"The enemy of my enemy is on thin fucking ice." - Urist Deep-Rock, dwarf miner.
--=--
3rd Rova, 4721 AR
Trogrul Flats, eastern Hold of Belkzen
While there was a direct land route from the Lands of the Linnorm Kings to Ustalav, it was a harsh and dangerous route that involved passing through Irrisen and its eternal winter. In the modern age it was safer, if not more swift, to pass through Irrisen into Belkzen. Once, that statement would have been folly. Ever since Ardax the White-Hair took over in Belkzen, though, things had changed. The orcs were shifting in their attitude toward outsiders in increments, and presently, one could pay a toll on the borders of Belkzen territory in order to secure a writ of passage. It was a hefty toll. Some might argue it was extortionate. But it was far preferable to being cut down and having all of one's belongings taken by force.
Asaf had never been to Belkzen. It was one of the few places he did not go. The Hold was a desolate, bleak land, where the orcs had been pushed and hemmed in by the dwarves during the Quest for the Sky long ago. Unable to survive in that harsh place, embittered by years of conflict, many orcs had turned to raiding or mercenary work. Naturally, conflict with their dwarven neighbors was the most common target of the Belkzen orcs. Atrocities had been stacked high by both sides during the long conflict. An extremely tentative peace held at present thanks to the looming threat of Tar-Baphon, the Whispering Tyrant, whose Gravelands shared a border with both Belkzen and the dwarven lands of the Five Kings Mountains.
Asaf and his companions were not alone. They were traveling with a small company of a couple dozen orcs from a tribe known as the Razorboars, who were returning to their ancestral lands after a stint in one of the border garrisons maintained by Ardax's surprisingly complex web of alliance and mutual aid. Their leader was Kososh, an orc warrior who was as large as Tem, carrying two axes on their back that would have taken most people two hands to wield. The orcs mostly wore loose, patchwork hides. A few, like Kososh, wore only a loincloth and leather straps to carry their weapons. Kososh was heavily tattooed with boar motifs, as well as Orcish characters that Asaf could not read.
Around the group was a vast, shimmering salt flat known as the Trogrul Flats. Even as summer waned it was quite hot, with a witheringly dry breeze kicking up from the west. The sun glinted mercilessly off the white ground, and for the first time since leaving Absalom, Asaf had a turban wrapped around his head to ward off the worst of the sun's fury. It was one familiarity of home he was happy to go without. Asaf had lent the spare he kept handy to Scaelia. Even blessed by Sarenrae as she was, Scaelia was still a drow with a physiology more suited to the Darklands than the surface.
They didn't speak much. The heat and desolate landscape robbed the small convoy of much desire to. Kososh rode atop their dire boar mount at the front of the group with Khamsa and Oath close behind. The rest of the orcs marched along ahead of their two supply wagons, each one towed by a pair of camels. The camels were one of many things coming into Belkzen with Ardax's changes in policy among the tribes, much better suited to the unforgiving climate of the Hold than oxen or aurochs.
Kososh held up a scarred hand, bringing the caravan to a halt. The big orc peered ahead, their broad nose sniffing the air. Asaf liked the orc captain. They may have been crude and with questionable personal hygiene, but they were enjoyable company around the campfire each night.
"What is it?" Asaf asked them.
Kososh plucked at their shaggy beard, sniffing more. "Someone's coming." They rumbled.
Asaf blinked. He could see nothing through the heat haze and glare. "Where?"
"Ahead. Down the road. I smell more camels. Boars. And…tribex."
"Tribex are a dwarf beast." Tem said. "What would they be doing here?"
"Get hands on your weapons and prepare to find out." Kososh advised, drawing one axe.
Asaf summoned his trusty spear, looking askance at Temperance. The tiefling shrugged, drawing Forbearance.
"I knew we'd gone too long without trouble", Scaelia said from behind Asaf.
"Finally, somewhere you can direct your barbs other than me." Asaf muttered.
Scaelia snickered in spite of the situation. "Be grateful you only get the figurative barbs rather than the literal ones."
"True enough." The aasimar granted.
Figures began to emerge from the heat haze down the flat road. First was an orc captain upon a dire boar much like Kososh. However behind that orc was, as Kososh had suggested, a group of dwarves. Except it wasn't a group.
It was an army.
A column from the Five Kings Mountains, clad in dwarf-wrought mail and plate, carrying pikes, axes, and crossbows, marched in perfect order, undeterred by the energy sapping environment. More and more pikes kept emerging from the heat haze, like an encroaching hedgerow. More orcs atop dire boars flanked the dwarven army. It was a small army, as such things were measured, but "army" was still the proper word. Their wagons full of supplies, water barrels, and animal feed were hauled by shaggy, three-horned tribexes. The banner of a runic crown was flown over the dwarves; the heraldry of Highhelm, the de jure capital of the allied city-states that made up the Five Kings Mountains.
"Gorum's greatsword…what is this?" Kososh uttered, their eyes wide.
"You mean you've no idea?" Asaf asked.
"Dwarves only march through Belkzen to burn and pillage." Kososh said. "At least, they usually do." The Razorboar captain encouraged their mount onward, the dire boar snorting as it trotted ahead. Asaf and Temperance both guided their horses after Kososh when the orc didn't tell them to stay put.
The orc leading the dwarves came ahead as well. His face was painted with a red skull motif, and he carried a barbed spear.
"Hail, Captain Kososh!" The other captain called as he approached.
Kososh raised their axe in salute. "Hail, Madalak, Chief of the Redspears. What is this? What's going on?"
"Overlord Ardax calls the dwarves of High Helm to a war council." Madalak informed them as his dire boar pawed at the packed down road. "I lead them to the Overlord's war camp to speak with the White-Hair. As a captain of the Razorboars, your voice would be welcome in the council."
Kososh grunted in acknowledgement, signaling their small column to turn around head back the way they had come. Surprisingly, the orcs did so without complaint. "What foe would bring dwarves to our lands?"
"Dragons." Madalak said. "But not really dragons. They're like…really big kobolds."
"Dragonborn." Asaf, Tem, Scaelia, and Dhrak all said at almost the same time.
Kososh and Madalak looked at them questioningly.
"We have encountered these creatures before." Asaf informed them. "We have fought them and learned some small amount about them."
"We should go with them." Temperance said.
"My thoughts exactly." Asaf said.
"Still…dwarves allowed to march in force in Belkzen…" Kososh said uneasily.
