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Archon Island* was little but a silhouette against the dim dawn as Acolyte Dracone Volat, Sextus Erineensis, flew in towards it on the back of Concitatus, his mount, yet, even in the early morning light, he could still see the skirt of white-capped waves that crashed into the island’s towering cliffs and echoed throughout its frigid halls.  The cells of the neophytes were deep down inside the castle, tunnelled close to the cliff faces so that no member of the order could fail to hear those waves and not remember their humble beginnings.  For Sextus, though they had once been a harbinger of troubled dreams and many more sleepless nights, they now held the unmistakable timbre of home.

The thought quickened his heart and he dug his heels deeper beneath Concitatus’ scales to make the small wyvern fly ever faster towards it.  The message he carried in the leather pouch attached to his belt was too important to be delayed and time was truly of the essence.

Concitatus swooped lower over the surging ocean, scales spray-spattered, letting the surface winds push him towards the island. As the cliff face loomed ahead he slipped upward on thermals, to spiral  once, then glide gracefully into a gentle landing in the dusty, cloistered quadrangle set aside for the purpose.  Sextus didn’t wait for anyone to help him but nimbly undid the leather straps holding him in place and slid down Concitatus’ neck as the creature stooped to drink from a large trough near the castle wall.  He didn’t even bother to tie the beast up, but ran through the cloisters and into the castle proper, ignoring the confused looks from the acolytes on landing ground duty, standing just inside.

The corridors were empty.  On a normal day, they would be full of neophytes rushing to breakfast, whilst the older acolytes would heading off to their duties.  Today was far from normal, however, and rather than getting up before the dawn, many would have stayed awake all night as the count was taking place.  Now they would all be in the Great Hall, awaiting the announcement of the result, due any minute.  Sextus took a deep breath and hurried ever faster, taking the turns he had memorised as a child and which had been worn into him in his adolescent years.  He had been away a long time, but some things never fade away.

And, sure enough, within moments he had reached the long, straight corridor which led to the doors of the Great Hall.  They were visible in the distance, huge in contrasting ebony and gilded metal.  The sight of them was almost reassuring, except that, in seeing them like this, Sextus knew that things had already gone horribly wrong.  The doors to the Great Hall always stood wide open, that all might enter and join the communion of the Order, but now they stood shut tight and either side, dark-robed figures waited.

“I need access to the Hall,” Sextus began as he approached, “I have important evidence which must be presented before the Order accepts a new Archmagus!”

“You’ve arrived too late,” said one of the figures, stepping forwards and flipping back his hood to reveal a scarred face beneath a balding pate, “the result of the vote is being announced as we speak.”

“Then I must enter at once!”

“Why don’t you tell us first and if we’re convinced, we’ll let you through,” said the other figure from within his hood, his voice urbane and smooth.

“It should be brought before the entire Order, not merely a couple of lackeys!”

There was a dark blur and suddenly Sextus was leaning back, held in the grip of the scarred acolyte, a knife to his throat.

“Really,” Scar said, “we insist.”

“It’s about Archmagus Pacificus,” Sextus said with a gulp that made his Adam's apple jut out just enough to draw a small bead of blood which slipped down his throat as if dancing with its twin, mirrored in the blade of the knife, “he was… murdered.”

“Well that does sound like important information,” said the second acolyte stepping towards them, “and what evidence do you have of this crime?”

Sextus’ gaze dropped towards his pouch, then flicked back up as he realised what he had done.  The second acolyte reached down and plucked it from its place on the belt.  He opened the pouch carefully and withdrew the scroll within carefully as if uncovering a sacred relic.

“Yes,” he said with a sigh, “It only occurred to us that the old man might have one of these planted somewhere after we’d done him in.  Careless, really.”

He held the scroll in one hand and clicked his thumb and forefinger together on the other.  Instantly the vellum went up in flames, turning to ash in seconds.

“I guess that means you don’t need to interrupt the results anymore, doesn’t it?” said Scar with a cruel grin.

“And yet, you must have read it,” the second acolyte added, “or else why would you bring it here in such a hurry? Now that really was careless.”

Sextus felt the knife press just a little deeper, then he knew he had to shout out.  He might die, but surely they would hear in the Great Hall, surely they would know what happened then?

He opened his mouth and the knife cut through his jugular, through the gristle of his vocal chords, through his spinal column and out through into thin air with no more resistance than if he had been made of silk.  There was no blood and the head landed neatly on the stones of the corridor to stare up at its killers with dumb horror.  Then, with a click, all was ash.

*Government Island, in modern TSP.

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Red. A bunch of red. Scattered across the meadow was the blood of all the knights from Alderney and Algonquin who fought each other.

