man to see them senselessly slaughtered. But if you think I believe in this ‘curse’ plaguing the woods, well…” He trailed off and chuckled, shaking his head.
“Do you even know who that is, you’ve brought and armed? I’ll bet not.” Bodenkh put his flask away, pointing a gloved finger in the blind orc’s direction. “How do you know he hasn’t just lost it? He was always a little odd, even for an orc.”
Odo lifted his head; although looking upon the disdainful captain was beyond his abilities, he struggled to tell whether he might know the man from somewhere. It was in vain, however, and this only baffled him more. "Captain Bodenkh, I am not here to deceive you. Something is coming, and it does not care what side we are on." The half-orc insisted.
Caerbryn Castle
There was little denying that Ferrus was seized with a sort of unusual nervousness as Concobar contemplated his options, the die was cast in his court after all and when the wise king relented, Ferrus could only offer a bow laden with humility as a gesture of true thanks for such exceptional mercy, in truth, he wielded the foresight to see where all of this was going, maybe he had hinted at it, but Ferrus was convinced this buy out was the most favorable option in any given circumstance, what was called Ruis in this day and age might as well inherit the world beyond the mountains. The winds of change swept across his tent a fortnight ago, and now Ferrus was all the more assured of this course of action, moreso, that he had Concobar's own word and much like his estimation of Ferrus there was certainly an admiration and fraternity held for him by the general. Ferrus cast himself very much in Concobar's debt and with that came new responsibilities but this was no burden for the general rather he seemed envigorated by the end of their exchange, naturally this lead on to considerations of what was to come, the short-term so to speak.
Where they once stood now they sat at opposite ends of the table, partaking in food and drink, plotting and planning as one usually did in such settings. Ferrus commended the fare and took his share with the eagerness of a hungry man, certainly more than relieved to be rid of the standard gruel and porridge like rations of the camp. He took a moment to regale himself with Concobar's company, commenting on the King's love of art and culture and the little intricacies Ferrus had noted in the country, he asked about his people and the history of their kin, he asked about his weighing in upon the times all the same before returning to the matter at hand.
"Ah yes, the matter of The Wolf, In truth Concobar, he's a different species of man if you can even call him that, Marcus for all his brilliance is innately single-minded and once he commits to something, he is unshakeable, these qualities are excellent in a soldier but certainly not so for a general, the times necessitate change and for lack of a better word, a measure of laxity, you and I understand this, we understand these contexts because you in your experience as a ruler understand that the tempered tongue and the iron fist must go hand in hand, after all, you manage a court full of nobles, even if I am to go by the Valradic Senate as a parable, such gatherings are little better than beast markets and are a test of a man's sanity and patience, sieges too require temperance and patience.. and I already presented my motivations to you, if anything, you have my loyalty and I see no qualms in calling you my king from hereforth"
Ferrus paused looking to the side and issuing a deep sigh, from his expressions and gesture it was obvious this was more than just a trifling issue, it was a delicate matter and his look seemed to convey he would do his best but could not make any promises.
"Naturally for the properties he possesses, he's more a soldier's soldier, Marcus has the influence and the weight of word to turn camps and the legionaries whom are frustrated and longing will likely lend an ear to him, from amongst my ranks then, I suspect there will be loyalists and those who will ingratiate themselves with Marcus, as things stand right now, we could not tell who will do what and if I start putting my men to Ruisian scrutiny then they will not be fond of that gesture, its safe to say that soldiers are chosen for their ability to obey rather than think. I have no doubt your men have been kind to them, it certainly would have changed the hearts of many but others are more calloused... they have families to return to or perhaps ambitions of gaining fortune... what can be said of the reasons men go to war. Marcus won't be a thorn in our sides, he will be a spear and that is where Allaryon comes in, what I am hoping for essentially is that, we can align his march to where he arrives at Caerbryn presumably when the next incursion of those things is about to happen... in essence... "
Ferrus paused thinking of the matter to himself for a few moments longer.
