The archers and most of the mages had been standing directly on top of the section that Aurielle had brought down. Most of them were now dead, their bodies buried under rubble in the breach. The others were hiding behind cover, terrified that the enemy still had another spell up their sleeve.
But the breach was not undefended. Grim-faced infantry were already climbing the rubble to take positions in the narrow gap. A few mages were among them, who for some reason or another had not been on the wall. As Carn and his army approached, they raised their hands, and shot a torrent of flame at the spearhead of Carn’s assault.
Memories of his burning home flashed before his eyes. Instinctively he stopped and turned away, fully expecting to be incinerated. The flames washed over the back of his cloak, but he felt no pain. Then he heard the screaming, and he realized his men had not been so lucky.
When the screaming stopped, the flames faded away, and Carn rose to his feet. He was unharmed, but the reddened and blackened corpses of his best men lay surrounded him. The assault had stalled, with most of his men having stopped in their tracks. Others had gone all the way forward, only to flatten them against the wall and out of the mages’ line of sight. Emboldened, the archers on the wall emerged from cover to begin loosing arrows, and more of Carn’s men began to fall.
Carn raised his sword to draw the attention of his warriors. When they saw that he was unharmed, a few even gasped in surprise. An arrow flew past his head, but he didn’t even flinch. Instead, he turned and pointed his blade at the breach. “Forward!” he shouted once again.
As Aurielle’s magic ravaged the defenders, Carn’s host surged forward. They arrived just at the foot of the breach itself, and began the climb, with Carn at the head. Then they neared the top, and the defenders began to strike downward with their spears and swords.
With one hand maintaining a precarious grip on the ruined stone, Carn parried a thrust from a spear before driving his blade into his foe’s groin. The man fell back screaming, and Carn hauled himself upward, lashing out in a wide arc with his blade to drive his enemies back as he rose to his feet. But they rallied quickly, and were soon upon him. Luckily his ring and his innate gift for swordsmanship were more than enough to defend himself, his hands and weapon a blur as he deftly blocked and parried each attack, occasionally delivering a riposte to wound a vulnerable opponent or cleave their weapon in two.
The distraction he posed allowed the men behind him to find their own footings, and with reinforcements on his flanks Carn could now go on the offensive. He began to advance forward, slashing throats and bellies; cutting through spears, shields, swords, and armour to do so. Once more, his blade and his hands were slick with blood.
If Carn wasn’t there, the fight would have been a bloody stalemate, grinding on for ages until one side finally broke. But he was there, and there wasn’t a single man or woman in this breach who could possibly stand against him. A figure in bronze armour lunged at him - probably the commander of this fiasco - and Carn effortlessly parried his strike before removing his head at the neck.
That was enough to break the defenders. They turned tail and fled. With a grin, Carn strode forward, sliding down the other end of the breach and into the city itself. The bodies of mages and archers who had been slain by the magical assault were sprawled around him, their skin charred by the blast and their limbs twisted by the fall. He would need to thank her for that later. But right now, they were in the city, and it was time to press forward to the castle.
Then his smile faltered. Where was his brother?
“They’ve got reinforcements!” Yarwick shouted, appearing beside him and pointing. A fresh host of militia appeared around a corner and came charging to meet them. At their head was a group of priests wearing armoured robes, one of whom had been with Brundt during the parley. Carn flourished his blade and called for his men to form up.
Brundt had never run faster in his life.
He had gathered as many men as were stationed at the garrison and set out, cursing quietly to himself. On the way he encountered individual groups of militia, and one unit of houseguards, who had formed up in response to the chaos, but were proceeding toward the wall with far less alacrity. Brundt’s shouts were enough to remedy that, and soon he had a small army in its own right at his back.
Then he came upon a group of soldiers who weren’t running toward the fighting, but away from it. Upon seeing him, they stopped in their tracks.
“They… they destroyed the walls!” one of the soldiers informed him. “They’ve taken the breach! We can’t kill them!”
“Nonsense,” Gelos interjected.
“Fall in,” Brundt ordered. “We’re taking it back.”
The soldier paled slightly, but nodded.
Carn twisted, sending a vicious cut across a militiaman’s face, who fell back to be replaced by the priest who led them. The armoured priest swung at him with a blade, and Carn brought his own weapon up to block, only to be surprised by the sheer amount of force behind the blow, which threatened to throw him off balance.
Then he saw it: a silver ring on the priest’s finger, with a glowing ruby. It was not unlike his own sapphire ring, and somehow he instinctively knew: this was what the source of the strange pull he had felt toward the city.
Carn brought his knee up into the priest’s groin, before lowering his blade and swinging it upward, severing the priest’s hand at the wrist. The priest was falling back now, into the arms of one of his acolytes who began dragging him away. Cries of alarm began to ring out among the militia, who began to break once they realized their leader had fallen.
This was almost too easy.
He cast his gaze down to the priest’s severed hand, and knelt to pluck the ring from the finger, before sliding it onto his own. A sensation of power surged through him, and he felt stronger.
There was not much time to dwell on it, however. They had beaten back the second wave of defenders, but more would soon follow. Carn ordered his men to advance a few paces, clearing up more space for the warriors behind him to enter the city, and allowing those who had already seen combat to catch their breath. Now that they were past the meatgrinder that was the breach, they were taking light losses.
He glanced back at the breach behind him. Where was Aurielle? He had expected her to have caught up by now. It wasn’t like her to hang back in a situation like this. For a moment, he wondered if he should feel concerned.
Then a battlecry could be heard as the third wave arrived, this one headed a tall, scarred, armoured figure with a shield in one hand and a hammer in the other.
His brother had arrived.
The two met each other’s eyes, and they both hesitated. Their men, however, did not, and the two armies surged forward to meet each other in a clash of bronze and copper. Carn did not know which one of them snapped out of it first, but soon they were both pushing past their men toward the frontline.
Brundt made it there first, likely due to his superior size and strength, and swung his hammer. The head practically disintegrated under the sheer power of the swing, spraying blood and bone across friend and foe alike. Another swing shattered a warrior’s shield, as well as the arm that carried it.
Brundt had never killed anybody before today. It gave him pause, but only for a moment. His thoughts drifted back to Thyma, on that fateful night all those years ago. He thought of the massacre that happened to his people, and then imagined that happening on a scale as large as Ketrefa. It could not be repeated. He would fight to prevent it. Another man charged at him, but Brundt lashed out with the edge of his shield and knocked the man’s head clean off.
Carn hesitated. He recalled Brundt’s unnatural strength, and realized that his younger brother had only become more powerful over the years. But Carn had gifts of his own, and was bolstered by artifacts he had collected or received from the gods. It would have to be enough. So, he pressed forward.
Then, the way before Brundt was clear - Carn’s men no longer being willing to challenge him - and the two brothers came face to face.
“You must surrender,” Brundt said, his voice barely audible over the roar of the battle.
“I could say the same to you,” came Carn’s retort.
Brundt rushed forward with hammer in hand. Carn sidestepped the charge and did a pirouette, swinging his sword across Brundt’s waist. The divine blade sheared through the metal, but surprisingly only seemed to score a glancing cut in the flesh itself.
Brundt turned and stepped toward him, swinging his hammer at the shorter man. Carn backstepped it easily enough, and as Brundt overextended himself, he stepped into Brundt’s range and smashed the crossguard of the sword into Brundt’s nose. Brundt barely even flinched. Casting his shield aside, he seized Carn by the throat, and lifted him off the ground.
But Carn was not unarmed. He drew back his sword and thrust it at Brundt’s chest, puncturing the bronze again, only to be blocked by one of Brundt’s ribs, which was somehow just as durable as the sword itself.
Then Brundt dropped him, before lowering his now free hand to the sword still embedded in his chest, and pulled it free. “Stand… down…” he demanded, now holding Carn’s weapon as well as his own.
For a moment, Carn almost wanted to accept. Perhaps Brundt would show mercy on him after all. Perhaps his army might be allowed to flee…
No.
He had fought many battles over the years, and not once had he surrendered. He had retreated, but he had never surrendered. His men had come all this way, leaving their homes and families behind, and if he simply gave up, all their efforts and sacrifices would be for nothing. That was something Titania and Lothar had been too weak to see, when they criticized his decisions and questioned his methods. He looked at his sword, and noted that Brundt was still holding it by the blade…
Slowly, he rose to his feet, his hands raised as if he was going to suggest the offer. Then with a sudden movement, he seized the edge of his cape and lashed out, the fabric striking Brundt in the face, while his other hand reached forward and grabbed the sword. Having taken the larger man by surprise, Carn was able to wrest the weapon back before Brundt’s grip could be reasserted.
It was then that one of Carn’s men had decided to offer his aid, diving forward and tackling Brundt. The two fell to the ground, but the unknown warrior was not on top of Brundt for long, and was pushed off relatively easily. That gave Carn enough time to raise his blade and swing it downward…
...only for Gelos to step between Carn and Brundt, his own weapon raised. Carn’s sword sliced through Gelos’s bronze blade with ease, before cutting deep between shoulder and neck. The bodyguard stared up at him, before the broken hilt slipped from his grip and he slumped to the ground.
“NO!” Brundt shouted, leaping to his feet and charging forward. His arms closed around Carn’s waist, and he picked the smaller man up, charging deep into the Ketrefan ranks (his soldiers narrowly stepping aside) before unceremoniously throwing Carn to the ground. Carn felt his spine break under the impact. For a split second, agony coursed throughout his body, then he felt nothing.
Carn’s men surged forward in an attempt to rescue him, but the Ketrefans closed ranks again, and they could not reach the two brothers, one of whom now stood victorious over the other.
Brundt rose to his feet, looked down upon his brother, and realized what he had done. His rage over Gelos’s death dulled. For a moment, and not for the first time, he wondered why. Why had it happened this way? Why was any of this necessary? If the gods believed one side or the other to be in the wrong, why send mortals to kill each other? Why not just tell one side to change, or find some other solution!?
But now was not the time for such philosophical queries. A battle raged around him, and for as long as it continued to rage, his men continued to die. “I’m sorry it came to this,” Brundt said, bringing his hammer down.
But just before it could impact Carn’s head, his body vanished, as did the sword embedded in Gelos’s chest
With both Carn and Brundt away from the main fight, the battle had become a war of attrition. One that the attackers were in no position to win, with more reinforcements arriving every minute. To make matters worse, Carn’s absence had been noted, and his men assumed he had been killed or captured.
Morale began to plummet. Yarwick attempted to rally them, only to fall as three militiamen came at him at once. Ingrid had just finished climbing the breach when she saw Yarwick go down, and in that moment she was struck by an arrow. Then Brundt himself returned to the fray, and finally, the attackers broke. They turned and fled, desperately attempting to climb the breach and flee the way they came, with some even going so far as to pull their own comrades down in order to get ahead.
Others were more sensible, and threw down their weapons. Brundt’s men surged past those who had done so, and began to butcher the ones who had fled with a savage fury.
As for Brundt himself, he watched this with an air of detached dispassion. He had won the day, but this didn’t feel like a victory. He glanced up at the sky with narrowed eyes, and wondered who was peering back.
Pain.
That was what Carn felt.
