Sekai II: The Third Age

The Guards of Gate 17: Lockdown

The stranger sat down in the sheltered alcove, beside Rufus and Gwyir. The storm outside was particularly unpleasant, as winds howled down the vast crevasse separating the foundations of Gryddfyir from the outside world. The stranger was a dwarf, full-haired and red-bearded, clad in a thick bearskin cloak that covered his entire body, save for a small portion of his barely-visible face. He was in conversation with Rufus, while Gwyir paced stoically out near the base of the bridge, keeping an eye out for any further intruders.

“So you’ve never been to Gryddfyir then?”

“Not since I was a wee little dwarfling, when my uncles brought me here... oh, must have been 70 years ago. That’s it though, I’ve lived all my life in Dolenn, but I’m back here on business.”

“Business?”

“Aye, the big man out west- Lord Hawthrain, that is- sent me as the physical bearer of a rather important message and a request for weapons and armour.”

“Important message?” asked Rufus, continuing his enthusiastic interrogation.

“There’s an ill stirrin’ out on the Gulf of Maebon. Melgoth’s on the move.” The stranger’s face, previously quite cheery, took a sharp turn for the grim. “Now, tell me how to get to King Anerryn. How is the city laid out?”

“Well... alright, I see you’re in a hurry, I’ll try to be quick.”

Gwyir stifled a chuckle as Rufus said those words.

“Right, so Gryddfyir is basically a massive chunk of rock, hollowed out into a city by millennia of mining, tunnelling and construction. On the east, south and west- where we are- the city’s surrounded by this chasm, the main delving. This pit goes down for a good... damn, I don’t even know. You’ll have a good few seconds to contemplate your fate if you fall, I’ll say that much. Anyway, on the north, the mountains are all but impassable, so the city’s basically isolated save for the bridges. The main body of the undercity is a maze of passages, halls, vaults, and whatnot inside the main rock body, and jutting out above that is the overcity. The Mage Towers are above even that, and that’s where you’ll find the council’s chambers.”

“And how-”

“Not finished. Now to get there, you’ll follow this tunnel behind us for a few minutes. You’ll enter from a side tunnel into a big chamber filled with giant stone statues- hall of the ancients, lovely place to look at if you have the time. Don’t go into any of the other side tunnels, they go all over the place. Follow down the main hall, and eventually you’ll hit the lower west markets. Near the centre of the markets is a massive spiral staircase, and that’s the one you’ll want to follow. It will take you straight up through the core of Gryddfyir, dropping you off in the upper concourse. Head due east from there, and there will be a broad central tower with a domed roof. Guards will be standing at watch there, tell them of your message for the King and show them your Lord’s seal, and they should let you right in and give you directions from there.”

“...right. So I keep going down this tunnel, hit a big hall of statues, travel down that, go into the middle of the market, climb the stairs and go east to the big tower.”

“Right.”

The stranger’s face brightened and he began to move immediately, giving a nod of thanks. Gwyir idly checked his timepiece- Rufus was actually not half bad, he’d managed to avoid telling half of the city’s history this time... Gwyir squinted. The device in his hand was pulsating with dull red light. The signal. With alarm, Gwyir pressed down on the red button, and a magically-transmitted voice began to speak.

“By order of the King, Gryddfyir’s gates are closed to all attempting to enter or exit. Hooded necromancers have infiltrated the city and have slaughtered several Green Cloak magi. All guards are to lock down their-”

The voice continued, but Gwyir heard nothing. With a feeling of sinking dread he turned to face Rufus, who bore the same expression. Matching each other movement for movement, they looked down the hall behind them, met each others glances and did a double take. The hall was already vacated. With simultaneous curses, the two guards set off in a dead sprint into Gryddfyir.
 
The High Matron knew that her peoples were not ready for war, especially a war between themselves, but the hand had been dealt by Tecumesh, Chieftain of the Ohnawa. When the High Matron executed her friend-turned-rebel, Suwak of the Suwak-Greys, and silenced all his clan's songs Tecumesh responded in kind by silencing the Irwaquo who were in Ohnawa territory.

The survivors called it the Week of Red Stone, for the brutal orcs had not just killed the Irwaquo, but beat them to death with stones. Oftentimes the battered goblins were not dead, but left to die slowly as the Ohnawa-orcs moved onto new victims. Thankfully the intense hostility the Ohnawa showed towards the Irwaquo caused most of the goblin-kind to stay far away from their territory or always be on alert when crossing through it, but such an attack could not go unanswered. It would be war, much as it rankled the High Matron's heart.

In private she shed tears for the brothers and sisters she would kill, but in public she swore that Tecumesh would lose his head. Her council near-unanimously agreed.

In the days after the declaration of civil war--though the High Matron and her council refused to call it such and simply referred to it as a cleansing--the Mohaga went over to the side of the Ohnawan brothers. The two tribes, even after their forcibly split, had always been close and the betrayal did not surprise the High Matron. She had counted on as much and had sent a large number of Mohaga-orcs north through the mountains to help their distant kin, the Oagramakandi. She also sent the little goblin she had come to be so fond of, Noiihon. She would miss him in the coming months, she knew that, but he was the best and the brightest mind she had known. She hoped he would bring back some knowledge for his peoples to benefit from.

+++

In her war room Mawab sat uncomfortably on a crude, wooden bench. The High Matron/Patron's seat always is made less luxurious than the other rulers of the Kayuga so as to keep their asses always moving, she had once joked when still young and resentful of the powers above her. Now all she wanted was a cushion.

"How much is our number?" She asked Hoko, Chieftain of the Senawaqua. Hoko, like most Senawaqua, was a brutal man. He wore a necklace of small skulls numbering over 10--skulls taken from Dainelai children he had personally slain. Elven bones adorned numerous other parts of Hoko's person--he had a staff made from femurs, a finger-bone pierced his nose, rib cages wrapped around his shoulders. In truth Mawab found the whole display crude and barbaric.

"We are still counting, High Mother, though we out number the traitors by at least 2-to-1." He hesitated for a moment--something unusual for the large, formidable man, and Mawab frowned at what that could mean. "The Ohnawa have eagles."

Eagles. Stories of the great bird-beasts were still used to scare little orclings before they went to bed, and many full-grown orcs--unwilling as they were to admit it--often looked up at the sky with fear. It was all for good reason. Early in the Kayuga's history, if the stories were true, the eagles were the greatest menace the High Matron's ancestors. Even more so than the Dainelai elves. Orcs-of-yore lived in caves, sad, dark places full of things Mawab could not imagine.

She too feared the great eagles, but her peoples had made long strides since their cave-dwelling days, and Mawab herself was a testament of that. Called Eagle-Killer, she had slain no less than a dozen of the massive beasts when they set themselves upon her victorious raiding party--killing all of her warriors save for herself. She still kept the beaks of the monsters that killed her closest kin.

That the Ohnawa had overcome generations of mistrust and hatred and forged an alliance with the great beasts too was a testament to the changing times, but spelled disaster for the High Matron's forces. Though she could kill an eagle as well as they killed orcs, most of the orcish warriors still harbored a deep fear of the great birds and the eagles capitalized on this during clashes between the Kayuga and the free eagles of the higher peaks.

Mawab set her face into something hard, donning the warrior's mask, and said, "We have eagles of our own, child. I will speak with Shikoba Wind-Keeper herself to see to it that the skies are not full of enemies."

~+~
Summary: War has beset the Kayuga tribes after High Matron Mawab's drastic actions against the Suwaks. The Ohnawa have risen up against their eastern brothers, the Mohaga have joined them in their revolt. They call the Irwaquo little devils and have committed numerous pogroms against the goblins. Mawab is preparing to march against the rebel-orcs, though first she seeks to gain the alliance of the eagles in Shikoba Wind-Keeper's flock.

An aside, numerous Mohaga-orcs were sent north to aid in the efforts of the Oagramakandi-orcs. With them went Mawab's right-hand, Noiihon, an Irwaquo-goblin of keen intellect and martial skill. His tale will be picked up on later...
~+~
 
The wrought-iron doors of the enclave cracked open just barely enough for the latest Divine of the Order to slip out, and they shut behind him. The masters replaced the chains and reinforcing bars that held the door shut at night. Wotep was alone outside in the dark, and would have to scale the wall if he wanted back in. But he did not want to be back in. He knew his charge. He descended down the dark mountain almost blindly, disregarding the eyes of curious mountain animals, and neared a small village. It was completely unfamiliar to him. He soon arrived and lay on a rock on the outskirts of the village and meditated patiently on the lessons of the mountain. He awaited dawn.
When the sun's rays wrapped around the mountain, Wotep drew nearer to the village. Several men and women were outside of their doors preparing for another day of gratifying labor in the field or forest. One saw Wotep while he was walking between some houses toward the main thoroughfare, and questioned him,

"Excuse me, you come from the mountaintop? You one of them?"

The man's face was hopeful and fearful, and lacked the clarity of a disciplined mind that Wotep was accustomed-to.

"We are all one of them, friend."

Wotep smiled. The man nodded knowingly, and offered to break fast with Wotep in his home. Wotep graciously declined. His fast would be breaking in a couple of weeks, and there was no need to ruin it now. He continued down the street and noticed a woman drawing water from the well in the center of the village. She struggled with the bucket because her left arm appeared lame. Wotep drew the water for her, and she thanked him without eye contact before attempting to scurry off. She tripped and dropped the bucket. Wotep assisted her rise from the dust around the well. She looked into his eyes and wept.
Wotep and the lady drew nearer to her home. He was carrying the water for her this time. No husband or children were visible around the mud-brick house. She was still weeping, and finally turned to Wotep, saying,

"I cannot believe you have returned. You must have been raised by the animals of the hills, or the eagles of the mountains. How did you find your way back home?"

Wotep misunderstood her,

"I never left home, friend. At least not until recently."

The strange woman wept again,

"I do not understand, but it warms my heart to see you again, son. Will you stay and help your mother a while? In these years have you started your own family? A family of other lost children in the mountains? Eh? eh... I would love little ones in the house again!"

Wotep sensed that she had spent much time in pain and grief and the thin veil of sanity that she normally wore was not going to hold up under the strain she had created for herself. He still did not realize that he was the source of the anguish.

"My family is all over Sekai, friend. But I do not understand... son?"

"Oh of course you wouldn't remember my face, it was so long ago... but you will remember your mother's love in time. You'll be staying, yes? I realize it isn't as clean as when you ran off, but... it's hard to maintain with this... this... disability. Oh, I suppose that..."

Her eyes glazed over for a bit, and Wotep realized that he was completely ignorant of the gravity of the situation to this woman. He applied pressure to her forehead and she became unconscious. He meditated on her words and searched his memories for evidence while cleaning her house, and soon found that even with the madness she had created, and despite the taint of fear and pain in her voice, she spoke no lies. He woke her gently, chanting his favorite litany from childhood, one to defeat fear, and told her everything he could about his life in the enclave, trying to channel the peace of mind that he had, and her eyes became clearer and clearer as he spoke. At nightfall, when he finished the long tale of his life in the care of the Muchit Order, she was lucid and silent. They rested.

The next morning, Wotep described to her his need to ease the pain and fear in the world, and that he could not do that from the shelter of Tepchu. Her madness almost surfaced again, and as it reared its hideous face, Wotep stood, as the avatar of the Muchit philosophy, and commanded that she deny fear and forget her pain,

"Divorce her, friend. Divorce her from your life and know my peace. What has your pain and fear for the lost child gained you in these years? Know peace. I have lived, and you can live now too, through me. I will leave at nightfall to begin my work as a Divine. I feel this time with you has been a taste of what the world feels outside of the enclave walls."

His mother nodded sadly, but the madness had been buried. They spent the rest of the day discussing happier things, and she took him around Tepchu, giving good news to the village. At time for the midafternoon meal, the now-familiar people of Tepchu honored him and offered him songs and food and drink. Of course, he only had water, but the honor was no less intense because of his fast. They sang and danced until nightfall, and as he left, they sang and danced for what they saw as the village's greatest son. His humility would not allow him to accept it, but he truly was. The pinnacle of divine light... descended from the mountain. That light had passed through the dingy streets of Tepchu. It had slept on the dirty floor of the dingiest house in the village... and it did not resent it. Truly pain and fear in this world had something to contend with.

Wotep turned onto a barely-trodden road, heading west. He had no comprehension of the width and breadth of the world in front of him. The hills have that effect. The world seems smaller when hills are all around. They function as walls do, limiting your sight. He crested a hill and thought he felt a pull from the west. People... in pain, and living in fear of... anything. It is unacceptable. Cleansing pious strength, in the form of a naive mountain-man is on its way, Sekai.
 
Entering Kertus

Alvinar finally had the money necessary to pay the corrupt guardsman outside the Zengia gate. It only took a few more easy games of Dragon's Bluff against a few more unsuspecting farmers to raise the five gold, and then some, needed to get into the city. He had actually managed to double that, all by midday, and he happily strolled down the main highway towards Kertus, whistling to himself, and tossing his coin purse up in the air, catching it, every couple of steps.

As Al approached the gate, one of the guards elbowed the one next to him, and pointed towards Alvinar. “Oi, Seph, look who it is!”

The other guard, Seph, turned to get a look at the man approaching them. An evil smile burst forth from his lips as he turned to walk towards Al. “I thought I told you, you got to pay a toll to enter the city.” he sneered. The past couple of hours did nothing to improve his foul breath, which stunk of onions and rotten meat.