"We barricade ourselves in and we let Marcus wage battle outside the walls, that way we can redirect his ferocity, like the force of a flowing river channeled into a more useful purpose. Marcus will not ask questions or deliberate, once he is at Caerbryn, he will be expecting a fight... and he will have one, just not against us. I'm sure once he's squared off against those things he'll be more inclined to reason... he will never relent, in fact I did not even think to inform him of anything thus far, he assumes that he is coming to reinforce a siege... from our bastion in the city we have a much more solid defense and we can truncate our forces in multiple layers of defense, from mobile combat in the perimeter of the outer ruins moving to more static and emplaced defense nearer to the inner walls. Arcor, the plans. "
Ferrus shook his head and sighed as one of his praetorians rolled out scrolls and placed figurines upon the table. Ferrus would then stand up and begin to gesture, his cartographers having managed to map out the region with some degree of accuracy at least as it pertained to the lines of combat and defense,
The First Line of Defense in the outer perimeter there was sufficient room and space to maneuver troops in open combat, given the flanks provided more room, Ruisian horsemen could be placed there in. There was only a single route of attack for the enemy which was head on, anywhere else they'd have to contend with spike pits and thick deep mud, a few ballistae had been installed on the wall capable of dealing with any strays, thus the enemy was feigned into believing there was an obvious exploit where they would be lured into a pincer. Infantry formed a rectangular echelons, with skirmishers and horsemen at their sides and ranged troops holding the high ground, a few garrisons were further out, small contingents of men to ensure a set of eyes around the battlefield but who could easily escape to the safety of the main army. If pressured the troops could retreat back into the Second line of Defense this crossed through ruins and rubble, with narrow causeways, moats and streets as well as blocked off sections essentially forming a maze of traps and obstacles, where the enemy force could be divided up and cut down tendril by tendril in brutal close quarters combat, several traps were also laid throughout. It was presumed that by the second line of defense, the enemy would mostly be vanquished however, A third and final line of defense existed consisting of the towers and patent fortifications of the inner walls, which the Valradians had failed to reach or breach, the legionaries repurposed siege equipment as defenses on the walls and reinforced the ranged garrisons here. Lugh was briefed on these plans by Ferrus's lieutenants
" Too stubborn, Concobar, he was always too stubborn... somehow the gods always see him through those calamities but for what he has done I do not think they will ever forgive him either. I'd almost hate to say it, but I don't think there's much if any humanity left in Marcus. I do not even advise you to waste your time with him, I wouldn't trust him around you, on my part, I will meet Allaryon and Marcus outside the gates, those who wish to return will return, those who wish to stay will stay... and history will be rewrote. But one thing I can promise you, with the Deus as my witness, I will be condemned to eternal damnation before I let Marcus molest the walls of Caerbryn or harm your people... I presume the news will hit him hard, I have no idea where he'll take it from there... but it is better to save ones own ship if its burning rather than attempt to sink the other. As for Allaryon, she's sharp minded and enigmatic, elves are notoriously fickle and capricious and she is no exception... I do not think Ruis presents any kind of opportunity for her, she has no reason to say... spiders like to build their webs where flies like to gather... she would have bigger worries to attend to back home. "
Ferrus tapped his fingers across the table, deep in thought.
"There is one... other concern as well... your retinue, the clans and nobles, it would be dishonesty to not tell you that a few of them have seemed a little intrepid with all these events going on, there are some who suffer from war but I know some see it as profit... and most importantly, what of Prince Lugh? I think given the dire circumstances, the nobles have enjoyed a loose hand on your part and they will certainly seek to capitalize once all is done... there are enemies within as much as there are beyond... certainly some will call you names for having shown the legion this mercy and others still will vilify you for welcoming strangers into your lands, I don't think the scars of this war will so easily leave the minds and hearts of your people... as soon as the war is done I intend to put my men to work, building roads and public works... to benefit your people in a gesture of thanks... they will earn their keep rather than burden your kin."
