THE ORDER OF THE STAG | IC | OPEN | FANTASY-MEDIEVAL |

[Ontorisa]

THE ORDER OF THE STAG
A Medieval-Low Fantasy RP By Ontorisa (Co-Authored By: Beiarusia)
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The Stand of the Ranger Akris Domirtia against Tribal Men, 226 After Unification (AU)
Theme Song

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Hawk's Peak, the Wall
Autumn, 591 AU
Tomas Ariskov

As the trees around Hawk's Peak began to shed their leaves, Ariskov could only glance up at the light blue sky. Surely the Gods were watching favourably at the Order today. All around the fort, men were silently preparing themselves for the day, sharpening their weapons, crafting their arrows, repairing armour and more. Ariskov shouldered his bow around himself before walking over to the wall and began to walk up the steps.

Hawk's Peak was one of the biggest forts located on the Wall. With a huge building called the Liner that held the Meal Hall, the Auxiliary Sleeping Quarters and the Commander's room, four smaller buildings that housed the garrison (two of whom had not been used in over 50 years), a small library and the armoury where the weapons and blacksmith were located, it was very cluttered. Men practised both in the courtyard and just outside of the fort's walls in the Realm of Man. It also had one of the two gates, and thus was a very strategically important position for the Order to hold.

As Ariskov finished walking up the stairs onto the stone and iron wall, he only just came to realize how big it was. He had been part of the Order for 4-5 years and had just now grasped how enormous and seemingly impenetrable the wall was. It must be at least 600 feet high, and could hold at least four ranks deep of archers. It was enormous, ancient and luckily for the Order, endurable and required little maintenance. And somehow the Slobbers and Darkies could somehow penetrate parts of the Wall. Ariskov didn't understand it, but he shrugged. As long as he was there, no Slobber or Darkie was making it into the Realm of Man alive. He approached the edge of the Wall, where merlons and protective wooden structures had been constructed for extra defence. Looking down, he could see the dirt road that led to the gate, "The Iron Boar" as it was called from the sigil that was imprinted on its exterior.

"Fine sight, eh Tomas?" An archer seemingly swooped by, looking at the world beyond. "When the Darkies stop attacking, maybe we can finally go see the sights and beauty in the Wilderness."

"Don't count on it Jacob." Ariskov looked over at the archer and shook his head. "As long as the Wall's around, the Darkies will never stop attacking. It's in their nature."

"Hah, sure thing." Jacob grinned at Ariskov before he turned his head at the sound of heavy, mail boots clinking on the ground. "Commander Hemmis, it's a pleasure to see you on the Wall sire."

Ariskov turned around to see the giant of a man, Commander Hemmis. Standing at least four heads above Ariskov, Hemmis was one of the best swordsmen in the entire Order before he had been selected to become Commander of Hawk's Peak. Now, Hemmis had been mostly confined to his office, managing the garrison and so forth. It was odd to see him outside of the Commander's Office at least.

"Tomas, Jacob." Hemmis nodded to both of them before he walked over to one of the merlons and rested his arms on it. "It's been a long time since I've been up here."

"Been a long time since we've seen you out of your office sire." Ariskov chuckled as Hemmis turned around, smiling at the playful jab.

"Aye, it has." Hemmis huffed before he looked at Ariskov. "I'd like a word in private with you Tomas."

Jacob bowed and resumed his patrol of the wall, walking away from the two men. Once Hemmis was sure that Jacob was out of earshot, Hemmis began to speak.

"Listen, I'm only talking to a few about this, but there's a problem." Hemmis began. "One of our scout parties have come back, but they're bringing work of an offensive."

"From whom? The Slobbers?" Ariskov looked at Hemmis confusingly. "We can handle them no problem. They're not organized at all."

"No, the Clankers are organizing something not too far away from here. It's big and they're preparing for something enormous. That's all I was told. The scouts estimated that the Clankers have at least 2,000 troops here, maybe more." Hemmis sighed as he scratched his head. "I've already sent word to other forts for reinforcements, but I don't think we'll have enough to hold back the offensive, even with the reinforcements."

"Sire, it's okay, they're Clankers, they can never really pull off an offensive like this." Ariskov shook his head, speaking assuredly. "We've beaten back their so-called sieges before."

"No, this is something different. They've organized themselves. They have catapults, ladders, towers and everything under construction. There are at least nine trolls there, which is something I'm heavily concerned about." Hemmis groaned.

"Why have the men not been informed?" Ariskov asked, changing the subject.

"Morale is high at the moment-" Hemmis began before Ariskov cut him off.

"Better to be preparing right now than later sire. I'll inform them if you do not want to." Ariskov hastily spoke.

"Fine then, but make sure we have every man and woman available to fight." Hemmis nodded to Ariskov before he began his long walk down the Wall's staircase.

[Relikai]

Viktor Rashford
The Wall.

The training dummy was made of bundled straw, secured upright with sinew, held upright by a solid pole as the lancer went about striking and slashing at it. The swordstaff, a polearm with a single edged blade attached to the 1.8 meter long handle, was striking with quick and precise strikes, targeting specific areas with the wicked tip of the blade. A weapon good for slashing and stabbing, it cleaves through goblinoid flesh as easily as it hews through butter, but should it get stuck, the wielder would be in a sorry position indeed.

However, limbs were meant to be chopped, as the lancer hacked at the arms, cracking wood and straw, as two bundles fell with the wooden support. Stepping back, the lancer gave a final thrust forward, impaling the structure with his weapon, a loud crack echoing as the blade broke through the wooden spine. Lifting the support up, Viktor Rashford, frontiersman, grunted as his muscles strained, lifting both weapon and dummy up above him, ignoring the loose straws bouncing off his tunic, before smashing it down on the other side. Not done with the routine, Viktor pushed forward, driving the swordstaff deeper into the dummy before planting a foot on the object, using his weight to pull his weapon out. A slash to the head ended the target's 'life'.

Planting his weapon on the ground with a satisfied grin, Viktor looked around. The Wall. The Damn Wall. Men on one side, beasts on the other. His village would benefit from defences preventing creatures from coming in, which was what Viktor volunteered for this life after training a batch of new militia.

Beats living in a community of flat-chested ladies I suppose. Might actually see a worthy wench to hit on.

[Aqizithiuda]

Hawk's Peak, the Wall
Autumn, 591 AU
Éanwulf Swarting, aka Ísenburg Æthelwulfing

Ísenburg had a routine. She rose early, before anyone else did, and performed her morning toiletries. Then, while most of the others were still sleeping, she took her bows and began practicing with them. It had been apparent early on that her accuracy, however good against a moving target in the wild, deserted her in part when she shot against stationary targets. As such, she had begun practice to rectify this issue with grim determination, not willing to risk being mocked by her fellow archers. By practicing before most of them were up and awake, Ísenburg could avoid the worst of any potential scorn.

