The First Entanglement[IC][INVITEONLY][CLOSED]

[Alaunce]

Impulse

Vinalore spun beneath it, an opalescent droplet of water and green earth. Life had touched this place a long time ago. It knew Life well as one should know their sisterbrother, knew instinct and nature, and kept Life’s decisions in check. It was made of these things, decisions especially- spun from the fabric of desire and tempered by caution. It turned wanting into doing and seeing into screaming. It was Impulse, and it saw Vinalore spinning beneath it.

It saw Vinalore and it decided it wanted to be there, so it acted on itself and was there. As it fell, It wanted to look, and so it Looked. It saw the touch of life and the touch of fire. The fire burned bright in three tall towers. It called on its siblings and invoked their words of power, and said fire be still. Then the fire decided it was better to be still.

It saw the touch of life and the touch of water. A long and raging river blocked its path. It asked the river, why this way, and not another way? Why flow down? The river thought and then wanted, and was then weak to Impulse and decided. Then the river flowed up the mountain and towards the sky.

It crossed the dry river bank and saw a boy. The boy was touched by fear and sadness, and wanted revenge. The boy wanted revenge, and it made wanting into doing. The boy saw the river flowing upwards. It turned seeing into screaming.

It saw a city and decided. The city was tall and columnous and made of all white marblerock. It spoke the names of its siblings. Suddenly the city was tall and column-less and made all of white marblerock. It thought that suited the city better, and wanted to leave now. Its work was done. It left and went.

It saw a mountain filled with power. It saw a long and dark sleep, and decided. It sank down into the dark rock and the hot rock and the molten rock and slept. The mountain was quiet. It was quiet in the outside. It did not want to be quiet on the inside. It decided, and so it began to dream.

In its dreams it saw itself in the minds of mortal men, and decided.

[Loreford]

Children of Ethar Monastery, east Loreford

The two cloaked horsemen approached the rusted iron gates, which parted before them as a handful of novices scrambled in the mud to give way. Slowing to a trot, they dismounted and led the beasts to the monastery stables, where a novice awaited them. Leaving the horses in his care, the two figures returned to the central courtyard, briefly taking in the hilltop view – in the distance, the walls of the city of Corvus stood silhouetted against the rising sun.

“I’ve always wondered how these monks avoid the seasonal Alauncei raids,” one of the men mused.

“I'm told that their Vow of Poverty helps in that regard,” the other man, slightly taller, replied.

“Help them, yes,” the shorter of the two whispered. “Help those poor souls….?” His voice trailed off as he turned to gesture behind himself.

“That’s why we’re here. To make sure things are right.”

The two turned towards the aged abbey, covered in moss and missing several tiles on its roof. Compared to the decrepit wooden shack attached to the exterior of its eastern wall, it was in remarkable condition.

“Somehow I feel as if it’s gotten worse,” the shorter man said.

“Yes, last time it had a roof.”

The pair approached the discoloured mass of splintered timber. Its frame was bent at an angle, and if the structure had a roof, it would have been angled such that one of its edges scraped the dirt. In place of a roof, there was what appeared to be a tent – Loreford Army standard issue – stretched over the opening in the ceiling. No doubt a donation from a pious soldier. The only entrance to the shack had a portiere hung over the doorway – no door.

As they moved to the doorway, an aged, heavily bearded man dressed in a habit gently pulled the portiere to the side. He nodded a greeting: “High Constable. Field Marshal.” He waved them through.

“I must say, Father Abbot, the conditions could be better,” the shorter man said as he inspected the dusty rooms. A dozen or so bandaged individuals lay atop straw mattresses. “But then again, given the circumstances, it honestly would not matter.”

The shack was a hospice where those condemned to assured death whether by disease, injury, or the hand of gods, could spend their last remaining days under watch and care. As morbid as it was, there was no point in improving the facilities – these souls would not be alive long enough to enjoy them.

“Putting aside the Field Marshal’s careless words,” The taller man said with a deceptively neutral tone, “the Governor sent us, as usual, to make sure the care you are giving these people in their last remaining days on this world is…appropriate.”

The abbot nodded, and gestured the pair to follow him to the end of the hallway. “We try our best, but the sad truth is, the afflicted are doomed to die. Nothing we do can change that.” The abbot paused in front of a door – the only door in the shack. Muffled screams could be heard beyond the door. “But now, we have someone here who is doomed to live – if one could call such a wretched existence a life. We…we don’t know what we should do.”

The abbot pushed the flimsy wooden door open, and stepped to the side.

“By the gods…what is this?” the Field Marshal took an involuntary step back.

“Father Abbot…how long has this child been…?” the High Constable asked.

The Abbot hung his head. The boy in this room, no older than five, was in a sorry state. He was repeatedly flailing his arms and screaming at the top of his lungs, drooling.

“Demonic possession at such a young age?” the Field Marshal mused.

“This isn’t right. What kind of mother abandons her child to a place where people come to die?” the High Constable shook his head.

“Perhaps the alternative of raising this…child…was too painful to contemplate,” the Field Marshal replied.

The High Constable glanced about the room. It was evident that the monks intended to care for this boy for as long as needed – a ceiling hastily nailed together from boards hung over the room. A brazier stood in one corner. Perhaps the situation was not as bad as he feared.

