The year is AD 1000. Europe is a continent divided by strife and war. In the north, the Kingdom of England and that of the Franks are constantly at each other's throats. In the center of Europe, a continuous strife among the states of the Holy Roman Empire have started to take its toll on the grandiose nation. In the south-west, the Muslims and Catholics have fought each other for years now, struggling for supremacy. To top off the strife, a religious zeal from the Catholics has made life increasingly difficult for the people of each kingdom. In the kingdom of England, however, this zeal did not appear to be so potent, yet it was enough for one small county in the northern tip of the kingdom.
"Lord!" cried a messenger, as he ran into his lord's room.
The Lord of the Castle, Sir James Grandhart, turned to meet his messenger with a sad smile.
"I know of the dark tidings you bring, William. The Archbishop has finally gotten the king's approval for my removal." He told his faithful messenger, William Stoutman.
"Lord, if you know of the tidings, then why are we not preparing for the king's army?! You will surely be put to death!" cried the messenger, as two knights entered the room, the same expression of demanding on their faces.
"Lord Grandhart! We can take these wretches!" said the first one, an honourable knight named Jeremiah Hartson.
"But wouldn't that make me a rebel?" asked James tiredly, "You know, Jeremiah, by fighting the king's order, we give the archbishop more and more reason to take out our prosperous land."
"Then let us run!" suggested the second knight, a stout young man named Mortimer Featherswan.
The young lord looked at the knight "Run where, my young friend? To the south, we shall also be persecuted. To the west lies the end of the world. To the east lies the Muslim world. Surely they have no love of magick over there as well." James said, as he turned to face his chamber window, overlooking the green fertile lands of his Lordship.
"I didn't mean in the present lord! Why not run to the past?! Where our practices are virtually unknown and we can find our own land!" explained the young knight.
Both William and Jeremiah nodded at Mortimer's suggestion thoughtfully.
"An excellent idea...your sorcerers are more than up to the task, milord." Stated William
"Besides, the king has never really supported our practices...he's just been put off by your overwhelming contributions to the kingdom." Added Jeremiah.
James looked out the window thoughtfully, thinking about the proposed idea. Outside, he could see many young children running down the streets playing. People all around the small town were busy getting on with their lives. In the nearby distance, James could see the towering towers of the Council of the Light, the sorcerers who had pledged their allegiance to him. Although the sorcerers believed and served God, the Church despised them and labeled them as heretics. Only James's intervention had prevented the king from eradicating them...or them eradicating the king. James knew full well that if he stayed, his people would be slaughtered without mercy, no matter what he pleaded to the king. The archbishop had told the king that they all needed to die in order to cleanse the land. His thoughts turned to his young adopted son, Colin. Instantly, feelings of caring and joy entered his heart, and his decision was made. He turned to his councillors with a decided expression.
"Order the Council to prepare the incantations! Have the people assemble their belongings! Gather enough resources to last several years! Once this is done, have everyone gather at Lord's Hill. We will depart this ungrateful land and search the forgotten past for a rightful land of our own!" Declared James, his arm stretched at the three men, his hand demanding action. "We WILL hold on to our traditions! No one, not even the king or the archbishop, can forbid this from my people! So help me God!"
All three men cheered as they ran out to make the preparations.
"William! Hold on!" shouted James, making the messenger come back.
"What is it, milord?" asked the messenger with a smile.
"Find Frederick Drake, and tell him to gather his crew and meet us at Lord's Hill"
"The pirate?!" exclaimed William, as he recognized the name instantly "Milord, why are we taking that bandit with us?!"
James turned to William with a sloppy grin on his face.
"Because he's a damn good bandit"
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London Port
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"Alert! The pirate Drake is attacking!" cried a voice from the ramparts
In the distance, several pirate ships are coming in at top speed towards the port. On the lead ship, a tall man of red hair and boyish face was prodding on his forces.
"Come on, men! Lord Grandhart wants his supplies before the end of the week!" shouted the man, as he wielded a huge broadsword and pointed with it at the port. "We must not fail! In the name of the Pythean Empire...CHARGE!!"
Behind him, the approving cries of hundreds of men sang out behind him. As the boats reached the shoreline, ramps were lowered and man after man ran down, wielding swords, axes, halberds, and spears, with Drake at their lead. As they were reaching the port, the garrison came flowing out to meet the Pythean force. At their lead was the Royal Paladin, James Gregfourd.
"Die, rebels!" cried the paladin, as he led his men onward.
