As the young scout Mallew Smith gives his report, Akiros listens intently, his battle trained mind scouring for any hint or clue which might help tip the scales in the their favour. He also considers if he can recognize any description of the enemy or any weakness he may know them to possess. As well he considers the city he knows so well and any possible advantage to be gained from the landscape and buildings.
K History
K Religion:
Profession General/Officer:
When the young man finishes his report Akiros thanks the scout asks aloud the question none seemed to have asked yet "Your bravery and dedication to duty are to be applauded young Mallew, the information you have brought us is invaluable. Yet one thing escapes me, has our enemy as yet indicated why they are attacking us? Have they made any statements as to what it is they seek?"
As the discussions and battle plans continue, a part of the Marshal's mind is distracted waiting for reply from his love. Looking for the guardsmen he sent to deliver the note, if he does not find the man, he tasks another to quickly go and seek Elspeth and make sure she is alright.
Moments later Steffan limps over and whispers the news of the escaped assassin, Esmeralda "Damn it!" he swears, furious and frustrated at the same time "That is ill news indeed Steffan, yet there is little we can do about it at the moment. As dangerous as she is, she is but one woman." yet at that second something else occurs to him and a flash of fear like none he has felt before jolts through him "No! By Iomedae please forbid! Steffan, I beg you, send two of your fastest men now into the castle and look for Elspeth! I fear, no, I can not even bring myself to speak it aloud. Please! Find her for for me!"
Unable to wait with worry, he iron bound sense of duty shaken for a moment in his fear, the nearly panicked Marshall leaves Kydal to be finished being fully girded for war and seeks out the Archbanker. Finding the man in conversation with Verik, in his fear Akiros forgets all sense of propriety and grabs the cleric by the shoulders "Vinodragov! You were in the castle with her! Elspeth! Where is she? Have you seen her man?? Tell me!"
He then hears Jemini's call to arms and glaces over his shoulder, her call only increasing his urgency he shakes the hapless older man "Quickly! Tell me, have you seen her!! Her or her brother??"
Alexey's voice drips scorn from the other side of the Hall. "Oh, dear. It seems that the former General has gone mad." The Archbanker nods his answer to Akiros's question, then steps aside. The cleric likely has had his fill of plots and squabbling this day.
Elspeth steps out from behind her brother and rushes to Akiros. Alexey steps to stop her, but he cannot overtly prevent her action in the company of others. She embraces him tightly, letting him stroke her car despite the eyes upon them. As Alexey strides towards them, eyes smoldering in anger at both Akiros and his sister, she speaks in a hushed tone. "You may be able to snatch a note from a courier's hands and keep me from reading its contents, but you will not keep me from the man I love." As Alexey takes a step back, she whispers to Akiros. "Your city needs you. I will be safe here. My brother, for his faults, loves me in his own way and will ensure my safety here."
With the scout unable to offer any reason for the attack, Aylene's words seem the only clue. What would Choral want with those of noble blood? Is the rider even telling the truth about his aims? Perhaps words will help - after all, words prevented the Stag Lord from slaughtering everyone at Oleg's last year during the celebration. Now, the Stag Lord stands side by side in defense of the fledgling nation.
Akiros returns the glare, but quickly forgets the brother as the sister fills up his waiting arms. As Alexey begins to move towards them, Akiros stiffens, his hand dropping to the hilt of his sword. Yet as Elspeth's words make her brother back off, the former General gives the man a satisfied smirk.
Stepping closer to hear his beloved's whispered words, Akiros nods but then whispers some of his own "Yes, you are right my heart, and I must depart immediately, but there is more that you do not know. Esmerelda has escaped! And as you are the sole witness to her and your brother's treachery, you are her most likely her next target. I know Alexey will protect you, so stay by him, but I do not know if we should share this information with him. However I leave it up to you. As well, it could be possible that any other of the nobles may be at risk, so I do recommend you share news of her escape with Vinodragov. Again, though, I fully trust you my dearest to handle things as you see best. Should the city fall, do hesitate to flee. Do NOT wait for me! Above all, Stay Safe! I must go my love, but know I shall return to you, on this I swear! So no good-byes Elspeth, merely, until we meet again!" And, after one last fierce kiss and embrace, Akiros hurries out to re-join the others.
Of course there is no chance of us giving up the nobles, or anyone"[/b] Akiros agrees simply with Berrin "And I agree also Jemini that a parley first, if they will have it, is the thing to do. However, if there is a chance to send a part of our force, perhaps the archers, to flank the enemy without being seen, let us do that now, as well."
As the curse of his blessing from his Goddess blurs his vision, Akiros can see nothing of the enemy, not even the dragon, which frustrates him greatly, although none can tell such from looking at him. Instead, he listens closely to all the talk and reports, doing his best to form a mental image of the battle sight. Once the fight begins, he more than trusts Kydal to be his long distance eyes for him.
Verik looks at Nikolai with a slightly wry expression. "Indeed Nikolai Rogvaria, it seems the Master of the First Vault sees that what you do here preserves our progress in these so-called "Stolen Lands" and is for you this day. I will do what I can out there to forestall any serious wounds in the upcoming battle."
After a moment he hastily adds, "Just...erm...just try to not run afield from me too much so we do not see a repeat of the harpies fight, okay? I am slower with this armor and shield to give chase!"
Jemini seems torn, a mix of emotions run the gauntlet on her face, but finally she agrees: "I... I have reservations on parleying with such creatures. Red dragons are a breed both cunning and powerful - and tremendously destructive even at the best of times." She sighs, "But they do hold the upper hand here, we cannot carelessly risk the lives of the captives. We must try to talk - and be prepared to wage a battle that may once again determine the fate of these lands."