There were five butts set up in the archery field, one at twenty yards, one at forty yards, one at sixty yards, one at eighty yards and one final butt at a hundred yards. There was a whole roving course set up further outside the bounds of the fort, for use in long range practice and range estimation, but this smaller range was what mattered to Ísenburg. Anything beyond a hundred yards was an area target, not reliant on individual accuracy. Such distances were also irrelevant in the dense forests beyond the Wall and so, in her view, a skill that didn't need as much development.

Ísenburg spent two hours every free morning here, loosing a quiver of arrows at randomly selected targets, one after the other, at her maximum speed. For her war bow, this was an arrow for every ten resting heartbeats. For her hunting bow, it was an arrow every six heartbeats. Her rate of loosing was a little behind what some of the more experienced archers were able to achieve with the same weighted bow but, as had been pointed out to her by older and wiser heads, she was young yet, and inexperienced at military archery. Better speed would come with time.

After a couple of hours practice, five firing cycles with each bow, she went off to breakfast, usually coming in on the tail end. From here, assuming no other responsibilities, she would end up at the training dummies with sword and buckler. Today she shared the space with someone she thought was Viktor Rashford. He was a big man, classically handsome, who fought with a ridiculously oversized polearm of some description. Reach was all well and good, she thought, but there were limits. The eight or nine foot length of the swordstaff made it useless in the forest, and that only left Viktor with his short sword and buckler. Still, if the Order wanted to let him use it, that was their business.

Putting Viktor out of her mind, Ísenburg faced off against her dummy, mentally picturing it as a real opponent. Her father had often made her practice this way when he was too hung over to actually fight, but not hung over enough to not care. If you treat even imaginary fights as the real thing, he had always said, you'll always have an edge over those who don't.

She started in the guard of wrath, sword held back over her shoulder in one hand, and her buckler out in front in the other. The attack came, launched from the near guard and aimed at her left leg. She changed her stance, bringing her left leg back and striking a slightly downwards blow aimed at her opponent's waist. The imaginary opponent defected her blow with his buckler and tried for a thrust, but Ísenburg turned the thrust on her buckler and tried to cut up under her opponent's.

The fight continued like this for several more moments until the imaginary opponent made a mistake and Ísenburg struck a crippling blow. She moved back, caught her breath, then started a new set, this time in the guard of the boar. It took her little time to work up a sweat, as she fought in full armour, coif and all. She saw no point to training in anything other than her armour. It would accustom her to fighting in it all the more quickly, and further build up her speed and strength.

[SaintB]

"I didn't say you were a disgrace as a soldier! I said I've wasted better soldier material down the throat of a whore! If you're gonna insist on repeating me at least get me right, recruit! Now get back on your feet!"

The recruit was one of three farm boys that thought joining the order would be a fun adventure or at least better than farming and it was Bestian's job to show them what they were really in for - some people thought his approach was heavy handed but he started out by showing them the worst and only let things get better when they earned it, these three stooges hadn't earned it yet. He'd forged Rangers this way, more than any other at Hawk's Peak, and to the point that it could it made Bestian proud on top of not giving him any incentive to let up. The kid he was yelling it, whatever his name was supposed to be, was snickering behind his back and trying to mock him for his other friend's amusement while he described the exercise they were about to undertake and pointed toward the rack of spears on the wall. The dumbass couldn't even get the line right and said 'You're a disgrace as a soldier' when Bestian had quite clearly said his come was better soldier material - so the Ranger Sergeant set on him, laying the lad about the ears and the sweeping his legs out from underneath him.

He hauled the recruit back up on his feet bodily and let him go, then looked to the other two - they had his undivided attention now. He appraised all three of them with a glower, "I didn't insult any of you. You ain't worth my insults yet, you got it? Just because I think my loins produce better soldier material than you soft bodied plow hands doesn't mean it's an insult. It means I've got my fucking work cut out for me."

He didn't wait for any affirmation before he turned away from them and retrieved a round wooden shield which he carried over and all but forced on to the kid he had just put on the ground, "Take this," he said, grabbing the recruit's left hand and pulling it toward the handle to hold it by, he showed him where to grasp and how to hold it to protect himself with by more or less forcing him into position; if he had a brain he'd get it, if not Bestian would have a new lesson to teach.

Once the recruit had shield in hand The Ranger walked back over and retrieved a spear from the rack of weapons and with both hands tossed it toward the shield bearer. The recruit dropped the shield in his hurry to catch the spear he had been tossed and before he even had a good grip on it Bestian had rushed forward and was on top of him, stepping on the shield and grabbing the spear he yanked it from his grasp and rested the point on his chin hard enough to prick the skin, "You just died! Never drop your fucking shield! Now pick it up, hold it! One hand! Arm straight! The shield wall is the most basic fighting style you'll find. It is how you anchor the battle line and hold the enemy in place so that they can be hit hard by the heavy infantry and cavalry. Once you learn how to fight with a spear and a shield we'll move on to something more difficult."

He grabbed his demonstration buddy and started to force him into the position he needed to be in, when he resisted it just made Bestian pull harder, "Shield foward, spear up here like this. Now put one leg forward..." he yanked, "Keep your foot flat!", some more adjustment, "There we go."

He examined his handiwork, the kid almost looked like he could use that thing now. "You other two, grab your shield and spear and join him! NOW!"

[Ontorisa]

The Orc War Camp, Near the Wall
Burning Leaves, 591 AU
Druziak mor Avogaz

mor Avogaz sat at the bench alongside a few of his Orc brethren as he continued to sharpen his Zaliskav (this thing). The mood within the war camp was very tense, as there was little conversation, mor Avogaz knew this from the troops on the bench. This was the first major offensive conducted by the Orcs in a long, long time. Morale was shaky, anxiety and anticipation ran through the camp as the recent nights had been mostly been either going to bed early or helping to construct the siege equipment. Already, rumours ran through the camp about when the siege was to start. 5 days, 3 days, some were even suggesting that it was to begin either tomorrow, or tonight.

Sure, this was part of mor Avogaz's training, but you could never get rid of the anxiety leading up to the battle. There was a huge chance that he would be killed. Hopefully Maukizad was looking favourably down on him and maybe mor Avogaz would take a few humans with him before he was killed. It was an Orc's goal to find an honourable death. To die dishonourably would be by dying by self-inflicted reasons such as drinking too much, drowning oneself, or committing suicide. A natural death would be by natural causes such as dying of the Bright Plague, old age or being murdered. An honourable death however, would be dying during battle or from the wounds suffered during the battle. mor Avogaz sighed as he thought about his potentially honourable death.

"Druziak," mor Avogaz's thoughts were quickly dispersed at the mention of his first name. "Do you have any polish?"

mor Avogaz turned his head to the Orc sitting next to him, dressed in a light leather tunic, polishing his plate mail armour. His polish appeared to be all gone, as mor Avogaz nodded and handed him a small, tin case of solid yet slimy green paste. It smelled terrible, like rotting flesh, but it shined the armour so well.