“Thank you Father Abbot…we’ll be reporting back to the Governor now. I think things are…satisfactory here.” The Constable gestured to the Marshal to follow as he turned to leave.

“These monks don’t have the money for long term care,” the Field Marshal whispered as they entered the stables.

“They’re trying their best, Grannis. We can’t fault them for that.”

“Hmm.”

They rode off, heading for Corvus.

[Gogun]

Jing Ton was not a happy man.

He had been in the middle of haggling with group of Buddhist monks for the price of their accommodation when the sentry had brought the bad news. The man seemed incredibly shaken and had to be seated before he was able to string together a coherent sentence. When the man finally calmed down, the sentence he uttered brought a huge gasp of horror from the assembled nobles, magistrates and townsfolk.

Ton knew that he had to inform the Emperor, before the entire city was engulfed in fear.
He quickly reached the Emperor’s quarters where as usual, there were a crowd of his cast off concubines performing their dull daily strolls around the gardens. This time, however, they crowded around him begging for information on what had happened. It was quite impressive how quickly the gossip had spread, but Ton had no time for these women and quickly marched into the Emperor’s suite.

He found the Emperor lazing on his usual lounge surrounded by a pair of his newer concubines who were feeding him morsels of food as he played with their ornate hair.

“Your highness, there seems to be a problem…”

“Eh…? What is it Jing? I thought I told you to take care of the court today.”

Ton muttered something indiscernible under his breath before straightening to face the Emperor.

“The Yilum Torches have been extinguished my liege.”

“So what? Light them again.”

Your highness...it would be inauspicious to relight the torches until the New Year. If it is Yilum’s will to extinguish the flames, we should not invoke his fury.

“Are you truly daft Jing Ton? The Yilum torches are sentry towers that were used by the Great Generals not the sacred relics of a god.”

“Master Jiarun! Remember that your right to rule is granted by Yilum! If you lose the mandate of heaven, you will lose any claim to Gogun!”

Ton froze realising too late that he had been gripped by an unnatural moment of indiscretion.

“Guards! Please escort Marshall Jing back to the court.”

The two Redguards nodded curtly at the Emperor and then Ton gestured towards the exit. Giving an equally curt response, Ton marched brusquely towards the exit, only to be swarmed by the curious concubines once more. Ton waved them off absent-mindedly and quickly headed to the main courtroom with the same worry thought running constantly through his mind.

Why had the Torches been extinguished?

[Alaunce]

Eumen felt sick. Here he was, hiding in the stench of cow manure and wet straw and holding his breath, even as he could feel the heat of the fires that were burning all of his family to the ground. Even as he heard the screaming. He curled up and felt the heavy stone of cowardice sink into his stomach, pulling him deeper into the pile of straw and dung. He had hidden in the cattle pen when they came. In the distance, he could hear the bellows of panicked cows echoing. They had chased off the herd. Then the soft clip-clop of horse hooves drew nearer, and he could hear the triumpant shouting begin.

"Good work, Cordel!" said a happy voice, half-laughing, as if this were some big joke. If it was possible, Eumen shrunk even smaller at the sound of his uncle's name. "These rats never saw us coming."

The horse trotted closer.

"Any survivors, Marick?" Eumen's uncle had a much softer tone than the other man. It was all business and no joy. That was almost worse than the man who sounded happy as Eumen's family burned.

Again, the horse came closer. He held his breath. They were still talking- his uncle began to list off names. His father. Dead, said the loud man. His mother, the same. He clenched his eyes and his fists and tried to block out the sound, focusing on anything else- the smell of shit, the wet dew of the straw, the rocks digging into his back. The pain in his chest as his body told him to gasp for air, to breathe, to live. Then the slow drone of his uncle's voice started to dissolve into the air, and black crept into his vision, crawling up and blocking everything into black.

***

When he woke up, it was cold. The fires were gone. It was quiet. Eumen slowly pushed himself out of the refuse heap and looked around at the ashes. One or two lone horses had returned after the raiders had run them off, but no people. The tents were just skeletal frames of black burnt wooden frames, all the belongings scattered around at whim. The sky had already turned black, but the few coals of fire left lit everything up in eerie silhouettes. If Eumen didn't know what had just happened, he might have thought that everything was normal in the dim light.

What was he going to do? His tribe had been burned to the ground, and his uncle was- his uncle had helped that man. That man named Marick. Now he was in the wide reaches of the plains, without a horse, without food to eat. The herd had been chased off. Eumen began to walk towards his family's tent. As he reached the tattered remains of the flap, he almost started laughing. The tent had been burned down. Here he was, covered in shit and straw, and he was opting to use the entrance when the tent was falling apart and the frame had massive holes on every side.

Inside, the tent smelled like blood and smoke. There were no bodies, but the floor was spattered with red. The images flashed into his head, though he tried to force them out, push them down. Suddenly he was seeing his uncle standing in the doorway, his father in sleeping furs but holding his sword, eyes filled with the steel resolve of a dead man. His mother, frozen, halfway through digging in the floor for the chest- the chest!

Eumen ran over to the far side of the tent and brushed aside the cooking pot which had fallen there, and began to dig in the dirt. It had been untouched. The despair and knowledge of sure death which had filled him was suddenly overwhelmed by hope. His father kept the money and the map in the chest. If he could get to that town, that town where they used to stop and trade their furs and cheeses- he could survive. He knew people there. If only he could see a landmark, something he knew.