Forward the army marches, straight towards the red dragon. If Jemini fears the great beast and his massive rider, her eyes do not show it. Flanked by Nikolai, Zander, and Verik to her left and Berrin and Akiros to her right, with Taisper slipped into the crowd somewhere and an entire army at her back, she leads the way to their besieging enemy. As they draw closer and closer, the strangeness of the enemy army becomes more visible. The warriors bear the features of Iobarian nomads from across the Nomen Hills, beyond the reach of Brevoy - and the same source of warriors that Choral used to wholly conquer Issia and Rostland over two centuries before. Just as the scout said, their armor looks as if it is part of their body rather than something worn, and they bear swords of what appears to be obsidian rather than steel. They stand still, eerily so, as if in a trance.
As strange as the army is, the dragon and its rider at the head of the army command all their attention. The dragon looms taller than any beast any of them have ever seen before, with wings spread menacingly as they approach. The dragon's wingspan is such that a warrior standing at the shoulder and a warrior standing at the end of just one wing could not touch their blades together. Its great maw, from which a low growl emanates, could likely swallow any of them. Its eyes bear a maliciousness in them that dwarfs even the spite and hate of the marauders that slaughtered many innocents in the city.
As fearsome as the dragon is, the rider seems even more terrible. Some exchange sidelong glances at Nikolai, as they cannot help but be reminded of the first time they saw the Stag Lord - except that he looks far larger and stronger than their former enemy. Plates of red obsidian cover his body - like the troops, they seem part of his body - and a helm fashioned to look like a dragon's skull sits over his face. Sharp claws grip his obsidian blade, which has neither sheath nor strap. The dragon bears no saddle, but the rider doesn't look uncomfortable at all to be there.
As the Founders slowly approach the dragonrider and his army, he calls to them from fifty paces away. "Good." His voice seems to rumble the ground itself, with a growling quality as if spoken from the back of the throat, while still managing to seem arrogant and haughty. "Have you decided to take my offer? If you give me all those of noble blood that you hold, your petty village can live. This fool will live as well. I have no use for him." Some of the troops pull Maegar Varn - looking badly injured, as it is impossible for him to have fallen except in a fight - and the rest of the prisoners to the front. Aylene, to the far right of the Founders, grits her teeth but remains silent in the face of the negotiations.
Berrin sits quietly in his saddle watching the enemy, the familiar sinking sensation he usually got before a fight back in his stomach. 'Fight or flight.' Berrin recalled someone calling it, he couldn't remember who at the moment, nor did he care, but it was back.
His eyes run along the gathered enemy army and he can't help but wonder at their strangeness, their strangeness and then the fact of *how* they had gotten so near without alerting anyone. Had someone let them through their lands too terrified to offer resistance or even a warning? 'Oh, snap. Varnhold!' he realized suddenly and the sinking sensation deepened as he looked from Maegar to Aylene, realizing how this army had reached them so suddenly without warning. Looking at Aylene and Maegar Berrin was sure that they too must realize that their holdings were probably a smoldering ruin by now, the army must have come through there before reaching Newhaven.
Glancing at Aylene Berrin hopes he's wrong. He hopes but he fears he's right.
Focusing his attention on the dragon and the rider Berrin struggles to remain quiet, remembering the last time he had tried to parley with an enemy, sending Akiros off in a huff over Bokens Ale, nearly bringing ruin over Olegs' Trading post and death to those that had sought refuge there. He'd best remain quiet and leave the talking to Jemini. If she failed, he'd fight. It was just that simple.
There is no guile in Nikolai's eyes. He meets eyes with the sragon and its rider, then seeks out the gaze of as many enemy soldiers as possible. He has the appearance of a man itching for his last fight - held only in check by his superior officers.
Zander monetarily closes his eyes against Verick warning. With clenched teeth, deep within his helm, Zander all too well remembers the Harpies.
................
Now facing the great beast and its army, Zander feels pity for Lord Varn, knowing the shame and anguish he likely feels having been subdued and placing us in this situation. Another has been reduced to a pawn used against us. But why?...what do the nobles mean to this Dragonman?
As the army, with Taisper hidden in it, stops well short of the dragon's breath reach, and Jemeni and the other founders continue forward to parley, Akiros is finally able to see for himself the enemy before them. At first he thinks it is a trick of his faulty vision, but then as they reach close enough for him to see fully, and he has to crane his neck up to see the full height of the huge dragon, and the strange and fierce rider upon it's back, he fully understands Jemini's trepidation.
Yet as he glances at his leader, his heart if filled with pride at the fearless look upon Jemini's face. As the rider begins to speak, Akiros' attention is turned back to the man, and he concentrates on all that is said, doing his best to sift truth from fiction, for to know the enemy was the biggest part of victory in any battle.
Sense Motive:
As he listens, the Marshall waits for Jemini to ask the question upon all their minds..Why did this invader seek the nobles, What did he want from them worth starting a war over?
Standing where he is, Verik does all he can to steady his shield and keep from staring with a gaping mouth at the massive dragon and its rider. The heat seems to bring beads of sweat from his brow even from here. He closes his eyes for a moment as he tries to steady himself, and in that moment he can hear the dragonrider's bold words of assured victory, his tone and cadence.
Verik's eyes snap back open and he squints hard at the enemy leader, straining to hear his last boast. With a barely perceptible shake of his head he takes two steps towards Jemini and puts his back to the enemy, standing mostly in front of Nikolai (who stands tall enough to see over him) as he urgently hisses a warning to her.
"Jemini! This isn't being magnanimous or generous or any of that swallop! This one's like a Qadiran spice merchant who wants you think his entire damned Empire is behind him to enforce the terms! Either he doesn't believe his own odds by running us over straight out, or he thinks it will cost him too much to try - either way it's a bluff to fool us into signing the weak bargain now."
Hearing Verik's rasped warning, Nikolai turns his head to speak quietly, without taking his eyes from the dragon. If he worries about reinforcements, we should counter. When we break his ranks and kill his beast, all of Jemini's rivals will take note. We will buy time and respect. He should agree to walk away now and trouble someone else.
