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Chapter 1: Demigod strikes Goddess
A dark day of fell deeds had come to haunt Priscilla. Against her decree, fire and slaughter rode.
Tarnished became her goodwill to a people she marched as rightful ruler. Against whom this day her heavensent endeavor was ridiculed.
Their foundations had not crumbled, but stubbornly endured. Her dominion approached with glory, but was spat on as a curse. These zealots cried victory.
But she won't fall to their whims.
Today made heroes of hellfire, great lovers of war. With ranks filled by toiling outcasts, daring to settle the score.
And at the helm of such great evil was the blood she called inferior since young. The traits of petty commoners doomed to serve, first met at the council for the throne.
"Lion~Heart!"
"Lion~Heart!"
"Lion~Heart!"
They cheered his name. The crowds of people chanted his fame.
Encouraged this… this usurper.
"Lion~Heart!"
"Lion~Heart!"
"Lion~Heart!"
Swaths of hills rolled to the horizon bogs, piled from bodies submerged in red grime. The earth was dark; the sky was bright. The air is cold, the smoke is hot.
Iron fog steamed out his lungs. Scarlet caked mud dripped from his undone green hair. His mighty figure was kept strong at the back by meager hundreds. And they all broke into cheers, bursting their trumpets and horns with a chorus. Their weapons shone in the sun, raised high, with their voices alight.
The dogs… celebrating defiance.
The sight was insufferable. Aggravating. Enraging. A boiling fever filled her at a glance.
And Priscilla came to despise this day like few before.
A subtle fear painted the situation worse by the passing minutes. This day was a rhyming history, and to experience the resurfaced humiliation froze Priscilla in place.
Her, a goddess meant to tread the skies, reduced to the suffering child she was in ages past. Tricked out of her victory. Cheated from what was rightfully hers.
A screeching buzz drowned her shot ears. Red trimmed her vision and tremors washed down her limbs. Acid fog burned her nostrils damp with water. The steel scales on her body clinked like rattlesnakes in symphony. The barred path to the Tower looming over the great city taunted her. The unreached walls behind the thrice cursed man stung like a knife lodged in her fresh wounds.
"Lion~Heart!"
"Lion~Heart!"
His frail host crowned in chainlink manes cried behind him with enough life to spare for the fallen.
Banners billowed torn and burnt between dead grips. Poles and axes were lodged in damp haulberks and pierced in metal. Crimson rivulets trickled in murky puddles afloat with pale faces. The earth was red fabrics and coarse plates, one with the vast host laid trampled. The sky was burning reds and frigid blues, vivid and crisp, a sight of terror to behold.
The land was wounded, the sky was carved.
The host of revolting riders beat their shields in a frenzy; they chanted like crazy. A name on their lips to a cause so great, twice the earth it could eclipse.
"LION~HEART!"
"LION~HEART!"
Lo, through the settling mayhem the drums started blasting. The cheers of men shouting in celebration with trumpets pouring out blessings through brass calling them home as heroes.
The one they rallied behind – dubbed Lionheart – turned to his riders fitted in light steel with their steeds smashing the soft earth under cracked horseshoes.
The arrogance of him… it ripped Priscilla's guts like string to see the attitude.
His back completely turned to her, his attention cut away. To her this moment: he was Achilles, washing his heels laid bare in the open. Unaware. Vulnerable.
Weak, if only this second. A mortal. A simple commoner that would crumble to one swing of her sword. Flesh and blood like any other lowly creature to turn in cinders. And to the wind scatter his revolution.
But cruelly… he was just out of her reach. Beyond her disarrayed armies pulling back to pass the marshes. She alone lingered on the frontlines. And was as noteworthy to them as the ghosts of fallen soldiers.
His mane of green tresses parted to show his calloused and scarlet muddied brow. A pair of dour eyes drank in the cheers. His chiseled face, pulled into a joyous outcry, was the mix of a soft, fair, duchess and roguish stranger over the waterfall.
Priscilla felt her teeth crack under her bite force to recognize him.
A rugged and young man at his peak of strength. Broad, lively and great like born to legends of old. Lion maw pauldrons peeled in iron crumbs gently down his shoulders. The nicks and slices over his face shed crimson trails over a stubbled chin. Fair he was from his people and the greatest scorn to Pricilla. He was an offense she could not dismiss or fully understand.
Despite many wounds sustained that should leave him debilitated, he looked ahead… unbothered.
Unbothered.
The mightiest realm in this world to ever gather under a god – her, meant to walk the heavens, not the dirt of mortals – was sent away like petty hooligans.
What was shattered and sent to the hills was those who once conquered the old Lugunica. It was what wrote the end in history to the Dragon Kingdom and dictated its new rising.
Her unmatched legions were her divine decree.
But they broke like rain against the mountain face that was this crippled group of marauders, hidden in once-Lugunica's fringes.
This detestable and yet precious corner they huddled to call home. The oasis raised from dust in a matter of years she hadn't noticed passing. The single place in history crowned with the mighty Tower who stopped the World's end – Pleiades shone over them. A precious possession calling to the greatest through the lands to keep. An enduring testimony to the grit and power its achievement represented.
It belonged to Priscilla. As did the kingdom. As did the dragon. As did these people. Ever since her youth.
Priscilla wiped her lips. Her sight set on the Tower, then dead focused on the man opposing her "Augria…!" she whispered in the crisp wind to the land, "I shall conquer you." Her hearing returned from the drowned stupor of stingy notes and cheering riders. "Or you. Shall conquer me."
The Karsten's rangers sang and harrumphed so loud they would send the Vollachians back home on hymns.
And then she heard him. Gloating. That Karsten's abomination. "Vile filth…" She mumbled, witnessing his exertion, working to empower his rangers. To dominate the pitiful minds of her crushed forces.
He bristled, like a lofty myth before his men.
His skin was soaked in blood and ash. With hair adorned as locks of olive wreaths. Of mighty frame possessing, like toiled from mountain clefts. His eyes, aflame with baleful light.
His voice, reaching everyone alive and dying – roared like lightning:
"Lo, I have drawn you in the fold of flame and ruin, against the Red Sun heralding herself your sovereign. Though weary, burnt and bent from warring, through the heavens you've chased this monarch to new morning! Behold this storm where thicker than water blood has rained, last of the living brave now your name reigns! At the bellow hitting earth now listen – hear the thunder of Vollachian feet cower running!" Called to them the Lionhearted.
And the men celebrated in relief and joy, renewed in spirit, hammered back in strength by the soul mending yell of their lord.
The soldiers laughed with tears in their eyes while mocking limping stomps. Some dancing in the mud with Vollachian banners at their waistline for a skirt.
But he was far from over, his voice yet pouring:
"Today! A new power rises: YOU! To rend the Red Sun's enslaving ruling!" The young and boasting leader pointed to his riders, earning a redoubled round of cheers. "No matter how many steps the Queen of Vollachia takes forward, we will always drive her back!"
Some of his ranks cried with fervent tears.
Some yelled and shouted their lungs to a voiceless cough.
Some rejoiced and prayed in hope for a kingdom's legacy still standing.
And most kept quiet on the earth laid low in scarlet.
The steel in his tone mellowed, as did his eyes on them grew softer while his shape imbued in might lessen to a normal. He now spoke to them as parents did to children, as he was guardian over their toiling years.
"Kararagi stripped you clean of every work and good out of your hands. It divided, sold, broke and rebuilt what were your vast cities. Well~ you rule them now!" a quietude descended over the people, captured by the weatherworn remembrance from their youngest lord.
"They held your grain and sealed you into binding contracts. Rung out of you art and gold, land and labor. Reduced you to a serving class with hopes to a worthy life kissed goodbye. But now? Now – I've made out of you satraps over them! Prefects and ministers over their city states!"
A number of the exhausted units took off their helmets as others stood statue still. With others plopping down over the soft sludge at the great citadel's borders, entrapped to listen.
"The Gustekans! Like everyone, they came and plundered as they pleased. Salivating over the fallen Lugunica. Not even bothering with pretexts to save face… They marched as far as the Great Tigracy river split into the Tenril banks, then down its shores to the Lifaus Plains in a marathon of looting! Not sparing a gem or a person. Drove men and women like cattle in the wilderness; pushed them to the brink. And parted with a last slap over the face – burning down our Flanders' herds of dragons. But just two years ago? Heh~ well we booted them out now!"
