[h1][u]Act Two: Scattered to the Winds[/u]____  __  _   _[/h1]
[h2][u]Chapter One: If We Burn, You Burn with Us[/u]______  __  _   _[/h2]
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[center][img]https://i.imgur.com/3CCYbok.png[/img][/center]
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White cliffs divided a sea of water from a sea of grass, and it was across the latter that a single white horse made its way towards a single black one. They stopped and swirled about each other, their riders stabbing back and forth with suspicious eyes and imperious pulls of the reins. It was a windy day, and the hair of two kings joined the field in lashing waves. [color=000000]"You think you have won because your little town still flies your flag,"[/color] mocked Hrothgar. [color=000000]"I will ravage your land and break your people so that mine may have this place."[/color]

[color=00aeef]"Then you are a fool and a murderer, for you will do neither and anyone is free to come live in Parrence so long as they keep the law and the Gods."[/color]

[color=000000]"So then they are not truly free. You speak from both sides of your mouth, young king."[/color]

[color=00aeef]"I tire of this,"[/color] replied Arcel shortly. [color=00aeef]"We are here to discuss the exchange of prisoners."[/color]

Hrothgar wheeled his horse about, taking in the land surrounding them for a moment. [color=000000]"I will accept terms, you know: cede the Vitroux and I will take my soldiers off of this land. Else it will burn."[/color]

Arcel waited, statuelike. It was clear that he would not even consider the matter. [color=000000]"Alright, so be it. You want to discuss prisoners."[/color]

[color=00aeef]"I do not wish to speak with you for a moment more than I must, so I will dispense with the bargaining. One for one: a straight exchange, with any left over to be exchanged for gold."[/color]

Hrothgar shook his head adamantly. [color=000000]"Ah, but that favours [i]you[/i], boy king."[/color]

[color=00aeef]"I cannot take all of the credit for my people being better fighters. That belongs to our lord Echeran-Sept."[/color]

[color=000000]"Better at looking to their purses, perhaps,"[/color] snarled Hrothgar. [color=000000]"We are here now."[/color] He spread his arms. [color=000000]"You failed to stop us. We won the fight and we will win many more."[/color]

Arcel tilted his head dubiously to one side and smiled knowingly. [color=00aeef]"Thus it is said: the more that they want for strength, the more that they shall boast of it."[/color] He looked down his nose at the elder king. [color=00aeef]"You lost near half of your force and no more are coming to save you. You have no supply lines and no escape. Your boats are black timbers outside Relouse. You are not fooling anyone. You shall die in Parrence, your majesty."[/color]

[color=000000]"Perhaps."[/color] the Eskandr pressed his lips together and nodded slowly, sagely. [color=000000]"But then I shall make certain that Parrence dies with me. Be careful what you wish for, [i]boy[/i]."[/color]

[color=00aeef]"So, you shall not accept my offer of one for one?"[/color]

[color=000000]"I shall not."[/color]

[color=00aeef]"Then, as a gesture of mercy and good faith, I am willing to trade all those that I have for all those that you have. You will not receive better."[/color]

Hrothgar's face became cold and analytical. He studied Arcel and then scowled out across the plain. [color=000000]"You will pay me five Parencs per head."[/color] He pursed his lips and nodded. [color=000000]"Then we will have terms."[/color] He made himself tall in his saddle.

[color=00aeef]"That is an insult and you know it,"[/color] spat Arcel. [color=00aeef]"I negotiated in good faith."[/color]

[color=000000]"I did not. Yet, here we are."[/color] Hrothgar paused for a moment. [color=000000]"The truth is that, unlike you, I am unhurried to have them returned. They are hardy people and willing to sacrifice, else they would not have come here. Besides, boy, I know that your soft, weak greenlander gods would not allow you to visit harm upon my brothers and sisters you have taken."[/color] His grin was toothy and superior. [color=000000]"So I shall allow you the privilege of feeding and sheltering them while my army burns your farmsteads, rapes your women, and puts your children to the sword. Or,"[/color] he offered, [color=000000]"You can pay the price."[/color]