(WIP)
Ruisian Hinterlands
The March
The March
As they ventured deeper into Ruis, Seznich had once again turned to occupying his thoughts with how much he disliked this place: these wide open plains and bright noonday skies. For the most part he rode in silence, bitterly brewing. His mount, the fearsome creature known as a zgury, expressed nothing. She did not care, so long as the bodies of the slain awaited her. She did not love in the way that other animals did, but even so she shared a deep bond with her rider ... but that would not stop her from feasting on him, too, when his time came. Seznich knew this--expected it and appreciated it, even. Tögataar was easy to read. Unlike the complex minds of humans and their two-legged ilk, he thought, when he caught Marcus's eye. He returned the nod curtly.
Then came the two people he cared about in the world. Even for them he did not smile--such an expression bordered on painful for him--but over the years they would likely have come to recognize the fondness in his eyes and the way his voice softened ever so slightly for them alone. When Veliai rode to his side, Seznich tapped Tögataar's carapace in a simple pattern. She raised her head and first few segments off the ground, continuing to move with the remainder of her body, so that her rider was more on level with Veliai.
The half-drow watched his charge's hands move, then turned his dull red eyes towards the front. They were moving deeper and deeper into enemy territory with every hour that passed, and their flanks and rear were already well covered. Any time his princes did something with safety in mind "just in case"--whuch was Veliai more often than Goro--he felt his heart swell with affection.
"Yes," he said. "Phalanx, not wedge. Good, Veliai. Good."
Caerbryn Castle
There was little denying that Ferrus was seized with a sort of unusual nervousness as Concobar contemplated his options, the die was cast in his court after all and when the wise king relented, Ferrus could only offer a bow laden with humility as a gesture of true thanks for such exceptional mercy, in truth, he wielded the foresight to see where all of this was going, maybe he had hinted at it, but Ferrus was convinced this buy out was the most favorable option in any given circumstance, what was called Ruis in this day and age might as well inherit the world beyond the mountains. The winds of change swept across his tent a fortnight ago, and now Ferrus was all the more assured of this course of action, moreso, that he had Concobar's own word and much like his estimation of Ferrus there was certainly an admiration and fraternity held for him by the general. Ferrus cast himself very much in Concobar's debt and with that came new responsibilities but this was no burden for the general rather he seemed envigorated by the end of their exchange, naturally this lead on to considerations of what was to come, the short-term so to speak.
Where they once stood now they sat at opposite ends of the table, partaking in food and drink, plotting and planning as one usually did in such settings. Ferrus commended the fare and took his share with the eagerness of a hungry man, certainly more than relieved to be rid of the standard gruel and porridge like rations of the camp. He took a moment to regale himself with Concobar's company, commenting on the King's love of art and culture and the little intricacies Ferrus had noted in the country, he asked about his people and the history of their kin, he asked about his weighing in upon the times all the same before returning to the matter at hand.
"Ah yes, the matter of The Wolf, In truth Concobar, he's a different species of man if you can even call him that, Marcus for all his brilliance is innately single-minded and once he commits to something, he is unshakeable, these qualities are excellent in a soldier but certainly not so for a general, the times necessitate change and for lack of a better word, a measure of laxity, you and I understand this, we understand these contexts because you in your experience as a ruler understand that the tempered tongue and the iron fist must go hand in hand, after all, you manage a court full of nobles, even if I am to go by the Valradic Senate as a parable, such gatherings are little better than beast markets and are a test of a man's sanity and patience, sieges too require temperance and patience.. and I already presented my motivations to you, if anything, you have my loyalty and I see no qualms in calling you my king from hereforth"
Ferrus paused looking to the side and issuing a deep sigh, from his expressions and gesture it was obvious this was more than just a trifling issue, it was a delicate matter and his look seemed to convey he would do his best but could not make any promises.
"Naturally for the properties he possesses, he's more a soldier's soldier, Marcus has the influence and the weight of word to turn camps and the legionaries whom are frustrated and longing will likely lend an ear to him, from amongst my ranks then, I suspect there will be loyalists and those who will ingratiate themselves with Marcus, as things stand right now, we could not tell who will do what and if I start putting my men to Ruisian scrutiny then they will not be fond of that gesture, its safe to say that soldiers are chosen for their ability to obey rather than think. I have no doubt your men have been kind to them, it certainly would have changed the hearts of many but others are more calloused... they have families to return to or perhaps ambitions of gaining fortune... what can be said of the reasons men go to war. Marcus won't be a thorn in our sides, he will be a spear and that is where Allaryon comes in, what I am hoping for essentially is that, we can align his march to where he arrives at Caerbryn presumably when the next incursion of those things is about to happen... in essence... "
Ferrus paused thinking of the matter to himself for a few moments longer.
