Stradia: The Fourth War - Chapter 1 "The North Falls"

[Azisien]

Day Two

The utterly massive, stone chimney dominated the skyline of the Venurian capital city, even from the regal courtyard of the king’s palace. Green grass and trees filled the area that was large enough to be considered a wilderness, even though it was contained within the city. Even so, the courtyard lacked the other appreciable songs of nature; those of the birds. In sharp contrast to the otherwise beautiful place, hulking gargoyles dressed in ceremonial plate mail stomped around stone paths leading to and from the palace and other various buildings.

It wasn’t until Jorluke himself was spotted at the top of the palace stairway leading down into the courtyard that all movement in the area stopped dead. Each gargoyle clued in one by one and halted, saluting. The king of Venuria descended into the courtyard with a grace fit for his title, but the effect was lost given his armored attire. Ignoring the stone paths, Jorluke made little craters in the neat grass with his plated boots, until he came to a relatively large area of nature, with no paths nearby.

“Lazarith.” The king said. His voice was deep and almost booming; again in sharp contrast to his stature.

There was a moment of silence before the earth started to rumble. The tremor intensified to earthquake proportions instantaneously, and the ground before Jorluke tore open like parchment wrapping around a child’s present. Grass, dirt, and stone moved as if they were all water, and in the center of the spell a man appeared. He was human, though incredibly tall for one, about six feet three inches, and that made him tower over his king. His facial features were long and thin, reminiscent of a horse, and his black hair flowed down all the way to his buttocks. On his head he had mounted the fractured skull of a gargoyle, with the jaw conveniently removed so the gruesome helmet didn’t look larger than his head. His body was clothed in some kind of leather armor, but the hide was unusual. In his right hand he held up a six foot long quarterstaff. A slight bow. “My lord.”

“Anduil refuses to simply hand them over. I didn’t expect him to, but it makes this harder for us. We know they are in Kenshura, but we do not yet know where. The invasion southward will better our search attempts. Are you ready to take on the role of general, Druid?” Jorluke spoke in his characteristic deep voice.

“With the Border Forest itself as my army, I will crush Kenshura and deliver to you the northern realms within three months.” The Blood Druid replied, obviously not full of himself.

“No, Lazarith. I will give you an army, and you will have captains to divide up the forces, and they will have lieutenants to divide theirs. There is no time limit for your success, but victory is mandatory. If you fail, you will find yourself not in the grip of the enemy, but before me.”

“I understand.” Lazarith knew Jorluke to be entirely too serious.

“Your captains await you at Fort Huyer, General.” The king said.

Another slight bow from Lazarith, and the king turned on heel and walked away. The newly promoted druid-general watched him go for a moment, eyed the towering chimney with disgust, and activated his transportation spell. The ground became fluid again, and this time it swallowed him whole. Dirt and grass wrapped around the area as if fixing the work of the excited child. When the spell ended, the area was back to its former pristine condition.

***

The community hall in Gole was too small for its growing population. The village had doubled in size in the last twenty years and its infrastructure was struggling to compensate. Still, it was a functional auditorium of sorts that could fit several hundred people at once. There was enough room on the stage to seat a dozen speakers. Gorn Altreas descended down the stairs to the stage, but he had no audience on this day, just a select few waiting for him at the bottom.

His nephew, Arne, was one of them. The elf was noticeably younger, perhaps just leaving his physical prime. He bore a powerful family resemblance to Gorn, and they were even the same height. The younger elf wore leather traveling clothes and the signature cloak of the Border Rangers. Along with him, there was a woman dressed in chainmail, and a priest of Avelia, head shaved and face painted, in standard, flowing blue and white robes.

Gorn reached the stage and bowed to all of them. The gesture was returned by all three, but their words assaulted the elderly mayor of Gole before it had been completed.

The knight of the Long Patrol was first. “Venuria is going to invade, my lord?” The formality seemed tacked on and unnecessary given her tone of disbelief. “What is going on?”

The priest was next. “Avelia’s Light! What am I to do for you, Gorn, in these troubled times?”

And before Gorn could open his mouth, Arne finished. “Am I to return with this information to my superiors? The Rangers will be the first to encounter them, I assure you that much.”

Gorn nodded. He was still a little in shock himself, knowing that war had returned to plague Kenshura so soon. “The Venurians will come, but we do not know in what size, strength, or speed. We do not know their generals, nor their true goals or intentions.”

“We know nothing.” The female knight said flatly.

“I know that if we are to repel this invasion, preparations must begin now. Food must be stockpiled in all the villages and rationing must be instituted. Gole and Ateria are the most fortified positions in the north. We will focus our forces in both villages and I can assure you they will come for us here, and there.”

The three waited in silence this time. Gorn took the hint and continued. “From you, Arne, I require the delivery of a message. Indeed, the Border Rangers as a whole must know of the threat. Your people know the forest as well as any of the druids there and the guild’s scouting potential will be invaluable. We are counting on you for information about the size and disposition of the Venurian forces.”

Arne nodded solemnly and the mayor turned to the knight. “The Long Patrol must ensure the continued safety of trade between the villages, and when the time comes we will need your knights to aid us in battle and against their siege. A courier system of information must also be established between the villages and the scouting missions of the Rangers; you could likely delegate several knights to help with that.” The knight nodded in comprehension.

Gorn turned finally to the priest. “Amwhey, I wish I could do it myself, but I must ask you to go and speak to Sir Elmric in Gole Forest. I require the services of his paladins and healers.”

“As you wish, my friend.” The priest replied. Gorn smiled and bowed to each of them in turn, and placed a loving hand on his nephew’s shoulder as the trio left.

“Be careful. We don’t know what to expect.” The elder said.

***

Day 42

“Sir, the last of the defenders are scattering.” the gargoyle reporting was covered in blood: of his fellows and enemies alike, and he wore what would pass in human circles as a vicious grin. “Many have been slain.”