Alvinar gave a deep bow, sticking one leg out in front of him, and sweeping the opposite arm across his chest. He rose with a smile of his own, only this was a cocky smile of victory. He put his hand into the coin purse, and withdrew five gold pieces. “I do believe this meets the toll fee?” he asked, a smidgen of humor in his voice.

Seph examined him for a moment, disbelieving his own eyes. After the pause, he shook his head, and then drew his sword. He pointed it angrily at Alvinar, the tip indenting itself into the skin beneath his chin. “Where'd you get this money so fast?” he demanded, angered that he had been beaten by this man. Alvinar stood there shocked, surprised, for a moment, unable to respond. The other guards behind Seph stood equally as surprised, not knowing what to do. Some reached for theirs swords cautiously, while others just stared, bewildered. “Answer me!” he bellowed.

By now, Al had shoved his money back into his pouch. He held both hands up in surrender, as he backed away slowly so that his head was not resting on Seph's sword. “Easy,” he said calmly, any sense of fun no longer present. “Easy. Its okay, I just won the money playing cards, is all.” he said, hoping it would calm the guard down.

But Seph wouldn't listen. “Liar! Thief!” he accused, thrusting his sword towards Al's chest this time.

Alvinar found the accusation unfair. For once in his life, he was telling the truth, and this man wouldn't believe him. Or, maybe, he refused to believe him. Which was even worse. By now, the other three guards had all unsheathed their iron and stood flanking Seph. The began to circle around Al, effectively cutting of any escape route he may have had.

“Do you know what we do to thieves in Kertus?” the guard asked darkly, his scowl now turning into a crooked smile.

“Yeah, I do.” Alvinar said, starting to regain some of his usual cocky composure, “You give them a sword and grant them admission into the city guard.”

That did it. The guard, taking great offense to his honor and pride, let loose a loud snarl and swung hard for Al's head. Alvinar skillfully ducked the blade (obviously it was not the first time someone had taken a sword to him) and sent a knee straight into the man's crotch. Even with the chain mail armor he wore, he went down in tears. The other three guards, seeing what just happened, attempted to tackle Al and arrest him, but Alvinar easily avoided their slow maneuvers and made a break for the gate.
It was relatively easy for him to make it through the open gate and into the city. One guard had stayed behind to help Seph to his feet, while the other two took off after Al. Being that they were wearing such heavy armor, Alvinar was able to outrun his pursuers and quickly loose them after running through a few alleys.

He was in. At last. He breathed in a breath of triumph, after putting enough distance between himself and the gate to be sure the guards would not be able to find him. He was as hidden as anyone could hope to be, in the middle of a sea of bustling urban dwellers going about their business, paying him no mind. And, on that note, he headed off in the direction of the merchant district, sure to find a game, hoping to win enough to pay his entry fee.
 
It had been three days since the first death. Blood on the snow, with little signs of struggle. Just a blood trail into the forest, eventually culminating with the victim impaled on a tree branch or hurled into a river. The targets had been guardsmen so far, which had sent the local garrison into a panic, and any suspicious activity resulted in immediate questioning, and oftentimes punishment. To prevent the guardsmen from inciting a riot with their paranoia, Rumil and Dalhim were asked to remain in Vin. Plus the murders were beginning to look less and less like the work of a normal being, and the Wilakesh would have been called in anyways, most likely.

"Another death," Dalhim began. He had just finished talking to a messenger while Rumil poured over some of the books from the hag's tent. "Outskirts of town. Apparently one of the troops was administering justice upon one of the farmers. Was slacking off and taking a nap. You know how it is. Anyways, he's beating the bastard, when some.... thing just lops the poor elf's head off."

"Are you sure the farmer didn't just get sick of the beating and defend himself?" Rumil asked. "After a couple centuries of getting kicked around, this kind of thing isn't that surprising."

Dalhim glared at his superior.

"We're not here to debate whether the man was a thief or not. Besides, I think the local guards performed a summary execution anyways."

Rumil rolled his eyes and sighed deeply. Dalhim continued, oblivious to his superior's annoyance.

"But eye witnesses insist that it wasn't the farmer. Earlier footsteps were heard around the farm earlier that day, and that's why the guardsman was there in the first place. No one was spotted though, but I guess the guard decided to stay. Witnesses report odd footsteps just before the murder, and some tall beast emerged from the forest. No one got a good look at it. Apparently it was well camouflaged. Didn't stop it from slicing the man's head off."

"And what did it do after it killed the guardsman?"

"Erm... Left? I don't know. If we knew where it was, the guardsmen would be on it by now."

"If they weren't busy hassling the locals."

"They're keeping order!"

Rumil sighed, and finally shut his book.

"Let's just go to the site of the murder and see what we can find."

Dalhim grunted. The walk there was as pleasant as a walk through a northern Ajamani village could be in the middle of winter. The occasional breeze stung their faces, and the streets were eerily empty. Guards sat in their towers, bows ready to shoot anything that looked even slightly dangerous. The occasional peasant could be seen, but as they neared the two Wilakesh agents they'd dart into the nearest hut.

"Laziness! I told you Rumil! They sleep in their houses. The guards have something to fear, but the humans? Bah! They fear to work."

"The guards have killed more than this beast, and often in far less time. Our's is a greater culture, for certain, and we must do what we can to enlighten these poor creatures. But to kick the dog and scream at it, instead of telling it what it is doing wrong, will get us no where."

"I guess.... I maintain the farmer was still in the wrong though!"

Rumil chuckled, but his expression soon turned grave as a splotch of crimson came into his view. A few odd bits of...person came into view as they got closer to the scene of decapitation. Rumil took a moment to think about the horror of the scene, and lamented his kin's brutality, as he so often does. Dalhim on the other hand, was not lost in the philosophical nature of the situation.

"Footprints. Going north." Dalhim said coldly.

Rumil was a bit taken back by his protege's ability to simply look past the gore and find a distinct set of prints, especially amongst all the others that littered the area. But sure enough, there was an odd set. Almost resembling perfect circles, they went off into the woods.

With a whistle, Dalhim summoned his boar. It was time to go hunting.
 
Missy Takes A Dip

“Missy, it is time to wake.” Gildroy gently whispered over his shoulder to the slumbering young girl. Wrapped up in her new cloak and warmed by various spells, she had a wonderful nights sleep.

“Huh?” She yawned, stretching out her arms and snuggling back into comfort. The warmth of early morning sun light on her face felt wonderful.

“We're approaching a pond, I wish to drink and rinse myself.” He made a humorously loud sniff. “And I'd best advise you to do the same.”

“Rude.” She mumbled in a daze. “The water will be too cold.” She sat up, removing her face from the comfort of his cloak. Rubbing her eyes and smacking her lips, she looked around, her hair a frizzy mess.

“Warmth, I can bring.” He pulled his horse to the bank of a small pond. Missy scanned the murky water, the water lilies had not retreated in the cold as she would have suspected. As Gildroy slide off the saddle with ease, Missy was hesitant to move from her warm seat.

“I'll believe it when I see it.” She crossed her arms as the warmth from his spells lessened as he walked away.

“Faith, Missy, calls for more than your worldly senses.” Taking a deep breath, he knelt next to the water, the freezing air from the night before had caked the mud and left small sheets of ice in the shallows. He began his ritual over the cold water as Missy looked on from the mount. With elegant hand gestures and a few words in an ancient tongue he had completed his casting. The water stirred with new life, warmed by his divine touch, steam rising with the temperature.

“Wow!” Missy squealed, hopping from the horse and scurrying towards the water. With a knee slide next to Gildroy, she placed her fingers into the water. The stinging change from cold air to perfect heat caused a shiver to run along her spine. “Woah!”

Gildroy removed his steel helm, revealing his unruly helmet hair. Running his hands through his short, golden locks showed Missy that it was appropriate to relax for a moment. He cupped his hands together and reached into the water, splashing onto his tired face and rubbing it into his hair with vigor. “Man cannot control the wild.” He said as he washed his hands of dirt. “My prayers will not hold back the savageness of nature for long. Make haste with your cleaning, for in an hour the water will be nearly frozen once more.”

“So, all of these years of study and practice and you can heat water for an hour?” She poked.

“It is deeper than that, Missy. Much deeper than either of us could hope to understand in our life times.” He stood up with a groan. “Nature holds her own powers, forces greater than any mage. That isn't to say the magically inclined are helpless, by no means would I say that. We are simply outclassed, and I believe, and the church follows, that the one true God uses this balance to control mortal beings and their temptations for power.”

“This is soooo warm.” Completely ignoring his statements, she was rubbing the water on her forearms. With a sigh Gildroy walked away from the bank.

“I must pray. I will give you privacy in exchange for mine. You're safe to wash.” His voice fading on his last words as he walked into the woods for peace.

“You best not peep on me, Gildroy!”

“Ha!” He replied with a laugh. She scrunched her nose in his direction, but he was out of sight.

“Fine,” She undid her various belts. “Your loss, cause I am amazing looking.” Dropping her knives, thieving tools and other items to the ground on the bank, she slowly wiggled her way out of her rather tight fitting rogue-wear. Standing in the nude, in the frigid air, was most unpleasant, but it allowed her to see just how dirty she had become since her last bath, which was nothing more than a cloth and pail back in Cocuvy. She looked down at her body, noticing a sickeningly large amount of hair on her legs and under her arms. “Ugh.” She moaned at herself for being so unladylike these past week and a half on the run. Dipping her toes in the water first, the tingle of warmth running up her body, she let herself fall gracefully into a full shallow dive. Surrounding herself with the divine touch of the priests of Esalos, truly comforting her thoroughly.

Many fish, which had been still in the cold, had began to swim with great speed as she stirred them up in the warmed waters. She opened her eyes in the murkiness, gazing the short distance she could to see the numerous fishes. She surfaced in the middle of the small pond, floating on her back and viewing the cloudless morning sky. She continued to float around aimlessly for ten or so minutes, before returning to the shore where her clothing lay. Stretching as hard as she could to reach the blades on her belt, attempting to keep as much of her body beneath the surface as possible. With a quick pull, and easy slide, she had freed one of the razor-like blades from its sheath. Sitting on the muddy bottom, with her shoulders just below the water, she raised her left leg up out of the water and readied her knife.

Putting on a bizarre accent she began talking to herself, “Har! Hair! You'll feel the blade of Missy the unstoppable soon enough.” She flicked the blade back and forth in the air. “Nooo! She has returned!” She raised the pitch, simulating the voices of the thousands of tiny hair people. “No? Har! I shall mercilessly cut down all those hairs that have risen against me! Just as I did to your ancestors. Ha ha ha!” The blade slide down her leg, cleanly shaving a strip of hairs as she smiled an evil smile. This behavior continued for a while, as she slowly committed genocide on her leg hairs.

After finishing her left leg, and beginning to move to her right, she looked up to see Gildroy staring down at her in the water. With a quick jump in fright and swinging her hands to cover he chest, she attempted to scold him, but he cut her off.

“Oh, don't mind me, please, go on.” He laughed heartily, continuing by mocking her high pitched tone for the hairs. “Oh, no! Missy, please don't kill us!”

“You!” Missy splashed water at him in an embarrassed blush. “You deviant! Watching a nude woman without her knowledge! I thought you were holy? How dare you!”

“I recall you boasting your great looks earlier.”

“You -”

“I'm not deaf.” He laughed, but her face made him stop. “You're a pretty girl, Missy. You also talk to your hairs and play as if you're slaughtering them by the thousands.”

“Shush!”

“Calm yourself, girl. I have a vow of celibacy and honor. I do not watch women in any way out of the ordinary. I came back to inform you that one of your old friends is nearby.”

“Already?” She nervously scanned the forest.

“He passed by a good half mile to the east. I think we should move, least he finds our trail. Come, come.” He motioned, offering his hand to the seated Missy, pulling her from the water with one movement. Her wet and uncovered body, however, was not cold as she expected. Gildroy's aura of heat kept her at ease. As she dried herself and began to redress, he jokingly commented, “Celibacy does not inhibit my instincts. It is nice to get a free look every once in a while.” She shook her head, but he winked and laughed it off.

“Paladins, I've come to understand, are the most foul of perverts on this whole world.”

And they rode off, silently, to the north west.
 
Noiihon did not know what to make of his Orcish guide, Kradush. Unlike the Orcs that Noiihon knew so well and played like a fiddle, Kradush held little misguided affinity to some petty rabble called the Orcs called clans. No tribal lord kept Kradush's mind boxed in by traditions that outlived their useful lifespan. Kradush did not gnash his teeth at the mention of one clan or another, but seemed to know that all of his kind were his kind and bore little differences from him. Kradush, in a fairly broken Kayugan--Noiihon did not blame the orc for butchering the language of butchers, though--told the curious goblin about his peoples, the Endichi. Noiihon was not surprised to learn that the Endichi shared a similar violent past as the orcs he was familiar with, the brutish Kayuga, though Noiihon did not know what to make of the Endichi's unification under a kind.

Could such a thing happen? Could Orcs of all beings posses the intellect to realize that there were bonds stronger than that of families? That your whole race was your family? Surely, Noiihon thought, only the Irwaquo are so enlightened! Even the Dainelai Elves, for all their supposed superiority, divided themselves into noble houses who in turn pitted themselves against the artisan and common classes.