But at least it was feeling. He hadn’t felt anything a few moments ago.
Brundt wasn’t standing over him either. And the sky, inexplicably cloudy, was suddenly clear. But… was it always that blue?
He moved his arm, and felt his hands brush against sand. Sand… why was there sand? He was on a city street. He sat up, feeling a dull ache shoot throughout his body, but at the same time was relieved - he hadn’t been able to move at all previously. Then he realized he was no longer in Ketrefa.
A white haired figure stood over him. One who looked… a lot like him.
“Father?”
Carn attacks and captures the breach, stepping into the city itself. Meanwhile, Brundt starts rushing to intercept the attackers, rallying as many men as he can.
Varsilis gets there first with a small group of militia. After a short one-sided duel with Carn, Varsilis loses his hand and Carn steals the ring. Then Brundt’s army finally arrives. Brundt and Carn duel, with Brundt emerging victorious, but Carn vanishes before Brundt can strike the final duel. Yarwick and Ingrid fall. Carn’s army eventually breaks and flees, only to be pursued by the vengeful defenders.
Brundt has won, but is far from happy.
Carn wakes up in another realm with his wounds healed.
Cadien Beginning MP: 5 Beginning DP: 5 -1MP to teleport Carn and the Sword of Carn to Meliorem. -1MP to heal Carn’s injuries. Ending MP: 3 Ending DP: 5
Carn Beginning: 55 +5 for 10k+ characters. Ending: 60
Brundt Beginning: 26 +5 for 10k+ characters. Ending: 31
Upon his arrival at Ketrefa, Carn had wasted no time. He threw his camp up quickly, and sent a messenger to the city gates, demanding a parley with whoever was in charge. To his surprise, it had been accepted.
And now, the time had come. The Lord-Captain of Ketrefa and the Warleader of Cadien would finally meet face to face.
The gates swung open, and Brundt stepped out with his retinue - Grandmaster Varsilis, Lord Milos Karras, loyal Gelos, and half a dozen guards. Lord Carnelian, the man that Ketrefans had spent so many months fearing and despising, was already approaching from his own camp, with an escort of his own.
As they neared each other, Brundt was immediately struck by the enemy’s white leader and purple eyes. He had not seen such a thing since…
“My name is Carn,” the man introduced himself rather bluntly, and in that moment recognition struck. As Brundt stood in stunned silence, Carn narrowed his eyes and continued speaking. “Ketrefa’s reign of tyranny and bloodshed has gone on for far too long. I give you a choice. Surrender. Open your gates, lay down your weapons, and free your slaves. Do so, and your people will be spared. Resist, and every man, woman, or child who owns a slave will be put to the spear.”
“Carn…” Brundt said slowly, not quite believing it.
“Yes, that is my name,” Carn rolled his eyes in a vaguely familiar fashion. “Do you not have ears? Surrender or death - what will it be?”
“My name is Brundt.”
At first, Carn stared at Brundt as if the Lord-Captain had gone insane. But then, as he looked into Brundt’s eyes, recognition finally struck, and now it was his turn to be thrown off-balance. “No…” he whispered. “No.”
“It has been a long time, brother,” Brundt said. It was all he could say; he could not hug Ketrefa’s greatest enemy in front of his men. Nor could they see their Lord-Captain break down into tears. For the longest time he had believed his family was dead. “I… I didn’t know you were…”
“I thought you were a slave!” Carn snapped, suddenly angry. “But now you’re one of them?”
“I did not choose to be here,” Brundt protested. “It was Cadien’s will.”
“Cadien?” Carn asked in disbelief. Then realization dawned, and his anger only seemed to increase. “Damn him!” he cursed, his companions wincing as he uttered the words.
“Hold your tongue,” Grandmaster Varsilis interrupted, stepping forward. “You will not speak of our Creator in such a manner.”
“It was Cadien who sent me here, you fool,” Carn spat.
But Varsilis only glared at him. “Cadien chose Ketrefa. He chose Brundt. I heard his voice with my own ears. Whatever being you claim to have heard, that was not Cadien. Some malicious god masquerading as him, maybe, attempting to lure you to your doom. To fight your own brother. But it is not too late to change course. Stand down.”
Carn returned the glare with a venomous look in his eye. “I’ve been betrayed by the gods, so you would have me betray my own men?”
“Tell them to stand down too.”
Carn snorted derisively. “They won’t accept that. Nothing will get them to accept that,” he looked down at his cloak for a moment. One thing he had noticed was that the loyalty it projected only seemed to go up to a certain point. “They have been promised freedom and vengeance. And now, after they have come all this way, you would have me deny it?”
“You’re outnumbered two to one,” a new man - Milos - cut in. “You will find neither freedom nor vengeance here. Only death.”
“I have advantages that make up for my numbers,” Carn said, fixing his gaze on Brundt. “If I tell my men to stand down, they won’t listen. Nor should they. It is you who must yield to me. We need not fight. The people of this city - they can be spared. It is the leaders I have come for. The Lord-Captain.”
“I am the Lord-Captain,” Brundt said, his voice surprisingly even.
Carn blinked. “They made you their leader?”
Brundt nodded grimly. “And I cannot yield. I cannot betray the people who put their trust in me.”
“You would fight your own brother for this?” Carn seemed genuinely shocked. “For these slavers and tyrants?”
“I could say the same to you,” Brundt countered. “Your own conduct has hardly been honourable. If I open these gates to you, how can I guarantee your own men will honour your promise of mercy? You said it yourself, they came for vengeance, and they won’t listen to you if you deny them it.” He shook his head. “The city is flawed, it’s true. Decadent, tyrannical. But I was chosen to fix that. And I will.” Then his expression softened. “Please, brother. Stand down. Try.”
“I have a bad feeling about this,” Yarwick whispered, though Carn wasn’t sure if the man was referring to Brundt’s request, or the war itself.
“It’s a trick,” Ingrid said. “You can’t trust a Ketrefan. How do you know if this man really is your brother?”
“I know he is,” Carn said, looking into Brundt’s eyes. They were violet. As far as he knew, the children of Cadien were the only people in the Highlands who had such features.
“Even if he is, he’s one of them now.”
That… that was true. Brundt wore Ketrefan armour, stood under a Ketrefan banner, and had even adopted a trace of the Ketrefan nobility’s accent. But did that mean his brother was lost to him forever?
He thought about it. Brundt was… eight, when Thyma was attacked. That was nearly thirteen years ago. Brundt had spent more time in Ketrefa than he had with Carn, and his time in Ketrefa was far more recent. Looking at Brundt now, Carn saw very little of the small boy he had remembered, and he suspected that Brundt found him equally unfamiliar.
Once more, Carn looked his brother in the eye. “I refuse,” he said, and then turned away.
Carn felt numb as he returned to the camp. “Find the other commanders, and meet me outside my tent,” he said to Yarwick and Ingrid, his voice empty. As they nodded and went off to go search, Carn scanned his surroundings, and set his sights on Aurielle. He began walking toward her.
The sorceress stood cross armed. Watching the great city’s walls. Mages, druids and other magical folks were standing or sitting not too far from her. Preparing for the now inevitable attack. Esiré and several of the Cult had managed to learn enough magic so Auriëlle could force them under her command. Though the girl watched with solemn eyes as some of her brethren had been moved away to fight under different commanders. “Don’t die.” She told them all one last time before they had left. The rest of them were huddled around bowls of water. Ready to summon their demons should they be attacked up close. Others were carving some distinctly Ketrefian runes in wood.
“The walls will be too thick.” One mage was pleading. “We don’t have the magical force. We must devise something different. Perhaps a ritual to draw out the stone bit by bit.” He was old and his voice was hoarse. “Or perhaps we should probe their magical defenses first. Doubtlessly they have carved runes on the other side of their wall to protect it. I implore you, commander. Let’s not be overly quick about these things.”
Auriëlle hated the old man for being right. But she hated that wall more, that much was evident from her peering gaze. She hated what it represented: an obstacle she couldn’t break down. A monument towards her powerlessness. Not that she really was powerless. Still, it represented something she couldn’t do. At least not yet. And yet while the old man and several other mages had spoken truth, she didn’t really want to admit it. She wanted to step forth and try. After all she was Auriëlle. She razed Teperia. Had Bul-Gadin burned to the ground. She killed Olwar the Leon Rider. And now she wanted to sunder Ketrefa’s walls.
“Aurielle,” Carn nodded to her as he approached. It was clear that a lot weighed on him - more so than usual. He looked to her companions, then back to her. “May I speak with you alone?”
It wasn’t the words that pulled her from her own vainglorious thoughts. It was the way he said them. She turned to face him as a frown of worry appeared on her brow. Something was wrong. Not like the usual wrong. Something was gnawing at him. She quickly looked at the people around her and said: “Leave us.” Before turning back to face Carn. The rest of her retinue did as commanded, standing up and walking away. Leaving the two alone. “What is it?” She immediately asked.
“It seems Cadien has a sense of humour…” he said, though there was no levity in his voice. He looked around to make sure nobody else was in earshot. Even then, it still took a few more moments to get the words out. “The Lord-Captain of Ketrefa is my brother.”
The expression on her face shifted to disbelief, then anger and then no small measure of confusion. “This is cruel.” She whispered, making sure the others didn’t hear them. She cast them a quick side glance. Esiré and her people kept their eyes on the two of them. The others were still preparing their magic. Off in the distance most were preparing what they assumed would be their last meal. Rabbit stew. Venison. Boar. “You know you can’t stop this now, right?” It didn’t look like it, but momentum was too high. The raids, the counter attacks on their patrols, now sitting here within sight of the city. “They’re not going to stop even if you tell them to.”
He nodded grimly. “I know,” he whispered.
She then turned sideways to face the great walls again. Though she remained quiet for a long while. Trying to work through the news. “Will he die?” She asked him. He could give the command. ‘Spare any with white hair’. But that wasn’t what she was asking. What she was asking for was permission.
Auriëlle’s eyes looked up at the clear blue sky. It was a beautiful day. Yet inside she was consumed with anger. “You can stop bloodshed today.” She whispered, perhaps just loud enough for Carn to hear but she wasn’t the one she intended to hear. “It probably takes you just one sentence, maybe just a word and hundreds of people will live.” Yet she didn’t plead the words. Instead they were filled with malice and resentment.
Carn had no words for that. He looked at her blankly. “I’ve called for a meeting outside my tent. Come as quickly as you can.” And with those words he turned away.
Once all the warband commanders were gathered in a circle, Carn addressed them.
“I met with their leader,” Carn told them. “And he won’t surrender. Which means we’ll have to take this city the hard way. I want ditches dug around the camp, and barricades built. Double the sentries, too. It’ll be awfully embarrassing if they attack us before we attack them.” Despite the quip, his voice was still almost monotone. “We need to get through the wall.” His gaze shifted to Aurielle. “Do you have enough mages?”
“The wall will break.” There was no doubt in her voice as she stood in the circle with her arms crossed again. Her eyes passed those of Carn to look at the others. Daring them to speak up against her. She had heard it a thousand times before. ‘Nobody has ever broken those walls’. Indeed, nobody has. She would be the first.
“How long will that take?”