"You fool! Taste the might of the Pythean Empire!" Drake shouted back. "Run them through, my lads! GLORY TO THE EMPIRE!!" he roared, as he came to an abrupt stop and slashed horizontally with all his might at the incoming enemy, slicing them through cleanly, as well as pushing back the second line with the sheer impact shockwave. In his swing, he managed to kill Gregfourd, who had been coming at him.
Encouraged by his valiant actions, Drake's men gave a fierce battlecry and dashed towards the enemy. The enemy, discouraged by their leader's death, and the sheer power of the enemy leader, started to break ranks and run back to the safety of their inner walls, leaving all the traded goods, including their grain, outside for the pirates' taking.
As soon as they were sure that the guards were staying inside their walls, the Pythean force started to steal the grain and goods and quickly packing it tight in their ships, which all wore the insignia of the Pythean Empire, a golden, closed iron fist surrounded by seven stars on each side in a laurel shape. As soon as they were done loading their stolen goods, Drake ordered the men to put the port to the torch, as were his orders.
And so, with the Pythean ships leaving towards the horizon, the port of London burned throughout the night. Back at the garrison, the reinforcement from the castle had just arrived. Quickly, their leader found the officer in charge.
"What in the blazes happened here, sergeant?" demanded the knight
"Pirates, sir…from the heathen province of Lord Grandhart! They slew Lord Gregfourd and burned the port, as you can see!" explained the sergeant, who was busy ordering people to put out the fire.
The knight cursed before heading back to his troop, where he quickly got onto his horse.
"We must report these tidings to the His Majesty! Quickly!" he ordered, as he led his troop out of the port and towards the castle.
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Two Days Later
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At the port of Hazleton in the Pythean Empire, Drake was busy getting his men to unload the supplies they had stolen all the way to Lord's Hill for the Great Exodus. The Archmagi of the Order would transport them to the past and land them on that same hill, where they would have to travel across the sea towards the East, where the archmagi said was the promised land.
Just as they were finishing unloading the equipment on Lord's Hill, however, one of Drake's crew came running up, wounds all over his body. Drake and William, who were both overlooking the safety of the supplies, quickly went over to the wounded messenger. Drake was the first to get to the messenger.
"Speak, boy! What happened?!" demanded Drake
The messenger coughed up some blood. "The King's Army has arrived, Capt'n Drake! The men at Hazleton are putting up a good fight, but alone, they will not be able to survive the attack!"
Drake swore under his breath, and, taking his huge broadsword with him, he rode out with a squadron of horsemen towards the burning town of Hazleton, which, thankfully, they had already evacuated hours earlier.
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Hazleton
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"Fight on, men! Don't let those persecuting bastards get to us!" yelled the Pythean commander, creating a roar of approval from his men as they left their barricades and hurled themselves against the oncoming enemy troops. "IN THE NAME OF LORD GRANDHART!!"
The king's troops then gave their own battlecry and rushed at the Pythean troops themselves, until a flurry of arrows from behind stopped them dead. Both sides stopped to see where the arrows had come from, and, seeing a lone figure atop the hill overlooking the town, cries of joy and fear came out all at once.
Atop that hill, Frederick Drake, Commander in Chief of the Pythean Navy, stood there, wielding his mighty broadsword. He gave one mighty spin at it over his head and then prodded his horse forward, rushing straight at the enemy. The enemy commander laughed at his foolishness and ordered all of his remaining troops to go after Drake. Just as the troops were about to charge at Drake, however, a horde of horsemen came down the hill, following Drake, causing fear to strike at the royal troops' hearts.
"Come 'Ere, you bloody bastards!! Taste the fury of the Empire!!" cried Drake, as he trampled and cut his way through the enemy lines, which where quickly falling apart.
Following behind him was his squadron of horsemen as well as that of Mortimer's, who had been on patrol when he heard of the news of the attack on Hazleton. Together, he and Drake smashed their way through to their own forces, who cheered at the heart-relieving spectacle. With renewed vigour, the men of the Pythean Empire charged as one, slaughtering the king's troops without mercy. Soon, Hazleton was recaptured by the Pythean troops, and just as quickly, it was evacuated completely, left behind as a ghost town.
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Lord's Hill, two hours later
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James Grandhart, the now Emperor of the Pythean Empire, watched glumly as a large dust cloud that had formed in the horizon was now rapidly approaching. He turned to his loyal knights and sighed.