“Good,” the gargoyle captain reported with satisfaction. He surveyed the ground around him, littered as it was by the detritus of war: shields, armour, walls, people lay scattered about like the carelessly discarded playthings of a God’s child. Yet amongst the dead, he saw there were those who yet lived. They were the wounded and dying, and they were at the mercy of his men. “Round up the survivors and bring them to the southern outskirts of town. I will follow.”

“Yes sir,” the gargoyle turned and began issuing orders. The troops gradually fell into action, and soon a sizeable number had been gathered together, shivering with the fear of the monsters which bore down on them.

“Separate the women and children,” he ordered. “Bring me those who are innocent of bloodshed.”

It was done quickly, with gargoyles and trolls pushing amongst the now-panicking survivors. Laying about them roughly with their great strength, they pushed the women and children out from the crowd, leaving the men, elves, humans, and even a few dwarves huddled together. Their families, the women, elderly, and young, cried out to them in darkening sky and through haze of the evening drizzle.

“Captain Jyde, we are in position.” Another gargoyle messenger reported. The captain stomped around on the wet earth and surveyed the two groups. “Send for my lieutenants. All of them. I will speak with them shortly at the center of town.”

The messenger bowed and departed at a sprinters pace. Jyde turned to the two groups of Kenshurians, and approached them. “Warriors of Kenshura!” He shouted, his voice carrying for what seemed like an eternity. “Many have fallen. Your brothers are dead, or they have fled like whipped dogs. You are all that remain, prisoners of the kingdom of Venuria. We salute your strength.”

The captain paced several steps, and continued, nodding to his own men. “I am not so unreasonable, and I give each of you the chance to surrender your allegiance to this foul country and pledge it to Venuria. You may fight under our flag and gain true glory!”

He may as well have been asking a pile of rocks. “Very well. Your acts of courage and bravery in this battle are commendable! You have earned the swift death a warrior deserves. Venurians! Kill them all!” He pointed his five foot long blade at the captured defenders. Trolls, gargoyles, and humans laid about themselves ferociously, and in less than a minute, the last of the Kenshurian warriors had been cleaved and stabbed into darkness.

Captain Jyde turned to gaze upon the unarmed survivors and villagers of Socre. “You are pathetic. Weak. Even the least of my kind would not have allowed themselves the ignominy of capture. Those,” he pointed at the pile of corpses. “Those fought. Resisted. Died with some shred of dignity. They earned swift deaths. You did not.”

The women started to scream and hug their infants, while the children followed suit, not quite sure what was going on yet.

“What you have earned is freedom. You are not a part of this war. Go. Run, southwards, to your own kin. Now! Before I change my mind!”

Jyde’s men made room for the survivors to run away, and like a river they exploded out of the hole in the dam, running for their freedom. They were one hundred and fifty feet away when the captain turned around to the formation behind him. “It looks like I owe Ariosto one subject, men! These Kenshurians are even slower runners than he!”

The crowd of trolls and gargoyles burst out in hideous laughter. There were no humans in this crowd, for humans could not pull such taught bowstrings. Jyde turned back to the survivors, who were already getting tired, some two hundred and fifty feet away. “We’re a little far off, but try to aim low! I don’t want to give too many of them the pleasure of a swift death!”

The formation all nocked arrows simultaneously. Jyde pointed his blade at the fleeing civilians. “Fire!”

***

Most of Socre’s buildings had been destroyed or severely damaged in the final assault. The community longhouse at the center was one of the exceptions. The eastern wall had been collapsed and charred by some siege weapon, but the structure was otherwise intact. A large bonfire had been started outside the building, where Captain Jyde’s lieutenants had gathered.

Jyde himself was large even for a gargoyle, with dark-purplish skin and a scarred face and chest. He was an iconic master hunter of his race, and his wings were noticeably larger and more muscular from decades of extensive use. He carried the gargoyle equivalent of a falchion, while a large shield was strapped to his side. It would be a tower shield to a human, but he wore it as a buckler on his left forearm. He arrived with a small human child in tow, and walked around the bonfire right up to Ariosto Cantare. He shoved the child towards the lieutenant and smirked. “Venurians are much faster! You were right!”

Along with Ariosto, the other lieutenants under his command were present. Oyo, another human of average height with short black hair and, due to the battle, a blood smeared face. A rapier was sheathed at his side and a recurve bow was strapped to his back along with a large, empty quiver.

Zoreg, the only troll in any kind of command position in Captain Jyde’s brigade, was seven feet tall with a face even more gnarled than usual for his species. His head was bald and covered in ugly black splotches. A huge three-headed flail was hanging off his belt, and he carried a long chain in both hands. At the end of the black metal links, a spiked, steel sphere the size of human head had been attached.

Mithik was the most unusual looking of the bunch, a gargoyle with pearl white robes that had, somehow, avoided all the mud and blood of the battle. Even now, the raindrops above the seven and a half foot tall lieutenant curved and avoided him like some kind of plague, leaving his clothes dry.

Captain Jyde was proud of his men. They were each capable leaders, even Zoreg, and they were all impressive warriors too. The running joke in the brigade was to tease Ariosto and Mithik because they did not wield blades or bows with any proficiency, but everyone had a great deal of respect for them at the end of the day too. “My lieutenants, welcome to Socre! Not quite like home…” He grinned viciously, and Zoreg hooted loudly. “Gole is next. We need some time to rest and recover from the assault, and no doubt the Kenshurian warriors will be eager to harass us. I’m sending an advance force to do just that; harass Gole and its surrounding areas. Make sure there are absolutely no farming operations, no logging operations. No merchant caravan should be safe, no couriers should deliver their letters!”

Mithik interjected. “Who of us will go?”

Jyde nodded. “All of you. Take one tenth of the brigade and wreck some havoc. Do not attack Gole directly, and not when they are ready for you! Shatter their morale and cut off their resources. I’ll leave you to select your tenth, but don’t take all of my elites! You have two weeks, then I march to Gole and the real siege begins.”