A collective giggle bubbled throughout the masses.
"As far as their sacred Innorandum and Kanai Mountains, with Glacia surrendered, bow to you! All they had, today indebted to the Lugunica they wronged… To you! I've made dukes~ barons~ earls~ and thanes out of you. An all new hierarchy to rule them and weed out their vile chieftains."
The crown leader of this anointed army spat on the murky field and smacked his crumbling pauldron. The bronze lion face thudding dull, still glistened, attracting their eyes to his family house crest.
"Now?" he gestured widely behind, to the margins of tropical forests and wetlands far off. "The dread of your nights and days; the 'wolf' you cried out though none believed you. Warmongers by trade. Who bit their history into our own as sidenotes, too fearsome for just themselves to keep. Hah~" The man grinned wide and thrust his spear towards the southern lands, the new age borders pushed by Vollachia to the Castour fields. "Well today they lost enough for their past to seem erased! Now, they return home with a new history! The one decided by YOU, today!"
His enraptured ranks broke in affirmation. Though laden, they righted themselves back, now steeled.
"LION~HEART! LION~HEART! LION~HEART! LION~HEART! Yah see that?! Ya see!? That's lord Karsten for ya! Right down ta fekin deeds! A real king returned! The king returned to us! LION~HEART! LION~HEART! LION~HEART!"
"LION~HEART! LION~HEART! King Karsten! He is the ruler to wipe away Calamity's inheritance! LION~HEART! He will rebuild Lugunica! LION~HEART!"
"LION~HEART! LION~HEART! A new age is born! A new beginning past the apocalypse! LONG LIVE KING NEMEAN! A man among legends! LION~HEART! LION~HEART NEMEAN!"
A nobody once. That was all Priscilla saw. A nobody hidden from her eyes years ago. Then later named a leader by peasants. And now minted a legend in full dawn - Nemean Karsten. A posing commoner, stowed under the alien surname of Natsuki.
The one called by a people so terribly damned raised his hands slowly, as if attempting to embrace the complete expansion of the army.
This impossible victory today marked the decision of the scum broken from Priscilla's empire.
They begged for her divine judgment. It seemed how in light of all she'd realized, nurtured, achieved and offered, these pestilent barbarians still asked for damnation. Priscilla could be as cruel as she could be generous. And certainly, she tried sparring them from her fierce judgment, for it asked of much.
But if they so desired it.
So shall she oblige.
"...that same, small, boy?" Priscilla let slip past her iron taut lips. Her ruby eyes focused on Nemean with detached scorn. "This same - that child? The lowblood of an ill stricken duchess. Of that scourge over the waterfall. To defy me?"
From the waves of soldiers a chorus thundered. A voice of thousands articulated away from home an echo to encourage him: "The dragon kingdom won! Old Lugunica roars to life again! Rise. Arise riders of Karsten! New history – and 'ere a new sun rises!"
Nemean turned ever so gently back towards his newly drawn line of victory. His grime stained figure, speckled beneath with sheens of brass and cast iron, stared far ahead the rangers' attention.
He staggered in place to see her linger. His jaw clenched and relaxed at a pace. Numb chills shriveled his thoughts and an invisible border was set between him and that distant figure.
Priscilla.
Crimson enriched gold regalia.
Of ginger hair like burnished copper.
Eyes scorching like dead stars with cold iron cores.
And a sword burning in wrath so great the sun would melt before its scorn.
One of Nemean's fiercest enemies and stalwart challenges. The haunting specter of the originally anointed royal candidates. Someone feared by all kingdoms and for good reason. Priscilla remained yet worthy of the conquered throne in the old capital and plentiful were her supporters.
More concerning, she was hellbent to stomp them out.
In the distance, the once Barielle, now returned as Benedict, sternly defied his victory. The blood called on by the dragon for the right of kingship pitied his resistance. She stood away, like an omen, signaling his unavoidable end.
Her remaining armies pulled away. But her – didn't budge once. Not against his countersiege. Not against his defenses. Not against his loyal warriors and him.
Nemean spearheaded an impossible victory to give his people heart. A bold act of rebellion that wouldn't go unpunished. Anything but unpunished.
A greater target was painted thus to their remaining bastion shining in this forlorn age.
The Vollachian Red Sun who she was in the distance loomed as an announcer of their end. Behold, this end began.
Priscilla Benedict didn't need words to make her threat clear.
Karsten muttered looking at her "Either I will end you", an expectation for the sinister sizzled in his chest "or you…" a look behind reminded him of the citadel resting on their efforts. "...will end me."
The heart of peerless light, great city, of a still living Lugnica. The torch in a world otherwise to them plunged sable. And the bastion confronting her boundless sovereignty.
The white tower fortress of Augria. Pleiades.
Still stood.
Sleight of hand finds slighted man
*plonk*
He put down an empty mug.
"She wants to kill me." Nemean offhandedly mentioned. "And I question what will be the limit after me." He continued after brushing scarlet dirt off his forehead. Looking out from the half disassembled pavilion, a bustle of steeds, armed men, injured ranks and draped bodies filled his view.
No use in keeping company to the red fields. They had to return inside the city.
"Stop stalling, my lord!" Quickly snubbed a vexed nurse with bright red braided locks. "These cuts will fester soon if you find every second to squirm. And I can't afford to make new tinctures because you're squeamish." She pinched the young man's jaw to pull back in a jerk, revealing damp and slashed temples. "The nerve to trouble me now! Guuh!" her hand trembled uncharacteristically as she hurried to clean the infectious lacerations from top to bottom.
"Ease up, Marone." called a robust 'old' man with flaming red hair. A playful flicker danced in his sky blue eyes and his auburn beard shone bronze in the midday sun. "Nemean won't croak from dung stained blade cuts. That old tactic won't work nowadays, trust me, love. Besides! He used to explore Flanders' festering dragon pens as a kneehigh lad, ey? Healthy as a canon!" A metal clang rang once the aged warrior threw his plate fauld and arming belt over a corner in the meeting tent. More mobile now, he leaned over their table.
"What a load of dragon dung!" The beautiful nurse swiftly grabbed a stained rag to transform in a whip and discipline the rude ex-knight, but her patient's giggle annoyed her more. "You. Quiet!"
*smack*
The rag slapped his back with a wet snap, receiving a yelp from the young man. "You two had your time to shine, now zip it while I have my time to undo your 'bold' acts of heroism. Sir Dumb and Dumber."
The younger man wore a sly smile. "But if miss Marone cures me this well, I don't think I'll have to worry about armies with dirty blades or my heroics? I'll be too busy rolling in my grave– ghah!" Hissing chuckles under the applied hits in retaliation by the nurse, Nemean carried on, looking to his confidant. "So? About what I said before…"
"We all are in Priscilla's war path, Nemean…" the old man drew an inhale filled to the neck with weariness. "You can't expect her to stop with just your head. In her eyes we're all halfwits and lowborn needing a lesson for the act of defiance."
"Ah! So then correction: she wants all our heads rolling. Great! Must mean she's reserved us her best wall for trophy hanging."
"Ph~eh, sounds about right." The stalwart man with lengthy hair chuckled knowingly. He carried a strange air of regret for knowing this woman. "Have I ever mentioned about the time she placed her own siblings on the chopping block? As a child too, mind you."
"Oh! Swell…" He bit his lip and felt sweat drops trickle in his curated wounds. Blinking his intrepid eyes twice, Karsten pondered. "So. Terms won't be an issue to waste time negotiating. A plus~ in our dark and busy times? Thank Od! It lets us catch some beauty sleep."
"I swear you two! And Reinhard!" Hissing at the sour mood, the dutiful Marone picked another silver tray and drained her rag of blood and grime. Not before feigning a swing to scare Nemean into flinching. "Are you so high from the battle you stopped filtering your thoughts? You've both started dreaming for the gallows?"
"We are all high from the battle, mother hen, dear. If not high, then nervous – ah! Please watch where you dab him!" Reinhard tried to take over the disinfecting duty. But a quick rag whip threatened the man had he not dodged in advance. "Either today, tomorrow or another day after? It's what we'll confront again. We're not chasing the gallows – but they're sure chasing us. No use mincing words." Replied the now age laden Reinhard with a cheeky grim humor.