Long before the first Kayuga had begun to grunt their first guttural words, the Irwaquo were united. The deep caves from which all life sprang once teemed with the goblin-ancestors of the Irwaquo, who were no less bound together by ties of race that superseded kinship. The Irwaquo did not keep lineages, they did not have set families or clans or tribes to keep them week, nor did their ancestors. One was all and all was one. Noiihon, like all Irwaquo, however was saddened to remember that in the end their unity as a peoples was nothing in the face of the raw strength of the Kayuga-orcs who invaded the great caves during their flight from the eagles.

Those dark times were rarely spoken about among the goblins--the shame was too great and the wound too recent no matter how long ago it happened. Though they seemed to submit, every Irwaquo seethed with rebellious anger towards their Orcish overlords, and in Noiihon that anger raged hotter than the molten flames of Oeu.[1] Though he was the right-hand of the High Matron herself--an admittedly capable being despite her flawed ancestry, laws, and culture--he was the leader of the First Sons[2], the ancient cable of Irwaquo shamans whose line stretched back unbroken to those first days spent in the comforting gloom of the caves.

There the First Sons had been the Spirit Fathers. The Jogah had been constant companions of those near-mythical goblin shamans of yore, and yet the spirits had abandoned the Irwaquo in their time of need.[3] Understandably many Irwaquo were now bitter towards the Jogah, though Noiihon made sure that bitterness was expressed only in the privacy of their minds through the harsh punishment incurred by any blasphemer. The Jogah, for all their supposed betrayals, were divine beings, and divine beings did not have to explain themselves to mortals such as the First of the First Sons--and if not to him of all goblins then to no one else!

Besides, the Jogah had once saved Noiihon and that song was sung constantly among the Irwaquo shamans.[4] Through his example Noiihon showed that the Jogah still favored the Goblin-kind. Before meeting Kradush Noiihon had thought that favor extended exclusively to goblins, but Kradush himself was a shaman of some minor skill, able to summon up spirits in a land utterly foreign to him. Noiihon was disturbed, but amazed.

How could such a nation of Orcs be so prestigious? Kradush mentioned that goblin-kind existed within Oagramakandi as entities somewhat separate from the main Orcish polity. Perhaps there lied the key to the Orcish success? Were the Oagramakandi-Goblins free to bleed their immense knowledge and skill into the soft Orcish minds because they were unfettered by Orcish customs? Or perhaps...

No, not possible. Oeu speaks only to Goblin-kind. Oeu was his God and his people's God alone. But still, Oagramakandi had to be more than a child of mistake and happenstance. He would have to see for himself.


~+~
Summary: Noiihon, having made contact with the Endichi, called Kradush, sent by the Oagramakandi king, now travels back to the orcish kingdom with a decently sized contingent of Mohaga and Senawaqua Orcs. Kradush and Noiihon speak, and Noiihon reflects over the impossible information the Endichi-Orc reveals about the northern world.
~+~

Endnotes

[1]-Oeu is the great God of the world and said to be the only one to be able to manifest in it. He is the mountains that scrape the skies, the hills that keep the pastures safe, and the caverns that hold all knowledge. In this particular instance Noiihon is invoking Oeu's most wrathful, fiery manifestation, molten lava. This is a very strong oath and should not be spoken in polite company.

[2]-The First Sons are widely considered to not exist by most Irwaquo. For all of their supposed unity, some Irwaquo realize the necessity for minor divisions so as to make sure that the whole goblin race has a mutually prosperous future. To that end they act as a kind of shadow organization of priests, scholars, warriors, and merchants of enough importance that they hold the fate of the Irwaquo in their hands. As the First of the First Sons Noiihon would also be recognized as the foremost goblin, a kind of de facto leader to those who are in the know.

Recently the First Sons have engaged in minor acts of domestic terrorism such as sabotaging raids, staging Dainelai prisoner escapes, and disrupting traditional Kayuga-Orcish rituals of their traditional faith. Their symbol is a bat within a triangle.

[3]-Despite whatever hatred the Irwaquo hold for the Kayuga-Orcs, they are still very culturally tied to them and as such the idea of 'songs' bears much the same meaning and significance to them. In Kayuga society a song is as good as any scholarly history, treaties, or debate (though this is changing with the slow creation of a written script penned by Irwaquo hands, the script itself is a corrupted form of Dainelai Elvish) and the most important individuals/events are immortalized through lyrical recollections. Irwaquo songs, however, hold the distinction for being the only songs to adhere to a poetic meter. Most songs are spoken, not sung, though sacred religious songs are chanted by choruses.

[4]-Noiihon & the Jogah at Breaker's Battle is a fairly popular song (currently) that details Noiihon's near-miraculous rescue of a broken and battered Kayuga raiding party from Dainelai attackers. Noiihon, then a young and relatively unknown shaman, was meditating in the woods one morning when he heard a whisper. Upon following the whisper he stumbled into the battle between Nahuel 'the Breaker', a Senawaqua clan-leader (Deceased) and the Dainelai Elves. Not quite knowing what to do, Noiihon spoke some words the whisper told to him and the rocks littering the battlefield began to encase and crush the attacking Elves. Noiihon thus became the first Kayuga to successfully communicate with the Jogah in generations, and the first shaman to cast true magic. Since then a few other Irwaquo shaman have managed to preform small acts of magic, but none to the extent as Noiihon preformed at the battle.
 
The improbable entourage made their way north to reach the Elian Hill Fortress where the Madragan First Guard was based. Duchess Aria glanced around from her central position in the group taking mental note of who was where. At the front was a pair of Silver Guard including the second in command Lt. Tereth and Guard Walin. There also was an orc and if Aria could recall correctly his name was Grot. From what Aria could tell Grot and his four companions were well trained though not quite up to the level of the Silver Guard. Of course few were as well trained as royal guards except other royal guards. It amused Aria that despite the general hostility and mistrust between her Silver Guard and the orc guards (Aria was still unclear as to what if any title they were called by) had somehow come to mutual agreement on guard duty for the group. They always posted at least one Silver Guard and orc at each point and always the commanders for both guards were beside Duchess Aria and Loremaster Oan. Aria tried to recall the orc guard leader’s name but didn’t think it had ever been mentioned. Well her sertainly was one of the largest orcs Aria had ever seen with a large scar across his forehead so she called him Brute. Aria sighed heavily the King really had given her a hopeless assignment.

After a few hours of pre daybreak travelling the sun began to rise and the silhouette appeared on the horizon. Duchess Aria pointed towards it for the benefit of Loremaster Oan as she spoke. “Ah, Loremaster our destination nears. It is only a couple of hours away now.”

“I have to say I have dreamed of entering this place at the head of conquering legions, not as a simple diplomat.” Loremaster Oan replied dryly.

“Well you will have to deal with my being pleased that your dream shall not ever be so.” Aria answered equally dryly.

“I can imagine.” The pair of them exchanged polite smiles. Since the first day they had come to an understanding that there was no point hiding their mutual hatred of the other’s people between themselves. It actually made their relationship work somehow, as if by admitting their hatred they could laugh at it or ignore it as needed. Aria returned her attention to Loremaster Oan as he continued to speak. “This certainly is the most loquacious travelling companions I have ever been privileged to traverse the countryside with.” The sarcasm was so thick Aria thought she could taste the hopelessness like vinegar in her mouth.

“Yes I must say it has been so noisy with all the revelry that I have found it difficult to sleep at night.” Aria noted that their sarcastic exchange had actually drawn slight smiles from both guard captains.

“Well we the esteemed leaders of this expedition must then lead by exampled and.” Loremaster Oan’s words were suddenly drowned out by the eruption of noise from sudden conflict. Several assailants had appeared as if from nowhere and were upon the front guard instantly.

“To Arms!” The alarm was raised by both guard captains at the same moment and everyone with weapons drew them including the Duchess, a pair of throwing daggers dropping quickly from her sleeves into her hands, and Loremaster Oan gripping a very cruel looking mace that had hung at the side of his horse. Aria kept an alert eye at the conflict and saw that the four attackers were holding the three defenders at a standstill. From what Aria could tell the defenders better training and equipment would win in the end, but surely four could not be all they sent?

“OH GODS NO!” the scream came from behind Aria who whipped around to see one of her maids being run through by a human male covered in dirt. He had apparently hidden in the ground awaiting some signal. But how could a person do that? Aria threw her daggers quickly and deadly accurately.

Thunk, Thunk.

One of the knives hit the attacker in the ear sliding well into his skull and the other hit the left eye as he turned his head to the source of the attack sliding into his eye socket and lodging there. Yet the human simply stood for a moment as the body of the maid slid from his blade. Aria saw then that the man’s eye was dim and lacked life yet could still see. The undead were already here in Madraga. The King was right they were an infestation that would plague us all. Aria kept staring into that eye and thought she saw a glimmer of recognition in it. The undead started to charge at Aria.

Aria began drawing in her power focusing it in her palms to vent her fury and rage at the undead who dared to assail her. The Undead was faster than she expected though lulled as she was by its human form, yet it moved as quickly as an elf. She glanced around and saw no one was looking her way so as they undead reached her she raised her left hand and shot a ball of purple flame into its face. Engulfing the moving corpse’s head in an eerie dark conflagration. At the same moment a great sword slashed through the undead’s torso lopping off his sword arm.

As the second death took the undead and it fell to the ground Aria looked up and saw Captain Garit standing there. She also saw that Brute was injured, but still upright and wiping off his battleaxe the gore of the battle and next to him slightly wide eyed was Loremaster Oan. He had obviously seen her use of sorcery and it had come as a complete surprise.

“Report Captain.” Aria commanded.

“Duchess a total of seven undead laying in ambush on the road. All are being currently piled for burning just over there,” Captain Garit pointed to the corpse pile. “and we saw one of the necromancers escape into the trees just over there.” Again he pointed. “I have chosen not to pursue in case of it being a ruse to lure us into splitting our forces.” Aria nodded since it certainly was a valid possibility. “We have taken only minor wounds other than your maid.”

“Good job Captain. I am in your debt.” Aria smiled at the Captain who bowed his head in acknowledgement of the compliment.

Oan approached the pair and began to listen to the conversation. Captain Garit asked if he should continue with his eyes and Aria nodded slightly.

“Duchess we are here to serve as your shield and armor. You owe us nothing. But I also need to report that I managed to knock another necromancer unconscious before he could escape. He appears to be a human around beginning his adulthood.”

“We have one alive? Keep him sedated using water with a small dose of Yersa sap and Arrowroot. In fact I have some in my bags.” Aria snapped for one of her servants and he ran off to procure the said items. “I would love to question him when we arrive in the fortress so cover his eyes and gag him after I give him the potion.”

“I would love to question the scum as well.” Oan demanded.

“Of course I would expect you to be there when I question him. We are supposed to be allies against the necromantic horde after all.” Aria agreed.

The unconscious necromancer was brought before Aria and Oan. He was a rather ugly looking specimen of the human race and Aria noted several scars all over his face and neck which considering how ugly the human was to begin with did nothing to hurt his appearance. Aria had the pair of Silver Guards, Guard Desan and Guard Huwer, hold the necromancer’s mouth open. She poured the liquid down his throat. They then bound his mouth and eyes shut.

“Hold him to the ground and give me a small axe.” They dropped the necromancer and one of them handed over a large hatchet. Aria walked over and without a word lopped of both of the necromancer’s hands.

“There now," she said "he should be little problem to us. Just keep him out until we are ready to question him.” Aria said calmly as she returned the hatchet. She saw that Oan was staring at her, Aria was unsure if it was fear, awe, or surprise. Likely some of all those emotions and more to boot. “What? Now hopefully he cannot cast his foul magic.” Aria glanced around and noting that the pair of them were alone as everyone else prepared to continue moving once the corpses were burned lowered her voice and continued to speak. “And Loremaster if you tell anyone I am sorceress I will kill you and all those you tell.”
 
A map of Sekai was laid out in the darkness. From the Hael Sea to the northernmost part of the Desert of Xas, from the seas of Kiorman and Astr to the Woodwall and the Akkal Ridge. Hewn from rock, the seams forming the rivers, lichen forming the forests, crushed luminescent bugs forming the cities. The Second Council peered over it.

The Second Council was made up entirely of priests. Each sect had a representative, only identifiable by slight differences in the masks they wore. All at least had passing knowledge of the arcane, even if only one present had any true power. Their masks were enchanted to see the reason why this meeting was called. Something dark over the land south of the Gulf of Anika.

“A cult that perverts the sanctity of life.”

“The fault of humans. I say we ban them from the city.”

“The lords will never go for that. Money is like water to humans. It easily escapes their grasp, and ends up in the tight grip of our lords.”

“Well…is there any chance of the cult spreading here?”

“Of course no…”

“Unwise words, brother. The Doorkeepers have made sure the consecrations are working properly.”

“What are we planning to do about it then?”

“We do nothing. Luxavo is small. Our army is our defence to both external and internal threats. And the cult is far away. It isn’t our problem at this moment in time. The gods and spirits shall reveal when the time is right.”

“Very well then. This Council is adjourned.”
 
Weary of being on guard for the last couple of hours the exhausted travelers entered Elain Hill Fortress. Oan turned and looked at Aria with what appeared to be the first real smile upon his face since they met. “Never in my wildest dreams would I be happy to enter an elven fortress.”

“Indeed not? Are we elves not famed for our hospitality?”

“Not to the Oagramakandi, Duchess.” The pair smiled having noted their banter had the desired effect of at least lessening the tension a notch now that they were all in the fortress.