“A few hours at most.” That was hubris. Even she had to admit it. But right now she couldn’t let Carn down.
He nodded. “We start tomorrow, then. At dawn. As soon as the walls are down, we launch our assault. Any questions?”
There were none.
When dawn came, Carn roused himself. He donned his armour, a mix of bronze and iron, and brushed his hair into a presentable state. Just before he left the tent, however, he suddenly seemed to remember something, and he turned to Aurielle. “Hold out your hand,” he requested.
Auriëlle didn’t really know why. She had been preparing herself for battle just as Carn. Dressed in robes and leather straps to keep herself maneuverable, she had been busy putting silver pins she had looted from one of the farmsteads in her hair. Holding it up as an intricate weave of strands and braids. Back home girls would put up their hair like this when they would marry. Right now she was marching for war. Still, when Carn asked her to hold out her hand, she did.
Carn placed his hand over hers, and dropped something into her palm. When he pulled his hand away, she saw that she was now holding the ruby amulet he had given to her so long ago.
Auriëlle pressed her lips together when she saw the red gem. A blush came over her. For a second she was at a loss of words, but then she remembered her own words. With a teasing hint of a grin on her lips she looked up at Carn. She knew what it meant. “Thank you.” She whispered, as she clutched it in her hand and gave him a deep kiss. After which she put the amulet on. It wasn’t nearly as grand-looking as the thorns and heart shaped periapt given to her not that long ago. But as she let it dangle from the piece of string around her neck, she realized she loved it vastly more.
Again she looked up from her amulets to Carn, her gaze grew more playful now. “We shouldn’t let fate wait for us.” It was meant as a bad joke to spur on her love. Today Ketrefa would fall. That much was certain. But for the first time she realized that she could die here. The idea of her dying had never entered her mind since the last siege she and Carn were in. Yet now, it somehow felt like a very real possibility and yet that did not make her despair. No, it gave her new life. A second breath. “Let’s go!”
With one final nod to her, Carn stepped outside.
“We cannot do it!”
The old man was joined by many others. Almost all of her mages in fact. Only the handful of her followers were still trying. Yet every rune or spell they hurled towards the massive wall bounced off. Harmlessly. Neutralized. Auriëlle had worked tirelessly for the last two hours to unwind some of the protective enchantments carved into the wall. To little effect.
She lowered her arms, letting go of the next enchantment which she had barely cracked. “So is this it!?” She yelled over them. “We lost!? Because you cannot bring about the strength to rip through that wall!?” Why wouldn’t the stupid thing just break!?
“We have done everything. Everything!” The old man yelled back. Exhaustion was carved into his face. Many of the sorcerers were actually out of breath, while most of the wizards looked tired. Each had rune after rune carved in front of them in the dirt. “We must starve them out.” It would’ve been a valid tactic if the besiegers wouldn’t be starving much, much sooner than Ketrefa would. Besides, Auriëlle had never backed down from taking something with force.
“Fine!” She yelled back. Shooing everyone away. “Fine, I’ll do it myself.” Again she reached out with her hand. Forcing magic to do her bidding. And her bidding was to break the wall. Yet every assault she launched fluttered once it hit the stone. It was as if her power just blended into the wall itself. Again and again and again she launched her attack. Even as her breathing turned ragged she tried to tear through the wall. And she felt, for a split second, success. A tiny crack in the wall. Appearing after an hour of ceaseless demands of ruination. Yet as quickly as she had her fingertips into the invisible, magical barrier that protected the stone, she realized her own hubris.
The stone beyond was massive . They weren’t bricks. It was as solid as a mountain. She couldn’t break that! The second she felt it, she knew that. Defeated, she released her hold and dropped to her knees. The barrier restored itself immediately as a trickle of blood ran from her nose. “I’m not.. strong enough.” She muttered, looking down at her own still shaking fingers.
As she tried to admit her own defeat, the old man appeared from behind her again. Yet this time his rainbow colored eyes weren’t just tranquil. They were glowing. Slowly he approached her. “It’s okay my dear.” He whispered, but with the sound of a hundred voices.
Auriëlle looked up. The hair on the back of her neck rose up instantly. Yet she didn’t dare to turn around. Her entire body locked up as she felt his footsteps come closer. And finally, he put his hand on her shoulder.
In an instant, her half-formed demonic image exploded into her full shape. Great, majestic horns spilled from between her hair as the skin around her arms turned to scales instantly. A cloak of shadows poured from her shoulders as her eyes lit up red to all who could see it.
Her entire body coursed with a power she had never felt before. It was primal, elemental, fundamental. In her chest her heart raged. The illusion of the periapt exploded again. Wings of flowing, iridescent light burst from her back. The scales from her arms fell off and turned to dust. None of them hit the ground. Her eyes turned from red to bright shining purple. Her cloak of flowing shadows vanished in the bright light that shone from her and was instead replaced by a dress of coruscating crystals. Finally the horns protruding from between her hair crumbled away as well. In it stead appeared a crown of seemingly woven white gold with shimmering pearls inlaid. Around her, the only wilted and pale grass instantly collapsed under its own weight. Small waves of reddish energy pulsed from where Auriëlle stood. Each pulse flattened and then blackened more of the green around the sorceress.
As the transformation completed, Auriëlle was stripped of her fear. She only felt power. Pure, total power. It brought her pure joy, but then her attention turned towards the unyielding obstacle. Yet now, in her eyes, everything that fought her just a moment ago felt like withering candleflames. So easy to snuff out. While the stone itself felt like nothing but wet clay before her. Slowly she extended her arm, pointing her index and middle finger towards the stone. A thin beam of light shot from her fingers, seemingly harmlessly hitting the wall. Yet when it hit the wall it cracked the stone already. Violent blue winds erupted from the wall where the thin beam hit as the wall around it turned red hot. Then, from Auriëlle appeared a bead of light which flowered across the thin beam.
A blinding flash. A terrible roar. Dust exploded from where the beam hit the wall. Burning rock was hurled through the air as a shockwave raged across the field. With a satisfied smile, Auriëlle lowered her arm again. The wings of color vanished together with the dress and crown. Her illusionary form reverted back to demonic looking as the dust slowly began to settle and everyone could see the miracle she had performed. Ketrefa’s wall was breached.
Carn’s warriors, their attentions roused by the sudden display of magical prowess, stared in astonishment. It was Carn himself who snapped them out of it. “Form up!” he shouted.
Brundt had slept very little, during the previous night.
How could he?
He was going to fight his brother. His brother, who he had thought was dead, but was in fact alive. His brother, who had refused to see reason, and was now going to die - perhaps even by Brundt’s own hand. He wished it wouldn’t come to that.
He had considered giving some sort of order, to spare Carn’s life. But he knew that such an order was unlikely to be obeyed, and would only make him look weak. So all he could hope that his brother would not lead from the front, and would flee when the tide of battle inevitably turned against him. Assuming Carn didn’t have some sort of trick up his sleeve…
At least he could take some solace in the fact that the battle would not be for another few weeks, at least. There was little fear that Carn’s mages would break down the wall. Brundt’s mages outnumbered theirs, and actually had some form of standardized training. Whatever damage the enemy inflicted on the walls or gates, they would repair. Which meant Carn would have to take the city the natural way; with ladders and battering rams, which would take time to assemble.
When morning came, Brundt had partially mobilized his forces. The enemy mages seemed to be concentrating their efforts on a single point, so it was a simple enough matter to send Ketrefa’s own mages there to magically reinforce it, along with some archers to stand atop the wall and deter their foes from getting too close. And lastly, some soldiers who would be ready to hold the line should the wall by some miracle fall, though Brundt knew that wasn’t going to happen.
He had even toured the wall when the magical assault began, and saw with his own eyes how little progress the enemy was making. Satisfied, he had returned to his headquarters, where he began going through reports.
Then there was a massive crash, the sound of thunder and shattering stone, on an unimaginable scale. In that moment, Brundt realized he had underestimated his foes. Stepping around his desk he crossed the room and flung the door open, already shouting for a messenger.
The battle had begun.
Carn’s men wasted no time, assembling in the formation they had agreed upon with an impressive speed. His most elite soldiers were at the front, the fodder behind them, and the archers at the very rear. The mages were on the flanks.
“This is it!” He shouted. “All of our lives have led up to this moment! Everything we have marched for, trained for, and fought for has come to this! Today, we take our revenge. Every comrade slain and every family member stolen shall be avenged tenfold. Every chain shall be broken, and every slaver strangled by the shackles they would place upon us!” He drew his sword, the silvered blade shining in the morning sun. “Now, come with me! For freedom and glory! CHARGE!”
And with those words, he turned and began running toward the city. His men wasted no time in following.
The post opens up with a parley between Brundt and Carn. They recognize each other and both plead with each other to surrender. Brundt can’t betray the city he grew up in, while Carn doesn’t believe he can make his men stand down and he won’t betray them either. The negotiations go nowhere, with both men eventually realizing that it’s been over a decade since they last met, and at this point they’re basically strangers to each other. They realize they have to fight.
Carn tells Aurielle about this and she seems sympathetic but clearly thinks he should fight anyway. Carn then calls a meeting and announces his intention to attack.
The next morning Aurielle tries to use magic to destroy the wall but can’t. It’s too sturdy and the Ketrefan mages are using magic to either reinforce the stone or dispel the attempts to break it. Then Qael’Naath intervenes and empowers Aurielle so she can tear it down. After that, Carn orders the attack.
Qael’Naath Start: 5MP/3DP -2 MP >> Give Auriëlle temporary divine power to destroy the walls of Ketrefa Qael’Naath End: 3MP/3DP
Carn Beginning: 50 +5 for 10k+ characters. Ending: 55
Cadien observed the Black Hussars from afar, who seemed to be adapting to cavalry tactics surprisingly well. It helped that Shadowsteeds were exceptionally obedient, of course - the beasts were quite literally made to be rode - and he had imparted his own small blessing on the Neiyari cavalrymen to make them better at riding.
The Hussars had also made an innovation of their own. Using their natural ability to create sunlight weapons, they began creating curved sabres, which were ideal for quickly slashing a passing target. They had also conjured forth long spears - lances - which were meant to be thrust into foes and then discarded.
He could tell they were yearning for fight, and at some point he would give them one. But first…
If he was going to deploy them into battle, they would inevitably take casualties. His deal with Thaa ensured their souls would inevitably find their way back into his realm, but he couldn’t help but worry there was some risk that the arrival of the souls would be delayed, or his deal with the God of Death might somehow be undone. So, a precaution needed to be taken.
It was a simple one; a connection between the souls of the hussars and the realm of Meliorem. Upon their deaths, they would be drawn back here, and given a new body, so that he could send them out once more.
With that done, it was time for Cadien to turn his attention back to a rather more important matter: the souls that were due to arrive. They would need accommodation, and so he swiftly set himself to the task, raising vast quantities of islands within his realm. On these islands he created structures: collesseums, villages, taverns. Some islands were left empty, to be used for battlefields or athletic activities. They were connected by a series of ornate marble bridges, to allow easy passage.