Eumen's frantic scrabbling soon rewarded him. A satisfying wooden grain was revealed a few centimeters under the ground. Slowly, Eumen excavated around the sides, scratching away at the packed earth until the tips of his fingers started to bleed and blood mingled into the dirt.
At last the earth gave way, and the chest pulled up and out of the ground.

Reverently, Eumen tipped the cover over and opened the box. Inside laid several things- the cloth map folded on top, which had cost his father a fortune once upon a time, glinting gold and silver coins, long strands of jewelry and beads, chains, pendants. A necklace with small bone carvings. He took the cloth out and quickly ran outside where the last few burning embers flickered, and traced the tiny dotted line of stitching his mother had sewn into the map. Up along the saddle and into the foothills, onto the steppe plains, along the wide expanse, following the river all the way to the town named Coran. Eumen knew where the river was. He could follow the river up to the town. He could survive.

He let out a sigh, and as if he had expelled all the anger and fear and disaster of the daytime in that breath, he could feel his energy begin to wane away. He put the cloth back into the box, and lay down in the ruined tent, and slept.

[Loreford]

Governor's Palace, Corvus, East Loreford

"Hmm. And this child concerns you does he?"

The High Constable nodded. "Yes, Your Excellency."

"Understandable. But you need to trust the monks to do what is needed. Your duties lie elsewhere." Governor Samael rose from his seat. "You should return to the barracks and get some rest. You'll set out tomorrow at dawn."

"Sir?" the Constable asked, perplexed.

"Rumours say that the Ruverd river has shot into the sky. While I'm not one to fancy heathen Alauncei tales, this could prove interesting."

"So why send me?"

"Because I know you will report back the truth and only the truth," the Governor said, walking past him. "As for the command of the Provincial Army, your trusted deputy Grannis will fill that gap while you are gone. Details will be supplied come the morrow."

The Constable sighed as the door closed behind him. A trek into the Alauncei steppes was not something at the top of his agenda. Field Marshal Grannis patted him on the shoulder. "Good luck, my friend."

"Seems running errands is all I'm good for these days."

"I wouldn't say that. You also make an excellent training dummy."

Shaking his head, the Constable turned for the door. "A week-long journey into heathen barbarian lands. It is bound to be a learning experience, that's for sure."

"I'm just glad that I won't have someone breathing down my neck every five seconds," Grannis said.

"Burn in hell, Grannis."

"You've got to lighten up Lazarus. What say we visit the Flying Cow on the way?"

"Grannis, the regulations say that -"

"To hell with the regulations! You're the commanding officer aren't you? You can get away with a few lapses in judgement! Who's going to stop you? The Governor sure as hell doesn't care."

Shaking his head, High Constable Lazarus headed for the city barracks.

[Chromire]

Northern Chromire, Mouth of the Chorus River

In another world, the dripping of stalactites would have been the essence of time itself, a veritable thing of beauty. Here though, it betrayed yet another wet season about to descend upon Prece. The northern province had never cared much for the tilled land of the east. Neither for the holes they dug in the Covstell mountains to garner diamonds in the rough. Prece was a political hub, a place of learning.

A girl sat, weary, upon the rocks as she stared out to the Schisma Ocean, catching her breath after the shock. Today was a day like no other, because, for the first time in her life, the rockpools were bubbling. They were always warm during the wet season, but never simmering. As she rose from her rock, she trudged back to the village, surprise planted firmly on her face.

Not turning back, the girl failed to notice the caves glistening with the tears of the clouds, murky and drear, before splashing into rockpools, crystalline and iridescent.

[Gogun]

Mira climbed the steps quickly, taking two at a time in order to reach the peak of the spire quicker. The tale of the suddenly extinguished fires had piqued her interest. It was a welcome distraction from the dull drudgery of everyday court life and also helped her escape from the constant gaze of Jirue, the head concubine.

"I'm sorry sir! I don't know why the fire went out. We tried everything. We blew more air and shielded the flame but it just continued to flicker and then it died.

"Are you sure the lumber wasn't wet? Did it have any moss or something that might have smothered the flame?"

Mira peered cautiously around the wall. The guard room at the top of the spire seemed quite foreign now, without the enormous fire that usually burned in the center. There was still the small table on the edge of the room on which several hands of cards had been dumped hastily. The Marshall continued to inspect the large iron brazier to determine if there was some reason for the flames to be extinguished. One of the three other guardsman noticed her and waved her into the room. Ton turned as she entered the room. He paused and squinted, unsure if he recognised the woman.

"Aren't you a concubine?"

"Yes, she is sir. Her father was a forge worker, and she is very knowledgeable about fires and that's why I wanted her to look--"

"Enough. First of all. Concubines should not leave the palace. Secondly you should not be fraternising with them if you value your life."

"Sorry Marshal Jing. My friend Li Chieng probably thought it was acceptable for me since I occasionally leave the palace to assist the garrison armourers.

Ton sighed inwardly. He really had to get Jiarun to stop taking on new concubines. Their life in the palace was incredibly monotonous once they no longer captured the Emperor's interest making it likely that concubines would look for any excuse to escape the palace even fleetingly.

"Look away madam."

A few minutes later

"Everything looks fine. This fire should still be roaring normally."

