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Siege of Ardei
Part 1\6
During the time of the Kostuan Empire, Ardei was a small border outpost. This continued until merchants and artisans sent here from the central regions of the Empire found out that the area around the city was simply teeming with flora and fauna ideally suited for the production of dyes. The army, and artisans, and aristocrats needed them. In general, a useful product that would emphasize the wealth and greatness of the Empire. And a small outpost began to turn into a rich and prosperous city full of manufactories.
Being too far from the metropolis, the city could not count on the support of the Empire during the collapse, and Ardei’s Aristocracy understood this. Having huge financial resources, the city was not only able to support the existing garrison, but also to hire numerous mercenary units to protect the city.
However, having lost its main buyer, the city could no longer hope for its former greatness and prosperity. The quality of life continued to deteriorate and often led to uprisings, which the city rulers suppressed with particular cruelty, cracking down on the relatives of the rebels. Many areas of the city turned into slums, crime reigned everywhere, and the aristocracy fearing for their power decided to take extreme measures: to use mercenaries as raiders, so that they attacked nearby small settlements and robbed them, which made it possible to somewhat alleviate the situation.
Many generations later, when new states began to flourish on Sokos, Ardei, returning to their origins, again began to export their dyes or to provide small units of their mercenaries to other lords. Gradually, the city began to rebuild after troubled times. Of course, no one could even dream of imperial times, and many still treat Ardei as a city of raiders, but the city avoided falling into anarchy and destruction from the inside, and eventually became a small but worthy trading city.
Like a gem, so enticing to the slowly approaching Giperborean armies...
Siege of Ardei
Part 2\6
Ensuring the rapid and large-scale movement of troops in your state is not the same as defending the state. Fortunately, as military science dictates, even a small number of well-fortified fortresses are enough to protect a large nearby territory and its roads from enemy invasions or be a starting point for future conquests and army lodging.
For a young and rapidly developing country like Giperborea, the city of Ardei was an ideal candidate to become such a fortress: you do not need to spend resources, clear the terrain, drive roads and, most importantly, do not waste time. It is only necessary to come and take this tidbit ... True, there was a small snag in this seemingly wonderful plan: the fortress was inhabited and had a good garrison. Gorislav, although sometimes might have called him too idealistic, still faintly hoped that the city would surrender without a fight. At least it will be a good training of troops and their interaction. Therefore, for several days he had been developing a siege plan together with the Council of Princes, while armies slowly surrounded the city from the east.
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The meeting took place in the main hall of the Gorislav’s Palace in Solntsegrad. Truly, a hall worthy of the Tzar. The high ceiling, supported by carved columns, was artfully painted with religious scenes telling about the life of the gods and the creation of the world. The walls were decorated with bas-reliefs telling about earthly existence: the history of the people and the state, the great battles, heroes and disasters.
On a large and long table, at which the tsar and princes feasted recently (it was necessary to celebrate the meeting), maps of the city, its environs and figures depicting the troops and their governor were laid out.
“First of all,” - the Tzar began, - “you must make it clear: we must not plunder and burn the city, we must capture it, causing as little damage to the walls and infrastructure as possible. This fortress will be our defense and stronghold in the region. Now, Luchezar..." - the prince stood up, just beaming smugness - "Tell me, what did you learn about the defense of the city?"
The prince leaned over the map with a smile on his face and began to move his finger on it, which showed a ring with a large gem - “So, as you can see, the city is surrounded by a ring of high walls with observation towers, but they don’t have a lot of defensive artillery, mostly cannons and mortars of medium size, so that they will not cause very big problems. The garrison itself consists of about twelve thousand people. Most of them are city guards and local mercenaries, who can hardly be called real warriors. But there are several elite guard regiments of the city lords, as well as a couple of detachments of well-armed foreign mercenaries. And my scouts did not notice a single battle mage, except for market artists. In general, nothing special."
"Never underestimate your enemies, Luchezar, it can cost you your life," objected Ratibor, looking at the maps melancholy. - "Or should I remind you of THAT case?"
Luchezar's right eye twitched slightly - "Please. Don't."
The sun had already begun to go below the horizon, and the meeting was just beginning.
Siege of Ardei
Part 3\6
"Please, let's leave the affairs of the past for another time and focus on the urgent matters" - intervened Gorislav.
Luchezar cleared his throat and, as it were, continued to quickly move his finger on the map, noting important points: "The city is on the river. Of course, there can be no talk of any military fleet, only fishing boats and rare caravans of merchants coming from the south. Along rivers also have rare observation posts. The river gates to the city do not have any specialized protection, except for a pair of wall towers. And the walls, although old, are still quite strong. It will take a lot of time and effort to break through them... Firearms observed only in the personal guards of overlords and foreign mercenaries. The rest of their arsenal of ranged weapons is bows and crossbows. Around the city there are many small peasant farms that supply the city with provisions and materials for manufactories. It follows that the city has enough supplies to withstand a prolonged siege. However, the locals do not particularly like their government and are unlikely to be very eager to defend them if we promise not to slaughter the entire population of the city. And… Will we?"
“We will try, at least,” Gorislav shrugged.
“Well, that's all I managed to find out.” - summed up Luchezar.
The Tzar silently ran his eyes over the cards, and the princes watched in the same silence, not daring to interrupt his thoughts. A few minutes later he abruptly got up from the table: “Prepare your armies and advance them to the city, my friends. I know how this city will fall.”
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Meanwhile, the ruling aristocracy of the city of Ardei was doing what it did best - indulging in hedonism. A large amount of wine, delicious dishes and whores - what else is needed for a happy and carefree life?
But today, another feast was interrupted by a breathless messenger who burst into the hall.
Lord Maramin reluctantly distracted from the girl, who is perhaps too young for such job: "What happened? How dare you, valetry, interrupt our meeting?!"
"My lords..." - the young scout tried to regain his breath - "Hordes of barbarians from the east are approaching the city!"
"And for the sake of this you interrupted us?" - Lord Bernickt was indignant - "A bunch of dirty barbarians do not pose a danger to our glorious city."
"Yes!" - Lord Abremar supported him. - “Are we in vain paying these mercenaries and guards? Send them to kill this bunch of raggers!”
“But lords,” - the scout tried to object, - “There are thousands of them! These are not just nomad robbers, this is a huge army full of heavy armor, even with artillery and magicians, and by dawn they will be at our walls!”
"Are you crazy or drunk?" - shouted Abremar - "This simply cannot be!"
“I haven’t seen this alone: many scouts are returning with similar reports!”
"Fine!" - obese Lord Maramin hardly got up from the couch - "Lead us to the head of the guard, let's see what he says."
At headquarters of the chief of the guard, real bedlam was happening. The messengers scurried here and there with reports from survey points, warehouses with provisions and weapons, and barracks. Here was also the head of the squad of mercenaries stationed in the city - Zakir. He, as well as all the guards present, bowed low to the Lords who entered the room.
"Someone, explain to me at last what is happening!" - Lord Bernickt hardly restrained emotions.