An honor guard had been assembled and were out in full regalia to greet the Duchess, and at least officially, the Oagramakandi ambassador. The Mitra fanfare blared as they entered and fell off as the gruenter(1) realized not all was well and ended the fanfare early. A man ran up to the obviously tense party.

“What has happened?” General Yenis asked in a stern voice.

“We were ambushed by undead and a pair of necromancers on the way here General.” Duchess Aria replied in a serene voice.

General Yenis spun on the spot and began to issue commands for a patrol in force to take place and sweep the surrounding countryside before they marched out in the coming days. He then turned back to the Duchess and Loremaster. “I am deeply upset to have failed in this Duchess. I should have swept the land clear prior to your arrival.”

“Do not kid yourself General there is no way you would have spotted them.” Oan spoke to the General for the first time. “The undead were under the soil and I believe the necromancers while not very powerful or experienced were able to mask their presence somehow.”

“I see.” Replied the General omitting any title towards Oan, since he did not know what was the polite way to address the orc.

“Nevermind that, we have one prisoner sedated whom we need to interrogate. We require use of a secure room and proper interrogation tools.” Aria commanded of the officers surrounding them. General Yenis motioned for a young lietenant to see to it and the officer darted off.

“So what does this do to our plans Duchess? I would recommend waiting for a response from the king to the dispatch I will be sending straight away. May I have someone’s time from your party to debrief them?”

“Yes General,” Aria waved Captain Garit forward and as he approached she could see shock on the General’s face. No one had expected to encounter the Silver Guard here. “Captain Garit will see to it he recounts the situation to you for your report. As for our plans I think we will only need to add a single day to our departure time. We need time to rest and time to interrogate the prisoner.”

Aria and Oan made commands for the group to rest and resupply and Aria removed a small bag from her saddle bags before the pair of them with one guard in tow apiece headed to the room where the prisoner had been shackled up awaiting their interrogation. Once there they found an elf awaiting them inside the room prepping all the tools of the interrogation trade.

“Duchess, Loremaster.” The senior soldier nodded to the pair of them. Apparently someone had learned the Loremasters title and passed it along to prevent insulting him.

“You are dismissed we will handle it from here.” Aria told the soldier.

“But Duchess you need to interrogate the prisoner, and you’ll.” The soldier cut himself off before he said ‘alone with an orc.’ but everyone heard the words anyway.

“Yes and I do not recall asking for an interrogator. Just the room and equipment.” The soldier realizing the dismissal would not be reconsidered left quickly. The pair of guards took up posts on either side of the door as their charges entered the prison.

“So, you intend to do this yourself then Duchess?” asked Oan as he shut the thick door behind them.

“Of course. How else should we do it and keep private anything he may say?” Aria rolled up the sleeves of her well tailored travel shirt. “I mean to say soldiers may be trustworthy, but they do tend to gossip. And please between ourselves drop the titles they just get in the way of diplomacy.”

“I can’t do that Duchess. If you have a title I am bound to use it.” Aria nodded unsurprised by the response, the Loremaster she had discovered was very stubborn.

“Fine Loremaster we can do it you’re way then.” Aria picked up a small needle and a very thin razor. “He should be waking up soon care to toss some water on him? Oan nodded and grabbed a cup from the table and filled it with water from the small cask in the corner. He walked to the prisoner and removed the gag, slapped him hard, and then threw the water on him. One of those worked and personally Aria didn’t care which it was.

“Wakey, wakey.” Whispered Aria in the necromancer’s ear. “Care to tell us everything you know about anything to further pain?”

“Wh..What hap…happened to my..my hands?” the necromancer boy spoke between wheezes of pain.

“Ah well I figured you being a mage and all it would be much harder to escape and use spells if you have no hands. Admittedly my knowledge of magecraft is limited, but still I figured it would at least impede you from escaping.” Aria patted the boy on the face lightly and chuckled like a little girl. “I mean once we caught you did you think you could leave alive?”

Loremaster Oan spoke finally to the necromancer. “Boy, you can do it the hard way, her way, or you can die a swift painless death my way if you just speak now.” The pair of them waited for the necromancer to begin speaking while Loremaster Oan stood ready behind the necromancer to decapitate him should he begin casting spells.

“All shall fa..fall under the dominion of Heras-Fel.” The necromancer got out between gasps of pain.

“Well then her way I suppose, and surprisingly you will find her to be far more ruthless than I.” Loremaster Oan continued to stand at the ready in case any spells began.

“Oh good I have never had the chance to actually use the techniques my mentor has taught me.” Aria looked at the two instruments in her hand and set down the thin blade and held the long needle ready. “Well shall we begin?”

Aria worked the necromancer over in a calm and deliberate manner. She began by piercing the boy’s left eardrum a few times with the long needle. Aria waited a moment for the gasps of pain to stop when she then propped up one of the boy’s feet on a stool and began to poke deep puncture under his toenails. The boy screamed by the third toe. Aria ignored this until she had finished the right foot. She set it down and propped the left foot.

“So prepared to tell me if you have anymore ambushes planned, disposition of forces, plans of your superiors, whatever you know?” Aria asked lightly as she stood wiping the needle off.

“G..g..got to… do be…bet…better than that.” The boy taunted unconvincingly through the haze of pain he was in.

“Okay well lets see here. Perhaps I can help make you more talkative.” Aria set down the small bag and proceeded to remove several small vials of powders and liquids. She lifted one up.

“Let’s see this one? No it will just make you sleepy.” Aria proceeded down the line of various vials speaking to herself. “Syrup of Trinor? Perhaps it does enhance pain.” She set that one to the side. Eventually she had a small group of vials and placed the rest back in her pouch. “Shall we begin with the Powdered Riath horn?” the necromancer apparently had some idea what it did because he began to shake violently. “Could you hold his mouth open?” Aria asked Oan. Oan smiled grimly and grabbed the necromancer’s mouth and rougly forced it open tearing the edges of the mouth slightly. The necromancer gurgled a protest as the powder was dropped down his throat.

Oan released the necromancer and took up his position once more. “So what does that powder do Duchess?”

“Ah, glad you asked,” Aria began conversationally. “the powder of the Riath’s horn is made from a small mountain creature who survives in such elevations by eating the few plants that are there regardless of poisons. All the poisons they process are deposited in their horns to prevent them from getting sick. So while not dealy except in large doses the powder of the horn enhances any pain one is already having by making them feel on fire in addition to the normal pain. The dose I gave him should last several hours and be close but not quite madness inducing.”

“May I say you are a surprising elf Duchess.” Loremaster Oan said in a strangely complimentary fashion.

“Well thank you Loremaster. I have been trained in such arts, unlike most of my brethren. They tend to be more effective do to how uncommon they are. They get results at any rate.” Aria pinched the boy’s cheek. “Hmm I think it will take another minute or so for the full effect. So necromancer’s tell me what you know and I will administer the antidote.”

The necromancer screamed his loudest yet. “No..n…no I won’t.” He screamed again.

“But seriously necromancer maybe I did give you enough to drive you to madness? The weak willed do succumb to less than normal people. Hurry names, places, anything interesting?” Aria asked.
“Human I’d do as she says, I know you cannot see it but she has several more vials prepared.” Aria clinked a couple together at Oan’s words. The necromancer screamed and shook violently trying to escape the bonds. “And she hasn’t even taken the knives out yet and she knows how to use those.” The necromancer began to weep openly.

“I’m just an apprentice!” he screamed through the pain. “I…I don’t,” he sobbed loudly and shook violently as they searing pain flowed through his wounds. “I have nothing to tell you I swear!”

“Not good enough, everyone knows something.” Aria poked his cauterized right stump of a wrist with the needle, he shuddered and gasped. “I have heard it said that being burnt a second time is more painful than the first. Sadly we cannot have you tell us because you were unconscious when we burnt your wrists closed the first time.” Aria called a small red flame to her palm and placed it almost touching the left wrist. The scream was the loudest yet.

“My master his name is Ferad Dechu! He made me attack you!” Aria withdrew her hand and extinguished the flame.

“Why.” Demanded Oan.

“He said,” the boy continued to sob and spoke through the tears, “he said that we must stop you. I just wanted to go on the pilgrimage! I never wanted to attack you I swear.” Pleaded the necromancer.

“Well what you may have wanted matters not, only what you did. And you did attack us and you did get captured. This is the result of your own shortcomings and choices.” Aria stated as if a teacher talking to a student. “Now anything else or shall I prepare the heated knives?”

The necromancer broke down. He began babbling talking of rituals and corpses. He spouted how sorry he was to have killed his neighbor in a fit of rage. He babbled incoherently for several minutes while Aria and Oan listened seeking any answers hidden in the babble. The apprentice truly did appear to know nothing. Finally Aria nodded to Oan and the Loremaster swung the axe neatly decapitating the boy. His head rolled across the floor and landed upright and staring straight ahead. Aria watched it blink once, twice, and then no more.

“Well that was almost pointless but now we have a name. And I see that you do not die right away when decapitated he blinked twice. Interesting.”

“I have to say Duchess I am impressed by you ruthlessness. I thought you elves wouldn’t have the stomach for this fight.” Loremaster Oan said appreciatively.

Aria nodded at the compliment. “Well let us prepare and rest for we have a long way to go starting on the morrow.” Aria and Oan walked out of the room and ordered some soldiers to burn the corpse. When the first one entered they heard him expel his dinner.
 
The Adventurers: Interception

Brynedd led her company as swiftly as she could along the narrow path. Rhodri followed close behind, while the two gnomes spurred on the dogs, who were doing their very best to carry both the weight of the chest and their two small riders. Perell watched the rear, darting on and off of the path to keep out an eye for any pursuers.

“Any more scouts?” she asked, with a slight nod to Perell.

“None more that I saw.” Responded the half-elf, “But the ones from an hour ago have stopped shadowing us... they’ve either given up or gone back to report to their masters.”

“We can only hope to avoid them until we’re out of this accursed forest.” Brynedd pulled out her compass, but the chest her party bore held the attention of all of its intricate arms, with only the subtlest of periodic twitches pointing off in no particular direction. She cursed quietly.

“What’s wrong?” Rhodri asked.

“Our damned cargo is leaving me blind here. Can’t get a read on the surroundings.”

“Well, you-”

“You could ask me.” Came a sudden voice from behind. The gnome Aida had a petulant frown on her face.

“What do-”

“The wicked fyir about these woods has been screaming into my head for the last three days! Death, damned death and the damned tall ones who pervert it! Necromancers working on the unwilling. Augh! Disgusting! And they’re only getting closer and closer!”

“You... you’ve felt this for days? I know sorcerers have a knack for that, but why didn’t you say so before?”

“You need to know how to listen.”

Aaaand that was it, Brynedd thought to herself, after a brief outburst of brilliant clarity the gnome had gone infuriatingly cryptic again. Gritting her teeth slightly, Brynedd formulated as polite a response as she could manage.

“And how... might I listen properly?”

“By asking. It started off faint, but it’s gotten worse and worse and worse every day since we killed that troll and took its’ box. It was at its worst when the first dead-eye scouts attacked, and it’s almost gotten that bad again. The things positively reek of magic- I’m surprised the elf hasn’t noticed.”

“Sorry to interject,” Perell raised his arm, “But it’s a myth that all elves are magically sensitive, and I’m only half-blooded anyway.”

“So no one else has even picked up on this... aargh!”

“Is that cry out of frustration or-”

“Cultists!” exclaimed Rhodri, gesturing up the incline at the side of the path.

“Or from things getting even worse?” Perell continued, his question already answered.

As the party drew their weapons and moved into position for combat, Brynedd stepped forward, looking across the assortment of figures hidden through the thick woods.

“We don’t want a fight. What is it that you want with us?”

The voice that responded was not the rasping, wheezing cultist that Brynedd had suspected, but a deep, rich-voiced human speaking in a neutral accent of the common tongue.

“We wish for you to surrender yourselves to Heras-Fel.”

“We do not wish to do so, we intend simply to transit our way out of these lands and return to our home unmolested.”

“It seems unlikely that you will be able to follow through with your original intentions, as you will find that you have been quite thoroughly surrounded. At any rate, our wish is a thing of inevitability- you will surrender yourselves, one way or another. You may try to fight our vastly superior numbers and be brought back as slaves, having done no lasting damage to my cohort, or you may give yourselves over willingly and be of some use. Or... you can simply give us that chest of yours, that one which gives off that oh so pleasant odour of powerful magic. The Old Green One was quite resistant to our attempts to procure his little box from him in the past, but I suspect that you might be... somewhat more amenable to our propositions.”

Brynedd looked to her fellow travelers briefly, then returned her gaze to the shifting hillside.

“And what would you give us for the box?”

“Your lives... half-formed and meaningless as they are. A far greater gift, of course, would be to teach you of the great duality of life and death Heras-Fel, but you outsiders seem so stubbornly resistant to the idea I often wonder why I even try.”

“That is hardly an even exchange. Let us pass and we shall forget this extortion.”

“Ah, dwarves, so proud and stubborn. Your type are the most fun to turn, do you know that?”

A snarl formed on Brynedd’s lips.

“So, will you be cooperative- or is your desire to travel through here peacefully just talk?”

