A/N
The time has come for me to continue where we left off. I've taken into consideration the many reviews regarding my first OC protagonist, so I decided to step up my writing in terms of characterization. Vandal's gone, but his adventures across the Continent have made an impact on the world. There's a lot more undead scattered around the wilds, dragons are coming back as a dominant species, and Nilfgaard's brewing up a storm as usual.
The era of the sword and axe is nigh indeed.
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The year was 1233.
Roughly ten years have passed since the Shards of Saggrel merged with the Continent. Through them, the world was forever changed. And at the center of it all lay Cintra, the realm that separates the North from the Empire to the South.
Vandal of Saggrel, a champion of Cintra, died to forestall the White Frost and spare the world from an early end. Although hailed far and wide as a hero for his part in the defense of the capital from the greater dragon Idlekkarnhamth, it was this final act of sacrifice that elevated him to be deified by the Church of the Eternal Fire, and was brought to the faith postmortem as one of their saints. The crown mourned his passing and took certain steps to ensure that his deeds will never be forgotten. His army of soul-bound warriors and sorcerers, left leaderless, were integrated into Cintran society so that the people might benefit from their otherworldly capabilities.
The fall of the world shards also heralded a new age- the Age of the Dragon.
The new breeding grounds of the Amell Mountains saw to a dramatic increase in the dragon population. What once was seen as a race of monstrous beasts, good for little else other than to be eradicated, became mankind's most valued companions. It began with Calanthe of House Raven, Princess of Cintra, who received the greater dragon hatchling Sunflower as a gift from Saint Vandal. She became the first dragon-trainer in all of the Continent, raising the hatchling, later renaming it Sorlanmaeger, to serve as her mount and bond-dragon.
Other noble houses, seeing the value in having and taming such magnificent creatures, quickly hunted for eggs in the Amell Mountains so that they too might raise dragons of their own. Dragon-training became a new practice, a very popular one. And in the short span of ten years, it spread across the whole Continent. Owning dragons later became a symbol of social standing, forming a new title of nobility in the body of peerage. They were the first dragonlords, and later put their strengths to the test at the Battle of Hochebuz.
Riding atop Sorlanmaeger, Princess Calanthe led the army of Cintra to battle against the encroaching armies of Nazair. Though outnumbered three to one, the Cintrans brought dragonfire to the battlefield, and news of their dragons' devastating power sent shockwaves throughout the South. It wasn't long before Nilfgaard too began breeding and training dragons.
Cintra enjoyed several years of peace under the rulership of King Dagorad. When he died and Calanthe was crowned queen, it became a dominant power in the North. Cintran ducats became the currency of the lands south of the Yaruga, its dragonriders became the stuff of legends and its armies a force to be reckoned with.
So great had its influence become that many began to fear it would one day rise as an empire...
City of Cintra
Through the winding and busy streets of Cintra, two little boys darted in between stalls and jostled their way past irate bystanders towards home. Behind them came six other little boys, street urchins and bootblacks, scrambling to keep up. Their excited cries mixed in with the noisy bustle of the city marketplace that dominated the middle district, separating Uptown from Lowtown. One was a scrawny lad with a mess of unruly and dirty blonde hair that looked like cow's grass doused in yellow paint. The other was taller by an inch, rougher hewn and broad-shouldered for his age. He had the raven's locks for hair, smooth and oily black.
Both had unnaturally golden eyes, and moved with an endurance that no pair of untested little boys should have. They outlasted their peers in the race through the city streets, and barely even broke a sweat where the rest of the gang were already half-dead with exhaustion.
"T'aint fair!" One of the urchins whined as he leaned against a nearby wall, fighting to catch his breath. "You two got a headstart!"
Averon, the raven-haired boy, shrugged in reply. "Simple reason. You lot're just too fucking slow."
"Bov!" Reyncourt, his golden-haired half-brother said, eyes wide with shock. "Watch your mouth or mum's gonna stuff a soapbar right in it."
"Not if she can't hear me." Averon smirked mischievously, clearly unapologetic about how foul his language had become. "Why? You gonna tell?"
"Keep talking like that 'round 'ere, I won't have to."
Reyncourt pointed to the large building sitting in between the bathhouse and the Uptown winehouse, two of the most frequented establishments as in any human city. But neither of them were as frequented as the one sitting between them. Owned by the madams Sansavieria and Crassula, the Golden Harpy was considered the finest brothel in all of Cintra, which was a significant attribute as there were a total of twelve brothels in the city alone.
To the wanting patron with a heavy purse, the establishment promised a selection of beautiful companions to choose from for the night, and every one of them kept healthy by Crassula's personal doctor. The beds and sheets were clean, the food was warm as any respectable inn or tavern, the wine was sweet and plentiful. Here, there was no place for the riffraff or vermin. The prostitutes, and their clients, were protected by Sansavieria's men. To cause trouble or damage to the merchandise meant a trip to the gutter, minus a tooth or two. Sometimes a finger.
To the boys Averon and Reyncourt, the Golden Harpy was home.
"Hey, it's close to noon, right?" Averon whispered to the gang.
"Yeah, think so." Reyncourt replied, "Why?"