“I think you've already heard of the approaching army of barbarians,” reported the head of the guard, Casolas. - "Although, an army with such equipment can hardly be called ordinary barbarians. This is if the reports of these mediocrity are true..."
"Do we have anything to fear?" - asked Abremar.
"Not at all. Even if the savages managed to get a little more iron than usual, and stole a couple of guns somewhere, nothing threatens the city." - the words of the chief of the guard comforted the worried Lords, and only Zakir stood silently in the corner, considering options for the outcome of the events.
Siege of Ardei
Part 4\6
In the early morning, even before sunrise, the peasants from the farms surrounding the city were awakened not by the cry of a rooster, as usual, but by the roar of the rushing cavalry. Many small units of light Giperborean horsemen whirled through the territory surrounding the city, ruining and burning farms, aging, nevertheless, not to kill too many peasants. This was not always possible, but at least they tried. The sounds of screams and pillars of smoke from the conflagration had a corresponding effect - huge masses of peasants rushed into the city under the protection of the fortress walls. Confusion, crowd crush, panic. The guards unsuccessfully tried to restrain the flow of refugees, soon closing the city gates tightly. Only when almost all the farms were empty or burned, the Ardei cavalry was expelled, but the invaders disappeared as quickly as they appeared. The horsemen chasing after them all from Ardei soon saw the true scale of the disaster.
From the east, along with the rising sun, from behind the hill came the multi-thousand army of the Giperborean Tzardom. Hundreds of richly decorated banners with symbols of gods, principalities, and the kingdom itself fluttered in the wind, and the sun sparkled on the armor and weapons of warriors. Even at great distances, loud war chants, drums and army horns were heard. Gorislav decided not to trifle and immediately demonstrate the full power of his armies. Well, almost full. Even with bravado, you need to keep a pair of aces up your sleeve.
The city urgently began to prepare for a siege. Soldiers with crossbows and muskets lined up on the walls, guns were hastily prepared. From the balcony of their palace, the lords of the city in a daze, examined the approaching army. Never before had they encountered anything like this. Casolas and Zakir were busy distributing soldiers on the walls and predicting the course of the battle. They understood that they were inferior in number to the enemy army, but they also knew that during a siege the attacker suffers much more losses than the defender. Besides, who knows, what if they’re just plain-dressed barbarians who scatter after a few cannon fires?
The biggest problem at the moment was the placement of peasants from the suburbs. The city infrastructure was not designed for such a number of refugees, and numerous guards were involved in this, which were much more needed now on the walls.
--------------
Having built artillery on the hill and bringing the armies closer to the city, an equestrian messenger, sent by Gorislav, rode out of the total number of soldiers, carrying the flag of the kingdom. Although he studied this speech all night, pronunciation in an unfamiliar language was difficult for him and had a strong accent. He had never been so nervous in his life, but a sense of responsibility crushed fear.
"Take heed! The Great Tzar of Giperborea - Gorislav the Red Sun wishes this city to his Tzardom! Surrender to our grace and save your lives. The king swears not to harm those who voluntarily surrender. Those of you who raise their swords on our warriors will fall from swords! You don’t survive in this battle, there’s no reason to die in a meaningless slaughter! Let the lords of your city bow to the great King and not a single drop of blood will be shed today. Refuse and entire rivers of blood will wash your streets. You have exactly one hour to give your answer." - Having finished the speech, the messenger turned around and returned to the Tsar.
“Great Tzar, I hope I have not failed you” - he said after the bow.
Gorislav smiled lightly: "You coped with the speech perfectly, don’t worry, Zvonimir. Now show yourself in battle!"
"As you please, great Tzar!" - A wide smile lit up the face of the messenger.
--------------
Of course, Lords of Ardei could not even think of surrender.
"Surrender? Get out and bow? To these filthy barbarians?" - Lord Bernick was so reddened with anger that he looked more like a tomato now.
"Never! No way!" - Lord Abremar punched the railing of the balcony.
"Servant!" - Lord Maramin called for a nearby servant and grabbed him by the collar - "Go to Casolas and tell him not to dare to think about such things! Let him stand to his death with his warriors! And to these mercenaries promise us unprecedented rewards if they do not escape!" - the young servant could only bow and rush off to the walls.
"We will stand. We will not give up. There have been times and worse. These barbarians will regret that they dared to encroach on OUR city!"
-------------
Casolas dismissed the servant of the Lords, not even becoming to listen to him. He already knew what they would say. Although he did not want to die for the power of the Lords, he also did not trust the barbarians. Just lay down your arms and no one will die? What nonsense! Barbarians never act like that. Rather, they will slaughter the entire population and put the city on fire if we open the gates. No, he could not take such a risk.
He went to the gunner, who had just finished loading his weapon: "I don’t know their language and I won’t speak my language with them, so send them the answer that even the animal will understand."
"Yes, captain!" - with these words, he aimed his cannon at the enemy army and fired. Although the artillery preparation was not a strong point of the Ardei defenders, the shot fell right next to the Gipeborean lines.
"What was to be expected" - Gorislav let out a heavy sigh - "May the gods be my witnesses - I tried... So be it. Blow the offensive!"
With the sound of dozens of guns, cannons and mortars, with the roar of the charge of thousands warriors and the sounds of many war horns, the first day of the siege of Ardei began.
Tapestry of Faded Memories
Following the death of Emperor Tenzen IV Kiro-Callisto
Lord Marillon Urza’s lips were dry as opposed to the drunken rabble of noble birth that surrounded him. The banquet were the finishing torment of yet another day of headless debates in the Imperial Diet. Concubines dressed in clothes that revealed more than they hid danced upon the tables. Some noble had even joined them. Wine and Brivari flowed freely in generous amounts yet Marillon’s mind was besieged by dark clouds.
About one year ago emissaries of the Royal Court had approached him as one of his daughters had been scouted as a prospecting Royal Consort. At first he had been ecstatic. A direct link to the emperor was a great honor and point of prestige. It would have propelled his position within the Game to new heights He had been so eager. The matter had gone through without question but now he stood crestfallen. Something was amiss and he could no longer reach his daughter. The court would refuse him access, he were not allowed to see her, too occupied with the emperor they said. And who were Marillo to question the emperor? No letters were their only means of communication and once Marillo got a return letter that had been oblivious to points which only his daughter would be familiar with, Marillon knew that not even the letters were real.
The brashness of the act had forced Marillon to the capital. His wives and eldest sons now ran the household while he loitered with the Diet. Every attempt to face the Royal Court had been shut down and the Emperor’s lakey’s had made it clear to him that a considerable amount of bad fortune could befall him if he didn’t wait until his daughter was ready to see him. As if she were simply too preoccupied with serving the imperial wand to have time for him.
Deciding that the hours was fashionably late enough for him to retire without losing face he hardly noticed that a man clad in the Royal livery had appeared beside him.
“I represent the Brotherhood of Chamberlains of the Royal Houses.” said the newcomer which caused Marillon to shudder in surprise.
“Gods! What a fool are you?” he hissed in anger before trying to rein in his emotions.
“As I said, I represent the Brotherhood of Chamberlains.” the man repeated stoically.