For a moment, Arcel closed his eyes. He breathed deeply and his shoulders seemed to tremble. A gust of wind caused both of their cloaks to flap for a moment. Then, he reared his head back and looked up at the sky. What emerged from his throat was a sound most unexpected: a laugh. [color=00aeef]"You are,"[/color] he admitted, [color=00aeef]"truly irredeemable. Truly evil. I pity you for what you will never know."[/color] He shook his head and brought his horse around until he was perhaps a foot from Hrothgar. The two animals snuffed and snorted at each other. [color=00aeef]"Mercy is not weakness,"[/color] he replied. [color=00aeef]"It is goodness.[/color] His eyes burned at his fellow king. [color=00aeef]"Goodness is not a failing. It is what allows us to thrive."[/color]

[color=000000]"I grow tired of-"[/color]

[color=00aeef]"I am not finished, you heathen."[/color] Arcel snarled. [color=00aeef]"Unlike yours, our gods do not require or revel in human suffering. We do not want it and we gain no favour from it, but make no mistake: The people of Parrence will [i]never[/i] bow to you. We will not tolerate your injustices and depravities, as we would not those of Avince."[/color] He was glaring now, inches from his counterpart. [color=00aeef]"You'd do well to remember that, for all of their efforts, it was not [i]your[/i] ancestors who brought down the empire: it was [i]mine[/i]."[/color] He pulled back a bit and shook his head tightly. [color=00aeef]"But I do not wish for the innocent people of Eskand to suffer as mine have. In that spirit, I offer you one final warning: turn back from this path now or I promise you that any further violence visited upon us shall be returned tenfold. If we burn, [i]you[/i] burn with us."[/color] With that, the King of the Parrench snapped his horse's reins, wheeled around, and galloped away.

[color=000000]"Ha!"[/color] laughed Hrothgar after a pause. [color=000000]"Hahaha! Now that you are finished your tantrum, little boy, I shall see you on the battlefield."[/color] He regarded the young man's back for a moment. [color=000000]"I will kill you, there, Arcel! I will sit your throne, bed your wife, and rest your crown upon my head. Your body shall go to the wolves, your lords shall pledge their loyalty to me, and your people call out the names of [i]my[/i] gods! I will [i]savage[/i] you, boy! You should've taken my offer!"[/color]

That same day, an Eskandr force struck inland from the coast. It ransacked five villages and put them to the torch. The die was cast.

Arcel had known the truth that his enemy had carefully hidden, however: while the Battle of Relouse had been a tactical victory of sorts for the Eskandr, it was a Pyrrhic one. They could not meet the Grande Armee again in pitched battle, not unless Hrothgar was able to convince the jarls and underkings back home to send yet more of their young men and women to fight. They were stranded in this place, forced to march southwest or southeast to friendlier lands through hostile ones.

Many had made land here before, but these had been coastal raids. They'd been left only with the sense that Parrence was soft and green, that its people kept different gods, and that it was a place of long, warm summers and great abundance. Now, as the army splintered and spread into raiding parties, for even such a rich place struggled to produce enough for a force of their size, they saw it for what it truly was: blue skies and puffy white clouds, endless fields, brooks, and dells, cicadas humming in the tall grass as crops sprouted with enviable ease from deep, loamy soil.

But most of those crops were not ready, and would not be for months to come, so the Eskandr brought only more death to this place. If they could not make use of its bounty, then neither would the Parrench. Like the fingers of a great, ungodly hand splaying out across the map, the five armies of Eskand carved their way across it, and fields of cabbage, wheat, and rye became fields of fire instead.  

To the west, under the command of Gudrid Fangtooth, an army rounded the Baie des Baleines, sweeping south towards Kressia and its ostensibly friendly forces. A second forded the Asquelle within sight of Loriindton, using bridges that the yasoi had built, but was under strict orders to do nothing further to antagonize the nominally neutral party. One, under Bjorn Coldfist and Brunhilde of Hegelo, traveled south to reinforce the tenuous Eskandr holdings to the west of the Vitroux, and Hrothgar himself struck Eastward with the largest force for the near-undefended city of Chamonix, in a bid to cripple the Parrench East and annex it.

It was the final and second-greatest of these fingers that carved the widest swath, perhaps. Led by Sweyn Thunderspear, with the Nashorn, Hildr the Red, and newly-minted Æresvaktr Ulfhild of Ulven under his command, it hugged the coast to Port Morilles, before preparing to hook north, towards the vast arid plains known as Tourarre.

