A/N: I always liked the "Thin Red Line" For Honor trailer, but felt the short explanation given by the actual lore (some random Blackstone soldiers being killed by Vikings) to be unsatisfactory given the overall epic nature of the trailer. So I reworked it so that the trailer actual represents the last stand of St. William the Savior, a key turning point in Ashfeld's mythos and cultural story. I feel like that brings the lore up to the standard set by the epicness of that last line (For the name you were given…and for your descendants. For Honor) . I have been debating doing a short extra chapter of William Dendregal's last stand from his point of view, and will probably get around to it at some point.
Gaius Maximus brooded as he sat at the bar of a tavern. His tanned skin had drawn odd looks from the short, fair-skinned occupants, but they had returned to their drinks soon enough. The barkeep had been friendly, though. Glancing down into the depths of his mug of ale, Gaius lamented on their failure. His failure.
Presently, Gaius's commander and the rest of his brothers-in-arms were camped outside the city of Ascalon's walls, along with thousands of refugees. They were all that remained of the Throne Empire. Long ago, the Empire had been vast, great. Ashfeld had been merely a subsidiary of the Empire, once. They had ceded from the Throne hundreds of years before the Fall, and had already gone down their own path when the end struck.
The Fall might have shattered Ashfeld, but the Empire fared no better. The aftermath saw an endless struggle for civilization against the barbarians that then poured in. The Empire had limped on, but never truly recovered. Now, a thousand years after the Fall, the Throne of the Empire lay broken, and only three of its Legions remained. The Batari hordes had swept through the capital, laying waste to the citizens of the Empire. The few survivors were now refugees in a land that once had bowed before their might.
"Coin for your thoughts?" It was the bartender. He'd snuck up on Gaius, and now stood in front of the Centurion, his hairy hands clasped behind his back.
Gaius sighed. "Thinking back on darker days."
The bartender gave a bitter chuckle. "Plenty of those, my friend. The last couple years been better, since the new Lord Warden took over. But before him, well we had the Dark Days and the Years of Rage even before that."
Gaius nodded solemnly. It seemed that this strange country had its share of problems, despite the prosperity of Ashfeld's capital.
"Heard you got some nasty fuckers up north," Gaius said, more to continue the conversation than anything else.
The barkeep shook his head darkly. "By the Founder, that's putting it lightly. But aye, those godless Vikings bastards are always causing trouble."
Gaius diplomatically neglected to mention that as a Centurion of the Throne, he worshipped a pantheon entirely separate from the Church of Ashfeld's monotheistic doctrine and thus was likely included in the category of "godless bastards".
Instead, the Centurion simply nodded along.
"Still," the bartender continued, and his tone was brighter than before. "We've thrown those heathens out of Ashfeld every time they try and get a foothold. You ever hear of St. William the Savior?"
Gaius confessed that he hadn't, and the barkeep reached under the counter and withdrew a small figurine. It was carved out of some sort of soft, white stone, and depicted a knight in full armor raising his sword to the sky.
"I haven't seen any statues of him around the city," Gaius mused. It struck him as odd that a hero celebrated enough that a bartender of all people kept a depiction of him, yet St. William remained absent from the rather impressive collection of statues found within the capital.
The other man's gaze darkened. "The Church here don't like that us Easterners call him a saint. To them, he ain't divine or nothing. You won't find any statues of him in the West, but back east every church 'n' castle's got at least one of these." He gestured to the figurine.
"What did he do?" asked Gaius. He was genuinely curious as to what St. William had done to have had such a profound effect on a large segment of Ashfeld's population.
The bartender, for his part, rubbed his hairy palms together as he prepared to speak.
"It was back near the beginning of the Years of Rage," the shorter man began. At Gaius's look of confusion, however, he paused to elaborate.
"The Years of Rage began 'bout 70 years ago. Before that, see, we had decades of peace. It made us weak. Soft. When, out of the blue Viking hordes began pouring into Ashfeld again, we were caught with our breeches down, so to speak."
Gaius winced. It conjured up images he'd rather forget, of cities aflame and screaming barbarian hordes.
"First couple years were the worst," the barkeep continued. "For a while, it is said, people thought that it was only a matter of time before they overran Ashfeld completely. Each year those bastards came back stronger, while we were getting' weaker 'n' weaker."
Gaius felt an unusual amount of sympathy for the plight of the ancient Ashians. The Empire had been placed in a similar position against the hordes of Batari, year after year, but ultimately suffered a far worse fate.
"It all came to a head 'bout 5 or 6 years in. A Viking army, one of the largest ever, laid waste to the North. A chieftain named Ulfric Ragnarsson had united the twelve Viking clans, see, and it seemed like no-one could stop him."
"But William did," Gaius interrupted, suddenly understanding the direction this story was taking.
The bartender nodded. "William Dendregal, did, aye. He was a knight from the East, see, and had rallied a small army to his cause. They held the line against the Vikings a few miles from the capital. Outnumbered seven to one, and they still held out for three days."
"Impressive," Gaius admitted, though privately he found it likely that the tale had been embellished. "What happened after?"
"His forces were overrun and killed, of course," stated the bartender matter-of-factly. "Against those odds, even one granted the grace of the Lord would have fallen, and so he did. But St. William's sacrifice decimated the Viking army, and delayed them long enough that a legion from the south arrived to fortify Ascalon. The godless heathens don't usually feel fear, but on that day St. William had terrified 'em."
"A noble sacrifice," Gaius said respectfully.