Her eyes darted around- it was uncertain how many Cultists surrounded her group in this thick forest, or even if they had yet fully encircled the party. In her mind, she was plotting out scenarios, devising plans, weighing the pros and cons of each option... the orbs were the whole purpose of their long travel, going home empty-handed would be ruinous. However, dying, and possibly being reanimated, would be somewhat worse of a fate. Brynedd’s brands of resistance might leave her immune to some magic, but that protection wouldn’t necessarily carry over to her friends. She could try to go for an ‘exact words’ kind of deal and give him only the chest that the troll had carried, and none of its contents, but Brynedd didn’t have that much confidence in some unseen cultist’s willingness to abide strictly by the rules and accept defeat through wordplay.

In a few seconds, her mind was made. The gnomes would produce some sort of magical or alchemical distraction, and the party would charge through down the path, trying to punch their way out of the encirclement. A few traps laid behind could delay the cultists for-

An echoing blast from a warhorn echoed through the valley. It was met with three others of different pitches.

“Okay, time’s up!” the voice sounded stranger now, as if its suave calmness was beginning to wither away. “Kill them and take the chest! Now! Quickly!”

“Run!” shouted Brynedd, waving to her party. Rhodri ran past her down the trail, their weapons at the ready, while Aida stood still and screamed something that went unheard in the rising din of... wait. Why would there be sounds of battle if the cultists had not yet even engaged-

Bursting from the undergrowth, a hulking man, eyes dark and skin pallid, stepped out to block their way. His spear jabbed forward, knocked out of the way by the handle of one of Rhodri’s axes. In the time it took for the two to exchange a few seconds of parries, several more deadeyes emerged. Perell cast his bow to the side and drew out a sword in a single swift movement, slicing through the chests of the two nearest enemies. Blood oozed lazily out of these terrible wounds, which seemed to give the horrific assailants little pause. Brynedd’s follow-up blow decapitated one, which seemed to be enough to disable it. The headless figure slowly slumped to the ground, like a clumsy child going to sleep. The dwarf grimaced in distaste- Brynedd had fought the undead before, but these were mostly automated skeletons and shambling corpses- these deadeyes of Heras-Fel were a most disturbing new threat. The trio fought on, with axe and sword, but all exits were now cut off, and the dead assailed them from all directions. Some distance behind, Aida continued to stand her ground near the dogs and the cart, warding off all her enemies with massive jets of fire and screaming incoherently. Alchemist Marco, as usual, was nowhere to be seen.

“Now DIE!” boomed the voice.

Brynedd felt a horrible sucking sensation, and a searing burn as the brands tattooed into the back of her hands radiated energy, desperately counteracting a powerful spell descending upon her. Further up the trail, Aida’s pyrotechnic assault was finished, her crimson fyir now fighting a losing battle with the descending cloud of darkness. In the other direction, Rhodri and Perell clawed at their throats, as if invisible hands were strangling them. The dead seemed to have ceased their attack on the two males- the cultists’ listless, sunken eyes now focused on Brynedd, their sole remaining threat.

“Destroy her and take the chest! Hurry!”

What was this? The voice now sounded downright... panicked. Brynedd considered even as she slashed her way futilely through the ever-growing numbers of her enemies- her foe was fearful. There was still hope. The dwarf let out a ferocious battle cry, and fought back with renewed vigour. Brynedd felt great pain as sharp weapons found weaknesses in her defense, but the battle-haze was now well upon her and she gave no quarter. The din of battle grew louder and louder- which made no sense, as the only fighting was happening directly around herself...

And then the moment of realization hit, the second a grey-skinned orcish warrior crashed into sight, giving a deafening blow on his warhorn. A tide of his fellows rushed into the small clearing around the trail, rapidly disappearing again into the forests on the other side. A few joined in against the remaining group around the party, quickly cutting down the ‘surviving’ undead. In Brynedd’s head, all became clear. The warhorns were those of the orcs. The cultists had pursued the party for several days, possibly long enough to be drawn out of their own territory. Their desire for the orbs contained within the box had become their downfall, as their ambush was in turn counter-ambushed by the orcs. Your enemy’s enemy is your friend, as the adage goes.

“NO! NO! NO!” cried the voice, growing fainter with each shout, “Do not forget! It is inevitable...”

The ranting voice faded away into the din of crashing steel, rending flesh and orcish battlecries. Brynedd, finally free of her combat entanglements, ran over to find Rhodri and Perell gasping for breath. The cold grip around their necks, it seemed, had been released. They would recover in a few moments. But for now, battle awaited. Knowing the importance of a good first impression, Brynedd let out another battlecry and charged up the hill after the orcs, in pursuit of the fleeing undead.
 
The Rise of the Maid of Myneddfyrd

The life of a eunuch at court is perhaps not so bad as some might imagine. I am full aware that envious drunkards in dark hallways have their names for me - the Halfman, the Gelding, the Lady-at-Court,the Maid of Myneddfyrd - but one does not make it far in the life of a eunuch paying much heed to japes. In fact, I acknowledge that some of them are actually quite clever. And in any case I expect that any man of my level of influence would be similarly disdained, even those who are, ah, all in working order.

I do not know why God does many of the things he does, and my condition by no means merits any special consideration. The Nepisites born with sight must be blinded to become priests, and they the judge the sacrifice worthy. As for me... if you have never heard a eunuch sing, you have never yet heard music. So as I said, I do not know why God makes eunuchs sing well, but I believe I understand why we must sacrifice to do so. The priests lose their eyes to commune with Heaven, leaving behind the pale sight of creation. It may well be that we must leave behind our manhood to sing like the angels. Whatever the reason, God has so ordered the world that sacrifice must be made to achieve good things. I expect we would become wicked and lazy were it otherwise. But I am not a theologian, nor am I priest.

I began my life at court as a singer. I was born the fourth child of a whore on the docks of some backwater under the City's control and at the age of five I stowed away on the Sapphire Anokan Sea, a leaky junker with a far too pretentious name. I was discovered by the captain and made to serve dinners, wash dishes, and catch rats to pay for my passage. At some point, a sailor heard me singing at my work and thereafter I had to sing for the crew at meal times. At the next port, an ugly sailor I had never liked who called himself Therol Talophaska, but whom the rest of the crew called Therol Trollface, kidnapped me from the ship and sold me to a slave-trading agent of the Farrem Gol, an academy specialized in training bards and singers. I was compelled to audition before the Masters of the academy, and I suppose I performed well as I was... accepted that very afternoon.

It took me some time to accept my new life, though I suppose now it was foolish ever to fight against it. We are given a lot in life and must serve God as best we can in it. There are those who endure far worse than I ever suffered. Regardless, I was reconciled to my studies and found in them a joy unlike any I had known in my short life. It was of course demanding and at times I hated my talents, my teachers, and everything I knew, but by the end of it all my voice was a work of art. And so it was that I was sold to some Metoiken merchant prince to be given as a gift to the Stratikrator.

At first, I assumed I would perform concerts for the king or be shown off to delegations, however Diodor said he had no time for such frivolities and delivered me to the nannies who looked after the royal children and the fosterlings. I played their games and attended to their needs. I also joined them in their studies, which I devoured hungrily. The wise men of the court were impressed by my persistence and curiosity and I took full advantage of their learning. I read the histories of The Holy City and its conquests. I learned the minds of the great theologians and philosophers of Ka'elkannah. I discovered the prudence and shrewdness of the art of politics, and I loved it all.

It is then for this reason, I suppose, why I may relate the following tale. Standing in formal attendance in court one day, I listened to some self-important orc nobleman go on at length about raiders and bandits disrupting his trade (apparently he had all his holding on the mainlands, which, I would later learn, meant he was no great nobleman at all, but more likely a trumped up merchant prince too proud to run with the humans). His complaining continued for some time, though Diodor's patience grew thin. Finally, Diodor stopped him and turned suddenly to me.

"You. Halfman. How ought your king respond to this petition? What ought I to do about these bandits?"

For whatever reason, whether from inordinate pride or audacity, or perhaps from sheer terror clouding my judgment, I did not hesitate to respond, but said then out loud what I had been thinking. I even forgot to kneel.

"Dread king, were I this man I should have donned my armor and dealt with these brigands myself long ago, instead of wasting this court's time by revealing my own cowardice and inability. What ought you to do, king? Give this man's hold to a man unafraid to fight for it."

As soon as I finished speaking, I was overcome by horror. I could believe my own mouth! The impudence! The imprudence! What would happen to me? If I was terrified before at Diodor's address, I was twice as terrified at my own. I did not even look at the petitioner, who, I am told, became purple with rage and was about to speak when Diodor, who had until this point simply been quietly considering me, burst out into laughter. This continued for some time, and when Diodor next spoke, it was broken by the occasional involuntary snort or chuckle.

"Well, Halfgaros, what have you to say for yourself? This little gelding has the right of it, I think, and shows more courage here today than you have since I made you lord of that damned cove. Why don't you take that guard of yours and end these bandits, or I promise you I will find an orc that can."

From that point on, I found myself admitted to Diodor's councils. He did not often seek my thoughts, and when he did it was often to shame a foolish suggestion by another adviser, but, as I learned from my tutors (who were some of them in the same councils), Diodor was an excellent judge of talent, and if he did not need my thoughts today, he would have me learn my new trade until he did. This is how I came to find myself standing, decades later, in a small room filled with maps speaking with Diodor and the High Council about how best to prepare for war.
 
“Oh sod, Wakila, it’s them again!”

Tash pulled Wakila behind a stone pillar and then flattened himself against it. “I can’t believe they’ve tracked me down! Do they never tire of this?”

“They are certainly persistent.” his stoic companion nodded definitively. They both steeled themselves as the gaggle of girls turned the corner, their eyes wide and their dresses garish, even for the merchant class.

“Did you see Tash?”

“I thought I saw him turn down this corridor. What a hunk of goblin he is, even from a distance!”

The girls giggled as they continued forward, looking around and hoping to spot their prey. “Tash!” one cried. “Are you here? I’d like to speak to you about something important.”

Tash rolled his green eyes in annoyance. Important indeed. What Wa’aipe wanted was to get him to escort her to the upcoming ball. She had been after him for months. Tash was certain she just wanted her family one step closer to a permanent trade alliance with Tash’s father Tevi. She was an ugly girl, even by goblin standards, and her entourage was no better. Well, he thought, alright, maybe she’s just desperate. All Tash could do was close his eyes and offer up a silent prayer to…well, he didn’t know who. But he figured it wouldn’t hurt to try.

Lucky for Tash, the girls weren’t smart enough to check behind the columns. Wa’aipe pouted, stomped her feet in displeasure, and stormed off with her little friends behind. The sight was something not unlike a flock of rainbow straklings bobbling off into the distance.

Tash and Wakila waited a few moments more before coming out of their hiding place and continuing on to their destination, stepping lightly as they did. A strange contraption clinked by with an inventor seated on top, as well as a group of cloaked goblins clutching numerous scrolls that were headed in the opposite direction. Thes were common sites in this part of Tavastara-Zai. The Raaxa Tome Hall was very close by.

They kept quiet during most of their walk, but Tash let out a slight chuckle as they approached the Conclave Hall. He shot a sly look to his friend and spoke. “We’ve escaped the hawks…now we face the wolves.”

With that, he nodded to the Renai standing guard, who cracked the door open just enough for the two to slip in. Tzeucat was already in session. Tash had hoped to sneak in without making such a fuss, but saw that it would be impossible. They had reserved his seat on the far end of the room, next to the rather loud and opinionated owner of most of the taverns in Tavastara-Zai.

“Took you long enough, child” the goblin quipped. “Out playing Dragon’s Bluff with your friends? How much money did you lose this time?”

Tash tried to ignore him as he glumly took his seat and listened in on the conversation in progress.

“The east is in turmoil. Madraga is on the move, and the orcs not far behind. War is on the horizon.”

“They will consume one another, and part of our market along with it..”

“There is no news of conflict thus far. We’re not entirely sure what’s they’re playing at, but it does not bode well.”

“It surprises me, old friend,” Tash’s neighbor remarked, “that an information guild such as yours could be so completely useless. Do we need to call in the Green Cloaks and see what they know on the matter?” He smirked, and then stood. “Let me tell you what I’ve learned from the taverns.” All eyed turned on him as he rose to his feet. By goblin standards, he was big, and his voice boomed authoritively. “An orcish Loremaster passed through two days ago and stayed the night at one of my taverns. He was on his way to Arrek’s kingdom. There can only be one reason for that.” His smile vanished as he spoke.

There was a collective intake of breath at the mention of that cursed name. A few of the members of the Conclave shot each other knowing looks and others began to whisper excitedly.

“If they ask for Arrek’s aid, it could be disastrous. Their forces have few options. They must either brave the treacherous Skyhorns mid-winter, or to send them through Tavastara-Zai. I, for one, do not like the idea of barbarians passing through our hallowed halls.”

“What Arrek decides is no concern of ours!” Another goblin stood. “What we must worry about is what this means. If Oagramakandi is calling for aid, Madraga is in grave peril. This could upset the balance of power in the region. And mark my words, Oagramakandi will not be content with just one vassal. This could be the beginning of a massive conquest. With Arrek and Helisk on their side, a united orc front could crush both the Senathian Provinces and Halde with ease. It would be only a matter of time before they closed in on us as well! My silk trade would be ruined!”

Tash’s neighbor spoke up again. “Oh Ceoj, you gravely underestimate them. Arrek alone could raze this city to the ground! We’re defenseless!”

Tash let out a sigh. The over-paranoid Tzeucat was full of goblins with a sharp eye for all things mercantile, but sadly inexperienced when it came to diplomacy. Many of these men feared for their wealth, recognizing Tavastara-Zai’s notoriety and fame throughout Sekai as a place of commerce and scientific progress. They were every despot’s wet dream, and they knew it. Only the Renai kept their enemies at bay.