"The Overlord can't spare any warriors from watching the Corpse Lord's border. Ardax is hoping this campaign will forge a bond that will help us bury Tar-Baphon for good." Madalak said, his tone making it clear he wasn't fully for this, either. "It's reality now, Kososh. We can't stand on our own. Not anymore. And it seems the dwarves are finally starting to get that, too. They've been suffering from Tar-Baphon's wyvernshit just as much as we have."
"I doubt they suffer as much." Kososh said dryly. "But your point is made. Fine. We go to the war camp. And I'm sure Overlord Ardax will want to hear from the ones I am guiding, if they've faced these…dragonborn before."
The dwarves caught up, their line stopping. One of them at the lead had a countenance chiseled from stone, it seemed, with a long beard the color of granite. He spat on the ground.
"I put aside my grievances with orcs on the High King's order." The greybeard said. "But now to march beside hellspawn, drow, and goblins? He asks much of us. Much of us, indeed."
"Abyss-spawn." Tem corrected.
"How lovely." Scaelia murmured at the same time.
"You dishonor yourself with such vile speech." Asaf rebuked the dwarf. He remembered Tem's words from back in Kintargo, and did not intend to push the issue as he had back then, but he refused to allow such a thing to pass unchallenged. "Shame on you."
The greybeard was about to retort, but he was interrupter by an almost impossibly loud and gruff voice.
"Close your fucking mouth, Brinod, or I'll be knocking out all your godsdamned teeth. I swear it on Angradd's name!"
Another dwarf came to the front, breaking formation. Nearly as wide as he was tall, the hulking dwarf was clad in runic plate, a greataxe that glowed a sullen red slung over one shoulder. He had an auburn beard knotted with beads that, curiously, had Minkaian kanji inscribed on them.
The new dwarf got in his elder's face, and based on Brinod's reaction, he had not expected this.
"Dergir!" Temperance exclaimed, leaping down from the saddle and rushing over, heedless of everyone else. Tem slid on his knees and fairly slammed into the auburn-haired dwarf, the two old friends crushing each other in a tight hug.
"Haha! Grundinnar bless my fuckin' soul!" Dergir exclaimed, his voice full of joy. "Mithi! Mithi, get up here and look who it is!"
"Oh, I saw, Adi. He's hard to miss, as always." Said a new, much gentler but equally glad voice.
The newcomer wore lamellar armor of leather and steel, dyed and tinted a brilliant gold. He was a thin, dark haired, clean-shaven man, with soft features, walking with a hand resting on the hilt of a katana tucked into his belt beside a wakizashi. Across his chest was a white symbol depicting a katana crossed over a sunburst; the emblem of Shizuru, the Empress of the Sun. Whether she was a kindred sun deity to Sarenrae or another aspect of her, theologians were not sure.
Hida Arashi approached Tem, who stood and embraced the soft spoken swordsman.
"Shi, gods above, it's good to see you." Tem enthused as he lifted Arashi off his feet.
"You…too…Tem…", the Minkaian wheezed.
Tem set Arashi down, the tiefling beaming with delight. Dergir, on the other hand, wheeled on his kinfolk with a thunderous scowl, his dark green eyes seeming to blaze.
"This man is my oathsworn brother. Any word spoken against him, or any he calls friend, is spoken against me." Dergir warned them, especially focusing on Brinod. "By the Forge Fire's wrath, do not test me on this. We didn't pass through the trials of the Crusade to hear such unworthy talk from those who should know better; who weren't even there, be you lowly beardling or the highest of Thanes!"
Brinod bristled at the rebuke, but puffed out through his nose and inclined his head. "You have…my apologies, chosen of Angradd."
Tem nodded in return, but said nothing. Asaf felt relief flood through him.
"Merciful Dawnflower, you run into Tem's friends everywhere you go, it seems." Scaelia noted with a chuckle.
"Indeed. It seems that way." Asaf said as Tem, Dergir, and Arashi made their way toward the front of Kososh's column. A deep melancholy settled over Asaf rather out of nowhere. Friends. It felt like so long since Asaf could call anyone a friend. He liked to believe Tem, Scaelia, and Dhrak were his friends, but were they? Asaf had adventured with a lot of people over the years. He got along with plenty of them, even shared a bed with some, but friends?
You had some once. Asaf thought to himself. And you're the reason you don't anymore.
"Something wrong, Halo?" Scaelia asked.
"No. Nothing." Asaf muttered, "just the weather getting to me."
Scaelia frowned, but it was Tem that spoke next.
"Halo. Scaelia. C'mon up here. My friends all need to meet!" Temperance called back, waving them forward.
The hollow through Asaf's middle filled somewhat as he nodded to Temperance and spurred Khamsa forward. Yes. It had been a very long time since he'd had friends. But it was about time Asaf allowed himself to change that.
--=--
The camp they made that night was a somewhat tense affair. The orcs and dwarves kept to their own, watching the other side closely. Asaf and the rest of his group were with their original escort, Kososh and their Razorboars. Dergir and Arashi joined them. The only time Asaf had seen Tem so openly happy was when they had met Violetta in Kintargo.
"You fought a dragon? In the the fuckin' air?" Dergir exclaimed. "Forge's flame, Tem, you mad bastard."
The tiefling pointed a thumb at Asaf and Scaelia. "Those two took on three ice linnorms on their own while I did that."
"One of them kept going past us…", Scaelia muttered modestly.
"And there was only one after Miss Scaelia there shot one in the eye, while in the saddle, riding full tilt, and shooting backwards", Asaf added, giving the drow the praise she deserved.
Arashi let out a low whistle. "Now that is marksmanship. And I've seen armies of steppe nomads out of Hongal in arrow duels with ranks of samurai."
Scaelia waved it all off. "Halo killed the last one. So there. Accept my compliments while I'm deigning to give them to you, Halo. Unless, of course, you prefer the taunting." She smirked.
Everyone around the fire laughed, Dergir clapping Arashi on the knee. The nicknames they had given each other, Adi and Mithi, were based around the color of their eyes, according to Tem. Dergir's shared the deep, dull green of adamantine, while Arashi's were a pale, almost silver grey, like mithril. The duo were plainly smitten with each other, which was heartening to see. Something beautiful had come out of the horrors that were the Fifth Crusade. And if Asaf wasn't mistaken…
"You know, we are actually passing through Noviste on our way down to Absalom." Asaf said as the laughter died down, a look of mischief crossing his face a he glanced over at Tem.