Carefully and meticulously he made a passtime of removing the segmented armour pieces he wore.
"Reinhard's right, miss Marone. No use dancing around the subject, it won't help to sleep on it any easier. And keeping masks up for conduct is basically a myth…" Nemean winced as he felt the cold burn of alcohol on his stabbed thigh. "...we don't have much of a royal court for it anyway. And everyone knows who we are at face value since day one. Nothing different between us and the fellow rangers."
"How encouraging, young lord!" Marone dragged on the sing-song note with a fake sweet smile promising her harsh discipline. "I'm just sure that's the attitude to carry you through these trying times! Any more heart put into these words and you might start bursting with sunshine!"
"...Marone," called Nemean with drawled vowels. "If you're babysitting us on etiquette then I think that man placed on that stretcher needs some advice too. You're awfully knowing." He pointed outside their meeting tent.
"–" She was ready to retort, yet Karsten was swift to cut off her displeasure. Otherwise he would've found himself short on words against her.
He rubbed his chin hard in annoyance. "Injured. Out in the open!" he motioned insistently outside their undone pavilion. "Now. Please!"
"Oo~uf, fine, fine. Baby's all grown up; doesn't need me anymore. That's fine." She pouted with a miffed and subdued anger. "Reinhard, don't forget about the occasion today, alright?" With a sweet whisper to Astrea, the nurse gave a handwave before retiring from the tent. "And, sir. You'd do well to listen to me, for your own good."
"I hear, I hear," with laden shoulders, Nemean propped his elbows over the table and lightly tapped his neck and temples.
Reinhard followed her retreating silhouette from the corner of his eyes. "Today's gotten us each to kiss our home a 'so-long', just in case the worst happened. Yet, Marone's so strong she won't even allow us to lament." He huffed with subtle humor and turned to Nemean. "Usually I'd meet you outside keeping a fullness of morale. What happened now?" He adopted a sarcastic tone. "Right after charging our way to victory over the might of Vollachia." He waved a palm as if appeasing prices and frowned. "Feeling shaken?"
"Should I be any different?" Raising his hands in a welcoming gesture, the youth huffed. "We fight and fight and fight. Every time with fewer of us than the last. And now we came to knock on the devil's door. Where do I even start, Rein…?" clapping his hands over his face, Nemean dragged his coarse palms over tired eyes. "On where do we gather forces? Where do we go to host the battle? How do we supply our citadels? Or how we simultaneously wait to be flanked by Priscilla's allies? I could go on…"
"And you will go on." Reinhard cleared his gruff voice and wiped aside some of his bright red fringes. "Otherwise? Well…" His face pulled in a half bittersweet expression. "Well nothing! I go where you go. Nothing's changed. Just the difficulty to succeed spiked." Reaching over the small table, Reinhard pat in reassurance the Karsten's kneading fingers. "Rulers before you, in better times, prioritized possessions and themselves, Nemean." A smile hinted at him knowing from experience rather than theory. "Hardly cared about the people around. Even harder for them to be caught in the front lines with them."
"Well thanks for the fairytale, old man," chuckled Nemean while scratching his eyes to hide his frustration. "But uhhh, I still can't think of a solution–"
"Yet." Reinhard countered.
"Then, moving on from our lines behind the Castor fields: we're scattered" the younger man opened his palms as if letting go of a weight. "Felt is still a mountain range away between Lifaus and Elior with a vanguard of riders. That leaves us hoping they return and guess if they're alright."
Reinhard reached to slap Karsten over his good shoulder. "With Felt there to lead the patrol it's as good as assured they'll be alright. Your rambunctious 'big sis' promised that much. Despite being a thrill seeker at heart she's 'no punk' when it comes to a mission – her words not mine! Fret not king."
Nemean lightly smirked and looked down to seem stern. "Good thing would be if we had a king though. Or if Felt got that seat long before things became sour. A proper king. With resources too."
"We're not starting this, Nemean. Beggars can't be choosers." Exaggerated Astrea with an eye roll and smile. "Not again, alright? At least wait for the rest to punch in on their skirmish and then we can start on the mindset therapy." He got up and deftly pirouetted towards the amphora with boiled wine. "I'm way too old to give good advice anymore. You should know, Nemean… Moreover, Felt is the insightful one; provided she doesn't just yell at you. Have patience for the rest to give their dimes on the issue," he busied himself with measuring their drinks, hiding the stung tone in his words.
Typical. Reinhard felt like a master over his demons.
But subtle hints like this one reminded Karsten how his cherished mentor still harbored ruinous ideas.
Nemean huffed while pressing on a slashed rib. "Never old enough, ruffled coot." Flinging away the dry rag rich in clots and grime, Karsten got up to limp for the entrance where he'd slant against a wooden pillar and look outside.
The sun hit him in full, forcing him to squint at the dusty area where riders organized themselves. "Both on council and prowess, Rein. You never matched that bad image you advertise of yourself. Otherwise; oh well; we'd be six feet under the old capital before we even started. Down in the tombs keeping Farsale company." Folding his arms, Nemean leaned back and shot the elder a cheeky nod. "Back to Priscilla and her Vollachian scourge… What about her from the election that left this great impression? Usually nowadays it's down with the ruler, then up with the next one. And if possible, repeat the cycle weekly."
"The dragon, you see Nemean, had this pact. That only had room for one heir. One single heir to inherit all of Lugunica and more! He had to increase all the chances for the best possible candidate to be chosen. Five members were brought up under his requirements; likely due to a mix of qualities and ideals he saw worthy to rule by. One of them being Felt, as you know. Those recent nit-picky history books made last decade don't have any of the 'epic dealings' and conflicts made during that selection time though. Your father had his work cut out and Felt was among the first to be on that end."
Astrea waved a hand at the winding tales from years ago. "...Anyway: it was established that each of the candidates had what it took to shape Lugunica. A thing to imagine for us living the present. I've been with you after the domains fell and saw the hardships together. And so to hear of candidates prophesied to redefine the kingdom is bound to leave a lasting impression." Reinhard thumped a generous pint of boiled ruby wine on the table for Nemean while he nursed his own draught.
Like always when he served those drinks, he distilled them with water. Nemean hid a smile at Reinhard's habit.
Before the aroma itself could be savored, the rich smell of heated spices put his heart and torn bones at ease.
Should Nemean dare sip with closed eyes and feel the sweet and fuzzy hint of firewater, he could swear to be the same kid lost playing in the summer fields of fragrant vineyards. This heart wrenching nostalgia rejuvenated him.
This respite was the calm in the storm's eye and it just so happened it felt an awful lot as his carefree boyish days.
Astrea hung on a pause but continued, though oddly reluctant "each candidate had their qualities in particular, I witnessed. But… you didn't need to be a court mage to understand how only two had the grit to fight any entity threatening Lugunica. In any shape of conflict. They could even go as far as to conquer other neighbors or challenge Volcanica himself."
"And in those of course numbered…" Nemean held a sour countenance as he raised the mug to down the pain numbing liquid. "Priscilla." He hissed the name with a somber cadence. "Of course later down the line she just had to go to the most violent place in the world. …'course. A match made in paradise, huh?"
"True" chuckled Reinhard while sloshing the mixed boiled wine around its cup, raising it to drink. "But of those two I mentioned was also Lady Karsten…" His clear blue eyes focused on her son over his pint's rim. "And like I said before the prophecy."
*thunk*
The old knight firmly smacked the hardened clay over the table. "You embarked on this responsibility after everything went… went to shit."
Nemean bulged his eyes at the rarity of Reinhard's swearing.
Today kept on giving and giving. He was sure to chalk this in Reinhard's jar of swearing coins. A whole total of four instances over two decades. Indeed a fortune in the making for a visionaire investor. And one day a good reason to tease his teacher.
The older man acknowledged his slip and smiled under his beard. "But despite the settings you still pulled through. Impossible by itself to survive as a free domain. Even more so to relocate thousands of people here and repel Kararagi and Gusteko… As opposed to Priscilla's case? After the election revealed itself fruitless on a clear heir she embarked towards other lands. Maybe the situation left her with a bitter taste, or her standards were not met. Regardless – she chose to move on and leave the people behind. We are but servants in her eyes, after all…"
"But eventually still got to rule Lugunica – or at least the largest part of it – after gathering support." Nemean grumbled with a hint of cynicism, tapping his empty mug over the table.