"Thank you brother." The Orc murmured to mor Avogaz as he resume polishing his armour.

mor Avogaz resumed his boring chore of maintaining his equipment, finishing sharpening his Zaliskav before sheathing it and taking a look at his armour. Holding up his helmet, he could see the scratches and chips from countless battles with both the Demons of the Deep Woods and with other Orc Kingdoms. It had seen a lot of battle, and it would see one more today. It looked menacing, being painted maroon, dark green and white, to represent the kingdom mor Avogaz had come from, the Kingdom of Alyeriz. He set the veteran helmet down beside him and brought up his plate armour. Again, it was painted like his helmet and had also seen a ton of combat as well. Numerous scratches populated the front and the back of the plate armour as mor Avogaz smiled at this. He set it down and examined his greaves, shoulder guards and bracers. All of them had been shined already. Once mor Avogaz was in this set of armour, he would look menacing and demon-like.

The creaking of wood could be heard as a siege tower was being pieced together. It had to be made at a certain height in order to latch onto the Wall. Strategists had also recommended to put archers or Goblin skirmishers on top of the tower to provide cover for the troops when they ran from the very exposed walkway to the Wall. As mor Avogaz looked at the tower being put together by various cranes and engineers, he picked up his shield, a metallic and vicious looking thing, that Orc soldiers were taught to use as a second weapon thanks to the spike on the side.

"Comrades!" Someone shouted from the centre of the camp, catching mor Avogaz's attention as he looked over.

It was an Orc dressed in his full gear, holding a small piece of paper as he read off of it.

"Attention please for our Commander, Lord Ilazak Curikav!" The Orc spoke on the tops of his lungs before moving aside for a well-dressed Orc in expensive armour and a flowing, dark red and gold cape.

Ilazak Curikav, Lord of Jazurisk Castle, one of the Commanders selected by the High King of the Orcs. He was supposed to be good, and was eager to prove himself by being, in his words, "the first Orc in over one thousand years, to destroy a Man City". mor Avogaz barely knew his name however, and assumed that Curikav's eagerness would be the death of him. There had not been an Orc in the Realm of Man for over a thousand years because of the damn thing he was sieging right now. The Wall had claimed countless lives of Orcs and Commanders looking to prove themselves to their Kings, or in this case, the High King of the Orcs.

"Comrades! Brothers! Friends and trusted advisers! Today is the last day of peace! It has been so long ever since we've attacked this damned place!" Curikav was met with a few cheers, but mainly silence as the troops were still exhausted from the march. "Tomorrow, at dawn, we attack the Wall and the shits behind it! We will attack with ferocity and break through! They're weak! Those fucking Pureskins are soft! Unprepared! And incapable of holding back a motivated assault! We will be the first ones to break through! As a reward for this, I promise that the first city we raze to the fucking ground, all riches and loot you take will be yours forever!"

An enormous cheer went up from the troops, as they began banging their shields and chanting the ancient battle chant of the Orcs, the Lazurig. Drouma! Drouma! Zakiav lor amurisak trooph! Drouma! Drouma! Vakirle gimaubalt dauriza mouriskket! As the troops continued this chant and the cadence, Curikav soon lifted his hands to silence the camp.

"These fuckers will try their best to stop you from gaining those riches! However, think of your families, your wife, your children! They will be proud of you for giving them new land and to escape the hostile land of the North!" Curikav looked at each Orc, making eye contact with them as he spoke. "We will never have to cross the Deep Woods, we will have slaves for years from the men you take prisoner! Remember this when you step onto the wall, remember this when you break down that gate, remember this when you push your sword into a human's chest! You repeat the Lazurig forever!"

[Sasutary Island]

Hawk's Peak, The Wall
Ranger-Sergeant Kenneth of Packard
Kenneth was looking across the vast expanse of flat, open space that stretched for kilometers. The wind was chilly atop the wall, and Kenneth had to curl his arms around his cape to keep himself warm, his family's Greatsword, Valiance, was sitting idlely on a rack to his left, while to his right the guardsmen and archers stood sentineled on the walls, eyes peeled for any incursions. He grew tired of the chill, and made his way down the flights of stairs to get a snack from the messhall. Lugging his sword over his shoulders, he made the slow climb down the wall for the 3rd time that day. Indeed lugging around a piece of iron for the whole day would be tiring, but Kenneth simply could not trust anyone else with his piece of the family, the only thing he actually inherited. Finally reaching solid ground, he made his way to the barracks where he opened his chest, taking out his flat-topped helm and hanging it around his neck. Grabbing a loaf of bread, he made his way to the courtyard to see the men train. He sat on a bale of hay in the middle of the courtyard, propping Valiance against his shoulder, tearing off a piece of bread bit by bit watching the soldiers do their work. He saw Bestian, doing as he always does. Watching Bestian continuously push the boys onto the floor conjured feelings of both pity and amusement; it reminded him of his father Bruce, when Kenneth was still a young lad, always pushing Kenneth to do his best before throwing him in the mud for the 6th time that week.

Kenneth had finished his loaf of bread already, and stood up and dragged his sword behind him to a practice post; basically a thick log propped up to train on. He picked up his sword with both arms, and moved his arms from left to right, putting in abit of energy and letting the weight do the rest. The greatsword bit deeply into the trunk, and he once again readied for another strike, this time from the right. Again, it bit the trunk deep, and it took the strength of Kenneth and another guard to dislodge the sword from the post. He took a final posture; left foot forward, sword behind the shoulders, and it took a hard swing to bring to bare the edge of the sword over his head and into the wooden post. He finished his practice, and took a seat once more in the middle of the courtyard, staring intently at his fellow Ranger Bestian drilling the recruits. He took a piece of cloth from the stack of hay, wiping the tree sap and splinters off the blade. Applying abit of elbow grease, the Valiance looked good as new.
Out from the corner of his eye, he saw a man named Ariskov coming down the stairs, a man who had served maybe 3 years or so, though Kenneth thought no more about him.

[Beiarusia]

Aren
the Western Forest

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Aren had been gone for over a day now. Not that this was anything new, or surprising for that matter, and if she could justify it she would be gone for the next day as well and maybe the day after that depending, she having little desire to head back to the wee village that was now her home, a tiny stain of man in the forest whose few people could only passably tolerate the foreign born girl. Truth be told Aren was eager to leave, to march onwards to bigger and more exciting things, but alas her journey had come to an abrupt and surprising end what with the massive wall blocking her path, an odd structure that the villagers had repeatedly warned her to leave be. Not that she listened, but after nearly being skewered by an arrow the girl had given the place a wide berth. Of course, it was fun to watch from time to time, planning on how to get around and fantasizing on what must lay beyond the high walls of stone and steel. She wanted to see if only because it was denied her.

So while Aren would often spend hours gazing upon the wall today was not one such day. She had chosen instead to head north, in search of a blue flower that was useful as a painkiller. They were quite common in the east where Aren was from, seeming to prefer the loosely packed wood over the dense forest of the west, and though the girl had seen the plant it was often an out-of-the-way trek to gather them. She only bothered now because her supply had run thin, and given her penchant for accidental self harm it was a nice herb to keep on hand.