Against these forces, Arcel had set his best generals and fighters. While Gaston de Boullieres pursued Fangtooth's forces around the Baie, Guy de Montcalm and Isabeau la Sournoise shadowed those headed for Vitroux, hoping to force a popular rebellion against the recently-established Eskandr rule. Jean du Soleil Invaincu harried the Asquelle force relentlessly and, following a late start, Arcel himself led the effort against his royal adversary, eager to relieve the soon-to-be beleaguered defenders of Chamonix. To his beloved Queen, Eleanor, and her brother, Sir Perceval de Perpignan, he entrusted the task of tracking down and destroying Sweyn's elusive army. It was one that demanded success, for the crown's relations were always... [i]complex[/i] with the Tourarre at the best of times, and even more so now following the capture and ransom of the Baron of Hierbamonte at Relouse.
 
First, however lay Port Morilles: hometown of Camille de la Saumarre, the young maid blessed of Dami who had distinguished herself on the battlefield at Relouse. The king's banner yet flew from Castle Espadon: its grim grey walls standing sentry over the once-bustling fishing town, its keep filled to brimming with those residents who were unable to flee elsewhere or take shelter in the seaside caves. 

For three days, it held firm against the fury of the southmen, warding off attacks magical and mundane alike. In the face of Sweyn Thunderspear's shattering attacks and the inhuman might of The Nashorn, its valiant defenders repelled thrust after thrust, sealed breaches in the walls, and toppled siege towers. In Orpahe, Echeran, and Dami, they placed their faith. For deliverance by the Queen's army, they fervently prayed. 

On the fourth day, the Eskandr broke through and the gods left the defenders to their fate. Like blood pooling from what had seemed a small wound, raiders spread out across the castle grounds with inhuman ferocity. The smoke could be seen spiraling into the sky from miles distant, and the mounted portions of the Armée de la Reine detached from the rest and rushed ahead in a desperate bid to meet the enemy and dislodge them from their savagery.

They were met instead by screams and the sight of hundreds of women, children, and elders fleeing the burning castle and ravaged town. [color=ed1c24]"The cliffs!"[/color] shouted one dressed in what had been fine garments a few days previous. [color=ed1c24]"They undermined the cliffs! If they fall, everyone sheltering in the caves is dead! The town shall vanish into the sea!"[/color]

Another shook her head adamantly. [color=8493ca]"The fire!"[/color] she insisted. [color=8493ca]"The fire first!"[/color]

[color=82ca9d]"Foolish girls,"[/color] huffed an old man, red-faced and clutching his chest as he ran. [color=82ca9d]"You know nothing of battle."[/color] He shook his head and pointed north by northeast. [color=82ca9d]"The town is lost and the people in the caves are not stupid."[/color] He posted his hands on his knees, struggling. [color=82ca9d]"The Eskandr are headed that way."[/color] He pointed, weakly, again. [color=82ca9d]'Twas the threat of your advance that scared them off. They have perhaps an hour's lead on you. You might catch them yet and avenge Port Morilles."[/color]

Eleanor brought her horse to a stop and gazed down sternly at the elder who seemed so certain of the course of action she should take. [color=f6989d]"I would know your name,"[/color] she commanded. 

The old man sunk to one knee. [color=0076a3]"Sir Reginald de Bournaise,"[/color] he rumbled. [color=0076a3]"Late of his majesty Rouis' service. My queen, it is an honour."[/color]

[color=f6989d]"We do not have our full force, Sir Reginald. We have ridden out ahead of the others and it appears to have saved lives. For this, we must thank Oraphe."[/color]

[color=ed1c24]"Praise be,"[/color] said one of the women standing close to him. [color=8493ca]"Praise be,"[/color] murmured the other, bowing her head. The Queen was little interested in the theatrics of prerogative and status. She glanced about her. On hand, she had some two hundred cavalry, included in their number were Sirs Maerec and Caelum, the maid Camille, the Drudgunzean Arsene, and Arcel's executioner: Arnaud. Percy had been left in command of the main force and was doing his best to motivate them, or so she hoped. Eleanor nodded. [color=f6989d]"For three minutes,"[/color] she announced. [color=f6989d]"I shall take counsel. Be concise. Then we shall have our course of action."[/color] 