"We barricade ourselves in and we let Marcus wage battle outside the walls, that way we can redirect his ferocity, like the force of a flowing river channeled into a more useful purpose. Marcus will not ask questions or deliberate, once he is at Caerbryn, he will be expecting a fight... and he will have one, just not against us. I'm sure once he's squared off against those things he'll be more inclined to reason... he will never relent, in fact I did not even think to inform him of anything thus far, he assumes that he is coming to reinforce a siege... from our bastion in the city we have a much more solid defense and we can truncate our forces in multiple layers of defense, from mobile combat in the perimeter of the outer ruins moving to more static and emplaced defense nearer to the inner walls. Arcor, the plans. "
Ferrus shook his head and sighed as one of his praetorians rolled out scrolls and placed figurines upon the table. Ferrus would then stand up and begin to gesture, his cartographers having managed to map out the region with some degree of accuracy at least as it pertained to the lines of combat and defense,
The First Line of Defense in the outer perimeter there was sufficient room and space to maneuver troops in open combat, given the flanks provided more room, Ruisian horsemen could be placed there in. There was only a single route of attack for the enemy which was head on, anywhere else they'd have to contend with spike pits and thick deep mud, a few ballistae had been installed on the wall capable of dealing with any strays, thus the enemy was feigned into believing there was an obvious exploit where they would be lured into a pincer. Infantry formed a rectangular echelons, with skirmishers and horsemen at their sides and ranged troops holding the high ground, a few garrisons were further out, small contingents of men to ensure a set of eyes around the battlefield but who could easily escape to the safety of the main army. If pressured the troops could retreat back into the Second line of Defense this crossed through ruins and rubble, with narrow causeways, moats and streets as well as blocked off sections essentially forming a maze of traps and obstacles, where the enemy force could be divided up and cut down tendril by tendril in brutal close quarters combat, several traps were also laid throughout. It was presumed that by the second line of defense, the enemy would mostly be vanquished however, A third and final line of defense existed consisting of the towers and patent fortifications of the inner walls, which the Valradians had failed to reach or breach, the legionaries repurposed siege equipment as defenses on the walls and reinforced the ranged garrisons here. Lugh was briefed on these plans by Ferrus's lieutenants
" Too stubborn, Concobar, he was always too stubborn... somehow the gods always see him through those calamities but for what he has done I do not think they will ever forgive him either. I'd almost hate to say it, but I don't think there's much if any humanity left in Marcus. I do not even advise you to waste your time with him, I wouldn't trust him around you, on my part, I will meet Allaryon and Marcus outside the gates, those who wish to return will return, those who wish to stay will stay... and history will be rewrote. But one thing I can promise you, with the Deus as my witness, I will be condemned to eternal damnation before I let Marcus molest the walls of Caerbryn or harm your people... I presume the news will hit him hard, I have no idea where he'll take it from there... but it is better to save ones own ship if its burning rather than attempt to sink the other. As for Allaryon, she's sharp minded and enigmatic, elves are notoriously fickle and capricious and she is no exception... I do not think Ruis presents any kind of opportunity for her, she has no reason to say... spiders like to build their webs where flies like to gather... she would have bigger worries to attend to back home. "
Ferrus tapped his fingers across the table, deep in thought.
"There is one... other concern as well... your retinue, the clans and nobles, it would be dishonesty to not tell you that a few of them have seemed a little intrepid with all these events going on, there are some who suffer from war but I know some see it as profit... and most importantly, what of Prince Lugh? I think given the dire circumstances, the nobles have enjoyed a loose hand on your part and they will certainly seek to capitalize once all is done... there are enemies within as much as there are beyond... certainly some will call you names for having shown the legion this mercy and others still will vilify you for welcoming strangers into your lands, I don't think the scars of this war will so easily leave the minds and hearts of your people... as soon as the war is done I intend to put my men to work, building roads and public works... to benefit your people in a gesture of thanks... they will earn their keep rather than burden your kin."