The girl had set out the day before, carrying her usual supplies and nothing else, thinking that to take more would only slow her down. Not that she needed much in the way of tools. Her bone knife would cut anything that needed to be cut and her pickaroon had all sorts of uses, whether it be to help in her climbing or to bash a pesky animal. Of course she had failed to pack enough food and had eaten in all after only the first night, meaning that she was now hiking on an empty stomach. There had been a berry bush a little ways back but the sickly blue fruit had been unappetizing and did little to fill her, so Aren contemplated killing a squirrel or a rabbit. Sadly she wasn’t much of a hunter and would rather not run about the forest like a fool chasing her dinner, and though she could maybe set a snare she was too impatient to wait longer than a few minutes. It would be so much better if she could simply smack a rabbit with a stick and be done with it. An unlikely scenario.

She was thinking that maybe she would have to turn back for the village when she heard the noise. A clank, clank, clank not unlike metal hitting metal, a strange sound to be hearing this far in the wood for sure. People, perhaps? But only those from the wall used metal as liberally as this sound did, and they had little reason to venture this far in.

Curious, Aren decided to stick around to see who and why they were here, but unwilling to risk an arrow to the gut she decided it best to hide where she wouldn’t be seen. Using her pickaroon she jumped up as high as she could against a large oak, embedding the tip of the tool into the bark just enough to catch and using it as leverage to reach the lowest branches. It was then a matter of climbing up a bit higher until she was out of sight. Going still, she trained her ears and listened as the metal clanking moved ever closer, joined now by the snap of twigs and voices that spoke a language she couldn’t quite understand.

And then she saw them. Men but not men. Monstrous beings in human guise, large and with sharp fangs, lightly armored and armed with a terrible looking blade. Aren had never seen such a thing in her life but even she knew it best to remain quiet. To be seen may well mean death, and the thought of dying was not a pleasant one. By chance the things (orcs) did not see her, too busy scanning the foliage around them to notice the girl right above their heads. Scouts. Finding nothing they continued on, speaking in their strange tongue as they went.

That was when the girl’s stomach rumbled.

One of the beastmen came to a stop, looking back with what could maybe pass for confusion on his twisted face. The other three soon joined him in looking back, but after a moment barked some order and they all left without another glance.

Aren released the breath that she had been holding. Too close. Still, she was curious as to what the things were and where they were going. West where only the wall was. Maybe they planned to get through, or maybe they were from the other side and returning home? It couldn’t hurt to follow them. If they had a way around the wall then she wanted to know. Giving them a long moment’s head start, the girl adjusted her rabbit cowl and dropped down from the tree, following after on light steps.

What did she have to lose?

[Ubaria]

Lancer Caelia Bellegarde
Hawk's Peak - The Wall
Dawn's Light

"Ouch" Caelia hissed to herself and sucked on the tip of her finger to prevent the ensuing flow of blood from trickling down her hand. There were probably more efficient was to test the sharpness of an arrowhead than pricking your own finger on it, but strawmen and wooden boards didn't represent the same fleshy target that a human, or indeed an Orc was made of. With the last arrow in the batch tested, she replaced them all into her leather and fabric belt quiver and tied the loose top to prevent them falling out, but continued to sit on the woodchopping block that had become her seat for the morning, observing the soldiers of the order conduct their training. A rather grizzly looking gentlemen shouted the living hell into some recruits over the far end of the yard, somebody slashed at a strawman dummy with an exotic looking polearm and slightly closer, on the archery range, a fellow marksman thwacked off some arrows at nearby targets on the range.

The morning was cold, which was infact the norm here at this particular section of the wall. Caelia's pale hands were even more so whilst exposed to the bitter morning breeze, she wasn't quite accustomed to the kind of climate here yet, preferring the warm, almost damp atmosphere that inner cities offered, it was something she would have to adjust to with time.

[Great Confederacy of Commonwealth States]

A day’s journey East of the Wall
Wilderness
Autumn, 591 AU

“Does he always do this?” the lancer asked his buddy, a ranger, who sat on a tree stump to the right of him. He leaned in to get closer, but he didn’t keep his eyes from the leader of their little three-man band. The bearded hunter sat kneeled against a tree, his right hand resting on the bark, his head turned down towards the earth. The ranger put his teeth into a piece of hard bread, which the bakers of the fort made from whatever little resources they had. He chewed away at the nigh-brick crust, now too looking up at the kneeled man. He pulled up his shoudlers.

“I dunno. Never traveled much with the old Hunter. I heard stories, though. They say he keeps faith with the old Woodsman traditions.” He said, pulling another piece from the tasteless Order bread.

“He’s a Woodsman?” the lancer asked in disbelief. “I thought those barbarians didn’t leave their forests for hell or high water. Should… should we trust him?” he whispered, putting a hand on the blade he carried on his hip. The ranger looked down with a bit of contempt, before putting the bread back into his packing. He slid down from the tree stump and took up a rather comfortable position against a mossy rock, like he was sitting in some high-quality chair.

“Well, look at it this way” he ranger said. It was clear the lancer didn’t know much about the wild yet.

“East of the wall, you can do two things. You can either trust your guide, or put your trust in with the Clanckers. And one of those will definitely slit your throat if you give them the chance, better to trust the one pointing his sword in the same direction” he finished, closing his eyes and allowing the setting sun to brush past his face.

“Besides… If any of the stories I’ve heard are true, you won’t be taking him by surprise now” he remarked, pulling his hair away from his face.

The lancer looked at him with a questioning face, but it soon became clear to him what the ranger had meant. To his horror, the Woodsman stood up from his hunched position, and came walking straight at them. His pace was soft, and he looked around a lot.

“Ranger William is right, lancer” the hunter said in his normal, mellow voice.

“You talk so loud that this forest will remember your words for a long time. Try to keep it down next time”

The lancer stood up, and made a small bow. “y… yes, sir. As you command”. His voice was broken up, trembling a bit. He was, of course, used to the sergeants of the Order, who could have men hanged for less. The ranger smirked, his eyes not opening once.

“William” Erkenbrand said, standing still in the middle of the mud road. The ranger stood up, and came to stand beside Erkenbrand on the muddy track that they’d found. The mud was trampled, various footsteps could be made out from the many smears and smudges. On the eastern side, the road lead into the forest. On the western side, the road wound around hills and rivers. It was one of the ways leading back to the wall and the gate, they knew. William observed this for a moment, and then looked aside towards the hunter.

“Hmmm… What do you think? Order patrol?”

Erkenbrand shook his head. He leaned down on his knee, observing the road closer.

“No, no, there were no patrols going by this road today. Anyway, the tracks are too deep. See, the way each footstep slides just a bit into the centre of the road? They were carrying something on their shoulders, in pairs. The Order doesn’t carry like that.”

