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It is now the year 1267.
War, once again, hung in the air- its scent palpable. The mighty Empire of Nilfgaard stood poised, greedily eyeing the Northern Realms just across the Yaruga. In light of the looming threat, the realms' sovereigns met in summit. They made declarations, pledged fraternal assistance, forged alliances. In good spirits, they dispersed.
Among them was Meve, queen of the twin kingdoms Lyria and Rivia. A remarkable ruler, not for her graceful exterior, but for her persistence and courage.
However, persistence and courage are not synonymous with vigilance. Upon returning to her kingdom, the queen was betrayed by her own son, whom she appointed steward of the realm in her absence. Her test of his mettle as heir revealed an easily exploited flaw. Prince Villem, manipulated by Meve's once trusted circle, discussed terms with Nilfgaard to avoid a war. His mother was locked in the dungeons, and he was crowned king- a puppet ruler slaved to the strings of Nilfgaard's new field marshal.
The disgraced queen managed to escape, gathering a following of loyalists with like-minded hatred for the blackclads, and began a long and arduous campaign to reclaim her kingdom. And somewhere between these world-shaping events, the Myrmidon and his merry band of adventurers find themselves involved.
Lyria, The Common Road
The spring air in the Lyrian countryside was filled with cheer.
Birds and beasts alike sang from the boughs and from the thickets. And the dusty common road that connected the highway with the scattered villages and towns rang with the soft plucking of strings. Two carts, drawn by each a pair of horses, rolled along the treaded path. Onboard the first was a group of sullen-eyed men dressed in faded Cintran steel. Onboard the second was a walking statue of a man, with iron for skin. He drove the cart, hanging casually to the reins to keep the horses on task. Behind him sat a beautiful elf with a distinct golden cuff earring, singing sweetly to the hooded dryad sitting beside her.
"All you bully rooks with your buskin boots..." Half-Leaf sang while strumming her lute, "Best you go, best you go. Outrun my bow."
Averon gazed out into the lush valleys and rolling hills of Lyria, marveling at its natural beauty. A lifetime ago, he once enjoyed having that view in his own home, his own country. Now, like most Cintrans, he was displaced. A wanderer- which was a preferable fate to being a refugee. The Myrmidon busied himself with the task of finding a new home for the dryads, as he'd promised to Morénn. But in the quiet moments, he often felt wistful, longing to have a place for himself again.
"Whoa, hold up!" Silas, the man driving the front cart, stood up on his seat and pointed to a small group of armed men on horseback.
"What is it, Silas?" Averon asked.
"I... I must be seein' things, but... are those Nilfgaardians?!"
Upon hearing this, the Myrmidon immediately leapt from his seat and tied the reins to the cart. He threw off the cloth hiding his things in the back of the cart along with the crates and boxes of provisions for the caravan. There, he took up his spear and shield. He trusted Silas enough to know that the man had a good eye. There was no mistaking Nilfgaardians. They were an arrogant bunch, and they liked to show who they were. Still, it was a surprise to see them this far North. Something was definitely up, and it wasn't good.
"Arm up!" Averon declared, "Prepare for battle!"
"Are you sure, Bov?" Half-Leaf asked quietly as she retrieved her bow and quiver. The Nilfgaardians were escorting a carriage, although they were just as heavily armed as they would when transporting other things. "What if it's just an envoy?"
"Nilfgaardian envoys always have heralds ahead of them, if they were on any diplomatic missions." The Myrmidon replied, "This one doesn't, and it's a long way from the South. If it's using the common roads this far into Lyria, it's looking for trouble."
"Hmm. Good point. Let's go kill them."
Pretty soon, the Nilfgaardians saw them too. In typical blackclad fashion, they sent a man riding back to bring reinforcements from a nearby outpost. The others drew their weapons and charged at the Cintran wanderers. Morénn and Half-Leaf supported the queensguard by firing their arrows at the charging soldiers in black. Averon marched forward, bashing his shield against the face of the nearest Nilfgaardian horse as its rider rode hard against the Myrmidon.
The horse stumbled and slid across the road and into a muddy ditch, throwing its screaming blackclad rider through the air and face-first into a nearby tree. Silas speared the fallen soldier on his way behind Averon, and the Cintrans steadily worked their way towards the carriage. One by one, the Nilfgaardians fell to their blades. Those who tried to run were cut down by their arrows.
