The Neraserriad [PT|TG to enter]

[Diarcesia]

The Merrymount Palace
Cyneburg, Hylvorian Kingdom, The Diarchy
989 AD

"Brother, I understand why this must be done, but does it have to be me?"

"There's no other way. The point is that no matter how you put it, they'll accept no less than our family to secure this arrangement. Seeing as I am no longer available, for obvious reasons, this duty falls unto you, neoterus^[1]."

Charimander of Arkess paused to think of his next words. "I don't know if I am good enough for this sort of thing, but if it is to help you and our hard-won security, it will be done."

"You will not fail," Eutaur, Monarch Diarcesian and Hylvorians King said. It was a simultaneous reassurance, challenge, and order. "This will make sure that we do not find our places burnt and looted should we return home."

Charimander nodded. He understood that beyond their borders lie the Host. If rumors were to be believed, the Host were forced out of their homeland and desired for it to not happen again: even if doing so meant enacting a rule of iron and placing a heavy yoke on other peoples' necks. As they speak, he had reason to believe they will expand their southern holdings into the Bearwelder Dominion, and then pour into the Diarchy itself like rapacious predators. Eutaur decided to find all the allies they can get, and fortunately for him, there was a group ready to heed his call. All he needed to do is remind them of a bond his ancestor once formed with theirs.

---

^[1] Little brother

[Andrenade]

Unclaimed Eastern Territory
989AD

In the dense forest of the borderlands, nature's green canopies provided relief from a sunny morning. A massive boar with a small harem of sow scurry and snort around, as if they were bickering. The handle of a small knife glistens on the side of his neck, lodged but ineffectual to its pig festivities.

Within yelling distance, a pair of other brown and white speckled pelts circled them, using the fauna to hide their true forms. They stopped when oriented to the pack's eastern side. Briefly, a break in the canopy exposed part one of the pairing's true form. A feminine human face, veiled by a generous pale green mixed paste before retreating back to the shadows. The mighty beast turned to the silently drawn bows but it was too late. The sound of hornets would be the last thing it heard.

Following a clearing, the hunting pair walked out into the clearing, revealing the aftermath of a sullen hunt. Blood now stains the painted arms of the huntress, having a speckled, light olive complexion revealed from a futile attempt to wipe away the blood with moss from the forest, as done with her older male companion. They had no water to spare for sanitation, as it had to be saved for the journey back home, or at least until a patrol party passes their way.

"Iren, It is not fair for your father to ask their daughter to take up arms, but you proved yourself on this journ-" A lone figure from the distance, headed west broke his train of thought. It was far enough that only his gait could be distinguished, which was un-Nerra like in its stride.

"Get low, I see someone"

[Diarcesia]

As part of his brother's instructions, Charimander of Arkess had to be seen by as few people as possible in his journey. That meant keeping himself out of the common routes (not that there are lots of them) running west from Cyneburg. It was also his first time going this way; he had to rely on the maps and directions the Hylvorians gave him. It was funny to him that because of one man, they were now cooperating with each other. The alternate route he took was apparently one specifically used by Hylvorian scouts to reconnoiter their western border for any troublesome activity. Periodically, the tribe beyond would overstep their bounds and raid the area for resources and valuables.

The way was rough and contains a lot of turns and obstacles to avoid. It takes expert skill to swiftly traverse this hidden path. As a boon for Charimander, his feline mount was bred for this particular purpose. It was so sure-footed that it could plant its paws with grace on the jungle floor and shift directions in ways unthinkable for a pack animal or a horse. Perhaps only the fabled mountain goats would match their kind in that sense.

A week of traversing the seemingly endless foliage with the occasional clearing bored Charimander to his core. Is Hylvoria really full of this? Very dull, he thought. However, on the eighth day, the clearing he arrived into was larger than the usual. From what he remembered in the map, this must be the limit of the Hylvorian scouts' patrol range. He reined his feline to slow down to a walking pace to allow him to observe the area. He was now definitely beyond the Diarchy's jurisdiction and this is where his mission as Eutaur's messenger would begin in earnest.

He kept going at this speed to allow his mount to regain strength. At one point, he heard some rustling within to the side that caused him to stop. He got himself ready to defend himself, but after 10 seconds, he concluded that it must be an animal. And so, he and his recuperated feline catapulted to full speed toward his destination: the tribe's capital of Vecetxe.

[Andrenade]

The woodsman took lead in front of his, asserting his presence to the Charimander and his felinid mount. The likely affluence could be a turn of fortune, as favor for assisting a traveler could be granted by the councilate at Vecetxe, depending on his reasons to visit. If little else, the vast amount of meat from the slain boar should keep the traveler's mount content, lacking the ability to graze.


He waved in a large half circle pattern, encompassing his immediate surroundings, with bow in offhand. "Salutations, traveler!" Greeted The woodsman from a distance. "What affairs bring you west?"

[Diarcesia]

Charimander didn't even move 15 feet before further rustlings of the foliage ahead, accompanied by a figure emerging from it to the road, forced him to instruct his feline to a sudden stop. His mount obediently obliged, though the experience was rough as it skidded through the road.

I am Charimander of Arkess, one of the best soldiers in Diarcesia. To be caught unawares like this will be deadly if he is a hostile.

To make sense of what the man ahead was trying to do, he remembered a few of the quick pointers the Hylvorians gave him of the tribesmen of the west. The man's pattern of waving, alongside the lack of tension and sense of urgency, suggested a lack of malice. With him holding one bow, he could be a common hunter.

"Salutations, traveler!" Greeted The woodsman from a distance. "What affairs bring you west?"