"Yes. …She dismantled the old kingdom like a rotten crate. Down to its nails and sawdust." Reinhard pondered on that fact, his gaze long drowned in his half full cup. He chose not to indulge further in the sweet spirits and carried on. "And you picked up the splinters. Leading us to the present. Though I wouldn't promote my opinion anymore – you still ask me, Nemean. So my answer will always be: I'll follow as king the one keeping a barebones household still going. Leagues above the other option if that's a worry. Trust me. I may know a thing or two about broken households."
"Ah. I remember. And won't question it," nodding to that answer built on personal tribulations he grew privy to, Nemean further asked his confidant. "What can you tell me about Priscilla? Something we can research to thwart her and find a way. Maybe a weakness in her past deeds. What about those siblings you said? She did them all in?"
"All." Instantly answered Reinhard.
"Fuck…" Just as quick Karsten reacted. "How many siblings were there?"
"Couldn't say for sure. The Vollachian court at the time saw them like ulgram. Too many to count. But Priscilla was only concerned about those her father recognized before his demise. The rest? She left to their devices."
"Why worry over them? It seems a bad move to cut off your own limbs. In this case betraying family members. Likely promising allies in a backstabbing place, like you say. If not them, then who else could she trust?"
"Could, yes. Her half brother, you see… One in particular, was very shrewd. A cunning one. And he was among the few Priscilla trusted in her own way. All the rest gunned it for the seat of emperor, but this halfbrother had it covered for her. She had an ally in him. And surely with his help took out the competition for that throne. Poison was the best, they found. Most of their siblings died of random bouts of sickness. And eventually? Priscilla was one of them too."
Nemean looked down from his stance beside the table with a raised brow.
"Betrayal then? Since she's still alive I can wager when she learned to hold a grudge. Well, I don't want to make this a joke on come-upp-ings, but she pretty much earned it if you ask me. So? How does this all explain her mindset and modus operandi? She was betrayed after committing the dirty; seems natural."
"Ah, but Priscilla employs the rules of nature as a general maxim. 'Strong eats weak'. 'Mighty rules the feeble'. 'The fittest survive'. 'Trust no one'. 'I'm one and only to depend upon'. This type of reason. You implied the lack of good relations with her siblings, but that can be answered by the nature of Vollachian royal court dealings and childhood. She's hardwired with that disposition. No use in seeing around her decision once she sails for violence. Which is often. The point being – if her halfbrother hadn't done it? Oh! Believe this, she would've been the one to kill him then. Like so? Her past is a closed avenue for us to exploit. Nothing but cold ghosts there. We need to look elsewhere."
"This half brother… he outwitted her. Could we –"
"I'm afraid not." Reinhard was already quick on the draw and anticipated the question. "Vincent… His name was Vincent."
"Was?"
"Was."
Nemean rubbed his stubbled chin and paced around the pavilion. "Then it's like you said. Her past isn't an option." He chuckled with a grim note. "It still leaves us with only one weakness to plan for in Priscilla. But I'm afraid she won't fall for it again."
"Her pride." Reinhard said. "Yes, it worked this time. Priscilla anticipated little from us and you called it right. Marching here was mostly a formality from her. But this day alone won't settle anything in the history books. No. You wonder if we'll resist the coming days… Aren't you?"
"Point" Nemean kneaded his fingers, each giving a snap at their joints. "As we are? We're outnumbered six to one. If not worse after recent losses. We're stationary, fixed to defensive only, so severely imobile. And first on her list won't be sieging but choking our trades with the petty kingdoms. After that? She won't even need to engage us. It'll be simpler to wait until she can barge in. With the advantage of mages in her ranks, bringing our walls down will be possible." The young man idly booted a plated vambrace into some farther tent corner. "We need to bolt it for their coordination. Starting with… maybe, ah! How did you find Marcos on the field? He's a fossil by now. If the rest are similar we can target her captains. Leave their troops headless."
Reinhard closed his azure eyes and snorted. "You'd be surprised, Nemean. That plan could've worked. But I've long not been what I used to. With blessings taken from my arsenal? I'd say… Gildark and I strike about even."
"Even!" Nemean jerked in place, his entire body tensed like a coil at the admission. "That bag of bones! Draws with you? Reinhard but… blessings or not –"
"Blessings or not, I'm old in my own way, kiddo." Reinhard cringed his jaw and traced two fingers over his neck. "And say I outmaneuver him – I did so twice today. But he was equipped for it." Reinhard paused on his collarbone, dragging his calloused fingers against his skin. "A cracked necklace stone followed each deadly trade. No matter how well I landed a wound on him, he was healed the second after."
"Bullshit!" the young man would accept anything Reinhard would declare as truth. Even aberrations like if the snow was red, he'd be fine with it.
But to hear him admit an equal was like hearing him admit to dying. Karsten could appreciate Reinhard's jokes, any help to relieve the immense pressure was welcomed. But limits were limits.
"I'll take your gallows humor any other time, Rein. But red flags aren't the type of material I want to hear for a good while. That Marcos geezer got lucky, slipped on pebbles and danced around your swings, then fucked off. End of story. …No one beats you."
A quietude descended like a led blanket over them. The young man was obviously embittered due to many reasons.
Reinhard answered candidly. "Why say that, Nemean?" He placed his linked hands over a knee to look at Nemean as he did in lessons years ago. His teacher persona in full display. "Has it been that long since we last dueled? Or have I kept your old impressions alive so well I should consider an acting career for myself? You're not a kid anymore. And neither am I as you once recall."
The words hit harder than his strikes. Or rather, the subtle sense the words invoked did.
Nemean turned with a lame shrug, clapping his hands against his legs. "Reinhard, we fought the Mad Prince two years ago. The Mad Prince! On foreign terrain, tactics and plans. Us against him and that abomination of a mace he forged. Four swords of power for four heads on that mace. You saw that sly bastard! He was a whole nation strong! And we toppled him! How can anything compare one on one to that moloch?"
It was easy to understand the sense of loss Karsten grappled with. None lived wishing to see their source of inspiration decline. No one wished to hear those like cornerstones in life announce an impending disappearance.
"Yes, Nemean. Exactly the point. We." Muttered Reinhard, keeping his glinting blue eyes fixed on the man. "We fought the Mad Prince. Not I. Otherwise you would've been short on one more ranger." His tone grew stern. "Things have kept changing ever since you were younger. Where I'm not the exception, but the prime example." Astrea rose to give him a gentle nudge over his spine. With a ham fist.
"..." The subject seemed mute and Nemean sighed defeated. Physically discharging his worry. "No use bickering then. Fine, damn it!" He nodded towards their strewn armor. "Let's pack up. Riders must've passed Mirula's walls by now. We'll wait for Felt and treat the injured meanwhile. …Stew in fear while at it…" came grumbled the last part.
"And they'll return safe." Reinhard had a feeling their friends were well on their way. Nothing divine about it. Just a gut feeling. "But if we should talk 'fear'?"
"Nemean." He talked in a gruff cadence. His palms clapped Kartsen's shoulders in one hearty shove. "We're all up to our necks in free flowing violence… Flooded in unending hordes chipping at these walls until we bow or drown. Where every inch outside Augria sprawls with ramshackled ruins hiding spies, assassins and stalking brigades. While the vast plains between the tall mountain pitfalls and Priscilla's army draw the killing field."
Reinhard shivered, his voice braised and sharp. With hesitation he paused to ponder while reaching a scarred hand to wipe at his neck. His tunic's long sleeve was damp with blood and grime.
"What I would fear? Is this. All I could do in this place is run around pointlessly, because it's terrifying. I know if I, Marone, Felt, Alek, Irene – everyone – didn't have you here? We'd fear even our own shadow. I'd see myself just waiting for Priscilla to break in and decide our fate without a say against it."
Yet then: Astrea hummed, nodding to his confession. In an unseen extension of strength before desperation he cracked a grin and squared his shoulders.
"I'd tremble at this place. As everyone would. Had we been without you. But we are with you, Nemean. So instead of being scared with this place, we can be strong with it. Be in charge of it."
Reinhard's bushy beard smothered the confidant expression beneath. "You don't think that's enough for us to push on? We are who we are. And as we chose to continue with you, it means we'll be here until the deed is done and then some. Or don't tell me: Were you as scared facing Kararagi? You said of the Mad Prince, but did you tremble in Inorandum?"
