I haven't found any other Age of Wonders stories here...but either way, here is one from me. This takes place on the Pass of Grief map, but doesn't follow the hero (or not, depending on the faction you choose) of the game. Instead, I got to thinking about those other heroes wandering about, especially those never seen. What of the others playing their parts, fighting what battles they will? (Random notes: Keeper faction, Lizard then Highmen branch, Pass of Grief map.)
As always, I own nothing...just enjoy spinning my stories.
The Pass of Grief indeed…
Without prompting, Safi stopped at the very edge of the grass-covered hill. More a mountain than a hill, the cliff provided a perfect vantage point of the small town below. Just as Safi dropped his head to nibble on some of the tall grass, I heard Arshad's mount - which he refused to name - making its way up the ragged trail behind us.
Even if I hadn't heard him clear as day, Arshad's appearance would have given him away. Following Safi's lead, his horse stopped beside us without waiting for Arshad's approval. I didn't have to see the young warrior's face to know how much that simple act bothered him; his disapproval of me was obvious enough, not that I hadn't expected it from the moment he'd been assigned to my army.
Peripherally I noted Arshad's pristine uniform; still crisp as the day he'd left the Academy, if I was any judge. The three before him had arrived the same way. Gleaming white armor, polished with an almost zealous devotion…immaculate white cloth and leathers for the rest, bright enough that my hands ached to think of the washing such things took.
Just wait until those holy whites saw their first death; blood was a most persistence taint. It hadn't taken me long to realize exactly why old Galen wore the more practical browns that he did. Then again, color didn't matter much after a hard day's ride. Dust looks about the same on any uniform.
I resisted the urge to brush at my own uniform. It was too easy to feel my title around soldiers like Arshad. Even his mount was blinding in its own way, the white more suited to a city parade than the front lines of a war. Image or not, sometimes standards had to take a step back in place of common sense.
Forcing his horse a step forward, I had to smirk at the implication. Let the fool have his imagery, I'd lost such illusions long ago.
As Arshad continued to make a show of studying the small town below, I couldn't help reviewing the day's battle for it. It was supposed to be a simple stopover in a human town; a re-supply before pushing on to the real battles. If my men were surprised to find the place crawling with Undead, they were too good to show it. Only Arshad had seemed surprised…and that in turn came as no shock to the rest of us.
Titles aside - devoted or not - the would-be hero still had a lot to learn. Reports weren't always accurate; if he never planned for the worst, one day such a surprise would kill him. Then again, even the simple things still escaped him. A good mount was more than four legs and the strength to carry a man; Safi didn't have the shining white coat or flowing white mane, but he was battle-forged, and had already seen me through five campaigns with only one serious injury to show for it.
…even strength has its limits. Only heroes can wade into that kind of battle alone, and still have the strength to get back out.
It was a mistake I'd never make again. Heroics weren't for people like me. Pity I would never get the chance to repay and old teacher for saving my skin.
Turning my attention back to the battlefield, I didn't give Arshad a chance to give his report.
"Burn it to the ground. Leave nothing alive; well, as alive as these scum ever get, that is."
When I didn't hear the quick agreement I expected, I turned a bit, waiting for the inevitable.
"M'lady?"
Absently I noted the shiver Arshad tried to suppress, as a look of cold displeasure made its way across my face. We didn't have time for his dreams of glory and righteous salvation. We were already overdue at the latest frontline battle. The people of Verdun were already lost; the humans still holding the line at Helfaran could still be saved.
Suddenly my heart ached again for Galen. The old commander wouldn't have questioned me; he was too good for that. We both knew how this war really worked, what sacrifices had to be made.
I still owed Tirlas for his death…and I still had every intention of making the Dark Elf bastard pay.
"Do you want to last long in this world, Arshad?"
Stiffening a bit, he opened his mouth to answer, but I waved the question aside.
