[hr]
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[h2][b][u]The Heartlands[/u][/b][/h2]
[u][b]Final Act[/b][/u]
[img]https://s-media-cache-ak0.pinimg.com/564x/43/ca/0a/43ca0a0787bc022d95a7ebfeda933771.jpg[/img]

[i]Ceveut, 12th of Gerna | 1200 AU[/i]
[i]Location: Just North of Lalrial[/i]
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The company of riders moved at a steady pace across the paved white road that acted as one of the main highways to the imperial capital city of Lalrial. Named the Green Walk due to the tall sea of green grass that made up most of this area leading to the Velathi Mountain in the north. The day was cloudy but the high noon sun still managed to peek through the break in the clouds to cast an uncomfortable warmth on the travellers below. The wind was light but still granted a refreshing reprieve from the uncomfortable hot sun. A drastic change to the colder climes the imperial garrison troops of the Fifth Regiment were used to. The imperial banner of a white phoenix on a gold background above the old Ethican numeral letters below it clearly revealed them as state troops. The banner held aloft in the hands of the rearmost rider. 

The small party was lead by a single man, his gold cloak hemmed with white joined to the segmented plate armor of an imperial officer was indication enough as to his rank. While his silver eyes and ashen hair gave away that he was of the imperial line. Jakinius Valarien Centurion of the 8th company sat in silence as he contemplated the letter he had received late las night. A hastily written missive that had all but begged him to return to the capital quickly. Sent by a man he did not know yet he felt the importance of that short note all the same. Plotting in the capital? Well, even his limited experience in the political scene told him that was nothing new. So what then? Surely something was amiss and he would not find the answers until he had arrived in Lalrial proper. 

As his mind dwelled on this he was brought crashing back to reality from his dark thoughts when one of his men shouted something. On instinct and nerves still high from the skirmish but a few days prior Jakinius hand went to his sword's pommel. However, he spotted what the man was been pointing at. A small escort consisting of a few horsemen and two carriages. Jakinius raised a hand above his eyes to shield them from the sun as he looked ahead. Sure enough, it looked to be an entourage of some lord. The livery consisting of a deep all green. 

Who's colors were.... Ah yes, he remembered suddenly. How he could he forget the colors of House Caernavir? He raised a hand and called for his men to hold steady. He looked to his Lokhagos, Metinnus Jaroaria, then shifted his gaze to Lynette giving them both an inquiring look. 

Metinnus merely shrugged in response.

“Friends of your’s?” Lynette asked. Despite her relaxed stance, she kept her hand close to her sword’s hilt.

"We shall see," Jakinius responded.

As the imperial riders neared the unknown escort they slowed until they reach a fork in the road. The other path leading the rest of the way to the capital. Riding ahead of his men and his hands visible as to not alarm the horsemen around the carriages Jakinius raised his hands.

"Hail friends! From where hence do you tread?" He began in the common travelers greeting. Where custom often obliged the other party respond by stating their origin and, if they were so inclined, their destination or purpose.      

As the green-clad party approached, the figures became more distinct. Two stallions swaggered ahead of the carriages. One of them carried the unmissable figure of Aethlar, King of Gwethydd. He had a strong, square and clean-shaven jaw, with two laughing green eyes and a rush of earthy brown hair. His face was youthful and unlined by age or stress and loaned a regal air by his aquiline and imposingly tall stature. Around his head, he wore the simple, emerald-studded silver circlet that was affectionately known as the ‘travel crown’ amongst the Caernavir. He was clad in finely gilded steel armour, and at his belt, he wore a long, silvery blade in a scabbard, with a hilt studded with a spray of gemstones.

The figure beside him was much slimmer, perched much less comfortable in the saddle. Lord Gaewin’s hair was silvery-blonde, his eyes piercing blue, and he was not clad in armour but in the tight-fitting black robes of the Eldva University. 

“Hark,” cried King Aethlar boisterously. “If it ‘tis not the next Emperor on his way to claim his throne,” He laughed, the loud gaiety echoing down the Green Walk. “Do you not recognise the King of the Gwethyns?”