"He's been pierced in the heart." One knight was on the ground, mortally wounded. "What shall we do?" A knight that had survived the battle walked up, kneeled before the wounded knight, and said, "May you find peace in the afterlife." The knight then drew his knife and drove it right through the other's head, administering a coup de grâce. The kneeling knight rose to his feet and said, "When a man is still alive with a wound that cannot be healed, it is our duty to end their pain." A knight standing nearby asked, "And who are you?" The knight who administered the coup de grâce replied, "I am Knight Lieutenant Trent of House Valkyrie, son of Knight Commander Wallace, slayer of the fourteen plotters against the great King Daines, father and predecessor of the great King Aries¹."

Knight Lieutenant Trent of House Valkyrie

In Augusta, the capital of the Kingdom of Algonquin, King Aries sat on his throne, "How go the Battle of the Meadowlands, Knight Commander?" Knight Commander Avery of House Valkyrie, kneeling before the King, said, "I hope you will find pleasure that Knights Lieutenant Trent of House Valkyrie and Praun of House Bannon have defeated the Aldernian² forces in the Meadowlands, your Grace. However—" The Knight Commander paused. King Aries asked, "What is the matter?" Slowly recollecting his breath, the Knight Commander continued, "Knight Lieutenant Praun has died, your Grace. His forces are without a lieutenant, what is your command for them, your Grace?" The King swiftly responded, "The forces of Knight Lieutenant Praun shall now be under the command of Knight Lieutenant Trent, who shall be rearmed and readied for the next battle." The Knight Commander replied, "Yes, your Grace."

In Foxcoast, the capital of the Kingdom of Alderney, King Simon sat on his throne, "What new information do you have pertaining to the Battle of the Meadowlands, Knight Commander Vike?" The Knight Commander said, "Not well, your Grace. The forces of Knights Lieutenant Trent and Praun have defeated our forces consisting of Knights Lieutenant Sean of House Manning and Doyle of House Barrett, your Grace. If it's any consolation, they managed to bring Knight Lieutenant Praun with them to the afterlife before their fall." The King, with a face of disappointment, said, "We must prepare ourselves for the next battle. What do you know of the surviving Knight Lieutenant?"

Knight Commander Vike responded, "From what we know of Knight Lieutenant Trent, he is the nephew of Knight Commander Avery and son of the late Knight Commander Wallace. A member of House Valkyrie, a family of warriors, he understands many arts of combat, three arts of which were invented by the Valkyrians³. His father served King Daines and protected him from fourteen men who conspired against the Algonquinian⁴ throne. However—" The Knight Commander paused and King Simon asked, "However?" The Knight Commander continued, "I think you would want to hear the rest of this in private with the Knight Council, your Grace. I have conferred with other Knights Commander concerning Knight Lieutenant Trent and we have a plan, your Grace."

One of the subordinate knights asked, "What are we doing, Knight Lieutenant?" The surviving knights set up camp in the Meadowlands. "We are waiting for further orders from the Knight Commander," said Knight Lieutenant Trent. A few minutes later, a bird landed in front of the Knight Lieutenant, "Ah, here we are." Removing the folded note tied to the bird, Knight Lieutenant Trent unfolded the note and read it.

Knight Lieutenant Trent of House Valkyrie

Your orders from the King is to wait in the Meadowlands until a contingent of forces arrive to your camp with more munitions and food. We are saddened by the news of Knight Lieutenant Praun of House Bannon. Please give his body the respect that it deserves. His forces are now at your command. You have done well, my nephew. I am sure that your father would be proud of the work you are doing for the Kingdom. Please remain vigilant and always trust your senses. May God guide you in your efforts.

Knight Commander Avery of House Valkyrie

---

Notes

1. Pronounced air-eez
   
2. Pronounced al-dern-ee-in
   
3. Pronounced val-kear-ee-ins
   
4. Pronounced owl-gone-quin-ee-in
   

4× Cabinet minister /// 1× OWL director /// CRS member /// SPSF

My History

(This post was last modified: 09-30-2016, 05:15 AM by Jay Coop.)

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Jinnah Village, Outer edge of End Special District 723, Dusk