Charimander ascertained that the man is not a savage, given the question was asked in a tongue he could understand. "I am a messenger bearing urgent news for the recipient's eyes only! I'm on my eighth day of my journey on the Hylvorian king's command, and anyone who impedes me should do at their own peril! Unless you are here to assist, hunter, I shall take my leave," he replied to the stranger in an authoritative tone intended to leave little room for negotiation. Normally, this would influence civilians to back down a bit.

[Andrenade]

"I am a messenger bearing urgent news for the recipient's eyes only! I'm on my eighth day of my journey on the Hylvorian king's command, and anyone who impedes me should do at their own peril! Unless you are here to assist, hunter, I shall take my leave,"

The Hunter presented a piece offering: a fairly large sum of bagged boar meat, packed in a waxed sachel. His persistance came from a sense of melachonic urgency. Escorting an offical such as the guest before him would offer great favor, amongst the leaders, one that was desperately needed. If nothing else, the feline mount before him would express its interest in what he had to say.

"I am Balakz, with Sametki. My child, Iren, follows. We wish to follow. Pleace accept this offer as incentive." Iren knew too little to meaningfully communicate with the Charimander. Instead, she placed a hand between her father's shoulder blades for comfort. The familial bond should plead a better case than any plea she could make. This attempt to reach his better nature was aided by a request for pity through a fawning stare. "How hard could his heart be?", Iren thought

[Diarcesia]

"I am a messenger bearing urgent news for the recipient's eyes only! I'm on my eighth day of my journey on the Hylvorian king's command, and anyone who impedes me should do at their own peril! Unless you are here to assist, hunter, I shall take my leave,"

The Hunter presented a piece offering: a fairly large sum of bagged boar meat, packed in a waxed sachel. His persistance came from a sense of melachonic urgency. Escorting an offical such as the guest before him would offer great favor, amongst the leaders, one that was desperately needed. If nothing else, the feline mount before him would express its interest in what he had to say.

"I am Balakz, with Sametki. My child, Iren, follows. We wish to follow. Pleace accept this offer as incentive." Iren knew too little to meaningfully communicate with the Charimander. Instead, she placed a hand between her father's shoulder blades for comfort. The familial bond should plead a better case than any plea she could make. This attempt to reach his better nature was aided by a request for pity through a fawning stare. "How hard could his heart be?", Iren thought

The hunter's words, though not entirely convincing, left Charimander with no choice. The man was in the right place at the right time, and the offer of food was enticing. Otherwise, he would have to make do with his soldier's rations for a while longer.

"I accept your offer," he stated plainly as he dismounted from his feline and approached the hunter. "But I must be clear that you both and your child will aid me to my destination. I'll take what you've brought me now, if you don't mind." He extended his hand to receive the bag of meat Balakz offered him, in such a way that the hunter could push it to his palm at his discretion. That was Charimander's way of communicating that he had no hostile intent.

Once Balakz and his family were fully ready, Charimander proceeded towards his mount to assist them in sitting on top of it. Afterwards, he tied the bag of meat to the saddle's side. He figured that he would move slower, but he surmised that Balakz was more knowledgeable of the quickest way onward, so that would make up for it. The agreement for receiving a hunter's spoils in exchange for a quick journey to the capital was made.

"My mission is to send a message to who I assume will be your tribal leader, residing in Vecetxe," the Diarcesian began, remembering what his brother and the Hylvorian scouts taught him about the area. "I am aware that this is the main road leading there. Perhaps, do you know of a shorter way that will bring us there safely?"

[Andrenade]

"I am aware that this is the main road leading there. Perhaps, do you know of a shorter way that will bring us there safely?"

Balakz was prompt to respond. "Yes! As long as your cat is okay with it. Your people have it correct, mostly. My way has small shortcut"

His explaination was given in the best of what he know of the Charimander's tongue. Iren assisted, transcribing his words into charades and acoustic cues with a mild enthusiasm. Despite being confined to being on top of the mount, her altheticism was on full display maintaining a consistent balance. Combined, the interpretation could be read as " halfway between points, travel down green river. Raft optional. Wave as I do when I do. Save one day of travel"

"Yes or no?", Balakz asked

[Diarcesia]

"I am aware that this is the main road leading there. Perhaps, do you know of a shorter way that will bring us there safely?"

Balakz was prompt to respond. "Yes! As long as your cat is okay with it. Your people have it correct, mostly. My way has small shortcut"

His explaination was given in the best of what he know of the Charimander's tongue. Iren assisted, transcribing his words into charades and acoustic cues with a mild enthusiasm. Despite being confined to being on top of the mount, her altheticism was on full display maintaining a consistent balance. Combined, the interpretation could be read as " halfway between points, travel down green river. Raft optional. Wave as I do when I do. Save one day of travel"

"Yes or no?", Balakz asked

"Yes," Charimander replied, after having understood the latter's meaning. "Let us be off."

Bearwelder Dominion

Stracken sat alone, with his head resting on the table in front of him. His hands were placed on top of each side, and his fingers twisted around themselves. He had been like this for a while now, staring at the wooden surface before him. The environment was silent; no sound made it to his ears other than that of his breathing and heartbeat - which he found too loud for comfort. No one else was present in the room. After having failed twice already to summon his own courage (and as time passed by) he began feeling more and more helpless with every passing day that went by without any signs or messages from his comrades. It felt like he would never get out again! If only such a thing would have never happened...

He had been trapped in a place he didn't know, without any knowledge of where to go next or what to do. He was helpless. The reality of the matter hit him hard. It was not an easy thing for someone like him to admit, but he realized it would be better if he did so sooner than later. After all, his future would depend on it - and given the circumstances there were few options left available for him other than grudgingly accepting defeat and going back home empty-handed (if he could even find one).