The carriages too now rumbled to a halt, their small accompaniment of leather-clad horseback warriors also slowing to meet the pace. The larger of the carriages was enamelled with green decorations and seemed large enough to hold four. “I travel with my good-brother here, Lord Gaewin di Fiz-Caernavir, and my sisters, mewling hiders that they are in their carriages,” Aethlar inclined his head carefully, clapping Gaewin on the shoulder so firmly that he almost fell out of the saddle. Gaewin readjusted himself, then gave a bow. “Your Highness,” 

Jakinius inclined his head toward Gaewin as he was introduced, "but of course, I knew I recognized the livery of honored House Caernavir."  

 A raised gloved hand from Jakinius called for a halt among his own men. The unspoken command also allowed the company of the imperial company to visibly relax. Even this deep in the heartlands they were still jumpy. Understandable given their less than ideal luck thus far. This close it would be evident to the Gwethyn's how worn and weathered the imperial troops were. 

Where King Aethlar and his men seemed fresh, and their armor shined. Jakinius's men seemed hardened as they sported equipment that carried dents, scratches and marks, with their traveling cloaks seeming discoloured and even the iconic red plume of their helmets seemed lackluster compared to the regiments of the south. Jakinius himself seemed royalty mostly in name. The prince of Ethica sat tall on his destrier, the white stallion gifted to him by Ulrich after the skirmish in Lorwood. He had the bearings of a nobleman sure; though it seemed misplaced given his rough appearance. His own armor was just as worn as his men, the faint hint of lines under his eyes from a life of standing watch even in the depths of night were visible. His dark silver-eyed gaze still remained strong, however, his face possessing a beard allowed to grow longer than was custom in the south.

His once silver hair more an almost dark ashen color that seemed to no longer possess the vibrancy of youth. Still even with the grime and dirt of the road, his face still possessed a rugged handsomeness to it. The hint of a smile on his lips Jakinius continued, "I pray you forgive our wariness. My men have sadly run afoul during our trek to the capital.  "

Turning his head to one side he gestured, "I see you recognize me, so I would introduce you to Princess Lynette of House Zarand. As well as my Lokhagos, Metinnus Jaroaria." 

Metinnus bowed his head respectively, "milord." 

Jakinius added, "I would wager you no doubt make way to Lalrial for the election. If you would so honor us, perhaps we may make the rest of the journey together?" 

Aethlar inclined his head, and gave a sweeping bow in his saddle to Princess Lynette. “You have seen action?” He asked tentatively, examining the battle-worn appearance of his newfound travel companions. “Was it a successful action?” He stirred excitedly in his saddle. Gaewin cast a glance at the nearest soldier, who spurred his horse and knocked the handle of his sword delicately onto the doors of the two carriages. 

They swung upon almost simultaneously, but the farther occupant was the first to make her appearance known. From the second, a handmaiden hopped down, placing a small cushion on the floor so that the Princess inside did not have to sully her feet. 
 
Eadgifu, on the other hand, hung out of the carriage window flirtatiously, a cascade of silvery-blonde hair tracing down its side. Her eyes, like Gaewin’s, were an icy blue, but she had obviously inherited the physicality of her half-brother the king; she was buxon, with plump lips and a flirtatious smile. “If it not our next Emperor,” She called breathily,. “I would bow, your highness, but I am afraid I might fall,” 

Gaewin scowled, his stern features offering a fiery glance to his sister, who giggled again, tossed her hair, and withdraw back into her carriage. Aethlar shrugged non-commitally. “My apologies for her. This is her first foray unto the capital,” He explained delicately. “My hope is to find suitable husbands for my sisters, and perhaps,” the King added, eyeing Gaewin skeptically. “...a wife for my brother,” The blackclad bastard bristled noticeably as he closed up his sister into her carriage. 