The raven-haired boy jerked a thumb to the nearby alley. Just at the dead-end rested a brick overhang with a small wooden ladder propped up against it. Just recently, Averon had wandered off on one of his daily explorations and discovered that the overhang led to the skylight clerestories of the upstairs rooms, where the highborn clientele of the Golden Harpy were given the best accommodations.
It offered a good view of what went on inside those private chambers. Although, it wasn't the view of the working girls that the half-brothers enjoyed watching. Averon and Reyncourt practically grew up around whores, so the sights and sounds that would normally fascinate boys their age were not at all new or enticing to them. It was the clients who amused them.
"Sir Honks-alot comes at around noon and don't leave till midnight." Averon said, referring to one of the Harpy's patrons who made a particularly amusing sound every time he availed himself of a girl's services. "Let's go have a bit o' fun."
The troublesome band of boys went down the alley and climbed up to the overhang. They snuck up to the window and peered down, careful as they would, at the portly nobleman rutting away at Old Knife-Eared Sally. The red-faced and profusely sweating old man brayed like a donkey the whole time, the boys had to clamp their hands over their mouths just to keep themselves from bursting out laughing. The show got a lot more snickers out of them when they saw the unamused expression on the half-elf bent over in front of him. Just before the nob got wise on them, the gang scurried off and dispersed into the streets.
Averon and Reyncourt waited at the bench outside the Harpy as they've been told, then stole away into the brothel's main office once darkness fell. There, the boys met up with their mothers and embraced them. Madam Sansavieria, who was better known as Serah to her closest friends, turned from her desk as her raven-haired son squeezed her waist from behind. And Madam Crassula, or Sandy, pinched Reyncourt's cheeks affectionately and planted a kiss on his smooth little forehead.
"You're early, Little Rey." Sandy remarked, noting the time it took for the boys to get from the schoolhouse to the Harpy.
"We ran. Beat all the boys in the race, we did." Reyncourt said proudly.
"Really?" Serah's brow furrowed, feeling skeptical about the boy's claim. She looked at Averon, whom she knew very well had a tendency to play hooky. "And did you leave only after class has ended?"
"Yes mum." Averon answered readily. This time, he did.
"Good boy." Serah patted him on the head, "Now, why don't you be a dear and fetch the cooking pot Mrs. Lacey borrowed from me? Got some nice stew planned for dinner tonight, can't get started without it."
Reyncourt, who by then had been taught well enough on how to cook for the family, volunteered to come along. The half-brothers exited the Harpy through the front door and left the two women to resume running the brothel. The Golden Harpy never slept, and with the way Serah and Sandy kept running the place, they almost never did.
Loss did something to Serah. It murdered sleep, and she could never close her eyes for too long without waking up fresh from a nightmare and all soaked cold with sweat. Sandy wasn't affected as badly as her, but she did feel the pangs of grief same as her friend. The kingdom lost a good knight and mourned him by putting up a statue in his honor, or put him up in painted glass windows and made prayers dedicated to him- the saint of valor and chivalry.
Serah and Sandy lost a piece of their soul when Vandal died, but kept a piece of him in turn. They saw him whenever they looked at the little bastards running around the room. Vandal's eyes, his face and his smile. Serah never forgave him for going into that boat that sailed across the sea towards the final world shard. But what was done, was done.
He left them at the mercy of an unjust world, unprotected without a will and a huge plot of land ripe for the taking. Some greedy nob petitioned the crown for the deed to Vandal's property in Uptown, while a snob-nosed duchess evicted the refugees of Amendale from the settlement Vandal reserved for them when he was alive. Last they heard of that place, the duchess built an enormous estate for herself and her family. A summer house, of all things. All that was left for Serah and Sandy was the Golden Harpy.
They had to fight tooth and nail to keep it.
Sandy counted the money piled up on the table and divided a portion of it for the girls and the Harpy's guards. A fair wage for every one, payment for a good day's work.
"They grow up so fast." She said dreamily.
"Too fast, if you ask me." Serah replied, remembering the pamphlet that came across her desk the other day. It was about a royal edict, one that required all male children from the age of eight to twelve to start training as longbowmen. If some boys were seen as better physically endowed than others, they would be trained in swords or pikes. Queen Calanthe wanted to keep her kingdom's edge sharp, to be ready for any attacks from the South. Unfortunately, that meant that her subjects would have to offer up their sons and daughters to train up for her army. "I'm afraid we won't be able to keep them out of the recruiting office's eyes for long."
Sandy sighed, pulling on the bit of twine to close the coinpurse in her hands. "If it happens, it happens. You needn't be concerned as much for the boys. You know what they are, we both do... more than anyone."
"I haven't forgotten." Serah stood up and put her hands on her friend's shoulders. They shared the same lover and willingly brought his children into the world. They were blessed with his gift, and both women knew what that meant.
They would one day be the most sought after pair in the realm.
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A/N
For those of you who feel the lack of context. I recommend reading the first part, "Vestige of Warmth". Most of my world-building work rests on that book.
Thank you, dear readers, for your continued support of this fic series. Please leave a review, I'd love to know what you think :)