At that moment something caught his attention: tiny footsteps coming from outside of the room! Someone was approaching! Stracken's heart began beating rapidly as the prospect of company raised its head once more; maybe it was his comrades, escaping from hell? They'd have some good news for sure! As soon as they open that door... He waited expectantly until finally...it happened...

On the top of a cliff to the west of Stracken's location, a lone man sat on a tree branch, well-hidden from any nearby living thing. Facing the east, he had a commanding view of the forest of the lower elevations. His eyesight was far enough to identify a path cutting across it horizontally. Near the left edge of what he could see, smoke rose from what appeared to be a great fire, started hours earlier. As if creeping along, smaller fires started appearing along this path. And now, straight ahead of him in the distance, a group of houses on a small farm was set ablaze. He saw enough.

Swift of foot, the man made for the ground and made his way to his destination to the south. It was a long and tough journey that took him the greater part of a day, but he arrived in a familiar border outpost.

After taking a breather and stated his purpose, he located the commander and requested her attention.

"Ma'am, I have news to report," the man, the informant who just arrived in the Diarcesian border outpost, began.

"Speak, Bearwelder." she ordered. A messenger stood beside her.

"Thorn has fallen. The Host's southern army's road to Lostshel is wide open. Further north, Ashelos is holding, but the situation is not good. Should it fall too, the northern army will reach for the capital."

"Very well, you should have your payment. Thank you for the information."

The commander sent the informant off for him to receive his reward, then turned to the messenger. "You heard the Bearwelder. Head to the nearest beacon, and relay this news to them. Make haste, the Monarch must know of this."

"Yes, commander!" the messenger saluted and embarked on his mission.

An Autocratic-era Diarcesian scout mid-salute, book illustration

[Andrenade]

Western Nerra Territory

The seemingly endless wall marked the leftmost end of the Nerra's civilization.Built upon and within even wider mounds of alternating dirt and stone layers, the wall stood taller than what would meet the eye. Sunbleached lime and calcium is given color by ground up ornate paints and crushed shells, Archers up top walk the wide lanes, seeking whats below and beyond.

Today, it was the Satari's turn to make a long march and inspect the wall throughout their lengthly march through the fine powdery ground. The newest specialty were few in overall numbers, but no less important than those that primarly wielded bows and blades. Being the secret to winning a civil war, these warriors of fire would persist, when possible. For both reasons, they would lack the prestige of their counterparts and be shrouded by ambivalence.

When errosion is seen, the group would be instructed by their Zazen to apply adhesives and ornate graphics onto the wall. Mineral pastels would present heritages and thoughts alike, as well as universal depictions of unwelcome trespassers. Long lulls would go between each stop where the works from past graduates can be seen, recent and old alike. Culture came before uniformity, and this was a way to mend deep wounds from the past. Aside from brief rest and wellness inspections, the longstanding tradition of masonry would be the only reason why they would stop.

Halfway though their movement, another training groupment several times their size was spotted at a distance- Pristeri, whom seemed to be in a square groupment, rigid as the wall behind them. Recognising their colors and distinctive fletching on their javelins, the Satari's Zazen, Rallekxi, decided to press forward, as to make contact with his counterpart. Zazen Rallekxi announced his presence with a few notes from his trumpet, which was met with a note from the other trumpet. Communique has commenced. The leaders segregated themselves adjacent to the wall. while the warriors from the two groups fraternized amongst themselves

"Vlaro?" Asked Zazen Rallekxi. "What suffering have you brought to your Pristeri?"

The Pristeri leader leered towards his men, directing his counterpart to them. "It seems that twelve men have fallen to exhaustion, likely from drinking; They did it to themselves. Fatherless behavior, like that displayed by the women they pursue" brooded Zazen Vlaro.

Zazen Rallekxi scoffed. " We were all young once, no?" "And they will die young if unable to follow simple guidance" explained Zazen Vlaro. "Our mistakes are not theirs to make." Taken aback by the inferral, Zazen Rallekxi paused to lighten the conversation.

"I see. There is place for Pristeri rigidity in our peoples future." Peering at Zazen Vlaro's swords, With sheathes more ornate than most, let alone quantity, they brandished themselves without so much as a single finger at their handles.

"As there is place for Satari indolence with those magic trick weapons of yours" Moc

"Indolence? I am not beyond sparring, but it would be unbecoming as leaders", addressed Zazen Rallekxi. The rarity of this situation as not lost to him and an idea came quickly. " I propose that we conclude the walk down the wall as a combined groupment. Its more true to life."

"Agreed."

Ultimately, it was up to the Zazen's adamancy to leadthem as far as they can go, yet it was ominous news that froze him.

[Diarcesia]

Wolfbridge, The Diarchy

The floor of the Diarcesian-style great hall was well-worn; many people had stepped on it previously. The atmosphere, however, was anything but - despite the number of attendees and their varied activities. Some chatted with each other over drinks, others played games in small groups scattered about or even alone at tables for two (or three). A few sat quietly by themselves as if to mourn a loss that had yet to be realized - and might never be in this world. Those men would forever see themselves as those they were not: they were soldiers who saw no action during the war between Diarcesia and Hylvoria months ago; this place supposed to be dedicated to their memory... and mourning their long-dead centuries-old comrades lost in the formation of the Monarchy (a story which has been told elsewhere). But one man who sat at one such table alone wasn't like them: he looked older than his years suggested due to premature aging caused by chronic stress throughout his life up until then... as well as some physical degradation brought upon him from surviving an accident which left him stranded inside 'hell' itself.