The smell of death and burning flesh permeated the air. The village dyed a crimson red by the blood of its denizens and flames as several riders converge upon the village. “Damn… we were too late huh.” Said one of the riders. “Aye, General’s going to be angry about this” responded another, “Quit your jabbering You two. The rest of you fan out cautiously, and make sure to look for survivors. I’d prefer to give the general some form of intel.” Roared the leader of the riders as they slowly rode into the village surveying the carnage. “Aye Platoon leader!” replied the men as they dismounted from their horses and split off into the flames. The Platoon leader grimaced as he walked amongst the burnt buildings, the corpses of the women were lain as if they still pleaded for help with only their wounds and vacant eyes revealing their fate. “Boss! You’re going to want to see this!” shouted one of the soldiers. Turning away from the carnage the Leader asked, “What is it?”  as he walked over to the troopers who then replied, “We got survivors trapped under the rubble. They’re a stubborn bunch, won’t even cry for help. I think they may be afraid of us.” “An attack like this will frighten even the hardiest of us Jules. We still haven’t even located the men yet.” Replied the leader as he walked over to the fellow called Jules. Kneeling down in front of the Rubble, the leader says, “Hey, are you alright?” The survivors stay silent “My name is Mu Kibari, Platoon leader of the 81st Rider squad of the END. I promise that no harm will come to you folks.” “You swear?” asked one of the survivors. “On mine honor as a knight of Fiore” replied Kibari.
“Then please, help us get out. We’re stuck” Said the survivor. “Of course, Men, help me get them out of the rubble,” barked Kibari. “Aye sir.” Replied the nearest troopers as they helped Kibari move the rubble. As they worked Kibari asked, “So are you the only survivor?” “I don’t know, I have 2 other children here with me, but I don’t know if the others survived. They took the men to the Western Forest.” Replied the survivor. “Who’s they,” “I don’t know who they are but they had knight armor and crosses adorned on their armor and shield.” Said the survivor. ‘Damn,’ thought Kibari as he said, “You’re almost out now. Can we get your names?” “… I’m Alice, the two kids are Jena and Kobal.” Alice said hesitantly. Sensing the teenage girl’s hesitation as she and the 2 kids stepped out, Kibari replied, “It’s alright, we aren’t like them. As you can see our armor doesn’t have crosses.” “BOSS!” Shouted one of the men startling the 3 kids. “What is it?” replied Kibari. “I found the rest of the villagers.” Shouted the trooper. “Good, take me to them.” Replied Kibari. “Er… About that boss I don’t think the survivors should see this…” ‘damnit, this is not going to end well.’ Thought Kibari as he looked over to the 3 survivors. “What happened to them?” asked Alice her voice cracking with sorrow. “I… I’m sorry but their dead…” replied the trooper. “Can we at least see them and pay our last respects?” asked Alice. “I’m sorry but I’ll have to survey the area before we can allow you to do so… Can you take me to them trooper?” “Aye sir.” The two men leave the survivors behind. After several minutes the trooper gestures into the forest, “Through there sir.” Nodding silently Kibari walked through the forest before he suddenly stopped, fighting the urge to violently vomit. “these Sick… Mongrels…” whispered Kibari. The missing villagers were found displayed throughout the forest in a sick macabre of crucifixion, burning, and impalement. The missing villagers were stripped of their valuables and clothing, crucified on crosses, impaled as well as burned at the stakes. Shocked by the brutality he had witnessed against civilians, Kibari shook his head, and taking out a small sheet of parchment, proceeded to write a coded message that he handed to a messenger. “Take this back to the general with haste…” the messenger nods and runs to his horse, galloping back with great haste. Watching the messenger run, Kibari tells his men to take the victims down, bury them properly and not show the corpses to the survivors until the corpses were laid down in a grave.
 
 Shin’ei, heart of the End Special District 723, Dusk

General Akira Kensei looked over maps of the Special District grimacing at the reports of the recent border raids by unknown assailants. Behind him the head of the former governor of the Special district rolled haphazardly on the floor after being beheaded for his incompetent response to the rising raids. Kensei wearily shook his head as the war council and Empress Athene Fiore entered the room, taking care to avoid kicking the head of the former governor as they took their seats. “My apologize for calling you out here your majesty, and for the mess (gesturing to the blood and head). However, it was necessary to keep you with me for your safety.” Said Kensei. “Truth be told I would rather be out here helping the people under our care than listening to idle court gossip. However, was it necessary to kill the governor of Shin’ei?” replied the Empress. “With all due respect your majesty, the Governor-General of District 723 is responsible for the order and stability of the district. However, He has failed to address the recent raids against the villages and has tolerated them as the raids increased in brutality.”

“Unfortunately we were unable to ascertain the true extent of the damages until we entered District 723, but by then local resentment had risen against us to near historic highs. We’ve taken action to peacefully relieve the pressure. We would have tried and publically executed the unpopular governor, but the General had already killed the governor by the time we came for him. Still we did the next best thing which was parade the body, and let the citizens decide whether or not to put the head on a pike later.” Interjected a council member.

“Shall we get back to the issue at hand?” asked Kensei, “I would rather have this issue cleaned up in time to teach the Empress the benefits of trade.”

“Of course Shogun,” replied the Council in unison.