Then, an intrusive voice: [color=f26522]"My Queen!"[/color] It shouted. It belonged to a young soldier. He knelt before her, hand clenched over his heart.[color=f26522]"My Queen, I am sorry to interrupt, but we have captured an Eskandr. He is lucid as those beasts ever are and my captain believes we may learn something from him."[/color]

[color=f6989d]"Ideas, people,"[/color] Eleanor commanded. [color=f6989d]"Ideas now."[/color] Whatever their course or courses of action would be, the decision would need to be made promptly. Then, as if placed there by the Gods themselves as guidance, a wisp of smoke billowed into the sky from the north: the sure mark of an Eskandr raid.

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[hider=Parrench Action Opportunities]Feel free to play out any of he following:

1) Your recruitment to this force, your march, and your motivations.
2) Your approach to Port Morilles and any emotional or practical reactions.
3) Whatever you have to say to the Queen regarding what should be done.
4) Feel free to take action and solve these issues: you have free reign to put out the fires, try to stabilize the cliffs, or scout ahead and try to track down the Eskandr force. Go big, get brave, get technical: it's in your hands!
5) You may question the prisoner. Collab with me on this or a Co-GM. Be aware that I will be gone from the 6th to the 12th of August, however.[/hider]
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Sweyn knew what his duty was. His continued leadership of the Æresvaktr, after Thorunn's rise during the battle, was contingent upon his success but, more importantly, perhaps the success of this entire endeavour was. He was not here to bleed men and resources on a pitched battle with the Parrench. He was here to pull a great ruse and a trading of roles, and to hit them where it hurt most and was expected least. As his sixth bolt of lightning struck the distant collection of huts and pens that constituted a village, he wheeled his horse about and returned in the direction of his army. 

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Because he did not speak, many believed The Nashorn a dumb brute. Yet, was it not [i]he[/i] who had saved Hrothgar from death at the hands of Arcel? Who had captured the Tourrare that was burning their ships? Was he not now laying waste to this enemy village of 'Clairvogne' without the use of smoke or fire? He stood near the altar of its church, the bodies of village men and monks surrounding him. [color=cadetblue][i]The gold.[/i][/color] Churches always had gold: chalices and such. It was usually kept in a lockbox behind the altar but, when they had time to prepare, it was often in a secret compartment beneath. 

The monster of a man bent over, then, and ripped up the rug, looking for the customary trapdoor, salivating over the gold that was to be his. How he [i]loved[/i] gold: the shine of it, the rich colour, all of the pretty patterns carved into it, how he could run his fingers over its smooth surface and feel where the soft metal had been worn down by human hands and where it had not. He wondered what colour and what alloy it would be and if there would be any gemstones set in it. With great eagerness, he searched. 

There was no secret door, however. He tore up more and tossed the scraps aside with a snarl, casting his gaze to the rafters. Perhaps it was there, he decided. Then, however, a voice: [color=orangered]"Looking for something?"[/color] it mocked, and he turned to see a boy, perhaps twelve years of age, standing in the doorway. [color=orangered]"You won't find it, and even if you do, you won't get it!"[/color] The anger overcame The Nashorn, like it often did in situations like this, and he picked the boy up in a fist of Force. Stalking forward into the open, he smacked him into the wall: hard enough to send a message, but not enough to break him, and pointed angrily into the church. The child's bravado was gone. He shook his head, crying. The Nashorn smacked him again into the wall and he let out a scream. All that this stupid kid had to do was give him an answer. Why did people just have to make his life harder? It was much easier to obey, and yet they never did, eager to die for silly abstract things. The Eskandr pointed again, more vigorously, at the church, but then he felt something in his head: a dizziness that caused his world to blur and sway: essence magic! Dropping the boy unceremoniously, he fought it off, countering the effects with magic of his own, for he was not a dumb brute as they said he was.