Jemini nods, almost imperceptibly, to indicate to Verik that she understood his words. Unsure of his force is he? Or maybe worried on his own mortality after seeing part of his force decimated. Iomedae's fervor! The audacity! Such a fickle heart has torn asunder our new home and slain comrades and allies that I've not even met! Iomedae's fury! Iomedae's reckoning! The eyes on Jemini alight with a fierce glow - apparently tearing from her face toward the dragonrider. As she slowly lifts her longsword, it's point extending into a line right between the eyes of the man, the glow from her eyes washes around the blade and one, two, more and more, soon a whole army of ghostly soldiers charge past Jemini. Each ghostly warrior but a thought, realer and clearer when closer to the glowing blade - and ever more ephemeral further away.
"You - come before us as an avalanche, tearing through our peace and prosperity. You bloody our friends and guests! You tread heedless of the saplings you crush! You Dare! Come before me with an 'offer'? Your heart! It is unsteady. It beats with uncertainty. You shall not receive a single woman or man of this nation to placate your lord! Instead every single woman and man of this land will rend your army!" A thought... a memory... something stirs in those who can hear it, feel it, the echo of a battle field, a routed enemy falling away to a victorious charge. The ghosts that form Jemini's army appear as a storm. Flashing and chasing each other towards the dragonrider.
"You should run! Remove yourself and leave our friends, lest we hunt! Shed another drop of their blood and you will find no tomorrow. You. Should. ! Or you will face "
Zander smiles a grim smile at Jemini's words. Dragons don't grow on trees. We have to have severely hurt and surprised them, killing the dragons we have already. The seed of doubt must be there.
The dragonrider's army crumbles immediately, rushing past each other to flee the spectral army - and the very real army of vengeful soldiers following it. The combined soldiers of Newhaven and Varnhold cut down the Iobarian warriors as they rout, with their righteous anger and fresher legs giving them speed and strength to chase them down. Blood soaks the plains as the battle turns against the dragonrider and his dreadful army. They capture a few dozen who finally surrender, offering the mercy that the dragons denied their victims. The pile of obsidian swords gleams darkly in the sun.
The dragon fell quickly, pierced by two arrows in the eye from Zander's bow and from Nikolai's blade in its heart. Jemini shears its head off with her sword, literally glowing with a holy light as the dragon collapses. Pinned between Akiros, Berrin, Taisper, and Verik, the rider falls on his back. His blade lays shattered to the side, broken as he warded off a blow from Berrin's sword. Terror fills his eyes as he crawls backwards.
Maegar Varn approaches after recovering his weapon, receiving the benefit of having some of his wounds healed by Verik. He looks to Jemini, then his daughter a few feet away. "Find out if Varnhold still stands before you kill him." The rider almost collapses as Varn speaks, eyes rolling back in his head.
Nikolai recalls a cousin named Viktor from his childhood, a bully with delusions of the throne. If this is the same, his bloodline yet lives - in Choral's thrall.
Looking around at his friends and allies, Verik is still somewhat confused as to how it all happened. He stands there with his shield still strapped to his right arm, having needed his left hand to pray and heal Lord Maegar Varn just a few moments before. With his life's blood in relatively good status for now, he cannot help but try and recall flashes of the battle once again, and his part in it.
The ghosts that were both there and not there. The charge across the field that somehow took a year and an eye-blink all in the same moment. That magnificent and glorious charge led by Jemini, gleaming blade drawn and pulling Verik with her as if he was a man enthralled, with Nikolai and Berrin just a shade less terrifying in their own battle-cries, impossible as that would seem in normal circumstances. The dreadful heat and deafening roar of the huge dragon, somehow drowned out by its numerous shrieks of anguish as Zander blinded it. The gout of blood splashed upon his arm and shield as Nikolai drove his massive blade into its chest, bringing its snakelike head down for Jemini's righteous and unstoppable blow as divine executioner. More blood, an impossible amount of blood...and the smell of it! Then it was past and onto the rider, who now looked like a hollow shell of the victorious warrior he appeared before.
Truth to tell, Verik only drew his mace once as they surrounded the dragonrider, with Akiros and Taisper to either side of him as Berrin took him head-on. He struggled to recall if he had actually hit the man or just clanged a few blows off of his dreadful armor, but in the end it really didn't matter he supposed, only that he stood with the rest and didn't give him an avenue of escape. Berrin's shattering of the enemy's now-pitiful obsidian blade made the experience far less intimidating than another black blade he had personally encountered not too long ago. "'Try something crafted of real steel next time you lout!'" was all Verik could remember as he saw it - now did he just think that or did he actually shout that in the battle? Verik couldn't remember. A stupid thing to say in a battle if he had, but hopefully not something his friends would remember or recall on him...along with bears and tatzylwyrms of course.
His mind snapping back to the present in time to hear and comprehend Varn's words, the cleric steps forward towards the captive leader and wryly says, "Well at least something of the Master's gifts I prepared for this day that I can offer!" He looks to both Jemini and Varn and adds, "A Truthtelling upon this one, if you think it would help to know his answers to you are not mere lies."
"Yes, that's wise of you Verik - " Jemini's hair settled together in generous lumps, matted by sweat in the pleasant parts - and gore and blood in others. Even with the enemies moral entirely routed the monsters that were the gigantic dragon and its rider were not easily overrun. Iomedae's hand, that you have seen us through this madness.
" - You have thought yourself a mighty general? You know nothing of leadership! You're but a warlord too naive to see that those that follow you only follow your iron fist. Such an army cannot stand against an even harder fist. You, you will talk and only the truth will escape your mouth," she tells the former dragonrider as she waits for Verik to prepare his divination. When the final signs are complete Verik nods to Jemini, and she takes his sign to proceed. "What of Varnhold!? Did you raze it as you tried here? What of its people? What of the nobles you covet?"