"Eine sefa-!" The words of the detachment commander were cut short after Morénn sent an arrow through his neck. He gurgled, clutching at his throat, as he slumped forward into his saddle.
The skirmish was over. The Cintran wanderers approached the carriage and began looting the bodies.
Averon retrieved his spear after hurling it at a Nilfgaardian knight and pinned him to a tree. He put his foot against the dying man's belly and grasped the black star-metal shaft, then roughly wrenched it free in a manner so his wound would get bigger on the way out. The knight slid limply to the ground, eyes vacant as his life slipped away in red rivers. The Myrmidon heard a tiny whimper from within the carriage and poked at the door which was slightly ajar.
Inside was a frightened freckle-faced girl, no more than fourteen years of age. She was dressed like a royal nursemaid, and she clutched a tiny flaxenhaired boy close to her body.
"Mercy!" The girl cried.
Averon was stunned by what he saw. He lowered his spear, gesturing for the pair to leave the carriage. "Out. Now."
They obeyed. The wanderers surrounded the pair, curious to know what a girl like her was doing in the company of Nilfgaardians.
"Now what's a lass like you doin' with the blackclads along with this 'un? Eh?" Silas asked.
The young nurse was reluctant to divulge her secrets, but after a brief terse exchange and a threatening glare from the iron-skinned man, she eventually spilled. "M-My name is Aelle. I'm the guardian of His Royal Highness, Prince Anséis."
"Prince Anséis? The Prince Anséis?" Half-Leaf echoed. "Son of Queen Meve of Lyria and Rivia?"
"That's right. I'm Anséis." The little boy said quietly. His answer revealed an intellect that belied his years, which would've impressed even his mother had his reputed childish recklessness not overshadowed his talents. "The Nilfgaardians wanted to use me as a hostage."
"And why is that?" Averon asked.
"Haven't you heard? My mother, the queen, is causing trouble. My brother Villem is content to make a puppet out of the realm, but she is not. Therefore, having me as a hostage would've benefited Nilfgaard by giving her a reason to stop fighting. Now, thanks to you, they do not."
"Your Highness?" Aelle said.
"We have nothing to fear, Aelle." Anséis declared, pointing to Averon's shield. "This one is Averon of the Fourteen, the Myrmidon and hero of the Battle of Sodden. Not a lot of people wear the crest of Calanthe these days, and none strike so ruthlessly against the blackclads as her queensguard."
"Flattery will get you nowhere." Averon said, frowning at the prince as he caught on to where the conversation was leading into. Having rescued the prince, he inadvertently involved himself in another war. As much as he hated the Nilfgaardians, he wasn't eager to jump into another conflict that wasn't his own. "We didn't kill those Nilfgaardians for your sake."
"Then... whatever for?"
"Simple. They were in the way."
Averon moved to get his caravan moving, to leave the nurse and the prince back where he found them. The Nilfgaardian rider they were unable to cut down earlier in the skirmish would've gotten reinforcements underway. It was only a matter of time before they got to the site of the battle, and he wanted to get away as far and as quickly as possible. But just as he stowed his weapons onboard the cart, Half-Leaf took him aside and quietly spoke on the prince's behalf.
"Bov, we can't just leave them."
"Why not? They said it, they are hostages. The Nilfgaardians hold value over their lives. They will not be harmed."
The elf's brows furrowed, "And what if the time comes when they are of no value? What then?"
"Not our problem." Averon said.
"I cannot believe you to be so callous. If that boy was Cintran-"
"He's not. He's Lyrian."
"My point is..." Half-Leaf said with an exasperated huff, "A lifetime ago, a witcher rescued a boy from a tower. He didn't have to do it. He was paid enough to go on the search. He could've easily given up, much like you're doing now, and abandoned the boy to his fate. But no. He saved him, and he was rewarded properly."
Averon narrowed his eyes at his friend, then glanced at little Anséis.
"Another war is coming to the North, and this realm we're standing on could be the next Cintra. There may be no reward for this, if we take the prince along with us. We might just be slogging it off all across the Continent like we did with Ciri... but it's the right thing to do."
"It's also a good way to paint a target on our backs." Morénn piped up.