William now too fell to one knee. Mud sprayed every which way as the two men huddled down. The lancer looked at them with a strange glare. He had never seen men give so much attention to footprints in the mud.

“Orcs do, however” Erkenbrand continued. This was an Orc patrol. An Orc hunter patrol, guessing by what they were carrying. It left a small trail of blood here and there, with every bump in the road.”

Erkenbrand stood up and walked back to his pack, which he had placed against a tree. He flung it behind his back, and gestured towards William and the lancer to do the same.

“Hunting party’s been cancelled. Tell your quartermasters I said you earned the pay for the entire week. We’re going back to the fort.”

The lancer sighed of relief. He’d volunteered for the week-long expedition because of some gambling debts he’d acquired back in the fort. Now, he didn’t have to spend the week away from the warmed sleeping barracks in the fort. William, however, who’d looked forward to a week of hunting and seeing a troll for the first time, objected.

“Erkenbrand, come on!” he nearly shouted.

“One Orc patrol is nothing the Order hasn’t dealt with before. They’re probably a mile away by now.”

Erkenbrand, at first, didn’t appear to respond. He put his ear against the ground, brushing his hands through the grass that grew all over the forest’s edge. Then, he sprang up again, sniffed three times, and then began walking westward, back to the fort.

“You would be right, William. You would certainly be right” the hunter said, walking at a quite brisk pace.

“But after the rain washed away all other tracks, this place was visited by TWO patrols, not one. And the last rains were a mere hour ago. Something made the Orcs patrol this one road twice in an hour’s time, and I’m not waiting to see what that was for. If we’re lucky, we’ll find out once we get back. Now, we’re going back.”

William planned to protest, but then he looked down at the road. At first, he saw nothing. Just tracks, like they’d seen countless times. Then, as he looked closer, his heart stopped. Beneath the footprints on top appeared another set, nearly trampled away by the second pair. In that moment, he saw Erkenbrand was right. Quick as the Northern Winds, he jumped towards his own pack, throwing it on his back with ease. He gestured at the lancer.

“Come on, the Woodsman is right. Let’s go.”

And so, the three men began their haphazard journey back to the fort, hoping to reach the Wall before the Orcs caught on to their scent.

[Ontorisa]

Hawk's Peak, the Wall
Autumn, 591 AU
Tomas Ariskov

The wafting smell of meat, vegetables in a soup could be smelled from across the congested fort, Ariskov noted as he walked down the staircase. Bestian was busy at work with the recruits that Mallos managed to get to the Wall while a few of the Lancers were busy either talking, practising or training recruits. Ariskov had bigger things on his mind however, he had to organize the defence as soon as possible, as per were Hemmis' unspoken orders. He would announce the effort for the defence at lunch, but he had to get the influential members of the garrison in on it.

Coming down the stairs, Ariskov lifted his head from thought and saw Ranger-Sergeant Kenneth, and met his gaze. Ariskov walked over to the grizzled veteran of the Order and stood beside him.

"Hemmis has informed me about a large Clanker force not too far away from here." Ariskov looked over at Kenneth. "He wants me to announce it, but first I want to meet with all of the officers of Hawk's Peak to make sure we're all on the same page. Make sure the Rangers get the message?"

[House of Judah]

Orc War Camp
Autum, 591 AU
Bleddyn

Bleddyn knelt in the wood just beyond the orc encampment. His brow furrowed in his hatred as the orcs chanted their infernal mantra. His hand gripped his dagger tightly. Part of him wanted to chew one of the mushrooms that induced the berserker rage, take his sword and carve a bloody path through the orcs. Though he was filled with hate, he still wasn’t a fool. The orcs numbered a thousand and again. Even with the berserk he would be cut down before he managed to make even the slightest dent in their host.

Ilazak Curikav. The name had little enough meaning to him, though he recognized the mark on his shield from his wandering six years ago. Perhaps the commander could do more with the information. Bleddyn turned and began sneaking back into the wilderness.

“Great Elk, grant me your swiftness.” He began running through the wood. After several feet he dove forward and his shape began to change. His hands and feet became hooves, his clothes receding into fur, his face elongated, his head sprouted antlers. He landed in the form of an elk and began his high speed run back to Hawk’s Peak.

---

Hawk's Peak

Not far from the Wall, Bleddyn reared up onto his rear hooves. His form melted back into that of a man. He came out of the wood and strode out onto the road. He jogged the rest of the way to Hawk’s Peak and quickly made his way into the keep.

“Tomas, Kenneth,” he called to the other rangers. He strode up to the men quickly. “Where is Commander Hemmis?” He demanded. “I must speak with him at once.”

[Ontorisa]

Near the Wall
Burning Leaves, 591 AU
Druziak mor Avogaz

In the distance, the Wall was barely visible as mor Avogaz stood in his gear. Part of one of the scouting patrols sent out by Curikav, it had been a relatively uneventful patrol. Nothing out of the ordinary except for seeing a few Wild Men, some of whom were stupid enough to try and intimidate the Orcs before being scared off. The patrol of six Orcs watched as a few of the Order men stepped outside and continued to spar, outside of the Wall. What was preventing the patrol from rushing in, slaughtering them and then retreating was the number of archers on the wall.

There was at least seven archers on that section of the Wall. The lead Orc of the patrol, Jaruzav, raised his lip at this and looked back. They all knew what this meant, they were returning with information Jaruzav thought was important. As they began marching away, the Orcs instinctively drew their Zaliskavs as they entered the forest. The first few minutes on their way back to camp were uneventful as the Orcs talked, very quietly, but talked to take their minds off of the day tomorrow.

Then the unthinkable. A crude arrow could be seen, entering the neck of one of the Orcs, between his helmet and his plate armour. He collapsed, gurgling as the other Orcs readied themselves. Wild Men.

"Locusta maur ksia! Dauer! Dauer!" A battle cry of the Wild Men could be heard as a pack of them rushed out, wielding primitive axes and swords as the rushed the Orcs from all around.

"Hold! Hold!" Jaruzav shouted over the chaos of the battle cry as he brought his Zaliskav down on the shoulder of one of the charging Wild Men.

The man screamed as Jaruzav kicked him, seeing the vicious sword rip out from the shoulder. As the Wild Men drew nearer, the training of the Orcs kicked in as they began hacking and slashing away at the Wild Men. mor Avogaz himself knew what needed to be done. One of the men drew near, sprinting forward with ferocity and with his axe held high as he brought it down, only to be met with mor Avogaz's shield. Confused, the man hit the shield again before mor Avogaz brought the shield up, flung the axe away and brought his sword upwards, catching the man's lower torso, before ripping it back. The man collapsed, already dying.

"Vaiskale! Brusiak djeka vitue!" The Wild Men charged again, only being met by the cold iron of the Orcs.

