[center][h1][b][u]Carnelian[/u][/b][/h1][/center]

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Abbas fumed.

Nearly two hundred men were dead. Over a hundred had deserted in despair. Of the mighty host he had first set out with, less than half remained, and those that did were in a state of panic. They had just been broken by a force that by all rights should have been able to do no more than scratch them. Was it magic or skill that allowed them to shoot with such accuracy? The work of the gods, one of the bowmen had kept insisting.

“Neiya is the only goddess we need,” the Lord-Captain had insisted, glaring at the man. When setting out from Ketrefa, three hundred of the men in his host had dedicated themselves to Neiya and Neiya alone. After the yesterday’s slaughter, however, he had no way of knowing how many faithful truly remained.

It was not supposed to go this way. When the barbarians got unruly, a host was sent forth to crush them. The barbarians, with their inferior numbers, equipment, and discipline, were unable to resist Ketrefan might. The army would be shattered, as would the defiance of generations to come. But this time, it had been different. It was a Ketrefan army that was shattered, by what couldn’t have been more than twenty men.

Now, Abbas was a dead man. The King would never accept the loss of three hundred men. No matter what story he told. The punishment inflicted upon young Milos would pale in comparison to the disgrace that would ensue when he turned home, regardless of whether he crushed the uprising or not.

There was no happy ending for him. But at least, if he kept marching, he could reduce the shame somewhat and also avenge his son. He would be mocked, cursed, perhaps even executed, but at least his soul would be able to rest peacefully knowing he had his vengeance.

Yet as he looked upon his men in the morning light, he knew they all wanted to return to Ketrefa. He could see the fear in their eyes. Some, he suspected, had only refused to flee because they feared the savages would pick them off one by one in the wilderness.

It was one of his surviving subordinates who made this concern audible, during a meeting they held that morning, in Abbas’s tent. “My lord,” the young nobleman said - he was barely twenty. “We must fall back.” Most of the other lords in the tent nodded their agreement.

“Do you want to tell the King how we were beaten by twenty men armed with sticks and stones?” Abbas snarled.

“Over half our men are gone,” the young nobleman protested. “The rest don’t have the heart to press any further. If we order them to keep going, then if the savages don’t kill us, our own men will.”

Another lord, only a few years older, clenched his fists in outrage. “Unthinkable! They swore an oath-”

“Most of them are commoners,” a man close to Abbas’s age interrupted. “They don’t possess the same noble blood that we do. They aren’t as beholden to honour, or glory, or prestige as we are. They’ll obey us so long as obedience is preferable to disobedience.” He shifted his gaze to Abbas. “My lord, if we don’t withdraw the campaign, they will turn on us.”

Abbas grit his teeth. He knew they were right. But if he listened to them, there would be no chance to avenge his son, and he would have to face the mockery and contempt of an entire city. Yet… should he place his personal quest for vengeance above the lives of his men? 

Soldiers had always seemed an expendable resource to him. Just numbers. Send twenty men on a raid. If two died, then so long as the raid made enough profit to train and equip two more soldiers, it was a good trade. But now? He had seen his men fight in battle. He could see the fear in their eyes as dozens of men fell around them. He had heard the desperation mixed with raged as they carried out the doomed charge uphill. They were lesser creatures, who would never be his equals, but could he truly call them expendable now?

His subordinates awaited an answer, and he had none. He was interrupted then, when two soldiers came into the room, one of which was dirty and bruised.

“My lords!” the unwounded began. “My apologies, but… the barbarians captured one of our sentries.” He nudged the disheveled warrior. “Tell them what happened.”

“I heard a sound, and went to investigate…” the other soldier said. “It was a trap. They knocked me out, and carried me away. When I woke they told me they had a message. Then they took my weapon and sent me back.”

Abbas’s eyes narrowed. “What is the message?”

“Their leader wants to talk to you. To negotiate your surrender.”

“Surrender?” He had not expected that.

The soldier nodded. “He asked for a meeting, on the condition that both sides swear by Tekret that they will offer safe conduct.”

Abbas ruminated over that idea for a few moments. “If he wants a meeting so badly,” the Lord Captain decided, “he can come into our camp alone, and talk to me face to face. I’ll meet him nowhere else. Go tell him that.”

The soldier blinked. “Tell him, my lord?”

“Who else is going to?” Abbas snapped. “Go!” It would be rejected, of course, but at least it would give him more time to think.

[hr]
The soldier returned an hour later. “My lord,” the soldier bowed. “He agreed to your terms, but insisted that he be allowed to bring a weapon.”