“I heard you the first time.” Marillon wanted to bite the man’s head off but as soon as the man’s identity sunk in a small glimmer of hope fluttered in his chest. “Is this about my daughter?” he asked with ill hidden trepidation.
“What would be the case.” answered the chamberlain. His eyes looking straight ahead into nothing and not facing the noble.
“The speak, man! Don’t just stand there. The Emperor is dead, hallowed be his spirit, but what about my daughter?”
“A most respectable suitor is requesting your daughter’s hand in marriage, m’lord.”
Dumbstruck Marillon stared as if the chamberlain had suddenly grown a second head. He fought the urge to scream at the man till he cowered within his boots but such a scene wouldn’t do.
“What are you talking about? Is this some new way of tormenting me?”
“Not at all, m’lord. With the late emperor departed your daughter is no longer a Royal Consort and a most noble lord have decided to wish her for his wife. A great honor, m’lord”
“Who, damn you?”
“His majesty duke Anwer Kiro-Rivinii.”
Marillon’s eyes squinted. Slowly he look around himself but saw only debauchery. Kostuan high culture at its finest. Anwer were the prime candidate for the throne. The Diet argued and debated but for most it were already a forgone conclusion.
“His majesty you say?” Marillon asked. “My daughter? A royal wife?”
“An imperial wife, possibly, the Duke’s star is in ascendance or so it seems, m’lord.”
“But can I see her?”
“I’m afraid not, m’lord. This offer, which is the greatest honor upon your House, is specifically for you to stop trying to meet your daughter.”
“Damn you,” hissed Marillon through gritted teeth. “You rotten cry of curs!”
He leaned in on the chamberlain, howering over his shoulder and breathing heavily in the man’s ear. “Why? Gods, why are you keeping me from my daughter?”
“That I’m not at liberty to say, I’m afraid, m’lord.”
“But were it that I could I would take my liberties with you! Now… is she alive? Does my daughter live? Can you tell me as much?”
“That she does, m’lord. Alive and with the most honorable suitour in all the realm. Think of the prestige, m’lord.”
“And if I deny the duke his marriage? What then?”
For the first time since he had appeared the man looked Marillon in the eyes as he spoke with an even tone. “The titles of the late House Maray now resides with the prominent House Vallko. Your former wards. I’m sure they would have a great interest in hearing the specifics of the Maray downfall.”
It wasn’t apparent at first. Rage and anger boiled within Marillon but then the color slowly drained from his face as the words sunk in. He lowered his head in defeat and shame. His hands closed in tight fists. “You’re duke will have my daughter’s hand.”
The Imperial Villa. The Auwruosan Gardens
The two Eberix bastards Lucia and Markus had come together for the evening supper. A handful of higher servants shared their table and talked about the latest news and whispers among the common people. Such a scene would never had happened at their father’s house but their late godfather had encouraged it. Told them that it could be a great strength.
Once supper ended and the servants took care of removing the tables there were a disturbance. The door to the dining hall flew up and revealed a masked shape in black and gray. “Out! Begone with you!” shouted Lognerskea with a dog like growl towards the servants that instantly turned and fled.
“We need to get you out of here.” Logneska stated with a tone that left no room for argument walking up to the two siblings. “We ride for Lunamchario tonight. You should be safe there.”
“Lognerksa, what are you talking about? We can’t leave, the funeral pyre is just days away.” Lucia stammered, her brow folded deep with concern.
“That’s exactly why we need to get you two out of here!” Lognerska snarled. “Your protection goes with that pyre. Long before I’d imagine even.”
“We’re the emperor’s wards...” Markus spouted.
“The emperor is dead and a new one is on his way. Do you know what Kostuans do when a new emperor is crowned? They make away with any old royalists that can’t prove their new loyalties and you two are but a dirty pair of bastards that will follow with the spring cleaning whether you want it or not!”
“Tenzen...”
“Tenzen is dead! A corps! Dead men grants no protection!” Lognerkska’s voice nearly broke. “Tenzen’s memory will soon mean little. Only the lunites will see any point in honoring his memory and that’s why we need to go for Lunamchario. You can seek refuge there. Join the coven. With some luck no one should bother killing you there.”
“Why would...”
“Because you’re two filthy elven bastards! You are not people to them you’re an exotic dirt stain! Halflings don’t live long and you have been protected your whole lives by incredibly powerful men and they are now all gone! Only the loss of face remains! This is not an argument. You two are coming with me!”
Bastro, Dhorvas, The Blacklight Empire, Serennia, and 2 othersKragswen, and Anetheas
Post by Leedle-leedle-lee suppressed by Kostua sol.
Die.
Mountains in Spring
Chapter One
Trees and flowers were in bloom across the gardens of Esicaris with the final days of Spring, and though there was a mountain breeze, the day remained warm and bright with the sun high overhead and colorful streamers and banners hung around the streets for the festival to herald the beginning of Summer and the royal marriage between the crown prince Darien and the lady Lilith Lamara. Though to the common folk it was a novelty, the nobles and the court were more intrigued with the event. The Lamaras were hardly a well known family, the patriarch of the house Leothin being a higher end mid level mage of the Den Sorsara, and yet it was seen fit that his daughter would marry royalty. Rumors in the weeks prior to the wedding and the festival were rampant.
But what most truly caught the eyes of the elven nobles in Esicaris was the presence of humans from Vasarskaya in the north, guests at the behest of her royal highness Remora who was now some months past giving birth to her own triplet children Princes Remus, Adrian, and the Princess Anita, fathered by the human Prince Alexi. To many conservate forces in the court of the Marches, the idea of polluting the royal line of the Elves was a terrible affront to common decency and the preservation of tradition. But such discussions were kept private from the ears of the Aran, and all eyes regardless of their feelings were turned to the temple…
Remora breathed in deeply the smell of the blooming gardens around the temple as she and her husband Alexi sat on a stone bench looking over the river that ran through the city to the lake northward to see a busy street that ran along the bank. It was full of people and vendor’s stalls, handing out small trinkets and treats.
“It feels like it has been forever since I’ve been home,” Remora said as she smiled and looked down to her son Remus in her arms, wrapped up in a soft blanket and sleepily sucking on his thumb. “I never expected to get married before my brother, but I’m so happy for him and Lilith. I’m sure he’d love to meet his nephews and niece at the Ball later.”
She thought for a moment and turned to Alexi.
“I was actually surprised Anastasia agreed to come, but happy. She has been far too stressed for her own good.”
Alexi was lost in thought for a moment then turned and smiled and spoke in his heavy accent “Sister would never miss the chance to see her nephews and nieces.” He stroked his red beard which had grown significantly since he arrived in Esicaris. “I am worried for her,my home is in shambles and it’s pride trampled upon, mine are a proud and honorable people who won’t stand for a leader who allowed that to happen.”
He looked to Remus with his smile returning “The boy will be a warrior like his father, The White Lion of the North!” He said laughing
Remora chuckled in return and gently caressed her son’s hand with her finger. “I’m sure Adrian would have something to say about that. All three of them are so strong.” But her smile quickly turned to a frown. “How likely do you think it will be for the lords to try and dethrone your sister? I’ve heard whispers from my sister, and she says the dissent has grown deeper than grumblings.”