"Not unless we deliver him to his mother in time." Half-Leaf insisted. "Then, it's just a good little adventure to stick it to Nilfgaard. Just like old times."
"Fine." Averon growled, "You brought him in, then he's your responsibility."
Soon, the wanderers departed with the nurse and her charge, leaving a bloody trail in their wake.
Ofir, The Valley of Olives
Zaziq got the war that he wanted.
Using a combination of political maneuvering, money and a great deal of nefarious skullduggery, he assembled a mighty host against his father the Malliq. All the opportunistic noble houses, who saw the rising prince's ambitious move as a sign of change, flocked to Zaziq to swear their allegiance to him. Only a handful of loyalists stayed with the Ofieri king, but they were enough to outnumber the armies assembled in Zaziq's name.
They met at a place named 'The Valley of Olives'. A great plateau of sand and rock, specked with scattered shrubbery and the occasional olive trees from which it inherited its namesake. Five thousand Immortal heavy infantry, six thousand usabari mounted warriors and charioteers, and seven thousand footmen for the Malliq. All against a thousand of Zaziq's Immortals, five hundred horsemen and three hundred archers. The odds should have been in the king's favor.
But the prince wasn't worried. He had Roédvekkhar. The great dragon was bound to his will, and he would turn his green fire upon all those who barred his path to the throne.
Before the battle started, Malliq Nibras rode out to meet with his errant son one last time in an effort to spare Ofir a needless war. The prince agreed to the meeting, if only to brandish his living weapon and hope to startle the old lion. Roédvekkhar, mighty and as vast as Ofir's largest mountain, emerged from the cloudy skies with Zaziq and Iasmini riding on his back. The sight of the winged beast terrified the royal army, but at the lash of their commanders they stood in place albeit shakily.
Proud Zaziq loomed over his father astride the leather saddle strapped upon the dragon's back. With a sneering grin, he looked to the older man and laughed. He wouldn't even hear of what the king had to say. "See! See how your men tremble at the sight of me! You've come to beg for terms? I shall make it simple for you. Surrender your crown and title to me, the true heir to Ofir's throne- I will accept no less."
His bravado was tolerated by Iasmini, who was amused by how uncomfortable the Malliq looked when facing certain doom. Ofir was slow to gather dragons, when compared to the other kingdoms of the Continent. Nibras' fledgling dragons were barely the size of dogs, fresh from the egg clutches and barely able to hold their oversized heads up.
"So what will it be, father?" Zaziq taunted, "Will you abdicate, or will there be war?"
Malliq Nibras, as vain as he was stubborn, would not allow a lesser spawn of his house rule in his stead. He'd fought and worked hard to bring Ofir to the opulence it prided itself in. Zaziq would certainly be the ruin of all he'd built. "You wish to rule Ofir? Yet, you do not understand the law of heaven. No true king surrenders his crown, it has to be taken from him. And so, take it."
Zaziq's humor vanished, as did his smile. "Oh, I will."
He allowed the king to ride back to his side of the map, and he flew back to his. Meanwhile, Roédvekkhar strained against the mental fetters locking his will away from his body. No sorcery of man would keep a dragon slaved to his hand forever. Iasmini could feel it, as did Zaziq. The sorcerer tightened his grip, causing the dragon immense pain. An agonized groan rumbled down his throat, followed by an angry snarl. The winged serpent descended to let the prince give his commands.
"To war!" Zaziq cried out, "Follow me to glory!"
The men and women of Ofir clashed at the Valley of Olives. Arrows and spellcraft rained down from either side, spears shattered against shields while horsemen rode down and trampled footmen beneath the hooves of their mounts. Zaziq beheld the carnage from the safety of his dragon and commanded Roédvekkhar to cut a fiery path through the enemy as he performed a graceful dive across the skies. The dragon obeyed, unleashing his hatred for his master through the green inferno spewed from his jagged maw.
Ofieri Immortals and the mounted soldiers were reduced to ashen statues, petrified in their final moments. The battlefield was razed and filled with bright green fire. Nibras beheld the slaughter of his army with horror, but maintained complete control. He knew that the overgrown lizard needed to go first, or his kingdom would surely fall into the hands of his unworthy progeny.
He ordered the magi and the scorpions held in reserve to concentrate fire on the beast.