The God of Perfection built and built, occasionally stopping to destroy a creation he was unsatisfied with so that he could remake it. He lost track of time, but when he was finished, Meliorem’s new islands extended far beyond the horizon.
Cadien buffs the Black Hussars so that upon death their souls automatically come to his realm and are given new bodies. He then starts remodelling his realm so that it can hold vast quantities of people.
Cadien Beginning MP: 5 Beginning DP: 5 -2MP to create the title “Deathless II.” Upon death, members of this Holy Order have their souls teleported back to Meliorem, where they are reformed into a new body. Sending them back to Galbar will still require additional MP. Ending MP: 3 Ending DP: 5
Five hundred professional soldiers. Four hundred household guards from various nobles. A hundred acolytes from the House of Perfection. A hundred warriors from the House of Order. One thousand warriors from neighbouring villages. Two thousand hastily raised and trained volunteer militia. Several dozen mages provided by the House of Magic, and a handful of druids from the House of Druids.
This was the host Brundt had been able to assemble. It was an impressive army, larger than any Ketrefa had ever fielded before. According to his scouts, Carnelian’s army had barely half that. And Brundt had the advantage of fortifications. By all accounts, there were no doubts as to who would win a war. In theory, at least.
In practice, things were considerably more complicated. He still remembered the slaughter before winter, when a couple dozen men slew hundreds, and left the survivors so broken many of them deserted, or swore never to fight Carnelian again. Carnelian’s men had been outnumbered by more than twenty to one, and yet they had secured a decisive victory. So if they were outnumbered two to one, and somehow did the same thing…
Well, it was unlikely that all of Carnelian’s men were that deadly. But if even a fraction of them were… if they truly did have divine aid, and if Cadien’s aid was not enough to counter it… then forcing open battle with them would be suicide.
So, Brundt had stayed behind Ketrefa’s walls, and instead sent out parties to harry and harass Carnelian’s men. Destroy their supplies, take out their patrols and sentries. Slow their approach and diminish their morale. It seemed to be working, surprisingly enough, with many of these men returning triumphant.
He began to wonder if that first victory was a fluke.
But still, he held his men back, reluctant to give battle. If he could secure a victory, he would reduce their numbers and bolster the morale of his own men, but that was far from guaranteed, and a defeat would only make things worse. Especially when half his force hadn’t even seen battle before.
Many nobles had seen this supposed inaction as cowardice, and a vocal few were already calling for his removal as Lord-Captain, but not as many as one would expect. This, he knew, was due to the influence of Mira and her cult. He had honoured his end of the deal, of course, and already they were exploiting their new stronghold to the best of their ability.
The other Divine Houses fought tooth and nail to resist their influence, of course, and seemed to be mostly successful. The cult had been allowed their space of worship, and the deal called for nothing more.
But now, it was time for matters of faith and politics to be set aside. Carnelian was coming. No matter what his detractors or supporters thought of him, the greatest threat Ketrefa had ever faced was nearing its gates. They would stand united, or die.
“Are you nervous, my lord?”
Brundt looked up in surprise. The one who had spoken was Gelos. Gelos, his personal guard, who had been with him since he was first found by Milos all those years ago. Unflinchingly loyal to House Karras. The guard had been nothing if not kind to him; he had taught him how to play dice, and had given him sparring advice. But he had never once spoken out of turn, and now, he had done exactly that.
“Apologies, my lord,” Gelos bowed his head, understanding that despite their years of familiarity, he had still overstepped.
“No,” Brundt interrupted. “It’s quite alright.” He looked the bodyguard in the eye. “Yes, I suppose I am. But I can’t say that to anyone else, can I?”
“Leadership is always a burden,” Gelos nodded grimly. “I saw it in your father, when he took command of his first warband. And his father before him.” It was then that Brundt became acutely aware of just how old the guard was; he had aged well, but he had to be more than forty. Gelos continued speaking. “It’s a cruel thing, to be forced into this situation. No one had any right to think you were ready. But… you’ve done a good job, I think.”
He had heard plenty of compliments and praise from his supporters. Those who genuinely believed he was chosen, and others who were simply sycophants hoping to benefit from his favour. Both had more or less been meaningless, as none of their praise had been earned, and therefore seemed dishonest. But to receive a compliment from a lowly guardsman, one who had known him for years but never issued such a compliment before? That was genuine.
Brundt nodded, a ghost of a smile appearing on his face. He could do this.
His thoughts once more drifted to Gelos’s advantaged age. The guard had served his family long enough. Perhaps, after all this was over, if Brundt did defend the city, and he did become King, he could arrange to have Gelos granted some sort of reward. A modest estate, perhaps, where Gelos could retire. Perhaps start a family, and his own noble house. Hopefully the humble guardsman would enjoy that. If not, he could find him something else. Perhaps…
His thoughts were interrupted when a courier arrived with more business for him to take care of.
Both Varsilis and Milos would stop by his office later that day, at different times, to offer their own words of reassurance. Milos had been his father, and Varsilis had been his mentor. Brundt loved them both for that, but he knew that right now they valued him more for his status than for whatever personal bond they had. It was a depressing thought. But Gelos’s words hung in the back of his mind. So he put on the mask of the dutiful champion and the undaunted leader.
Perhaps one day there would come a time when such masks were not necessary. When he could converse with friends and family alike without worrying about danger or responsibility. Yes, he was still fighting for Cadien, for House Karras, for Ketrefa, and the innocent people who lived within. But most of all, he was fighting for that. The end of duty. The end of struggle. Freedom.
The next day, at some point in the afternoon, a horn sounded. Brundt knew his ultimate duty had arrived.
Carnelian’s army was within sight.
A description of Brundt’s forces - more than 4,000 men. A bonding scene between Brundt and Gelos. Then, an internal monologue where Brundt longs for a time when he no longer has to fight. Finally, Carn’s army arrives.
Brundt Beginning: 18 +3 for 5,000+ characters Ending: 21
Cadien stood in Antiquity, standing before the portal. “Is this the right one?” He asked aloud, to nobody in particular; he was the only one currently outside of his realm. Then, he shrugged. Only one way to find out. So, without further ado he stepped through.
It was a realm of mists and fog and cloud, of some kind of energy reeking of death. In the far distance the faint outlines of towers could be barely seen through the roiling chaos of the mists. Little else was to be seen, the ground was of a bland stone it would seem, in general however, there was a different quality to the place to his divine senses. Although the exact nature of the place was difficult to ascertain, it was clear the rules of it were not the same as one might find on Galbar or another such realm. It was fully the realm of a god who carefully controlled its reality.
Cadien stood alone in the dim light of the place, surrounded by mists stretching over stone fields to the distant towers on the horizon.
Ignored the scent which assailed his divine senses, he took a quick look around, and then spoke. “Is this the realm of the God of Death that I stand in?”
There was no immediate reply in voice to his question, however in quick order the ground began to shift around him, carrying him away from the portal. Rather than move himself the ground and realm that he was in shifted instead. Soon a dim shape in the fog came clearer from above as Cadien grew close to a tower. A great and large eye held aloft in the mist, a voice soon followed.
"That it is. You are Cadien, instigator of many mortal peoples."
“A strange way to describe my work,” the God of Perfection remarked. “Anyhow, I have some questions, if you can spare the time.”
"I have time enough, you may ask your questions Cadien."
“You are the God of Death. Does that include what comes after death?”
A brief pause occurred before Thaa ended up answering, resigned, "You like so many misunderstand the situation, a not unexpected occurrence. I am the Supreme lord of Death, the Afterlife, Souls and the Undead. I have no particular power over dying, that remains as it first was the domain of the deities of Life."
Cadien frowned briefly. “Anyhow,” he said, perhaps putting a bit too much emphasis on the word, “That brings us to my main question, then. What happens to the souls of mortals after they die?”
"They remain here, in Aquibeophates for the vast majority. Destined to remain in blissful rest with their loved ones until a more permanent arrangement can be made." Thaa paused before switching tone from half-interested answering to a sharper question. "Of what concern do you make it your own to ask this question so principally Cadien?"
“I have many mortal creations and followers,” Cadien said. “Naturally, I have an interest in what becomes of them. Now, what is this permanent arrangement that you spoke of?”
"Undecided, I have to focus my efforts in other fields for the time being so such a decision will come when many other current issues have been resolved. It will be better, moral in all sense."
“Oh? What sort of issues?”
The reply came as a sharp retort. "They are many and I have neither the time nor the desire to enumerate them to you. You have sought me and my realm with purpose Cadien, speak it now so that we may act most quickly upon it. I have little time for niceties at the current state of affairs."
Cadien’s eyes narrowed. “Briefly, then. I would request access to the souls of my followers. That they be sent to my realm instead of here.”
"An interesting request, although with many issues of its own. What makes a mortal soul a follower of yours? Do you intend to override any desires of their own in this? Or perhaps by what guarantee do I hold that you simply not perform immoral action upon such souls that you intend to take, or that their safety be guarentee'd from others? Most importantly, why should I humor such a request, what do you propose to offer Cadien?"
“Your first two questions have the same answer. If they adhere to my values, and wish to join the afterlife I have in mind for them, then they shall. If not, they won’t. As to your next question, rest assured that those who reside in my realm have always been well cared for, and I’ve never been one to break my word. And finally, your last question…” the frown deepened. “You express concern for their safety, yet you consider what I offer you in return to be more important. I did not come here expecting to receive something for nothing, but that is some cause for concern on my part.”
"Let me try to ease your concern with an explanation. I offer bliss and rest to those souls under my care because I believe it best for them, to give them to another for whatever reason in of itself proposes harm even if just the lessened state of joy.
"I have no means to securely know if you should even attempt to keep your word even if I do not doubt your honesty. Under these conditions I must already be prepared that harm may come to the souls you seek to take as I cannot ensure the protection of them.
"Therefore with this accepted, the matter of the most important becomes that which I may gain so as to better ensure that for the vast majority of souls improvement is reached. I am prepared that harm may come to ten to save a thousand from greater harm."
“What is it you want, then?” Cadien asked him.
"Little favors here and there is all, few mortals speak the name of Thaa, but many raise joyous calls to Cadien. You have influence that I do not among the peoples of Galbar, I would merely request that you leverage such influence to assist when asked for such little things as may come up. I will be sending onto to souls that you wish for this time and so I should think such a continuing boon be matched in kind."
“Hm.” Cadien considered the god’s words for a few moments. “That seems reasonable enough, I suppose, so long as the requests themselves remain reasonable.”
"And it seems fair to me as long as the requests are honored as intended, you shall get your souls Cadien, should you fully agree to this pact?"
The God of Perfection nodded. “Indeed. I accept.”
"Then the pact is signed and we are agreed. Should you allow a connection between our realms I'll simply funnel the souls through to there. As well as knowing your values as you intend them, I shall ask if any particular case is troublesome to decide."
“Very well. If you are not pressed for time, I may explain them right now.”
"By all means, proceed."
“I value those who strive to improve both themselves and others,” Cadien told him. “Those who are both perceptive enough to recognize their faults, and willful enough to seek corrections to them. I also value those who show courage or selflessness in the face of adversity, particularly on the field of battle. Then there are the champions in my employ - I would have them too, if they are willing. Lastly, there are also those mortals who currently reside in my realm: some wish to return to Galbar. Since I cannot guarantee their safety, the only alternative is to have their souls returned to my realm so I may remake them if they perish. And I will, of course, inform you if anything about my criteria changes.”