The lone Kenshurian child started to cry as the Venurians separated to perform their respective duties.

***

Day 52

The northern gates of Gole creaked open and the horse and rider galloped at full speed into the village. Promptly, the rider fell off the horse and the spearhead lodged in his side became evident. Guards and civilians alike formed a crowd the rider, until Gorn and his escort arrived on the scene. “Please, make room! Everyone, stand back!” The old elf said, walking closer to the rider himself.

He was barely conscious, but enough to relay his message. “Venurians…Come…Three hundred strong…Only miles away…” The young elven scout blacked out.

Gorn turned to his nearest aide. “Summon Vincent immediately, this man needs healing.” The humble sage to the king looked to his man at arms and personal bodyguard. “Prepare a force to meet them.”

----------------------------------------------------------------------

OOC: Gole is a decently large village and as I mentioned somewhere before, it’s got admirable fortifications. Thick wooden (and stone reinforced) walls, and some guardtowers for archers and spotters. You probably couldn’t run from one end to the other without a breather. It’s laid in a fairly geometric fashion. There are four gates for each cardinal direction, and main roads that lead from each gate to the community hall in the center of the town. They have blacksmiths, a small barracks, stables, and all the regular infrastructure for a village supporting five to ten thousand people on a regular basis. Most of the buildings within the walls are houses.

And this is the beginning of your parts in the RP, on the 52nd day after the start of the war. It looks like we might have some PvP rather early on, too, but that all depends on us now, not just me. Kenshurians, you get to decide exactly where you are in Gole, and within short order you’ll know what’s going on in the northern region. You may have actually been with Gorn, and been present in the above.

Venurians, you’ve got most of your force in one place and you’ve been raiding very close to the village. You just slaughtered a scouting party sans one escapee and you’re expecting a welcoming party shortly. You might have a small camp set up, but the main camp would be farther away from Gole.

[Jtab]

Day 6

Word of the forthcoming Venurian forces has reached Midgaard. The city has fallen into a state of panic and were I not stricken with fear, I would be overjoyed. The chaos which has blanketed my home would allow me to double or triple my belongings and provide a comfortable life indeed. However, a mountain of gold will do my corpse no good, and surely if the Venurians are to reach Midgaard I am as good as dead. All of Kenshura is familiar with the brutal history and the conflicts between the Venurians and our people. They are soulless beasts no better then the scum on the bottom of my shoe and I would expect no better then a swift execution should I be captured by their army. The merchant Alazar fled once news of the invasion hit the city, leaving me without an honest days pay to my name. I leave today to join the militia and reinforce the barracks at Gole as I see few alternatives. I am no hero, but nor am I a coward.

With a sigh Bentis drops the quill with which he had recorded his latest journal entry. Not many people would associate themselves with a known criminal so Bentis has made little in the way of friends. His journal quickly became his confidante and his tool for ranting. Wasting little time, Bentis tucked his journal into his side pouch and left his home to seek out the militia’s recruitment base.

“Oy!” Bentis called out to a nearby guard, “where d’ I find the militia sign up?”

Eyeing the street bred Bentis rather curiously, the guard motioned to his right “Down that road you will see a group of heavily armored soldiers at a table off to the side.”

Bentis thanked the guard with a smile and began on his way down the street. Soon he spots the table the guard had just spoken of and felt rather dumb for asking as it was perhaps a stone throw and a half from where he stood when he asked the question. Approaching the group of three soldiers with a smile, Bentis opened his mouth to speak-

“G’day, I was thin-”

“Joining up? Good,” the center soldier interjected, “we always need more strong young men for the fight. Sign here and be ready to begin travel tomorrow morning.”

***

Day 22

Roughly two weeks have passed since the Midgaard militia set out for Gole, and I with them. It has been an uneventful trip though I suppose that should make me happy. Not long after leaving Midgaard, our troop met and joined with another militia on the move. I believe they hail from Heryo. I have made small talk with a few of the more friendly among the group. I cannot say that I look forward to battle or am glad to be involved in a war, but the change has been refreshing. Now I must bid you good night, as the morning comes early and there is still a long road ahead.

***

Day 31

The militia arrived in Gole last night and I was entirely to exhausted to write until now. Sleeping on the ground the passed few weeks has truly allowed me to appreciate even the lumpiest of beds and flimsiest of cots. Our orders since we reached Gole have been to keep alert, keep rested, and continue our training regiment.

***

Day 40

As I looked around me during the militia sparring sessions, I came to a grim realization. Many of these people will die. I had understood the likelihood of casualties beforehand, of course, but it is clear that many of these men have never held a sword before and few look to have even fought. I fear that unless the Venurians are kind enough to delay their attack for the months needed to properly train this militia, few will survive even the first battle.

[Aieris]

As she had everyday for the past two weeks, Aieris awoke to the marching and drilling of self important militia men. The noise was annoying, though it was not helped by the cramped bed and room of the Inn in which she stayed. Turning to the small window of her room and watching the disorganized rabble of a militia below march by, Aieris asked herself the same question she had each morning when she woke; whether to stay and fight for Gole and freedom, or leave and live.

Normally the decision would have been simple. Death was an adventure she was not yet prepared to explore. But the possibility of her godparents being caught in the conflict ahead urged her to stay. Refugees from Socre arrived each day, but her godparents had not been among them. Nor had any of the refugees that she had talked to known of anything happening to her erstwhile parents. All they had known was that Sorce was gone, and that all of its defenders, and most of its denizens, had been eradicated.

News had also arrived of the atrocities that were being perpetrated by the commanders of the Venurian army. So, while the likelihood of her godparents still being alive was minimal, she would stay in Gole as long as she could, hoping that they would pass through or that news of them would find its way to her.

There would still be weeks to leave before the Venurian army reached the walls, and if worse came and she could not leave the city before it was encircled, she could always join the fight. She was, after all, not completely defenseless, she thought to herself as she glanced fondly at the bow lying in one corner of the tiny room.

