Army Battle: Respice Finem vs. The Red Hand

[Call me J]

This battle will end in three weeks. Best of luck to both competitors.

[Ranger]

Trivial arguments of political and economic base were in constant ebb and flow through the sociological backdrop of Althanas. Groups rose and fell, governments crumbled under the pressure of their own decadence, and because of it all those clans that remained were all the more powerful, all the more influential. The time had come though, a time for the clans to lose their facades of indifference and for their eyes to peer outwards from building the infrastructure; to peer outwards to the budding chaotic void that awaited them.

The Gol’Bron had already tasted the tyrannical hand of the governments in chaos. The Corone Empire had declared war on them, and in turn torn through the clans growing powerbase and crippled them before they could reestablish their old power. But the Thayne would not allow the prestige and strength of the former Red Hand fall so easily, for their followers were the devotees of the Thayne. Through the clan the will of the Thayne would be focused, the members given a prominent place on Althanas as unique pawns to their deities. With the wills of the gods backing the political, sociological, and economic struggles in favor of the Gol’Bron, the clan would join those vying for power.

~X~

“They are all moving, at once, for the same purpose,” the words were soft, quiet. Through the empty common room every syllable could be heard, bounding and rebounding against the soft oak walls. “I do not foresee this ending well, as well as the loss of countless lives at the hands of macabre and cruel hands. We must not fail in the duties the Thayne have given us, or ignore the power that they have entrusted to us. If we do not act, we will be swept away in the warring wake of violence, unable to reclaim our power… unable to denounce the tyranny that threatens our way of life.”

Ranger shifted in his seat. The man across from him was one of the many scouts that scoured the world of Althanas, lived and spied for the Gol’Bron. Richard, a young human sacrificing his safety in Radasanth, had brought words coated in fear to the feet of the prophet. The drow prophet pushed his chair away, his smooth gray-skinned hands stroking his long platinum hair. The young human was not the first of the outlying members of the Red and Black Hand to approach him with the same dire information.

It seemed that the other clans, the minor houses of power, had grown quicker than expected or proposed. In their sudden sprout they had taken to the ways of war, calling for combat to remove those that would oppose them. Like the days of old, when the clans warred with one another, the time for the strength of the Red Hand to be realized had come again. The prophet paced slowly, thinking heavily, attempting to pull together the loose strands of thoughts into a solution.

“The names of clans I have not heard of have risen on the tongues of those that have come to ask for the Thayne to be praised and their blessings granted. Names of supposed powers have taken to humble, quiet beginnings.” Ranger said as he turned away from the young man at the table. The night had fallen long since, the quiet town of the Red Hand had been silent for hours, but the deliberations between drow and human had not come to a conclusion. The prophet looked out a sectioned window, to the low moon on the horizon and the cloudless sky. “But I have also been given reports in regards to the power of the House of Sora, and their involvement in this. Too the rebuilt Bandit Brotherhood, once powerful allies that stood with us… what are we to do if our carefully planned ways are disrupted due to a meeting with them? Are we to stand aside and allow them to continue on their way, hoping that the Thayne guide their steps as well? Or are we to belittle those that assisted us in times of need, those that stood with us in the war against the Bazaar and the united Corone?”

“That choice is not for us to decide, Prophet Nailo. You know this as well as I. Our path is not to be fretted over, simply followed and obeyed. Please, I beg you; families in Radasanth beg you, pray to the Thayne and ask for their help and blessings. If they do not provide for us as we need and request, than we will know our path… and it will not be towards this war.”

Ranger placed his calloused hands on the window sill, white knuckled clench holding it firmly as uncertainty continued to work through him. What Richard had said was true. It was not for any individual to decide the will of the Thayne, but for them to show it when it was required. When would the prophet and the Gol’Bron require guidance more than in the face of the adversity that was budding throughout the corners of the world?

“I understand that, and your words are wise.” He responded as he turned away from the window and the silent night, letting his silver eyes linger on the man before him and his downcast face. Richard relied on the Red Hand just as all the other members did; it was a base of protection for their livelihood, their families, and their beliefs. The clan was not simply a group of like minded individuals attempting to assume power and wealth, it was almost a governmental power given the obligation to protect any who asked and any who lived in the eyes of a Thayne. “I will pray and the Thayne will deliver their answer in due time. Till that time comes, I would pray you return to your home and family. Keep those close to you in your sight at all times, the Corone Empire yet controls the strength of Radasanth and we are not fully protected.”