"Why is it that we are hated so? What did we ever do to his Majesty and his Holiness?" he asked rhetorically
None of the knights answered. One, however, did approach the newly appointed Emperor. James turned to see who it was, and saw that is was his own son, Colin. The depressed Emperor gave his son a sad smile before turning his gaze back at the dust cloud.
"Father, the people are ready...what are your orders?" asked Colin
James sighed once more before turning to his son. "Let us go then, my son. We will go to our new homeland, far – out of the reach of these untolerating people"
And so, the young Emperor, and his even younger son, rode off towards the peak of the hill, were the Archmagi were having the time gate be steady. James rode up to the elder Archmagi.
"Samuel, how goes the portal?" asked James
The elder Archmagi watched his colleagues with pride. "It goes well, my liege. Soon, we will save our people from utter destruction."
James nodded silently as he watched the Archmagi do their work. Then, suddenly, a knight rode up at full speed to James, wounded in the left shoulder.
"LORD!!!" cried the knight, surprising the Emperor and his fellow officials.
"What happened? What's going on here?!" demanded James
The wounded knight breathed heavily as he held his wound tightly. "The king's army...is attacking the rear flank!! They suddenly rode up, out of nowhere! Totally before we predicted them!"
"Damn...Samuel, can we start the evacuation now?" asked James to the elder Archmagi
The Archmagi looked at the portal for a moment and then nodded silently. "The portal is ready to be used."
James then wheeled around his horse and asked the crowd for their attention.
"My people! The king's army has arrived beforehand! We must immediately begin the evacuation! Go through the portal in the groups you were assigned in!" ordered the Emperor.
The crowd assented with a cry and immediately, the first group was evacuating through the portal. James then turned to his officers.
"We must stop the king's army by some means! Even if it beckons defeat, we MUST allow the people to evacuate!" stated the Emperor frantically.
Drake and Colin immediately volunteered themselves.
"We shall go and stop the army's coming!" they cried together.
The Emperor nodded to them and they rode off. He then turned to the rest of the officers.
"The rest of you, get your men together and reinforce Drake and my son! They MUST NOT FALL!" he told them gravely. The officers nodded and left, leaving the Emperor with his close advisors only.
James watched the group of cavalrymen ride down the hill to battle anxiously.
"Be careful, my friends..." he whispered, as he turned to move towards the portal.
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Battle of Lord's Hill
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"RRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRAH!!!" roared Colin, as he swung his WarHammer at the enemy lines, making them fly off and into their fellow companions like flies.
Everywhere around him, the odds were basically three Royal soldiers for every Imperial soldier. However, the Imperial soldiers, being far better trained and far more fanatically loyal to their Emperor than the Royals were, were holding out quite well against these odds. To his right, he could see Drake cutting his way through a mass of soldiers, eventually disrupting an entire formation. To his left, the cavalrymen under William were trampling and cutting to death whole groups of soldiers.
Just then, however, a soldier appeared rushing towards him, lance poised. Colin took up his WarHammer and, when the Royal was in range, he swung it down with all his might, crushing the Royal's skull, in fact, his entire body, into the ground, leaving nothing but a splatter of blood and crushed bone where the soldier had stood.
Colin wiped off the blood from his face with the back of his glove and kept swinging the might hammer at the enemy soldiers with such ferocity, that the enemy ranks began to break.
"Young prince! Please, be careful!" cried Mortimer, who had been assigned to protect Colin.
Colin simply gave his friend a thumbs up and a sloppy smile, before resuming his smashing of the enemy ranks. Mortimer sighed in exasperation and slashed at another couple of soldiers.
Soon, the enemy troops were falling back, but Mortimer knew that this was a temporary victory, as the Royal Forces outnumbered them fifteen-to-one.
Once they had completely routed the enemy forces, the Imperial forces looked to the top of the hill, where they saw a blue flag being flown. It was the symbol of retreat, meaning that everyone had evacuated and that the Emperor was waiting for them. The Imperials then quickly wheeled about and ran up the hill, up to where the Emperor, his guard, and the elder Archmagi were all there, waiting for them.
The Emperor rode up to his knights with a look of worry on his face.
"How was the battle?" he asked "Did my son make it out alright?"
Drake nodded to the Emperor, waving casually at the Imperial Prince's direction.
"We were able to push back the enemy lines for a few moments, sire. However, they will be back soon." Reported Drake.
The Emperor nodded at Drake's comment. "Yes, I know....fortunately, the population has been evacuated already, so we are the only ones left." The Emperor stated, smiling. "And in that case, let us leave from this land at once!"
And so, the Emperor and his loyal knights went through the gate, off to a new land full of hope...and danger.