Yes, there was still time to make a decision to fight or run. But for today it was time to get out and once more begin questioning the refugees that passed through the city. Dressing quickly, then shouldering her bow, she walked out into the streets after reaching the same decision she had since the news of Socre had come, and probably the same decision she would make each day until it was too late to leave, and she would have to stand and fight.

[TheBlindMime]

Day 3
"That is a very interesting move," The elder of Gole replied as he eyed his dwarven rival. Despite his suddenly busy schedule Gorn still made time for his weekly chess game against the only dwarf he knew that seemed to look up to elves.

"How's that?" The young dwarf replied, though he was in his forties he was in the prime of his lifespan. He eyed the board uncertainly now, he had come to know the old elf well over the past few years of their playing and had grown accustomed to that phrase meaning the end was nigh.

"It's simply and interesting move Loki." Gorn replied with a grin, the first he'd known in the last few days. The more he mulled it over the more he realized this was the first true respite he'd allowed himself since it had begun. He made a quick move, shifting a bishop deeper into enemy territory.

Loki ran his hand over his chin thoughtfully now, in the old days he would have furrowed his beard to mull over the facts and plan a new course. Sadly he lacked the beard and any idea to what course to change to. "Well then," He replied somewhat unsure of himself, "Would that be as int'risting as the move you made at the blacksmith shop yesterday?" Loki moved a pawn to block and threaten the bishop, leaving a knight behind as the pawns defense.

"You mean by politely suggesting that Mr. Corbin begin to shift his exports to items other then simple farming tools?" Gole asked innocently before taking the pawn with his bishop.

Loki laughed at both the move and the sentiment, "Asking no, heh, telling be more like it." Loki swiftly took the bishop with his knight, a more then fair trade for a pawn. "Why, I'd say that I ne'er had to stert forging a sword so quickly in all my days."

Gorn shifted a knight of his own Loki had long forgotten about, which took his own. As Loki grimaced Gorn began to explain worse news, "Tonight there will be a town meeting called, we will be announcing it publicly then." Loki looked up to Gorn's sincere eyes, the game before them now long forgotten. "Venuria has declared war once more, they will be marching on our steps before long."

Loki shifted his weight uncomfortably, "I see." He scratched the back of his head this time, things were most serious now. "Checkmate in two moves eh?"

"Quite." Gorn replied, suppressing a smile at Loki's reaction.

"Oh well," Loki said humbly before picking up his mug and finishing his lager, "I suppose we'll be haven a nice chat bout this next game eh? If'n thats the case I'll juss head on o'er to the shop and git to work."

"No time for another game then?" Gorn asked knowing the answer.

"Well if'n you insist!" Loki cast aside his cloak and began furiously returning the pieces to their proper places.

***

Day 20

"Excellent, another fine blade to add to the pile wouldn't you say Loki?" A muscular human in his early twenties, dressed as a blacksmith handed over a blade to Loki. Loki eyed the blade suspiciously, flicking his thumb against its edge a few times before handing it back to the boy.

"Aye laddie tis a fine blade, unless you want the fighter to live to fight again." Loki chided.

The other men laughed as the boy re-examined his work, "No I'm positive this is a good blade Loki. Perhaps you've made a mistake." Most of the men just snickered now as the boy tried to reclaim some of his lost ego.

"Well if'n you think I made an egregious err', then I'll look ag'in." Picking the sword up Loki drove the blade into the dirt then twisted the handle down, breaking the blade in twain. "Aye, you were right laddie, add it to the pile!"

The men roared with laughter now, the boy was a flustered shade of red. "How dare you! I worked hard on that blade Loki! When my father hears of this he'll-"

"Oh wut'll he do laddie?" Loki asked with a bright and happy glimmer in his eyes.

"Why he would-" the boy was cut off again by a new and commanding voice.

"Why he would commend Loki for having such a fine eye for detail!" The boy turned to face an older version of himself, complete with beard, long hair and a few more pounds in his middle.

"Father!?" Was all the boy could muster.

"Hello Terrence, perhaps you could explain to me why your sword so easily broke when pried against earth as soft as this." Mr. Corbin picked the hilt and shattered blade up from Loki.

"Well, I-"

Loki chimed in suddenly, "Why the laddie 'ere was juss giving me a good ribbing, weren't you boy. Aye, that wus it, wusn't it laddie? Why that has to be it, he juss wanted to make sure I was forging weapons of high quality despite the fact we've been at it for nigh on to two weeks. Isn't that right Laddie?"

"Oh," Mr. Corbin replied, "In that case reforge this properly and try not to spend to much time testing our Bladesmith here."

"Right away father." The boy grasped his failure in hand and set about reforging his weapon. The other men were now working furiously all of them focusing there attention on their individual tasks. Avoiding the gaze of their boss Mr. Corbin at any cost.

"I love coming over here, everyone is always so busy." Mr. Corbin said as Loki fell upon the ground laughing.

"Aye, ye'll ne'er find a lazing employee when the boss is nigh!"

***

Day 32

Loki looked Mr. Corbin straight in the eye with a smile, "How's the day faring Stanley?"

Mr. Corbin kept his voice low in his reply, "I must head off to Socre with the latest shipment of arms. They will be the first to see any invasion force from Venuria and they must be properly prepared for anything."

"That's more then a bit of adventure for a man of your age Stanley, perhaps you should send another." Stanley was only three years Loki's senior, the sentiment though was not lost upon him.

"Thank you Loki but my brother lives in Socre, this could be my last chance to see him." Mr. Corbin replied sincerely.

"Aye, family is important. Juss make sure you get back here safely. Terrence needs a firm hand to get the most out of him. And if'n you leave it to me I'd probably just end up spoilin' the little snog." Loki joked as he pat Stanley's arm.

"Don't worry, Loki, we set off tomorrow and it wont take us more then a week to arrive." Mr. Corbin looked over a sheet of paper before him as if he'd calculated everything perfectly.