The occupant of the other carriage now stepped delicately down. Haldetrude was much less assuming than her siblings, but possessed more of a regal grace, and her verdant eyes contained something much more potent than those of her brother. She offered the Prince a gracious smile and a smaller curtsey. “Your Highness, it is such a remarkable honour and coincidence to meet you on this road,” She said with a smile. Her plain features were illuminated with her grace, but her words sounded rehearsed and carefully placed, her smile somehow taut and thin. When she met Jakinius’ gaze, it was almost as if he was looking into the eyes of her mother back in Harskmoor.

Aethlar spurred his horse up towards Jakinius and clapped him bodily on the shoulder, as he seemed wont to do. “We will ride with you! Perhaps we shall have occasion to bloody our swords once more, eh? Elections and politicking is dull. I leave that to my brother, Lethlin. ‘Tis no thing for a kingdom to be ruled by a pencil-pusher…” He barked an impetuous laugh. When he looked at Jakinius it was with a mixture of hope, as if he was boyishly waiting for approval from a bigger boy on the training yard. Princess Haldetrude rolled her eyes when no-one was watching, gathered up her black skirts, and disappeared back into the carriage, the door whispering shut behind her. Inside, she unfurled the missive written in the spidery handwriting of Princess Alissera once again and shut out the noise of the men outside.

Smiling for a moment for the sake of politeness Jakinius responded with, "one would certainly hope we will not have a need to shed more blood on the way to Lalrial. Four years in the north and I believe I might welcome the dullness of court politics."  

The prince noted the raised eyebrow of Metinnus when Aethlar was not looking. His face saying what he did not need to utter out loud. Jakinius knew his Lokhagos had little patience for the lords of the south. And sadly Aethlar very well embodied everything he disliked about them into one man. Admittedly Jakinius himself held little regard for the stereotypical southern lords either. He still liked to think he judged each man he met by their own merit and not their background. That said, King Aethlar was doing little to disprove those stereotypes.   

Metinnus chimed in, "I would agree, as to the outcome of that [i]action[/i] we ran into. I dare say it might have turned sour if not for the timely intervention of House Amrothan’s Bannerguards." 

“I do feel that I owe House Amrothan an official thank you of sorts for their role in pulling us out of that fire” Lynette added. “Perhaps I’ll send them some of our finer weapons.” She flashed Metinnus a look when she thought Aethlar wasn’t looking; she honestly didn’t have much patience when it came to green-bellied southerners.

“Lord Aethlar, you mentioned something about finding a husband for your sisters.” She hoped to change the subject away from anything even vaguely linked to war. “Perhaps one of my brothers might be a match? One of them is in the capital already, serving as my homeland’s prime magistrate. Unfortunately, the other had to remain home. Someone has to maintain the frontlines after all.”

Aethlar visibly bristled slightly at being referred to as a ‘lord’, but in the back of his mind put it down to the rugged backwardness of northerners. He adopted his characteristic smile and nodded when Lynette spoke.

“Haldetrude is the better match; Eadgifu is a bastard,” He conceded. There was a heavy thumping noise from the second carriage and a muffled shout: “I heard that, you shave pate girl-man!”, which the entire Gwethyn congregation graciously ignored. Gaewin shot the king a sideways glance. “What sort of brides do your brothers seek? I worry my sister’s constitution is too delicate to be faced with barbarians in the wintry north. 

“My moth-- I think that the best option would be to settle Haldetrude nearby and send Eadgifu to the north or somewhere such as that. She is of sturdier stock, and she is less likely to cause trouble than she would be in the capital,” He continued amiably. 

“I should be happy to make a marriage treaty with your house, Princess. I see sixteen ships leave from Farlook Post a week, laden with various goods, and returning laden again,” He offered a diplomatic smile. “Gwethydd is eternally grateful for the service rendered unto this Empire by those who guard its most northerly reaches. It allows men like me to joust and feast, and men like him,” He jerked a thumb at his half-brother. “To sit in dusty libraries all day!” 

 “I like her” Lynette commented with a raised eyebrow as she looked back at the second carriage. She let a small smile form on her lips as she turned back to Aethlar. “I assure you,” She continued, “that any sister you might send to the north would be perfectly safe. The danger is not in our larger cities, but in the small towns and villages in the northern reaches of our lands.”

