[center][b][h3]The Servants[/h3][/b][/center]
The village of chief Vraendol was happy. The harvest was rich and wolves ceased to attack their livestock. Rather begrudgingly the chief and his hunters refrained from killing any more deer. None of them wanted to risk the wrath an Oathbreaker brought. Yet despite the good times, chief Vraendol sat hunched over his table. Deeply sunken in his own thoughts. He couldn’t let things turn out the same way next year. Deer would be hunted, as many as he deemed necessary. Wolves would come to kill his livestock again. Then that bloody druid or another would come and undermine his authority. Vraendol wouldn’t care so much if the druid did, if only he stayed the winter. Too much food gave people safety and certainty. A rare thing amid a snow storm. Meat gave one the strength to push on. Instead now he had to survive on bloody berries and bread. The gal that druid had, to tell his hunters to pick up a plow or basket instead of a spear or a bow.

“You asked for me?” Someone said as they entered the great hall.

Chief Vraendol looked up. The first thing he noticed were the eyes. “Yes, rainbow-eyes. I need some of your…insight. Sit down.” He said. The chief had never been particularly fond of magic. Druids or these Servants alike. But the Servants that passed through his village generally did not make oaths in his name. As the newly entered man sat down near the fire, Vraendol handed him a cup with a crude version of mead and sat down next to him before the fire. “You know what happened here? With the druid?”

The man nodded. “He made a pact with the wolves. I’ve heard druids do it before.” The man named Fallenor said. There were rumors amongst the siblings down south from here that druids were becoming an ever growing group of meddlers in villages. For a long time sorcerers held a monopoly on magic. Yet these days the druids rose to ever greater prominence amongst the normal people. While leaders and warriors began to value their sorcerers much more. That alone wouldn’t bother Fallenor. It was only that every time he had talked to a druid, he couldn’t help but smell an ugly stench on him. Every time they talked, the words rang like lies. Even if they were the basest truths. His brothers and sisters stretched across the human world seemingly agreed. None who met a druid liked them.

“That he did, and now I’m here telling you that that is a problem.” Vraendol said. “I’ve got scores of trained hunters, killers really, sitting at home seething over the act. Next year will be no different, and then that bloody druid will come back and undermine me some more.” Vraendol’s voice was that of a man slighted. Double-crossed. Fallenor wanted to ask if he had send for the druid. Perhaps to help make the wolves stay away. “Do you know the fishers village to the east of here?”

“I do.” Fallenor said, as he took a sip of the mead. “It’s small, but cozy. Unlike here they’ve got a steady supply of fish and don’t fear the wolves as much.”

“Yeah, and they utterly despise us. That is perhaps my fault for raiding them a few summers passed. Now tell me, I know your people talk to each other with your minds.” He said as he pointed at Fallenor’s forehead. “Is there one of yours in that village?”

“No.” Fallenor could answer that question with full certainty. Amongst the humans, Servants had been talking for millennia now. It was a vast spanning web that few humans, even if their tribe were rivals, rejected these days. If he never heard a Servant from that village speak, there was most certainly not one there.

“Good!” Vraendol exclaimed. “Excellent! You’ve been a great service to me Fallenor. You may go.” The chief said as he rose up and walked towards a few of his own warriors standing guard.

But Fallenor did not leave. Instead he turned to the chief: “Why do you need to know?”

It took Vraendol by surprise. “Its none of your business.” He said curtly. “Get out of my hall.”

“You’re going to attack the neighboring tribe again, aren’t you?” Fallenor said as he walked closer to the chief.

Vraendol dashed towards the Servant with a knife in his hand. Before Fallenor knew it, a blade was touching the side of his chest. “Don’t say that out loud!” The chief snarled. “Do you want everyone to know!? Damn you Fallenor. It’s supposed to be a secret.”

“I swear I will not tell anyone who isn’t supposed to know.” That also meant his own brothers and sisters. Fallenor was well aware of what such an oath meant. Even though he said it so casually.

So was Vraendol. Who pulled the blade away and turned Fallenor away from the entrance of the hall. “You’re too smart for your own good, Fallenor. Yes, I’m going to attack the village next to us. Damn it I’m going to conquer it. We may not need those fishes this year or next year. But we will in due time and when that time comes I know in my heart we won't see Kaer Mirh then. The druid, curse his gods damned name, did give us more than enough food to last the winter, while my hunters aren’t even occupied with hunting deer or protect the livestock from wolves. The opportunity is now and it may never come again.”

“You wanted to know if they had a trained sorcerer.” Fallenor realized out loud.