The dragonrider says nothing as Jemini questions him, only to find Verik laying hands upon him. The golden key of Abadar briefly shines above his head, then disappears in a golden wink. The rider's eyes return from the back of his head. The bloodied warlord spits a mouthful of blood in Verik's face and speaks to both him and Jemini. "May the Abyss take you. Once my master comes for me, he will burn your cities to the ground. You will desperately wish to surrender as you burn alive, but no mercy will come for you!" He shakes again as his eyes roll back and he lets out a quaking cough.
"GAH you bloody bastardly CUR!" Verik runs his free hand across his eyes and mouth to wipe away blood and spit as he nearly stomps around in a complete circle. Coming back, he slaps his hand twice against the front of his heavy shield with a dull clang and threatens, "How about a bashing of your stupid skull with my shield a few times to get you talking true! There's time yet to put you to the Question before I verify with the Master's Mark!"
Verik is ruddy-faced and looks to be on a retort-roll, but his next words falter as he sees the man's eyes and shaking body, his voice taking on a note of caution. "Hey how many times did we bash the fool upon his head anyway? He took a beating but Berrin didn't run him through - why is he shaking like it's winter?"
"Where I may go, even the Abyss treads carefully. Mercy? What do you know of it?" Jemini thoughts get distracted with themselves for a moment, then she adds, "But I suppose you would not be able to prevent yourself from boasting if you had taken Varnhold... so our friends still have a home."
Berrin stands over the prisoner and watches the exchange nervously, fidgeting with the pommel of his sword, still in his hands. He'd come to name Maegar friend and he didn't appreciate the prospect of his home burnt to the ground, he sincerely hoped they had bypassed it instead of razing it.
Berrin was clearheaded enough and experienced enough that he could recall the battle almost blow-by-blow, the smell of blood and the sounds of arms clashing, drowning out the screams of men, both in anger and pain. Berrin was strange like that he guessed, faces and names at court eluded him most of the time as did missives and good advice at times, but he remembered every battle he had been in in nearly picture perfect detail.
Berrin shook his head and frowned, why was he thinking of that now? Must be the tension of waiting, he decided. The mind takes you strange places when you must wait and keep your tongue.
The dragonrider tries to stand, slowly and shakily. "Every city that does not submit will burn to the ground. We have more soldiers at --" He stops speaking abruptly. His eyes start to grow wide as he claws at his throat. A terrible scream sits silently in his throat, but the few surviving prisoners of the dragonrider's army cry out at once in excruciating pain. At once, they collapse - as does the dragonrider. Their exposed skin bursts into flame, scorching all of them alive in a cauldron of pain. The bodies twitch gruesomely as smoke coils off the charred bodies. Whatever the dragonrider intended to say died with him.
"Ghost of Malthus," is all Verik can manage to say as he watches the eerie executions unfold before him. He clutches his golden key symbol as he looks skyward a brief moment, then sighs and begins to unstrap the Abadarian heavy shield from his right arm.
Akiros smiles grimly as he sees the results of Jemini's passion and valor. What a woman she was! If it wasn't for Elspeth...
Yet despite the surge of affection and appreciation he feels for their Paladin leader, it is another woman Akiros gives thanks to this day, for he can clearly see Her hand at work. Quietly to himself, the Oracle whispers a fervent prayer of thanks to his Deity "Oh great Goddess, your humble servant gives thanks unto thee this day for the power and glory of Your glorious Voice speaking through our leader, Jemini, this day. Thank you for the blood our soldiers, who have already suffered such loss, spared from being spillt even further this day. A great victory over evil this day has been won, my Goddess, I shall not forget it." and with the he rides off with the others, to rout the defeated foe.
Like a scythe through wheat is the Marshall, his sword rising and falling almost mechanically, men dying with every stroke. Later, as they surround the leader, Akiros' iron hard eyes stare down upon the man without the least hint of mercy. This man, this beast who would have destroyed all that they had built, deserved no mercy, and would find none in this quarter. As the man writes in agony, and within moments is consumed from within, as is all his army, by a intense heat, Akiros steps back, his eyes narrowing in though as he tries to ascertain the cause.
Looking to his comrades, he says "Well, at least we shall not have to bury them." his dry delivery making it unclear to his friends whether he is joking or completely serious. "But more importantly, we must somehow determine who this 'Master' is that he speaks of, and take the fight to him. For clearly if this 'Master' is so wiling to eliminate his followers, he must have many more at the ready and waiting."
K History:
K Religion:
Berrin gives a small twitch and a frown of disapproval at the dragonriders death. 'Magic!' his brain screams in warning. Looking around Berrin tries to see if any shady figures lurk nearby but seeing none he just 'bahs' at the dead body.
"Soo.. Did we just beat Choral?" he asks hopefully, not really believing it.
Nikolai wheels in place to glare at Berrin after his question, but something lodges in his throat. Though the effort to choke down his retort is obvious, the barbarian restrains his tongue for long seconds.
You fought well, and you showed courage. But Choral is a monster of legend. He is beyond us, and beyond our other rivals. Still, he cocks his head to one side as if trying to remember something, We have struck him a dire blow, and we may have gained even more than we know.
Nikolai looks down at the dead dragonrider, then kneels at his body, searching him for clues. We should claim their gear and search their command for intelligence. A letter, a birthmark, a minted piece of gold. We have a lot to talk about.
Zander runs the edge of his cloak through his fingers, as he surveys the after math.
"There is much about this attack that I seek answers for...but also do not fully understand what happened as I fought...I had..."assistance". As you said, we will talk....But I do not think we face this alone."
He calls some of his men over, "Come, we will find their camp and gather information and prisoners if possible." The White Stag lopes off with his men in the direction the dragon army tried to flee.