"At those times…?" Nemean looked through Reinhard and into deeds well passed them. "Well back then I had nothing to lose. In fact, I could've only gained. Any small win in the long streak of dead-ends would've done. But now I'm in charge of keeping everyone secure and prosperous. Things beyond the dagger and nerves grappling down in the mud. They ask for a proper and good leader; a better man. Stuff I really can't give. Or how to learn being?" Karsten focalized back on reality and looked to see his patient mentor.
All of it was true. He didn't lie once.
This job started from a few peoples' desire to move on and appoint him their bastion. Where later came their establishing a new life and decision to defend it, with him responsible.
To Nemean it felt as pure chance. Maybe a slight of hand happening on a slighted man. It was a fluke he got this far.
And now they looked beyond a momentarily fortunate captain for something more.
That something more crept farther in recent days as Nemean believed. And still. They kept asking him. Turning to him each time and not anyone else. Asking of him for that something more.
Nemean began betting he'd not find 'that' even in the grave. But he'd keep the act together and give them heart. The least he could do was pretend to be a placeholder of the real deal.
"And?" Reinhard asked expectantly, not once stopping or correcting him. But instead – asking him of more.
"And…" Suddenly, a sense of humor seemed to shine in Nemean. It forced a genuine laugh out of him while his eyes grew clearer. "-and I think I should grab a piece of paper to write this speech for when we're all gathered back with Felt." His voice flowed smoothly. "We'll need a plan for the Vollachain and Lugunican knights, so I need them in good spirits. Heh~ At least right before we charge screaming into certain death?"
"Attaboy!" Laughed the wizened ex-knight along and shook the man's shoulder. "It's not easy. Not easy… But neither is it impossible. Besides, lay your troubles down, Nemean. My answer from before stands: I won't cower to anything. I am your ranger. That alone speaks enough."
If Nemean harbored any festering thoughts, this was enough to put them at rest. Indeed, today kept on giving.
It was an hour of wolves, ploys; of cloak and daggers. Far from his saga of world wide wander at the side of his family.
However, after the dawn of passing decades hit him, the light revealed what remained. A still living adventure of loving days past.
22 years felt like a dream
Walking outside the disassembled tent, the duo bagged their equipment and trotted off home.
Their hike stretched from the Castour hills to Mirula's slopes, through its glistening white ramparts, to the new age keeps and finally the Tower.
Quite the exercise.
"So then!" Wobbled Nemean with relaxed steps along. "If both you and Marone were here with me, that means your tikes were entrusted to stay safe with Petra?" Squinted Karsten at the sun while making smalltalk. "Last time, I recall, junior trailed us to the city states. Would've maybe played a hand too, if you hadn't noticed our merry dwarf soldier, ha~hah~ha! Miss Marone must've felt her heart wither. Imagine: the mighty dwarf war-hero, Aleksander of the hobbit berserkers! Hah~ha!" He announced theatrically the last part, giggling in a hoarse voice.
"Hah! Marone was this close to popping a vein… and I wasn't much better. I swear!" lamented Reinhard with exhaustion. "Aleksander got it in his head to dig me and Marone an early grave. I may just have to start preparing for it. One for me, one for Marone. Probably one for Petra too – poor girl. I keep troubling her for nanny duty every time. Hopefully she's still sane when we return."
"C'mon don't be so glum! For one, Petra's wise beyond her years. And for second, entertain Alek a bit. You should know the cooped up feeling growing up, right? Sympathise with him a lil'. He admires you so much he can't stop trying to be like you."
"Dirty and murder-y?" Reinhard swept his muddy hair to the side, letting dust poof out.
Nemean waved a hand against the itchy cloud. "I was thinking more on the lines of 'brave' and 'wise' you hobo-knight. Sure, we're not exactly set in a pristine job, I admit. I don't enjoy it anymore than the bouts of adrenaline let me to live through it. But you can't expect Alek to not idolize you. You are the cornerstone keeping this citadel standing after all."
"First off: We are." Reinhard jumped over a vertically stuck boulder, courtesy of enemy catapults. "Second off: Honestly?" He adjusted his packed equipment over his shoulder. "I understand the limits of what I should impose on him. He~h, yeah, Subaru got it through my head along with other lessons." Reinhard laughed with a dry voice. A longing expression settled on his brow. He looked around as if searching for a phantom in the crowd. "Ideally? Alek will stop fancying the sword and start listening to Marone. She saw early the signs of a dexterous artisan in him. And I personally rather him take after his mother in that way. But…"
"But?" Nemean sported a subdued smug grin. "You're wise enough to know he's free to choose what you fear for him."
"Point" scratched Reinhard his chin with a huff.
"Seems like an opportunity to spend time with Alek. It's a win any way you put it. Maybe teaching him about fighting might disenchant him. If it's not his style and too boring, he'll drop it. But better anyway if he knows a thing or two."
Reinhard peeked at the arming sword poking from his bag. He pondered that option many times before. "It makes sense. Still, I'm hesitant. Maybe I'd be rushing him. Teaching Aleksander is nothing like I imagined. It's just too familiar for all the wrong reasons when I hand him a wooden sword. I look at him and… I can't help that wish of his."
"How so? Couldn't be worse than I was at his age. And you taught me from zero. What gives his case less chances than mine?" Nemean swept a low branch aside before moving up the trail.
"No, not the teachings themselves per say. It's simply…" Reinhard flattened his lips and dragged a hand through his long hair. "Difficult? It feels more than martial lessons alone that I'd give him. And is that inheritance good? I sincerely doubt it."
Nemean snorted at the soup of emotions his mentor tried to navigate. "How about you start by bringing the tike over when everyone's busy lounging? Throw a small party and have him listen to some stories I know Felt loves to exaggerate for cool points."
"Od… Pfu~hah!" Bouncing on his heels and hitting his knuckles over Karsten's chest, Reinhard puffed out in laughter. "Look at you: boring and dull! Twenty two years old and speaking at per tu with fossils like me. Don't worry about every issue you hear, Nemean, I wasn't venting to you for a solution, just opening up." Reinhard carried a smug expression. "Keep losing sleep over every detail, and you'll risk going gray and wrinkly before Priscilla. Hah-ha!"
"Ouch! 'Never mincing words', was it? What an arse you've become, teacher…" Grumbled Karsten with a thieving grin. "But this dull fellow, you called, didn't hear anything about Irene when I asked. C'mon, you red oaf! Why the omission of her? Didn't get on patching it up with the lass?" his voice then leveled softly. "You keep supporting me but cut in your time with her, master swordsman. Don't let things as are. Alek will think he's an only child otherwise. Or that he's adopted. And I can guarantee what conclusion he'll draw: A worse one!"
Reinhard looked at Nemean with a frown. "Easier said than done. Irene by comparison to Alek is already on her own feet. I think about her wishing to leave so much I fear to mention it. If she has enough reason one day, she can kiss us all goodbye and settle for new lands. And I… I'd try everything to delay that."
"Maybe you're looking at this the wrong way? Truth be told she never did level with you."
"Would you believe me if I said that's what I also fear? If she's been hesitant to speak for this long, how can it be anything good?"
"Ay. It's complicated."
The two continued on the bustling road, accompanied by hundreds of soldiers. Their ears filled with the white noise of stomps and clanking baggage made for an oddly calming experience.
Then a hand swung to tap Reinhard. "Alright – how about a field trip? You know! Get some time off and teach 'er about what to do in the wild? Fish, hike, hunt, camp, travel? A good way to break the ice." Nemean proposed like hit by eureka.
"Great!" but Reinhard looked devastated, his shoulders sagged and stare hollow. "Subtly hint how I support her going off adventuring any day now."
"And what's so bad about adventuring, you bearded beefer? We're no strangers to it. Bet! I say she'll think twice before suddenly leaving. It'll happen some day, it's only natural. But now try and spend the time you've got in some activities."