"Never mind. My point is, these people may look like innocent victims, but trust me when I say they aren't. Children can still serve as the perfect assassins, the old can wield a blade if they choose to. That aside, anyone left in that town now falls into one of two categories. Either they've become victims of the Undead - in which case death will be a blessing - or they're willing servants to their dark armies…and we need to stop them."
Turning away, I fixed the valley below with a cold stare. It looked so quiet, now that the battle was over. Brightly painted roofs, neat little rows of homes and shops. Once those streets would have held merchants and travelers, the only army a city guard. Even from our vantage point, the sounds of a living city would have reached our ears. Now there was only silence…and suddenly that little town felt like the graveyard it had become.
Some Highmen can't afford to be saints; if everyone wants to keep their hands clean, then the Undead will continue marching across the land with no one to stop them. Every town, every city will turn into the husk below. Do you think…
- - -
"…do you think the Keepers will be strong enough? Even now they scramble about, caught between saving old allies and fighting new threats. If they cannot stop the Humans or the Cult of Storms, what chance have they against something even stronger?"
Head bowed, I stayed silent, content to wait. Let others interrupt with passionate speeches; I knew Gabriel thought beyond his immediate words and it would be wise to hear everything he intended to say. Still, as I continued to look down, I couldn't help noticing the various shortcomings in my uniform. The summons to Gabriel's private study had been sudden; my uniform showed signs of my haste, as well as a few dirty smudges from the day's fighting practice. Compared to the pristine uniform of Gabriel - as expected from someone of his rank, he always looked perfect - I felt like a first-year student still learning how to care for their things.
"Then there are the Azracs, the Frostlings, and the Lizards. They care more for reclaiming old lands and gaining new territory than they do future threats. They throw their support behind whichever faction offers the sweetest bribe. Even the once-mighty Dwarves have been cut low; confined to their endless tunnels, they turn to the Keepers in desperation, hoping to save their own while fighting back Goblin and Orc alike."
Glancing up, I was surprised when Gabriel did the same. Setting his paperwork aside, he let out a soft breath. Rather than the strength I usually saw in him, instead there was a growing shadow of fatigue. Had the scales been tipping against us for so long?
"There is no one else to stand at the front of the defense…no one else willing to take the lead against the growing threat of Inioch and his armies."
It would have shocked another to hear Gabriel speak so. We are known for being the lights of serenity and compassion, the holy warriors that step forward to help humanity in times of crisis. Highmen do not fear death or harsh odds; we embrace our cause and the fight to attain it. When the Elves fell in Unicorn Valley, we sang our hymns for them. When Julia renounced one of her greatest heroes, Gabriel himself saw a soul striving to attain a nobility that she couldn't understand.
No, it wasn't my place to see only the good aspects of our people. No matter how noble, how pure or kind, there has to be something more supporting it. Light alone will not win this war; inspiration can only do so much.
If my simple existence served to support Gabriel's shadow, to gave him the strength to spur our people onward…then that was enough. My innocence was a small price to pay if it brought about such results. We all need one person to lean on, to listen to our moments of weakness.
Pushing back from his desk, Gabriel rose to his feet in a single, smooth motion. White robes rustling softly, he made his way across the room, beckoning for me to follow. Threading his way between rows of bookshelves, I suddenly realized just where he was leading me. There was only one place to go in such an out-of-the-way corner of the study. I'd only seen the door once, but I still remembered every detail of it.
"That brings us to why I summoned you today."
I didn't have to mention my curiosity, it was obvious. A hand-written note sent in the middle of the night, elegant script that said only 'You are Called'. I may have known the hidden side of Gabriel, but this was beyond that.
Without another word he led me to the very door that still danced through my memories. Carved from a dark wood from Keeper lands, it was more a work of art than a door. I didn't know the particular story forever etched into the polished frame…but the figures of heroic knights and holy priests was memorable enough.
I'd always known there was another room behind that door, some private place not meant for my eyes. Clearly that was about to change.