"So what caused it to stop?" pestered Ton impatiently.

"If anything, probably divine intervention. Yilum did not will for these flames to burn any longer."

Ton clenched his eyes disbelievingly. Could this day get any worse?

[Alaunce]

It took Eumen half a day to reach the river. For a while, he just looked at it. All of his hopes had hinged on this, and it was right here, so unassuming. He slowly walked down to the bank, and began to wade into the shallows. He would have to stay here for a few days, to gather food for the journey east. Fish slowly lazed in the water, and the sound of crickets washed over him. He could sit here and for some time, forget everything that had happened.

Soon though, the hot sun became too much to bear, so he waded back out towards the shade of a few trees that had managed to cling to the rocky bank.

Then, just as he sat down, the river stopped. It began to flow backwards, and even in places lifted up off the riverbed and wound through the air in a ribbon of water. Eumen watched, shocked, as a profusion of fish fell out of the river onto the bed and the river itself continued to turn backwards.

What was going on?

[Loreford]

Weaving through the busy streets of Corvus and dodging overzealous peddlers, Lazarus and Grannis eventually found their way to the city barracks. A guard, wielding shield and spear and clad in the lighter leather armour used in peacetime, saluted them as they ascended the steps to the grand gate.

"That boy...do you suppose he had a name?" Lazarus asked.

"What makes you think parents who abandoned their child at the first opportunity would have bothered giving the poor wretch a name?" Grannis replied nonchalantly.

Lazarus fell silent. The courtyard was filled with rows of troops being drilled by a sergeant in the way of the axe. The sergeant was shouting commands which echoed incomprehensibly. He allowed himself a small smile as he recalled his days as a conscript.

"A child forced to live out the rest of his days in the house of the dead," Grannis mumbled, "though in his case, death would be a sweet mercy. I mean...it's clear that he has no future. He is only an additional burden on the monks, who are poor enough as it is."

"Respect, Grannis. And sympathy." Lazarus ascended another set of stairs leading to the Officers' Suites.

"Perhaps you're right. We are told to respect the dead, and that child may as well be dead."

Lazarus couldn't help but agree with the sentiment. He recalled the child's wretched existence - its involuntary wailing, the constant flailing of the arms, the drooling - locked in a prison of a body it could not control. Or rather - the body was fine, but his mind was shattered. There would be no future for him. No future anyone could look forward to.

[Seralea]

Aurevia, State Palace, Audience room

A soldier entered the room. In front of him the half of the five pillar generals were discussing with the head priest.

“Soldier of Aqours reporting, our winter fishing expedition was a success. We have enough to feed us for the next four months. We only lost one naval ship and a fishing boat but regardless we have enough to sustain if our spring hunts don’t succeed.”

“Good work, tell the men to send half to be preserved, a quarter to the western shrine and the rest to distribute among the villages.”

With a quick reply the soldier exited the room.

Nomi sighed, “The Alauncei hordes have become more daring and entering more and more into our territory. Our combination of traps and the other generals are barely holding them off.”

“If we can utilise our connection with the land more and employ the wolves we use to hunt maybe we can defend our borders without it being a running battle” replied Iwa.

The prince laid down his decision.

“With spring approaching the hordes will only increase their raids. We will use the wolves and increase training.”

“Sha, Prince, we will protect our land from those barbarians.”

[Chromire]

Kor Village

Gemma's friends laughed spitefully as she bravely knocked on the door. She was the only child who dared to befriend the old man. He, Grendel the Old, was the laughing-stock of the village, known for his blindness and white beard stretching for metres on end. He usually sat in the middle of his front room, like a boulder, not budging.

The group of children huddled at the door, straining to hear the muffled whispers inside as Gemma brought a bowl with some warm water to Grendel. His aged, battle-stricken face betrayed no emotion as he dipped his hands into the bowl. As per usual, he expected her to drop some kind of memento from the ocean rockpool. But this time, there was no splash. Instead, she stirred the bowl rapidly. Alarmed, Grendel shifted violently in his place and the bowl fell to the floor, shattering. The girl, startled, leapt back as the water continued to swirl.

[Ildor]

The Northern Reaches, Ildor

The chilling waters of the Schisma Ocean sloshed lazily against the frozen coast. Only the hardiest of animals could survive in these conditions - namely seals and walruses equipped with the thickest of coats, and the schools of fish which swam deep beneath the waterline.

There was a soft thunk as a battered, beaten wooden boat collided against the ice. A nearby herd of walruses raised their heads out of curiosity as a foreign creature placed one foot onto the ice, and then another. As soon as both feet had left the boat, it began to drift back in the direction it had come from.

Taerion Drachardt stared into the distance, leaning on his sheathed blade. He had somehow fallen asleep at sea despite the weathering conditions, and woken up in this strange land. He couldn't remember what he had been dreaming about - something had touched upon his consciousness, a greater being unable to be described by mere words. Whenever he tried to recall what it was, it eluded him.

He took a step forward, and almost slipped. The metallic sheathe of his curved blade, Daybreak, skidded across the ice as the panel of white he was standing on rocked back and forth. A braided cord of black hair – his black hair - bound the hilt to the sheathe, preventing the sword from leaving it. He didn't ever want to draw that sword again. It brought back too many memories - memories of a man who had once been like a brother to him, a home that lay on the other side of the world, and a woman who had once been his lover.