Vraendol shot him a nasty look, but eventually nodded. “You bloody sorcerers are a dangerous sort. I’ve seen you flick fire and ice before Fallenor. I wouldn’t want to fight that. But now that I don’t, my troops can prepare.”

“I will join you.” Fallenor said suddenly.

It took Vraendol by surprise. “This isn’t something to joke about, Fallenor. I need more from you than festival tricks.” But then he calmed down. Having a sorcerer, even one, amongst his ranks would give him certain victory. His warriors were almost equal to those of the village to the east. With the help of the hunters, they would have a fair shot to victory. With the help of a sorcerer. Well, victory was all but assured. “Very well then, Fallenor. You’ve already sworn yourself to secrecy. I’ll send for you when you’re supposed to leave the village and meet up within the forest. We don’t want to alert the fish village don’t we.” He summoned a big grin.

One Fallenor returned and then finally left. Gears began to spin within his mind. He would have to remain silent to his brothers and sisters for a year.  Then he could tell them that he finally gained a favor from his chief.
[hr]
“And that concludes the harvest, sire.” A robed, elderly man said as he handed the slate with the harvest count upon it to a slave. The king sat uneasy on his throne. His eyes were hollow and sunken back into his skull. He hadn’t slept well all summer. Now his worst fears were proven true. The harvest was not enough to feed all his people in winter. Children would die. Even a druid couldn’t revitalize the lands for long.

“Leave me.” He said with no real authority behind his voice. Famine had been threatening his rule for some time now. The elderly vizier bowed and left with his slaves holding the heavy slates. After agonizing minutes of silence that even unnerved the guards, the king got up and left the throne room.

The garden felt like an entirely different world than the one outside its walls. Here, all plants were green and flourishing. Like they didn’t share the curse the farmlands suffered. Perhaps they didn’t. Perhaps the court-sorcerer really did know what he was doing to keep this plot of land green and healthy. The king kneeled before a grave. It was fresh and untouched by time or the weather. “I can’t go on like this.” He said to it. “I wish you were here. With me.”

Behind him the doors leading to his serene sanctuary suddenly slammed open. Rage flared up into the king as he shot up. His hand moved to the dagger he kept on his belt. “How dare you come here.” He yelled at the intruder. Before he realized it was Esamir. The court-sorcerer. “What do you want man. Can’t you see I was praying!?” He shouted. Though he loosened the grip on his dagger.

“My lord! I have found a way!” Esemir exclaimed as he carried a slate under his arm. He was clearly out of breath, yet still pushed on. Guards behind him were about to grab the court-sorcerer and escort him out. But a simple wave of the king told them to back off. “I have found a way.” He collapsed on his knees before his liege as he tried to catch his breath. The slate, luckily, did not fracture.

“Speak man!” The king was growing impatient.

“Do you know what an Fire Deer is, my lord?” Esemir asked as he managed to get up.

“It’s legendary. They say it’s a big burning stag roaming the lands. Damn it, Esemir. Those things are just legends. Besides, how would we even get such a thing here? We are far away from the western lands.” The king said.

“We don’t need to. Its heart, my lord. If we get its heart, we may bring it back here. I can perform a ceremony with. Make it a sacrifice and fuel the magic. I can make the farm land as rich as your garden!” Esemir said. In the depth of his heart he was grateful for his sister who had seen the fire deer from a temple in the sun-soaked lands to his west. Finally the land could be saved. But that wasn’t the only reason he wanted to go west. There were talks about a fabled tutor there.

“Gods above man. Are you sure? Are you sure it can be done?” The king asked, grabbing Esemir by his arms. Esemir nodded, and the king pushed him aside to bark orders at his soldiers: “Get me the royal guard! Prepare for an expedition. We are going to save this land.”

[hider=Summary]Chief Vraendol requested the a Servant (rainbow-eyes) to come to him to ask whether or not the nearby village has a Servant of its own. It doesn’t, however the Servant by the name of Fallenor realizes that with the larders full and the workless hunters, the chief finally has the military power at his disposal to take over the neighboring village. In a bid to gather power, Fallenor asks to join the fight when it comes. Lending magic to the war efforts and thus gaining a favor of the chief.

Another Servant by the name of Esemir lives in a kingdom whose lands cannot produce enough food anymore. However he finds a way to revitalize the land. By sacrificing an Auroran Deer’s heart (referred to as a “fire deer” in the post) through a magical ritual. The king orders an expedition to find one of these deers. Thus begins his quest.[/hider]
[Hider=Prestige]
[b]Post Length 9.3K characters[/b] >> +4 Prestige to the Servants
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