Only after Gabriel had closed the door behind us did I look at the formerly-unseen room. Rather than some hidden library or secret archive, the room held only a single marble table, surrounded by empty walls of light-colored wood. The entire place seemed bright and welcoming, despite its empty nature.
On top of the table sat a plain stand of wood so dark it was almost black. In it rested a simple leather scabbard, a faded hilt the only sign it actually held a sword.
Crossing behind the table, Gabriel waited until a walked up to the other side, the sword between us.
"You have always seen the truth of things, Emrisa. You were the finest soldier in your group, as well as the wisest. When others picked their specialties, joined their favorite troops, only you stayed behind. Your teacher is a friend of mine; he sensed the kind of knowledge you held in your heart, and we both realized you were careful to keep your own council on such matters."
I wanted to be surprised, but wasn't. Trust Gabriel to see past my silence. That Galen, my teacher, had also…well, it explained why I'd been given the position I had. Maybe it explained what was about to happen as well.
"Your title has always been 'the Innocent'…but in many ways you see too much to ever fit that name."
Reaching out, he gently picked up the scabbard.
"I know you've searched the oldest corners of our libraries. I've seen you pouring over the most ancient scrolls in my collection. In all that reading, have you seen the lost hymns mentioning the Left Hands?"
Eyes widening in shock, I instantly thought back to the faded bit of parchment I'd salvaged from the back corner of one shelf. Faded almost beyond recognition, it held only a single stanza and a list of names. The last name, new enough that the ink looked out of place amidst the rest, read Namru the Fair. Of course, now he went by a different title…the Forsaken.
Noting my reaction, Gabriel smiled gently. "I see that you have. There was never much recorded about them…even less now. You learned long ago about the traditions of our people. We are called many things, serve many roles, all to fight the evil that will always strive to blanket the land. Yet in order for the Highmen to provide that source of light against the dark, some of our order must walk a different path."
Closing his eyes, he drew the sword in a single motion, setting the scabbard on the table. The hymns would have had me expecting a shining blade or awing presence…but things like that are best left to such songs.
No, it was only a blade. Finely made, yes…but still just a sword.
"What do you see?"
It was easy to think of a thousand responses; graceful descriptions, flowery words to stir the soul. It didn't suit me though, and we both knew it.
"I see a sword. A weapon with many uses, both good and bad. It has no will but mine, no cause to guide it but my own. It will serve as I direct it."
Opening his eyes, Gabriel extended his hands. Still resting lightly on his open palms, the sword waited for such a hand to give it purpose.
"You have always seen the truth of things, Emrisa. You know what needs to be done, rather than what people expect should be done. You have served as my silent confessional for years now, just as I once did for another in my youth. Yet for all our similarities, your path is far different - and much harder - than mine."
Our eyes met then, and I felt the weight of the coming decision. Rather than fearing it, it gave me a sense of purpose…the kind I thought only existed in the hymns and stories.
"I ask you, Emrisa the Innocent, to serve as my Left Hand. The purest of the Highmen have never shined on the High Council, nor given stirring speeches or sung shining hymns. Instead they wander the shadows of life, fighting on front lines most of our people could never stand to think about. They exist, seemingly tarnished, in the eyes of others…others they continue to save, receiving only disdain in return. I ask you to take up just such a life, with no hope of thanks. Instead of Emrisa the Innocent, you will be known as Emrisa the Tarnished…and by serving the cause of good the most, you will pay the harshest price."
I reached out without a second thought. Grasping the hilt firmly, I lifted the blade before me in an oath as old as time itself.
"I would be honored to serve. If my actions can serve to keep our people safe, to light the path for others…then may this blade never thirst for tainted blood."
I'd be lying if I said things didn't change after that. Gabriel had been honest, but I secretly expected far worse. Highmen are good, but their dislike of things less than that is well known. Still, they could treat me how they would. Let them label me 'Fallen'…the High Council - and more importantly, Gabriel - knew the truth…and we both knew how important the work that earned me such hatred was.