He had been wandering ever since that man's death, searching for a purpose to live. When he'd left his village, he had been but a boy - not too many years had passed since then, but he had experienced enough to last a lifetime. He had considered ending his life, even attempted it during those long lonely treks across the wilderness, but the two scars on his wrists were a grim reminder that he had long transcended humanity. He could only resign himself to his fate - the fate of a lonely, wandering swordsman, sworn never to draw his blade again.

Drawing his furs closer around him, he slowly began to head further inland. The sun was hidden behind a cluster of grey clouds, but that didn’t bother him. There was a huge mountain in the distance, a behemoth bigger than any he'd ever seen. If he kept that in his sights, he would be able to avoid losing his way.

As his mind began to drift, his thoughts once again moved to her.

[Loreford]

The following day, Lazarus heard a knock on his bedroom door. One of Samael's bodyguards silently held a scroll out to him and promptly turned and left. He drowsily opened the scroll, which contained his orders for the assignment. He was to firstly investigate the rumours of the Ruverd flying into the air, and to secondly try to gain intelligence on the position of Alauncei tribes so that future raids could be predicted and prepared for. It seemed simple enough. But when dealing with the Alauncei, nothing was simple. Indeed, it was guaranteed that he would be attacked by hostile raiders along the way.

Having gathered his equipment the previous day, he just needed to acquire some supplies before he could set off on his mission, especially since Alaunce was a vast open wilderness, save for a single independent trading town, Coran. He would probably have to make a stop there to restock before heading back to make his report. This was going to be a long journey....

[Alaunce]

The horses thundered along in a cacophonous hurrah of sound, trampling the ground beneath them. The steady rhythms of the trot were like a drum beating, heralding war. Cordel rode at the front, wearing the golden pectoral which marked him as the leader of the Baromen tribe. It sat on his chest, heavy with the promise of power and the memory of murder. It was sad, what had ended up occurring, but his brother Eudel was always far too unambitious.

Next to him rode Marick, from the Althians. Marick was a very large man, two metres tall and monstrously broad with corded muscle. His perpetual beard and smile did little to hide the intimidating power of his presence.

"There's the ford, there!" shouted Marick. They had been riding hard along the Ruverd for the greater part of the morning. After last night's successful coup against his brother, they had to join up with the Althians to bring back the news and to start the process of herding up all of the Baromen's livestock. He and Marick had been working hard to bring the greatest tribes of Alaunce together at last- if not by diplomacy, then by force. His brother had stood against their proposed plan, citing tradition and a happiness with the way things were. That was bullshit, by Cordel's opinion. They lived in fear of raids from other tribes, could hardly feed themselves without constant banditry- no, he would revolutionise Alaunce.

The raiding party trotted over the ford and reached the other side, hailing the camp with loud cheers and whoops. There was already a small crowd gathered, waving back. Then, the crowd grew and their expressions changed to fear.

"What's going on?" asked Marick. He slowed his pace to a walk. All the people in the crowd were pointing behind them.

"My god." Cordel had twisted in his seat and looked back. The river they had just crossed was no longer sitting in the riverbank. It was turning and twisting in the air, a giant snake of water, heading upstream. Things were changing.

[Loreford]

Governor Samael diligently read over the reports sent in from the various outposts and forts scattered near the eastern frontiers. He frowned when he reached the final scroll in the pile, an official reply from Queen Iris denying permission to strike at the Alauncei pre-emptively and also implying at Samael's dismissal if he continued to press the matter. He tossed the scroll aside contemplated his options. If he had permission to send troops into Alaunce at slaughter their herds, he would have gladly done so. Unfortunately, this course of action was blocked to him. The nomads would come once more, and property destruction and casualties aside, the people of Corvus province would have to pay to price with their taxes to finance reparations. Static defenses meant nothing to the Alauncei, who would simply circumvent them and strike at smaller, undefended towns. With no way of knowing where they would strike next, deploying troops to prevent raids would be both impractical and impossible.

Cursing to himself, the Governor prepared to issue alerts to the countryside warning caution over the next few months. It was really the only thing he could do, at least for now.

[Chromire]

"Oi! Wait up for yer old man!"

Puddleglum was wary as his three sons bounded before him, scouring the marshland beyond Covstell Ranges. A poorly farmer's family were the Sturgs, and due to the fierce northern storms that blew in from the Schisma Ocean, this wet season was the most dreadful that Puddleglum had ever seen. He and his boys were forced to scavenge for food further west as the storms had ravaged their fields beyond repair – at least for the month ahead. It was lucky that they frequented the area beyond the Covstell Ranges for firewood and charcoal, as the dead trees were a plentiful source for burning down and bundling.

Puddleglum glanced suddenly and stopped in his tracks. What was that smell! There was a putrid smell of body odour, and horse sweat coming from just to his left.

“Boys, stop awhile!”, he shouted – although with a softer voice than before.

In all these years of travelling west, he’d never met anyone else. This warranted great care, and great care did he take in gathering his sons and now treading softly in the direction of the smell. It was unmistakable now. There was now the clear thud of axe on wood and the odd impatient hoof on the ground.

Who was there?

[Seralea]

Serelea, North tundra, Makidonia outskirts

Kasai flicked his spear, creating a vector of blood.