Casting about with his sixth sense, The Nashorn felt a collection of energies out in one of the fields and he stalked towards it. A colossal wave of Force flattened crops just beginning to lengthen under the late Stresia sun and he seized upon a human shape that was dragging itself free of a wagon reduced to splinters. There, he beheld a young woman, dressed in a long white robe that he only now noticed was similar to the boy's. She was slight but pretty, with curtains of hair the colour of gold. Splinters stuck out of her left leg and blood stained her clothes. The Nashorn shrugged off a couple of weak Force attacks and grabbed her by the hair. [color=thistle]"You idiot!"[/color] she wailed, her hands pounding and clawing at his armour ineffectually. [color=thistle]"Let me go!" Let me go or -"[/color] He tossed her into the muddy ground and she coughed and sputtered. Crouching in front of her, he grabbed her by the neckline and pointed emphatically at the church. [color=thistle]"You wish to find the Gods?"[/color] she snarled, [color=thistle]"You [i]will[/i] soon enough. You've doomed us all."[/color] She shook her head bitterly.

Tearing his helmet off, he glowered at her and grabbed a handful of her hair, pointing again at the church, a noise of frustration escaping him. All of this for no gold. Ulfhild was somewhere in the village as well, destroying and plundering what she could. The Drudgunzean, Hildr, was supposed to be doing the same, but he didn't trust her. If they knew of old and did not tell him, or if they stole what was always his, he would crush them. [color=thistle]"I know what you want, you animal,"[/color] hissed the pretty woman. [color=thistle]"You won't get it."[/color] She shook her head. [color=thistle]"It's up on the mountain, under [i]his[/i] protection."[/color]

The Nashorn twisted to regard Mont Errante, wary of a trick. [color=cadetblue][i]Whose protection?[/i][/color] he wondered. Others had screamed that 'he' was coming and pronounced doom upon the Eskandr the same as themselves. At first, the Æresvaktr had dismissed it as the mewling of the weak invoking the wrath of their gods, but there was now a place attached to these pronouncements of doom. Who was it that these villagers so feared? Some mountain warlock? A local deity, held over from before these lands had gone Quentic? A ruthless lord? He turned back to the woman and motioned with his arms for her to rise, but she met his gaze unflinchingly. [color=thistle]"I am lame, you heathen, so you will either have to carry me or kill me."[/color] She threw her arms out to the side. [color=thistle]"I do not care in the slightest. You have ruined that which sustains and pacifies him."[/color] She took in the village: houses collapsed, people killed, livestock butchered or set loose and fields flattened. It had been important that there be no smoke, The Nashorn knew, no fire. [color=thistle]"I doubt even I could placate him now."[/color] She laughed bitterly. [color=thistle]"We are all going to diiieeeaaaah!"[/color] Her words ended in a scream as he grabbed her by the hair once more. 

Something was not right with this village. He sensed it was not just the usual threats and superstitious. This cripple would have to be his gold for now. She would have to be made to speak. She hammered and thrashed at him with hands and the Gift alike and, when he lifted her by the hair so that she dangled, eye-to-eye with him, she hollered insults at him and spat. The glob of saliva missed his eyes and landed just below the right one, causing him to blink. He drew back his free fist and smashed it into her. The woman's head snapped back and she went limp, but he did not strike her again. She was so small and golden and she looked peaceful, finally, with her eyes closed and her bloodied nose. She would sleep for now, he decided, and when she woke, hopefully the Thunderspear would be returned. If not, then perhaps Ulfhild or Hildr. Then, [i]they[/i] could get the answers out of her.

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[hider=Eskandr Action Opportunities]Feel free to play out any of the following:

1) Your split from the main force and your knowledge of the plan outlined on discord. This is not known to the Parrench IC and information is limited even OOC.
2) The three day siege and half-sack of Port Morilles. Feel free to have used some of your Force magic to have damaged the cliffs, or your arcane to have set fires, all to keep the enemy occupied and give your force a headstart.
3) The raid and razing, sans fire, of Clairvogne or your role in burning other villages, like Sweyn, that are not in your direct path, for the reasons outlined on discord.
4) Anything you may have looted or learned from the villagers, any thoughts you might have on this.
5) Feel free to encounter The Nashorn and his prisoner, Adélaïde (her name is not known yet IC). If you wish to interact with her, you may collab with me on that. be aware that I will be away from the 6th to the 12th of August.[/hider]
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