In a mixture of fury and relief Jemini turns away from the remains of the defeated army. Fury at the sudden and uncalled-for torturous deaths - but also relief that the day was won.
"Berrin! We need to immediately dispatch a rider! Two horses - one to spare - to see what happened to Varnhold. How long before we can have word?"
Nikolai sits up immediately, reinvigorated by the call to action. He picks up a large sack, sticky at its full bottom with red dragons' blood.
I'll go. Give me your mark and I'll take this to your friends. They will know they have capable allies, and that I serve their savior.
"Yes a rider certainly," echoes Verik in a voice that suggests his mind is elsewhere. With his shield now off he flexes his arm instinctively, appraising both Nikolai and Jemini directly. "Nikolai I would caution you going alone, for who knows what spies lie out there that would wish to waylay you after what you have done to them?" He puts up a hand in caution. "Consider my words only as thinking of your well-being and nothing else. What I would truly like to know though Jemini, is what exactly happened when you led the charge? The charge was...glorious...is all I can think of to put words to it. And your blade now...that is no glamour trick of the eye!"
"You unpleasant, insufferable, arrogant..." Verik scowls and mutters in part to himself. Raising his voice he shouts at Nikolai's back, though mostly he just knows Rogvaria will continue to dismiss and ignore him. "Fine! Well...well if you go and get yourself captured by the Mayor's men out of Restov...don't go thinking we'll just bankrupt the realm just to pay your ransom!"
"Yes a rider certainly," echoes Verik in a voice that suggests his mind is elsewhere. With his shield now off he flexes his arm instinctively, appraising both Nikolai and Jemini directly. "Nikolai I would caution you going alone, for who knows what spies lie out there that would wish to waylay you after what you have done to them?" He puts up a hand in caution. "Consider my words only as thinking of your well-being and nothing else. What I would truly like to know though Jemini, is what exactly happened when you led the charge? The charge was...glorious...is all I can think of to put words to it. And your blade now...that is no glamour trick of the eye!"
Jemini blinks - a moment of incomprehension at Verik's words - then stares at her sword as if for the first time. For a moment it seems like she might drop it in shock, before both her hands scramble to hold it more firmly. She drops to her knees her eyes closed and a tear welling at the corner, Glorious Iomedae! Your mantle has covered this battlefield for all to see and left no doubt. Thank you. Thank you! My friends, my allies, this whole nation may have fallen this day - but instead in the moment of greatest need your spirit carried the hearts of everyone and ended those who would oppress and destroy. Thank you! Thank you for keeping them safe.
Although there is nothing more he would rather do than ride with all haste back to his beloved, Akiros is nothing if not a man of duty, and he knows his Elspeth understands this completely.
Launching himself up into the saddle in one, swift movement, he announces aloud "I shall accompany him." Still to this day, the two of them had never discussed their previous...relationship together. Akiros had once been the subordinate, yet know he had been the General of the army and was now the Marshall of all Newhaven. He was beloved and respected by many and was considered one of the Founders of their new nation. While Nikolai, the former Stag Lord, had no official position and was feared and loathed by most, tolerated by some, and accepted by but a few. Although his performance this day might do much to change that. Yes, it was long past time they talk. Perhaps this ride would avail them the oppourtunity to do so.
Before turning to catch up to the scion of Rogarvia, Akiros guides Kydal over to Maegar and his daughter "My Lord, my Lady glad I am to see you well. Nikolai Rogarvia and I plan to ride to Varnhold to tell them of our victory here and check on their well being. If there word you would have us pass on to any of your people?"
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An hour later, Nikolai settles into the familiar role of Akiros riding at his side. Even the weighted bounce of a slain combatant's head shaiking his saddlebags fits into the old cadence. But two years ago, Nikolai would have tossed the open bag into the village square wordlessly while Akiros translated his inarticulate demands.
The former Staglord turns his head to find his former partner in crime riding silently. Lately, Nikolai has learned to tell when domeone needs to open a difficult conversation. Nikolai, you're in the hell you carved for yourself. Nikolai, you are a murderer. Nikolai, you're my prisoner. Nikolai, they're going to try then hang you.
Nikolai, my name is Choral.
The big warrior settles himself on his horse - the biggest he could gind, still groaning under the batbatian's weight. He brings his horse closer to Akiros'and signals him to slow down, as he might have nefote a raid or if Nikolai had sniffed out an ambush. The gesture is both familiar and foreig.
I am glad you came with me today. Still trying to save me from myself?
After receiving whatever messages the Varn's wished to pass on, Akiros waits for the big barbarian to return with his own mount. When he arrives, Akiros wordlessly falls into place beside him, old, familiar habits unconsciously taking form.
The silence continues for some time, each rider occupied with his own thoughts. For Akiros, the silence gives him some time to decide how he wishes to proceed. What to say to this...man? This murderer. This monster. Yet no, he was the Stag Lord no more! He was Nikolai Rogarvia now, heir to the throne. Besides, how could he judge this man beside him without also judging himself? Akiros had been party to so much violence and death because of his former liege lord. Yet at the same time, the Stag Lord had saved his life, had given him a place and purpose when there was no other avenue open to him. There was much he owed the scion of Rogarvia, both good and ill.
Akiros glances sidelong at the big warrior beside him, and at that moment Nikolai motions for them to slow down and speaks, making the first move to open conversation between them. At his question, Akiros barks a laugh, then, staring forward again, answers "Ha! Save you Nikolai? Is such a thing even possible? For either of us? Besides ourselves, only the Gods know how much blood has truly been spilled by our hands. How many lives shattered and torn. How many curses shouted on our names. No Nikolai, my days of tying to save you are long past. If it is at all possible, it is my own soul I do my best to redeem. Yet, should you truly wish redemption, I will help you find it. I owe you that much at least."