Eugamene had his back and the rear of his head against the chair he was rocking back and forth. He remembered that place so well, even though what little he could remember had been fading away in time as if they were nothing more than dreams... But deep down inside he knew better: those memories were real! His eyes shifted from left to right slowly and lazily like a man lounging around in bed after waking up for an early-morning hike; one hand rested on top of the other which lay flat on table ahead of him, while his legs crossed one over another leisurely - each toe slightly touching their counterpart below them by no more than three inches. It seemed as if this might be how things would stay for some time yet to come: Eugamene alone at the third table from the furthest point from the main entrance (or maybe fourth?), lost in thought with not many people noticing his presence… And then… Someone reached out towards Eugamene's shoulder! His head immediately turned degrees toward where that touch came from - only realizing who it was when looking directly into her face.

"What is it? This must be important for you to go all the way to me." he said, turning his head back to where it was before the interruption.

"Wanted some company while waiting for my friends is important, but this is business," she replied, in a voice that sounded like its owner had been crying sooner. It struck Eugamene as odd at first; he did know her very well, but the two hadn't spoken much since their unit's arrival in Wolfbridge (he remembered seeing her with some others). Nevertheless, he felt compelled to say something anyways: "It's been almost two weeks now! Is something up?"

"It's... It's about the beacon." she said, with a slight hesitation in her voice. She paused for a moment to collect herself, then continued: "The Bearwelder beacon, you should know about it!" The two gave each other an awkward look as they sat quietly for some time; Eugamene trying to think of something comforting to say while the woman next to him tried holding back tears. After taking notice of this he spoke again. "But... I didn't expect them to fail that quickly! Still..." He thoughtfully scratched his head prior to adding to his sentence: "...I'm glad we did have those beacon things ready. Tell me the details." A merely-lit beacon does not tell the whole situation. The woman reached into her pocket and pulled out a small object the size of a coin, then handed it to Eugamene. The latter examined its surface closely with his thumb and forefinger; the thing captured the beacon's light and consequently inscribed a coded message understandable to someone trained enough! He looked up from the table again after some time to face her.

"There's no way for the Bearwelders to hold much longer," she said, trying hard not to cry anymore. "I don't know what went wrong - but I can feel it. Flame and destruction in our homes never experienced since the beginning," her attempts were in vain and a tear flowed on one side of her face. "And an end never pleasant. We're trapped." The two were silent for a while longer, the woman clutching her chest as if clutching onto something dear and near to herself; it would be no surprise if one found out that they had been close friends back when both of them were still younger...

Eugamene spoke up: "I don't know what else I can say, but let me think this through..." He rubbed his chin with his right hand before continuing: "...If you want my advice, go see the Monarch immediately! If anyone could help your friends… It's him!"

"Yes!" she said, with a tone of desperation. "No one knows yet..." She looked up from the ground to meet Eugamene's gaze; her eyes wet with tears and red all around them as if they'd been rubbed by sandpaper. "I wanted things to have gone differently - but I think it might be too late for that now..." She continued looking at him for an answer, though she already knew what was about to happen next... "You've the beacon signal. A messenger is on the way to Wolfbridge to deliver the full story."

---

Danelagian Colony, Wilderness

The man stood at attention in his military uniform, with a unique and almost-rare combination of tan pants and green shirt - yet still standard issue for those assigned to the Towarzysz of the Host. He had an anxious look on his face while he waited for orders from the commander, who would soon be passing on new orders. The former was reviewing his manners; no small matter either… And yet this foreigner-commander is known for his very calm demeanor compared to his battlefield savagery! Finally though, the commander arrived and went straight to describing their mission: "You hear about these 'Danelagians'?"

"Yes sir." the subordinate replied. "A tall people with a small country... but prosperous none-the-less! And so close too!" The commander continued. "And you hear about their troubles from that king of theirs?"

"I have, sir," he answered again. He was briefed thoroughly on the mission ahead: "...But I don't know how we will fare against them." His voice was almost meek and subservient - though not out of fear per se… Rather because respect demanded it from him to those more senior than himself in rank or age (and this man was something like twenty years older than him). The commander continued speaking while looking at his subordinate's face carefully: "They are well prepared to survive there - they've done quite well over generations past since your ancestors attacked them... Seasoned raiders in their own right. But we are better than them! We'll show them what real men are made of!"

"Yes sir!" the subordinate said, now with a bit more excitement in his voice. He was already mentally prepared for what would come next. "And I will not fail you."

After the Raid

One of the Host's soldiers unbuttoned the flap to their tent, then stopped when his leader passed through. "Commander!"

"What is it?" the commander asked, looking at him and raising his right eyebrow slightly in confusion.

"I don't know if I should say this out loud," the soldier said, quite concerned. "But... We've taken a lot of prisoners already." He paused for a moment: "...Why hasn't anyone been killed yet?" The commander looked at him in silence; his face was blank without any emotion whatsoever. After what seemed like an eternity he spoke up again. "Perhaps someone of value?"

"Y-yes, sir."

"I will be the judge of that. Show them to me."

"At once!"

The lowly soldier hurried to pick up and bring a few of the living loot to the waiting commander. After a few minutes, the former returned with two captives alongside. The latter raised his eyebrows with an inquisitive expression.

"Well, well. What is one of the Neraserri doing here so far from home? What's your name?"

[Andrenade]

Tent

It was a lovestruck fool's errand that led the young Nerran boy named Tallrin. His given task was to find a a gamefowl with its distinct vibrant and higly recessive gilded feathers that glimmered like brass and gold of an otherwise green and grey bird. Lacking in wisdom, but full of grit, he left home for this improbable hunt with little more than a bag of goods and tools. Taking it even further, he sought to capture the bird alive in hopes that giving her a real bird of such prestige may win over his muse's and her family's heart, so he thought during his one season long quest.