"Eh? Going to see Vivi, are you?" Dergir asked. He shared a look with Arashi, then the two of them looked at Tem as well.
Oh. They know quite well. Asaf thought with a smile.
"That was the hope." Tem said, suddenly wilting under all the attention. His crimson cheeks turned something closer to maroon.
"Tem's been writing to her since we saw her in Kintargo." Asaf mentioned off-handedly.
"About fuckin' time…", Dergir muttered, but Arashi silenced the dwarf with a warning look.
"That's wonderful, Tem", the Minkaian said with much more diplomacy. "I'm sure it will be lovely to see her again."
"You should come with us." Dhrak suggested. He had been silent, mostly, watching the camp around them, as if waiting for tensions to explode into violence.
"Aye. That's a good idea." Tem agreed, eager to change the subject.
"Hm. Well, we had been planning on moving on from High Helm when the throng was disbanded after this." Arashi mused. "What do you think, Adi?"
"A chance to have the old group together again? Hah! Not even the Rough Beast itself could keep me away." Dergir exclaimed. "But, we'll have to get through this first." He sighed. "As if the fuckin' demons of the Abyss weren't enough. Now we're caught between the Tyrant's corpse humpers and overgrown kobolds. So much for rest."
"We're warriors of the gods." Temperance pointed out, shifting on the ground where he sat. "We chose to take these battles onto ourselves so others can rest."
"I do not recall taking any such vows." Asaf put in. In truth, he admired their dedication. It wasn't for him, but he could admire it. Asaf needed no divine reason. The dragonborn, their Ancalagon Throne, needed to be stopped. It was a simple fact.
"We'll be sure to tell you all about how glorious the victory was so you never have to leave your scented bath." Scaelia assured the aasimar.
"Gods, but what I would give for a scented bath right now. I'm going to have dust in my hair for the next few years." Asaf pretended to be haughtily outraged.
More laughter. The conversation went on in no particular direction from there. When the time finally came for sleep, they set a watch just to make sure. Asaf did not sleep easily as he expected to be awoken at any moment by a camp in flames and the combat of dwarves and orcs. Perhaps through Sarenrae's mercy, no such thing occurred.
--=--
8th Rova, 4721 AR
War Camp of the Overlord, Belkzen
Asaf had never seen a war camp like the one he bore witness to on that dusty plain of Belkzen. It stank like nothing else he had ever encountered before. Kososh estimated that there were four-thousand orcs present based on the camp's size, a figure Madalak agreed with. That meant the dwarves were about equal in number, but even so, if anything went wrong and sparked conflict, it would be a bloodbath for both sides. Asaf found himself growing increasingly nervous as they passed by row upon row of tents, the orcs glowering at their ancestral foes. It spoke a great deal of the respect and/or fear that Ardax was able to spread among his people that the glares and occasional Orcish curse were the only things thrown their way.
Kososh and Madalak's warriors broke off to set up their places in the camp, the latter also guiding the bulk of the dwarves to their own area. Asaf and his companions followed Kososh toward the largest tent in the center of the camp. The tents around them were patchworks of hides and leather threaded together by catgut, many decorated with dangling bone talismans or bright swatches of paint. The gathered orcs reminded Asaf of the Ulfens in Vylkavik, in a lot of ways. There appeared to be a great deal of boasting, drinking, brawling, and screwing going on all around; all the hallmarks of an army with no foe within reach.
"I must say." Scaelia mused as they walked. "The middle of an orc war camp is not one of the places I figured I'd end up. It's one of those places people tend to throw in to compare to other places they don't want to be. 'I'd rather be in an orc war camp than visit my in-laws.'"
With a chuckle, Asaf said "I dare say you may well be the most well traveled drow there is at this point."
"Hm. Maybe on the surface." Scaelia granted him. "Ironically, I haven't actually explored much of the Darklands. It's already been done by so many of my people I don't see much point. If anything my parents are glad I never went out and did so."
"I suppose this means you won't be able to show me around down there. More's the pity." Asaf lamented. He reached for his waterskin and drank from it as they walked, parched by another day of dust and sun.
Scaelia snorted. "Yeah, right. Not getting to see carnivorous mushrooms, flesh melting spores, and aberrations that will literally scar your spirit is a real pity." The drow smirked. "But, if you're really lucky, I'll show you around my home city someday."
"Then I shall pray to Desna that my good fortune holds." Asaf said.
"Can't just bring you with, though. Five minutes with you will undo all the positive things I've been telling people back home about the surface." Scaelia added as the group reached the entrance to Overlord Ardax's tent.
"I shall also pray that you find half the ingenuity in your writing that you do in your insults." Asaf muttered as he ducked through the tent flap.
Scaelia laughed.
Ardax's tent was strewn with soft furs, lit by tallow candles and oil lamps. A fine changing screen that was clearly not of orc make blocked off a section of the tent to Asaf's left. Straight ahead was the Overlord himself, seated upon a small throne rather ingeniously crafted from intertwining mammoth tusks and stretched hides.
Asaf took one look at Overlord Ardax and, in that moment, immediately understood how this man could hold the orc tribes together. This was not begun by Ardax, but the previous Overlord, Grask Uldeth. Most believe Uldeth intended to gather a great army to attack beyond their borders, by Ardax took the foundations laid by Uldeth and built something else.
Ardax, true to his epithet, had ivory hair that was tied in a high topknot. His armor was quite fine, bearing the clean lines of Azlanti make, and the dark metal of his great axe was veined through with angular lines often found in objects pulled from the Silver Mount in Numeria. Ardax was not particularly large, as orcs were concerned, but he had a weight of presence that made him seem three times as big. There was cold, calculating cunning in his brown eyes, and he watched as the last of his guests filtered into the room. Thane Brinod approached with his bodyguards, as well as Dergir.
"All are gathered, mighty chief." An orc bearing a halberd beside the throne informed Ardax. This orc had vibrant blue paint around his eyes and across his eyelids.
Ardax inclined his head with the inevitability of a boulder tipping over an incline. It gave the impression that whatever he spoke would happen; not "would be done", not "would be obeyed", but by iron will alone, the thing would occur.
The halberd orc cleared his throat and raised his voice. "You stand before Ardax the White-Hair, Overlord of Belkzen, Lord of Urgir, Chief of Chiefs, Chief of the Empty Hands, Defier of the Whispering Tyrant. Kneel, and pay homage."