“May the Thayne guide your steps, Prophet.”

“And may their will keep you safe and our people’s prosperity intact.”

~X~

Moving through the Concordian forests undetected was not a simple matter, nor an easy task. But with the assistance of Lasir Thurinor the small force that had been assembled and moved through the woodland realm without so much as a hint of trouble. Prying eyes that may have been present in Underwood were avoided by taking a longer route, but the threat of the Corone Empire entering into combat with the prophet and whatever opponent the Thayne were spurring them towards was also dodged. Blessed was the Red Hand, for no losses to troops had come from their travels through the forests.

“Y’edda sends her blessings, and a fair amount of good natured interest in our path.” Lasir’s words were spoken in the most fluent of elven tongue the prophet had been graced to hear in many years. His eyes flashed the vivid green coloration, mocking the emerald light that flitted through the canopy of the forests. They had left the realm at mid-night, taking the cover of darkness to secure their steps, and taken to the march through the open plains on the way to Jadet. The druidic elf laughed a light hearted chuckle, despite the budding conflict that awaited them at any time. He turned away from the prophet Ranger, drifting like a fickle wind towards the outside flank of the army.

What strange things the Thayne had saw fit to bless the Gol’Bron with, including the strange follower of Y’edda and V’dralla. The prophet shook his head and continued his walk, letting the brunt of the army lead, his most specialized troops follow, and the draves and their riders roam as they willed. He had planned the movement out, but the extra time it had taken to hold their cover within Concordia had been difficult and time consuming. As such, the army was behind schedule and the town of Jadet would be a few hours Northeast still. With the soft winds drifting over the sweet green plains and the sun still lingering on its upward arch towards its pinnacle the army picked up pace. The prophet felt rejuvenated by the sweet winds, felt slightly calmed by the gently swaying grass underfoot… but it helped very little with the heavy uncertainties that rested at the forefront of his thoughts.

“Lords above, I pray our haste is timely enough…” They were not marching for the sake of war, as the other clans seemed to be rallied for. The military might of the Gol’Bron, the gods blessed army, had traveled across the country from the Red Hand’s hold South of Radasanth in order to remove the artifact of Hromagh from his shrine in Jadet, the Madstone of the god of strength. The relic was a piece of the Thayne, a totem dedicated to him, yet stolen from the lands of the drow. Its protection was vital, and the only reason the Thayne had called for the military might to be summoned to the port town.

[Call me J]

Jame didn’t have much to like about arriving in Corone for, of all things, a tournament. Jame had collected an army of sorts, but it had been a difficult and time consuming process. He had needed to pull in every favor he could from both nobles in Alerar and Salvar, and he had been forced to talk to more people who knew Damon Kaosi than he would have ever thought to be reasonable. In fact, there were times where in the process of assembling his army, Jame could only be grateful that his father was still alive, otherwise he had no doubt that the older Kaosi would have been rolling in his grave after some of the family favors that the half dragon had called upon.

Though he had gone to such lengths for Sine Nomine, there was still one last task. There was an item, described to him as the Madstone, that he still needed to get. For whatever reason, the Madstone was coveted by Freiherr Rathimborn, a noble from an obscure town named Gavlack in the Fields of Khu’fien. Many years ago, the Freiherr had lead a group of soldiers all the way from Gavlack to Jadet in a quest for it, only to be repelled at the last minute as a diplomatic crisis between Alerar and Corone threatened to erupt. However, Rathimborn’s desire for the Madstone had not been abated after all those years.

Normally, Jame wouldn’t have been all that concerned about the wishes of a Freiherr, but Rathimborn had supplied the army with many of its most vital units. As Jame looked out on the forty dark elven warriors who now waited on their mounts, ready to ride into battle, he remembered how much they were tied to Rathimborn. The mounts had been a gift from the High Graf Schynius, who seemed eager to see Jame taking part in a battle regardless of the rationale behind it, but all forty of the dark elven warriors had been welcomed because Jame had promised Rathimborn that he would use them to retrieve the Madstone. It was the only way to have secured the fighters that served as the backbone of his army.