“These are acceptable conditions to so define those that would go onto you.”
“Wonderful... I suppose we have a deal.”
Cadien enters Thaa’s realm, and despite an initially tense introduction he eventually works out a deal with the God of Death. Thaa will provide Cadien the souls of those who embody his values, and in return Cadien will provide him the occasional small favour. This arrangement will continue until either of them are no longer satisfied. With that, they part ways.
Evette trudged through the snow with confidence, despite the moon hanging low in the sky. Her companions followed behind her, dragging sleds packed with supplies. Others huddled together and did everything they could to preserve their body-heat.
It had become the Night-Templar’s custom to travel at night, partly due to their natural night vision, and also due to the fact that was when their prey was most active. Travelling during the winter was far from ideal, of course, but she didn’t have the luxury of waiting for spring. Time was of the essence, if she was to reach her destination, and she wasn’t far.
The Night Templars had grown in the years since their foundation. She had only a dozen personal companions, but she had also founded multiple other groups of vampire and troll hunters that now operated independently. There would always be a limit to how large each group would come - if they gained too many recruits it would become impossible to feed everyone, and rulers would view them as a threat. She hoped they remembered that, and she had also hoped they had not lost sight of their original goal.
Her companions were silent. Leaving her alone with her thoughts.
Well, not quite.
”And so, halfway through the game, this monkey just up and takes the card, jumps out my window and suffocates in space! Am I really that boring to listen to, that someone would kill themselves over it? Am I? Am I?!” There came some lunar glugs of presumably something alcoholic.
No, of course not, Evette replied, feeling a small trace of amusement. I haven’t tried anything like that just yet.
”Well, don’t, because monkeys make for bad playmates.” Another glug. ”Hooo boy, I’ll regret this in the evening… Sho...” There came a burp. ”Oop, shcuse me. Sho, so, you finally decided to go - venture, even - to that cursed place…”
Ha-Dûna? she asked. Well, yes. There’s a lot of war or suffering over there, or so I’ve heard, and those seem to be exactly the sort of conditions where vampires are likely to be found. She paused. Also, what’s a monkey?
”Wait, Ha-Dûna? I thought you was goin’ to Acadia! Well, in -that- case, you got nothing to worry about. You enjoy that.” Glug. ”Oh yeah, I remember vampires… I miss my batman…”
Batman? she asked, confused. My Lady… how much have you had to drink?
”That’s a personal queschun that I will -not- answer,” came a sour reply. ”Also, what do -you- know about drinking? All your people’ve got is smelly grain water! How do you even know about the effects of alcohol?”
Well… I just noticed that um, the more you drink, the louder and more… outspoken you seem to become.
”Persheptive… How’d you know I wassen just gettin’ more and more excited?”
Is excitement another effect of the drink? This… ‘alacool’ you mentioned?
”Can be.” There was a pause. ”Mostly, it just lets me take a break from things. Those big, mean thoughts, y’know.”
Hm. There’s a berry that has a similar effect - it’s quite common. Though, I never have time for such things. It’s always important to keep a clear mind when lives are at stake.
”Good girl. Berries make you fat.” Glug-glug. ”What do you do to stay calm, huh?”
I just… naturally am, I suppose. I am focused on my purpose and I have my companions to protect me. She smirked. The guidance of the gods, as well.
”Oof, yeah, do not trust the gods, girl. I mean, I’m okay - I’ve gotchu - but some of my colleagues are less than savoury folk. Gotta keep your eyes and hear sharp for their sneaky, sneaky manip… Manipuhlashun.”
She frowned at that. Which gods can’t be trusted? she asked. Aside from Neiya, I think. You already told me about her.
”Pfft, I’unno. Depends on the day, I guess. The gods are, wossname, fickle. Loyalty’s like make-up.” There came a hairy rub. ”I guess you could keep your eyes out for this, uh, what wassit, Thaa-dude. All bones and no heart, that guy. Gets very upset at living things, which, y’know, a lot of things are - alive that is. I’unno, don’t lissen to me.” Glug.
Evette had no honest clue who ‘the dude’ actually was, but somehow she got the idea that further questioning would be unproductive. Well… at least I can trust you and Cadien.
”You trust me? I wouldn’t trust me. I mean, Cadien’s loyal as a dog - for better or worse - but me? Pffft… I’m not worth it.” There came a sniff. ”I’m not worth anything…” It became a sob, followed by a series of sobs, then a weak howl.
Evette waited patiently for the waterworks to abate. You know that’s not true, she said, and not for the first time. It still felt odd, to have to console a goddess instead of the other way around. You’re the goddess of the moon and the patron of druids. That’s worth quite a bit. And you’re pleasant company too. Which was true. Emotional outbursts aside, Evette did find herself enjoying these talks.
”I’m nozz the Patran of anythiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiing! Iss a group effort and I’m juss lettin the ozzers do the wooooooooooooooork!” There came another howl. ”I’m juss a useless moon-moon!” The crackle of snacks cracked in the background.
Oh no. You gave me that stone, Evette pointed out. And these conversations have been very informative. Both of those are useful.
Sniff. ”R-really? You actually use it?”
Of course I do, Evette nodded. It helps with sleeping shifts when we make camp. Sentries are never tired, so they never fall asleep, and we never get attacked. Not without warning, anyway. For all I know I could have died without it.
”Uh… Uh-huh? You mean it?”
I do, Evette nodded. And she did. She might have been overplaying it a bit, but to be able to sleep for short periods of time and not wake up tired was an immense boon, and one she would have trouble living without.
Sniff-sniff. ”Oh-... Okay. Hey, you’re real nice, y’know?”
I have been told that quite a few times, she nodded.
”Wow, okay, someone’s cheeky.” There came a snorting giggle. ”I’m juss kiddn.” A raspberry.
For a moment there I almost thought you were flirting, Evette smirked again.
”A mortal couldn’t handle me. No god nor goddess nor anything else can handle me.” She giggled in embarrassment. ”I am a wreeeeeeeeck.”
You and me both, Evette remarked, suddenly pondering her own circumstance. It was nothing like Gibbou’s, of course, but upon self-reflection Evette’s own life was hardly the most stable or secure. She wandered from village to village hunting abominations. Coming across dead ends more often than not, often relying on either charity or mercenary work for food, and never settling down. It was these thoughts that occasionally kept her up at night.
”Damn, you, too, huh? Yeah, I can imagine - your quest being what it is and all. Life ain’t easy for nightfolk, is it? Sorry about that. If I coulda made it nicer, I would.”
What’s stopping you?
There came a gritty glug. ”Me.”
What do you mean?
”Pfft, I’unno. Juss tryin’ to be poedic or somethin’...” There came a sniff. ”No matter what I do to make the night better, it always, always, always seems to make it worse for everyone. I can’t do anything right.” There came a low weep. ”... I can’t do anything right…”
Hey, we just talked about how that’s not true, Evette said, hoping to get the conversation back on track and simultaneously restore Gibbou’s spirits. Are you sure you can’t reach out to the other gods for help? Oraelia’s avatar and Cadien himself have both blessed my cause. Maybe things will be better if you work with them?
”HEY! Hey, hey, hey, no. There are -some- lines we don’t cross.” Evette recoiled in shock - for all her casual awkwardness, Gibbou was still a goddess, and if there was one thing the stories emphasized it was that a god’s ire should never be drawn. There came a deep, frustrated breath through the nose. ”I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to shout. It’s just… The night is -my- element; -my- home. I will not get help to fix my own element - especially not from those two.”
Especially? She raised an eyebrow. Do you have something against them?
”N-no… So what if I do? It’s nothing against them personally. Or maybe it is, in some cases, but mostly not. Why should I tell you?”
Gibbou, would you be willing to take some advice from a mortal?
There came a scoff. ”Look, the last thing I want is a lecture. If you wanna preach, go find a flock or something. I am outta here. P’chooo.” The voice then disappeared.
The sudden change in the goddess’s tone had once again caught Evette off-guard. One would have thought she would have grown used to the goddess’s mood-swings by now, or the dismissive attitude toward advice and criticism. But Evette thought she was actually close to an opening there, only to be shot down and dismissed in the blink of an eye.
Once more she began to wonder how a being with such great responsibilities could act that way. Too much power? Too little oversight? In truth Evette knew very little of the gods and her ways, despite her encounters with the divine, but if Gibbou was to be believed then the only thing holding the Night Goddess back was her pride.
Troubling. Very troubling.
The sun had just risen when Ha-Dûna finally came within sight. Great palisades were being erected around the larger city as though its people were preparing for an attack any day, and sleds and pulks pulled by man, elk and reindeer all flowed in and out the gates like an eternal river of flesh and hide. Small war parties patrolled the vicinity, armed with copper or stone spears, clad in thick fur clothes with their woolen family plaids proudly wrapped around their torsos. The many housesteads - ´tún in the local tongue - sported thick columns of gray smoke through holes in the roofs. Inside the city, barely visible from their position, a scattered number of tall buildings were in the middle of construction.
Evette’s wings were not visible beneath the heavy furs she wore for warmth, but it was only a matter of time before they noticed the golden halo or the glowing sword at her belt. She continued her approach. Thankfully, the roads this close to the village weren’t packed with snow, which made things considerably easier on her weary companions.
As the peasants caught sight of her, a small war party approached, led by a tall, broad woman with her torso wrapped in a blue and red tartan plaid. As opposed to the others, she wore a leather-upholstered bronze helmet and had a long dagger at her hip, also likely fashioned from bronze. Her beltbuckle, too, barely visible under her plaid, had that familiar sheen: She was very likely an officer of high rank. Her nutty hair danced in the snowy wind, and her war party behind her flanked out to flex its numbers and strength. When they reached the Templars, she held up a hand to halt them. ”Brehmse, Reiarling,” she spoke sternly. ”What dorran you seo?”
Evette grimaced. She had tried to pick up what she could of the local language during her travels. Unsurprisingly, she had yet to master it in so short a time, and her companions had not fared much better. She had hoped to find a travelling merchant who could serve as an interpreter, but very few travellers frequented the roads this time of year. Communication would be difficult, to say the least.
But an attempt had to be made. “I… Evette,” she said slowly, in the unfamiliar tongue. “Daughter of Cadien. Hero of Reiya. Listen of Gibbou.”
The officer cocked her head to the side and put her hands on her hips. The other soldiers looked at one another. ”Lytja anois, outsider.” A word Evette had heard many times in these parts. “We ”ònskan ik galningi om láan.” She waved her hand dismissively. “Go back to bórgan soemrest of your kin live.”
Evette looked back over her shoulder in brief confusion, before turning back. “Walk long way. Need home. Can’t walk back.” She knew she was making a butchery of it, but she doubted this guard spoke any language she had a better understanding of.
The guards looked at one another. Some giggled mockingly. The officer drew a curt sigh and held her hand out. Ya, yah… Gitte your klingan aug we jakr gitta you turasbo.” She pointed fervently at her sword, while the others gestured for their weapons.