Asaf cringed. That was not a good thing to request.
Brinod sniffed. He looked resplendent in his dwarf forged adamantine plate, as immovable as Ardax had been inevitable.
"I am Brinod Brinodsson, the Unbroken." The dwarf said. "I am a Thane of High Helm. I kneel to no one but High King Borogrim the Hale, may Torag bless his reign. If it is greeting you seek, I will shake your hand, in the spirit of cooperation as commanded by His Highness. But I did not come to submit to you, or to anyone, Overlord."
Orcish voices murmured with discontent.
Ardax stood up, slow and deliberate. Asaf waited for him to take up the axe and cleave Brinod's head off. This was exactly the sort of exchange the aasimar had been dreading.
"I did not ask you to come here and submit to me." Ardax said in a resonant baritone. "You will not kneel before me anymore than any of my people would kneel before High King Borogrim. Takred spoke from habit." He indicated the halberd orc, then offered his hand to Brinod. "The history of blood between our peoples is a long and harrowing one. Let our fight against this new danger be the first step of putting it behind us."
Brinod looked at the Overlord's hand as if shaking hands with an orc was the most insane thing in the world. Yet, the greybeard grasped Ardax's hand and shook it firmly. The two old warriors made eye contact, weighing and measuring each other as warriors often do.
"High King Borogrim sends tidings and his wish that the grudges of the past might be buried." Brinod said as he released Ardax's hand. "The world grows ever more dangerous, it seems, and His Highness sees wisdom in not holding on fiercely to old foes when new ones keep appearing."
"You talk a lot about His Highness the Hale. But what of you, son of Brinod?" Ardax asked pointedly.
Brinod frowned. "I have lost kin to your warriors, Overlord. And Uldeth's. And those that came before. It weighs heavy on me to make this peace, but the Hale's wisdom exceeds mine. He believes the threat of these 'dragonborn' could be as great as Tar-Baphon. Perhaps greater, for the influence they seem to have over the dragons of our world. As I have said before, and will say as many times as I need to, I am honor bound to be here in peace and cooperation. I gave my word to the Hale on it, and I'd sooner shave my beard than break my word."
Ardax considered the dwarf's words, then nodded. "Agreed. The pile of corpses between our peoples will only bury us all if we let it, something our mutual enemies will love, I'm sure. I refuse to give them that pleasure." He looked around. "Now. I've been told there's someone with you who can tell us more about these…what did you call them…dragonborn?"
"Aye, Overlord." Brinod said, pointing to Asaf. "It'd be the Worldwalker and his company there."
"Worldwalker?" Ardax asked, indicating that Asaf should approach.
"Indeed, Chief of Chiefs, that is how I am known by some." Asaf said, slipping into his role as a noble born courtier with ease. "Lord Asaf Malid Tuqqash Yasin, Heir to the Emirate of Al Tamaya and proud member of the Pathfinder Society, at your most humble service. My companions and I encountered the dragonborn in Varisia, and battled a dragon with thralled linnorms fighting on their behalf in the Saga Lands. We learned some small parcels of information about them. By your leave, Overlord, I will relate them to you."
Ardax took a step back and resumed his seat. "Speak, then, Worldwalker, and tell me who these people are that travel with you."
Asaf began with the introductions of Tem, Dhrak, and Scaelia, then launched into the story about the dragonborn. He did his best not to embellish, though that was a hard thing to accomplish when they had truthfully engaged one-hundred dragonborn in the forest outside the Old Thassilonian ruins. Asaf made sure to emphasize just how disorganized and harried by flame the creatures had been at the time. When he began describing the strange "StasShip", pretty much everybody in the room except Ardax was visibly confused and curious about it.
"...in short, Chief of Chiefs", Asaf concluded, "we must not underestimate this foe for even a moment. No one who holds sway over dragons can be so easily dismissed, to say nothing of whatever artifacts they might have obtained from other strange vessels from other worlds."
Ardax stroked his chin, deep in thought.
Takred spoke up, "mighty Overlord, if these creatures really are from another world, it might explain where they have been seen, then."
"Explain, Takred." Ardax bade him.
"These dragonborn have been rampaging in the lands of my tribe, the Baleful Eyes. In the middle of our main settlement is a big, empty archway that we never knew what it did. Then, one night, the dragonborn just appeared from it." Takred said.
"And yet another thing built by the damn knife-ears causes trouble upon this world." Brinod said with disdain.
Scaelia cleared her throat. Dergir gave Brinod a prompting look.
"Built by the elves." Brinod corrected with a sigh.
"An Elf Gate." Asaf suggested. "The ancient elves constructed many such portals across Golarion. They were used to traverse Golarion, and to the distant world of Castrovel, where the elves waited for the Starfall's aftermath to abate. The Azalanti were capable of similar works. It is possible that the Ancalagon forces have somehow managed to…tap into such a construct."
"Not all the ancient elves had the luxury of reaching the Elf Gates." Scaelia murmured, mostly to herself. That was the origin of her people; elves who fled underground to survive the Starfall. Those ancient drow were preyed upon by Demon Lords, who granted those desperate people in flight from calamity power at a high price, indeed. It was a price the good drow of the world were still trying to get out from beneath. Regardless, she spoke further aloud, with noticeable horror. "They could appear anywhere in the world where there is an Elf Gate, if that's the case."
"Perhaps. Perhaps not. Every Elf Gate has its own…key. A song, a specific wand, a code phrase, even a certain alignment of the planes and spheres." Asaf tried to assure her, but then frowned. "I suppose it is better to assume they can do so."
"Then our course is set. We will go to the lands of the Baleful Eyes, we will crush these dragonborn, and we will destroy this gate." Ardax decided, his tone heavy with finality. "I will take counsel with my captains and our allies from High Helm. Worldwalker, you and yours will stay in the dwarven camp. Thank you for your information."
"It is an honor to be of aid to you, Chief of Chiefs." Asaf said, placing his hand against his chest. "And I look forward to being of further aid in the battle to come." With that, he took three steps backward, turned on his heel, and led the way out of the tent. Brinod remained with his own captains, Dergir joining the group on the way out. Outside, the sun was beginning to set over the horizon.
"Who would have thought being a courtier would pay off in Belkzen of all places." Scaelia said with her favorite smirk.
"One needs only to read the room, Miss Scaelia. The tent of an orc warlord or the court of the Padishah Emperor, it matters not." Asaf said with no small amount of pride, tossing golden hair that was growing quite long.