An arrow flew by, bouncing almost harmlessly off of the armour of one of the Orcs as another few of the Wild Men were cut down by the Orcs. Another man came in, almost throwing himself into mor Avogaz, while swinging wildly. Parrying one of his strikes, mor Avogaz broke past the man's defence, kicked him in the inside thigh, forcing him down, before bringing the spike of his shield into the man's neck, twisting it before bringing it out. After this, the number of casualties the Wild Men had suffered was too much, and they fled back into the forest, leaving their dead. mor Avogaz looked around, as a few of the Wild Men lied dead, scattered either in a ditch or on the side of the road. The Orc who had been shot with the arrow however, laid lifeless, a pool of black blood already forming around his neck as Jaruzav grunted, motioning for one of the Orcs to pick him up.

He would be burned, as were the commands of the Gods.

---

Hawk's Peak, the Wall
Autumn, 591 AU
Tomas Ariskov

“Tomas, Kenneth, Where is Commander Hemmis? I must speak with him at once.”

Ariskov lifted his gaze to look at the Totem, who appeared to sound cockier than a noble bragging about his swordfighting skills to a woman. Shaking his head, Ariskov stepped forward towards the Totem. Bleddyn, or whatever his name was, seemed dead set on making a name for himself in the Order. Of course, the entire garrison of Hawk's Peak knew him as more of a troublemaker, a tribal and an outsider than a true member of the Order.

"Come on, I know what you're about to tell him Totem." Ariskov said, looking the Totem up and down. "You're gonna be talking about those Clankers aren't ya?"

[Aqizithiuda]

Hawk's Peak, the Wall
Autumn, 591 AU
Éanwulf Swarting, aka Ísenburg Æthelwulfing

Ísenburg stepped back from the dummy, breathing hard and sweat stinging her eyes. She'd one many victories over her imaginary opponents, all who had her father's face, not loosing a single one. That, of course, was what her father would say the entire purpose of the exercise was: to drill a series of potential attacks based on circumstance so that, when a real world circumstance presented itself, your body automatically made the right attack. Combat was less about thinking of clever strategies and more about instinct and stamina. In a real fight, he had drilled into her and she had later learned, you don't have any time to think, only act.

Deciding to have a proper rest, not just a brief pause in her drill, Ísenburg vacated the dummy so that others could have a turn at it if they wanted and began to remove her helmet and coif. The liner stitched to the coif was soaked with her sweat and felt clammy and unpleasant, so she turned the coif inside out and stuck it on a post while she rested. There was a water barrel nearby, with wooden cups for those training to use, so she poured herself a cup using the dipper and gulped it down, refilled the cup, downed that and then filled a third. She'd never been one for sipping. The third cup, though, she don't toss down her throat, but took back to where her coif and helmet were so she could nurse it while watching the others dueling with straw men. It was always interesting to watch the others and see if they had any tricks she herself didn't.

[Beiarusia]

Aren
the Western Forest

---

Little more than a day had gone by since Aren’s departure to find the blue flowers but the girl hadn’t actually managed to get terribly far, having been too preoccupied to follow a path at any reasonable pace. In fact she was rather close to the Wall when she came across the Orcs and had only followed them closer to the monolithic structure since. Cautious of the strange beastmen, Aren had kept her distance and, at one point, lost their trail. She searched for a little while longer and was about to give up when she heard the distant screams of battle. A dismally short battle. Common sense would steer Aren away from such a site but her curiosity was too strong to be ignored, and so she picked her way through the underbrush towards where the noise had been heard, nearly exposing herself to the Orcs as they marched back from whence they came with one of their own dead as a log. Aren had only just managed to hide away. She was again tempted to follow but the Orcs were heading back into the forest, and she’d much rather see what the commotion had been about. It didn’t take her long to find the bodies. Several men, tribals, slaughtered in a terrible fashion. She recognized one from a neighboring village but held little empathy for the corpses, even contemplating as to whether or not to loot their goods, reasoning that they no longer held need for any earthly possessions, but ultimately decided against it when she saw nothing of use. Not even a snack to be had. Moving on Aren soon caught sight of the Wall.

“Maybe ya not from o’er there,” she mumbled to herself in regards to the Orcs, no longer thinking them to be from beyond the Wall. A sigh escaped her. She had briefly hoped that maybe she would find a way through. Not today it would seem.

Hungry, and no longer eager to search for the flowers, Aren decided it best to head home for the night. The little village was only a few hours walk from here and she had more than enough food in her hovel for a nice dinner. Rabbit. One of her favorites even if they were a pain to catch. Aren offered one more glance to the Wall and was soon on her way, pausing only when she thought a deer had passed her – and whether or not it would make a better meal than the rabbit. Leaving it be she pressed onwards to home.

[The Grand Duchy Of Nova Capile]

Hawk's Peak, The Wall
Sven drained the last of the ale from his mug and banged it down on the wooden table. Sighing deeply, he wiped his mouth with his hand and sprinkled a few silver coins on the table. Standing up, Sven left the cramped wooden building and shivered quietly as he stepped out into the crisp, cold afternoon. Drawing his wolf pelt tight around him, Sven rushed through the cold and into his barracks, drawing aside a crude wooden chair and sprawling back in it. A few other men were also in the room; they looked at him curiously, but Sven ignored them. Lifting his feet onto the rickety three legged table in front of him, Sven threw a leather pouch onto it and ripped it open eagerly. Inside was a thick purse, containing a small part of Sven's fortune; the rest he had left in a safe place.

He reached inside and drew out a soft roll. He still had a few treats from the town he had last visited before joining the Order. Ripping open the soft delicacy, Sven ate bits of bread and thought. He had joined the Order of the Stag just two weeks ago, and already he was sick of the bitter conditions. The cold did not bother him; but he was sick of being bottled up in cramped quarters with many different people he did and did not like- not friends he had chosen. Looking out of an arched window, Sven watched the wind ruffle the many trees in the wilderness as he stuffed the last chunk of bread into his mouth. But now at least he had something to fight for.

Shaking his head, he thought of the present. The Orcs were up to something, that was for sure. That was why Sven had been transferred to the Hawk's Peak, and why he would now have to get up and patrol the massive stone wall separating barbarity from civilization. He noticed that many of his new comrades got up early to train. Sven had been training almost every day for the past twenty years- as a mercenary, he had been pitted into combat almost constantly. But still, now that he was cooped up it might be a good practice to adopt. He also thought it was about time to make some friends. He still had an hour or so before his duty, so he heaved himself up and braved the cold to go to the training areas.

Walking into a room where several people were practicing with straw dummies, he picked up his halberd and walked up to one of the dummies. With quick movements he slashed at it, shoved it back with the pole of the weapon, and finally slammed the handle down on the dummy's neck before quickly taking out his short sword and stabbing it three times in the chest. He looked at his target; it was slumped over, with six gaping holes where straw was pouring out. Satisfied, he grinned and waited for another man with a polearm that he had noticed to finish training. As soon as he had, Sven walked over and stuck out his hand. "Fine work," he said with a heavy Northern accent. "Me name's Sven Fjerstad- a new recruit, but I can assure you I am no rookie."

