[center] ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ [/center] [center][h2][color=darkcyan]Three Days prior, Spring Wind Keep. - 13th Day of the Summer.[/color][/h2][/center] [b]“So this is Spring Wind, eh?”[/b] The voice of the young man trudging through the rugged terrain scoffed with a very real hint of derision. [b]“Would you prefer to be sleeping with the enemy?”[/b] Olivaster quipped. The Wrathmont family had been traveling with the army from most northern reaches of Aithun picking up bands of militiamen and mercenaries along the way. It had not been a terrible perilous journey for the roads were well worn and that far north fairly well defended. Then again no band of undead small enough to be that far north would be lead by someone stupid enough to attack the continually growing forces that were sent to reinforce the troops already gathered at Spring Wind Keep. While it had not afforded Olivaster any of the particular pleasantries he would have preferred it certainly was not a bad way to travel. The worst part had the unsolicited companions that had chosen to accompany him. [b]“Oli, be nice to your cousin!”[/b] A shout erupted some distance in front of him. Olivaster rolled his eyes. He had not been able to see the look on his cousin’s face that accompanied his Aunt Atella’s reprimand. Nor had he cared. Along with the plethora of faces that Olivaster had never seen before, he was haunted by more than a dozen faces from his past. To his dismay the Wrathmont wagons which contained a large number of weapons, armor, and arrows to help supply the masses, were accompanied by two of his uncles, one aunt, seven of his cousins to some degree, his sister Wini and his older brother Lewin. Currently, his cousin Eamil had decided to be the bane of this journey with little Olivaster could do to hide the overt confrontation. It was anyone’s guess what Eamil had even been permitted to accompany them. He was only fourteen and was struggling to properly smith arrowheads let alone anything of any real use. [b]“One day you Mother will not be around to protect you Eamil. And on that day, I will watch the dead ravage you.”[/b] Olivaster cooed before dropping towards the back of the wagon as they drew closer to the large opened gate allowing admittance to the Keep. [b]“Most ya always poke little brother?”[/b] Lewin questioned as he wrapped his thick, tree limb sized arm around his brother’s shoulder. [b]“You’ve followed your own way and I can’t hold that against ya. But you know you’re the black sheep why make it any worse?”[/b] Olivaster took a few steps, his staff clinking against the path as it turned from dirt to cobblestone the closer to the keep they had gotten. His head hung low, the hood of his robes concealing any emotion that may have shown on his face. He did not want to answer, believing what he had known but the anger that began to seeth around his collar was more than he could silence. [b]“Because when we arrive at this war, you and the family will be busy counting coin while I and many others are the ones actually fighting. Are you okay with someone dying because you failed in your trade brother?”[/b] Lewin’s grip tightened. It brought a wince of pain that was exemplified in a stifled whelp from the mage. [b]“You wouldn’t know Olivaster. You’ll be just as responsible when those silly mumblings of yours do nothing but waste breath.”[/b] Lewin released his little brother as they passed between the portcullis that marked the entranceway into the keep and further to the camp. Olivaster watched as Lewin quickly pressed forward to join their sister leading one of the horses that pulled the wagons containing their contribution. He shrugged his shoulders, rolling them back and forth. He tried to mask the pain that his brother had elicited from him but it was difficult. He kept his face low, enshrouded by the shadow of his hood. He would never feel like a Wrathmont nor would he truly ever be treated like one. Day by day he was beginning to approve of that more and more. [center] ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ [/center] [color=darkcyan][center][h2]Greater Cardinal Camp, three days later.[/h2][/center][/color] [b]“Do you think I am scared Winifred?”[/b] Olivaster sighed fumbling around with a few bundles of arrows that she had asked him to move from ground to cart. She grimaced at the sound of her full name, [b]“You’d be a fool not to be Oli.”[/b] She turned to face him holding up a rather delicate looking shiny shirt. It was crafted from what appeared to be iron, glistening with moisture in the damp air illuminated by the flickering dance of the forge’s fire. [b]“By Belia’s braid… Just take the armor! It could save your life.”[/b] Olivaster put the last bundle of arrows on the back of the cart. He looked down at his feet, the bottom of his wizard’s robes terribly soiled. He took a few steps dancing about in the puddles that had come to gather around the impressions that his boots had made in the mud. [b]“The Weeping Mother will protect me.”[/b] [b]“No Oli, the only weeping you’ll remember is Mother’s as she cries over a corpse. Only you won’t remember because you’ll be dead.”[/b] [b]“You pray to your gods and you believe them to answer your prayers in one manner or another.”[/b] Olivaster turned around to look his sister in the face. But he could not bring himself to stare for too long. There had been too much of their father in her and that was enough to bring his anger bubbling to the surface. He quickly turned away stepping towards what might be deemed the doorway of the strange set up. [b]“You will not be so haughty once you see her power unleashed.”[/b] [b]“Olivaster, wait!”