Abbas was, quite frankly, surprised that the barbarian leader was open to the condition at all. “A weapon?”

“His sword, my lord. Said he was already going in alone, so taking it away won’t make a difference.”

Abbas was almost tempted to refuse. But then, he thought about it. If he refused, then this barbarian commander might abandon the prospect of a meeting entirely. If he accepted, however, then the barbarian might be lulled into a false sense of security. There was, of course, the danger that the barbarian might try to kill him, but Abbas would have guards, and was confident enough in his own skills that one man with a sword couldn’t best him.

He had sworn by Tekret that he would offer safe conduct, but an oath made to a barbarian held no legitimacy, and Neiya was the only goddess in his heart anyway. The important thing was that fate had given him an opportunity to avenge his son with no further losses, and he meant to seize it.

[hr]
Abbas stood in the center of camp, as the figure approached - alone, as promised. Though he could make out the silhouettes of the surviving skirmishes. His men could too, and they were frightened by the sight.

As the leader came closer, his features became apparent. He was tall, and handsome, with snow white hair. “Hello there!” the barbarian greeted him as he passed by the tents. He was flanked by a pair of guards - two of Abbas’s more loyal men, but even they seemed afraid of him. “I am Carnelian. Champion of Cadien.”

“You’re the one who killed my son?” Abbas asked, in a surprisingly calm tone, but he could feel the rage building up.

“That I did,” Carnelian nodded without remorse. “And all of his men. And most of the men who were with you yesterday. We have enough stones and arrows to finish the rest of you, but I think enough blood has been spilled for now.”

Abbas clenched his fists, and a vein bulged in his forehead. The gall…

“So, my conditions,” Carn said, not seeming to notice. “I want you and all your men to throw down your arms, and swear an oath to never march against me or my followers again. In return, I’ll let you all head back to your city, alive and unharmed. Though… I can’t make any promises on behalf of the people you robbed and looted on the way here.”

It was a generous offer, if one were to look at it impartially. But Abbas was not impartial. He felt the eyes of the entire camp on him. Most of his men seemed hopeful. Unfortunately, their hopes would soon be dashed. “Here’s my counter-offer,” he said, then drew his sword, while the two guards on either side of Carnelian did the same.

With lightning-speed, Carn’s own blade was out. He swung it across one guard’s throat, ducked under the swing of the second guard, then followed through with his initial swing and sliced off the warrior’s leg. As both men fell, Abbas had rushed forward - not even processing what had happened - then Carn’s shining blade came up and cleaved Abbas’s bronze weapon in two. 

The shock stopped Abbas in his tracks. Then Carn lashed out with a fist, punching the Lord-Captain straight in the nose, before seizing him by his shoulders, turning him around, and putting the sword’s blade to his throat.

The entire camp was on their feet, and every man drew a blade, but none dared move. Their leader was held hostage, and the menacing silhouettes of Carn’s skirmishers were still visible on the horizon.

“He promised me safe conduct, and yet he tried to kill me!” Carn declared. “By my reckoning, that makes all of your lives forfeit. But I’m a generous man! The terms I offered to him can still apply to you. Just throw down your weapons, and go back the way you came. Leave everything else behind. Including him.”

Abbas shouted and struggled with rage, but Carn clamped a hand over his mouth and pressed the blade so close that it broke skin. “Well?” Carn asked. “What is it?”

There were several tense moments of silence where the guards exchanged nervous glances. None of them wanted a fight. They had seen what happened when they fought Carnelian and his men. They thought of home, and families.

One man threw down a spear. Then another. Then four more. Then ten. Then dozens. Soon, nearly the entire army had disarmed themselves. Only a few dozen stubborn holdouts remained, but they too yielded when they realized the supposed hopelessness of their situation. “Now go!” Carn ordered.

And go they did, filing out of the camp one by one, as they made their way back west. Some were ashamed. Others were relieved.

Once they were gone, eleven of Carn’s skirmishers came into camp, all of them grinning wildly. Carn passed the livid-looking Abbas into the hands of two of his men, and then, after taking one last look to ensure the remaining Ketrefans were out of sight, began to laugh.

Several others joined in. They laughed for a good long while, ignoring Abbas’s threats and curses, before eventually settling down. Carn turned to Abbas - who had now been gagged - with a smile. “You’re probably wondering what’s so funny,” he said. “You see… what we did yesterday, that wasn’t normal. None of us can shoot that well. It was a blessing, you see. A one-time blessing, which we learned the hard way when we engaged some stragglers. Lost some good men too,” he sighed.