Before his forces reached Radsanth, he would have to make good on that promise. Fortunately, the boat carrying the army had made its port in Jadet. The only matter left was getting the Madstone. Now, Jame looked out over the rail of the ship to see all of his forces that had spilled out onto the harbor. They were close to five hundred in all, and Jame was particularly proud of them. It had taken three boats just to get them all to Corone.

Still, even with his sizeable force, Jame didn’t want any complications. He doubted it would be hard to steal the Madstone, most of Corone’s forces were caught up in a seemingly intractable civil war, so much so that he doubted there would be anyone willing to defend the Madstone in Jadet. Even if there were townspeople left behind, they wouldn’t be the fighting type. Even so, Jame urged caution as they grew closer to the city.

Jame knew that the fates were fickle friends at best. The biggest reminder the half dragon had of that dictum was the little girl that was waiting for him in the steel dome that hovered above his soldiers. The half dragon hadn’t wanted to have Rainee Miyami’s daughter come along with him, especially not in an army battle, but Mylie had snuck onto his ship, presumably searching for chocolates or an adventure that was more at the speed of an eight year old. However, now she was waiting up in a steel bubble above the battlefield, unaware that the army was going to embark on anything other than great fun. Jame hoped he could maintain that illusion. He didn’t even want to think about what would happen should things start to go wrong.

Jame hadn’t spoken to Mylie in a few hours. Instead, the half dragon had made it a point to ride alongside his best fighters as they moved towards Jadet. He had wanted to keep abreast of their thoughts, their plans, and their aspirations. His closest confidant in his army, Farrior Galilel, had warned him that unless he knew his soldiers, he wouldn’t be able to command. Later, he would go back up to the safety of the bubble, but for the moment, he was content to ride on the back of Farrior’s cat.

The entire force stopped at the outskirts of the city. There was no real wall or clear demarcation, just areas where the houses began, and where the plains and forest ended. Jame took one last look around before he descended off the rider cat. While he knew better than to voice superstition, the half dragon felt as though there was something inexplicably unsettling about his surroundings. The winds were an eerie sweet and the sun seemed just too compliant about letting his army reach Jadet before high noon. Jame was cynical enough to know that if nature was being that kind, it was only because fate was about to do something very cruel.

Galilel looked on Jame for an order. “Send ten spies in,” he said. “The telepathic ones. See what they find.”

“Wise,” Galilel agreed. “No sense in sending an army to do a job better suited for a few men.”

Then, as Jame prepared to ascend up into the bubble from where he would supervise, Galilel began to relay the orders. There was a steady stream of adrenaline that pumped through the army now, even if this wasn’t the beginning of battle, they were still eager to get started on something. A long ship ride had made for a very restless crew.

(Ranger, the spies will be heading into Jadet and trying to locate the shrine. They are dressed no differently than regular drow that you might see within Corone, so unless you had a really strong reason to, they wouldn’t stand out)

[Ranger]

The forest of Concordia were quiet for as splendid a day as graced Althanas. The sun was high in its never ending cycle around the planet. Soft yellow rays split the crown of trees, dipping low and caressing the wayward pools and thick loam that littered the floor. What wind did blow could not follow the path of the rays, instead drifting through the uppermost boughs and swaying them peacefully. Ranger had not been alone in a long time. The constant demands of the Gol’Bron, not to mention the heated recreation of his personal beliefs, had consumed a lot of his time. But with the threat of war from the other clans on the edge of his thoughts, and the need to defend not only himself and his interests but those too of the Thayne and other members of the Red Hand, a walk through the woods was exactly what he needed.

“A long time yet,” he thought as he let closed his eyes and let his hands stroke the bark of the enormous trees as he passed. He could smell the healthy growth, the dirt underfoot. In the distance the soothing sounds of water moving through pools calmed his mind. Birds sang dissonant at his intrusion, but those were few. Thoughts were all but forgotten, despite the lack of sleep he had been granted the night before. He was focusing on peace and the realm of Y’edda the Wild.