"As if!" Reinhard rubbed his bushy beard in contemplation. "That girl is like living silver. One second I take my eyes off her and she's there and back again. Hmph! I risk her hiking to the city states on a whim if I do that." He quickly got annoyed with something stuck in his boot and kicked an unsuspecting rock. Expectedly, the boulder turned in sand flew like shotgun pellets far off. "Normally I'd be all for it, you know… I'd support her nomadic dream in any way I could. Od knows I wanted that myself when I was young. But you see what's outside Augria's lands, Nemean. You? Sure I'd suggest adventuring. You know all I know. But not Irene. She's basically an adult, yes, but hopefully never one like us."
Karsten's face dropped sullenly at the fact. It was easy to lose themselves in the bright future someone out of their shoes possessed. That was if they did their job well enough for it to count.
"I understand."
It felt like a stalking curse, this time and place they found themselves trapped with. Releasing themselves of it wasn't possible as long as Augria was a thing of reality. They built a kingdom daring to rival others in just it's short nascent stage. Expectedly, it attracted universal ambitions.
More accurately, it attracted Priscilla's will. Yet that was synonymous with the world by now.
"If it was possible to guarantee Augria's future, I'd cleave it from the mainland, but" the young man exhaled. "Say, Rein…"
Right then, a tiny and tempting thought resurfaced in Nemean's head. A most curious little thing he shouldn't listen to. "Pleiades, in the Tower" how could he not ask his mentor again after years. "What did father find there?" The young man tested the waters first. He treaded carefully on this subject.
"..." Reinhard craned his neck to the man. He lowered his brow and measured him with suspicion. "I've yet become so old you can fool with choice words, master Nemean." His blue eyes looked divided between his charge and something unseen to the rest. "Inside the Tower, above, is not a trace of solutions worth your time. Leave it like that."
"We're antagonising Priscilla by this point and yet there's something worse in there?" Nemean attempted to weasel out answers by playing sarcastic, but Reinhard didn't answer. "Well! Fine, Rein, keep your secrets. But then, if something's so dangerous in the Tower, why not unleash it against Priscilla?"
"Hmh! You quick witted gremlin" gave Astrea a chidding remark. "Yes, I pondered that too. Only…" his lips pursed and he motioned with a headshake. "Only try me when you're more sly, my liege. You're not getting slip ups from me besides the occasional swear. Capiche?"
"Capiche, he says? The nerve! I taught you that word!"
"'He taught me the word' he says~ And you were taught it by your father. Believe me when I say I heard more head twisters from him than you ever did."
"Was one of those about what he found in the frightening Tower? GHAH!" Nemean swiftly jumped on his tiptoes in order to dodge Reinhard's disciplining palm upside the head. "Oi!" Karsten looked a bit stunned around him as rangers snorted and giggled in passing. "I've got a reputation here, man! Keep the scolding for the etiquette course! They'll start thinking Priscilla's right on us being barbarians!"
"With how your tongue has slighted me so far, sir? With all due respect, you need that course from the ground up. Starting now." Teased the stalwart man while waiting to continue walking. His ham fist cocked up in warning.
"C'mon, Rein~ be reasonable. Look at everyone" Nemean motioned to the mass of people. Everyone in earshot laughed and answered 'present' as they walked by. "You think us, commoners and barbarians, need etiquette?" He tried imitating Priscilla's scornful voice.
"Wow there, sire! Don't want to anger the goddess, do ya?!" Yelled a man in the sea of soldiers.
"Hear ye – hear ye! Silence thy cur mouth and goddess Priscilla shan't smite thee! Phua-ha-ha!" Carried over a man still wearing his breastplate and arming belt.
"Ya says?" another whipped his shaved temples as he spoke "Nay, brother! You make a disservice of her tongue lashing when we shall crawl down thine hollowed earth to seek her benevolent salvation!" He put serious elbow grease in mocking her voice.
"Better dead on my feet than luxuriously in chains, fellas. Don't want to asskiss too much now, do we? Hah-ha-ha!"
"Dead?! My, what a drastic decision." A ranger feigned shock.
"I am a drastic man at core." Came a reply with faux charm. "Sensible also. The women love it!"
With childlike exasperation, a young medic swiftly broke the party. Latching herself to Nemean's arm she pointed with a stomp at the limping rangers. "Sire. Don't feed into their debauchery. Please restrain them from breaking in a circus or they break all my sutures! They keep wasting my time, supplies and my patience! I can already tell you which one is the least I've still got." She reported with a scowl.
"Khaaaah! Is that right?!" Nemean turned to his rangers, feigning a broken heart and moistened eyes. His face stretched in a silent scream. "You'd go out of your way to spite an officer, so I get to fool around? Nhooo~ you guys!" He quickly melted in a show of demure flattery. "What did I do to deserve you~" He then turned to the aghast medic with a self-satisfied look, as if admiring a well done job.
"Sir!" But she hardly could keep a straight face at the antics. "I-ghm! I–" Laughter bubbled from her as she tried retorting. "As a medical unit, sire. I ask you to take this moment seriously."
"Ap-ap-ap! Medical unit? You're out of uniform!" Nemean dismissed with a handwave to play his best impression of a model leader.
Reinhard smiled knowingly at the trick Nemean abused like an old glove "There he starts… Oh boy~"
"Out of uniform… ah! Where?" Confused, the woman looked down, cheeking her red doused scrubs, now folded like an apron over her normal clothes.
Nemean gave her a one armed hug and pondered "I dunno, how about my office? In two hours? I'll pour us a chateau de yesterday-wine. A cheeky little year! You'll love it." With a dramatic brow wave he leaned a cheek just begging for a slap.
"Phua-hah-ha-ha!" broke in a fit the listening troops like schoolgirls.
"Hah-ha-haa, never woo the girls with just that, sire"
"Well you heard him hot-lips! Now how 'bout you forget with that snitching on us"
"Yeah! So what if I pop a stitch? Won't stop us from popping your nerves. Hah-ha!"
The rangers in question profited off the flabbergasted medic to rebuke her report. They'd break all the stitches before entering the city anyway. But teasing at each other lasted forever, plus it was much better.
The young woman shook her head exhausted and marched ahead with a smile and blushing cheeks. "Why do I bother putting you all back together? You keep all the brain injuries anyway!"
"Ooo~hooo, see? Now she knows how to cut back!"
Nemean drank in the merry attitude with a wide, lively, smile before turning to Reinhard. "You see this? If only every day was like this. We've got to take days off and catch anyone for a chat. I could really live for silly times like these, Rein… It'd be the life!"
"I think I'm up for anything but the serious life anymore. I'll make sure to even ask for days off, sir." Reinhard nodded softly with a mirthful look, every corner on his weatherworn likeness bright with glee.
"Oi! Can it with the 'sir' formality! You've basically watched over me since the cradle – practically too. Feels freaky to hear you say 'sir' and 'lord' and shit."
"Language!"
"Are we back on etiquette training?"
"Only if you make it a habit. So watch it."
"Well why don't you say so, master swordsman!" Nemean slipped in a grizzled but eccentric mockery while walking backwards to face Reinhard. "We shan't belittle our immaculate backside before the southern silverback gorillas when cometh knocking to rob us clean down betwixt buttocks and pantaloons!"
"Easy on the theatrics" warned Reinhard with a raised finger. "Irene knows when you joke. But Alek is already a demon and a half to manage and clings to anything crass sounding. I don't want any more weapons in his arsenal to eat my days. First stunts, now sarcasm? Don't evolve him, please."
"Wouldn't dream of it, old man."
*? ﾝﾁﾲ? ﾝﾁﾱ? ﾝﾁﾱ*
"O~hooo! Have my eardrums suffered irreversible damage or are those sweet melodies from our streets? What is this – fine music and dancing? We died and went to Od?" Nemean's face brightened at once as if reinvigorated. Few things charmed the heart in gloomy days as well as music could. "No way! That forest-wild freak girl actually did what she said? They built new instruments. Hey, listen close – those what I think they are?"
Reinhard jerked in place like physically hit by the powerful notes flowing down the slopes. With his bearded mouth stretched in a blatant smile, he whistled at the rarity. "Lyras! Yes, I recognize it. Liliana went through with her promise. She taught the artists to craft new instruments."
"Now if only she'd craft herself a brain…" pondered Nemean out loud.
The both looked like stupefied wildmen exposed firsthand to song. But the reason was understandable. Wrapped between hell and now heaven, they found an impasse to believe their ears.
"Listen, listen! With that davul in there it sounds like a summer harvest celebration!" Nemean whistled from the wide road.