“Those degenerate barbarians, raiding us despite us having barely any resources.
Like who would raid the country of ice and rock, nothing grows here.
Like who in their right mind made a nation here.
like”, the rambling continued as his hunter army shifted nervously nearby.

“Sir, uh, SIR, SIR. General Kasai SIR.” The massive, spear wielding general’s ramblings stopped.
“Sir the caribou units we used have chased the Alauncei off and our injured men our being treated.”

“Good work legion, let’s get back to Makidonia and someone inform the capital the caribou experiments were a success”

[Loreford]

Somewhere on the Alaunce Steppes

So far, things had been unexpectedly quiet. Lazarus had not encountered a single hostile horseman on his ride east, now in its fifth day. Even so, Lazarus did not dare light a fire, for it would attract unwanted attention. Many who had braved the wilderness of the Alauncei tribes had been captured and dragged off to be used as slaves, and he was not about to allow that to happen to himself. He hungrily chewed on smoked meat, trying his best to ignore the taste. He had reached the Ruverd, but saw no signs of the supposed flying streams of water, and thus he resolved to follow it to Coran, where he would pick up on local gossip, restock, and journey back to make his report.

But that was for later. For now, he would get some sleep.

[Chromire]

Centuriate Assembly in session, Precipa, Republic of Chromire

Lanartes arose from his seat.

“Enough!” he roared.

“Surely there is patience enough in your souls to contemplate this. For eons have we sparred with literature, with philosophy, with the ‘ifs’ and ‘buts’ of stories, fables, legends. What if we cast our eyes west hm? Look beyond our dimly lit libraries into the forges of the Republic, the Covstell Ranges? Might there be a solution in reality to this disastrous northern storm?”

The Senate fell silent. They knew, of course, that Lanartes was elected to the Office of the Consul for his down-to-earth intelligence, not lofty ideas. Polite applause followed his descent back into the seat as the Sitting adjourned for the day.

As Senators filed out, Lanartes was greeted by both critical stares and warm handshakes. He’d had his share of politics, but he wondered whether Chromire would benefit from some interaction with the real rather than fantasies of the ‘to be’. He wondered, indeed, whether impulse truly ruled over decision.

[Loreford]

Lazarus brought his horse to a halt. This could not be right. Everything he had ever experienced, everything he had seen, everything he had been told - everything he knew - told him that this was impossible. It could not be.

And yet. It was.

The river was thrashing, twisting itself as it soared skywards, flowing gracefully back in the direction it had come in a helical path. The riverbed, now bare, was littered with fish which struggled in vain to swim away, comically jumping about in the mud. The rumours were true, it seemed. What did it mean? What could have caused this to happen? Lazarus dismounted for a closer look. He placed his hand into the rising stream, supposing that perhaps this was an elaborate illusion.

By the gods.

His mild curiosity and superstitious fear soon gave way to tactical concerns. With the river gone as a natural obstacle, the Alauncei could freely and easily move west into Loreford in large numbers, without needing to circumvent the river to the south, or to use the heavily defended bridge to the north. This did not bode well. It was imperative that he found out what the intentions of nearby tribes were - did they intend to plunder Loreford?

Climbing back into the saddle, he continued to Coran where he hoped to catch up on local events.

[Ildor]

Castle Solitude, Illiel, Ildor

The doors to Solitude burst open. Heads turned in surprise at the small figure on his haunches in the doorway, gasping for air. It had been a long and uneventful day; this was a welcome change to mundane routine.

"What business do you have here?" Eren asked. He had been recently promoted to a Castle Guard, one step above the City Guards outside. Puffing his chest out, he attempted to exhume an authoritarian presence.

The City Guard accompanying the individual saluted. It hadn’t been that long ago when Eren himself had been wearing that navy blue undershirt.

“This courier here wishes to speak to the King,” he said. “Claims to be carrying a confidential message from Xenos. He wouldn’t tell me what was so important about it.”

He gave the boy a small push. Scrambling to his feet, the fresh-faced youth bowed deeply.

“Please, Sir. The message I carry is of utmost importance. King Lyon must be the first person to hear it.”

Eren nodded at the guard who promptly left, closing the door behind him. The other inhabitants of the castle continued about their duties, even though Eren knew they were probably intently trying to catch a word of their exchange.

“What makes you think I can trust you?” Eren demanded. This was the first time he had seen anyone demanding to see the King, in such a secretive manner too. He wasn’t sure if he should be especially wary or allow him through. After all, who was to say this boy wasn’t an assassin?

“Please believe me,” the boy gushed. “I don’t know how I can prove myself. All I ask is that you trust me.”

Sweat was beginning to form down Eren’s back. Was he supposed to let him through, or detain him?

“Enough, Eren. The boy may pass.”

He was saved.

Bowing deeply, he saluted to the King behind him. “Your Majesty. It wasn’t necessary for you to leave the throne room for this-“

“Stand down. Why do you seek me, courier?”

King Lyon strode forward, his overbearing presence crushing all those around him. When he was in the room, none could ignore him. An already large man towering above most others, his commanding aura made him appear only larger. Combined with the scouring gaze of an experienced and hardened veteran, there was no doubt as to his identity.

“Your Majesty,” the courier bowed. “I bring a message from Brhyan, the One Eyed Seer of Xenos. He told me it was only for your ears.”