"Give yer brother my best in that case, tell him to give a gargoyle wut for, fer me!" Loki thrust his fist into the air to give a proper example of 'giving what for'.

Mr. Corbin nodded, "Will do my friend. Will do."

***

Day 48

Terrence stood at the city gates staring vacantly into the distance. Loki stepped up behind him and coughed loudly. "Oh, hello Loki."

"Why 'Ello there laddie. Wut you doing here when you could be, I dunno, worken?" Loki took a stern look into his otherwise happy face.

"My father should have returned by now. Its been over two weeks..." Terrence still looked out into the distance, waiting for his father to crest over the hill and down the path home.

"No use in waiting for him here Laddie, when he gets back he'll head over to the shop to make sure we're still working."

"What if he doesn't come back?" Terrence asked his eyes never wavering from the distance.

"Lad," Loki grabbed Terrence and twisted him to face the blacksmithing shop, "If'n I had a family name, I'd wager it on your father coming home safely." Loki wished desperately that this was true.

***

Day 52

Terrence stood just behind Gorn eying the survivor with a disturbed look in his eye. Loki caught up and stopped just behind him, "Listen Laddie, if'n I have to chase you e'erytime this here gate opens I'm gonna have a heart attack." Loki looked around the boy to see Gorn at the survivor's side.

Originally Posted by Gorn

“Summon Vincent immediately, this man needs healing.”

"You heard him lad, go get the priest. Now lad, Now!" Terrence hadn't heard that much urgency in Loki's voice before and was off and running to collect Vincent.

Originally Posted by Gorn

“Prepare a force to meet them.”

Loki turned tail and ran back towards the blacksmithing shop, "Just gimme two seconds Gorn, just two seconds!"

[Mintaro]

Day 16

Penn ghosted through the forests with five men behind him. They all stepped quietly over the fallen brush and picked paths that would best hide them. Far above an owl cried out its hunting call. There was smoke in the Air. Penn held up his hand, signaling for a stop. Each man took up a position hiding in brush or behind a tree. Keeping there eyes open. It had been a long journey. When he had started out there had been 15 men with him. Two that ranked above himself. The constant pattern of falling back and attacking at night was beginning to tire him. They were under orders to keep track of the enemy troops and do there best to pick at the numbers. Well they had certainly done that well. Ultimately there goal as to encounter the bulk of the army. So far all they had seen were scout groups and raiding parties

Penn gave the signal for continued march, they would be upon the enemy shortly, from the smell of the smoke it was likely they were busy torching a farm house or a lumber mill. They got near the edges of a clearing and saw something that took their breath away. Before them stretched a massive camp. Fire lights looking like stars on the ground. "Avelia help us..." Penn gasped quietly. Penn took a quick count of the fires, committing the number to memory. Penn gave a quick hand signal to his 5 rangers, Turning around they ran back off through the trees. When they made it to what Penn felt was a safe distance they stopped to speak again. "Friends. We have already lost many in this. Good people we all knew and cared for. There is nothing more we can do from here, we must make our way back to the main cities, evacuating the ones we can on our way. We will avoid enemy scouts at all costs, the numbers must be relayed so that we can prepare an adequate defense."

His men nodded, they all knew there duty even if Penn hadn't told them what it was. It just made things simpler to have orders. He gave them the march symbol and march they did.

***

Day 28

The Rangers had arrived at Socre. The town looked almost peaceful despite the fact war would soon be at there door steps. He looked about and saw that they had been following the siege plans. The barred gate was opened at there approach. It would be hard explaining the situation to these people. But he had to try to get as many of them out as he could.

***

Day 30

Penn and his 5 Rangers were leaving Socre. They had done there best to convince the ones that would to leave. For the rest they had helped with fortifications. The trees had been cleared back to an appropriate distance, and the wood from them had been turned into spikes that were placed around the walls. It wasn't much but it would help. The longer they could keep a siege here, the longer other cities would have to prepare and get the army ready.

***

Day 37

The Rangers had made it to Gole. They were now tires and in great need of rest. When they got through the gates Penn dismissed his troop to the Local Ranger Guild house and went himself to report. He made his way through the crowded makeshift war room and saluted Gorn smartly. "We encountered the enemies main force. They numbered more than I could count, but if the fire's were any indication, we are looking at a war the likes of which we have not seen. It is likely that they will not send the entire force at us but rather a smaller section. I informed the men at Socre of the situation, they have prepared for a siege but I fear they will all die."

"It is what we suspected then. We have gotten reports of battles against raiding parties and the like but no substantial force. It seems that these beasts want to pick at us before they attack. Very well then carry on, go and rest. We have much work to do ahead."

Penn saluted again and then swept out of the room. He needed to lay in a bed again, if only for one night.

***

Day 52

More rangers had trickled into the city. The Guild house was beginning to look like an inn. Bedding had been assigned according to rank so thankfully Penn had one. Others made due with mats of straw and wool on the floor. Rations were tight and he knew before all was done most people in the city would be making new holes in there belt straps.

Penn stood on he parapet walk, observing the barren landscape before him. Trees had been cut and trenches dug out. There were even some spiked pit traps set up to catch the unwary. Penn took out his bow and checked the pull. It seemed like all that was left to do was wait to be attacked.

As he checked his bow he picked random targets to aim at. It was because of this he was the first to see the horse headed for the gate.

"Open the gates a messenger returns!" Penn yelled out at the gate men. They got the gate creaking open just in time for the horse to dash through. Penn helped to close the gate then dashed over to hear the messenger.

Originally Posted by Azisien

Guards and civilians alike formed a crowd the rider, until Gorn and his escort arrived on the scene. “Please, make room! Everyone, stand back!” The old elf said, walking closer to the rider himself.

He was barely conscious, but enough to relay his message. “Venurians…Come…Three hundred strong…Only miles away…” The young elven scout blacked out.

Gorn turned to his nearest aide. “Summon Vincent immediately, this man needs healing.”