Apprehension from the hostile ruffians was worse than any hardship he faced during his venture. No more than sixty eight seasons old, his first proper taste of peril. His capturing was nearly as swift as his poor, yet well meaning decision to attack a Host warrior while at the outskirts of territory. Above adolescent hubris, it was obligation to an old code that led him to try something with an improvised snare. The act was returned in kind, resulting in him being beaten and bound.

Lost in translation, questions became strange sounds that fell on Tallrin's ears. The only clues he had to what was being spoken to him was inflection and body language. He had nothing to share to his interrogator but an expression of atoned confusion. Expectingn death, he thought of the irony of him being captured.

[Diarcesia]

Tent

It was a lovestruck fool's errand that led the young Nerran boy named Tallrin. His given task was to find a a gamefowl with its distinct vibrant and higly recessive gilded feathers that glimmered like brass and gold of an otherwise green and grey bird. Lacking in wisdom, but full of grit, he left home for this improbable hunt with little more than a bag of goods and tools. Taking it even further, he sought to capture the bird alive in hopes that giving her a real bird of such prestige may win over his muse's and her family's heart, so he thought during his one season long quest.

Apprehension from the hostile ruffians was worse than any hardship he faced during his venture. No more than sixty eight seasons old, his first proper taste of peril. His capturing was nearly as swift as his poor, yet well meaning decision to attack a Host warrior while at the outskirts of territory. Above adolescent hubris, it was obligation to an old code that led him to try something with an improvised snare. The act was returned in kind, resulting in him being beaten and bound.

Lost in translation, questions became strange sounds that fell on Tallrin's ears. The only clues he had to what was being spoken to him was inflection and body language. He had nothing to share to his interrogator but an expression of atoned confusion. Expectingn death, he thought of the irony of him being captured.

"What's your name?" the commander asked again in a less patient tone than before. The prisoner moved his head as if to say "I don't understand". And so the commander sighed with some zeal. Meanwhile, one of his subordinates spoke up. "It's 'Tallrin', sir. I saw this young man before, and my memory with names and faces does not fail me." As it turned out, this soldier was one of the Nerra, too.

The commander hummed, still unconvinced. "I hope you don't mind me saying this, but I like your people's way of talking. It's so... direct." He turned to his subordinate for confirmation: "Right?" The subordinate replied affirmatively with a nod and an approving smile that concealed his true thoughts on the matter; he knew better than to make such judgements. And in any case, it was not often that one gets to meet another man who appreciates their culture - especially ones as far removed from each other as they were!

"Before I continue, I should at least give you my name. I am Kałojan." Commander Kałojan relaxed his tone, but it still had a menacing edge into it. "Now, Tallrin, why are you here?". Still no answer. "Maybe I should ask you another way." He stepped back, grabbed his long spear, and lunged towards Tallrin. He didn't intend to kill. He only wanted to intimidate the impressionable youth and precisely halt his spear-point just by Tallrin's nose.

[Andrenade]

"B-Bird!" stammered Tallrin. "Bird". Not knowing how to translate otherwise, he bobbed his head and chirped like the rare fowl he was pursuing. Having a spear close enough to his face to appear blurry was less than ideal. Amid the Commander’s uninterpreted demands, Tallrin remained adamant to his ornery and mundane explanation. As a last measure, he even flapped has bound arms like flightless wings. Something told him that such an honest answer would be disappointing to someone wishing to hear a plot.

[Diarcesia]

"B-Bird!" stammered Tallrin. "Bird". Not knowing how to translate otherwise, he bobbed his head and chirped like the rare fowl he was pursuing. Having a spear close enough to his face to appear blurry was less than ideal. Amid the Commander’s uninterpreted demands, Tallrin remained adamant to his ornery and mundane explanation. As a last measure, he even flapped has bound arms like flightless wings. Something told him that such an honest answer would be disappointing to someone wishing to hear a plot.

"Bird? You come all this way for a bird?" Kałojan asked, incredulous. The other men present laughed mightily. As that was happening, the commander pulled back his spear but stayed in place. "My men tell me that you had been seen in the area before we even arrived here." That last part was mostly to himself, as he concluded that Tallrin must have been tracking the gamefowl and its flock since he was sure he saw him (or someone who looks like him) not long before he was captured. When searching for something so specific... Well, may not be entirely wrong about where he thought such a rare specimen might be found after all!

"I've got some bad news for you," continued Kałojan as if gloating over his prisoner having fallen into his snare (metaphorically speaking). "The birds are gone now." A short pause followed before he added: "You were lucky I didn't let my men deal with you then!" He laughed with his men, the sound of which was known to make lesser persons nervous and fearful.

...

Kałojan commanded that Tallrin's hands be untied. "Now what you can do for me is to help us with a small task, you may be of some use. We're looking for someone who has done great wrong against my people." And before Tallrin could have any chance to reply, the commander added: "He should be along your way back home." He then gestured the soldier to come forward. "This one knows exactly what happened. Bring that son-of-a-whore here, alive. We don't want to kill anyone either." He paused again: "The gods know that I would not wish for such death upon anyone." He sounded like he genuinely felt that way. "Well, at least not someone who has done no wrong against me personally. But, the rule demands this."

The moment Tallrin was untied, the soldier approached him and spoke with a quiet voice yet assertive tone: "I'm told that you will guide me to where you came from. There, I will find the man we are looking for. We need to get moving now." He waited for a response.

[Andrenade]

Being unbound immediately brought pained sensation back to Tallrin’s wrists, in which he addressed through self-caress. Little changed, as he was still surrounded by hostiles and without help, and such, he continued to display reservation.