“My brother Kardos,” She said after a slight pause, “Is the Lord and Protector of Chave, the northernmost city of note and arguably our land’s most vital fortress. He is a warrior and leader of no small repute despite his younger age. And I am sure” She continued “that he would cherish any wife who could aid him in maintaining his court up in Chave.”

“As for my other brother,” Lynette let out a long sigh, “perhaps you should save your sister for a better match.”

“It would not trouble your brother Kardos to marry a bastard?” Aethlar asked with a raised eyebrow. “I do not think Haldetrude would survive a northern winter…” He paused momentarily. “Is your other brother like to leave my sister a maid for the rest of her life?” The king said carefully, casting another sideways glance at Gaewin and smirking. 

“I do appreciate this spirit of amity. I must write back to my mother to confirm the proceedings; perhaps we can draw some sort of documentation up once we reach the capital,” The Green King sighed. “I fear that the time we spend there will be trying on all of us who do not care to do naught but backstab, plot and scheme. Honest people do not bode well in imperial politics,” He obviously thought that there was some sort of affinity between himself and the other two nobles, who spent much more of their time in the more straightforward north. 

Jakinius seemed grateful enough to have the topic change from the skirmish. The memory of those he had lost still weighing on his mind. He, of course, had little to add in the talk of marriage politics though he was wise enough to keep track of what was spoken. It paid to be savvy of the often times confusing twisting webs of marriage alliances that the Arch Electors wove about the realms provinces between themselves. Jakinius trained alertness had also caught -- perhaps-- more than a few telling hints as to who might pull the strings in the kingdom of Gwethydd. Few kings needed to check with anyone else but their inner council after all.

"In that, we can agree on," he said as King Aethlar vocalized his aversion for court intrigues. "I pray things do not spiral into the realm of distasteful in the coming days."

"To that end," Metinnus said turning his attention to Aethlar, "if it would please you, your majesty-- I would ask on the current state of affairs here in the southern provinces. You are the first Arch Elector we have met thus far and I profess a level of curiosity on where the electors south of the Dead peak mountains stand."  

Jakinius almost frowned a bit at this but, he understood his old friends motives well enough. Besides Jakinius was far too courteous a man himself to breach the subject, yet he knew any information gleaned now could aid his cause.

If Aethlar was struck unawares by the question, however, he did not show it. He gazed out over the horizon for a moment. “Gwethydd’s last harvest was record. We are producing more wine, more art, and more learning every day it seems. I am brought news of great technological developments from the Eldva University in Harksmoor each day. Coffers seem to be overflowing in many of my neighbouring kingdoms; and I fear that may be your problem,” He paused. “Prosperity breeds complacency. It seems most of the other Electors in this part of the Empire want nothing more than to continue to line their pockets with as much gold as possible. That is a dangerous philosophy, and I fear it could cause discord and strife in the upcoming elections,”

“Your arrival is well-timed, and not a moment too soon. Your siblings have been engaged in politicking for some time now. They have not approached me; I assume it is because they took my vote as a foregone conclusion,” Aethlar paused momentarily. “There are rumours that not all of you will come out of this alive,”

“Your father’s reign was occasionally difficult for those of us who resided close to the Imperial centre. My father used to say it felt like there was a void. You must be magnanimous in your arrival into the city, if you ask me, so that you can fill that void. This Empire needs a man who can swing a sword to guide its way. We need someone that we can rally behind - not a savvy intriguer,” Aethlar nodded determinedly. “...and what of the north? Is it secure in your absence?” He asked, almost sounding half-excited to hear news from the more rugged provinces.

Metinnus smiled grimly, "well it seems your work is cut out for you Jakinius. "

“I cannot speak for Nordevar or the Septentrion,” Lynette said, “But so long as Kardos holds Chave you can be confident that Acitha will remain secure. He is a good commander, has access to some of the north’s best troops, and is holding our greatest fortress; he’ll hold out for an eternity if he needs to.”

“I’ve also left some of my best subordinates in the region” Oktavia commented as she moved to the front of the convoy. “Pardon my intrusion Your Highness,” She said with a sort of half bow to Aethlar. “I am Arch Commander Oktavia of the Sisters of the Silver Shield.”