He tightened his fist “It will not just be the lords,the people grow restless,Distikian knights and priests seek to grow their influence, the influence of Artyanism and Distikia itself.” He sighed “I fear my home may soon tear itself apart and it’s fields of white snow will run red with the blood of its sons.”
He stood looking out to the river “This ball will not just be a show for your people but also a game of chess for the powers at play in mine, I cannot let my people fall my môya”
“I know my Atar,” she said. “I just hope whatever does happen I don’t lose you or that the Vasars suffer longer. How soon until your sister arrived again?”
“Two days I believe,she is accompanied by all the princes and generals of the Vasars. Perhaps Ulfric and his ilk will show their hand but I myself will make sure to play nice.” He said smirking “Wouldn’t want the boy to know his father isn’t as cool headed as all the stories say.”
“Which stories would that be,” Remora laughed.
“The ones I will tell him when he needs to hear them.” He chuckled and sighed. “Great changes are ahead and I know that our children are destined to drive them.”
“Only time will tell,” she said standing. “But I suppose that’s enough fresh air. I’m sure we’ll be expected back for the rehearsal.”
“Wait there are rehearsals, elven weddings are strange indeed.” He said, turning quickly to stand beside her and smiling.
Remora chuckled. “They’re hardly different from human weddings my dear. Besides, it’s a royal one since, you know, my brother is the crown prince and all. The nobles here will be expecting some level of formality and compliance with tradition.”
He took her hand with a chuckle. “They will be shocked at how my people celebrate weddings. I don’t think I saw a single man without a drink or a woman at my cousins wedding.”
“Trust me there will be no lack of drinks at the Ball. The ceremony here in the next couple days is just a formality. I’m sure your countrymen will enjoy our parties well enough. Food, drink, music.”
“Let’s just hope your lord and mine can not argue over “purity”.” He said as he began to walk with her.
“My father’s far from being like some others here. He’s… more than understanding.”
One month earlier
Anastasia sat in her throne room,her eyes darkened and sunken in. She looked to the invitation that had been sent to her along with word that her nephews and niece had been born.
“I guess brother is living the life in the south,while I sit surrounded by a royal prison.”
She sighed as the princes entered,Ulfric led the pack followed by Darius and Dagon.
“Gudbrand you are a fool if you think anything can be achieved by harassing the Distikan Priests and knights that come to our lands!” Dagon shouted.
“I will not let some paranoid fool tell me, a prince of the Vasars, to let go of my traditions and pride!” Ulfric stared firmly before he and Darius sat in their seats in the council chamber.
Prince Viktor entered accompanied by two men. One an Artyanist priest sent from Distika to watch over the council and provide advice to the grand princess. The other was the Lord Protector of the Skyan people, a tall slender snow elf by the name of Celsur Caergarwen.
They each took their seats and looked to Anastasia.
“We have gotten word of a party within the Elven lands to the south.” Ulfric said causing a scoff from Dagon
“What do we care of the Elves,just cause your brother married some southern knife eared wench?” Dagon said as his faces turned red.
“I’ll have you know Prince Dragovich that your words show truly how barbaric your family must be.” Celsur added
The council almost went into an uproar before Viktor slammed a hammer down upon the table.
Anastasia stood and spoke “We have all been invited to go south and see the royal wedding of my brother-in-law and his beautiful bride,we shall go and make merry then come home and fix the mess we find ourselves in.”
“A mess you caused.” Mumbled Darius
Within the coming days the Nobles of the Vasars began the journey south bringing gifts and schemes for the southern lords to revel in.
Dhorvas, Baccar, Vasarskaya, and Kragswen
MAP UPDATED (April 5th, 2020)
Post by Shivering islands suppressed by Uyuti.
Post self-deleted by Basileus elysium.
Post self-deleted by Basileus elysium.
The Trickery of the Ivory Men
"What have you found out?"
"Yuannon. The creatures call themselves Yuannon. Seems as if they are responsible for the city that Kragswen was founded on, a feudal kingdom, native to this land."
Two weeks, the men from the expeditionary force had been investigating and interrogating the young girl that they had captured near the river, through means one might consider inhumane and cruel. Gant knew little about the "Yuannon", but realized the potential threat they posed to both the Kingdom of Kragswen as well as his territorial ambitions, being so close in proximity. If the elves caught whiff, they could use this against him; either in negative propaganda or even reaching out to these Yuannon.
"Anything else?" he said quietly, leaning on a wooden sill, looking out the window to view the busybody city going about their day to day business.
"Yessah! She told us that their city has the same secret passages that this city 'as, built as an escape tunnel. The name of the city is "Klenara", and she is the King's daughter, even! A bit of information she really tried to keep hidden from us, but a little time in the darkness without food does wonders!" he started to chortle and laugh, noises that were reminiscent of a seagull choking to Gant. This information was valuable, and already ideas on how to utilise this to their advantage. Blackmail.
"Excellent work, Sirius! Have her tied, and order a squadron of men to accompany me. We're going to collect our bounty for "returning" the king's daughter for being oh so lost"
Laughter broke out amongst the men, and they left to celebrate their leader's brilliant thinking.
A few weeks later
Gant's small troupe of men approached the Kingdom on foot, with the girl tied and restrained by chains in the front, visible by all that dared to look. As they came closer to the stone and mud dwellings outside the castle, native denizens stared at the visitors aghast when they saw the Kings daughter, and realized the newcomers intention of an "unfriendly visit". Gant's man Sirius held the girl's bonds with a knife nearby for any trouble they may encounter, but the crew was left unscathed. As they approached the city's walls, ancient and expanded upon with timber instead of the great stone that had originally been built there, he encountered two guards who eyed the group nervously with their arms ready for any aggression. Sirius grabbed the girl's arm tightly and held the knife to her throat. She was bedraggled, hair tangled, and her dress torn. Blisters from walking, and bruises from her restraints lined her body, and she neared exhaustion. He barked some words in Kostuan, ordering them to bring their King. The guards understood. After what seemed like an eternity, encompassed by many guards a man, robed in a dress made of feathers and cloth, missing his horns approached them.
Meanwhile, the encampment that had been ordered to settle there beforehand had been ordered to search for the secret tunnels that allegedly led into the city. The girl and the man that accompanied her must have used one of these tunnels to discreetly leave the city being a princess. The men eventually found a hole, cleverly hidden behind a swath of trees laden-ed in vines. There were at least 60 armed men skulking through the tunnels, and after a while they emerged out of an exit in a dark and dampened room that they deduced was a basement of sorts that they assumed to be the castle; they were wrong. In a stroke of luck they had found themselves in an armory. A few Yuannon guards that were surprised by the surprise visitors were dealt with before they had time to react, left dead on the ground. The original idea was to storm the castle, take out any resistance, take hostages and head to the gate. Instead, storming the streets the marshaled men quickly overtook the guards who had obviously had not experienced much combat, or were expecting an internal attack. As they headed to the North gate, Gant was dealing with their King.