"Damn right," the barkeep growled. "He saved the capital, all of Ashfeld probably. Course the west don't see it that way, but what can you do? All cause St. William wasn't one of their own."
"What about the Dark Days?" Gaius asked quickly, trying to steer the conversation in a new direction. Considering the fact that they were in the west, in the capital of Ashfeld itself no less, it was probably wise not to repeatedly insult the local population.
The bartender's face closed up instantly. "What do you want to know?" he asked somberly.
Gaius shrugged. "Not sure. People mention it here from time to time, but no-one can tell me what it is."
The barkeep sighed. "Folks don't like to talk 'bout it. It was bad times, and recent ones at that."
"What happened?" Gaius queried.
The short man paused, and for moment Gaius thought he wasn't going to speak.
"A mad bitch from Blackstone named the Heretic raised an army," the bartender finally said. "She captured a fortress in the East and ended up causin' a war, a hundred thousand deaths, just cause she could." He spat in disgust. "We welcomed her at first, see. The Iron Legion hadn't been doin' so good against the Viking raids at the time, but she and her Blackstone Legion drove the godless barbarians back."
Gaius found Ashfeld's overabundance of Legions irritatingly complex. Yes, the Iron Legion ruled supreme, but it was ultimately composed of hundreds of smaller Legions, each with their own names, allegiances, and banners. It became horrendously messy very quickly. The armies of the Throne Empire, on the other hand, had been composed of many Legions, but all were as one before the Throne.
"Course, that was before it came out that she was letting the greatest heathen warriors she had captive go!" the last part was spoken with a sudden rush of brutal fury. Conversation in the tavern ceased for a moment as all eyes briefly turned towards the barkeep after his outburst, before the quiet hubbub of conversation began anew as the patrons returned to their drinks.
"Seems like an ill-advised strategy," Gaius commented mildly. "Particularly if you plan on winning a war."
"See that's problem right there," growled the bartender. "She didn't want to win a war; she wanted to start one."
"Sounds like you got a mind for this Heretic's designs," Gaius remarked idly.
As he took another sip of ale out of his tankard, Gaius noticed the still-unnamed bartender stiffen at his observation. A suspicion began growing in the back of Gaius's mind, which was only re-enforced by the barkeep's next comment.
"Enough 'bout our troubles, though," the shorter man continued. "You and yours must be knee deep in shit. You've been camped outside the city for what, a moon now?"
Gaius nodded, slightly wary of the direction the conversation was taking. "It's been a rough few moons," he admitted. "Ever since the Breaking of the Throne, us imperials have had our share of troubles."
"The challenges of this earth are merely trials sent by God to test us," replied the bartender with mock solemnity. He then leaned closer to the centurion, and lowered his voice. "Any idea what's to become of your Legions? Word is that the Lord Warden 'imself is to meet with your General."
And there it was. Gaius supressed a sigh. "General Scorpio does not share his plans with his soldiers," he said, and the bartender's face fell slightly. "Besides," Gaius continued, "I would hardly share such information with a spy."
The barkeep's jaw dropped in shock before the shorter man recovered his composure. Gaius was careful to note that it had only been surprise that had flashed across the other man's face; the indignation or confusion that should have been present was distinctly absent. The centurion hadn't been sure before, but now he was.
"I'm not sure what you're on about," the bartender responded belatedly.
Gaius simply raised an eyebrow. "I wasn't sure before, but I certainly am now."
The barkeep cursed, and then lowered his voice, glancing at the other patrons around the two men as he did so. "Alright, fine. You can't blame a man for tryin', though. Besides, I've been out of that business for years now. If I happen to hear somethin' useful while runnin' the bar…well, there's always those with coin to give for rumor and whispers."
"Who's paying?" Gaius asked quietly, internally wondering how the shorter man would respond.
The barkeep barked a short laugh. "You don't beat 'round the bush, do yah? Let's just say you're better off not knowin'…no chance of wakin' up with a dagger in your back that way, eh?" The bartender chuckled again, but Gaius felt that he was only half-joking.
Gaius figured he'd try his luck, and covertly slid some coins onto the counter of the bar. "No names," he replied. "But what are we dealing with here? Mercenaries? Some Lord's eyes and ears?"
The bartender paused for a second, as if finding the right words to say. "Let's just say the Lord Warden ain't the only one trynna keep the peace," he said finally, deftly scooping up the coins. "The others…they just go 'bout it their own way."
Gaius considered pressing again, but could tell from the set of the other man's jaw that it would likely be a pointless endeavour. Instead, the centurion drained his drink and placed the empty tankard on the counter.
Dropping a few more coins on the bar, Gaius got up to leave. "Many thanks for the conversation…and the ale," the centurion added belatedly.
The barkeep chuckled. "Mah pleasure." He lowered his voice slightly. "If you ever want'a turn whispers into coin…you know where to find me."
Gaius nodded. "I'll keep it in mind." Privately, the centurion recoiled at the idea of taking up the former spy on his offer. It was always best to keep such connections open, however, so Gaius did not let any of his inner thoughts show.
It was just his luck, Gaius mused. Barely a moon in Ashfeld, and he had already found himself implicated in a group of dubious origins, if only peripherally.
As he slipped out of the tavern and into the night, Gaius made for city gates. He'd originally planned to stay in the capital a few days longer, but after his conversation with the bartender, he'd cut his time short. The centurion mentally prepared himself for the mile-long trek to his Legion's encampment outside the city walls. It was shaping up to be a long night, but such was life.
After all, General Scorpio needed to know what he'd discovered.