[/b] Wini shouted as she watched him trod off into the crowds. It made him so angry. He tarnished the Wrathmont family name to such an extent that even after they shipped him off and he had carried out their wishes, they still were not happy. If it was not for his parents sending him off to join the clergy he would not have discovered the true word of Enathrae. He would not be the magician he was today. And he would not have been cursed as he was… today. As the day began to warm Olivaster took note of checking their armor, and sharpening their blades. Men studying tomes and searching through parchment. Some clung to various religious symbols. Others were sparring, loosening up their muscles for the battle that was still to come. Alchemists mixing potions, lighting fires beneath glass fixtures. Everyone was getting ready for a war that Olivaster cared only enough about that it allowed him the opportunity to carry out his life’s pursuit. The fact that civilization might survive was a plus but he wholeheartedly believed that the Weeping Mother would protect him from the undead hordes. [b]“THE DUCHESS WILL YOU SPEAK! YOU WILL LISTEN! IT IS TIME! IT IS TIME!”[/b] His attention was drawn. These criers were slightly more obnoxious than he was accustomed to. Of course, spending his days in the depths of dank catacombs sifting through musty tomes and old scrolls allowed him little constitution against such annoyances. Before he could even appreciate the message, individuals began to push by him. At first it was only a couple but then it was everyone - tens, hundreds and what seemed like thousands of fighters, knights, smiths, clerics, priests. Everyone was pushing passed him looking for a premium location at the stage. Olivaster was no different if only slightly less enthusiastic. Soon he too would be carried off by the crowd. [center] ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ [/center] [color=darkcyan][center][h2]Fifth Hour, 15th Day of Summer, Belias Shield Encampment, Greater Cardinal War Camp.[/h2][/center][/color] [b]“What do you think you’re doing?”[/b] Olivaster snarled as his gripped tightened around the wrist of some young rogue looking to make a quick coin or two. [b]“H-hey….c’mon mister… I was just messin’.... Let me..”[/b] The young boys pleading was swiftly silenced when Olivaster’s grip tightened into a violent tremor. [b]“We are fighting a war to save the sorry wretches of the world like yourself,”[/b] He scowled pulling to boy close, his amber eyes seemingly tearing through the very flesh of the young boys face. [b]“Perhaps you’d prefer to sleep with the undying tonight?”[/b] [b]“Look mister, I didn’t mean nothin’ by it…. Honest…”[/b] The young boy pleaded as he released the grip around the small bag that he had liberated from Olivaster’s possession. Olivaster desired to hold on. He wanted to teach this insolent little whelp a lesson. He wanted to teach this boy as he was taught when he did not conform with the wishes of the masses. In his case, his own family. He wanted to humiliate the young boy. Olivaster wanted to take the boy to the frontlines and deposit him as a human sacrifice to the undying. His grip tightened. His grin turned more sinister. The world had dealt him a poor hand or so he felt. Why shouldn’t everyone else suffer as much? Why should he alone feel like a burden, an outcast? This child would rue the day. Then the child was gone. He had writhed and slipped his way from the grasp. The rain had provided the young boy with the lubrication he required to slip free and make his escape between the gathering crowd that were all headed in the same direction. Perhaps he would meet the boy again too. For where the army was going it was sure the boy would be foolish enough to follow if he had been ridiculous enough to try and steal from the army. The rain had made everything much more intolerable. It was bad enough really. The smells of the camp site between the horses and the unbathed masses. Olivaster had been quite spoiled in his life dealing most often with people of a more civilized persuasion. Meager living quarters were acceptable. At least the clergy managed to clean themselves on a regular basis. Of course, now there was little concern for personal hygiene. They were moving now. All of them. But for Olivaster time still seemed to stand still. It was all very surreal for him. He was not a stranger to combat. In fact he had been fighting for more than a decade, at least with magic. But he had failed to participate in the last battle some twenty years prior. He was not accustomed to gathers for war on such a large scale where his older family members had been more experienced. The collective consciousness present was enough to dull the senses to the commonalities of existence. [b]“C’mon little brother, what are you waiting for?”[/b] Lewin shouted grabbing his little brother by the shoulders. He shoved him forward slightly to jump start his movement. [b]“Shouldn’t keep the Duchess waiting.”[/b] The two of them trudged through the massive town of tents. Its appearance was more like a displaced refugee camp. That was also a common sight in these times as more and more members of the kingdom were pushed further north while the undying crept onward like a plague. It was not difficult to navigate the makeshift streets as everyone was headed in the same direction. Keep your head up. Step lightly. Watch the tent lines keeping everything together. Keep note of your belongings, that blasted kid probably wasn’t the only one looking to make a quick coin. Move. [b]“I suppose we should not,”[/b] muttered Olivaster more than annoyed by the aggressive crowd. Before too long they had been smashed in with the rest of the masses. There were people from all walks of life, all shapes and sizes. He could not help but take not a specific few. Such as Gunnar Hogworth, one of the most intelligent men he had ever come across and a high priest of Kartoll. He also took note of Virgil and Valeska Valoryn, cousins and two of the best sell-swords across the land with a great deal of experience fighting back the undying. But most of the spectators were unknown to Olivaster. This of course was not due to a lack of fame for those who showed particular promise. It happened to be that Olivaster was not quite concerned with the presence of others in this world around him. His concern was only for the dreams he was set out to accomplish. [b]“Ready little brother?”[/b] Wini laughed as she popped up between him and his older brother. [b]“They say the Duchess can make a man beg with just a wink of her eye. Or maybe make his cock weep with a touch of her hand.”[/b] [center] ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ [/center]