Xenos? Lyon looked the boy up and down. Now that he thought about it, it did seem like he’d travelled a long way, especially considering the state of his clothes and hair. After all, Xenos lay far to the south, close to the border between Ildor and Chromire – practically the other end of the nation. However, what perked his interest most was the sender of the message.

“My ears are the people’s ears,” he said. “I have nothing to hide. Proceed.”

The boy shifted nervously before speaking.

“Something has awoken, and come down to the land. An important chain of events are about to happen, and Ildor will play a huge part in what is to come. Rivers reverse, flying towards the sky. Cities fall, their foundations voided from this world. The Fire Mountain Vul’Krakkis stirs, for something that is not of this world has touched it. I feel its tremors, even when I sleep. The Mountain is waking up, and it will not be pleased when it does. There is also news of another, a man, come from far across the sea. He has also been touched, and will be vital to the future of this world. These are the things I see in my sleep, what you do with this information is entirely up to you.”

The boy had been standing still, staring off at a point in the distance as he’d recited his message word for word. Having delivered it successfully, his shoulders slumped and his posture relaxed.

King Lyon stroked his grizzled beard. This wasn’t the first time the One-Eyed Seer had spoken to him. Every time the Seer saw something, it had come to pass. If he was correct again, the world was about to change. If Vul’Krakkis indeed awakened, not only would Ildor be destroyed, but probably the entire continent too.

“Thank you for the message,” he said. “You have done well. You are now dismissed.”

The boy bowed yet again and exited. Around Lyon, the lords and servants continued to go about their business, even though he could see that they were visibly shaken.

What should a King do in this situation?

Lyon pondered this as he strode back to the throne room.

[Alaunce]

The small village appeared on the horizon as a hazy dot at first, and then it slowly resolved into a collection of houses. Cordel could see start of the fields from here. Loreford had always been a good spot to raid, here near the river, and now it was easier than ever.

"Come on boys, lets get going." he said. Slowly, the column of Alauncei drew their weapons and began to speed up into a gallop. Before long there was a thunderous sound of hooves on soil and the yelling whoops of his war party. These peasants would give up their grain and gold easily- it would just have gone to the lords in Fordus anyway. With these new regular inquests into Loreford, he could drum up enough support to finally unite the tribes. He smiled and then joined his men, rallying in the town centre and demanding their tribute.


***


Eumen had quickly torn up his shirt into a makeshift bag and gathered as much fish as possible. After that, the trip had been easy, following the flying river all the way up to the outskirts of Coran, stopping occasionally to camp. He had stopped on a hill tonight, and from here he could see all the way down into the valley where Coran lay, perhaps another half a day ahead. Against all odds, he had made it. Eumen quickly went to work spearing the last few fish and and lighting the fire.

All the events of the past week seemed an age ago, but still strangely vivid in his memory. Eumen could remember the sharp stink of the manure and the acrid burn of smoke, but it seemed to meld into the savoury smell of the roasting fish. Why had he survived, and not the others? Why was he able to sit here and enjoy a hot meal when everybody else was dead?

The sound of crickets stilled, and the chilly air began to sink down onto the hills. Eumen sat and watched the flickering shadows of the fire, changing shape. Then beyond the fire, he saw the glinting eyes of something wild, large, and dangerous.


***

Dane swung the axe back onto the firewood once again with a mighty chop, and split another log into two. It was harder now that his glory days were behind him. He could feel the strength in his limbs beginning to wane. But then again, Dane was glad of the things which came with old age. Wisdom, caution. Love. His reckless youth had been wasted, but now he was learning a whole new way of living. Even as his beard grew speckled with white, he was feeling like a young man awash with possibilities again.

With the last of the wood chopped, he turned back to the house and set to finishing the last of his chores. For a few moments, he hovered by the small pen where he kept Whitesock. The old mare, like him, had her glory days long behind her. He fed her an apple and smiled to himself as she crunched on the treat. Yes indeed, they were both learning new things and enjoying the peace of settled life. The steppes were far behind them now.

[Loreford]

The damned beast had run off. It had somehow chewed through the rope and escaped, carrying with it his provisions and most of his money. Then again, Lady Luck had blessed him by allowing him to avoid any and all contact with Alauncei raiders, so it was only fair (he was told) that she balance this out with a small misfortune. Why this was fair, he did not know, and when he had asked a priestess of the Lady, he was told that the gods liked to work in mysterious ways. Whatever that meant.

He had trudged alongside the exposed riverbed for what seemed like eternity. His waterskin was almost empty - and the river swirled through the clear field of stars, remaining out of reach. "Vile, disloyal, beast," Lazarus grumbled to himself, "I ought to have it put down - if I can find it." No doubt Grannis would have gotten a laugh out of his situation. The High Constable of Corvus, a prestigious position putting him in command of the most numerous, combat-experienced and respected Provincial Army of Loreford, reduced to trampling through an endless field of grass on foot.

His path was, mercifully, clear. All he had to do was follow the riverbed, and eventually he would reach Coran. The Jewel of the Wilderness. The Safe Haven under the Stars. The Last Bastion of Civilisation. Ahead, the ground gradually sloped up, culminating in a formidable hill. Inwardly groaning, Lazarus continued his march before abruptly coming to a stop. His hand dropped to his sword. A fire had just lit up on the hill.