Originally Posted by TheBlindMime

"You heard him lad, go get the priest. Now lad, Now!" Terrence hadn't heard that much urgency in Loki's voice before and was off and running to collect Vincent.

Originally Posted by Azisien

The humble sage to the king looked to his man at arms and personal bodyguard. “Prepare a force to meet them.”

Penn pushed his way quickly through the crowd. Placing a hand on the mans wound he dug deep in himself, pulling out the healing magic that had come in handy so many times before. He whispered a prare to Avelia and the his hand glowed faintly as the healing magic seeped into the man before him. The bleeding stopped and a little damage was healed up but that was all he could do. He slumped down onto the ground sitting next to the injured man.

"That...should keep him alive...until the real healer gets here." Penn said much more confidently than he felt. "Don't stand...around people. Lets get ready for the enemy!"

[Loki, The Fallen]

Day 52

Vincent wiped the sweat out of his eyes. He’d been out in the field for a good 2 hours helping weed the McGuiness family’s fields. There wasn’t much to clear, thanks to the care their eldest son took while tending it. But when he broke his leg, Marcus McGuiness was unable to fulfill his obligations to his father’s farm. That’s where Vincent came in.

An old man stood at the edge of the field. Honestly Father Runeheim, you must surely have more pressing matters to attend to then helping an old man weed his garden!

Mr. McGuiness, there is nothing that would have given me greater happiness then doing that very task. It brings back such happy memories for me. And do not worry, I will stop bothering you as soon as Marcus is able to walk unhindered.

It’s no bother, really Father, still…

Vince smiled at the proud old man. We are finished with the task now anyway. I’ll be back bright and early to check on the boy’s injury, and to see to the North Field. I really want you to show me how you grow such fine vegetables there.

Mr. McGuiness stood up a little taller after hearing such praise. Why, I’m not sure if I can tell you, it is a family secret and all.

Then perhaps I’ll just help carry things for you, the work would go much faster, wouldn’t it?

The old man picked up the gardening implements and turned to walk back to the barn. Whatever you want. I am quite capable of taking care of it myself.

Vince followed behind him. I know you are sir, but your wife worries about you, and I wouldn’t want her to worry.

After returning the tools to the barn, the two were greeted by Mrs. McGuiness back at the house.

Are you sure you won’t stay for a meal Father Ruinheim? We would love to have you!

I’m sorry, Mrs. McGuiness, although it smells delicious, I should really return to the Temple. I had told them I would return by midday. Vince pulled his cloak on. I will be back tomorrow, perhaps then?

Mr. McGuiness looked down the road. Father, are you expecting company?

Vincent followed the old man’s eyes, and saw a youth riding full tilt toward the farm. Mr. McGuiness, perhaps I can borrow a horse from you? This may be urgent.

***
Vincent and Terrance returned to the North Gate, to see a crowd still gathered around the fallen elf. Bells were ringing and men were being called to arms, some already gathering nearby.

Vincent dismounted from the still moving horse and ran to the crowd. Excuse me sirs, I’m going to need a little room, He said as he pushed his way in. When he reached the scouts side, he saw the wound had stopped bleeding, but could tell the injury was deeper then that. The young elf appeared pale, even by elven standards. He set one hand on the head of the scout, and the other over the wound. He prayed quietly, recalling his instruction his mentor had given him. Light emanated from his hands and flowed into the scout’s body. While channeling the energy into the fallen scout, he carefully extracted the spearhead, behind which the wound closed. He poured in more energy, replacing some of the lost blood. Vince spent a few more moments to heal a bit of the unseen damage to both the scout’s organs and his psyche. Praise Avelia! He smiled. Be still, he whispered to the still unconscious elf, you are safe now.

Vince rose from the ground, his smile leaving him. This man will need bed rest. Take him to the temple, they should be able to care for him there. He turned to the others. Please excuse my tardiness sirs. How may I assist you today? I pray to The Light I will not become a liar this day.

[Lumenskir]

Day 1
Mithik knocked on the door, wondering if he had come at a bad time as soft moans and whimpers escaped the wooden entrance. The wooden golem standing to the side of the door followed his actions intently, eyeless face tracing Mithik’s hands. The gargoyle wondered if they were actually conjured into being with such dopey mouths, or if it was a byproduct of the enchantments that allowed for its movement.

“Oh, hello Mithik. To what do I owe the pleasure?” Ariosto peeked out of the chamber, flecks of blood across his vest and face. Exiting his work space, he began to roll up a piece of wood, the tools on it fading into aether before they clambered to the floor. After putting his scroll away, Ariosto let his glasses fall to his chest. Mithik had always considered it odd that the human committed the spectacle of wearing empty frames, but knew he garnered odd thoughts on his way of dressing, rendering the topic pointless.

“Am I interrupting, or is your work complete?”

“Well, I’m not done, but you’re not interrupting. They apparently captured a stray Ranger, from that Guild or somesuch, and what with war looming it was decided death could be placated. I finished with the physical aspect, now is merely waiting for him to properly tenderize before I can glean something off of him. Should be a scream.” Ariosto said this last sentiment with a knowing smirk, but it soon faded as nothing but silence filled the space in the hall. “Hmm, the first scream should have been done by now…must be a tougher shell than I thought…”

Mithik, aware of the enchanters long streams of thought, cast his pebble early. “Speaking of war, I’ve come here with an offer. A lieutenant’s position!”

“Under whom?” Something in Ariosto’s voice chided Mithik for thinking this an easy sell.

“Jyde, the captain. Think Ari, a chance to practice your magic in the real world, against enemies of Venuria no less. These golems must ache for duty other than doormen.”

“I haven’t been informed of any assignments…why did Jyde request me? I don’t exactly seem his type.”

“Well…it’s more of a personal favor, on my behalf. So far the other lieutenants…seem to favor a more forceful approach. They’ve given Zoreg responsibility, if that’s any indication.”

“Zoreg’s a decent enough candidate, especially for a troll. Tell him to take three lefts and he’ll find himself going right at least.”