"I can only imagine the court of the Padishah Emperor." Scaelia said instead of the usual teasing. "I'm sure it's unlike anything in Jorredaz. Perhaps even in the Darklands."
Asaf beamed. "Oh, Miss Scaelia, it most certainly is. I would go so far as to say that it's unlike anything on or beneath Golarion. The splendor of the Imperial Court of the Keleshite Empire, indeed the entire city of Isfahel, is…Dawnflower's mercy, I find I can't even put it into proper words. I've been there only once, but I shall never forget it."
"I suppose we'll have to add that to the itinerary after I show you Jorredaz, then." Scaelia suggested, eyes practically glittering with excitement over the idea.
"Are you no longer concerned about my undoing positive notions of the surface, then?" Asaf asked her.
"Oh, you're going to. But if that's the price I have to pay to to see Isfahel, then I guess I'll make that trade." Scaelia gave him a wink and a laugh.
Asaf decided not to mention that Scaelia had just imposed that "price" upon herself. "You know, Miss Scaelia, we are both chroniclers. Would not a volume focusing on the similarities and positive attributes of both surface and Darklands, penned by individuals from both places, not foster the very spirit you seek in your own writings?"
Scaelia's smile faded to a look of surprise. "Wait, you…you want to write a book with me?"
Asaf blinked. "If you were to find it agreeable."
"Well…I mean…it might be a good idea…", Scaelia hemmed and hawed.
Asaf's initial instinct was to leap on this apparent shyness and finally gain his vengeance for all the teasing, but a courtier knew how to read people, and right then he could see this was not a subject to joke about.
"You're sensitive about your writing?" Asaf guessed.
"No one other than my family and their friends have read any of my work." Scaelia admitted with a sigh. "I'm…scared to actually publish it. It's all in notebooks stacked up in my room back home."
"It may be presumptive of me, but if you'd like, I could go over your work and give you some advice?" Asaf suggested.
"You'd do that?" Scaelia asked.
"Of course. Only if you want the advice, of course. I would hate to presume…", Asaf insisted.
Scaelia shook her head, "no, no, that'd actually be really helpful", she snickered, "look, if even I knew about you before meeting you, clearly you've done something right."
The two of them kept speaking on the subject of chronicle writing as they proceeded to the dwarven area of the camp. It suddenly made sense why they had not spoken on this common interest before, if Scaelia was truly so shy about hers. Asaf regretted they had not done so. He found himself already planning the layout of this theoretical jointly written work. It was thanks to this that, in spite of sleeping in a dusty camp in an unforgiving landscape with a belly full of questionable dwarven cuisine, Asaf was able to sleep with a smile on his face.
--=--
9th Rova, 4721 AR
War Camp of the Overlord, Belkzen
It was the only time in his life that Asaf could say that the simple feeling of excitement kept him awake.
Asaf lay down in his tent, trying to sleep but unable to, falling into that age-old trap of being self-conscious of the need to sleep only to be pushed further away from it. He couldn't help it. Between his agreement with Scaelia and Temperance's declaration of friendship, it had been a very good day for Asaf. So, Asaf lay there, trying to let the heaviness of his eyelids carry him to sleep, when his tent flap opened.
I didn't make that sort of impression on anyone today. Asaf thought as he flicked his eyes towards the tent. A small figure, hooded and clad in leather armor, was creeping into the tent. Asaf thought it might have been Dhrak coming to warn him about something, but then he noticed the reptillian tail.
A kobold. Asaf mentally kicked himself for not thinking of it sooner. An army gathering all draconic creatures to its side could not miss out on the diminutive, dragon worshiping kobolds. Sure enough, the infiltrator drew a dagger, approaching to cut Asaf's throat.
Asaf focused. A shortsword formed in his hand and he swiped up with it, knocking the dagger aside, then grabbing the kobold's ankle and using a shocking grasp spell. The kobold's body shook as electricity coursed through it. Asaf stabbed the kobold in the chest, letting it fall. He stood, pulling on a pair of trousers before taking the dying kobold by the tail and dragging it outside.
"Awake! Infiltrators in the camp!" Asaf yelled at the top of his voice as he threw his victim's corpse into the dirt. "Alarm! Awake! We're under attack!"
Murmurs spread out from where Asaf was standing as his voice woke people. There were shouts of outrage and the occasional clash of steel as the infiltrators, and their grisly handiwork, were discovered.
"Merciful Sarenrae." Asaf breathed. His tent was the first in the row with his growing group of companions, but all the same, he threw open the next one in line just to make sure.
There was Scaelia, in only her small clothes, stark naked from the waist up, and quite untouched by a kobold's blade.
There was a moment of stunned eye contact.
"...HALO!" Scaelia exclaimed in embarrassed outrage, followed by several expletives in Undercommon as she snatched up a shirt.
"Sorry!" Asaf said with a cringe, his face flushing a few shades darker. He ducked out of the tent with all haste before Scaelia sped an arrow or a spell in his direction.
Around Asaf, more and more dwarves were emerging from their tents, groggily clutching weapons and shields. Asaf remained on guard over his companions' tents as they emerged, one by one, all wearing hastily adorner clothes.
"What's going on?" Temperance asked, looking around, Forbearance held in one hand.
"Kobolds, I can only assume." Arashi pointed at the corpse at Asaf's feet.
"You would be correct." Asaf said. "Come. We must ensure the Thane's safety."
"No. Mithi and I can handle that." Dergir said, "if the Thane falls, Torag forbid it, he will be succeeded by his next in line. If Ardax dies…"
The dwarf left the words unsaid, but they all knew what he meant. The Belkzen tribes would splinter and the dragonborn would not have to face a unified foe. The dwarven expeditionary force would not likely make it back to High Helm in the Five Kings Mountains, either. It would be a disaster.
"Then we ain't got time to waste." Dhrak said, hurrying off for the center of the camp.
Temperance hefted his burning blade to readiness and went after Dhrak, followed by Asaf and Scaelia.
"Forgive me f-..." Asaf began.
"It's fine." Scaelia snapped, her expression grim with embarrassment.
Asaf nodded, once again tempted to try for a jest of vengeance on the Sarenite warpriest, but again thought better of it. It was neither the time nor the place for such distractions, and whereas Scaelia's barbs were always in good fun, Asaf sensed the drow was genuinely mortified. He could not help but wonder at that, but reminded himself that not everyone was so ready to be unexpectedly naked in front of others at a moment's notice as he was.