Lazarus considered his position - tired, thirsty and unbelievably pissed. If that was a raider camp, he would most likely not survive the encounter. The hilly terrain would do him no good either - as he struggled uphill, all that they had to do was ride out on their horses and cut him down, no, not even that, shoot him from afar. However, he now had to reach Coran. It was his only hope of obtaining a mount and food.

Putting aside his doubts, Lazarus quietly moved up the hill.

[Ildor]

The Northern Reaches, Ildor

Taerion had never been gladder to have his furs with him. There was no doubt he would've frozen to death long ago had they been lost at sea, like many of his other possessions.

He’d followed the coastline for several days, living only off melted snow and the white foxes that roamed the land. Only one species of tree could endure the cold here – the hardy pine tree, its needle-thin leaves dusted with powdery snow. He was thankful for these trees; without them he would never have enough fuel to maintain a fire.

The snow was surprisingly soft and easy to dig. Whenever night fell, he would dig himself a small burrow to protect from the elements. It was actually quite cozy in these makeshift shelters of his – compared to the harsh toiling of the seas at least. He would find his eyelids drooping as soon as he’d lain down to rest, and had no trouble sleeping at all. Unfortunately, this also meant his nightmares had no trouble finding him.

In this manner, the wandering swordsman continued to wander.


Somewhere along the Northcape River, Ildor

Anna poked a finger into the hole in the ice, and then immediately withdrew it. The cold burned as fiercely as the hottest fire. Moving a few steps away, she took out her fishing net and tossed it into the frozen river, allowing it sink a fair distance. She hoped the fish were lively today – lately, it seemed like they’d all went into hiding. Her stomach growled, reminding her yet again of the hunger she and her family shared.

She shivered, wrapping her furs closer around her. They had been managing just fine in the wilderness for several years – this was the first time they’d been in any turmoil. It was unnatural, as if the fish had all suddenly migrated at once. She’d never seen anything like it.

She swirled the net around, but she already knew it was futile. She wouldn’t catch anything today either.

“Try moving further downstream. You might have better luck there.”

The voice startled her, almost causing her to drop her net. Quickly spinning around, she found herself looking into the deep and soulless green eyes of a man. Ragged black hair hung from his scalp, almost reaching down to his shoulders. There was a long, sheathed sword by his side, slightly curved. She’d never seen anything like it. What was even more puzzling was the fact that the blade seemed to be 'sealed' inside the sheathe by a cord of braided black hair.

“Who are you?” she asked. “Don’t come any nearer.”

She reached around to her waist for her knife. The man raised both hands, remaining at a safe distance.

“I mean you no harm,” he said. “I’m just a traveler.”

Anna cautiously stood up, the empty fishing net dangling by her side. The man eyed her, slowly moving his hand to his waist.

“I have some extra food,” he said, his hand coming away with three fat, silver fish. “They should still be fresh, especially in this cold. You look like you could use them more than me.”

Anna shook her head. “It’s fine. You keep them.”

Her stomach however, had other ideas as it grumbled in protest.

“I’ll just place them here,” he said kindly. “In exchange, would you happen to know where the nearest settlement would be? I’m looking for somewhere to stock up.”

Anna looked longingly at the fish by the man’s feet. He didn’t seem like the violent type. Despite what her mother had said about strangers, she felt like she could trust him.

“You won’t find civilization for quite a distance,” she slowly said. “The nearest village lies south along this river. When the snow becomes grass, you should reach it.”

The man bowed his head. “Thank you.”

With that, he turned and began to tread along the glacier, moving further and further away. Anna quickly dashed across the frozen river, skidding a bit in the process, to where he’d placed the fish. True to his word, they appeared to be fresh and ready to eat. Her mouth was already watering at the thought of food.

She was about to head back home, but stopped. The man’s back was growing ever distant, and she was beginning to feel guilty at leaving him to brave the wild. He had just offered her family food, enough to feed everyone for a day at least, or two if they rationed it. The least she could do was share some of it with him, maybe offer him a bed for the night.

“Wait,” she cried. “Hold up!”

The man cocked his head as she began to make her way towards him.

[Seralea]

Serelea, Spirit forest, Celestial Shrine

The aurora, glowing purple and blue, danced amongst the stars. Fleeting clouds gave way to spring sun, heralding the arrival of birth and life across the frozen lands of what they called Serelea. The snow sprinkled spruce forest covered the area before giving way to the most sacred area in Serelea and perhaps all of Vinalore, the Celestial Shrine.

The priest maidens enjoyed comfort in this unusually warm area of the tundra. It is said the head priestess would often channel the stars to see the future and would be used as guidance for the affairs of the state.

This place, however, was also where trainee priestesses undertook their studies, away from the harsh weather as well as raids from foreign nations.
Hoshia trudged into the clearing while being swarmed by wolf cubs.

“Hoshia, it’s time for your studies soon. Quit playing with them, you’ll dull their spirits.
I have a special practical for you today. You shall be honoured with observing Soraka as she channels the celestial spirits.”

Hoshia face beamed with happiness. Only those of high ranked were allowed to witness a telling.

Several hours later, she exited. A face of awe and fear plastered her face.

“When the burning voice of the land stirs, each nation’s soul shall embody itself and the people's soul shall be released”