It took a moment for Evette to realize what was being asked. In truth, it was a reasonable request. But she knew that if she gave away an object so priceless as her sunlit sword, she might not get it back. And she didn’t trust the snickers and chuckles of the guards. They had to have noticed her glowing halo by now, and the fact that they didn’t even comment on it suggested the sword itself would do nothing more to convince them that she had a connection to at least one of their gods.
She shook her head. “Sacred sword,” she answered. “No.”
The officer raised her brow. “Sacred? Pà what heada”?
Evette took some time to think of all the possible questions the woman could be asking. “Reiya make,” she said at last.
The guards looked at each other. “To druïthanas?” they asked one another. They nodded amongst each other, but the officer quieted them down. She eyed the templars one by one, stopping on Evette. Then she pointed at her companions. “They overgittan their klingan. You - gengangen ochm, betta.”
Evette frowned in puzzlement. “No hear.”
The officer groaned something about foreigners to her companions and tried to gesture - she pointed at the Templars, then patted her dagger, and thumbed at her warriors, who all gestured impatiently as though waiting to be given something. She then pointed at Evette, made two fingers walk down her palm, and then thumbed her chest.
Evette eyed her guardedly. “No give sword?”
“You burdan ik. They burdan.” She shook her head at Evette, then nodded at her companions. She then pointed at Evette and said slowly, “Yooooouuu… Waaaaalk… Leeeeeee... Us!”
Evette’s expression hardened into a glare, and the next thing she spoke was in Ketrefan. “The winter is almost preferable to your company,” she said, earning a snicker from one of her own men. She then gestured for them to give up their weapons, and they grudgingly complied. The Dûnans eyed the weapons hungrily, for almost all were made out of bronze. The officer smirked.
“[abbr=”Bronze weaponry, huh? For almost everyone at that! Not bad, not bad. Wouldn’t expect less from a damn Ketty.”]Balklingi, yah? Fòr all seom aon? Ei slóft, jakr seia. Slik an stygja Ketlai.” She shook her head slowly and gestured for them to follow, her war party bring the weapons ahead of them into the city. “In han is ketlamálsnakkling. We jakr finna hén fór you, beag outsider.”
Evette grit her teeth and followed. There was no doubt in her mind now that whatever the guard had said was either mocking or insulting. Probably both. But this was not her first experience in such things; sometimes her wings and halo inspired fear or suspicion instead of awe. Nonetheless, her pride was wounded somewhat, but she could say nothing.
They all walked together through the bustling streets in a long row, Dûnan guards flanking the Templars and Evette at a short distance on each side. The officer walked at the front, hammering her chest and waving at the people they passed, all of whom bowed back in fearful respect. The roads were hardly straight, and the trip took them through dim alleys and flourishing winter markets where root vegetables, dry meat and stockfish were being sold in droves. The ooze of borderline rotting food was offensive. Eventually, they passed by a tall, triangular building, which roof seemed to start at the ground and spear upwards to the heavens. Surrounding it outside were both men and women dressed in very simple clothing and no plaids, doing chores like shoveling snow and chopping firewood. A little beyond that again, another of its kind appeared not too far off the main road they were walking. However, the group had set its course on a rammed earth wall in construction at the end of the road, which was open and bustling with people like a human beehive. Inside, there were more tall buildings, as well as a great stone structure, reminiscent of a temple. Megaliths lined the roadway, upon which were painted stories accompanied by strange scriptures. When they reached the centre of the walled district, a white-robed woman approached them and bowed to the officer.
“”Helgingshelsnar, théin Hilda. Kven an?””
“”Helgingshelsnar, Kaer Cwenn. An kun ustalamlingan soem sòkan óichebo. An dritans Ketlai, kanan Ihr trû? Hatan ring om hóvuda an hóvding. Próvi faa hén seia kvifor an seo.”
Kaer Cwenn blinked and sighed. “”... Yavel.”. Uhm, pardon?”
“Do you speak Ketrefan?” Evette asked, rather abruptly.
Kaer Cwenn approached and nodded. Meanwhile, the officer and the soldiers took the weapons into one of the larger houses. The druid offered a polite smile. “I do. It’s still expected of druids to know the tongue by heart, seeing as we encounter quite a few of your kind on our travels. What brings you here?”
“I’m not Ketrefan myself,” Evette corrected. “My village was on the edge of Ketrefa’s shadow, but I have never actually been to the city. Anyway, my name is Evette, leader of the Night Templars. I was sent here to hunt vampires, trolls, iskrill, and other abominations. And also to learn more about this war, too.”
“Oh, my, a, what’s the word, monster hunter, is that it?” She immediately began suppressing a mocking smirk. “Well, I fear you’ve travelled quite astray from the right path, in that case, for there are no monsters in these lands - save for barbarians and brigands. There was talk of a vampire somewhere to the south near Kirin’s Rest, but apart from that one, we’ve heard nothing. Troll and iskrill, on the other hand, well… Try north or south. You’re free to stay here as long as you need to rest up, though.” She paused briefly. “Oh, yes, and the war is over, my child. These lands have once again been brought to peace, and we wait out the winter so these lands may once again be sown. Would you like to know anything else?”
Evette frowned. “The war is over? The things I saw and heard on my way here had me convinced otherwise.”
“Oh, but it is. Whatever you saw on the way, it was surely just the villagers shoring up their defences in response to the heightened pressure from roaming hoodlums. Highway crime has, after all, risen through the roof since the chaos of the Sigerans began. Oh, sorry - that might not have made sense to a foreigner. If you’d like, we could share the whole story with you over a hot bowl of grautan and some sour milk.”
“I’d like to hear it,” Evette said, wondering just why Cadien had pointed her in this direction if everything was resolved.
“Oh! Fantastic. We’ll get to that eventually, then. First, though…” She eyed her up and down. “Would it be rude of me to ask what a dwarf Reiyar is doing in these parts, leading a band of humans? And what’s that thing above your head? Legends say the helgen Lucia had one, as well.”
“A dwarf Reiyar?” she furrowed her brow in puzzlement. “What in Cadien’s name is that?”
Kaer Cwenn cocked her head to the side, genuinely confused. “Wait, so you are not Reiyar? A warrior of Reiya, a person blessed to serve at her side as a soldier of the sun for all their good deeds?”
Her puzzlement only deepened. “Well, you could say I am a warrior of Reiya,” she said. “I’m also a warrior of Cadien. And Gibbou. But I know nothing about serving at a god’s side - Reiya, or anyone else. And why did you call me a dwarf? I’m taller than you.”
The druid’s tone went from somewhat patronising to giddily curious. “Oh, how fascinating! A Reiyar with amnesia - with loyalties to others than the sun!” She circled around Evette with scanning eyes. “Hmm… Yes, yes… Perhaps you are midway through a sort of… A sort of transformation stage. You are taller than me, but still much shorter than a proper Reiyar - it could be that the circle over your head is some sort of marker or sign that your body is still in development. Oh, what a serendipitous specimen to encounter!”
Her confusion twisted into a scowl. “Don’t be absurd,” she scoffed. “You know nothing about me, and I’m not some research sample for you to study.”
Kaer Cwenn quickly ended up in front of her again and put on a guilty smile. “Sorry, please do forgive me. There is so much to uncover about the other servants of the gods! You wouldn’t mind an interview after dinner, would you? Just a bit more about the nature of your relationship with Gibbou, Caden and Reiya?”
She frowned, but nodded. “So long as you tell me what happened here, and provide food and shelter for me and my companions.”
“Oh, aaabsoolutely! Our home is your home! Just so you know, I will be asking a slough of questions regarding that little sword on your hip, too - looks very well forged; one could almost say it is of divine make.” She gave her a wink and then led them on to a nearby longhouse.
Evette followed reluctantly. The druidess was irritating, to say the least, but so far she was the only one here she could actually speak to, and for now that gave her little choice but to cooperate.
The druid led them into an inn of sorts - surrounding two large central hearths hissing hotly at enormous clay pots filled with soup and porridge placed in their coals were a number of benches, tables and rugs of wool, hide, fur and fiber. Baskets with oat cakes, flatbread and raw roots lined one half of the wall at the far end of the longhouse at which side was the entrance; situated opposite of the door from the baskets were clay pots large and small, some filled with sour milk and others filled with water. Next to the baskets were bowls covered with fiber towels, a bulb under the towel having left grease spots on them. Kaer Cwenn took one of the bowls and grabbed a basket with a varied assortment of baked goods. Evette and her companions, in the meanwhile, suffered everything from curious looks to hard scowls from the other patrons. Kaer Cwenn turned towards her and smiled. “Help yourselves to whatever you may want! Take a bowl from that stack over there,” she pointed to a stack of wooden bowls next to the pots of water and milk, “and take as much porridge as you want. I’ve got bread here and some cheese. If you’d like drinking horns, I’ll see if I can find some of those, too, but we usually just use our bowls. Alright? I’ll be sitting over there when you’re done.” She moved over to a table by a second hearth further inside.
Conscious of all the eyes on her, Evette did indeed help herself - within reason. It struck her as somewhat odd that a city which had just come out of a war and was now undergoing winter was so free with their food. When she was done, she took her bowl over to where Kaer Cwenn was sitting, while her companions found their own seats and began to talk amongst themselves.
The druid began to tell the story of the war. Some years ago, now, there had been an unjust attack upon their people by an enemy tribe. Appropriately, therefore, they had demanded justice be served, but an evil presence amongst them had cursed them all with the madness of the dark god Sigeran. It had thrown them into a vile rage, decimating their neighbours throughout the land. Their minds had been twisted into thinking this was a good presence, too, so they had arranged for the god’s worship and everything. Only when the time was almost too late had the mighty Fírinn given them clear sight at least, and Seeros had descended from the heavens, himself, to save the true sons and daughters of Ha-Dûna from Sigeran’s evil. They had all escaped the city, saved again by the grace of Gibbou, and for the next few years, they had journeyed throughout the land to reunite the scattered tribes under the traditional Dûnan values of peace, piety and co-prosperity.
“... And that brought us here. This city was recaptured from the evil Sigerans just earlier this winter, and by the grace of the Sun, we were not left to starve even though the city had been stripped of all supplies one could think of.” She offered Evette a broad smile and dipped her flat bread into her bowl of porridge with an anticipating grin.
Evette listened to the story with some skepticism. She had the impression that the druidess was laying it on a bit too thick, and she doubted that resolving the war had been as simple as was claimed. At the same time, however, she wasn’t entirely familiar with the situation here. “What was it you mentioned about a vampire earlier?”
“Hmm? Vhe vam-… Scooh-me…” She finished chewing and swallowed. “The vampire? Oh, well… A little over two weeks ago, some traders from the south said some Stone Mauls had banished a vampire in… Trrrrrolbane, I believe… It’s to the south, as well. Mainly ruins still, I think, but the Stone Mauls are settling in there.” She leaned in. “Stone Mauls aren’t too popular around here, actually. Pretty warmongering people, those. Best not to get too close to ‘em.” She then straightened back up and had a scoop of porridge.
She frowned. “What do you mean by ‘banished’?”
“Well… Killed, of course. Whatever else could I mean?”