Tallrin may not have known the local common language well, but the arrogance of his captor spoke volumes. If he weren’t so battered and the circumstances weren’t as dire as they were, he would garrote the traitor out of honor for committing no less than three transgressions against the Cycle, one that would lead to harm over their kind at that. His plan invoked entirely around outsmarting not Kalojan, but the traitor. Unfortunately, he saw no alternatives, nor any scenario where he came out alive.

After some contemplation, Tallrin nodded.

Any self doubts over his mission was absolved over concern of his muse, if the likes of Kalojan are to intrude Nerra domain. Comfort came from knowing that his failure over capturing this fowl will be dismissed over service to his people, so he thought.

[Diarcesia]

Being unbound immediately brought pained sensation back to Tallrin’s wrists, in which he addressed through self-caress. Little changed, as he was still surrounded by hostiles and without help, and such, he continued to display reservation.

Tallrin may not have known the local common language well, but the arrogance of his captor spoke volumes. If he weren’t so battered and the circumstances weren’t as dire as they were, he would garrote the traitor out of honor for committing no less than three transgressions against the Cycle, one that would lead to harm over their kind at that. His plan invoked entirely around outsmarting not Kalojan, but the traitor. Unfortunately, he saw no alternatives, nor any scenario where he came out alive.

After some contemplation, Tallrin nodded.

Any self doubts over his mission was absolved over concern of his muse, if the likes of Kalojan are to intrude Nerra domain. Comfort came from knowing that his failure over capturing this fowl will be dismissed over service to his people, so he thought.

Now that he had a guide to help pursue a personal-and-side objective, Kałojan ordered the rest his of men to break camp and prepare for departure. Before doing so however, he instructed the soldier accompanying Tallrin "make sure this one doesn't try anything funny".

---

Wolfbridge, The Diarchy

"Make way, make way!" The guards bellowed to the citizens. A runner approaches the Messenger's Arch with news from the border!

The civilians muttered to one another...

"Am I a bit paranoid?"

"They're overreacting, I have never seen them like this."

"Perhaps they are expecting news from the northern front?"

"Or maybe it is just a drill?"

The guards at the arch greeted the runner, who ignored them and continued on his way to the palace.

Once there, he approached the throne. "Speak!" The Monarch called out. "What is the news?"

The runner deferred and faced the scion of Arkess, as he caught his breath he replied: "Oh great one, what follows is the report from the sentries at the border with the Bearwelder dominion."

The Monarch nodded and replied: "Continue..."

The message, as summarized, details the commander's assessment of the situation as a serious matter. Based on her guesses, by the time the message reaches the Monarch, the Castamirian Host is very close to absorbing the Bearwelder Dominion, if it hasn't already done it.

The Monarch stayed in silence for a few minutes then called out: "Advisors! Let's discuss this matter in depth! Have my mount prepared. I will be departing for the border very soon. Messenger, you have done a great service. You can return to your quarters now."

There is no rest for the leader of both Diarcesia and Hylvoria. He who just arrived from Cyneburg seeing Charimander off to his Nerra mission privately wondered how much success did he achieve. He could see his lands burning sooner or later.

[Andrenade]

A white and pink mantid crept up a like-colored flower, awaiting her prey. Below her, the colorful remains of insects lay upon the soil. Several yellow insects flew in close coordination towards the flower. They were no other than Starlet Bees,

All three bees were caught by mantid's fantastic vision, yet her spiked scythes allowed only for the capture of one victim at a time. Just out out of reach did the bees angle their pair of faux wings at the mantid, dazzling their adversary with redirected light from the sun above.

The most forward bee strayed too close, finding herself being stabbed by the mantid’s outer daggers, but narrowly escaping capture. in an uncontrolled descent, she falls to the mass grave of flying insects below.

A short distance from the skirmish, beekeeper Jaxiea tended to the hives. Her age was hidden by her tireless movement and leather coverings, leaving only her eyes exposed to the bees, which she felt should be exposed for the bees’ familiarity, whereas other beekeepers preferred to cover their heads with veils.

The hive itself was shaped in a hexagonal spheroid with each trapezoidal “petal”. Gloved hands gently lifted each shape to inspect the combs on both sides of the hive, hot incense bloomed out from the opened crevices. It was an honest, beneficial arrangement.

From above the battlefield, a massive beam of light walked its way up from the flowers to the mantid, searing her wings and blinding her gem-like eyes. She threw herself forward, fluttering her disintegrating wings in a feeble attack against the light. Being noticed, she was met with a scream and was struck down by a shiny mass. Wounded and blind, the mantid was helpless as she was bathed in fire.

Jaxiea paused her beekeeping to watch the spectacle of prepubescent violence beside her with a face of both intrigue and disappointment towards her granddaughter, whom exerted wrath disproportionate to her appearance.

“Jasene, what are you doing?” Ashked the elderly beekeeper well-knowing of what was happening, but was testing the child for honesty. She slowly closed a lid on the hive and approached her kin to conversate.

“A bad bug hurt a bee, and then it tried to get me!”
Replied the girl, whom lowly brandished the hemispheric looking glass she weaponized against the animal kingdom.

“Jasene, the mantis is a hunter, that is all that they do, but they have a place.”

“How?” questioned Jasene

“They help keep the sickly bugs and flower-eaters away.” Explained Jaxiea. “I like your honesty but do remember to let the hate leave you, yes?”

“Yea”

“It helps when you use those same hands for kindness.” Jaxiea grasped for her granddaughter’s hands and turned her palms upward. With gloved thumbs, she spread lacquered incense around small and murderous palms.“You know what to do.”