The King, whom was named Atumah, armed with at least a couple hundred men asked Gant.
"What do you want here barbarian?"
Gant approached, scratched his beard and pretended to wonder for a moment then acted if as if he came to a realization.
"Before we continue, order your men to drop their weapons!"
The King hesitated, but agreed. Obviously he thought that they could easily overtake the five men easily and ordered them to drop them into a pile.
"We ask for your wealth, gold, gems, anything you have I demand it be handed over to us." Atumah looked at him oddly, and laughed.
"Wealth? Is that what you are after? I will give you wealth, barbarian."
Gant continued, as he cut off whatever it is Atumah would have said.
"On top of that, I want ownership of your small Kingdom and all their lands.
The King, and all his army laughed heartily at that comment and didn't realize Gant's small band of men had been approaching from behind.
"You and what army, fool?!" Gant smiled, and pointed.
"That one"
As the King turned around, they were met with dozens and dozens of men armed with swords and spears surrounding them, and they had unarmed themselves. The King had no choice to surrender, and was tied and bonded alongside his daughter, paraded through the city alongside his captured men. As they headed to the castle, one detachment of men was ordered to lead the men into the city's prison, and the other accompanied Gant to the castle, claimed for himself. Unknown to the King and his people, he was going to raze the city kill his people and drive them away from the city. He only needed more men to suppress resistance, and for now he had to take the charade of a noble conqueror until reinforcements came. A roadblock to conquest, had been cleared.
Esica, Dhorvas, The Blacklight Empire, Baccar, and 2 othersAnetheas, and Sanhras
Esica, Dhorvas, The Blacklight Empire, Anetheas, and 1 otherIgarths
A Diagnosis
“You may leave” Aros said at the group within his council room, coughing slightly at the end of his words. The group quickly bowed and left the room. Looking down at the papers before him he soon was distracted by a guard.
“The person you sent for is here.” the soldier said.
“Good, let him in, don't let anyone else in whilst he's here.”
“My king” the soldier said, accepting his orders before leaving the room.
Soon an older man, greyed by his years entered the room. The royal physician soon entered and quickly set about laying out bottles and herbs. Aros said nothing as he looked on before waving his arm to get the man to follow him into a private room off the main chamber.
“What can I do to help the king?” the old man asked.
“I've had a persistent cough that will not go away, I've been feeling weaker as well” Aros explained. “ I just want to know that I am fine.”
“Of course, my king. Sit and I will examine you.” the physician said. Soon the old man worked in silence, examining the king and humming to himself as he worked. As he came to a halt a fearful look glanced upon his face before he schooled himself into a calm.
“So what is it?” Aros asked.
“Oh I’m sure it’s nothing, just a couple a day’s rest and you should be fine” the man said as he stumbled around quickly packing up, dropping bottles and herbs into his large case that he carried with him.
Aros raised his brow, as he watched the man attempt to race out of the room. Quickly laying a hand on the man’s shoulder as he was turned away from him to stop him from leaving.
“What do I have, doctor?” Aros asked, his tone was one of authority.
The man’s shoulders dropped in defeat before he turned back to his King.
“Consumption, my King” the man said with a meek face.
Aros was shocked, he couldn't believe it. “Is there anything we can do?”
“I’m afraid not, my king, the disease is lethal”
“How long” Aros asked
“It depends, a healthy man like yourself might take a year, it might only take weeks.
Aros calmed himself, before answering.
“I ask that you don't speak of this before I talk to my children and get my affairs set in order.”
“Of course my Lord” the old doctor said before bowing and leaving the room.
Aros simply slumped on a chair, his thoughts swirling about the future.
------
*Consumption is TB in modern times. It was untreatable.
Esica, Dhorvas, The Blacklight Empire, Baccar, and 2 othersAnetheas, and Igarths
Ig’arths
Expansion 1
The streets of Ig’arths were in complete disarray, as Min’as and Tafsu made their way down the busy main street of the city. Hundreds if not thousands of their people sat in filth, half starved, barely even appearing to be the same species as them. They fought over scraps of trash, and many hatchlings wrestled with one another on the sand over pieces of recently caught rat. The two guards had raised more and more guards around the two, till they had easily thirty retainers of various Clans guiding them to the Council Hall. The presence of the two, and their growing party of retainers drew notice from all around, and soon hundreds of thousands of the homeless, and Clanless joined into the march towards the Council, many screaming praises of Min’as, and his father before him, as they slowly realized whom they followed. Min’as walked in disbelief at the sight of how quickly the city had fallen from lack of order, making his mission to become the Ig’suman just more vital to the survival of his people.
After what seemed like mere moments to Min’as, their massive horde had reached the Council Hall. Hundreds of various retainers upon seeing the horde, swiftly prepared to defend the great hall to the death, some running inside to inform the Council of what was occurring outside their tanned marbled hall. All stood silent, eying one another, curious who would make the first move that could decide the fate of Ig’arths.
Min’as stepped forward first amongst his new found supporters, pointing towards all who stood before him, “Who among stood here nine years ago?” He started, taking a step up a small stairway, “I know I was, and I know many of you were, as well.” He said, taking another step up the stairs. “Do you remember what these people said nine years ago almost to this day?” He asked, gesturing to the awed crowds behind him. “They said hail the Ig’suman, and hail the first son of Ig’arths. The signs of him, and his brothers and sisters births were praised by all.” He said, nodding as he reached the top of the small stairway. “And do you remember!” He yelled, with his fanged long teeth almost glowing from the moonlight’s touch. “Remember your oaths?” He said, betrayal in his voice. “The oaths, oh the many oaths that you swore on this very spot!” He yelled, kicking sand from his feet. “Because I remember, and I surely believe the people of Ig’arths remember the oaths of the Council and Clans that fair evening!” He yelled, turning towards the people, who yelled in agreement and cheer. “So now I ask you once more,” he barked out, turning his gaze to the stunned retainers, “Who will break this oath today? Who will stand with the corrupted, and the fouled, and the demon worshipers of the Black Fault?” He asked, drawing his blade from his belt. “Stand aside.” He said, his voice growing calmer. “That is all I ask of you this day, and if you do this. Uphold your oath. I will bestow upon all my mercy, even for betraying the Clan of Ig’arths.” He finished, thrusting the blade into the sand, as he peered down all stood in between his Clan’s birthright.
Complete silence beset the courtyard once again, as the retainers eyed Min’as then one another. Soon a few dropped their blades, and began to step aside from the halls doors. After another minute almost half of the retainers had disarmed, and abandoned their defense. The remaining retainers formed a pike wall in front of the entrance of the hall, and began mumbling the prayers of the damned.
Min’as shook his head, as he turned to Tafsu, then to the people, “People of Ig’arths! These who stand in front of us are the reason our lands sit in filth and rot. Who amongst will allow this to continue!” He yelled, ripping his blade from the sand. “We take the hall by force!” He yelled, pointing his blade towards the terrified retainers, who stood steadfast in their pike formation. Like that, with those simple orders, thousands upon thousands of the starved peoples of Ig’arths threw themselves towards the disciplined warriors.