Turning again and looking slightly upwards to stare the larger man in the eye, with all seriousness and sincerity the former second in command to the former Stag Lord asks "But first I must ask you Nikolai, and I charge you to tell me true, why are you still here? Why do you stay in a place where so many still fear and revile you? What happened to you? And what do you want here in Sanctuary?"
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Until this moment, the path to redemption, the quest to learn a new way of life, has been grueling for Nikolai. But it has been at least quiet. Jemini challenged him by example. His second life mandated that he soberly address change and amend for his crimes. But no one had yet asked him about it. It catches the big man off guard - a realization that brings Nikolai to a dark mood, full of doubt and self-revulsion.
He doesn't answer.
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He sees the reaction in Nikolai, the surprise, and then the self-loathing and frustration. He waits a little longer and, when still no response ensues, he nods once and faces forward once again "I thought as much. We were never ones for conversation, you and I, and I do not know how much of my own tale you know. Perhaps you have heard bits and pieces from the men, here and there. Since we have the time though, and if you do not object, I shall tell it to you now."
He is quiet for a time more, gathering his thoughts again, preparing himself for the emotional tumult even thinking of his past always engenders, let alone speaking it aloud. Yet, somehow, to his surprise, the pain is nowhere as intense as it once was, and an image of Elspeth's gentle face floats before his mind's eye and a calmness flows within him. Sighing quietly, he begins. "Sarah, was her name. It all begins with Sarah..." and as they ride, the tale unfolds. This time, for the first time ever, he holds nothing back. Elspeth now knew most of the tale, but now, at this moment, to this man with whom he had shared so much, he tells it all. He tells of his time as a paladin in training and as an Aldori sword lord. He tells of that fateful day, meeting the beloved of his best friend and the knowing in his heart that the love he and Sarah instantly felt for each other would one day doom them all. He speaks of the torrid affair, the plans to escape, being caught, and the terrible duel that ended four lives that day. When he gets to the part of arriving at the Stag Lord's door, near death, he stops, for of course Nikolai knows this part. Or at least most of it.
Looking once again to his travel companion he continues "I do not believe I have ever thanked you for your actions on that day Nikolai, for I was equal parts outraged, heartbroken and grateful. Those men who were chasing me, those men you slew on my behalf...they...they were my friends, they were my brothers, and I..." overcome with emotion at the memory of his lost swordpact brethren, he stops to collect himself. A few beats later, he speaks once more "I do thank you Nikolai, for without doubt, had you not...done what you did, I would not be here now. I would have never found...Elspeth."
Stopping once more, he allows some time for a response, yet when none is forthcoming, he continues his monologue once more. "Things changed so much after the battle Nikolai, after you...died. We were defeated, you were dead, I was blinded by that witch. I did not deserve nor expect mercy or forgiveness, yet there it was. My sight was restored and, to my great wonder, I was given a place of honour and responsibility. Yet things were still so hard. Not a day, hardly a moment went by when I did not in my mind see my hands covered with blood, did not miss my belo...miss Sarah. And then there was Malgorzata..." and his face and demeanor darken significantly as he utters the hated shapeshifter's name.
Pausing a third time, after a few breaths he carries on "I thought I was going to lose it all, Nikolai. All of you were gone, the fate of the city, all our people, was in my hands. And we faced an enemy that did not fight with steel, but tortured our minds. In the end, I nearly lost mine...yet I gained something else, something so much more." and at this his milky eyes seem almost to glow. The Oracle sits up straighter in his saddle as the weight of memory, of the past, seems to lift off of his shoulders "I was a Paladin, Nkiolai, yet I abandoned my Goddess, for I thought She had abandoned me. Yet in the moment of my greatest madness and despair, She returned to me, She showed me that She had never left my side, that despite my many sins and mistakes, She forgave me, and still had purpose for me. My sight was taken from me, yet I see much more now than I ever did before, my old friend."
For a short time, his strange milky eyes seem to gaze at something no normal mortal can see. Finally, a rare thing occurs, and Akiros smiles. It is a smile of great peace, of deep happiness, of self-forgiveness and hope "And then the miracle Nikolai. Then Elspeth. In the name of young and blind love I had caused the death of so many. I knew that love would never come to me again, and I knew it was nothing less than I deserved. But then it did come, like nothing I had ever felt before, and I have no shame in telling you my friend that I am happier now than I had ever dared dream was possible. And I know, in my heart, that it is only by the grace of my Goddess that such a miraculous thing is possible."
Turning once again to the silent barbarian, his eyes glowing softly with a light not of this world he finishes "No Nikolai my friend, as I said, it is not for me anymore to save you. If you truly wish to be saved, if you truly seek redemption, you must look to that which is beyond us. For only the Gods themselves can wash away the blood of crimes as great as ours." he then closes with a small chuckle "I am no Arch Banker, yet if you wish to know of The Inheritor, you need but ask, and I shall gladly tell you all I know."
Something stirs in Nikolai, but as the weight on conviction bears down on him, his thoughts trace backward through time. His awakening to the voice of the paladin he'd slain. The battle where he died shouting oaths of incoherent rage. His crimes. The sense of glee he felt when he slaughtered the men Akiros spoke of. That glee felt so hollow as Nikolai remembered. It was child's play. Their blood spilt like everyone else's. It shamed Nikolai that as his only loyal companion bared his soul, Nikolai instinctually grimaced with disdain for the men who came after Akiros. Childsplay.
But the talk of religion pushed him further backwards into time. He murdered acolytes. He raided villages guarded only by peaceful friars whose only crime was to bless land Nikolai coveted. You have what you hold. And of course, then he thought of angels and demons. Angels like Jemini who died to give her allies time and, eventually, to show Nikolai grace.