Suddenly the rhythm swelled over the stone ramparts and bathed the area in such a lively ambient: grown men began dancing in groups. The leading files huddled in fast footwork players. While the injured and limping jumped on the backs of their friends, piggyback dancing their way to the entrance.
"Shit-shit-shit!" Reinhard himself yelled before racing towards the gates.
"Hey! What's the occasion? I'm talkin' to ya!" Hollered Nemean in fits of laughter from way behind. "Does that mean the etiquette lessons are closed?!" He yelled through cupped hands.
"I swore Marone to dancing on the first occasion I get!" Reinhard's words drowned in the animated air. A promise recalled not long ago in their camp by Marone herself.
Broken blade, revenge – is calling!
Stark red roses unraveled in the open streets; petals to rain like snow on the citizens' crowns.
Long stems of blooming lilies were placed for carpets on the chiseled road.
Stomp, after stomp, rumbled the breathtaking domes of the city forum. With burnished stained glass windows lit by a midday sun. Permeating subtle hums of violins at every corner. And fragranced with rich liquors stored in aged, open barrels.
A giddy townsfolk chatted with impatience on boulevards and narrow walkways, savoring honeyed mead by the verandas and terraces. Striking with great surprise in a foreigner's eyes or painter's muse. A utopia revealed itself on earth by virtue of their goddess' grace.
Lugunica's royal capital, as was known in the past.
Now a city bearing the name Lugnica. A vast keep in a greater empire. But most important – Priscilla's crown jewel. Opulent and grandiose. Her personal garden.
The wide and open forum radiated a warmth of spring noons, hummed under dragon claw rhythms and bounced the echo of expectant congregations.
Velvet banners hang for tens of meters down the marble pillars and staunch balconies.
Crowds cycled through the roads, entranced by the spectacle. Hundreds of decorated troops stood stationed far and wide across the amphitheaters and lengthy markets.
All very enchanting and mesmerizing, even from a distance.
And such was the case at hand:
From another balcony, set in a backdrop to the romanticized vista, distinguished silhouettes observed. Up there, upon the great castle rampart, they saw the prosperous city with its citizens pouring in the thousands to meet the sun blessed monarch.
"Gonna drool and fantasize for hours there?" A heavy set of footsteps drew closer by the rim. A voice so coarse it served to identify the company – not a particularly good one.
Yet Julius made the effort to turn and meet him.
"Heinkel. Sir." Swiveling on his heels, Julius smoothly repeated the formality stamped in his muscle memory since young.
In two beats of his feet, he stood ramrod and at attention.
Wide and robust in shoulders. With lengthy hair tied in a tousled bun and clean shaven face. Dawned in the imposing burgundy royal garb of reformed knighthood. Julius aged with elegance, as some would note. By comparison, more elegant than his rugged captain, Heinkel.
"At ease, ya guard dog." Dismissed the decorated elder with a sleazy hand swipe. "Don't got it in me for the posturing game." Heinkel lazily stomped beside Julius, hanging at the balcony with a troubled and disgruntled face.
Julius relaxed. His shoulders drew back. But his insistent eyes told of a tension he kept hidden. "Sir Heinkel? Have you any need of me?" Speaking of games, he engaged one this instant. A game of pleasantries and masks. Julius genuinely despised it. As he did the political climate the more he had to deal with it.
"Not me, no." Heinkel looked absorbed by the preparations in the city. "Queen prepares to give commands 'bout Augria. So just shuffle yourself to her baldachin, will ya?" Grizzled and red locks slipped down van Astrea's face as he stared into the bustle. "'S a big deal…"
Julius clenched his jaw in anticipation. "Am I to think right on assuming this concerns…" he could not carry out his suspicion.
"My son!" Barked Heinkel like primed for that question. "Him …and the Karsten he's sided with." His calloused and yellowed fingers clenched in a snap like dry branches. "The idiot…"
Julius kept his head high, staying out of Heinkel's peripherals. The knight was convinced his likeness wouldn't be of consolation. "It is the nature of kingdoms, sir. Servants gravitate towards the cause most catered to their sensibilities and reason." he drawled with an empty reply.
Julius had plenty to say on the matter. But none should know the depths of his heart so soon.
He kept his cards close to his chest.
"Kingdoms?" Heinkel hummed with a hiss. "A corner on the map can't be called that. No matter how much Augria is lauded in the sea of gobsheit it floats through. A seat on a hill doesn't compare to a seat on the mountain." Heinkel pulled back from the balcony, drumming his fingers on the sculpted stone. "Augria is set to fall and Reinhard…!" He scowled, his face contorted in anger.
*pow*
Heinkel's fist smashed against the parapet. A small avalanche of pulverized stone slid down the mighty heights. "Won't come back home. To Louanna. To me… Can't even retry as a grandfather…"
Julius remained unmoved at the outburst, his eyes trailing the falling dust. "Despite what you have stated true for kingdoms, our queen amasses her men to return for storming Augria." Julius danced around the weakness Heinkel spilled with. He didn't have the heart for this. Instead, in listless vigor, Jukulius evaluated the forum's display.
"And by the numbers it seems to be one mighty force to reckon by. Worthy of its summoning. And therefore on par to a worthy challenge. What must this say about our opposition?"
"Hah?" Heinkel turned with a not so composed attitude. Then a pitying smile cracked his aged, chapped lips. "Our queen's men?" He spoke with abundant sarcasm. "Oh well. If you can call 'men' those beasts our queen employs… I guess that says enough about this opposition you ask of." Departing from the rampart edge he called over his shoulder with a handwave. "No use cooling my mouth over what she's decided now. Follow up, boy scout."
"Decided already?" Julius felt a cold sweat trail down his back.
Pacing with small steps away from the glorified landscape, an anticipation nestled in his heart. And he feared how long he'd be able to play this game.
Out in the forum, where he expected the proud troops of Lugunica and Vollachia to pour in organized ranks, Julius found a barbaric swath of pelted behemoths.
All of whom never were seen in the city before. Because they did not belong to Queen Priscilla.
Warriors so cruel and brutish they took three times the space for one normal soldier. Many of them whiplashed black and blue from biting winds that could freeze blood in stone. Covered arrogantly with but minimal armour, like boasting instead invulnerable skin. Sporting an open chest adorned with bloody trinkets hung round their necks. With liger skins covering their shoulders and jagged weapons fastened to their hips.
A frightful note blew from their Snow Blights' horns. And suddenly became the center of attention, dashing away the fine music and propper army of the kingdom.
"Haa!" Julius, caught off guard, let a pained gasp escape him. His eyes bulged, complexion paled, and pulse pounded from adrenalin, next was blood slipping down his bitten lips. His hands clenched his rapier's hilt.
"Reinhard… Nemean…" He whispered to no one in fear.
Despite the circumstances, Julius proceeded to his summon in the royal halls with fast strides.
"AT ATTEN-TION!"
Left and right in the lavish court, elite units dropped on their knees before the golden throne.
Julius barely managed to enter at the nick of time. Sliding in place with a dry gulp, his yellow irises stared between his mauve tresses. Not a move out of place now, lest he risk unwanted attention. From among the imposing knights he peeked at the indomitable figure commanding them.
Priscilla pondered upon the baldachin. Stern was her spirit and doused in her flame.
Her gaze enraptured them like a gorgon stare. A silent sign of her divine majesty demanding their focus.
Priscilla narrowed her eyes.
She scoured the hall, deliberately dropping her stare on each individual at a time. Toying with the expectation she made them assume.
Inevitably she stopped at Julius. The knight almost sprung from his place.
Priscilla puffed a breath, as if confirming a small victory. But indifferent to him, she turned to address all.
Her tone left no room for interruptions.
"Present are today among you some who've met their match mere weeks ago at the Castour fields. Unspoiled not in lieu of valor, but preserved by having courted cowardice."
The polished floor squeaked under sets of knees pressing with distress.
"Alive before me, are of you who beat the path back home before minself gave order. And were welcomed as virtuous in the embrace of mine clueless subjects. As heroes. Survivors. Champions and veterans worthy of praise and glory in the eyes of gods. Perhaps for good reason."
A collective drone of heartbeats hammered in the arrested quietude.