The Forest
Allaryon had anticipated that Bodenkh would meet Odo's claims with skepticism, just like their lives humans tended to be short-sighted, they hadn't been here long enough to grasp the intricacies of all that was in the realms, but the elves had first hand experience with such and thus, they did not take lightly to claims of nefarious sorcery causing trouble in the lands, Allaryon scowled as Bodenkh seemed almost entertained by Odo's claims, she could tell by the man's expression that he thought of it as nothing more than a pathetic ruse, admittedly she had thought the same had she not witnessed first hand what was going on in the forests, she was sure Bodenkh would accredit the disappearance of villagers to Valradic terror tactics but the truth was far more sinister and vile. She would not waste her time trying to convince a human otherwise, and if he did not heed Odo's warnings well then he had it coming, on Allaryon's part, she was sure the hermit had some greater part to play in all of this, he had presented everything in sufficient detail... maybe Odo wasn't the solution to this... but he was certainly part of the cure. Allaryon sighed, there was really no point was there. Mortal ambitions were too firm and too grounded to consider such things, Bodenkh was partly a lost cause, so it was fortunate they had a far more stable premise to parlay with him... the hostages
This hadn't gone according to how Allaryon had planned, but whatever Odo said seemed to get through to the man, admittedly she was scorned by the notion, Bodenkh's caution of the Valradians was probably diminished ten-fold, after all if such an esteemed commander had trusted a forest hermit, well then, the crimson banners weren't as much a threat as he would have first thought. It sufficed to say the great valradic momentum that had propelled this storm of a campaign had come to a cessation with this exchange being a nail in the coffin for imperial ambitions. Allaryon and Ferrus had conceded, but Marcus ? Defeat wasn't a word in his vocabulary and the last embers of the Valradic dream rested with him, perhaps it was a dead dream at this point but what difference did it make to a madman.
Allaryon, raised her first, and chose her words carefully,
" Bodenkh, a word of caution, I realize your sensibilities are likely bringing to question this entire thing and that you're probably asking yourself questions about this even now, we're not fools and this wasn't a sudden bout of madness or superstition. You humans have always been short-sighted when it came to such things, consider this a mercy when I say, the Orc isn't lying, you probably don't trust the veracity of our claims, but in the very least have your scouts confirm these rumors... you aren't equipped to deal with those things... we had the luxury of being able to run... but your fort could become a prison if those things come... You have my thanks if anything, I realize this is a difficult parlay for you... but I am sure you will have earned the prayers of my men when they are safely returned to their homes... with that being said, I honor the terms... we shall have your seal of passage and you shall have our prisoners "
The exchange proceeded, though the tenacity seemed ever present, The Valradians withdrew slowly ensuring a careful exchange of prisoners rather than all at once, in order to avoid being routed if Bodenkh changed his mind all of a sudden. As the Hungering Knives, made way towards the highland pass, Allaryon strolled by Odo, placing a hand on his shoulder. "You did well Odo, you earned your keep with the gods and acted out of nobility... unfortunately, all good souls are condemned to be scorned... but should death claim us, my soul will attest to your innocence before the greatest court of them all... they do not understand, they never will, we must forgive them, we must endure" she added, perhaps comforting her friend, despite his plea's going largely unheard perhaps. Some part of Allaryon secretly hoped that Bodenkh would do the right thing, and make his escape... unlikely but still...