Jasene picked the sprawling bee out from the dirt. Noticing the incense, the wounded worker came at ease within cradled hands. She walked over to the beehive, in which her grandmother patiently held a pedal open for her. “Hold your breath” suggested the beekeeper.

Rolling off gentle palms, Jasene’s now had two free hands to use looking glass for its intended purpose and viewed the bees’ lives closer. A magnified glimpse saw the wounded bee was soon greeted by several of her sisters, whom gave a solemn welcome with the parting of antennae and lapping of tongues.

After allowing the girl to get a good glimpse of the tiny hospice service, Jaxiea gestured for Jasene to leave the hive. “You know, the harvest was great this year. I will be letting your mother and father know that you’re coming with me to merchandise at the capital whenever they return from their…errands.”

Jaxiea abstained from telling her granddaughter that her parents were trying for another sibling, but, having merely discussed bees, it wasn’t time yet.

[Diarcesia]

In Vecetxe of the Neraserri, Charimander smiled in excitement, beaming a positive energy that the more refined members of the Diarcesian court would blush in embarrassment if they were also present.

"I am ready to depart once I receive the reply! But I haven't heard anything about your leader summoning me," he remarked during one of the nights he was invited to a drink; in a way that a bystander would take him for a commoner. The fact was simple: He did nothing yet but change clothes, pack things and make sure he can leave in a moment's notice; but he didn't care one bit about any more details. He would have loved to know what the leader will say, but that was it. That was one of the commands he received from his brother: "He is needed at Wolfbridge and should be ready to leave as soon as possible as soon you receive the Nerra's reply. You may have to wait a little for that after it is delivered, however."

How much longer? he thought the next day, after he became sober again and took a bath. In his heart, he knew he was more excited to bash an enemy's head in, an action he would have much opportunity to do if ever the Castamirians move inside the Diarchy's soil.

[Andrenade]

Seiketa
Nerraserri Territory

The approach of the Diarchesian aristocrat rippled its way from the paved roads and masonry. No single bird which solicited the vertical gardens and trees went without hearing the news. Knowing that such visitations were rare, the few foreign merchants that conducted businesses were equally intrigued.

The crescendo climaxed in a storm of murmurs amongst all three levels of a three tiered conical stadium that sat several hundred. Carefully designed reflective surfaces, mosaics, and a teal awning permitted pleasant lighting and ventilation all around, but more focused at the bottom, where the Magistrate congressed.

“An inheritor in place of an envoy? Mulled Eastern Magister Sanzan. Living up to the name, he was the most Diarchesian of his peers, dawning a copied version of their targa and tunic,

“My say” insisted the advisor, raising a bare, weathered hand. “His arrival is not to be taken lightly.

“And then?” Struck the doubts of Jurist Atllan. Representing an northeastern clan, Atllan attacked the Magister’s thought with the same intensity as he would be if attacking outsider brigands during earlier years. Trading sword for an equally sharp tongue he lets the stance of his peers known


“Yes yes Say! This is a trespass of our peoples sovereignty by a sovereign.” He turned to his levied jury behind him and surveyed the sections around him, in which he saw a warming interest.

“Is it not enough that intruders arrive to our lands every cycle? Or that everything we do as a people has to put the socialites’ interests before ours?” lamented the orator.


“The right to say is not theirs to have. No more ”

Next to interrupt was not a Jurer, but a you by woman from amongst the northwestern levied jury, Birize was of extended relations to the troubled Sametki familial offshoot.

“Yet…this Arkess treated one of our own kind kindly, as we have been told.” Interjected the citizen, who donned a specific clan neck wrapping with a similar escalating pattern like that of Iren’s. Indirectly speaking on behalf of the Charimander’s interests, she stood firm on the dissident action. With only mild reservation , her clan stood with her out of principle, contesting the leers from their counterparts.

Amongst the Magistrate, an otherwise tranquil Spiritual Magister, Kisellea, broke the squabble before it could resurge. Even standing under an audience of hundreds, her prominence was felt through the dazzling mosaic-like patterns that lay over thick white paste that covered her skin. Equally ornate was an array of feathers and glassware, worn as jewelry and hair extensions, bringing thin and colorless hair down to under the shoulders in colored length.

Kisellea gazed at the distant Birize, bemused by a composure that was simultaneously abrupt and erudite. “Indeed, child”, answered the woman. Birize responded with a Nerra bow, acknowledging the brief permittal of the outburst. Birize sat down, content with the result.

The elder slowly shifted her focus to the eastern portions of the council, rotating in place as she spoke.

“You bestow honor on us all for ensuring the safety of this visitor so far, in contest with any reservations. must continue to act in good faith, faithfully. How may we aid with this?”

Another eastern Juror, Fallex, raised a scarred hand, decorated in tattooed clan pictograms that ran down the entirety of his arm. “My say. As an idol of his own kind, would he not take offense to this council, expecting a sole peer? Our ways are inconceivable to most outsiders, whom seem to be lead by the likes of Commandant Magister Reseke, respectfully.”

Simply shrugging, the referred commander paid no mind, as he was elsewhere, between being concerned with a regretful argument with his wife and an unsavory capital execution he orchestrated earlier that day. Unlike the jury that were exchanged for this current assembly, he had to remain.

With brief consideration, Eastern Magister Sanzan met the issue. “My say. A concern, yes, but not impossible. As I’ve told before, their kind are led by socialites on a familial basis, as are their higher diplomatic matters. Based off of these insights, a daughter from the Magistrate is neede-”

Lamentations from detractors immediately filled the air among the southern and eastern clan sections. This did not go unnoticed by the Commandant Magister. In pursuit of peace, he

“My say. With these considerations, I wish to reference my daughter, Sannai, to initiate and convince him to accept our diplomatic ways. I've asked many of your sons to put themselves in danger. It's only fair that I offer a child of my own.”