Tents were burning and orcs were roaring. Asaf's group passed by an orc who had fallen with a trio of arrows in his back. Another allowed a kobold to stab him through the hand with a dagger, twisting the wounded hand to disarm the diminutive creature, then punching the creature with enough force to spill it to the ground.
Ardax's tent was the center of activity. Asaf quickly realized that the bodyguards and tribal captains near it were not just fighting kobolds, but also dragonborn who were particularly wiry and and sleek looking. The combat was taking place in knots and bunches scattered all over, the orcs fighting to keep the enemy out of Ardax's tent.
The four adventurers joined the edge of the fray, striking down a few kobolds and a dragonborn from surprise. A kobold sprang from behind a tent with a crossbow and fired at them, but the swift blade of Dhrak cut the missile out of the air just before Scaelia's returning arrow found its mark in the gullet of the kobold sharpshooter. Scaelia spoke up before they were fully committed to the fight.
"Ardax should be out here fighting with his warriors." The drow noted.
Asaf nodded. "Astutely observed. Temperance, Dhrak, cut us a path then aid them out here. Scaelia and I will ensure Ardax's safety."
"I'll do you one better." Temperance said, handing Forbearance to Asaf as his burning wings sprouted. He took both Asaf and Scaelia under his burly arms and lifted off, soaring the short but crowded distance. Alighting just outside of the entrance of the Overlord's tent, Temperance took his sword back, dismissed his wings, and wheeled about. "Five-Winged Knight, see me now!" The tiefling called out, meeting a dragonborn with twin daggers.
Asaf did not see the result of that fight, instead hurrying into Ardax's tent. The candles and lamps were out, which was of little concern to two adventurers with darkvision. Several bodies were on the ground; orcs with cut throats, including Takred. Two dragonborn lay among them.
Ardax stood alone in the center of the tent. He was slashed in several places, but standing strong, his great axe at the ready. Asaf suspected that some of the blood covering the orc was not his own.
"Back! They hide in shadow!" Ardax tried to warn. His left ear twitched and he swung his axe about. Another dragonborn in dark leathers came into view as they were bisected, two halves slamming into Ardax's throne and pitching it over. Another cut appeared across the Overlord's back and he dropped to a knee with a bellow of fury. The dragonborn who cut him appeared briefly, only for the darkness of the tent to gather around them a moment later.
TWANG
One of Scaelia's arrows sprang forth, leading the assassin that had just sliced Ardax's back and taking them in the flank. The dragonborn became visible again, and an arrow throw the back of their knee sent the assassin sprawling with a squall of agony.
Asaf, who was indecisive about what to do next, saw one of the corpses twitch. He formed his shortsword into a shield and held it before himself, feeling a pair of impacts as another assassin's twin daggers slammed into the bulwark. He held up a hand and launched an acid arrow at point blank range, but the dragonborn slithered to one side and disappeared again.
"No creature of shadow can hide from the Dawnflower's light!" Scaelia intoned. The arrow she had strung glowed with a dayling spell and she fired it into the floor in the center of the room. At once, four remaining assassins became visible as the darkness was banished.
From the ground, Ardax grabbed the axe of a fallen orc and pitched it at the nearest dragonborn. The hurled weapon crunched into the assassin's chest, but the motion sent Ardax sprawling to the ground. The Overlord was covered in blood and open wounds.
There were several tense moments as the remaining dragonborn looked at the fallen form of Ardax and the two newly arrived adventurers. A single movement would spark a response, and Asaf feared making the wrong move and allowing one of the assassins to finish Ardax off. Asaf would have loved to unleashed a fireball or chain lightning, but he couldn't risk harming Ardax or setting the tent aflame. Evocation magic was his specialty, and it was a rare instance where there was little he could do with it other than lesser spells and cantrips. Still, he'd make do with what he had.
Asaf spat a word of power, pointing with his free hand. Five darts of force thwipped out, one from each fingertip, the magic missiles slamming into the dragonborn that was nearest to Ardax. The darts drove the dragonborn back several steps, and an arrow in the belly from Scaelia finished the assassin off.
The assassins moved. The one that was newly nearest to Ardax sprang for the fallen Overlord, while the other ran suicidally at Asaf and Scaelia, their daggers held wide.
Asaf shifted his shield into his favored spear and charged, driving the weapon through the incoming assassin and bearing both himself and the dragonborn to the ground. The force of the impact sent the spear clear through the assassin's body until Asaf's own hands running into the dragonborn's armor arrested the spear's progress. The two of them tumbled aside. Asaf felt a blinding flash of pain in his gut at one of the daggers sank up to the hilt there. He dismissed his spear, producing a dagger of his own, slamming it home into his opponent's face, an act that diverted an attack that would have seen the dragonborn's second dagger drive up through Asaf's chin. It pierced upward through his collarbone instead, the pain of his twin wounds so nauseating that he could do nothing but lie on the ground and groan. The last dragonborn fell from where they stood over Ardax, their chest pincushioned by a trio of arrows.
"Halo?" Scaelia's voice filtered into Asaf's consciousness, fraught with worry.
"Heal…Ardax…", Asaf croaked.
"I already did, you fool." Scaelia muttered, kneeling at Asaf's side. "Brace yourself. This is going to hurt. A lot." She took his hand.
Asaf could only nod.
"Everlight, may your Healing Flame pass into this guardian of good. Merciful Dawnflower, take his pain and heal his wounds." Scaelia prayed, allowing healing magic to pass through her hand and into Asaf's body.
Asaf cried out as his rapidly healing flesh pushed the daggers out. He heard Scaelia gasp as he involuntarily squeezed her hand, but the healing magic kept flowing until the pain had ebbed to a manageable level.
"Dawnflower's mercy, this coming from the man who faced down trolls with barely a twitch." Scaelia said, sounding relieved as she helped Asaf sit up.
"I recall being thrown around like an unwanted toy." Asaf said in a tight voice. He took a deep breath, looking to the side at Scaelia. "Thank you, Scaelia."
"What happened to 'Miss' Scaelia?" The drow asked, somehow managing to find her smirk.
"I haven't heard a 'Lord Asaf' out of any of you for weeks now and have been quite civil about it." Asaf joked.
Someone cleared their throat. Asaf and Scaelia looked to see Ardax pushing himself to his feet with his axe.
