((Finally back! Enjoy))
((Part 1: Ala'tirn.)) ((Feel free to comment after this one, for actions and stuff. I have decided to split the current 'main' characters up. Next update will be through the eyes of Balaroh.))
((I do not own this image))
You walk along the long paved road that winds its way through the countryside, the terrain getting gradually more hilly as you go. Around you is what you would believe to be peaceful countryside. In the distance in almost all directions you can see small homesteads and farms peeking over the hedgerows and small copses of trees.
You smile at the birdsong that surrounds you, breaking the monotony and the repetitive footfalls of your trek. Your mind wanders.
You start to think back to happier times in your childhood, running about your families townhouse in the towering city of Yhil'atr, the gardens and your pets as, like all elves, you were in tune with nature, despite your more metropolitan upbringing. You start humming one of the elven traveling songs, a curious melody that plays on the musical accents of the High Elves.
Emotions wash over you as your mobile meditation takes place, memories washing through you. Your great successes - mastering your first spells, excelling in your military training and your admission into the Mage Academy - bringing inspiration to you. Yes, you faced your trials, you fought many battles both solo and as part of a mercenary company. You are no stranger to hardship.
Standing taller, you unconsciously pick up the pace, and smile. You can do this. This general cannot be unbeatable, he must have a weakness. You think back to his combat style, and realise that he is remarkably blunt in his demeanor. Whilst fast and strong, and obviously skilled, he relies on tiring his opponent, using their fear of his being and frustration against them.
Maybe, you think, that is why the Atrians are so effective at fighting them? The Atrians dont fear them, and they have iron discipline, they dont let frustration get to them.
You kick yourself at this revelation. You are a trained warrior of the Faradunian Kingdom, and a master mage of the Yhil'atr Mages Guild. How could you have forgotten your time at the academy? Or the guild? Where was your discipline and tactical knowledge?
"Damn! I should have seen through his guise!"
"It is not good to dwell on past mistakes, Ala'tirn. The General can be beaten. To be perfectly honest, I am surprised he managed to best you."
"Balaroh." You acknowledge him, almost forgetting he was there. "What do you mean? He was like a force of nature in that ruined mansion."
"And you were a tired, hungry, wounded elven maiden. It was hardly a fair fight, even if I do say so myself". Balaroh says, calmly.
"Still, I dont.......Wait, how do you know what happened? You werent there......."
"I may or may not have had a little peek into your recent memories whilst you were out from my spell. I needed to know if my suspicions about the General were correct." Balaroh responds, almost jokingly.
"Recent memories? I was in that primitives torture chamber for mo...weeks! Just how far did you go?" You ask, alarmed.
"I went back to the beginning of that day, where you awoke in the abandoned house. I must say, you do know how to kill a man." Chuckled the towering Atrian. With quite a bit of mirth, he continues. "Castration
and blinding? Was that really necessary?"
Just thinking about that early morning gives you a headache. With a moan, you reply. "Yes. He was a corrupt guard, not that his men seemed to know."
"True, not many of those guards are, or at least were, corrupt. But it won't stay that way for long unless we dislodge that corruption." You dont fail to notice the hint of determination in the Atrian's voice.
You spend the next several hours chatting with the Atrian. You learn that he, like yourself, is from a somewhat successful merchant-class family. He answered the call of war at the young age of 36 and at his current age of 723, he is among one of the oldest and wisest in the Atrian Rangers outside of Atria itself.
You ask why, if Atrians are immortal like the elves, they tend to rarely live above 1200 years old. You are surprised at his answer.
"Yes, we are a long lived people, but we are also an adventurous people. The population of Atria may be huge, and our lands well explored, but there is no shortage of men and women willing to venture into areas they shouldn't. Most never come back. There is also combat against the more barbaric races such as the Orcs and their fell brethren, and least of all the Atlovans and their minions. No, we rarely reach the higher tiers of our age due to war." You can sense the grimness in his voice as he talks, and even a bit of anger. He sighs, and picks up the pace, so much so you even struggle to keep up with him.
You continue in silence for the rest of the journey, which turns out to be longer than the afore-stated 'few hours'. It took you until the next morning for you to reach the fort, which you thought rather impressive perched upon the jutting rocks of the terrain, which had become very mountainous over the last few hours of travel.
Image from Siabona
"Is this the fort you were describing? It doesnt look as I had imagined......"
"Few things are as we first imagine them, Ala'tirn." He strides forward, still following the now very weathered looking road towards the fort, motioning for you to do the same. "Come, some of my brothers in arms should still be there. I want to plan before they set out."