“The reason I called all of you including the Empress of our Fair Empire is the raids of the Special district 723, which has grown to be a largely successful trading district. These raids have cut down on trade and have fomented discontent against us as the Governor-General Tolerated these raids against the border villages as they became gradually more brutal. It has now devolved to the point where We the Tempest must intervene and crush these fools for trifling with the End Once we ascertain the identity of these cowards, the Tempest will move to crush them, and they will once again fear the sound of our foot soldiers marching through their own villages.”  Said Kensei.
The Council nod in agreement

“General Kensei, If I may?” asked a councilor. “Yes, Captain?”

“Sir, it is apparent these cowards only target the less defended autonomous villages. We have sent several scouts to the affected areas, and are awaiting a status report from them. Once we receive the report we should be able to ascertain their identities.” Said the captain

“Excellent, we will reconvene once the reports are in. For now, strengthen the defenses of the villages and provide aid to the locals. And will one of you Put the head up on the pike on the way out?” asked General Kensei

“Aye Sir” replied the Councilors as they filed out of the room, the last council member taking the head out with him. Once they had all left the room the Empress looked at Kensei and asked “Must we exact the same thing on the raiders’ villages? Surely not all of the people living with these raiders are like them.”
The general reassuringly said, “Empress Athene, We will only give the raider’s what they deserve, civilians will be unharmed unless they join the fighting. If they choose to run or hide, we shall not fight them. We will also endeavor to improve the current model of military logistics to conceal the extent of war. After all how can the people revolt if they do not feel the hardships of war?”

“That is true, but I am most worried about the villagers in the areas already affected by the raids. Have there been any sign of survivors?” 
“We won’t know until the status report arrives.” Replied Kensei. “Now, it is time to teach you how to run a country. We will need to make sure that you are able to run domestic policy successfully while I and my successors handle all military and foreign matters. You may be a symbolic figure but I intend to make you popular with our subjects”
“Yes, Akira,” groaned Athene as she hoped to avoid the dull lectures of handling court gossip.

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Self-declared Aruto, Syarkho Qenarid, King of the Erinorans, sat on his rosewood throne with gold inlay and yawned. It had been a long day of listening to the supplications of his Marcorar and, though he knew it was important, that, indeed, his fragile kingdom would fall apart without paying heed to the fickle desires of the warrior-leaders of the Erinoran tribes, he was bored and wished desperately to take his horse Cafuhruho for a long, leisurely ride. The Dreamers had not made him for sitting still and filling the ledgers of his scribes with a thousand notes and figures, but for running, riding, hunting, fighting! He closed his eyes and imagined the wind running through the long curls of his hair, to hear it whistling in his ear, to feel the beat of hooves, the pounding of his own heart.

“The last of the Marcoro awaits outside, your majesty,” came the voice of Circumspectus, the Order’s representative in Erinor, Syarkho’s closest advisor and dearest friend, “I could send him away, if you like, but, I suspect, this is one petition you will hear with great eagerness.”

The King cracked his eyes open just a little, to see Circumspectus grinning at him like a fool from within the hooded cowl of his robes.

“Alright,” he said, opening his eyes fully and stretching out his arms and legs and relishing the feeling for just a moment, “Who is it?”

“Marcoro ura’si Khriano, Feoldo Orusyo, Lord of the lands and peoples near the Khardar Tyavod. He was one of the first to bend the knee to you upon your return.”

“Ah, yes. And yet he has always been one of the ones we have had to keep a close eye on. Why do I want to let him in?”

“Because he wishes to request royal approval on a quest - a quest to find the fabled Cata varsea, which he believes lies within his demesne.”

Syarkho tried to suppress a sudden grin and failed.

“I knew you would be interested,” Circumspectus said with a smile. “Shall I call him in?”


It was dark outside by the time Syarkho Qenarid emerged from his tent to stretch his legs take in the cooling night air. Marcoro Khriano had left a good hour before, but there had been much to discuss with Circumspectus and much to plan.

He gazed out across the forest of tents and campfires that was his capital. It was known as Cata Durrar tunear, the City of the Mighty Heroes, a name given to it ironically by one of his early enemies, but which had stuck, as had the practicality of using a mobile war camp as the capital of his kingdom whilst the many warring tribes of Erinrorans were either defeated or absorbed. That time ended a few years ago, Erinor was mostly peaceful, with feuds between Marcorar now being handled beneath the King’s supreme sovereignty, but still Erinor’s capital was a field of tents, moving every few weeks. What was once a show of great strength now seemed to imply uncertainty and Syarkho knew he could not afford any signs of weakness before the Marcorar. He needed a fixed capital, but to place it in the demesne of any of his subjects would give them an unfair advantage over any of the others and he did not want to be seen as favouring anyone in particular.

But if they found Cata varsea...

He smiled. It must be the will of the Dreamers, he thought, for it seemed that the final path to building his Kingdom was already laid out before him.

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