“Please Ari, for me. Jyde needs another magically inclined lieutenant, and I need someone I can relate to outside of race or rank.” At that moment, somewhat jarringly, a high scream blasted from inside the room, causing Ariosto to break the conversation in order to reenter his area, head down in consideration. Mithik followed him in, and was followed by the golem. Both watched as Ariosto mulled over the prisoner, a blindfolded elf who was currently scratching furiously at the heavy stone walls.

“The first scream is that of surprise, where the victim realizes that against all odds his fears have materialized.” Ariosto explained offhandedly as he watched the elf with a scholar’s interest. “The second is that of bargaining, offering sanity for safety, and shouldn’t be too far along. Third, and final, is the relinquishing song, when all is lost. Of course, information is lost along with it, and then I’d be out of a job.”

“Ari, please, I must leave soon for the forest, I need an answer.”

Ariosto watched the elf curl up into a ball, cursing and muttering at things he could only nightmare of. “Fine, I’ll accompany you. If Jyde will even take me on such short notice.” The elf leaned back, unleashing a blood boiling screech. Ariosto leaned in quickly and removed the blindfold, revealing bloodshot eyes and new wrinkles. Mithik noted the two inverted sigils of Avelia that lined the blindfold. “Well,” the enchanter said to his prisoner, “What can you say for yourself?”

“I-I-I-I-I’ll t-t-tell you anything. Please, no m-m-m-ore.”

“A willing Ranger informant, Ari?” Mithik grinned. “That would be a gift fit for any captain.”

***

Day 34
Ariosto and Mithik sat at the lieutenant’s table, under the canopy of the forest. The Ranger’s babblings had procured a few choice routes to avoid, and Jyde’s unit had so far suffered little casualty.

“I can’t wait to see the little Kenshurians run. Only thing they’re good for.”

“I wouldn’t think so.” Ariosto offered to the current macho pre-combat chatter. “They have no reason to be. Venurians find themselves running from true threats everyday, Kenshura only fears our attacks. I myself, out of sheer necessity, would probably be quicker than most of their populace.”

“Sounds like a bet there, Ariosto!” Jyde said. Ariosto shrugged his agreement in return.

***

Day 42
“Venurians are much faster! You were right!”

Ariosto looked at the small boy in bewilderment, trying to piece together his arrival. Even after Jyde’s proclamation of attack, the enchanter could not correctly collude the exact happenings that led to this.

“What am I going to do with a Phillip?”

“My name is Robert!” The boy cried between sniffles.

“If it looks and cries like a Phillip, I call it a Phillip. Now be quiet, adults are afoot.” With a meager wave Ariosto silenced the boy’s further pleas, an aura of quiet around the youngster’s head. Staring at the boy, the enchanter let his mid drift off to the possibilities. “I could use a living easel for my experimental undertakings…”

***

Day 52
Ariosto emerged from nothingness, stepping through the middle of the slaughter and approaching the bewildered man in front of him. Looking at his fallen friends, and the blood that stained his blade and hands, the man fell to his feet.

”Why…why did I kill them?”

“Because I commanded you to. Similar to how my golem will now behead you, at my command.” Ariosto explained. The golem looked on, dopey mouth agape. “That means now, that was a command.” The golem lumbered forward and managed to jerk his sword carrying arm enough to behead the questioning man. Ariosto focused on the horizon, glasses over his eyes. A small figure rode away. “More company coming.”

[Ladybug]

Day 42

The fierce and bloody battle had ended, once again Brass was still alive. He looked with unfeeling eyes on the survivors and the corpses that surrounded them. He noticed one human woman in particular nearby cradling the body of a child and rocking back and forth.

Originally Posted by Azisien

“Separate the women and children,” (Captain Jyde) ordered. “Bring me those who are innocent of bloodshed.”

Brass took the woman roughly by the arm, causing her to drop the child. She screamed and cried, struggling furiously to reach the dead body. "Leave it." His deep voice commanded her, as he grabbed another woman and her living child and pushed a few more out of the crowd. Brass shoved them roughly into the tightly packed group of 'innocents', then turned away from the crying, shaking women.

The Captain began offering the former warriors a chance at life under the service of the Venurian forces. Brass remained unconcerned with the silence the Captain recieved, and when ordered went forward and slaughtered the living.

Originally Posted by Azisien

Captain Jyde turned to gaze upon the unarmed survivors and villagers of Socre. “You are pathetic. Weak. Even the least of my kind would not have allowed themselves the ignominy of capture. Those,” he pointed at the pile of corpses. “Those fought. Resisted. Died with some shred of dignity. They earned swift deaths. You did not.”

The women started to scream and hug their infants, while the children followed suit, not quite sure what was going on yet.

“What you have earned is freedom. You are not a part of this war. Go. Run, southwards, to your own kin. Now! Before I change my mind!”

Jyde’s men made room for the survivors to run away, and like a river they exploded out of the hole in the dam, running for their freedom. They were one hundred and fifty feet away when the captain turned around to the formation behind him. “It looks like I owe Ariosto one subject, men! These Kenshurians are even slower runners than he!”

Laughter erupted around him, but Brass did not join in, he was already nocking a bow. He stared directly at the woman who had been cradling her fallen child, and took aim.

***

Day 52

That's the last of them... Brass thought as he gathered the few weapons of the fallen enemies. The scouts had put up a much longer fight than what he would expect from those who spend their days sneaking around.

Suddenly, he heard the sound of a horse and turned to see a Kenshurian scout had survived, and was fleeing. He picked up the nearest spear and ran after him, knowing he probably could not keep up with a horse for long. He got as close as he needed and threw the spear into the side of the rider before slowing to a stop. The rider was almost dislodged from his saddle, but through an amazing act of persistance and endurance he reached down and tried pulling the spear out of his side. He could not get it out but managed to break it off to be rid of the akward wieght.

Brass watched him fade from sight, off toward the village, feeling slightly abashed that his spear had failed to knock him off his horse. But then again... he thought as he headed back toward the encampment, if it had been my spear, he would have fallen.