"Hate to ruin your little moment here", the Overlord growled, "but there's still lizards in my fucking war camp." With that, he stomped out of the tent like he hadn't just been on the verge of death a couple of minutes ago.
"Right. We must make safe the camp." Asaf said. He stood, feeling mostly steady, but Scaelia helped him up to be sure.
"And make sure the mighty Chief of Chiefs doesn't almost get himself killed again." Scaelia said, though with a noted quieting of her voice.
The two left the tent and rejoined the battle.
--=--
The sun rose over a war camp that was much changed from the day before. A thin pall of smoke still hung in the air. If one looked around, occasionally one would find a splatter of blood on the side of a tent or upon the hard ground. Orcs and dwarves were both carrying their dead out of the camp to be buried. Thankfully it wasn't too large of a number, just over one-hundred, with most of them being from the orcish side of the camp. If anything, the attack seemed to have drawn the two races a bit closer together. They had been attacked and fought side by side against a foe that had struck them unexpectedly. Among any society that values honor, courage, and loyalty in battle, that can only ever lead to positive relations with one's allies.
Asaf was in his tent, still lying down. His abdomen was uniquely sore, like he had just done ten-thousand sit-ups without pause. The pain in his shoulder was lesser, but still far beyond what one might consider comfortable. He was currently flipping through the pages of a draft of Scaelia's chronicle detailing her travels with Dhrak before meeting Asaf and Temperance. The drow had a firm grasp of descriptive prose and seemed to know when a grandiose synonym was required or when a simple "good" or "big" were serviceable. He could think of no real flaws just yet, but he was not far into the volume.
"Are you naked in there?" Scaelia's voice asked from outside.
"If I said 'yes', would you still enter?" Asaf queried. He felt a small thrill at the flirtatious statement, which was not a usual thing for him. What could be the cause? The most reasonable assumption was the one it was directed at.
Further thought on the matter was put to rest for the moment when there was a sigh outside the tent flap, then, "Well, if you are, change that and come with me. We're wanted in the Overlord's tent."
Asaf could not help but raise an eyebrow as he marked his page and closed the notebook. "Very well. I'll be just a moment."
Asaf dressed himself and joined Scaelia outside. The drow looked tired, but otherwise in good spirits. She had been up late helping the wounded.
"How are you feeling?" Scaelia asked.
"Like I boxed with an ogre. But, otherwise, quite good." Asaf assured her.
"None of your innards are outards after a knife in the belly. I'd say 'quite good' is an understatement." Scaelia said with a laugh.
"Quite true, quite true." Asaf granted her. "By the way, I approve of your section on the Aldori Swordlord academy. I'm detecting a hint of Dhrak's input there."
"Noticed that, did you?" Scaelia tried to appear outwardly casual, but her nerves at having her work inspected were plain to see.
"Indeed. In fact, I think a great strength of your work so far is infusing your own words with the…hm…'flavor' of those you interview, neither merely reciting their words nor changing them entirely to suit your own ends. An agreeable skill, one I have no grasp of, certainly."
"You're flattering me." Scaelia said with uncharacteristic modesty.
"Flattery? From me? Miss Oussath, it's as if you don't know me at all." Asaf put a hand to his chest in mock outrage.
A reluctant smile pulled up the corners of Scaelia's lips and she said, "of course. I forgot nothing except complete sincerity has ever come out of your mouth."
"Exactly." Asaf said.
The two of them reached Ardax's tent and were allowed inside by the guards. The furs were all gone from the ground. Ardax sat in his throne, looking much more hale and hearty than Asaf felt in spite of significantly worse injury. New guards had joined him, each bedecked with the red, clawed motif of the Empty Hands tribe.
"Worldwalker. Deepsun. My survival from those conniving lizards is thanks to you two." Ardax said at once, straight to the point. The almost ceremonial way he had spoken with the dwarves was gone.
"Your influence on Belkzen has been undeniably for the greater good of Golarion, Chief of Chiefs." Asaf replied. "Your survival benefits us all."
Ardax grunted, then said, "name a boon within my power and you'll have it."
Asaf and Scaelia looked at each other. The aasimar could tell his drow companion had no more idea on what to ask of an orc Overlord than he did.
Or did he?
"Mighty Chief, I can think of nothing for myself; after all, you are already committing your blood and effort to facing a foe who I detest in the utmost on the field of battle." Asaf said, then indicated Scaelia. "However, my companion would very much like your input for the chronicle she is working on. It's about time Belkzen was written of from a fair perspective, and I think if there is one thing both drow and orcs can find common ground on, it is the unfair representation of the whole of their kind thanks to the actions of a few, or those of distant ancestors in far different circumstances."
Scaelia, whose white eyes went wide when she realized what Asaf was saying, cleared her throat and said, "yes, Overlord. It would help me a lot if you let me ask you some questions about Belkzen's history and the current state of it." Her excitement was palpable. The opportunity to interview the Overlord of Belkzen? It was a chance no one had ever been given.
Ardax stroked his snowy beard. "Very well. You may ride with me on the march today and ask whatever you wish, Deepsun."
Scaelia bowed low. "I would be honored to have the chance, Overlord. Thank you."
Ardax dipped his head in acknowledgement, then dismissed them. As the two adventurers went to go prepare to depart with the rest of the camp, Scaelia spoke.
"Thank you." She said. "I never would have thought of that.'
"I merely deflected to you because I could truly think of nothing for myself." Asaf admitted, the confession an honest one.
"Still, that was…", Scaelia trailed off, thought for a few moments, then said, "sweet. That was very sweet of you."
Asaf looked over at her, realizing that had never been a word used to describe him; not once among his many brief paramours over his years of travel.
"Yes, well…", he began, tilting his head to the left, then the right as if working out a kink in his neck. "It's so rare I meet someone who is as dedicated to the work of chronicling as I am. Rarer still for that dedication to exceed my own."
They made for their tents and began breaking them down, conversation fading away amiably as they worked. The fact that a battle against a full and proper army loomed ahead should have had Asaf in a state of anxiety, but right then, he could only smile.
--=--
11th Rova, 4721
Baleful Eye lands, Hold of Belkzen
Vesperex had decided that when the Ancalagon Imperium had conquered this world, she was going to dedicate an army of slaves to building a wall around the entirety of the desolate wasteland she found herself in. It was an impractical task, to be sure, but such manual labor would do good for the bodies of the thralls before they were rendered down into new dragonborn by the forge-wombs. It was a place of hateful climate and a truly annoying populace that seemed to be unable to accept their defeat.