Murmurs of doubt were dampened, but still prevalent among the ranks above, in which the Commandant saw to stamp out. “To address the disappearances, I will see about having western forces aid in investigating these events in the northeast. They will be found or others will be found accountable; Magistrate, do you have anything to add?”

Kisellea nodded in satisfaction before raising her hand to a finally content audience. “Yes. I request a second assembly once he arrives with all those who have met with the Arkess. We all have a say, even if they wish to only hear from one. Speaking of, where is Sannai?”

[Diarcesia]

After a few days of waiting in Vecetxe, the Nerra's response to Charimander finally arrived. He was summoned to appear before the Neraserri Magistrate. The reception to his arrival seemed to start on a mostly positive note; his brother would be glad that he followed one of their commands properly.

He accepted the offer and rode towards Seiketa on catback, sent off by quick local friends he made during his wait. Sensing potential important pieces in his mission, he made a disheveled boy accompany him and placed an important item he discovered the other day in his sack of provision.

The trip took longer than expected due to a few wrong turns, but he eventually reached the destination. He was greeted with murmurs and curiosity by many in attendance of the arena-like building. For a tribal society, the building was rather refined and was vaguely reminiscent of what one could see in the Old Archonates. Charimander made his way towards where the Magistrate's assembly would be held.

At the most luminous portion of the edifice, filled with people that seemed important enough, Charimander and his lone companion settled in the designated spot...

At the appointed moment of silence that signal the Diarcesian's allowance to speak, he began by pulling out a piece of parchment written with words he could never dream of writing himself. He recited: "By the orders of my brother the Monarch Diarcesian and Hylvorians King both, I arrive to humbly request your assistance in a matter of utmost importance! Even now, the peoples outside both of our borders see their houses burn, crops desolated, and family members murdered in cold blood!" Then, Charimander discarded the script and continued in his own words in a more crude fashion: "If you do not believe me, believe this boy! And believe this helm!"

He took out a battle-scarred helm in his sack. "This is a helm from a Castamirian soldier that made his way here; he has been kind enough to lend it to me after I defeated him in battle! As we speak, he is held in one of your jails!" He turned to the boy beside him. "Tell everyone your name, and what happened."

The boy introduced himself as Tallrin, and summarized his capture in the Danelagian colony, and how the soldier who accompanied him to Nerran lands identified Charimander in Vecetxe and attempted to duel him to the death. The Castamirian was incapacitated and sent to jail for the assault. "Do not kill him!" Charimander said that day, "Him staying alive is part of my mission!"

In concluding his plea, this is what the Diarcesian said: "Please, help us like how our ancestor helped yours."

---

Near Diarcesia's Border With the Former Bearwelder Dominion

Oftentimes, the blood of a family member or friend is thicker than water. In other times, it's not an issue at all.

"Yo," said one man to his companion. "We're here."

"I see that." The second person replied as he took off his hood and looked around. At first glance, nothing seemed out of the ordinary; however he knew otherwise: they scrambled out of the Bearwelder Dominion into Diarcesia after the Castamirians overran their land with seemingly no provocation on their part whatsoever... which led them to believe these aggressors were there for some ulterior motive they failed to grasp during previous encounters.

"We should head back before we get discovered," added Man #2

He paused and nodded in agreement after seeing smoke from a distance - probably just another village being burned down like what happened previously - then followed suit when Man #1 began walking away

But not too far...

"Looks like a large campfire," Man #1 told Man#2.

They both agreed to proceed until they can see the clearing. Both were surprised that they see Bearwelders and Diarcesians deep in conversation.

The two men observed the Bearwelders and Diarcesians deep in conversation. From what they could gather, it seemed that one of them was asking for help from the other.

"This is interesting," Man #2 whispered to his companion.

"Indeed," replied Man #1. "It looks like we stumbled upon something very important."

They continued watching from a distance, listening closely to what each side had to say.

---

The Clearing

In addition to the fire, there was a dim ambiance that seemed to be provided by the moon itself. At first, what they could hear was mostly gibberish and rumors; but after some time of listening closely, it became much clearer.

The Bearwelders were angry about all their losses at the hands of these Castamirians. They knew there had to be something more than just vengeance or landgrabbing behind this madness...

"...we might need your help," one Diarcesian said in clear Common-Tongue with a refined accent. The eavesdroppers were not aware, but they were listening to Monarch Eutaur.

One Bearwelder nodded in agreement: "You're right; I've been thinking... if you can stop them from coming any further into our lands for now and give us an estimate on how many are actually here--"

"--We will do everything else needed afterwards! We may not like each other very much due to history, but desperate times call for desperate measures!"

The Diarcesian offered his hand for a shake. "Would you agree on that?"

The lead Bearwelder took it. "Agreed. There isn't much of them, but while the surface is lost, we can lead you to an entrance towards where the cavemen live."

---

"Ancestors," Man #2 whispered to Man#1. "It's as we thought... something else is going on here."

"I agree; this is a very interesting development." He looked at the Diarcesian and Bearwelder once more, then he added: "I have an idea."

"What?"

"Let's listen in on more of their conversation until we can gather enough information. Then, when the time is right and they least expect it..."

"...we make our move."

Feathers rustled behind them.

"Stop where you are."

The Bearwelders turned back and raised their hands! "We're refugees! Don't attack us!"

One of the three archers aiming at them responded, "You would be less suspicious if you don't skulk around like spies listening to our leader's conversation. Well, I will bring you out to the clearing and show you to the Bearwelders over there. They'll know right away if you're trustworthy."