[Akamaz]

Day 32

Ishvah sat at one end of the portion of the village green she had set aside in the "resting Phoenix" position, a double row of youngsters, 28 in all, sat attempting to emulate her (some more sucessfully than others). With the upcoming conflict with Venuria, Ishva did her best to help the families with children who remained by Keeping an eye on some of the little ones.

She had decided early on that there was no reason why the children could not learn some self defence while they were being watched. After several days of instruction, a new scruffy looking human youth showed up and joined the others, quickly taking a leading role in the class.

While the village green was nice, she would have much preferred a proper Salle

After the time of meditation, she began putting them through their stretching exercises, adjusting the childrens positions as she moved among them calling the moves.

"Teacher Ishva" asked one of the children as she was correcting her stance. "Why is Venuria coming?"

"I'm not sure, Kellen. Some have said that their King wants something that our King doesn't want him to have." Ishva replied. Questions like this were becoming more frequest as the rumors of war progressed more and more.

Day 52

Often when she was not assisting with the children, she helped in other ways, writing letters to the various merchanting concerns that she had contacts with to request supplies and funds to pay soldiers with. But when the scout came through the north gate, it appeared that all was for naught.

[Barahad]

Day Thirty-Five

Graeme had just reached Weste when he had learned of the danger facing the kingdom. For most of the past month he had been out of contact with his order, travelling the roads of the north on his third expedition as a full member of the long patrol. He had stopped in Weste to have his horse re-shod and to pick up some necessary items for travel in the north when he had encountered a royal messenger. Spotting Graeme’s standard, the messenger waved him over. Spotting his troubled expression, Graeme joined him. “What news from the kingdom, messenger?” he asked.

The man seemed desperate to explain the situation. “There’s the threat of war in the north, sir. The Venurians are said to be gathering for an attack on Kenshura. Soldiers and supplies are needed. You’ll likely encounter dozens more messengers as you travel north.”

“Where were you delivering your message?” Graeme asked.

“Gole,” came the answer. “And I’m being sent south again with dispatches for Midgaard.”

Graeme looked around. The village street was mostly empty, but there were a few passers-by. “Do the citizens of this village know the peril we face?” he asked quietly.

“Their elders do,” the messenger answered. “And I’m sure once armies start passing through heading north, and citizens start heading through passing south, they’ll understand that there’s danger afoot.”

Graeme nodded. “I certainly hope so. I will delay you no longer. Even with swift horses it is at least a fortnight to Midgaard. Gods be with you, sir.”

“And with you,” the messenger replied. Graeme’s mind was already elsewhere, assessing whether he required any new supplies for his extended sojourn in the north. He reckoned that Gole was unlikely to be lacking in basic supplies and materials, so he contented himself with restocking his provisions, fixing the shoes on his horse, and purchasing a hooded cloak so that his armour would not rust in the summer rain. These tasks took him most of the morning, but he trotted out of Weste while the sun was waxing in the bright blue sky. Yet the air betrayed a hint of rain: the promise of a storm, not long in the future.

Day Forty-Two

It had rained the evening before he had made Gole, and the sky still loomed like a gray pall overhead; Graeme kept his cloak and hood pulled tight about him, owing to the threat of rain. A strong wind shook the tall grass on the edges of the road leading to Gole’s southern gate, causing droplets of water to splash occasionally upwards onto the leg of Graeme’s trouser. He was less than a half a mile from Gole, and could already see the stone and woodworks encircling the village. There would likely be soldiers at the gates, given the threat to the north, and he had no doubt he would be challenged. Spurring his horse to a quick trot, he closed the gap in short order, and pulled his steed to a halt twenty feet from the outer gate. From his vantage atop his horse, Graeme could see eight soldiers standing at the gate, four on each side, weapons near at hand. Above them, protected by stone and wood, would likely be a group of archers

“Hail, warriors of Gole,” Graeme words were strong and clear, designed to reach even the archers above him. “I am Graeme Oakhill, knight of the long patrol, come to aid Gole in this trial.”

The soldiers seemed to relax, and they stood aside, though they remained cautious. “Enter, and be welcome in Gole. You come at a trying time, and we thank you for your aid.”

“I do my duty,” Graeme answered as he began moving towards the gate. He stopped again as he reached the gate. “Do you know of any other knights of the long patrol in Gole? I must speak with my superiors in the order, if they are present.”

“I don’t know of any others like you,” the guard answered. “You should try the guild-house of the Border Rangers. The militia captains are reporting there, and you might very well find Gorn Altreas, one of the village elders, there.” Before Graeme could ask another question, the soldier smiled. “It’s near the centre of the village.”

“Thank you,” Graeme flicked the reins and eased his horse into a stately walk, passing under the gate and into the village of Gole. Overhead, the gray pall rolled unbroken. Graeme soon found the guild house, and dismounted. Satisfying himself that the horse was well-secured to a hitching post driven into the ground outside the building, he entered.

“Hail, stranger,” an older, sage looking elf raised a hand in greeting. “You have found your way north at an unfortunate time.”

“Thank you, elder,” Graeme nodded politely as he reached for the clasp about his throat which secured the cloak. “I am Graeme Oakhill of the long patrol, and I have come to aid in the defence of Gole.” He removed his cloak to reveal his armour and standard. “How might I be of assistance?” then he looked around again and frowned. “And where might I hang a damp cloak?”

“There is a cloak-room to your left,” the elf answered, a small smile touching his lips. “I am Gorn Altreas of Gole, and I welcome your help in the coming battle.”

Graeme nodded and went to hang his cloak.

Day Fifty-Two

The commotion had distracted the militiamen under Graeme’s instruction, and he rebuked them sharply, reminding them of the important place discipline and concentration had in the art of war. Yet he himself knew very well from the grim faces of those returning from the gate that the news was bad: the Venurians were approaching presently. It would soon be time for these men to put their training to the test. Graeme only hoped he had done enough.