Vesperex and her forces had emerged from the Sphere-Gate and taken the barbarous green beasts by utter surprise, crushing them outright. The pitiful survivors who had not been killed or captured fled off into the wastes. Those that had fallen were dragged back through the Sphere-Gate, precious fuel for the forge-wombs. There was an attempt to speak to those that were captured, but the language barrier proved to be too great. So, all were slain.
At present, Vesperex stood upon the shoddy walls surrounding the hardscrabble encampment of the recently defeated orcs, looking out over the land of Belkzen with eyes full of impatience and ill-humor. She wore full-body glaurung armor, its surface reflecting none of the light of the fires around her. A viridian cape fluttered in the wind with her long, sage green hair.
This assignment was a punishment from Koilnyr, of that Vesperex was certain. But, in these punishments, there was opportunity for reclaimed glory, to not only rise above the failures that doomed one to chastisement, but to go above and beyond to the point that the one handing down the punishment was the one to look foolish. Koilnyr thought himself safe upon the Ancalagon Throne. He would learn. They would all, all of them, learn.
Footsteps. Vesperex turned her head just enough to see a black clad dragonborn approach her from the darkness. The dragonborn had emerald scales and was smaller and more streamlined than most. The forge-wombs were not fully understood, and they seemed to choose of their own volition when to produce a "standard" dragonborn and when to create one of the more specialized brood. In the case of Orienyx Reeds-Dancing-in-Twilight-Winds, she was one of the number known as the "Softscales." It was an unassuming name for a bunch of spies, saboteurs, and assassins.
Orienyx dropped immediately to a knee as she approached Vesperex, planting a fist against the wooden walkway.
"Is the orc dead?" Vesperex asked. Orc. What a crude word. She thought off-handedly. They had learned it from the diminutive dragonkin the Softscales had discovered on this world, the so-called "kobolds." What a boon their discovery had been. The weak, mewling, pathetic shadows of draconic glory made for perfect servants already familiar with this world.
"No, Your Excellency." Orienyx confessed. "And more orcs gather to the Overlord's banner as they march."
Vesperex's head twitched involuntarily at the news.
"And now they will be on high alert for future attempts." The dragon rubbed her forehead. Oh, how she wished to simply change into her true form and melt the lot of them with acidic breath. She might be able to manage it if she were careful and caught them on the march. But, Vesperex had not lived for over one-thousand years by being incautious. All it would take was a single good shot, a single well-placed spell, to knock Vesperex from the sky, and then it would be over. She would be swarmed like a carcass being devoured by ants. Vesperex would not die here and deny herself the final glory of seeing the true rise of the Ancalagon Imperium.
"Forgive me, Excellency." Orienyx breathed. "I will gladly give myself over to the forge-wombs if that is your wi-..."
"Tch. Cease your foolish prattle." Vesperex groaned, rolling her eyes. "We are not so abundant in personnel to be throwing dragonborn away without some chance of contribution. That is what the kobolds are for. You will report to Bandchief Votanthar."
Orienyx's response of assent was delayed by the briefest of moments. "Yes, Excellency. But, before I do that, there is something else I must report."
Vesperex glowered at her incompetent subordinate. "You will not redeem yourself with words alone, Softscale."
"And I'm not trying to, Excellency." Orienyx insisted. "Our infiltrators in the camp. They reported encountering certain individuals of interest to you."
Vesperex arched an eyebrow.
"They reported a man with shining gold hair, a white-haired woman with very dark skin, a towering man with red skin and horns, and a kobold-sized creature who was green." Orienyx said, grimacing at what was invariably coming next.
Vesperex gripped the palisade before her. Wood splintered as she clenched her teeth. Surely Dahak was testing her now. The very creatures responsible for her current predicament had no doubt played some part in foiling her scheme to have the leader of the orcs assassinated. Oh, how loathsome they were. Mentally, Vesperex had already marked them as Chaff. There could be no greater insult, to be considered unworthy of use as raw materials for the forge-wombs. Vesperex would douse their corpses in acid until nothing remained at all. Dahak willing, they would not be corpses when the process began.
"There is nothing to be done, I suppose." Vesperex sighed, waving Orienyx off.
The dragonborn retreated, going to report to Votanthar. Orienyx would be put at the front of the dragonborn formations when the time for battle came. She could redeem herself through triumph, or perish. The irony was not lost on Vesperex as she inflicted such a fate on someone else.
The adventurers who had destroyed the StasShip were here? It felt too much like a coincidence. There was no way they could have predicted which Sphere-Gate the Ancalagon army was going to emerge from. The orc lands had been chosen for their isolation from the rest of this world, this "Golarion". The kobold informants had been most assuring that all outsiders hated the orcs, that no one would come to their aid, yet here they were, about to face down a joint, allied army.
Vesperex tried to consider other strategies, but it was no use. Now the two parts of the army would know any subterfuge was from their enemy. It would not splinter the orcs or drive a wedge between them and their dwarven allies. No. It was going to come to a battle after all. The plan had been to delay such a thing for as long as possible. Vesperex could see the time for delay was at an end now. All that remained was to pick the battlefield and draw the enemy into it. Once they were vanquished, the enemy army would provide a great boon of raw materials for the forge-wombs. That would make Koilnyr rethink his low esteem of her.
Descending from the wall, Vesperex raised her voice. "Rest well this night, children of Ancalagos! Tomorrow, we march for battle, and when it is done, by strength of our arms and the edge of our blades, we will offer up the fuel that will give rise to more of our kin, the first full generation free from the shackles of our dead masters. With this action, we tread upon the first stepping stone that will lead to a tide of your siblings washing over not just this world, but all worlds!" Vesperex raised her fist in the air. "For the glory of Ancalagos!"
"Ancalagos! Ancalagos! Ancalagos!" The dragonborn army chanted in unison.
"And who shall lead you in this victory?!" Vesperex asked of them.
"Vesperex! Vesperex! Vesperex!" The Ancalagon warriors offered in unanimous reply.
A smile of exultation crossed Vesperex's face as her warriors carried on the chant, her arms spread wide. Yes, indeed. This is where it would begin. And it would end with Vesperex seated upon the Ancalagon Throne with a hundred worlds under her thumb.
At least, one hundred as a start.
(To be continued in "Army of Stone, Part 2…!)