The March
A day to Caerbryn, Marcus thought to himself, his mind salivated at the very thought of the conquest that waited, to see the red banners fly over the Ruisian capital would slake his thirst for conquest for a few months. The die was cast, the plans made and now it was just a waiting game. The march of a fresh army was something to behold and they gathered momentum, going downhill was certainly less taxing than uphill, he was sure his nephews were roused by the same spirit of conquest, even wise old Seznich seemed to yearn for combat if only to sate how he grew bored of this place, Marcus grinned and issued a nod to him as well, no doubt he was appeased by the sight of the commander riding atop that terrifying beast of his, Seznich certainly meant business and having known his history Marcus was sure he could be trusted upon the field of honor. Four great commanders at the helm of an army of menace, they bore only fangs, flames and fire, neither the gracile touch of the hungering knives nor the methodicism of the exalted rams, no, these were wolves and they were every bit as savage as the name suggested. Every footfall the army took was deafening and crimson banners once more arose over the Ruisian lowlands, at last, the pass approached. The march was in an uninterrupted unison, they announced themselves without fear.
" Legio, Aeterna, Aeterna, Victrix, Legio, Aeterna, Aeterna, Victrix, Legio, Aeterna, Aeterna, Victrix "
Was the echo from the highlands to the forests, Marcus had Seznich, Veliai and Gorogoth at his sides as he rehearsed plans with them, he intended for this siege to be vicious and efficient and he went over the details with each.
" My lords, all intricacies of our assault are to be well considered and for this it is necessary we divide the wings of our army as we see best, my wolves have traditionally held vanguard and we will intend to spear and hammer the foe where it counts, I believe we all intend to join the battle at one point or the other. Caerbryn's defenses are formidable but I believe the rams would have at least softened them up, I have no doubts in Ferrus's ability to crack the shell of a fortress, thus we will likely have means of entry if not multiple. I will do as I do best and lead from the front, my infantry will engage the enemy head on, I intend to assault from the air and deliver fire amongst their ranks, we should be able to break our way through to the army... Caerbryn's reserves are not to be underestimated and I presume they will utilize their walls and towers to good effect.. we will have to consider an assault on multiple fronts. Gorogoth, I believe you are best suited to be put at the behest of our champions, the enemy will likely bring their elite divisions to attempt to flank or halt us, It is better for you then to break their spines, engage their elite and show them what a true warmaster's wrath looks like. A small elite force will follow you, you will be our hunter killers, your job will be to search and destroy the enemy elite as well as compromise any of their maneuvers, to this end... you will operate behind enemy lines, I will personally rendezvous with you once I have completed firebombing the enemy divisions. "
Marcus nodded to Gorogoth with a smile, before looking over to Veliai and Seznich.
" Again, this assault will require careful thinking and a war on multiple fronts, I believe your input in this regard will do us well Seznich, whether you intend to flank the enemy or innovate on strategy, Veliai will be put in charge of skirmishers, archers and eventually siege equipment... I will count on you to counter and break any static defenses the enemy has Veliai, you have the eyes of a hawk and thus we will rely on your signals to coordinate our movements and anticipate the enemy's maneuvers, ofcourse, under watch from Commander Seznich. Seznich, I think you can capitalize upon the situation, whether you choose to remain as a watchful reserve or strike at the enemy where and when you see fit, Ferrus is known to use tunneling maneuvers, perhaps we may have an underground route of entry, you may yet be able to take the enemy completely by surprise... hence we have two fronts of attack, one combining myself and Prince Gorogoth, the hammer, and the other combining Prince Veliai and Commander Seznich, the spear... we will act like the two hands of one body, coordinating ourselves thus "
Marcus's discussion came to a sudden and abrupt pause as his oculars widened and it seemed like he was seized by a sudden dread before a very sharp scowl appeared on his features.
" What is the meaning of this.... Allaryon !?"
Almost instantly Marcus dismounted from Invictus and proceeded in the direction of the pass where Allaryon and her contemporaries had gathered they appeared to have made camp. Apparently waiting for Marcus, but things seemed very wrong all of a sudden, this wasn't supposed to be part of the plan.
" Allaryon, you were supposed to have been in the forests, either you completed the tasks that were assigned or by the Deus.. "
Allaryon raised her hand and paused Marcus, giving him a bitter expression.