At once, the air grew hot with sorcerous fire. Roédvekkhar maneuvered through the hail, retaliating with some fire of his own. As he chafed at his master's bonds, the dragon realized that in the chaos of battle, Zaziq's will waned just enough for Roédvekkhar to have room for his own actions.
He used this window of opportunity to dive directly into the magi's fire, in an attempt to somehow expose his tormentor to the same dangers. He was confident in his own scales to protect him. As for Zaziq? He was but a man.
However, that same man was no fool. He realized what his mount was up to and called upon the power of his grimoire to shield himself and Iasmini from the spells.
"Foolish beast!" Zaziq tightened his grip on the dragon's mind, causing him great pain. "Obey, or suffer the consequences of rebellion!"
Roédvekkhar roared, feeling his will wither away. Soon, he became as docile as a pup. He finished off the army of the Malliq, allowing Zaziq's army to march upon the towns and cities unabated. The Ofieri king himself disappeared after the battle at the Field of Olives. The rebel prince wasn't happy about that, but he wasn't too angry about it either. After all, it only meant that the Malliq could watch his kingdom burn.
After taking the fortress city of Nekai, a strategic location vital for the loyalists' supply lines, Zaziq halted his advance and set his army to fortify the place. To gather support for his cause, Zaziq ordered that the people of the city be left untouched. Only those proven to have allegiance for the Malliq were executed, their heads put on the spikes lining the gates. That bit of theatrics was enough to scare the population into submission. It didn't take long for business to resume as usual.
Zaziq settled into the best palace he could find in Nekai, the one least burned by Roédvekkhar's fire. He commanded the beast to land in the courtyard. Once he was off the saddle, Zaziq made him transform into his human form and subjected the unhappy slave to a long torturous moment filled with agonizing sparks of lightning among other creative punishments.
"Perhaps your beastial mind has difficulty comprehending reality!?" The prince said, his face aglow with the light of his spells. "You are not in control here, Roédvekkhar! I am! I am your master- and you will obey me!"
Roédvekkhar didn't scream. He made no sound as the lightning arcs danced across his contorted form. The hatred he felt for the prince doubled, forming a tight ball of defiance that hardened his resolve. But the dragon was no fool. By nature, he had the serpentine cunning and wit of his kind running deep through his veins. Zaziq thought himself higher than his kind, but his arrogance would betray him one day.
This would not be that day.
He could take the pain, the humiliation of being nothing more than a living weapon. Zaziq wouldn't dare kill him, not while he still had a whole kingdom to wage war against. Roédvekkhar would have to get creative somewhere, his attempts would not end.
Roédvekkhar prostrated himself and bowed his head. Zaziq put his foot on the dragon's neck. His chin tilted upwards as he haughtily declared, "Now, what will you say?"
"Nghh..." The dragon growled, "I will serve."
Zaziq soundly kicked him across the face, "Good! Now get out of my sight!"
As Roédvekkhar rose up to carry out his master's last command, his eyes fell upon Iasmini. The faintest trace of pity crossed her face, only to be smothered by a quick facade of indifference.
Lyria, The Common Road
An hour after the Nilfgaardians were ambushed at the Lyrian Common Road, the lone surviving rider managed to bring reinforcements from a nearby outpost. But by the time they got there, it was already too late.
The detachment lay massacred along the dusty road, and the carriage was empty.
Artas Vogelbaum, a specialist attached to the reinforcing unit, inspected the carnage. His dragon, Carnifex, chuffed as he sniffed each corpse. The big golden brown beast clicked his teeth, all the blood shed there was Nilfgaardian but none from whoever attacked them. At once, Vogelbaum knew that he was dealing with more than just a simple bandit raid. Lyria had its problems on the highways, but this was different.
Too professional, too good for bandits.
"Lyrian loyalists." The specialist announced, wiping his hands on a piece of white cloth after touching the bloodstained armor of the detachment commander, who had an arrow sticking out of his throat. "They knew we had the prince as hostage. Mount up, I will perform a search. They shouldn't have gone far."
The acting commander of the Nilfgaardians nodded in acknowledgement. With a firm gesture if his gauntleted hand, he had the men get back on their saddles and follow the path up where the perpetrators should have gone. Meanwhile, Vogelbaum rode Carnifex and took to the skies.
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