The sounds of bones snapping and cracking, as bodies were torn into multiple pieces, ripped through the formerly silent air. Retainers killing alone ten or twenty of the unarmed, unarmored, and untrained savages alone, who threw themselves into their pikes. Hundreds of bodies began to pile on the great stairway towards the hall, but the onslaught of sheer numbers began to break the cohesion of the retainers, and soon their wall was in complete and utter chaos. By the time Min’as reached the top the great stairway all of the retainers sat spread across the stairway, their former form lost to anyone who saw them now.
He shook his head in silent sorrow, before gripping the handle of the hall’s door. He turned to Tafsu, then back to the door, opening it slowly, before stepping into the dimmed silent tanned halls of Ig’arths.
Ig’arths
Expansion 2
The Council chamber sat in disbelief and aww struck silence, as Min’as and his now many retainers stepped into the grand chambers, the sounds of the chaos of the fighting still faintly heard from outside the marble walls. “Outrageous!” A Councilor yelled, standing from his seat. “You filthy traitor!’ He spat out, spit flying from his rows of teeth, as he turned towards the center of the round shaped hall. “Councilor Xamid, this can’t stand, can it? This is against all Council law. In sighting rebellion, killing retainers of official Clansmen, unofficial honor duels, that I remind you now that were also fought till the death, inside the sacred arches of Ig’arths!” He yelled in anger and shock. “I demand his head, as head of Um’na, and Councilor of this very hall!”
“Sit down Mer’n!” Yelled a crimson colored Councilor, her eyes a faint blue, her many scales resting in a unique vertical angle on her body. “I shall remind you that the retainer whom you mentioning be slain was mine, and in Tagwil tradition, all duels are fought till death. No crime was committed!” He yelled, pointing towards Mer’n with anger.
“Enough of your bickering.” A tall centermost Councilor said, clearly annoyed at recent events that’d had transpired. “As acting Ig’suman I have say over Min’as in Ig’arths. Not you, Mer’n, nor you Tas’n. Now both of you sit silent now, while I address our honored guest.” He spat, before smiling towards Min’as. His long brown scaled face hiding much emotion, but his many rows of clearly polished teeth gave a faint eeriness about him, standing out greatly from his very dark complexation. “Welcome home!” He cheered, standing from his small tanned throne. “I hope your journey here wasn’t too chaotic.” He chuckled, stepping down to Min’as leve.
Tafsu stepped forward quickly, drawing his blade, causing a mass reaction of retainers and councilors alike to draw their own. “It’s alright, Tafsu.” Min’as said stoically, gesturing him to lower his weapon. “Xamid was a loyal retainer of my father.” He said, turning to Xamid who stood with a faint smirk on his face. “He would never betray my family.” Min’as said, a faint frown across his face.
Xamid chuckled, nodding as he stepped closer towards Min’as. “Why of course!” He boastingly shouted out, placing his scaled hand onto Min’as shoulder. “Always loyal was our Council to your kin, and still loyal, but I must ask why have you returned to Ig’arths? To mourn I assume? Your father’s body is not here my boy. He rests in your Clan’s tomb, as you’re aware.” He said, pointing outside of the hall.
Min’as removed his hand from his shoulder, stepping next to Xamid on his right. “I’ve come for what’s mine, Xamid. You know this, so why do you continue to play these games with me?” He asked, turning his scaled face towards Xamid, whose smile had quickly vanished.
Xamid shook his head, “You know we can’t stand for this?” He said quietly, as to not let anyone else hear of what he was saying. “The path you seek only leads to our deaths, including yours, boy.”
Min’as chuckled, shaking his head in disagreement, “I have the people, Xamid. I already control the city. Even your own retainers have either fallen or have joined my rightful rebellion.”
Xamid frowned, “The people will turn on you, Min’as, as they do all who take power through means of war. I will only ask you once; leave. Take your followers and leave the city limits. We will forget your recent actions, and even allow your Clan their rightful place back on our fair Council. If you deny this request.” He stopped looking at the hundreds of Councilors in the silent chamber. “Well, you know what will happen.”
Min’as nodded for a slight moment, placing his hand onto Xamid’s shoulder. “I truly am sorry it had to be this way. Worry not about your Clan, Xamid. They will be taken care of.” He said, a sorrowful frown on his yellow mouth.
Xamid frowned likewise, less sorrowful, but understanding. “Thousands will die.” He bluntly said for all to hear. “Your words will mean nothing, and my Clan will surely die with the rest of our great families, including yours, traitor.”
Min’as closed his eyes, turning back towards his followers before him. “You will be honored for your loyalty to our Council.” He mumbled.
Xamid laughed, “There won’t be a Coun-”
Xamid headless body hit the floor with a thud, before he could finish his sentence. Min’as turned back towards the rest of the shocked Council, some in silent shock, others drawing arms for battle.
“I am your Ig’suman.” He said, thrusting his bloodied blade into the wooden floor.
Reclamation II
Expansion I
The road south of Syrâ Aethęl was a lonely one. It had been almost five hundred years since the land of the Quel’ahtar peninsula south of the great city had been a part of a united Quel people. Various small states had existed there, fighting and warring amongst each other. It was sad to witness from the walls of the great city.
But it had only gotten worse over the last thirty years. Since Iridile Aetheus had been banished from Anetheas for the murder of her brother. Since the Mad Magister had begun her own cult, dividing the Quel’elvhen even further than they already were. Gathering followers, and terrorizing those who resisted her. The previous Queen Magister, Erisalda, had been unable to order the death of her sister, and as long as the madwoman stayed out of Anetheas, she was content to leave her be. Queen Magister Elaene was not.
That was why her sister, Cirinirya, was marching down the southern road with five thousand of the teręvâ, the elite soldiers of the armies of Anetheas, to be joined by two thousand imhil cavalry from the west. She was joined by her brother Enrellor, and together they were supposed to find their wayward aunt and put an end to her madness, to free the Quel’elvhen from her, and to secure Syra Hilvyn for the Magisterium, the great city to the south.
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“Up! Again!”
Cirinirya, Royal War Magister of the Royal House of Aetheus, was currently in the dirt, having just been knocked on her rear. Her attacker was one of her new terę’kuru, her partners in war. Teręvâ had several aspects of organization, but on the deepest and simplest level, they worked in teams of three. Three soldiers assigned to watch each other’s back at any and all times. On the campaign march, terę’kuru never left each other’s sides. Ciraniyra had never had terę’kuru before, and the adjustment was taking some effort.
Ayren Athasin was a veteran of the Archangel War that had seen the death of Queen Magister Erisalda, fighting Archangels and creatures of the Black Fault. She was a woman that had seen much death in her overall short life, and had no time for nonsense. And she wasn’t especially happy about getting stuck with a baby-faced royal for her terę’kur. As Cirinirya had never fought in a real battle, her terę’kuru were being given command of her. This was her test, and her tutors had proven to be incredibly harsh so far.