"Yet of how righteous is your place in mine divine eyes leaves wanting! As I question how might you be seen before the same people, should I bring light over your character? Perhaps they should feel rightful to know how the rest of you met their ends? Or they should know how it came to be that you so gallantly 'opened' my trek back to Lugnica without spoils in hands?"
From those gathered, a hefty number found themselves breathless. Not from insidious reason so much as it was courtesy of their guilt.
Priscilla never let them off the hook as they hoped. Never closed her eyes in pretending their wrongs hadn't happened. Merely allowed them to persist and see how far they'd live a lie.
"To those left in the dark or exempt from participating then – sigh not in relief. As so many of you failed to enact my vision and decided instead to scurry under the pressure of pitiful retaliation, I doubt there is any here today to boast of better."
Julius gathered as much from the patchwork of reports. And his suspicions proved to be right after seeing the preparations and talking with Heinkel. A power in Augria deterred queen Priscilla's ambitions. Despite how short-lived it happened to be, that resistance wouldn't be forgotten.
Julius could read the signs.
This wasn't any simple formality before a decree. No. This was but a scolding. A slap over the face and detachment from them. Priscilla had greater plans set in place.
"As such I fail to see any of you 'elite knights', much less the units under you, as trustworthy to carry out my orders. A backwater enemy has shamed you but not one who scurried from that day stood in admittance of his faults. Pitiful…"
Priscilla had no pause or mercy in her speech.
She mentioned the issue. And cut down to size those deemed inept.
"Thus do I release you of your service on the frontline. And of any following merits to harvest henceforth for years to come."
A cacophony of dumbfounded, freaked, agitated, confused and mortified noises filled the hall. Knights faltered in their place to fall deeper in their prostration. Generals stumbled on themselves as they tried speaking. Esteemed mages shot up to wobble in place with disbelief.
"Venerable queen! Why punish us! Why us and not the enemy?" Cried many.
"Please, your majesty! Direct your ire eastwards and offer us another chance! Let my value be earned back!" Offered another.
"Bearer of the dragon's blood! It is within thine power to defeat anyone this realm could offer – charge us again to win the tide, your majesty!" Begged one more.
*!*
Priscilla lift a palm. Silence descended from her baldachin like unseen air.
"Precisely. What I shall enact." She said impassively.
Julius witnessed how all the high officials in the chamber drew back a step. Caught like in a spell at the beautifully cold sight of the rightful ruler.
From her great seat, Priscilla curled a finger at her side. And from the disorganized mess, a feeble and frail old man stepped forward.
"... Miklotov" Julius recognized.
Shortly, the one summoned reached Priscilla and succeeded to muster his rigid frame in a bow. "Though old and obsolete my council is, your majesty…" Miklotov stroked his pure white beard. "May you hear once more my question? For you bear Volcanica's blessing and you alone must also bear the use of such vast power."
Priscilla drew a delicate finger over her petite nose in thought. At no point had she ever shown outward emotion and now would not be any different.
"Speak, old fool. Lest you risk leaving mine cowards as idiots too."
Miklotov nodded. "Queen Priscilla, exalted among the realms – are you assured this course shall fulfill your judgment? That such a grim vassal may yet serve you once the deed is done and the realms united? Or rather, should this honor you've prepared not be reserved for one sworn to you, among your instituted order? From thine own country?"
Priscilla shifted her eyes to the elder and then among random points in the royal court.
Yet her answer was proven with action.
At once, she raised a hand, and the metal doors of the royal halls groaned open.
And the curse of the wicked creeped in the frame.
"Mine divine judgment shines justly in equal measure as it does strictly." Priscilla Benedict rose from Lugunica's throne. "To you who cowarded and left your divine ruler – I am harsh. Though not merciless beyond redeeming you. And in time, shall you earn my mercy? It will be with penitence and commitment." The tall double doors pulled open, letting a crude air of playing shadows and obscure lights expand over the floor. "To those who challenge me – I am fair. Deluded peasants have sat themselves for a ruinous future, and as such I shall offer them a fitting challenge for redemption. A challenge to see their worth. If they deserve to be spared," Priscilla observed her distressed officials. "And if they deserve your outstanding honors more than you at mine divine feet."
Miklotov looked between the advancing moloch in the hall and Priscilla. "...Such the queen has deigned." He mumbled in the reverberating chamber. Because nothing more could he speak once hit by a palpable oppression.
A dominating presence that would have crumpled his gaunt shape had he not stood by Priscilla.
Distanced by stairs set between the baldachin and hallway floor, Priscilla expected to look down on the new arrival.
But despite this positioning, he towered over her graceful figure like a mountain blocking the sun. A shape so great it would intimidate even the giantkin of Rom's ancestors.
Julius felt his bones go hollow inside. He numbly witnessed five figures shawled from crown to boot in withered chainmail and wrought iron dusted rust. Over their breast lay hung a wide coat of arms, abused by the ages and mended repeatedly with corpse wax.
A thunderstruck theocracy.
But more from that sore and appalling sight hit Julius. Far worse. More terrible he viewed the one leading these marauders seeping with frost from tombs.
With disfiguring wounds carved down his shoulder into sternum. One crowned with forged metal.
Stout. Cast in porous plates of steel. Fitted with thick beast hides. Adorned with elf ears linked at knots down his neck. With porcelain fingers and shining hair locks from the same victims at his pouches. Armed with a wicked three faced mace the width of a child. And capped with the alabaster skinned face of a mythical giant since the Witch's age.
His broken blade for revenge was calling. A savage shade from dark hidings stepped announced. A wrestles bane with black blood falling, was returned to rise from ashes.
To the bone exposed armless despot faced the queen.
A tyrant to fell any man, knight, hero, ranger or challenger to her throne. By sword, hook or crook. By tactic, deceit or plotting. By might or wisdom. In any way to lay waste.
Priscilla extended a finger, dainty like precious artwork adorned with a cherry painted fingernail. Her thumb pressed in the exposed pulp to draw out a single, precious, and rich red droplet. Sparkling in the palace murals' reflections with captured sunrays.
Replete with Volcanica's divine blessings.
"From henceforth, until the Tower at World's end lays its gates open to me; until Pleiades rests in mine hands and the city ramparts fall dismantled: I appoint for mine armies this dogged general to obey and follow. Arrest Nemean Karsten! Him, and his band of merrymen! Drive out his armies from the citadels. Scare his allies into submission. And depose his defecting Sword Saint! For you are…" She left unfinished, ceremoniously handing him the reins to the officials gathered.
They shuddered at his voice.
"Kamul. Mad Prince of the north." The herculean warrior answered, reaching his only arm towards the queen's extended gift. Porous, oil tempered and blistered metal screeched over his joints. "Named by Odglass. Sworn to hallowed Inornadum from my enemy." With supernatural daft gentility, he snatched the dripped point of blood in his palm. And the accursed surface dampened in the liquid treasure.
Fragrant mist seeped out his disfigured stump, clothing his phantasmal brand of wounds. Flesh sprouts abundant, dancing like lightning to the gift of Priscilla.
From palace gates, ever higher, homes and streets heard clear:
"Retribution over the Karsten banner! The Sword Saint's head on a silver platter! I shall descend on Pleiades as the flaying on the olive trees! Augria will shirk its riders, beaten!" the giant of snow capped skies bellowed back in his prime. His mutilated mace swung high with its three bladed heads booming in waves of mana down its shattered core. "My broken blade – revenge, is calling!" Kamul declared to his savage shades of knights.
And as always, I hope ya enjoyed!
That should be all for the introduction. Except, wait! Here's a little something to keep you up at night. It will be important later, exactly as you read it (for you who love the mystery and setting)
"For long lived you coddled rest…
Now to crave for valor's test
For the ends your efforts heft
Let them know my destined theft
Over borders, clefts and river's breeze
Across skies and winds that freeze
Virtuous is the life burnt short
To whom I draw you in its fold
Realms and thunder shall you cross
Away the peaceful life you toss
Set from home with shield at breast
And return only carried on its crest
Toil in life laden to the teeth
To pass on crowned with olive wreath
With love swaddled where you at birth
To sleep cradled in embrace of earth
So:
Stern be spirit and mind and bone
And cold be sleep in grave of stone,
Nevermore the waking shores tread
Never, 'till the ocean calms and the skies are dead
With your life this epoch tie
But not in death on gold you lie,
Till the Red Sun brings her hand
Over dead sea and withered land."