[Relikai]

Viktor grabbed his swordstaff as he entered the final phase of his close-quarter training, halving the length of the weapon and being able to use it to fight off enemies coming from two sides or more. This way also allowed Viktor to shorten the length and be more mobile in battle, instead of only holding the weapon forward. Several slashes later, the dummy fell, as the lancer held his weapon with one hand, the other in a pose, ready to react. Although he uses a two-handed weapon, Viktor was trained to hold it with one, so his other arm could be utilized while he's limited to simple thrusts with the staff.

"Fine work," he said with a heavy Northern accent. "Me name's Sven Fjerstad- a new recruit, but I can assure you I am no rookie."

Viktor turned to the newcomer, planting his staff on the ground as he returned the salutation. "Viktor Rashford, of the Frontier. Good to see a veteran here, regardless of time served in the Order. I myself's a newcomer, and my combat experience's limited to slaying goblins and orcish patrols. No big battles or what. Your moves are not too bad yourself, you sure did establish your second claim with that halberd."

[SaintB]

For the better part of an hour as far as he reckoned hie drilled the new recruits, yelling, pushing, yanking them into position when his descriptions were not enough for the lugheads to understand. He had them in some semblance of a shield wall now at least, covering each other with their shields and holding their spears so that they could be properly thrust either over or under the shield. But they were just beginning and there was much for them to learn yet. Bestian grabbed another round shield off of the rack and after observing them closely for a few moments raised it in front of him in a two handed grip then let loose a war cry as he charged right toward them! The three recruits had no idea what to do and they faltered, startled, and lost cohesion as the heavy man plowed straight into their formation forcing one to the ground while the other tripped and fell, the third lost hold of his spear and dropped it point first into the ground. "Come on lads! That wasn't even full strength! An orc, or even a fucking goblin would hit you harder than that! I could randomly pick three auxiliaries and they wouldn't put up such a shameful display. Pick your asses up!"

Bestian discarded his shield and waited for the three recruits to get back into some semblance of order before he started again, given each one some individual attention, "You! You're holding the spear too hard; you'll make your hand sore and tired that way, loosen your grip a bit, enough to keep it from sliding but not so tight that you are pushing the blood from your fingers! Your hand and arm get tired you cant fight as well and you'll start fumbling with your weapon- then you are a dead man!"

"And now you!" he said pointing at the man in the center he had bowled over, "Shield up NOW!"

The man responded quickly to his credit but he had his shield up all wrong with his arm bracing against the back. Bestian shoved the shield's upper rim and pushed it right into the recruit's face causing a bloody lip. Before they could call out he was lecturing, "You hold that shield with your fist, not balance it against your arm like some kind of metal kite shield used by a fancy pantalooned noble blueblood! What if I had hit your shield with a mace? It would break your fucking forearm! A large orc can drive the spike on their zaliskav right through that wood and leather barrier and if you have that arm there it'll go right through you too! You hold it like this, out in front of you, one fist! There you go!"

After shoving against the top, bottom, and sides of the shield a few more times he was satisfied, "Don't do that again son!"

Finally he came to the third one, "And you, pick up your spear! Stab me with it!"

The recruit tried to say something against it but Bestian didn't even listen to his plee, "I said stab me!"

"Clean that thing off first! If I get gangrene from you I'll take you with me I swear!" he growled at them.

After cleaning he spear off he offered a half assed attempt on his sergeant's life that Bestain just batted away. After a few more heartless pokes that were batted away and some abuse hurled his way the recruit finally gave a real thrust at the man, aiming for his leg and was very much surprised when Bestian grabbed the weapon just behind the tip and pulled as hard as he could, bringing the spearman down to the ground, "You keep projecting your attacks. You'd do well to not do that in the future."

He let the recruit get back to his feet and in line with his mates before he said anything more, "I'm sick of looking at you! Go get some water and put those weapons away, I can't trust you not to stab yourselves without my supervision."

He had spied Ariskov and Kenneth watching him drill the new recruits and talking among themselves so decided to join his comrades at arms for a moment. "Morning boys.I didn't rough those kids up too much... today."

[The Grand Duchy Of Nova Capile]

(OOC: I'm not sure if this is bad or anything, but I'm going to write several hours later in this post so that I don't just post one paragraph. But the conversation with Viktor is still going on- I just needed something else to write about.)
IC:

Training Grounds
Sven smiled as he was introduced to someone he thought he could get along with. Viktor seemed like a good, hardy man. Someone who could hold his own in combat, who had strong values, and would be loyal to his friends. Thus he was eager to make conversation with him. "Thank you. I've been a mercenary for, about twenty years now. Takes a toll on you, but certainly makes you good with weapons," he said, setting his own halberd against the wooden wall. "So, what do you think of the Order so far?" Sven asked quietly, interested in another point of view. He supposed it wasn't bad. But he hated being cooped up with almost nothing to do. Combat had better be worth it, if it even ever did happen. Sven also thought of the time- as soon as they were finished talking, he had to get up to the Wall, or he might receive his first punishment as a member of the Order.

Hawk's Peak, The Wall
Two Hours Later

Sven squinted his eyes to look out into the vast expanse of wilderness seemingly stretching from one end of the world to the other. Who know's what could be out there. Orcs, goblins, wildmen, they did not scare Sven. But the unknown- the legends about creatures deep within those forests. They were different. "You think them clankers will attack soon?" a young auxiliary sitting on a wooden bench next to Sven asked. Snapping himself away from the strangely beautiful landscape, he answered. "Should be any day now. They have to be getting restless, and those contraptions the scouts say they're building have to be near finished," he said, watching the scrawny peasant boy sharpen the point of his spear. "I sure hope so," he said, smearing polish over his weapon.

"Son, men like you don't wish for war. War is no place for boys," Sven said. The boy looked up, indignant. "Excuse me? I am hardly a boy. The Order thought me-" the auxiliary started to say, but Sven cut him off. "The Order needs everyone they can get. But when the attack comes, it will be a massacre of those like you. And so I advise you to get yourself drunk and passed out when this battle comes, lest you join the pile of corpses." The boy stood up and smirked haughtily. "I will be at the front lines, bravely defending my home!" he said, before promptly walking away. Sven shook his head sadly. The Order might have drummed up a mighty force, but he had a feeling most of them would not fare well against the Orcish slaughter.

[Relikai]

"The Order?" Viktor replied as he turned to see a Ranger screwing the shit out of three other recruits. They do not need the Ranger... even Viktor was sure a blunt quarterstaff in his hands would be too much for them to handle. It was hardly overconfidence in his part, for should Viktor fight with an intent to drive a lesson to his partners, only those with genuine combat experience could stop him and his bag of tricks.

"Well, the Order yells and screams behind the Wall, and stands as a silent guardian on top of it. Apart from... no currency... no pay... I'm waiting for my first fight here, my debut battle in the Order. They say that the Order fights bigger battles than the militia at the frontier, that they soak the brunt of the attack, leaving only stragglers to create trouble in the countryside, nothing a group of militia or patrol can't handle. The big fights, on the big Wall."