And demons. Servants of Choral and his gods-damned fey galliards. The divine power the demons wielded was only bent to madness and destruction. His mood grew darker as Akiros went on. The flames. The heated claws cutting into his flesh like molten razors. Not into the surface of his flesh, but deep. He heard the scraping of demonic talons and draconic claws against his own bones. He wondered who he was before Choral. Before the agony. Before he vowed to make both named and nameless suffer as he had. Before he determined that there was no Nikolai without blood.
And his journey stopped.
He could remember nothing. No family. No childhood among well-dressed nobles who tutored him and expected things of him. He was no one without the sword. He was only a murderer with it.
Months of practiced listening told him Akiros had finished his piece. He'd heard the words - even heard the conviction in Akiros' voice as the former herald confessed his sad story had landed him a happier life. He noticed the horses had stopped, and that they were looking over Varnhold, unmoving. Akiros was looking at him as if he expected an answer.
Nikolai had no answers. He looked beyond his companion - his friend - and waited in uncomfortable silence.
It is good for you that your story did not end with your debt to me., Nikolai says with effort. I'll hear no more of gods and forgiveness. I haven't even earned my own yet.
He squeezed his horse with tired calves. The poor beast exhaled noisily under the pressure and continued down the road to Varnhold.
His smile slowly fades at the silence, and then the forced answer, and he nods his head silently in response. As the haunted man beside him urged his tired horse forward, Akiros sits still a moment more, watching the broad back slowly retreat ahead of him. 'What a farce that trial was' the former Ronin laughs quietly to himself 'They thought to try you? To punish you, Nikolai? How little do they know, that no punishment they could devise could hold a candle to the torture you put yourself through.'
Nudging Kydal forward into a slow walk, as he catches up to the former Stag Lord, a question forms in Akiros' mind. A question that surprises him he had never considered before 'How did you become the Stag Lord, Nikolai?' Opening his mouth to voice the question, he closes it again before the words can escape 'No. No, not now. A question for another time perhaps. Or perhaps never at all.'
And so two men continue down their road, the same road, yet different paths. So too were the two men different, yet also were they so much the same. One, on the path towards salvation and happiness, the other, not for a moment believing he was worthy any such things, ever. And so, as they had before, as they did still, they continue to ride, side by side. Only the Gods knew where their road, their paths, would take them next.
In the aftermath of what the townspeople and tavern bards began calling Dragonshead - as the severing of the head of the dragonrider's mount became the focal point of the story - the popularity of Newhaven grew even stronger, drawing immigrants from all sources. A small contingent of Galtan exiles brought what remaining assets they had, while hard-working smiths and artisans from Brevoy moved to the offered stability of Newhaven. Kesten Garess negotiated trade agreements both up and down the Shrike River, opening the trade route from Restov into Lake Candlemere.
Having fought together, Varnhold and Newhaven were pulled even closer. Trade intensified between the two fledgling nations, both on land and by water. Fortunately, the dragonrider's army passed over Varnhold, apparently specifically passing between Varnhold and Restov in order to attack Newhaven with as little warning as possible. Tracking the army's source was difficult once it passed the hills and mountains that separate Iobaria and Brevoy, but it seemed that the army marched with inhuman speed and endurance. Maegar Varn insisted on an alliance between them, offering his daughter Aylene to General Berrin Myrdal. With the acceptance and betrothal, a trying period in which the strong-willed Aylene clashed with the equally hard-headed Berrin, the two nations were almost as one. The allies stretch united from the shores of Lake Candlemere almost to the Tors of Levenies, the massive mountain cliffs that mark the end of the Stolen Lands.
Aylene Varn's upcoming nuptials to Berrin require him to be named to the nobility of Brevoy, lest she be disowned by her family and house. They agree that Berrin shall be the progenitor of House Myrdal, a vassal liege to House Lebeda. His elevation has ample precedence, but requires the consent of the regent. (Since the appearance of the purported Nikolai Rogarvia, no one has called Noleski Surtova "king," but no one suggests that Nikolai take the crown or the throne.) With Jemini Lebeda as sponsor, and her father prepared to personally grant the petition in the presence of the regent, little beyond formality is expected when they travel to New Stetven. The marriage must still be blessed by House Orlovsky, the liege lord of House Varn. Lord Poul Orlovsky will be present as well to hear the petition of marriage between House Varn and House Myrdal, and to decide whether or not to grant it.
The trip from Sanctuary to New Stetven took several days to travel the roughly two-hundred miles, though it was much easier crossing through the previously-wild lands south of Olegsgrav now that the road linking it to the capital is finished. The group from Sanctuary stopped for a day to visit with Oleg and Svetlana Leveton, now the mayoral family of the city. Oleg's deft financial touch, along with Svetlana's welcoming, have the city thriving. Inns and shops welcome the Brevic immigrants as they make their way into the new nation to the south. Svetlana offers counsel as to the best places for them to move to, whether the cities or the farms outlying the roads. With the gold mine completed, miners come by the hundreds looking for work, including a number of dwarves excited about the prospect of prospecting. In the meantime, Bokken maintains an odd tavern in the city with no discernable pattern of hours. Somehow, he and some of the gnomes from Narthropple's expedition, came together in an unholy alliance of strange customs; they are wildly popular with both the locals and visitors from abroad. Oleg reports that many nobles stayed for several days after returning from Sanctuary after Nikolai's trial and the Dragonhead.
Oleg and Svetlana's young daughter, Jemini, takes a very special shine to her namesake. The young girl, about a year old now, demands to be held by the paladin whenever she is around, a request happily filled by Jemini Lebeda. Jemini, Berrin, and Zander Whitestag gladly spend a day catching up with their old friends before setting off again. They are accompanied by Aylene Varn, as well as Zander Orlovsky and Elanna Lebeda. A number of guards - as well as Zander's quiet and intense minder - fill out their retinue, a suggestion of Kesten to make them seem more official.