“You have come a long way, young prophet… and your mind is troubled.” The words were as loud as a tree falling, breaking the serenity and startling to the drow. He turned his silver eyes to the voice, looking at what appeared to be more ethereal than material. Before him an elven being stood, more accurately hovered, over a random boulder, bent over and looking at Ranger with the most inquisitive of eyes. The silver eyes of the prophet met the pure green eyes of his companion before slipping to his smooth black hair and unique apparel. “Y’edda wishes to know the will of one that would venture so deep into the forests of Concordia? And as the druidic presence that protects this area, and a grove nearby, I am inclined to question your presence as well.”

Ranger turned his entire body towards the druid, giving him a nod and spreading his arms in respect to his position with the Thayne. His tone inflected the most perfect of elven tones, neither Aleraran nor Raiaeran, his fluid tongue as graceful as any the prophet had ever heard. “I have come seeking the peace of the forests, and to pray to the Thayne for guidance. I am Ranger Nailo, prophet of the Thayne, second in command of the Gol’Bron.”

“Ah, yesss,” the druid took a seat atop his boulder, perching on its precarious edge. “Nailo, prophet, Gol’Bron, the names all ring a bell. I was told to expect you. The prayers of your people have been lifted to Y’edda in their time of need, and no time do you need her more than now. Right? Of course I am, she told me herself.”

“You commune with the goddess of the wild? You have a blessed path that I seek even now, with all the Thayne. I have told the people to offer their prayers and thoughts to the Thayne, pray for their assistance and their wills to be given to us all.”

The druid smiled, a shifting smile that resembled a mother panther looking on its young. He shifted endlessly, never seeming to be comfortable. Perhaps the wild nature of his goddess had developed its own sense of urgency and its own distraction within him. Whatever caused it Ranger was more than happy to see the man, and to hear than the ears of the goddess were listening. “Haha, yesss indeed. She had heard your need, the call for war and has communed with the trees in the matter, as have I. The wisdom of the Charred Ones is beyond my own, and they call for you to succeed. My name is Lasir Thurinor, druid of the Wild One.”

The prophet nearly dropped to his knees in thanks to the goddess, but lifted a silent prayer instead. The Thayne, or at least Y’edda, willed for the survival of the Gol’Bron and answered his prayers and stayed his doubts. “It is an honor to meet you Lasir; may I inquire about how the goddess of the wild has willed us to find victory? Who are the Charred Ones? What am I to do about the war that looms?”

“You never mentioned his inquisitive nature, oh so many thoughts and questions he raises…” Lasir was stroking a tree, talking to it with short spurts of thought between titters of laughter. If the prophet did not believe in his deep spiritual connection to Y’edda he would have been like all others in considering the forest elf a complete lunatic. “All in due time my young prophet friend,” he continued as he patted the tree and dropped from his boulder. Instead of landing heavily on the ground he floated like a soft wind, drifting towards the drow. “We will reveal the nature of it all as we journey back to your encampment…”

The two spoke with utmost reverence to each other as they passed through the druidic realm and back to the town of the Red Hand. The Charred Ones were the scarred trees that survived during the Age of Darkness, revered nearly living remnants of the demonic invasion. The idea of the grove peaked every little thought, thousands more questions on the tongue of the prophet. But he held each back, listening to Lasir speak of the Thayne’s blessings, how they had each heard the cries of the Gol’Bron in turn… and had offered their assistance. Time would be the necessity now, time and patience for the wills of the gods to become fulfilled.

~X~

The words of the druid still lingered in the mind of the prophet. He had been given a boon unlike any he could have possibly hoped for. Lasir had informed him of the Charred Ones, and the interest that Y’edda and V’dralla both had taken with him. In the background he could hear the clattering of armor, of weapons against iron encased troops, but his thoughts were on what he had been given. He looked at the drifting druid to his flank, smiling as the man chattered on and on as if he was talking to another person. Only the backs of the members of the Mark of Björmund were near him though, and they were as unreceptive as they had been since their arrival. Their black armor reflected the sun, lighting the smiling face of the light elf.

“Dear Prophet,” Druid Thurinor said through a slim smile, turning towards the drow. “It appears that we have movement on the edge of our vision… yesss, for certain something looms towards the coast.”