“Thing is, though, at least we knew that. We also knew that you and your men didn’t know. Might as well take advantage of that. And you made things even easier, when you broke your word and tried to kill me.” He shook his head. “So, congratulations Lord-Captain. Your five hundred men were defeated by twenty.”

Abbas attempted to launch himself forward, and Carn’s men were barely able to hold him back. The Lord-Captain thrashed and raged in his grip. “I won’t kill you, though,” Carn decided. “Not yet. I don’t like oathbreakers. Too many stingy bastards refused to give me what they promised, back in my mercenary days, and far too often I was sent to go deal with someone who refused to pay what they owed.” He shook his head. “So, for now you get to live. You’ll live like a caged criminal, because that’s what you are. You’ll follow my army as it grows and expands. You’ll watch me attack your city, and you’ll watch it fall. Then, and only then, will I allow you to die.”

The thrashing and muffled screaming continued. Carn wasn’t entirely sure the Lord-Captain had even heard him. “Shut him up,” he ordered. “I won’t listen to that for- oh what’s this?” He turned his gaze westward to see a new group approaching. They did not wear the armour of Ketrefan soldiers, or of a countryside militia, but the rough clothes of simple peasants. They came from the nearby village, Carn had realized. The one that was sacked.

Most ignored Carn and his men, and began to move around the camp, searching for loot. Others stared at him and his men with awe and fascination. One of their number, a blonde-haired woman in her late twenties, who wore leather armour, stepped forward. “You… you’re Carnelian?” she asked him.

Carn nodded. “That I am.”

“We… we heard of your uprising, but… we didn’t think it would work. Where are the rest of your men?”

“These are all I brought,” Carn answered.

The look in her eye made it clear she didn’t believe him. “How did you win?”

“Through cunning, luck, and a bit of divine aid,” Carn answered. “You know who I am. So you know I’m the Champion of Cadien.”

“I did not believe it. But now… forgive me,” she cast her eyes downward.

“There’s nothing to forgive. I wouldn’t expect you to follow someone who has done nothing to prove themselves,” Carn assured her, before shifting his gaze west. “The Ketrefans sacked your village, didn’t they?”

She nodded. “They did. My father was the Chieftain. He tried to resist. Said it wasn’t time for tribute. They killed him. Then they set fire to his hut to make an example, but it spread to the others. They just took our food, and kept moving.” She gestured to the looting all around them. “We’re taking it back.”

Carn nodded. He had been hoping for some loot, but if this conversation was going where he thought it would be going, then goodwill was more important. “Of course. I won’t stop you. But where will you go now?”

She looked back in the direction of her village. “My father wasn’t the only one who died,” she said. “There were many losses. Some of my people will blame you - say it was your actions that brought the wrath of the Ketrefans upon us. But others… they’ll look at you and see a chance for justice. Some will stay and rebuild, but others… do you need more people?”

Again, Carn nodded. “Of course. I’ll not turn away aid,” he smiled. “I’ll accept all who wish to join. Though I have to ask, do you count yourself among them?”

“Yes,” she said. “I do.” She hesitated for a moment. “My name is Ingrid.”

[hr]
[hider=Post Summary]
Our post opens in the perspective of Lord-Captain Abbas Narek, who had just lost most of his men to Carn’s ambush, with the rest being too terrified to fight or march anywhere. He realizes that regardless of his actions, there is no way his reputation will survive that one defeat. He’s now torn between pressing on in a vain attempt to avenge his son, or retreating back to the city and accepting punishment (while saving what’s left of his men in the process.)

Before he can come to a decision, he receives a message from Carn offering to meet and negotiate surrender. Abbas sends a message back, stating that he will only agree to meet Carn if Carn comes alone and meets him in the camp. Surprisingly, Carn agrees, but insists he is allowed to bring a weapon. After some internal debate, Abbas reluctantly allows it. But secretly he plans to seize the opportunity to murder Carn.

The two meet. Carn gives a rather smug-sounding speech, and Abbas attacks him. Carn wins, takes Abbas hostage, and repeats the terms to the rest of the camp. They all accept, abandoning their weapons, retreating from the camp, and leaving Abbas behind.

Carn’s men then appear, and they all begin to laugh, because it turns out Cadien’s blessing had already worn off, and the Ketrefan army just surrendered to a foe that no longer posed a significant threat to them. Carn decides to keep Abbas as a prisoner until Ketrefa falls. The survivors from a village the Ketrefans had recently looted then appeared, led by a woman named Ingrid, and she decides to join Carn’s army.
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[hider=Prestige Summary]
[u]Carnelian[/u]
[b]Beginning:[/b] 14
+5 for 10k+ characters.
[b]Ending:[/b] 19
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