If there were pay, Viktor sure could enjoy his time when not training or fighting. A certain barmaid has caught his eye, and surely the night they spent together before he formally joined the Order was one to remember. Sadly, he hasn't had time to visit her, although he does plan on going over soon. The inn was hardly a day's walk away, a horse would make things much more convenient.

[Ontorisa]

Hawk's Peak, the Wall
Autumn, 591 AU
Tomas Ariskov

Ariskov looked over as Bestian knocked over one of the last recruits as he chuckled to himself. Classy and classic as always, no wonder why Hemmis had so much confidence in the ranger training the recruits. As Bestian had enough with them, he walked over, appearing to almost smile as he spoke. A bit of a hardass, nothing out of the ordinary there. Ariskov thought to himself as he turned to face the incoming ranger.

"Morning boys.I didn't rough those kids up too much... today."

"You kiss your mother with that mouth?" Ariskov chuckled with a joke as Bestian joined the group. "You hear about the Clanker force out there? Hemmis wants me to make an announcement at lunch about it."

[SaintB]

Hawk's Peak, the Wall
Autumn, 591 AU
Tomas Ariskov

Ariskov looked over as Bestian knocked over one of the last recruits as he chuckled to himself. Classy and classic as always, no wonder why Hemmis had so much confidence in the ranger training the recruits. As Bestian had enough with them, he walked over, appearing to almost smile as he spoke. A bit of a hardass, nothing out of the ordinary there. Ariskov thought to himself as he turned to face the incoming ranger.

"Morning boys.I didn't rough those kids up too much... today."

"You kiss your mother with that mouth?" Ariskov chuckled with a joke as Bestian joined the group. "You hear about the Clanker force out there? Hemmis wants me to make an announcement at lunch about it."

"I never had the coin to kiss my mother!" he laughed when he said it though truthfully he had no memories of his mother being the sort to give her son a kiss.

At the mention of clankers Bestian got serious again and lowered his voice, "Nay. This'll be the first time I heard of it," his voice got much louder though as he turned his head so that his voice would carry across the courtyard, "I've been too busy trying to whip those farmboys into shape! You'd be proud of me, I haven't broken a single one of their bones yet!"

He turned back and winked at Ariskov, truth was he knew his strength quite well and had never seriously injured a recruit but if they were to ask any of the men he'd taught to fight and survive they'd happily regale them with stories of how he broke bones with impunity and that he must be getting soft. "So tell me about these clankers?" he said with his voice lowered enough for only the other two men to hear them.

[Ontorisa]

Hawk's Peak, the Wall
Autumn, 591 AU
Tomas Ariskov

"So tell me about these clankers?

"Hemmis informed me when I was just taking a look from the Wall up there that the scouting parties reported back with sightings of about 2,000 Clankers not far from here. They're gearing up for something major because they were building siege towers, catapults, ladders and even a ram." Ariskov dropped his voice low enough for the small group to hear him. "Then this fucking Totem over here comes back with the same news."

Ariskov shook his head, they were probably going to be forced to bring up every able Orderman, from Ranger to Auxiliary. A small scale raid required at least a quarter of the garrison, but a full blown siege like this probably needed the entire Order at its current strength to fend it off. What the Order needed was coordination, determination and the ability to fight and continue to fight for an extended period of time. They needed a strategy.

[The Olog-Hai]

Hawk's Peak, the Wall
Autumn, 591 AU
Fedelmid Brennus
Training Grounds
There were some conversations going on around him.
Smalltalk and pleasantries, those didn't interest him. Neither did the training of the recruits. Nevermind, he found that slightly funny. They were easily beaten by Bestian.
Ha. Those recruits wouldn't last a second against a real foe trying to kill them. They haven't know a fight for their lives. And they certainly haven't know what it's like to try to escape an impossible situation. No, those insane farmboys were volunteers. They volunteered to put their lives on the line, to die for the safety of others, for the safety of those who couldn't care less.
Meanwhile, he was forced to do that. Shamed and forced to come here because of his theft, he know a thing or two about the world. But so did the Order. Anytime he thought he saw an opening, he soon realized it was closed. He needed some way out of this hellish situation, some way to be a free man again. It was such an impossible situation!
He took out his anger on the dummies around him. Swinging his heavy axe with ease, he hewed the training dummies like he used to cut wood.

[House of Judah]

Hawk’s Peak, The Wall
Autumn, 591 AU
Bleddyn

Bleddyn lowly cursed at the insufferable man in his native tongue. The man considered himself civilized, above the men of the wilds. Tomas Ariskov was an accomplished soldier and leader of the men of the west, but the men of the west are weak and this captain of weak men saw his own ambition in every other person he met, particularly the other rangers. Bleddyn regularly reminded himself that despite how comparatively useless the man was, he did have the one redeeming quality: he was not just willing but eager to take the fight to the Orc.

“Yes, Tomas, I have come with news of the twice a thousand orc that march on this hold. In part I am surprised that the other scouts survived back here given how much noise they make as they move. They left long before I did, which may give reason to why I have names for the host’s commander and his lieutenants. Commander Hemmis has been at this for longer than either of us, and so I think it likely he will recognize some of the names and better form his strategy for defending this keep against a host that numbers more than the arrows we have to puncture the cursed orc with. Now where is he?”

[Greater Hudian Republic]

Heodan Eorforwyic.
Hawk's Peak, the Wall.
Autumn, 591 AU.

---

Heodan eagerly looked out of the window, the sun shining ever so brightly. It was his first day being a Lancer in the Order.

He had just visited his family a few days ago, taking what spare money his father had for him and what he needed for the Order. He arrived just yesterday, taking his time, traversing through the Wall, camping in bits - which had also put him in a fright. Last night he had seen a band of Orcs, or Clankers as they were known in the village. He carefully examined them. The band were tough and for a moment they even felt Heodan's presence - for a moment.

He rushed to Hawk's Peak in order to ensure his safety from the Orcs. Welcomed by the Order, he finally had comfortable rest - journeys were not exactly his thing. "I ought to speak to someone about this..." He remarked, wearing the leather armor given to him and taking his bow. Still tired from the journey, he stepped out to the training grounds, four targets already in his eyes. He looked around - no one¹. He quietly took out his bow. Slowly, very slowly he aimed.

A satisfying chuck sound came, the arrow smack in it's target.

"This time, faster." He whispered to him self, shooting at the other three targets as fast as he could. Two chucks. Curiously Heodan looked around. The third hit the wall, off from it's target. 1 target?! 1 TARGET?! Heodan's face turned red as he charged at the final target with his dagger. His rather... queer yelling would make others laugh. But what was funnier was his hitting. The dagger fell from his hand and the target unscathed. He sighed.

Heodan turned around, upset about his failure when he noticed Ísenburg, close to the barrel. Someone was looking. At all this. His face once more reddened.

"You... you saw all of that?"