That was a relief. “Normally ‘banish’ means ‘exile.’ If it had been let go… I wouldn’t look forward to having to chase such a creature in the midst of winter. Especially not with a two week head start. Now, are you certain there are no other vampires in the area?”
Cwenn shook her head. “Haven’t heard anything, at least - and these sorts of news travel pretty quickly on account of all the chaos and such.” She shrugged lightly. “As I said earlier, the only monsters around here these days are robbers and raiders. I’m sure the sanndatr would be very appreciative if you and your most capable-looking companions were to arrest some of those, though.”
It was Evette’s turn to shake her head. “I’m no stranger to fighting raiders, but I tend to avoid conflict between fellow humans when it’s not necessary. I will need to take a closer look around this city, just in case. I was sent here for a reason.”
Cwenn shrugged. “That’s your right, friend. I mean, I’m sure Hilda will have a guard or two on your tail as long as you carry that sword around with you, but don’t take it personally. People are still jumpy after the war, y’know.”
“Who is this Hilda?”
“Oh, she didn’t introduce herself? Wow, that’s… I mean, she has no love of foreigners, pardon the term, but this is a new low even for her. One ought to have the most basic decency, at the very least…” She huffed hot air. “She was the théin who brought you in - the officer. She is very, very powerful - if she’s got her eye on you, she’ll use any excuse she can get to oust you for something, no matter how insignificant.” She lowered her voice and looked around, leaning in. “Whatever you do, do -not- do anything that could get you in trouble, okay?”
“I’ve faced down worse things than a guard with an inflated sense of self-importance,” Evette said dismissively.
Kaer Cwenn frowned worriedly and leaned in a little closer. “She’s much, much more than a guard, friend, and she has a lot of influence around here - a lot. Just… Don’t get on anyone’s bad side while you’re here, okay? Please?”
“I’m the daughter of a god,” Evette countered. “I have no intention of antagonizing anybody, but I won’t be intimidated.”
Cwenn pulled away and looked down into her bowl. “Well… Let’s just hope the two of you won’t see each other anymore, then.” She then took another bite of bread.
“Now I believe you have some questions for me?”
Immediately, her mood shifted to excitement and she put down her bowl and bread. She turned so her whole body faced Evette and grinned from ear to ear. “Oh, do I! Okay, okay… First, I need to get it straight… You… Say you're -not- a Reiyar, yes? Not even a little bit?”
She shook her head. “I never even heard that term until today. I may have wings and a halo, but I am still human.”
“Veeeery interesting… So you’re not in some in-between stage between human and Reiyar? Oh, i can’t wait to present this to my colleagues! We’ll be rewriting volumes of biological literature, depending on your answers, just so you know. Well, not volumes, maybe, but at least one whole scroll. Now, how did you get that halo and those wings, if you are not some sort of inbetween stage of transformation?”
Evette sighed. “When I was a child, my village was attacked by raiders. Everyone in it was killed, and I was forced to flee. I was captured by a vampire, who broke my legs and held me captive, intending to feed on me until I died. I would have died too, if Reiya’s avatar - Solus - hadn’t rescued me. He blessed me with a halo and wings, gave me this sword, and tasked me with hunting down all the vampires I could find.”
“Wait, Solus? But he leads the Reiyar over in the castle… So you -are- a sort of inbetween stage! Or at the very least a hybrid! Oh, this is so much to consider. What are the implications of all this?!” She nearly tipped her porridge bowl onto the floor. Others were staring at her excitement with light amusement.
Evette’s eyes widened. “Solus is here?”
“Should be! Well, not here-here, but in a castle to the… Southeast! Very hard to miss, especially in the winter - not even the thickest snows can lay themselves upon that sunstone keep.”
“I will need to travel there when I have the chance…” Evette said, barely able to believe it. After a few seconds she regained her composure. “Did you have other questions?”
“Oh, a bunch!” The druid then started asking her all sorts of questions about everything from her sword to her diet to her past adventures and connections to all the gods.
Evette is trudging through some snow in the winter of 29 AA. Drunk Gibbou is rattling on about a monkey or something. They talk about a few things: the other gods, alcohol, why can’t Gibbou just fix the night, and whether or not Gibbou is useless. Eventually Gibs cuts off her end of the conversation.
Evette arrives in Ha-Duna and is immediately confronted by a language barrier. It doesn’t help that the first person she meets is a total b-word. After some unproductive back-and-forth, eventually she agrees to turn in her weapons (except the glowing sunlight sword) and is taken to see a druidess who can actually speak Ketrefan.
This druid is immediately fascinated by her, much to Evette’s annoyance, but eventually they sit down and the situation is explained to her. Evette is told that the war is over, which she doubts (based on what she saw on her journey there), but she doesn’t know enough about the local politics to press that argument with any confidence. Evette also tries to learn if there are any vampires in the area, but finds nothing aside from rumours of one that was killed weeks before her arrival. Anyway, the druidess then gives her a warning to avoid pissing off Hilde, and also asks Evette a bunch of questions about herself.
32k characters: Circle of the Long Stride 2 + 5 = 7
Evette Beginning: 12 +5 for 10k+ characters. -2 for part of a major cultural shift: bands of Night Templars can now be found throughout the Highlands, west of the Neiyar River. The tactics, habits, and traditions employed by these bands will vary, though Cadien may punish those who stray too far from their path. Ending: 15
The Night Templars Beginning: 1 +5 for 10k+ characters. -6 for part of a major cultural shift: bands of Night Templars can now be found throughout the Highlands, west of the Neiyar River. The tactics, habits, and traditions employed by these bands will vary, though Cadien may punish those who stray too far from their path. Ending: Bankrupt.
@Stonehammer There is. Apologies for the delay in responding. Zee provided a discord link in his response to Valor that should still be active. You can talk more about your ideas there. If it doesn't work, let us know.
His spirits had lifted in the past few days, ever since he had that moment with Aurielle, and he had begun to revert back to his old self.
As the army had neared Ketrefa, they had begun to face more and more resistance. Some of the villages actually liked being under Ketrefan rule, it turned out, because the close proximity to the city boosted their trade and entitled them to some protection. Others had heard of Aurielle’s raid, and feared the same thing happened to them.
As a result, Carn had to deal with brigands harassing his scouts, sentries, and patrols. And whenever they turned up at a village requesting supplies, they were more often than not refused. In the end, Carn finally had to resort to having his men take what they needed by force. Many would go hungry as a result of this decision, but he couldn’t see any other options.
This wasn’t what troubled him, however. A weary expression crossed his features as he and Aurielle sat at the table in his tent. His gaze was fixated on the glowing sapphire ring he still wore; the one that was intended to bolster his reflexes.
The sorceress had no such reservations about taking what they needed. In fact, she had been the strongest proponent of the measure. When Carn finally gave his leave she was the first to have her assigned warband ready to pillage the nearby villages. And they did so with almost experienced scrutiny. But she didn’t get to raid for supplies every day sadly. Today she was content to sit in Carn’s tent, copying over a rune from one of the few remaining runic tablets Esiré had stolen from the Ketrefian noble. She had her notes on the essence of magic written on the clay beside the rune, but it was written in her native Acadian.
Carn looked up from his hand, and watched her for a few moments as she went about her work. “My ring,” he said, interrupting whatever thoughts she might have had. “I feel it… pulling toward the city, somehow.”
Auriëlle looked up with a frown on her face. Not because she was interrupted. She had time in abundance these days and her followers were only just learning the basics of magic. The notes were as much to learn from as it was to teach others. It was what Carn said that just confused her. “You’ve had that ring for years.” she noted as she turned to look at him. “Did it draw towards the city before?”
“No,” he shook his head. “But, ever since I found the ring, I’ve never been as close to the city as I am now.” He sighed. “How long have the gods been pushing me down this path? Since we met? Since my home was destroyed? Since I was born?”
“There’s no way of knowing.” Auriëlle noted, dryly. From her own limited interactions with the gods, it would seem that some just don’t care. Others look on like it’s amusing. Others are just simply incompetent and useless. In all honesty, Auriëlle wasn’t so sure why people were talking so reverent of the gods still. Even now with Carn she felt like he might be giving the gods too much credit. Not that she would share those views in Carn’s own tent. She wasn’t about to upset some priest or zealot. The lot of them were a plague in this camp. “But I think the ring pulling you to the city is a good sign that you’re doing according to Cadien. Cause it’s certainly not magical.”
“That’s what I was afraid of,” he said gloomily, his gaze once more falling down to his hand on his table. After a few more moments he looked back up at her. “What are you going to do when all this is over?”
“Travel south.” She said. “I’ve heard of a land where the ground itself is colorful. Another that’s grand forests as far as the eye can see. Places where wheat grows great and golden every year, again and again. I’ll go south of the Anchor mountains probably.” For a second she let silence fall in the tent, as she pondered for a second on what Carn would do. “And you?” She finally asked, not finding a clear answer herself. The only thing she felt clear about was that he wanted to lead. Maybe reign over?
He thought about that, but only for a moment. “Perhaps I’ll go south too.”
For a second Auriëlle raised her eyebrow for a second. “Do you think Cadien will let you?”
The vaguely hopeful look in his eyes was crushed. He leaned forward, placing his elbows on the table and his palms against his forehead. “I hope so,” he whispered, though the doubt was plain. “What more can he want?”
“I don’t know.” The sorceress admitted. These were the hard truths. Both of them were pawns in the hands of the gods. Though it seemed they were much harder on Carn than on her now. “You’ve come too far not to be branded for greatness though. Neither of us will get peaceful lives.” Not that she personally wanted such a dull life. But even though Carn had become the man she once knew again, she knew deep down that he still just wanted his brother.
“I’m going with you,” Carn decided suddenly, his voice filled with resolve. “No matter what happens. If I have to lead any more cities or rule any more armies, I’ll probably throw myself into a river or something. Assuming Cadien doesn’t just bring me back to life somehow.”
For a second Auriëlle was stunned by his decisiveness. Especially in regards to something that could go up against the god he’s championing. But then a smile, a genuine one, formed on her lips. “I’ll pry you from Cadien’s grip if I have to get you free. I promise you that.”
He chuckled. “Like an old story, but the roles are reversed.” He reached across the table to place his hands on hers. “Thank you,” he said, seriously, and then began to lean forward-
“Carnelian!” The flap of his tent was pushed aside, and Lothar barged in.
Carn leaned back in his chair. “It’s just Carn,” he growled in frustration. “What is it?”
“We need to talk,” Lothar insisted. He looked toward Aurielle, and his expression darkened. “In private.”
“What did the portents show you this time Lothar? Should I be dead yet? Did Cadien ask you to kill me?” Auriëlle said as both a jest and taunt towards the priest. “It’s not like we’re on the opposite team. Spit what you want to say.”
Lothar gave her a flint-hard stare, before turning back to Carn. “The raids need to end.”
Carn sighed. “I don’t like them any more than you do, but we have little other choice.”
“Have some faith!” Lothar hissed. “In stealing what we need, we’re no better than those we fight against. You were chosen to stop these practices.”
“I can’t do that if half my army deserts me because they don’t have food, can I?” Carn demanded.