Ranger picked up a swift stride and shifted like a ghost through the ranks of Direling and Geohm, taking the lead of his small force and looking towards where the troublesome smile of the druid was facing. He lifted his hand to his brow, the tips of his fingers feeling the budding sweat that held firm to his forehead. In the distance he could see a blur, something moving, something dark on the horizon. The sun was above them, an advantage if it was the threat that the Thayne had warned about.

“Lasir, tell a party of draves to move to Jadet quickly. Have them break off and rush to the town, secure it. If the government threatens our presence, remain outside the town and be cautious for anything out of the ordinary. If the militia allows them in, have them find the shrine of Hromagh and secure it. We will follow behind as soon as this threat has been identified.” Ranger’s voice was booming, strong. The winds carried his voice to Lasir and beyond, a pack of draves and their dwarven riders turned towards him before the druid could even relay the message.

“We need to pick up pace as well. Veer our army further northeast. Send for the rest of the draves and their riders to move quickly to our flank, continue moving east, and be prepared to attack the flanks if this is our enemy. Tell them to wait for the battle to begin, and then set in from behind or the side… whatever advantage they can take.” The druid smiled his wiry smile and muttered as he floated further down the line of black armored Björmund troops. “Geohm, take to the earth and do not appear till the command is given. Remain ahead of the army slightly; give enough distance to be prepared to rise from beneath the enemy if necessary.”

The six foot, eight hundred pound mounds of humanoid stone did as he commanded without turning their blank faces towards the prophet. Each one continued moving forward, but slid beneath the surface as if creatures of the Antifirmament moving through walls. The rest of the army picked up their stride and hurried at a harder angle, attempting to intercept the blur to the east. The prophet prayed that the forces in motion would not be their opponent, or that the battle would take place on the plains before he could reach Jadet and set up the defenses of the city.

[Call me J]

The city of Jadet was more elaborate than the spies could have imagined. They had expected the Madstone to have been well guarded, but kept in a prominent place in the center of the town. However, they were having no such luck. None of them knew much about Thayne lore, and it made it difficult for them to distinguish between one seemingly significant building and the next. Their morale was beginning to fade, and they knew that relaying a message of their confusion was not going to be likely to please either Commander Kaosi or Ritter Galilel.

With ten soldiers all of equal rank, they didn’t know whose job it was to make the decision. It would have been easier if there had been a leader, as trained soldiers, they were willing to follow any leader that went out into battle with them. However, with no one to tell them what to do, all ten of them began to quibble amongst each other.

“I say we ask someone,” a slim, silver haired spy suggested, clearly fed up with the way they had been moving through the town with so very little to show for their efforts.

Another only replied with a scowl. “Yeah, like ten drow looking asking about artifacts are going to be answered,” he replied.

A female piped up. “We have telepathy, relay the decision to our commander.”

The first spy scoffed. “Ralinya, that’s typical woman’s logic. Smart on one end, fuzzy on another? Do you really think Ritter Galilel is going to take kindly to the interruption…”

“Well then we’ll look around some more,” the second intoned. “Jaffer, your plan would get us killed. At least we know the Ritter isn’t going to kill us…”

The rest of the spies seemed reluctant to take sides. There was a collective fear amongst them that the tones of their arguing peers were beginning to become loud enough to attract attention, and there were more than enough people in Jadet for someone unsavory to have overheard their plans. A few of the spies glanced around furtively, knowing that while the street they were on was all but abandoned, there could have been a few people looking out of the wax paper widows on their homes.

“You’re going to have to just trust me…” the one who had been identified as Jaffer spoke. “Nobody in this place is looking for a fight…” Jaffer stopped halfway through his thoughts. The other spies did to. They were getting a message from the rest of the army.

“The forces have been spotted,” Ralinya said, though she didn’t need to articulate the message. Each one of the nine other spies was tied in to her telepathic link. “We’re supposed to go into hiding…”

In fact, all the spies within the army had been given the same command. It had been Jame’s good fortune that he had decided to ascend to the hovering steel saucer when he did, for he had noticed the signs of a large moving mass of people heading towards him. At first, the half dragon wanted to dismiss them, for all he knew they could have been a group of peasants on a demonstration against taxes. However, with Corone the way it was, he knew that he couldn’t afford to take any chances. More likely than not, they were the scouts of an army associated with the Civil War, or even worse, another group of warriors seeking the Madstone. Overwhelmed by the promise of a complication, Jame’s hands found their way onto the top of his head, and he looked out over his soldiers unsure of what he should do.