Her other terę’kur was a young man named Armlan Gaemnor, who stood off to the side, watching the events with a stone-still expression. He was a quiet one. Didn’t speak much. He had only said a handful of words to her since she had met him, content to allow Ayren to do the talking.
Picking the wooden sword back up, she wiped dirt from her face, glaring at the older woman.
“You could perhaps land softer blows in our sparring.”
Ayren scoffed, twirling her own wooden sword in her hand.
“Don’t be foolish. Iridile’s cultists will not land soft blows upon you, Ciranirya. They will tear you to pieces.”
Sighing, Cirinirya got back to her feet, taking a battle stance once more. These sessions had been constant in the march south. The army was fast, but there was still time at the end of the day, and Ayren never let the sun go down without insisting on testing the young magister’s combat proficiency. It was annoying. Incredibly-
The horns of alarm were being blown. Her head snapped around, and she could see sentries on the southern side of the camp rushing to get into formation, and nocking arrows to their bows. And she could also see her brother stopping them, staring out with suspicion. She followed his gaze, and became unsettled herself. For riding out on horses were four elves, with the banner of House Na’Aetheus, and a banner of truce. Her aunt was here, and seemed to wish to negotiate.
Reclamation III
Expansion II
The Mad Magister and her retinue stopped one hundred meters from the Anethid camp, their banners raised high above their heads. Iridile Na’Aetheus rode a sleek black horse, her dark cloak billowing in the soft wind. Her crown upon her brow was a parody of the Magister’s crown worn by her niece, gold and jagged.
Enrellor stood by his sister, the two technical commanders of the expedition, silently, staring. They had not expected their aunt to come to them, let alone with a banner of peace. It went against all of the plans they had drafted, throwing an unknown factor into the middle of everything. But something had to be done.
In twenty minutes, Cirinirya was dressed in something more presentable, mounted on a horse, and along with her terę’kuru and her brother, rode out to meet her aunt. The Mad Magister watched them approach with a sinister calm, sending shudders down young Cirinirya’s spine. The woman’s companions were clad similarly to their mistress. Dark cloaks and helmets.
Enrellor, as the eldest of the two royals, greeted their aunt first. He reigned in his horse, about five meters from the Mad Magister, and crossed his hands over his chest.
“Lyrî s syrilvę dârâs ilę, Îridîlę.”
The traditional greeting. Eastern winds guide you. The Anethids still did not trust the west, for west was the wind of evil, where the Aęth’galâm, the Kostuan menace, had come bringing bondage and death. The winds of the east brought good tidings, and could be trusted against her brother, the west.
The Mad Magister stared at her nephew silently for a long moment, before slowly copying the gesture.
“Lyrî s syrilvę dârâs ilę, Ęnręllor. Though it seems the east winds have brought you to me.”
Her gaze switched over to her niece, who was clearly intimidated by the older woman. A small smile came to Iridile’s face.
“You look so much like your mother.”
Ciranirya shuddered, and unconsciously made her horse take a step back. Enrellor kept his expression neutral.
“Our sister, her highness Queen Magister Elaene II-”
“I know why you’re here, boy. You wouldn’t come with an army if you had peaceful intentions. My niece seems to believe that she can intimidate me with the teręvâ and her siblings. She cannot.”
Enrellor took the news well, slowly nodding.
“I take it that we cannot persuade you to surrender to the Queen Magister’s authority and the justice of the Anethid people, then.”
“You cannot. I am above any such authority, boy.”
“And why is that?”
“I am the Anethid people.”
That took him a moment to digest. He blinked. Once. Twice. Three times.
“I beg your pardon?”
“I am the Ilithael incarnate, boy. I am the beginning, and the end. You would do well to abandon your false Queen and join me, for my wrath is divine and eternal.”
A long silence stretched between the parties.
“You’ll excuse me if I do not.”
The Mad Magister nodded.
“I thought as much. I am sorry that I must destroy you, now. I had hoped to have you at my side. Perhaps when I absorb your life’s energy, your mind shall be changed as your spirit is channeled.”
She wheeled her horse around with her followers, and galloped away. Silence stretched between the ones left, until Enrellor’s dry voice sounded.
“So that’s why they call her mad.”
Reclamation IV
Expansion Post III
The rest of the night passed quietly after the meeting with the Mad Magister. Enrellor, Ciranirya, and her terę’kur spent hours cooped up in the royal tent, pondering over the meeting.
Ciranirya was pacing back and forth, chewing her bottom lip, wringing her hands. Enrellor sat on a stool, reading a scroll. And her terę’kur stood behind them, silently observing. It was not their place to speak unless spoken to.
“Perhaps we scared her off. The scouts have not seen any sign of her, or any offensive forces. We should be able to march straight to the city without-”
Enrellor did not move his gaze from his reading material.
“Do not let your eagerness and inexperience outpace your lessons and good sense, sister. Of course we didn’t scare her off. A madwoman such as she cannot be intimidated. No doubt she is gathering her cultists to assault us on the march. Is that not so, Ayren?”
The elven woman nodded.
“It is what I would do, were I in her position. The teręvâ are intimidating and difficult to defeat. She shall attempt to catch us off guard, commanding the element of surprise and ambush.”
Ciranirya swallowed, her throat feeling incredibly dry.
“So. . . what do we do?”
Enrellor flicked his eyes up to look at her.
“This is your test. What do you think we should do?”
“Well, the imhil have yet to join us, which is worrying. I am beginning to suspect our aunt has cut them off somehow. We would be safer in the city, behind its walls. We should make haste for the city at once.”
-------------------------------------------------------------------------
The sound of five thousand synchronized footsteps marching in perfect formation reverberated through the country side as the Anethid army made its way down the road, eyes peeled for any sign of the Mad Magister and her cult. Everyone knew that the fight was inevitable, and they were prepared to fight at a moment's notice.
Ciranirya marched at the front with her terę’kuru at her side. Her brother was at the rear of the formation. Tension was thick in the air, as everyone was completely on edge. The cult could be coming at any moment, and at any moment, the elves had to be ready to fight, in the name of the Queen Magister and the Magisterium.
Part of her was wondering what she was doing here. She was so young, so inexperienced. Yes, she had passed all of her trials, passed all of her studies, and received the Magister’s Mark from her sister, but she had never fought in a real battle. She knew the protocols, the maneuvers, the tactics, the theory of it all. She knew it inside and out, studied for years until it was ingrained into her soul. But to be out here, actually experiencing it, living in the moment, it was different. Frightening. What business did she have here really? Among such elite warriors and accomplished heroes? None. Oh, Ilithael’s bane, why did Elaene send her here? She should-
Horns. She could hear horns. Her head snapped up to see movement on the horizon, and she could see the banners of the Na’Aetheus. The cult had arrived. For one terrifying moment, she wasn’t sure what to do. In that moment, she felt helpless. Small. A child. But Ayren cleared her throat and poked her back, and she snapped into action.
“Teręvânu! Vâr ikthîn silvęn!”
Soldiers! Take shield formation!
Reclamation V
Expansion Post IV
The horns of the cult sounded loud and long as they marched, a motley of elves from the south of Syra Aethel. Mostly unorganized and untrained, their advantage lay in their fanatical devotion to the Mad Magister, for whom they were willing to die in droves. Iridile herself rode at their head, now clad in silver armor.