“Have faith,” Lothar insisted. “The gods can provide.”
“Didn’t you once say that the gods expect us to be independent?” Carn asked. “Besides, I can’t base my decisions around what the gods might do. If they intended to provide us anything, why didn’t they do so before now? Perhaps Titania could have given us some food, instead of armour that barely fit half of us.”
“Perhaps she could have,” Lothar said, “if you hadn’t driven her away.”
“I didn’t drive her away,” Carn countered. “She just couldn’t accept that a god her creator didn’t like had also pledged her support! All her talk of helping people and casting emotions aside amounted to nothing once it was she who had to put in the work. Even the armour was only gifted to us out of spite, and it got four good men killed.”
“Listen to me,” Lothar insisted. “If you carry on like this, you risk drawing the ire of more gods. And the ire of a god is far worse than mortal troubles like hunger or thirst! And you may think it’s necessary now, but in your later years these decisions will haunt you.”
“And what do you know of making decisions?” Carn asked bitterly. “Seems like you let the gods decide everything. Or what you think the gods want. A rather convenient way to absolve yourself of responsibility, isn’t it?”
That took Lothar aback. For a moment, his features were tinged with regret. Then, he became outraged. “You insolent boy!” he all-but-shouted. “You know nothing of the decisions I have made, the regrets I carry, or the burdens I bear. I am giving you this advice because it is in your best-interest. Because of the debt I owe to you, and to Cadien.”
That gave Carn pause. “What debt?” he asked, confused. Lothar fell silent. “Go on, tell me.”
“The-the debt I owe to Cadien, for he is the creator of man-”
“No,” Carn interrupted. “You said you owed a debt to me. What is it?”
“You saved New Thyma…”
“No, you asked me to save that village. You gave me the sword to do it, and you helped me in the fight. It was a joint effort so I hardly see how you owe me a debt for that. So, tell me the truth. Why are you doing this?”
Again, for a few moments, Lothar was silent. “I…” he finally said. “I was at Thyma.”
“Yes, I know,” Carn said irritably. “Have you lost your-”
“The first Thyma,” Lothar interjected.
Carn’s eyebrows rose. “What?”
“I was part of the force that destroyed Thyma all those years ago…” Lothar spoke quietly. “I was arrogant and misguided. I thought I knew the will of the gods, but it wasn’t. It was my greatest regret. Helping you was to be my redemption.”
Images flashed through Carn’s mind. His village burning. His mother falling with an arrow in her neck. His father being struck down in a duel. A robed mage standing next to the killer...
He leapt to his feet. ”You!” With three quick strides he crossed the tent, seizing the mage-priest by the throat and hauling him outside.
The sorceress just rolled her eyes at the talk about faith and the gods. If faith was enough, the gods would’ve made a just world. Where there was no such thing as hunger. Where there was no pain. Instead they made this. She let the two men bicker though, knowing her own opinions were already well known. After all, she was the one who fought against an emissary of a god and survived to live the tale. It was a shame the branch didn’t leave scars. It would’ve made for a great story.
Then the conversation took a strange turn. Debt? She wasn’t aware of what had happened exactly at Thyma and New Thyma. Though she knew Carn’s version of the tale. Then the little slip up occurred and her entire face lit up. The thorn in her side for weeks now was amongst the people that killed and kidnapped Carn’s family!? Heavens she couldn’t imagine better news for herself. She followed the conqueror as he dragged the priest out, keeping a respectful distance. This was going to be Carn’s show and she knew it.
As Carn shoved Lothar out in the center of the camp, many heads turned in confusion at the sudden outburst of violence. The priest was thrown to the ground, and a second later Carn had already drawn his sword and pointed the blade at his throat. “You murdering bastard!” he uttered, loud enough for all watching to hear.
Lothar did not move.
“You’ve been at my side all this time,” Carn hissed. “Knowing what you did to me! To my family! To my people! Even before that, you were hiding out in the reconstruction of the place that you destroyed!” He pressed the tip of the blade into Lothar’s neck, opening up a small trickle of blood. “Tell me. How did you think this was going to end!?”
“In death, or attonement…” Lothar whispered as he closed his eyes, resigned to his fate. “It is your choice.”
And in that moment, an arrow slammed into Carn’s shoulder.
He staggered, stepping away from Lothar’s prone form. Instinctively his free hand came up to clutch the shaft. He turned to see who had attacked him. A lone bowmen, whose neighbours promptly drew their weapons, but before they could attack him, he suddenly burst into flames. As he fell to the ground screaming, Carn looked to Aurielle into confusion, but this was not her doing. Of all the mages present, none had uttered a single word or made a single gesture, so it couldn’t be them either.
“You should have heeded Evandra’s warning, brother…” Lothar whispered sadly.
This drew Carn’s attention back to the priest, and the anger resurfaces. He gripped the arrow hard and yanked it out of his shoulder, grunting and bringing out a spray of blood as he did so, but already the wound was beginning to heal itself. “Enough of this,” he growled. “Lothar, you are guilty of the destruction of Thyma, the murder of one of Cadien’s champions, and the attempted murder of his children. I sentence you to death.”
And with those words, Carn tossed his sword up into the air, caught it in a reverse grip with both hands, and plunged it downward into the priest’s chest. Lothar let out one final cry of pain, and then the life faded from his eyes.
Carn pulled the sword free and stood up, his breathing heavy. “The mages… need a new commander…” he whispered, somewhat numbly. He turned to Aurielle, his sword still dripping with blood, while the burning archer still screamed. “I’m taking your warband away and promoting you to Lothar’s position. Do you object?”
“I don’t.” she said, grinning from ear to ear, mostly at the corpse of the former priest. In her own dreams, it was she who burned him to cinders but she could give Carn that honor. But she did get control over the mages. Who looked at her with worried eyes. Rightfully so. Most of them were stuffy and boring. Luckily the latest progress of her own followers meant that about seven of them were in charge of protecting the mages now that they were learning magic themselves. Still, the stuffy priests and druids that accompanied them were going to be an issue for sure.
“Enough gawking!” Carn shouted. “Get back to your business. And someone, clean these up!” he said, referring to both Lothar and the archer, who had finally expired but was still burning. He looked back to Aurielle. “We have much to discuss. Come with me.” And with those words he marched back into his tent.
Auriëlle waited for a few seconds, looking at the still burning archer and the body of Lothar with a faint smile on her lips still. “You heard the man.” She then said when Carn was already inside. “Clear out and start cleaning this mess up!” With that she followed Carn into the tent. Even though he commanded her. Under normal circumstances she would’ve stepped away. Show him she wasn’t just some puppet he could have blindly execute orders. But right now there was something different about Carn. He was so much more forceful. She liked it. No she loved what he was becoming! “So what needs to be discussed?”
Carn turned to face her. There was anger in his eyes, and deep down the pain of betrayal. Religious ramblings aside, Lothar had meant more to him than he had let on, but the deed was already done. Justice, or vengeance, had been dispensed. No use dwelling on it now.
“Nothing at all,” he said as he stepped toward her and pulled her against him.
The post opens with Carn and Aurielle hanging out in a tent.
Food supplies in the army have finally fallen low enough for his armies to have to resort to raiding. He’s also starting to come across villages who are actually loyal to Ketrefa, and now faces guerilla resistance.
Carn is a bit depressed, because his ring has started to make him feel this weird pulling sensation toward Ketrefa, which leads him to conclude it was always meant to guide him there (it’s actually just responding to the ring that Grandmaster Varsilis has, but Carn doesn’t know that.) He and Aurielle talk a bit about what they’re going to do after the siege is over. There’s a surprisingly sweet moment where they agree to stay with each other, and are willing to defy Cadien’s plans if necessary.
The moment is ruined when Lothar comes in, objecting to the supply raids against the innocent villages. He and Carn argue back and forth for a bit, before eventually Lothar lets slip about a debt he owes to Carn. Carn is confused and presses him further, until he finally reveals that he was part of the group that destroyed Carn’s village and killed Konrad. This whole thing with him helping and advising Carn was meant to be a form of attonement.
Carn is pissed off. Just as he is about to execute Lothar, one of his own men (who is implied to have also been part of Lothar’s group) shoots him with an arrow. That man promptly bursts into flames, a result of the curse Evandra placed on Lothar’s men so long ago.
Aurielle is thrilled at all these developments, while Carn is both angry and upset. Carn then takes her back into his tent and tries to forget about everything that just happened.
Carn Beginning: 52 +5 for 10,000+ characters Ending: 57
Aurielle Beginning: 40 +5 for 10,000+ characters Ending: 45
First, they had discovered a group of slain scouts at the site of an abandoned wagon. That on its own would not have been so shocking - he knew that eventually they would encounter villages and people who were not supportive of his conquest. He also knew his men were not infallible, and some would inevitably being taking supplies by force. That was something he would need to start directly ordering himself, especially with the way his food was running low.
However, there were a number of oddities related to the deaths. The scouts were the only bodies at the site, implying that either they had all been taken by surprise, or whoever killed them was proficient enough to defeat them all without casualties. Additionally, they all looked to have been killed in the same method - a single precise knife wound. Lastly, there were only two pairs of footsteps leading away from the slaughter.
Carn had ruminated on the matter for a time, and then decided it wasn’t worth troubling himself with. Not yet, anyway. If it happened again he would need to reassess. But for now, it could just be an isolated incident. So he had increased the size of the scouting parties and the number of sentries meant to guard the camp, gave them an additional warning to be vigilant, and had left it at that.
Then they stopped for the day, and it was time to initiate something that had been on his mind for a few days. The organization of his army.
The composition of his army would be a simple one. His warriors, archers, and mages were to be developed in individual formations, which would continue to be called warbands for both simplicity and familiarity. Each warband had one hundred people, and as a result he had twenty-four warbands in total.
Four of these warbands were his best-equipped warriors; those whose armour fit the best. They were given bronze weapons that had been taken from the Ketrefans in Carn’s ‘skirmish’ with them all those months ago. Three of these warbands consisted of bowmen, and four were slingers. One, the smallest warband with only fifty people, was comprised solely of druids and mages. The remaining twelve warbands were the rest of his infantry, wielding assorted weapons of copper, bronze, or even stone, and wore mismatched pieces of armour - whatever pieces of Titania’s gift could fit them, really, as well as a mixture of hide and fur.
Then came the process of assigning command. Naturally he had taken command of the elite for himself. Ingrid was given the archers, Yarwick the rest of the infantry, and Lothar the mages. The process of handing out commands for the individual warbands had been more difficult, however. Simply put, he did have as many chieftains, lords, and commanders as he did warbands. Which meant some had to be relegated to second-in-commands, or given other less prestigious duties. Naturally, many had complained, and some had even threatened to take their men and leave.
But Carn had simply smiled, and said that if the men wished to leave, they were free to do so. But if not, the disgruntled commanders would have to find their way home alone. He had said this within earshot of the men in question, and unsurprisingly it had boosted his esteem in their eyes, to the point where almost none decided to follow their commanders after all.
And with that, they had pitched camp, ready for yet another day of marching.
Carn reorganizes his army by putting archers and mages into the same units together and establishing a clearer chain of command.
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