As the goblins worked themselves into a frenzy, Tash realized that he would not be able to keep silent much longer. In his short time as part of the conclave, he had learned to recognize such things. He sat in place of his father and was not well liked nor respected by the other prelates, but he stood and spoke nonetheless.

“With all due respect, fellow prelates and guild masters, I do believe we’re overlooking something.” Ceoj had continued to ramble on, but Tash shot him a dark look. He waited for the rest of the Conclave to pay him attention before continuing. “The Cult of Heras-Fel has been growing in the east for some time now. Cultists have been sighted even in places as close as Halde. Is it not possible, my brothers, that they have finally launched an all-out attack against the orc nation?”

“It is a possibility, young Tash, but why would Madraga join with the necromancers? They are wood-elves, not fools.”

“That…that much I do not know.” He stared at the marble table as he spoke. Bitter laughter ensued.

“Indeed, Tash, son of Tevi. There is much that we do not yet know.” Kyuur, the head of the Conclave, spoke evenly and firmly. “I’m afraid none of our theories will do us much good until we gather more information. If we cannot obtain the answers we seek on our own, then I will have to call upon the Renai to help us discover the truth. Time is precious for our markets as well as our homes and families. The security of Tavastara-Zai depends on us. Let this be a lesson to all of you about the importance of unity. Divided we are helpless, but our combined strength can face any foe. Tzeucat is adjourned until tomorrow. See if you can’t get to the bottom of this before then.”

The prelates and guild masters rose to leave, filing out the door slowly, conversing with one another. Tash, however, had stayed back. He was reading a scroll he had found on the table which had caught his eye. Wakila spotted him and lingered behind as the rest of the goblins filed out.

“What do you have there?”

“It says that next month is the Great Exhibition of the Arts & Sciences. Every great scientist and artist from Falek to Gryddfyir will be in town to showcase their works. There will be performances, galleries, and festivals galore!”

“And you’re thinking that these problems in the east might inhibit the Exhibition?” Wakila guessed.

“No,” Tash turned to look at his friend. His eyes twinkled mischievously. “It sounds like a fantastic way to propose to Naoma.”
 
Madraga’s First Guard had marched to the bank of the Noldevine River. Before them stood the massive and well fortified Driachen Bridge. It was so wide an entire company of soldiers could march in formation and still have room for wagons to pass along either side of them. On the Madragan side of the river stood the largest stone fortress in Madraga. Most of Madraga and its cities were built in the forests and conformed to what was there, the giant Tiryo Trees used as bases to hold up entire communities around them, but not here. Here was a structure designed to hold off wave after wave of orc warriors like a mighty cliff before the waves.

The fortress seemed like a waste to Aria when she had visited her over a decade ago with her father. She remembered asking what she thought was a perfectly simple question, and as with most things in politics getting a very complicated and often contradictory answer.
“Father why waste so much effort building this when they could simply get some boats and cross the river?” Aria had asked.

“Well like most things it’s not because of why you think.” Duke Mithra paused then and looked down at his daughter. He had a small smile on his face, he was constantly surprised how much she had grown. “Well you’re still young enough to not need to worry about this, do you want me to continue know I am going to give a long answer?” Aria nodded so he continued. “Well then firstly even though it looks like a defensive position it isn’t. As you said it could be easily bypassed, and thus the orcs have never built a similar fort on the other side. Yes, yes they have a small encampment of guards there but not a fortress.” He waved off Aria’s question before she asked it. “No we made this sturdy and magically protected bridge and fortress to quickly move our warriors into the orc lands should we need to. The second reason is that the Driachen Fortress and Bridge are a symbol both to us and the orcs with our people. It says here we are and here we stay. Even though the orcs could easily bypass the fort they would need to crush it lest they leave their back open and get stuck between our forces and more importantly they need to crush the symbol.”

Aria shook her head and realized there was some truth to the matter, but as always when facing the orcs numbers were on their side and quantity was a quality all its own. Who would win, sadly in the end without allies Aria had to concede that the sheer difference in numbers would eventually lead the orcs to victory. She was certain though that all out conflict would leave Madraga in ruins and the Oagramakandi a hollowed out shell of their former glory ripe for picking apart by its neighbors on internal conflict. This was likely why the unofficial ‘truce’ existed for so many centuries. The enmity went back from before either nation was a nation. No one in the region really knew why anymore, and honestly Aria didn’t care. She hated them for what they had done recently, not what they may have done in ages past.

Loremaster Oan approached on his roan mount and lifted a hand in greeting bringing Aria out of her maze of thoughts. “Duchess we stand at the now official border.” The word official was growled out and barely understandable.

“Yes. Time for us to travel into your hospitality.” Aria said with a slight tremor in her voice. “What was it you do to elves found to be heavily armed in your lands again Loremaster?”

“We slaughter them without mercy or quarter, Duchess.”

“I thought so.” Aria waved her hand back towards the marching soldiers. “And what would you call this?”

“A war about to begin,” Oan hesitated slightly. “in normal times that is.”

“These are anything but normal.” Aria looked over to the east. “You know until you arrived Loremaster, I never gave much thought to the corpse raisers and their habits. Especially the pilgrimage to Terrormine Isle. I believe we are the closest nation to that island other than the unclean realm of the death fanatics themselves.”

“You sure enjoy making new titles for them.” Oan observed dryly.

“I make them for everyone and everything, keeps my mind busy when I have nothing but a sore rear to focus my attention on for miles behind and many, many more ahead of me.”

“What have you named those around us?” Oan waved vaguely towards Scribe, Runty, and the five personal guards.

“Do you really want to know?” Aria asked a mischievous smirk.

“Why not probably lighten the mood a bit.”

“Well there’s Brute, Scribe, Sword, Quiet, Tall, Scar, and Runty.” Aria pointed to each in turn as she named them. When she got to the last one Oan burst out laughing.

“You call Tas Runty?” Oan actually began to laugh so hard he had tears forming. “He is a pain in the, what’s the polite term? Posterior. That’s it.” Oan paused a moment and then said seriously “Do not ever let him hear you call him that this alliance as bad as it sits with us is nothing compared to him. You call him that and it will come to blows, he might even draw a weapon on you.”

“Well if he does then he has chosen to risk his life by attacking.” Aria responded deadly serious. “That’s the wager ultimately when you try to harm someone else.”

“True enough that is the warrior’s way. We all live as long as we win.” Loremaster Oan intoned sagely.

The pair quieted after that and rode in silence like the rest of the soldiers. All that could be heard were the marching of thousands of boots, the strike of hooves, and the creak of wagons heading towards the bridge. General Yenis was at the head of the formation, apparently preparing to stop them and give some sort of speech. Aria decided he would probably want her up there as the King’s Speaker and thus she had final say on decisions made in the King’s name. She nudged Farinath towards the General.

General Yenis had ordered a halt and had a mage next to him when Aria got up to where he was. The General inclined his head politely to Aria and then approached on his brown steed with a very peculiar white patch over the left eye.

“Milady, glad you could join me. I was preparing to encourage the troops as we enter the Oagramakandi lands. They need to truly be prepared for the hostility we will face from the orcs even though we are allied with them. It’s still leaves a sour taste in my mouth to say that.” He smacked his lips as if to remove the taste of rotten fruit from his mouth.

“Believe me I understand General. But our King has commanded and thus we shall see it through.” General Yenis nodded his agreement to these words. “Now be off, your troops await you.” Aria motioned to the soldiers that were now in perfectly formed ranks. General Yenis walked off to face them.

“Soldiers of Madraga!” the mage cast a spell to amplify the General’s voice for the speech so it boomed loud and crisp in the early morning air. “We embark today into Oagramakandi, but not as any of us would have expected. We do not seek to crush them as our foes, we do not seek to claim their lands, we do not seek to engage them in conflict of any sort.” General Yenis paused as his implied or else sank in through the ranks. “We will not be welcomed as an ally should be though, we will not see peasants in the streets and paths urging us to victory. It matters not to us soldiers of Madraga! We are here for Madraga and we will succeed for Madraga!” A cheer rose up and then quickly quieted as the General waved them down. “We go forth into Oagramakandi not as the allies they want and expect, but as the allies they need and resent the fact.” General Yenis took a step towards them. “In the end though we will likely never see eye to eye, we will never be permanent allies, we will come to demand respect and we will through our actions secure peace for Madraga from both the border skirmishes with the Oagramakandi and more importantly the destruction of the foul cult of Heras-Fel. The orcs might face us in battle, but they will not desecrate our souls. The cult will not only do that they will then turn you upon your people, your friends, and your very families if given the chance.” He let his words fade into the light breeze coming from the east and silence lingered for just a moment. “We along with the Oagramakandi and others will prevent this at all costs. We will make sure this filthy cult never sets itself upon our lands, and never corrupt our loved ones!” The cheer rose up and General Yenis stepped back while the mage cancelled his spell.

General Yenis went to the little non-descript marker placed halfway across the bridge signifying one’s exit of Madraga and took the first step across before signaling for a forward march. Aria urged Farinath forward and into the orc lands. What a wonderful trip this will be she thought sarcastically to herself.
 
(This takes place shortly before the group crosses into Oagramakandi)

Oan looked up at the tall trees flanking the river. He wondered if he'd climbed the ancient ones at the heart of Madraga if he'd be able to see the spires of Kandia. So close, yet so far and so distant. The two great cities stared at each other across the no man's land of the rivers that fed Lake Sekund. So much violence had spilled across that river. Now, both sides shunned it's banks. Only the fish were pleased.

He paused a moment and looked at an ancient oak. There was something in the upper branches. He squinted at it. A pair of the elves stopped and looked up too. He smiled, but they remained ignorant of the reason.

"Duchess, a moment if you would."

Duchess Aria looked at her guards and inclined her head. They would follow well behind, but she would take no chances.

Oan led her off the path. The thick canopy kept most of the snow off of the ground here. Instead of the white of Oagramakandi, they walked through a mottled brown and white. As they approached the river, the forest grew less thinner and whiter. Black wounds marked the trees.

He continued through the brush, eyes focused upwards. In his distraction he almost stumbled over a log. He hoped the Duchess hadn't seen. She looked up too, occasionally, but never saw what he was looking for.

Half an hour later, he feared he's lost he trail. The story he followed was an old one, perhaps things had changed.

"Loremaster, if I might ask, what are we looking for?" the Duchess inquired.

"Lore."

Five more minutes passed before she asked again.

"What lore is there to find in our forests? None of our people live on this outlet. Your raids have seen to that."

"I'm not looking for your lore. I could get all I want from you, I'm sure." He looked up again and smiled. "They call you a King's Speaker, yes?"

"They do, though I would prefer Duchess."

"I don't, but I see why you would. Let me ask you something then, Duchess. When you speak, do you speak his stories?"

"I'm afraid I don't catch your meaning."

"Do you find it cold?"

The Duchess paused a moment. "Of course. It is mid-winter."

"Where I'm from, this is nothing. Late autumn at best. Where the Endichi live, this is a pleasant spring morning. Down in Kael'Kannah, this is the worst blizzard they've had in ten thousand years."

"I know how the weather works, Loremaster."

"I am not talking about the weather, Duchess."

"You'll have to excuse my confusion then, in Madraga, snow is generally considered to fit under that heading."

Perhaps it was the strangeness of the language that confused him. He knew the grammar, but he never understood how to think in the elvish tongue. "Bear with me Duchess. Perhaps you will understand when you see."

He led her on into the forest, across a half-frozen creek and up a hill. From the crest, Lake Sekund was visible. Beautiful, clear and crisp. Two huge oaks framed his view. The stories said that there were four oaks, but time erases all things. It was a miracle that two of the ancient trees still stood.

"You claim that land as your own, do you not?"

"Of course we do. We have lived here from time immemorial."

"You have such short memories for such a long-lived species."

"And you know better?"

He looked out over the water. "A group of Mokano came to Endichi land long before I was born. The King, Oagrabrana, had given the land to the Mokano to sink a few mines. The Endichi had lived in that valley for three hundred years, but had never developed the land. The Endichi found the Mokano as they were prospecting. The Endichi said that this was their land and had been for generations. The Mokano held up their writ from the king and said it was theirs. They are for hours and someone drew an ax. There would have been blood, but an old Endichi walked up between them and asked. ‘if this is your land, where are your stories?’ He led them across the valley and told them if they were to dig, then dig there. They would find Guna, the bad Oag, in a cave buried within.”

“They said he was crazy, but they dug anyways. What hey found was a hidden cave, buried in a landslide. It had been buried for centuries and covered over with soil and trees, but the old man knew just where to look. Inside they found the body of a giant Oag. It was only then that they understood what the old one had said.”

He climbed down the hill and pushed aside a pile of snow and dead leaves. Half-buried in the an alcove was a body. He pointed to the skull. “Can you say this is one of your own Duchess?”

Of course not, the skull was huge, with a thick browline. The bones were long enough, but far too big. “No loremaster, I cannot.”

“I can. This was Jorun, of the Luo. They were an old clan, but no longer walk the earth. Their ancestors mixed with the Yagga clan after they were driven from here. I am Yagga orc, and this was my ancestor.”

“How can you know where to find him?”

He pointed up to the trees. She saw a spike, painted red, was jammed into the trunk of the oak.

“Your people left here hundreds of years ago by your own admission. Oaks only live three hundred years at most and the red paint would have faded long before that.”