As you approach the gates of the fort, things you hadn't noticed from your first look become apparent. The walls actually look damaged, and there is faint wisps of smoke rising from inside the fort. You notice that outside the walls, there is damaged and destroyed machinery, as well as bodies and their corresponding abandoned weapons and armour. You realise that, from where you were as you crested the hill, you couldn't see any of this.
You glance at Balaroh. He has certainly noticed as well, if the gleaming longsword in his right hand is anything to go by. He has a stern look on his face, one of uncertainty. "There should not have been an attack this soon...." You hear him mutter under his breath.
You move quickly to one of the nearby dead. From his look, he looks like a typical Clansman. Clad in a thick padded surcoat under heavy mail, with a low dome topped helmet, steel vambraces and heavy leather boots, he is every bit the typical footman of a Clanlands army. You notice nearby his almost rectangular heater shield and mace.
You search him, looking for anything important regardless of the hopelessness. Typically, you find nothing of note, except half dried, sticky blood. Wiping your glove on the dead mans sleeve, you rise and draw your bow in one fluid movement. As you and your companion slowly move towards the gate, which you notice is slightly ajar, you string your bow and notch an arrow, keeping your weapon in its ready position.
Fortunately, you hear sounds from within. Sounds that do not belong to a battle. With a relieved sigh, Balaroh puts away his sword, motioning for you to un-notch your arrow. You do so, but you keep your bow ready just in case.
The Ranger braces against one of the door and pushes, his muscles visibly straining as they fill out his tunic and sleeves. The gates moves, and also catches the attention of some men inside, who shout a warning at you and readying their weapons.
"Who goes there?"
"A Ranger of the Empire and his companion, a Mage Warrior of Faradun." Balaroh bellows, loud enough to be heard by everyone in this half of the fort.
"Remove your hoods, Ranger, Elf!" Comes another call. By the voice, you deduce that it is an officer, maybe even a senior captain.
Balaroh motions for you to remove your hood, which you do, slowly. Balaroh does the same, but faster. There are a number of happy sighs of recognition as Balaroh removes his, and a few appreciative intakes of breath when you remove yours. '
Oh how it is to be appreciated' bubbles your more vain side.
The gates open rapidly and a handful of men come jogging towards us, all dressed similarly to Balaroh.
"Glad to see you, brother!" One thunders.
"I thought the Commander sent you out to chase an Atlovan, not pick up pretty elf girls?" Joked another. You smile coquettishly at Balarohs exasperated glance towards you.
"Glad to see you back, Ranger." Said a man who, even for an Atrian, looked on the older side, with gray wisps of hair on his head, interspersed with a rich dark brown. "We recently took one hell of a beating. Managed to route the rest of the bastards back into the gorges. As if we didn't have enough problems to worry about."
"What
has happened, sir?" your companion asks, obviously a bit confused. "When I left, the fort was in good condition and relations with the locals were steady."
The commander sighed, shaking his head. "Things have rapidly deteriorated over the last couple of days. It turns out, the locals were actually providing cover for one of the Atlovan's corrupted armies, supplying it and giving its information on our defenses and garrison composition after each meeting.
As if that wasn't bad enough, the Atovans seem to have used their vast amounts of stolen wealth to enlist the aide of two Orc tribes, a tribe of trolls and a Fellen nest. We manned the walls as best we could, but we lost three teams of rangers, roughly half our number, and a good third of the garrison to enemy blades. We also have a number of wounded in the Hospital and Keep over the bridge. More than I would like in our current situation. They even breached the cellars, which is why, as you may see, we are moving everything valuable, and as many people and supplies as possible, to the Keep.
Needless to say, we are in a dire situation."
"Should you really be saying that in front of your men?" You ask, a bit perplexed by his honesty.
"These men know how dire our situation is, Young one. There would be no use in hiding it. Cut off from other garrisons and with no contact with the States of Long Reach in over a month, we are on our own. If you have any ideas to help us, they would be greatly appreciated."
As the rangers chat, you pause for a moment and study your surroundings. The fort has seriously taken a beating. The parts that were roofed were caved in, blood splattered the walls, and there were more dead bodies still lying about clad in the tabards of the Empire than you can count.
Peering into one of the more open buildings, which you assume to be the warehouse, you see a large pile of bodies, mostly of the enemy. It must have been where the enemy flooded in after breaching the cellars. You shudder at the thought of suddenly finding the enemy inside without as well as outside, shooting in. It is most certainly not a position you would want to be in.
~~~***~~~
What do you do?
((Sorry this is a bit short. I was going to put all three characters parts together in this update, but this took me longer to write than I thought it would, and now i really have to go to bed, as I have to get up really early each week day for my job......
Sorry!
Balaroh's Update tomorrow!
As always, feedback is welcome. I have tried to make the characters more human, please let me know how I can improve or how much I have improved!))