" Don't speak of plans to me Wolf, those antics you pulled in the highlands, nearly cost us this entire campaign to begin with, things aren't as they seem Marcus, this was a ruse, a set up from the get go, we were duped... and I think I have someone here that'll provide better answers for you... I'll make good on my services and provide you what we gathered, we have a lot of talking to do Marcus... I advise you to proceed with caution... if at all. "
Marcus seemed to begin almost trembling with utter rage and his expression could rob the soul out of a man if he looked in his eyes at that very moment, Allaryon however remained calm... but had a hand on her dagger just in case.
" You sordid, despicable wretch... I should have you crucified for treason at this very moment... however, what creature or being, what narrative or oration could have compelled someone such as you Spymatron to have pulled back from the forests... last I heard you were wreaking havoc... by the gods, please, Allaryon, I beg of you, I implore you to deliver some good news to my ears this day... I'll lend you an ear, but know that I am being tested in every sense of the word. "
Allaryon sighed and shook her head.
" This one " she pointed to Odo, " He told us there's some fel-sorcery going on down in the vale and across the lands, from the interrogated prisoners we learned he is likely telling the truth, I myself have felt something off there... we parlayed with one of the forts for safe passage... he got us this far. " one of Allaryon's contemporaries walked forwards " My Archon, the blinded Orcine has visions, he says the dead walk "
Marcus passed a glance to Odo and then back to Allaryon a few times, palming his face in frustration and shaking his head, his jaw almost dropped and he looked Allaryon dead in the eyes for several moments with a wide eyed gaze before issuing a humored laugh in disbelief.
" Allaryon, you know well enough now is not the time for jest, come now, stop tugging the wolf's tail... Allaryon ?.. Allaryon !?... ALLARYON !! SPEAK TO ME RIGHT NOW OTHERWISE I'LL HAVE YOUR HEAD "
Allaryon looked to the side no longer able to look Marcus right in the eyes, she made a bitter, somewhat fearful expression before muttering in a whisper.
" I wouldn't lie to you Marcus... it's true "
Marcus clenched his fist, before releasing, issuing a maniacal laugh.
" Entertain me for a moment longer, so, you were housed in a forest refuge, in a perfectly secured locus... you were in the perfect spot, you had access to a fully stocked fort which you could have taken... you have nearly all of your legion present.. and you went by the utterances of a blind... hermit.. orc... with visions ? "
Marcus just looked to the sighed, and issued an " A-Huh " while shaking his head, swallowing some, before turning slowly and making his way into a nearby tent. Allaryon sighed, rubbing her temples, a blood curdling and feral roar erupted from the tent alongside the noises of things being flung, a man was outright tossed outside the tent and from the looks of it there was some carnage, Marcus viciously punched and knocked down the first few guards from Allaryon that attempted to restrain him, the rest didn't even bother, his howls were menacing as they were painful... but he revealed nothing yet... not to his forces... none of it could be compromised... Allaryon only shook her head and rolled her eyes. " Men " she added.
One man did hear the exchange though, none other than Seznich, towards whom Allaryon then walked.
" Seznich Darling, it's been ages " she added kissing his cheeks in greeting, in a sort of subtle elven fraternal gesture, she sighed " Don't worry about Marcus, he'll be fine... he's just having a moment " she walked over to Veliai and Gorogoth " My, my boys, look at you all grown and handsome, off to war are we ? " she added with a subtle grin, having aided Zaknayrr with her spywork in a past age, she only glanced them when they were still infants, and then she went over to Thor, leaning down and kissing his snout.
" Thor, you're the only one that can stop him, go in after him and make sure he doesn't kill someone... please " Allaryon didn't even bother telling Marcus the whole story, he probably couldn't take it, she turned to Seznich seeing as to how Marcus was currently "occupied". Looking back at the large and impressive army behind him, "I didn't know you were bringing a force... we'd lost hope in the vale... Seznich, we've made camp for all of you... hmph... maybe we are going to war after all "
Though in truth Allaryon did not want to, this all seemed futile, but she cowered at thinking what was going through Marcus's mind right now. She looked over to Odo
" Looks like we're going to war after all Odo "
You are on: Forums » Fantasy Roleplay » Forest of the Umbrous Steppes (Open)
Moderators: Mina, Keke, Cass, Claine, Sanne, Dragonfire, Ilmarinen, Darth_Angelus