“What’s wrong?” Mylie asked. The little eight year old didn’t know what was distracting Jame. Seconds ago, she had been hoping that they could have played, or that they could have gone for ice cream. Her mother had left her with baby sitters, but when the opportunity had presented itself, she snuck away with Jame. She had hid herself among a crate of weapons as it was loaded onto the ship, and hadn’t understood why Jame had been so serious. He had told her that he was going to have business to attend to and that she shouldn’t leave the steel saucer. She had waited patiently the entire time they had come to Jadet, but now, she had expected Jame to pay attention to her, not anything going on outside.

“Nothing,” Jame replied succinctly. “Remember I told you not to leave this place here, right?”

Mylie nodded.

“You have to remember that,” Jame said. “No matter what…”

Without any more of an explanation, the half dragon moved towards the edge of thee saucer and let part of the steel covering fade away just long enough for him to warn Farrior Galilel. He leapt down from the saucer, turning into a dragon halfway into his fall.

After a few quick flaps of his wings, Jame hovered above the rider cats and his elite soldiers. “Let’s not go on the offensive just yet,” he suggested. “Wait them out, see what they want… send all our spies in to get the Madstone though.”

“That’s smart…” Galilel agreed. “Take a medium up with you in the saucer…”

Jame nodded. He was going to need the telepathic link. He considered flying out in the distance to check on the moving mass, but soon decided against it. If it was just a group of peasants, there was no point in scaring them by appearing in dragon form.

With that, Jame flew back up towards the saucer, a medium on his back. Galilel began to take charge. William Holland and the spies began to disappear into the town, but the rest of the soldiers began to take positions as if they were expecting a battle. The land near them was relatively even terrain. There were a few trees, but nothing significant in the distance but for the looming mass of people. The two hundred mercenaries of the Sacred Stone began to assume their position, lining up in rows, battalions of twenty, flanked on either side by the elite dark elven warriors. Galilel moved into the centre, where he could get the feel for the battle while limiting his exposure.

The mediums and lieutenants were split into their battalions, save for the two that remained back with the mages and archers who had begun to alter the landscape behind the mercenaries. As long as the approaching force didn’t arrive too quickly, the geomancers would have created a big enough hill to give the archers the protection that they needed.

Galilel just sighed. The battle tested Ritter wasn’t nearly as optimistic as Jame. He knew there would be no mass of people moving in his direction unless they had bad intentions. He cursed audibly, for Galilel had regretted the necessity that had meant they had to go through Jadet.

(Again, bunny spies as you see fit. If you attempt to set up within Jadet, the spies won't go after you. They will, spy on you though)

[Ranger]

How long had it been since Richard had come to him? How many days and nights had passed since the cautious and eloquent young human had brought the ill tidings? He had been one of many to bring the discouraging news, one of many that had brought distress to the mind of the prophet. Rangers days were muddled long before the will of the Thayne had been disclosed, long before the first sighting of Lasir or the word he had brought with him. He was growing more and more tired.

Days had turned to night without him even having a chance to leave his simple abode within the town. He had offered his prayers at dusk and dawn as always, given to the Dark Mother her prayers at midnight from time to time. Her wishes were not at the forefront of his mind though, for the discarded Thayne’s presence would not bode well for the involvement and blessings of the other – much less add anything to the good natured façade of the Gol’Bron.

Night had fallen; he could feel its cool touch and simplistic desire for solace. It was hardly peaceful though. His eyes were heavy, the thin lids wanted to fall and remain closed for hours. His muscles were lethargic from lack of use, his normally rigorous daily exercising cut off and nearly forgotten in place of the need to survive and thrive. The day had brought many more blessings of the Thayne and those that allied themselves with the gods. They had provided assistance and guidance through the druid Lasir Thurinor, as well as provided clerics and dedicates of Khal’jaren, Wulfgurd, Björmund, Y’edda, and Hromagh. Plans and organization were not put together, the purpose of their gathering was not granted yet, and the prophet doubted that the war would be brought to the clan’s home so soon.