He grinned. “You know better than I, your people are the people of wood. But mine are the people of earth, and that is where he is buried. I know all of his stories, including his final one.”

“Are… are you a mage? Did your shamans protect this place?”

His grin widened. “No. Not all of our raids were to plunder your small folk. One of my brothers drove those spikes.” He knelt by the bones and prayed. The Duchess waited, not knowing what to do.

Oan rose. “Look out at the lake. It is the same one that I woke to in Morain and the same one that your people wake to when they go out on the lake and fish. Maybe you see the fisherman plying their trade. Maybe I see the wild rice that the children will stomp on to remove their husks. Jorun sees the place he begged to be brought to when he died. But it is still the same lake.”

“This is why we have fought so hard and so long for this land Duchess. We are giving up our people, our history, our stories. Tell me, how you heard of the Tagi clan?”

“No, I haven’t.”

“Of course not. No one remembers their stories. They lived here too, alongside the Luo and the Yagga. There is no long today where they know the stories. I brought you here because I want you that we don’t give up our claim lightly. Heras Fel is a terrible enemy, one that frightens us enough to give up the bones of our ancestors.”

“I…I think I understand.” She stood there for a moment as Oan looked out at the lake. “Should we return to our companions? The road to Mokata is a long one I am told.”

He turned and walked away. Aria saw him rub at his eye. He made a comment about being tired, but he could not mask the true reason. She saw the dampness on his hand as he walked away.

That night, as they rested on the road, she came to his fire. “Something you said earlier, in the woods. It didn’t make sense to me. You said that we were people of wood, and I understand that, but that you were people of earth. Isn’t it your claim that your people have always lived in the Aiakal and Koani forests? Isn’t your own homeland forested?”

“Living in a forest and people a people of wood is different. The Kayuga live in the mountains, Helisk is in a river valley. There are said to be orcs in the desert south of here. They are all still of the earth, as the elvish nomads of the steppe were of wood. Our species, they are at their core one of the five elements. The dwarfs and orcs were formed from earth, so we are of earth and have an affinity for it. This is why we can draw on the spirits of the earth, even in far away lands where we don’t know the stories. You elves were formed from wood, and have an affinity for it. Humans were formed of water and they live betwixt and between everywhere, always finding a crack to inhabit, just like water. Goblins drift in the wind, as Izkric’s horsegoblins do. This is because they are of the air.”

“Those are four elements and five species. Who makes up the last element? Gnomes? The undead?”

Oan spit. “No. Fire is the fifth element, and they are the antithesis of fire. Fire spreads through the woods, slaying all it touches, but it brings life too. The elk and moose of the mountains, they multiply in the valleys where fire has come. How many seeds rely on the underbrush to be burnt before they will grow? We are all fire, in our turn. When the Mokano came, we were fire, clearing the Endichi and many people whose stories have been forgotten. When you came to the Aiakal, you were fire to us. You burned up away and built Madraga on the ashes. But that is the way of the world. The first age buned away into the second, and the second into the third, and one day, a fire will burn away Oagramakandi, but something new will rise. New life from old. These… things. They bring death, but no life. This is why they must die.”

“The elements, all of them, must word together. Without the wind the trees will not sing. Without water they will not grow. Without earth they cannot root. Without fire, your seeds will not grow. You need us, and all of our races. And we need you. The tree falls and becomes earth, in time. But if dead come, we will all die, and all of our stories will end.”

He picked up another log and tossed it into the fire.
 
Prologue: The Last Will And Testament of Andronis Cinna

The following lesson will be a little difficult for you to accept.

Pride is a universal conceit, and a necessary one. If you had the awareness of a god without a god's power, you would realize the scope of things. You would see thousands of intricate life stories playing out in hearth and castle, thousands of slow tragedies and joyful dances. You would see the untouched glades where no elf has ever tread, and undefiled caverns filled with sparkling gems for which no word exists to describe the color of their inner light. You would see the grand tapestry of civilization and the grander loom of nature upon which it is woven.

And having seen these things, if you have not yet gone mad, you will realize an essential fact: You, as an individual, do not particularly matter.

If you died this instant, your family and friends would grieve and move on, as countless families and friends have done in the past, before dying themselves and passing the mantle of joy and grief to the next generation. Your death has already been priced into the local economy. Industries that profit from your life (such as textiles and agriculture) will take a negligible loss, and industries that profit from your death (such as embalming and litigation) a minor gain.

This is why pride, as I said, is a necessary conceit. Facing the realization that most individuals matter very little at all, we always have the necessary defense, "At least I am necessary to myself." This raw appeal to the necessity of survival FOR the organism itself is why pride exists. And what happens when we replace pride with some other, non-survivalist virtue, like honor or humility? Ah, now that is dangerous. Suicide for a cause is immeasurably easier than suicide for any other reason.

But perhaps you are bored with these philosophical observations, and are occupied enough with your own pride to wonder where we are travelling down this observatory road?

There is an alternative to the bleak path of living as a relatively non-essential cog in a vast and incomprehensible machine. In fact there are multiple alternatives, but we can discount the less attractive ones. The first is suicide, with or without a good reason, which in normal organisms the conceit of pride forbids. The second is hedonism, which is not in fact a true path, but rather the ability to ignore the path entirely and play in the meadow. This may be satisfying for creatures of low intelligence, but for those that seek greater power and awareness, it is not. The third is acceptance, and many wise men have chosen this path. To understand that the world grants limitations and to work within them. To live with understanding, in spite of the crushing absence of individual worth, and hoping in the passage of life to gain worth through experience.

For most individuals, the choice is restricted to these three.

But not all.

The conceit of pride is built around the delusion that you are important. But if it is not a delusion, then your pride is no longer an illusion. I must amend my earlier statement, which was made to convince you of the utility of this fourth path. I said, "Most individuals matter very little at all." Most.

But not all.

The fourth path, the one which you can, which you must, take, is the path to becoming something more. It begins with learning, extending your awareness by simple study of the natural and magical arts. To escape the fate of the machine, you must first understand it. And then, once you understand the machine, you can begin to control it. A king who has vast theoretical power but does not understand his kingdom does not rule his kingdom, rather he is ruled by it. His title belies the fact that he too, is a small part of the machine. Kings, no, kings are replaceable. Perhaps less replaceable than a fishmonger, but still, replaceable.

The path that is available to the few is a path I have hoped throughout my life to open for you. You have now the means to extend your learning and your power as far as your pride will allow. But before I depart, allow me to grant you one last lesson on the nature of pride.

If pride is justified and rooted in strength and understanding, it becomes majesty. If majesty is fortified with time and watered with power, it transforms into divinity.

Young Velkerath, I am not telling you that you must become a god.

I am telling you that you shall.

These, I attest, are the last words of Andronis Cinna. I bequeath all my possessions to my son.
 
Interception

The Winged Eye courier tossed the message bag in his hands nonchalantly into the air as he saw the ship sail into Horanor. It was one of the stranger looking ships, surely. Part of it seemed… living. “Damn Rivetwood elves,” the courier spat out. Their ships had always given him the creeps. Even more so than the undead cult that he kept on hearing about through the networks.

The message arrived by a raven a few days ago. He didn’t know its contents, of course. The sender had requested extreme secrecy. The courier took a step forward as he saw the ship drop anchor.

“Hey,” said a voice behind him. A man with a smile seemingly frozen in his face was grinning at him. He was wearing a thick winter coat that covered his entire body except the head. “Can I have that bag, please?”

The courier grinned right back. The courier had been part of the guild for three years. There was no way in hell that some random robber would take the bag from him. “No way in hell,” he replied. “Get lost.” He opened his coat slightly and showed the sword hidden underneath.

“Oh, but the Lightbringer insists,” the man said, chuckling. The courier glanced down to see that the other man’s dagger was already half-way out of its scabbard.

The Lightbringer? The courier’s head began to swim. Here was a man willing to kill him for the bag in his hand… and what’s more, he was claiming that the Lightbringer himself had sent him.

“Are you insane?” the man said. “There’s no way in hell I am going to believe that lie. Where did you even hear about the Lightbringer?” the courier asked.

“I know a lot of people who know a lot of other people who tells me things, I don’t know why,” the man said, shrugging his shoulders. Courier raised an eyebrow. That was the standard Eye response to being asked questions. The courier noticed that the man did not make any vapor form in the frigid weather as he spoke. “Why don’t you,” the man said. “Just take my bag of money here, tell the folks that you delivered the message, and let me deliver it instead?”

The courier also noticed something on the man’s winter coat. It was the Mark, something that only other Eyes could ever recognize. This meant that the man was either a high-ranking assassin in the Winged Eye guild or, the courier thought with some amount of panic, that he killed an assassin and took his coat.

The courier took one last look at his message bag and cautiously threw it to the man, who threw a thick bag of money back. “Thank you,” the man said.

“Why is the Lightbringer interested in this?” the courier asked. The man shook his head. “You are the one who’s supposed to know things,” he said. The courier sighed and, kicking away a pebble, walked away.

“Good boy,” the man said. He took out a small orb from his pockets and rubbed it three times. A murky cloud formed within the interior of the orb.

“Is it done?” asked a distorted voice from the orb.

“Yes, Lightbringer,” the man replied. “I shall deliver the message in person.”

………………………………………………………………………………………………

“Ah, Captain Steven!” a voice cried out from the docks. The captain peered over the side of the ship to see a man waving at him. “I have a message for you!”

“What is it?” the captain asked. The man threw the message bag at the captain. He tore apart the seals that held the bag together and examined its contents.

“What,” he said.

“Indeed, terrible times all around, sir,” the man said, nodding understandingly. “I have also been contracted to accompany you, sir, as protection. May I come in? This winter cold is not doing any wonders for my skin. My name is Maelon, by the way, sir.”
 
Wotep's trip west was a peaceful one. He had no encounters with any other sentient being the entire time. As he passed through the remnants of forest on the western edge of the Sunleaf woods, he noticed a difference in the odor and disposition of the air. The ground felt different beneath his feet, no roots or rocks protruded from the ground. Truly he was no longer near the Agadans. He traveled west a mile or so more and found a road, heading generally west, and he took it. Faster than he could have anticipated, he was nearing the villages that surround Kertus proper.
Wotep entered a small village that was organically expanding from the road, an asymmetrical mass of houses and buildings that was reminiscent of Tepchu... without a foreboding mountain looming over it. He passed through this place as well, knowing that his true destination was further west, a great mass of pain and fear. He knew his destination in time. As he plodded along, he became more and more aware of a mass on the horizon. Some monolithic structure made by man, not nature, was waiting for him. His goal, Kertus, was in sight.

He walked past farms and farms and farms and pubs and reached a gate. He imagined, for some reason, that the gate would be open during the day. He thought that the city would welcome him, but fear had shut the city, and even during the day one could not freely come and go. He came within a stone's throw of the gate and a few armored men came from a small guard house concealed by hedges on the roadside. Wotep bowed toward the guards and tried to appear as nonthreatening as possible, but one, declaring himself to be 'Seph,' immediately became belligerent,

"Ey, you, shoeless wretch! We don't need no more beggars in this city. You gotta pay to get in. Five crowns, or I'll put you on your ass!"

Wotep had no money, and didn't ride an ass to the gate, so none of this was making sense. Wotep failed to understand the meaning of the threat and explained,

"I don't have an ass, sir. I walked here from Mount Ulesdi, and I've come to-"

"Don't have an ass? Hey boys, he thinks he's better than us. Toll's ten crowns now, you arrogant, houseless animal."

"You are the arrogant one, Seph. You are attempting to frighten a man who only wants to enter the city. I am neither houseless nor a wretch. You should let me pass and all future immigrants pass without belligerence. This is analogous to the Parable of the Wanderer, you see, as-"

"Yes, I'm arrogant, belligerent, whatever. You just come back with my fee and I won't cut you."

Seph drew his blade a little from the scabbard to intimidate the monk. He assumed (incorrectly) that Wotep would humor him, that he would become intimidated and acquiesce to his demands.

Wotep recognized this situation fully now. He realized that this guard would attempt harm on any passerby that did not pay the unjust fee levied by these corrupt guards. He could not accept this. To the Muchit, a fearmonger is quite nearly the worst thing an individual can become.

"Fearmonger. Draw your blade and learn what justice is bringing for the wicked. I will purge pain and her family from this road. You will appreciate what you have wrought here with your vileness. You have hammered on the sensibilities of the wanderers for too long. You stand against divine wrath only to fall again like chaff trying to stand against the storm. You have sown fear and pain, and I will reap the unwholesome fruit and feed it to you."
The sermon would have gone on longer, but Seph was insulted by this beggar, and wasn't in the mood for any more discussion. All he knew was that the beggar invited the blade, and he was going to skewer him on it. Seph jabbed his sword toward the belly of the monk, aiming to cause as much pain as possible. He wanted to prolong the suffering of the wretch for as long as he could. Wotep grabbed the blade with his thumb and forefinger and wrenched it from Seph's hands. Seph grabbed for a dagger oh the other hip, but Wotep deftly stepped toward him and jabbed once with his right hand into Seph's ribs. A sickening crack and a gurgling sound from Seph's chest cavity indicated that Wotep's aim was true. But he was not done with the fearmonger yet. While he writhed on the ground in pain, Wotep warned the other guards,

"Make haste from here, or you will each suffer as your master did."
The cronies did indeed make haste toward the city. Wotep moved toward Seph, who was beginning to understand pain like Wotep intended. Wotep crouched over him and systematically broke all of the bones in his feet and legs. Seph's screaming was probably audible from the other side of the walls of Kertus. Wotep asked him,

"Do you understand yet? Do you know why it is wrong? You have caused this much pain and more, stealing from the poor and weary. You may one day understand why this lesson is good for you, Seph. You may one day appreciate the good I did. But for now, instead of your gratitude, I will accept your hatred. For the hatred of the fearmonger is like honey to me, and the lashes of his whips do not disturb my peace. I am whole without his mistress and her family. You were darkness. While you heal, meditate on that."