Not every hero can afford to wear the trappings of glory, march for some well-approved noble cause. My cloak is coated in death…but my true purpose still shines on.
"As I said before; burn every bit of Verdun to the ground. Leave nothing remaining. Even one overlooked corpse is a potential fighter for the other side."
Arshad bit his lip, obviously stifling the first reply that came to mind. Eventually he settled on a crisp nod.
"As you say."
For a moment I thought about calling him on the lack of respect, but I knew it wouldn't serve any purpose. I was owed far better for my rank, but I'd been doing this long enough to know it was probably the best he'd ever give me.
"Tell the men we leave for Helfaran at first light."
"But-"
Turning my full attention on him, I wasn't surprised when the color started to drain from his face. Titles held more weight than deeds; rather, impressions meant more than reality. But such images kept our people going. Was an illusion still that when it brought about such results? Bah, I'm too young for so much philosophy.
Arshad started to pull back, but after a nervous swallow, stiffened his back and remained where he was. Looking me over with nervous eyes, I could almost hear him ticking off my faults and his achievements. Never mind that they were more visual than anything else. Let him keep what courage he could. At least he was braver than the last Second I'd had. Maybe he'd live longer as well.
Softening my gaze a bit, I resisted the urge to laugh in his face when he let out a small breath of relief. Tarnished, indeed.
"Don't worry; we have people coming to see to those that remain. Their bones will be tended to, the songs will be sung. We will not deny them the path to Evermore."
Turning away, I didn't bother watching as Arshad left. He'd heard what he'd wanted; anything else said on my part would never reach him. It certainly never had before.
- -
"I need to send a message to Gabriel."
A white blur twisted into the crude shape of a man, I couldn't help savoring the familiar form. Some things - more people in their own way, really - didn't judge by names.
Dropping into a crouch at my side, the Spirit Puppet waited, head bowed.
"I need to request another Second. Send whoever it is to Helfaran. They can meet up with our troops there." When the puppet let out a hiss of laughter at the familiar order, I had to smile a bit. "I have a feeling Arshad's already turned in his transfer request, and will be leaving us before then."
Immediately the spirit took off, long familiar with the route back home. Such were the benefits of loyalty and long service. Most preferred using flying messengers, but while the Spirit Puppet wasn't as fast, it had more in the way of magical immunity. I tended to prefer security over speed.
Hours later I was still watching as Verdun was bathed in flames, one more sea of fire dotting the landscape. We'd been too late to save this place…but Helfaran would be different. Humans have amazing strength at times; they weren't about to hand their land over without a fight. It didn't hurt that Gabriel's ex-Keeper hero was out there. Julia was a fool, letting politics sow such distrust.
It didn't surprise me that Arshad hadn't bothered to return with a final report for the day. No doubt it would be waiting for me in my tent; the author behind it safely tucked away in dreams of his new commander-to-be.
Looking up at the darkening horizon, I couldn't help thinking of Galen again. He'd always found the right words to say in moments like these. The right actions to do or not do.
"As you said old friend; most of these men will never be strong enough to see the true way of the world. We live the way we do, pay the prices we pay, all so they don't have to."
Distantly I noticed I was rubbing my hands together, as if that would cleanse the taint.
"We bear the blood they are too clean to shed themselves…and the world is a better place for it, even if we will never walk in its light."
Turning Safi way from the cliff, we started down the path toward our camp below, setup a safe distance from the burning remains of Verdun. Tomorrow would start with a hard march to the southeast…but the men wouldn't complain. Maybe Arshad would, but he wouldn't be around much longer.
"Hmm…maybe if the next man Gabriel sends doesn't pan out, I can ask him to send over that ex-Keeper hero of his. They just might be the one capable of filling Galen's shoes. Either way, at least they won't be draped in one of those foolish white beacons they call a uniform!"