As they ride into New Stetven, the sheer difference in size between it and their own capital is staggering. While all of them have seen it before, it has been a while for any of them. Over ten times the size of their burgeoning city, NewSteven is similarly situated on the shores of Lake Rekyal. Coming through the south gate of the city, which has wooden walls higher than Sanctuary's castle, the bustle of the city is almost overwhelming compared to their slower country life. The ample supply of lumber means that most of the city's buildings are constructed of wood, including the Ruby Fortress - the central citadel constructed by Choral and the location of the Dragonscale Throne. A light snow covers the city, a blessing of the mild winter.
As they walk down the (also wooden) streets north towards the Ruby Fortress, Berrin's attention catches on a certain Temple of Calistria. His mind flashes back a few years to his hands wrapped around Alexey Surtova's neck upstairs in that same temple, and the sneering noble's threats to him in the summer of this year. As Aylene catches his gaze, she slaps him lightly on the arm. "Oy, don't be gettin' any ideas. I am not gonna share you, and I don't think you want to know what I'll do if I find out that you've been dishonoring our marriage." Despite the smile on her face, Aylene's tone is ice-cold. She made it clear to him in a very frank talk that she refuses to have a cold political marriage. Despite their strong opinions and her initial reluctance to be bartered off for an alliance, Aylene's loyalty and passion make her an ideal mate for Berrin. Having not consummated these feelings, half of their fights are simply sublimation of their shared frustration.
Verik Jarrow, Archbanker of Newhaven, sits in the Founder's Hall alone. With Jemini traveling north with Berrin and Zander, he is left to recieve official visitors. Jhod is likely teaching the children some nonsense about nature, while Kesten is gone to Mivon trying to negotiate an expansion of trade. Akiros is busy with his duties guarding the city, and Tandlara still slumbers - almost a whole year gone by now. The responsibility falls on him, and him alone.
And Jabber.
The kobold guide has been very helpful, trying his very best at all times. While he cannot seem to grasp the nuances of Common even when Verik attempts to tutor him, his enthusiasm makes him a valuable assistant. Jabber interrupts Verik by knocking on the door to the Founder's Hall. "Make excuse! Jabber is making announcement! Announce guest Willas Gunderson, Pathfinder!" A smile on his draconic face, Jabber opens the door to allow this guest in. A tall, thin man enters with a look of awkward confusion. He wears glasses - an unusual rarity - that frame his face and blond hair. Handsome in a bookish way, his ears betray an elvish heritage.
Willas offers Verik a hand in friendship. Verik has to push aside the project he was working on - a magical heavy belt for Akiros intended to bolster his strength. When Willas spots it, he drops his hand in fascination and picks it up without asking permission. "What extraordinary craftsmanship! Look at the detail of the buckle, where the sword's lines meet the lines of the dragon's head. I'm sure you know this already, but this would be the perfect spot to center the ley lines that would anchor the enchantment. I presume that this is a belt that enhances strength, is it not?" He looks at it from all angles before returning it to the table. "Oh, my apologies. I am Willas Gunderson, a Pathfinder of the Woodsedge Lodge in Galt. I was sent by the Society to chronicle some ruins located in the Candlemere Lake and to report my findings. I am pleased to make your acquaintance."
Akiros Ismort sits at his desk, pondering and brooding. Elspeth recently told him that she was willing to forgo all rights to her name and her house to marry him, and that she would do it gladly. Should they marry against the wishes of her house, she will be disowned. He sorts through his feelings on the matter, mindful as ever about the consequences of his actions. He is almost thankful when a knock on the door interrupts his thoughts.
Giergios Dumanov, the loyal and dutiful senior guardsman promoted to captain of the City Guard during the incident with Malgorzata, stands at attention until Akiros invites him in. His gray hair matches his gray cloak, but he holds himself proudly despite middle age. "Good morning, sir. One of the men reports that he was on patrol in the castle when he found a man in the castle's secure area, past all points of guarded entry. He claimed to simply be lost, but he was detained and searched. He had, on his person, detailed notes as to the layout of the castle and its personnel. He also had these, sir." He hands Akiros a strange-looking pair of goggles, with heavy leather straps and thick glass eyes. Akiros peers at them with curiousity. He has seen some magical devices before, but never anything so elaborately detailed. Clockwork of some type lines the interior of the glasswork, as well as several knobs along the leather straps that seem to adjust the clockwork gears. Giergios speaks again, gaining his attention. "The man lives, sir, and is currently under lock and key in the next room. I have Lieutenant Bennick with him, sir, as well as several other guardsmen."
Verik puts his own hand down after an awkwardly long moment, his practiced neutral expression deepening into a frown at the lapse in propriety, unintentional as it was. He raises an eyebrow to the lanky Pathfinder, then looks down at his most recent work, then back up again. Galt eh? An eager compliment it seems, but he worked out my entire dweomercast in mere seconds…are my efforts that simple and paltry to be unraveled so easily? Still he seems amiable enough…why then am I irked so?
”Yes well…Pathfinder Gunderson you say? I am Banker Jarrow, High Cleric of the Founders of Newhaven. Indeed the pleasure is mutual.” Verik nods slightly and gestures to the belt as he adds, ”For our Praefectus-Marshal as time permits, and you have correctly deduced the intended enchantment. Please sit, and I shall call for refreshment…ahh very good there Jabber, but would you ask the kitchens to bring up hot tea and spiced wine? And thank you Jabber.”
As they sit and wait for refreshments to be brought up, Verik regards the Pathfinder intently. ”I suppose I am not surprised by your arrival, Pathfinder Gunderson…” Though why is it that a Pathfinder arrives here before Banker Lorrell and the Conclave can send me a decent response to my report directly? Too much to ask nowadays? ”…though may I assume that you received word from your people in fair Absalom on these matters? In any event, I am directly familiar with the ruins you speak of and have made some preliminary notations on the subject, if such would be of interest to your investigations.”