Wotep turned toward the gate and realized that a dozen or so men with swords were waiting on him. One, presumably a leader of some sort, approached him and demanded he surrender himself into the custody of the Kertus city guards,

"Beggar, you're going to prison. The punishers have special methods for twisted monsters like you."
Wotep saw this as an opportunity to get into the city without breaking anyone else's bones, and walked toward the group. They slapped manacles on his hands and feet and forced him into a small cell inside the wall of the city. There, he waited.
 
A Geezer Talks about the Towns of Greater Ainbridge

So you want to make a name for yourself, boy? Coming to an old, dying man for his money to lend huh? Well, I knew you since you were born, and I liked you for your character. I’ll be honest in saying that you are the most adventurous young sprite I’ve seen since the Elves of the Deharskana Klan danced through here on their spring rituals, many decades ago. However, I want you to listen to this old man for a minute before he dies, and hear of the world outside of the Trubat.

If you are just trying to get a good deal, something cheap, and are not leery of going on the other side (er… “wrong”side) of the law, I would suggest you to go to Kertus and buy your wares there, and sell it at Egholme or in Halde, and bring some of those exotic Hanjj wares back to trade. I would suggest you to stay away from their Bank, for owing someone you don’t trust your future is the same as owing someone you hate your life, but the life of a Smuggler is one of danger and riches. Finally, I would suggest that you be friendly with any and all local guides, because their arms are much longer than you can dream to imagine.

However, if you want to see the world as an honest merchant, I would suggest you start with the local trade between Rivetwood, Ainbridge Isles and Greater Ainbridge. Maybe you can gain the trust of the Delegation and become a Captain of the Living Fleet, maybe you can gain the trust of the Merchant Princes and become a Count of the Waves. No matter what, staying local will keep you close to your true heart and values I see in you.

What? You don’t know much outside of Serat? Well, I guess I’ll tell you what I know. Yes, not all those stories I told by the fireside is true, but what is true is that in my youth, I was quite a swashbuckling saleman myself.

Well, I guess I’ll start with the human towns near here. Half-elven and elven towns are more… mysterious I shall say. Of course you know of Trubat, the “Far Port” of Ainbridge. It’s the farthest south and east you can go while completely safe from the capricious woods and the Pirates of the Anokan Sea. Not much to say about our humble little down, except that those writhing moss-like logs you see floating down the creek sometimes? Those are some of, well, somekind of spirits that the elves capture in trees for us. Most of them go to Aspenarches where, eventually, Living Ships come out of the Secret Harbor.

As for Serat, the “Near Port”, it’s close enough to Rivetwood that you can always see in the distance white or green sails against the horizon, and a cone of smoke. Serat is the main source of “Normal Ships”, reliable things, but they require constant repair. It’s a much larger town than Trubat and is considered the starting point for tourism upon Greater Ainbridge. To it’s east are thickening woods, while to the west the land opens up to various county villas and fiefs.

Now, onto the towns of our strange friends. The largest town is also distinctly Half-elven; Aspenarches in the center of the settled lands. It is here that living ships are made and The Living Fleet docks for maintenance by their druids. It is also the main port of trade for the Wood Elves who still prefer to hide in the Andelian forests. It is here that their great Andelian Cordial is sold and exported. Aspenarches is the only town that foreign trade ships would frequent for goods directly, instead of buying from Rivetwood.

Finally, the only open Elven “city” is Telituvieka, or “Rejuvination”. Nestled between Aspenarches and Trubat, it merges seamlessly into the forest, so that it is a truly a living city. As one of their three mythical centers of spirituality, Telituvieka is known to hold the “Spring of Youth”. You might call it scam, boy, but I bathed in there when I was twenty three after paying fifteen pieces of gold, and I’m still here in my fifties! What? There are a lot of people who are fifty? Bah! Sons of elves all of them! I bet most of them bathed there too! Now look at uncle Danihel, he didn’t bathe and look at the wreck he is at forty-three, that pot belly and everything…

​
 
The First Guard was met by one of the Legions of the Oagramakandi to be an escort and guide to the northern region. It had taken all of Duchess Aria and Loremaster Oan’s skills to keep the peace the past couple of days. Aria thought to herself how close she was to failing her mission miserably when she had tried to discuss the new alliance with the Legion’s commander. Aria decided to call him Pompous. Loremaster Oan had laughed when he heard that one.

Aria kept a wary eye to the north at all times because the Orc Legion was in the vanguard position to prepare the rural orcs that we were coming and they we were not invading. Seemed they didn’t believe them. Almost every farm and building the First Guard passed had been abandoned. The only orcish peasant she had encountered thus far was some crotchety old timer who refused to leave his hovel. He had come out in front of it though and produced quite the repertoire of insults. Some of which Aria had filed away for use herself. She was particularly enchanted with “Child Eating Whore of Madraga.” She could easily substitute any nation or race into that one.

Aria looked over the five very well armed and deadly Silver Guard surrounding her. They wore the finest Hirati armor and carried the finest Hirati weapons. Well for that matter she did now as well. She pinched a bit of the perfectly made chainmail that now covered her torso between her fingers. It still was odd to wear this even after the last three days. And to Aria’s surprise Captain Garit had given her a whole set of perfectly made Hirati throwing knives along with the chainmail and told her in his surprising deep voice “We have plenty of them so use them freely if you need to.”

The sun had begun to turn the sky red as it fell beyond the mountains. Darkness was creeping upon the marching soldiers and yet they knew they would continue on until dark since both races eyes could handle the darkness well enough to setup camp after darkness was fully set in. However they stopped suddenly as they came to a village surrounded by orc villagers and farmers crowded around a hastily and poorly built wooden defensive wall with a trench. The blare of a call for a halt order rang out as the Madragan contingent caught up to the orc Legion. General Yenis smartly decided to call a halt as soon as the messenger from Pompous had reached him. Aria thought the orc officer’s name was Blare, but his accent was atrocious and so she stuck to calling him Pompous to herself.

Aria sensed the now surprising familiar presence of Loremaster Oan approached her from the left. She looked over at him and nodded a greeting and noting he had his full five personal guards with him. As well as Runty. Gods did she want to kill that obnoxious relg (1).

“Duchess I do believe the rumors of you invasion have finally reached a potential problem.” Loremaster Oan said in the business like tone he adopted whenever they were around others.

“Yes it would seem so, do you think we need to go and aid your officer in convincing the peasants otherwise?” Aria asked in the same monotone as Oan.

“Cannot hurt, but I would suggest you bring all of your Silver Guard just in case.”

The seventeen rode forth to the front of the Legion and easily found the dispute raging between an older orc whom Aria could only assume was a village leader or elder and Pompous himself.

“I tell you once more you thickheaded old bastard that the Madragan, as much to my surprise as yours are not invading! They will not steal your.” Pompous was shouting at the old one who started to shout above him. Aria was impressed with his lungs.

“They come to kill us and steal our food and enslave our children! I tell you we will take as many with them as we can you traitor!” Shouted back the old one.

“I am not a traitor you blustering idiot!” Pompous reared his fist back, but before he could strike Aria laid a gentle hand on his shoulder. Pompous had been so enraged he didn’t even notice their approach.
“Calmly, officer, calmly.” Aria intoned. She looked passed Pompous once he calmed enough to realize the diplomats had finally arrived and he could honorably leave before he killed the old one in anger and saw the look on the old one’s face, it was a mixture of the desire she produced in most people simply by being present and the belief all his fears were confirmed. The elves really had gained orc conspirators and were going to kill them all.

Aria dismounted and walked towards the little delegation from the village. No one spoke she doubted any of them realized even now that they gripped their weapons tighter as she calmly and slowly walked towards them, Even with the Loremaster beside her not one of the orcs noticed him, they had eyes of fear and desire warring with themselves at her approach.

“Now gentle people,” Aria began stressing ever so slightly on the word gentle, “why are you impeding our march to the front to defend all our homes?”

A young orc, stepped forward. He was obviously some kind of hunter and just as obviously hot tempered. “Lies! You elves do nothing but try to steal our land and kill us!”

Aria stopped her approach and looked at the young orc and smiled brightly. It hurt her to act cheerful towards this idiot, well for that matter to all the orcs when the truth was she would rather do just what he accused her of wanting to do. “I am Duchess Aria Mithra here as the appointed King’s Speaker for our mission to Oagramakandi in defense of all our lands from the Necromantic Cult.” She paused hoping they were paying at least a little attention.

Apparently the hotheaded hunter wasn’t “I will not let your kind pass unharmed!” he shook the crude sword in his right hand threateningly. A few of the Silver Guards twitched aching to draw their weapons but remembered their instructions to not threaten unless the peasants actually attack her.

“Firstly,” Aria lifted a finger “do you think there is anything here Madraga wants?” The small group watched her intently all of a sudden. “Secondly,” Aria lifted another finger “if we did do you think you could cause any real harm to us at this moment? Thirdly,” Aria lifted another finger. “if your monarch commanded you do something would you do it?” The small crowd nodded, but still clutched their weapons tightly. “Then I entreat you to listen to one of your Loremasters.” She motioned with her hand towards Oan. The villagers jumped a bit startled to see a Loremaster here. They reflexively showed their respect to him.

Aria tuned out the epic tale the Loremaster began to weave to the rabble. Seriously, she thought what was the point? Stories had little value unless your intent was simply to manipulate others. Well that did have value since many were easily swayed by pretty stories, poems, and songs. Aria thought of music, she played many instruments but had always been told her voice was the best one. She did enjoy singing; in fact it was one of the few things she did enjoy for no apparent reason. Probably from when she was younger and undamaged.

She sat there unmoving and patient while the Loremaster spoke of a hero named Ung or Yung, Aria really did not understand the orc speak all that well. Finally it seemed he was done and the villagers had all show respect and begun to move aside when Aria heard a derisive snort from behind her and the Silver Guard. She turned to see Runty there making rude gestures at her. Aria smiled and simply crooked a finger at him inviting him to strike at her. Runty whispered another curse in her direction and headed back to the orc Legion.

“Well they say they will let us pass but expect us to leave them and their land unharmed.” Loremaster Oan told Aria. Aria simply nodded and then spun Farinath and began to head back to the Madragan First Guard.

“Milady,” Aria motioned for General Yenis to continue, “has it been resolved?”

“Yes, they will let us pass without making us have to clean our weapons.” General Yenis nodded and began to issue commands to the various runners and officers that always surrounded him. Aria sat there and watched them ride off in various directions while her much smaller party simply mounted up and prepared to ride forth once more. Captain Garit barked a few orders to the Silver Guard and Aria realized they must have picked up another unit of ten Silver Guards because she did not recognize all of them. Captain Garit must have requested another unit to allow his to get regular rest cycles instead of the unusual two units of five setup he had been running.

“Captain a question.” Captain Garit rode over to Aria.

“Yes Duchess?”

“Where did we gain these fellows? I do not recall them being in your unit.”

Captain Garit coughed for a moment while he decided how to answer her. “They were waiting for us with the First Guard. As you know we operate in units of ten.” Aria nodded. “Then you must realize that there need to be at least two units of Silver Guards so that we can operate as we are intended to, otherwise we cannot get the full rest we need and be the full unit of ten at all times.” Aria nodded again and could see he was not finished so waited as he continued. “Well usually we are assigned two teams per family member, excepting the Monarch who is assigned four teams.”

“But I am not in the royal family,” Aria paused. “Well the royal family proper I mean all nobility in Madraga is to some degree connected to the royals and I am the fourth in line, but I assumed one team of Silver Guard was boon enough I did not imagine getting a second.”

“Milady the Silver Guard will not operate simply at sufficiency, we will operate perfectly.”

Aria nodded approval at the tone of pride Captain Garit delivered the statement in. “Well shall I meet the commander of this unit who will hold my life in his hands.” Captain Garit nodded and yelled for him to approach. The new officer could not possibly be older than seventy years, he had a rather handsome face and would have made a fun diversion if circumstances were different.

“This milady is Captain Minor Dayl.” Captain Minor saluted Aria and recited the oath of the Silver Guard to a charge.

“We are your shield, we are your guard, no harm will fall upon you while we are yet alive. We live to preserve you and your life. We will not betray your trust in anyway so long as we live.” Captain Minor Dayl had a pleasant baritone voice.

“Well then I trust I will be safe in this most tedious mission we are undertaking in the King’s name.” Both men responded affirmatively with utter confidence and sincerity. “Then let us be underway the army has begun to move. We have ungrateful orcs to save.”

For the rest of the march that day Aria pondered what it meant to be given not just a unit of the Silver Guard, but a full compliment. She decided that the King, despite his decisiveness in making the choice to aid the Oagramakandi, must have serious reservations about this course of action.

1 – A relg is a small rodent like creature that lives in sewers and filth and is in Madraga universally believed to be the ugliest animal in the Kingdom.
 
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