The King of Gwethydd inclined his head respectfully to Oktavia. “I have heard much of the good work that your order does. It is an honour to meet a warrior of such status as far south as this,” He turned to Lynette. “I am glad. I meant no offence by my questioning; it seems to me that most everyone is suddenly rushing south. I wanted to make sure you had remember to leave somebody behind!” He said with another raucous laugh. 

"I shall keep such advice in mind," Jakinius said with a nod. "As for the northlands, I would love nothing more than to say the situation in the Northern provinces is sufficient."  

He sighed as he sat straighter in his saddle, "The northern garrisons have never been as poorly equipped as they are now. Understaffed, poorly funded, and even to this day we still feel the gap left by the fall of Duke Carles and Yarlo Valarien. The Nordheim grow bolder by the day, their reavers sailing further and further south each season. I'd have not left at all had circumstances not convinced me things needed to change in the empire as a whole to address the issues we face. At the moment, the capable imperator Selbrio Ohollian remains in the north to make certain things do not collapse further. I can only hope my visit to Lalrial does not turn into a waste of time." 

Aethlar suddenly seemed to be struck with a bolt of inspiration. “I shall send a detachment, post-haste. The soldiers of Gwethydd are not often deployed in such frigid conditions, but with proper equipment and furs they should manage well enough. I warrant that nothing that the Nordheim have developed can fire an arrow as far and true as a Gwethyn longbow,” He said, then paused. “They shall be dispatched as soon as I return to Harksmoor. You needn’t worry about feeding them; their rations will come directly by ship,” Gaewin seemed impressed by this quick thinking from his half-brother, nodding along with each of his words. 

“Let it never be said that Gwethydd has ever been anything but loyal to the Empire. The sooner this business is over the better. When your family tears itself apart, it is wont to tear chunks off of my kingdom too,” Aethlar said grimly. 

“I shall send word back to my homeland to prepare for their arrival then” Lynette chimed in. “We’ll gather enough furs for your men at the very least.” A smile formed on her lips. It was an honest surprise for a southerner to actually freely offer to send aid north.

“And maybe some Acithan steel weapons for your better warriors,” Lynette added after a moment. “Do tell me, do your men prefer swords, spears, or some other type of melee weapon?”

“We fight as skirmishers, usually, on the field,” Aethlar considered briefly for a moment. “Spears are common, but short-swords and hand-axes will not be misused if they are what is available,” He said after a moment’s contemplation. “I shall write the missive to my mother as soon as I arrive safely into the capital,” 

Jakinius seemed genuinely impressed by this news, "Arch Elector Aethlar you do yourself and realm a service in this pledge. Even should my visit to the capital end without obtaining the majority vote. I shall still deem my mission a success knowing there are kings of the south such yourself who embody the spirit of this empire and are willing to do what is needed to safeguard her lands. Regardless of what may assail her."      

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[h1][color=808080][center]The Great Warhird[/center][/color][/h1]
[hr][hr][center][color=EEE8AA][b][h2]Nordheim[/h2][/b][b]King Guld Spleeneater[/b][/color]
[img]http://static1.squarespace.com/static/55755109e4b0cd72665a4af2/557abccee4b03a9a1066c601/55c0c081e4b0240bae3b329c/1438771365142/Skar_concept_snowy_village.jpg?format=1000w[/img]
[sub][b]Craggan, 9th of Gerna | 1200 AU[/b][/sub]

[i]"See how the crows circle..."[/i] - [b]Yarlo Valarien[/b][/center]
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 The cold winds born from the raging storm outside the homestead seemed like the screams of a thousand banshees. Having braved the winds to reach the remarkably warmer interior of the longhouse, King Guld ‘[i]Spleeneater[/i]’ Redeagle made his way through the hall walking around the large fire pit, kicking his way past men still half asleep and wrapped in their furs. More than a few sleeping off a powerful hangover from their recent revelry. He smacked the head of one fool who was currently collapsed over the armrest of his throne. The lad mouthed an apology and stumbled to the ground. Good enough. The Jarl made a slow turn to take in the sight of the hall. Goblets, mugs, barrels once filled with mead- all were scattered here or there along with a couple of plates, forks, and knives. Most of the silverware having been plundered from the southern lands years back. Guld fell back into his wooden throne and rested his great bearded head on a fist as large as the heads of most men as he brooded over tomorrow's preparations for the reaving of the south.