The Anethids quickly dropped into shieldwall formation. The first rank raised shields to their mid level, leveling their spears to poke out, while the rank behind them readied their swords. Their swords could be wielded either one or two handed, but for now they were held in a two handed grip, ready to cut down any enemy that broke through the front. Behind them, all readied their bows.
Archery was incredibly important to the Anethid army. Every soldier was a trained archer, and their arrow volleys were deadly efficient. Any teręvânu not supporting the frontal shieldwall was to wield a bow, and loose arrows at the enemy. The War Magisters, including Cirinirya, were to stand in the second rank. With her terę’kuru, she stood behind the wall of shields, her sword in hand. Ayren and Armlan held swords as well, prepared to fight for their sword-sister. The battle had come, and any and all resentment had to be put aside. This test would prove if the royal had what it took to be a War Magister.
The cult had stopped at the crest of the hill, their motley of weapons in hand. They stared down at the Anethids with hate in their eyes, and silence dominated the field. Until the Mad Magister drew her sword, and the blade erupted into flame, red fire streaming along the steel.
“Vârâktir!”
The order to charge forced war cries from the throats of the cultists, who streamed down the hill, screaming their devotion to the Mad Magister, the Ilithael itself.
Ciranirya watched the elves pour down the hill, a cold sweat running down her body. But she found that her voice echoed the calls of the other officers down the line, tradition and protocol hammered into her very soul itself.
“Tir!”
The Anethids nocked arrows to their bow strings in one smooth motion, the slight tap of the shaft against the bow sounding thousands of times over.
“Fer!”
The arrows were drawn back as the trained eye of the Anethids let them aim accordingly, discipline allowing them to hold the string back.
“Dur!”
The twang of the bowstrings cut through the field as the arrows were loosed, arching high, thousands of deadly points streaming down like a shower of rain. The arrows fell upon the cult, who were not well armored, and cut them down like a gardener trimming grass. Screams echoed the shower of arrows that saw many cultists diving down into the grass, stained with blood. But still they came.
Gaining more confidence, Ciranirya’s voice sounded again with the other officers. Another round of arrows was loosed upon the approaching cult, and saw more deaths. Yet, they still came. Closer, and closer. Why? Why did they come with no regard for their own lives? With no strategy? With no tactics? Something about this bothered her. Something more was going on, but she couldn’t put her finger on it.
The next phase had come. As the cultists closed in, Ciranirya and the other War Magisters in the second rank raised their hands, removing the gauntlet and glove on their off hand, and extending it beyond the gap of the shield wall. Calm. Stay calm. Prepare. Follow the protocol. Follow the tradition.
“Darânir!”
Her Magister’s Mark glowed as she channeled the magic in her body, and her hand erupted in flame, like the dragons that once inhabited this land. Down the line, the the War Magisters did this in unison, and streams of fire engulfed the front charging rank of the cult.
The elves screamed as they burned, throwing themselves onto the ground in an attempt to put out the flames. This did manage to stop the charge as the cultists tried to stop their momentum, but their wild running forced them forward into the flames. One last volley of arrows streamed past Ciranirya’s ears, only her discipline instilled by her through years of training allowing her to stay stock still. This volley dropped another round of culists, and the War Magisters stopped their flames to conserve their energy.
A moment of confusion, and the cultists came forward again, right into the spears. The melee had commenced.
Reclamation VI
Expansion V
The front rank of the teręvânu braced themselves as the cultists hit their shieldwall, maintaining their tight formation. The disciplined spears allowed the enemy to bunch up tightly, then the call came to push. Summoning their strength, they shoved and bashed at the cult, forcing them stumbling backwards.
Their spears stabbed forwards, jabbing into the bodies of the cult, tearing into them. And again, they smashed forward. Ciranirya watched their devotion with interest. Mindless. Without regard for their own lives. It was disturbing. Uncanny. Unnatural. What was driving them? What made them this fanatical, this mindlessly suicidal?
The time had come for the swords to prepare. She readied her sword in a two handed grip. The strategy was simple, really. The spears would shove the cult back again, but instead of thrusting forward, they would break the wall, and allow the swords to press forward in brutal melee. Then the spears would circle to the flanks of the enemy, and box them in. It would be a slaughter, but the Anethids did not show mercy to their enemies. Should one take up arms against the magisters, they could expect naught but brutal and efficient death.
The shieldwall broke, and the swords rushed forward upon the surprised cult, swinging with expertly calculated and synchronized efficiency. The swords fought in their terę’kuru trios, each fighting to protect the other. The teams of three would fight with the practiced deadliness that came from endless hours of training and intimate knowledge of each other. The unorganized and untrained elven cultists stood no chance, and fell in droves.
Ciranirya had never killed a person before, but she found that it came easily to her. The moves of the Anethid sword forms had been ingrained into her, and they came naturally to her. She didn’t even really need to think. Her body just acted as all those years of training taught it to.
In no time, the cult had been pushed back, but found the Anethid spears on their flanks, pressing on them. It was a deadly box, and squeezing inward constricting them. The hand of the Anethids was around their neck, and now squeezing tightly.
It happened slowly at first. One cultist fled. Then another. And another. Two more, then three, and six, and ten, twenty. They began to route, throwing down their weapons, fleeing for their lives. Now they showed concern? It didn’t sit well with her. Why would-
Horns. More horns from the horizon, forcing Ciranirya’s gaze toward them. But this time, she smiled. The imhil had come.
The rides of Syra Imhil blasted their horns as they galloped at the fleeing cultists. The imhil were mostly mounted archers, and arrows spat forth from their ranks, cutting down the retreating forces. Those that weren’t cut down by arrows were slain by the sword.
But the real target, the Mad Magister herself, had long since left the field, nowhere to be seen. It made Ciranirya question why she had done this at all. What was the point of all of these wasted lives? Of allowing her followers to die in such vast numbers, only to leave? Her senses told her that the woman had a greater plan in place, but she had no idea what. She could not begin to fathom what the madwoman could possibly be thinking, and perhaps that was a good thing. But then again, perhaps it was not.
---------------------------------------------------------------
There were few survivors among the cultists, but those that did were taken into custody. They did not reveal any new information, and it seemed that their aunt did not reveal her secrets to her followers. Unfortunate, to say the least. Still. It was a great victory, and Ciranirya had passed her test with flying colors.
The rest of the march to Syra Hilvyn was uneventful. The city was controlled by a neutral elven magister who welcomed them with open arms. Evidently the cult had been attempting to gain control of her city for years now, and she welcomed inclusion into the Magisterium for protection from the Mad Magister and her insane followers.
The city was secured, and a great feast was thrown in honor of the liberators. Well, great by Anethid standards at least. They were not known for their wild parties, and it did not last long before they were back to work.
Syra Hilvyn had been taken in the name of Queen Magister Elaene, and though Iridele had escaped, this was to be counted as a great victory.
The Blacklight Empire and Igarths
Esica and Dhorvas
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