Thoughts of the people said otherwise though.

“The war has begun,” the words were whispered, caught by the sharp ears of the drow. His silver eyes looked around the corner, into the depths of darkness that overwhelmed the countryside outside of the town. Eyes caught his sight, vivid, darting about. Howls echoed through the still night air, lingering through the streets in the town. As soon as the night had fallen the howls had began, ringing from a great distance. Ranger had spent the entire day, organizing the new Dedicates that had arrived since the morning. However, since the baying of the wolves had begun, and the realization of them closing in on the Red Hand and the people of the town the prophet had taken a position to watch for the approaching enemy. “Who’s attacking us already? Where is everyone else?”

“Steady yourself,” the prophet responded, letting his calloused hand rest on the shoulder of the young human. He had been granted a place of power, a place of prestige and honor; his words were calming and people took heart and stilled themselves at his command. His own nerves were hardly settled though, for the threat of the baying of the wolves brought with it the possibility of an unknown enemy. “If this is the enemy to be, and our grounds those to be warred upon, than let them come and let the wills of the Thayne be pronounced through our stand.”

The night led on, and through it all the people’s nerves were tested. The prophet prayed and thanked the gods that the craftsmen of the Red Hand were not the only ones he would be forced to rely on. Somewhere during it all Lasir had moved away from the town, without the prying and focused eyes noticing his absence.

“Prophet!” The words rang out through the darkness, Ranger’s peaked ears twitching at the call. He stepped around the edge of the house from which he was watching, into the shadowed depths of the countryside. Eyes suddenly flashed open, red and gold, color flickering on the edges of the light from the town. “A great boon we’ve called for, a great one indeed! Come, come now and still your apprehension.”

With every step towards the outer reaches of the glowing lights the prophet felt his blood cooling, his mind becoming more at ease. Greeting him with the largest of grins was the smooth face of the druidic elf, his eyes willed with glee. For a moment the prophet forgot the depths of wisdom that were present and saw in him the playfulness of Y’edda that he longed for. Behind him the cause of the commotion stepped from the darkness, overly large shaggy wolves. “We have been blessed with Draves, and from what we are being told those that can ride them are on their way; Dwarves of the utmost skill, robust in both resolve and strength.”

~X~

The plan to mobilize within the city, set up the defenses, and route whatever threat presented itself from the safety of the stone walls was not going to be realized. The prophet knew it as soon as the blur grew closer and closer. He could make out indistinct movement, could see the enemy setting up for an assault. Who were they? What was their purpose? Neither question was going to be answered from the distance they were at, and though they were closing he doubted he would gain any advantage before they were prepared.

“Lasir,” Ranger called as he raised his hand and called for a halt. The drumming steps of the army slowed to a stop, leaving the drow room to pass through the ranks and take his place at the front of the formation. It was his philosophy to always lead by example, the hearts and minds of the troops would be put at ease if the leader they followed showed by example and not word alone how little there was to fear. “Organize those that follow behind, the draves will be waiting for the battle to begin. I am going to take the lead, see their leader and attempt to forgo the hostilities.”

The druid smiled and nodded, turning away from the backs of those marked by Björmund. Their black armored shells shifted and swayed; the anticipation for battle building with every passing moment. It was the first time the prophet had seen any emotion exhibited by their normally stoic visages, however slight it was. He drifted off towards the Dedicates that waited at the rear. Ranger gave a last look back towards the direling horde and his small military, smiling at the organized ranks and thanking the Thayne for their blessings.

As quickly as he could he made his way across the open grounds. The Thayne were not necessarily a destructive force, and he would prefer to express their benevolence and more peaceful side than instantly engage in war. As such, he would seek out the leader of the other militaristic faction, offering peace and seeking the reason they were making their way towards Jadet. If the answer did not bode well for the town, the forces of the Gol’Bron, or Ranger himself, he would return and begin the war. Either way, he would be able to accurately place the strengths, numbers, and positions of the opposition first hand. If war was to be the way of the Thayne, he would do their bidding but on his terms.

((Bunny allowed to bring the two together, whatever you see fit))

[Christoph]

Ranger wins by default due to Call Me J's failure to post.

This match goes to the Red Hand.