  Since the day Jarl Guld had crushed the previous King in a contest of arms- gutting the old fool with Guld’s trusted runesteel axe Epotosi- he had made inroads that had restored and united much of the Graeling tribe on the shores of the Black Sea. The warriors of the western shore had never been as strong as they were now. The Kurgans had been dealt with, the Vargs humbled, and now dozens of warriors had flocked to his banner to join his shield wall. Two years prior he had sailed far south, scything the southern shores and probing their defences. He had been surprised at how lax the south had become with their own war vessels. It seemed each month they were fewer and fewer on patrol. His only regret had been he had lacked the manpower to exploit this sudden weakness of the empire. It had been an opportunity he had promised himself he would never miss again. 

  He had managed to return north laden down with all manner of plunder those two years ago that he had managed to acquire through strength and cunning. With promises of wealth, honor, prestige, and the possibility of a fight worthy of Kregnihalla, dozens of clans had promised to pledge their own warriors to the great expedition. Along with practically all the thanes of his tribe. Every Jarl of the Graeling tribe had made the journey to Skar, the largest [i]port[/i] on the west-northern shores. Such a gathering had not been seen in centuries, the south would never know what was coming for them. At that moment the great doors to his hall suddenly bent open again and forcefully enough that the doors smacked against the walls they were affixed to. Even if he had not been staring straight ahead he would have known who had entered his halls. Vigdrior Redeagle was the spitting image of her mother, and she held the same angry cast and strength of arm as did her father. Guld himself.

   As tall as most southern men, her prowess in battle easily matched if not outstripped that of most warriors, and she possessed a skill with both axe and sheild that might impress even the great god Olric himself. Guld could not help but feel proud of his daughter's accomplishments...but also wary of them as well. Thankfully Vigdrior The [i]Blood Raven[/i] seemed to have little ambition towards her father's crown. She had thus far remained the ever loyal daughter and thane.  At least, until her father showed signs of weakness... 

   Yet such a time was far in the future by Guld's reckoning. At his daughter's back were her shield-maidens. Equally ferice looking warrioresses all of whom possessed no small skill at arms. Vigdrior made a face upon seeing the many men and women still prone about the great hall sleeping off their stupor. She made a beeline to her father, beating a few drunks out of the way with not so gentle kicks from her trollhide boots.  

   "Father," Vigdrior began once she was in comfortable earshot, "I've returned from Skrogbul. Jarl Frealaf of The Vargs has finally arrived with his promised war pledge. Some hundred longships have been spotted a snows shadow from the coast."

   Guld perked up at this as he stood straighter in his seat, his mouth widening into a savage smile. "Jarl Frealaf has finally come true on his promise has he? The fool milk-drinker has kept me waiting for days. About damn time."

   Frealaf was perhaps the youngest and newest Jarls to come into power in the western regions of Nordheim. A man young enough to desire to prove himself both in battle and as a leader. He was a Varg, true, but it was because of his new status Guld predicted he could trust the young Jarl to keep his promise to unite his warriors to the Warhird. It seemed Guld's instincts had been right after all. Things were proceeding along nicely. There was no other Jarl who held nearly as many ships in his fleet.

   Vigdrior nodded once in agreement, "his timing is less than desirable but he has at least come through...as to King Styrmir Rimefrost and his giant kin, there has been no word." 

   Guld frowned but had expected as much. "Bah, the old fool can stay in his ice fortress then and wither away for all I care. With the Varg's we have the strength we need to set out at long last." Guld rose to his feet, cracking his neck as he did. "Send word to Haraldur, Ulfar and the other Wolfclaws! We will make the last preparations --for tomorrow, we sail at the blood of dawn."